Julio Aníbal Portas - "Raw Material" (1955)

INTRODUCTION

Julio Aníbal Portas (8 Feb 1915 - 10 Dec 1984) was an Argentine fiction author, historian and bibliographer. He was one of the directors of Más Allá ("Beyond"), as well as the magazine "Misterix" and "Screen" ("Parabrisas") and "Teleaventura". For his science fiction output, he published four short stories that appeared in Más Allá, an Argentinian science fiction magazine, three under the pseudonym Julián de Córdoba; the short stories "Raw Material" (#20, January 1955), "The Jump" (#22, March 1955) and the novella "Rino's Fantasies" (#46, April 1957), and one under the pseudonym Julio Almada, "Time Disintegrated" (#8, January 1954). "Raw Material" was illustrated by Ornay.

For further information on this era of Argentine science fiction, see Rachel Haywood Ferreira's "Más Allá, El Eternauta, and the Dawn of the Golden Age of Latin American Science Fiction (1953-59)", "How Latin America Saved the World and Other Forgotten Futures" and Carlos Abraham's "Las revistas argentinas de ciencia ficción".

For complete scans of Más Allá, including the illustrations, see: https://ahira.com.ar/revistas/mas-alla-de-la-ciencia-y-de-la-fantasia/ 

Translator's note: There are a frustrating amount of typos and inconsistencies within the text, which we have corrected with notes in-text where relevant. For mass corrections, "Mgué" is inconsistantly written at several points in the text as Ugué and Ngué, we have standardized these to "Mgué." There also appear to be several line dropouts, which we have also noted.

RAW MATERIAL

The immense ship was reducing speed. The five hours required to go from a speed several times superlight to normal approach velociy, ten times supersonic, were approaching their end.

Jor almost continuously consulted the chronoscopic tape, clearly visible on one wall of the narrow cubicle, into which the eighty men of the Orna were crammed. He couldn't wait to get out and return to the comfort of the spacious lounges. The unified cubicle was an indisputable necessity to withstand the enormous reduction in velocity, but those five hours were anything but pleasant. One couldn't move for lack of space. One had to remain there, motionless, prey to the strange torpor characteristic of the unified field. This was equal to the absolute acceleration of men and equipment within the reduced space to that of the walls, reducing the cabin and its contents to a perfect inertial system.

A quarter of an hour, no more. And afterwards he would once again enjoy, without physical discomfort, the indefinable exaltation that accompanied him throughout the voyage. This incredible voyage through the depths of the stars, aboard this fabulous ship, in the company of 79 Algolians who treated him as an equal. He, a simple Peripheral!

Deneb, his native system, was the last to arrive in the great Community of Algol. And he, Jor, was the first Denebian chosen by these marvelous creatures to fulfill a mission of importance. They had chosen him from among thousands of volunteers, Peripherals and also old Algolians, for his culture, his intelligence, and his philosophical principles. He was, with respect to his traveling companions, what the provincials still were to the inhabitants of the Capitals back on Deneb. And yet, it was they who envied the honor of his special mission. It was enough to make him proud and completely forget any fear of the dangers and disadvantages inherent in his next adventure.

The Algolians hurried along with serene efficiency. The sensation of unease disappeared, and in its place was the pleasant pull of a gentle deceleration.

Astar, the Best, indicated to Jor that he should accompany him.

- "It's only right that you attend the arrival," he said.

In the control room, the panels of polarized steel revealed a view of pitch-black space, mottled with bright stars. A fist-sized fireball stood out against the blackness of the firmament, dominating the center of the panel on the prow.

- "Saol!" Astar exclaimed. He turned to Oruat, the Second Best. "Kindly activate the amplivisor and focus on Saol's planets."

That feeling of warm admiration reappeared in Jor, mixed with a slight hint of envy. For thousands of years, Deneb silently admired the civilization of the Great Community, initiated by the Algol system. Laboriously, and with diligence, always made the effort to imitate the customs, the philosophy of life, the manners of Algol, which it recognized as the best. And finally, the people of the Deneb system had received their reward. Their global civilization index reached a level that indicated maturity, and automatically, but with sincere pleasure, the Community accepted them into its fold. Despite official recognition, he thought, generations would pass before the Denebians would be able to carry the mantle of culture with that aristocratic and natural ease. On Deneb, they used the same polite phrases that Astar used to address his Second. But from his lips, they took on a deeper meaning. They ceased to be mere phrases and became true symbols of existing, real emotions. Primitive humans from all the systems of the universe used to greet their brothers and companions, sincerely wishing them a propitious day, symbolizing their wish with the words: "Good day!" But little by little, the symbol loses its meaning, and by the second phase of culture, one says "good day" mechanically, without fully experiencing the corresponding emotion. Only at the peak of the third phase, after constant and skillful efforts, does man succeed in restoring to the symbols their meaning lost along the way.

The large amplivisor crystal glowed softly. On its opaque surface, Saol appeared, less brilliant, surrounded by its inner planets: Merk, Vens, Ters, and Mars.

- "Ters..." Jor murmured, visibly moved by the spectacle, which was so meaningful to him.

- "Yes, the third planet of Saol... the eternal thorn in our conscience..." Astar said, without turning his gaze, fixed on the crystal.

- "But Algol has already done everything possible to atone and make amends..."

- "There's nothing we can do to erase what happened... I can't forget that horrible sight..."

- "Sight?" Jor asked. "So you've seen a stereophonic recording of the tragedy... I've never had the opportunity to see it," he added ruefully. "I know, I've studied it, but I haven't seen it... It's not the same."

- "What, you haven't seen it?... You of all people!... But you must see it. There's still time until we land on Venus, and we have time. Be so kind as to come to the library with me..."

