Arthur Zirul - Final Exam

The captain, the first officer, and the chief navigator landed closest to the rendezvous point. In fact, they were practically on it when they floated to Earth on a narrow strip of beach in the Gravesend section of Brooklyn. Since it was quite early in the morning at the time of their arrival, no one saw them land. By daylight, the three had shucked their spacesuits and were sitting on the beach munching their emergency rations. The captain spread out the map, studied it for a while and then looked down the bay towards Manhattan.

“Our rendezvous point is just a few land-units north of here. There’s a small clearing at the entrance to the harbor where I planned for us to meet. Across the harbor, there’s an island which is literally covered with seventh-level structures. We will make our contact with this planet’s civilization there.”

“Sir,” the chief navigator said, “why don’t we make our contact right here and now? I noticed a large number of seventh-level structures just a little to the east.”

“We might,” the captain nodded, “but I’d rather stick to interstellar protocol. We’ll wait for the rest of the crew to assemble before we make formal contact. Besides, I’d like to consult with the alien sociologist about this culture—if his group made it, that is.”

“Huge structures, aren’t they, sir?” the first officer observed as he sat staring at the distant buildings.

“Yes,” the captain agreed. “There must be millions of them in that city.”

So engrossed were they with the skyline, they didn’t see the little girl walking with schoolbooks in her arms on the sidewalk that paralleled the beach. They did hear her shriek of terror though and spun around with weapons at ready, in time to see her running back in the direction from which she had come. Her schoolbooks lay discarded where she had dropped them in her wild flight.

“What in the name of Jeleval was that?” the first asked in a frightened whisper.

“Did you see it, sir?” the navigator turned to the captain.

“Yes, I saw it.” The captain was visibly shaken.

The girl ran headlong into a patroling policeman. It took only a few hysterical words to send him racing back along the walk tugging under his blouse for his revolver.

“Listen! I think I hear it coming back!” the first reported.

“No, it’s another one,” the navigator said. “There it is now, coming towards us!”

The first cried, “Look at the size of the brute!”

The policeman skidded to a stop about ten yards from the trio. His face drained to a chalk-white for an instant; then he snapped his gun up lo firing position. The first shot went wild and kicked sand into the captain’s face.

“Take cover!” the captain yelled.

The three sprang apart with unbelievable swiftness, and flung themselves behind the nearest obstructions.

“Hold your fire,” the captain commanded. “Maybe we can reason with it.”

The policeman was debating with himself whether to go back for help, or to get the creatures by himself. He was no hero, but he shuddered to think of those things running loose in the city. Suddenly one of the creatures rose up from behind a rock and began to chatter unintelligibly at him. A .38 slug barely missed taking the captain’s head off.

“Take him with your paralyzer!” the captain shouted at the first officer. “It’s just our luck to run into an insane one.”

The policeman barely saw the blue beam that penciled out of the officer’s gun. With a choked gasp he fell hard to the beach and lay there, unmoving.

Mike Honosura breathed slowly. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to run, but the chill that radiated from his stomach seemed to freeze him where he sat. His eyes stayed riveted on the three beings as they waddled towards him. At first they looked like green, fuzz-covered beach balls, about two feet in diameter. As they drew closer he saw that they walked on short, purple stumps. Two fingered tentacles extended from under a small, saucer-eyed head that surmounted the ball shape. The creatures wore belts about the equators of their bodies. Fastened to the belts were several instruments; none of which Honosura was familiar with. Not that he was particularly interested in what they were wearing at the time.

When Alma, Amika, and Babla first caught sight of Honosura sitting there they recoiled with almost as much horror as Honosura had when he first saw them.

“In all my experience,” Babla said in a hushed voice, “I have never seen anything quite so terrifying. Can this be an example of the intelligent life native to this planet?”

“I doubt it.” The radio operator nervously fingered his blast pistol. “Besides, even if it were, my bet is that it’s barbarian. Look at those houses; they barely reach fourth-level, let alone fifth. I say shoot first and make apologies later.”

“You’re an idiot!” Babla barked. “I tell you we saw seventh-level structures on this planet. Use your reason, man, this place must represent some antiquated transitional phase from the lower levels. These creatures probably preserve it as some sort of museum. I personally assure you that seventh-level and fourth-level buildings simply do not coexist in the same culture. Now put up your blaster!”

Honosura began to move a little. He wanted to run more than he had ever wanted anything else before. He was just beginning to get his terror-frozen muscles under control again.

“Help! Help!” he screamed. “Call the sheriff! They are devils!”

“What do you suppose it wants?” Alma asked.

“Probably extending us some sort of greeting,” Babla guessed. “I’ll try talking to it, maybe it can lake us to the local leaders.”

At the sound of Babla’s chatter Honosura stopped screaming and resumed staring.

“Better use interstellar sign talk,” Alma nudged Babla. “I don’t think it understands our language.”

“Oh yes, stupid of me,” Babla flustered. “I’ll try sketches.”

Babla began to draw a triangle in the dusL of the road. His little experiment was cut short, however, by the sound of voices. Looking up, the three saw a herd of the terrestrials thundering down upon them.

“Hold your ground!” Babla ordered. “Don’t show fear under any circumstances!”

Ilitch’s wife, hearing the dull thud of her husband as he hit the ground, came out to investigate. One horrified shriek later she was bolting out of the rear door of the hut, over the fence, and on to the back of Meina, the horse, who had been quietly grazing in the field behind the house. With a shout and a kick the animal clattered off, almost as frightened as its mistress.

“Barbarians, no doubt of it,” Cakna, the second navigator, slated with finality as he checked the loads in his blaster.

“All, the certainty of youth,” Druit, the chief engineer, sighed. “I’ll admit that they’re ugly as sin, but did it ever occur to you, Cakna, that as far as they’re concerned we’re no beauties either. As a matter of fact we’re not even sure who the intellects around here are—barbarians or otherwise. There’s a thing there in the doorway; another thing came out a moment ago, scrambled on top of still another thing, and beat it. Which one of the three represents the leading intelligence of the planet?”

“If any,” Drul added. “Look, Cakna, I’ll admit that this set-up looks strange, but let’s remember that this is unexplored territory. We’ve never run into anything like it before—and neither has anyone else.”

“Check,” Druit agreed. “I say sit tight for a while. If the captain and the sociologist said that this is an advanced culture, I’ll string along with their judgment.”