John Racham Read online

  "Hold it," he said. "That's good enough. You won, fair and square." He wrapped his arms about her firmly, felt the lashes slip away. "Keep still, honey. Hear me now. These people understand fighting. That part's all right. But they don't kill each other. Hear me?" She struggled against his arms, her face turned to his, her eyes wide, teeth bared in a snarl. "You wonl It is all over! You don't have to kill her!"

  Slowly the crazy fires died in her eyes and she softened, turned all the way to him and clung tight, panting, clutching him strongly. He stroked the short crispness that was all there was left of her hair and murmured, "You won't want a haircut for sure, so long as you stay here. Come on now, no need to take on. That was a good fight. You've had lessons!"

  "Oh Stephen! I was going to kill her. I was! And Father called them savages! Forgive me?"

  "That's not for me. What about the lady you just flattened? Let's take a look at her, shall we?"

  But there was no need. The woman was getting up, painfully and with much flexing of her arms and neck, but without any resentment that he could feel, just uncertainty and curiosity. "What shall I do?" Christine asked.

  56

  "Give her a smile. It can't hurt. Feel friendly to her."

  The response was instant and dramatic. The native woman beamed and came forward, obviously taking the smile as an invitation. She put out her hand again, and this time Christine held still, permitting herself to be touched and felt. It was so obviously admiration, curiosity and friendliness that Christine laughed as the delicate hands explored her curves.

  "Oh, Stephen. I think she likes me. And I think she's cute, too. They're all nice people. So neat. They make me feel big and clumsy!"

  "Hardly that." Query denied, as the old man was released from restraint and came plunging forward to halt and stare around at the silent ring of faces that surrounded him.

  "Not a stitch among 'em!" he growled, and Query thought he knew why that was so persistendy offensive to the old man.

  "Right!" he said. "That's the only kind of uniform that's worth anything, when you get down to it. Nothing stuck on. No braid, buttons, stripes or stars to label you. Just your own self, for what you are."

  "By God, you really hate the Service, don't you?"

  "And you love it. Without it you're nothing, just a flat, flabby and futile old man. Can't you feel what these people are thinking about you?"

  "Feel what they are thinking?"

  "You mean to tell me you can't?" Query was astonished. He looked to Christine, met the same incomprehension there. It was just as hard for him to believe them. To him the wash of mental comment and emotion was as real and effective as anything he could see. Right now it was a wordless debate on what to do next, resolving itself into a simple choice. Leave them here? Take them with us? Query eyed his companions urgently.

  "No time to explain," he said, "even if I could. And I doubt it very much. Answer me just one thing, are you as hungry as I am?" The pain in his belly was acute now. Their faces were enough to tell him. He turned to stare at the head man, trying to get him to feel that ache. And something happened. The sense of the whole group changed. The head man made a gesture, spoke a single noise, turned

  57 to point and set off with the whole crowd in silent unison after him.

  "That's us," Query said. "Let's go."

  "Where to?" Evans demanded suspiciously.

  "All right, stop here then. Suit yourselfl" Query told him crisply then started off in pursuit. In a moment he heard the other two come tramping after. Noisily. Not like the pale natives, who seemed to glide like shadows through the gloomy undergrowth. But they lived here, of course. And who would have believed that humanlike people could ever have evolved in a jungle world like this, in the perpetual half-dark of living mist? And that reminded him of the pangs in his belly, that were paradoxically not so hard to bear now that they were constant. From there his thoughts circled back again to death. Was it so certain, now? These people lived. It was at least a straw to clutch at. But then he realized the group had stopped, were all still. He stopped, too, caught at his companions as they blundered up.

  "Hold it. We've stopped for something, I don't know what."

  Evans was too blown to offer comment, but Christine came close, to hold his hand and ask, "Can you really tell what they are thinking?"

  "Not thinking. I know what they are feeling. Emotional reactions. Quiet. They're after food of some kind."

