The Contract

by Brian Herbert and Marie Landis

Like an immense silver weapon beamed at an unseen enemy, the spaceship’s nose rested slightly over the edge of a high mesa. The ship glittered in the cold sunlight, its sleek surface marred only by the word, “Romner.”

Jackson Denning stepped from the vessel and examined his environment. Sweet air and clear sky, as they’d promised him at the Romner Institute. He walked toward the rim of the precipice and looked down. Immediately he sat down, opened his tool belt and activated the micro-automatons within.

“Something climbing up the side of this mesa.” Denning signaled his tools to identify.

The automatons went to work and spoke to him in a single voice. “Object is organic … humanoid.”

Denning signaled again, requesting more details. He’d better have all the facts in case the advancing human was unfriendly. The colony on this small planet hadn’t been contacted for more than two centuries. Changes in political leadership at home on Earth II often meant the death of decisions made by previous administrations. Colonies were established by one leader, then abandoned by another. As though the humans sent to these faraway places were no more than cardboard dolls, easily disposed of, thought Denning.

Until recently.

A Tax Department employee researching old records had discovered a number of colonies that hadn’t paid taxes for many years. Bureaucratic wheels began to turn. When the Tax Department was unable to contact this particular colony through the usual methods of communication, they sought another. They contacted the Romner Institute, and the Institute conscripted Denning.

It was Denning’s responsibility to see whether the colony had survived, to find out if it had produced anything that might bring tax revenues and esteem to the current crop of politicians.

He looked downward again. The figure was still climbing the steep side of the mesa. Just a blob at the moment, didn’t even look human. He wished he had some antique binoculars, so he could see for himself, rather than depending on the damn automatons for descriptions.

Fear clawed his self-confidence. He hadn’t volunteered for this one-man task. Though he’d spent thirteen years in space, his contact with other humans had been minimal. He was an engineering-tech, not a tax collector. He’d tried to get assigned to a different project but, as always, someone else got the job he requested. The Institute had excuses. This was a special assignment, different from all others. They couldn’t entrust the mission to anyone but Denning. The colony was extremely unusual and required special handling.

Unusual? In what way, Denning wondered. They might value his services at the Institute, but they wouldn’t confide in him. What was so different about this particular colony? Top Secret, they’d answered.

Were the colonists criminals? Insane? Diseased? No one had answered his questions. “Just do your duty,” they’d said.

Yeah, he thought now, and protect my pension. A shudder of conscience passed through him. What kind of man had he become? Whoever was approaching was not alien. The residents of this planet were as human as he was. Had he been adrift in the universe too long without companionship?

He wondered whether the approaching human was male or female. It had been a long time since he’d seen a female. Despite the heavy doses of sexual stimulation the ship provided, he remained unsatisfied, needful. I require more than reality-images and warm massages, he thought. I need someone I can touch and feel and talk to.

He unleashed his imagination and let it run wildly along paths restricted by sedatives during his long confinement in the ship. The months in space had taken their toll.

“Additional data,” his tools announced. “Height … one and two thirds meters; body build … ectomorphic; sex … unknown.”

Denning made his own translations. The figure scrambling up the mesa wall had a lean build, was shorter than he was and its sex was unknown. The last bit of information was an inadequate answer by the automatons, and he wondered if they were malfunctioning. Maybe the oncoming figure wasn’t human at all.

He waited.

Twenty minutes passed and then the figure clambered over the edge of the mesa. “Welcoom,” it said in a sibilant voice. “Us welcoom you.”

Denning rose. The human, and she was human, was lean and lovely and obviously female. Her hair was bright red and partially covered with a rough piece of cloth. She wore a loose garment of similar fabric tied at the waist with a cord.

“One of Us brought me news of your large silver phallus. So, I have come to see it,” said the girl.

Denning deactivated his tools. The girl’s speech patterns were different from his own, but not difficult to follow. And he supposed the spaceship did look something like a male generative organ, though he’d never thought of it in that light.

Before he could explain his mission, the girl defined her own. “I am Wurlida, the Communicator, the one who speaks for all of Us. The Communicator must handle problems with tranquility. I have made Us a promise to make contact with your phallus in a peaceful manner, so it will not bring Us harm.”

He grinned at her choice of words and asked, “Where are the other members of your colony?”

