Joseph Louis “Joe L.” Hensley led a double life.
Born in 1926 in Bloomington, Indiana, Hensley was a journalist, lawyer, prosecutor, member of the Indiana General Assembly, and circuit court judge.
Simultaneously, he was a fiction writer — the author of 20 novels and over 100 short stories, mostly crime fiction and science fiction. He began writing in the 1950s; his last novel was published just after his death in 2007.
Hensley’s name is not in the top tier of sci-fi authors most familiar to the public. But as “The Pair” shows, good stories are not the province of the big names alone.
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The Pair
By Joe L. Hensley
Published in Fantastic Universe, July 1958
They tell the story differently in the history stereos and maybe they are right. But for me the way the great peace came about, the thing that started us on our way to understanding, was a small thing — a human thing — and also a Knau thing.
In the late days of the hundred year war that engulfed two galaxies we took a planet that lay on the fringe of the Knau empire. In the many years of the war this particular planet had passed into our hands twice before, had been colonized, and the colonies wiped out when the Knau empire retook the pot — as we, in turn, wiped out the colonies they had planted there — for it was a war of horror with no quarter asked, expected, or given.
The last attempt to negotiate a peace had been made 10 years after the war began and for the past 40 years, neither side had even bothered to take prisoners, except a few for the purposes of information. We were too far apart, too ideologically different, and yet we each wanted the same things, and we were each growing and spreading through the galaxies in the pattern of empire.
The name of this particular planet was Pasman and, as usual, disabled veterans had first choice of the land there. One of the men who was granted a patent to a large tract of land was Michael Dargan.
Dargan stood on a slight rise and looked with some small pride at the curved furrow lines in the dark earth. All of his tillable land had been plowed and made ready for the planting. The feeling of pride saw something he had not experienced for a long time and he savored it until it soured within him. Even then he continued to stare out over his land for a long time, for when he was standing motionless be could almost forget.
The mechanical legs worked very well. At first they had been tiring to use, but in the four years since his ship had been hit he had learned to use them adequately. The scars on his body had been cut away by the plastic surgeons and his face looked almost human now, if he could trust his mirror. But any disablement leaves deeper scars than the physical ones.
He sighed and began to move toward the house in his awkward yet powerful way. Martha would have lunch ready.
The house was in sight when it happened. Some sixth sense, acquired in battle, warned him that someone was following and he turned as quickly as possible and surveyed the land behind him. He caught the glint of sunlight on metal. He let himself fall to the earth as the air flamed red around him and for a long time he lay still. His clothes smoldered in a few spots and he beat the flames out with cautious hands.
Twice more, nearby, the ground flamed red and he lay crowded into the furrow which hid him.
Martha must have heard or seen what was happening from the house for she began shooting his heavy projectile “varmint” gun from one of the windows and, by raising his head, Dargan could see the projectiles picking at the top of a small rise a hundred yards or so from him. He hoped then that she would not kill the thing that had attacked, for if it was what he thought, he wanted the pleasure for himself.
There was silence for a little while and then Martha began to shoot again from the window. He raised his head again and caught a glimpse of his attacker as it scuttled up a hill. It was a Knau. He felt the blood begin to race in him, the wild hate.
“Martha!” he yelled. “Stop shooting.”
He got his mechanical legs underneath him and went on down to the house. She was standing in the doorway, crying.
“I thought it had gotten you.”
He smiled at her, feeling a small exhilaration. “I’m all right,” he said. “Give me the pro gun.” He took it from her and went to the small window, but it was too late. The Knau had vanished over the hill.
“Fix me some food,” he said to her. “I’m going after it.”
“It was a Knau, wasn’t it?” She closed her eyes and shuddered, not waiting for his answer. “I’ve never seen one before — only the pictures. It was horrible. I think I hit it.”
Dargan stared at her. “Fix me some food, I said. I’m going after it.”
She opened her eyes. “Not by yourself. I’ll call the village. They’ll send some men up.”
“By that time it will be long gone.” He watched her silently for a moment, knowing she was trying to read something in him. He kept his face impassive. “Fix me some food or I will go without it,” he said softly.
“You want to kill it for yourself, don’t you? You don’t anyone to help you. That’s why you yelled at me to stop shooting.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “I want to kill it myself. I don’t want you to call the village after I am gone.” He made his voice heavy with emphasis. “If you call the village I won’t come back to you, Martha.”
He closed his eyes and stood swaying softly as the tension built within him. “Those things killed my parents and they have killed me. This is the first chance I’ve ever had to get close to one.” He smiled without humor and looked down at his ruined legs. “It will be a long time dying.”
The trail was easy to follow at first. She had wounded it, but he doubted if the wounds were serious after he had trailed awhile. Occasionally on the bushes it had crashed through were droplets of bright, orange-red blood.
Away from the cleared area of the farm the land was heavily rolling, timbered with great trees that shut away the light of the distant, double blue suns. There was growth under the trees, plants that struggled for breathing room. The earth was soft and took tracks well.
Dargan followed slowly, with time for thought.
He remembered when his ship had been hit. He had been standing in a passageway and the space battle had flamed all around him. A young officer in his first engagement.
It was a small battle — known only by the coordinates where it had happened and worth only a line or two in the official reports of the day. But it would always be etched in Dargan’s brain. His ship had taken the first hit.
If he had been a little further out in the passageway he would surely have died. As it was he only half died.
