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                        Rabbits Have LONG Ears

                        BY LAWRENCE F. WILLARD

                      _The computer classified it
                    "rabbit" and Montresig was not
                   one to argue, long ears or not!_

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1958.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Commander Losure gave orders to his navigator to bring the ship in on
the satellite out of sight of the prying telescopes which no doubt
existed on such an invitingly green planet. He was a cautious man and
didn't intend to lose any more crew members if he could help it. He
could tell by the unusually poor handling of the ship that the crew was
still demoralized from the brush with the high I.Q. slugs on that last
planet which they had approached so directly. They'd lost three men in
that scrap, one of them a highly-valued anthropologist. There were only
two more of those left in the freeze locker. Too bad it couldn't have
been a radio operator, there were plenty of those on ice.

The Commander's thoughts were interrupted by his second officer who
entered without the customary military burp.

"I'll forgive you this time, Montresig," said the Commander, "but we
can't relax regulations now, can we. Anything new to report on this
planet?"

"No, Your Loftiness," said Montresig, after giving a belated burp,
"there's nothing to add to what we already know, but then we've just
come to rest on this clinker of a moon. I don't imagine, however, that
we've located our long lost ancestors or our mythical home planet.
There doesn't seem to be a race in this galaxy that walks upright on
two good legs with two arms, two eyes, nose, mouth and other standard
equipment."

"Could be we'll find one this time," said the Commander. "We know it's
an oxygen planet, and that there are intelligent beings there, judging
from the cities we can see and their use of radio."

"Maybe," grumbled Montresig, "but they won't be men. If they're not
slugs they'll be talking fish or intellectual spiders, or something
equally repulsive. And I can tell you one thing, whatever we find, if
it has brains it will want to fight."

"Now Montresig, don't be bitter. We've only examined a couple hundred
planets. There are many more and you know we'll have to take a look at
as many as we can. I tell you, however, we won't take any more chances.
Unless we find out they're pretty much like us we won't go near the
damn planet."

"How do you propose to find that out, Your Loftiness? We can't see
anything that small by telescope, we haven't learned much so far
by listening to them, and it's pretty dangerous business using the
dredge...."

"Ah, my dear Montresig, the crux of the matter is that we _can_ tell
about them, I believe, from listening to them. Judging from the reports
I got from Communications, this is the talkingest planet in the galaxy.
They are utilizing the entire radio spectrum we know and, I suspect,
some portions of it we don't know. All they do is talk. There must be
millions of individuals on that planet jabbering in a dozen different
languages. Our language technicians have decoded two of the major
tongues already and have fed the information to the main computer. All
radio signals in those languages are now being fed directly to the
computer and the information is being classified and cross-referenced."

Montresig's furry countenance brightened. "Then we won't have to send
down the dredge?"

"I hope not, Montresig, I do not like to bring strange life forms
aboard the ship. Remember planet 187 in the Dghorzid system?"

Montresig shuddered. "I'll never forget. When that monster materialized
in the hold I snapped on the stasis field and it had no effect. I
tried every last trick in the bag including seven kinds of poison gas.
Luckily the dredge operator was able to catch him and throw him back
where he came from but the hold was a shambles and two men had to have
extensive repair work."

"Well," said the Commander, "I don't like the dredge at all, but I
suppose it's better than landing and having to do battle with slugs. I
swear I was certain there was no intelligent life on that planet. By
the way, I'm having an anthropologist thawed out now, that leaves only
one more in the freeze locker and we can't operate without one. Take
care nothing happens to him, Montresig."

Commander Losure made the sign of dismissal and Montresig burped
gracefully and withdrew. The Commander signaled communications. After
a considerable delay a burp sounded from the speaker on the wall and a
voice announced: "Troniff here. May I serve Your Loftiness?"

"Troniff," said the Commander, "the delay is inexcusable. Does the
computer have its belly full yet?"

"Your Loftiness, the reference tapes are full, but the machine is
unable to present a full picture of the dominant life form. It
appears, however, that they are much like us in general body shape.
Unfortunately, we can get no reference point from which to judge their
size. They are exceedingly ferocious and blood thirsty, and apparently
war among themselves continuously."

"I'm tempted to leave now," said the Commander. "I'll have to use the
dredge, I suppose.... Are you sure it won't do some good to listen to
their communications awhile longer?"

The speaker was silent for a moment, then Troniff spoke.

"I don't like to mention this, Your Loftiness, but my engineers have
found several unidentified types of emission besides those carrying
speech frequencies. They think that one particular type characterized
by an extremely broad frequency range just might be transmission of
visual images...."

"I don't believe it," said the Commander. "We've been trying to do that
for hundreds of years without success and so far as we've been we've
never found another race in the galaxy as far advanced technologically
as ours. These people don't even have space flight."

"They have artificial satellites up," said Troniff, "We're monitoring
signals from one, and from what I gather they're apt to have something
up on this moon before long."

