Harry Harrison Super Pack. Harry Harrison
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Rhes broke in impatiently. “The talkers look after the animals. They train the dogs and doryms, and the better ones like Naxa are always trying to work with other beasts. They dress crudely, but they have to. I’ve heard them say that the animals don’t like chemicals, metal or tanned leather, so they wear untanned furs for the most part. But don’t let the dirt fool you, it has nothing to do with his intelligence.”
“Doryms? Are those your carrying beasts—the kind we rode coming here?”
Rhes nodded. “Doryms are more than pack animals, they’re really a little bit of everything. The large males pull the ploughs and other machines, while the younger animals are used for meat. If you want to know more, ask Naxa, you’ll find him in the barn.”
“I’d like to do that,” Jason said, standing up. “Only I feel undressed without my gun—”
“Take it, by all means, it’s in that chest by the door. Only watch out what you shoot around here.”
*
Naxa was in the rear of the barn, filing down one of the spadelike toenails of a dorym. It was a strange scene. The fur-dressed man with the great beast—and the contrast of a beryllium-copper file and electroluminescent plates lighting the work.
The dorym opened its nostrils and pulled away when Jason entered; Naxa patted its neck and talked softly until it quieted and stood still, shivering slightly.
Something stirred in Jason’s mind, with the feeling of a long unused muscle being stressed. A hauntingly familiar sensation.
“Good morning,” Jason said. Naxa grunted something and went back to his filing. Watching him for a few minutes, Jason tried to analyze this new feeling. It itched and slipped aside when he reached for it, escaping him. Whatever it was, it had started when Naxa had talked to the dorym.
“Could you call one of the dogs in here, Naxa? I’d like to see one closer up.”
Without raising his head from his work, Naxa gave a low whistle. Jason was sure it couldn’t have been heard outside of the barn. Yet within a minute one of the Pyrran dogs slipped quietly in. The talker rubbed the beast’s head, mumbling to it, while the animal looked intently into his eyes.
The dog became restless when Naxa turned back to work on the dorym. It prowled around the barn, sniffing, then moved quickly towards the open door. Jason called it back.
At least he meant to call it. At the last moment he said nothing. Nothing aloud. On sudden impulse he kept his mouth closed—only he called the dog with his mind. Thinking the words come here, directing the impulse at the animal with all the force and direction he had ever used to manipulate dice. As he did it he realized it had been a long time since he had even considered using his psi powers.
The dog stopped and turned back towards him.
It hesitated, looking at Naxa, then walked over to Jason.
Seen this closely the beast was a nightmare hound. The hairless protective plates, tiny red-rimmed eyes, and countless, saliva-dripping teeth did little to inspire confidence. Yet Jason felt no fear. There was a rapport between man and animal that was understood. Without conscious thought he reached out and scratched the dog along the back, where he knew it itched.
“Didn’t know y’re a talker,” Naxa said. As he watched them, there was friendship in his voice for the first time.
“I didn’t know either—until just now,” Jason said. He looked into the eyes of the animal before him, scratched the ridged and ugly back, and began to understand.
The talkers must have well developed psi facilities, that was obvious now. There is no barrier of race or alien form when two creatures share each other’s emotions. Empathy first, so there would be no hatred or fear. After that direct communication. The talkers might have been the ones who first broke through the barrier of hatred on Pyrrus and learned to live with the native life. Others could have followed their example—this might explain how the community of “grubbers” had been formed.
Now that he was concentrating on it, Jason was aware of the soft flow of thoughts around him. The consciousness of the dorym was matched by other like patterns from the rear of the barn. He knew without going outside that more of the big beasts were in the field back there.
“This is all new to me,” Jason said. “Have you ever thought about it, Naxa? What does it feel like to be a talker? I mean, do you know why it is you can get the animals to obey you while other people have no luck at all?”
Thinking of this sort troubled Naxa. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and scowled as he answered. “Nev’r thought about it. Just do it. Just get t’know the beast real good, then y’can guess what they’re going t’do. That’s all.”
It was obvious that Naxa had never thought about the origin of his ability to control the animals. And if he hadn’t—probably no one else had. They had no reason to. They simply accepted the powers of talkers as one of the facts of life.
Ideas slipped towards each other in his mind, like the pieces of a puzzle joining together. He had told Kerk that the native life of Pyrrus had joined in battle against mankind, he didn’t know why. Well—he still didn’t know why, but he was getting an idea of the “how.”
“About how far are we from the city?” Jason asked. “Do you have an idea how long it would take us to get there by dorym?”
“Half a day there—half back. Why? Y’want to go?”
“I don’t want to get into the city, not yet. But I would like to get close to it,” Jason told him.
“See what Rhes say,” was Naxa’s answer.
*
Rhes granted instant permission without asking any questions. They saddled up and left at once, in order to complete the round trip before dark.
They had been traveling less than an hour before Jason knew they were going in the direction of the city. With each minute the feeling grew stronger. Naxa was aware of it too, stirring in the saddle with unvoiced feelings. They had to keep touching and reassuring their mounts which were growing skittish and restless.
“This is far enough,” Jason said. Naxa gratefully pulled to a stop.
The wordless thought beat through Jason’s mind, filling it. He could feel it on all sides—only much stronger ahead of them in the direction of the unseen city. Naxa and the doryms reacted in the same way, restlessly uncomfortable, not knowing the cause.
One thing was obvious now. The Pyrran animals were sensitive to psi radiation—probably the plants and lower life forms as well. Perhaps they communicated by it, since they obeyed the men who had a strong control of it. And in this area was a wash of psi radiation such as he had never experienced before. Though his personal talents specialized in psychokinesis—the mental control of inanimate matter—he was still sensitive to most mental phenomena. Watching a sports event he had many times felt the unanimous accord of many minds expressing the same thought. What he felt now was like that.
Only terribly different. A crowd exulted at some success on the field, or groaned at a failure. The feeling fluxed and changed as the game progressed. Here the wash of thought was unending, strong and frightening. It didn’t translate into words very well. It was part hatred, part fear—and all destruction.
“KILL THE ENEMY” was as close as Jason could express it. But it was more than that. An unending river of mental outrage and death.
“Let’s go back now,” he said, suddenly battered and sickened by the feelings he had let wash through him. As they started the return trip he began to understand many things.
His sudden unspeakable fear when the Pyrran animal had attacked him that first day on the planet. And his recurrent nightmares that had never completely ceased, even with drugs. Both of these were his reaction to the hatred directed at the city. Though for some reason he hadn’t felt it directly up to now, enough had reached through to