“Maybe that is too much to assimilate at one sitting,” Jason said. “So let’s put it in simpler terms. I believe we can find a reason for this unrelenting hatred of humans. Perhaps we don’t smell right. Maybe I’ll find an essence of crushed Pyrran bugs that will render us immune when we rub it in. I don’t know yet. But whatever the results, we must make the investigation. Kerk agrees with me on that.”
Meta looked at Kerk and he nodded agreement. Her shoulders slumped in sudden defeat. She whispered the words.
“I… can’t say I agree, or even understand all that you said. But I’ll help you. If Kerk thinks that it is the right thing.”
“I do,” he said. “Now, do you want the clip back for your gun? Not planning to take any more shots at Jason?”
“That was foolish of me,” she said coldly while she reloaded the gun. “I don’t need a gun. If I had to kill him, I could do it with my bare hands.”
“I love you, too,” Jason smiled at her. “Are you ready to go now?”
“Of course.” She brushed a fluffy curl of hair into place. “First we’ll find a place where you can stay. I’ll take care of that. After that the work of the new department is up to you.”
X
There were empty rooms in one of the computer buildings. These were completely sealed to keep stray animal life out of the delicate machinery. While Meta checked a bed-roll out of stores, Jason painfully dragged a desk, table and chairs in from a nearby empty office. When she returned with a pneumatic bed he instantly dropped on it with a grateful sigh. Her lip curled a bit at his obvious weakness.
“Get used to the sight,” he said. “I intend to do as much of my work as I can, while maintaining a horizontal position. You will be my strong right arm. And right now, Right Arm, I wish you could scare me up something to eat. I also intend to do most of my eating in the previously mentioned prone condition.”
Snorting with disgust, Meta stamped out. While she was gone, Jason chewed the end of a stylus thoughtfully, then made some careful notes.
After they had finished the almost-tasteless meal he began the search.
“Meta, where can I find historical records of Pyrrus?”
“I’ve never heard of any… I really don’t know.”
“But there has to be something — somewhere, ” he insisted. “Even if your present-day culture devotes all of its time and energies to survival, you can be sure it wasn’t always that way. All the time it was developing, people were keeping records, making notes. Now where do we look? Do you have a library here?”
“Of course,” she said. “We have an excellent technical library. But I’m sure there wouldn’t be any of that sort of thing there.”
Trying not to groan, Jason stood up. “Let me be the judge of that. Just lead the way.”
***
Operation of the library was completely automatic. A projected index gave the call number for any text that had to be consulted. The tape was delivered to the charge desk thirty seconds after the number had been punched. Returned tapes were dropped through a hopper and refiled automatically. The mechanism worked smoothly.
“Wonderful,” Jason said, pushing away from the index. “A tribute to technological ingenuity. Only it contains nothing of any value to us. Just reams of textbooks.”
“What else should be in a library?” Meta sounded sincerely puzzled.
Jason started to explain, then changed his mind. “Later we will go into that,” he said. “Much later. Now we have to find a lead. Is it possible that there are any tapes — or even printed books — that aren’t filed through this machine?”
“It seems unlikely, but we could ask Poli. He lives here somewhere and is in charge of the library — filing new books and tending the machinery.”
The single door into the rear of the building was locked, and no amount of pounding could rouse the caretaker.
“If he’s alive, this should do it,” Jason said. He pressed the out-of-order button on the control panel. It had the desired affect. Within five minutes the door opened and Poli dragged himself through it.
Death usually came swiftly on Pyrrus. If wounds slowed a man down, the ever-ready forces of destruction quickly finished the job. Poli was the exception to this rule. Whatever had attacked him originally had done an efficient job. Most of the lower part of his face was gone. His left arm was curled and useless. The damage to his body and legs had left him with the bare capability to stumble from one spot to the next.
Yet he still had one good arm as well as his eyesight. He could work in the library and relieve a fully fit man. How long he had been dragging the useless husk of a body around the building, no one knew. In spite of the pain that filled his red-rimmed, moist eyes, he had stayed alive. Growing old, older than any other Pyrran as far as Jason had seen. He tottered forward and turned off the alarm that had called him.
When Jason started to explain the old man took no notice. Only after the librarian had rummaged a hearing aid out of his clothes, did Jason realize he was deaf as well. Jason explained again what he searched for. Poli nodded and printed his answer on a tablet.
there are many old books — in the storerooms below
Most of the building was taken up by the robot filing and sorting apparatus. They moved slowly through the banks of machinery, following the crippled librarian to a barred door in the rear. He pointed to it. While Jason and Meta fought to open the age-incrusted bars, he wrote another note on his tablet.
not opened for many years, rats
Jason’s and Meta’s guns appeared reflexively in their hands as they read the message. Jason finished opening the door by himself. The two native Pyrrans stood facing the opening gap. It was well they did. Jason could never have handled what came through that door.
He didn’t even open it for himself. Their sounds at the door must have attracted all the vermin in the lower part of the building. Jason had thrown the last bolt and started to pull on the handle — when the door was pushed open from the other side.
