"It's here," he said stubbornly. "I can't be mistaken."
She started to say something and changed her mind. "Let's look again,"
she suggested. It was not what she intended to say. What she thought
was plain from the expression on her face.
* * * * *
Again they went through the plant machine, searching. Every crevice,
every hidden corner was examined. He peered into the machinery, the
tanks and the trays, above and below. They looked, but there was no
bird.
Larienne stood beside him and glanced up at the ceiling. "Maybe it got
out through the ventilators."
"It couldn't," he said harshly. The ventilators were also filters; a
microbe would have difficulty getting through. She was trying to give
him a way out, but he couldn't take it.
The room in which the plant machine was housed was not a simple open
space; there was structure throughout. But it was inconceivable that
something as large as a bird, even a small bird, could escape detection.
"I'll take care of the plant," he said quietly. "I want to think."
She left. He knew how she felt. It was worse because she did feel that
way.
He had scored against himself. Larienne would say nothing to the rest
of the crew, but it would come out. Emotional reactions couldn't be
hidden. And if there was ever an inquiry, she'd have to tell her story.
Franklan would see that there was an inquiry. That was his job. There
was nothing particularly arduous about life on a tag ship, yet not
everyone was suited to it. Monotony--and each person had to adjust to
the others as well as the ship. There was no room for a person who saw
things.
It was a most effective attack, without danger for the man or men
behind it. Twice he had seen something that wasn't there, and there
were witnesses to testify against him. It would be enough to remove
him from the ship. The subsequent treatment wouldn't harm him, but the
ship would be gone and he'd never get back on. Tag ships were just too
unpredictable; they came and they went as they pleased, and no one
could say where they would next arrive.
Baffled, he tried to catalogue the crew. Not Larienne. She'd live with
him if he wanted, more readily now than before. Ordinary rules didn't
apply to her; sympathy counted for most.
Nor was it Franklan. Bluntly he'd given his opinion, but that didn't
mean he was responsible for this. The person who was behind it was
keeping well hidden.
Alsint went wearily down the line, adjusting and readjusting.
On one of the handles was--a tiny red feather.
* * * * *
He stared at it, relief forming nebulously in his mind. A bird _had_
been there. How it had gotten in and then out again through closed
doors, he didn't know. That part was unimportant. It _had_ been there.
It wasn't a hallucination, though for a time he'd almost believed it
himself. Now he knew.
Gingerly he picked up the feather. It was no proof, except to himself.
That was enough. He could do something about it.
The trap for him was set, but wouldn't be closed immediately. The ship
would not go out of the way except in extreme emergency. In another
four months it would run low on fuel and material for the tagging
operation, assuming normal conditions. The ship would then return to
the nearest inhabited planet.
That was the way tag ships operated. Unlike other ships, freight or
passenger, their objective was not to get from one inhabited planet to
another as fast as possible, but to stay away as long as they could.
For that reason, of all ships, they alone had to have the plant. No
other food supply was so economical of space and weight.
Once they reached a planet, he'd be referred to the authorities for
psychiatric examination. Eventually he'd be cleared, but by then it
would be too late. _Unless he could forestall it._
There was a way to do that, though it was dangerous for him, and he
stood a chance of ruining the plant.
He made up his mind and went back down the line of controls. Larienne
might question some of the new settings, but she'd defer to his
judgment.
It took two weeks for the plant to decline so even the captain could
see that it was impossible to go on. As master of the ship, he disliked
abandoning tagging operations even temporarily, but the crew had to eat.
* * * * *
It was a planet. Nothing out of the ordinary, there were many planets
like Earth. Not many that were settled, though; almost uniformly,
that kind of planet lacked the heavy elements that made colonization
economically feasible.
It was pleasant and sunny, great grassy glades and an equal amount of
forests. No intelligent life on it, so there was nothing to worry about
on that score. Animals, big and little, but ordinary weapons would
discourage them.
