Free News From Elsewhere by Edmuind Cooper Page A

of terrestrial science.
    He gestured toward the ladder. The hominid smiled and scrambled up it with incredible speed. Lukas followed and began the conducted tour.
    If he expected a violent reaction—a display of superstition, dread, or near-worship—he was disappointed. Masumo looked at volatility tubes, pile drives, Kirchhausen units, refrigerators, contour berths, electronic cookers, and motion picture projectors with the same bland smile. It was as if, thought Lukas, the old hominid was on guard against something—too much on guard to remember that he ought to be suitably astounded.
    Only once did Masumo forget himself. They were on the navigation deck, and Lukas had just shown him the manual telescope, pointing it toward the forest line and letting him look through. But even the glass that made things magically near did not shake Masumo. He treated it with that same unwavering smile.
    Baffled, Lukas turned his attention to the small transceiver, intending to make radio contact with the tractor and see if Masumo would react to voices that he would recognize. He tried five hundred kilocycles, the agreed frequency, and called repeatedly. But as there was no answer, he concluded that Alsdorf and Chirico were out working on foot. As Lukas got up from the radio bench, he suddenly saw Masumo staring with poorly repressed excitement at a star chart. He stood still and watched for a moment, noting the quick, alert interest and the way Masumo swiftly moved his skinny finger from one constellation to another.
    Then, aware that Lukas was staring at him, Masumo  seemed to withdraw once more into his role of ignorant savage. The bland smile settled over his face like a mask.
    “Masumo, you know what those are, don’t you?” demanded Lukas, pointing to the star charts.
    But the hominid affected not to understand, and said in his own tongue, “Talk to me, man of the sky. Talk to me of your voyage across the ocean of many suns.”
    Certain now that Masumo was practicing some elaborate deception, Lukas wanted to shake the truth out of him. Instead, he found himself obeying the old hominid with a strange sense of emotional submission—as if his willpower had been paralyzed.
    Masumo left the   Henri Poincare   a little before sunset—long enough to give him a sufficient light to get back to the village. A few minutes after the hominid had gone, Lukas managed to rouse himself from a mental and emotional stupor. He had the sensation of awakening from some peculiar dream. He lit a cigarette, poured himself a stiff drink, and tried to consider the events of the afternoon calmly.
    He was still puzzling the situation out when Duluth returned from his trip in the monowheel. The engineer found Lukas on the mess deck, looking—as Duluth remarked—like a pile of ectoplasm left over from a phony seance.
    “What’s eating you, Mike? Somebody been making nasty faces through the window?”
    Lukas pulled himself together and gave a laconic account of Masumo’s visit. Duluth pursed his lips and let out a long, low whistle.
    “I had a feeling those simple-minded characters were too good to be true,” he said slowly. “I got something else for us to think about as well. In case you haven’t noticed it, they never talk to each other. They make plenty of gibberish for our benefit, but they don’t use it among themselves. I looked in at shantytown to say hello on my way back this afternoon. I was there a couple of hours, maybe. There was plenty of noise, all right—and all of it directed at me. ... I thought there was something mighty fishy, but it didn’t dawn on me what it was until I was heading back to the ship.”
    Lukas sat up suddenly. “Joe, you’ve hit it! These  creatures have been taking us—for a ride. They’re natural telepaths.”
    Duluth shrugged. “If they’re so goddam clever, why do they look like a gorilla’s next of kin? Why do they live the way they do?”
    “That’s what