Mind Webs - Restricted Area

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Mind Waves.

Welcome to a half hour of Mind Waves.

Short stories from the worlds of speculative fiction.

This is Michael Hanson. The Mind Waves story this time is restricted area by Robert Sheckley.

Copyright 1953 by the ZIF Davis Publishing Company.

Nice looking place, isn't it, Captain? Simmons asked with elaborate casualness looking through the

port. Rather, paradise. You can't go out yet. Captain Kylpepper said noting the biologist's

immediate disappointed expression. But Captain, no. Kylpepper looked out the port at the rolling

meadow of grass, sprinkled with red flowers as it appeared as luscious as it had two days ago

when they had landed. To the right of the meadow was a brown forest shot through the yellow and

orange blossoms. To the left, a row of hills colored in contrasting shades of blue green,

a waterfall tumbled down one of the hills. Trees, flowers, all that sort of thing.

The place was undeniably pretty, and it was for that very reason that Kylpepper distressed

to it. Experienced with two wives and five new ships, a taught him that a lovely exterior

and conceal almost anything, Kylpepper's skin, the reports. They were the same as the last four

groups, atmosphere breathable and free of dangerous microorganisms, bacteria, count mill, radar,

graph, all clear, some form of animal life in the nearby forest but no energy manifestations,

detection of a large metallic mass, possibly an iron-rich mountain, several miles south,

noted for further investigation. The reports vaguely annoyed him. He knew from past experience that

there was usually something wrong with every planet. It paid to find it at the start before

because the accidents resulted. At last he said, all right, post a full guard for the time being,

let four men out, no one goes beyond twenty-five feet of the ship. He had to let them go.

After sixteen months in the hot cramped spaceship, he'd have unmute any on his hands if he didn't.

The air of the unnamed planet was fragment after the musty,

recirculated air of the ship. The breeze when the mountains was light and steady and refreshing.

Captain Kylpepper sniffed appreciatively, arms folded across his chest.

The four crewmen were walking around, stretching their legs and breathing in great

lung folds of fresh air. The scientific team was standing together, wondering where to begin.

The Simmons went down and plucked a spear of grass. Funny-looking stuff. Why?

I'll look at it. The thin biologist held it higher.

Perfectly smooth, doesn't show any sign of self-formation. Let me see. He bent over a red blossom.

Hey, we got visitors! A crewman named Flynn was the first to spot the natives.

They came out of the forest and tried it across the meadow to the ship.

Captain Kylpepper glanced at the ship. The gunners were ready and alert. He touched his side arm

for reassurance and waited. Oh, brother. Aramick murmured. As the ship sling with the

eye of the advancing natives with intense professional interest, the rest of the man just stared.

In the lead was a creature with a neck at least eight feet long, like a giraffe,

and thick stubby legs, like a hippopotamus, and had a cheerful expression on its face.

Its hide was purple, sprinkled with large white dots. Next in line came five little beasts with

pure white fur. They were about the size of terriers and they had an awlishly solemn expression.

A fat, red little creature with a green tail, at least sixteen feet long, brought up the rear.

They stopped in front of the man and bowed. There was a long moment of silence.

And then everyone burst into laughter. The laughter seemed to be a signal.

The five little ones leaped to the back of the hippo giraffe. They scrambled for a moment and

climbed on each other's shoulders, and the moment they were balanced, five high, like a team of acrobats.

The men applauded wildly. The fat animal immediately started balancing on his tail.

Bravo shouted Simmons. The five very animals jumped off the giraffes back and started to dance

around the pig. Hurray! Morrison Lee, a bacteriologist called. The hippo giraffe turned a clumsy

summer salt, landed on one ear, scrambled to his feet, and bow deeply. Captain Guilpepper frowned,

rubbed one hand against another. He was trying to figure out some reason for this behavior.

The natives bursting to song. The melody was strange, but recognizable as a tune. They harmonized

for a few seconds, then bowed and began to roll on the grass. The crew members were still applauding.

Aramek had taken out his notebook and was shouting down the sounds.

All right, crew, back inside. They gave him a approachful look. A lot of some of the other

men have a chance. And regretfully, the men filed back inside. Captain Guilpepper sat down and

tried to figure out what was wrong with the planet. Guilpepper spent most of the next day

felling out progress reports in the late afternoon. He put down his pencil and went out for a walk.

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Have you got a moment, Captain Simmons? Ask.

There's something I'd like to show you in the forest.

On the way, they were accompanied by three natives.

These particular three looked like dogs, except for their coloring,

red and white, like peppermint candy.

Now then, sir, look around. What do you see that strikes you as odd?

Kilpepper looked. The trees were thick, trunked and spaced wide apart,

so wide apart in fact that it was possible to see the next clearing through them.

Well, you couldn't get lost in here. It's not that. Come on, look again.

