As the hours dragged on, Madsen sat quietly on guard, while the sick
man tossed in uneasy slumber. The eternal day was comfortably warm, and
eventually the watcher closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he thought
drowsily, just for a nap. Head pillowed on his arm, he slept. The
alien hillside was very quiet. He slept, dreaming of the long trip
home, of Port Chicago, of beer, and girls, and a fistfull of credits.
When Madsen awoke, he knew instantly that something was out of key,
that some subtle change in the surroundings had triggered a warning
bell in his subconscious. Without any sudden move, he cast an all
inclusive glance over the surrounding terrain. Morley still slept, and
the scene seemed unchanged. But no! Wait! There on the fitful breeze
that had sprung up, that faint sweetish smell. He sniffed, facing
upwind. What the devil was it? Frowning, he stared toward the crest of
the hill. There was one tree, a few rods away, that seemed different
from the others. Larger, and the branches were whiplike, drooping. It
looked vaguely like a weeping willow on Earth. Madsen started toward
it, walking softly. As he drew nearer, the scent became stronger, and
now he recognized it. Carrion! It was coming from the tree, and he was
able to see the source.
The corpses of two or three scaled green lizards, and one of the
lopers from the fern forest. The drooping limbs of the tree moved
undulantly in the breeze, almost as if they possessed an awareness of
his approach, and he noticed that they were armed with two inch thorns.
He was very close now. He took another step, and then, without warning,
every nerve and muscle seemed to twist and contract violently. Blacking
out between two breaths, he still realized what had happened. Once
before, on Ceres, he had experienced the paralyzing effect of a blaster
bolt from a weapon set at high aperture.
An hour passed. Deep down in the blackness, in the solid dark, some
wisp of consciousness stirred and quickened. It quested, as the black
became gray. It flowered into life, Ego once again, suddenly aware of
the pale warm sunlight, and an intolerable aching. He looked up at
Morley and cursed.
"Why did you do it?"
"Had to." Morley's voice was a harsh whisper. "You'd have been a goner
in another step or two, and I couldn't yell. That tree's deadly."
"So that's it." A pause. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you
know?"
"Remembered it from a picture in Valdez' book, when I saw you walking
into that--thing! Watch this."
He picked up a chunk of shale, and lobbed it into the tree. The
reaction was violent and immediate. The formerly quiescent limbs
whipped sinuously through the air, their thorny armament glinting in
the light. Madsen felt the back of his neck tingle at the hiss of their
passage. Dozens of black, hornet-like insects took wing, and buzzed
angrily and aimlessly around until the agitated motion subsided and the
tree sank slowly into its former somnolence.
"How does it work?" asked Madsen.
"The thorns, they're almost instantly lethal. Notice those wasps, or
whatever they are?"
"Yeah."
"Well, they live in those trees, and pollinate them. They lay eggs in
the game that the tree polishes off. When the larvae graduate and get
their wings, they make a brief nuptial flight, and set up housekeeping
in a similar tree. Other insects stay away. It's a beautiful case of
highly specialized symbiosis."
"Funny, eh?"
"Not very. You might say our position is similar, to a degree. How are
you feeling now?"
"A lot better, except for the ache. Your throat seems to be coming
along all right, too." His eyes ranged the slope, estimating the
distance to their initial resting place. "Man alive, I was lucky to be
in range!"
"You were at that, Madsen. There's just one chronic bug in energy
weapons, the old law of inverse squares. Short range tools, that's all."
"You said it. Say, Morley--"
"Yes?"
"Doesn't a symbiotic relationship usually refer to some type of
parasitism? Sort of a put and take game, with one organism doing all
the putting, and the other, all the taking?"
Can it be? thought Morley, incredulously. Honest gratitude was natural,
but the idea that Madsen's granite exterior might conceal a slowly
burgeoning respect--!
"Not exactly," he said carefully. "Often there is a mutual dependence,
as with us. That's what I meant to say in the first place."
