Raf was two streets away from the circling box but still able to keep
it in sight when its easy glide stopped, and, in a straight line, it
swooped toward a roof emitting a shrill, rising whistle. It rose again
a few seconds later as if baffled, but it continued to hover at that
point, keening forth its warning. The pilot reached the next
building, but a street still kept him away from the conical structure
above which the box now hung.
Undecided, he stayed where he was. Should he go down to street level
and investigate? Before he had quite made up his mind he saw the
foremost of the alien scouting party round into the thoroughfare below
and move purposefully at the cone tower, weapons to the fore. Judging
by their attitude, the box had run to earth there the prey they had
been searching for.
But it wasn't to be so easy. With another eerie howl the machine
soared once more and bobbed completely over the cone to the street
which must lie beyond it. Raf knew that he could not miss the end of
the chase and started on a detour along the roof tops which should
bring him to a vantage point. By the time he had made that journey he
found himself on a warehouse roof which projected over the edge of the
river.
From a point farther downstream a small boat was putting out. Two of
the aliens paddled while a third crouched in the bow. A second party
was picking its way along the bank some distance away, both groups
seemingly heading toward a point a building or two to the left of the
one where Raf had taken cover.
He heard the shrilling of the box, saw it bobbing along a line toward
the river. But in that direction there was only a mass of green. The
end to the weird chase came so suddenly that he was not prepared, and
it was over before he caught a good look at the quarry. Something
moved down on the river bank and in that same instant the box hurtled
earthward as might a spear. It struck, and the creature who had just
crawled out--out of the ground as far as Raf could see--toppled into
the stream. As the waters closed over the body, the box slued around
and came to rest on the bank. The party in the boat sent their small
craft flying toward the spot where the crawler had sunk.
One of the paddlers abandoned his post and slipped over the side,
diving into the oily water. He made two tries before he was successful
and came to the surface with the other in tow. They did not try to
heave the unconscious captive into the boat, merely kept the lolling
head above water as they turned downstream once more and vanished from
Raf's sight around the end of a pier, while the second party on the
bank reclaimed the now quiet box and went off.
But Raf had seen enough to freeze him where he was for a moment. The
creature which had popped out of the ground only to be struck by the
box and knocked into the river--he would take oath on the fact that it
was not one of the furred animals he had seen on the sea island.
Surely it had been smooth-skinned, not unlike the aliens in
conformation--one of their own kind they had been hunting down, a
criminal or a rebel?
Puzzled, the pilot moved along from roof to roof, trying to pick up
the trail of the party in the boat, but as far as he could now see,
the river was bare. If they had come ashore anywhere along here, they
had simply melted into the city. At last he was forced to use the
homing beam, and it guided him back across the deserted metropolis to
the field.
There was still activity about the globe; they were bringing in the
loot from the warehouse, but Lablet and Hobart stood by the flitter.
As the pilot came up to them, the captain looked up eagerly.
"What happened?"
Raf sensed that there had been some change during his absence, that
Hobart was looking to him for an explanation to make clear happenings
here. He told his story of the hunt and its ending, the capture of the
stranger. Lablet nodded as he finished.
"That is the reason for this, you may depend upon it, Captain. One of
their own people is at the bottom of it."
"Of what?" Raf wanted to ask, but Soriki did it for him.
Hobart smiled grimly. "We are all traveling back together. Take off in
the early morning. For some reason they wanted us out of the globe in
a hurry--practically shoved us out half an hour ago."
Though the Terrans kept a watch on the larger ship as long as the
light lasted, the darkness defeated them. They did not see the
prisoner being taken aboard. Yet none of them doubted that sometime
during the dusky hours it had been done.
It was barely dawn when the globe took off the next day, and Raf
brought the flitter up on its trail, heading westward into the sea
wind. Below them the land held no signs of life. They swept over the
deserted, terraced city that was the gateway to the guarded interior,
flew back over the line of sea islands. Raf climbed higher, not caring
to go too near the island where the aliens had wrought their terrible
vengeance on the trip out. And all four of the Terrans knew relief,
though they might not admit it to each other, when once more Soriki
was able to establish contact with the distant spacer.
