A second lieutenant spotted the S.O.S. within half an hour of the films’ return. There was an immediate and intense conference. The lengths of shadows were measured. The size and slope and probable condition of the clearing’s surface were estimated.
A very light plane, intended for artillery-spotting, took off from the nearest airfield to Boulder Lake.
And Lockley and Jill heard it long before it came in sight. It flew low, threading its way among valleys and past mountain-flanks to avoid being spotted against the sky. The two beside the clearing heard it first as a faint mutter. The sound increased, diminished, then increased again.
It shot over a minor mountain-flank and surveyed the bare space with the huge letters on it. Lockley and Jill raced out into view, waving frantically. The plane circled and circled, estimating the landing conditions. It swung away to arrive at a satisfactory approach path.
It wavered. It made a half-wingover, and it side-slipped crazily, and came up and stalled and flipped on its back and dived.…
And it came out of its insane antics barely twenty feet above the ground. It raced away as close as possible to touching its wheels to earth. It went away behind the mountains. The sound of its going dwindled and dwindled and was gone. It appeared to have escaped from a deliberately set trap.
Lockley stared after it. Then he went white.
“Idiot!” he cried fiercely. “Come on! Run!”
He seized Jill’s hand. They fled together. Evidently, something had played upon the pilot of the light plane. He’d been deafened and blinded and all his senses were a shrieking tumult while his muscles knotted and his hands froze on the controls of his ship. He hadn’t flown out of the beam that made him helpless. He’d fallen out of it. And then he raced for the horizon. He got away. And it would appear to those to whom he reported that he’d arrived too late at the distress-signal. If fugitives had made it, they’d been overtaken and captured by the creatures of Boulder Lake, and there’d been an ambush set up for the plane. It was a reasonable decision.
But it puzzled the pilot’s superior officers that he hadn’t been allowed to land the plane before the beam was turned on him. He could have been paralyzed while on the ground, and he and his plane could have yielded considerable information to creatures from another world. It was puzzling.
Lockley and Jill raced for the woodland at the clearing’s edge. Lockley clamped his lips tight shut to waste no breath in speech. The arrival and the circling of the plane had been a public notice that there were fugitives here. If the beam could paralyze a pilot in mid-air, it could be aimed at fugitives on the ground.… There could be no faintest hope.…
Wholly desperate, Lockley helped Jill down a hillside and into a valley leading still farther down.
He smelled jungle, and muskiness, and decay, and flowers, and every conceivable discordant odor. Flashes of insane colorings formed themselves in his eyes. He heard the chaotic uproar which meant that his auditory nerves, like the nerves in his eyes and nostrils and skin, were stimulated to violent activity, reporting every kind of message they could possibly report all at once.
He groaned. He tried to find a hiding-place for Jill so that if or when the invaders searched for her, they would not find her. But he expected his muscles to knot in spasm and cramp before he could accomplish anything.
They didn’t. The smell lessened gradually. The meaningless flashings of preposterous color grew faint. The horrible uproar his auditory nerves reported, ceased. He and Jill had been at the mercy of the unseen operator of the terror beam. Perhaps the beam had grazed them, by accident. Or it could have been weakened.…
It was very puzzling.
CHAPTER 5
When darkness fell, Lockley and Jill were many miles away from the clearing where he had made the S.O.S. They were under a dense screen of leaves from a monster tree whose roots rose above ground at the foot of its enormous trunk. They formed a shelter of sorts against observation from a distance. Lockley had spotted a fallen tree far gone with wood-rot. He broke pieces of the punky stuff with his fingers. Then he realized that without a pot the bracken shoots he’d gathered could not be cooked. They had to be boiled or not cooked at all.
“We’ll call it a salad,” he told Jill, “minus vinegar and oil and garlic, and eat what we can.”
She’d been pale with exhaustion before the sun sank, but he hadn’t dared let her rest more than was absolutely necessary. Once he’d offered to carry her for a while, but she’d refused. Now she sat drearily in the shelter of the roots, resting.
