The 22nd Golden Age of Science Fiction

by Robert Moore Williams

  * * * *

  Shots roared in the distance as they forced the boat through the pools of stagnant water. Apparently the shots came from the other exploring parties shooting flying lizards or other creatures. Once a flying lizard swooped over their boat but it changed its mind and went on to attack something else. And, as they forced the boat through a clump of reeds and into a clear channel, something monstrous snorted near them. Loud crashes sounded in the swamp tangle.

  “It looks as big as an elephant,” Craig shouted. “Get your guns ready.”

  He could see the movement of the reeds as the beast crashed toward them. Small trees were shaking, marking its passage, then it thrust its head out of the tangle not fifty feet from them.

  “It’s a dinosaur!” Michaelson shouted. The scientist was wildly excited. “It’s a live dinosaur.”

  “It’s going to be a dead one if it comes any closer,” Craig said grimly.

  “No, don’t shoot,” the scientist said. “It’s one of the herbivorous dinosaurs, a vegetation eater. It won’t harm us.”

  The sailors in the boat were nervously fingering their tommy-guns and staring at the mountain of flesh that was half-hidden by the jungle growth. It, in turn, stared at them. It was bigger than any elephant that ever walked the Earth, and Craig, as he estimated the size of the beast, was wondering whether the tommy-guns would stop it if it chose to attack.

  “If we have to shoot, aim at the head,” he whispered.

  In comparison to the rest of the body, the head was small. It would present a difficult target but a hit in the head might stop the beast whereas a hit in the huge body would pass unnoticed. The dinosaur stared at them. Seconds ticked into minutes. It moved its head in a circle, sniffing the air. Michaelson wanted to get out of the boat and swim to shore so he could examine it closely.

  “You stay in this boat,” Craig said vigorously. “You will probably get a chance to examine all the dinosaurs you want.”

  Muttering to himself, the scientist subsided.

  Slowly, as though it had seen all it wanted to, the dinosaur turned and went back into the swamp. The shaking of the shrubs marked the direction it had taken. Craig breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I told you it wasn’t dangerous,” Michaelson said bitterly. “You should have let me examine it.”

  “Never mind,” Craig said soothingly. “After we get ourselves settled here, you can have a dinosaur for a pet. Push on, men,” he said to the crew. “I want to climb one of those hills and take a look around.”

  * * * *

  Reaching the spot where the boat could pass no farther, they left two men to guard it and pushed ahead on foot. The swamp gave way to rising, rocky ground covered with a thin growth of huge trees. There was a whistle in the air. Looking quickly up, Craig saw a flying lizard swoop through an opening in the trees and dive head-long at something hidden in the rocks ahead.

  A scream sounded as the dragon bird dived to the attack.

  There was a human element in the scream.

  “That bird is after somebody!” Craig shouted. “Come on.”

  If he had not known it was impossible, he would have been certain that the scream he had heard had come from the throat of a woman. But there were no women here in this mad world. Dashing forward he climbed to the top of a huge rock—and looked down at an incredible scene.

  He was on the lip of a rocky ravine. Across on the other side of the ravine was a hole in the rock, a shallow cave. Crouching in the back of the shallow depression was a woman. She was shielding something with her body.

  In front of the shallow cave was—a man. He was not the type of man to grace the pages of a fashion magazine, but in spite of bulging muscles and heavy, uncombed hair, there was a lithe alertness about him that was appealing.

  There was something else that was more appealing.

  The way he was facing the dragon.

  The lizard bird, all claws and fanged mouth and hooked wings, was trying to knock the man down. He was fighting it desperately. His only weapon was a heavy club. He struck heavily with the club, leaped back out of danger. The bird lunged at him. He hit it across the head and knocked it backward. The bird was on the ground. It lunged again, screaming shrilly. The man struck at it, dodged to one side, hit it again. The bird came back to the attack.

