Be It Ever Thus by Robert Moore Williams (free ebook reader for ipad TXT) 📗

The planet's natives were so similar to their conquerors that no one could tell them apart—except for their difference in thinking.

This was Graduation Day. The senior class from the Star Institute of Advanced Science was scheduled to go through the Museum of the Conquered and observe the remnants of the race that had once ruled this planet. There were many such museums maintained for the purpose of allowing the people to see the greatness their ancestors had displayed in conquering this world and also to demonstrate how thorough and how complete that conquest had been. Perhaps the museums had other reasons for existing, but the authorities did not reveal these reasons. Visiting such a museum was part of the exercises of every graduating class.

Billy Kasker arrived early, to take care of all last minute problems for Mr. Phipper, the instructor who would take the group through the museum, and to make certain that all of the members of the graduating class knew what they were supposed to do on the trip. Billy Kasker was class president. A handsome, husky youth, accommodating, generous, and thoughtful to a fault. He was well liked both by the faculty and the students. He was pleasant to everybody, even to Joe Buckner, who called him "teacher's pet" and sneeringly remarked that he had been elected class president as a result of a superb job of boot-licking.

Even such remarks as these had not disturbed Bill Kasker. He still acted as if Joe Buckner was his best friend.

"Are we all here, Billy?" the instructor called.

"All here, sir," Billy Kasker answered.

"Very well. Let's start to the museum. As we go through you may ask any questions you wish. However, I must insist you stay close to me and not wander from the group. We will be in no danger, you understand—the creatures living in the museum have had their fangs pulled most effectively—but even so we must not take chances."

The instructor led off. He was a fussy little person in a shiny black coat and a soft hat that was too big for him. No matter how much paper he stuffed inside the brim, the hat never seemed to fit right. Peering through glasses that were always threatening to fall off, he moved away from the Star Institute toward the nearby museum. The class of eight girls and nine boys followed him.

"Why do we have to go through this old museum?" Joe Buckner complained. "We already know everything about it."

"It's the rule," Billy Kasker answered. "The faculty thinks we should see the situation at first hand. Then we will have a better understanding of it."

Joe Buckner grunted disdainfully. "You're always sucking in with the big shots and telling everybody what they say."

"You asked me. I tried to tell you." Billy Kasker's voice was still pleasant. If a slight glint appeared in his eyes, it remained there for only a second.

The museum was an open area many miles long. It was enclosed by a high, electrically charged fence along which guard towers were placed at regular intervals. There was only one gate, to which the instructor led the class. A captain, resplendent in a brilliant uniform, came out of the guard house to greet them.

"The graduating class from the Star Institute, eh? Good. We had notice that you were coming. Guard, bring Mr. Phipper a Thor gun, then open the gates." The last was spoken in a brisk tone to the guard who had followed the captain.

The Thor gun was brought immediately. It was a small weapon, with a belt and holster. The captain took it from the holster. Watching, Billy Kasker had the impression that the weapon was made of glittering, spun glass. It had a short, heavy barrel in which tiny instruments were visible. Billy Kasker watched very closely.

"Do you know how to use it?" the captain asked.

"Oh, yes," the instructor answered.

"Is it so dangerous in there that we need a Thor gun?" Susan Sidwell said. Susan had majored in ionic chemistry and had graduated with high honors.

"No, it isn't dangerous at all," the instructor answered hastily. "The weapon is worn merely for the sake of tradition."

"No danger at all, young lady," the captain said. "Nothing to worry about. Not while you've got this, anyhow." He patted the Thor gun which the instructor was buckling to his waist.

The gates were open. The instructor in the lead, the group passed through. Billy Kasker brought up the rear. Joe Buckner was directly ahead of him.

They went first to see the wreckage of the city—shattered walls, tumbled buildings, streets with rubble still piled in them. Weeds and creeping vines grew over the broken bones of this city as if they were attempting to hide the ugly scars.

The instructor adjusted his voice to the proper tone. He had made this same speech to many graduating classes and he knew exactly what he was going to say.

"You understand, of course, that this part of the old city was almost completely destroyed in our attack of the year 4021 After Yevbro, or the year 1967, according to the way the natives reckoned time on this planet. This part of it has been allowed to remain the way our ships left it, as an example of the effectiveness of our weapons."

His voice gave the impression that he was personally participating in that attack and was enjoying the destruction that had taken place. He stood straight, squared his shoulders and breathed deeply.

"What happened to the natives who lived here?" Billy Kasker asked.

The instructor frowned. "Oh, they were killed." At first he was a little irritated at the question, then again satisfaction came back into his voice.

"They got what was coming to them for trying to resist our sky ships," Joe Buckner said.

"Oh, yes, they deserved their fate." The instructor hitched the Thor gun a little higher on his hip.

Billy Kasker was silent.

"We will go next to the fields, then to the factory section—such of as there is—then to that part of the city which we have allowed the natives to rebuild. Come."

The class moved out of the city. Here they saw their first natives. Clad mostly in rags—many of them bent and stooped, some of them showing the marks of hunger—they were a quiet people who kept strictly out of the way of the class group. But except for the clothing and the marks of hunger, they were identical in appearance with their conquerors.

"Why, they look just like us!" Joe Buckner said indignantly. He sounded outraged at the resemblance.

"There are many differences," the instructor said quickly. "Note their clothing, how poorly made it is. They make it themselves out of the wool of some kind of animal—deer, I believe, or bear."

"Sheep," Billy Kasker corrected.

"Oh, yes, sheep is the name of the animal. Thank you, Billy."

"You're welcome, sir."

"But they oughtn't to look like us!" Joe Buckner continued.

