Authors: Dark Planet
As
if he had asked for it, all the ropelike lashes snaked away free, and Query had
a fascinated moment watching the easy way in which each woman coiled her whip
into a handful that dangled ready by her thigh. Then he went forward to where
the old man was struggling to sit up.
"Listen," he said urgently, "and you, Christine.
Shut up and listen, both of you. All this
time you have been telling me what to do, shoving me around, telling me to get
a grip on myself. Now it's my turn." As Evans started to roar he said
again, savagely, "Shut up! These are people. They are as human as we are,
by the look. They have been close by, watching us for a long time. Don't ask me
how I know that, I do. They live here, and they look healthy enough. If we have
any chance of surviving at all, we have it here by learning from them. Do you
want to live or not?"
"A bunch of naked
bloody savages . . . !"
"I'm naked. Look! And so is she. And
your remaining rags are about to drop off any minute. So what's that got to do
with anything? As for them being savages, take a good look. Do they look savage
to you? See those whips? They could have cut you to ribbons with them, had they
a mind to. And they have been watching us for some time, but they haven't done
us any harm, yet. For God's sake forget that you are Admiral Evans—and you're
Lieutenant Evans—that doesn't work here. We are the savages, the interlopers,
and we are in trouble. We need help. And these people can help us, if we do it
right. Do you want to eat? Do you want to live?"
"He's
right, Father." Christine said, putting out her hand to the old man.
"We need help. And I want to live, if possible."
"Siding with him?" Evans stared at
her
stupidly,
and Query sighed.
"Work it out between you." He
turned to look at the head man, to put his open palms wide apart in the obvious
attitude of defenselessness. "I know my words won't mean a thing, friend,
but they are all I have. We mean you no harm, no trouble. We need your
help." The man was clean. Up close Query noticed that. Not a sign of mud
on him, nor sweat either. And the hair on his head was bristle short and dark
and matched the dark fuzz of eyebrows, but there wasn't a hair on him
elsewhere. Then his eyes flickered and Query revolved swiftly. One of the women
had come forward to face up to Christine, looking lean and small alongside her
ample shape. Query felt the quick curiosity, saw the woman's hand go up and
touch Christine's tangle of hair . . . and a handful of it came away in her
exploring hand. She stared at it, tossed it away, and reeled back as Christine
brought her palm around in a healthy swipe. The single palm slap switched the
atmosphere to instant tension. Query caught his breath as the native woman
steadied herself, put away her whip with
a
single
flick of her hand, and came forward
tigerishly
to
avenge the insult.
Then
Query got a shock, as Christine stood back and fell into a pose that had
science built into every line: one foot forward and knee bent, arms advanced
and palms ready to chop. Oh well, he thought
This
should be interesting. The native woman sprang, fingers clawed to grab, but
ready arms batted hers aside, the heel of a firm palm jabbed under her chin,
and she flew through the air to land in a heap.
And bounced
up readily in
a
way that made Query shake his
head.
Christine had the reach, the weight, maybe the skill too, but this
woman was fit. And cautious now, coming forward, poking out an arm, and as
Christine elbowed it aside those crooking fingers achieved a hold and clung, and
the pair of them went down in a mad scramble of arms and legs. Evans roared and
charged forward, and stopped with a jerk as a lash took him around the throat
and yanked him off his feet, so that he fell back with a thud that knocked the
wind out of him.
Query
watched the scramble, saw that Christine was still holding her own, and his
mind spun away to that hair. He touched his own, and it too was flaky,
crumbling away, all except about an inch or so close to the scalp. He
55
scowled at it, sent his eyes back to the
battle, but the idea took shape in his mind. Perhaps the old man was right.
Perhaps living stuff
was
immune. That would make sense. Hair wasn't
alive past the first inch or so. But now Christine was on her back, flat, with
the native woman straddling her, choking her into hopeful submission. Until,
desperately, she drew her legs up close to her chest and kicked, shooting her
opponent away over her head. Christine scrambled up, heaving for breath but
ready in that karate stance. The native woman came back, also blowing hard, ran
full into a chopping left, a right, an elbow to the jaw, another chop, a savage
kick to the groin that folded her up, right into a knee in the face; and she
was out on her feet, staggering and falling back. Christine moved in for the
kill . . . and a half a dozen snaking black lines hissed through the air to
hold her.
Query
flashed a look at the head man and knew in-
standy
. He
went forward, caught Christine by the arm as she struggled against the bonds.
"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 different
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."