  The pale figures were spread out now in a circle. One of the women moved close in to the bole of a mighty tree, lifting her chin to stare up. Then she raised her palms and smacked them together with a crack like a pistol shot, just once. As if she had turned a switch, the massive bole in front of her glowed into colored fire, a rich ruby red that swept up and up, until the whole immense tree shone like a living gem, the scarlet flood spreading out along the branches and fanlike leaves, away up there into the mist. It was so glorious that Query wanted to shout aloud, "Do it again!"

  But it was not to be. He felt the quick negation of failure, and the ruby red glow dwindled and died away. Over by another tree, another woman stepped close, peered up, struck her palms together . . . and the lovely miracle was repeated, only this one was more a glowing orange,

  58 like a flame that leaped up, suffusing branches and leaves and round ball-pendant things that hung there in profusion. Golden lanterns! He felt now the quick pleasure of success. The woman said "Hah!" sharply, and again, "Hah!" and the group gathered around. The men started a rhythmic clapping that kept the tree in a constant ripple of golden fire, standing in close to the bole, while the women moved out a little and uncoiled their whips, each seeking a clear spot.

  Now Query saw what those whips could do. The woman nearest him set her feet firmly, shook out the long black thong, stared up, and swung her arm over and up, the slim lash curling and lashing out high up there, plucking one of those glow gold balls and bringing it thumping down into the bushes. Other lashes hissed and flew and cracked and plucked, and the fruit came down like heavy hail, thumping and bouncing. Query noticed, too, that the nearby bushes were splashed with faint light, so that they looked like creations in luminous glass.

  "Fantastic!" old Evans muttered. "Never seen anything like that before. Looks like the whole damned tree is alight. What d'you make of it?" "

  "At a guess, it's some kind of fluorescence. Chemical reaction to sound waves. See, the nearby bushes are all glowing, too. Wonderful!"

  "It's so beautiful!" Christine breathed. "Living color in a dark world. So lovely! Oh . . . they've stopped!"

  The glorious orange fire faded slowly away as the clapping ceased. Out of the gloom came the head man, holding a fruit-body in his hand to offer to Christine. The woman she had fought came up with one for Query, and another woman, smiling, with one for Evans.

  "Are we just supposed to eat it?" the old man muttered, and Query wondered, trying to get the message.

  "I think I know," he said, smiling at the woman in front of him and hefting the fruit. It was as big as a watermelon and as heavy but with a rubbery feel about it. "Watch me." He smiled again, handed it back to her and waited. She smiled in return, tucked the thing under her arm like a football, and tore at the rind where the stem had been until she had cleared enough room to extract what looked like a marble embedded in jelly. She put it in her mouth

  59 and gave the body of the fruit back to him. Then she smiled and went away, obviously satisfied.

  "Polite little ritual," Query chuckled, sampling one of the marblelike objects. It was chewy and fibrous, something like a nut, and the jelly was as sweet as honey without being sticky. In a moment they were all munching eagerly. The first swallow made Queiy's stomach growl but the pain got no worse, which was something to be glad of. "That noise-color is really something, though, isn't it?" he demanded. "Life has its compensations."

  Christine nodded, cleared her mouth to sigh, "It was marvelous. Like living fire. Did you notice that the bushes were all sorts of dif
ferent colors, where the tree was all one? Do you suppose anything would light up if I shouted?"

  "I don't see why not," he said. "It's all noise."

  She moved away excitedly, picked out a tree, stood close to it, and put her head back. "Hah!" she shouted, and smacked her hands together. And the miracle worked for her as before. Lambent lime green light sprang up in the mighty bole and spread swiftly upward, and then out along interlacing branches and leaves. And then she screamed, and Query stood for a moment in chill horror, as down the mighty trunk scuttled a swarm of many-legged things like giant spiders, bulbous yellow bodies as big as his palm all spotted with scarlet eye patches, being rustled along on finger thick legs. She screamed again with all the power of her lungs, and the tree shone brighter as if to mock her.

