by Andre Norton
“They could have left the heating unit. That’s supposed to be part of one of these—”
Rip laughed. “But they didn’t know we were coming.”
Kosti stared at him, inclined to be affronted, and then he chuckled.
“No, they did not know. We can’t complain—” His deep roar of laughter was directed at himself.
Mura busied himself with duties which were part of his usual job, collecting their emergency rations and parcelling out to each one of the tasteless cubes and so many sips from their canteens. Dane wondered at the steward’s careful measurements. It was as if Mura did not believe they were going to return to the Queen in the near future and thought that these limited supplies might have to last for a long time.
Once they had eaten, they drew together for warmth, stretching out on the bare floor. Outside the bubble they could hear the moan of the night winds, rising to a crescendo of weird cries as it wailed through fissures of the ruins.
Dane’s thoughts were restless. What was wrong with the Queen? If the ship was besieged why hadn’t she simply lifted from the landing and set down elsewhere, giving them directions where to join her, or sending out the flitter to pick them up? What kept the freighter planet bound?
Perhaps the others shared his worries, but there were no speculations voiced in the dark, no questions asked. Having their orders they had determined upon a course of action for themselves and now they were getting what rest they could.
Shortly after dawn the haggard Wilcox sat up and then limped to the crawler. In the pinched grey light he looked years older and there was a tight set to his lips as he bent over the machine, making the adjustments which would leave it on manual control during the hours to come.
None of them could have been asleep for Wilcox’s action acted as a signal and they were all on their feet, stretching the cramp out of arms and legs. Greetings were grunts as they ate what Mura allowed them. Then they were out in the crispness of the morning. Streaks of colour heralded the sun they had not seen for so long and the last of the fog was gone. In the north the mountains were stark and bare against the sky.
Wilcox pointed the crawler north where the foothill valleys pushed out in a ragged fringe. There was plenty of cover there and they could slip east undetected. Of them all the astrogator had the most difficult job. Here was no smooth path for the crawler. And within a half mile he had to throttle down to a slow walking pace or be bounced from his seat.
In the end they separated into two parties. Two of them at time scouted ahead, while the two remaining stayed with Wilcox and the crawler at the slower pace. From all signs they might have been alone in a dead world. No tracks broke the soil, there were no sounds, and they did not even sight one of the rare insects which must keep to the more hospitable inner portions of the valleys.
Dane was on advance patrol with Mura when the steward gave a grunt and raised his hands as if to shade his eyes. Above them the sun had struck fire from some gleaming surface, struck it strong enough to flash a burning beam down at the Terrans.
“Metal!” Dane cried. Could this be another clue to the installation?
He started towards that spot, first clambering with difficulty over the debris left by a recent slide of small rocks. Then he pulled himself up on a ledge the slide had uncovered and made his way to the source of that flash. What he expected he did not really know. But what he found was wreckage—wreckage of another space ship—although the outlines were strange, even allowing for alterations made by the force of its landing. It was smaller than the prospector they had discovered the day before, and in a greater state of disintegration, the parts which had been exposed before the slide brought it all to the surface were only rust-eaten scraps.
Mura joined him and looked down at the crumpled thing which had once navigated space.
“This is old—very, very old.” He tried to pick up a rod shaped bit. Between his fingers it became red dust. “Old—I do not think a Terran ever flew this one.”
“A Forerunner ship?” Dane was startled. If that were true—this was a find—a find which might bring Survey and its kindred services back to Limbo with all jets blazing.
“Not that old—or it would not exist. But the Rigellians and that vanished race of Angol Two were in Galactic space before we were. This may be an ancient vessel of their building. It is so very old—”
“What brought it here?” Dane wondered. “That was a smash landing, and the prospector ended the same way. Then there was that ship we heard come in before the fog closed down. Yet the Queen didn’t have any trouble making a good landing. I don’t get it. One crack up—but three—?”
“It makes one think,” Mura agreed. “Perhaps we should look about a bit more. The solution to this puzzle may lie within sight and sound and yet we are not clever enough to learn it.”
They waited on the ledge until they could signal to the slowly advancing party with the crawler. The astrogator took careful bearings on the site. If and when they had time, they might later send a party to explore this discovery—since its age and alien origin might make it of value.
“This reminds me somehow,” Kosti said, “of how those Sissiti catch the purple lizards they make boots of. They set up a thing that waggles back and forth—just a thin wire attached to a motor. But the lizard sees it and—pow—he’s sunk. Sits there watching that stupid thing wiggle-waggle until a Sissit comes along and pops him into a bag. Maybe someone’s set up a wiggle-waggle here to draw in ships—that would be something!”
Wilcox stared at him. “Could be you have something at that,” he replied, as he fingered his mike. It was apparent he longed to report this second find to the Queen. And he had a suggestion for the scouting parties. “Take a look up these valleys if you can without wasting too much time. I’d like to know if there are any more wrecks strewn about in this general area.”
So from then on, though they continued to work their way east to flank the Queen, they also made side trips into the valleys for short distances. And it was Kosti and Rip who found the third ship.
