Early the next morning we started forth to the field where the most
recent bovicides had taken place, and concealed our plane in some woods
by the edge of the field. We had not long to wait, for soon we were
rewarded by a whistling sound, at which we sailed out to meet the enemy.
“The nations’ airy navies grappling in the central blue,” of which
Tennyson sings, can’t hold a candle to a battle between an ant flyer and
a whistling bee.
At the start we circled each other, each looking for an opening, and
each trying to get on the back of the other. In this game the airplane
had a certain advantage, for it was provided with grappling hooks both
above and below, and could work its tail either up or down to strike at
its antagonist. Whereas the bee, of course, had legs only on the bottom
side, and could bend his sting only downward. Thus even if the bee
should alight on the top of the plane, the fight would still remain
fairly even. But if the plane should alight on top of the bee, it would
be all over for the poor bee.
In addition, the plane had its fuel tank and its control levers located
way to the front, as far as possible out of reach of the sting of the
bee. But the bee had the advantage of unified control; that is to say,
one of the ant ensigns flew the machine, while the other manipulated the
fighting tail; whereas the bee controlled both his sting and his wings
with a single brain.
Round and round we circled, first the plane on top and then the bee. The
two young ant-men were accomplished flyers, so that loop-the-loops,
tail-spins, direct drops and other maneuvers were possible, and it took
all of these expedients to elude our antagonist. But at last the bee
made some slight misplay, and instantly we were upon his back with the
grappling hooks sunk in his sides and in a moment our fighting tail was
driven home and the battle was over. The grappling hooks were then
released, and the carcass cast to the ground.
Upon our alighting shortly thereafter, one of the ant-men exclaimed: “We
certainly _are_ in luck, for there is the bee’s honey pot!”
And sure enough, there in front of us was a silk lined opening in the
ground, more than a yard in diameter. And now I learned whence came the
honey which the Formians had frequently served me. For it seems that
these huge bees, as large as horses, burrow into the ground to the depth
of ten or twelve feet, line the hole with silk of their own spinning,
and then use it as a reservoir for their most excellent honey. This, in
spite of their carnivorous proclivities, is almost identical to the
honey made by bees on earth.
One of the bar-pootahs now uncoiled a long hose from the airship and
stuck the end into the honey reservoir, while the other started up the
motor; and soon we were filling one of our spare tanks with the luscious
syrup, of which there were about one hundred gallons in the hole.
But we had made one mistake, for this was not the hole of our late
victim. It belonged instead to another bee, who suddenly appeared
angrily on the scene. If we had not been warned by his whistling, we
should have been out of luck; and as it was, we barely had time to
scramble aboard and rise from the ground before he was upon us.
Then began a repetition of our former fight, but with a difference, as
we soon noticed, for this bee was a master of aerial tactics. Once, when
we were nearly upon his back, he darted ahead, and then rose and halted,
so that we nearly drove our ship onto the point of his sting. But
fortunately, our pilot caught the idea of the maneuver almost before it
was executed, and quickly threw us into a left-handed spiral, thus not
only escaping the deadly sting, but also giving the bee a bad bruise
with one of our wings as we shot by.
A move like this would, of course, be rendered entirely impossible by
the steadying influence of the gyroscopes, were it not for the fact that
the control apparatus is so arranged that the gyroscopes maintain their
position, while the whole rest of the machine spirals around them.
For a while thereafter we had the advantage, and finally by a clever
shift descended squarely upon the back of the bee. But, just as our
hooks were about to take hold, the bee again darted forward and looped
in front of us, turning over at the same time, so that he was right side
up above us. Then, as we passed under him, he dropped upon the front of
our machine out of reach of our tail.
“My, but that was a well executed move!” one of the bar-pootahs
exclaimed. “I never saw a whistling bee do _that_ before.”
Airmen are ever appreciative of a clever opponent, on Poros as on Earth,
and even in defeat. These were the last words my friend ever spoke, for
at that moment he was impaled by the enemy. The next stroke punctured
the fuel tank, the other ant-man jumped, and the plane crashed to earth,
pinning me beneath it.
I lay stunned for a few moments, and then the angry bee bunted the wreck
to one side, pulled me from beneath it, and brandished his sting above
me, preparatory to driving it into my vitals.