* * *

THREE hundred million years ago (Ters years), Algol hadn't yet reached its present maturity, but it already possessed a degree of civilization far superior to the current level in the civilian systems in the Periphery. Its sphere of influence did not yet extend to the thousands of systems scattered throughout the galaxy, but it had already laid the foundations of the present-day Community with some twenty inhabited worlds. It never conquered a planet. It let life emerge and progress on its own. When a world attained a sufficient degree of culture, it simply entered the Community and benefited from Algol's ancient wisdom.

Their exact sciences had practically reached their present level. They discovered the fundamental principles of the universe. They knew how to transform matter into energy and energy into matter. Their technicians had succeeded in reconstructing organic matter and synthesizing life. Given sufficient time and an enormous quantity of energy, they could have created an animal. But in actuality, their laboratories were limited to creating, for experimental purposes, only lower organisms like microbes and simple insects. From the outset, they realized that the synthetic creation of organic matter is incredibly costly in terms of time and energy, and that it was more convenient for them to facilitate the natural reproduction of plants and primitive animals. To supply their numerous factories, they required immense quantities of organic raw material, both plant and animal, which their crops were barely able to produce... Until one day, three hundred million years ago, it was discovered that a fabulous source of organic matter could be exploited: the virgin worlds of the extreme Periphery. Planets recently formed, teeming with life.

Algol's gigantic ships began to plow through space. They chose the most fertile and primitive planets and returned laden with condensed and compressed organo-hydrated matter. They took every possible precaution to avoid altering those planets' fates. They limited their harvest to restricted areas, as not to risk exterminating entire species, and they never visited a world at intervals shorter than five hundred years. At the first suspicion of intelligent life, they abandoned it immediately.

Ters, of Saol, was the richest organic mine in the all of the explored universe from the very beginning. For almost a million years, they filtered the waters of its seas and the silt of its swamps, which were teeming with incredibly prolific microorganisms. Little by little, animal and plant life crept from the oceans to the mainland, and the continents became covered with fertile molds, fungi, and polypods. The dense forests soon filled with primitive life and became ideal hunting grounds for Algol's crews. The amphibians grew in size and ferocity. They transformed into giant reptiles. Mammals appeared and grew in size, while the large reptiles became extinct.

For three hundred million years life evolved on Ters.

Until one day, one hundred and fifty thousand years ago...

* * *

A shiver ran down Jor's spine. Until now, the stereosonor displayed fragments of records taken by five hundred thousand ships that had, one after another, visited Ters.

And so a faithful reproduction of Ters's drama would then appear on the screen, artfully crafted but without deviating from reality, as a constant warning to all Algol crews.

On the screen, the massive silhouette of the Atlan began to move. It was approaching Saol, and Jor was presented with the same sight he saw shortly before on the Orna's amplivisor: Saol and its inner planets. The Atlan drew closer, and examination of the surface showed that the configuration of the seas and continents hadn't substantially changed since the last voyage, five hundred years before.

With its snowy peaks, the chain of high mountains that ran parallel to the equator, to the northwest of the largest continent, broke the monotony of the green that reigned supreme without interruption.

Cron, the Best of Atlan, Nepty, the Second Best, Tot and Zev, the Third Bests, directed the landing from the large control room.

- "The last ship made its harvest on the boot-shaped peninsula south of that chain. If you don't have any problems, we can land to the north," Cron said.

The Atlan descended in an oblique line and floated slowly at a low altitude while Zev searched for a clearing in the thick vegetation.

- "It's fantastic," he said. "I've never seen such a fertile world! What invasive flora! Look... There isn't a single inch of free land... Greenery is swarming everywhere... If we want to land, we'll have to clear some ground. I'm going to use the beam."

Myriads of birds fluttered around the high treetops. Even without hearing their chatter, one gained a disturbing impression of intense, bustling, exuberant life. Most were birds, proper, warm-blooded, feathered animals. But here and there, the last representatives of an almost extinct species, some winged reptiles flew laboriously for brief distances, barely sustaining their heavy, scaly bodies.

The disintegrator control was part of the amplivisor's ornate panel. A small, opaque knob with a bright metal needle. Zev moved the needle and applied gentle pressure.

Below, a long strip of vegetation disappeared, as if it were vaporized, leaving an open space that stood out like a gray island among the dark green of the jungle.

Under Nept's skillful hands, the Atlan curved in an elegant circle to return to the bare rectangle. It descended vertically and landed gently on the carpet of fine dust left by the disintegrator beam, almost completely filling the hollow.

- "Friend," Cron said into the intercom, his voice echoing throughout every sector of the immense vessel, "we're arrived... Pause for preparation... Inspection mission with Bests Zev and Tot. Those in the second group, please get your gear ready..."

- "Same for the third," Zev murmured.

- "Ah, yes... The third group will locate the Moloks and pre-regulate them for automatic harvesting, assuming the inspection comes back negative. This way, we'll avoid two missions and save time. I wish you a safe expedition... Fourth group? Clear the holds... Ready for disinfection... Standard routine. Good work!"

Shortly afterwards, the external hatches of the Atlan's two main antechambers opened to admit twenty small tanks, which slowly floated to the ground, raising clouds of impalpable grey dust.

Tot's tank slowly entered the shadows of the forest, going towards the east. Zev was heading west. They were to meet after they each covered half the perimeter of the large square designated for harvest. The other eighteen tanks would cross the square from south to north, following the same number of parallel and approximately equidistant lines.

