James H. Schmitz - Eternal Frontier

Eternal Frontier by James H. Schmitz & edited by Eric Flint and Guy Gordon -

Baen Books

Eternal Frontier

Ape Man, Space Man

Earth's colonists have spread throughout the cosmos, and have almost divided

into two separate species. One is the Swimmers, who have adapted to living in

zero-gravity, and regard themselves as the next step in evolution, and those

who prefer to live on the surface of a planet as little better than apes. The

latter group, the Walkers, are not about to say farewell to the planets they

grew up on, and think the Swimmers are not so much advanced as deranged.

Crowell, born a Swimmer but now a Walker by choice, is caught in the middle as

the two sides seem headed for war. Then he discovers the true cause of the

altercation: a hidden alien race moving behind the scenes to provoke a war so

that they can pick up the pieces after the two sides have obliterated each

other. And if Crowell cannot head off the war and convince both sides of the

existence of the real enemy, both branches of the human race may be headed for

untimely extinction.

This full-length novel and much more, fill a huge volume from the master of

science fiction adventure.

"Much has been made of the 'sense of wonder' that science fiction evokes, and

believe me, there was nothing to evoke that sense quite like the worlds of

James Schmitz. . . . Thank you, James Schmitz, wherever you are. And thank

you, Eric Flint and Jim Baen, for bringing his Right Stuff back again."

-- Mercedes Lackey

"Take my advice and buy TWO copies of this book! You'll want to lend it to

friends and (trust me on this: I have years of experience to back up the

observation) once people get their hands on a Schmitz book, they don't let

go!"

-- Janet Kagan, Hugo-winner and author of Uhura's Song

Cover art by Bob Eggleton

Trade

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this

book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely

coincidental.

First printing, September 2002

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 0-7434-3559-1

- Prologue

Adventures in Time and Space

James H. Schmitz was one of the finest writers of light-hearted adventure

stories in the history of science fiction. His most familiar works, the Hub

and Vegan Confederacy tales and his novel The Witches of Karres, were almost

all of that nature.

But he wrote a number of other stories which were quite similar, which are

much less well known -- and, often, simply due to the vagaries of the

publishing industry. To give an example, the opening tale of this volume ("The

Big Terrarium") is as good a story as almost anything Schmitz ever wrote.

Alas, it was published in a magazine called Saturn, which folded after four

issues. So, unlike the stories published in Analog, which were usually

reissued several times in various anthologies, "The Big Terrarium" vanished

from sight. To the best of our knowledge, this anthology is the first time it

has been reissued since it first appeared in that little-known and short-lived

magazine in May of 1957. To one extent or another, the same fate befell many

of the stories in this section of our anthology.

One of these stories is of particular interest, for anyone familiar with the

history of science fiction. Schmitz's most famous single work, his novel The

Witches of Karres, was published at the height of his career in 1968. But what

few people know is that, at the beginning of his career -- in the late 40s,

twenty years earlier -- he wrote a story which served as the prototype for the

later novel. His "trial run," you might call it.

It's all very complicated . . .

Schmitz wrote the story "Captives of the Thieve-Star" sometime very early in

his career, and then decided it was unpublishable and set it aside. The

original title of the story was "What Threbus Said." Then, in 1949, he

published the novelette "The Witches of Karres," which he would later expand

into the novel by that name. Deciding that his earlier story was in fact

sellable, he hauled it out of the dustbin -- but, of course, having already

used the name "Threbus" in "The Witches of Karres," had to change the name of

the heroine's father and the title "What Threbus Said" to "Captives of the

Thieve-Star."

And that's how it all happened, honest.

That story, "Captives of the Thieve-Star," is included here. We think any

reader will enjoy it for its own sake. But those of you familiar with The

Witches of Karres will also enjoy seeing how Schmitz transmuted the

protagonists of the earlier story into the familiar figures of Captain Pausert

and Goth. And will chuckle, perhaps, at seeing the origins of the mysterious

and mighty witches of Karres -- as disreputable a clan of space gypsies as you

could ask for.

