Fantastic Stories Presents the Fantastic Universe Super Pack #3. Fredric Brown
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George cut off its engine.
Over Good Fox’s shoulder hung a small clay water jug hung in a plaited yucca net. George asked for a drink from it and when he tasted it and found it fresh it was wondrous to him that its water was hundreds of years old. He brought out a thermos, showing the Indians the modern version of carrying water. They tasted of its contents and exclaimed at its coolness. Good Fox held the thermos, admiring it.
“Would you like to have it?” asked George.
“You would give it to me?” the handsome young Indian asked.
“It’s yours.”
“Then I give you mine.” He gave George his clay water jug and could not know how much more valuable it was than the thermos.
George then took them to the portable television set and turned it on. When faces, music, and words appeared the Indians jerked back, then jabbered and gathered closer to watch. A girl singer, clad in a gown that came up to her neck, caused Moon Water to inquire, “Why does she hide herself? Is she ashamed?”
The standards of modesty, George reflected as he glanced at the lovely nude form of the prehistoric Indian girl, change with the ages.
Of the people and noises on the TV screen Good Fox wanted to know quite solemnly, “Are these crazy people? Is it the way you treat your people who go crazy?”
George laughed. “You might say it’s something like that.”
A shout came from Sidney at the card table near the tent where he was taking down Huk’s story. “George! He’s just told me why the cliff people left! And why the desert people will have to leave in time. It’s a reason we never thought of! It’s because—”
Just then a big multi-engined plane came over, drowning out his words. The Indians stared skyward, now in great alarm. They looked about for a place to run and hide, but there was none. They held their hands over their ears and glanced fearfully at the TV which now spluttered, its picture and sound thrown off by the plane. Awesomely, they waited until the plane went over.
“We fly now in machines with wings,” George explained.
“To make such a noise in the air,” Moon Water said, “is wicked, destroying all peace.”
“I’ll agree with you there,” said George.
“You have this,” Good Fox observed, indicating the TV, which was now back to normal, “and you send the other through the sky to make it crazier than before.” He shook his head, not comprehending.
George shut off the TV. He took up a camera of the kind that automatically finishes a picture in a minute’s time. Grouping Good Fox, Moon Water and the other warriors, he took their picture, waited, then pulled it out and showed it to them.
They cried out, one man shouting in fear, “It is great magic!”
George took a number of photographs, including several of Huk as he sat talking with Sidney. No matter what happened he would have this record as Sidney would have that he was taking down on the typewriter.
Next he showed them a pair of binoculars, teaching them how to look through them. They exclaimed and Good Fox said, “With this we could see our enemies before they see us.”
“You have enemies?” George asked.
“The Apache,” Good Fox said fiercely.
George handed him the binoculars. “It is yours to use against the Apache.”
Solemnly the young chief answered, “The man with white skin is thanked. The red man gives in return his atlatl and lances.” He held out his throwing stick and unslung his quiver of lances. George accepted them with thanks; they would be museum pieces.
Finally George showed them a rifle. He looked about for game and after some searching saw a rabbit sitting on a mound in the excavations. As he took aim Good Fox asked, “You would hunt it with your stick?”
George nodded.
“This cannot be done from here,” stated one warrior.
George squeezed the trigger. Instantaneously with the explosion of the shell the rabbit jumped high and then came down, limp and dead. The Indians yelled with fright and ran off in all directions. Huk jumped up from the table. Then all stopped and cautiously returned. One went to the rabbit and picked it up, bringing it back. All, including Huk who left the table, stared with fright at it and at the rifle.
Moon Water expressed their opinion of it. “The thunder of the killing stick is evil.”
“Moon Water speaks the truth,” said Huk.
“It would make hunting easy,” said Good Fox, “but we do not want it even if given to us.”
He drew back from the rifle, and the others edged away from it.
George put it down.
Sidney held up a sheaf of papers. “I’ve got it all, George,” he said exultantly in English, “right here! I asked Huk if they can stay with us in our time, at least for a while. We can study them more, maybe even take them back to show the world.”
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t have a chance to reply when you shot the rifle.”
George put it formally to the Indians, addressing Huk, Good Fox, Moon Water and the rest. “You have seen something of the modern world. We would like you to stay in it if it is your wish. I don’t know how long you could stay in Huk’s vision, but if you can remain here permanently and not go back to your time and—well, not being alive there any more—we hope you will consider this.”
Huk replied, “It is possible that we could stay in your time, at least as long as my vision lasts, which might be for as long as I lived.” He glanced at Good Fox.
The young chief in turn looked at Moon Water. Her gaze went to the station wagon, to the TV, then up at the sky where the plane had appeared, at the rifle, the camera, the thermos, and all else of the white man. She seemed to weigh their values and disadvantages, looking dubious and doubtful.
Good Fox announced, “We will hold a council about it. As is our custom, all have words to say about such a thing.”
Abruptly he led his people away, into the excavations and over a slight rise of ground, behind which they disappeared.
Sidney murmured, “I don’t like that so much.”
“They must do as they want.” George led the way to the card table and they sat there. On it rested Huk’s aspergill.
“He gave it to me,” Sidney explained.
George placed Good Fox’s netted clay water jug and his atlatl and furred quiver of lances on the table, together with the pictures he had taken of the ancient Indians. They waited.
Sidney, glancing at the low hill behind which the Indians had gone, said, “What they’re doing is choosing between living in modern civilization and remaining dead. What do you think they’ll do?”
“I don’t know,” said George. “They didn’t think so much of us.”
“But they couldn’t choose death and complete oblivion!”
“We’ll see.”
They waited some more.
“At least,” said Sidney, indicating the articles on the table, “we’ll have these for evidence.” He held up the sheaf of papers containing Huk’s story. “And this, giving the real reason the cliff dwellers left. I haven’t told you what it was, George. It’s so simple that—”
He didn’t complete his sentence, for just then Huk, Good Fox, Moon Water, and the other warriors made their choice. It was announced dramatically.
The water jug, the aspergill, and the atlatl and quiver of lances