Robert Sheckley - Restricted Area

It stopped and looked at the Language Approach manual, fluttering in the air, and at the back of the linguist, who, with remarkable patience, had refrained from throttling him.

After Morena and Flynn returned, Kilpepper puzzled over their report. He had the photographs rushed through and studied them with care.

The shaft was round and smooth and obviously manufactured. Any race that could put up a thing like that could give them trouble. Big trouble.

But who had put the shaft up? Not the happy, stupid animals around the ship, certainly.

'You say the top is hidden in the clouds?' Kilpepper asked.

'Yes sir,' Morena said. 'That damn thing must be all of a mile high.'

'Go back,' Kilpepper said. 'Take a radarscope. Take infra-red equipment. Get me a picture of the top of that shaft. I want to know how high it goes and what's on top of it. Quick.'

Flynn and Morena left the bridge.

Kilpepper looked at the still-wet photographs for a minute longer, then put them down. He wandered into the ship's lab, vague worries nagging at him. The planet didn't make sense, and that bothered him. Kilpepper had discovered the hard way that there's a pattern to everything. If you can't find it in time, that's just too bad for you.

Morrison, the bacteriologist, was a small, sad man. Right now he looked like an extension of the microscope he was peering into.

'Find anything?' Kilpepper asked.

'I've found the absence of something,' Morrison said, looking up and blinking. 'I've found the absence of a hell of a lot of something.'

'What's that?' Kilpepper asked.

'I've run tests on the flowers,' Morrison said, 'and I've run tests on the earth, and tests on water samples. Nothing definitive yet, but brace yourself.'

'I'm braced. What is it?'

'There isn't an ounce of bacteria on this planet!'

'Oh?' Kilpepper said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. He didn't consider it a particularly shocking announcement. But the bacteriologist was acting as if he had announced that the subsoil of the planet was one hundred per cent pure green cheese.

'That's it. The water in the stream is purer than distilled alcohol. The dirt on this planet is cleaner than a boiled scalpel. The only bacteria are the ones we brought. And they're being killed off.'

'How?'

'The air of this place has about three disinfecting agents I've detected, and probably a dozen more I haven't. Same with the dirt and water. This place is sterile!'

'Well, now,' Kilpepper said. He couldn't appreciate the full force of the statement. He was still worried about the steel shaft. 'What does that mean?'

'I'm glad you asked me that,' Morrison said. 'Yes, I'm really glad you asked me. It means simply that this place doesn't exist.'

'Oh, come now.'

'I mean it. There can't be life without micro-organisms. One whole section of the life cycle is missing here.'

'Unfortunately, it does exist,' Kilpepper pointed out gently. 'Have you any other theories?'

'Yes, but I want to finish these tests first. But I'll tell you one thing, and maybe you can work it out for yourself.'

'Go on.'

'I haven't been able to detect a piece of rock on this planet. That's not strictly my field, of course - but we're all jacks-of-all-trades on this expedition. Anyhow, I'm interested in geology. There's no loose rock or stone anywhere around. The smallest stone is about seven tons, I'd estimate.'

'What does that mean?'

'Ah! You were wondering also?' Morrison smiled. 'Excuse me. I want to complete these tests before supper.'

Just before sunset, the X-rays of the animals were finished. Kilpepper had another surprise. Morrison had told him that the planet couldn't exist. Then Simmons insisted the animals couldn't exist.

'Just look at these pictures,' he said to Kilpepper. 'Look. Do you see any organs?'

'I don't know much about X-rays.'

'You don't have to. Just look.' The X-ray showed a few bones and one or two organs. There were traces of a nervous system on some of the pictures but, mostly, the animals seemed homogeneous throughout.

'There isn't enough internal structure to keep a tapeworm going,' Simmons said. 'This simplification is impossible. There's nothing that corresponds to lungs or heart. No bloodstream. No brain. Damn little nervous system. What organs they have just don't make sense.'

'And your conclusion—'

'That these animals don't exist,' Simmons said in high good humour. He liked the idea. It would be fun to do a paper on a non-existent animal. Aramic passed them, swearing softly.

'Any luck on that lingo?' Simmons asked him.

'No!' Aramic shouted, then blushed. 'Sorry. I tested them right down to intelligence grade C3BB. That's amoeba class. No response.'

'Perhaps they're just completely brainless,' Kilpepper suggested.

'No. The ability to do tricks shows a certain level of intelligence. They have a language of sorts, also, and a definite response pattern. But they won't pay any attention. All they do is sing songs.'

'I think we all need supper,' Kilpepper said. 'And perhaps a slug or two of the old standby.'

The old standby was much in evidence at supper. After a fifth or two had been consumed, the scientists mellowed sufficiently to consider some possibilities. They put together their facts.

Item, the natives - or animals - showed no sign of internal organs, no reproductive or excretive equipment.

There seemed to be at least three dozen species, not counting birds, and more appearing every day.

The same with the plants.

Item , the planet was amazingly sterile and acted to keep itself so.

Item, the natives had a language but evidently couldn't impart it to others. Nor could they learn another language.

Item, there were no small rocks or stones around.

Item, there was a tremendous steel shaft, rising to a height of at least half a mile, exact height to be determined when the new pictures were developed. Although there was no sign of a machine culture, the shaft was obviously the product of one. Someone must have built it and put it there.

Throw it all together and what have you got?' Kilpepper asked.

'I have a theory,' Morrison said. 'It's a beautiful theory. Would you care to hear it?'

Everyone said yes except Aramic, who was still brooding over his inability to learn the native language.

'The way I see it, this planet is man-made. It must be. No race would evolve without bacteria. It was made by a super race, the race who put that steel spire there. They built it for these animals.'

'Why?' Kilpepper asked.

'This is the beautiful part,' Morrison said dreamily. 'Pure altruism. Look at the natives. Happy, playful. Completely devoid of violence, rid of all nasty habits. Don't they deserve a world to themselves? A world where they can romp and play in an eternal summer?'

'That is beautiful,' Kilpepper said, stifling a grin. 'But—'

'These people are here as a reminder,' Morrison continued. 'A message to all passing races that man can live in peace.'

'There's only one flaw in that,' Simmons said. 'The animals could never have evolved naturally. You saw the X-rays.'

'That's true.' The dreamer struggled briefly with the biologist, and the dreamer lost. 'Perhaps they're robots.'

'That's the explanation I favour,' Simmons said. 'The way I see it, the race that built the steel spire built these animals, also. They're servants, slaves. Why, they might even think we're their masters.'

'Where would the real masters have gone?' Morrison asked.

'How the hell should I know?' Simmons said.

'And where would these masters live?' Kilpepper asked. 'We haven't spotted anything that looks like a habitation.'

'They're so far advanced they don't need machines or houses. They live directly with nature.'