Otherness Page 10

  It's all a big fat lot of hype. Nice hype, but hype nonetheless. All over the natural world there is an almost infinite variety of animals that (take your choice)

  . . . murder their own kind

  . . . kill their children

  . . . kill for sport

  . . . commit rape

  . . . wage war

  . . . harm the environment . . .

  Et cetera, et cetera. Day by day we are finding that the line dividing us from the animal world blurs, becoming one of magnitude, not quality.

  Apes use tools in the wild and can be taught sign language. They are also prone to simpler versions of every type of human mental illness (including infanticide and deadly, "organized" warfare).

  Male lions will kill the cubs of their predecessors, after winning cunning "wars" of eviction.

  Stallions will deliberately kill each other.

  Historically, a large part of the deforestation of the Middle East seems to have been performed not just by man, but by goats as well. Elephants are a primary cause of the deforestation of East Africa.

  Mallard ducks have been observed to commit gang rape on mated females. In more and more supposedly "monogamous" species of birds, we are discovering that males commit philandery. Even dolphins, almost alone with humankind in being capable of altruism outside of their own species—of helping others no matter how different—have been observed murdering their own kind.

  All three of the old worldviews lie in shambles around us. Only a traditionalist fool would say that man is the "paragon of animals," and nature our playpen. Only a Pollyanna would contend that the clockwork spins majestically on, in harmony whatever we do. And it is also romantic nonsense to say that we are a pimple on Creation . . . that the world would be somehow far better off without us.

  Where does that leave us, then?

  It leaves us, I hope, uncomfortable and thoughtful.

  We should not stop pumping out the nature films. "Humility propaganda" serves a useful purpose, for there is still a world out there stuck in phases one and two. But for those of us who have passed through the Doctrine of Otherness, it might be time to move on.

  Perhaps to the attitude of Elder Brothers and Sisters only a little more knowledgeable than our fellow creatures, but with the power and the duty to be their guardian. In time, if we do well with the garden, we might even have reason to pause and give ourselves a little bit of credit . . . to look, as a species, into the mirror and see neither Lord of Creation nor Worldbane, but merely the first of many in the world to rise to the role of caretaker.

  CONTACT

  Sshhh . . .

  Nobody speaks much about the Talent anymore—that aspect of our nature we were asked to give up, for the sake of pity. We gave it up, something precious and rare, for the Lentili.

  Or did we?

  No one doubts the Lentili merit such a sacrifice. They have done so much for humankind. Had we never met them, would we, or our Earth, have survived mankind's childish greed and temper? I know this—I would never have been able to put off writing my memoir so long, procrastinating for two centuries of augmented life span, were it not for the medical technologies donated by our benefactors.

  Ah, but Time is inexorable, the Lentili philosophers tell us. So now I pour my testimony into Write-only Memory, that bank which takes only deposits, never withdrawals. Someday there will be no men or women still corporeal whose neuronal recollections reach that time of excitement, when our first starprobes brought back word of contact.

  Contact—a word so sweet yet chilling, promising an end to loneliness and a beginning of . . . what?

  Oh, such fears we had. Such high hopes! Each pundit had his or her pet theory. This would end the miserable, solipsistic isolation of humankind, some proclaimed. Others predicted our end entire.

  Initial reports from our contact team sounded so optimistic, so wonderful. Too wonderful, we thought, to be true!

  As it turned out, they understated. In dazed wonderment we came to realize that the Universe might actually be sane, after all! How else could there ever come about beings such as the Lentili?

  Oh, there were many ancient, wise races in the Galactic Commonweal, advanced, philosophical species who had no more interest in swooping down to seize our grubby little world than a professor might wish to steal a small boy's ball. Suddenly all our worst fears seemed so silly. Of course we would remain awkward newcomers for ages, but starfaring had transformed us overnight and forever from the status of clever animals into citizens.

  Our appointed advisers in this process would be the kind, gregarious Lentili, so beautiful and gentle and wise. Could we ask for any better proof that the Universe was kind?

  They were on their way, great Lentili starships, escorting two crude Earth Survey vessels they could just as easily have swallowed and brought here in a fraction of the time. But there was no hurry, and the Lentili were sensitive to matters of honor.

  Honor can be costly. We learned this when the Margaret Mead, containing half our contact team, exploded halfway home to Sol.

  In the midst of shock, the widely respected chairman of the Interim Council of State Leaders came on the air to address the world. Platitudes and paeans can be clichés, but that is not lamentable. Originality is not useful to those freshly numbed with grief. So President Tridden spoke of our lost emissaries in words oft used to eulogize heroes, yet seldom so aptly.

  But then there came an unexpected coda. Then he said something that took the world by surprise. Officially, no copies of his address exist any longer. And yet, though it is seldom spoken of, has any speech ever had more far-reaching effects? It endures in secret tapes all over the Solar System.

