The Second IF Reader of Science Fiction

by Anthology

  Fifteen minutes later, he was close enough to make out thick, glossy yellow columns, supporting masses of chartreuse foliage. Closer, the verdure resolved into dusters of leaves the size of tablecloths, among which gaudy blossoms shone scarlet

  In the leafy depths, the sun striking down from zenith was filtered to a deep, green-gold gloom. Retief maneuvered toward a sturdy-looking branch, only at the last moment saw the yard-long thorns concealed in the shadow of the spreading leaves. He ducked, twisted aside from the savage stab of a needle-point, heard the rip and kerpow! as his gasbag burst, impaled; then he slammed hard against a thigh-thick, glass-smooth branch, grabbed with both hands and both legs, and braked to a halt inches from an upthrust dagger of horny wood.

  All around, life swarmed, humming, buzzing, chattering in a hundred oddly euphonious keys. There were fluffy, spherical bird-things in vivid colors; darting scaled runners like jeweled ferrets; swarms of tiny golden four-winged butterflies. Once something hooted, far away, and for a moment the chorus was stilled to resume a moment later.

  Looking down, Retief could see nothing but level after level of leafy branches, blotting out the swirling clouds two hundred feet below. The ground, he estimated, was a mile and a half farther—not what could be described as an easy climb. Still, it looked like the only way. He divested himself of the ruined altitude harness, picked a route and started down.

  Retief had covered no more than fifty feet when a sudden flurry of motion caught his eye through the foliage. A moment later, a clump of leaves leaned aside, pushed by a gust of wind, to reveal a bulky, ghost-pale creature, its body covered with short white bristles, its head a flattened spheroid. Its multiple shiny black limbs threshed wildly against the restraint of a web of silky, scarlet threads, stretched between limbs in an intricate spiral pattern. A flat pouch, secured by a flat strap, bobbed against the trapped creature’s side. The web, Retief saw, was constructed at the very tip of a pair of long boughs which leaned in a deep curve under the weight of the victim—and of something else.

  Peering into the shadows, he saw a foot-long claw like a pair of oversized garden shears poised in the air two feet from the trapped being. Then he noted that the claw was attached to an arm like a six-foot length of stainless steel pipe, which was attached, in turn, to a body encased in silvery-blue armor plate, almost invisible in the leafy gloom.

  As Retief watched, the arm lunged, sheared through a cluster of awning-sized leaves, snipped off a tuft of stiff white hairs as the snared one made a desperate bound sideways. The aggressor, it appeared, had advanced as far along the fragile support as possible; but it was only a matter of time until the murderous pincer connected with its target

  Retief checked his pockets, produced a pocket knife with a two-inch blade, useful chiefly for cutting the tips from hand-rolled Jorgensen cigars. He used it to saw through a half-inch thick vine drooping near him. He coiled the rope over his shoulder and started back up.

  IV

  From a branch far above, Retief peered down through the leafy shadows at the twelve-foot monstrosity that was clinging head down from a six-inch stem. The predator had stretched itself out to its utmost length in its effort to reach the victim trapped below.

  Retief slid down to a crouch within touching distance of the monster’s main hind leg. He flipped out the lariat he had fashioned hastily from the length of pliable vine, passed its end under the massive ankle joint, whipped it quickly into a slip knot which would tighten under pressure. He tied the other end of the rope to a sturdy bole at his back, pulling it up just short of taut Then he slid around the trunk and headed back for the scene of the action, paying out a second rope, the end of which was secured to a stout limb.

  The trapped creature, huddled at the extreme extent of the rein given it by the binding strands of silk, saw Retief, gave a convulsive bound which triggered another snap of the claw.

  “Stand pat,” Retief called softly. “I’ll try to distract his attention.” He stepped out on a slender branch, which sagged but held. Holding the end of the rope in his free hand, he made his way to within ten feet of the web.

  Above, the claw-creature, sensing movement nearby, poked out a glittering eye at the end of a two-foot rod, studied Retief from a distance of five yards. Retief watched the claw, which hovered indecisively ready to strike in either direction.