Where the two other shattered discoveries had been of an earlier day, this was not only of their own time but a type of craft they were able to recognize at once. Through some freak its disastrous ending had not been as bad as those which had telescoped the prospector and smashed the alien. While the new find lay on its side showing buckled and broken plates, it was not crushed.
“Survey!” Rip yelled almost before they were within hearing distance.
There was no reason to mistake the insignia on the battered nose—the crossed, tailed comets were as well known along the star trails as the jagged lightning swords of the Patrol.
Wilcox limped forward with the rest as they trailed along its length.
“The hatch is open—” Rip called down from the pinnacle he had climbed for a better look.
It was what dangled from that open hatch which centred their attention. A rope hanging like that could mean only one thing—that there had been survivors! Was this the explanation for all the puzzling happenings on Limbo? Dane tried to remember how many men comprised the crew of a Survey ship—they usually had a group of specialists—perhaps as many as rode in the Queen—perhaps more—
Though there was no reason why anyone would have remained in the wrecked ship, the men from the Queen prepared to explore. Rip dropped from the pinnacle and balanced across to that hatch. Only Wilcox had to remain where he was as the others climbed the rope.
It was a strange experience to lower oneself down a well which was once a corridor, Dane found. Ahead torches picked out fugitive gleams from smooth surfaces as the explorers poked into the cabins.
“She’s been stripped!” Rip’s words rang in the helmet coms back along the line. “I’m for control—”
Dane knew very little of the geography of a Survey ship. He could only follow the others, halting at the first open panel to peer inside with the aid of his own torch. This must have been the storage for space suits and ex
ploring gear as it was on the Queen. But it was empty now—cupboards gaping as if their contents had been hurriedly ripped loose. Had the crew left the boat in space before the crash? No, that did not explain the rope.
“Lord above us!” The shock in that cry stopped Dane where he was. Rip’s voice in the com was so strained, horrified—what had the other discovered in the control section?
“What’s the matter?” that was Wilcox, impatient at being left out.
“Coming—” Kosti’s growl came next.
And a few moments later the jetman’s voice was loud with a crackle of expletives as shocked as Rip’s exclamation had been.
“What is it?” fumed Wilcox.
Dane left the storage space and made his way quickly to the passageway tying together all sections of the ship, which should lead him directly to what the others had found. Mura was ahead of him there and he soon caught up with the steward.
“We’ve found them,” Rip’s voice was bleak and old as he answered the astrogator.
“Found who?” Wilcox wanted to know.
“The crew!”
The passage ahead of Dane was blocked. He could see past Mura, but Kosti’s bulk and Rip’s shut out what lay beyond. Then Rip spoke again and Dane hardly knew it for his voice.
“Got—to—get—out—of—here—”
“Yes!” that was Kosti.
Both of them turned and Mura and Dane had to retrace their way to the hatch, hurried on by the impatience of the two behind them. They climbed out on the curving side of the ship, giving way to the others. Rip crawled down towards the fins. He held fast to the braces of one and proceeded to be thoroughly sick.
Kosti’s face was greenish, but he maintained control with a visible effort. None of the other three quite dared at that moment to ask what either man had seen. It wasn’t until Rip, shivering, crept back and slid down the rope to the ground that Wilcox lost patience.
“Well, what happened to them?”
“Murder!” Rip’s voice rang too loudly, echoed by some freak of the stone abutments about them until “Murrrderrr” was shouted in their ears.
Dane glanced around in time to see Mura descend again into the ship. In the shadow of his helmet the small man’s face was composed and he gave no reason for his return.
Nor did Wilcox ask any more questions. After a minute or two Mura’s voice sounded in their coms.
“This ship has also been stripped by looters—”
First the prospector hulk and then this—which must have been far more rewarding. Survivors of earlier crashes could have been searching for supplies, for material to make life more endurable but—Rip had an answer to that line of thought and he gave it in a single outburst:
“The Survey men were blaster burned!”
Blaster burned! Just as the globe things had been killed in that valley. Ruthless cruelty of a sort unknown to the civilized space lanes was in power on Limbo. Then another announcement from Mura electrified them all.
“This I believe, is the missing Rimbold!”
The Survey ship whose disappearance had indirectly led to the auction on Naxos, and so their own arrival on Limbo! But how had it reached here and what had brought it crashing down on this world? Survey ships, because of the nature of their duty, were as nearly foolproof as any ships could be. In a hundred years perhaps two had been lost. Yet the Rimbold, for all of its safety devices and the drilled know-how of its experienced crew, had been as luckless as the earlier ships they had discovered.
Dane slid down on the rope, Kosti following him. The sun had gone under a cloud and there was a spatter of rain on the rocks about. It was thickening into a drizzle as the steward joined them. Whatever he had seen within the Rimbold, it had not upset him as completely as it had Rip and Kosti. Instead he had a thoughtful, almost puzzled look.
