Gene sat dejectedly at the mouth of his cave, dully staring out at the
black sameness of the destitute valley. Two stalwart Wronged Ones, as
Kac had termed his tribe, stood at the opening, watching the man with
troubled eyes.
Thus had it been for the past week, since the day Old One had
pronounced those dread words condemning Gene and all like him. True, he
was allowed to roam the cave city and observe the ways of the tribe,
but always the guards were with him.
What terrible deed could have been done by Earth's people to so bring
the scorn of an entire race upon them? He had mulled over this night
after night, but the answer was beyond his grasp. Those of the tribe
had never again spoken of it after that one accusing moment in the case
of their chief.
He smiled wryly. Faring forth from Earth to solve the mystery of the
destructive ray, he had run squarely into another, far greater puzzle.
And when he found the answer to one, then he would surely solve the
other; for he now felt certain that the two were in some way connected.
The solution must come soon. He had spent much time reading the
brochure given to him by President Mason, and in it Science Center had
stated that the molecular patterns of metal could not long withstand
the disrupting force. If surcease did not come shortly, there was no
guessing what great catastrophe would befall Earth. Perhaps the entire
sphere would disintegrate and fall away in space!
Another riddle he had come across was that of the always-guarded cavern
in the center of the city, about which all life in the community
revolved. It seemed as if the Wronged Ones lived only to gather each
night in that chamber and--worship?
All that his guards would tell him about the place was that it was
called the Cave of Talkers. Old One had warned him never to go near it,
and the guards were careful to see that he heeded the admonition.
With such things troubling his mind, he retired into the cave and
stretched out on the miserable pile of furs. Soon he made out the
glow of a tiny campfire outside, about which the guards huddled in the
gathering gloom.
Strange people were these. It was very seldom they smiled. The greater
part of the time sadness was stamped deep in their features; sadness
that spoke eloquently of a great tragedy that had come to them in the
dim far past. Plague, perhaps?
Gene frowned and rolled over on his side. So many questions; so few
answers. He yawned sleepily and closed his eyes. Action. That was what
he wanted; action.... Then his mind became as the darkness.
He did not fare forth into the city next morning, but remained in the
cave, putting into action a plan that had come to him during the night.
The guards were not in evidence at the cavern's mouth, but he knew they
were near at hand. The moment he came out, there they would be, intent
on carrying out their sworn duty.
Crouched in a deep recess of the chamber, he played his energy-ray on
the wall before him, shielding his eyes from the bright glare with a
gloved hand.
He thanked his lucky stars that the simple-minded tribesmen had never
thought to take the gun from him. With its aid he would at least be
able to steal from the cave this night, all unknown to the guards, and
make his way to the Cave of Talkers, there to learn what went on inside
that mysterious chamber.
The ray bit ever deeper in the hard stone, gouging out a narrow tunnel
through which Gene could worm his way into the adjoining cave--that of
Mree-na, the patriarch, from whom Gene had learned the language of the
Wronged Ones.
Mree-na would not be home. Being too old to hunt, he spent his days
in going among the people to hear their woes and offer his counsel in
inter-family disputes. Thus Gene worked without fear of detection.
The hours sped by, and still he labored--determined to win through by
nightfall. If he had judged right, he would emerge in the far reaches
of Mree-na's abode, where the shadows were heavy and where the feeble
old man never ventured.
The wall was not as thick as he had expected. The call of the returning
hunters was in his ears as the last foot of matter gave before the
hissing ray and crashed to the floor of Mree-na's cave, mid a thunder
of echoes.
Gene stuck his head through the opening, glanced about, then withdrew.
The way was clear. When the tribe met tonight in the Cave of Talkers,
Gene Drummond would be the uninvited guest.
Brushing the telltale dust from his clothes he walked casually from the
cavern and started down the long, sloping trail leading to the valley
below. His guards hurried up and one grasped him gently by the shoulder.
"There you cannot go," he said firmly. "Old One knows all. You would
go yonder where the sleeping sky-beast lies and flee this world,
but Old One and his people would not have it so ... ever," he added
significantly.
* * * * *
"Damn it!" Gene exploded. "I'm starving for a good meal. I've got
plenty of canned food in my ship; give me a couple of warriors to carry
it here and I'll spread out a feast for your tribe that will make the
slop you eat taste like--like slop!"