“The rest of Us have tasks to perform and cannot welcoom you at this time. Will you say who you are and why you are here?”

Denning looked into her dark blue eyes and felt as though he were sinking into a quiet, translucent pool, into a place of such peacefulness that he might stay there forever. He held out his hands in a gesture of friendship, palms up and empty. “I’m Jackson Denning, from Earth II. Here to make a routine inspection for the Romner Institute.”

“I do not understand.”

Denning removed a small communication box from his tool belt. “Press this against yourself. Your body heat will activate the device, and it will explain everything.”

As she held the box against her breast he had a sudden desire to trade places with the box.

She handed it back. “I dislike its message,” she announced. “Your box tells me you come from a place familiar to the ancestors of Us, but it provides little else. There is emptiness of soul in such communication.”

“It’s against regulations for me to do this, but I’ll try to explain things.” Denning wondered what he could say. Tell her he was here to confiscate any resources her people had developed? That his real purpose in coming was to assist his political leaders in the exploitation of the colony? And all to advance the careers of the politicians who had sent him here?

“I’ve come to help you,” he said, hating his false words. “We want to ensure that your people are fulfilling the requirements for colonization. You need to account for the self-replicating equipment that was left with your ancestors. And there are the taxes. These must be satisfied either in goods or credit. It is all written in the original contract your people entered into.”

“Coom,” Wurlida beckoned. “And I will try to understand that which I do not. Taxes? What is that? The word has a malicious sound.”

“Oh, no,” he lied. “Nothing bad. All I do is start counting things. Your equipment and so forth. That’s all. I’ll be here only a short time.”

She had no response.

Treading carefully along a narrow zigzag pathway cut into the hillside, he followed her down the side of the mesa. Her small body moved rapidly and with lithe grace. Like a red fox, he thought, and was tempted to reach out and touch her hair, the back of her neck, her small rounded buttocks, to lay his hands wherever he pleased. What the hell is wrong with me? he wondered. Pheromones or isolation? One or the other of them had gotten to him. He fought the urge to fondle her.

“Does someone live with you?” he asked, hoping she’d say no. He inhaled her fragrance, a warm female scent that tickled his appetite.

“I am self-sufficient,” she replied.

When they reached the bottom of the mesa, he gazed upon a vast plain laid out in a checkerboard of vivid green vegetation and brown soil. Here and there figures moved back and forth across the green areas. The colony must be agrarian, he decided.

“Where are your structures?” Denning asked. “Your places of business, your houses?”

“There is my dwelling,” Wurlida pointed to an opening in the mesa wall they had just descended. “Coom, and we will discuss the matters that concern you.”

“That’s your home?”

“It is not satisfactory?”

“It’s fine. Where do the other colonists live?”

“In similar places.” She pointed to several other mesas rising from the plain. “Today, none of Us are at home. All but myself. The rest work the garden.”

“That’s all one garden, and all the colonists are there?”

“Yes. We work cooperatively.”

Good, he thought, it will make it easier to count them. It was obvious to Denning that these people lived in a more primitive society than the Romner Institute had prophesied.

He followed Wurlida into the shadowy gloom of her dwelling. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that the interior was furnished with numerous cushions, a small table and a few dishes. Comfortable but simple, the place shouldn’t justify too high a tax assessment.

He touched the evaluation counter on his waist, and it appraised and registered the quality and approximate dimensions of Wurlida’s home. Actually, it’s her dimensions I’m interested in, he admitted to himself and felt an overpowering desire to slide his hands across her bare skin.

Wurlida turned and abruptly dropped her rough garment to her waist. Two pink breasts thrust themselves in his direction. She stepped toward him. “Welcoom to my home. I am pleased to make love with you.” She released the cord that was tied about her waist.

His first reaction was shock. This was no girl! A small penis and two testicles dangled between her … no his? … legs. Denning’s desire waned.

“Do you prefer female or male?” Wurlida asked. “I can offer either.”

“I prefer female!” he shouted, caught himself and spoke more softly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you.”

“I only wish to bring you comfort and love. That is our custom and my greeting from Us. If female is your preference, I will be that for you.”

With a voluptuous twist of her body, Wurlida lay on her back and slowly fanned her legs outward, lifting her hips slightly to display her female parts to him. The movement was so sensual, so slow and inviting, that for a moment Denning forgot the complication of the male anatomy.

