"Have you
counted
them?" said Berryman bitterly.
"Sixteen," said Drew.
". . . whose gravity, pressure and atmospheric composition is similar
to Earth's -- which is probably the chief reason for the Ship's presence
here. Observation of pictures of planetary flora and fauna suggest a world
subject to frequent or perhaps constant high winds . . ."
The leading Twos were only yards and split seconds away.
chapter twenty-two
They could not be sure where exactly the Threes and Ones fitted into
the picture, but the position of the intelligent caterpillars and the
Twos was now plain. The scarcity of Ones indicated that most of their
number had succumbed to the carnivorous instincts of the Twos.
The tentacled animal with the single, underslung horn was a carnivore, of
course, and the natural enemy of the intelligent e-t's. They had adapted
well to weightless conditions, but on the home planet their normal method
of locomotion was to use the large, curved horn as a sort of skid while
propelling themselves with their tentacles. The skid also served as a
weapon when jumping onto their prey or, when plunged into soft ground
during periods of high wind, as an anchor which allowed the Two to seize
smaller animals with its tentacles as they blew helplessly past.
The plant life was uniformly alien.
Smaller plants consisted of a long, flexible stem which, because of
the wind, lay on or close to the ground. The stem carried a number of
large, thick leaves with thorns or rootlets on their undersides and
seemed to combine the process of photosynthesis with the digestion of
ground-burrowing insects. At the other end of the scale were the giant
trees towering hundreds of feet into the air, with trunks fifty feet in
diameter and massive, stubby branches in proportion.
Because of their tremendous thickness, the trunks and branches bent only
slightly in the wind. Their leaves were enormous aerofoils controlled
either by the vegetable nervous system of the tree or by some automatic
stabilizer system in the leaf itself, so that they streamed out to
leeward while maintaining a formation which kept every leaf in sunshine.
The leaves were the only opaque parts of the trees. Trunk and branches
were translucent except for dark areas occurring at irregular intervals
which could have been parasitic growths or caused by small animals being
dashed against the trunk by the wind. Other dark patches were various
forms of animal life existing inside the trees.
Another growth or structure which had puzzled them until pictures
became available which gave a true indication of its size, was the heap
of varicolored, translucent spaghetti. This mass appeared flexible
and open enough for the wind to blow through it without putting too
much strain on the individual tubes, which divided and subdivided at
intervals and contained hundreds of bulbous swellings along their length
before rejoining into a single stem again or linking up with another
stem. From the top of this squirming and strangely beautiful mass,
hundreds of metallic blooms on ridiculously thin stems trailed in the
wind. Eventually they realized that they were seeing an alien city,
a great, artificial tree with trailing windmill blooms supplying power
to a structure which must extend a considerable depth below the surface.
The wind was such an integral part of the aliens' lives that on the Ship
the sounds it made were played like background music.
". . . Originally the intelligent e-t's must have developed from a
species of burrowing tree dweller. Physically they resemble outsize,
leathery caterpillars, whose heads are very well supplied with teeth
which now show signs of advanced atrophication, and they have four
mandibles terminating in flexible digits which appear both strong and
highly sensitive . . ."
The first one came at them along the center of the corridor, shell first
like a tentacled cannonball. Their spears were useless against that bony
carapace, so they flattened themselves against the net and let it sail
past. The next one came spinning at them edge on and tentacles flailing,
close to the wall occupied by Drew. He guided his spear into the soft
area below the edge of the shell and between the tentacles, and the
momentum of the Two's dive did the rest. He pitchforked the dying animal
down the corridor, and then they were all very busy.
". . . this deeply rooted racial agoraphobia -- they are burrowers,
after all, even if they do burrow through nearly transparent trees. The
murals, illustrations and especially the close-fitting hammocks support
this.
"It could be argued that the process of overcoming this agoraphobia
and achieving the level of technology evident here was a slow one,
which means that they could be much farther advanced in the sociological
sciences than we are, and a peaceful first contact would be possible if
it wasn't for the suspected mental damage . . ."
They came at them two and three at a time, seeming to fill the corridor
from wall to wall with flailing tentacles and long, twitching, obscene
horns. McCullough got his spear to a vital spot, but in the act of pushing
the furiously dying thing away he felt a tentacle crash excruciatingly
against his legs. When he could see again, there was a Two crawling up
his legs and he had too long a hold on his weapon for it to bear. He
twisted frantically to the side, pulled one leg out of the net and drew
it up until the knee touched his chin, then stamped down hard on the
base of the Two's horn. Reaction from the blow dislodged his other foot
from the net, but the kick must have inflicted severe internal damage
because the Two went into violent convulsions and died.
"Dirty fighting, sir," said Drew, who had just finished off another by
more conventional methods. "I must remember that trick . . ."
Both his legs were sticking out into the corridor and before McCullough
could swing them back, another Two grabbed his foot. This time the spear
would bear all right, but he jabbed himself in the leg before he was able
to kill it. Strangely the only pain he felt was one of loss -- there was
only one functioning spacesuit left now. But there was no time to think
about that for long. The corridor was a solid mass of struggling alien
and human bodies, a nightmare of tentacles, legs, arms, furry carpets,
stabbing horns and spears. And over the high-pitched gobblings and
furious voices of the combatants there was the quiet voice of McCullough
expounding his theories regarding alien psychology . . .
