They lay on the crest of a hill. Before them was a rolling plain
spotted with patches of old snow. A thousand yards from the base of the
hill was a small town, with figures moving among the houses. It had
not been blasted by the saucers, but Trace's people did not run down
the slope toward it, because along that plain from horizon to horizon
rested a line of the great green spacecraft; and the moving figures,
there was little doubt, had olive skin and horny bird-feet and a single
eye apiece.
"Reconnoiter," breathed Trace. "Got to know what's what. That place
must be local GHQ, and they look dug in pretty solid. I'm going down
after dark and give 'em a squint. I'll take Bill with me, in case I
want to bring back souvenirs."
"I'm rather more insignificant in the dark than he," said Slough
quietly. "And you ought to have three on the party."
"Your arm would slow you down."
"It would not," said Slough firmly. Trace looked at him and after a
moment shrugged. "You're right, I could use another." He took the
sporting rifle from Bill and gave it to Jane Kelly. He offered the
revolver to Slough, who refused it; he handed it to Bill, keeping
the alien's pistol for himself. Then he drew the teacher off a short
distance. "Look, miss," he said earnestly, "I want you to keep these
inter-office-memo types waiting here for me if you can. I don't expect
you to actually shoot 'em, but maybe the rifle will cow 'em some. They
aren't what you'd call blood and guts sort."
"Why don't you let them go?" she asked suddenly. "What good will three
cowards do for you?"
"You never know. I figure they are human, and in the long run they'll
show it. Hafnagel is the best--if he has time to recover. He lost his
wife in the city."
Jane said, "I was lucky. I hadn't anyone to lose. Except mankind."
Trace looked at her steadily. "At another time, Miss Kelly," he said,
"I'd like to tell you what a hell of a fine female you are. I know it
wouldn't mean anything to you now, but I must say you are one swell
dish." Then he blushed all over his big hawk-nosed face, and turned
abruptly to the saucer-cut plain.
In the first darkness the three of them crawled over the top and headed
down the slope.
* * * * *
The greenies kept no guard of any kind on their headquarters town;
nor, so far as Trace could see, did they set a sentinel over their
saucers. They were horribly sure of themselves, sure of having crushed
the highest race on this planet. The night was nearly black, thick
jetty clouds obscuring the moon, and stabs and splashes of orange light
showed where the aliens walked. The three earthmen made their way to
the edge of town, took a road straight toward the center, and trotted
down the sidewalk past silent houses. They were cautious, but even so
they nearly ran into a greenie who came round a corner not twenty yards
ahead. They went to earth under a hedge and watched him walk by. The
orange illumination was explained: from the front of the helmet he
wore, a beam of strong undiffused, red-yellow light shot out and down,
showing him the path as he walked with bent head. Luckily he did not
flick it from side to side, or he must have seen them crammed under the
hedge.
When his soft padding footsteps had died, the midget Slough said
urgently, "Trace, do you intend capturing one?"
"I might at that. Why?"
"If you do, remove his helmet at once. Immediately!" His breath mingled
frostily with Bill's and Trace's. "The triple prongs atop the helmet
may be antennae, for radiating and receiving waves, either of thought
or a form of radio. It may be thus that they communicate, so knock off
the helmet at once if you attempt a capture, or if we're discovered."
"You are a shrewd cookie," said Trace thoughtfully. "Okay, will do. Now
let's get the lead out."
The town had been a small place, with one drug store, one theater, half
a dozen stores. The men prowled all round the heart of it, and Trace
said, "Here's something funny. They haven't shown any curiosity--the
theater's still locked up tight, like it must have been on Sunday when
the attack was made on the cities. How come? Don't they want to check
on what a building like this is used for? They don't seem to have pried
into much of anything."
"Maybe they're not interested in us," said Bill. "Maybe they don't
give a whoop for what we've done and how we've progressed. What if
they considered themselves so superior to us that they thought we had
nothing to teach them? Then they wouldn't pry into our heritage and
culture. They'd just obliterate us."
"And why bother to obliterate us?" asked Slough.
"Lot of answers to that," said Trace briefly. "Meanness, desire for
sense of power, what have you. Let's nail one and drag tail." He led
them past the movie house, and gestured at an orange light approaching.
"That one."
"Don't forget the helmet," urged Slough.
"Take it easy, Mac," said Trace huskily. They went to ground behind
evergreen shrubs on the lawn of a funeral parlor.
The tall creature neared them, his horny feet with their heavy pads
making little noise on the cement. He passed, and Trace launched
himself at the broad back, feeling joy wash through him in a heady wave
at the first action since his attack on the flag-planter. He struck
the alien with all the weight and power of his two hundred pounds,
expecting it to pitch forward on its face. It did nothing of the sort.