Half a mile away was the ship, ready for instant flight. Not that there
was anything to flee from. That was the way it had to come down if it
was ever to rise again.
The plant had been stripped to components and spread over the ground.
An extensive layout, but it was necessary if the plant was going to
get full benefit of planetary conditions. It had been put together to
facilitate disassembly, and it hadn't taken long to remove it from the
ship.
A transparent canopy covered it, protection from the elements. A sudden
rainstorm could drastically alter the concentration of the vital
fluids. There was also an electrified fence to keep out stray animals.
Everything except root cells was exposed to the sun and wind. Under
these conditions the plant began to recover from the deliberate injury
he had done it. Why plants should recover so easily was still a
mystery, but generations of plant mechanics had discovered that they
always did.
Alsint took the sundown shift. The plant could be left alone at night,
locked up with the knowledge that nothing big enough to damage it could
get in. It was better if there was someone to make minute adjustments
from time to time, but that was not the reason he was there.
* * * * *
Sundown or sunrise, and sundown was better. Either time, men were
outside the ship who didn't have to account for their whereabouts. More
were out at sundown. And one of them, sooner or later, would be the
person he wanted.
The plan was simple. Give the man every opportunity to kill him, make
it irresistible--but shoot first. If the man lived, he would talk. If
he didn't, there would be some clue in his personal effects. Dangerous,
but if Alsint wanted to profit from his plant, he had no choice.
Days passed and no one came near. He could and did retard the regrowth
of the plant, but in that respect he was limited. He couldn't be too
obvious about it. The time came when he couldn't stall any longer. In
reply to the captain's blunt question, he had to admit that in the
morning the plant would be in as good condition as he could get it.
* * * * *
He sat that night in the enclosure, knowing this was his last chance.
It grew dark and night sounds intruded. The lights in the ship went
out. Only the light near him remained. He was careful to sit at the
edge of illumination, visible, but a poor target.
Animals snuffled in the brush near the electrified fence. They had
learned quickly and knew better than to touch it. And there was another
sound--no animal.
He quietly shifted his arm and held the light in readiness. He
listened. Someone was crawling through the brush. He had to wait. It
was hard on his nerves, being bait.
He flashed the light on suddenly.
The man was half hidden behind a bush and Alsint couldn't see his face,
but the gun in his hand glittered through the leaves.
"Surprise," said Alsint. "Don't try anything."
The man stood there, but he didn't drop his gun.
Alsint didn't like it. He couldn't identify the man. If he ran back
into the forest, Alsint wouldn't know any more than he had in the
beginning. He fingered the gun. "Come out where I can see you," he said.
The man didn't move--waiting until his eyes adjusted to the light
shining on him, decided Alsint. As a choice, his own life came first.
He raised the gun.
Before he could fire, a red bird attacked his eyes, squawking wildly.
He didn't drop the light. He tried to bat the bird away from his face,
but it clung to his hair. Before he could crush it, he heard the whoosh
of a gas gun. And the sound came from _behind_ him. That was his
mistake. There was more than one of them.
He breathed once and then felt himself fall forward.
* * * * *
It was morning when he awakened, bright sunlight streaming into his
eyes. That was not the reason his head hurt, though he could be
thankful the man or men had used a gas pellet instead of a projectile.
Whoever _he_ or _they_ were.
He got up and staggered toward the ship. A few steps were all he took.
The ship wasn't there. He leaned against a tree and looked wildly
around. The plant was gone too.
Shakily he fumbled for a cigarette. Smoke didn't help much. They had
taken the plant aboard while he was unconscious. They had left him
alone on an uninhabited planet.
A pretty planet and a useless one. No ship ever stopped here except to
revive a plant, and that wouldn't happen often. It would be several
lifetimes before another ship came, if one ever did.
He stared miserably into the bright blue distance and thrust his hands
into his jacket, and made a discovery. They'd left him a gun, at least,
and ammunition. He'd be able to keep himself alive at a minimum level.
