Classic Fiction

by Hal Clement

  “You might also put your geletane cylinders back in the clamps when, and if, this happy state of affairs eventuates,” remarked Goldthwaite, the gloomy technical sergeant. “May I ask what happens now, captain?”

  “I’m afraid it isn’t up to me, Goldy,” returned Albee. “But I don’t suppose they plan to keep us in this corner indefinitely.”

  Probably they didn’t, but Albee was beginning to doubt his own statement before anything else happened. The sun had risen so that it was no longer shining directly into the port, and the great chamber had grown darker as the shadow of the vast interstellar flier crept down and away from its outer wall, when a new party came through the air lock from outside. Two of the pentapods came first, and came to a halt on either side of the inner door; after them crept painfully the long, many-legged, gorgeously furred body of a Vegan. Its antennae were laid along its back, blending with the black and yellow stripes; the tiny, heavily lidded eyes opened wide in the effort to see in what, to the native of the blue star, was nearly total darkness. The line of guards penning in the Earthmen opened and formed a double-walled lane between humans and Vegan.

  Albee stepped forward, and at the same moment the interior lights of the chamber flashed on. The Vegan relaxed for a moment as its eyes readjusted themselves; then its antennae snapped erect and began to sway slowly in the simple patterns of the sign language of its race.

  “I assume that some of you, at least, understand me,” it said. “Our captors, having learned a little of my language in the months I have spent here, hope to save themselves trouble by using me as an interpreter. Do you wish to acknowledge acquaintance with my speech, or do you think it better to act as though our races had never encountered each other? I was not captured near my home planet, so you might get away with such an act.”

  Most of the Earthmen had some knowledge of Vegan speech—the two systems are near neighbors, and enjoy lively commercial relations—and all looked to Albee for a decision. He wasted little time in thought; it was evident that they would be better off in communication with their captors than otherwise.

  “We might as well talk,” he answered, forming the signs as well as he could with his arms. “We should like to find out all you can tell us about these creatures, and it is unlikely that we would be given the chance to communicate secretly with you. Do you know where we are, and can you tell us anything about this planet and its people?”

  “I know very little,” was the answer. “I believe this world is somewhere in the Cloud, because the only time one of us was ever outside the fort at night he could see the Galaxy. Neither I nor my companions can tell you anything about the planet’s own characteristics, for we have been kept inside the base which these creatures have established here ever since our capture. We move too slowly in this gravity to escape from them, and, anyway, the sun has not sufficient ultraviolet light to keep us alive. Our captors, we are sure, are not natives of the planet; they seldom venture outside the walls themselves, and always return before nightfall. Furthermore, they live on provisions brought by their interstellar ships, rather than native food.

  “They have not told us the reason for our capture. They allow us to prepare everything we need for existence and comfort, but every time we try to divert supplies to the production of weapons, they seem to know it. They let us nearly finish, and then take it away from us. They never get angry at our attempts, either. We don’t understand them.”

  “If they are so careful of your well being, why do they try to drive us crazy on a steady diet of lime juice?” interrupted Little.

  “I could not say; but I will ask, if you wish,” returned the Vegan. He swung his fusiform body laboriously around until he was facing one of the creatures who had accompanied him to the ship, and began semaphoring the question. The men watched silently; those who had not understood the preceding conversation were given the gist of it in brief whispers by their fellows. Little had not had a chance to ask if the others had been fed as he had been; their silent but intense interest in the answer to his question indicated that they had. The chronic slowness of Vegan communication rendered them all the more impatient to know the reason, as the black and yellow creature solemnly waved at the motionless pentapod.

  There was a brief pause before the latter began to answer. When it did, the Earthman understood why an interpreter was necessary, even though both sides knew the same language. The arms of the creature were flexible enough in front-to-rear motion, as are human fingers; but their relatively great width hampered them in side-to-side waves, and put them at a severe disadvantage in using the Vegan language. The Vegan himself must have had difficulty in comprehending; the Earthman could not make out a single gesture.

  Finally the interpreter turned back to the human listeners and reported the result of his questioning:

  “The green liquid is all that our captors found in the canteens of your space armor. Since there was a large supply of it on your ship, they assumed it was the principal constituent of your diet. They have, however, salvaged practically all of the contents of your vessel, and you will be allowed shortly to obtain your foodstuffs, cooking equipment, and personal belongings, with the natural exception of weapons. I might add, from my own experience, that their unfamiliarity with your weapons will not help you much if you attempt to smuggle any from the stores. We never could get away with it.”

  “What surprises me,” remarked Albee in English, “is that we are allowed at the supplies at all. These creatures must be extremely confident in their own abilities to take a chance.”

  “From what you told me of the hand-to-hand fighting, such confidence may be justified,” remarked Little with a grin. “Didn’t you say that they more or less wiped up the floor with the boys?”

  “True,” admitted the captain, “but there’s no need to rub it in. Why are they so stuck up about it?”