"Any chance of finding out how they transmit visual images--if they
really do?"

"Not a chance," said Troniff. "My engineers can't even conceive of a
device that could convert these signals into a picture."

"That's all, Troniff. Notify Montresig that he's to meet me immediately
in the dredge room with the anthropologist and a dredge operator."

The commander sighed. What irony that the only truly peaceful race in
the galaxy should be the only one to discover interstellar flight. For
four thousand years the Kaar had had their ships and had colonized
hundreds of planets until they had lost track of which one they started
from. In all that time they had avoided planets with intelligent life,
had never found any other ships in space. Now, thought the Commander,
we have to go looking for trouble just to satisfy our curiosity as to
where we started from.

Montresig introduced the newly-thawed anthropologist to him on the
dredge room balcony and Commander Losure briefed him on the importance
of his job.

"We don't believe this race has any connection with ours," said the
Commander. "It's too savage. And yet, we haven't found another race as
far advanced in science, nor one that appears to be so similar to ours.
Our problem is to find out a little more about them, their physical
size, whether it's safe to contact them, which I personally doubt."

"Is it your intention to bring back one of these intelligent beings
with the dredge?" asked the anthropologist.

"You know better than that, or maybe you don't," said the Commander.
"Anyway, you should know that it is against our code of ethics to cause
harm to any intelligent being. That dredge is set to reject any living
creature capable of a high order of thought and that control is sealed
against our use. The idea is to bring back artifacts that might tell us
something about the people of the planet... maybe they have a written
language and have something that approximates our scrolls, maybe they
have drawings. I'd especially like to snag one of the visual image
receptors our communications engineers think they have."

"The dredge operator is ready," said Montresig. "The computer controls
have been switched to this balcony and the stasis beam has been
checked."

       *       *       *       *       *

Commander Losure looked up at the dredge operator in his glassed-in
booth high on the opposite wall of the hold. He gave a quick hand
signal and transferred his attention to the floor of the vast hold
below him. A shimmering mistiness began to form in the center of the
floor. Commander Losure could feel the tension of his companions as
they waited. It was a blind grab; the dredge operator had no way of
knowing what would be scooped up at the end of his force beam. Slowly
the mistiness grew more dense, darkening to an impenetrable cloud, and
then vanished with an audible snap leaving a strange alien mechanism
on the floor of the hold. It resembled a huge cylinder resting on
tractor-like treads.

From the balcony the men scurrying across the floor seemed dwarfed by
the object. Unheeding of any danger they swarmed over it, measuring,
testing, amassing information to be fed to the computer.

"Holy Ghosts of My Departed Ancestors," gasped Montresig, "what is it?"

"You know as much about it as I do, my dear fellow," the Commander
said. "As soon as the engineers get through poking at it we'll find out
what the computer thinks it is."

"I'll bet it's a weapon of some sort," said Montresig. "They're almost
always fighting down there according to the data we have and there's
frequent mention of a device called a hydrogen bomb. If it's what I
think it is I have no desire to visit them in person."

A figure detached itself from the group of men surrounding the huge
contrivance and came hurrying to the elevator entrance beneath the
balcony. In a moment he appeared on the balcony, burped perfunctorily,
and handed Commander Losure several sheets of script. The Commander
read them into a microphone grill which was part of the remote panel
feeding into the main computer. He waited until a red light glowed,
indicating that the material had been integrated. He pressed a stud
and spoke into the microphone again. "Classify," he said.

"Information in storage banks reveals object to be a gun," said the
loudspeaker. "Gun: an instrument variously known as revolver, heater,
rod, betsy, automatic, typewriter, gat, which refer to. Carried by
gunmen, cowboys, mobsters, killers, cons, doughboys, cops, G-men,
marines, gangsters and kids, which refer to. Weapon fires projectile
known as bullet, lead, shell, slug, which refer to. Solid projectile
pierces body of individual causing serious injury and death. It is used
with that intention. No information on size of instrument previous to
captured speciman which is nearly fourteen zeng ... about five and a
quarter man-lengths ... long. Sample excerpt demonstrating use: 'Blinky
snapped the gun from his holster and fired from the hip. (sound of
explosion) The big cowpoke grabbed at his chest and blood spurted
between his fingers. With a look of surprise on his face he slumped to
the barroom floor.'"

"What do you make of that?" asked the Commander.

"I'd have been surprised, too," said Montresig.

"They're bloodthirsty giants," said the anthropologist. "If that's a
pocket weapon they'd be so big you couldn't get one into this hold.

"I don't believe it," said the Commander. "I think there's something
wrong somewhere. Possibly guns come in various sizes. This could be a
stationary weapon, perhaps, to blow buildings apart instead of people,
though I can't figure out why anybody would want to. I'm going to send
the dredge back once more to make sure we aren't being misled."

