Starman Jones

by Robert A. Heinlein; Michael Z. Williamson

  One of the babies spied them, came trotting toward them, sniffling and bleating. Behind it the largest adult pulled out of the herd to watch the young one. The colt scampered up and stopped about twenty feet away.

  “Oh, the darling!” Ellie said and ran out a few feet, dropped to one knee. “Come here, pet. Come to mama.”

  Max started for her. “Ellie! Come back here!”

  The large centaur reached into its pouch, hauled out something, swung it around its head like a gaucho’s throwing rope. “Ellie!”

  He reached her just as it let go. The thing struck them, wound around and held them. Ellie screamed and Max struggled to tear it loose—but they were held like Laocoön.

  Another line came flying through the air, clung to them. And another.

  Mr. Chips had followed Ellie. Now she skittered away, crying. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and shrilled, “Max! Ellie! Come back. Please back!”

  18

  CIVILIZATION

  Ellie did not faint nor grow hysterical. After that involuntary scream, her next remark was simply, “Max, I’m sorry. My fault.”

  The words were almost in his ear, so tightly were they tied together by the clinging ropes. He answered, “I’ll get us loose!” and continued to strain at their bonds.

  “Don’t struggle,” she said quietly. “It just makes them tighter. We’ll have to talk our way out of this.”

  What she said was true; the harder he strained the tighter the pythonlike bonds held them. “Don’t,” Ellie pleaded. “You’re making it worse. It’s hurting me.” Max desisted.

  The largest centaur ambled up and looked them over. Its broad simple face was still more ludicrous close up and its large brown eyes held a look of gentle astonishment. The colt approached from the other side and sniffed curiously, bleated in a high voice. The adult bugled like an elk; the colt shied sideways, then rejoined the herd on a dead run.

  “Take it easy,” Ellie whispered. “I think they were scared that we would hurt the baby. Maybe they’ll just look us over and let us go.”

  “Maybe. But I wish I could get at my knife.”

  “I’m glad you can’t. This calls for diplomacy.”

  The rest of the herd came up, milled around and looked them over, while exchanging calls that combined bugling, whinnying, and something between a cough and a snort. Max listened. “That’s language,” he decided.

  “Of course. And how I wish I had studied it at Miss Mimsey’s.”

  The largest centaur leaned over them, smoothed at their bonds; they became looser but still held them.

  Max said sharply, “I think they are going to untie us. Get ready to run.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Another centaur reached into its built-in pouch, took out another of the ropelike things. It dropped to its fore knees, flipped the end so that it curled around Max’s left ankle. The end seemed to weld into a loop, hobbling Max as effectively as a bowline knot; Ellie was treated the same way. The biggest centaur then patted their bonds, which fell off and writhed gently on the ground. It picked them up and stuffed them into its pouch.

  The centaur that had hobbled them wrapped the ends of their tethers around its upright trunk, they merged into a belt. After an exchange of sour bugle calls with the leader, it patted the leashes which then stretched like taffy, becoming quite twenty feet long and much more slender. Max pressed his knife on Ellie and said, “Try to cut yourself loose. If you can, then run for it. I’ll keep them busy.”

  “No, Max.”

  “Yes! Dawggone it, quit being a brat! You’ve made enough trouble.”

  “Yes, Max.” She took the knife and tried to saw through the strange rope near her ankle. The centaurs made no attempt to stop her, but watched with the same air of gentle astonishment. It was as if they had never seen a knife, had no notion of what one was. Presently she gave up. “No good, Max. It’s like trying to slice duraplastic.”

  “Why, I keep that knife like a razor. Let me try.”

  He had no better luck. He was forced to stop by the herd moving out—walk or be dragged. He managed to close the knife while hopping on one foot to save his balance. The group proceeded at a slow walk for a few steps, then the leader bugled and the centaurs broke into a trot, exactly like ancient cavalry.

  Ellie stumbled at once and was dragged. Max sat down, managed to grab his hobble and hang on while shouting, “Hey! Stop!”

  Their captor stopped and looked around almost apologetically. Max said, “Look, stupid. We can’t keep up. We’re not horses,” while helping Ellie to her feet “Are you hurt, kid?”