Why, why there's no underbrush. Kilpepper stated after walking a few yards further.

They were vines twisting up the side to the trees, covered with multicolored flowers.

Glancing around, Kilpepper saw a bird dart down, flutter around the head of one of the peppermint

colored dogs and fly away again. The bird was colored gold and silver.

Don't you see anything wrong yet? Well, only the color scheme is there something else.

Look at the trees. The bows were laden with fruit. It hung in clumps, all on the lower branches of

the the world-ering variety of colors, sizes and shapes. There were things that looked like grapes

and things that looked like bananas and things that looked like watermelons and lots of different species.

I guess, different species. Look, man, there are as many as 10 different kinds of fruit growing on one branch.

Examining closer, Kilpepper saw it was true. Each tree had an amazing multiplicity of fruit.

And that's just impossible, sir. It's not my field of course, but I can state with fair certainty

that each fruit is a separate and distinct entity. They're not stages of each other.

How do you count for it? I don't have to, but some poor botanist is going to have his hands full.

They turned and started to walk back. What were you here for?

Me, I was doing a little anthropological work on the side, wanted to find out where our friends lived.

No luck. There are no paths, implements, clarings, anything, not even caves.

Kilpepper didn't think it unusual that a biologist should be making a quick anthropological survey.

It was impossible to represent all the sciences on an expedition of this sort. Survival was the

first consideration, biology and bacteriology, then language. After that, any botanical, ecological,

psychological, sociological or any other knowledge was appreciated. Eight or nine birds had

joined the animals or natives around the ship when they got back. The birds were brilliantly colored

also, polka dots, stripes, piboles. There wasn't a done or gray in the lot.

Maith Marina and Cruman Flynn tried to an outcropping of the forest. They stopped at the foot of a

little hill. Above them, a red and gold bird dipped and sailed, cheaping merrily, the breeze

found the tall grass and hummed melodiously through the leaves and branches of the nearby forest.

Behind them, two of the natives followed. They were, of course, shaped, except for their hides

of green and white dots. It's like a bloody circus. Flynn observed as one of the horses

capable to circle around him. Yeah, Maith Marina said, and they reached the top of the hill and

started down then Flynn stopped. Look at that! At the base of the hill, rising slim and erect,

was a metal pillar. They followed it up with their eyes. It climbed and climbed, and its top was

lost in the clouds. They hurried down and examined it. Closer, the pillar was more

messy than they had thought. Almost twenty feet through Maith Marina estimated. At a gasy place,

the metal is an alloy of steel by its gray blue color. But what steel, he asked himself, could

support a shaft that size? How high would you say those clouds are? Flynn cramed his neck.

Or they must be half a mile up, maybe a mile. The pillar had been hidden from the ship by the

clouds, and by its gray blue color which blended into the backdrop. I don't believe it. I wonder

what the compression strain on this thing is. They stared in awe at the tremendous shaft. Well,

I better get some pictures. They unloaded their cameras and snapped several shots of the shaft

from twenty feet, and then a shot with Maith Marina for size comparison. And then they sighted up

the shaft. What do you think it is? All at the big brains figure it out, at all to drive nuts.

Back at the ship, Kilpapper was squatting in the grass, watching Aramack at work. The

linguist was a patient man. His sisters had always remarked on his patients. His colleagues had

praised him for it and his students during his years of teaching had appreciated it.

Now the backlog of sixteen years of self-containment was being called to the front.

Now we'll try it again. Aramack said, he flipped through the pages of language approach to

alien grade two intelligences, a text written by himself and found a diagram he wanted to open to

the page and pointed. The animal beside him looked like an inconceivable cross between a chipmunk

and a giant panda. He cocked one eye at the diagram, the other eye wandering ludicrously around

its socket. A planet, Aramack said pointing, planet. Excuse me, Simmons said. I like to set up this

x-ray gadget here. But certainly Kilpapper said moving to let the biologist drag the machine into place.

Planet, Aramack said again.

Elon Bataholam Kram, the chipmunk panda, said.

Damn it, they had a language. The sounds they made were certainly representational. It was just

a question of finding a common meeting ground. Had they mastered simple abstractions,

Aramack put down his book and pointed to the chipmunk panda. Animal, he said and waited.

Get him to hold still, Simmons said, focusing the x-ray. That's good. Not now a few more.

Animal, Aramack repeated hopefully.

Patience, Aramack reminded himself. Positive attitude, be cheerful,

faint heart never. He picked up another of his manuals. This one was called language approach to

alien grade one intelligence, as he found what he wanted and put it down again, smiling,

nailed up a finger. One, the animal leaned forward and sniffed the finger.

Smiling grimly, Aramack held up another finger. Two, a third, three.