“We might try for news,” he suggested.
She made an exhausted gesture of assent. He turned on the tiny radio and tuned it in. There was no scarcity of news, now. A few days past, news went on the air on schedule, mostly limited to five-minute periods in which to cover all the noteworthy events of the world. Part of that five minutes, too, was taken up by advertising matter from a sponsor. Now music was rare. There were occasional melodies, but most were interrupted for new interpretations of the threat to earth at Boulder Lake. Every sort of prominent person was invited to air his views about the thing from the sky and the creatures it brought. Most had no views but only an urge to talk to a large audience. Something, though, had to be put on the air between commercials.
The actual news was specific. Small towns around the fringe of the Park area were being evacuated of all their inhabitants. Foreign scientists had been flown to the United States and were at the temporary area command post not far from Boulder Lake. Rocket missiles were aimed and ready to blast the lake and the mountains around it should the need arise. A drone plane had been flown to the lake with a television camera transmitting back everything its lens saw. It arrived at the lake and its camera relayed back exactly nothing that had not been photographed and recorded before. But suddenly there was a crash of static and the drone went out of control and crashed. Its camera faithfully transmitted the landscape spinning around until its destruction. Military transmitters were beaming signals on every conceivable frequency to what was now universally called the alien spaceship. They had received no replies. The foreign scientists had agreed that the terror beam—paralysis beam—death beam—was electronic in nature.
Lockley had thought Jill asleep from pure weariness, but her voice came out of the darkness beside the big tree trunk.
“You found that out!” she said. “About its being electronic!”
“I had a sample stationary beam to check on,” said Lockley. “They haven’t. Which may be a bad thing. Nobody’s going to make useful observations of something that makes him blind and deaf and paralyzed while he’s in the act. There are some things that puzzle me about that. Why haven’t they killed anybody yet? They’ve got the public about as scared as it can get without some killing. And why didn’t we get the full force of the beam after the plane had been driven away? They could have given us the full treatment if they’d wanted to. Why didn’t they?”
“If people run away from the towns,” said Jill’s voice, very tired and sleepy, “maybe they think that’s enough. They can take the towns.…”
Lockley did not answer, and Jill said no more. Her breathing became deep and regular. She was so weary that even hunger could not keep her awake.
Lockley tried to think. There was the matter of food. Bracken shoots were common enough but unsubstantial. It would need more careful observation to note all the likely spots for mushrooms. Perhaps they were far enough from the lake to take more time hunting food. They were almost exactly in the situation of Australian bushmen who live exclusively by foraging, with some not-too-efficient hunting. But Australian savages were not as finicky as Jill and himself. They ate grubs and insects. For this sort of situation, prejudices were a handicap.
He considered the idea with sardonic appreciation. Two days of inadequate food and such ideas came! But he and Jill wouldn’t be the only ones to think such things if matters continued as they were going. The towns around Boulder Lake were being evacuated. The cord
on about it had been made to retreat. There was panic not only in America, but everywhere. In Europe there were wild rumors of other landings of other ships of space. The stock markets would undoubtedly close tomorrow, if they hadn’t closed today. There’d be the beginning of a mass exodus from the larger cities, starting quietly but building up to frenzy as those who tried to leave jammed all the routes by which they could get away. If the creatures of the spaceship wanted more than the flight of all humans from about their landing place, there would be genuine trouble. Let them move aggressively and there would be panic and disorder and pure catastrophe, with self-exiled city dwellers desperate from hunger because they were away from market centers. It looked as if a dozen or two monsters could wreck a civilization without the need to kill one single human being directly.
He heard a sound. He turned off the radio, gripping the clumsy club which was probably useless against anything really threatening.
The sound continued. There were rustlings of leaves, and then faint rattling, almost clicking noises. Whatever the creature was, it was not large. It seemed to amble tranquilly through the forest and the night, neither alarmed nor considering itself alarming.
