If You Was a MOKLIN
By MURRAY LEINSTER
Illustrated by HARRY ROSENBAUM
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction September 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
You'd love Earthmen to pieces, for they
may look pretty bad to themselves, but
not to you. You'd even want to be one!
Up to the very last minute, I can't imagine that Moklin is going to bethe first planet that humans get off of, moving fast, breathing hard,and sweating awful copious. There ain't any reason for it. Humans havebeen on Moklin for more than forty years, and nobody ever figures thereis anything the least bit wrong until Brooks works it out. When hedoes, nobody can believe it. But it turns out bad. Plenty bad. Butmaybe things are working out all right now.
Maybe! I hope so.
At first, even after he's sent off long reports by six ships in a row,I don't see the picture beginning to turn sour. I don't get it untilafter the old Palmyra comes and squats down on the next to the lasttrip a Company ship is ever going to make to Moklin.
Up to that very morning everything is serene, and that morning I amsitting on the trading post porch, not doing a thing but sitting thereand breathing happy. I'm looking at a Moklin kid. She's about the sizeof a human six-year-old and she is playing in a mud puddle while herfolks are trading in the post. She is a cute kid—mighty human-looking.She has long whiskers like Old Man Bland, who's the first human to opena trading post and learn to talk to Moklins.
Moklins think a lot of Old Man Bland. They build him a big tomb,Moklin-style, when he dies, and there is more Moklin kids born withlong whiskers than you can shake a stick at. And everything looks okay.Everything!
Sitting there on the porch, I hear a Moklin talking inside the traderoom. Talking English just as good as anybody. He says to Deeth, ourMoklin trade-clerk, "But Deeth, I can buy this cheaper over at theother trading post! Why should I pay more here?"
Deeth says, in English too, "I can't help that. That's the price here.You pay it or you don't. That's all."
I just sit there breathing complacent, thinking how good thingsare. Here I'm Joe Brinkley, and me and Brooks are the Company onMoklin—only humans rate as Company employees and get pensions, ofcourse—and I'm thinking sentimental about how much humaner Moklins aregetting every day and how swell everything is.
The six-year-old kid gets up out of the mud puddle, and wrings out herwhiskers—they are exactly like the ones on the picture of Old ManBland in the trade room—and she goes trotting off down the road afterher folks. She is mighty human-looking, that one.
The wild ones don't look near so human. Those that live in the forestare greenish, and have saucer eyes, and their noses can wiggle like anEarth rabbit. You wouldn't think they're the same breed as the tradingpost Moklins at all, but they are. They crossbreed with each other,only the kids look humaner than their parents and are mighty near thesame skin col