Astounding Science Fiction Stories Vol 1

by Anthology

  He looked at the wall clock. "Your friends should have been here by now, shouldn't they?"

  III

  The swaying had come to a halt and it was dark. The Explorer was not comfortable in the alien air. It felt as thick as soup and he had to breathe shallowly. Even so--

  He reached out in a sudden need for company. The Merchant was warm to the touch. His breathing was rough, he moved in an occasional spasm, and was obviously asleep. The Explorer hesitated and decided not to wake him. It would serve no real purpose.

  There would be no rescue, of course. That was the penalty paid for the high profits which unrestrained competition could lead to. The Merchant who opened a new planet could have a ten year monopoly of its trade, which he might hug to himself or, more likely, rent out to all comers at a stiff price. It followed that planets were searched for in secrecy and, preferably, away from the usual trade routes. In a case such as theirs, then, there was little or no chance that another ship would come within range of their subetherics except for the most improbable of coincidences. Even if they were in their ship, that is, rather than in this--this--cage.

  The Explorer grasped the thick bars. Even if they blasted those away, as they could, they would be stuck too high in open air for leaping.

  It was too bad. They had landed twice before in the scout-ship. They had established contact with the natives who were grotesquely huge, but mild and unaggressive. It was obvious that they had once owned a flourishing technology, but hadn't faced up to the consequences of such a technology. It would have been a wonderful market.

  And it was a tremendous world. The Merchant, especially, had been taken aback. He had known the figures that expressed the planet's diameter, but from a distance of two light-seconds, he had stood at the visi-plate and muttered, "Unbelievable!"

  "Oh, there are larger worlds," the Explorer said. It wouldn't do for an Explorer to be too easily impressed.

  "Inhabited?"

  "Well, no."

  "Why, you could drop your planet into that large ocean and drown it."

  The Explorer smiled. It was a gentle dig at his Arcturian homeland, which was smaller than most planets. He said, "Not quite."

  The Merchant followed along the line of his thoughts. "And the inhabitants are large in proportion to their world?" He sounded as though the news struck him less favorably now.

  "Nearly ten times our height."

  "Are you sure they are friendly?"

  "That is hard to say. Friendship between alien intelligences is an imponderable. They are not dangerous, I think. We've come across other groups that could not maintain equilibrium after the atomic war stage and you know the results. Introversion. Retreat. Gradual decadence and increasing gentleness."

  "Even if they are such monsters?"

  "The principle remains."

  It was about then that the Explorer felt the heavy throbbing of the engines.

  He frowned and said, "We are descending a bit too quickly."

  There had been some speculation on the dangers of landing some hours before. The planetary target was a huge one for an oxygen-water world. Though it lacked the size of the uninhabitable hydrogen-ammonia planets and its low density made its surface gravity fairly normal, its gravitational forces fell off but slowly with distance. In short, its gravitational potential was high and the ship's Calculator was a run-of-the-mill model not designed to plot landing trajectories at that potential range. That meant the Pilot would have to use manual controls.

  It would have been wiser to install a more high-powered model, but that would have meant a trip to some outpost of civilization; lost time; perhaps a lost secret. The Merchant demanded an immediate landing.

  The Merchant felt it necessary to defend his position now. He said angrily to the Explorer, "Don't you think the Pilot knows his job? He landed you safely twice before."

  Yes, thought the Explorer, in a scout-ship, not in this unmaneuverable freighter. Aloud, he said nothing.

  He kept his eye on the visi-plate. They were descending too quickly. There was no room for doubt. Much too quickly.

  The Merchant said, peevishly, "Why do you keep silence?"

  "Well, then, if you wish me to speak, I would suggest that you strap on your Floater and help me prepare the Ejector."

  The Pilot fought a noble fight. He was no beginner. The atmosphere, abnormally high and thick in the gravitational potential of this world whipped and burned about the ship, but to the very last it looked as though he might bring it under control despite that.

  He even maintained course, following the extrapolated line to the point on the northern continent toward which they were headed. Under other circumstances, with a shade more luck, the story would eventually have been told and retold as a heroic and masterly reversal of a lost situation. But within sight of victory, tired body and tired nerves clamped a control bar with a shade too much pressure. The ship, which had almost levelled off, dipped down again.

  There was no room to retrieve the final error. There was only a mile left to fall. The Pilot remained at his post to the actual landing, his only thought that of breaking the force of the crash, of maintaining the spaceworthiness of the vessel. He did not survive. With the ship bucking madly in a soupy atmosphere, few Ejectors could be mobilized and only one of them in time.

  When afterwards, the Explorer lifted out of unconsciousness and rose to his feet, he had the definite feeling that but for himself and the Merchant, there were no survivors. And perhaps that was an over-calculation. His Floater had burnt out while still sufficiently distant from surface to have the fall stun him. The Merchant might have had less luck, even, than that.

  He was surrounded by a world of thick, ropy stalks of grass, and in the distance were trees that reminded him vaguely of similar structures on his native Arcturian world except that their lowest branches were high above what he would consider normal tree-tops.

