Planet of the Damned

  II

  Ihjel gave the doctors exactly one day before he went to thehospital. Brion wasn't dead, though there had been some doubt aboutthat the night before. Now, a full day later, he was on the mend andthat was all Ihjel wanted to know. He bullied and strong-armed hisway to the new Winner's room, meeting his first stiff resistance atthe door.

  "You're out of order, Winner Ihjel," the doctor said. "And if youkeep on forcing yourself in here, where you are not wanted, rank orno rank, I shall be obliged to break your head."

  Ihjel had just begun to tell him, in some detail, just how slim hischances were of accomplishing that, when Brion interrupted themboth. He recognized the newcomer's voice from the final night inthe barracks.

  "Let him in, Dr. Caulry," he said. "I want to meet a man who thinksthere is something more important than the Twenties."

  While the doctor stood undecided, Ihjel moved quickly around him andclosed the door in his flushed face. He looked down at the Winner inthe bed. There was a drip plugged into each one of Brion's arms. Hiseyes peered from sooty hollows; the eyeballs were a network of redveins. The silent battle he fought against death had left its mark.His square, jutting jaw now seemed all bone, as did his long noseand high cheekbones. They were prominent landmarks rising from thelimp greyness of his skin. Only the erect bristle of hisclose-cropped hair was unchanged. He had the appearance of havingsuffered a long and wasting illness.

  "You look like sin," Ihjel said. "But congratulations on yourvictory."

  "You don't look so very good yourself--for a Winner," Brion snappedback. His exhaustion and sudden peevish anger at this man let theinsulting words slip out. Ihjel ignored them.

  But it was true; Winner Ihjel looked very little like a Winner, oreven an Anvharian. He had the height and the frame all right, but itwas draped in billows of fat--rounded, soft tissue that hung looselyfrom his limbs and made little limp rolls on his neck and under hiseyes. There were no fat men on Anvhar, and it was incredible thata man so gross could ever have been a Winner. If there was muscleunder the fat it couldn't be seen. Only his eyes appeared to stillhold the strength that had once bested every man on the planet towin the annual games. Brion turned away from their burning stare,sorry now he had insulted the man without good reason. He was toosick, though, to bother about apologizing.

  Ihjel didn't care either. Brion looked at him again and felt theimpression of things so important that he himself, his insults, eventhe Twenties were of no more interest than dust motes in the air. Itwas only a fantasy of a sick mind, Brion knew, and he tried to shakethe feeling off. The two men stared at each other, sharing a commonemotion.

  The door opened soundlessly behind Ihjel and he wheeled about,moving as only an athlete of Anvhar can move. Dr. Caulry was halfwaythrough the door, off balance. Two men in uniform came close behindhim. Ihjel's body pushed against them, his speed and the mountainousmass of his flesh sending them back in a tangle of arms and legs. Heslammed the door and locked it in their faces.

  "I have to talk to you," he said, turning back to Brion."Privately," he added, bending over and ripping out the communicatorwith a sweep of one hand.

  "Get out," Brion told him. "If I were able--"

  "Well, you're not, so you're just going to have to lie there andlisten. I imagine we have about five minutes before they decide tobreak the door down, and I don't want to waste any more of that.Will you come with me offworld? There's a job that must be done;it's my job, but I'm going to need help. You're the only one who cangive me that help.

  "Now refuse," he added as Brion started to answer.

  "Of course I refuse," Brion said, feeling a little foolish andslightly angry, as if the other man had put the words into hismouth. "Anvhar is my planet--why should I leave? My life is here andso is my work. I also might add that I have just won the Twenties.I have a responsibility to remain."

  "Nonsense. I'm a Winner, and I left. What you really mean is youwould like to enjoy a little of the ego-inflation you have worked sohard to get. Off Anvhar no one even knows what a Winner is--muchless respects one. You will have to face a big universe out there,and I don't blame you for being a little frightened."

  Someone was hammering loudly on the door.

  "I haven't the strength to get angry," Brion said hoarsely. "AndI can't bring myself to admire your ideas when they permit you toinsult a man too ill to defend himself."

  "I apologize," Ihjel said, with no hint of apology or sympathy inhis voice. "But there are more desperate issues involved than yourhurt feelings. We don't have much time now, so I want to impress youwith an idea."

  "An idea that will convince me to go offplanet with you? That'sexpecting a lot."

  "No, this idea won't convince you--but thinking about it will.If you really _consider_ it you will find a lot of your illusionsshattered. Like everyone else on Anvhar, you're a scientifichumanist, with your faith firmly planted in the Twenties. You acceptboth of these noble institutions without an instant's thought. Allof you haven't a single thought for the past, for the untoldbillions who led the bad life as mankind slowly built up the goodlife for you to lead. Do you ever think of all the people whosuffered and died in misery and superstition while civilizationwas clicking forward one more slow notch?"

  "Of course I don't think about them," Brion retorted. "Why should I?I can't change the past."

  "But you can change the future!" Ihjel said. "You owe somethingto the suffering ancestors who got you where you are today. IfScientific Humanism means anything more than just words to you,you must possess a sense of responsibility. Don't you want to tryand pay off a bit of this debt by helping others who are just asbackward and disease-ridden today as great-grandfather Troglodyteever was?"

  The hammering on the door was louder. This and the drug-inducedbuzzing in Brion's ear made thinking difficult. "Abstractly, I ofcourse agree with you," he said haltingly. "But you know there isnothing I can do personally without being emotionally involved. Alogical decision is valueless for action without personal meaning."

  "Then we have reached the crux of the matter," Ihjel said gently.His back was braced against the door, absorbing the thudding blowsof some heavy object on the outside. "They're knocking, so I must begoing soon. I have no time for details, but I can assure you upon myword of honor as a Winner that there is something you can do. Onlyyou. If you help me we might save seven million human lives. Thatis a fact."

  The lock burst and the door started to open. Ihjel shouldered itback into the frame for a final instant.

  "Here is the idea I want you to consider. Why is it that the peopleof Anvhar, in a galaxy filled with warring, hate-filled, backwardplanets, should be the only ones who base their entire existenceon a complicated series of games?"