His musings were broken off by the alarm bell and the intercom’s squawk. “All hands! Battle stations! Chief, three natives just popped up from a hole in the ground about two hundred meters away. Strong radar indication.”
As Stuart ran down to his post at the airlock, he heard Gordon’s calm voice from the intercom. “All right, Brettner. Keep them covered, but don’t fire.”
At the lock, the linguist remembered to punch the personnel buttons as the men climbed in, out of breath and swearing. He pushed the stud beside his own name last and shut the lock as the “All Aboard” shone green.
Gordon spoke again, apparently to someone in the control room with him. “They’ve evidently lugged a disrupter or something along a tunnel. Seem to have a couple of big beasts of burden carrying a gadget. . . . looks like one of those old pack howitzers. Let’s wait ‘til they get it nearly assembled, so we can get an idea of—hup! Let’s GO!”
~ * ~
Stuart had forgotten to buckle his safety straps. He just had time to grab a stanchion when the violent acceleration tripled his weight and nearly threw him to the floor. No more than a heartbeat later, there was a muffled boom from outside the ship, and a section of blazing tree went rocketing past the glassite window.
After a few seconds’ acceleration he felt the ship take on a horizontal component. The pressure eased off. He got up from his hands and knees and adjusted the periscope controls until he got a view of the ground. There was a group of burning trees several kilometers below, sliding rapidly to the east. Several times the scenery shifted rapidly as the ship zigzagged.
As he swung the ‘scope, Stuart was thunderstruck to discover a hole blasted in the edge of a fin, not four meters away from where he stood. Shreds of charred camouflage netting fluttered in tangled strings.
On the intercom, White’s voice broke the tense silence. “Gimme that again, slowly, somebody. What happened, any-way?
Gordon answered. “That must have been a tunnel they came out of, right at the edge of the woods. Maybe they use it to get home if hell-cats happen to catch them out on the prairie. That fellow we caught today was probably heading for it, hoping to lose the cats in the woods first.”
After a moment, he added, “Anyway, they showed up with a heavy weapon and nearly got us. Patrol guessed wrong about its portability, and I guessed wrong about its operation.”
Stuart commented, “Good thing someone happened to be on duty in the turret, and we were able to take off on such short notice.”
“Happened!” barked the captain. “Mr. Stuart, that’s the first rule of any ship landing on territory listed as ‘unsafe,’ and it “happens’ to be Rules Seven through Sixteen of the Patrol Regulations!”
Brettner eased the linguist’s embarrassment by changing the subject a little. “Did you all see the colossal helpers they had carrying that weapon? Must be what the traders called heffalumps ... I thought the pictures were fakes. Those critters practically did the shooting themselves, and they were talking to the natives! This is some planet—everybody talks to everybody except us!”
Gordon spoke again. “White, I want you to rig up a mosaic alarm with controls in the turret, Number One Lock, and control room. . . . before tonight, if possible. Jury-rig it, just so it goes off when anything larger than a mossback moves near the ship. Get as much range as you can.”
“That means dismantling the space-probe and comparator, boss. Not enough spare checkerboards to scan three hundred and sixty degrees with a decent vertical coverage. And for stereo-perception, so the thing can discriminate between a nearby leaf and a far-away heffalump-”
“All right, do the best you can. Can you hook it up with an infra-red snooper for night work? I don’t believe the natives can see infra-red. ... I hope. Procyon’s a little farther toward the blue than Sol is.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Can’t get very good resolution with the electro-optical stuff we have for infra-red. We had to weed out four tons, you know, and the Hollmann scanners are three and a half parsecs back, in our shop.”
Stuart noticed that the ship’s course had steadied. A look through the ‘scope showed the recently abandoned clearing now swinging under the stern again, far below. He was about to take a picture of it when Gordon called him.
“Stuart, will you go to the drive room and give Nestor a hand? He’s scanning the area with micro-wave, and I want you to use the stern-view telescope. Those characters may have decided to go back to their base without using the tunnel; maybe we can keep out of sight and get a good fix on where they hole up.”
~ * ~
The linguist retracted the periscope and saw to it that the guard plates slid over the outer lens. Then he dodged through the radiation trap into the darkened drive room. He was wondering how to strap himself into the seat without taking off all his photographic gear, when Nestor, peering into the radar screen, snapped his fingers.
“Got a blip, Gordon,” said the engineer with suppressed excitement. “One metallic object about the size of a foot-locker, maybe a little bigger. Boy, do those rocks show up! Must be nearly all metal.”
In a moment the leader answered. “I believe I see something. Awkward angle, though, on this turret telescope. How about you, Stuart?”
“No, frankly, I-”
Gordon cut in. “What magnification are you using?”
“Let me see . . . all I can get—sixty-four diameters.”
‘Too much; cut it down to twelve. Center your ‘scope. Now look at the cross-hair grids. Find the lower part of F-7; you should see something around there.”
