Star Ship on Saddle Mountain

by Richard Ackley

  Chemical lighting, came the informative impulse, as Charlie momentarily wondered what type of power they used. It is unlike your primitive and somewhat dangerous electrical charges.

  Startled back into concern about his own immediate danger, Charlie looked closely at the three tall figures, trying to understand which one had just spoken to him. It was hard to ask a direct question of all three. But he was puzzled, for there was no way he could tell one thought wave from another, or know whether or not all three were speaking to him each time.

  There is, came the impulse, as they stared back at Charlie from under the masking hoods, but that will take time. You

  are not yet familiar enough with the interplanetary tongue to note its finer delineations. But you shall learn them.

  Not too concerned as to whether or not he would ever learn to distinguish between their mental impulses, Charlie strongly felt the need to get out, to get away from this strange space ship. He wondered just where he was on the ship.

  This is the lower dome or base tier deck as your world might call it. Or perhaps you may term it, the lower deck.

  "Your world," Charlie thought, and as he thought it, he realized they had unintentionally slipped, giving him the answer he was sure of, yet had wanted to get from them. They were from another world.

  Now as he watched them, the three figures began to remove the mysterious black hoods, and the black coverall robes they had worn out on the desert. Charlie's thoughts tumbled crazily as he wondered just what kind of beings they would be—were they human—what would they look like?

  Remembering they had read his earlier thoughts, he was suddenly paralyzed with fear, afraid they had read the terrible question, the uncertainty in his mind about them. They had.

  To the prime thought now frozen in your impulse glands, came the impulse, you shall have the answer.

  And as he waited, staring at them, they removed the hoods, letting the black robes to which they were attached fall away to the deck entirely. Charlie stood face to face with them—the three aliens from another world.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Nightmare

  As the black hooded garments fell to the deck, Charlie saw with a wave of relief that the aliens were human beings. Their long, angular faces reminded him of the nickname "horseface" back in school, except that the long faces of these alien men were fairly good-looking. But most of all, he noticed their large and very bright eyes, as they stared at him now. The great eyes of the men had very bright center pupils of flashing green, circled by a thin gold band around the eye ball that looked a little like flashing gold sparks. The outer part around the thin gold line was white like Earthmen, Charlie noted, and very clear. Charlie thought they looked a little like the eyes of green-eyed tigers.

  Wondering just why they had put on the black-hooded robes and boots over their more comfortable and better

  looking uniform, Charlie received an immediate answer.

  These are 'protective clothing, necessary to protect us against the radiated surface of your world sun blasted by the Sun. We are not accustomed to the Sun's pure light and its continued effect upon us, therefore this protection against your gamma-rayed surface.

  "Thank you," Charlie said, "for the information."

  Aware that they were not particularly curious about him, he continued to watch them, noticing the way their hair grew straight up instead of down like his own. All of them had yellow, really gold-colored hair, and it was short-cut like a crew-cut but still it looked a lot different. It grew in a mild spiral, up toward the crowning back part of their head, just as many Earth people's hair spirals from the crown, but in a downward direction. Charlie finally decided that it didn't look too bad. He pulled up the carefully-weighed thought, just as he noticed one of the alien men smile a little. Charlie couldn't help wondering if all the people of their world had that same natural duck-butt style hair that grew up, curving away to the back of their heads. In a way, it sort of streamlined them, and it reminded Charlie of the pictures he had seen of Mercury.

  Seeming to pay no attention to him at all, the aliens went about changing clothes, swiftly communicating among themselves. Charlie looked them over further, especially their unusual clothing. Under the black robes they wore short shoulder capes. Now that the hoods were off, they furled these capes back over their shoulders. The capes were a brilliant cobalt blue with square or blocked gold figures along

  the broad band bordering them. The inside was a silver color. Under his cape each man wore a skin-tight type of shirt that looked like fish net, and through this showed very pale pink skin. As he was puzzling about the fish net shirt instead of solid cloth, Charlie got the impulse from one of the aliens who glanced at him a moment.

  For circulatory stimulation of the surface tissue, so that the skin might breathe properly.

  "Thanks, again," Charlie said.

  He noticed they seemed fairly young, about as old as his uncle. They were not half as old as they appeared in those black robes which made them look like ancient monks. But all of them were at least a foot or more taller than Charlie, in spite of the fact that he was as tall as most Earthmen. Charlie wondered what kind of sports they had on their own world, for they all seemed pretty well built and they would be good at basketball or whatever contests their world had. He almost asked them about their sports—but checked himself. It might give them the idea that he wanted to stay with them—and that was the last thing Charlie wanted to happen.

  They were paying him no attention at all, and Charlie had a sudden angry thought. He wondered if they were ignoring him now, telling him nothing of why they were holding him either, just because of his age.

  No, Primitive, came the casual impulse response, we have no concern with your years. Nor are we concerned with the problems of your small culture on this world. Neither interests us.

