Follower
Astounding Science Fiction – November 1950
(1950)*
Eric Frank Russell
illustrated by Miller

One individual may follow another for revenge, for gain or for a number of other reasons. But the one motivation that will not give up yields no profit whatever ...

-

	Haifid was the first to find the alien ship. He hurried down the hillside path leading toward the lake and happened to look into a wayside dell and saw the vessel. It was small, shiny and flattish with short pipes protruding all around its rim.

	The sight caused his scalp to twitch- it affected him almost like an electric shock. He stopped in his tracks, had another look to establish the verity of the incredible. The thing was there all right, reposing comfortably in the dell. Definitely it was not of this world and therefore must be of some other.

	Though new to his experience ships of space were not strange to his mind. Indeed, among his kind the legends concerning them were so old that they had become distorted in the telling. On the basis of these ancient tales he had imagined a spaceship as being the size of a mountain range, a monstrous fabrication glowing with a thousand lighted ports. In such mighty creations, it was said, had the Elder Race long roamed around this part of the cosmos until one and all had gone to places unknown.

	Compared with those colossal cylinders of the dim and distant past this contraption in the dell seemed tiny, unimpressive. But the significance of its arrival was out of all proportion to its size. As an event, it was tremendous to an extent that thrilled his body through and through.

	His gait as he moved nearer to it was slow, deliberate, almost processional. Caution was not the cause, but sheer reverence. It might well be that for the first time in the twenty thousand years since they went away an Elder had returned. Even if there was only one Elder, a little one, it meant that contact had been regained. Once more this world would be blessed by the presence of the gods.

	Advancing foot by foot in manner suitable to the solemnity of this immense moment, Haifid thought of the effect the' news would have upon his people. According to the old time stories their intimacy with the Elders had verged upon symbiosis, a mutual satisfying between psyche and psyche. That thee-and-me existence had endured so long and become so well established that its loss could still be felt and expressed itself in a hungry yearning passed on from generation to generation like the pain of an ancestral memory.

	Now the waiting-time was over. He, Haifid, blessed witness of the second coming, would be the bearer of glad tidings to the world. How wonderful it is to be the bearer of glad tidings!

	At that point, twenty yards from the silent ship, his hopes were dashed, his dreams shattered. A long, green speckled thing, wriggly and four-eyed, appeared over the farther rim from where it had been concealed upon the ground, scuttled hastily across the top and dived for safety through a hole in the dome. It made no audible sound but it was projecting telepathic pleas precisely upon Haifid's band.

	"I apologize! I apologize!"

-

	Haifid stopped, disappointed, disheartened and somewhat disgruntled. The green thing now cowering inside its ship resembled nothing he'd ever seen. There were many things it might be and one it was not—it was not an Elder. The Elders had been preserved in mind-pictures passed from generation to generation. They were not green, wriggly or four-eyed. Neither were they timid and apologetic. Quite the contrary—they were gods who looked like gods, behaved like gods.

	The green thing was now protesting: "I could not help it. The landing was involuntary. It was no fault of mine. I apologize!"

	Moodily staying put, Haifid pondered the situation. When one falls from the heights one flops to the depths. He felt too low to be enthusiastic about the green thing. It was not an Elder, not a god. Neither was it a humble messenger of the gods. They would never have chosen a creature so outlandish and craven. His own kind had functioned far better in this respect, for in bygone days they had performed god-ordained tasks swiftly, eagerly, with all the bumptious zest of those who enjoyed the confidence of the gods.

	"I had no choice. The landing was involuntary. Do you hear me?"

	"I hear you," admitted Haifid rather surlily. He projected the answer without much mental drive, little caring whether the other got it or not.

	The green thing did get it. Possibly its receptive apparatus was efficient above the ordinary just as some have hearing abnormally acute. Or perhaps its manifest anxiety impelled it to strain for a response, any sort of a response, even a telepathic whisper. Anyway, it came back at him with a thankful babble of mental impulse but took the precaution of remaining within the ship.

	"The Trans-Ten space liner was wrecked. A superswift island of rock ripped it open from prow to stern. Everyone died, everyone—but me." A pause as the green thing brooded over the tragedy. "I was lucky. I was inside one of the lifeboats checking its emergency supplies when the crash hurled it clear. I made for this planet."