“More likely F-6 from here,” put in Nestor. “That’s where my indication is.”
“Oh, yes! I see them. Three natives and two. . . . My goodness, those heffalumps are big! Almost as big as elephants!”
Gordon answered, “Yes, and apparently considerably more useful. Well, keep a sharp watch on the group. Let me know where they go, and be sure you mark the spot on a large-scale sketch or photo. I’ve got to send off a report to Patrol; we’re keeping them posted on every development.”
“Like a bomb-defusing squad,” said Nestor hollowly. “The next crew will take up where we left off, see?”
The ship, swinging slowly ahead of the little raiding party, came to a stop about six kilometers above and slightly beyond the coral rocks.
White spoke over the intercom. “I don’t think they’ll see us here. We’re in the sun. But keep yourselves strapped in, gang; we’re going to move in a hurry if they point that thing at us. You guys below let me know if they do anything suspicious. I can’t see too much on the control room screens.”
In the drive room, the power hummed softly. Relays clicked occasionally as the minutes passed. The creatures on the ground entered a faint trail winding among the hills of bright coral rock. Now and then one of the heffalumps stopped and adjusted the load on his back, using the middle two of his six limbs. Nestor nudged the language expert’s arm.
“Looks like they’re getting close to home. Better get set to take some pictures.”
Stuart nodded, having already picked up a plate magazine, and loaded the camera box on the side of the telescope. He adjusted the controls from time to time with nervous delicacy, occasionally tapping the shutter button. Suddenly he switched to higher magnification, exclaiming, “There they go! Into that cave!” He took three pictures in rapid succession at different magnifications. He also banged his nose hard on the eyepiece, and wondered some hours later how it came to be so tender.
~ * ~
There was a clatter of feet on the steel ladder. Gordon came running over to him, an unfinished report in one hand and a half-eaten hamburger in the other. “Lessee,” he demanded.
The linguist showed him. Only the cave mouth could be seen now, black in the hot sunlight. It was halfway up a hill of dense coral, and was protected from the front by another hill.
The chief took a bite of hamburger and grinned at Stuart “This is a bit of luck,” he said happily throu
gh the mouthful. “We wouldn’t have found that hideout in ten years if they hadn’t taken a potshot at us!”
Nestor exhaled cigarette smoke, looking cynical. “Swell. What do we do now? Wave a hankie at them?”
Gordon’s expression became less cheerful. “We don’t know yet. Things have moved a little fast. But whatever we do, we’ll have to get it done fast. You guys might as well know now what came in a little while ago on the radio.” He drew a deep breath. “An Invader base has been discovered—within striking distance of this area. It’s a jolt, of course, but at least we’ve finally discovered a base of theirs. Earth Central says either we close this deal in four days or the planet will have to be taken over the hard way.”
Stuart shook his head sadly, thinking of the already-ruined cities below. “Our little firm had better live up to its name,” he said.
Gordon nodded. “A task force is already on the way.”
Brettner had come cat-footed down the ladder. “There’s one way to hustle things up,” he growled, patting his hip holster. “I wish you’d let me blister their stern-plates a little. Little old Frontier Lawyer here would teach ‘em some manners right now!”
Stuart repressed a shudder.
The captain strode over and confronted the scout with a frown. “That’s what we’re here to avoid, Mr. Brettner, and you know it. Our weapons are purely for defense, and there’d be hell raised if we harmed any natives. If we got out of here alive, we’d lose our million credits and all our expenses, as well as being tried for unauthorized warlike acts.” He sounded hoarse with fatigue and irritation. “Get over any belligerent ideas you may have. That goes for all of you—at least on this trip.”
He looked sternly at the group a moment, then nodded toward the ladder. “Let’s go have a conference. Nestor, will you stay here and keep a sharp eye on that hideout?”
The chubby engineer leaned back in the seat, swung the eyepiece over into a comfortable position, and sighed. “Yeah, all right. Somebody better bring me some food before long, though. I’m dying.”
~ * ~
IV
Up in the “conference room,” the men gathered about Gordon at the controls. He checked the autopilot and sat drumming his fingers on the desk. Finally he looked squarely at the language expert. “Mr. Stuart. ... it seems fairly obvious now that the outcome of this entire expedition depends almost solely on you. You’re the one who knows how to convey ideas, probably as well as any human being alive, according to the information we got before we asked you to join us. All the rest of us can do is run this ship and make like space-fighters.”
He raised a hand at Stuart’s beginning protest, and went on. “Let me finish my little speech. You’re trained for this sort of thing, even if you do lack non-Terrestrial experience. You figured out the elements of the Alpha Centauri II and IV languages from nothing but sound movies, a few years back. Now, what I’m getting at is this: you tell us what has to be done, and we’ll try to figure out a way to do it. We’re starting from scratch, of course; that meteor, by a million-to-one chance, ruined all our previous plans.”
