Judith Merril - The Year's Greatest Science Fiction & Fantasy 4

The caves were a long way away and he hadn’t eaten for too long. Travel took energy and he just didn’t have the energy. Smith looked enviously at the ghoul as he slumped beside the fire.

“Lucky devil,” he said. “I wish I could get a girl.”

“You have to make your own,” said Sammy dully.

Boris frowned. “What’s wrong with you, Sammy? That was good news. You’re going, of course?”

“How can I?” Sammy sighed from the pit of his stomach. “Radiations sterilize, remember, and I can’t eat sterile food. Around here it wasn’t so bad, that’s how I’ve managed to live this long, but I can’t hope to pick up anything decent to eat on so long a journey.” He slumped still more. “I’m too weak to chance it.” He sighed again. “If I could only get one really decent meal to set me up, I’d be off like a shot. Just one good meal.”

“Tough,” said Smith carelessly. “Still, maybe she’ll wait.”

“Hold your tongue!” snapped Boris. He glanced at Sammy, then at Smith, then at Sammy again. Nervously he wet his lips. “There’s one way,” he said suggestively.

“There’s the Agreement,” reminded Sammy. He’d already thought of what Boris had in mind and dismissed it because of that.

“We’re a quorum,” pointed out Boris. “We could agree to suspend the Agreement for just this once.” He became urgent. “Be sensible, Sammy. The way things are the two of us wouldn’t stand a chance to survive until they come out. From what Lupe said it might take another year and those Red Cross stocks are mostly smashed and useless. And when they do come out, what then?”

“Geometrical progression,” said Sammy understandingly. “Two makes four and four makes eight and—”

“He’s young,” said Boris. “That means that he’ll have a hell of an appetite. He won’t be able to use discretion, he hasn’t had the experience. And you heard what he said about contacting them. What’s the betting that he just cuts us out?”

“What are you talking about?” Smith glanced from one to the other. They ignored him.

“I’m not sure,” said Sammy slowly. “We’ve got to stick together now or we’ll all be sunk.”

“We’ll be sunk anyway,” said Boris. “He’ll foul things up for sure.” His hand closed pleadingly on Sammy’s arm. “Please, Sammy. Just for this once.”

“What are you two freaks talking about?” snapped Smith again. Youth and confidence in his superiority made him contemptuous of these old has-beens. Sitting beside the fire he had made his own plans and they didn’t include either of the others. He lost both confidence and contempt as he read Sammy’s expression. “No!” he screamed, understanding hitting like a thunderbolt; “No! You wouldn’t! You couldn’t! You—”

He rose together with Sammy and, turning, raced into the dark safety of the woods. He didn’t get far.

Fresh guys rarely do.

A story about bears—but no Goldilocks.

Like Mrs. Emshwiller, Professor Bone, and Patent Attorney Thomas, Arthur Zirul has been writing and publishing s-f, on a part-time basis, for the last five years or so. As with them, s-f was favorite reading for him long before he tried writing it. “Science fiction to me,” he says, “is the last, and likely the only, refuge for genuine satire . . . the biting kind only fantasy can provide.”

Mr. Zirul’s more usual, workaday refuge is an out-of-the-way back building in Greenwich Village which he describes as “1,500 square feet of a former night club, filled with fine dust, a dozen assorted machines, shelves full of very odd odds and ends, and me (I’m the one that’s moving).”

Sorry. No Things or Shottlebops or genii-jars. He calls it Diorama Studios, and builds industrial models there.

Last spring season, just before the Forest Council was about to disband in search of mates, I introduced a Bill to provide funds for a sanctuary for Man. A place where men would be able to live unmolested, and where they would create beautiful things for us. I have become convinced that we Bears cannot make the beautiful things; we have no feeling for it. Only Man seems to have this divine ability. When I told the Elders of the Council of my thoughts they scoffed and asked what had made a Bruin of my rank even consider such fantastic ideas.

I told them of how I had captured a man last winter near the ruins of the Great City. I had kept him alive, over the objections of my hungry cubs, when I discovered that he could make the beautiful things. I told them of how my family had learned to appreciate the delicate art of my man and had gained great pleasure from it. I was certain that other Bears would also be benefited if they had the opportunity to obtain similar works of art.

The Elders said nothing until I showed them samples of my man’s work. They then roared with displeasure and said that Bears had no need for such frivolities. Bears had need only for the stout club and the sharp fang. The things my man had made, they said, were born of the same dark thoughts that had led to the destruction of Mankind by the Thunder Gods.

At the mention of the sacred Gods the Elders bowed their heads reverently. It is written, in the Holy Books found in the Great City, that the Thunder Gods destroyed the cities of men because of their sinful ways. They leveled their cities with the Fires That Burned Forever, the same fires which had given the Bears the ability to think, and to use their paws like hands. This was done so that we might inherit the Earth. The Elders believed that it was the God-given mission of the Bears to destroy the remnants of Mankind and not to perpetuate its follies. They could not support my proposal.

Their blind dogmatism, and their refusal to pursue my thoughts any further angered me to a point where I challenged the Council thusly: at the next session of the Council I would present much more conclusive proof that man can create beautiful, important, things for us. If, after due consideration, the Elders found my proof convincing then they must open a state sanctuary; otherwise, if they refused to give me even this opportunity to prove my theory, they must be prepared to meet my wrath in the mating arena.

The Elders of the Council sat in deep thought for a while, rubbing their backs on the thick trees that ringed the Council clearing. A Prince’s challenge, such as mine, cannot be taken lightly. They asked me how I intended to obtain this conclusive proof I spoke of. I told them that I would open a sanctuary, at my own expense, where men would make the beautiful things for me. I was certain that many men working together, under my protection, could create much greater things than my lone slave is able to do. Things that would convince the Elders of Man’s ability. The Elders muttered among themselves for some time but they finally agreed to my proposal; with the condition that they should not be expected to reimburse me for my experiments if my proposal was not adopted.

I agreed to their condition and proceeded to carry out my plans the very next day. I unearthed the greater part of my wealth and spent it wildly in a frenzy to have my project begun. First I bought an old den on the property of my neighbor. I ordered it cleared of its bones and refuse and be made ready for habitation. While the cave was being readied I set out to capture a group of humans to occupy it. I organized a hunting party. Beaters were sent out first; they flushed the humans from their holes in the ground and into the open. The men were fleet of foot and soon outran us but we were able to catch one female, too heavy with child to run. We used her as the bait. The beaters prodded her with sharp sticks to make her cry out. Humans are very curious by nature and after a while some of them returned to see what the noise was about. We captured six men this way quite easily and were forced to kill only one of them, a young one, who had thrown himself like a crazed dog at my head beater. I was sorry to have lost him but I received a good price for his carcass from the butcher.