  No matter how valiant the defense, there could be only one ending. The dragon was too big, too fierce, too impervious to pain, too hard to kill, to be stopped by a man with a club. It lunged again. The man struck at it, slipped, fell. Hissing with triumph, leathery wings flapping, the lizard bird leaped at him.

  Rat-tat-tat-tat—Craig let go with his tommy-gun.

  Rat-tat-tat-tat—The other men joined in, pouring a murderous fury of cross-fire down into the ravine. The bird was almost as big as a horse. It was a fierce fighter. It would relinquish a meal when it was dead and not before. One slug would not stop it. Dozens of slugs poured into it, smashed it to a bloody pulp. Even as it died it still tried to reach the man it had attacked.

  As suddenly as it had started, the shooting stopped. Craig took the smoking gun from his shoulder. The dragon gave one last convulsive heave and lay still.

  The man had scrambled to his feet. The sudden, blasting fury of the gun-fire must have shocked him out of his wits. He had been facing death, bravely; and suddenly death had struck down the creature that was attacking him. He stood without moving. In the cave behind him the woman left off her whimpering.

  The man was darting glances out of the corners of his eyes, seeking the source from which his sudden deliverance had come. Slowly he turned his head. He saw the sailors on the lip of the ravine across from him.

  A look of almost stupefying fear crossed his face. He had faced the dragon with no show of cowardice. Now, seeing his benefactors for the first time, he looked terrified. In the cave behind him the woman had also located the humans. Without moving a muscle, she crouched against the rock wall. Craig had seen wild animals, frightened by the sudden appearance of a beast of prey, act like this. A rabbit, aware of the swoop of a hawk, would be too terrified to move. A lamb, knowing the wolf was near, would crouch trembling waiting for the final snarling leap.

  “He’s scared of us,” Craig whispered. “Don’t make any sudden moves.”

  The man looked up at them.

  “Ogrum!” he whispered. “Ogrum—”

  * * * *

  Very slowly he laid the club on the ground beside him. Then he stretched himself face downward beside it in a gesture of obeisance older than human history. Subject races welcomed their conqueror in a manner such as this, slaves knelt before their master in this manner—in the days before men ceased being slaves.

  “He must think we’re gods,” Craig whispered. It was a logical explanation of the man’s actions yet it did not completely satisfy him.

  “He thinks we are something else,” Michaelson said. “He is acting like a person who recognizes a strong enemy. He is mistaking us for somebody else. Come on. I’m going down there.”

  The scientist was already scrambling down the side of the ravine. Craig followed him. He recognized the correctness of Michaelson’s deductions. The man had whispered “Ogrum.” Then he had knelt. There could only be one explanation: he thought they were somebody else. The thought raised a question in Craig’s mind: What could inspire such terrifying fear in this man? What horror walked through these jungles that a man would fear more than he feared a dragon?

  Craig looked up at his squad on the bank of the ravine. “Be on your guard,” he said.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” the answer came floating down. It was an order the sailors would not be likely to need. They would be on the alert.

  Michaelson was so eager to reach the man that he dashed ahead. When Craig reached him, he was bending over the man. The scientist was wildly excited. “He is human,” Michaelson was babbling. �
��Look for yourself if you don’t believe me. See, he has all the characteristics of true man.”

  The scientist was acting as if he expected Craig to argue the point. The big man didn’t. “Of course he’s human,” he said. “What’s so strange about that?”

  “You do not understand,” Michaelson explained. “He is the dawn man. He belongs to the first race of true humans ever to appear on earth. We have found a dawn man. That is of great scientific importance. See!” The scientist pointed to the club. “He has begun to use tools but he has not yet learned to chip flint. He is pre-stone age, definitely pre-stone age, but he is also definitely human, with the capacity to learn, as is shown by his use of the club. He has already made one of the first great inventions, a club. He has not yet made the second invention, fire, or the third great discovery, how to shape stone. I cannot begin to tell you how important this is.”

  The scientist was beside himself with excitement. Craig grinned. Science had its thrills as well as adventure. Michaelson was apparently experiencing one of science’s great thrills—discovery.