The clickings again. And suddenly Lockley knew what it was. Of course! He’d heard it in the compost pit shell, when he was a prisoner of the invaders from space. He rose and moved toward the noise. The creature did not run away. It went about its own affairs with the same peaceful indifference as before. Lockley ran into a tree. He stumbled over a fallen branch on the ground. He came to the place where the creature should be. There was silence. He flicked the flint of his pocket lighter and in the flash of brightness he saw his prey. It had heard his approach. It was a porcupine, prudently curled up into a spiky ball and placidly defying all carnivores, including men. A porcupine is normally the one wild creature without an enemy. Even men customarily spare it because so often it has saved the lives of lost hunters and half-starved travelers. It accomplishes this by its bland refusal to run away from anybody.
Lockley classed himself as a half-starved traveler. He struck with the club after a second spark from his lighter-flint.
Presently he had a small, barely smouldering fire of rotted wood. He cooked over it, and the smell of cooking roused Jill from her exhausted slumber.
“What—”
“We’re having a late supper,” said Lockley gravely. “A midnight snack. Take this stick. There’s a loin of porcupine on it. Be careful! It’s hot!”
Jill said, “Oh-h-h-h!” Then, “Is there more for you?”
“Plenty!” he assured her. “I hunted it down with my trusty club, and only got stuck a half-dozen times while I was skinning and cleaning it.”
She ate avidly, and when she’d finished he offered more, which she refused until he’d had a share.
They did not quite finish the whole porcupine, but it was an odd and companionable meal, there in the darkness with the barely-glowing coals well-hidden from sight. Lockley said, “I’m sort of a news addict. Shall we see what the wild radio waves are saying?”
“Of course,” said Jill. She added awkwardly: “Maybe it’s the sudden food, but—I hope you’ll remain my friend after this is all over. I don’t know anyone else I’d say that to.”
“Consider,” said Lockley, “that I’ve made an eloquent and grateful reply.”
But his expression in the darkness was not happy. He’d fallen in love with Jill after meeting her only twice, and both times she had been with Vale. She intended to marry Vale. But on the evidence at hand Vale was either dead or a prisoner of the invaders; if the last, his chances of living to marry Jill did not look good, and if the first, this was surely no time to revive his memory.
He found a news broadcast. He suspected that most radio stations would stay on the air all night, now that it was officially admitted that the object in Boulder Lake was a spaceship bringing invaders to earth. The government releases spoke of them as “visitors,” in a belated use of the term, but the public was suspicious of reassurances now. At the beginning the landing had seemed like another exaggerated horror tale of the kind that kept up newspaper circulations. Now the public was beginning to believe it, and people might stop going to their offices and the trains might cease to ran on time. When that happened, disaster would be at hand.
The news came in a resonant voice which revealed these facts:
Four more small towns had been ordered evacuated because of their proximity to Boulder Lake. The radiation weapon of the aliens had pushed back the military cordon by as much as five miles. But the big news was that the aliens had broken radio silence. Apparently they’d examined and repaired the short wave communicator from the helicopter they’d knocked down.
Shortly after sundown, said the news report, a call had come through on a military short wave frequency. It was a human voice, first muttering bewilderedly and then speaking with confusion and uneasiness. The message had been taped and now was released to the public.
“What the hell’s this…? Oh.… What do you characters want me to do? This feels like the short wave set from the ’copter.… Hmm.… You got it turned on.… What’ll I do with it, Broadcast? I don’t know whether you want me to talk to you or to back home, wherever that is.… Maybe you want me to say I’m havin’ a fine time an’ wish you was here.… I’m not. I wish I was there.… If this is goin’ on the air I’m Joe Blake, radio man on the ’copter two ’leven. We were headin’ in to Boulder Lake when I smelled a stink. Next second there were lights in my eyes. They blinded me. Then I heard a racket like all hell was loose. Then I felt like I had hold of a power transmission line. I couldn’t wiggle a finger. I stayed that way till the ’copter crashed. When I come to, I was blindfolded like I am now. I don’t know what happened to the other guys. I haven’t seen ’em. I haven’t seen anything! But they just put me in front of what I think is the ’copter’s short wave set an’ squeaked at me—”
The recorded voice ended abruptly. The news announcer’s voice came back. He said that the member of the ’copter crew had given some other information before he was arbitrarily cut off.
