Clifford Simak - A Death in the House - And Other Stories

On one of the walks I took, with the guards trailing along beside me, I found out something else that made my eyes bug. They were installing a twelve-foot woven fence, topped with barbed wire, all around the area.

And inside the fence, there were so many guards, they almost walked on one another.

I was a little scared when I got back from the walk, because from what I saw, this thing I’d been pitchforked into was bigger and more important than I had ever dreamed. Up until then, I’d figured it was just a matter of the colonel having his neck stuck out so far, he could never pull it back. All along, I had been feeling sorry for him because that general looked like the kind of gent who would stand for just so much tomfoolery before he lowered the boom.

It was about this time that they began to dig a big pit out in the center of one of the runways. I went over one day to watch it and it didn’t make no sense at all. Here they had a nice, smooth runway they’d spent a lot of money to construct and now they were digging it up to make what looked like a swimming pool. I asked around about it, but the people that I talked to either didn’t know or they weren’t talking.

Me and Stinky kept on sitting in the planes. We were on our sixth one now. And there wasn’t any change. I sat, bored stiff, while Stinky took it easy.

One evening the colonel sent a sergeant over to say he’d like to see me.

I went in and sat down and put Stinky on the desk. He lay down on top of it and looked from one to the other of us.

“Asa,” said the colonel, “I think we got it made.”

“You mean you been getting stuff?”

“We’ve got enough we actually understand to give us unquestioned air superiority. We’re a good ten years, if not a hundred, depending on how much we can use, ahead of the rest of them. They’ll never catch us now.”

“But all Stinky did was sleep!”

“All he did,” the colonel said, “was to redesign each ship. In some instances, there were principles involved that don’t make a bit of sense, but I’ll bet they will later. And in other cases, what he did was so simple and so basic that we’re wondering why we never thought of it ourselves.”

“Colonel, what is Stinky?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You got an idea, though.”

“Sure, an idea. But that’s all it is. It embarrasses me even to think of it.”

“I don’t embarrass easy.”

“Okay, then—Stinky is like nothing on Earth. My guess is that he’s from some other planet, maybe even some other solar system. I think he crossed space to us. How or why, I have no notion. His ship might have been wrecked and he got into a lifeboat and made it here.”

“But if there was a lifeboat—”

“We’ve combed every foot of ground for miles around.”

“And no lifeboat?”

“No lifeboat,” said the colonel.

Getting that idea down took a little doing, but I did it. Then I got to wondering about something else.

“Colonel,” I said, “you claim Stinky fixed up the ships, made them even better. Now how could he have done that with no hands and just sleeping and never touching a thing?”

“You tell me,” said the colonel. “I’ve heard a bunch of guesses. The only one that makes any kind of sense—and cockeyed sense at that—is telekinesis.”

I sat there and admired that word. “What’s it mean, Colonel?” I wanted to use it on the boys at the tavern, if I ever got back there, and I wanted to get it right.

“Moving things by the power of thought,” he said.

“But there wasn’t nothing moved,” I objected. “All the improvements in Betsy and the planes came from right inside them, not stuff moved in.”

“That could be done by telekinesis, too.”

I shook my head, thoughtful-like. “Ain’t the way I see it.”

“Go ahead,” he sighed. “Let’s hear your theory. No reason you should be an exception.”

“I think Stinky’s got a kind of mental green thumb for machines,” I said. “Like some people got green thumbs for plants, only he’s got—”

The colonel took a long, hard frown at me. Then he nodded very slowly. “I see what you mean. Those new parts weren’t moved in or around. They were grown.”

“Something like that. Maybe he can make a machine come kind of alive and improve itself, grow parts that’ll make it a better and happier and more efficient machine.”

“Sounds silly when you say it,” the colonel said, “but it makes a lot more sense than any of the other ideas. Man’s been working with machines—real machines, that is—only a century or two. Make that ten thousand or a million years and it might not seem so silly.”

We sat in silence while the twilight crept into the room and I think the both of us must have been thinking the same thing. Thinking of the black night that lay out beyond Earth and of how Stinky must have crossed it. And wondering, too, about what kind of world he came from and why he might have left it and what happened to him out in the long dark that forced him to look for asylum on Earth.

Thinking, too, I guess, about the ironic circumstance that had cast him on a planet where his nearest counterpart was a little animal that no one cared to have much to do with.

“What I can’t understand,” the colonel said, “is why he does it. Why does he do it for us?”

“He doesn’t do it for us,” I answered. “He does it for the planes. He feels sorry for them.”

The door burst open and the general came tramping in. He was triumphant. Dusk had crept into the room and I don’t think he saw me.

“We got an okay!” he gloated. “The ship will be in tomorrow. The Pentagon agrees!”

“General,” said the colonel, “we’re pushing this too hard. It’s time for us to begin to lay some sort of grounds for basic understanding. We’ve grabbed what we can grab the quickest. We’ve exploited this little cuss right up to the hilt. We have a lot of data—”

“Not all we need!” the general bellowed. “What we have been doing has been just sort of practice. We have no data on the A-ship. That is where we need it.”

“What we need as well is an understanding of this creature. An understanding of how he does it. If we could talk to him—”

“Talk!” the general shouted.

“Yes, talk!” the colonel shouted back. “He keeps purring all the time. That may be his means of communication. The men who found him simply whistled and he came. That was communication. If we had a little patience—”

“We have no time for patience, Colonel.”

“General, we can’t simply wring him dry. He’s done a lot for us. Let’s give the little guy a break. He’s the one who has had the patience—waiting for us to communicate with him, hoping that someday we’ll recognize him for what he is!”

They were yelling at one another and the colonel must have forgotten I was there. It was embarrassing. I held out my arms to Stinky and he jumped into them. I tiptoed across the room and went out as quietly as I could.

That night, I lay in bed with Stinky curled up on the covers at my feet. The four guards sat in the room, quiet as watchful mice.

I thought about what the colonel had said to the general and my heart went out to Stinky. I thought how awful it would be if a man suddenly was dumped into a world of skunks who didn’t care a rap about him except that he could dig the deepest and slickest burrows that skunks had ever seen and that he could dig them quick. And there were so many burrows to be dug that not one of the skunks would take the time to understand this man, to try to talk with him or to help him out.

I lay there feeling sorry and wishing there was something I could do. Then Stinky came walking up the covers and crawled in under them with me and I put out my hand and held him tight against me while he purred softly at me. And that is how we went to sleep.