Drake removed the back from the transmitter and scowled at the compact
mass of tubes and wiring. Those metal boxlike things were probably
condensers, and the waxy cylindrical gadgets might or might not be
resistors. It all looked hopelessly complicated, ridiculously dense and
delicate. Where should he begin?
He turned on the set and waited a few minutes. All the tubes appeared
to go on, some dim, some bright. He couldn't detect any loose wires.
The mike was still dead.
So much for visual inspection. Next question: was the set getting
enough juice?
He turned it off and checked the battery cells with a voltmeter. The
batteries were up to charge. He removed the leads, scraped them and put
them back on, making sure they fit snugly. He checked all connections,
murmured a propitiatory prayer, and turned the set on.
It still didn't work.
Cursing, he turned it off again. He decided to replace all the tubes,
starting with the dim ones. If that didn't work, he could try replacing
condensers and resistors. If that didn't work, he could always shoot
himself. With this cheerful thought, he opened the parts kit and went
to work.
The men were all inside the copra shed, finishing the job of
barricading it for the night. The door was wedged shut and locked. The
two windows had to be kept open for ventilation; otherwise everyone
would suffocate in the heat. But a double layer of heavy mosquito
netting was nailed over each window, and a guard was posted beside it.
Nothing could get through the flat galvanized-iron roof. The floor was
of pounded earth, a possible danger point. All they could do was keep
watch over it.
The treasure-hunters settled down for a long night. Drake, with a
handkerchief tied around his forehead to keep the perspiration out of
his eyes, continued working on the transmitter.
* * * * *
An hour later, there was a buzz on the walkie-talkie. Sorensen picked
it up and said, "What do you want?"
"I want you to end this senseless resistance," said the Quedak,
speaking with Eakins' voice. "You've had enough time to think over the
situation. I want you to join me. Surely you can see there's no other
way."
"We don't want to join you," Sorensen said.
"You must," the Quedak told him.
"Are you going to make us?"
"That poses problems," the Quedak said. "My animal parts are not
suitable for coercion. Eakins is an excellent mechanism, but there is
only one of him. And I must not expose myself to unnecessary danger.
By doing so I would endanger the Quedak Mission."
"So it's a stalemate," Sorensen said.
"No. I am faced with difficulty only in taking you over. There is no
problem in killing you."
The men shifted uneasily. Drake, working on the transmitter, didn't
look up.
"I would rather _not_ kill you," the Quedak said. "But the Quedak
Mission is of primary importance. It would be endangered if you didn't
join. It would be seriously compromised if you left the island. So you
must either join or be killed."
"That's not the way I see it," Sorensen said. "If you killed
us--assuming that you can--you'd never get off this island. Eakins
can't handle that ketch."
"There would be no need to leave in the ketch," the Quedak said. "In
six months, the inter-island schooner will return. Eakins and I will
leave then. The rest of you will have died."
"You're bluffing," Sorensen said. "What makes you think you could kill
us? You didn't do so well today." He caught Drake's attention and
gestured at the radio. Drake shrugged his shoulders and went back to
work.
"I wasn't trying," the Quedak said. "The time for that was at night.
_This_ night, before you have a chance to work out a better system of
defense. You must join me tonight or I will kill one of you."
"One of us?"
"Yes. One man an hour. In that way, perhaps the survivors will change
their minds about joining. But if they don't, all of you will be dead
by morning."
Drake leaned over and whispered to Sorensen, "Stall him. Give me
another ten minutes. I think I've found the trouble."
Sorensen said into the walkie-talkie, "We'd like to know a little more
about the Quedak Cooperation."
"You can find out best by joining."
"We'd rather have a little more information on it first."
* * * * *
"It is an indescribable state," the Quedak said in an urgent,
earnest, eager voice. "Can you imagine yourself as _yourself_ and yet
experiencing an entirely new series of sensory networks? You would, for
example, experience the world through the perceptors of a dog as he
goes through the forest following an odor which to him--and to you--is
as clear and vivid as a painted line. A hermit crab senses things
differently. From him you experience the slow interaction of life at
the margin of sea and land. His time-sense is very slow, unlike that
of a bird of paradise, whose viewpoint is spatial, rapid, cursory.
And there are many others, above and below the earth and water, who
furnish their own specialized viewpoints of reality. Their outlooks,
I have found, are not essentially different from those of the animals
that once inhabited Mars."
"What happened on Mars?" Sorensen asked.
"All life died," the Quedak mourned. "All except the Quedak. It
happened a long time ago. For centuries there was peace and prosperity
on the planet. Everything and everyone was part of the Quedak
Cooperation. But the dominant race was basically weak. Their breeding
rate went down; catastrophes happened. And finally there was no more
life except the Quedak."
"Sounds great," Sorensen said ironically.
"It was the fault of the race," the Quedak protested. "With sturdier
stock--such as you have on this planet--the will to live will remain
intact. The peace and prosperity will continue indefinitely."
"I don't believe it. What happened on Mars will happen again on Earth
if you take over. After a while, slaves just don't care very strongly
about living."
"You wouldn't be slaves. You would be functional parts of the Quedak
Cooperation."
"Which would be run by you," Sorensen said. "Any way you slice it,
it's the same old pie."
"You don't know what you're talking about," the Quedak said. "We have
talked long enough. I am prepared to kill one man in the next five
minutes. Are you or are you not going to join me?" Sorensen looked at
Drake. Drake turned on the transmitter.
Gusts of rain splattered on the roof while the transmitter warmed up.
Drake lifted the microphone and tapped it, and was able to hear the
sound in the speaker.
"It's working," he said.
* * * * *
At that moment something flew against the netting-covered window. The
netting sagged; a fruit bat was entangled in it, glaring at them with
tiny red-rimmed eyes.
"Get some boards over that window!" Sorensen shouted.
As he spoke, a second bat hurtled into the netting, broke through it
and tumbled to the floor. The men clubbed it to death, but four more
bats flew in through the open window. Drake flailed at them, but he
couldn't drive them away from the transmitter. They were diving at his
eyes, and he was forced back. A wild blow caught one bat and knocked
it to the floor with a broken wing. Then the others had reached the
transmitter.
They pushed it off the table. Drake tried to catch the set, and failed.
He heard the glass tubes shattering, but by then he was busy protecting
his eyes.
In a few minutes they had killed two more bats, and the others had fled
out the window. The men nailed boards over both windows, and Drake bent
to examine the transmitter.
"Any chance of fixing it?" Sorensen asked.
"Not a hope," Drake said. "They ripped out the wiring while they were
at it."
"What do we do now?"
"I don't know."
Then the Quedak spoke to them over the walkie-talkie. "I must have your
answer right now."
Nobody said a word.
"In that case," the Quedak said, "I'm deeply sorry that one of you must
die now."