There was a whistle in the distance. His head came up. He wasn't alone.
Larienne?
It couldn't be. From the direction of the sound, if it was Larienne,
she was hiding in a nearby tree. But Larienne didn't like trees.
"Richel Alsint," said a loud voice. Behind him this time.
He turned around. There was no one there. Nothing but a red bird
sitting on a branch. He started. The same red bird that had flown
mysteriously in and out of his life. If it weren't for that creature,
he'd be safely on the ship. He raised the gun.
From one foot to another, the bird hopped on the branch. "Birds can't
talk," it screeched. "Birds can't talk."
The implication was clear. "Since you _can_ talk, you're not a bird."
The gun was still leveled. "Then what are you?"
"I could tell," said the bird. It had stopped hopping and was watching
him calmly. It was red, but sometimes blue. The colors wouldn't remain
fixed.
He lowered the gun in defeat. He couldn't kill a harmless creature
just for the sake of killing. It hadn't been responsible for this.
"Don't be so sure, Richel Alsint. Don't be so sure." The bird burst
into a wild trilling song.
He glared at it speechlessly. Bird it wasn't. Either it could read
his thoughts or it had been taught a patter that fitted his present
situation with remarkable precision.
"What do you think?" said the bird, cocking its head.
He forgot about the bird. It was only a momentary diversion. "I've been
marooned," he said dully.
"It's happened before. It will happen again," chirruped the bird.
"Don't worry, I'm here."
It was, but he wished it would go away.
"There is a note. Why don't you read, read, read?" sang the bird.
He looked, catching a glimpse of sunlight on metal. They had left
something. He ran over to it, a few hundred yards away.
And there was a note. He seized it feverishly.
_I made them leave this. You may not need it, but you deserve to
know the answers._
_Don't you understand? You were infuriating everyone, even me,
and I liked you better than anyone on the ship. You were always
changing things for the sake of that damn plant! It was too dry,
so we had to have more humidity than we liked. Or the pilot had
to keep the drive from vibrating. Or this, or that, on and on
and on! Who cares, really?_
_A good plant mechanic ought to keep the plant alive for five
months and then let it die. We can live the last month off the
remains. We have to go back every six months for supplies anyway.
It's expensive, I know, but until you can get a plant that reacts
as we do, it will just have to die and be replaced._
_I thought of staying with you, but I couldn't stand all those
changes--rain and sun--all the things an uncontrolled planet has.
And then there was that story of the bird. That was too much!_
_Don't think too badly of me. At least I kept them from killing
you._
* * * * *
There was no signature, but there was no doubt who had written it.
"All of them," he muttered. Not just one man. Everyone, from the
captain down. Larienne too. And they were safe. Who would bother to
look for him when the captain recorded in the log that Richel Alsint
had deserted because his plant was a failure? And, of course, it was
going to fail.
"The crew of the craft was daft, and you were the only one who was
sane?" said the bird. "Don't you believe it. There are people on
countless planets just like them."
It was true. The crew was part of the civilization. On those planets
where it was possible to have parks, no one went to them. They
stayed in the cities as the crew stayed in the ship. And on other
planets--roofed over against poisonous gases, and inhabitants who never
saw the sun--those planets were not much better than spaceships. He was
the one who was different, not they. They had a mechanical culture and
they liked it.
He could see how he had irritated the crew in ways he didn't suspect.
They had wanted to get rid of him and they had.
He looked down at the machine they had left him, robbed, at Larienne's
insistence, from the major plant. Small, just large enough to supply
one man, but containing all the necessary parts. A plant machine in
miniature.
She really hadn't understood. He _could_ live on the food this
provided. But _would_ he, on a world teeming with animals and covered
with plants, _real_ plants? He laughed bitterly.
"Now you know," said the bird. "In the past there were others
marooned. Just like you. I came from them."
He looked up wonderingly. "Here? On this planet?" he asked eagerly.
