The FOOL

                            By DAVID MASON

                         Illustrated by WESTON

                   _The Tarchiki were the universe's
                    worst pupils--and as a teacher,
                  Duncan was a first-rate carpenter!_

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                Infinity Science Fiction, August 1956.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Duncan? No, he wasn't the Agent just before you. He was here in
2180--oh, a good thirty years back, Earth-time. The natives say
hundreds of years, but they're a short-lived lot. The way they cut
each other's throats, it's a wonder any of them live out the life span
they've got, anyway.

I came out when Duncan did--knew him pretty well, as well as anybody
could. A perfect fool. Knowing him was a real education. Do anything
the other way from the way Duncan did it, and you'd be all right.

You wouldn't think it to look at him. Well set-up man, around thirty
when he got here, intelligent face, good talker, had a degree--but
a fool. Seemed as if he couldn't do anything right. He told me once
that he'd been married, and that it had broken up. He more or less
implied that his wife had gotten sick of little things--broken dishes,
tactless remarks, carelessness. You wouldn't think that would be
enough to break up a marriage, but you've got no idea how that sort of
thing can add up.

I was clerking for him then. I swear I did all the work. I had to. He
couldn't add, couldn't file a record, and couldn't have found one if
he'd managed somehow to put it away. I took Agent's inventories, I did
most of the trading with the native chiefs, I did everything. Duncan
just bumbled around the post, or listened to records, or wrote those
silly, hopeless, letters to his ex-wife. He was trying to get her to
come back to him. How do I know? Well, who do you think worked the
subspace transmitter, as well as doing everything else?

The native thing really annoyed me, though, because it was dangerous.
You know the Tarchiki. They look human enough, except for minor
details. When it comes to a Tarchik female I'll overlook the green skin
and the pointed ears every time. But they aren't entirely like us. They
have a liking for war and torture that's really sickening.

Our ancestors? Oh, now, really ... you're talking just like Duncan.
That was always his apology for them. He said our own ancestors were
pretty bad, too. Certainly they were, but I can't see any ancestor of
mine acting the way a Tarchik does with a captured enemy. And they
haven't the slightest sense of sportsmanship, either. They'd rather
jump you from ambush than fight in the open, and they won't fight at
all if the enemy's stronger than they are. That's why they've never
made any serious attempt to do in all the Earthmen on their world.
That, and greed; they get very good deals from us, and they know it.

Anyway, I'm sure none of my ancestors ever acted like that.

       *       *       *       *       *

But Duncan was always ready to forgive a Tarchik anything. That used
to upset the hell out of them, too, because they expect to be punished
when they're caught at anything. They don't understand our reluctance
to kill, but they respect a Patrolman's shock gun, and when they get
caught stealing or taking each other's tails they know they're going
to get a few months in quod, or what they hate much worse, a public
flogging. If they didn't get punished, they'd assume it was weakness on
our part. Just like kids.

Anyway, there was Duncan, holding long confabs with the Tarchiki,
trying to teach them some sort of elementary ethics. Naturally, it
didn't take at all. They listened, because they love long speeches, but
they never acted on what he said.

He used to tell them that if they stopped chopping each other up and
hanging up the rows of tails as war trophies, their lives would be a
lot pleasanter. They used to nod and applaud, but Duncan never caught
on to the simple fact that they thought this was meant to be a joke.
_They_ didn't think their lives weren't pleasant enough. After all,
look at their situation. They've got plenty to eat, without working
hard for it, plenty of time on their hands--why shouldn't they keep
down their surplus population? They don't know any other way, except
breaking up their eggs, and they only do that to enemy tribes.

While he was at it, Duncan tried to tell them all about love and things
like that. Oh, no, not sex. If there's anything a Tarchik doesn't
know about _that_, there's no Earthman going to teach him. I mean the
way they treat their women. A Tarchik woman's nothing but a piece of
property as far as sex goes, but there's some kind of curious maternal
inheritance thing--anyway, it's as funny as hell to see a big Tarchik
buck get down and bump his head in front of his mother, and his aunts,
and all his other female ancestors. That's the one thing he's really
afraid of. But, till she gets to be a mother, a woman leads a fairly
rough life, getting passed around as a kind of prize of war, working
harder than the men, all that.

So Duncan wanted them to be a bit chivalrous to their women. Share the
work, all kinds of things like that. You know what they thought of that
idea--another Earthman's joke.

But the funniest thing of all, to them, was his idea about the kids.
Naturally, a Tarchik pup's no use to its father till it's a bit grown.
Then, if it's a boy, the old man teaches it to drink _smassi_ and file
its teeth, and go out ambushing and cutting tails with the other noble
savages. If it's a girl, the father looks around for a suitable buyer
as soon as its breasts are grown, and hopes for the best price possible.

To the mothers, though, the kids represent a kind of investment, since
custom directs the first loyalties to the mother's clan. So they treat
them pretty well, although a bit casually, since they litter by twos
and at least once a year.