	Haifid shot back a sharp and nasty, "Why?"

	The other reacted agitatedly. "I could do nothing else. Three-quarters of the fuel sticks had been counted and placed upon the deck. All were lost. I was tossed out with the remaining quarter. They were not sufficient. My range was limited. There was no world within reach but this one. So I have come here and I have apologized." Hesitation followed by a queer, distorted mumbling, then, "For eons we have taken care not to trespass within the Khar's celestial sector, not in any way to offend the Khar, and now that circumstances beyond my—"

	He ceased as he sensed the strength of Haifid's sudden boost. Along with the talk had come a mind-picture of the Khars referred to, and with it Haifid's gloom had vanished in a burst of brilliant light.

	Racing to the vessel's rim, his heart pounding wildly, Haifid projected his urgent order with all the power he could command.

	"Come out! Come out!"

	"For what? For death?"

	"For life!" yelled Haifid. "Life for you and me!"

-

	A solemn circle of village oldsters squatted around the log fire, listened to the immensely excited Haifid, eyed the green thing. The latter had no comprehensible name so they called him Four-eyes and left it at that.

	Four-eyes wore a small metal contraption clamped over the hole in the back of his neck and explained that it had something to do with this world's air. This seemed silly, as it was obvious to one and all that there was nothing the matter with the air, but they were too polite to mention the fact.

	Finishing his speech, Haifid tossed a thin metal rod on the ground. "So he needs seventy sticks like these to get home."

	"Does he ride upon sticks like a witch?" asked Norsum, the most aged of the circle.

	"They are automatically fed one at a time into my engine where they dissolve and give forth power," explained Four-eyes as one would to a child.

	"A disintegratable liquid would be more economical and easier to control," remarked Norsum blandly.

	Four-eyes did a second take at him, spoke with a note of respect. "That is correct—but we have failed to find a liquid comparable with that used by the Khar. They are far ahead of us."

	"As is natural and proper," opined Norsum. "They are gods—our gods."

	"Then if I am caught you can intercede for me," said Four-eyes, showing, praiseworthy opportunism.

	"I fail to see the necessity. Why do you fear them so much?"

	"It is part of history," explained Four-eyes. "In the long, long ago these Khars scouted world upon world until they reached our sector where we were strong and recognized no equals. My forebears, who were foolish, rejected their overtures of friendship, treated them as enemies and harried them at every opportunity."

	"Go on," encouraged Norsum.

	"The Khars did not retaliate. They kept their distance, their dignity and their peace. That encouraged the foolish in their folly. In due time they mounted a major attack which made chaos of a Khar-world."

	A strange murmur ran around the circle, a half-suppressed note of horror such as true believers might utter when a holy place is defiled.

	Four-eyes fidgeted uneasily, registered a pathetic sort of guilt. "For the first and only time the Khars hit back. One blow—just one blow. It was terrible, terrible!" He filmed all his eyes and shuddered. "It left us barely able to survive. It reduced us to such impotence that it has taken us scores of centuries to climb back to our present stage."

	"A sword cuts both ways," reminded Norsum. "An arrow flies no farther from me to you than from you to me. It should be a lesson to your kind."

	"It was—and is! We have risen to new strength by keeping clear of the Khars. From birth to death that is our constant thought—avoid   the Khars. Carelessness in this respect has become a crime meriting severe punishment. Indeed, I may yet suffer for landing here even though I could not help it."

	"That is both stupid and unjust," put in Haifid. "The Elders left this planet some twenty thousand years ago. There are none here, not one."

	"We could not assume that fact," Four-eyes pointed out. "Anyway, this world is recorded on our graphs as within the Khar sphere of influence and therefore forbidden." A suspicious thought struck him, he studied their faces, glanced uneasily around and added, "If these Khars are your gods, as you affirm, why are they not here? I do not think much of gods who desert their own."

	Norsum resented that. He said emphatically, "They did not desert us. They were mighty beyond belief. They conquered the heavens, found other worlds more suitable for their might. They tried to take us with them—and failed."

	"Gods—who fail!" commented Four-eyes, refueling his heresy.