The two men did not cringe before his wrath, but stood their ground;
their sad eyes growing even sadder. For a long moment there was
silence; then the one who rested his hand on Gene's shoulder spoke.
"Man of the third planet, you have come among a saddened people; a
people to whom a great--nay, the _greatest_--injustice was done in the
dim, yet vivid, past. My tongue is pledged to speak not of this, but
know you it is not by our will we are here. Know you, also, this slop
you cry out against should call to you as like calls to like, for long
did you wallow in it!"
Gene said nothing, but turned and stumbled away. He realized now that
these barbarians meant to keep him here for as long as he should live.
They wanted him to know some of their misery, their sorrow; to know
the hopelessness they knew, and the futility of struggling with an
environment that gave not before the onslaught of humanity. Why?
He was feeling like the lowest heel in the world by the time night
fell. But he soon snapped out of it when he heard the tramp of many
feet outside as the tribes-people passed on their way to the Cave of
Talkers.
Hell! He didn't owe these savages anything, though they tried their
best to give him that impression. Maybe their plaint of injustice done
them was just an act to cover up some insidious activity going on in
the great cave!
Shaking with excitement, he wriggled through his secret tunnel and
dropped cat-like to the floor of the adjacent cave. A quick look about
assured him Mree-na had already left for the big doings. He hurried to
the mouth of the chamber and stealthily peered outside.
A few yards away, the two guards squatted on boulders in front of the
cave he had just vacated, talking in low voices about the night's
activities. They expressed disappointment at not being able to attend
the nightly meetings, but Old One had cautioned them never to go so far
from their post as to allow their charge a chance to escape.
Gene took a deep breath and darted out of the cavern, running silently
over the rough ledge to the next chamber. He crouched in its maw and
looked back at the guards. They sat unmoving, except to reach up now
and then to adjust their fur robes in an effort to shut out the biting
cold.
He moved away, satisfied they had not seen him.
As he neared the Cave of Talkers he became aware of a steady vibration
of the rock underfoot. He had never before been this close to the
worshipping place of the Wronged Ones, if worshipping place it was.
No guards were here; they, too, had gone inside to participate in the
proceedings. Gene eased into the vast cavern, staying close to the wall
so as not to be seen. A rumbling as of giant sobbing beat against his
ears, accompanied by the droning undertone of a rhythmic chant.
He stood at the head of the broad stairs leading down to the cave
proper; and from there he looked upon that which brought a gasp of
stark incredulity to his lips.
Below, the Wronged Ones knelt on the floor of the cavern, heads bowed
in veneration as they offered up the monotonous prayer. All were there:
women, children, battle-scarred warriors, and aged folk who could but
scarcely assume a kneeling position.
All this, he had more or less expected; for after all, these people
were but superstitious savages who looked to their gods for guidance.
But the thing that astounded him was the two colossal objects upon
which the Wronged Ones bestowed their homage.
In the center of the ring of kneeling tribesmen stood twin machines,
throbbing with power and sending off a weird effulgence. From one,
a long, tapering tube thrust up through the ceiling of the cavern,
vibrating violently under some great stress. Gene pressed nearer the
wall, unconsciously fearful of the tremendous energy surging through
that giant machine.
The other object of worship vaguely resembled an outsized dynamo,
though such as Gene had never before seen. In truth, the resemblance
was so little as to be all but non-existent.
Great comets! How did such a mass of intricate machinery get here, in
this underground vault, on a world where metal was not known? And what
was its purpose?
A narrow ledge ran around the chamber's walls, and Gene moved along
this to a spot where he could look down on the scene without risk of
being seen.
Now and again the droning supplication halted, and during these pauses
Old One arose and moved about the machines. In his hand he carried a
small skin sack. This he tilted over certain parts of the whirring,
pounding colossi, and from it poured a thin trickle of what could be
nothing but oil.
This ceremony performed, Old One moved back, then once more the
gathered throng took up the melancholy strain of the interrupted
invocation. Above all, the machines hummed and sang with unbelievable
power; deathless power. Yet, it seemed the prolonged roar faltered now
and then; stopped for the barest fraction of an instant. At such times,
the multitude groaned; then prayed all the more fervently.
* * * * *
Gene's mind was in tumult. This world was so unlike Earth: it did not
revolve on its axis, the false night of the valley was caused by dense
clouds of dust or some other substance which, carried by the wind,
passed over in irregular periods; thus one day would be longer or
shorter than another. He doubted that a thorough search of the sphere
would turn up enough metal to be worth the hunting, yet here were two
giant machines, idols of a primitive people who could not conceivably
grasp the mechanics involved. What a world! A world of riddles, Gene
thought absently.