  He called, his voice sounding basso in the thick air and the Merchant answered. The Explorer made his way toward him, thrusting violently at the coarse stalks that barred his path.

  "Are you hurt?" he asked.

  The Merchant grimaced. "I've sprained something. It hurts to walk."

  The Explorer probed gently. "I don't think anything is broken. You'll have to walk despite the pain."

  "Can't we rest first?"

  "It's important to try to find the ship. If it is spaceworthy or if it can be repaired, we may live. Otherwise, we won't."

  "Just a few minutes. Let me catch my breath."

  The Explorer was glad enough for those few minutes. The Merchant's eyes were already closed. He allowed his to do the same.

  He heard the trampling and his eyes snapped open. Never sleep on a strange planet, he told himself futilely.

  The Merchant was awake too and his steady screaming was a rumble of terror.

  The Explorer called, "It's only a native of this planet. It won't harm you."

  But even as he spoke, the giant had swooped down and in a moment they were in its grasp being lifted closer to its monstrous ugliness.

  The Merchant struggled violently and, of course, quite futilely. "Can't you talk to it?" he yelled.

  The Explorer could only shake his head. "I can't reach it with the Projector. It won't be listening."

  "Then blast it. Blast it down."

  "We can't do that." The phrase "you fool" had almost been added. The Explorer struggled to keep his self-control. They were swallowing space as the monster moved purposefully away.

  "Why not?" cried the Merchant. "You can reach your blaster. I see it in plain sight. Don't be afraid of falling."

  "It's simpler than that. If this monster is killed, you'll never trade with this planet. You'll never even leave it. You probably won't live the day out."

  "Why? Why?"

  "Because this is one of the young of the species. You should know what happens when a trader kills a native young, even accidentally. What's more, if this is the target-point, then we are on the
estate of a powerful native. This might be one of his brood."

  That was how they entered their present prison. They had carefully burnt away a portion of the thick, stiff covering and it was obvious that the height from which they were suspended was a killing one.

  Now, once again, the prison-cage shuddered and lifted in an upward arc. The Merchant rolled to the lower rim and startled awake. The cover lifted and light flooded in. As was the case the time before, there were two specimens of the young. They were not very different in appearance from adults of the species, reflected the Explorer, though, of course, they were considerably smaller.

  A handful of reedy green stalks was stuffed between the bars. Its odor was not unpleasant but it carried clods of soil at its ends.

  The Merchant drew away and said, huskily, "What are they doing?"

  The Explorer said, "Trying to feed us, I should judge. At least this seems to be the native equivalent of grass."

  The cover was replaced and they were set swinging again, alone with their fodder.

  IV

  Slim started at the sound of footsteps and brightened when it turned out to be only Red.

  He said, "No one's around. I had my eye peeled, you bet."

  Red said, "Ssh. Look. You take this stuff and stick it in the cage. I've got to scoot back to the house."

  "What is it?" Slim reached reluctantly.

  "Ground meat. Holy Smokes, haven't you ever seen ground meat? That's what you should've got when I sent you to the house instead of coming back with that stupid grass."

  Slim was hurt. "How'd I know they don't eat grass. Besides, ground meat doesn't come loose like that. It comes in cellophane and it isn't that color."

  "Sure--in the city. Out here we grind our own and it's always this color till its cooked."

  "You mean it isn't cooked?" Slim drew away quickly.

  Red looked disgusted. "Do you think animals eat cooked food. Come on, take it. It won't hurt you. I tell you there isn't much time."

  "Why? What's doing back at the house?"

  "I don't know. Dad and your father are walking around. I think maybe they're looking for me. Maybe the cook told them I took the meat. Anyway, we don't want them coming here after me."

  "Didn't you ask the cook before you took this stuff?"

  "Who? That crab? Shouldn't wonder if she only let me have a drink of water because Dad makes her. Come on. Take it."

  Slim took the large glob of meat though his skin crawled at the touch. He turned toward the barn and Red sped away in the direction from which he had come.

  He slowed when he approached the two adults, took a few deep breaths to bring himself back to normal, and then carefully and nonchalantly sauntered past. (They were walking in the general direction of the barn, he noticed, but not dead on.)

  He said, "Hi, Dad. Hello, sir."

  The Industrialist said, "Just a moment, Red. I have a question to ask you?"

  Red turned a carefully blank face to his father. "Yes, Dad?"

  "Mother tells me you were out early this morning."

  "Not real early, Dad. Just a little before breakfast."

  "She said you told her it was because you had been awakened during the night and didn't go back to sleep."

  Red waited before answering. Should he have told Mom that?

  Then he said, "Yes, sir."

  "What was it that awakened you?"

  Red saw no harm in it. He said, "I don't know, Dad. It sounded like thunder, sort of, and like a collision, sort of."

  "Could you tell where it came from?"

  "It sounded like it was out by the hill." That was truthful, and useful as well, since the direction was almost opposite that in which the barn lay.

  The Industrialist looked at his guest. "I suppose it would do no harm to walk toward the hill."

  The Astronomer said, "I am ready."