  “Stuck up? I was getting a strong impression that, as a race, they must be unusually modest.” Albee stared at the doctor, but could not get him to amplify the remark. The Vegan interrupted further conversation, attracting their attention with a flourish of its long antennae.

  “I am told that your supplies have been unloaded through another port, and are lying on the ground outside the fort. You are to accompany me and the guards to the pile, and take all the food you wish—you may make several trips, if necessary, to get it all to your quarters in the fort.”

  “Where is this fort, in relation to the ship?” asked Albee. “What sort of land is around it?”

  “The ship is lying parallel to the near wall of the fort, about two hundred yards from it. This air lock is near the nose of the ship, and almost opposite the main valves of the fort. In front of the ship the ground is level for about a quarter of a mile, then dips down into what seems to be a heavily forested river valley. I don’t know what lies beyond, in that direction; this sunlight is too dim for me to make out the details of objects more than a mile or two distant. I do get the impression of hills or mountains—you will be able to see for yourselves, outside. Your eyes are adapted to this light.

  “In the other direction, toward the stern, the level plain extends as far as I can see, without any cover. Anyway, you’d be between the ship and the fort for the first five hundred yards, if you went that way, and could easily be cornered. I warn you again that these creatures will outguess you, but—good luck. I’ve told you all I know.”

  “I guess we might as well go along and get our stuff, then,” remarked Albee to his crew. “Don’t do anything rash without orders, We’ll wait until we see how the supplies are arranged. Maybe we’ll have to move some apparatus to get at the food.”

  The black bodies of the guards had ringed them, almost statuesque in their motionlessness, during the conversation. As the Vegan concluded his speech, he had turned toward the lock; Albee had spoken as the men began to follow. The air of the planet was evidently similar to that of Earth, Vega Five, and the home planet of the pentapods, since both valves of the air lock
were open. It had the fresh-air smell which the filtered atmosphere of a spaceship always seems to lack, and the men almost unconsciously squared their shoulders and expanded their chests as they passed down the ramp in the wake of the heavily moving Vegan. The scene before them caught all eyes; the interpreter’s description had been correct, but inadequate.

  The hull of the interstellar cruiser curved high above their heads. The lock chamber occupied a relatively tiny gondola that projected far enough, from its location well to one side of the keel, to touch the ground. The outside of the vessel gleamed with a brilliant silvery luster, in contrast to the coppery glow of the interior. The fort, directly in front of them, was an imposing structure of stone composition half a mile in length and two hundred feet high on the side facing them. The walls were smoothly polished, and completely lacking in windows.

  To the left, beyond the nose of the craft, the level meadow continued for several hundred yards, and then dipped abruptly downward. As the Vegan had intimated, the background was filled by a range of rugged-looking mountains, the nearest several miles away. The sun was now nearly overhead, thereby robbing the landscape of the shadows that would have given the Earthman a better idea of its relief. Albee wasted little time looking for what he wouldn’t be able to see; he strode on toward the great gate of the fort. In front of the portals were several large heaps of articles, and even at this distance some of them could be recognized as pieces of equipment from the unfortunate Gomeisa. The guards closed around the group of human beings and proceeded at the pace set by the captain, leaving the Vegan prisoner to follow at his own speed.

  It was evident that a thorough job of looting had been done on the Terrestrial warship. Food and medical supplies, bunks, kitchen equipment, blankets and miscellaneous items of field apparatus were included in the half dozen heaps laid out beneath the glistening black walls. Mixed in with the rest were hand tools and weapons, and Albee, in spite of the Vegan’s warning, began promptly to make plans. At his orders, each of the men dragged a shoulder pack out of one of the piles and began filling it with containers of food and drink. The pile of lime-juice bottles was pointedly ignored until Albee, glancing at it, noticed that one case of bottles was not green in color. He went over for a closer look, then extracted one of the plastic containers, opened it and sniffed. His voice, as he turned to the watching men, was just a little louder than usual:

  “Would anyone know where they found this stuff?” His eyes wandered over the faces of the crew. It was Sergeant Goldthwaite who finally answered, hesitantly.

  “They might have looked between the bulkheads at the cap end of the storage room, cap’n. It was pretty cool there, and seemed like a good place—”

  “Not too easy to visit often, in flight,” remarked the captain quizzically.

  “I never visited it, sir—you can see it hasn’t been touched. But you said we would probably touch at Ardome, and I was thinking it might be possible to get rid of it there.”

  “It probably would. But they have good customs inspectors, and war vessels aren’t immune to search. I shudder to think of what would have happened to our reputation if we had made Ardome. Consider yourself responsible for this stuff.”

  The sergeant gulped. The case of liquor weighed eighty pounds, and could not possibly be crammed into a shoulder pack. He realized gloomily that the captain had inflicted about the only possible punishment, under the circumstances. He put five of the bottles into his pack and began a series of experiments to find out which way his arms went most easily around the case. A small group of pentapods regarded the struggle with interest, their spines waving slowly like a field of wheat in a breeze.

