Colonel Petersen turned and glanced at Lieutenant Jervis. "Do you
remember what the circumstances were, Lieutenant?"
Jervis shrugged. "I don't recall it very clearly, sir. I honestly
couldn't tell you whether they were wearing suits or bubble-helmets or
anything. I was too upset at the time to make careful observations."
"I understand," Petersen said.
But the medic had a different theory. He pointed at Jervis and said,
"That's a point I've meant to make, Lieutenant. You're a trained space
scout. Your psychological records show that you're not the sort of man
given to panic or to become confused."
"Are you implying that there's something improper about my statement,
Dr. Stevelman?"
The medic held up a hand. "Nothing of the sort, Lieutenant. But since
you're not the sort to panic, even in such a crisis as the complete
destruction of the entire crew of your scout ship, you must have been
ill--partly delirious from fever. Not delirious enough to cause
hallucinations, but just enough to impair your judgment."
Jervis nodded. "That is possible," he said.
"Good," said Stevelman. "I have two tentative hypotheses, then." He
turned to the colonel. "Should I state them now, Colonel Petersen?"
"There's to be no secrecy aboard this ship, Doctor. I want every man and
woman on the ship to know all the facts at all times."
"Very well," the medic said. "I'd suggest the deaths were caused by some
unknown virus--or, perhaps, by some virulent poison that occurred
occasionally, a poisonous smog of some kind that had settled in the
valley for a time and then dissipated."
Wayne frowned and shook his head. Both hypotheses made sense.
"Do you have any suggestions, Doctor?" Petersen said.
"Since we don't have any direct information about why those men died,
Colonel, I can't make any definite statements. But I can offer one bit
of advice to everyone: _wear your suits and be alert_."
* * * * *
During the week that followed, several groups went out without suffering
any ill effects. A short service was held for the eight of the _Mavis_
and then the skeletons were buried in the valley.
They ran a check on the double-nucleus beryllium toward the end of the
week, after it had been fairly safely established that no apparent harm
was going to come to them. Wayne and Sherri were both in the crew that
went outside to set up the detector.
"You man the detector plate," said Major MacDougal, who was in charge of
the group, turning to Wayne.
He put his hand on the plate and waited for the guide coordinates to be
set. MacDougal fumbled at the base of the detector for a moment, and the
machine began picking up eloptic radiations.
Wayne now looked down at the detector plate. "Here we are," he said.
"The dial's oscillating between four and eight, all right. The stuff's
here."
MacDougal whistled gently. "It's really sending, isn't it!" He pointed
toward the mountaintop. "From up there, too. It's going to be a nice
climb. Okay, pack the detector up and let's get back inside."
They entered the airlock and passed on into the ship.
"The D-N beryllium up there, sir," Major MacDougal said. "It's going to
be a devil of a job to get up to find the stuff."
"That's what Captain Wayne's here for," Petersen said. "Captain, what
do you think? Can you get up here?"
"It would have been easier to bring along a helicopter," Wayne said
wryly. "Pity the things don't fit into spaceships. But I think I can get
up there. I'd like to try surveying the lay of the land, first. I want
to know all the possible routes before I start climbing."
"Good idea," Petersen said. "I'll send you out with three men to do some
preliminary exploring. Boggs! Manetti! MacPherson! Suit up and get with
it!"
* * * * *
Wayne strode toward the spacesuit locker, took out his suit, and donned
it. Instead of the normal space boots, he put on the special
metamagnetic boots for mountain climbing. The little reactors in the
back of the calf activated the thick metal sole of each boot so that it
would cling tightly to the metallic rock of the mountain. Unlike
ordinary magnetism, the metamagnetic field acted on all metals, even
when they were in combination with other elements.
His team of three stood before him in the airlock room. He knew all
three of them fairly well from Earthside; they were capable,
level-headed men, and at least one--Boggs--had already been out in the
valley surveying once, and so knew the area pretty well.