It staggered one step, stiffened, whirled on him. He clutched wildly
for a grip, but the stonewall character of this great beast had thrown
off his timing. The thing hit him in the face with a forearm. Trace
reeled back and fell into a pine tree.
* * * * *
Bill Blacknight leaped on the one-eye even as Trace was hurled away,
and darting up one long arm, the magician hit the helmet with the
tips of his fingers. In a flash the dexterous hand found the edge of
the metal and flipped upward; the alien, squawking, reached for the
headgear, just too late. It clanged on the sidewalk. Bill wrapped
himself around the steel-tough torso. He knew nothing of brawling, but
he was as slippery as an oiled eel. The green man groped for him and
he was somewhere else. Terrible hands groped to tear his head from
his body, and Bill was a human cummerbund, folded around the waist of
the thing and punching desperately for a vulnerable spot. Then he had
flattened up along its back and had a half-nelson on the thick throat.
The greenie drew his weapon. Bill did a contortionist trick and booted
it out of his hand.
Trace climbed out of the pine tree, swearing bluely.
Slough appeared just before the alien, who tensed his arms to grip the
tiny man. Slough was no more than three feet off, well within reach
and full in the glare of the fallen helmet's lamp; yet the one-eyed
marauder did not catch him. Bill had forced him to his knees. The huge
round eye glared across at Slough, while the thing appeared to wait
for something unguessable to happen. Slough swung his good arm and
caught the brute a healthy crack on the jaw. With a bird's cry, high
and ferocious, like the wail of an eagle who has sighted on a rabbit
and seen it turn into a wolf, the greenie jerked his head back and
staggered to his two-toed feet.
Trace came in like Joe Louis at Tony Galento. He put a fist into the
rigid belly and it smashed in like so much well chewed bubble gum. Then
he pasted the alien in the throat, pulling his punch just enough so as
not to shove the spine through the nape of the neck. Last, as the alien
was toppling over, he unleashed the left uppercut which had won him
seventy bouts in two years. The greenie flipped up his face and stared
sightlessly at the black sky for an instant, whereafter he crumpled
into a heap that would never get up and walk away under its own power
if it lay there till the crack of doom.
The three friends panted a little at each other.
"Swell captive you have there," said Bill at last. "A lot he'll tell
you, Sarge. I heard eighteen distinct bones bust when you biffed him
that last one."
"Have to catch another," said Trace irritably. "Damn!"
"And here it comes, at the double," said Slough.
A light bobbed a block away. Bill gestured at the fallen helmet. "Look
at that, a regular searchlight." The beam was reaching up to flicker
on low-hanging clouds. Its source of power must be startlingly potent.
Trace picked up the helmet and settled it on his own head, where it
dropped and rested heavily on his ears. He stepped behind a maple tree
between sidewalk and street. "Out of sight," he growled at the others.
* * * * *
The second alien slowed, walked briskly, faltered, stopped. He called
out a couple of questioning syllables in the avianlike tongue. Trace
came out from behind the tree and shot the orange beam directly into
the single great eye. In the second's grace he thus achieved, he
stepped up to the creature and clipped it sharply, competently, on the
button.
"That does it," he said with satisfaction. "We got it made."
He knelt, removed the helmet, passed it to Slough. Then he took off the
one which he himself wore and gave it to Bill. "Toss them someplace
where the light won't show. Can't mess around trying to turn 'em
off--and they might be a couple of booby-traps. Broadcasting stations
with brims, that'd lead the enemy right to us." He heaved up at the
greenie's middle. He whooshed with surprise. "Little help, Bill," he
grunted. "This thing weighs about three hundred!"
With the magician's aid he stood up, holding the alien over one
shoulder. He looked toward the invisible hill; he was thinking of Jane
Kelly. It doesn't matter a damn about the others, he thought, not even
the girl Barbara; but that little teacher with the sensible shoes....
They went up to the theater and turned the corner and there ahead of
them were many ducking, bobbing orange lights. A ragged line of aliens
were approaching the town, had already cut them off from the hill.
They ran, Trace heavily with the inert weight on his shoulder, and
there were more coming at them from the other side, so that their only
escape lay through an alley that ran beside the theater. Down this they
pounded, Trace cursing the helmets which must have shot out warning
signals when they were removed; the aliens were coming too fast and
purposefully for it to be accidental.
The alley debouched into another, but this was spotted at the ends
by more head-lamps. Bill felt a cold touching him that was deeper
and more icy than the January wind. He said, "The movie's the last
bet," and jumping to the back exit of the place, he performed a swift
sleight-of-hand that every magician knows of, and the lock swung open,
the hasp flipping back from the staple. He pulled at the door, Slough
crept into the blackness, and Trace, still carrying the unconscious
greenie, followed. Bill closed the door behind him. It was possible
that the extraterrestrial marauders did not know the principle of the
padlock, of course; in which case they might not notice the unlocked
door. But Bill rather doubted it. So did Trace.