“I’ll bet,” said Lockley when the newscast ended, “I’ll bet the other information was that the invaders have managed to tell him that earth must surrender to them!”
“Why?”
“What else would they want to say? To come and play patty-cake, when they can push the Army around at will and have managed to keep planes from flying anywhere near them? They may not know we’ve got atom bombs, but I’ll bet they do! Part of that extra information could have been a warning not to try to use them. It would be logical to bluff even on that, though they couldn’t make good.”
Jill said very carefully, “You hinted once that they might be men, pretending to be monsters. But that would mean that somebody I care about would probably be killed because he’d seen them and knew they weren’t creatures from beyond the stars.”
“I think you can forget that idea,” said Lockley. “They don’t act like men. Chasing away the plane that was going to land for us, and not using the beam on the fugitives it was plainly going to land for—that’s not like men preparing to take over a continent! And nudging the Army back to make the cordoned space larger—that’s not like our most likely human enemy, either. They’d wipe out the cordon by stepping up the terror beam to death ray intensity.”
“Suppose they couldn’t?”
“They wouldn’t have landed with a weapon that couldn’t kill anybody,” said Lockley. “It’s much more likely that they’re monsters. But they don’t act like monsters, either.”
Jill was silent for a moment.
“Not even monsters who wanted to make friends?”
“They,” said Lockley drily, “would hardly make a surprise landing. They’d have parked on the moon and squeaked at us until we got curious, and then they’d arrange to land, or to meet men in orbit, or something. But they didn’t. They made a surprise landing, and cleared a big space of humans, keeping themselv
es to themselves. But if they do think we’re animals, like rabbits, they’d kill people instead of stinging them up a bit, or paralyzing them for a while and then letting them go. That’s not like any monster I can imagine!”
“Then—”
“You’d better go to sleep,” said Lockley. “We’ve got a long day’s hike before us tomorrow.”
“Yes-s-s,” agreed Jill reluctantly. “Good-night.”
“’Night,” said Lockley curtly.
He stayed awake. It was amusing that he was uneasy about wild animals. There were predators in the Park, and he had only an improvised club for a weapon. But he knew well enough that most animals avoid man because of a bewildering sudden development of instinct.
Grizzly bears, before the white man came, were so scornful of man that they could be considered the dominant species in North America. They’d been known to raid a camp of Indians to carry away a man for food. Indian spears and arrows were simply ineffective against them. When Stonewall Jackson was a lieutenant in the United States Army, stationed in the West to protect the white settlers, he and a detachment of mounted troopers were attacked without provocation by a grizzly who was wholly contemptuous of them. The then Lieutenant Jackson rode a horse which was blind in one eye, and he maneuvered to get the bear on the horse’s blind side so he could charge it. With his cavalry sabre he split the grizzly’s skull down to its chin. It was the only time in history that a grizzly bear was ever killed by a man with a sword. But no grizzly nowadays would attack a man unless cornered. Even cubs with no possible experience of humankind are terrified by the scent of men.
All that was true enough. In addition, preparations for the Park included much activity by the Wild Life Control unit, which persuaded bears to congregate in one area by putting out food for them, and took various other measures for deer and other animals. It had seeded trout streams with fingerlings and the lake itself with baby big-mouthed bass. The huge trailer truck of Wild Life Control was familiar enough. Lockley had seen it headed up to the lake the day before the landing. Now he found himself wondering sardonically to what degree the Wild Life Control men determined where mountain lions should hunt.
The Murray Leinster Megapack Page 204