_They were trapped on a viciously
primitive planet, by an electronic
bloodhound that was viciously unpredictable!_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity September 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The survey team was seven parsecs beyond the Rim when the bloodhound
picked up their trail.
Three years earlier the inevitable had happened. The humans of the Ten
Thousand Worlds had met another race with the faster-than-light space
drive--and an expanding population. The contacts had been brief--and
violent. Each race had set up defenses against the other, and
maneuvered for position and control of the habitable worlds separating
them. The aliens' bloodhounds formed the outer circle of their defense
perimeter.
The s-tracer continued its bleak chirping as Wallace read the figures
on its dial and made a swift calculation. "We have time for one dip
into spacebridge," he informed Saxton, the other member of the team.
"If we don't find a planet fast when we come out, we've had it."
Saxton nodded. "We'd better backtrack. Set the bridge for that star
group we recorded yesterday. Hurry. We haven't any time to spare."
Four minutes later Wallace brought the two handles of the bridge
control together--and the ship winked into hyperspace. Wallace's body
jerked upright, and he sat stiff and straight, fighting the impulse to
retch that rode his stomach muscles. The room around him took on the
visual consistency of thin milk. The low hum of the ship's instruments
increased in intensity through the hands that he pressed tightly to
his head. Mingled with the sound of the small motors was Saxton's
high-strained muttering: "I can't take any more of it! I can't take any
more of it!"
Then all was normal again. They were out of hyperspace.
Wallace reached for a knob on the board in front of him and began
turning it slowly. Both men watched the vision panel on the front wall.
After a minute a blue globe floated in from one side. "We'll have to
try that one," Wallace said. "It at least has atmosphere."
"We don't have any choice," Saxton answered. With his head he
indicated the s-tracer. Its stark chirping had begun again.
"The hound's closer than I thought," Wallace complained. "We'll have to
risk a faster passage to the surface than would ordinarily be safe."
Drops of perspiration that had gathered on his forehead joined together
and ran down the side of his nose. He shook his head to clear them away.
By the time they entered the blue planet's atmosphere the intervals
between the chirps of the s-tracer had shortened until now they were
almost continuous. Gradually, as they plunged toward the planet's
surface, the room's temperature rose. They stripped to their shorts and
kept the pace steady. When it seemed that they could stand the heat no
longer the ship paused, and settled slowly to the ground.
Quickly Wallace shut off the drive motors. The only sound within the
ship was the purring of the cooling apparatus.
"Any chance that it can detect our cooling motor?" Saxton asked.
"I don't believe it can follow anything smaller than our main drive,"
Wallace answered. He pointed to the s-tracer. "It's already lost us. Of
course we know it won't go away. It'll circle the planet until we come
out and try again."
During the next hour, as the temperature within the ship returned
slowly to normal, Wallace and Saxton kept busy checking the gauges that
measured and recorded the elements in the planet's atmosphere.
At last Saxton sighed heavily. "Livable," he said.
"Closer to Earth norm than we could have hoped," Wallace agreed.
"What do we do now?"
"We could stay here for two years--until the bloodhound runs out of
fuel. That's the estimated time it's supplied for."
"That doesn't sound like a very encouraging prospect." Saxton's dark
tan features were lined with worry. "We don't have food enough, for one
thing. Maybe the aliens will get discouraged and go away."
"Hardly. You've forgotten that the bloodhounds are fully automatic, and
unmanned. A machine doesn't discourage very easily."
"We sure as heck ought to be able to outwit a machine," Saxton said. He
thought for a moment. "If we waited until it was across the planet from
us, we might have time to get out, and take another jump toward home.
One more and we'd be far enough in so our own cruisers could take care
of the bloodhound."
Wallace shook his head. "Its speed is too great. Our best chance
is that it doesn't hold to a straight path around the planet. The
aliens--not knowing the size of any body we might land on--wouldn't set
it for a dead-line trajectory. I hope."
There was nothing for them to do until the s-tracer had followed the
movements of their stalker long enough to make an adequate graph. They
decided to go outside while they waited.
* * * * *
Wallace and Saxton took only a few steps--and stopped in amazement.
They had a visitor!
The native rose from his kneeling position on the ground and stood
erect. Wallace studied the face of the naked, stick-thin savage, trying
to penetrate beneath the dirt and grime, beneath the mask of impassive
features, to find the quality that held him in questioning immobility.
For a moment he succeeded.
It was not high intelligence that he found, but rather an innate
conviction of power. A conviction and self-assurance so deep that it
needed no demonstration for expression.
Wallace glanced at Saxton where he leaned against the spaceship's ramp,
the whites of his eyes contrasting sharply with the black of his clean
negroid skin. It was clear that he too sensed the odd quality in the
other. And that he was equally unable to decide whether the savage that
so incuriously regarded first one then the other of them was to be
feared, or accepted as amicable. But both already realized that this
was no ordinary meeting between humans and an outworld native. They
were on the verge of an unusual experience.