  VIII

  QUERY SHOOK HIMSELF free of his stunned horror and started to run to her. By his ear he heard a sibilant "wheep!" of sound and the leading leggy horror stopped still, squirted yellow ichor, and there was a black spike there that pinned it struggling to the bole. Another "wheep!" and another spider thing stopped short and wriggled on the spike that impaled it. And now a virtual hail as the men moved in and the women clapped in ruthless rhythm. Christine seemed paralyzed, staring upward. Query reached her,

  60 took her arm, and then he saw what she was looking at, and his knees shook, his stomach curdling into an icy lump. High up there, about thirty feet up, in the crotch of the first branch, squatted an enormous shuddering mass of bright scarlet with black markings, and even as he gazed at it in fear it moved and writhed and spread out a snaking mass of long ropy tentacles, two of them twisting and slithering rapidly down the glowing tree trunk.

  He shook her arm, his mouth suddenly dry, and she screamed again but stood there unable to move. He shook her roughly, turned her around, grabbed her arm and started to run. She stumbled and came a little way, then fetched up short with a jerk and a frantic screech. He wheeled round and saw that one of the snaking, ropy tentacles had caught her by the foot. He grabbed her tight and threw his weight backward, slipping his arms under her armpits and hauling madly. The snakelike thing curled and held on. She screamed again, kicked frenziedly and became suspended, a human link in a macabre tug-of-war, wrenching and kicking as the tentacle clung, worming its way around and up her leg, more and more.

  Evans came roaring up and past, and flung himself up at the straining tentacle, missed, and fell back . . . and the second one, looping, caught him by an arm and started hauling him in and up. Query dug in his heels, braced himself, leaning back and hauling with every ounce of strength he could get, as that -death grip hauled back and up, taking Christine's leg high in the air, dragging him along no matter how he strained. The looping tip was circling her thigh now, and she flung herself crazily to and fro, her free leg flailing.

  Then there came a crack like a rifle shot, and another, and another. Then the women were there, arms swinging and the black thong-whips whistling with murderous effect. As each cracking lash bit into the ropy arms there was a spout of scarlet and ragged chunks of flesh leaped away. The cut limb thrashed savagely, dragging Christine and Query back and forth like toys on the end of a thread. But the whistling lashes were ruthless, hacking and slashing, tearing the tentacle to pieces with each slash. All at once that powerful limb fell limp and dead, and Query

  61 staggered back, with Christine plunging heavily on top of him to cling and shudder and moan in helpless terror.

  "All rightl" he panted, hugging her, trying to soothe her. "It's all right! It's gonel"

  "My leg!" she mumbled, struggling in his arms. "My leg!"

  "It's all right." He held her tight and stared down along her body, and the dead end of the horror was still there, still gripping her leg, even in death. "Hold still!" He eased out of her frantic clutch and got hold of the repulsive thing, struggling to unwind it, to rip it free and throw it away. Around her leg there was a sullen weal that would be a bad bruise later on, but there didn't seem to be any other damage. He felt, delicately, and looked up at her, meeting her staring brown eyes.

  "Nothing broken, Christine. You're all right."

  She seemed stunned. He went to her head, helped her to sit up, and sat by her to watch the carnage that was still going on. It was horrible, and yet, in a strange way, with a beauty all its own, beauty in the pitiless and precise way these people worked together. Three of the women strove in concert, lashing away at the ropy tentacle that still held Evans by his arm. The bite of their lashes spattered him with the red fluid, hacked away gory chunks of living tissue, until that tentacle, too, snapped and fell limp, depositing Evans in a heap on the ground.

  But other women were working their way in by slow steps, arms swinging in powerful rhythm. It was like a macabre dance. Query watched the shoulders swing, their firm breasts lifting and tensing as they threw weight behind each lash, cutting away, higher and higher, literally butchering the repulsive thing up there by inches. And the men were busy, too. They were something to see. Apparently the bottom, or handgrip of the slim tube they carried, was also a store for the slim, six-inch spikes. Darts fell into the left hand, which moved instantly to the tube tip to drop them in and grasp and strain the tube into a quivering arc; and then flick—faster than the eye could follow—and "pluck" as they struck home in that shuddering, octopuslike body up there.