"There are chemical differences," Susan Sidwell said. "Once, in the laboratory, we analyzed their blood. The color was different for one thing. They also have a much different metabolism."

"But suppose one of them escaped from the museum and got into our part of the world. How would we know he wasn't one of us, if he put on our clothes?" Joe Buckner sounded outraged.

"That is one purpose our bracelets serve," the instructor answered. "A very good question, Joe. As you know, each of us receives a bracelet at birth, which is slipped over the hand and onto the wrist. Made of plasticum, which cannot be cut by any method, the bracelet has the unique property of expanding in size as the wearer grows. It cannot be removed except by cutting off the arm of the wearer." He laughed as if he had made a good joke. "But I am sure no one would ever think of doing that. The bracelet carries the serial number assigned to each of us."

He held up his arm, exhibiting the gleaming circle of plasticum on his wrist. To him—to all of them—it was a badge of honor, a mark that proved one belonged to a superior race. "If one of the natives escaped, the absence of a bracelet would disclose his identity at once. We would take measures to have him eliminated."

"I see," Joe Buckner said. He sounded mollified. "How would we eliminate him?"

"I believe it is customary to use a Thor gun in such cases—a large caliber which will disintegrate him instantly. The model I have will only blast a hole a few inches in diameter."

"I'm going to be a Thorgunman," Joe Buckner said with sudden enthusiasm.

"Good!" the instructor said. "That is a very fine calling. If I had my life to live over again—" He sighed for lost opportunities.

At the announcement of his ambition, Joe Buckner rose higher in the opinion of the class.

"Observe how they make their living," the instructor continued.

The class saw the natives at work tilling the soil. The technique used here was very crude but mildly interesting. They used plows and harrows for loosening the soil, devices that were pulled by large animals.

"Horses, I believe they call the animals. Of course, we don't allow them to have power-drawn equipment."

"It's not at all like the way we obtain our food," Billy Kasker said thoughtfully.

"Oh, no," the instructor answered. "We synthesize our foods. As a matter of fact, they are required to grow their food. That way, they have to spend so much time finding something to eat that they can't cause trouble." He grinned as if something in the idea pleased him.

"Serves them right," Joe Buckner said.

The natives working in the fields seemed not to see the class. When the group came near, they stopped talking and worked harder.

"Scared to talk when we're around," Joe Buckner said. "They're yellow!"

"Now for the factory section," the instructor said.

The factories were small and unimpressive. Working here with very crude tools and with no power equipment, the natives were making farm machinery.

"Why don't we give them better tools?" Billy Kasker asked.

"What have they got coming?" Joe Buckner exclaimed. "They lost, didn't they?"

"Yes, but—"

"If you had your way you'd be sucking in and helping the side that lost. Pretty soon you'd discover you had lost!"

"Hardly that," Billy Kasker replied. "But it seems more human—"

"Human? That's a laugh!" Joe Buckner slapped his thighs and roared with laughter.

"Come along," the instructor said.

"Look—there are children playing games!" Susan Sidwell observed. "Horrible-looking little brats, aren't they?" She pointed to a group of brown-skinned youngsters playing some kind of a game that involved a ball and a club. One threw the ball, the second struck at it with the club.

"What a stupid way to play," Joe Buckner said.

As soon as the young natives saw the graduating group coming, they stopped their game and ran away. They seemed very frightened.

"The young ones fear us," the instructor explained. "The older ones fear us too, but they don't show it so much." He watched the fleeing youngsters with every evidence of great inward satisfaction.

Billy Kasker's lips closed in a thin straight line.

"Now we will go to the rebuilt section."

They walked on.

"One of the natives is following us," Susan Sidwell suddenly said.

Turning, the group saw that a member of the conquered race was coming along the street behind them. He was dressed all in brown—his hat, his shirt, his pants.

The instructor put his hand on the butt of the Thor gun.

The native walked past the group without seeming to see it. He was whistling between his teeth. He walked on ahead of them, turned down an alley, and disappeared. The instructor took his hand off the Thor gun.

"He wasn't really following us; he wouldn't dare. Does anybody have any questions?" He looked brightly around the group.

"Yes, I have," Joe Buckner said. "Why don't we just kill all of these natives? They're not any good to us."

The instructor smiled slyly. "I'll tell you a little secret about that. It's awfully hard to kill all of any race. No matter how thoroughly you do the job, a few always manage to escape. Then they breed and increase in spite of everything you do.

"After we had conquered this planet we had trouble catching all of the natives. They were the most cantankerous, persistent race you can imagine. So these museums were set up, to lure them in here. We announced that these places would be set aside and that they would not be bothered as long as they remained in the museums. All in all, we made the museums rather attractive places, hoping that—"

"I see the plan!" Joe Buckner said glowingly. "After you got them all into the museums—blooie!—knock all of them off at once!"

The instructor smiled. He looked as pleased as if he had thought of the idea himself. A little stir of applause ran through the group as they expressed their gratitude to their rulers for making this world safe for them.

"Why haven't they been killed before now?" Billy Kasker asked. "These museums were opened over forty years ago. Surely—"

"I don't know about that," the instructor answered. "I think probably our rulers are waiting for a propitious time, or perhaps for an incident that will give them an excuse to carry out their plan."

"I hope they don't wait too long," Joe Buckner said. "Golly, I want to be a Thorgunner and get in on the mop-up when it comes!"

The group stirred, seemed to look forward to the day of the final slaughter.

"Any other questions?" the instructor asked.

"I have one," Billy Kasker said hesitantly. "It doesn't exactly have anything to do with our trip through the museum—it's something I ran across in a book—but I don't quite understand it, and I wondered—"

"Go right ahead, Billy. What do you have on your mind?"

"Well, ah, did—did you ever hear of a