Further reading of the log produced no new evidence. There was a good
deal more information about the early animal and plant life and how
deadly they were, as well as the first defenses against them.
Interesting historically, but of no use whatsoever in countering the
menace. The captain apparently never thought that life forms were
altering on Pyrrus, believing instead that dangerous beasts were being
discovered. He never lived to change his mind. The last entry in the
log, less than two months after the first attack, was very brief. And
in a different handwriting.
_Captain Kurkowski died today, of poisoning following an insect
bite. His death is greatly mourned._
The "why" of the planetary revulsion had yet to be uncovered.
"Kerk must see this book," Jason said. "He should have some idea of the
progress being made. Can we get transportation--or do we walk to city
hall?"
"Walk, of course," Meta said.
"Then you bring the book. At two G's I find it very hard to be a
gentleman and carry the packages."
They had just entered Kerk's outer office when a shrill screaming burst
out of the phone-screen. It took Jason a moment to realize that it was a
mechanical signal, not a human voice.
"What is it?" he asked.
Kerk burst through the door and headed for the street entrance. Everyone
else in the office was going the same way. Meta looked confused, leaning
towards the door, then looking back at Jason.
"What does it mean? Can't you tell me?" He shook her arm.
"Sector alarm. A major breakthrough of some kind at the perimeter.
Everyone but other perimeter guards has to answer."
"Well, go then," he said. "Don't worry about me. I'll be all right."
His words acted like a trigger release. Meta's gun was in her hand and
she was gone before he had finished speaking. Jason sat down wearily in
the deserted office.
The unnatural silence in the building began to get on his nerves. He
shifted his chair over to the phone-screen and switched it on to
_receive_. The screen exploded with color and sound. At first Jason
could make no sense of it at all. Just a confused jumble of faces and
voices. It was a multi-channel set designed for military use. A number
of images were carried on the screen at one time, rows of heads or hazy
backgrounds where the user had left the field of view. Many of the heads
were talking at the same time and the babble of their voices made no
sense whatsoever.
After examining the controls and making a few experiments, Jason began
to understand the operation. Though all stations were on the screen at
all times, their audio channels could be controlled. In that way two,
three or more stations could be hooked together in a link-up. They would
be in round-robin communication with each other, yet never out of
contact with the other stations.
Identification between voice and sound was automatic. Whenever one of
the pictured images spoke, the image would glow red. By trial and error
Jason brought in the audio for the stations he wanted and tried to
follow the course of the attack.
Very quickly he realized this was something out of the ordinary. In some
way, no one made it clear, a section of the perimeter had been broken
through and emergency defenses had to be thrown up to encapsulate it.
Kerk seemed to be in charge, at least he was the only one with an
override transmitter. He used it for general commands. The many, tiny
images faded and his face appeared on top of them, filling the entire
screen.
"All perimeter stations send twenty-five per cent of your complement to
Area Twelve."
The small images reappeared and the babble increased, red lights
flickering from face to face.
"... Abandon the first floor, acid bombs can't reach."
"If we hold we'll be cut off, but salient is past us on the west flank.
Request support."
"DON'T MERVV ... IT'S USELESS!"
"... And the napalm tanks are almost gone. Orders?"
"The truck is still there, get it to the supply warehouse, you'll find
replacements ..."
* * * * *
Out of the welter of talk, only the last two fragments made any sense.
Jason had noticed the signs below when he came in. The first two floors
of the building below him were jammed with military supplies. This was
his chance to get into the act.
Just sitting and watching was frustrating. Particularly when it was a
desperate emergency. He didn't overvalue his worth, but he was sure
there was always room for another gun.
By the time he had dragged himself down to the street level a
turbo-truck had slammed to a stop in front of the loading platform. Two
Pyrrans were rolling out drums of napalm with reckless disregard for
their own safety. Jason didn't dare enter that maelstrom of rolling
metal. He found he could be of use tugging the heavy drums into position
on the truck while the others rolled them up. They accepted his aid
without acknowledgment.
It was exhausting, sweaty work, hauling the leaden drums into place
against the heavy gravity. After a minute Jason worked by touch through
a red haze of hammering blood. He realized the job was done only when
the truck suddenly leaped forward and he was thrown to the floor. He lay
there, his chest heaving. As the driver hurled the heavy vehicle along,
all Jason could do was bounce around in the bottom. He could see well
enough, but was still gasping for breath when they braked at the
fighting zone.
To Jason, it was a scene of incredible confusion. Guns firing, flames,
men and women running on all sides. The napalm drums were unloaded
without his help and the truck vanished for more. Jason leaned against a
wall of a half-destroyed building and tried to get his bearings. It was
impossible. There seemed to be a great number of small animals: he
killed two that attacked him. Other than that he couldn't determine the
nature of the battle.
A Pyrran, tan face white with pain and exertion, stumbled up. His right
arm, wet with raw flesh and dripping blood, hung limply at his side. It
was covered with freshly applied surgical foam. He held his gun in his
left hand, a stump of control cable dangling from it. Jason thought the
man was looking for medical aid. He couldn't have been more wrong.
Clenching the gun in his teeth, the Pyrran clutched a barrel of napalm
with his good hand and hurled it over on its side. Then, with the gun
once more in his hand, he began to roll the drum along the ground with
his feet. It was slow, cumbersome work, but he was still in the fight.