I need a drink, he thought, and took a step backward.

“You don’t like me?” Wurlida asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You must accept my offer. I am the Communicator. To deny my hospitality would be an offense against all of Us.”

Denning nodded, weakly. What did his manual say? Practice diplomacy, but don’t fraternize. One out of two wasn’t bad. “I don’t want to be rude, but I’ll be the male.”

His hands were shaking, so he thrust them in his pockets.

“And I will welcoom your maleness.” Wurlida’s manner of speech was exquisite, perfectly shaped words issuing from a perfect mouth, so moist and full. He could almost taste the saltiness of her lips.

She rose and again Denning stared at her lower parts and saw her as male, a strange, boyish sort of male, yet somehow beguiling and erotic. Silently, he chastised himself for twisted thoughts. He lifted his head and saw Wurlida’s breasts, so round and pink, and desire surged through him and came to rest in his groin.

“If we do this,” he said, “you understand I can’t show favoritism to the colony? I mean, I’ll still have to make an honest accounting for my report. It’s my duty.”

“Whatever you wish,” she replied, her words a soft seduction, her blue eyes a drowning pool.

Denning undressed hurriedly, tossed his uniform and boots into a heap in one corner of the cave. Whatever Wurlida had to offer he would accept her hospitality. Her chemistry, her intriguing chemistry, overpowered the rules and regulations he was supposed to obey. He wanted to drown in her beautiful body. She was a freak … but did that matter? With one not so large exception she was a beautiful, soft-spoken female. That was enough.

He crawled on top of her and caressed her. Pushing her male apparatus out of his way he invaded her roughly, as he would continue to invade and invade and invade, forever if he could. He didn’t need a drink, he needed Wurlida, his great, limitless elixir from the Gods. She sucked him in with insatiable thirst, drawing him into herself, pulling him tighter and closer. He made love until he was spent, and then rolled onto his back with a satisfied groan.

Wurlida bent over him, moving her fingers softly across his body. She sat back on her heels. “You are only male?” she asked with a note of pity. “So inefficient. It is much better to be two than one. Each of Us is two.”

Denning emerged from his descent into ecstasy. “Inefficient? Aren’t you satisfied?”

“Much satisfied, Jackson Denning. You are part of me now. How could I not be satisfied?”

“Then let’s not spoil it with criticism.” He stretched his arms and got to his feet. “The ‘Us’ you keep referring to … members of your colony I assume? You say all of them are two-sexed?”

“Our legends tell that once our ancestors lived on Earth II, until a man of science decided to alter our destiny. Romner was his name, the name on the side of your silver phallus. Our ancestors. Thirty-two of Us, were pseudo-hermaphrodites, born with the appendages of both sexes. Yet one or the other of these parts was non-functioning, until Romner transformed Us. Now we are true hermaphrodites.”

“Like newts and mollusks?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I only know about my people. Romner altered the structure of our ancestor’s bodies and therefore the structure of their children and their children’s children.”

Denning shook his head. So this was the secret they didn’t want to tell him back at the Institute. Genetic tampering.

“Why was all this done?” he asked. “Not that there’s always a logical reason for governmental decisions, mind you.”

“You don’t know? Of course, it was done to see how well a new breed of humans could endure long voyages between the stars. To keep Us satisfied, reduce quarrels and killings between male and female. Pairing becomes a simple matter. No worry over choices.”

“Good God!” said Denning. He hesitated. “And can you satisfy yourselves sexually as well? You actually don’t need anyone else?”

“I have a need, as do all of Us. But there is little quarreling among my people. Though I sometimes war with myself. As I do now, Jackson Denning. I wish to remain female for you, yet my male side argues for a chance to please you, as well.”

Denning changed the subject quickly, though desire was beginning to take hold of him again for the female Wurlida. “Do you have anything to drink?” he asked. “Something fermented? Something to relax me? Well, not exactly relax me.”

“Yes,” she replied with a smile and fetched a glass of golden liquid. “It will bring the fire inside you to its greatest heat,” she promised.

He sniffed it … the stuff smelled good. He touched his tongue to it … hmm, tasted all right. So he drank it.