Hoglex, the animal said suddenly. A diphthong, their word for one. One, he said again, waiting the same

finger. That is several of us. The animal replied, beaming. Could that be an alternate one?

One, he said again, and the animal burst into song.

So that's how that's all it crammed out again, Bill again, homeless gram.

It stopped and looked at the language approach manual fluttering in the air, and at the back of

the linguist, who with remarkable patience had refrained from throttling him.

After Marina and Flynn returned, Kilpapper puzzled over their report and he had the photographs rushed

through and studied them with care. The shaft was round and smooth and obviously manufactured.

Any race that could put up a thing like that could give them trouble, big trouble, but who had put

the shaft up? Not the happy stupid animals around the ship, certainly. You say the top is hidden in

the clouds? Yes, sir. The damn thing must be all of a mile high. Well, go back and take a radar

scope, take infrared equipment and get me a picture of the top of that shaft. I want to know how

high it goes and what's on top of it. Flynn and Marina left the bridge. Kilpapper looked at the

still wet photographs for a minute longer than put them down. He wandered into the ship's lab,

vague worries nagging at him. This planet didn't make sense, and that bothered him. Kilpapper had

discovered the hard way that there's a pattern to everything. If you can't find it in time,

that's just too bad for you. Morrison, the bacteriologist, was a small sad man,

right now he looked like an extension of the microscope he was peering into.

If I find anything, I've found the absence of something that isn't announced of bacteria on this

planet. That's it, sir. The water in the stream is purer than distilled alcohol. The dirt on this

planet is cleaner than the boiled scalpel. The only bacteria are the ones we brought,

and they're being killed off. How? The air of this place has about three disinfecting agents

that I have detected. Probably a dozen more, I haven't. Same with the dirt and water. This

place is sterile. Well now, Kilpapper couldn't appreciate the full force of the statement. He was

still worried about the steel shaft. What does all this mean? I'm glad you asked me that. Yes,

I'm really glad you asked me. It means simply that this place does not exist. Oh, come now.

I mean it. There can't be life without microorganisms. One whole section of the life cycle

is missing here. Unfortunately, it does exist. Have you any other theories?

Yes, but I want to finish these tests first, but I'll tell you one thing. I haven't been able to

detect a piece of rock on this planet, and there's no loose rock or stone anywhere around.

The smallest stone is about seven tons. What does that mean? You're wondering too. Excuse me,

I want to complete these tests before supper. Just before sunset, the x-rays of the animals were

finished. Kilpapper had another surprise. Morris and Ed told him the planet couldn't exist,

then Simmons insisted the animals couldn't exist. Just look at these pictures, sir. Look,

you see any organs? X-rays showed a few bones and monitor organs. There were traces of a nervous

system on some of the pictures, but mostly the animal seemed homogenous throughout. There isn't

enough internal structure to keep a tapeworm going. This simplification is impossible. There's

nothing that corresponds to lungs or heart. No bloodstream, no brain, bam, little nervous system,

and what organs they have don't make sense. I conclude these animals don't exist.

Aramic, past and swearing softly. Any luck on the language? No.

Oh, sorry, I tested them right down to intelligence grade C3 double B. That's a meba class, no response.

Well, perhaps they're just completely brainless. No, the ability to do trick shows a certain level

of intelligence. They have a language of sorts also and a definite response pattern, but they won't

pay any attention. All they do is sing songs. I think we need supper. Perhaps a slugger

tool, the old standby, too. The old standby was much an evidence at supper. After a fifth or

two had been consumed, the scientists mellowed sufficiently to consider some possibilities to move

together their backs. Item, the natives or animals showed no sign of internal organs, no reproductive

or excretive equipment. There seemed to be at least three dozen species not counting birds and

more appearing every day, the same with plants. Item, the planet was amazingly sterile and acted

to keep itself so. Item, the natives had a language but evidently couldn't impart it to others,

nor could they learn another language. Item, there were no small rocks or stone around. Item,

there was a tremendous steel shaft rising to a height of at least half a mile, exact height

to be determined when the new pictures were developed. Although there was no sign of a machine

culture, the shaft was obviously the product of one. Someone must have built it and put it there.

Throw it all together and what have you got? I have a theory. It's a beautiful theory, sir.

The way I see it, the planet is man-made, it must be. No race would evolve without bacteria.

It was made by a super race. The race who put that steel spire there, they built it for the animals.

Why? This is a beautiful park, pure altruism. Look at the natives, happy, playful,

completely devoid of violence, with all nasty habits. Don't they deserve a world to themselves,

a world where they can rock and play in an eternal summer? These people are here as a reminder,

a message to all passing races that men can live in peace. There's only one flaw in that.

The animals could never have evolved naturally. You saw the X-rays. That's true. The dreamer

struggled briefly with a biologist and the dreamer lost. Perhaps they're robots. That's the

explanation I favor. The way I see it, the race that built that steel shaft built these animals too.

