The five of them sat on the lip of the hill, hunched up against the
cold, clasping their knees and occasionally rubbing hands or ankles
for warmth. Trace had one arm around Jane Kelly, whose dark head lay
against his chest. He was almost happy. He thought he had lost, lost
his vengeance and his universe, and still he was all but contented,
because he had this girl close to him.
The saucers rested without motion on the plain. The clouds had thinned,
the moon's location could be told by its misted radiance, but no stars
shone and the humans could not tell whether they were spinning around
Sol or Tsloahn. After all, as Trace had said, the moon might have been
kidnapped with them--or it might be a different moon, one of the other
stolen planets in the Graken's home system.
Barbara hated stillness. She asked Trace, "How come those greenies
thought your damned old movie was real? Couldn't they tell it was only
a picture--them and their high IQ's?"
"No," said Trace. He roused himself and looked over at her. Bill
Blacknight was snuggled against her (oh, for warmth, sure, thought
Trace cynically) and the magician was obviously on the verge of the
same strange happiness that touched Trace himself. "No," he said again,
"they couldn't tell it was a picture."
"Why not?"
"Because they only have one eye apiece."
"I don't see what difference that makes."
He assumed the role of patient instructor, dredging in his memory
for the right words. "You need two eyes functioning as one organ to
have what they call binocular vision. The retina isn't adapted for
three-dimensional perception, see?"
"No," said Barbara.
"Well, to perceive solid things for what they are, you have to have
two retinal images, thrown on both eyes by the one object. You get help
from linear and aerial perspective--if you know the size of a thing you
can judge how far away it is--but supposing you don't know its size,
you're liable to misjudge its distance if you've only got one eye. One
eye, two dimensions; two eyes, three dimensions."
"I get that," said Bill sleepily. "How'd you happen to think of it,
Trace?"
"It was Slough here. Twice a greenie made a mistake as to how far
away he was: once on the street, when it didn't grab for him when it
could have, and again in the theater, when Glodd motioned for him to
come closer, and hit him accidentally. Both of them thought Slough was
average human size. Both were looking at him from a low viewpoint,
the first on its knees and Glodd sitting on the floor. That's when it
occurred to me that their eye-sight must be two-dimensional. Of course
it wouldn't bother them on their home planets, where everything was
known by size and aerial perspective filled in their deficiencies.
Probably their navigational instruments made up for their lack of depth
perception in flight, too. But when I turned the Nazi Army onto them,
they were baffled. They must have thought giants were coming up out
of a hole under the theater. Which is why they ran like hell, and then
blasted the town."
"Very clever," said Slough. Jane echoed this, and Trace said to her
quietly, "I'm not quite the uneducated slob you might think I was,
baby."
"I don't think anything of the sort! You're--you're a man, a fine tough
intelligent man." She was so sincere she sounded angry. Trace glowed
with pride.
* * * * *
There was a very long silence then. Nobody moved from their chosen
vantage point. The hidden moon went down. At last Trace cleared his
throat self-consciously.
"I'd like to ask a question myself. Of you, Slough."
After a slight pause, Slough said, "What is it, Trace?"
"Well, you're a little too smart a geezer for reality, if you know
what I mean. You figured those helmets for thought-radios, when it was
a fantastic possibility that no normal man would have hit on so quick
with so little to go on. Then you did things with the electronic device
in that saucer that I couldn't have come up with in a coon's age."
"I'm an engineer," said the tiny man. He chuckled. "And I read a lot of
science-fiction."
"Okay. Then there's this. Thirty-odd hours ago you had a badly broken
left arm, which I set for you and put in a sling." Trace spoke slowly,
almost with fear now that he voiced his suspicions. "Some time during
our first raid on the town, you discarded the sling; when we were in
the saucer, you fought and afterwards you worked on the instruments
with both hands. It's impossible, but it must be true--your arm knit
completely within a day." He turned and bending over Jane Kelly he
stared wide-eyed at the dark figure of the little man.
"Slough," said Trace huskily, "_what are you_?"
Slough sighed. "Whatever I am, Trace Roscoe, I am not your enemy. No,
nor ever shall be, yours or your people's. Look!" He cried out so
suddenly that the four of them, shocked, stared out in the direction in
which he gestured. "The saucers," he said, "they're rising!"
"The gimmicked one?" asked Bill, whose eyes were bleary with lack of
sleep.
"Yes, all of 'em," said Trace. He jumped up, hauling Jane to her
feet with him. "It's coming, they're hoping to do it," he said, and
he clenched his teeth and took a firm grip on the girl, as though he
wanted to hold her on the earth when it shot into the uncanny regions
of sub-space. "Hold tight," he said, with no particular sense but
a vast deal of emotion. "Hold tight, Jane baby." And Jane held him
tightly.
The saucers rose higher, dwindling in size; they reached the low cloud
layer and passed into it, becoming hazy and then invisible.
Twenty thousand spacecraft girdled the globe, linked electronically,
readied for flight with their stolen planet to unknowable distances of
deep space.
The men and women waited, their breath emerging in brief white frosty
spurts in the cold air. And nothing happened.
After twenty minutes, Trace put a trembling hand to his forehead. "We
lose," he said. He saw Slough begin to walk away from them, going back
along the gradual slope among the bare trees, but he did not even call
after him. It didn't matter a damn now, what or who the midget was.
"We lose," he said again, and hugged Jane fiercely.
And then the sky exploded.