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is, how far will I get? You'd expect they'd have killed me the minute I opened my mouth to you-except that I didn't say anything while they were here. I don't believe they take us very seriously, you know. This must have been going on since the dawn of history, and by now they've had time to get careless. They let Fort go pretty far before they cracked down on him. But you notice they were careful never to let Ford get hold of genuine proof that would convince people." The brown man said something under his breath about a human interest story in a box. He asked, "What do the Martians do, besides hang around bars all dressed up?" "I'm still working on that," Lyman said. "It isn't easy to understand. They run the world, of course, but why?" He wrinkled his brow and stared appealingly at the brown man. "Why?" "If they do run it, they've got a lot to explain." "That's what I mean. From our viewpoint, there's no sense to it. We do things illogically, but only because they tell us to. Everything we do, almost, is pure illogic. Poe's Imp of the Perverse- you could give it another name beginning with M. Martian, I mean. It's all very well for psychologists to explain why a murderer wants to confess, but it's still an illogical reaction. Unless a Martian commands him to." "You can't be hypnotized into doing anything that violates your moral sense," the brown man said triumphantly. Lyman frowned. "Not'-by'another human, but you can by a Martian. I expect they got the upper hand when we didn't have more than ape-brains, and they've kept it ever since. They evolved as we did, and kept a step ahead. Like the sparrow on the eagle's back who hitch-hiked till the eagle reached his ceiling, and then took off and broke the altitude record. They conquered the world, but nobody ever knew it. And they've been ruling ever since." "But-" "Take houses, for example. Uncomfortable things. Ugly, inconvenient, dirty, everything wrong with them. But when men like Frank Lloyd Wright slip out from under the Martians' thumb long enough to suggest something better, look how the people react. They hate the thought. That's their Martians, giving them orders." . "Look. Why should the Martians care what kind of houses we live in? Tell me Page 216 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html that." Lyman frowned. "I don't like the note of skepticism I detect creeping into this conversation," he announced. '''They care, all right. No doubt about it. They live in our houses. We don't build for our convenience, we build, under order, for the .Martians, the way they want it. They're very much concerned with everything we do. And the more senseless, the more concern. "Take wars. Wars don't make sense from any human viewpoint. Nobody really wants wars. But we go right on having them. From the Martian viewpoint, they're useful. They give us a spurt in technology, and they reduce the excess population. And there are lots of other results, too. Colonization, for one thing. But mainly technology. In peacetime, if a guy invents jet propulsion, it's too expensive to develop commercially. In wartime, though, it's got to be developed. Then the Martians can use it whenever they want. They use us the way they'd use tools or-or limbs. And nobody ever really wins a war-except the Martians." The man in the brown suit chuckled. "That makes sense," he said. "It must be nice to be a Martian." "Why not? Up till now, no race ever successfully conquered and ruled another. The underdog could revolt or absorb. If you know you're being ruled, then the ruler's vulnerable. But if the world doesn't know-and it doesn't- "Take radios," Lyman continued, going off at a tangent. "There's no earthly reason why a sane human should listen to a radio. But the Martians make us do it. They like it. Take bathtubs. Nobody contends bathtubs are comfortable-for us. But they're fine for Martians. All the impractical things we keep on using, even though we know they're impractical-r' file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Best%20of%20Kuttner%201%20U C.txt (162 of 166) [2/4/03 10:15:50 PM] file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Best%20of%20Kuttner%201%20U C.txt "Typewriter ribbons," the brown man said, struck by the thought. "But not even a Martian could enjoy changing a typewriter ribbon." Lyman seemed to find that flippant. He said that he knew all about the Martians except for one thing-their psychology. "1 don't know why they act as they do. It looks illogical sometimes, but I feel perfectly sure they've got sound motives for every move they make. Until I get that worked out I'm pretty much at a standstill. Until I get evidence-proof-and help. I've got to stay under cover till then. And I've been doing that. I do what they tell me, so they won't suspect, and I pretend to forget what they tell me to forget." "Then you've got nothing much to worry about." Lyman paid no attention. He was off again on a list of his grievances. , "When I hear the water running in the tub and a Martian splashing around, I pretend I don't hear a thing. My bed's too short and I tried last week to order a special length, but the Martian that sleeps there told me not to. He's a runt, like most of them. That is, I think they're runts. I have to deduce, because you never see them undressed. But it goes on like that constantly. By the way, how's your Martian?" The man in the brown suit set down his glass rather suddenly. "My Martian?" " "Now listen. I may be just a little bit drunk, but my logic remains unimpaired. I can still put two and two together. Either you know about the Martians, or you don't. If you do, there's no point in giving me that, 'What, my Martian?' routine. I know you have a Martian. Your Martian knows you have a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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