Then, a wild shout stabbed through his thoughts and he jerked
startledly, almost losing his foothold on the treacherous ledge. The
urgent cry came again, nearer the cave now, and with it a frightful
uproar that raised the short hairs on the nape of Gene's neck. He could
make out the yell now: "Out! Out! The Beast People come!"
The Wronged Ones heard also, and poured up the stairs with cries of
wrath at thus having their ritual broken short, snatching up spears
from the floor as they went.
Gene hung back until the last of them had passed outside, then he, too,
flung himself through the cave mouth. His hand clutched the deadly
energy-ray, finger ready on the trigger to unloose a barrage of hissing
death on the repulsive creatures assailing the city. He did owe the
Wronged Ones something for saving his life, even though they had not
treated him as nicely as they might have.
Chaos met his eyes. Grouped together as they were, the Wronged Ones
offered a perfect target for the spears of the Beast People. Screaming
women and children floundered about, colliding with the warriors and
making it difficult for them to cast their weapons with accuracy. A
great sorrow clutched his heart as he saw old Mree-na go down, his
hands tearing at a shaft imbedded deep in his chest. Of all on this
world, the withered patriarch and Kac alone had been friendly toward
Gene. The rest bore him no hate, no ill will; but their eyes never
looked upon him but that they looked with accusation.
He pushed to the fore of the throng, brusquely shoving aside all in his
path. A long line of Beast People stretched across the valley floor,
moving forward rapidly and determinedly. Gene could see they were set
on winning the city this time, no matter what the cost. They carried
many firebrands, and some of these they threw among the disorganized
foe. Cries of agony rent the air as the blazing missiles ignited hair
and fur garments. Now, even the staunch warriors dropped their weapons
to beat at the tormenting flames. Utter defeat was hard upon them.
* * * * *
Gene felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Kac standing beside
him, desperation in his eyes. The young giant paused to launch a spear
at the oncoming horde, then ducked behind a boulder, dragging the
biologist with him.
The chief's son looked wonderingly for a moment at his strange
companion, then spoke quickly: "I do not know how you managed to
escape, Gene, but somehow I find myself glad to have you here in
this hour of crisis. See, even now my people fall by the tens; it
will be slaughter when the Beast People close with our warriors for
hand-to-hand battles. Can not you, a man capable of bending a fiery
sky-monster to your will, find a way to turn back this vermin that
would bring annihilation to all in this city?"
Gene peeped over the rounded stone and snapped a shot at the nearest
half-man. The thing fell, its head completely blown away. Kac gasped
and backed away in fear, for although he had seen the Earthling use the
gun when trapped near the ship, he still thought of it as some form of
black magic.
"Small loss to those monstrosities," Gene murmured. "There's swarms of
them." Then in a louder voice, "I might think of something shortly. But
first we must rally your men and get the women and children to safety.
Then we can work on a method of counterattack."
Old One joined them and Gene quickly gave the men their instructions.
Leaders that they were, he was certain they would succeed in the task
of bringing order to the panic-stricken community. He was to hold off
the half-men until the two could draw up an effective defense.
The chief and his son hurried away to exhort the tribe and Gene took
his post behind the large boulder. He noticed the hideous ones were not
advancing so rapidly now. They were reluctant to face again the fearful
death of fire that had done for so many of them the first time they had
come upon the explorer.
Kac raced up, flung himself down beside Gene, just as a spear whizzed
overhead and clattered to the ground a few yards away.
"They are poor marksmen," he laughed mirthlessly. Then, with pride in
his voice, "Gene, the warriors have already rallied, and of their own
accord! They are ready to fight the invader."
A look assured Drummond that the Wronged Ones had indeed come back
fighting; they scorned the protection of the rocks, but stood straight
and firm, casting their shafts with a trueness that took great toll of
the disappointed Beast People, who had thought victory already in their
grasp. The long line moved ever slower.
"Well, that was certainly taken care of in a hurry!" he said
admiringly. "What about the women and children--are they safe?"
"Yes," Kac nodded. "The aged men of the tribe even now aid Old One in
herding the weak ones into the caves. Now we may fight unhindered. Now
shall the vermin know the wrath of my people!"