A brilliant butterfly wandered past. The bird eyed it longingly and
shivered into a rainbow of colors and darted away after it.
"Come back!" Alsint shouted. He couldn't find them unaided. He had to
have directions.
The bird didn't return immediately. It played with the butterfly,
flashing around it. Presently it tired of the sport and came back
to the branch it had perched on. "Pretty bit of fluff," it said
breathlessly.
"Never mind that," said Alsint impatiently. "What about those people?
Are they on this world?"
"Oh, not here," said the bird. "A thousand planets away."
Alsint groaned. The bird had been trained by a mad-man and was
alternately raising his hopes and crushing them.
"Not so," said the bird. "Here's history: a hundred and forty years
ago, a couple, plant mechanics, were marooned--for the same reason." It
flew from the perch and alighted on the plant machine, dipping its bill
in a collecting tray. "Good stuff," it said, clattering its beak.
* * * * *
Alsint said nothing. It would tell him when it got ready, not before.
"The plant machine's fine," said the bird. "It's a plant that's been
taken apart. Can you put it back together?"
"No more than it is," said Alsint. "No one can."
"No one _you_ know," said the bird. "Here's more history: A hundred and
forty years ago, this couple learned how to put it together--and it
grew. A hundred and thirty years ago, they knew how to take an animal
apart and keep it alive. A hundred and twenty years ago, they put the
animal together and made it work in a new way."
The bird sidled along the branch. "What's the difference between plant
and animal?" it asked.
There were countless differences, on any level Alsint wanted to think
about. Cellular, organizational, whatever he named. But the bird had
something simple in mind.
"There are some plants which can move a little," Alsint said slowly.
"And there are some animals that hardly move at all. But the real
difference, if there is any, is motion."
"Right. You'll get along fine," said the bird. "A hundred and twenty
years ago, this couple--who by then had several children--put an animal
together in a new way and got--pure motion."
That was what had been puzzling him, and now he knew. "Teleports," he
said. "They can teleport."
"They can't," said the bird. "The mind's best for thinking--they say.
And they've kept theirs uncluttered." The bird cocked a glittering eye.
"I don't know about minds. I never had one."
If they couldn't teleport, how had the bird got here?
Alsint glanced at the bird. It wasn't perched on the plant machine and
the wings were folded. Six feet off the ground it hovered, and not a
breath of air stirring.
"Behind you," said the bird.
It didn't twitch a feather, but it was behind him now and he hadn't
seen it move.
"Teleports, yes," said the bird. "But they can't do it. We do it for
them."
The bird _had_ been outside the visionport of the spaceship. If it
could teleport itself, why not air too?
That was only part of it. The bird had followed him, but how had it
foreseen this end?
"Did you know this would happen?" he asked.
"Plant mechanics are always getting marooned," said the bird. "We've
gathered up quite a few. They work with the plant and a plant belongs
on a planet. The rhythm is different from that of a machine."
* * * * *
He knew that. He could feel it, though he had never put it into words.
"Go tell them where I am," he said. "I can live until they send a ship."
"A ship?" said the bird. "So slow? They don't believe in waiting.
They've got all the beautiful planets that men don't want--just for
the asking, though they don't have to ask. They need the right kind of
people to live on them."
They didn't believe in waiting. A shadow fell across his face. Alsint
looked up. Something was dropping down from the sky. Not a ship--not
the conventional kind, anyway. It was the kind _they_ would use. On
planets on which all the food was grown naturally and no heavy elements
were needed, what would be transported? People.
Not moving a wing, it came down, first fast and then slow. It stood in
front of him, towering, a giant abstract figure of a woman with wings.
There was frost on it.
He went to it and it covered him with wings.
There was no sensation at all except cold, which lasted only a few
seconds. When he opened his eyes, the strange, beautiful ship was
dropping down on another planet, more pleasant than the last. Men and
women were coming out of the houses to meet him. One of them looked
something like Larienne.