The Fall of the Families

by Phillip Mann

Milligan opened the door and they trudged down the ramp which led to the rocky surface of Forge. In Indian file they plodded to the perimeter fence and there waited while Milligan killed the power and the fence faded. Then they walked through and began to follow a rough bull-dozed track which climbed into the hills.

  In the middle distance Pawl, Paris and Peron all looked like elder brothers of Odin as their black plastic smocks trailed in the dust. Odin was moving well. Once outside the camp he flowed with a strong, swaying peristaltic movement. “Take care, little one,” said Pawl with his mind. “This world is not kind to you.”

  “It is a kinder world than it looks,” came back the reply, and Odin drove on.

  At last they came to a place where the cut track ended and nothing but sand and boulder-strewn slopes faced them. Climbing became a matter of scrambling. Odin refused all help and steadily worked his way from one boulder to the next.

  Unexpectedly they came to a narrow, smooth lane. It led them upwards to an outcrop of rock which roughly resembled the face of a human being, and there they rested.

  They found themselves among low russet bushes. Peron wiped the dust from his goggles and pronounced that the air seemed clearer. He put his thumbs under the neck flap of his headpiece and lifted. Moments later, after a brief struggle, he stood panting and grimy-faced in the warm air. There was still dust, but the driving wind that had carried the dust clouds in the valley had gone. The air was thin, but he could breathe. Paris and Pawl looked at him like staring, blank-eyed owls, and then they too fumbled with their headgear and emerged sweaty and dust-stained. The fine dust of the valleys had penetrated everywhere, bedding into wrinkles so that they looked as if they were wearing war paint.

  “That’s better,” said Paris, and then he sneezed violently. They were aware of the echo of the sound as it rolled back to them.

  They looked down and could see the tumbling dust storms which flowed through the valleys like silted rivers.

  Peron picked a leaf from one of the low bushes. “This is called picket if I am not mistaken,” he said and slipped the leaf into his mouth and began to chew. Its juice was thick and malty. The aftertaste was close to aniseed. “I have read that it is medicinal. It is certainly refreshing.”

  Pawl and Paris selected leaves and began to chew. Paris spat his out quickly. “Tastes like milk,” he said.

  Pawl found the taste of the leaves invigorating but bitter, and was glad to spit the residue out over the edge of the outcrop where they rested.

  Odin did not settle. He pointed one of his stunted arms up the path and then began to glide upwards. Even without telepathy it was obvious that he was telling them that he planned to take the lead.

  “Follow slowly,” murmured Odin for Pawl’s understanding. “I have not yet made contact, but I can feel the Hammer watching. They know where we are. Be cautious. Move slowly.”

  Odin began to climb up the smooth track. “It can move quite quickly when it wants to,” observed Paris. “Have you ever seen its feet?”

  Pawl shrugged. “You don’t ask members of the Inner Circle to lift their skirts.” Paris and Peron laughed.

  Odin reached the top of the track and disappeared into a thicket after being outlined for a moment against the sky.

  “Shouldn’t we follow?” asked Peron.

  “No hurry,” replied Pawl. “Odin is our keeper. He is our ambassador. I think it is easier for him if we keep our distance. Remember the Hammer have no love of our species.”

  The three men remained sitting, listening to the silence of the mountains.

  Peron, with his eyes half-closed, looked down the long valley where they had climbed. His body had adjusted quickly and breathing was easier and the air more fulfilling. He looked at the swirling dust and the dismal rock falls and rock-strewn hills. Nowhere could he see the splash of green which he associated with life. “It has its own beauty,” he said finally. Paris looked at him.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This place. Forge. This landscape. Look at it. It has none of the gentleness of home. Here I would die quickly even with food and water. And yet there are creatures that live here and call it home and are at home. They no doubt see it as beautiful. I’m trying to understand its beauty.”

  The wind sighed in the valley. “The dust’s getting to you,” said Paris. “Now if you wanted to see beauty, you should have seen my world. There was beauty and now it is gone.”