Stuart pulled at his ear a moment. “Well, all those plans were designed to give me at least the minimum amount of observation I’d need to prepare a friendly message. Now, while my stock of Azuran symbols is still zero, we’ve gained some information. It’s too bad we lost the horses and bloodhounds, for the combination can’t be beaten when it’s a matter of finding someone in hiding. However, we do know where at least three natives are. And personally, I don’t regret it a bit that I’ll not make use of those hasty riding lessons.”
He paused, and White spoke up. “Even if we do know where some of them are, I don’t see how we can use Plan One. How can we set up hidden microphones and telicons, when the ruddy natives live in a cave?”
Brettner, looking disgusted, added, “Even when we catch one of the critters by dumb luck, he won’t talk. Trained not to. And that tears up the second plan.”
The captain nodded. “And our third scheme ... to watch and wait, using long-range equipment, and play for the breaks. That sure seemed like a flexible plan. But of course it was blown all over the Milky Way along with our food. Anyway, the news from Patrol makes speed essential.”
There was glum silence for a while. Then Rogers offered, “There must be some way we can use our knowledge of where at least three of them are hiding—even if the place is defended with a natural barricade and a souped-up pack howitzer.”
After a thoughtful moment, the little language expert cleared his throat hesitantly. “Er—I should like to suggest something . . .” They all looked at him, making him feel rather self-conscious, but he went on. “You said something about an old-fashioned billboard, Gordon, that got me thinking. I have a good many pictures of the expedition and our activities—” he reddened, remembering the frequent ribbings about his photographic activity “—and I can make a few sketches for the rest of it. You see, I was thinking we could sneak down there at night and leave a series of pictures where the natives would find them in the morning.”
He was talking rapidly now, full of steam, pacing back and forth. “The pictures would show that we are not the Invaders, that we are friendly—I took pictures of Rogers helping the monkey-rats, for instance—and then we could have a couple of pictures of Terrestrials and Azurans exchanging gifts.” He stopped, embarrassed, wondering whether his scheme sounded naive to these practical men. “It—it’s been tried before with considerable success ... in some cases.”
Gordon thought it over a while, rubbing the stubble on his cheeks. “Might work,” he mused aloud. “What about setting up an automatic-sequence gimmick of some kind, controlled from here while we watch their reaction with a telescope? We could turn the pages, see? ... or should we just tack up a string of pictures along the path?”
Rogers sat forward. “Machine might be better, if we can rig it up soon enough. Separate pictures might get blown away or something, for all we know, or some kind of critter might destroy ‘em.”
~ * ~
Stuart stopped pacing and squinted at the ceiling. “Yes, I like the machine. We could include a little pick-up unit so I could record and analyze their comments, knowing just what they were looking at. That would really help a lot.” He snapped his fingers, struck with inspiration. “What about ending the little show with a real surprise? A gift that would really demonstrate our good intentions?”
What did he consider a suitable gift?
“A blast rifle!” he answered boldly.
“What the devil!” exclaimed Gordon. The others indicated various degrees of consternation. They stared at Stuart as if he had suggested turning pirate. But he showed a firmness that was new to them—and to himself.
“Nothing else will do the trick as simply and surely,” he insisted. “In the first place, their most desperate need, as they see it right now, is probably an efficient but simple weapon of some sort, capable of being enlarged into a heavy defensive piece of great range. I understand our blast rifle is such a weapon. I believe they live in absolute terror of another attack, and they apparently have little or no technology left with which to prepare for such an attack. Hence their going underground.”
He paused to let the point sink in. “And in the second place, it seems reasonable to believe they would understand our good intentions from such a gift. Surely they will see that no one planning an aggressive move is going to arm his intended victims first! Their behavior certainly indicates that they are accustomed to direct action, rather than to Machiavellian subtleties of plot and counter-plot.”
Nestor stuck out a skeptical lower lip. “How will they know we’re making a gesture that means anything? I mean, they still might figure the gun is just a little toy in our league, and that we’re not running any risk at all by giving it to them.”
Stuart hesitated before replying. He nodded in appreciation of intelligent analysis. “That’s a difficult point which will have to be worked out later . . . possibly on the
spot. First of all, we shall have to establish contact. It will also be necessary to show them we have a defensive screen, too—which they would doubtless be overjoyed to have—and that we are willing to turn it off and trust them. It will be a delicate and intriguing problem in psycho-logic.”
Rogers shook his head and laughed a little. “It sounds as cockeyed as ‘Uncle Willie’ Ulo’s stories about Sirius V. But, so help me, I believe it’d work!” All at once his expression changed, and he looked hard at the expert. “One thing, though, mister. I know I wouldn’t care for the job! Who’s going to be the guinea-pig and go down for the first little chat with them?”
Stuart smiled thinly. “Who will bell the cat, eh? Another fair question. Well, I shall set up the apparatus, and of course I intend to try out its effect, too. I shall confront the natives myself after they have received our picture message and the gun.”
Travelers of Space - [Adventures in Science Fiction 03] Page 35