Short Fiction by Robert Sheckley (interesting novels in english txt) 📕

“Now listen to me carefully, Deg,” Professor Carver said. He spoke of the sacred duties of science. Science, he told the medicine man, was above race, above creed, above religion. The advancement of science was above life itself. What did it matter, after all, if a few more Lorayans died? They would die eventually anyhow. The important thing was for Terran science to have a sample of sersee.

“It may be as you say,” Deg said. “But my choice is clear. As a priest of the Sunniheriat religion, I have a sacred trust to preserve the lives of my people. I cannot go against this trust.”

He turned and walked off. The Earthmen frustratedly returned to their spaceship.

After coffee, Professor Carver opened a drawer and took out the manuscript of Underlying Causes for the Implicit Inferiority of Non-Terran Races. Lovingly he read over the last chapter, the chapter that dealt with the specialized inferiorities of the Lorayan people. Then he put the manuscript away.

“Almost finished, Fred,” he told his assistant. “Another week’s work, two weeks at the most!”

“Um,” Fred replied, staring at the village through a porthole.

“This will do it,” Carver said. “This book will prove, once and for all, the natural superiority of Terrans. We have proven it by force of arms, Fred, and we have proven it by our technology. Now it is proven by the impersonal processes of logic.”

Fred nodded. He knew the professor was quoting from the book’s introduction.

“Nothing must interfere with the great work,” Carver said. “You agree with that, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Fred said absentmindedly. “The book comes first. Put the gooks in their place.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly mean that. But you know what I mean. Under the circumstances, perhaps we should forget about sersee. Perhaps we should just finish the job we started.”

Fred turned and faced his employer. “Professor, how much do you expect to make out of this book?”

“Hm? Well, the last did quite well, you will remember. This book should do even better. Ten, perhaps twenty thousand dollars!” He permitted himself a small smile. “I am fortunate, you see, in my subject matter. The general public of Earth seems to be rather interested in it, which is gratifying for a scientist.”

“Say you even make fifty thousand. Chicken feed! Do you know what we could make on a test tube of sersee?”

“A hundred thousand?” Carver said vaguely.

“Are you kidding? Suppose a rich guy was dying and we had the only thing to cure him. He’d give everything he owned! Millions!”

“I believe you’re right,” Carver agreed. “And it would be a valuable scientific advancement.⁠ ⁠… But the medicine man unfortunately won’t give us any.”

“Buying isn’t the only way.” Fred unholstered his revolver and checked the chambers.

“I see, I see,” Carver said, his red face turning slightly pale. “But have we the right?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, they are inferior. I believe I have proven that conclusively. You might indeed say that their lives don’t weigh heavily in the scheme of things. Hm, yes⁠—yes, Fred, we could save Terran lives with this!”

“We could save our own lives,” Fred said. “Who wants to punk out ahead of time?”

Carver stood up and determinedly loosened his gun in its holster. “Remember,” he told Fred, “we are doing this in the name of science, and for Earth.”

“Absolutely, Professor,” Fred said, moving toward the port, grinning.

They found Deg near the medicine hut. Carver said, without preamble, “We must have some sersee.”

“But I explained to you,” said the medicine man. “I told you why it was impossible.”

“We gotta have it,” Fred said. He pulled his revolver from its holster and looked ferociously at Deg.

“No.”

“You think I’m kidding?” Fred asked. “You know what this weapon can do?”

“I have seen you use it.”

“Maybe you think I won’t use it on you.”

“I do not care. You can have no sersee.”

“I’ll shoot,” Fred warned, his voice rising angrily. “I swear to you, I’ll shoot.”

The villagers of Loray slowly gathered behind their medicine man. Gray-skinned, knobby-headed, they moved silently into position, the hunters carrying their spears, other villagers armed with knives and stones.

“You cannot have the sersee,” Deg said.

Fred slowly leveled the revolver.

“Now, Fred,” said Carver, “there’s an awful lot of them. Do you really think⁠—”

Fred’s thin body tightened and his finger grew taut and white on the trigger. Carver closed his eyes.

There was a moment of dead silence. Then the revolver exploded. Carver warily opened his eyes.

The medicine man was still erect, although his knees were shaking. Fred was pulling back the hammer of the revolver. The villagers had made no sound. It was a moment before Carver could figure out what had happened. At last he saw the Sweeper.

The Sweeper lay on his face, his outstretched left hand still clutching his twig broom, his legs twitching feebly. Blood welled from the hole Fred had neatly drilled through his forehead.

Deg bent over the Sweeper, then straightened. “He is dead,” the medicine man said.

“That’s just the first,” Fred warned, taking aim at a hunter.

“No!” cried Deg.

Fred looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“I will give it to you,” Deg said. “I will give you all our sersee juice. Then you must go!”

He ran into the medicine hut and reappeared a moment later with three wooden tubes, which he thrust into Fred’s hands.

“We’re in business, Professor,” Fred said. “Let’s get moving!”

They walked past the silent villagers, toward their spaceship. Something bright flashed in the sunlight. Fred yipped and dropped his revolver. Professor Carver hastily scooped it up.

“One of those gooks cut me,” Fred said. “Give me the revolver!”

A spear arced high and buried itself at their feet.

“Too many of them,” said Carver. “Let’s run for it!”

They sprinted to their ship with spears and knives singing around them, reached it safely and bolted the port.

“Too close,” Carver said, panting for breath, leaning against the dogged port. “Have you got the serum?”

“I got it,” said Fred, rubbing his arm. “Damn!”

“What’s wrong?”

“My arm. It feels numb.”

Carver examined the wound, pursed his lips thoughtfully, but made no comment.

“It’s numb,” Fred said. “I wonder