"Turn north, sir?" the pilot suggested. "I could ride her beam in from
here--we don't have to follow them home." He wanted to do that so
badly it was almost a compulsion to make his hand move on the
controls. And when Hobart did not answer at once, he was sure that the
captain would give that very order, taking them out of the company of
those he had never trusted.
But Lablet spoiled that. "We have their word, Captain. That anti-grav
unit that they showed us last night alone--"
So Hobart shook his head, and they meekly continued on the path set by
the globe across the ocean.
As the hours passed Raf's inner uneasiness grew. For some queer reason
which he could not define to himself or explain to anyone else, he was
now possessed by an urgency to trail the globe which transcended and
then erased his dislike of the aliens. It was as if some appeal for
help was being broadcast from the other ship, drawing him on. It was
then that he began to question his assumption that the prisoner was
one of them.
Over and over again in his mind he tried to re-picture the capture as
he had witnessed it from the building just too far away and at
slightly the wrong angle for a clear view. He would swear that the
body he had seen tumble into the flood had not been furred, that much
he was sure of. But clothing, yes, there had been clothing. Not--his
mind suddenly produced that one scrap of memory--not the bandage
windings of the aliens. And hadn't the skin been fairer? Was there
another race on this continent, one they had not been told about?
When they at last reached the shore of the western continent and
finally the home city of the aliens, the globe headed back to its
berth, not in the roof cradle from which it had arisen, but sinking
into the building itself. Raf brought the flitter down on a roof as
close to the main holding of the painted people as he could get. None
of the aliens came near them. It seemed that they were to be ignored.
Hobart paced along the flat roof, and Soriki sat in the flyer, nursing
his com, intent upon the slender thread of beam which tied them to the
parent ship so many miles away.
"I don't understand it." Lablet's voice arose almost plaintively.
"They were so very persuasive about our accompanying them. They were
eager to have us see their treasures--"
Hobart swung around. "Somehow the balance of power has changed," he
observed, "in their favor. I'd give anything to know more about that
prisoner of theirs. You're sure it wasn't one of the furry people?" he
asked Raf, as if hoping against hope that the pilot would reply in
doubt.
"Yes, sir." Raf hesitated. Should he air his suspicions, that the
captive was not of the same race as his captors either? But what
proof had he beyond a growing conviction that he could not
substantiate?
"A rebel, a thief--" Lablet was ready to dismiss it as immaterial.
"Naturally they would be upset if they were having trouble with one of
their own men. But to leave now, just when we are on the verge of new
discoveries--That anti-gravity unit alone is worth our whole trip!
Imagine being able to return to earth with the principle of that!"
"Imagine being able to return to earth with our skins on our backs,"
was Soriki's whispered contribution. "If we had the sense of a
Venusian water nit, we'd blast out of here so quick our tail fumes'd
take off with us!"
Privately Raf concurred, but the urge to know more about the
mysterious prisoner was still pricking at him, until he, contrary to
his usual detachment, felt driven to discover all that he could. It
was almost, but Raf shied away from that wild idea, it was almost as
if he were hearing a voiceless cry for aid, as if his mind was one of
Soriki's coms tuned in on an unknown wave length. He was angrily
impatient with himself for that fantastic supposition. At the same
time, another part of his mind, as he walked to the edge of the roof
and looked out at the buildings he knew were occupied by the aliens,
was busy examining the scene as if he intended to crawl about on roof
tops on a second scouting expedition.