"I think you're wrong," said Montresig. "All evidence does point to
a race of giants, evil creatures at best, even if maybe they do have
two eyes, a nose and a mouth like us. Not that I don't think it's a
good idea to send the dredge back," he added hastily at the sight of
Commander Losure's glowering countenance.

The Commander signaled to the dredge operator again and they waited
while he returned the gun to wherever he got it and fished for
something else from the surface of the green planet.

The anthropologist cleared his throat. "You can't deny that the
telescope shows us the most gigantic cities to be found anywhere in the
galaxy."

"That doesn't necessarily mean that the inhabitants are physically
large, only that there may be a lot of them," said the Commander.

"Or both."

Their attention turned to the floor of the hold as the opaque cloud
rapidly grew darker and vanished again with a snap.

Montresig's reaction was the same as before.

"Great Shades of My Holy Ancestors," he said. "What is it?"

"It is assuredly an animal," said the Commander, "not unlike some we
have on our own planet. I'll have the biologists and medics examine
it." He turned to the anthropologist. "You go, too, Alfvis."

The animal, which had appeared stunned when it first appeared, now
began to turn around, making clicking noises on the floor. As the men
approached it from all directions it looked about nervously, opened
its mouth to show some glistening teeth and proceeded to make a long,
harsh noise. Alfvis made the mistake of approaching too closely to
the beast which wheeled and kicked him head over heels some distance
away. Montresig touched a red button on the railing and stasis beams
converged on the animal freezing it instantly. It toppled over and lay
stiffly on the floor of the hold. Alfvis dragged himself to his feet
and shouted up to the balcony. "Ask the computer about animals with
long ears."

The Commander spoke into the microphone again. "Four-legged animal,
long ears. Classify."

"Rabbit," said the computer. "An animal variously known as bunny, hare,
coney, peter, uncle wiggly. Strong rear legs. Progresses over ground
erratically. Consumes vegetation. Multiplies with great rapidity. Lays
egg at Easter Time. It is generally considered timid and is hunted for
food. Sample excerpt demonstrating relationship: 'Lon climbed over the
stone wall and continued across the woodlot towards his cabin, the
carcasses of three rabbits slung over his shoulder ... there would be
rabbit stew tonight.'"

"Holy Gods in Their Celestial Quarters," said Montresig. "Did you
hear that? Is there any question in your mind now about the size and
ferocity of these people?"

"Considerable," said the Commander. "That computer has made mistakes
before, witness that last planet. Those were supposed to be garden
snails, those slugs that gave us such a walloping. I don't think we get
the right information through to it."

"But Your Loftiness," wailed Montresig, "everything adds up, you can
see for yourself ... their giant cities, their warring on each other,
the information the computer gave us ... it isn't safe to land on that
planet."

"No, I suppose not," sighed the Commander. "But do you realize the
implications? Here we have a highly advanced race just ready to take
off into space ... and according to our information they are savage
war-making giants. If I bring that news back our Supreme Goodness is
apt to issue orders to evacuate several hundred planets and move to
some other galaxy--Let's try the dredge once more."

Commander signaled the dredge operator and waited a reasonable length
of time before he was informed that something was wrong with it and
that it would be some time before repairs could be made.

"I give up," said Commander Losure. "I have orders not to land on a
questionable planet and I've learned my lesson. Either that computer
has a few loose connections or those people are broadcasting pure
nonsense. I just don't believe in giants, much less in scientific
ones. Get ready to leave, Montresig, and see that you make an accurate
written report of this whole situation."

"What do we do with the animal, Your Loftiness?"

"The dredge is busted, so what do you think we can do with it? Heave it
out the airlock. It can stay here on the moon until the first explorers
come up from the planet, which won't be long, and they can have rabbit
stew."

The great ship lifted from the dark moonscape, leaving behind the
frozen form of the first earth being to have crossed space, a surprise
for the crew of the first manned moon rocket, if not the makings of
rabbit stew.

Somewhere, a million miles beyond the sun, the ship accelerated
rapidly. The Commander looked up from his desk as Montresig entered
smartly with a precision burp.

"Alfvis is back in the freeze locker and repairs are going forward on
the dredge, but it'll be a long job."

"It doesn't matter," said the Commander. "We're going home. I'm
committed to bringing back a report on this planet now, but I don't
like it and will advise further study of it by other expeditions before
any desperate measures are taken such as evacuating the galaxy."

"It's funny about that rabbit," said Montresig. "I noticed as we shoved
it out the lock that it had semi-circles of some hard metal, probably
iron, nailed to its feet."

"That is peculiar," said the Commander. "Almost like the shoes we
attach to the feests' hooves before the children ride them. Just for
the fun of it, Montresig, why don't you give that information to the
computer and see what it says?"

"Can't," said Montresig. "I wiped the memory tanks clean. I don't think
it means much, anyway; a rabbit's a rabbit, shoes or no shoes."

The Commander nodded and Montresig burped and withdrew.





End of Project Gutenberg's Rabbits Have Long Ears, by Lawrence F. Willard