- Chapter 1

The Big Terrarium

The third morning Fred Nieheim woke up in the Little Place, he no longer had

to prove to himself that he wasn't dreaming. He knew where he was, all right,

along with the rest of them -- Wilma and Ruby and Howard Cooney and the

Cobrisol. But knowing it didn't make him any happier.

He remained lying on his back, gazing moodily out through the bedroom window,

while he wondered how one went about getting back to Earth from here --

specifically, to the Nieheim farm twenty-two miles south of Richardsville,

Pennsylvania, U.S.A. It wasn't apparently just a matter of finding a way out

through the very odd sort of barriers that fenced in the area. According to

the Cobrisol, a local creature which appeared to be well-informed, they would

then simply be in something known as "Outside," which was nowhere near Earth.

At least, the Cobrisol had never heard of Earth, and still wasn't entirely

convinced that it existed.

"Sometimes, Fred," it had hinted gently only last evening while they sat

together on the front porch, watching a rather good production of an Earth-

type sunset above the apple orchard, "sometimes, the memory and other mental

functions are deranged by transfer from one Place to another. Don't let it

worry you, though. Such effects almost always wear off in time. . . ."

Fred felt Wilma stir quietly in bed beside him, and he raised himself

cautiously on an elbow to look at her. The bed creaked.

Ruby went "Chuck-chuck!" sharply from the corner of the bedroom, where she

slept in a basket. She was a middle-aged hen pheasant of belligerent nature,

who regarded herself as the watchdog of the Nieheim farm. Basket and all,

she'd been transferred along with them to the Little Place.

Fred remained quiet until Ruby stuck her head back under her wing. Wilma was

still asleep, and only a rounded, smooth shoulder and a mop of yellow hair

were visible at the moment above the blankets. They had been married less than

two years, and if he and Wilma and Ruby had been set down here alone, he

mightn't have minded it so much. The Cobrisol had assured him that one

ordinarily received the best of care and attention in the Little Places; and

the Cobrisol itself, though disconcerting in appearance until you got used to

it, seemed to be as agreeable a neighbor as anyone could want.

Unfortunately, there was also Howard Cooney. . . .

* * *

Out in the kitchen, precisely as Fred's reflections reached that point, a

metallic clatter announced that Howard Cooney was manipulating Wilma's big

iron skillet on the stove again.

Fred scowled thoughtfully. For a recent acquaintance, Howard certainly was

making himself at home with them! He was a tramp who had happened to select

the night of their transfer to sleep in the shed back of the Nieheim

farmhouse; and so he'd been picked up and brought along, too. Unfortunately,

whoever or whatever had constructed a reasonably accurate duplicate of a

section of the Nieheim farm in the Little Place, hadn't bothered to include

the shed. The first night, at Wilma's suggestion, Howard had moved into the

living room. After that, he'd stayed there.

Fred felt he couldn't reasonably object to the arrangement under the

circumstances, but he suspected that Howard was an untrustworthy character.

He'd already begun to ogle Wilma when he thought nobody was noticing -- and

there was the disturbing fact that he was considerably bigger and huskier than

Fred. . . .

He'd better, Fred decided uneasily, work out a method of getting them all back

to Earth before Howard got the wrong kind of ideas.

* * *

"Morning," Howard Cooney said hospitably, as Fred came into the kitchen. "Sit

down and have some hoot. Where's Wilma?"

Fred said Wilma was still sleeping.

"Me," said Howard, "I'm up with the sun! Or what goes for the sun around here.

Know what? I'm going to build a still!" He explained that he'd discovered a

maze of piping under the front porch which wasn't connected to anything and

which he could use for the purpose.

Fred doubted Howard would have any success with his dubious project, but he

didn't comment on it. The piping wouldn't be missed. The duplicated house

functioned just as well as the house back on Earth had; but it was operated on

different and -- so far -- incomprehensible principles. Hot and cold water ran

out of the proper faucets and vanished down the drains, but neither faucets

nor drains appeared to be connected to anything but the solid walls!