***
Open the gateway to hell and see what comes out. Meta and Poli stood shoulder to shoulder firing into the mass of loathsomeness that boiled through the door. Jason jumped to one side and picked off the occasional animal that came his way. The destruction seemed to go on forever.
Long minutes passed before the last clawed beast made its death rush. Meta and Poli waited expectantly for more, they were happily excited by this chance to deal destruction. Jason felt a little sick after the silent ferocious attack. A ferocity that the Pyrrans reflected. He saw a scratch on Meta’s face where one of the beasts had caught her. She seemed oblivious to it.
Pulling out his medikit, Jason circled the piled bodies. Something stirred in their midst and a crashing shot ploughed into it. Then he reached the girl and pushed the analyzer probes against the scratch. The machine clicked and Meta jumped as the antitoxin needle stabbed down. She realized for the first time what Jason was doing.
“Thank you,” she said.
Poli had a powerful battery lamp and, by unspoken agreement, Jason carried it. Crippled though he was, the old man was still a Pyrran when it came to handling a gun. They slowly made their way down the refuse-laden stairs.
“What a stench,” Jason grimaced.
At the foot of the stairs they looked around. There had been books and records there at one time. They had been systematically chewed, eaten and destroyed for decades.
“I like the care you take with your old books,” Jason said disgustedly.
“They could have been of no importance,” Meta said coolly, “or they would be filed correctly in the library upstairs.”
Jason wandered gloomily through the rooms. Nothing remained of any value. Fragments and scraps of writing and printing. Never enough in one spot to bother collecting. With the toe of one armored boot, he kicked angrily at a pile of debris, ready to give up the search. There was a glint of rusty metal under the dirt.
“Hold this!” He gave the light to Meta and began scratching aside
the rubble. A flat metal box with a dial lock built into it, was revealed.
“Why that’s a log box!” Meta said, surprised.
“That’s what I thought,” Jason said.
XI
Resealing the cellar, they carried the box back to Jason’s new office. Only after spraying with decontaminant, did they examine it closely. Meta picked out engraved letters on the lid.
“S. T. POLLUX VICTORY — that must be the name of the spacer this log came from. But I don’t recognize the class, or whatever it is the initials S. T. stand for.”
“Stellar Transport,” Jason told her, as he tried the lock mechanism. “I’ve heard of them but I’ve never seen one. They were built during the last wave of galactic expansion. Really nothing more than gigantic metal containers, put together in space. After they were loaded with people, machinery and supplies, they would be towed to whatever planetary system had been chosen. These same tugs and one-shot rockets would brake the S. T.’s in for a landing. Then leave them there. The hull was a ready source of metal and the colonists could start right in building their new world. And they were big. All of them held at least fifty thousand people…”
Only after he said it, did he realize the significance of his words. Meta’s deadly stare drove it home. There were now less people on Pyrrus than had been in the original settlement.
And human population, without rigid birth controls, usually increased geometrically. Jason dinAlt suddenly remembered Meta’s itchy trigger finger.
“But we can’t be sure how many people were aboard this one,” he said hurriedly. “Or even if this is the log of the ship that settled Pyrrus. Can you find something to pry this open with? The lock is corroded into a single lump.”
Meta took her anger out on the box. Her fingers managed to force a gap between lid and bottom. She wrenched at it. Rusty metal screeched and tore. The lid came off in her hands and a heavy book thudded to the table.
The cover legend destroyed all doubt.
LOG OF S. T. POLLUX VICTORY. OUTWARD BOUND — SETANI TO PYRRUS. 55,000 SETTLERS ABOARD.
Meta couldn’t argue now. She stood behind Jason with tight-clenched fists and read over his shoulder as he turned the brittle, yellowed pages. He quickly skipped through the opening part that covered the sailing preparations and trip out. Only when he had reached the actual landing did he start reading slowly. The impact of the ancient words leaped out at him.
“Here it is,” Jason shouted. “Proof positive that we’re on the right trail. Even you will have to admit that. Read it, right here.”
… Second day since the tugs left, we are completely on our own now. The settlers still haven’t grown used to this planet, though we have orientation talks every night. As well as the morale agents who I have working twenty hours a day. I suppose I really can’t blame the people, they all lived in the underways of Setani and I doubt if they saw the sun once a year. This planet has weather with a vengeance, worse than anything I’ve seen on a hundred other planets. Was I wrong during the original planning stages not to insist on settlers from one of the agrarian worlds? People who could handle the outdoors.
These citified Setanians are afraid to go out in the rain. But of course they have adapted completely to their native 1.5 gravity so the two gee here doesn’t bother them much. That was the factor that decided us. Anyway — too late now to do anything about it. Or about the unending cycle of rain, snow, hail, hurricanes and such. Answer will be to start the mines going, sell the metals and build completely enclosed cities.
The only thing on this forsaken planet that isn’t actually against us are the animals. A few large predators at first, but the guards made short work of them. The rest of the wild life leaves us alone. Glad of that! They have been fighting for existence so long that I have never seen a more deadly looking collection. Even the little rodents no bigger than a man’s hand are armored like tanks…
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Meta broke in. “That can’t be Pyrrus he’s writing about…” Her words died away as Jason wordlessly pointed to the title on the cover.