  Here is how Tridden revealed his shocking news.

  "Fellow citizens and people of the world, I must now talk to you about something I learned only hours before hearing about the loss of the Margaret Mead. It is my duty to tell you that the Lentili, these gentle beings who will so soon be our guests on this planet, are not quite as close to perfect as they have seemed. In fact, they have a serious, tragic flaw.

  "Just before she died aboard the Margaret Mead, the eminent psychologist-sociologist Dr. Beth Rishke sent me a most disturbing document. After two days sleeplessly agonizing over what to do, I've decided to share this information with the entire human race. For if anything is to be done about Dr. Rishke's disturbing conclusions, it must be now, before the Lentili arrive.

  "First, I don't want to disturb you unduly. We are in no danger from our approaching guests. Quite the contrary. Had they wished us harm, resistance would have been futile. But all evidence shows them to be benevolent. Indeed, we are offered all of the secrets of an ancient, wise culture. Solutions to many of the troubles that have vexed us for ages.

  "But I must report to you that there is a danger, nevertheless. The danger is not to us, but to our benefactors. You see, for all of their advancement, the Lentili appear to be deficient in an unexpected way. Before her untimely death Dr. Rishke was quite concerned.

  "Apparently, we humans have a certain talent, one that seems to be completely absent from the Lentili. One that they appear barely capable of even comprehending. At first, when she referred to it, they did not seem to understand what she was talking about. When her persistent efforts resulted in a few of them finally catching on, the reaction astonished her. Professor Rishke said, and I quote, 'I was appalled at the consequences to those poor Lentili,' unquote."

  How well I remember the expression on President Tridden's face. His sympathy for the plight of these poor creatures was apparent. We had all come to admire the Lentili so, over recent weeks. Tall and gangling, with faces that seemed almost droopy with kindness and gentle humor—they looked so harmless, so incapable of doing harm.

  They also seemed omnipotent! Terrifically strong and coordinated, they lived, as corporeal entities, for thousands of years before going on to join their Universal Mind. Skills a human might spend a lifetime perfecting were the study of a lazy
weekend to a Lentili. Their accomplishments, both as a race and as individuals, were awesome.

  The Lentili spoke kindly of the arts and achievements of humankind, never qualifying their praise as some of us would have, allowing for the fact that these were, after all, the simple works of children. And yet, how could we avoid inserting those burning qualifiers ourselves?

  Humanity's overweening pride had come near to wrecking our beloved world. Even by the time we launched two crude starships, Earth was still a fractious, nervous place. So humility was medicine that did not taste half as bad as feared. Despite some dissenting voices, most people seemed determined to become good students, to be grateful, hardworking pupils.

  So imagine our surprise! How could the President be saying this? How could such mighty beings as the Lentili be flawed?

  Such was President Tridden's great authority, however, and the renown of famed Professor Rishke, that we had no choice but to take their word! We leaned toward our sets and concentrated as few ever have in times of peace.

  "Professor Rishke sent her information directly to me," the President went on. "And now I pass the buck to all of you. For it is up to all of humanity now to decide what we are to do.

  "At the very start of our long relationship with a kind, decent race—one whose interest in our welfare is indisputable—we find it actually within our power to wreak untold psychic harm upon our benefactors. The Lentili have a mental block, something like an odd inferiority complex, and it concerns something so mundane to us that few human beings ever bother even thinking about it past the age of ten! It certainly isn't our fault. And yet we can hurt our new friends terribly if we are crass or rudely force them to see what they would rather not. We are duty bound to try to minimize that harm as best we can.

  "Therefore, I have decided to ask you all to join me in making a grand sacrifice.

  "Over the coming weeks, as we prepare to receive our visitors, our guests and future guides, we must expunge all references to this human talent from our literature, from our language, from our outward lives!

  "To begin with, I have already given orders to various governmental agencies, using my emergency powers. Commencing this hour, the indexes to the UN Data Bank and the Library of Congress are being destroyed.

  "Let me emphasize . . . no books will actually be burned! But in the laborious process of reconstruction, the new indexes will exclude all reference to this human ability that so disturbs our new friends.

  "All of you can do the same, in your towns and villages and homes. We must not, of course, destroy our heritage. But we can at least make an effort to mask this thing, so that when the Lentili arrive we might spare them avoidable pain."

  Oh, the sadness in his eyes. The human wisdom of President Tridden as he spoke these words. I can tell you now what so many of us were feeling then. We felt dread. We felt fear. But most of all, we felt pride. Yes, pride that we humans, too, could bring forth nobility and charity to those in need. We were determined, listening to this great man, to follow his example. Yes, we would do this great thing, and begin our relationship with our mentors nobly, in an act of self-sacrifice and pity.