  Albee watched, too, for a moment; then he went on, without altering the tone of his words:

  “Most of you should have a decent supply of food by now. This planet probably has good water, since the vegetation and clouds appear normal. We should be able to live here without the aid of our generous captors, but we may have some difficulty in avoiding their well-meant ministrations. The Vegan said his people had never been able to fool these pincushions into letting them make or steal a weapon. Remembering that, use every caution in carrying out the orders I am about to give.

  “When I have stopped talking, each of you count thirty, slowly, meanwhile working your way toward the handiest tool or weapon in the neighborhood. When you reach thirty, dive for the object of your choice and do your best to get to that forest. You have all, except the doctor, had some experience of the rough-and-tumble tactics of these creatures; the problem, I should say, is to get past them without a fight and into the open. I think we can outrun, on the level, any invertebrate alive. If someone is caught, don’t stay to help him; right now, I want to get at least a small crew away from here, where we can work out at our leisure rescue plans for the unlucky ones. Don’t all try to get guns; we’ll find cutting tools just as useful in the woods. You may start counting.”

  Without haste, Albee counted over the contents of his pack, swung it to his shoulders. The guards, spines twitching slowly, watched. Reiser, the senior navigator, was helping one of Goldthwaite’s engineers drag the ship’s electric stove from a pile which chanced also to contain several ion pistols. Little picked up and tested briefly a hand flash, conscious of the fact that guards were watching him closely. The action had some purpose; the flash was almost exactly similar to the pistols. He tightened the straps of his own pack—and someone reached the count of thirty. Albee had chosen that number to give the men time enough to prepare, but not enough to get very far out of pace in the counting.

  Almost as one, the human beings turned and sprinted for the bow of the warship. Almost simultaneously, the guards went into action, each singling out a man and going to work. Little, who had not experienced the tactics of the creatures, managed to avoid them for perhaps five yards; then one of them twined its tendrils about his wrist and literally climbed up onto his back. A moment later, the doctor was face down on the grass, arms and legs held motionless in the grip of the clumsy-looking, stubby limbs. The spines of his captor were not stiff enough to penetrate clothing or skin, but their pressure on the back of his neck was unpleasant. He managed to turn his head sufficiently to see what was going on.

  Four men, who had been at the pile nearest the forest, had moved fast enough to avoid contact with their guards. They were now running rapidly toward the declivity; none of the creatures was in pursuit. Albee and a dozen others were practically clear, but one of these was pulled down as Little watched. One man found himself in a relatively clear space and made a dash. Guards closed in from either side, but realized apparently that they were not fast enough to corner the fellow. They turned back to other prey, and the runner was allowed to escape.

  Goldthwaite had been in a bad position, with almost the whole group to fight through on his way to the woods. Apparently he never thought of disobeying orders, and going the other way, he dropped the case he had been trying to lift, seized a bottle from it with each hand and headed into the melee. Curiously enough, he was the only one using weapons; the guards, festooned with implements snapped to their leg belts, fought with their bare “hands,” and the men all ignored their guns and knives in the effort to run. Most of the pentapods at the sergeant’s end of the group were engaged, and he got nearly halfway through the group before he was forced to use his clubs.

  Then a guard saw him and closed in. Goldthwaite was handicapped by the creature’s lack of a head, but he swung anyway. The blow landed between the two upper limbs, just above one eye. It didn’t seem to bother the pentapod, whose flexible legs absorbed most of the shock, and the tough plastic of the bottle remained unbroken; but the stopper, urged by interior pressure and probably not closed tightly enough—it may have been the bottle investigated by the captain—blew out, soaking the sergeant’s sleeve and jacket with liquor. This particular fluid had some of the characteristics of Earthly champagne, and had been considerably shaken up.

  Another of its qualities was odor. This
, like the taste of Roquefort, required a period of conditioning before one could become fond of it; and this may have been the reason that the guard fell back for a moment as the liquid foamed out. It is more likely, however, that he was merely startled to find an object his people had decided was harmless suddenly exhibit the characteristics of a projectile weapon. Whatever the reason, he hesitated a split second before pressing the attack; and in that moment the sergeant was past.

  Ahead of him, three or four more guards—all who remained unoccupied—converged to meet him. Without waiting for them to charge, Goldthwaite swung the other bottle a few times and hurled it into their midst. He was a man quick to profit by experience. Unfortunately, so were the guards. They saw the liquid which had soaked into the sergeant’s clothes, and needed no further assurance that it was harmless. They paid no attention to the flying bottle until it landed.

  This flask was stoppered more tightly and did not blow out. The pentapods, who had either seen the behavior of the first bottle or had been told of it, decided that the latest arrival was a different sort of weapon and prudently changed course, avoiding the spot where it lay, and the sergeant, with no such scruples, passed over it like a racehorse. It was several seconds before the guards overcame their nervousness over this new form of delayed-action bomb, and before they could circle around it. Goldthwaite was well out of reach across the plateau. By that time the action was over.