A. Bertram Chandler - Giant Killer

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GIANT KILLER

by A. Bertram Chandler (1912- )

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION,

October

A. Bertram Chandler is a retired Australian merchant naval officer, whose

most famous creations in science fiction are the "Rim Worlds" stories and

novels featuring John Grimes. These are entertaining and superior space

opera tables that have won Chandler a wide and devoted following.

Unfortunately, these books have obscured his shorter fiction on other

subjects, which are frequently of a high standard. Particularly noteworthy

are "The Cage" (1957), one of the best stories ever on the question of what

it means to be human, and the present selection.

"Giant Killer" is a "closed universe" story wherein the characters (or at

least some of them) do not realize that their environment constitutes only a

small, confined space. It is arguably his finest work of science fiction,

although the author is still active and writing in the field.

(I suppose that an editor is allowed to have a favorite story in any

anthology he puts together. Generally, if one of my own stories is contained

in an anthology I edit, that is my favorite and since it is generally accepted

that I lack modesty, I am allowed to say so.

Yet even though I have a story m this anthology, I am forced to admit

that Chandler's story is my favorite. If you have never encountered it before,

read it through to the ending and then with the illumination that comes of

that, read it a second time. It then sounds quite different.

The technical problems involved in writing a story of this kind are

enormous and Chandler manages them with what seems enviable ease

though I know enough about such matters to suppose that behind the scenes

he had to do a lot of thinking through a number of sleepless nights. I.A.)

Shrick should have died before his baby eyes had opened on his world. Shrick would have died, but

Weena, his mother, was determined that he, alone of all her children, should live. Three previous times

since her mating with Skreer had she borne, and on each occasion the old, gray Sterret, Judge of the

Newborn, had condemned her young as Different Ones.

Weena had no objection to the Law when it did not affect her or hers. She, as much as any other

member of the Tribe, keenly enjoyed the feasts of fresh, tasty meat following the ritual slaughter of the

Different Ones. But when those sacrificed were the fruit of her own womb it wasn't the same.

It was quiet in the cave where Weena awaited the coming of her lord. Quiet, that is, save for the

sound of her breathing and an occasional plaintive, mewling cry from the newborn child. And even these

sounds were deadened by the soft spongy walls and ceiling.

She sensed the coming of Skreer long before his actual arrival. She anticipated his first question and,

as he entered the cave, said quietly, "One. A male."

"A male?" Skreer radiated approval. Then she felt his mood change to one of questioning, of doubt.

"Is it . . . he—?"

"Yes."

Skreer caught the tiny, warm being in his arms. There was no light, but he, like all his race, was

accustomed to the dark. His fingers told him all that he needed to know. The child was hairless. The legs

were too straight. And—this was worst of all—the head was a great, bulging dome.

"Skreer!" Weena's voice was anxious. "Do you—?"

"There is no doubt. Sterret will condemn it as a Different One."

"But—"

"There is no hope." Weena sensed that her mate shuddered, heard the faint, silken rustle of his fur as

he did so. "His head! He is like the Giants!"

The mother sighed. It was hard, but she knew the Law. And yet—This was her fourth childbearing,

and she was never to know, perhaps, what it was to watch and wait with mingled pride and terror while

her sons set out with the other young males to raid the Giants' territory, to bring back spoils from the

great Cave-of-Food, the Place-of-Green-Growing-Things or, even, precious scraps of shiny metal from

the Place-of-Life-That-Is-Not-Life.

She clutched at a faint hope.

"His head is like a Giant's? Can it be, do you think, that the Giants are Different Ones? I have heard it

said."

"What if they are?"

"Only this. Perhaps he will grow to be a Giant. Perhaps he will fight the other Giants for us, his own

people. Perhaps—"

"Perhaps Sterret will let him live, you mean." Skreer made the short, unpleasant sound that passed

among his people for a laugh. "No, Weena. He must die. And it is long since we feasted—"

"But—"

"Enough. Or do you wish to provide meat for the Tribe also? I may wish to find a mate who will bear

me sturdy sons, not monsters!"

The Place-of-Meeting was almost deserted when Skreer and Weena, she with Shrick clutched tightly

in her arms, entered. Two more couples were there, each with newborn. One of the mothers was holding

two babies, each of whom appeared to be normal. The other had three, her mate holding one of them.

Weena recognized her as Teeza, and flashed her a little half smile of sympathy when she saw that the

child carried by Teeza's mate would certainly be condemned by Sterret when he choose to appear. For it

was, perhaps, even more revolting than her own Different One, having two hands growing from the end

of each arm.

Skreer approached one of the other males, he unburdened with a child.

"How long have you been waiting?" he asked.

"Many heartbeats. We—"

The guard stationed at the doorway through which light entered from Inside hissed a warning:

"Quiet! A Giant is coming!"

