The plump little flight engineer handed him a sandwich. "You're due for
relief about now anyway. The boss and I will be out here, and White and
Brettner inside. You and Rogers can sleep a while."
The linguist leaned back against a tree and lit a cigarette. "Has the
native showed up again?" he asked his microphone.
White answered. "Yeah. He high-tailed it across the prairie and
disappeared among the coral rocks. Chief says for you to come in,
Stuart; he wants to know what you found out."
* * * * *
Stuart picked up his rifle, canteen, camera, and cup. He wondered
vaguely, as he trudged wearily over to the ship, how he had gotten
so tired. Then he realized that, like the others, he had gotten only
five hours' sleep in the past two nights. Procyon was yellow-white and
hot on his back, even through the netting, as he clambered up the fin
rungs. He felt sleepy.
In the captain's crowded little cabin he dropped into a chair and
yawned. Gordon stretched, scratching lazily, and grinned at him.
"Bored, on your first day ashore?"
The linguist smiled ruefully. "Tired, yes, but hardly bored. I don't
mind admitting the first few hours have been rather disappointing. We
had a native right here, I stood face to face with him, and we even
saved his life ... well, no use yowling about it. I presume he's gone
off to warn the others now. Our element of surprise, as you fellows
say, is lost." He brushed the hair out of his eyes. "What shall we do
about it, Gordon?"
The leader drummed on the desk a while. "I dunno. This sort of
situation was never covered in Patrol courses. Maybe the General Staff
studies this stuff, but I was just a line officer, like the other guys.
If you remember, we figured we'd sort of make up our operations plan as
we went along. You probably know as much about it as we do, from all
your reading. Nothing predictable about any of this; we just have to
react to whatever develops. What would you suggest?"
"Um. Well, I've a half-formed scheme for--er, seizing the bull by
the horns. The natives are certain to react immediately, either by
attacking us or by disappearing again. I feel that we should assume the
initiative as soon as possible, without waiting for them to maneuver
one of their weapons within range of us."
"How do we assume the initiative?"
"Yes, exactly--how?" The semanticist shook his head. "I'll have to
sleep on it at least a little while, Gordon. Right now I feel unable to
think. But somehow we have to convey to the Azurans the knowledge that
we are friendly. We'll have to find some way of representing the idea
to them."
"Drop leaflets," suggested Gordon, wryly. "Or put up one of those
billboards they used to have all over a hundred years ago. Everybody in
the universe must have become accustomed to some kind of advertising by
now!" He laughed heartily. "Okay, Stuart. Go fall into your bunk. Let's
hope you wake up with a good idea!"
The thoughtful little language expert got up to leave. "Billboard.
Billboard ... there may be something in that, even if you were joking."
His musings were broken off by the alarm bell and the intercom's
squawk. "All hands! Battle stations! Chief, three natives just popped
up from a hole in the ground about two hundred meters away. Strong
radar indication."
As Stuart ran down to his post at the airlock, he heard Gordon's calm
voice from the intercom. "All right, Brettner. Keep them covered, but
don't fire."
At the lock, the linguist remembered to punch the personnel buttons
as the men climbed in, out of breath and swearing. He pushed the stud
beside his own name last and shut the lock as the "All Aboard" shone
green.
Gordon spoke again, apparently to someone in the control room with him.
"They've evidently lugged a disrupter or something along a tunnel. Seem
to have a couple of big beasts of burden carrying a gadget ... looks
like one of those old pack howitzers. Let's wait 'till they get it
nearly assembled, so we can get an idea of--hup! Let's GO!"
* * * * *
Stuart had forgotten to buckle his safety straps. He just had time to
grab a stanchion when the violent acceleration tripled his weight and
nearly threw him to the floor. No more than a heartbeat later, there
was a muffled boom from outside the ship, and a section of blazing tree
went rocketing past the glassite window.
After a few seconds' acceleration he felt the ship take on a horizontal
component. The pressure eased off. He got up from his hands and knees
and adjusted the periscope controls until he got a view of the ground.
There was a group of burning trees several kilometers below, sliding
rapidly to the east. Several times the scenery shifted rapidly as the
ship zigzagged.
As he swung the 'scope, Stuart was thunderstruck to discover a hole
blasted in the edge of a fin, not four meters away from where he stood.
Shreds of charred camouflage netting fluttered in tangled strings.
On the intercom, White's voice broke the tense silence. "Gimme that
again, slowly, somebody. What happened, anyway?"
Gordon answered. "That must have been a tunnel they came out of, right
at the edge of the woods. Maybe they use it to get home if hell-cats
happen to catch them out on the prairie. That fellow we caught today
was probably heading for it, hoping to lose the cats in the woods
first."
After a moment, he added, "Anyway, they showed up with a heavy weapon
and nearly got us. Patrol guessed wrong about its portability, and I
guessed wrong about its operation."
Stuart commented, "Good thing someone happened to be on duty in the
turret, and we were able to take off on such short notice."
"_Happened!_" barked the captain. "Mr. Stuart, that's the first rule of
_any_ ship landing on territory listed as 'unsafe', and it 'happens' to
be Rules Seven through Sixteen of the Patrol Regulations!"
Brettner eased the linguist's embarrassment by changing the subject
a little. "Did you all see the colossal helpers they had carrying
that weapon? Must be what the traders called heffalumps ... I thought
the pictures were fakes. Those critters practically did the shooting
themselves, and they were talking to the natives! This is some
planet--everybody talks to everybody except us!"
Gordon spoke again. "White, I want you to rig up a mosaic alarm with
controls in the turret, Number One Lock, and control room ... before
tonight, if possible. Jury-rig it, just so it goes off when anything
larger than a mossback moves near the ship. Get as much range as you
can."
"That means dismantling the space-probe and comparator, boss. Not
enough spare checkerboards to scan three hundred and sixty degrees with
a decent vertical coverage. And for stereo-perception, so the thing can
discriminate between a nearby leaf and a far-away heffalump--"
"All right, do the best you can. Can you hook it up with an infra-red
snooper for night work? I don't believe the natives can see
infra-red ... I hope. Procyon's a little farther toward the blue than
Sol is."
"I'll see what I can do. Can't get very good resolution with the
electro-optical stuff we have for infra-red. We had to weed out four
tons, you know, and the Hollmann scanners are three and a half parsecs
back, in our shop."
Stuart noticed that the ship's course had steadied. A look through
the 'scope showed the recently-abandoned clearing now swinging under
the stern again, far below. He was about to take a picture of it when
Gordon called him.
"Stuart, will you go to the drive room and give Nestor a hand? He's
scanning the area with microwave, and I want you to use the stern-view
telescope. Those characters may have decided to go back to their base
without using the tunnel; maybe we can keep out of sight and get a good
fix on where they hole up."
* * * * *
The linguist retracted the periscope and saw to it that the guard
plates slid over the outer lens. Then he dodged through the radiation
trap into the darkened drive room. He was wondering how to strap
himself into the seat without taking off all his photographic gear,
when Nestor, peering into the radar screen, snapped his fingers.
"Got a blip, Gordon," said the engineer with suppressed excitement.
"One metallic object about the size of a foot-locker, maybe a little
bigger. Boy, do those rocks show up! Must be nearly all metal."
In a moment the leader answered. "I believe I see something. Awkward
angle, though, on this turret telescope. How about you, Stuart?"
"No, frankly, I--"