	"The fault was ours," Norsum told him heavily. "We could not stand the trip. The legends do not give full details but say that space journeys gave us sickness, hysteria and death." He brooded over that a little while, continued, "Of course, that was many eons ago. We have changed since. We have altered vastly. There are some among us"—he shot a look at Haifid— "who think we might make it without difficulty today."

	Another oldster named Ermen chipped in with, "The Elders went away with deep regret." He voiced it like one reciting an oft-told tale. "Some of their young ones wept at the parting. A few of the old ones refused to go and stayed among us until they died. The last of the ancients—and they were ours."

	"Hah!" said Four-eyes. "Gods who die. Gods should be immortal."

	"Why?" asked Norsum.

	That tangled him. Four-eyes sought around for one adequate reason, failed to find it, gave it up. He had no god of his own other than one kept in a bottle and renewed at frequent intervals. A shortage of fuel sticks kept him from communion even with that replaceable deity. He gave the sample stick a kick which rolled it nearer the fire.

	Eying the stick speculatively, Norsum sighed and said: "You are as much ahead of us as the Elders are ahead of you. We shall not be able to build a space vessel for centuries to come, if ever."

	"I differ," interjected Haifid, who made a pastime of differing,

	Taking no notice, Norsum went on, "We do not work metals ourselves but there are other more dexterous life-forms here who do so under our direction. We are not entirely without ability, you see? So we have metals of many kinds. We will see whether it is possible to match your fuel stick. If so, you may go."

	"At a price," added Haifid, leaning forward and gazing eagerly at Four-eyes.

	Turning on him, Norsum snapped, "You are young, impetuous and have yet to learn to bide your time."

	"I found him," insisted Haifid, showing poor respect for age. "Finders keepers!"

-

	After thirty weeks there were fuel sticks. They were of heavy alloy imported from the south. In no way similar to the alien sample, nevertheless they functioned for reasons beyond anyone's ability to explain. Four-eyes had tested sticks of all sorts and had experienced so many failures that he had long given up hope. When this new lot magically set his tubes roaring he created a dozen impromptu gods within his mind and thanked each one individually.

	Counting the pile on the ground, Norsum said: "There you are—exactly seventy. Are you sure they will be sufficient?"

	"More than enough," conceded Four-eyes "They blast harder."

	"Then pay for them," suggested Haifid with appalling bluntness. He ate the little ship with his eyes.

	"How can I pay? I possess nothing."

	"The price is free passage for one," Haifid told him.

	Norsum put in, "He is afflicted with an obsession. He is mad."

	"Madder than you know," indorsed Four-eyes. "He would not tolerate my home-world even if he could live on it without an air filter." 

	"I care nothing for your home-world," said Haifid. "I want transport to one of the Elders' worlds—any one, I don't care which."

	Four-eyes shivered all over and uttered an emphatic, "Never! Never!"

	"Gratitude," commented Haifid, looking at Norsum. He planted a possessive foot on the pile of metal sticks. "No passage, no fuel."

	"I dare not. The Khar will destroy me on sight."

	"The colossus does not bother to swat a solitary fly," Haifid pointed out. "Anyway, on your own showing you're scores of centuries behind the times. The war ended a hundred or perhaps a thousand of your generations back. The war-mentality is all on your side. It is you who has the obsession, you who are mad."

	"I think he's got something there though it could have been expressed more diplomatically," Norsum told Four-eyes. Then added, "All the same, he's taking an unfair advantage of you."

	Four-eyes said doubtfully, "How do you look at this proposition?"

	Mulling it over, Norsum replied, "I would like you to refuse him and thus give him a much-needed lesson in patience. At the same time, I would like you to take him and thus get him out of my sight. There are moments when he irritates me."

	Haifid grinned at this demonstration of how to sit both sides of the fence, and pressed home with, "Besides, you need not land. You can drop me and continue on your way."

	"I can do that," admitted Four-eyes. "I have an antigravity belt.

	But—"

	"Then it is settled." Haifid took his foot off the sticks.

	"It is sheer insanity. The Khar—"

	"Forget the Khar. They are not your gods—they are mine!"

	"Oh, well, all right," agreed Four-eyes, only one tenth convinced but seeing no way out. "I will take you much against my better judgment."