Similarly, the replicas of the electric stove and refrigerator performed their

normal duties -- but Fred had discovered by accident that they worked just as

well when they weren't plugged into the electric outlets. It was all a little

uncanny, and he preferred not to think about it too much.

He tried a slice of the hoot Howard had been frying. Hoots came in various

flavors, and this one wasn't at all bad -- quite as good as ham, in fact. He

said so.

"Could have been a famous chef back on Earth if I'd wanted to," Howard

admitted carelessly. "This is last night's hoot, by the way. There weren't any

fresh ones floating around this morning."

"Howard," said Fred, "I'm trying to think of a way to get us back to Earth --

"

"You are?" Howard looked startled and then frowned. "Look, Buster," he said in

a confidential tone, leaning across the table, "let's face it. We got it soft

here. Once I get the liquor situation straightened out, we'll have everything

we need."

Fred's mouth opened in surprise. "You don't mean you want to stay here all

your life, do you?"

Howard eyed him speculatively. "You ought to wise up. You never been in stir,

have you? Well, that's where you are now."

"It's more like a zoo," said Fred. "And -- "

"Call it a zoo," the tramp interrupted. "Same principle." He shrugged his

massive shoulders. "Trying to break out is a good way to get killed, see? And

it's likely to make it rough on everyone else. You wouldn't want something

worse than being shut up here to happen to Wilma, would you?" He grinned

amiably at Fred, but the little gray eyes were shrewd and, at the moment, a

trifle menacing.

There was just enough sense in what he'd said to make Fred uncertain. Howard

seemed to have had some experiences which could be of value now. "What do you

think we ought to do?" he inquired.

However, at that point, Howard became rather vague. In stir, he said, one had

to take things easy until one had figured out the system. And then one made

use of the system. The danger was in getting whoever was in charge of the

Little place riled up by thoughtless action. . . .

* * *

Going in search of the Cobrisol after breakfast, Fred admitted to himself that

he couldn't quite make out what Howard Cooney was after. The tramp seemed to

have something definite in mind, but apparently he wasn't willing to reveal it

at this time.

At any rate, he'd made it clear that he didn't intend to be helpful about

getting them back to Earth.

He found the Cobrisol coiled up at the head of a sloping section of ground

which apparently was intended to represent the upper half of the south meadow

of the Nieheim farm on Earth. As such, it was a few hundred yards out of

place, and the grass that grew there wasn't exactly grass either; but Fred

didn't pay much attention to such arbitrary rearrangements of his property any

more.

"Nice day, isn't it?" he remarked, coming up.

"If you're speaking of the weather, yes!" said the Cobrisol. "Otherwise, I'll

reserve my opinion."

Fred sat down beside it. "Something wrong?"

The Cobrisol nodded. "Possibly . . ." It was a quite odd-looking creature,

with a snaky, ten-foot body, brick-red in color and with a rubbery feel to it,

and a head that was a little like that of a pig and a little more like that of

an alligator. No arms or legs, but it didn't seem to miss them. When it moved

slowly, it extended and contracted itself like an earthworm; when it was in a

hurry, it slithered about in sideways loops like a snake. "Take a look

around," it invited significantly.

Fred gazed about. There was the usual, vague sort of sun-disk shining through

the overhead haze, and the morning was pleasantly warm. At the end of the

meadow was a huge, vertical something with indefinite borders called a

"mirror-barrier," inside which he could see the Cobrisol and himself sitting

in the grass, apparently a long distance away, and the duplicated farmhouse

behind them. To the left was a rather accurate reproduction of the Nieheim

apple orchard -- though the trees were constructed more like firs -- complete

with a copy of the orchard section of the Nieheim trout stream. Unfortunately,

no trout appeared to have been transferred.

Beyond the orchard was a thick, motionless mist which blended into the haze of

the sky. The mist was another barrier; the Cobrisol called it a "barrier of

confusion." The first day, Fred had made a determined attempt to walk out of

the Little Place at that point; it had been a confusing experience, all right!