  Above them something rattled. Dust and pebbles cascaded down on to them. They staggered to their feet and shook their headpieces and pulled them on. At first Pawl thought there was a landslide, but then he saw a vast creature moving above them. It was scrambling and sliding down the hillside, riding on the loose shingle. About twenty feet above them it came to a halt and Pawl was aware of a writhing and a brief fierce drumming and then the creature churned the rocks and scampered away. It ran in a cloud of dust up the pathway taken by Odin.

  Paris wrenched his headpiece off and spat and sneezed. He had received a mouthful of the fine dust. “What the hell was that about?” he said finally. “Were we being attacked?”

  “Attacked? No, I don’t think so,” said Pawl. “Perhaps a warning.”

  “I think we were being told to get a move on,” said Peron and that was all he would say. He blew dust from his headpiece and slung his pack on to his shoulders. Quickly the men gathered their possessions and set off on the trail of the Hammer.

  “Did it see me?” asked Peron, working his shoulder into the dry earth and keeping his head well down under cover of the boulder.

  “Hard to tell,” whispered Pawl without moving. He kept his eye pressed to the telescopic viewfinder of the vivante camera. “If it did it didn’t show it. It hasn’t blinked for the last five minutes.”

  “Shall I signal Paris?”

  Pawl nodded. “Odin should be up there by now.” There was an edge of worry in his voice. “Best if we are all together.”

  Peron squirmed round and nodded to a low outcrop of rock about ten yards from him. In response to his summons, Paris crept round the rock and began crawling like a lizard across the small clearing.

  He arrived breathless, and crouched down and tugged his mask off. Underneath his black face was running with sweat and sores had opened round his neck where the headpiece had begun to chafe. He had fallen while they were climbing and the fall had damaged the mask so that dust could creep in. “Any sign of Odin?” he breathed.

  Peron shook his head.

  They had seen Odin far above them, just reaching the place where they now hid. The small creature had evidently survived the passing of the giant Hammer. Then, just as Pawl was leading the way into the clearing, another Hammer had appeared, climbing on to a rock a mere two hundred yards in front of them. They had dived for cover. That was the situation they now found themselves in.

  “Well, at least we can get a good look at one of them,” said Pawl.

  Even at this distance, the presence of the Hammer was awesome. It sat on a long smooth rock, gripping the rock with its four rear pairs of legs. A front pair of legs lifted its torso almost upright. There was no mistaking how it gained its name. Its head was shaped like a hammer, but with a huge boss of wrinkled skin at the centre. Its black eyes located at the ends of its head were hooded and glazed against the omnipresent sand and dust.

  Below the head and eyes was a long smooth neck of red scales which ended in a nest of feelers, one of which bore an uncanny resemblance to a human arm and hand. At the centre of the feelers was a dark opening which dilated as the creature breathed.

  “Can I look?” said Paris, reaching up for the vivante camera.

  Through the eyepiece the detail was clear and sharp. He saw the folds of metallic skin rise and contract along the spine like a bellows. He saw the high jointed legs and the great bunched muscles which marked the place where the legs joined the body. He saw rows upon rows of small white feelers which rippled up and down the length of the creature’s body and which s
eemed to beat upon it. He saw the giant tail, twice as long as the Hammer’s body, which arched above it and ended in a sting, like a lantern, over the creature’s head.

  As Paris watched, it moved. Two of its front feelers reached forward and tore at something in front of it. Paris could not see clearly, but the motion was unmistakable. The dark orifice opened and revealed stumps of white bone which closed on a morsel of flesh and slowly masticated.

  He handed the camera back to Peron, who passed it to Pawl. Pawl studied the mouth. He watched it ruminate, observing the delicate way the feelers picked up small pieces of flesh and flicked them aside. A stiff pointed tongue licked out for a second and disappeared. The lips closed to a tight button-like orifice and the creature became still again. Only the frill of feelers along its back and sides moved. Faintly Pawl could hear a drumming.