Finally the rest decided that Lablet and Hobart were to try to
establish contact with the aliens once more. After they had gone, Raf
opened a compartment in the flitter, the contents of which were his
particular care. He squatted on his heels and surveyed the neatly
stowed objects inside thoughtfully. A survival kit depended a great
deal on the type of terrain in which the user was planning to
survive--an aquatic world would require certain basic elements, a
frozen tundra others--but there were a few items common to every
emergency, and those were now at Raf's fingertips. The blast bombs,
sealed into their pexilod cases, guaranteed to stop all the attackers
that Terran explorers had so far met on and off worlds, a coil of rope
hardly thicker than a strand of knitting yarn but of inconceivable
toughness and flexibility, an aid kit with endurance drugs and pep
pills which could keep a man on his feet and going long after food and
water failed. He had put them all in their separate compartments.
For a long moment he hunkered there, studying the assortment. And
then, almost as if some will other than his own was making a choice,
he reached out. The rope curled about his waist under his tunic so
tautly that its presence could not be detected without a search, blast
bombs went into the sealed seam pocket on his breast, and two flat
containers with their capsules were tucked away in his belt pouch. He
snapped the door shut and got to his feet to discover Soriki watching
him. Only for a moment was Raf disconcerted. He knew that he would not
be able to explain why he must do what he was going to do. There was
no reason why he should. Soriki, except for being a few years his
senior, had no authority over him. He was not under the com-tech's
orders.
"Another trip into the blue?"
The pilot replied to that with a nod.
"Somehow, boy, I don't think anything's going to stop you, so why
waste my breath? But use your homer--and your eyes!"
Raf paused. There was an unmistakable note of friendliness in the
com-tech's warning. Almost he was tempted to try and explain. But how
could one make plain feelings for which there was no sensible reason?
Sometimes it was better to be quiet.
"Don't dig up more than you can rebury." That warning, in the slang
current when they had left Terra, was reassuring simply because it was
of the earth he knew. Raf grinned. But he did not head toward the roof
opening and the ramp inside the building. Instead he set a course he
had learned in the other city, swinging down to the roof of the
neighboring structure, intent on working away from the inhabited
section of the town before he went into the streets.
Either the aliens had not set any watch on the Terrans or else all
their interest was momentarily engaged elsewhere. Raf, having gone
three or four blocks in the opposite direction to his goal, made his
way through a silent, long-deserted building to the street without
seeing any of the painted people. In his ear buzzed the comforting hum
of the com, tying him with the flitter and so, in a manner, to safety.
He knew that the alien community had gathered in and around the
central building they had visited. To his mind the prisoner was now
either in the headquarters of the warriors, where the globe had been
berthed, or had been taken to the administration building. Whether he
could penetrate either stronghold was a question Raf did not yet face
squarely.
But the odd something which tugged at him was as persistent as the
buzz in his earphones. And an idea came. If he _were_ obeying some
strange call for assistance, couldn't that in some way lead him to
what he sought? The only difficulty was that he had no way of being
more receptive to the impulse than he now was. He could not use it as
a compass bearing.
In the end he chose the Center as his goal, reasoning that if the
prisoner were to be interviewed by the leaders of the aliens, he would
be taken to those rulers, they would not go to him. From a concealed
place across from the open square on which the building fronted, the
pilot studied it carefully. It towered several stories above the
surrounding structures, to some of which it was tied by the ways above
the streets. To use one of those bridges as a means of entering the
headquarters would be entirely too conspicuous.
As far as the pilot was able to judge, there was only one entrance on
the ground level, the wide front door with the imposing
picture-covered gates. Had he had free use of the flitter he might
have tried to swing down from the hovering machine after dark. But he
was sure that Captain Hobart would not welcome the suggestion.
Underground? There had been those ways in that other city, a city
which, though built on a much smaller scale, was not too different in
general outline from this one. The idea was worth investigation.
The doorway, which had afforded him a shelter from which to spy out
the land, yielded to his push, and he went through three large rooms
on the ground floor, paying no attention to the strange groups of
furnishings, but seeking something else, which he had luck to find in
the last room, a ramp leading down.
