Off The Main Sequence

by Robert A. Heinlein

  The column had halted. Point. looking back, saw Mr. Qu’an’s wave, lifted his own arm and brought it down smartly. They moved on. Charlie said to Hans, “What’s a screwbug?"

  “Little thing, bright red. Cling underneath leaves."

  “What do they do to you?"

  “Burrow in. Abscess. Don’t get 'em out, maybe lose an arm."

  “Oh." Charlie added, “Could they get on Nixie?"

  “Doubt it. 'Cept maybe his nose. Ought to check him over every chance we get. Other things, too."

  They were on higher and drier ground now; the bush around them did not go up so high. was not quite as dense. Charlie peered into it, trying to sort out details, while Hans kept up what he probably felt was a lively discourse — usually one word at a time, such as: “Poison," “Physic," or “Eat those."

  “Eat what?" Charlie asked, when Hans had made the last comment. He looked where Hans pointed, saw nothing looking like fruit, berries or nuts.

  “That stuff. Sugar stick." Hans thrust cautiously into the brush with his staff, pushed aside a Venus nettle, and broke off a foot of brown twig. “Nixie! Get out of there! Heel!"

  Charlie accepted half of it, bit cautiously when he saw Hans do so.

  It chewed easily. Yes, it did have a sweetish taste, about like corn syrup. Not bad!

  Hans spat out pulp. “Don’t swallow the cud — give you trouble."

  “I wouldn’t’ve guessed you could eat this."

  “Never go hungry in the bush."

  “Hans? What do you do for water? If you haven’t got any?"

  “Huh? Water all around you."

  “Yeah, but good water."

  “All water is good water … if you clean it." Hans’ eyes darted around. “Find a filter ball. Chop off top and bottom. Run water through. I’ll spot one, show you."

  Hans found one shortly, a gross and poisonous-looking fungus. But it was some distance off the clearing and when Hans started after it, he was told gruffly by the flamer on that flank to get back from the edge and stay there. Hans shrugged. “Later."

  The procession stopped in the road clearing, lunched from duffel bags. Nixie was allowed to run free, with strict instructions to stay away from the trees. Nixie didn’t mind. He sampled every lunch. After a rest they went on. Occasionally they all gave way to let some plantation family, mounted on high trucks with great, low-pressure bolster wheels, roll past on the way to a Saturday night in town. The main road led past narrow tunnels cut into the bush, side roads to plantations. Late in the afternoon they passed one such; Hans hooked a thumb at it. “Home."

  “Yours?"

  “Half a mile in."

  A couple of miles farther the troop left the road and started across country. But this was high land, fairly dry and semi-open, no more difficult than most forest back Earthside. Hans merely saw to it that Nixie stayed close at heel and cautioned Charlie, “Mind where you step… and if anything drops on you, brush it off quick."

  They broke out shortly into a clearing, made camp, and started supper. The clearing was man-made, having been flamed down, although a green carpet had formed underfoot. The first step in making camp was to establish four corners of a rectangle, using Scout staffs; then Jock Quentin, the troop’s radioman, clamped mirrors to them. After much fiddling he had a system rigged by which a powerful flashlight beam bounced around the rectangle and back into a long tube which housed a photocell; the camp was now surrounded by an invisible fence. Whenever the beam was broken an alarm would sound.

  While this was going on other Scouts were lashing staffs together, three to a unit, into long poles. Rags were sopped with a sickly-sweet fluid, fastened to the ends and the poles were erected, one at each corner of the rectangle. Charlie sniffed and made a face, “What’s that stuff’?"

  “For dragonflies. They hate it."

  “I don’t blame 'em!"

  “Haven’t seen one lately. But if they were swarming, you’d rub it on your hide and be glad of the stink."

  “Hans? Is it true that a dragonfly sting can paralyze a man?"

  “No."

  “Huh? But they say —"

  “Takes three or four stings. One sting will just do for an arm or a leg — unless it gets you in the spine."

  “Oh." Charlie couldn’t see much improvement.

  “I was stung once," Hans added.

  “You were? But you’re still alive."

  “My paw fought it off and killed it. Couldn’t use my left leg for a while."

  “Boy! You must be lucky."