  “What do you make of those things along its sides? I think they’re making the noise.” He passed the camera back to Peron. Peron switched to the greatest possible magnification and studied the rippling feelers. “They’re drumming all right,” he said as he followed the pattern of beats. It was not a regular rhythm. As he listened and watched he could detect definite changes of emphasis and pitch. “It seems to be striking its side … it can tighten its skin too.” He studied in silence for a few moments and then passed the camera to Paris. “I could be wrong,” he said, “and I know it sounds far-fetched, but it looks to me as though it is singing.”

  Paris adjusted the magnification until he could look at the whole beast. “It’s got barbs on its legs and tufts of hair at the joints,” he said. “It could rip you open just brushing against you … not to mention that tail.”

  As he was focusing on the sting Odin’s pale masked face appeared, bobbing across the viewfinder. They all watched as Odin’s small figure, clumsy-looking in the heavy black gown, appeared round the side of the Hammer and mounted the rock where it sat.

  Someone was with Odin. A tall humanoid, clothed in an identical black gown and mask, helped Odin and then perched on the rock between the legs of the Hammer.

  “Ye Gods,” said Paris. “Another of the Inner Circle. The place is crawling with them.”

  The Hammer arched its neck gracefully and observed the two newcomers. One of its feelers snaked out and helped the tall humanoid to find its place. Suddenly the volume of noise rose and the sounding feelers along its side blurred with the speed of the drumming. Abruptly it stopped and the silence seemed strange.

  The crouched humanoid turned towards where Pawl and the others were hiding and waved to them, beckoning. He placed his thin hands round his mouth and called. His voice was high and nasal and carried clearly. “Trader say come. Move legs to us. No crushing. No killing. Trader will talk.” Above him the giant barb opened and closed.

  “Well, at least that answers one question,” said Pawl. “It knows we are here.” The three looked at one another. There seemed no alternative but to break cover and advance.

  At the same moment that they stood up the Hammer reared. Holding itself with its two back pairs of legs, it raised the whole front section of its body and its neck arched as it stared at them. Its belly was pale and segmented. The muscles that had lifted the Hammer were clearly related to those that controlled its tail, for the tail rose stiff as an obelisk with the giant sting open.

  They climbed through the bushes and boulders until they were under the rock where the Hammer stood. It watched them, almost cross-eyed, and then it backed jerkily off the smooth rock. The humanoid was held high with its head close to the Hammer’s mouth. “You are to follow. Talking will be in a better place,” said the alien and then the Hammer turned and ran speedily out of sight behind some tumbled boulders. All the while it kept up its loud irregular drumming. The last they saw of it was its high tail and mighty barb cruising above the rocks.

  The rock where it had sat was completely smooth. Peron ran his hand over it. “Must be a favourite lookout point. Must have been used for centuries.” The rock was blood-spattered and the carcase of a small lizard lifted its stiff claws to the sky.

  Odin was waiting for them. He worked his way down and led them into the narrow defile where the Hammer had run. It was just wide enough to accommodate the body of one Hammer.

  Odin moved with confidence but would not answer when Pawl called and this made Pawl feel uneasy. The training he had received on Terpsichore had been thorough: here he was walking straight into an ideal ambush. Everything was at stake. His only confidence came from a knowledge of how vulnerable they were. Why, he reasoned, would the Hammer bother with ambush when they could strike so easily? From the distance came oppressive drumming.

  On either side of them rose the smooth red walls of the small canyon. Heads appeared above the walls, Hammer heads with bright black eyes. They watched the travellers, coiling and bobbing their long necks.

  “What’ll we do if they attack us?” asked Paris.

  “Fight,” said Pawl, but he knew that particle guns would not save them. All his trust was in diplomacy.

  *

  The drumming was getting louder. They rounded a bend in the track and found themselves facing, only a few hundred yards away, a steep hill. The roar that came from the hill was deafening and the three travellers clapped their hands over their ears. The hill was pock-marked with thousands of caves. Paths ran across its surface like veins. The hillside was alive with Hammer. They crawled over it and over one another and dipped into and out of the caves.

