Morley laughed sheepishly. "Alabama means 'Here we rest,' I said it
without thinking."
Madsen was grinning now. "What beats me is how you remember all that
junk. I'd go nuts if I tried to clutter up my mind with a bunch of
useless data. Alabama!"
"I don't have to try to remember things," Morley said thoughtfully. "If
I read or hear something that seems the least bit curious or unusual,
it just sticks. And sometimes it's useful."
"Such as?"
"Well, remember when Storybook ran a mile last year in 1.29? He was
the first to break 1.30. Some joe that knew a lot about horses gave me
an argument in a bar about the first horse to break 1.40. He bet me
ten credits it was Man o' War. I knew it was Ten Broeck, and I got an
almanac and proved it."
Madsen looked up from the tin of coffee concentrate he was opening.
"Hasn't anyone ever tried to win an argument by poking you one in the
snoot?"
"Once or twice." Morley was almost apologetic. "But I learned judo a
few years ago, just for the hell of it, so I didn't get hurt much."
"You're a whiz with the sabre, no doubt?" said Madsen dryly.
"No, I tried swordplay for a while, but gave it up. It's a little too,
er--primitive for my tastes."
"Primitive!" Madsen glanced around at the alien scene and nearly
choked. "I'm crossing my fingers, but what would you do if some
carnivore, or a gang of those spiders suddenly appeared and started for
us with evil intentions?"
"I think I'd run," said Morley simply. "It was pretty dull at General
Plastic but at least the comptometers weren't man-eating."
Madsen blinked, and seeming to find expression difficult, forbore to
answer.
They ate, and relaxed on the soft sod, lulled almost into a feeling
of security. Not being foolhardy, however, they slept in six hour
shifts. Morley stood the first watch, and slept the second. When he
awoke, Madsen was tensely examining a ration tin. Jarred into instant
alertness by a feeling of urgency and alarm, Morley leaped to his feet.
"Something wrong?"
Without answering, Madsen handed him the tin. It was pockmarked with
inch wide patches of metallic gray fungus, from several of which liquid
was seeping. There was a sharp odor of decay.
Madsen was hastily dumping the contents of the knapsacks on the ground.
Morley joined him, and both men commenced scraping the clinging gray
patches from the tins. All but three were perforated and ruined.
"We'll at least be traveling light from now on," Madsen said. "Any idea
what this stuff is?"
"Some of that lichen, or whatever it is, was around the scene of the
crash," Morley answered. "The stuff must have an affinity for tin;
probably secretes some acid that dissolves it. Only trouble is, it goes
through thin steel too."
Madsen commenced repacking their effects.
"From now on, laddie, keep your eyes peeled for game, and if you see
any, use that rifle. If we don't knock down some meat, and soon, we
aren't going to make it. Might as well realize it right now."
"Were you ever wrecked before, Madsen?"
"Once, on Venus. Cartographic expedition."
"What happened?"
"Tubes blew and we made a forced landing. Wound up sitting in the
middle of a pile of highgrade scrap."
"What did you do then?"
Madsen shouldered his knapsack and smiled condescendingly.
"Not a thing, Mr. Fix-it. We didn't have to. Since I seem to have
accidentally stumbled on something new and strange to you, add this to
your files. It's usual on cartographic trips of any length, for one
ship to go out, while another stays at a temporary base, and keeps in
constant directional radio contact. If anything happens, they come
a-running. Makes it fine for us uninformed common people."
"Oh."
"Of course, this is somewhat different. If we don't get out by
ourselves, whoever finds us need only say, 'X marks the spot.'"
Morley didn't bother answering. No comment was necessary. He knew as
well as Madsen that whatever margin of safety they possessed had been
shaved to the vanishing point.
* * * * *
They made twenty miles in a forced march, slept, ate, and then traveled
again. The stunted forest grew thinner, and occasionally they crossed
open spaces acres in extent. Twice they saw, in the distance, animals
resembling terrestrial deer, and on the second occasion Morley tried
a fruitless shot. They slept and ate again, and now the last of the
rations were gone. They went on.
As they made southing, the dull sun crept higher in the sky by
infinitesimal degrees. Now the going became tougher. Patches of evil
looking muskeg began to appear in the scrub, and the stunted trees
themselves gradually gave way to six foot ferns. There were occasional
signs that some creature had been foraging on the lush growth. When
they found fresh tracks in the soft footing, Morley unlimbered the
rifle, and the two men trod more softly. By that time either would have
cheerfully made a meal on one of the miniature flying dragons, alive
and kicking, and the thought of a juicy steak from some local herbivore
was as soul stirring as the sight of Mecca to a true believer.
Both men whirled at a sudden crashing on their left. Something like a
large splay footed kangaroo broke cover, and went loping away, clearing
the fern tops at every bound. In one motion Morley whipped up the
rifle and fired. There was an earsplitting report, the leaper kept
right on going, under forced draught, and the two castaways stared in
consternation at a rifle that resembled a bundle of metallic macaroni
more than it did a firearm.
Madsen spoke first. "You probably got some mud in the barrel when we
stopped last time," he accused. "Look at us now."
Morley started to mumble an apology, but Madsen cut him short. "Look at
us now," he repeated, with all stops out. "It was bad before, now it's
practically hopeless. Our only long range gun! What do we do now if we
do find game--dig pits for it?"
If a man can be said to slink without changing his position, Morley
slunk. Madsen continued, double fortissimo.
"A kid of ten knows enough to keep a gun clean, but you, Mr.--Mr.
Unabridged Webster in the flesh--"
He stopped, temporarily out of breath. Morley regarded him abjectly,
and suddenly Madsen began to feel a little ashamed. After all, the
fellow had figured out that business about the meridian.
"No use in having any post mortems," he said, with fine logic. "Throw
that junk away. It's that much less to carry, anyway."
Two hours later, they plodded wearily through the last of the swamp
onto higher ground. The two haggard, muddied figures that threw
themselves on the dry soil to rest bore little resemblance to the men
who had parachuted from Spaceboat 6 seventy-two hours before.
The slope on which they rested was tufted with small bushes. One
particular type with narrow dark green leaves bore clusters of fruit
like small plums, which Madsen eyed speculatively.
"Do we risk it?" he asked.
"Might as well."
Morley was completely unaware that he had just accepted the
responsibility for making a decision.
"We can't afford not to risk it," he said, adding, with little show of
enthusiasm, "I'll be the guinea pig."
"Take it easy, chum," Madsen countered. "We'll match for it."
They matched and Morley called it wrong. He plucked a sample of the
fruit and stood regarding it like some bewhiskered Little Jack Horner.
Finally he broke the thin skin with his thumbnail and gingerly conveyed
a couple of drops of juice to his tongue. The taste was simultaneously
oily and faintly sweet, and after a short wait he essayed a fair
sized bite. Madsen was about to follow suit, when Morley motioned him
to wait. The next second he was rolling on the ground, coughing and
choking, while Madsen tried grimly to feed him water from a canteen.
It was no use. The throat tissues became swollen and inflamed in
seconds, to the point of agony, and swallowing was totally impossible.
To this was shortly added an overpowering nausea. When the retching
finally stopped, Morley tried to speak, but in vain. Even the effort
meant waves of pain.
Madsen watched helplessly, and when the spasms of choking finally
stopped, spoke gently.
"We'll be camping right here for a while, looks like. Try to get some
sleep if it slacks off any. You'll be okay in a while."
His doubts were hidden, and Morley thanked him with his eyes.