  Charlie didn't have time to open his mouth. They were already walking toward the center of the deck. Hardly had they reached the large cylinder-like pillar at the deck's center when a panel slid open silently. All three alien men entered without a backward glance at him. The panel closed.

  He was still angry at their casual manner. He couldn't get his mind off the mystery of where they came from, who they were, and what they wanted.

  Alone with Navajo, Charlie thought for a long time about the strange aliens, their tallness and well-formed bodies, and the familiar human qualities they had shown. • But in spite of his relief at not finding the aliens to be some unbelievable monster beings, he still couldn't forget the flashing green and gold of their eyes, and the tiger look it gave them.

  "Nav, I don't think I'd want to come across those eyes in some dark place. So maybe it's a good thing they did wear those doggone protective hoods, when we first saw them."

  Navajo gave a low, brief whinny in reply and bounced the head harness up and down as he showed his approval. Charlie knew he didn't understand all his words, but he grinned quickly and hugged the old horse about the neck. Whatever he said, old Navajo always thought it was right.

  Charlie went to where they had piled up their protective clothing. It was made of something that looked like a type of plastic material, very fine and light as feathers, and even ! the heavy looking boots surprised Charlie with their lightness. But he still couldn't figure why they needed protective • clothing, in spite of what they said. And most of all', they certainly shouldn't need such clothes when the Sun had long

  gone down. He wished he had asked them where they came from.

  Trying to locate the paneling in the big circular pillar in the deck's center, he could find no crack at all or the slightest trace of where a door might have been. The metal was finely lined, grooved all over, and he was sure that one of those hairline grooves must be the door crack—but which one, he didn't know. Charlie pounded on it several times, but only the dull echo of the hollow sound came back to him on the empty deck. The aliens were now somewhere else in the great ship.

  Going to the outer rim of
the deck, Charlie circled the entire tier, with Navajo clippety-clopping along behind him, stopping when he did, as they both got nowhere. There was no possible opening. He could dimly see the rusty iron-red surface of Saddle Mountain outside, as he stared through the broad band of window that circled the entire deck without a break. As he peered out now the indirect lighting went out about the deck, its glow fading down to nothing. There, far down, he could see the desert's flat sandy floor, some fifty feet below the ship! He had no idea that the platform, the floor of the lower deck, had risen that high above the ground. There was no one in sight out there anywhere. No one he could signal to, and maybe get them to warn the authorities. Only blank desert, with the distant mountains across the lake to the East, far beyond his own land around the Shack. He and Navajo were completely alone.

  He was aware suddenly that he was very tired from being up all night. He sat down on the smooth deck of the tier.

  Perhaps, when morning came, someone passing far off there on the roadway along Lake Havasu might see the big ship. At any rate, he'd need what rest he could get right now, to make his get-away later. Besides, Navajo was already lying down, resting quietly, so there couldn't be any immediate danger from the aliens. Navajo would know. Telling himself everything was all right for the moment, Charlie stretched: out on the deck.

  He was unable to sleep because of a soreness in his throat, so he sat up again a few minutes later. The night was almost gone, and the first gray light of morning was lighting the desert, over to the East on the ridges far across the lake. Rubbing his throat and wondering why it had to get so sore at a time like this, Charlie tried again to sleep. Then he felt it. A gentle probing— something prying into his mind, pushing aside his sleepy thoughts and trying to get his attention! His thoughts about sleep and the near morning were gone in a flash. Charlie knew now just what that probing was.

  It was another mind, an alien's thoughts, reaching into his own mind! Startled, Charlie looked quickly about the great empty deck. Even in the semi-darkness he could see there was no one there. And as he continued to look about, Navajo pricked up his ears. The old horse had noticed the impulse, too.

  "Who—who are you?" Charlie asked aloud, hearing the echo of his own words roll around the deck. "I want to get out of here—" and Charlie jumped to his feet. "Why are you keeping me in here?"

  Charlie felt a little foolish, since he might have only been 1 dreaming, and only answering a thought in his own mind. He put out a hand to Navajo beside him, as he told himself he had heard something, he was sure. It was an impulse. Just like the ones from the aliens. Now, he got the same mild impulse again, clearer, more definite than before.

  I am Dondee, said the tentative and somewhat uncertain thought wave. What is your name, Primitive?

  Charlie puzzled over this first question, wondering which one of the three aliens was contacting him. His first fears gone, he felt a little bit annoyed at the mental picture of a wild man, a primitive. But he was sure that's what the impulse meant. About to shout back and tell the alien to let him alone, to let him go home, Charlie frowned as he reconsidered.

  As he thought about it, Charlie realized that this particular impulse wasn't as strong or impersonal as the impulses from the three aliens earlier. Though he wasn't used to telepathy, he felt sure the other three aliens had a much stronger impulse, a different tone from this last impulse. In this one he thought he recognized a certain friendliness, a curiosity. Whoever this alien was, he was not one of the other three who had captured him.