"Thanks. I feel, well, pretty foolish about being so careless, and
holding us up. Not that I'd have gone on walking into that tree, mind
you. And I'd hate to have you think of me as a human--liana, or remora,
or something."
"Don't be silly. We're partners, aren't we?"
"Yeah, that's true. Morley, I--"
"Well?"
"Thanks, a lot."
"Er--that's all right. Skip it."
* * * * *
The mesa stretched to the horizon on all sides, timeless and
forbidding, drowsing through the sunlit millennia. To a casual
celestial voyager, it would have appeared barren of life, except for
the two scarecrow figures which scrabbled in the sand in spots where
a stunted, ropy vine was growing. At intervals one or the other would
triumphantly dig out a baseball-sized melon like object, and wolf it
hungrily, the juice dribbling over his bearded chin. The trail they
had made was blurred in spots where they had fallen, light-headed with
weakness. The melons helped, though their caloric count would never
constitute a dietitian's dream of joy. They were food, of a sort, and
more important, water. Finally one of the figures scrambled to his
feet, and stared defiantly at the dim sun, higher now, but still far
from the zenith.
"Let's get going," said Morley thickly.
The two men shambled silently through the knee-high grass and
dwarf trees of the savannah. They didn't feel particularly hungry
anymore. There was only a vaguely irritating condition of lassitude,
and dizziness, and an annoying tendency of the knees to buckle
uncontrollably without the slightest warning. They plodded on, weaving
uncertainly from time to time. There was game here, creatures like
antelope, but they maddeningly stayed well out of blaster range. Madsen
had discarded everything but his pack, while Morley's weapon still
hung at his hip. With seemingly irrational stubbornness, he also clung
to the impedimenta he had picked up at the wreck, despite Madsen's
petulant remarks about excess weight.
It seemed to Morley as if they had been traveling forever through
some grassy Gehenna. It grew harder and harder for him to think in
logical sequence. When he climbed painfully to his feet after a fall,
he had to fight back a sudden overwhelming urge to burst into babyish
tears. Madsen hardly ever fell down. It didn't seem fair, and he wished
bitterly that he were more like Madsen. Still he fought on without
knowing why. Another step, and another, and a thousand more, each one
an individual effort to which he forced his failing muscles.
Another eternity or two passed, and suddenly Madsen staggered and sat
down in his tracks. He stared resentfully at his knapsack and then
peered up at Morley.
"We've still got four of those melon things. If we eat them now, we
won't have to carry them. How about it?" he mumbled.
Through Morley's weariness crept a doubt as to the validity of his
comrade's logic, but it seemed to be too difficult to analyze at the
moment.
They ate the scanty meal in silence, and rested for an hour, half
comatose. Then, somewhat refreshed, Morley levered himself slowly
erect. He stirred Madsen with his toe.
"Up and at 'em, chum."
Madsen blinked at him and started to rise. He was on one knee, when
suddenly, he turned his head in a listening attitude. Morley had heard
the distant hum, too, and was standing stock still, an anxious frown on
his gaunt face. Madsen was on the verge of scrambling to his feet, when
Morley spoke.
"Don't move."
"What's the--?"
"Shut up, for God's sake. Don't stir." He was trembling, his bony
features white as paper under their coating of grime. Madsen froze,
wordless. Sailing through the tall grass, straight toward them, came
one of the gray antelope-like creatures. It passed within twenty feet.
They could see the heaving flanks, the foam on its muzzle, the rolling,
terror stricken eyes. Close behind, and closing in rapidly, came the
origin of the hum. It was a host of tiny iridescent flying creatures,
no larger than bumblebees. They streaked by, green and crimson winged
gems, the hum rising to a vicious crescendo.
The chase ended a hundred yards away. As the cloud struck, the antelope
screamed, a lone cry of agony and despair. It staggered once, tried
to leap forward, staggered again, was down. There was a threshing, a
violent movement of the grass, then silence.