“Does not Van tell a story like this?” he asked suddenly. “It is one from the old days when ships rode the sea waves not the star lanes. Then there was said to be a place in a western ocean of our own Earth where no winds blew and a weed grew thick, trapping within it the ships of those days so that they were matted together into a kind of floating land of decay and death—”
Rip’s attention was caught, Dane saw him nod. “The Sago—no—the Sargasso Sea!”
“That is so. Here, too, we have something like—a Sargasso of space which in some way traps ships, bringing them in to smash against its rocks and be held forever captive. And whatever it is must have great power. This Survey ship is no experimental prospector of the early days when calculations were faulty and engines could easily fail.”
“But,” Wilcox protested, “the Queen made a routine landing without any trouble at all!”
“Did it occur to you,” Mura said, “that she might have been permitted to make such a landing—for a reason—”
That would explain a great many things, but the idea was chilling. It suggested that the Solar Queen was a pawn in some one’s game—Rich’s? And that she no longer had any control over her destiny.
“Let’s get along!” Wilcox shifted his weight and started limping back to where they had left the crawler.
And from then on they made no more side expeditions hunting wrecks. There were probably more of them to be found, Dane suspected. Mura’s idea had taken hold of his imagination—a Sargasso of space, drawing into its clutch wanderers of the lanes which came into the area of its baleful influence—whatever that influence could be. Why had the Queen been able to make a normal landing on a world where other ships crashed? Was it because they had had Rich and his men on board? Who and what was Rich?
They splashed through a stream which had been fed by the rain. It was there that Wilcox pulled up the crawler and spoke: “We must be getting close to a point opposite the Queen. If we don’t want to miss her we should get aloft—” He pointed to the cliffs.
In the end it was decided to make temporary camp with the crawler for their base, leaving Wilcox and two others there, while two more in turn climbed the heights and scouted ahead. It was now past noon and with the coming of night they would be able to move freely. So they must discover their vantage point before dark.
Rip and Mura made the first scout, but when Shannon came back to report—since they dared no longer trust to the com-calls which others might catch—it was to say that the Queen was in sight but farther ahead.
With caution Wilcox started up the crawler, taking it out of the valley they had just selected, through the rough edge of the plains, until he had gained a mile beyond their first proposed base. Concealed there behind a tall outcrop, he waited for a second report—and this time Mura made it.
“From there,” he indicated a pinnacle of rock, “one can see well. The Queen is sealed—and there are others around her. As yet we have not had a chance to count them or see their arms—”
Kosti, his fear of the heights still operating to keep him from climbing, had prowled along on the plain. Now he returned with news as much to the point as Mura’s.
“There is a place, right up there behind the lookout, where you can park the crawler and it can’t be seen from any angle—”
Wilcox headed the machine for that point and the jetman took the astrogator’s place to manoeuvre the crawler into the confined quarters. While Kosti and Wilcox stayed there, Dane climbed with Mura up to the spy post where Rip was already stationed, his back supported by a rock, far-distance glasses to his eyes as as he faced south, looking out over the burnt-off land.
There was the sky-pointing needle of the Queen. It was true she was sealed, the ramp was in, the hatch closed, she might have made ready for a blast-off. Dane unhooked his own glasses and adjusted the range until the rocky terrain about the ship’s fins leaped up at him.
CHAPTER TWELVE:
SHIP BESIEGED
Even after he had the glasses focused he could not be sure that he saw more than just one strangely shaped vehicle and the two men by it. To Dane’s angle of sight the party appeared to be fully exposed
to those in the Queen. And he wondered why the Traders had not attacked—if this was the enemy.
“Right out in the open—” he said aloud. But Rip was not so sure.
“I don’t think so. There’s a ridge there. Visibility’s poor now, but it would show in sunlight. With a stun rifle—”
Yes, with a stun rifle, and this elevation to aid him, a man might pick off those foreshortened figures—even with the range as great as it was. Unfortunately their full armament now consisted of only short range weapons—the close-to-innocuous sleep ray rods, and the blasters—potent enough, but only for in-fighting.
“Might as well wish for a bopper while you’re about it,” Dane commented.
Both flitters had disappeared from the landing place near the ship. He supposed they had been warped in for safety. Now he swept the ground slowly, trying to pick out any shape which did not seem natural. And within five minutes he was sure he had pinpointed at least as many posts of two or three watchers staked out in an irregular circle about the ship. Four of the groups had transportation—machines which resembled their own crawlers to some degree but were narrower and longer, as if they had been designed to negotiate the valleys of this planet.
“Speaking of boppers,” Rip’s voice startled Dane because of its tenseness, “What’s that? Over there—”
Dane’s glasses obediently turned west. “Where?”
”See that rock that looks a little like a hoobat’s head—to the left of that.”
Dane searched for a rock suggesting Captain Jellico’s pet monstrosity. He finally found it. To the left—now—yes! A straight barrel. Was that—could that be the barrel of a portable bopper, wheeled into a position which commanded the ship, from which it could drop its deadly little eggs right under her fins?
A bopper couldn’t begin to make any impression on a sealed ship, that was true. But it could and would bring sudden death to those venturing out into the gas which burst from its easily shattered ammunition. One had to take a bopper seriously.