Seated next to Tot, under the plasticrystal dome, Gea operated the stereophonic recorder. The small vehicle easily made its way through the dense tangle of bushes, giant fungus, ferns, and vines. Occasionally, Gea signaled to stop so she could focus her lens on a flying lizard, a giant locust, or an armored ant more than a foot long. Small mammals abounded. Tiny horses scurried about, pursued by ferocious rats almost equal in size. A herd of massive boar crossed their path with a great crash of broken branches. They were as big as the tank, and their formidable, elongated heads knew no obstacles.

The undergrowth was crisscrossed by relatively wide tunnels, formed by the passage of larger animals. The tank glided through these passageways, searching for some tool, some mark on the trunks, some remnant of a fire. Any clue that might indicate the presence of an intelligent inhabitant in these woods.

- "Nothing, absolutely nothing," Tot said after a while.

- "Nothing, really?" Gea replied, laughing. "Does that kitten seem like nothing to you?"

It was a beautiful tiger, agile despite its size, bearing extremely long fangs, sharp and curved like sabers. It stood motionless for a moment, staring at the vehicle, then walked away with an elegant, silent gait.

- "Index of eight," Gea added, looking at the phrenograph dial. "Half that of our cats... Very big and very stupid!"

Suddenly, the phrenograph indicator, which until then had fluctuated between 0.1 and 10, jumped sharply, indicating a cerebral index of twenty-one. An anthropomorphic dryopithecus was clumsily walking in front of the tank, dragging its long arms along the ground.

- "That's already progress, but it's still far from reaching the minimum limit of fifty."

- "The highest index recorded by previous expeditions was twenty-five. It can't grow from twenty-five to fifty in five hundred years."

- "No," Gea conceded, "but we can't discount the existence of rational or pre-rational urbanism somewhere on this terrible planet with absolute certainty. A small, nascent group might have escaped our predecessors' observation."

- "It's a negligible probability. But for the exact reason that it exists, we never harvest before thoroughly exploring the surroundings. Let's see if the other monkeys in the trees have a higher index."

The tank rose from the ground to fly between the enormous trunks, almost skimming the lowest branches of the leafy canopy. Myriads of monkeys, both large and small, frolicked happily, jumping from branch to branch.

- "Closer," Gea continuously urged. "You know very well that the modulations of brain waves at this distance arrive corrupted and the phrenograph can't record anything... Closer..." They focused closely on monkey after monkey, bird after bird, felines and flying insects. The maximum index was twenty-two.

* * *

The twenty tanks gathered at the agreed-upon location. None of them fared any better. Zev contacted Cron and reported, "Inspection conducted without incident. Maximum cerebral index twenty-three. The harvest will be abundant. With your permission, we'll head back. Excellent, departing now..."

The vehicles rose above the forest and began their return journey, spreading out in regular formation to cover the entire square within the coagulators' radius of action. As they passed, the intense movement and the dull murmur of the jungle suddenly stopped. The dark swarm of primitive life that crawled blindly and aimlessly below them ceased completely, giving way to the stillness of a wasteland.

- "Poor saber-toothed tiger," murmured Gea, "so beautiful and proud..."

- "Yes, I feel sorry for them too, sometimes, and I wonder if we have the right... But then we wouldn't have the right to exterminate a plague of blue fever either, for example. Blue microorganisms are also living creatures, just like the ones down there. A line has to be drawn somewhere, and as it happens we've set it a cerebral development index of fifty. I believe that if we take every precaution not to extinguish species in the making, if we don't completely exterminate the chrysalides of some future butterfly, we aren't committing a sin against the dark designs of evolution, against the sovereign laws of nature."

- "I know perfectly well, O scrupulous soul!... I confess that I was thinking more of the tiger's magnificent skin than of its ephemeral existence. I'm sure we're doing good, if we look at it from a cosmic perspective. Nature itself, with all its laws, tends more toward the protection of the species than to the well-being of the individual. The destruction of a few semi-conscious lives is an infinitely lesser evil than the good our civilization will offer to some future race of Ters, when they are mature enough to enter the Community. Not to mention that our intervention may directly favor the progress of evolution. The areas we're ravaging are unforeseen elements that some species may take advantage of. In that scenario, there will be, for a time, less competition; tender seedlings will soon grow. And some relative of the dryopithecus we've killed will discover it by chance, and perhaps the advantage gained will help them take a small step forward..."

- "No doubt about it... It's true... Furthermore, death caused by radiation coagulating the blood and lymph is instantaneous.[Translator's note: "radiation coagulating" is chopped off in the magazine version, but present in a plaintext version of the magazine elsewhere online. Since the sentence makes grammatical sense, we're going to accept it is the intended wording.] We use the coagulator to prevent the organisms from fleeing before the harvesters, but also to give them a sudden, painless death..."

There was no breath of life left in the great quadrilateral. The ten large harvesting machines were already in position, their controls set automatically. The twenty tanks were returning to the Atlan, also carrying the ten Molok men. Before darkness was complete, all the expeditionaries returned to the comforts and safety of their ship. 

From the control room, Nept set the automatics, which began to scan the lifeless area inch by inch. They emitted extremely narrow horizontal planes of disintegration. Large trunks and undergrowth, neatly cut into workable sections, collapsed with a crash. And the monsters advanced, engulfing and crushing, condensing and compressing. The tons and tons of plant and animal organisms were feverishly converted into hundreds and thousands of large, gleaming cubes, enormously heavy, which the machines piled into tall pyramids arranged at regular intervals. In long parallel rows, piles of precious raw materials lay there, waiting to be lifted the next day by the automated stevedores. The only cargo the Atlan would never pick up...

* * *

NEPT was on watch on the great sleeping ship. He had the eyes and ears of Atlan before him on the beautiful dashboard. Eyes that saw in the darkness of the night, extremely sensitive and selective ears. His shift was about to end when a brief buzzing alarm came from the dashboard. On a grid screen, one of the small squares flashed in luminous blue.