Anyway, Duncan seemed to think highly of kids. Can't imagine why, since
he never had any of his own. He used to run a kind of school for them.
Taught them all kinds of things a Tarchik's got no use for at all, made
toys for them--badly, naturally; he couldn't have cut his initials in
a tree without slicing his thumb. But what he couldn't make in the way
of school stuff, he imported from Earth. Cost him his entire salary,
except for what he spent on those futile letters to his wife.

Those kids were fond of him, I suppose--as fond of him as a Tarchik
ever gets of anything. They even kept the school foolishness going
awhile afterward, but I think it's gone now.

Anything that fool Duncan said, the Tarchiki thought was a great joke.
They wouldn't have hurt his feelings for anything, for fear he'd quit
telling them tall stories. They told him quite a few things, too. He
wrote it all down, in dead earnest, as if their fairy tales and drum
poems had any value. I sent the whole lot off to his wife, after it
happened. I think it got lost in transit--I never heard from her,
anyway. Or she may have thrown it all away. I can't imagine what else
you could do with such a pile of nonsense.

As a matter of fact, that's what led up to it--those damned legends.
Duncan got interested in their religion. Never do that, boy. Let 'em
all have their ghost stories and wooden gods, and never fool around
with their idea of what makes the planet go round.

The Tarchiks have a lot of small time fetishes, but they also have
one big god, a fat one made out of stone, out in the jungle over near
Mount Clarke. Every so often they all go up in a body and pay him a
visit, and they take along any spare pups, usually extra girl children
or prisoners from other tribes. This god--Kachan, his name is, I
think--likes children too. He likes them best roasted, like birds on a
spit. Charming deity.

Anyway, when Duncan found out about Kachan, he got very upset. He went
blazing out there to Mount Clarke, and he blew Kachan all to bits with
a grenade. The Tarchiki didn't care for that, naturally.

About a week later, Duncan was on his way over to the big village near
here, to give his Tarchik kids another arithmetic lesson, I suppose.
Old Stancha--he was the local religious big shot, a kind of High
Priest--threw a spear from the bushes, Tarchik fashion, and nailed
Duncan very neatly. Nailed, yes. That's the way we found him, with his
back against a tree.

Just another case of a man's foolishness catching up with him. But
Duncan hasn't stopped giving us trouble yet, dead or not. First thing
that happened was that old Stancha came in to the post, demanding to
be executed. He claimed he'd made a big mistake killing Duncan, the
biggest mistake of his life. I never could figure out what he meant--it
seemed to have something to do with what Duncan said to him just before
he died.

Well, if Stancha had kept his mouth shut, we'd have had no case at
all, which would have been just fine with me. I was Agent, in Duncan's
place, and I was out to see to it that business stayed good and got
better. Can't annoy the natives by executing their high priest and
expect good trade. But I couldn't very well let Stancha go, either,
once he'd confessed. So I had him tried, all proper and correct, and
executed him in due form.

Next thing I knew, the Tarchiks were putting Kachan back together
again. They were all up there, building a great big new version, and
having a first class party at the same time. These parties generally
lead to a tail-hunting expedition, so I expected some trouble. But it
didn't, this time.

There was plenty of noise, though. The Tarchiki never do anything
quietly, and this seemed to be an occasion. What with drums, bagpipes,
wailing and howling, there wasn't a bird would roost for twenty miles
around.

When they got all through, I went up to look over the new statue, out
of curiosity, and because I'd heard that they hadn't sacrificed a
single pup. I thought there must be something queer about Kachan Number
Two. There was.

It was Duncan. They'd given him a tail, and he looked more like a
Tarchik than an Earthman, but the face was unmistakable. They aren't
half bad carvers, you know; and they'd really spread themselves this
time. The thing was forty feet tall, and it stood on a rock platform,
with some words carved in that lettering Duncan had taught them to use.
The words were something Duncan was supposed to have said as he was
dying.

I never could read that stuff really well; all I got out of the thing
was that Duncan was forgiving the old murderer, because he didn't know
what he was doing. Pure nonsense, of course, but you don't expect a
dying man to make sense, and particularly not Duncan. But it seems
those words were what had caused all the to-do.

I found the story in one of those ballads Duncan had collected. Seems
that the Tarchiki had been expecting a great teacher to show up,
who'd do all sorts of wonderful things for them. Nothing unusual; all
primitives have some story like that. But there was something else.

The idea was that if the Tarchiki listened to this teacher, he'd make
them the most important people in the whole world; in the universe,
in fact, from the way the thing sounded. Just how, wasn't specified.
But if they should let him be killed, they would know who he had been
because of his last words, forgiving them. Naturally, they fitted
Duncan right in; forgiving anybody would be the least likely idea in
any Tarchik's mind if he were being speared.

So the Tarchiki think they've made a terrible mistake, and they seem
bent on spending the rest of time making up for it. It's the leading
religion now, and it's the biggest joke I've ever come across. Poor
Duncan, wrong-headed as he was about nearly everything else, had a bit
of sense in that department; he never had any religious nonsense in him.

Anyway, it shows you, doesn't it? I've always said you can learn a
little from practically anything. You keep Duncan in mind, any time you
get to feeling too soft on these natives. He might be a god to these
Tarchiki, but I'll tell you the real test of whether a man's got any
sense; he's dead, I'm alive, and you're alive. That's enough proof for
me.