O O O

Several days later, Denning awoke to reality. He’d ignored his mission, spent three days—or was it four?—immersed in a sexual liaison so convoluted, so bizarre and so wondrous that he doubted he would ever be satisfied with anything or anyone else as long as he lived. Wurlida, his love, his addiction, lay warm and glowing beside him. He hated to rise from his bed of pillows, was not even sure that he could, but responsibility called.

“I hate to leave your bed,” he said, “but I must get on with data collection and my report. The Institute sent me here to do a job, and I have to perform.”

“I understand. My people also make sacrifices for the good of Us.”

“Not exactly a sacrifice, it’s more of a responsibility. Tell me more about this colony, about your culture. What do you produce? What resources have you discovered?”

I’ll get this job done, Denning thought, and then I’ll take Wurlida back to bed. Perhaps I can take her to Earth II with me. No one needs to know about her … peculiarity. I’ll get an Earth job. We can be like other people. Except, we can’t have children; they might have their mother’s affliction.

Denning’s thoughts roiled about in his head, confusing him further. I need her! his mind screamed silently. And I need to do my job. But, if I do my job as I’m supposed to, I’m afraid it will feel like I’m betraying her.

“I will show you the garden,” she answered. “So that you can begin your counting.”

While they walked, Denning asked, “Could you tell me more about the technical and scientific equipment that was left with you?” He thought her expression reflected puzzlement. “The equipment was self-replicating, it could reproduce itself. There should be a great deal for me to inspect.”

“All gone,” Wurlida answered. “Thrown into the inner-world fires long before I was born. A necessary sacrifice, my great-parent told me. Such machinery could only bring dissension and pain to our colony. It was destroyed to save us from the fate Earth II has inflicted upon you.”

“What fate?”

“Both my female and male sides care for you,” she said softly. “But you demolish yourself with your talk of taxes and contracts, whatever they are. Our ancestors wanted a different life for us, not the existence they’d known on Earth II. Purgatory, they called it.”

“By destroying the equipment you’ve breached your contract!” Denning cried. “They won’t like that back on Earth II.” He clicked the communication box and handed it to her. “This will give you information about the contract, all its clauses and amendments and so forth.”

Wurlida held it against her breast again. “It reveals more but is essentially the same as before, an empty communication,” she complained. “Legends tell us of promises made. But your world broke its part of the bargain. Until this time, you never returned to Us as you said you would. You abandoned the colony. Why should we owe your world anything?”

“That won’t matter to my government. For two centuries you haven’t paid your taxes. This means late penalties. With tax violations there are always penalties, and in your case I foresee compound interest. They’ll make you pay, even if it isn’t your fault.”

He ended his tirade. What am I doing? he thought. I can’t live without Wurlida, and I’m driving her away from me. She’s bewitched me with chemistry or mind control. Could she have done so in order to avoid taxes? No, no. No one could make love with such intensity and not mean it.

“I have this responsibility,” he said, and he clutched Wurlida tightly against him, as if to reassure himself that she wasn’t just a reality-image, that she was a living, breathing, human being.

“There is the garden,” said Wurlida, pulling herself free and pointing. “And Us.”

Denning watched the colonists tilling the garden with primitive tools. Some individuals were homely, some attractive, some looked masculine and some feminine. Nothing in their behavior or appearance hinted at the vast difference that separated these people from himself. They waved and smiled as he passed.

I can’t help liking these people, he thought. But I still have to do my job.

His evaluation counter clicked and counted on an automatic setting, as they hiked from field to field. “That is all of Us,” said Wurlida.

Denning checked the count. “Only two thousand and twenty-eight people. This is all of you? After all these years there ought to be more.”

“Births are controlled by Us and some babies die,” Wurlida explained. “There is sufficient food for all, but more births would upset the balance.”

I know what I’ll do, Denning thought. And with a quick entry he doubled the count. Each person here is two!

“And what are your crops?” he asked.

“Vegetables, fruit, a variety of low-growing nuts.”

“Do they have any special properties? Something of importance?”

She laughed. “They keep Us alive. That’s important enough.”

Vegetables! A low tax base here. Perhaps, he thought, if I write that in my report they’ll leave this planet alone. How could he protect these people and do his job at the same time?