He pulled on the boots and looked up. "We're not going to climb the
mountain this time, men. We'll just take a look around it to decide
which is the best way."
"You have any ideas, sir?" Sergeant Boggs asked.
"From looking at the photographs, I'd guess that the western approach is
the best. But I may be wrong. Little details are hard to see from five
hundred miles up, even with the best of instruments, and there may be
things in our way that will make the west slope impassible. If so, we'll
try the southern side. It looks pretty steep, but it also seems rough
enough to offer plenty of handholds."
"Too bad we couldn't have had that helicopter you were talking about,"
said Boggs.
Wayne grinned. "With these winds? They'd smash us against the side of
the mountain before we'd get up fifty feet. You ought to know,
Sergeant--you've been out in them once already."
"They're not so bad down in this valley, sir," Boggs said. "The only
time you really notice them is when you climb the escarpment at the
northern end. They get pretty rough up there."
Wayne nodded. "You can see what kind of a job we'll have. Even with
metamagnetic boots and grapples, we'll still have to use the old
standbys." He looked at the men. "Okay; we're all ready. Let's go."
They unhooked four of the six tabs from the wall and donned them. Then
they moved on into the airlock and closed the inner door. The air was
pumped out, just as though the ship were in space or on a planet with a
poisonous atmosphere. As far as anyone knew, the atmosphere of Fomalhaut
V actually was poisonous. Some of the tension had relaxed after a week
spent in safety, but there was always the first expedition to consider;
no one took chances.
When all the air had been removed, a bleeder valve allowed the outer air
to come into the chamber. Then the outer door opened, and the four men
went down the ladder to the valley floor.
* * * * *
Wayne led the way across the sand in silence. The four men made their
way toward the slope on the western side of the valley. Overhead, the
bright globe of Fomalhaut shed its orange light over the rugged
landscape.
When they reached the beginning of the slope, Wayne stopped and looked
upwards. "Doesn't look easy," he grunted. "Damned rough hill, matter of
fact. MacPherson, do you think you could make it to the top?"
Corporal MacPherson was a small, wiry man who had the reputation of
being a first-rank mountaineer. He had been a member of the eighteenth
Mount Everest Party, and had been the second of that party to reach the
summit of the towering peak.
"Sure I can, sir," he said confidently. "Shall I take the rope?"
"Go ahead. You and Manetti get the rope to the top, and Sergeant Boggs
and I will follow up."
"Righto, sir."
Corporal MacPherson reached his gloved hands forward and contracted his
fingers. The tiny microswitches in his gloves actuated the relays, and
his hands clung to the rock. Then he put his boots against the wall and
began to move up the steep escarpment.
Private Manetti followed after him. The two men were lashed together by
the light plastisteel cable. The sergeant held the end of the cable in
his hands, waiting for the coil to be paid out.
Wayne watched the two men climb, while a chill wind whipped down out of
the mountains and raised the sand in the valley. It was less than eighty
feet to the precipice edge above, but it was almost perpendicular, and
as they climbed, the buffeting winds began to press against their bodies
with ever-increasing force.
They reached the top and secured the rope, and then they peered over the
edge and signalled that Wayne and the sergeant should start up.
"We're coming," Wayne shouted, and returned the signal. It was at that
instant that he felt something slam against the sole of his heavy
metamagnetic boot. It was as though something had kicked him savagely on
the sole of his right foot.
He winced sharply at the impact. Then, somewhat puzzled he looked down
at the boot. He felt something move under the sand. He tried to step
back, and almost tripped. It was as though his right foot were stuck
firmly to the sand!
He pushed himself back, and with a tremendous heave managed to pull
himself free. He braced his body against the cliff, lifted his foot, and
looked at it.
Hanging from his boot sole was one of the ugliest monstrosities he had
ever seen, unusually grotesque.
