"Let's go see Gertrude."
I didn't want to see Gertrude. I never got over feeling funny going
into the brute tank, especially at night or out in space. I'm a city
guy, myself. The smell and sound of wildness gives me goose bumps. But
Bucky was looking stubborn, so I shrugged.
"Okay. But just for a minute. Then we go beddy-bye."
"You're a pal, Jif. Bes' li'l' guy inna worl'...."
The fight had just put the topper on him. I was afraid he'd fall down
the ladder and break his neck. That's why I went along. If I hadn't....
Oh, well, what's a few nightmares among friends?
It was dark down there in the tank. Way off at the other end, there was
a dim glow. Gow was evidently holding Gertrude's hand. We started down
the long passageway between the rows of cages and glassed-in tanks and
compression units.
Our footsteps sounded loud and empty on the iron floor. I wasn't
near as happy as Shannon, and my skin began to crawl a little. It's
the smell, I think; rank and sour and wild. And the sound of them,
breathing and rustling in the dark, with the patient hatred walled
around them as strong as the cage bars.
Bucky Shannon lurched against me suddenly. I choked back a yell, and
then wiped the sweat off my forehead and cursed. The scream came again.
A high, ragged, whistling screech like nothing this side of hell,
ripping through the musty darkness. Gertrude, on the wailing wall.
It had been quiet. Now every brute in the place let go at the same
time. My stomach turned clear over. I called Gertrude every name I
could think of, and I couldn't hear myself doing it. Presently a great
metallic clash nearly burst my eardrums, and the beasts shut up. Gow
had them nicely conditioned to that gong.
* * * * *
But they didn't quiet down. Not really. They were uneasy. You can feel
them inside you when they're uneasy. I think that's why I'm scared of
them. They make me feel like I'm not human as I thought--like I wanted
to put my back-hair up and snarl. Yeah. They were uneasy that night,
all of a sudden....
Gow glared at us as we came up into the lantern light. "She's gettin'
worse," he said. "She's lonesome."
"That's tough," said Bucky Shannon. His grey-green eyes looked like an
owl's. He swayed slightly. "That's sure tough." He sniffled.
I looked at Gertrude. Her cage is the biggest and strongest in the tank
and even so she looked as though she could break it open just taking a
deep breath. I don't know if you've ever seen a _cansin_. There's only
two of them on the Triangle. If you haven't, nothing I can say will
make much difference.
They're what the brain gang calls an "end of evolution." Seems old
Dame Nature had an idea that didn't jell. The _cansins_ were pretty
successful for a while, it seems, but something gummed up the works and
now there's only a few left, way in the deep-swamp country, where even
the Venusians hardly ever go. Living fossils.
I wouldn't know, of course, but Gertrude looks to me like she got stuck
some place between a dinosaur and a grizzly bear, with maybe a little
bird blood thrown in. Anyway, she's big.
I couldn't help feeling sorry for her. She was crouched in the cage
with her hands--yeah, hands--hanging over her knees and her snaky head
sunk into her shoulders, looking out. Just looking. Not at anything.
Her eyes were way back in deep horny pits, like cold green fire.
The lantern light was yellow on her blue-black skin, but it made the
mane, or crest, of coarse wide scales that ran from between her eyes
clear down to her flat, short tail, burn all colors. She looked like
old Mother Misery herself, from way back before time began.