* * *

There wasn't much more to the Little Place. Behind the house, the ground

sloped uphill into another wall of mist. He could hear Wilma and Howard Cooney

talking in the back garden; and a number of small, circular objects that

looked as if they might be made of some shiny metal floated about here and

there in the air. The Cobrisol had explained that these were Eyes, through

which the goings-on in the Little Place were being observed. Their motion

seemed aimless, but Fred hadn't been able to get close enough to one to catch

it.

"Everything looks about the same to me," he admitted at last.

"Everything?" repeated the Cobrisol.

Its long toothy jaws and rubbery, throat moved slightly as it spoke, though it

wasn't actually pronouncing human words. Neither had Fred been talking in the

Cobrisol's language, whatever that was. It was a little hard to understand.

They hadn't been suddenly gifted with telepathy; it was just that when you

were set down in a Little Place, you knew what the other intelligent creatures

there wanted to say. And it sounded as if they were using your kind of speech.

Fred had given up trying to figure it out. . . .

"Well, there aren't any hoots in sight this morning," he acknowledged. "Or

robols either," he added, after a brief search of the meadow grass. "Howard

Cooney mentioned the hoots were gone at breakfast."

"Very observant of the Cooney person," the Cobrisol stated drily. It and

Howard had disliked each other on sight. "Fred, there are a few matters I feel

I should discuss with you."

"Now's a good time for a chat," Fred said agreeably.

The Cobrisol darted its head about in a series of rapid, snaky motions,

surveying the area.

"The Eyes," it remarked then, "have assumed an unusual observational pattern

this morning. You will note that two are stationed directly above us. Another

cluster has positioned itself above the roof of the house. Early in the

morning, an exceptionally large number were gathered among the trees of the

orchard. These have now largely transferred themselves to the opposite side of

the Little Place, near the maze-barrier."

"I see," said Fred, wondering what it was driving at.

"The One who maintains this Place is showing a remarkable degree of interest

in us today," the Cobrisol concluded.

Fred nodded.

* * *

"Very well," the creature resumed. "Life in a Little Place is usually very

satisfactory. The Ones who maintain them can be regarded as hobbyists who take

a benevolent interest in the life-forms they select to inhabit their

creations. Whereas Big Places, of course, are designed for major scientific

projects. . . ." The creature shuddered slightly throughout its length. "I've

never been in one of those, but -- well, I've heard stories! Until this

morning, Fred, I was inclined to regard us here as exceptionally fortunate

life-forms."

"Well," Fred said, frowning "I don't quite agree with . . . what do you mean,

'until this morning'?"

"There are indications that this Place is being maintained, shall we say,

carelessly? Nothing conclusive, as yet, you understand. But indications!" The

Cobrisol jerked its head in the direction of the mirror-barrier. "That

barrier, for instance, Fred, and one or two others have been permitted to go

soft overnight!"

"Go soft?" Fred repeated.

"They're no longer operating as barriers. If we chose to, we could go right

through them now -- and be Outside! An almost unheard-of example of slip-shod

maintenance -- "

Fred brightened. "Well, say!" He got hurriedly to his feet. "Let's try it

then!" He hesitated. "I'll go get Wilma and Ruby first though. I don't like to

leave Wilma alone with that Cooney character."

The Cobrisol hadn't moved.

"I'm afraid you don't have the picture," it remarked. "You assume that once

you're outside you'll be able to find your way back to the place you call

Earth?"

"Not exactly," Fred said cautiously. He didn't like to be evasive with the

Cobrisol, but he wasn't sure it would want them to leave -- and it might be in

a position to make their departure more difficult. "We could just step through

and look around a little. . . ."

"Even if we weren't under observation at the moment," the Cobrisol pointed

out, "you wouldn't live very long if you did. No life-form -- as we know life-

forms -- can exist Outside. The barriers are set up to keep us where it's

safe. That's why it's so irresponsible, of the One -- "

Fred abandoned the idea of taking Wilma with him. He'd have to make a careful

check first. "About how long," he inquired, "could I stand it out there,

safely?"