  “I guess not.” She blinked back tears. “If I could lay hands on that hay-burning oaf, he’d be hurt— plenty!”

  “You skinned your hand.”

  “It won’t kill me. Just tell him to slow down, will you?”

  Seeing them on their feet the monster immediately started to trot again. Down they went again, with Max trying to drag them to a halt. This time the leader trotted back from the main herd and consulted their custodian. Max took part, making up in vehemence what he lacked in semantic efficiency.

  Perhaps he was effective; their keeper slowed to a fast walk, letting the others go ahead. Another centaur dropped back and became a rear guard. One of the animated balloons, which had continued to hover over the herd, now drifted back and remained over Max and Ellie.

  The pace was just bearable, between a fast walk and a dogtrot. The route led across the open, flat floor of the valley and through knee-high grass. The grass saved them somewhat, as the centaur leading them seemed to feel that a fall or two every few hundred yards represented optimum efficiency. He never seemed impatient and would stop and let them get up, but always started off again at a clip brisk for humans. Max and Ellie ceased trying to talk, their throats being burned dry by their panting efforts to keep up. A tiny stream meandered through the bottom of the valley; the centaur jumped easily across it. It was necessary for the humans to wade. Ellie paused in midstream, leaned down and started to drink. Max objected, “Ellie! Don’t drink that—you don’t know that it’s safe.”

  “I hope it poisons me so I can lie down and die. Max, I can’t go much farther.”

  “Chin up, kid. We’ll get out of this. I’ve been keeping track of where we’ve gone.” He hesitated, then drank also, being terribly thirsty. The centaur let them, then tugged them on.

  It was as far again to the rising ground and forest on the other side. They had thought that they were as tired as they could be before they started up hill; they were mistaken. The centaur was agile as a goat and seemed surprised that they found it difficult. Finally, Ellie collapsed and would not get up; the centaur came back and stirred her roughly with a three-toed hoof.

  Max struck him with both fists. The centaur made no move to retaliate but looked at him with that same stupid astonishment. Their rear guard came up and conversed with it, after which they waited for perhaps ten minutes. Max sat down beside Ellie and said anxiously, “Feeling any better?”

  “Don’t talk.”

  Presently, the guard edged between them and drove Max back by stepping on him, whereupon the other centaur tugged on Ellie’s leash. It contracted and she was forced to scramble to her feet. The centaurs let them rest twice after that. After an endless time, when the local sun was dropping low in the west, they came out on flat table and, still heavily wooded. They continued through trees for a distance which Max’s count of paces told him was under a mile but seemed like ten, then stopped.

  They were in a semi-clearing, a space carpeted with fallen needles. Their guard came up to the other centaur and took from him the end of Max’s leash, flipped it around the base of a tree, to which it clung. The other centaur did the same with Ellie’s leash to another tree about forty feet away. Having done so, they roughly urged the two together, while stopping to stroke their bonds until they were stretched out very thin. It allowed Max and Ellie enough slack that they might have passed each other.

 
This did not seem to please the centaurs. One of them shifted Max’s leash farther back into the surrounding bushes, dragging him with it. This time at the extreme limit allowed by their bonds they were about six feet apart. “What are they doing?” asked Ellie.

  “Looks like they don’t want us to combine forces.”

  Finished, the centaurs trotted away. Ellie looked after them, began to sob, then cried openly, tears running down her dirty face and leaving tracks. “Stow it,” Max said harshly. “Sniffling will get us nowhere.”

  “I can’t help it,” she bawled. “I’ve been brave all day—at least I’ve tried to be. I . . .” She collapsed face down and let herself go.

  By getting down prone and stretching Max could just reach her head. He patted her tangled hair. “Take it easy, kid,” he said softly. “Cry it out, if you’ll feel better.”

  “Oh, Maxie! Tied up . . . like a dog.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He sat up and examined his tether.

  Whatever the ropelike leash was, it was not rope. It had a smooth shiny surface which reminded him more of a snake, though the part that wound around his ankle showed no features; it simply flowed around his ankle and merged back into itself.