* * * * *
It was about the size and shape of a regulation football, and was
covered with a wrinkled, reddish hide. At one end was a bright red gash
of a mouth studded with greenish, gnashing teeth. From the other end of
the creature's body protruded a long, needle-like projection which had
imbedded itself in the metal sole of Wayne's boot.
"Good God! If I'd been wearing ordinary boots, that thing would have
stuck clear into my foot!"
He hefted the weighted pick with one hand and swung, catching the
monster with the point. It sank in and ripped through the creature,
spilling red-orange blood over the sand. Shuddering a little, Wayne put
his other foot on the dead thing and pulled his right boot free of the
needle beak.
He started to say something, but he had a sudden premonition that made
him look up in time. Sergeant Boggs put both hands against the
Captain's shoulder and pushed.
"What the hell?" Wayne asked in surprise as he felt the shove. He almost
fell to the sand, but he had had just enough warning to allow him to
keep his balance. He put out a foot and staggered wildly.
A sudden strange noise caused him to turn and look back. Five needles
were jabbing viciously up out of the sand in the spot where he would
have fallen.
"You out of your head, Boggs?" he started to ask--but before the last
word was out of his mouth, the sergeant charged in madly and tried to
push him over again. He was fighting like a man gone berserk--which he
was.
Wayne grabbed him by the wrist and flipped him desperately aside. The
sergeant fell, sprawled out for a moment on the sand, then bounced to
his feet again. His eyes were alight with a strange, terrifying flame.
Silently, he leaped for Wayne. The captain slammed his fist forward,
sending it crashing into Boggs's midsection. The sergeant came back with
a jab to the stomach that pushed Wayne backward. Again the deadly
needles flicked up from the ground, but they did not strike home.
Wayne gasped for breath and reached out for Boggs. Boggs leaped on him,
trying to push Wayne down where the beaks could get to him. Wayne
sidestepped, threw Boggs off balance, and clubbed down hard with his
fist.
Boggs wandered dizzily for a second before Wayne's other fist came
blasting in, knocking the breath out of him. A third blow, and the
sergeant collapsed on the sand.
Wayne paused and caught his breath. The sergeant remained unconscious.
Wayne shook his head uncertainly, wondering what had come over the
mild-mannered Boggs. A chilling thought struck him: _was this what
happened to the crew of the Mavis?_
* * * * *
He looked up the cliff, where the other two men were still peering over
the edge.
"MacPherson! Manetti! Come down! We're going back to the ship!"
He heaved the unconscious body of Sergeant Boggs over his shoulder like
a potato-sack, and waited for the two men to come down. They drew near.
"Boggs must have gone out of his head," Wayne said. "He jumped me like
a madman."
They had nothing to say, so he turned and began to trudge back to the
_Lord Nelson_, trying to assemble the facts in his mind. They followed
alongside.
What was behind the attack? After seeing the monster, why had Boggs
attempted to push his superior officer over into the sand? There were
other little beasts under that sand; why would Boggs want one of
them--there seemed to be dozens--to jab him with its needle of a beak?
And what were the beastly little animals, anyway?
There were no answers. But the answers would have to come, soon.
He tossed Boggs into the airlock and waited for the others to catch up.
They climbed up the ladder and said nothing as the airlock went through
its cycle and the antibacterial spray covered them.
* * * * *
Colonel Petersen looked at him across the desk and put the palms of his
hands together. "Then, as I understand it, Captain, Sergeant Boggs tried
to push you over into the sand when this--ah--_monster_ jabbed you in
the foot?"
"That's right, sir," Wayne said. He felt uncomfortable. This wasn't a
formal court-martial; it was simply an inquiry into the sergeant's
actions. Charges would be preferred later, if there were any to be
preferred.
Sergeant Boggs stood stolidly on the far side of the room. A livid
bruise along his jaw testified to the struggle that had taken place. One
eye was puffed, and his expression was an unhappy one. Near him,
MacPherson and Private Manetti stood stiffly at attention.