There's servants, slaves, why they might even think we're their masters.

Where would the real masters have gone? Well, how the hell should I know that?

And where would these masters live? We haven't spotted anything that looks like habitation.

They're so far advanced they don't need machines or houses. They live directly with nature.

Then why do they need servants? And why do they build the spire?

That evening, the new pictures of the steel pillar were completed in the scientists examined them

eagerly. The top of the pillar was almost a mile high, hidden in the clouds. There was a projection

on either side of the top, jutting out at right angles to a distance of 85 feet.

When kill pepper woke up the next morning, something didn't feel right. He dressed and went

outside. There seemed to be something intangible in the wind. Kill pepper shook his head.

He had faith in his premonitions. They usually meant that unconsciously he had completed some

process in reasoning. Everything seemed to be in order around the ship. The animals were outside,

wandering lazily around. Kill pepper glared at them and walked around the ship. The scientists were

back at work trying to solve the mysteries of the planet. Aramick was trying to learn the language

from a mournful eye, green and silver beast. It seemed unusually apathetic this morning.

Kill pepper thought of Cersei. Could the animals be people? Changed into beasts by some wicked

sorcerer? The crew hadn't noticed anything different. They had headed on mass for the waterfall

to get in some swimming. Kill pepper assigned two men to make a microscopic inspection of the

steel shaft. That worried him more than anything else. Around midday, Aramick, the linguist, walked

over. He threw his books one by one against the side of the ship. I give up. There was beast

who weren't paying any attention now. They're barely talking and they've stopped doing tricks.

The giraffe-like animal sat down suddenly. Slowly he rolled over on his side and lay still. Two of

the smaller ones with glassy black fur toppled over. What's happening now? I'm afraid I know,

Morrison said, germs. Captain, I feel like a murderer. I think we've killed these poor beasts.

Remember I told you there was no sign of any microorganism on the planet? Think of how many we've

introduced, bacteria streaming off our bodies onto these hosts, host with no resistance remember.

I thought you said the air had several disinfecting agents.

Avadately they didn't work fast enough. The rest of the animals around the ship were falling

now, and lying quite still. One of the crewmen dashed up, panting. It was still wet from his swim by

the waterfall. Sir, offered by the falls. The animals, and that's not all, the waterfall, you know,

the waterfall. It stopped, sir. It stopped running. Get the men down here. The crewmen sprinted

back to the falls and Kilpeper looked around, not sure what he was looking for. He almost had the

answer. The brown forest was quiet now, too quiet. The Kilpeper realized that the gentle steady breeze

that had been blowing ever since they landed had stopped. The crewmen hurried back from the waterfall,

glistening wet. At Kilpeper's order they piled back into the ship. The scientists remained

standing, looking over the silent land. The man who had been examining the shaft came running

down the hill, bounding through the long grass, as though the devil himself were after them.

What now? It's a damn shaft, sir. It's turning. The shaft, that mile high mass of incredibly

strong metal, was being turned. Kilpeper could feel the answer, taking shape now. There was just one more

bit of evidence he needed. One thing more. The animals sprang to their feet. The red and silver

birds started to fly again, winging high into the air. The giraffe hippo reared to his feet, snorted

and raced off. The rest of the animals followed him. From the forest an avalanche of strange beasts

poured onto the meadow. At full speed they headed west away from the ship.

Get back in the ship. That did it. Kilpeper knew now, and he only hoped he could get the ship

into deep space and time. Hurry the hell up and get those engines going. But we still got

equipment scattered around, sir. I don't see any need for this. Man the guns. Suddenly there were

long shadows in the west. Captain we haven't completed our investigation yet. You'll be lucky if

we live through this. And as you put it together yet close that bay, get everything tight.

You mean the turning shaft? All right I suppose there's some super race.

That turning shaft is a key in the side of the planet. It winds the place up. The whole world is

like that. Animals, rivers, wind, everything runs down. Figure it out. A place where all kinds

of wonderful food hangs from the trees. Where there's no bacteria to hurt you. Not even a sharp

rock to stub your toes. A place filled with marvelous, amusing, gentle animals. Where everything's

designed to delight you. A playground. And the shaft is a key. The place ran down while we made

our unauthorized visit. And now, now someone's winding the planet up again. Outside the port,

the shadows were stretching with thousands of feet across the green meadow. Hang on. Kill peppers

shouted as he punched the takeoff button. Unlike the toy animals, I don't want to meet the children

who play here. And I especially don't want to meet their parents.

You've heard Restricted Area, a story by Robert Sheckley,

Copyright 1953 by the ZIF Davis Publishing Company. I'm Michael Hanson, technical operation for

this program by Rich Grote and Mike Burns. Mindwebs is a production of WHA Radio Madison.