_8_
the conspiracy
Just as the sting was about to pierce my breast I recognized the bee. It
was the same one which had been my companion in the spider web, and
which I had rescued. There was the leg-stump and the scarred abdomen.
What irony of fate that this bee should have now returned to kill me!
“Don’t!” I shrieked aloud. “Was it for this that I saved you from the
spider?”
And it almost seemed as though he heard me and understood me, for he
stayed his rapier in mid air. Then he recognized me, too. At least he
must have done so, for in no other way can I explain his sudden
clemency. Instead of finishing his stroke, the bee withdrew his sting,
gazed intently on me for several seconds, and then flew heavily away.
Once more my life was saved!
When I had recovered my breath, I struggled weakly to my feet and looked
about me. The plane was a hopeless wreck. The impaled bar-pootah was
still in his place at the levers. The one who had jumped was lying
crushed and silent near by. I was alone in a small open spot in the
woods.
After ascertaining that the crushed ant-man was beyond all help, I
started off in as nearly a straight direction as I could, lining up
first one pair of trees and then another in order to keep from traveling
in a circle. The absence of any direct sunlight made orientation very
difficult, for without any shadows to judge by it was impossible to tell
north from south or east from west.
Again, as on my second day on this planet, I noticed the peculiar fauna
of the woods, and especially the strange birds which seemed to fly in
tandem pairs. Finally, as I passed through a small clearing, a pair flew
near me, and to my surprise I found that it was not a pair at all, but
rather a single animal. In fact it was not a bird at all, but rather a
reptile of some sort, resembling a lizard with a wing where each leg
should be—a veritable flying snake about three feet long.
As this peculiar winged creature fluttered near and saw me, it uttered a
shrill squeak and rushed at my head. The squeak was answered in various
directions, and almost immediately several more flying snakes began to
converge upon me from all sides. Luckily for me there was a stout stick
lying close at hand, and seizing this I began to defend myself.
More and more of the strange aerial snakes arrived, and soon I was
surrounded by a swarm of them, all striving to strike at my head,
regardless of my frantic attempts to beat them off.
I was rapidly tiring from my efforts, when a diversion offered, in the
form of a new enemy—a lavender colored hairless cat-like beast about the
size of a large dog—which bounded into the clearing with a
blood-curdling scream.
Forgotten were the flying snakes, as I clambered into a tree, just
barely in time to escape this new onslaught. And forgotten, apparently,
was I by them. For they scattered to the four winds of heaven, leaving
me alone with the purple beast, which paced screaming beneath my tree. I
felt perfectly safe where I sat, for the creature did not appear to be a
climber, but its hideous howls were most annoying until I noticed that
the noise came entirely from my headset. So I switched off the current,
and instantly all was silence.
But even the silence and the comparative safety of the tree were not
particularly pleasant. The beast was anything but pretty, resembling a
mountain lion except that it was lavender colored and hairless, with
antennae and webbed feet.
So this was the woofus, of which I had heard so much, the most dreaded
carnivore of all Poros! One of these, it was said, was easily a match
for three or four ant-men; so what chance had I, perched in my tree, if
my captor chose to hang around until hunger and thirst should force me
to descend?
But this question never was answered; for, luckily for me, something
else presently attracted the attention of the woofus, and it trotted off
into the woods. I switched on my radio, and heard its screams gradually
fade away in the distance.
When all was silent again I descended, and picked up the line of trees
which I had been following when I entered the clearing. Soon I came to
another clearing. There in the center lay a crippled airplane and beside
it the dead body of a huge ant. It was my own plane. I had traveled in a
circle, after all.
In despair I sat down on the side of the airship. How was I ever to get
out of this woods?
And then the fading daylight gave me a clue. To one side the silver gray
of the sky was darkening, while to the other it was assuming a pinkish
hue. I could now tell east from west, and if I hurried, and if the way
was not too far, I could follow a straight line out of the wood while it
was still light. So off I set, due west toward the pink of the unseen
setting sun. Just as the pink light finally died out before me and all
became jet black on every hand, I reached a concrete road at last and
sat down exhausted on its edge.
I must have slept; for the next thing that I knew I was flooded by a
bright light, and then a kerkool stopped beside me, and I was hailed by
a cheery “Yahoo!”
The driver was a lone ant-man.