  "Can—can you hear me?" Charlie said aloud, "when I talk like this now?"

  "No, Primitive, I cannot hear you. But I can read your impulses clearly, since you think what you speak aloud. I am in the central tier above you, so I must read your impulses, even as you speak them also. But that is all right. They still register on the mental lanes, Primitive."

  For the first time, Charlie felt he was really talking to an alien, even though it was done by telepathic impulse, in answer to his own spoken words.

  "They do?" Charlie replied finally, "You mean, my words, what I say, shows up on the mental lanes?"

  Charlie realized that those other three aliens had heard his thoughts, even though he hadn't spoken, as when he was back inside the Shack.

  "Primitive?"

  "Yes?" Charlie replied, though he didn't much care for the name.

  "I can also read the thoughts of your animal, since they register on the mental lanes, too."

  "They do?" Charlie said, glancing at Navajo.

  "Yes. The animal is now thinking of something called apples"

  Charlie laughed a little bit in the darkness, as the old horse sighed lightly and continued on with his own personal thoughts.

  "You mean, you're really using telepathy, to talk to me from another deck—and you're not around here somewhere, where I can't see you?"

  "Yes, Primitive, if telepathy is what you term the mental interplanetary tongue. From my own understanding of your tongue, I believe you mean, when you say telepathy, what we call the Interplanetary language. Do you not?"

  "Yes ... I guess so, uh—" and Charlie hesitated. "What did you say your name is?"

  "Dondee," replied the impulse promptly. "Dondee Bin."

  "Mine is Charlie. Charles Holt."

  "How many periods are you, Prim—I mean, Charles?"

  "Periods? I don't know—"

  "Oh," came the flash impulse, "I meant your time, what you call your years of age?" "I'm going on fourteen, Dondee. I'm thirteen now." "That makes us about the same number of periods—I mean,

  years," came the happy impulse from Dondee. "Only, I have the period of fourteen years already! I'm older than you, Charles." "Well, you don't have to rub it in," Charlie said under his breath. "That last thought, Charles," Dondee said, "wasn't clear to me." "I'm glad it wasn't," Charlie said, already sorry about it. "Just forget it, Dondee. It doesn't matter."

  "We are about the same age, almost exactly, Charles."

  "I'm glad of that," Charlie agreed. "A few months is nothing anyway. Or periods, as you say." Charlie felt much better now, glad that Dondee wasn't going to push the fact that he was a little bit older.

  "Do you," he asked, "come from pretty far away?"

  "Yes," came the immediate response, "from the Barrier

  World. Or as your island calls ours, Charles, the Planet Saturn."

  "Oh!" and Charlie gave a low whistle.

  "Did you just laugh?" he asked. "I know it sounds crazy and all, to hear a laugh in your mind, but—well, I just got the feeling that you laughed, Dondee."

  "Yes, Charles! I did laugh. When I caught your astonishment at how far away my home is. I thought it surprised, you!"

  "It sure did! But I don't see how—" Charlie said, "just how I can understand your telepathy, since I never even tried to use it before."

  "That is easy, Charles. All members of the human species are physically equipped with the mental gland. But some world islands have grown away from it, or stuck to their primitive forms of communication and never learned it. The gland, Charles, is the mental reserve cell in you, the cell that provides the extra-sensory power which activates your brain, especially the part of your brain which many races know very little about, such as your own world's race, Charles. But I am glad your cells in the gland are working fairly well. Otherwise we would not be able to talk like this now."

  "I never knew about that gland. Maybe I'll have to quit talking soon. My throat—my tonsils, I guess, they're getting pretty sore."

  "Tonsils?"

  "Sure," Charlie said, "you know, the glands you got in—" he stopped abruptly, feeling his throat very carefully now, even as he thought of the word glands. "Dondee—just where are those mental reserve glands, the ones you use for telepathy?"

  "Beneath the jaws, Charles. There is a gland in either side of your neck, right beneath your right and left jaw."

  For some moments Charlie couldn't reply. All he could do was tenderly feel about his n
eck, and wonder at the

  amazing thing he had just learned. He remembered Miss Tisdale, back in school, and how she once told science class that the tonsils, like the appendix, had long outgrown their use. They were parts of the body which appeared to have no use any longer, as far as medical science could tell. Good old Miss Tisdale, Charlie thought. I wish I could tell her this now! About this other world's science.

  "Charles?"

  "Oh—I'm still here," he replied. "You know, I was just thinking, Dondee. I wouldn't be able to talk to you now at all, if I'd had my tonsils out last year. That was when they swelled up a lot. But Uncle John said there was no use rushing to get an operation, and I didn't have to have them out right away. Only if they got worse. But then they got better."