The dawn-man, a thing like a wet rat, bared its teeth at the
dinosaur.... The Cro-Magnon faced a horde of hulking Neanderthals with a
grin.... The Crusader stood with a broken sword and brandished the hilt
at the charging Saracens.... The Apache drew his knife to fight a
double-troop armed with carbines.... The American flung his empty M-1 in
the faces of forty Japanese ... _toujours le beau geste_. Captain
Pinkham, standing in his cabin aboard the spaceship _Elephant's Child_
adrift in Star System Ninety, leaned forward and pulled the trigger to
the two-century-old, out-moded, laughable popgun of a Colt .44 firing
once and twice and again and again into the face of the bronze-yellow
space-dwelling giant.
The being loomed over him, and a scream like the death-wail of a meteor
lanced into his eardrums and made him gasp with anguish. He pumped the
last slug into the enemy and launched himself side-long, without much
hope of landing anywhere but in a bushel-sized palm. He was actually
surprised when he found himself on the rug. He scrambled for cover, but
before he reached it, it dawned on him that he might not need it.
The alien had sunk to its knees, was making a convulsive effort to rise
but obviously lacked the strength! Somehow, and God alone knew how,
Pinkham had wounded the beast!
He drew back to the wall, watching. The agony of the big humanoid was
doubling it over and throwing it upright as though a volcano were
erupting in its belly. It flung out an arm, struck a foam-chair, which
shattered explosively. Pink put more feet between them. The convulsions
were like those of a harpooned whale. Yet the creature did not seem able
to move from its knees. Finally, perhaps a minute after the first
throes, it collapsed all at once, a crumpled titan. Pink cautiously
opened the door, just as Daley was reaching for the handle.
"What in hell did you _do_?" shouted the lieutenant.
"Shot him with a revolving-chamber pistol of the mid-19th Century," said
Pink. His rib was hurting and his flesh felt bruised all over. He
grinned. "Figure that one, boy. Atomic disintegrator doesn't work,
antique powder-using firearm does. I'm too beat to know why."
"It's crazy," said Joe Silver flatly. They all stood around the alien,
which was sprawled on its back. The red eyes gleamed, but no muscle
moved in the great body. They looked for signs of the wounds, for holes
or dissolving matter, for anything different; there was nothing. "What
if--" began Silver.
"This can wait." Pink took a deep breath, which hurt, and cleared his
throat. "There's plenty to be done. Jerry, check your scanner and
detectors for possible damage. Sparks, get on the radio to _Cottabus_
and _Diogenes_; tell 'em everything, and warn them to come in
cautiously. Kinkare, Daley, see what you can do with the space drive."
He walked to the chest and picked up the box of Colt cartridges. He
loaded the weapon again. "This works--and for now I'm not asking why.
I'll stay with this scum of the void and try to get something out of him
that'll clear things up. Bill, you determine our position and give it to
Sparks; then start checking all the other equipment for bugs." He looked
at Joe Silver. "You collect the bodies of the dead officers and prepare
them for space burial."
"Why me?" blurted Silver.
Pink gave him a long look. "Because it's an officer's job. Because I
tell you to. And Silver--"
"Yeah?"
"I have decided that this is no longer a grade A emergency."
Joe Silver said stiffly, "Yes, sir."
* * * * *
Pink activated the intercom screen, told the crew briefly what had
happened. Then he raised the mutiny gates, giving a sigh of relief. "Get
going," he told his officers.
"What about the girl?" asked Jerry suspiciously. "She could still be one
of them."
"Leave her with me. I have six bullets in this thing and forty-eight
more after that." He looked at Circe, who was pale and weary. "Sit down,
O. O. Smith," he said gently. "I think you're all right. But you realize
we can't chance anything till we have proof."
"I understand," she said listlessly, and dropped into a foamseat,
staring at the fallen giant. The others trooped out.
With the door shut, Pink walked to the head of the creature; it was a
swollen and hideous head, but by rights it should have been even more
hideous, should have had half a dozen wounds. The yellow hide was
unmarked. Pink said, "You're alive. Can you speak?"
"Certainly." The lips barely moved. "I am but immobilized for the
moment."
"What caused it?"
The being sneered at him without answering. Pink said, "I can keep you
in this state for a long time, chum. And when we've shown our heels to
your brothers, I'm going to dump you out an air-lock and let you drift
around between the stars."
He knelt beside it. "What did you do to the space drive?"
There was a long pause. Then it evidently made up its mind. "The drive
should be in working order now. Your men will discover so when they try
it. As with the other contrivances, I merely placed a temporary stasis
on the protons of certain atoms, which rendered them futile. There
should be no damage by this time."
Echoing his words, Pink heard the first throbbing murmur of the
activated piles. He looked without conscious volition at Circe, and they
exchanged smiles of vast relief.
"You'll be popping out that air-lock sooner than I'd hoped," said Pink
to the giant. Then he was startled by a great peal of harsh laughter.
"Oh, you pigmy!" shouted the alien. "You flea-brained besotted fool!
Your ship is out of control even now, and your hours are numbered on one
hand. You've lost, and haven't the brains to see why!"
And, thought Pink, listening to the mirthless laugh while a chill sought
out his belly, the monster's words did not sound remotely like a bluff.
He knew something hidden from the captain, and even in his captivity he
felt himself master of the _Elephant's Child_.
Why? Why? Why?
Then Pink turned and looked at Circe.