  He lifted the bight and detected a faint throbbing. He stroked it as he had seen the centaurs do and it responded with flowing pulsations, but it neither shrank nor grew longer, nor did it loosen its grip. “Ellie,” he announced, “this thing is alive.”

  She lifted a woebegone face. “What thing?”

  “This rope.”

  “Oh, that! Of course.”

  “At least,” he went on, “if it isn’t, it’s not really dead.” He tried his knife again, there was no effect. “I’ll bet if I had a match I could make it cry ‘Uncle.’ Got an Everlite, Ellie?”

  “I don’t smoke.”

  “Neither do I. Well, maybe I can make a fire some other way. Rubbing two sticks together, or something.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “No.” He continued stroking and patting the living rope, but, though he always got a response in pulsations, he did not seem to have the right touch; the bond stayed as before. He was continuing this fruitless attempt when he heard his name called. “Max! Ellie!”

  Ellie sat up with a jerk. “Chipsie! Oh, Max, she followed us. Come here, darling!”

  The spider puppy was high above them in a tree. She looked carefully around, then scurried down, making the last ten feet a flying leap into Ellie’s arms. They cuddled and made soft noises, then Ellie straightened up, her eyes shining. “Max, I feel so much better.”

  “So do I.” He added, “Though I don’t know why.”

  The spider puppy announced gravely, “Chipsie follow.”

  Max reached across and petted her. “Yes, Chipsie did. Good girl!”

  Ellie hugged the spider puppy. “I don’t feel deserted now, Max. Maybe everything will come out all right.”

  “Look, Ellie, we’re not in too bad a spot. Maybe I’ll find the combination to tickle these ropes or snakes or whatever so they’ll give up. If I do, we’ll sneak back tonight.”

  “How would we find our way?”

  “Don’t worry. I watched every foot of the way, every change of direction, every landmark.”

  “Even in the dark?”

  “Easier in the dark. I know these stars—I sure ought to. But suppose we don’t get loose; we still aren’t licked.”

  “Huh? I don’t relish spending my life tied to a tree.”

  “You won’t. Look—I think these things are just curious about us. They won’t eat us, that’s sure—they probably live on grass. Maybe they’ll get bored and turn us loose. But if they don’t, it’ll be rough on them.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “Because of Mr. Walther and George Daigler—and Sam, Sam Anderson; that’s why. They’re probably beating the bushes for us right now. We are less than ten miles from the ship—five by a straight line. They’ll find us. Then if these silly-looking centaurs want to get tough, they’ll learn about modern weapons. They and their fool throwing ropes!”

  “It might take a long time to find us. Nobody knows where we went.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “If I had a pocket radio. Or some way to signal. Or even a way to build a fire. But I don’t.”

  “I never thought. It just seemed like going for a stroll in the park.”

  Max thought darkly that he had tried to warn her. Why, even the hills around home weren’t safe if a body didn’t keep his eyes peeled . . . you could run into a mean old bobcat, or even a bear. Person like Ellie never ’ud had enough hard knocks to knock sense into her, that was her trouble.

  Presently, he admitted that he himself hadn’t looked for grief from anything as apparently chuckled-headed and harmless as these centaur things. Anyhow, as Sam would say, no use cryin’ over spilt milk when the horse was already stolen.

  “Ellie.”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you suppose Chipsie could find her way back?”

  “Why, I don’t know.”

  “If she could, we could send a message.”

  Chipsie looked up. “Back?” she inquired. “Please back. Go home.”

  Ellie frowned. “I’m afraid Chipsie doesn’t talk that well. She’d probably just hiccup and get incoherent.”

  “I don’t mean that. I know Chipsie is no mental giant. I . . .”

  “Chipsie is smart!”

  “Sure. But I want to send a written message and a map.” He fumbled in a pocket, pulled out a stylus. “Do you have any paper?”

  “I’ll see.” She found a folded paper in a dungaree pocket. “Oh, dear! I was supposed to take this to Mr. Giordano. Mr. Hornsby will be so vexed with me.”

  “What is it?”