  “Unlucky, I’d say. But not unlucky as it was. We ate it."

  “You ate it?"

  “Sure. Mighty tasty, they are."

  Charlie felt queasy. “You eat insects?"

  Hans thought about it. “You ever eat a lobster?"

  “Sure. But that’s different."

  “It sure is. Seen pictures of lobsters. Disgusting."

  This gourmets’ discussion was broken up by the Scoutmaster. “Hans! How about scaring up some oil weed?"

  “Okay." Hans headed far the bush. Charlie followed and Nixie trotted after. Hans stopped. “Make him stay behind. We can’t gather weed and watch him, too."

  “All right."

  Nixie protested, since it was his duty to guard Charlie. But once he understood that Charlie meant it and would not be swayed, he trotted back, tail in air, and supervised campmaking.

  The boys went on. Charlie asked, “This clearing … is it the regular Scout camp?"

  Hans looked surprised. “I guess so. Paw and I aren’t going to set a crop till we flame it a few more times."

  “You mean it’s yours? Why didn’t you say so?"

  “You never asked." Presently he added, “Some planters, they don’t like Scouts tromping around, maybe hurting a crop."

  Oil weed was a low plant, resembling bracken. They gathered it in silence, except once when Hans brushed something off Charlie’s arm. “Want to watch that."

  While they were loading with weed Hans made quite a long speech: “These dragonflies, they aren’t much. You hear them coming. You can fight 'em off, even with your hands, because they can’t sting till they light. They won’t sting anyway, except when they’re swarming — then it’s just females, ready to lay eggs." He added thoughtfully, “They’re stupid, they don’t know the eggs won’t hatch in a man."

  “They won’t?"

  “No. Not that it does the man much good; he dies anyway. But they think they’re stinging a big amphibian, thing called kteela."

  “I’ve seen pictures of kteela."

  “So? Wait till you see one. But don’t let it scare you. Kteela can’t hurt you and they’re more scared than you are — they just look fearsome." He brushed at his arm. “It’s little things you got to watch."

  Oil weed burned with a clear steady flame; the boys had a hot dinner and hot tea. No precautions were taken against fire; of the many hazards on Venus, fire was not one. The problem was to get anything to burn, not to avoid forest lire.

  After they had eaten, one boy was examined by Mr. Qu’an in first-aid and artificial respiration. Listening, Charlie found that there was much that he must 1-earn and unlearn; conditions were different. Then Rusty Dunlop broke out a mouth organ and they sang.

  Finally Mr. Qu’an yawned and said, “Sack in, Scouts. Hard day tomorrow. Pedro, first watch — then rotate down the list."

  Charlie thought he would never get to sleep. The ground underneath his waterproof was not hard, but he was not used to sleeping with lighted sky in his eyes. Besides that, he was acutely aware of strange noises in the bush around them.

  He was awakened by a shout. “Dragons! Heads up, gang! Watch yourself’!"

  Without stopping to think, Charlie reached down, grabbed Nixie to his chest, then looked around. Several boys were pointing. Charlie looked and thought at first that he was seeing a helicopter.

  Suddenly it came into perspective and he realized that it was an enormous insect … unbelievably huge, larger t
han had been seen on Earth since the Carboniferous period, a quarter of a billion years ago.

  It was coming toward camp. Something about it — its wings? — made a whining buzz.

  It approached the tall poles with the smelly rags, hesitated, turned away. Mr. Qu’an looked thoughtfully after it, glanced at Hans.

  “They’re not swarming," Hans stated positively. “Anyhow, that was a male."

  “Mmm …. No doubt you’re right. Still — double guard the rest of the night, down the roster. Tenderfeet makee-learnee only." He lay down.

  The troop started back the next morning — “Morning" by clock; Charlie, awakening stiff and sleepy to the same dull-bright, changeless sky, felt as if he had napped too long but not well during an afternoon. They headed back the way they had come. Once on the cleared road, Hans left Charlie and looked up the Scoutmaster. He was back shortly, grinning. “Stay overnight with me? You and Nixie?"

  “Gee! Is it okay? Your folks won’t mind?"

  “They like company. You can ride in with Paw in the morning."