"Forget it, Fred!" the creature advised him earnestly. "Unless you knew

exactly what to do to get back into the Little Place, you'd be worse than dead

as soon as you stepped out there. And you don't."

"Do you?" Fred challenged it.

"Yes," said the Cobrisol, "I do. But I won't tell you. Sit down again, Fred."

Fred sat down thoughtfully. At least, he'd learned a few new facts, and the

knowledge might come in handy.

"A few moments ago," the Cobrisol said, "you made an interesting statement. It

appears that you don't wish to leave Wilma alone with the other human?"

Fred glanced at it in surprise. "No," he said shortly, "I don't."

The Cobrisol hesitated. "I don't wish to be tactless," it remarked. "I

understand many species have extremely rigid taboos on the subject -- but

might this have something to do with the process of procreation?"

Fred flushed. He hadn't got quite that far in his thoughts about Wilma and

Howard. "In a general sort of way," he admitted.

The Cobrisol regarded him judiciously. "Wilma is a charming life-form," it

stated then, somewhat to Fred's surprise, "whereas the Cooney is as offensive

as he is ignorant. I approve of your attitude, Fred! How do you intend to kill

him?"

Shocked, Fred protested that he didn't intend to kill Howard Cooney. Human

beings didn't act like that -- or, at least, they weren't supposed to.

"Ah," said the Cobrisol. "That is unusual." It reflected a moment. "To get

back, then, to our previous subject -- "

"What previous subject?" By now, Fred was getting a little confused by the

sudden shifts in the conversation.

"Hoots and robols," the Cobrisol said tersely. "They don't just fade away and

there were enough around last evening to have kept us all supplied for another

week. What may we deduce from their sudden disappearance, Fred?"

Fred considered. "They got sick and died?"

"Try again!" the Cobrisol told him encouragingly. "We could still see a dead

hoot, couldn't we?"

"Something ate them," Fred said, a trifle annoyed.

"Correct! Something," added the Cobrisol, "with a very large appetite -- or

else a number of perhaps less voracious somethings. Something, further, that

was transferred here during the night, since there was no shortage in the food

supplies previous to this morning. And, finally -- since it's given no other

indications of its presence -- something with secretive habits!"

Fred looked around uneasily. "What do you think it is?"

"Who knows?" The Cobrisol had no shoulders to shrug with, but it employed an

odd, jerky motion now which gave the same impression. "A Gramoose? An Icien?

Perhaps even a pack of Bokans. . . ." It indicated the observing Eyes above

the house with a flick of its snout. "The point is, Fred, that the One appears

curious to see what we shall do in the situation. Taken together with the

softening of the barriers, this suggests a deplorable -- and, for us, perhaps

very unfortunate -- degree of immaturity in our particular hobbyist!"

* * *

Feeling his face go pale, Fred got to his feet. "I'm going to go tell Wilma to

stay in the house with Ruby," he announced shakily.

"A wise precaution!" The Cobrisol uncoiled and came slithering along beside

him as, he strode rapidly towards the house. "The situation, incidentally,

does have one slight advantage for you personally."

"What's that?" Fred inquired.

"I have noticed that the Cooney individual is considerably larger and more

powerful than you. But you can emphasize to him now that, since we are in a

state of common danger, this is no time to indulge in procreational

disputes. . . ."

Before Fred could answer, there was a sudden furious squawking from Ruby in

the back garden. An instant later, he heard a breathless shriek from Wilma and

a sort of horrified bellowing from Howard Cooney. He came pounding up to the

front porch just as the house door flew open. Howard dashed out, wild-eyed,

leaped down the porch stairs, almost knocking Fred over, and charged on.

Fred's impression was that the big man hadn't even seen him. As he scrambled

up on the porch, there was a thud and a startled "Oof!" behind him, as if

Howard had just gone flat on his face, but he didn't look back. Wilma came

darting through the door in Howard's tracks, Ruby tucked firmly under her left

arm and a big iron skillet grasped in her right hand. Her face looked white as

paper under its tan.