He continued scanning the pages, flipping them quickly. A sentence caught his eye and he stopped. Jamming his finger against the place, he read aloud.
“‘… And troubles keep piling up. First Har Palo with his theory that the vulcanism is so close to the surface that the ground keeps warm and the crops grow so well. Even if he is right — what can we do? We must be self-dependent if we intend to survive. And now this other thing. It seems that the forest fire drove a lot of new species our way. Animals, insects and even birds have attacked the people. (Note for Har: check if possible seasonal migration might explain attacks.) There have been fourteen deaths from wounds and poisoning. We’ll have to enforce the rules for insect lotion at all times. And I suppose build some kind of perimeter defense to keep the larger beasts out of the camp.’
“This is a beginning,” Jason said. “At least now we are aware of the real nature of the battle we’re engaged in. It doesn’t make Pyrrus any easier to handle, or make the life forms less dangerous, to know that they were once better disposed towards mankind. All this does is point the way. Something took the peaceful life forms, shook them up, and turned this planet into one big deathtrap for mankind. That something is what I want to uncover.”
XII
Further reading of the log produced no new evidence. There was a good deal more information about the early animal and plant life and how deadly they were, as well as the first defenses against them. Interesting historically, but of no use whatsoever in countering the menace. The captain apparently never thought that life forms were altering on Pyrrus, believing instead that dangerous beasts were being discovered. He never lived to change his mind. The last entry in the log, less than two months after the first attack, was very brief. And in a different handwriting.
Captain Kurkowski died today, of poisoning following an insect bite. His death is greatly mourned.
The “why” of the planetary revulsion had yet to be uncovered.
“Kerk must see this book,” Jason said. “He should have some idea of the progress being made. Can we get transportation — or do we walk to city hall?”
“Walk, of course,” Meta said.
“Then you bring the book. At two G’s I find it very hard to be a gentleman and carry the packages.”
They had just entered Kerk’s outer office when a shrill screaming burst out of the phone-screen. It took Jason a moment to realize that it was a mechanical signal, not a human voice.
“What is it?” he asked.
Kerk burst through the door and headed for the street entrance. Everyone else in the office was going the same way. Meta looked confused, leaning towards the door, then looking back at Jason.
“What does it mean? Can’t you tell me?” He shook her arm.
“Sector alarm. A major breakthrough of some kind at the perimeter. Everyone but other perimeter guards has to answer.”
“Well, go then,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”
His words acted like a trigger release. Meta’s gun was in her hand and she was gone before he had finished speaking. Jason sat down wearily in the deserted office.
The unnatural silence in the building began to get on his nerves. He shifted his chair over to the phone-screen and switched it on to receive. The screen exploded with color and sound. At first Jason could make no sense of it at all. Just a confused jumble of faces and voices. It was a multi-channel set designed for military use. A number of images were carried on the screen at one time, rows of heads or hazy backgrounds where the user had left the field of view. Many of the heads were talking at the same time and the babble of their voices made no sense whatsoever.
After examining the controls and making a few experiments, Jason began to understand the operation. Though all stations were on the screen at all times, their audio channels could be controlled. In that way two, three or more stations could be hooked together in a link-up. T
hey would be in round-robin communication with each other, yet never out of contact with the other stations.
Identification between voice and sound was automatic. Whenever one of the pictured images spoke, the image would glow red. By trial and error Jason brought in the audio for the stations he wanted and tried to follow the course of the attack.
Very quickly he realized this was something out of the ordinary. In some way, no one made it clear, a section of the perimeter had been broken through and emergency defenses had to be thrown up to encapsulate it. Kerk seemed to be in charge, at least he was the only one with an override transmitter. He used it for general commands. The many, tiny images faded and his face appeared on top of them, filling the entire screen.
“All perimeter stations send twenty-five per cent of your complement to Area Twelve.”
The small images reappeared and the babble increased, red lights flickering from face to face.
“… Abandon the first floor, acid bombs can’t reach.”
“If we hold we’ll be cut off, but salient is past us on the west flank. Request support.”
“DON’T MERVV… IT’S USELESS!”
“… And the napalm tanks are almost gone. Orders?”
“The truck is still there, get it to the supply warehouse, you’ll find replacements…”
***
Out of the welter of talk, only the last two fragments made any sense. Jason had noticed the signs below when he came in. The first two floors of the building below him were jammed with military supplies. This was his chance to get into the act.
Just sitting and watching was frustrating. Particularly when it was a desperate emergency. He didn’t overvalue his worth, but he was sure there was always room for another gun.
By the time he had dragged himself down to the street level a turbo-truck had slammed to a stop in front of the loading platform. Two Pyrrans were rolling out drums of napalm with reckless disregard for their own safety. Jason didn’t dare enter that maelstrom of rolling metal. He found he could be of use tugging the heavy drums into position on the truck while the others rolled them up. They accepted his aid without acknowledgment.
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