Some nocturnal bird must have collided with the Atlan's flank in midair. Although he didn't consider it necessary, Nept complied with the rules of the Best on Watch. He activated the appropriate periscope and looked. There was no animal at the site of the slight collision. Nept was sure it was a bird. Until a small yellow square lit up.

The banging repeated itself several times, each time louder, in different places on the hull. Nept activated all the periscopes on one side, in sequence. A monkey appeared on the screen. It held a rock in its hand and was hitting the metal of the ship, now in one spot, now in another. A playful animal, Nept thought.

But little by little, a strange uneasiness began to creep over him. Something wasn't right. The monkey didn't walk as hunched over as its peers. Its flat face wasn't as hairy.

Trembling, Nept rang the alarm to summon the Bests... The monkey was wearing a piece of fur that wasn't the fur of a monkey. In the slightly blurred infrared image, it looked like some kind of feline-skin loincloth, tied with crude knots.

Cron, Zev, and Tot arrived in the control room almost at the same time. Cron's face, calm as always, showed an interrogating expression, tinged with a slight tinge of anxiety. Nept wouldn't raise the alarm over a trivial incident.

The monkey, followed by the chain of periscopes, continued its patient rounds, occasionally striking the hull. The taps had a vaguely rhythmic quality, and the stone that produced them was tied to the end of a short shaft that could have been bone or wood.

- "An erect primate," said Cron, analyzing the situation into its significant elements, "possessing tools and clothing... It has continuity of purpose... It's human!... Incredible... According to all our previous experience on other worlds, this wasn't supposed to happen for half a million years... at the very least."

- "But there it is," Zev chimed in. "Let's hope we didn't kill any in the harvest area..."

- "Let's hope..." Cron's voice echoed with suppressed horror. "Well, what's happened, happened. No more visits to Ters. That leaves just Vens for Saol. It's not as lush as this planet, but we'll have to make do..."

- "And that primitive?... We can't leave it out there, we can't leave without knowing something more..."

- "No, Tot..., no, surely not." Cron said. "Let's have a look at it."

The hatch closest to the monkey opened, giving access to the brilliantly illuminated disinfection antechamber. A wide inclined plane descended from the Atlan's flank, equipped with antiquated but extremely convenient slats, designed for climbing on foot in case of emergency.

The primate hesitated only a few moments. Slowly, almost upright, he climbed the ramp and, with dignity, suffered the automatic disinfection process. When the inner hatch opened, he followed the illuminated corridors and reached the control room. He carried the club behind his back, perhaps as a sign of peace.

Before the Best could order it, Zev already had his hands on the controls of a phrenograph.

- "It must be sixty," he said, and focused on the monkey.

Nept, turning to the interpreter, looked the monkey in the eyes and wagered:

- "Sixty!"

With his eyes on the phrenograph indicator, Zev said, in an almost hoarse voice:

[Translator's note: There appears to be a missing line here.]

The four gazes met, incredulous.

The interpreter, a kind of telepathic communicator devised by Algol psychiatrists for their own use, but also employed for the infrequent first contacts with unknown races, was not a perfect device. It was actually an accessory attached to a phrenograph. It classified the modulations of impulses emanating from the brain and transmitted them, grouped and amplified, to the receiver, who perceived the corresponding images. This is provided they involved concrete objects known to both individuals. Furthermore, it specified, through colors, twelve principal emotions and a hundred combinations and gradations thereof. It didn't translate complex thoughts or abstract ideas. If the interpreter transmitted the pink image of a dead rabbit, the receiver easily deciphered it: "I'm proud because I killed it and, satisfied, I ate it." But another individual translated the same modulations with equal ease: "That rabbit was killed by my rival. He killed only one, and I killed six or seven, and I ate them." For all its imperfections, it was a great help, and also allowed Algolians to learn any simple language in a few minutes, comparing images with words.

- "Ung..." the primate said, addressing the four in general. His voice was markedly guttural but well articulated. "Uung anga da larg... nen 'nte cá..."

- "Ung!" Cron answered, hoping he was not mistaken.

The creature nodded its rough head and summarized its speech:

- "Ung... anga 'mbe goo..."

In a succession of multicolored images, the four saw fragmentary scenes from the exploration in their minds. Perspectives of the dense primitive jungle, their own tanks seen from the most unlikely positions, primates wearing loincloths and carrying stone implements stalking the tanks and following them from a distance... The same primates lying on the ground in the most unusual positions, motionless... 

'Mbe, the man from Ters, continued talking about his dead companions, and in his mental projections the colors of hatred, rage, and aggression were strangely absent. But the four didn't dare look at him.

It wasn't difficult to reconstruct the events. 'Mbe and his small community had gathered to hunt the great slashing-fangtiger. They wanted its meat for food, its skin for loincloths, but most of all, the wonderful knives that the tigers carry in their mouths. Everyone would enjoy the meat, even the young ones who followed their mothers. The skin and fangs would be distributed among those most in need.

* * *

BEFORE they could surround the tiger and surprise and ensnare it with vines, strange animals appeared, each carrying other animals inside. 'Mbe and his people knew very well that there are no animals more dangerous than an unknown animal. Even the great tiger and the terrible long-head-pig cease to be fearsome when one knows their habits. They abandoned the tiger hunt to follow the animals that shone like water in the sun and walked without legs and flew without wings. They followed them, always keeping their distance, in absolute silence, jumping from branch to branch, always in the shelter of some tree trunk...