	It having come to that, Norsum also made up his mind. "I am glad. If he gets there it will prove how greatly we have changed. The Elders will not have forgotten us any more than we have forgotten them. They will be at one with us again." His shrewd old eyes rested on the green alien. "And our blessedness will be equaled by yours for you will have been the maker of peace between your kind and the Elders."

	"Maybe," said Four-eyes, wary of the Khar and skeptical of his own ability to change the shape of trans-cosmic relations. Climbing upon his tiny vessel's dome, he started loading the fuel sticks tossed up to him one by one by Haifid. "And maybe not."

-

	An Elder world was in sight, greenly brilliant, by the time Haifid recovered from his tenth vomiting sickness and his second successive coma. The vision of the oncoming planet perked him up tremendously, giving him fresh life. On the other hand, Four-eyes began to wilt, look sick.

	"This is the danger spot." Four-eyes strove to watch all screens simultaneously. "You have no idea of the effort required to approach it. I am struggling to subdue centuries of conditioning. Every fiber of my being screams 'Beware!' What a price you demanded of me!"

	"You could easily have killed me when I was too ill to care," remarked Haifid, studying him. "You could have rid yourself of your burden and obligation together. But you did not. Why?"

	"I am homing out of the Khar sector, risking capture by the Khars. Alone, what might I suffer at their hands? With you, to talk them out of it—" His mental impulses tailed off. He continued to watch all screens for any Khar ship in the vicinity. It is comforting to have faith in one's screens.

	"You will be alone after I am dropped," Haifid observed.

	"Not for long. This is their last outpost world. Beyond it lies our own sector—and home."

	"As for talking them out of anything," Haifid mused, "the legends say that we never did talk with them. The legends are strangely vague on that point. We were not telepathic in those days. We were purely vocal. The Elders were vocal also, but not after our fashion. They may have been telepathic, too. We have no data on that."

	"Then how did you communicate with them?" asked Four-eyes, keeping up the conversation but more anxious than interested.

	"I don't know. Norsum doesn't know. Nobody knows. The legends say only that we were at one with the gods, they understood us and we understood them. No more than that."

	"Humph!" Four-eyes shrugged it off. "It is a mystery to me. I cannot conceive how it is possible that you and—" He ceased abruptly, half-arose from his control seat. His eyes were large and protruding. "Look! It is upon us—and the screens gave no warning. In the name of the Black Planet!"

	Haifid looked. An opaque but shining bubble loomed large in the armorglass port. It was swinging closer, about to make contact. No ports were visible upon its smooth surface, no fire spurted from it. The green world for which they had been making hung far behind it, almost obscured.

	"A ship of some new type. It cannot be other than a Khar scout. Nobody else would dare—" Four-eyes snatched frantically at various controls. His tiny vessel looped, darted sidewise. The bubble followed with ease. "Space preserve me!"

	There came a slight jar as the bubble touched. It clung despite the ' other's wildest gyrations. Losing heart, Four-eyes abandoned his controls, waited for death. He seemed to have become unconscious of Haifid's presence so deeply was he buried in contemplation of his fate.

	The dome trap began to unwind itself in response to operation from outside. It squeaked steadily as it turned. The sound had no effect whatever upon the green one biding his doom.

	Haifid stood immediately below the trap watching it twist bit by bit. The blood was pounding in his veins. Thrills of supreme excitement ran up and down his spine. A new strength boiled within him and an intense longing.

	It opened. A commanding mental voice ordered, "Come!" The voice was not across his own band but there was an overlap sufficient for him to hear and understand.

	Disregarding Four-eyes, intent only upon the glorious culmination, Haifid obeyed the voice, leaped through the trap and right into the bubble.

	For a long, long minute of extreme ecstasy he stood gazing upon the god within the bubble, drinking him in, worshiping him. During this time he was conscious of many things: the unexpected transparency of the bubble from the inside; the rewinding of the trap behind him; the breakaway and thankful escape of Four-eyes' little ship; the vibrationless plunge of the bubble toward the outpost world. But all these were minor matters beside the wonder of the god.

	At last, greatly daring, he addressed him by his god-name, saying, "You are Man?"

	"Yes."

	"And you remember?"

	"We have never forgotten," assured the other. Bending, he pulled gently at Haifid's ears,. "I am Man— and you are Dog!"

The End