

















                             THE PACIFISTS

                         BY CHARLES E. FRITCH

               _Parker was a trouble maker wherever they
               landed. But here was the planet ideal, a
            chance he had awaited a long, long time--easy,
                  like taking candy from a baby...._

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                Worlds of If Science Fiction, May 1955.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Like a lone sentinel, the house stood apart at the edge of the village,
a white cube with no windows. The door stood open, a dark hole against
the white brick. The house was silent. The village beyond was silent.

"They must have seen us land," Compton said, a little wildly. "You
can't set down a rocket ship a hundred yards from somebody and not have
them notice. They must have seen us!"

"Unless no one lives here," Parker amended. "This may be a ghost city."

"He's right," Hinckley agreed. "There might not be anyone living here,
or anyplace on the planet for that matter. We've found very little life
in these alien star-systems, and it's varied from primitive to ancient.
Perhaps this society became old and died before any of us were born."

The three Earthmen stood at the base of the spaceship, their spacesuit
headpieces thrown back so they could breathe in the cool thin air. They
stood there peering into the deathly stillness.

"I hope there are people living here," Parker said. "It's been more
than a month now--"

"Well," Hinckley said, "let's find out." He waved them forward.

They were fifty feet from the house when a woman appeared in the
doorway with a silver vase. She was dressed in a grey flowing robe that
covered her from neck to ankles.

"A young woman," Hinckley breathed, staring. "A woman just like any on
Earth!"

His voice was loud in the silence, but the woman took no notice. She
stooped and began filling the vase with sand. The two men with Hinckley
shifted anxiously, settling the sand beneath their boots. Behind them
the great spaceship pointed its nose at the sky.

Parker was staring intently at the girl. "I'm going to like this
place," he said slowly.

They walked forward, crunching sand. But the girl took no notice of
their approach. She was kneeling beside the house, scooping tiny
handfuls of sand into the silver vase. When they were within five feet
of her, Hinckley cleared his throat. She did not look up. He coughed.

"Maybe she's deaf," Parker suggested vaguely. His eyes wandered
appraisingly over her youthful body; he licked dry lips.

Hinckley moved forward and stood before the girl. Her small white hands
dug into the sand, scooping around his boots as though not aware of
them.

"And blind, too?" Compton wanted to know. "And without the sense of
touch?" There was a strange quality to his voice, as though some
primitive part of his unconsciousness was telling him to run.

Hinckley bent to tap the girl lightly upon the shoulder. "Pardon me,
Miss. We're visitors from Earth," he told her.

But she paid no attention to the sound of his voice, and he stepped
back, puzzled.

"Now what?" Compton wanted to know. He looked around him nervously, at
the house, the speckled sand, the rocket squatting behind them. "I hope
all the natives aren't like this."

"I do," Parker said, licking his lips thoughtfully and keeping his gaze
on the girl. "I'd just as soon have them all like this. It might be
interesting."

Compton flushed. "What I meant--"

"He knows what you meant," Hinckley said harshly. "And there won't
be any of that going on here. You caused enough trouble on the other
planets, and it's not going to happen again, not while I'm in charge of
this expedition. We didn't come all the way out here just so you could
satisfy your romantic inclinations."

"And how about my off hours, _Captain_," Parker said, emphasizing the
word as though it were obscene; "then may I fraternize?"

"You have no off hours," Hinckley said sternly.

"Here comes another one," Compton warned in a whisper.

A man, dressed in robes similar to the woman's, came from the door of
the house and walked into the yard. After helping the woman to rise,
he picked up the vase, and the two of them went back inside the house.
He hadn't even looked at the Earthmen.

After awhile, Parker said, "Do you suppose they're both mirages?"

"Maybe that's it," Compton said. "Maybe it's all a mirage, the woman,
the vase, the man, the house, maybe even the planet itself." His voice
had risen in his excitement.

"Take it easy," Hinckley advised.