“Are you satisfied?” asked Wurlida. “You’ve counted and measured and put all the numbers into that machine attached to your waist. This is all there is of Us. What more do you want?”

“I want to see the place where your ancestors destroyed the equipment that was left with them. I’m sorry, but this information has to be included in my report.”

“We’ll go to the fire cave, and then you’ll be finished?”

“With the colony yes, but never with you. After I see the fire cave … could we make love again?” I have a couple of days, he thought. I can’t tell her I’m leaving. Not yet. I have to love her again.

“I think you have made a choice,” Wurlida said. “I think you will be leaving Us shortly for Earth II.”

He felt another lie forming in his mouth, suppressed it and did not reply to her statement. She was right. There was no other choice for him. His time for departure was approaching rapidly, and the ship would go without him, if he wasn’t aboard at the programmed time. But God, he wanted her. Now, and always!

“I won’t tell them the truth,” he said. “I’ll protect you.” How? He wasn’t sure he could betray the trust his government had placed in him to fulfill an important task. But on the other hand, he felt a growing obligation to the colony, and especially to Wurlida.

She led him past the gardens to a rocky hill. “An entrance has been cut into the rocks that lead to the fire core.” She pushed aside some greenery and slipped through a narrow opening. Denning stumbled along behind her until they entered a cavern. He flashed a light across the cavern’s walls. Faceted outcroppings glittered in the half-light of the cave. Jewels? he wondered, and manually entered the information into his evaluation counter. There might be something of value here, after all. And what about Wurlida? Is she also property to be bought and sold? No more than that? He couldn’t bear the thought. Wurlida was special. Her qualities would not show up in any sterile government report.

They were greeted by a masculine-looking hermaphrodite, with sweat dripping from its muscular body. “Welcoom,” it cried. “I am Keeper, one who guards the fire.”

“Keeper will tell Us if there is too much fire activity, so those within range can safely retreat,” explained Wurlida.

“It’s a volcano,” said Denning. “Is it active?”

“If we anger it,” answered Keeper. “There is a hole in the cave floor and within the hole the center of our planet delivers fire to bring heat and comfort to the sick and disabled.”

“It is also the place where our ancestors disposed of the equipment,” said Wurlida. “And other things.”

Denning bent over a jagged hole that covered a portion of the cave floor, and he gasped. Heat swirled around him like a living creature. Below him, a red inferno simmered, sucking the breath from his lungs. He slid backward and wiped his forehead. “Can we go back outside?” he asked. “The air in here is suffocating.”

“You are not accustomed to it,” Wurlida said, and led him back outside. “Stay here, I have some words for Keeper.”

When she returned, he was sitting in deep grass. “I’ve made us a bed,” he said.

“A fine bed,” she agreed and lay down beside him.

Denning buried himself in passion and entered the small death that drowned out sound and sight and left only touch and taste and smell.

“I love you,” whispered Wurlida. “But I’m breaking the rules of Us in remaining with you too long.”

Denning groaned a protest. “Once more, once more,” he cried.

“I think not,” said a rough voice, and Denning felt a hard blow against his head and sank deep into darkness.

O O O

“You’ve slept too long with the freak,” said Keeper. “I had to save you from yourself.” He laid Denning’s unconscious body inside the cave, near the fire hole. “When you left the cave and came back to talk with me, I warned you. Yet you ignored my warning. You understand that your friendship with this Incomplete must end? He is no different from the single-sexed children born to Us. They are sacrificed, and you must sacrifice him.”

“But I love him,” answered Wurlida. “Can’t I keep him a little longer?”

“Our law must be obeyed.”

After a moment’s hesitation: “I understand.”

The two of them slid Denning’s limp body toward the fire hole, Wurlida holding his feet, Keeper his shoulders. Unnoticed by either of them, Denning’s tool belt fell to the ground.

Wurlida wiped her damp eyes and bent over Denning’s prostrate body. “I am sorry. Forgive me for the death you must suffer.” She looked up at Keeper. “This man had certain responsibilities. He might have abandoned them for me. I wish I could do the same.”

“Your duty is to the colony,” said Keeper.

They slid Denning into the smoldering inferno and bowed their heads in respect.

Keeper reached down and picked up the fallen tool belt. “What’s this?” he asked. Without waiting for Wurlida’s reply, he cast it into the fire.