We ate lunch under the convoluted branches of a vinetree, having left
the tractor on a trail a kilometer away. Surrounding us, except for
occasional clearings filled with red plants, the great vines twisted in
a confusion penetrated only by paths as entwined as the trees.
Rasmussen had scarcely spoken since our debate. Toal remained icy,
although the air was asphyxiating. In an effort to keep the halting
conversation from the Hog, until my companions were calmer, I said, "I
still don't understand how Maggiese came to look so much alike in only
two hundred years."
Rasmussen grunted and chewed a bread and meat ply. Toal studied the
green birds that chased through the fringed leaves of the vinetree.
I said, "I recall a few figures about heredity. The chance of any
single individual being born from a union is about one in two hundred
fifty million. If the parents differed in only twenty dominant
genes, this individual would be one of more than a million possible
variations. It's hard to produce specific humans to order.
"Say you're trying to rid a population of an undesirable trait. If
twenty-five per cent of the people show the trait, and none are allowed
offspring, it would still take three centuries to bring the incidence
of the trait down to one per cent, because many people would carry it
as a recessive characteristic. Then, mutations may be undetected for
generations and upset the whole system. Joe Nordo must have--"
"There he is!" Rasmussen gasped.
"Joe Nordo?" I said stupidly.
"The Hog!" Rasmussen produced an optical instrument consisting of a
small telescope for each eye. He said, "Two hundred yards off!"
I jumped up, tripped over a root, fell, crawled to my equipment, and
yanked out the quadpod. I set the quadpod close to Rasmussen, lifted
the robotic into position, and threw the switches to maximum. "One
shot," I predicted. "Explosive pellets with nitrobenzene. Where is he?"
Rasmussen pointed. I swung the robotic and illuminated the sight. In
a little clearing, the Hog rooted at a clay bank. His scaly, dull red
skin hung in folds and creases about leg joints and shoulders. His
straight back terminated in a twitching tail at one end and, at the
other, sloped abruptly in a short neck that lowered the snout almost to
the ground.
I adjusted the sight to precise focus and reached for the main switch.
Something exploded close to my left ear.
"Shot the monster!" Rasmussen cried. He thrust another tube into his
firearm and raised it to his shoulder. A thin puff of smoke and a
second explosion burst from the barrel. "Again!" Rasmussen exulted.
"What are you doing?" I roared. "I was ready to kill him, and you
started exploding that thing!"
The clearing was now empty. A nearly human squeal lingered in the warm
air.
"Go find the carcass," Rasmussen said. "Am too old for hiking. The Hog
did not stay long in the sun. Were too slow."
Mumbling, I pulled a ranger from my pack and swept the forest with it.
I stopped. In an arbor formed by vinetree branches, I saw part of the
Hog's head and forequarters at a range of 523 meters. "He's on his
feet," I said.
"Where?" Rasmussen gasped.
"One shot," I promised. I jacked the robotic higher and once more
focussed the sight. I threw the main switch. The weapon hummed. The
barrel moved slightly upward and to the left. The robotic made a
spitting noise.
Even as the thud of the exploding pellet reached us two seconds later,
I was choking, "A-an antelope, or something! It jumped in front of the
Hog. The pellet hit it! That's the only way a robotic can miss--if
something covers the target. This is the first--"
Rasmussen laughed. "Perhaps will die from my bullets," he chuckled. "Go
look for him, if not afraid. Incidentally, it is unlawful for an alien
to kill game on Maggie."
I searched the trees with the ranger, but saw no life except a flock
of birds disturbed by the blast. I shouldered my pack, picked up the
hisser, and stalked down the hill into the vines.