  “It 'ould be swell, Hans … but how about my folks? Uh, do you suppose Jock could raise 'em on the portable?"

  “Everything’s okay. Mr. Qu’an will phone 'em when the troop gets in … and you can call them soon as we get to my place. If they holler, I can still catch you up with the troop."

  So it was settled. When they got to the little side road for the Kuppenheimer plantation Mr. Qu’an ordered them to head for the house and no monkey business. They solemnly agreed and left the troop.

  The side road was a dark tunnel; Hans hurried them through it. A few hundred yards farther on they came out into cultivated fields and Hans slowed down. “That’s the only bad stretch. You okay?"

  “Sure."

  “Let’s check Nixie."

  If anything had attached itself to Nixie, they could not find ir and his wagging tail gave no sign of distress; they went on. Charlie looked around with interest. “What are you cropping?"

  “Jungle bread on the right. Once it’s established you don’t have to worry about it, smothers anything else, mostly. Other side is mutated bananas. They take more care."

  Shortly they came to the house, on a rise and with no growth around it — a typical Venus settler’s house, long and low and built of spongy logs and native bamboo. Hans’ mother greeted Charlie as if he were a neighbor boy, seen daily, and she petted Nixie. “He minds me of a hund I had in Hamburg." Then she set out banana cake and mugs of coffee that were mostly milk. Nixie had his cake on the floor.

  There were several kids around, younger than Hans and looking like him. Charlie did not get them straight, as they talked even less than Hans did and hung back from Nixie — unlike their mother, they found him utterly strange. But presently, seeing how the. monster behaved with Hans and with their mother, they timidly patted him. After that, Nixie was the center of attention while they continued shyly to ignore Charlie.

  Hans bolted his cake, hurried out. He was back a few minutes later. “Maw, where’s the flamer?"

  “Paw is using it."

  Hans looked blank. “Well … we don’t have to have it. Come on, Chuck." He carried two hefty machetes, a blade in each hand; he handed one to Charlie.

  “Okay." Charlie stood up. “Thanks, Mrs. Kuppenheimer — thanks a lot."

  “Call me 'Maw’."

  “Hurry up, Charlie."

  “Right. Say — how about that call to my folks?"

  “I forgot! Maw, would you phone Mrs. Vaughn? Tell her Chuck is staying all night?"

  “Yes, surely. What’s your frequency, Charlie?"

  “Uh, you have to call city exchange and ask them to relay."

  “Jawohl. You boys run along."

  They headed off through the fields. Nixie was allowed to run, which be did with glee, returning every thirty seconds or so to see that his charges had not fainted nor been kidnapped in his absence.

  “Where are we going, Hans?"

  Hans’ eyes brightened. “To see the prettiest plantation land on Venus!"

  “It’s mighty pretty, no doubt about it."

  “Not Paw’s land. I mean my plantation."

  “Yours?"

  “Will be mine. Paw posted an option bond. When I’m old enough, I’ll prove it." He hurried on.

  Shortly Charlie realized that he was lost even though they were in a cultivated grove. “Hold it, Hans! Can I borrow your polarizer?"

  “What for?"

  “I want to establish base, that’s what. I’m all mixed up."

  “Base is that direction," Hans answered, pointing with his machete. “My polarizer is at the house. We don’t need it."

  “I just thought I ought to keep straight."

  “Look, Chuck, I can’t get lost around here; I was born on this piece."

  “But I wasn’t."

  “Keep your eyes open; you’ll learn the landmarks. We’re heading that way —" Hans pointed again. “— for that big tree." Charlie looked, saw several big trees. “We cut over a ridge. Pretty soon we come to my land. Okay?"

  “I guess so."

  “I won’t let you get lost. Look, I’ll show you the bush way to establish base — polarizers are for townies." He looked around, his quick eyes picking up and discarding details. “There’s one."

  “One what?"

  “Compass bug. Right there. Don’t scare him. Back, Nixie!"

  Charlie looked, discovered a small, beetle-like creature with striped wing casings. Hans went on, “When they fly, they take right off toward the Sun. Every time. Then they level off and head home — they live in nests." Hans slapped the ground beside the little creature; it took off as if jet propelled. “So the Sun is that way. What time is it?"