  Odin turned away from the hill. He led them down into a shallow valley, under some russet-leaved trees and past a cavern where a river plunged into the earth. A river! None of them had ever thought to see clear running water in a dry land such as this.

  Beyond the river they came to another narrow pathway which led sinuously up the hill. Waiting at the top was a solitary Hammer. It dipped its tail when it saw them looking up at it. The sound of the hill was now only a murmur like distant, undifferentiated thunder.

  “Is that Trader?” asked Paris.

  “I suppose,” replied Pawl. “Hard to tell. They all look pretty much the same.”

  They climbed and finally found themselves standing on a ledge facing a domed cave. On one side the hill fell away precipitously, so that they seemed suspended. They were at the height of the tops of the surrounding hills and could see for miles across the craggy upper plateau.

  The Hammer was waiting. It was dripping with water. The water hung like balls of glass in the tough red hair that sprouted from the joints on its legs. Its scales gleamed. It looked like a giant ornament made of red tile and beaten copper.

  The four creatures stood in an uncomfortable dirty group before it. It drummed softly and looked at them each in turn through its widespread eyes.

  “Trader says you can water if you have a mind to. Not too long. Trader busy.” The humanoid alien was still close to the Hammer’s nest of tentacles. Gently he was lowered to the ground.

  “We would all feel better for a wash,” said Pawl, removing his cumbersome mask and goggles. “The air here is sweet.”

  “I lead. You follow,” said the alien, beckoning. He entered the cave opening, and as he entered a thousand small jets of water opened up, spraying him. His gown became hazy. Pawl followed and felt jets of ice-cold water against his face and in his hair. His body under the protective dust coat was pummelled. Then he was through. He looked back at the curtain of water. It seemed as though a rainbow closed the cave door.

  Paris and Peron burst through and finally Odin. Odin paused in the doorway and let the water sluice over him. Pawl felt the waves of his contentment.

  The inside walls of the cave were covered with a creamy ceramic substance which was both cold and hard. One wall had stiff bristles sticking out from it. They were sharp and unyielding. Peron guessed that it was here that the Hammer rubbed themselves after a soaking.

  Three arches led away from the central chamber. “Where do those lead?” asked Pawl. His voice boomed in the chamber.
r />   “Sleeping rooms. Thinking rooms. Eating rooms. Children rooms. Working rooms. All rooms. All no go. Private rooms. Hammer only. Remove clothes and wash.”

  “Will you join us?” asked Peron, peeling off his dust coat.

  “I am Inner Circle.”

  “Does that mean you don’t wash?” said Paris and winked.

  The humanoid alien did not reply but folded its arms across its chest. Its mask held the familiar, slightly sardonic smile.

  Without ceremony the humans undressed in front of the alien. The fine red dust tumbled from their clothes and ran away in rivulets across the cream floor. Its resemblance to blood was unmistakable. They washed their clothes by holding them in the fine spray at the cave door and then wringing them out by hand.

  “Do you have a name?” asked Pawl.

  The tall alien bowed. “My name is Lake. You may call me Lake.”

  “We didn’t expect to find another member of the Inner Circle on this planet. What is your place here?”

  “I translate. I explain. I am useful. I am their parasite.”

  “Translate, eh?” said Paris. “Can you speak the language of the Hammer then?”

  “Not speak. Only the Hammer can speak. They have many forms to their language. I know a bit. They drum simple for me.”

  “But if you can’t speak the Hammer’s language, how can you translate? How do they understand you?”

  The alien’s body shook. It was laughing. “The Hammer do not need me to understand. They need me to translate for you. The Hammer know many languages. Any language that has sound they can master. Trader knows your language. He could hear you as you climbed the path. Trader knows my language. We often talk, in the evenings. It is not a difficult thing really.”

  That took some grasping. They looked at one another in surprise. “I never thought that that thing out there, Trader, could understand a language,” said Paris.

  “Where did Trader learn?” asked Pawl.

  “I think the Hammer often listen to your people down on the valley floor.”