'Mbe displayed all his cunning in chasing one of the animals. After a very long hunt, it stopped. 'Mbe remained motionless, waiting. The animal didn't move. It must have been asleep. 'Mbe began to get bored. The snakes, the birds, the pigs, and the stupid monkeys carried on with their lives as if nothing had happened. They didn't know how dangerous an unknown animal could be. 'Mbe knew this and remained on the lookout, invisible. But he was bored to death... For a moment, he was careless, and when he looked again, the animal had disappeared. Then he flew from branch to branch toward the side-where-sun-never-gos, to find out where it had gone. When he realized he had lost the trail, he was surprised. After many steps, he found the trail of one of his companions and followed it. 'Mbe didn't like being alone. Almost immediately, he found him, fallen-to-never-rise. Restless, he began to look for other tracks and found many of his companions and some little ones. All fallen-to-never-rise. And the tiger too. And the birds. And the stupid monkeys. Everyone. No one moved in the forest. Something was happening. Ever more restless and bored with being alone, he went to the great log-where-goes-everyone. If any companion was still moving, he would go there. He waited a long time. When the sun went below the ground, 'Mbe knew he was alone...

He no longer cared about anything. Abandoning his usual caution, he wandered aimlessly in the darkness... Until he saw a animal-mountain that ate a big piece of forest. 'Mbe wasn't afraid that the animal-mountain would make him fallen-to-never-rise. Nothing mattered to him, and he didn't want to be alone. He was also a little curious... He struck it. When the animal opened its mouth and stuck out its tongue, he realized it wasn't an animal. It was a no-one-knows-what... Then he went in and walked a long way, inside the no-one-knows-what, and found an almost a handful of others like 'Mbe. If they were bad like 'Ngrao's children, they would make him fallen-to-never-rise. If they were good, 'Mbe would no longer be alone. And that was very good...

Cron hadn't moved a single muscle the entire time.

- "We have to know, of course... We can't leave without knowing... if there are others..."

Nept assisted. He was jotting down some words to aid his memory. The structure of the simple dialect was already clear in his mind. 'Mbe readily answered all his questions.

In the beginning, Urma, the mother of everyone, lived in the Good Place, where tigers and snakes did not lurk and food was plentiful. All she had to do was reach out and grab the tastiest morsels. Evil did not exist...

They recognized the simple black-and-white, no middle ground, symbolism of all primitive peoples. The description of Urma's earthly paradise coincided with many details of the stereograms taken by the previous expedition from the site of its harvest. A small agglomeration of rocks was found exactly in the center of the square, the great mountain range visible to the north. It was quite likely that five hundred years earlier, south of the mountains, a female of the great ape had, by chance, come across a vast plain without trees or undergrowth. The jungle dwellers avoided it with terror, because it had been razed to the ground a few moons before and because it was strangely devoid of vegetation.

The one later called Urma found some tender shoots on the bare ground that were just beginning to grow. She ate and fed her children until she came across a group of rocks riddled with caverns. Attracted by the food and the absence of enemies, thousands of rabbits invaded the field and soon numbered in the millions. Probably one of Urma's children, playing, bit into a newborn bunny, finding it tasty. That was the critical moment that changed Ters's destiny. The monkeys began to hunt rabbits and the needs of hunting, and later, sticks with stones tied to them. They invented vocal symbols to communicate the location of their prey. There, around the protective rocks, the small family of vegetarian monkeys, now transformed into omnivores, multiplied and developed rapidly. And when the forest returned to the central caverns, they were already men...

Legend had it that Urma had two sons: 'Mgué the good, and 'Ngrao the bad. 'Ngrao was stronger, but 'Mgué knew more. The descendants of the two brothers divided into two tribes. The 'Mgué made tools, and their brothers stole them. The same thing happened with hunting. The 'Mgué never attacked, but they defended themselves, and, unable to defend themselves by force, they further developed their inventiveness.

When a great plague of locusts struck, the 'Mgué migrated north and crossed the great mountains. Hundreds died. But one of 'Mbé's grandfathers survived with his family and settled north of the mountains. 'Mbé's father had invented a way to harness fire from the sky. 'Mbé himself had discovered the usefulness of the loincloth to protect the most vulnerable parts. Thanks to his ingenuity, the small community, now free from the parasitism of the 'Ngrao, was progressing rapidly when the catastrophe occurred...

* * *

The following were days of feverish activity for the Atlan's crew. Their shuttles, exploration tanks, and personal propulsors scoured the entire region in an agonizing search for any survivors. South of the mountains, they encountered several hundred beings similar to 'Mbe, but taller and more massive. They knew how to use the club, but had made little progress otherwise. They were aggressive and quarrelsome and frequently battled among themselves. The strongest became chieftains, the most cunning became magicians. They were gullible and deceitful. Full of fear, yet incredibly reckless.

They tried to flee from the men of the Atlan. Accosted, they knelt trembling and accepted them as superior beings. They didn't object to Cron taking one of their females.

Back on the ship, Cron addressed his crew.

- "I feel responsible," he said, "for the worst crime imaginable. The murder of a race. It's an irreparable crime against the laws of nature. Several peoples in the Periphery, despite their low level of social conscience, have intuited these laws and created special parks to preserve vanquished species from extinction. They don't want to feel guilty of genocide. A farmer kills thousands of rabbits without remorse, because he knows they can reproduce, but he would never kill the last pair.

"'Mbe's tribe wasn't much more intelligent than the primitives of the South, but their minds were developing in the most just sense. In an incredibly short time, their social structure would have allowed them to enter our community. Those of the South will take, left to themselves, millions of years, provided their unintegrated emotions don't finish them off much sooner.

"I feel responsible and will try to remedy my crime as much as possible. I'm staying on Ters. You will return to Algol with Nept as Best. There you may find some volunteers who will come with the next expedition and help me in my task."