The mothers clutched their children to them yet more tightly, their fur standing on end with

superstitious dread. They knew that if they remained silent there was no danger, that even if they should

betray themselves by some slight noise there was no immediate peril. It was not size along that made the

Giants dreaded, it was the supernatural powers that they were known to possess. The food-that-kills had

slain many an unwary member of the Tribe, also their fiendishly cunning devices that crushed and

managled any of the People unwise enough to reach greedily for the savory morsels left exposed on a

kind of little platform. Although there were those who averred that, in the latter case, the risk was well

worth it, for the yellow grains from the many bags in the Cave-of-Food were as monotonous as they

were nourishing.

"The Giant has passed!"

Before those in the Place-of-Meeting could resume their talk, Sterret drifted out from the entrance of

his cave. He held in his right hand his wand of office, a straight staff of the hard, yet soft, stuff dividing the

territory of the People from that of the Giants. It was tipped with a sharp point of metal.

He was old, was Sterret.

Those who were themselves grandparents had heard their grandparents speak of him. For generations

he had survived attacks by young males jealous of his prerogatives as chief, and the more rare assaults by

parents displeased by his rulings as Judge of the Newborn. In this latter case, however, he had had

nothing to fear, for on those isolated occasions the Tribe had risen as one and torn the offenders to

pieces.

Behind Sterret came his personal guards and then, floating out from the many cave entrances, the bulk

of the Tribe. There had been no need so summon them; they knew.

The chief, deliberate and unhurried, took his position in the center of the Place-of-Meeting. Without

orders, the crowd made way for the parents and their newborn. Weena winced as she saw their gloating

eyes fixed on Shrick's revolting baldness, his misshapen skull. She knew what the verdict would be.

She hoped that the newborn of the others would be judged before her own, although that would

merely delay the death of her own child by the space of a very few heartbeats. She hoped—

"Weena! Bring the child to me that I may see and pass judgment!"

The chief extended his skinny arms, took the child from the mother's reluctant hands. His little,

deep-set eyes gleamed at the thought of the draught of rich, red blood that he was soon to enjoy. And

yet he was reluctant to lose the savor of a single heartbeat of the mother's agony. Perhaps she could be

provoked into an attack—

"You insult us," he said slowly, "by bringing forth this!" He held Shrick, who squalled feebly, at arm's

length. "Look, oh People, at this thing the miserable Weena has brought for my judgment!"

"He has a Giant's head." Weena's timid voice was barely audible. "Perhaps—"

"—his father was a Giant!"

A tittering laugh rang through the Place-of-Meeting.

"No. But I have heard it said that perhaps the Giants, or their fathers and mothers, were Different

Ones. And—"

"Who said that?"

"Strela."

"Yes, Strela the Wise. Who, in his wisdom, ate largely of the food-that-kills!"

Again the hateful laughter rippled through the assembly.

Sterret raised the hand that held the spear, shortening his grip on the haft. His face puckered as he

tasted in anticipation the bright bubble of blood that would soon well from the throat of the Different One.

Weena screamed. With one hand she snatched her child from the hateful grasp of the chief, with the other

she seized his spear.

Sterret was old, and generations of authority had made him careless. Yet, old as he was, he evaded

the vicious thrust aimed at him by the mother. He had no need to cry orders, from all sides the People

converged upon the rebel.

Already horrified by her action, Weena knew that she could expect no mercy. And yet life, even as

lived by the Tribe, was sweet. Gaining a purchase from the gray, spongy floor of the Place-of-Meeting

she jumped. The impetus of her leap carried her up to the doorway through which streamed the light from

Inside. The guard there was unarmed, for of what avail would a puny spear be against the Giants? He fell

back before the menace of Weena's bright blade and bared teeth. And then Weena was Inside.

She could, she knew, hold the doorway indefinitely against pursuit. But this was Giant country. In an

agony of indecision she clung to the rim of the door with one hand, the other still holding the spear. A

face appeared in the opening, and then vanished, streaming with blood. It was only later that she realized

that it had been Skreer's.

She became acutely conscious of the fierce light beating around and about her, of the vast spaces on

all sides of a body that was accustomed to the close quarters of the caves and tunnels. She felt naked

and, in spite of her spear, utterly defenseless.

Then that which she dreaded came to pass.

Behind her, she sensed the approach of two of the Giants. Then she could hear their breathing, and

the low, infinitely menacing rumble of their voices as they talked one with the other. They hadn't seen

her—of that she was certain, but it was only a matter of heartbeats before they did so. The open

doorway, with the certainty of death that lay beyond, seemed infinitely preferable to the terror of the

unknown. Had it been only her life at stake she would have returned to face the righteous wrath of her

chief, her mate and her Tribe.

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A. Bertram Chandler - Giant Killer

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