Henig was sent to obtain a soil sample of
the planet. It was a routine assignment, but not
necessarily the only method for discovering an—
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
July 1955
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Three of the hairless bipeds stood in front of the frame buildingtalking. Concealed by the brush beyond the road, Henig studiedthem carefully. These were the dominant species on this primitiveworld, unspeakably grotesque things. The pale, white skinned animalshad a culture of sorts—their language, their buildings, theirwheeled vehicles testified to that—but an animal society was verydifferent from the rational civilization Henig knew.
He was naked and he carried no weapons. That was the logic of thecomputers. But Henig was a Fleet Lieutenant, not one of the scientists.He put his faith in arms rather than computer logic. Stripped of hisweapons, he lost a fundamental part of himself. The computers hadsaid he would be safe, but too many things could go wrong. Too manyfactors might have been left out of the observer data submitted to themachines.
Henig inched cautiously toward the three white things standing nearthe wooden structure. The telecommunicator, which the surgeons hadplanted in his skull, caught the sound of alien voices and made aconceptual translation in terms Henig understood. He could have usedthe same device to communicate directly with the alien minds, but theScientist-General had warned him against that.
"The hairless bipeds," he told Henig, "are only an animal species. Theyhave no civilization. Make no mistake about that, Lieutenant."
"And if we decide we need their planet, sir—"
"We'll set up reservations for them, so they can't interfere with ouroperation."
"They won't have weapons to match ours," Henig suggested hopefully.
"If you go in uniform, Lieutenant, even these witless things wouldrecognize you as an alien. It would be foolish to let them know weexist, until we have the final report on your physical survey."
"Sir, are we actually sure—"
"You're questioning the computer logic?" The Scientist-General was veryamused.
"Not that, sir. It's just—you see, I'm a solider, and I don'tunderstand these things."
"You'll have to take our conclusion on faith, Lieutenant. You're theonly individual of your particular species aboard, and it would beabsurd for us to wait for the center to send out a scientist with yourphysical qualifications. This planet is too insignificant for us towaste that much time on the survey. The chemistry of the atmosphere andthe pressure of gravity approximate what you're accustomed to on yourhome world, Lieutenant Henig. And the co-incidence of your appearanceis the best disguise you could have."
"Sir, isn't it true that sometimes on these primitive worlds, theanimal species war against each other? Wouldn't I be likely to getinvolved?"
"The computers say no. And we can't argue against mechanical logic, canwe, Lieutenant?"
Naturally the scientists relied on their data, Henig thought bitterly;but they weren't making the observation—they weren't standing nakedand unarmed on an alien world. The miniature recorders sent down bythe ship were only machines, after all, without a logical sense ofjudgment. The Lieutenant had experienced alien worlds before. Factswere all very well, but the unpredictable quality of emotion wassomething else again. How could a recorder make note of that? How couldfeeling be measured or tabulated by the computers?
The Lieutena