It was in the underground that he made his first important find. They
had seen ground vehicles in the city, a few still in operation, but
Raf had gathered that the fuel and extra parts for the machines were
now so scarce that they were only used in emergencies. Here, however,
was a means of transportation quite different, a tunnel through which
ran a ribbon of belt, wide enough to accommodate three or four
passengers at once. It did not move, but when Raf dared to step out
upon its surface, it swung under his weight. Since it ran in the
general direction of the Center he decided to use it. It trembled
under his tread, but he found that he could run along it making no
sound.
The tunnel was not in darkness, for square plates set in the roof gave
a diffused violet light. However, not too far ahead, the light was
brighter, and it came from one side, not the roof. Another station on
this abandoned way? The pilot approached it with caution. If his bump
of direction was not altogether off, this must be either below the
Center or very close to it.
The second station proved to be a junction where more than one of the
elastic paths met. Though he crouched to listen for a long moment
before venturing out into that open space, he could hear or see
nothing which suggested that the aliens ever came down now to these
levels.
They had provided an upward ramp, and Raf climbed it, only to meet his
first defeat at its top. For here was no opening to admit him to the
ground floor of what he hoped was the Center. Baffled by the smooth
surface over which he vainly ran his hands seeking for some clue to
the door, he decided that the aliens had, for some purpose of their
own, walled off the lower regions. Discouraged, he returned to the
junction level. But he was not content to surrender his plans so
easily. Slowly he made a circuit of the platform, examining the walls
and celling. He found an air shaft, a wide opening striking up into
the heart of the building above.
It was covered with a grille and it was above his reach but....
Raf measured distances and planned his effort. The mouth of a junction
tunnel ran less than two feet away from that grille. The opening was
outlined with a ledge, which made a complete arch from the floor. He
stopped and triggered the gravity plates in his space boots. Made to
give freedom of action when the ship was in free fall, they might just
provide a weak suction here. And they did! He was able to climb that
arch and, standing on it, work loose the grille which had been
fashioned to open. Now....
The pilot flashed his hand torch up into that dark well. He had been
right--and lucky! There were holds at regular intervals, something
must have been serviced by workmen in here. This was going to be easy.
His fingers found the first hold, and he wormed his way into the
shaft.
It was not a difficult climb, for there were niches along the way
where the alien mechanics who had once made repairs had either rested
or done some of their work. And there were also grilles on each level
which gave him at least a partial view of what lay beyond.
His guess was right; he recognized the main hall of the Center as he
climbed past the grid there, heading up toward those levels where he
was sure the leaders of the aliens had their private quarters. Twice
he paused to look in upon conferences of the gaudily wrapped and
painted civilians, but, since he could not understand what they were
saying, it was a waste of time to linger.
He was some eight floors up when chance, luck, or that mysterious
something which had brought him into this venture, led him to the
right place at the right time. There was one of those niches, and he
had just settled into it, peering out through the grid, when he saw
the door at the opposite end of the room open and in marched a party
of warriors with a prisoner in their midst.
Raf's eyes went wide. It was the captive he sought; he had no doubt of
that. But who--what--was that prisoner?
This was no fur-covered half-animal, nor was it one of the
delicate-boned, decadent, painted creatures such as those who now
ringed in their captive. Though the man had been roughly handled and
now reeled rather than walked, Raf thought for one wild instant that
it was one of the crew from the spacer. The light hair, showing rings
of curl, the tanned face which, beneath dirt and bruises, displayed a
very familiar cast of features, the body hardly covered by rags of
clothing--they were all so like those of his own kind that his mind at
first refused to believe that this was _not_ someone he knew. Yet as
the party moved toward his hiding place he knew that he was facing a
total stranger.
Stranger or no, Raf was sure that he saw a Terran. Had another ship
made a landing on this planet? One of those earlier ships whose fate
had been a mystery on their home world? Who--and when--and why? He
huddled as close to the grid as he could get, alert to the slightest
movement below as the prisoner faced his captors.
15