  Red watched them walk away and when he turned he saw Slim peering cautiously out from among the briars of a hedge.

  Red waved at him. "Come on."

  Slim stepped out and approached. "Did they say anything about the meat?"

  "No. I guess they don't know about that. They went down to the hill."

  "What for?"

  "Search me. They kept asking about the noise I heard. Listen, did the animals eat the meat?"

  "Well," said Slim, cautiously, "they were sort of looking at it and smelling it or something."

  "Okay," Red said, "I guess they'll eat it. Holy Smokes, they've got to eat something. Let's walk along toward the hill and see what Dad and your father are going to do."

  "What about the animals?"

  "They'll be all right. A fellow can't spend all his time on them. Did you give them water?"

  "Sure. They drank that."

  "See. Come on. We'll look at them after lunch. I tell you what. We'll bring them fruit. Anything'll eat fruit."

  Together they trotted up the rise, Red, as usual, in the lead.

  V

  The Astronomer said, "You think the noise was their ship landing?"

  "Don't you think it could be?"

  "If it were, they may all be dead."

  "Perhaps not." The Industrialist frowned.

  "If they have landed, and are still alive, where are they?"

  "Think about that for a while." He was still frowning.

  The Astronomer said, "I don't understand you."

  "They may not be friendly."

  "Oh, no. I've spoken with them. They've--"

  "You've spoken with them. Call that reconnaissance. What would their next step be? Invasion?"

  "But they only have one ship, sir."

  "You know that only because they say so. They might have a fleet."

  "I've told you about their size. They--"

  "Their size would not matter, if they have handweapons that may well be superior to our artillery."

  "That is not what I meant."

  "I had this partly in mind from the first." The Industrialist went on. "It is for that reason I agreed to see them after I received your letter. Not to agree to an unsettling and impossible trade, but to judge their real purposes. I did not count on their evading the meeting."

  He sighed. "I suppose it isn't our fault. You are right in one thing, at any rate. The world has been at peace too long. We are losing a healthy sense of suspicion."

  The Astronomer's mild voice rose to an unusual pitch and he said, "I will speak. I tell you that there is no reason to suppose they can possibly be hostile. They are small, yes, but that is only important because it is a reflection of the fact that their native worlds are small. Our world has what is for them a normal gravity, but because of our much higher gravitational potential, our atmosphere is too dense to support them comfortably over sustained periods. For a similar reason the use of the world as a base for interstellar travel, except for trade in certain items, is uneconomical. And there are important differences in chemistry of life due to the basic differences in soils. They couldn't eat our food or we theirs."

  "Surely all this can be overcome. They can bring their own food, build domed stations of lowered air pressure, devise specially designed ships."

  "They can. And how glibly you can describe feats that are easy to a race in its youth. It is simply that they don't have to do any of that. There are millions of worlds suitable for them in the Galaxy. They don't need this one which isn't."

  "How do you know? All this is their information again."

  "This I was able to check independently. I am an astronomer, after all."

  "That is true. Let me hear what you have to say then, while we walk."

  "Then, sir, consider that for a long time our astronomers have believed that two general classes of planetary bodies existed. First, the planets which formed at distances far enough from their stellar nucleus to become cool enough to capture hydrogen. These would be large planets rich in hydrogen, ammonia and methane. We have examples of these in the giant outer planets. The second class would include those planets
formed so near the stellar center that the high temperature would make it impossible to capture much hydrogen. These would be smaller planets, comparatively poorer in hydrogen and richer in oxygen. We know that type very well since we live on one. Ours is the only solar system we know in detail, however, and it has been reasonable for us to assume that these were the only two planetary classes."

  "I take it then that there is another."

  "Yes. There is a super-dense class, still smaller, poorer in hydrogen, than the inner planets of the solar system. The ratio of occurrence of hydrogen-ammonia planets and these super-dense water-oxygen worlds of theirs over the entire Galaxy--and remember that they have actually conducted a survey of significant sample volumes of the Galaxy which we, without interstellar travel, cannot do--is about 3 to 1. This leaves them seven million super-dense worlds for exploration and colonization."

  The Industrialist looked at the blue sky and the green-covered trees among which they were making their way. He said, "And worlds like ours?"

  The Astronomer said, softly, "Ours is the first solar system they have found which contains them. Apparently the development of our solar system was unique and did not follow the ordinary rules."

  The Industrialist considered that. "What it amounts to is that these creatures from space are asteroid-dwellers."

  "No, no. The asteroids are something else again. They occur, I was told, in one out of eight stellar systems, but they're completely different from what we've been discussing."

  "And how does your being an astronomer change the fact that you are still only quoting their unsupported statements?"

  "But they did not restrict themselves to bald items of information. They presented me with a theory of stellar evolution which I had to accept and which is more nearly valid than anything our own astronomy has ever been able to devise, if we except possible lost theories dating from Beforethewars. Mind you, their theory had a rigidly mathematical development and it predicted just such a Galaxy as they describe. So you see, they have all the worlds they wish. They are not land-hungry. Certainly not for our land."