He remembered catching at the bulkhead with his hands and falling sideways. There was a feeling of horrible burning and then there was nothing for a long time.
But now there was something.
He felt anticipation take hold of his mind and he breathed strongly of the warm air.
He came to a tree where it had rested, holding on with its arms. A few drops of bright blood had begun to dry on the tree and he estimated from their height on the tree that the Knau had been wounded in the shoulder.
The ground underneath the tree was wrong somehow. There should be four deep indentations where its legs had dug in, but there were only three, and one of the three was shaped wrong and shallower than the others.
Though he had followed for the better part of half the day, Dargan estimated that he was not far from his farm. The Knau seemed to be following some great curving path that bordered Dargan’s land.
It was beginning to grow dark enough to make the trail difficult to read. He would have to make cold camp, for to start a fire might draw the Knau back on him.
He ate the sandwiches that Martha had fixed for him and washed them down with warm, brackish water from his canteen. For a long time he was unable to go to sleep because of the excitement that still gripped him. But finally sleep came and with it — dreams…
He was back on the ship again and he relived the time of fire and terror. He heard the screams around him. His father and mother were there too and the flames burned them while he watched. Then a pair of cruel mechanical legs chased him through metal corridors, always only a step behind. He tore the mechanical legs to bits finally and threw them at Knau ships. The Knau ships fired back and there was flame again, burning, burning…
Then he was in the hospital and they were bringing the others in. And he cried unashamedly when they brought in another man whose legs were gone. And he felt a pity for the man, and a pity for himself.
He awoke and it was early morning. A light, misty rain had begun to fall and his face was damp and he was cold. He got up and began to move sluggishly down the trail that the Knau had left, fearing that the mist would wash it out. But it was still readable. After awhile he came to a stream and drank there and refilled his canteen.
For a time he lost the trail and had to search frantically until he found it again.
By mid-suns he had located the Knau’s cave hideaway and he lay below it, hidden in a clump of tall vegetation. The hideaway lay on the hill above him, a small black opening, which was shielded at all angles except directly in front. The cave in the hillside was less than a mile from Dargan’s home.
Several times he thought he could detect movement in the blackness that marked the cave opening. He knew that the Knau must be lying up there watching to see if it had been followed and he intended to give it ample time to think it had gotten away without pursuit or had thrown that pursuit off.
The heat of the day passed after a long, bitter time filled with itches that could not be scratched and non-existent insects that crawled all over Dargan’s motionless body. He consoled himself with thoughts of what he would do when he had the upper hand. He hoped, with all hope, that the Knau would not resist and he could take it unawares. That would make it even better.
He saw it for certain at the moment when dusk became night. It came out of the cave, partially hidden by the outcropping of rock that formed the shelf of the cave. Dargan lay, his body unmoving, his half-seeing eyes fascinated, while the Knau inspected the surrounding terrain for what seemed a very long time.
They’re not so ugly, he told himself. They told us in training that they were the ugliest things alive — but they have a kind of grace to them. I wonder what makes them move so stiffly?
He watched the Knau move about the ledge of the cave. A crude bandage bound its shoulder and two of the four arms hung limply.
Now. You think you’re safe.
He waited for a good hour after it had gone back inside the cave. Then he checked his projectile weapon and began the crawl up the hillside. He went slowly. Time had lost its meaning. After this is done you have lost the best thing.
He could see the light when he got around the first bend of the cave. It flickered on the rock walls of the cave. Dargan edged forward very carefully, clearing the way of tiny rocks, so that his progress would be noiseless. The mechanical legs dragged soundlessly behind him, muffled in the trousers that covered them.
There was a fire and the Knau lay next to it. Dargan could see its chest move up and down as it gulped for air, its face tightened with pain. Another Knau, a female, was tending the wound, and Dargan felt exultation.
Two!
He swung the gun on target and it made a small noise against the cave floor. Both of the Knau turned to face him and there was a moment of no movement as they stared at him and he stared back.
His hands were wet with perspiration. He knew, in that instant that they were not going to try to do anything — to fight. They were only waiting for him to pull the trigger.
The fire flickered and his eyes became more used to the light. For the first time he saw the male Knau’s legs and knew the reason for the strangeness of the tracks. The legs were twisted, and two of the four were missing. A steel aid was belted around the Knau’s body, to give it balance, making a tripod for walking. The two legs that were left were cross-hatched with the scars of imperfect plastic surgery.
Dargan pulled himself to his feet, still not taking the gun off the two by the fire. He saw the male glance at the metallic limbs he revealed beneath his pants cuff. And he saw the same look come into the Knau’s eyes that he knew was in his own.
Then carefully Dargan let the safety down on the pro gun and went to help the female in treating the male.
It should have ended there of course. For what does one single act, a single forgiveness by two, mean in a war of a hundred years?
And it would have ended if the Knau empire had not taken that particular small planet back again and if the particular Knau that Dargan had tracked and spared had not been one of the mighty ones — who make decisions, or at least influence them.
But that Knau was.
But before the Knau empire retook Pasman it meant something too. It meant a small offering of flowers on Dargan’s doorstep the morning following the tracking and, in the year before they came again, a friendship. It meant waking without hate in the mornings and it meant the light that came into Martha’s eyes.
And Dargan’s peace became our peace.
/S/Samuel Cardings,
Gen. (Ret.) TA
Ambassador to Knau Empire
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