"Let's get back to the ship before the whole planet evaporates,"
Compton said.

"Go back if you like," Hinckley said. "I'm going to investigate this.
How about you, Parker?"

"Okay with me. Always wanted to see what makes a mirage tick." He
glanced contemptuously at Compton.

"Okay," Compton said, gripping his rifle, "we'll all make fools of
ourselves."

"C'mon, then."

Hinckley led the way into the house, hesitating only briefly at the
doorway. Inside, a blue light flickered as the man bent over a flaming
trough and poured sand into it from the silver vase. The flames leaped
high, filling the room with a sweet fragrance. The man emptied the
vase, rose and took it to one corner of the room. He sat down on the
couch by the woman. He did not look at the Earthlings.

"He doesn't see us either," Compton said hoarsely. He cried, "Hey, you!
You! Listen! We're Earthmen. Visitors from space."

His voice was explosive in the silence. The man didn't look up. The
Earthmen became aware of music seeping from the walls, music strange
and hauntingly beautiful, played on incredible invisible instruments.

"I don't like this," Compton said. "I don't like it at all. Why are
they ignoring us? Why?"

"Maybe they can't help it," Hinckley suggested. "Perhaps they actually
can't see us or hear us. It's fantastic, but it's possible."

"I wonder," Parker mused. And before anyone could stop him, he struck
the man across the face with a doubled fist.

"Parker!" Hinckley cried. "You fool!"

"That's a matter of opinion," Parker said steadily, rubbing his
knuckles. "I found out what I wanted to."

The man had fallen beneath the blow, but recovered seconds later. There
was a large red welt on his forehead, but neither he nor the woman took
any notice of it.

"It's incredible," Compton said.

"Evidently we can affect them physically, even if not mentally,"
Hinckley said. "You do something like that again, Parker, and I'll
shoot you. I've got the authority to do it, you know, and sometimes the
urge."

"I know," Parker said, "but you haven't got the guts. Besides, I'll
behave myself." He looked intently at the young woman. "I just wanted
to make certain they're real, that's all."

"Let's get out of here," Compton suggested. "There must be some way
we can get a message through to these people. Perhaps someone in the
village--"

Hinckley nodded and motioned them from the house. Compton went eagerly,
but Parker lingered. The air outside seemed cooler now, and its
freshness seemed strange after the pleasant fragrance inside the house.

"Go back to the ship," Hinckley told Parker. "Compton and I'll go into
the village."

"I like it right here," Parker said.

"We might need someone at the ship," Hinckley said. "That's an order."
His hand caressed his rifle, as though daring Parker to refuse.

Parker grinned contemptuously. "Anything you say, _Captain_. If you
need any help, just yell." He turned away and walked toward the rocket.

"Someday I'm going to kill him," Hinckley promised. He turned to
Compton. "C'mon, let's see what the village looks like."

       *       *       *       *       *

The village was a replica of the first hut, multiplied. Some of the
huts seemed to have specialized purposes as stores or warehouses, but
otherwise it was the same. People sat in the houses, listening to
music or watching moving pictures swarm over their hut walls. Some
occasionally ventured into the street. All of them ignored the Earthmen.

"I don't know what to make of it," Hinckley said finally. "We can touch
them and hear them; they appear normal in all respects, but they seem
to be operating on a different level of existence."

"I don't pretend to understand it," Compton said, "but I have a feeling
I don't like, whenever I think about it. I'd rather meet bug-eyed
monsters than this."

"I know what you mean," Hinckley said. "These people even though
they're humanoid, are out of contact with reality--at least with
reality as we know it. It's like some kind of mass hypnosis, with
everyone in a trance except us."

"Think of how helpless these people would be," Compton said. "When we
turn in our report, those who come out here with unhealthy designs
won't have any opposition."

"We have a prime example of that on board," Hinckley said disgustedly.
"We'd better get back to the ship; I don't like to leave Parker alone;
there's no telling what he'll do."