". . . So far as we can tell, the Two life-form is the enemy of
everything which lives and moves, but particularly of the intelligent
e-t's who made up the crew of the Ship. It is small wonder, then,
that the single remaining alien refuses to come out of its quarters,
and that a high level of fear must be added to the loneliness and lack
of support from its fellows which it is suffering -- feelings which we
ourselves are in a very good position to appreciate. If we also assume
them to belong to a bisexual race -- and there is no evidence against
this -- then the crew were probably mated . . ."
McCullough fended off a violently dying alien with a Three on its back
and saw that Drew was in serious trouble. He had lost his spear and a
Two had its tentacles wrapped around his hips and waist. He was trying
frantically to push it off him, both hands flat against its underbelly and
arms stiffened. This was how Morrison had died, McCullough thought sickly
as he swung up his spear and took careful aim so as not to stab Drew.
But before he could do anything, a second Two landed on Drew's back
and drove its horn in deep. Drew's arms went limp and he was caught,
sandwiched and impaled between the two of them. For an instant he looked
appealingly at McCullough, his face yellow-white with shock, and tried
to say something. But only blood came out and McCullough killed both
Twos without worrying about jabbing Drew.
Then suddenly the corridor was clear. The Twos had dived and spun and
blundered their way past and the half dozen or so that had survived were
clinging to the netting a short distance along the corridor, preparing
to attack again.
". . . If the crew member has lost its mate, especially if the survivor
is the weaker or less technically qualified of the two, this would further
aggravate its emotionally disturbed condition as well as explain the lack
of interference during our exploration.
"There is also a strong possibility that the survivor is physically as
well as mentally damaged, but it is, of course, the mental aspect which
concerns us at the present time . . ."
"Here they come," said Berryman in a voice which was too weary to show
emotion. McCullough dragged his eyes away from the gruesome three-body
problem which was Drew, and tried desperately to pretend that none of
this was happening, that soon he would wake up somewhere, anywhere, else.
But he did not wake up and the Twos rushed down on him, figments of a
nightmare which was not even of Earth. Their tentacles spread and coiled
like the legs of great, fat spiders and that horrible, obscene horn jabbed
and quivered and gave every attack the added horror of indecent assault.
". . . Psychology is far from being an exact science, and it is difficult
enough to cure the aberrations of a human being . . ."
Twice his spear made a wet, thudding sound and another pair of Twos spun
out of sight. He began to think that they might, after all, succeed
in exterminating the animals. It was obvious that they were all here,
attracted by the scent the humans had picked up in the crew quarters.
With the Twos out of the way they could investigate the Ship at leisure,
building up a picture of the culture of its home planet and getting
to know and understand the alien crew member before actual contact was
attempted. But then everything went suddenly wrong.
Berryman speared a Two just as another came spinning close to the net on
McCullough's side. The doctor lunged, missed and had to fend it off with
his feet. Both animals crashed together just as a third arrived on the
scene, and within seconds the remainder of the Twos were adding to the
pile-up. McCullough lost his spear -- he couldn't bring it to bear anyway
-- and somebody screamed and then went on cursing. McCullough wanted to
laugh because that meant the wound had not been immediately fatal.
He threw his arms around a passing Two, hugging its bony shell close to
his chest so that its horn and threshing tentacles formed a defensive
shield. He shouted, "Get out of here! Crawl along the wall net, get
clear
!"
They kicked and wrestled their way free of the jam, Berryman first, then
Hollis and McCullough trailed by their madly flapping Threes. Already
the First Twos were beginning to give chase.
"We have to find shelter," Berryman gasped as they sailed along the
corridor. "A good, strong door . . ."
Hollis was looking back over his shoulder. He said, "Only -- only five
of them left . . ."
"In here!"
Berryman had stopped and was clinging to the net beside a door, one arm
out to check Hollis. They pulled the door aside and within seconds the
pilot's head, shoulders and spear showed around the edge as he prepared
to defend it until the others arrived.
Behind them the Twos went suddenly berserk.
"No!" McCullough shouted urgently.
"Berryman, get out of there!"
But it was too late. A Two hurled itself past both Hollis and himself
without bothering even to strike at them. It impaled itself on Berryman's
spear, driving the haft backward between the wall and the sliding panel.
Berryman yelled that he couldn't free his spear and the door was jammed open.
Hollis had caught the netting beside the door and was about to go through
when McCullough arrived behind him. The doctor gripped the net firmly,
planted both feet in the small of the physicist's back and pushed
hard. Berryman looked at McCullough as if he had just committed murder.
"Contact Walters!" McCullough yelled as Hollis went spinning down the
corridor. "Clear the short in the generator! And don't worry about the
Twos -- they aren't interested in you now!"
They would not follow Hollis because Berryman had just opened another way
into the crew quarters.
It was a different entrance, opening into a compartment they had not
seen before. One wall was covered with the bright, translucent murals
McCullough had come to know so well and the rest of the small room was
devoted to storage cabinets. There was a sound of wind blowing through
alien trees. It was unoccupied.
McCullough pointed to the room's inner door and said, very seriously,
"They mustn't kill the last survivor. We've done enough harm to the Ship
as it is. We've got to kill every last one of them here and now . . ."
". . . And in conclusion we must state that the surviving e-t,
for physical or mental reasons or both, is almost certainly helpless
. . ."
It was a large doorway and the spear jammed across it did not form an
effective barrier. The first attacker blundered onto Berryman's spear,
the second batted it aside with one tentacle and reached for him with
the other three. With no net to steady him, suspended weightless and
helpless in the middle of the room, Berryman was being pulled onto its
horn when a Three got between them and was caught instead. It fluttered
like a furry flag and died while Berryman struggled free. The rest of
the Twos were swarming in.