  The scientist promptly began to try to communicate with the man. But first he had to win the man’s confidence. This he did by talking softly and gently. The man sat up to stare in dazed wonder at the scientist. Back in the shallow cave the woman crouched without moving. Craig saw what she was protecting, a child. This was a family they had saved from the dragon. From fearful eyes the woman watched her lord and master talk to the strangers.

  * * * *

  “His name is Guru,” Michaelson said, indicating the dawn man. “I am able to understand a little of what he says. His language is as yet undifferentiated into complex grammatical forms, hence I can follow his meaning without too much difficulty. He says he has lived here all his life and that many more of his people live near here. He says they live in families. Do you know what that means?” the scientist excitedly challenged Craig.

  Craig, unable to get Michaelson to leave the dawn man, had left two men to guard the scientist and had taken the others on a wide scouting trip. He had just returned.

  “No, I don’t know what that means,” he answered.

  “It means that Guru and his people have not yet reached the tribal stage in their existence!” the scientist triumphantly pronounced. “They are still in the family stage but they have not yet learned to live together in tribes.”

  Michaelson sounded as if he thought this discovery was of the utmost importance. Scientifically, it probably was important. But Craig had other things on his mind.

  “Ask him who he thought we were when he first saw us,” he said. “Ask him why he was so badly scared of us. Ask him who the Ogrum are.”

  Craig was talking to the scientist but he was watching Guru. When he mentioned the Ogrum, the dawn man flinched. Fright appeared in his eyes. Michaelson spoke to him, consulting a notebook in which he had already jotted down words that he had learned, and listened carefully to his reply. The scientist turned to Craig.

  “Guru says the Ogrum are very bad,” he said. “He says they are much fiercer than the death-that-flies, by which he means the bird that was attacking him when we came up. He says the Ogrum fly too, and that they are like us, only different. He says he thought we were Ogrum when he first saw us. He says the Ogrum hunt down his people, and capture them, and take them to their city, and there feed them to the monster that eats forever.”

  “The monster that eats forever!” Craig whistled thoughtfully. “What the devil is that?”

  Michaelson repeated Craig’s question to Guru. The answer came haltingly, slowly. The scientist turned to Craig. “I am not at all certain what he means. Another definition would be the bright beast that is always hungry. But I do not know what this beast is, and Guru seems unable to tell me. He has never seen it, he says, only heard about it. He is much afraid of the Ogrum.”

  “I don’t blame him,” Craig said. “But what are they?”

  Guru seemed unable to grasp the meaning of this question. He showed a strange disinclination to discuss the subject. He was so much afraid of the Ogrum that he did not even want to talk about them. And yet—this fact put a worried frown on Craig’s forehead—Guru was no coward. They had seen him fearlessly face the flying dragon, the death-that-flew. What was there about the Ogrum that made Guru so terribly afraid of them?

  Guru seemed nervous and uneasy. He looked all around the ravine as though he sensed the presence of hidden danger. Suddenly he looked up. A single word fell from his lips.

  “Ogrum!” he whispered. “Ogrum!”

  Craig looked skyward. A single wedge-shaped plane was diving on silent wings through the air. His first thought was that it was diving at them. Then he saw it was passing above them, aiming at some other target. A second plane was following the first, a third was following the second. There was a whole line of them, diving silently on some secret target.

  * * * *

  The second he saw the planes, all question of the identity of the Ogrum passed from Craig’s mind. It was the Ogrum who flew those silent ships, it was the Ogrum who had attacked the Idaho, who had sprayed the strange acid on the sea that had damaged the ship. It was the Ogrum who now were passing overhead intent on some other attack.

  “Out of sight, everybody!” Craig shouted. The sailors slipped hastily to cover. Craig joined them. Guru had already leaped back into the mouth of his cave.

  “What are those devils after this time?” Michaelson asked.

  A second later, they had the answer.