When they got back Parker wasn't there.

"I was afraid of this," Hinckley said between clenched teeth.

"Maybe they've done something to him," Compton suggested nervously.

"That's too much to hope for. Chances are, it's the other way around.
If I know Parker, there's only one place he'll be. C'mon."

Clutching his rifle, Hinckley ran from the rocket. Compton followed, a
bit more cautiously.

Hinckley reached the lone house and peered into the bluelit gloom. He
entered, gun ready, Compton at his heels.

"He's not here," Hinckley said, surprised.

The man and the young woman sat on the couch and casually watched
pictures move across the far wall. Hinckley, looking at the pictures,
was not at all certain they weren't the reality and the natives of this
place merely ghost images that might fade at any moment.

On the wall an empire was being formed. Tall buildings were raised
by machinery that was unfamiliar to the Earthmen. Aircraft flitted
across the sky like strange black birds. The buildings towered, the
flying machines dove, spitting needles that exploded into blossoms
of fire, and the buildings toppled into dust. People ran, screaming
soundless screams. Columns of smoke rose to replace the buildings. The
scene shifted. Great weapons were assembled and heaped carelessly. To
the heap were added the skycraft and other weapons of war. The pile
exploded, and the people rejoiced, clasping hands, dancing. The walls
darkened.

Actual or symbolic? Hinckley wondered.

"What does it mean?" Compton asked him.

"I think," Hinckley said, "we've just been given a short history of
their race. They built up a great society here, but a warring one.
Finally, they outlawed all weapons in order to save themselves from
total destruction. We could probably take a lesson from that."

"They'll probably be worse off when the Earthmen come here," Compton
said. "Even if they could see and hear us, they wouldn't have any
weapons left to defend themselves. We could loot and rape and--"

"I think we'd better forget this planet exists," Hinckley said slowly.
"If we don't report it, no one'll ever know. It's one planet in a
million planets. If we say it's empty, they'll believe it and never
bother to check."

"But what about Parker?"

"Yes," Hinckley said in a disturbed tone. "Parker. We've got to find
him before he does anything he shouldn't. He must be in one of the
huts. C'mon. You take one side of the village, I'll take the other.
When we find him, we'll blast off."

But they didn't find him. They searched through all the buildings,
peered into all the faces.

"I don't like it," Compton said when they met. "The people may be
helpless, but that doesn't mean everything on the planet is. We've got
to get out of here while we've got the chance."

"Take it easy," Hinckley advised. "We can't leave without Parker. He's
probably hiding someplace."

"Hiding?"

"Hoping we'll take off and leave him alone here. He'd be perfectly
safe. He could take anything he wanted--food, drink, anything--and
these people couldn't raise a finger to stop him; they wouldn't even
know he was here, most likely. If I know Parker that's what he'd want.
He wouldn't care about the people as long as he satisfied himself."

"We'll never find him," Compton said. "There's a forest beyond the
village. If he got into that, we could search for months and not find
him."

Hinckley shrugged. "We've got to try."

Night came before they returned to the rocket.

Hinckley shook his head in the gathering darkness. "He could be
anyplace out there, damn him."

"Let's get out of here," Compton suggested again. "Leave him here, if
that's what he wants. Let him do what he wants here; what difference
does it make if the natives don't know what's happening?"

Hinckley's look was cold. "We'll wait until morning," he said. "If he
isn't back by then, we'll leave."

But the next morning, the rays of the alien sun found the white
squatting houses silent; Parker had not returned.

Hinckley turned on the outer loudspeaker. "Parker," he said. The words
crashed across the still village. "Parker, this is Hinckley. We're
blasting off in five minutes. If you're not aboard, we're leaving
without you."

After a few minutes, Compton said, "He's not coming. He's probably
dead, and so will we be if we wait long enough."