  The spider things had all been taken care of. They were pinned all the way around the massive trunk, and even as he watched, Query saw one man put his tube neady

  62 under his arm and move in, clapping into the rhythm for a moment, then seizing and tugging at the spike, freeing it and the spider body in the one motion, moving on to another, tossing the many-legged bodies clear, stuffing the spikes into his weapon butt. This done, the man moved back out and clear, keeping the clapping going while another man moved in and collected spikes. And Query realized of course these people could work together. If he could share something of their common feeling, then it was obvious that they all shared with each other a common awareness. No need for words of command or drilling. They knew what to do and what everyone else was doing. The ultimate in teamwork.

  Christine shivered, and he put his arm about her. "All right now," he said, feeling the inadequacy of the words and wishing he could touch her mind the way he could reach and touch these "savages." The play was almost over, the long whips hissing and slashing close to that obscene body up in the tree. One of the women drew back, coiled her whip, and stooped to give old Evans a strong arm, helping him up and assisting him away. And only just in time. Down came the bloated thing, a bladder of scarlet and black, to hit the ground soggily and quiver. And the murderous lashes flicked and tore at it until there was positively no life left.

  Query sensed jubilation, almost exultation, and not just the victory over a threat. It was more than that. Rejoicing? He stared at the way the women gathered up the cutoff chunks of tentacles, and at the men who collected the spider bodies as if they were precious. And when the warm saliva flooded his mouth he knew—revolted and unbelieving —but he knew. The head man came across to where he sat hugging Christine. He carried a dripping chunk of tentacle as thick as an arm and almost a foot long. He offered it, and Christine took a good look and moaned, turning her head away. Query had difficulty mastering his stomach as he stretched out his hand and touched the delicacy to acknowledge it Then he pushed it away and shook his head, hoping to be understood. It may be a tasty morsel to you, my friend, but we don't fancy it. You have it! The head man's expression showed puzzlement, and then a shrug and finally a big grin. He went away quickly, to

  come back with the original fruit-body Query had put aside when Christine tried her experiment. You're smart Query thought, that's much more our speed! and he accepted the fruit gratefully. But there was more in the mental crosscurrent than that.

  "Better eat something, Christine, you need the strength. We're going to move, soon, and you have to come along now. You're something of a heroine, far as I can ga
ther."

  "A heroine?" She opened her mouth to ask it, and he plugged it with a nut and chuckled. The sense of it was quite clear in his mind.

  "Right. You knew where the good food was; you went right to it and called it out. And you didn't even have a whip!"

  "Food? They are actually eating . . . those things?"

  "Right again. Just some, though. The rest they are going to carry back to the . . . village, I guess it must be. Home, anyway. And you're the guest of honor. We all are. They've never seen anything like us before, but we have proved ourselves, it seems. Look, your father has made a hit, too. See?" Query aimed his arm to where Evans sat nearby being fed and obviously admired by two women. "This place has its attractions as well as its dangers. I doubt if it would ever get boring . . ."

  "I've been thinking about that," she said, in a curious, little girl voice, "and I remember something from biology class—it seems a lifetime ago—something about intestinal bacteria. We all have them, of course, and without them we would ' starve, because they work to produce all the enzyme breakdowns we need. That's why one has to be careful not to take too much of an antibiotic dose when sick. Because that destroys the digestive bacteria, too. And that's what this air must be doing to us."

  "That sounds logical," he admitted, "but maybe we are replacing our kind with the local variety while we eat?"

  "I doubt if it's that simple. Stephen ... I think we are going to die, after all. It's ironic, isn't it? To find this, and each other . . . too late!"

  He had nothing to say to that, nothing that would help. In a while the natives made obvious preparations to be on their way again. Query helped Christine up, lending an arm to ease some of the weight on her bruised leg. He

  64 saw that Evans was still being taken care of. Those women had probably never seen a fat man with white hair. It was natural for them to be fascinated. And it was, he supposed, equally natural for Christine to cling to him and to heed him as a man in a moment of stress like this. The group moved easily now, in less of a hurry, and it was no strain to keep up. It gave Query time to think. The imminence of death had to be considered in a new light now. It was nothing to him. He had become resigned to it long ago. But she was now beginning to accept it, what with the shocks and stresses of this weird place and the obvious fact that they were not going to be rescued.