  “A requisition for number-ten wire.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” He took the paper, scratched out the memorandum, turned it over and began to draw, stopping to consult the pictures filed in his mind for distances, which way the local sun lay, contours, and other details.

  “Max?”

  “Quiet, can’t you?” He continued to sketch, then added: “URGENT—to First Officer Walther: Eldreth Cobum and self captured by centaurs. Be careful and watch out for their throwing ropes. Respectfully, M. Jones.” He handed it to Ellie. “That ought to do it. Is there any way to fasten it to her? I sure don’t want her to drop it.”

  “Mmm . . . let me see. Turn your back, Max.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t be difficult. Turn your back.” He did so, shortly she said, “All right now.” He faced her and she handed him a ribbon. “How’s this?”

  “Swell!” They managed to tie the ribbon, with the note folded and firmly attached, around Mr. Chips’ waist, anchoring it to a middle limb . . . not too easy as the spider puppy seemed to think it was a game and was ticklish as well.

  “There! Stop squirming, Chipsie, and listen. Ellie wants you to go home.”

  “Home.”

  “Yes, home. Go back to the ship.”

  “Ellie go home?”

  “Ellie can’t go home.”

  “No.”

  “Honey, you’ve got to.”

  “No.”

  “Look, Chipsie. You find Maggie and tell her Ellie said to give you some candy. You give Maggie this.” She tugged at the tied note.

  “Candy?”

  “Go home. Find Maggie. Maggie will give you candy.”

  “Ellie go home.”

  “Please, Chipsie.”

  “Ellie,” Max said urgently, “something is coming.”

  Eldreth looked up, saw a centaur coming through the trees. She pointed. “Look, Chipsie! They’re coming! They’ll catch Chipsie! Go home! Run!”

  The spider puppy squealed in terror and scurried for the trees. Once on a branch she looked back and whimpered. “Go home!” screamed Ellie. “Find Maggie!”

  Mr. Chips shot a glance at the centaur, then disappeared. They had no time to worry further, the centaur was a
lmost up to them. He glanced at them and went on by; it was what followed the centaur that grabbed their attention. Ellie suppressed a shriek. ! They’ve caught everybody.”

  “No,” he corrected grimly. “Look again.” The gathering gloom had caused him to make the same mistake; it seemed that the entire ship’s company trotted after the centaur in single file, ankle leashed to ankle by living ropes. But only the first glance gave such an impression. These creatures were more than humanoid—but such degraded creatures had never sailed between the stars.

  They shuffled quickly along like well-trained animals. One or two looked at Ellie and Max in passing, but their stares were bovine, incurious. Small children not on leash trotted with their mothers, and once Max was startled to see a wrinkled little head peeping out of a pouch—these man-creatures were marsupials, too.

  Max controlled a desire to retch and as they passed out of sight he turned to Ellie. “Gosh!”

  “Max,” Eldreth said hoarsely, “do you suppose we’ve died and gone to our punishment?”

  “Huh? Don’t be silly. Things are bad enough.”

  “I mean it. That was something right out of Dante’s Inferno.”

  Max was swallowing uneasily and not feeling good-tempered. “Look, you can pretend you’re dead if you want to. Me, I’m alive and I mean to stay so. Those things weren’t men. Don’t let it throw you.”

  “But they were men. Men and women and children.”

  “No, they weren’t. Being shaped like us doesn’t make them men. Being a man is something else entirely.” He scowled. “Maybe the centaurs are ‘men.’”

  “Oh, no—”

  “Don’t be too sure. They seem to run things in this country.”

  The discussion was cut short by another arrival. It was almost dark and they did not see the centaur until he entered their clearing. He was followed by three of the—Max decided to call them ‘men’ though he resented the necessity—followed by three men. They were not on leashes. All three were bearing burdens. The centaur spoke to them; they distributed what they carried.

  One of them set down a large clay bowl filled with water in the space separating Max and Ellie. It was the first artifact that any human had seen on Charity and did not indicate a high level of mechanical culture, being crudely modeled and clearly not thrown on a potter’s wheel; it held water, no more could be said for it. A second porter dumped a double armful of small fruits beside the bowl. Two of them splashed into the bowl, he did not bother to fish them out.