The Goblin Reservation

“You are not aware of the position that we hold,” the Wheeler said. “Your knowledge goes out to only a certain point in space. You ca

There was something in the words, something in the way that they were said, that sent a chill through Maxwell, as if from some unknown quarter of the universe a sharp, frigid blast of wind had blown through the room.

Your knowledge goes only to a certain point in space, Mr. Marmaduke had said, and what lay beyond that point? No one could know, of course, except that in certain areas beyond the shadowy frontier of man’s probing it was known the Wheelers had staked out an empire. And seeping across that frontier came horror stories, such tales as any frontier might inspire, stemming from man’s wonder concerning that unknown which lay just a little way ahead.

There had been little contact with the Wheelers and there was almost nothing known of them-and that in itself was bad. There was no thrusting out of hands, no gestures of goodwill, either from the Wheelers or from the humans and their friends and allies. The frontier lay there, in that one great sector out in space, a silent, sullen line that neither side had crossed.

“I would be better able to come to some decision,” Maxwell said, “if my knowledge did extend, if we could know more about you.”

“You know that we are bugs,” said Mr. Marmaduke, and the words fairly dripped with scorn. “You are intolerant-”

“Not intolerant,” said Maxwell angrily, “and we do not think of you as bugs. We know you are what we would call hive mechanisms. We know each of you is a colony of creatures similar to the life forms that here on Earth we think of as insects, and that sets us apart from you, of course, but no more distant from us than many other creatures from many other stars. I do not like the word ’intolerant,’ Mr. Marmaduke, because it implies that there is ground for tolerance and there is no such thing-not for you, nor me, nor any other creature in the universe.”

He found that he was shaking with his anger and he wondered why he should suddenly become so angry at a single word. He could remain calm at the thought of the Wheeler buying the knowledge of the crystal planet, then flare with sudden anger at one specific word. Perhaps because, he told himself, with so many different races who must live together, both tolerance and intolerance had become dirty words.

“You argue well and amiably,” said Mr. Marmaduke, “and you may not be intolerant-”

“Even were there such a thing as intolerance,” said Maxwell, “I ca

“Then if not intolerance,” asked the Wheeler, “what makes you hesitate?”

“I would have to know how you meant to use the commodity. I would want to know your purpose. I would need to know a great deal more about you.”

“So that you could judge?”

“I don’t know,” said Maxwell bitterly. “How can one judge a situation such as this?”

“We talk too much,” said Mr. Marmaduke. “And the talk is meaningless. I perceive you have no intention to make a deal with us.”

“At the moment,” Maxwell told him, “I would say that you were right.”

“Then,” said Mr. Marmaduke, “we must find another way. You will cause us, by your refusal, a great deal of time and trouble and we’ll be most ungrateful to you.”

“I have a feeling,” Maxwell said, “that I can bear up under your ingratitude.”

“There is a certain advantage, sir,” warned Mr. Marmaduke, “in being on the wi

Something big and moving swiftly brushed past Maxwell and out of the corner of his eye he caught the sudden flash of gleaming teeth and the streak of tawny body.

“No, Sylvester!” Maxwell shouted. “Leave him alone, Sylvester!”

Mr. Marmaduke moved swiftly. His wheels blurred as he spun and swept in a quick half-circle, skirting Sylvester’s rushing charge and heading for the door. Sylvester’s claws screeched as he turned, swapping end for end. Maxwell, seeing the Wheeler bearing down upon him, ducked out of the way, but a wheel grazed his shoulder and brushed him roughly to one side. With a swish, Mr. Marmaduke went streaking out the door. Behind him came Sylvester, long and lithe, a tawny shape that seemed to flow smoothly through the air.

“No Sylvester!” Maxwell screamed, flinging himself through the door and making a quick turn in the hall, his legs pumping rapidly as he skidded on the turn.

Ahead of him the Wheeler was rolling smoothly down the hall, with Sylvester close behind him. Maxwell wasted no more breath in yelling at the cat, but drove his body forward in pursuit.

At the far end of the hall, Mr. Marmaduke swung smoothly to the left and Sylvester, almost on top of him, lost precious seconds as he fought, and failed, to make as smooth a turn. Warned of the turning in the hall, Maxwell took it in his stride and ahead of him he saw a lighted corridor that led to a short marble staircase and beyond the staircase a crowd of people standing about in little knots, with glasses in their hands.

Mr. Marmaduke was heading for the staircase, going very fast. Sylvester was one leap ahead of Maxwell, perhaps three leaps behind the Wheeler.

Maxwell tried to yell a warning, but he didn’t have the breath and, in any case, events were moving much too fast.

The Wheeler hit the top step of the staircase and Maxwell launched his body through the air, arms outstretched. He came down on top of the saber-tooth and wrapped his arms around its neck. The two of them sprawled to the floor and out of the corner of his eye, as he and Sylvester cartwheeled down the corridor, Maxwell saw the Wheeler bouncing high on the second step and begi

And then, suddenly, there was the screaming of frightened women and the yells of startled men and the crash of breaking glasses. For once, thought Maxwell grimly, Nancy was getting a bigger boot out of her party than she had bargained for.

He piled up against a wall, at the far edge of the staircase, and somehow or other, Sylvester was perched on top of him and reaching down to lap fondly at his face.

“Sylvester,” he said, “this was the time you did it. You got us in a mess.”

Sylvester went on lapping and a rasping purr rumbled in his chest.

Maxwell pushed the cat away and managed to slide up the wall to a sitting position.

Out on the floor of the room beyond the staircase, Mr. Marmaduke lay upon his side, both wheels spi

Carol came ru

“The two of you!” she cried, then choked with anger.

“We’re sorry,” Maxwell said.

“The guest of honor,” she screamed at them, almost weeping. “The guest of honor and you two hunting him down the halls as if he were a moose.”

“Apparently we didn’t hurt him much,” said Maxwell. “I see he is intact. I wouldn’t have been surprised if his belly broke and all those bugs of his were scattered on the floor.

“What will Nancy think?” Carol asked accusingly.

“I imagine,” Maxwell told her, “that she’ll be delighted. There hasn’t been this much ruckus at one of her parties since the time the fire-breathing amphibian out of the Nettle system set the Christmas tree on fire.”

“You make those things up,” said Carol, “I don’t believe it happened.”

“Cross my heart,” said Maxwell. “I was here and saw it. Helped put out the fire.”

Out on the floor some of the guests had laid hold of Mr. Marmaduke and were pulling him over to stand upright on his wheels. Little serving robotics were scurrying about, picking up the broken glass and mopping up the floor where the drinks had spilled.