  A baseball-sized fruit was growing within easy reach. Retief plucked it, took aim, and pitched it at the eye. It struck and burst, spattering the surrounding foliage with a sticky yellow goo and an odor of overripe melon. Quick as thought, the claw struck out straight at Retief as he jumped, gripping the vine, and swung in a graceful Tarzan-style arc across toward a handy landing platform thirty feet distant The armored meat-eater, thwarted, lunged vainly after him. The sudden strain on the behemoth’s overextended grip was too much. There was a noisy rasping of metal-hard hooks against wood, a frantic shaking of branches; then the barrel-shaped body came crashing down and—snapped to a halt with a tremendous jerk as the rope lashed to its leg came up short

  Retief, safely lodged in his new platform, caught a momentary glimpse of an open mouth lined with ranks of multipronged teeth. Then, with a sharp zong! the rope supporting the monster parted. The apparition dropped away, smashing its way downward with a series of progressively fainter concussions until it was lost in the depths below.

  The bristled Zoonite sagged heavily in the net, watching Retief with a row of shiny eyes like pink shirt buttons as he sawed through the strands of the web with his pocket knife. Freed, it dipped into its hip-pouch with a four-fingered hand encased in a glove, ornamented with polished, inch-long talons, brought out a small cylinder which it raised to its middle eye.

  “Hrikkit said in a soft rasp. A mouth like Jack Pumpkinhead gaped in an unreadable expression. There was a bright flash which made a green after-image dance on Retiefs retina. The alien dropped the object back in the pouch, took out a second artifact resembling a foot-long harmonica, which it adjusted on a loop around its neck. At once, it emitted a series of bleeps, toots and deep, resonant thrums, then looked at Retief in a way which seemed expectant.

  “If I’m not mistaken, that’s a Groaci electronic translator,” Retief said. “Trade goods like the camera, I presume?”

  “Correct,” the device interpreted the small alien’s rasping tones. “By George, it works!”

  “The Groaci are second to none, when it comes to miniaturized electronics and real-estate acquisition,” Retief said.

  “Real estate?” the Zoonite inquired with a rising inflection.

  “Planetary surfaces,” Retief explained.

  “Oh, that. Yes, I’d heard they’d settled in down below. No doubt a pregermination trauma’s at the root of the matter. But every being to his own form of self-destruction, as Zerd so succinctly put it before he dissolved himself in fuming nitric acid.” The alien’s button eyes roved over Retief. “Though I must say your own death-wish takes a curious form.”

  “Oh?”

  “Teasing a vine-jack for a starter,” the Zoonite amplified. “That’s dangerous, you know. The claw can snip through six inches of gilv as though it were a zoob-patty.”

  “Actually, I got the impression the thing was after you,” Retief said.

  “Oh, it was, it was. Almost got me, too. Hardly worth the effort. I’d make a disappointing meal.” The Zoonite fingered its translator, the decorative claws clicking tinnily on the shiny plastic. “Am I to understand you came to my rescue intentionally?” it said.

  Retief nodded.

  “Whatever for?”

  “On the theory that one intelligent being should keep another from being eaten alive, whenever he conveniently can.”

  “Hmmm. A curious concept. And now I suppose you expect me to reciprocate?”

  ‘If it doesn’t inconvenience you,” Retief replied.

  “But you look so, so edible . . .” Without warning, one of the alien’s ebon legs flashed out, talons spread, in a vicious kick. It
was a fast stroke, but Retief was faster; shifting his weight slightly, he intercepted the others shin with the edge of his shoe, eliciting a sharp report. The Zooner yelped, simultaneously lashed out, left-right, with a pair of arms—to meet painful interceptions as Retief struck upward at one with the edge of his hand, down at the other. In the next instant, a small hand gun was pressing into the alien’s paunch-bristles.

  “We Terries are handy at small manufacturing, too,” Retief said easily. “This item is called a crater gun. You’ll understand why when you’ve seen it fired.”

  “ . . . but appearances can be so deceiving,” the Zoonite finished its interrupted sentence, wringing its numbed limbs.

  “A natural mistake,” Retief commiserated. “Still, I’m sure you wouldn’t have found me any more nourishing than the vine-jack would have found you. Incompatible body chemistry, you know.”