  “Ten thirty, about."

  “So where is base?"

  Charlie thought about it. “Must be about there."

  “Isn’t that the way I pointed? Now find another compass bug. Always one around, if you look."

  Charlie found one — frightened it, watched it take off in the same direction as the first. “You. know, Hans," he said slowly, “bees do something like that — fly by polarized light, I mean. That’s the way they get back to their hives on cloudy days. I read about it."

  “Bees? Those Earth bugs that make sugar?"

  “Yes. But they aren’t bugs."

  “Okay," Hans answered indifferently. “I’ll never see one. Let’s get moving."

  Presently they left cultivation, started into bush. Hans required Nixie to heel. Even though they were going uphill, the bush got thicker, became dense jungle. Hans led the way, occasionally chopping an obstacle.

  He stopped. “Trash!" he said bitterly.

  “Trouble?"

  “This is why I wanted the flamer. This bit grows pretty solid."

  “Can’t we chop it?"

  “Take all day with a bush knife; need heat on it. Going to have to poison this whole stretch 'fore I get a road through from Paw’s place to mine."

  “What do we do?"

  “Go around, what else?" He headed left. Charlie could not see that Hans was following any track, decided he must know his way by the contour of the ground. About half an hour later Hans paused and whispered, “Keep quiet. Make Nixie keep quiet."

  “What for?" Charlie whispered back.

  “Good chance you’ll see kteela, if we don’t scare them." He went noiselessly ahead, with the other boy and the dog on his heels. He stopped. “There."

  Charlie oozed forward, looked over Hans’ shoulder — found that he was looking down at a stream. He heard a splash on his right, turned his head just in time to see spreading ripples. “Did you see him?" asked Hans in a normal voice.

  “Shucks, he was right there. A big one. Their houses are just downstream. They often fish along here. Have to keep your eyes open, Chuck." Hans looked thoughtful. “Kteela are people."

  “Huh?"

  “They’re people. Paw thinks so. If we could just get acquainted with them, we could prove it. But they�
��re timid. Come on — we cross here." Hans descended the bank, sat down on muddy sand by running water and started taking his shoes off. “Mind where you sit."

  Charlie did the same. Barefooted and bare-legged, Hans picked up Nixie. “I’ll lead. This stretch is shallow, keep moving and don’t stumble."

  The water was warm and the bottom felt mucky; Charlie was glad when they reached the far side. “Get the leeches off," Hans commanded as he put Nixie down. Charlie looked down at his legs, was amazed to find half a dozen purple blobs, large as hens’ eggs, clinging to him. Hans cleaned his own legs, helped Charlie make sure that he was free of the parasites. “Run your fingers between your toes. Try to get the sand fleas off as you put on your boots, too — though they don’t really matter."

  “Anything else in that water?" Charlie asked, much subdued.

  “Oh, glass fish can bite a chunk out of you … but they aren’t poisonous. Kteela keep this stream cleaned up. Let’s go."

  They went up the far side, reached a stretch that was higher and fairly dry. Charlie thought that they were probably-going upstream, he could not be sure.

  Hans stopped suddenly. “Dragonfly. Hear it?"

  Charlie listened, heard the high, motor-like hum he had heard the night before. “There it is," Hans said quickly. “Hang onto Nixie and be ready to beat it off. I’m going to attract its attention."

  Charlie felt that attracting its attention was in a class with teasing a rattlesnake, but it was too late to object; Hans was waving his arms.

  The fly hesitated, veered, headed straight for him. Charlie felt a moment of dreadful anticipation — then saw Hans take one swipe with his machete. The humming stopped; the thing fluttered to the ground.

  Hans was grinning. The dragonfly jerked in reflex, but it was dead, the head neatly chopped off. “Didn’t waste a bit," Hans said proudly.

  “Huh?"

  “That’s lunch. Cut some of that oil weed behind you." Hans squatted down. In three quick slices he cut off the stinger and the wings; what was left was the size of a medium lobster. Using the chrome-sharp machete as delicately as a surgeon’s knife, he split the underside of the exoskeleton, gently and neatly stripped out the gut. He started to throw it away, then paused and stared at it thoughtfully.