"Run, Fred!" she gasped. "There's something at the back door!"

"You're mistaken, Wilma," the Cobrisol's voice informed them from the foot of

the stairs. "It's now coming around the house. Up on the front porch,

everyone! You, too, Cooney! No place to run to, you know!"

"What's coming?" Fred demanded hoarsely. He added to Wilma, "Here, I'll hold

Ruby!"

Nobody answered immediately. Howard thumped up the steps, closely followed by

the Cobrisol. It struck Fred then that it probably had been a flip of the

Cobrisol's tail that halted Howard; but Howard wasn't complaining. He took up

a stand just behind Wilma, breathing noisily.

The Cobrisol coiled up on Fred's left.

"It's an Icien. . . . Well, things could be worse -- listen!"

Ruby clasped under his left arm, Fred listened. A number of Eyes were bobbing

about excitedly in front of the porch. Suddenly, he heard footsteps.

They were heavy, slow, slapping steps, as if something were walking through

mud along the side of the house. Fred turned to the edge of the porch where

Howard had been pulling up plankings to find material for his still. A four-

foot piece of heavy pipe lay beside the loose boards, and he picked that up

just as Wilma and Howard uttered a gasp of renewed shock. . . .

Something -- the Icien -- was standing behind the south end of the porch.

"Ah!" it said in a deep voice, peering in at the group through the railings.

"Here we all are!"

* * *

Fred stared at it speechlessly. It stood on two thick legs, and it had a round

head where a head ought to be. It was at least seven feet tall, and seemed to

be made of moist black leather -- even the round, bulging eyes and the horny

slit of a mouth were black. But the oddest thing about it was that, in

addition, it appeared to have wrapped a long black cloak tightly around

itself.

It marched on to the end of the porch and advanced towards the stairs, where

it stopped.

"Are all the intelligent inhabitants of the Place assembled here?" the inhuman

voice inquired.

Fred discovered that his knees were shaking uncontrollably. But nobody else

seemed willing to answer.

"We're all here," he stated, in as steady a voice as he could manage. "What do

you want?"

The Icien stared directly at him for a long moment. Then it addressed the

group in general.

"Let this be understood first! Wherever an Icien goes, an Icien rules!" It

paused. Fred decided not to dispute the statement just now. Neither did anyone

else.

"Splendid!" The Icien sounded somewhat mollified. "Now, as all intelligent

beings know," it went on, in a more conversational tone, "the Law of the

Little Places states that a ruling Icien must never go hungry while another

life-form is available to nourish it. . . ." The black cloak around it seemed

to stir with a slow, writhing motion of its own. "I am hungry!" the Icien

added, simply but pointedly.

Unconsciously, the humans on the porch had drawn a little closer together. The

Cobrisol stayed where it was, motionless and watchful, while the monster's

black eyes swiveled from one to the other of the petrified little group.

"The largest one, back there!" it decided shortly.

And with that, what had looked like a cloak unfolded and snapped out to either

side of it. For a blurred, horrified second, Fred thought of giant sting-rays

on an ocean bottom, of octopi -- of demonish vampires! The broad, black

flipper-arms the creature had held wrapped about it were lined with row on row

of wet-toothed sucker-mouths. From tip to tip, they must have stretched almost

fifteen feet.

Howard Cooney made a faint screeching noise and fainted dead away, collapsing

limply to the porch..

"Ah!" rumbled the Icien, with apparent satisfaction. "The rest of you may now

stand back -- " It took a step forward, the arms sweeping around to reach out

ahead of it. Then it stopped.

"I said," it repeated, on a note of angry surprise, "that you may now stand

back!"

Ruby clacked her beak sharply; there was no other sound. Fred discovered he

had half-raised the piece of pipe, twisting it back from his wrist like a one-

handed batter. Wilma held the big skillet in front of her, grasping it

determinedly in both hands. Her face wasn't white any more; it was flushed,

and her lips were set. And the Cobrisol's neck was drawn back like that of a

James H. Schmitz - Eternal Frontier

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