The savage had been kneeling with his forehead touching the ground when
they stepped out of the ship. However, now that he stood before them,
there was nothing abject in his demeanor. For a long minute he did not
speak or make any motion other than to regard them. Casually then he
raised his right hand and touched his chest. "Al-fin," he said.
The meaning of the gesture was apparent: Wallace readily understood
that the savage was giving his name. He touched his own chest. "Ivan,"
he murmured.
The native turned his gaze to Saxton.
"Gus," Saxton said, shifting his feet uncomfortably.
The native nodded. "Come!" he commanded. He turned his back and walked
away.
There was no question in Wallace's mind about obeying. It was only his
subconscious that moved his hand, to make certain that his gun was in
its holster, and to glance at Saxton to see that he too was armed. He
had walked several yards before the incongruity struck him: the savage
had spoken Earthian!
* * * * *
They followed the native for several miles over a faint game trail that
wound leisurely through brush and skimpy, small-leaved trees, before
either of the men recovered his composure enough to speak.
"He said 'Come'," Saxton mused. "Yet we're the first humans this far
over the Rim. Where did he learn our language?"
Wallace shrugged. "I've been wondering too," he answered.
"Should we try to talk to him?" Saxton asked, glancing ahead at their
companion.
The native, apparently, had no interest in their conversation. "Better
wait," Wallace suggested.
"I don't understand it." Saxton's tone was querulous. "No one's allowed
over the Rim ahead of us. A section has to be surveyed, and worlds
declared fit for habitation, before colonists can move in. Yet we land
here and find a native speaking our language."
"Perhaps he isn't a native," Wallace said.
"What do you mean?"
"When Earth first discovered spacebridge there were no laws regulating
its use. Limits were put on colonizing areas only after some of the
earlier expeditions failed to report back. One of them might have been
marooned here."
"Then this fellow's human?"
"He could be."
"If he is, would he be naked?" Saxton asked.
"Some of those lost expeditions disappeared as long as two thousand
years ago," Wallace answered. "A colony could have slipped back a long
ways in that time."
"But not this far," Saxton demurred. "They'd still have some traces of
their original culture left."
"A one-ship colony would have very limited mechanical resources,"
Wallace said. "And they'd be isolated here. As soon as the tools and
machines they brought with them wore out they'd be almost impossible to
replace. The odds are they'd slip back fast."
"I don't know." Clearly Saxton wasn't satisfied--but he let the subject
hang. "When we saw him kneeling on the ground, I thought that he was
worshipping us. But since then he's been acting as if he thought he was
the god instead of us."
They were halfway across a small clearing now and before Wallace could
answer the native ahead stopped abruptly. He stood motionless, with
his head tilted to one side, as though listening. After a moment he
motioned them to move to the left.
As Wallace and Saxton obeyed, Al-fin pointed urgently toward their
guns. They drew, and the native turned to stare at the bushes at the
far side of the clearing.
"What does he want?" Saxton asked.
"I don't--" Wallace's answer was cut off as a huge "cat," with long
stilt-like legs spread wide, sprang out of the bushes--directly at them.
Wallace and Saxton sprayed the beams of their guns across the cat's
chest, burning a wide, smoking gash. The beast landed, sprang again,
and died.
Saxton let out a long breath of relief. "Close," he said.
Wallace stood with a puzzled frown on his face. "How did he know the
animal was there?" he asked.
"He must have a good sense of hearing," Saxton answered doubtfully.
"It can't be that good," Wallace protested.
"Maybe this is our chance to get some fresh meat," Saxton said. He
drew a knife from his belt and knelt beside the cat's carcass. He made
several rapid cuts. After a minute he looked up. "Nothing edible," he
said. "Nothing but skin, gristle, and tendons."
They walked on.
* * * * *
They entered another clearing, and found themselves in the midst of a
group of naked savages, obviously Al-fin's people.
"Where did they come from?" Saxton asked, resting his hand on the grip
of his gun.
Wallace looked his way and shook his head. "No guns," he said. "We'll
have to take the chance that they're friendly."
Most of the members of the group, Wallace observed, were lying on the
ground, or idling about at the edges of the small clearing. He counted
twenty-three--of both sexes, and varying ages. There was no sign of
clothing or ornament on any of them. They were naked, filthy, and
nondescript; yet each had the mark of that quality that had puzzled
them in Al-fin--the deep inner assurance. A few glanced their way, but
without any evidence of an unusual degree of interest.
Their attention returned to Al-fin. Streaks of sweat had made gray
trails on his grimy face, and he gave off an odor that was sharp and
rancid. He sat on the ground and motioned for Wallace and Saxton to do
the same.
Wallace hesitated, then spread his hands resignedly. "This is a
strange game," he said. "We'll let him make the first moves." He and
Saxton sat down together.
Al-fin began speaking, without inflection and with few pauses. Some of
the individual words sounded faintly familiar, but the two men could
make no sense of what he said.
"I'm afraid we can't understand you," Wallace told him. In an aside to
Saxton he said, "He won't understand me either, but I don't think we'd
better ignore him."
Saxton nodded. "I guess you are right about his being human," he said.
"Some of those words were definitely Earthian."