  Rolling across the swamps came the sound of a thunderous anti-aircraft barrage from the Idaho.

  The Ogrum were moving in to attack the warship, to deliver the last smashing blow against the stranded battle wagon! Like vultures circling a dying animal, they wheeled over the Idaho.

  “Come on!” Craig said. “I don’t know what we can do to help but we will go and see.”

  As he hurried out of the ravine he saw Guru hastily helping his mate carry the child to a higher, safer cave. Guru was hiding. The dawn man might face a flying dragon, but the Ogrum were too much for him. Craig did not blame him for hiding. He led his group hastily toward his boat.

  Before they reached the place where they had left the small boat a crash sounded behind them. Turning, they jerked up their guns. In this jungle wilderness, anything might be attacking them. When they saw what was following them, they dropped the muzzles of the weapons.

  It was Guru. Waving his club, he had come to join them. He was chattering excitedly.

  “He says he has put his wife and little one where they will be safe,” Michaelson translated. “He wants to know if we are going to fight the Ogrum.”

  “Tell him yes,” Craig answered.

  “Then he says he wants to go along,” the scientist interpreted.

  For an instant Craig stared at the dawn man. Guru was scared. His fright was obvious. Even thinking about the Ogrum scared him. But if his new-found friends were going to fight the devils of the jungle, he was going with them!

  “There,” said Craig appreciatively, “beats a fighting heart. Come on, dawn man, you’ve got what it takes.”

  With Guru to lead them and point out passages through the swamp, they made speedy time in the boat. Meanwhile, clearly audible but out of sight, the sky was filled with the thunder of guns.

  “The ack-ack will knock those planes out of the sky,” one of the sailors said.

  “I wish I thought so,” Craig answered.

  “What do you mean?” Michaelson questioned.

  “The Ogrum must know we have anti-aircraft defenses,” the big man said uneasily. “We shot one of their planes down when they attacked our scouting flier. They know we can and will fight. If they attack us under those circumstances, it means one of two things—either they’re crazy or they think they can take us in spite of our ack-ack. For all I know, they may be crazy, but I’m bettin
g they think they can take us. Sh—” Craig listened.

  The anti-aircraft barrage was thinning out. The guns were not firing as furiously as they had at first. Uneasiness showing on their faces, the sailors listened.

  “Something’s going wrong,” one of them muttered.

  “Get moving!” Craig barked. He knew too well that something was going wrong. And, as they shoved the boat through the swamp, the guns from the ship began to sound slower and slower until at last only occasional blasts showed they were still being manned.

  Then the gun-fire ceased altogether.

  “Perhaps we have driven them off,” Michaelson suggested.

  “Perhaps we haven’t!” Craig answered bitterly. “Look.”

  They were nearing the river. Through open spaces, the harbor was visible. They caught a glimpse of the Idaho.

  The planes of the Ogrum were still circling above it.

  The Ogrum had not been driven off.

  They had won a victory!

  CHAPTER VI

  The City of the Ogrum

  Hidden on the shore, Craig and his men watched the looting of the Idaho. The planes of the Ogrum were still wheeling overhead. Dozens had alighted on the water around the doomed ship and the Ogrum were climbing aboard. Craig saw how the ship had been taken. Gas! Trails of thin white mist still floated around the vessel. The diving planes had sprayed some kind of gas on the ship. It was obviously some kind of vapor different from any known in the far-off Twentieth Century but equally obviously it was devilishly effective. Guru verified the fact that gas had been used.

  “White cloud makes sleep, Guru says,” Michaelson supplied.

  Before the sleep had come, the guns of the Idaho had taken a toll of the attackers, as wrecked planes on the water testified. Craig saw the pilot of one of the planes, obviously wounded, signal to the other Ogrum to help him. His flier was sinking and he was unable to swim. His comrades completely ignored his cries for help. The plane sank and the Ogrum pilot, after vainly attempting to swim, went under too. There were planes near that could have rescued him and certainly some of the Ogrum saw him, but they made no attempt to help.