- "I also feel responsible," Gea said. "I'm staying with you."

- "There's no one responsible here!" A deep voice boomed over the intercom, its echoes rich in harmony spreading throughout the ship's halls and cabins. Everyone recognized the unmistakable voice of Quetzal, the Battery Repairer. "The thing is that the sane monkeys had bad luck, and so have we. They're dead, and there's not much they can do. It's up to us to babysit the crazy monkeys. I don't want to miss the spectacle..."

- "Thank you, Quetzal," Cron replied, "but the Atlan needs you."

- "And you also need a Food Preparer," Isia's melodious voice chimed in. "That's why I'm staying. Those who want to leave, just say so."

The intercom speakers went silent. The Atlan never returned to Algol.

The seventy men and thirty-three women settled near the 'Ngrao, forming a small colony that soon adapted to the new life. 'Mbe passively accepted the company of the female Cron had assigned him, but he always preferred to be with the Algolians.

- "Much woman, but nothing here," he would say, touching his belly. It was easy to teach him that intelligence resides in the brain, not the belly. Then he began to beat himself heavily on the forehead, repeating:

- "Big man, but nothing here!" He always accompanied his new friends on the expeditions they frequently undertook, hoping to find traces of some survivor from the 'Mgué tribe. He continually asked insightful questions, and his knowledge grew visibly.

He was the only one in the colony who remained calm when his mate gave birth to two small, furry, squeaky creatures.

- "Much hair, nothing here," was his only comment. Now he stopped banging his head, but instead elegantly pointed to his right temple with his index finger, just as his good friend Quetzal had taught him.

Every year, without exception, the large female daughter of 'Ngrao gave birth to two sons. In the intervals between, she stole everything she could find and often bit 'Mbé because he took the stolen objects from her to return them to their owners.

The children resembled their mother, both in appearance and character. Psychological tests increasingly indicated that their adult intelligence lacked the balance and integration of their father's mind. Hopes of giving new life to 'Mgué's offspring grew dimmer by the day.

Keb, the Atlan biochemist, attempted to nullify the female's dominant genes and enhance the vitality of 'Mbé's recessive genes. Year after year, with desperate persistence, he repeated his attempts, but the chances of success grew increasingly distant.

The little ones continued to be born fierce and aggressive, and when, at three years old, their mother abandoned them, considering them independent, they went into the forest and joined the rowdy gang of their stepbrothers.

For seven years, 'Mbé participated in the life of the colony. The crew members now considered him a human being and admired his intelligence and common sense. Even his appearance was changing. Perhaps due to age, or a reflection of his inner life, his features were becoming more refined, and the gulf between him and the neighboring tribe was now clearly visible. Already a master of abstract concepts, 'Mbé understood the meaning of his friends' desperate purpose, and his attachment transformed into devotion.

Keb proposed trying another female or two from the tribe, in the unlikely event that the cause was the mother's exceptionally dominant genes, rather than the father's recessive genes. Cron arranged for a group led by Keb to go shortly to select one or two young females from the tribe.

The expedition was laid out. 'Mbé's companion gave birth for the seventh time when one day she viciously bit Isia, out of surprise.[Translator's note: "Isia" appears as "Isis" in the text. We've decided to use the name "Isia" for consistency with the first appereance, rather than the other way around.]

Without apparent anger or resentment, strictly to teach a lesson, 'Mbé gave his beloved half a thorough beating. The next morning, his friends found him lifeless. A precise bite had severed his jugular artery, and peacefully, almost without waking, the sole representative of the human race passed from one dream to the next.

* * *

With this hope dashed, the Algolians devoted themselves more and more to guiding the first steps of the 'Ngrao tribe. From the outset, it was clear that many thousands of years would pass before the new kings of Ters would reach a level of sanity even comparable to that of 'Mbé. Their numbers increased with astonishing rapidity, and soon their tribes spread across the continent.

The Algolians' average lifespan was seven hundred Ters years, but Cron, with the help of Keb, managed to extend it to almost double that.

The sub-men continued to multiply...

Cron decided it was best for them to forget the existence of a superior race and anchored the Atlan in the ocean that separated the two continents. A small tribe was transplanted to the smaller continent. Quetzal accompanied them and stayed with them for a time. He helped them and taught them how to adapt to the new environment; then he returned to the Atlan.

From their floating island, the descendants of the original crew continued to exert their civilizing influence, with timely, very brief interventions.

The Children of 'Ngrao possessed a very fertile imagination. They often recounted events with an utter and unconscious disregard for the truth. They only said what they wished were true. When they didn't know some detail, they created it with the greatest ease. Around the Algolians, bathed in an unreal light of infinite power, fantastic tales began to circulate in which the real truth was always obscured by a brilliant layer of imaginary detail. Usually, they ended up blindly believing in the details and forgetting the underlying reality.

When providential interventions became less frequent, the stories took on proportions of true mythology. Myths and legends were formed in every corner of the globe, perpetuated from father to son, embellished with new flourishes with each passing generation.

Millennia passed. Humanity slowly progressed. Through technical advancement, the first glimmer of an accurate and impartial understanding of things was born.

One day, the first sails began to cross the seas, and the benevolent guardians sank the Atlan. They then scattered across the world, mingling with the natives. They lost their longevity, and soon the last pure descendants of the beings who to atone for their guilt renounced the stars, disappeared from the face of Ters.

But their work did not cease with their existence. From their union with the natives, men were born whose character strangely resembled the race devoured 140,000 years earlier by the Moloks of Atlan.[Translator's note: 140 years in text, likely a missing word.]