  Only a few of us had begun to worry about how to do this. But then the President went on.

  "Of course we all know human nature. Part of the work we did in becoming civilized enough to be allowed to join the Galactic Commonweal involved learning to despise secrecy. We've become a race of eccentric individualists and are proud of that fact. How, then, can we hide forever the existence of a human talent? It just wouldn't be possible, even if everyone agreed to do so. Even if we found and eradicated every record.

  "And there will certainly be those humans who do not cooperate in this undertaking, those who, rightly or wrongly, disagree with me that our benefactors are in danger, or that we should care or bother to try sparing them pain.

  "Certainly, despite all our efforts, there will be many retained copies of this very broadcast!

  "But there is hope. For, according to Dr. Rishke's analysis, those exceptions will not matter! Not so long as the majority of us makes a good effort. And so long as we agree in advance upon the right cover story. Any clues, evidence, or testimony remaining will then be largely overlooked by the poor Lentili. For subconsciously they will be our collaborators in suppressing this threat to their collective mental equilibrium. So long as the talent is not flaunted too blatantly, Dr. Rishke was convinced the Lentili will simply ignore it."

  He paused, then continued with the words I shall never forget.

  "This, then, will be our cover story, dear people of Earth.

  "It shall be recorded that on this day, in this year, Joseph Tridden, President of the Interim Council of Terra, went stark, raving mad."

  Was there a hint of a smile? Just a flicker of one, as Tridden said those words? I have debated with myself a thousand times, watching my own secret tape of that broadcast. In truth I cannot say, nor can anybody, what fleeting thread of whimsy might have woven through the man's earnest appeal.

  Certainly the Earth seemed to wobble at that moment, with the gravitational torque applied by ten billion human jaws, all dropping open at the same time, in stunned surprise.

  "Yes, people of the world. That is the only way. Tonight millions of you will do as I ask. You will go forth and meddle, alter records, change archives. It won't matter that you will not be entirely successful, for the resulting confusion can be used as an excuse when the Lentili wonder why we talk so little about certain things.

  "And next month, next year, on into history, tonight's temporary hysteria will all be blamed on me.

  "There is no such talent . . . no human attribute that makes Lentili inherently jealous, that makes them feel painful pangs of inferiority.

  "That will be our cover story! It doesn't exist! It was all a myth perpetrated by a single man, a neurotic human leader driven over the edge by the approaching end to his days of petty power, a man who seized the airwaves in one last, futile spasm and sent a few millions into the streets for a day or two of relatively harmless tape shredding, index burning, and other silly, repairable acts of sabotage.

  "This is what you must do, my fellow citizens and people of the world. You must expunge all official mention of this talent, out of kindness to our approaching mentors. And then you must say that all of this was the product of one deranged mind.

  "Me."

  At this point I know he did smile. By now half the world was convinced that he was insane.

  The other half would have died for him, then and there.

  "I will try to delay my resignation long enough to see the task well under way. Already, at this moment, political battles are being waged, physicians consulted, constitutional procedures set in motion. Perhaps I only have a little longer to talk to you, so I will be succinct.

  "It occurs to me that I have been too vague in one respect. The talent I am referring to, about which I cannot be overly specific, is one that is common to human beings, though apparently incredibly rare out in the Galactic Commonweal. So far we have developed it hardly at all. In fact, it has seemed of so little importance that all but a few of us take it completely for granted, thinking of it no more than in passing, throughout our lives.

  "And yet, it is something that has the potential—"

  He stopped speaking quite suddenly, and reflected in his eyes we could all track the approach of those intent on bringing an end to his monopoly of the airwaves. President Tridden had time only to bring one finger to his lips, in the age-old sign of secrecy and shared silence. Then, abruptly, the broadcast ended in that famous burst of static which held an entire world hypnotized for endless minutes until, at last, the screens were filled again with the breathless heads and torsos of government officials and newscasters, blinking rapidly as they told us what half of us already knew—that the President was not well.

  The rest of us—the other half—did not wait to hear the diagnoses of learned doctors. We were already tearing the indexes out of our enc
yclopedias, or striding out the door with axes in our hands, heading toward our local libraries with evil intent upon—not the books—but the card catalog.

  At the moment it hardly seemed to matter that he had never gotten around to telling us exactly what it was we were trying to hide! Cause a muddle, we thought. Make it possible to disguise this thing of ours that can hurt others.

  Do something noble, while we have a chance. While we are still in command of our own destinies.

  That night's hysteria came in a surge of passion, a Dionysian frenzy that did little actual harm in the long run—little that could not be fixed fairly easily, that is. It ended as quickly as it began, in embarrassed, sheepish return to normality.