Jason pushed through the hurrying crowd and bent over the drum. "Let me
do it," he said. "You can cover us both with your gun."
The man wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his arm and
blinked at Jason. He seemed to recognize him. When he smiled it was a
grimace of pain, empty of humor. "Do that. I can still shoot. Two half
men--maybe we equal one whole." Jason was laboring too hard to even
notice the insult.
* * * * *
An explosion had blasted a raw pit in the street ahead. Two people were
at the bottom, digging it even deeper with shovels. The whole thing
seemed meaningless. Just as Jason and the wounded man rolled up the drum
the diggers leaped out of the excavation and began shooting down into
its depths. One of them turned, a young girl, barely in her teens.
"Praise Perimeter!" she breathed. "They found the napalm. One of the new
horrors is breaking through towards Thirteen, we just found it." Even as
she talked she swiveled the drum around, kicked the easy-off plug, and
began dumping the gelid contents into the hole. When half of it had
gurgled down, she kicked the drum itself in. Her companion pulled a
flare from his belt, lit it, and threw it after the drum.
[Illustration]
"Back quick. They don't like heat," he said.
This was putting it very mildly. The napalm caught, tongues of flame and
roiling, greasy smoke climbed up to the sky. Under Jason's feet the
earth shifted and moved. _Something_ black and long stirred in the heart
of the flame, then arched up into the sky over their heads. In the midst
of the searing heat it still moved with alien, jolting motions. It was
immense, at least two meters thick and with no indication of its length.
The flames didn't stop it at all, just annoyed it.
Jason had some idea of the thing's length as the street cracked and
buckled for fifty meters on each side of the pit. Great loops of the
creature began to emerge from the ground. He fired his gun, as did the
others. Not that it seemed to have any effect. More and more people were
appearing, armed with a variety of weapons. Flame-throwers and grenades
seemed to be the most effective.
"_Clear the area ... we're going to saturate it. Fall back._"
The voice was so loud it jarred Jason's ear. He turned and recognized
Kerk, who had arrived with truckloads of equipment. He had a power
speaker on his back, the mike hung in front of his lips. His amplified
voice brought an instant reaction from the crowd. They began to move.
There was still doubt in Jason's mind what to do. Clear the area? But
what area? He started towards Kerk, before he realized that the rest of
the Pyrrans were going in the opposite direction. Even under two
gravities they _moved_.
Jason had a naked feeling of being alone on the stage. He was in the
center of the street, and the others had vanished. No one remained.
Except the wounded man Jason had helped. He stumbled towards Jason,
waving his good arm. Jason couldn't understand what he said. Kerk was
shouting orders again from one of the trucks. They had started to move
too. The urgency struck home and Jason started to run.
It was too late. On all sides the earth was buckling, cracking, as more
loops of the underground thing forced its way into the light. Safety lay
ahead. Only in front of it rose an arch of dirt-encrusted gray.
* * * * *
There are seconds of time that seem to last an eternity. A moment of
subjective time that is grabbed and stretched to an infinite distance.
This was one of those moments. Jason stood, frozen. Even the smoke in
the sky hung unmoving. The high-standing loop of alien life was before
him, every detail piercingly clear.
Thick as a man, ribbed and gray as old bark. Tendrils projected from all
parts of it, pallid and twisting lengths that writhed slowly with
snakelike life. Shaped like a plant, yet with the motions of an animal.
And cracking, splitting. This was the worst.
Seams and openings appeared. Splintering, gaping mouths that vomited out
a horde of pallid animals. Jason heard their shriekings, shrill yet
remote. He saw the needlelike teeth that lined their jaws.
The paralysis of the unknown held him there. He should have died. Kerk
was thundering at him through the power speaker, others were firing into
the attacking creature. Jason knew nothing.
Then he was shot forward, pushed by a rock-hard shoulder. The wounded
man was still there, trying to get Jason clear. Gun clenched in his jaws
he dragged Jason along with his good arm. Towards the creature. The
others stopped firing. They saw his plan and it was a good one.
A loop of the thing arched into the air, leaving an opening between its
body and the ground. The wounded Pyrran planted his feet and tightened
his muscles. One-handed, with a single thrust, he picked Jason off the
ground and sent him hurtling under the living arch. Moving tendrils
brushed fire along his face, then he was through, rolling over and over
on the ground. The wounded Pyrran leaped after him.
It was too late. There had been a chance for one person to get out. The
Pyrran could have done it easily--instead he had pushed Jason first. The
thing was aware of movement when Jason brushed its tendrils. It dropped
and caught the wounded man under its weight. He vanished from sight as
the tendrils wrapped around him and the animals swarmed over. His
trigger must have pulled back to full automatic because the gun kept
firing a long time after he should have been dead.
Jason crawled. Some of the fanged animals ran towards him, but were
shot. He knew nothing about this. Then rude hands grabbed him up and
pulled him forward. He slammed into the side of a truck and Kerk's face
was in front of his, flushed and angry. One of the giant fists closed on
the front of Jason's clothes and he was lifted off his feet, shaken like
a limp bag of rags. He offered no protest and could not have even if
Kerk had killed him.
When he was thrown to the ground, someone picked him up and slid him
into the back of the truck. He did not lose consciousness as the truck
bounced away, yet he could not move. In a moment the fatigue would go
away and he would sit up. That was all he was, just a little tired. Even
as he thought this he passed out.