Here and there, lost among the brutal warriors, peaceful, rational, and idealistic individuals continued to emerge. Their voices were drowned out by the shouts of the crowd, but some managed to make themselves heard, and so the humanity of Ters, step by step, continued its arduous climb toward civilization.

Algol's ships no longer landed on Ters. Every five hundred years, they arrived at Saol and harvested a shipment of essential organic matter from the swamps on Vens. They used sophisticated phrenographic detectors, whose wide range ensured that the tragic error would never be repeated...

But Algol didn't forget its responsibility toward Ters, the planet inadvertently deprived of one of its legitimate possibilities for evolution. Once every five hundred years, Cron's symbolic sacrifice was repeated, and a shuttle lowered to the surface of Ters, bringing a volunteer missionary with the double offering of his work and his offspring. Their contribution was a drop in a mighty river, but little by little, those who carried Algol's dominant traits in their blood began to arrive. The balance destroyed by the death of 'Mgué's children was restored. The missionaries of reason mingled with the people and gave them the first notions of astronomy and mathematics. They taught them to reason and to gaze at the stars. It was their example and their legacy that gave rise to all the great men who showed the path of civilization to the monkey children of 'Ngrao.

* * *

THREE hundred million years of history unfolded on the screen. For a few moments, Jor and Astar remained silent, absorbed, as if they found it difficult to escape the rapid flow of condensed time, and unable to return to the slower pace of their real lives.

The first to react was Astar.

- "Soon enough," he said, "you'll be part of that race's upward trajectory. I think you'll find it quite advanced..."

- "Yes," Jor replied, "the reports from the last expedition contained several favorable elements. The invention of the printing press and the discovery of the other continent must have given it a good boost. They also learned to mix saltpeter with coal and sulfur... Who knows how much the killing has multiplied!"

- "I'm curious to know if they've already abolished slavery and absolute monarchy. These were always two of the main signs of progress in all primitive worlds."

- "You'll soon have my full report. Yes, as I believe, the printing press made progress, and it won't be long before I send you back the shuttle, full of documents. I'm thoroughly familiar with eight of the main languages ​​spoken in the year Ters 1611. Today is July 7, 2119. Some will have changed, but I don't expect any major difficulties. I have all the necessary equipment."

- "We'll wait on Vens for ten terrestrial days. If necessary, ten more. Now prepare yourself, because we're about to cross the orbit of Ters."

* * *

JOR couldn't believe what he saw...

In the small shuttle's amplivisor, the surface of Ters appeared very different from what he imagined in his wildest fantasies. It was literally covered in clusters of buildings. The forests completely disappeared, and the less populated areas were evidently cultivated. Millions of aerial vehicles reflected the sunlight, giving the impression that the entire planet was covered in an immense, translucent, and shimmering shell. 

It was incredible... In five hundred years, Ters advanced further than Deneb had in a hundred thousand... If intellectual and social progress kept pace with technological progress, there would no longer be any need for the Orna to remain hidden on Vens. Ters would join the ranks of the civilized worlds and could begin the long period of preparation for entering the Community...

He would be the last missionary. Ambassadors would come from now on... The intensity of his hope was almost painful. But not enough to make him forget his prudence. He directed the shuttle toward the hemisphere in shadow and, flying in a wide downward spiral, looked for a suitable landing spot. After some brief indecision, he descended into the center of a large lake, to the north of the smaller continent. He left the shuttle at the bottom of the lake and, using his personal propulsor, rose to the surface and flew towards the shore. He carried his most indispensable equipment in a small, lightweight metal box.

On the brightly illuminated streets of what looked like a suburb of a large city, he spotted some rare passersby. He went down low enough to get a better look at them. They were very different from the primitive men seen in the records. Their outward appearance evolved greatly and was already tending toward that almost definitive form that strangely, throughout the known universe, characterizes beings of high intellectual development. Several individuals still circulated who, despite being dressed like the others, emanated an aura of blind aggression, repellent to Jor's senses. Beings for whom there existed only the present self and the irresistible impulses of immediate acquisition. Direct descendants of 'Ngrao, he thought.

Overall, they were strikingly similar to the Denebians. A very few of them already possessed, in embryonic form, that almost ethereal appearance that characterized the ancient Algol race.

Their simple garments were still made of woven fibers, but their general appearance was not difficult to imitate, with the help of the small dispenser of plastic material.

Jor flew, under cover of darkness, to what appeared to be the city center and landed in a deserted park. When the streets began to fill with people and vehicles, he mingled with the crowd and listened. They were speaking English. It was noticeably different from the English he learned from records, but understandable. When he felt he had sufficiently mastered the nuances of the language, he approached a passerby and asked if there was a library nearby.

- "I don't know," he said without pausing, and continued on his way. Shocked by the incomprehensible attitude, Jor chose another citizen, whose aura was particularly pleasant. This man was very kind, but he too didn't know about any library. Patiently, he continued his search until he was finally directed, after much questioning, to a large building, whose spacious rooms were overflowing with books, collections of newspapers, and various documents, all arranged and classified according to rational criteria. The nearly deserted rooms were provided with reading tables. Jor chose a collection of recent newspapers and sat down. Opposite him, a woman raised her head and looked at him suspiciously.

Jor assimilated the contents of collection after collection, and a general picture of the characteristics and customs began to form in his mind. Later, he would have time for history books and the various branches of science and literature. He read with astonishment that an Earthling was deprived of his freedom for several days because he lacked identification. He raised his head and saw that the woman was still sitting opposite him, now looking at him with open curiosity. She was young and had blue eyes.

- "Would you be so kind as to show me your identification card?" Jor said.

Suspicion suddenly returned to those blue eyes.

- "What do you want it for?"

