Image of the Gods | Page 5

blast, to drag the people up
into the hills, into caves and hollows that still showed the fresh marks
of carving tools. They had brought food--what kind of food nobody
knew, for the colony's food had been destroyed by the first blast of the
hurricane--but whatever it was it had kept them alive. And somehow,
the colonists had survived the winter which seemed never to end. There
were frozen legs and ruined eyes; there was pneumonia so swift and
virulent that even the antibiotics they managed to salvage could not
stop it; there was near-starvation--but they were kept alive, until the
winds began to die, and they walked out of their holes in the ground to
see the ruins of their first village.
From that winter on, nobody considered the Dusties funny any more.
What had motivated them no one knew, but the colony owed them their
lives. The Dusties tried to help the people rebuild. They showed them
how to build windshields that would keep houses intact and anchored
to the ground when the winds came again. They built little furnaces out
of dirt and rock which defied the winds and gave great heat. They
showed the colonists a dozen things they needed to know for life on the
rugged planet. The colonists in turn tried to teach the Dusties
something about Earth, and how the colonists had lived, and why they
had come. But there was a barrier of intelligence that could not be

crossed. The Dusties learned simple things, but only slowly and
imperfectly. They seemed content to take on their mock overseer's role,
moving in and about the village, approving or disapproving, but always
trying to help. Some became personal pets, though "pet" was the wrong
word, because it was more of a strange personal friendship limited by
utter lack of communication, than any animal-and-master relationship.
The colonists made sure that the Dusties were granted the respect due
them as rightful masters of Baron IV. And somehow the Dusties
perceived this attitude, and were so grateful for the acceptance and
friendship that there seemed nothing they wouldn't do for the colonists.
There had been many discussions about them. "You'd think they'd
resent our moving in on them," Jack Mario had said one day. "After all,
we are usurpers. And they treat us like kings. Have you noticed the
way they mimic us? I saw one chewing tobacco the other day. He hated
the stuff, but he chewed away, and spat like a trooper."
One of the Dusties had been sitting on Pete's knee when Captain Varga
had been talking, and he had known that something terrible was wrong.
Now he sat on the desk in the office, moving uneasily back and forth as
Pete looked up at Mario's dark face, and then across at John Tegan and
Mel Dorfman. John's face was dark with anger as he ran his fingers
through the heavy gray beard that fell to his chest. Mel sat stunned,
shaking his head helplessly. Mario was unable to restrain himself. His
face was bitter as he stomped across the room, then returned to shake
his fist under Pete's nose. "But did you see him?" he choked. "Governor
of the colony! What does he know about growing taaro in this kind of
soil? Did you see those hands? Soft, dainty, pink! How could a man
with hands like that govern a colony?"
Pete looked over at John Tegan. "Well, John?"
The big man looked up, his eyes hollow under craggy brows. "It's
below the belt, Pete. But if the government's been overthrown, then the
captain is right. It leaves us out on a limb."
Pete shook his head. "I can't give him an answer," he said. "The answer
has got to come from the colony. All I can do is speak for the colony."

Tegan stared at the floor. "We're an Earth colony," he said softly. "I
know that. I was born in New York. I lived there for many years. But
Earth isn't my home any more. This is." He looked at Pete. "I built it,
and so did you. All of us built it, even when things were getting stormy
back home. Maybe that's why we came, maybe somehow we saw the
handwriting on the wall."
"But when did it happen?" Mel burst out suddenly. "How could
anything so big happen so fast?"
"Speed was the secret," Pete said gloomily. "It was quick, it was well
organized, and the government was unstable. We're just caught in the
edge of it. Pity the ones living there, now. But the new government
considers the colonies as areas for exploitation instead of
development."
"Well, they can't do it," Mario cried. "This is our land, our home.
Nobody can tell us what to grow in our fields."
Pete's