  “Yes. Well, in that case, I may as well be off.” The Zooner backed a step.

  “Before you go,” Retief suggested, “there are some matters we might discuss to our mutual profit”

  “Oh? What, for example?”

  “The invasion of Zoon, for one. And ways and means of getting back down to Zoona Firma for another.”

  “You are a compulsive. And it’s a highly channelized neurosis: A vine-jack or my humble self won’t do; it has to be the hard way.”

  “I’m afraid your translator is out of adjustment” Retief said. “That doesn’t seem to mean anything.”

  “I find your oblique approach a trifle puzzling, too,” the alien confided. “I sense that you’re trying to tell me something, but I can’t for the life of me guess what it might be. Suppose we go along to my place for an aperitif, and possibly we can enlighten each other. By the way, I’m known as Qoj, the Ready Biter.”

  “I’m Retief, the Occasional Indulger,” the Terran said. “Lead the Way, Qoj, and I’ll do my best to follow.”

  V

  It was a breathtaking thirty-minute journey through the towering tree tops. The alien progressed by long, curiously dreamlike leaps from one precarious rest to another, while Retief made his way as rapidly as possible along interlacing branches and bridges of tangled vine, keenly aware of the bottomless chasm yawning below.

  The trip ended at a hundred-foot spherical space where the growth had been cleared back to create a shady, greenlit cavern. Bowers and leafy balconies were nestled around its periphery; tiny, fragile-looking terraces hung suspended under the shelter of sprays of giant fronds.

  There were several dozen Zooners in sight, some lounging on the platforms or perched in stem-mounted chairs which swayed dizzyingly to the light breeze; others sailed gracefully from one roost to another, while a few hung by one or more limbs from festooning vines, apparently sleeping.

  “I’ll introduce you around,” the Zooner said. “Otherwise the fellows will be taking experimental cracks at you and getting themselves hurt. I’m against that, because an injured Zooner is inclined to be disagreeable company.” He flipped a switch on the translator and emitted a sharp cry. Zooner heads turned. Qoj spieled off a short speech, waved a hand at Retief, who inclined his head courteously. The locals eyed the Terran incuriously, went back to their previous activities. Qoj indicated a tiny table mounted atop a ten-foot rod, around which three small seats were arranged, similarly positioned.

  Retief hastily scaled the support, took up his seat like a flagpole sitter. Qoj settled in opposite him, the stem quivering and swaying under his weight. He whistled shrilly, and a black-spotted gray creature came sailing in a broad leap, took orders, bounded away, returned in a moment with aromatic flagons.

  “Ah.” Qoj leaned back comfortably with two pairs of legs crossed. “Nothing like a little bottled Nirvana, eh?” He lifted his flask and poured the contents in past a row of pronged teeth rivaling those of the vine-jack.

  “Quite an interesting place you have here.” Retief unobtrusively sniffed his drink, sampled it. The fluid evaporated instantly on his tongue, leaving a fruity aroma.

  “It’s well enough, I suppose,” Qoj assented, “under the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances are those?”

  “Not enough to eat. Too many predators—like that fellow you dispatched. Cramped environment—no place to go. And of course, cut off as we are from raw materials, no hope for technological advancement Let’s face it, Retief: we’re up the tree without a paddle.”

  Retief watched a bulky Zooner sail past in one of the feather-light leaps characteristic of the creatures.

  “Speaking of technology,” he said. “How do you manage that trick?”

  “What trick?”

  “You must weigh three hundred pounds—but when you want to, you float like a dandelion seed.”

  “Oh, that. Just an inherent knack, I guess you’d call it. Even our spore-pods have it; otherwise, they’d smash when they hit the ground. It’s not much good for anything but short hops, you know.”

  “Organic antigravity,” Retief said admiringly. “Or perhaps teleportation would be a better name.”

  “The gland responds to mental impulses,” Qoj said. “Fortunately, our young have no mentality to speak of, so they’re grounded. Otherwise we’d never have a moment’s peace.”