* * * * *
Gene did not voice his fears, but he was afraid the rally had come too
late. The attacking force had gained too far up the side of the valley,
and with their greatly superior numbers they could soon squelch the
opposition in a man-to-man fight. It was uncanny, the way the eyeless
beings moved over and around the obstructions in their path, as if they
knew the location of each from memory. Even so, they were about the
clumsiest things he knew of.
The valley was brighter now, and looking up he could see a dim glow
filtering through the heavy clouds. It had been a short night, and that
was well for the tribe; for heretofore they had been forced to direct
their weapons to the target by the light of torches dropped by fallen
half-men.
But even though the advantage of daylight was now with them, they were
forced to give back before the doggedly advancing enemy. Soon they
would be forced to seek refuge in the caves. And as the foul creatures
came on there rose up an endless, terrifying scream of hate. The fall
of the cave city was near at hand.
Gene had been thinking about the things he had witnessed in the Cave
of Talkers, and now he turned excitedly to the man beside him, a
desperate plan taking shape in his mind.
"Listen, Kac! Go now--and may your feet sprout wings--to the Cave of
Talkers and bring from there the sack of liquid used in your ritual. We
may yet save the city, my friend."
Fear was in Kac's eyes, but only a moment. Surely the gods would give
up their sustenance to save their devout people. He hurried off,
bending low and weaving.
While he waited, Gene poured a steady fire at the abhorrent foe. Still,
not a gap showed in that long, undulating line. The moment one creature
fell, another rushed in to take his place.
Kac returned shortly, carrying the big skin sack of oil.
"This is all we have," he apologized. "The plants that produce this are
scarce, and so we never have a very large supply."
"We can only hope it will be enough," Gene said grimly, taking the
sack. "Here, give me your spear."
Kac turned over the long shaft and the biologist quickly poured oil
over it. Then he inserted the shaft of the slippery weapon in the
leatherlike carrying strap of the sack. While doing this, a torch fell
at his side in a burst of sparks and he snatched it up, smiling.
"Thanks, sucker! I'll be returning the favor shortly! Now, Kac, here's
what you must do: Take the torch and when I give the signal, touch it
to the oilsack. Then stand away in a hurry. That clear?"
Kac grinned in quick understanding of Gene's plan and enthusiastically
prepared for his part in it. He crouched low, smoking firebrand ready
in his hand, while Gene climbed to his feet and hoisted the odd
ensemble over his shoulder. Gauging distance, he adjusted the angle of
the spear, then took a firm stance.
"Let 'er rip!"
Kac leaped up and thrust the torch against the saturated sack, then
threw himself to the ground and rolled frantically away.
The bag blazed up instantly, and just as swift did Gene whip the spear
up and forward. The roaring ball of fire left the shaft in a high arc,
sailing straight toward the unsuspecting Beast People.
Down it came, bursting at the feet of the nearest half-men. Flaming
oil spewed over everything within a wide radius. It ate away flesh and
hair with a voracity that was dreadful to see. Living torches raced
madly about in circles, screaming at the top of their voices--then to
collapse in smouldering heaps, the evil life within them fled before
the cleansing flame.
All along the line, creatures stopped dead in their tracks, an
unreasoning fear striking deep in their hearts, if hearts they had.
They could not see the cause of disaster, but they could hear its roar
and the shrieks of their dying fellows. To them, it was as if a raging
holocaust had leaped from the bowels of the earth to gulp them in.
Then, as once before, the Beast People gave up to panic, and the solid
ranks suddenly disintegrated. Pell-mell they fled, back into and across
the valley, putting distance between themselves and the horror that
supposedly pursued them.
A jubilant shout went up from the defenders of the city: "The accursed
ones are beaten! The man from Earth has this day given us final
victory! Hail the man from Earth--our brother!"
A great pride welled in Gene's breast, but still his mind was troubled.
Now he had won the friendship of the Wronged Ones, but were the Beast
People truly vanquished? He thought not. Even with the enormous
casualties they had sustained, they still far outnumbered Old One's
tribe. They were desperate; this was a bitterly cold, dying world, and
outside this valley, without shelter, a person unhardened to the low
temperature would soon perish. The horrible creatures were vigorous and
rugged, but the cold was becoming more marked, year by year. Even they
could not long bear such hardships. He had a hunch they had not gone
far from the valley, and would soon launch another attack on the city.