Kenneth Bulmer (ed) by New Writings in SF 29

Author:New Writings in SF 29
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-09-04T19:32:14+00:00

Walsh swallowed, put out his hand, hesitated. Sears shrugged. 'One chance in four.' He drew. No knot.

Legrain stepped forward, quickly, snatched a hair, pursed his lips as he found it smooth. Walsh smiled, 'Even odds.' He drew and muscles bunched on his thick shoulders.

Chappell looked at the remaining hair. It was knotted. As if in ironical reward a cup of water appeared at his feet.

The aliens were cunning, he thought, bleakly. Diabolically so. They had struck at the prime dynamic, the instinct of self-preservation, the fundamental urge of the entire human race. Perhaps of all races. That, at least, was a thing they would hold in common.

The water had tasted like nectar but he hadn't really enjoyed it. He had gulped it down, conscious of the envious stares, the barely restrained craving of his companions. Almost he had felt ashamed; but deep within something had gloated because he was going to survive.

Until, of course, Walsh realized that he was the strongest, that agreements meant nothing, and that he could have all the water, safely and completely, simply by first killing the other three.

That would be the barbaric solution to the problem and the red proof of the survival of the fittest; but no society which hadn't risen above such primitive methods could call itself civilized. Was that, he wondered, the purpose of the test? To determine if the veneer of civilization was strong enough to imprison the beast?

And why had no women been included in the group? Would that have made it too easy? The procreators of the race were always protected unless they were old and ugly and, in civilized societies, even then.

Chappell stirred restlessly on the floor. He lay apart from the others as if already isolated. For want of anything better to do he rose and again examined the walls. They were smooth, of a peculiar substance which gave them the appearance of vertical pools, the surface highly polished with highlights within so that the fingers met the obstruction before the mind was ready for it. An optical illusion, of course, he had seen something like it in a hall of marble with panels of polished jet.

Time passed. The next drink appeared directly before

Walsh, almost touching his foot. His arm twitched but he made no other move. Chappell hesitated then drank it down. The same with the next. The third was wasted.

Like the others it appeared directly before the big man. Both he and Chappell reached for it together. Before the others could interfere the damage had been done.

Chappell reeled back, head singing, the salt taste of blood in his mouth from hammered lips. The water spread in an evaporating pool at the side of the struggling trio.

'You see what I mean?' he said, bitterly, is it impossible to prove that we are human, not animal? Don't you realize that is just what they were waiting to see if we would do?'

'All right, Doc,' croaked Legrain. 'Don't be too hard on him. He's half crazy. Weil see it doesn't happen again.

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