- "I'd like to see it." Jor couldn't tell her that he needed to see it to forge a similar one.

The girl didn't seem to believe him, but without speaking, she handed him a rectangle of plastic material. Jor committed every detail to memory and returned it with sincere gratitude.

The news absorbed him again. It emanated an incredible mix of genius and stupidity, sanity and paranoia. They had learned to synthesize living cells, but they stoned an aero-ball player to death because he didn't make a "pass" at the right moment. They were capable of adopting orphaned children, but they enthusiastically cheered a bandit who had "heroically defended his life" against ten police officers. They had myriads of just and ingenious laws, but the most highly paid profession on the planet was studying methods to evade them.

When he got up to restock his reading material, the girl was gone. Jor found himself making entirely irrational associations between rationality and blue eyes. He regretted not having said hello to her.

He was left alone in the great room and took the opportunity to take out the plastic dispenser and forge himself an identification card: George Daily, age twenty-nine, born in London, single. "Who knows if she'll be back this afternoon," he thought.

In a few hours, he learned that the Terrestrials were gradually moving toward a political unification of the globe. That they possessed radio, television, a kind of stereosound system, atomic energy, and... a colony on Venus...

His first impulse was to contact Astar to warn him. But he restrained himself. He mustn't reveal his existence with a message that might be intercepted. He left the building almost running. He aroused the suspicions of some merchants by offering them lumps of pure gold. He finally found one who gave him a few dozen small sheets of printed metal in exchange for almost a quarter kilo of gold. He bought a daily newspaper and flipped through it feverishly. There was only one news item concerning Venus. The joint colony on Venus had adopted the name of the Free Colony and was demanding that Earth withdraw the joint military garrison it maintained there. Nothing about the Orna. It's possible they hadn't discovered it... He decided to eat something before returning to his work. In a crowded restaurant, he chose a random dish and paid for it. On this planet, everything was paid for, from votes to food...

When he returned, the girl was there again, reading the same books on psycho-history...

* * *

In the following days, George Daily learned many things. He learned how to use the means of transportation, how to lie shamelessly, how to take a girl to dinner... and how to love this world full of contradictions, as one loves a mischievous boy. He learned how to row under the blue sky on the calm waters of the lake. 

[Translator's note: A line or two appears to be missing from the text here.]

[...], Jor said mechanically, as he went around Lake Winnipeg, without thinking about his shuttle lying at the bottom, speaking modern French with Cira, who was born in Montreal...

- "I have faith in humanity," Cira said with genuine enthusiasm. "That's why I study psycho-history, the newest of the sciences, and perhaps the one that will teach us, not the right path, which we all know, but the means to follow it. The age of reason is already approaching. Five hundred years ago, a few exceptional men struggled to teach truth and sanity to the blind and violent masses. Today, however, a few violent men, who haven't known how to integrate their proper capabilities, and still act on blind instincts, continue to drag entire communities of rational beings toward political murder and social robbery. Many allow themselves to be dragged along, out of habit and inertia. But little by little, public opinion shakes the chains ever more, and soon the violent will no longer have anyone to follow them... They'll probably become aero-ball players to vent their excess energy..."

On the morning of the sixth day, Jor noticed an unusual commotion in the streets, and when he arrived at the library he saw with surprise that Cira was already there, waiting for him.

Pale, tense, she grabbed his arm, showing him a dozen of the day's newspapers she had scattered on the reading table.

- "You need to hide or destroy that weird metal suitcase," she said. "You're in danger... Now I understand a lot more... But I won't divulge your secret... Believe me, I'd give anything for you not to have to read this", she indicated the large newspaper headlines. "But you must....."

- "I covered it with plastic material the very afternoon of the first day

[Translator's note: Another line or two appears to be missing from the text here.]

"Invaders from Space". "Spaceship One-Kilometer Long Lands on Venus". "The reckless action of Admiral Pearson, commander of the joint garrison of Venus, thwarts the enemy's plans for conquest". "Admiral Pearson's reckless ferocity endangers the future of humanity". "Threat from the Stars". "Civilization in the Galaxy!" "The heroism of the Venusian Garrison saves Humanity from Slavery". "Why did Admiral Pearson hide his feat from the public for five days?" "Eighty human beings from beyond brutally murdered due to one Admiral's fears!..."

There were tears in Jor's eyes as he raised them to find understanding and love in her blue eyes.

- "Astar would be pleased if he knew... Progress was more rapid than he dared hope... Of eleven interpreters of public opinion, nine openly censure him, indignant... Only two of 'Ngrao's daughters..."

With a determined gesture, he ran a hand over his face and continued reading the blurred, blurred lines...

"Operation kept secret for security reasons..." "... With admirable presence of mind, Admiral Pearson immediately cut off shortwave communications between the planets as soon as the enemy was sighted..." "So as not to reveal our high degree of civilization..." "Fifty square kilometers of flora and fauna pulverized by the invader..." "Powerful weapons... would have devastated the Earth's surface..." "Our surprise attack during the night..." "Ten daring pilots..." "New secret weapon..." "Micro-radiations with coagulating power..." "Instant death..." "Victory for our weapons..." "When they return we will be prepared..." "Court-martial for Admiral Pearson..." 

- "They mustn't be afraid," Jor murmured. "They'll never attack us... And when we're truly ready... They'll return..."

Cira and Jor walked slowly away. The journals were scattered on the table. At the bottom of one column, a fragment of the worried Admiral's statement escaped Jor's blurred vision. 

"...And the whining pacifists who, in their weak and decadent minds, launch unbridled attacks against the defenders of humanity, do not forget that they too will enjoy thousands upon thousands of vehicles and artifacts built from the precious raw materials extracted from the invaders' immense vessel..."