  He tossed another shot down his throat, lounging back in his chair as it swayed past Retief, rebounded to swing in the opposite direction, while Retiefs perch waved in gentle counterpoint, a motion which tended to cross the eyes and bring a light sweat to the forehead.

  “Oh. I wondered why there were no little ones gamboling about your doorstep,” Retief said.

  “Doorstep?” Qoj jerked upright and stared in alarm toward the shaded entrance to his bower. “Great slavering jaws, Retief, don’t give me a start like that! The little monsters are down on the surface where they belong!”

  “Unattended?”

  Qoj shuddered. “I suppose we really ought to be doing something about them, but frankly—it’s too dangerous.”

  Retief raised an eyebrow in polite inquiry.

  “Why, the little fiends would strip the very crust off the planet if they weren’t able to assuage their voracity by eating each other.”

  “So that’s why you don’t occupy the surface.”

  “Urn. If our ancestors hadn’t taken to the trees, we’d be extinct by now—devoured by our own offspring.”

  “And I suppose your apparent indifference to the arrival of the Groaci is based on the same reasoning?”

  “Feeding season’s about to begin,” Qoj said offhandedly. “Those fellows won’t last a day. Not much juice in them, though—at least not in the one I met”

  “That would be the previous owner of the camera and the translator?”

  “Correct. Interesting chap. He was buzzing about in an odd little contrivance with whirling vanes on top and ran afoul a loop of string-vine. My, wasn’t he full of plans.” The Zooner sipped his flask, musing.

  “The Groaci, individually, don’t look like much, I’ll agree,” Retief said. “But they have a rather potent sub-nuclear arsenal at their command. And it appears they’re about to launch a general offensive against your young.”

  “So? Maybe they’ll clear the little nuisances out Then we can descend to the ground and start living like gentile-beings.”

  “What about the future of the race?”

  “That for the future of the race.” Qoj made a complicated gesture with obscure biological implications. “We’re only concerned about ourselves.”

  “Still,” Retief countered, “you were young once.”

  “If you’re going to be crude,” the Zooner said with inebriated dignity, “you may leave me.”

  “Sure,” Retief said. “But before I go, would you mind describing these little fellows?”

  “In shape, they’re not unlike us adults; they come in all sizes, from this”—Qoj held two taloned fingers an inch apart—“to this.” He indicated a yard and a half. “And of course, the baby fur. Ghastly blue fuzz a foot long.
”

  “Did you say . . . blue?”

  “Blue.”

  Retief nodded thoughtfully. “You know, Qoj, I think we have the basis for a cooperative undertaking after all. If you’ll give me another five minutes of your time, I’ll explain it to you.”

  VI

  Flanked by Qoj and another Zooner named Orax the Eager Eater, Retief dropped down through the cloud layer, propelled by a softly hissing steering jet salvaged from his punctured lift harness.

  “That’s it, dead ahead,” he pointed to the towering coral reef, pale rose-colored in the distance.

  “Wheel” Qoj squealed with delight as he pulled up abreast of Retief with a shrill whistling of his borrowed jet. “Capital idea, Retief, these little squirt-bottles! You know, I never dreamed flying could be such fun! Always lived in dread of getting out of reach of a branch and just drifting aimlessly until one of the boys or some other predator got me. With these, a whole new dimension opens up! I can already detect a lessening of sibling rivalry drives and inverted Oedipus syndromes!”

  “Don’t let your released tensions go to your head, Qoj,” Retief cautioned. “The Groaci may still take a little managing. You hang back while I go in to check the lie of the land.”

  Minutes later, Retief swept in above the convoluted surface of the coral peak. No Groaci were to be seen, but half a dozen Terrans were wandering aimlessly about their lofty prison. They ran forward with glad cries as Retief landed.

  “Good show, my boy!” Colonel Smartfinger pumped his hand. “I knew you wouldn’t leave us stranded here!

  Those rascals Groaci commandeered our harnesses.”

  “But—where are the reinforcements,” the political officer demanded, staring around. “Where’s the lighter? Where’s his excellency? Who are these creatures?” He eyed the Zooners, circling for a landing. “Where have you been, Retief?” He broke off, staring. “And where’s your harness?”