"More likely, he's ignoring us," Hinckley said, consulting his watch.
"He's got two minutes more."

Two minutes later, Compton said, "Time's up."

Hinckley nodded. He switched on the rocket motors. Deep within the
spaceship a turbine growled; the growl rose to a whine.

"I still don't like to leave him there. Even though they don't know
what's happening to them, I feel sorry for those people out there." He
switched on the loudspeaker again. "Parker," he said over it. "Last
chance. We're blasting off."

"He's not coming," Compton said shrilly, "he's not coming."

Hinckley touched a button. Flaming rockets drove their fire in to the
ground. The great spaceship shuddered, rose on a column of flame.

"At last," Compton sighed. "At last."

"We'll have to come back, though," Hinckley said. "I knew we'd have to
turn in a report, and now I know we'll have to come back here to find
Parker, to jail him as a deserter, and perhaps worse. I hate to think
of what'll happen to those people down there when the Earthmen come."

They looked into a viewscreen. Below them, the planet dwindled and
became nothing.

       *       *       *       *       *

From the edge of the forest, Parker watched the spaceship rise into
the sky and disappear. He chuckled contentedly. He had won the game of
hide-and-seek, and the planet was his prize. Earthmen always took what
they could from newly discovered planets, only this time _he_ would
have first choice well ahead of any others. It would be months before
an Earth ship would arrive. But he could last that long easily. Longer
if necessary. During that time he could make up some story to account
for his absence. They'd have to prove him a liar, and that would be
difficult. Any story he made up would certainly be no less fantastic
than this planet certainly was.

Meanwhile, there were things to do.

He took off his cumbersome spacesuit and left it in a clearing in the
forest; he wouldn't need that for awhile, and it would only hamper
him. He was in no mood to be delayed. There were a great many things
to do, but first there was one special thing to do. There was a girl,
he remembered, a young woman in a small hut at the other end of the
village. He licked his lips in anticipation. There was a man with her,
but there was nothing he could do--nothing at all. Parker laughed
loudly into the silence and trotted down the street.

When he reached the other end of the village, he walked eagerly into
the house. The girl sat on the couch. The man stood nearby. The walls
were unmoving and the blue fire cast a cold light about the room.
The Earthman sat down beside the girl, and his hands reached out,
unhesitating.

But suddenly the man said something in an alien tongue, a sound that
was like a whiplash, angry and bitter.

Parker felt his throat tighten. "What?" he said. "What?"

He looked up into eyes alive with hate. No, that was impossible. It
was only imagination. Only imagination, yet for a moment--he laughed
guiltily--he'd thought the man was looking directly at him.

Furiously, angry at himself, Parker forced the thought from his mind.
He reached once more for the girl, but she shrank from his touch and
leaped up. The Earthman followed her movement with startled, puzzled
eyes, and then his bewilderment changed to a fear that held him with
cold fingers.

The man had taken a long silver knife from beneath his robe, and he
held it in his hands so that its blade reflected the cold blue fire.
His face was a mask, not pleasant to see. And he was looking at the
Earthman, seeing him, watching him, hating him.

A sudden flash of understanding came. These people had known all the
time. They stayed indoors in dim light to enhance the illusion and
watch with greater secrecy, so that the movement of eyes would not
betray them--and they had waited. For what?

Parker leaped up with a hoarse cry and ran, not waiting to find out.
He was in the doorway when the silver knife caught him and slid easily
between his ribs and released the breath of life that lay hidden there.
Before he struck the ground, he was a shell, with neither fear nor
desire to trouble him.

For a long moment afterward, the man stood over the still body, looking
down at it with a mixture of hate and disgust. The girl joined him. He
looked at her and then at the sky.

"We must learn to make weapons again," he told her. "These creatures
will be back, unsuspecting, thinking us helpless. Next time, we must be
ready!"

Without ceremony, they buried the Earthman's body and then met others
of their kind coming into the village streets. There was work to do.






