Complete Short Fiction, page 57
He opened his eyes with a start. The sun was much lower in the eastern sky and—
His mind stopped from the sheer shock of discovery. Instantly, however, it came alive, steady, cool, despite the vast, first shock of his amazement.
What had happened was like some fantasy out of a fairy story. The four trees, with the tattered remains of his parachute still clinging to them, towered above him. But his plan for them had taken form while he slept.
A bridge of trees, thicker, more solid than any the little island could have produced, stretched straight and strong from the island to the mainland. There was no doubt, of course, as to who had performed that colossal feat: the ezwal was standing unconcernedly on two of its six legs, leaning manlike against the thick trunk of a gigantic tree. Its thought came:
“You need have no fear, Professor Jamieson. I have come to see your point of view. I am prepared to assist you to reach the mainland and to co-operate with you thereafter. I—”
Jamieson’s deep, ungracious laughter cut off the thought. “You damned liar!” the scientist said finally. “What you mean is that you’ve run up against something you couldn’t handle. Well, that’s all right with me. So long as we understand each other, we’ll get along.”
The snake slid heavily out of the jungle, ten feet from the mainland end of the bridge of trees, thirty feet to the right of the ezwal. Jamieson, scraping cautiously toward the center of the bridge, saw the first violent swaying of the long, luscious jungle grass—and froze where he was as the vicious, fantastic head reared into sight, followed by the first twenty feet of that thick, menacing body.
Briefly, the great head, in its swaying movement, was turned directly at him. The little pig eyes seemed to glare straight into his own stunned, brown eyes. Shock held him, sheer, unadulterated shock at the incredibly bad luck that had allowed this deadly creature to find him in such an immeasurably helpless position.
His paralysis there, under those blazing eyes, was a living, agonizing thing. Tautness struck like fire into every muscle of his body; it was an instinctive straining for rigidity, unnormal and terrible—but it worked.
The fearsome head whipped aside, fixed in eager fascination on the ezwal, and took on a rigidity all its own.
Jamieson relaxed; his brief fear changed to brief, violent anger; he projected a scathing thought at the ezwal:
“I understood you could sense the approach of dangerous beasts by reading their minds.”
No answering thought came into his brain. The giant snake flowed farther into the clearing; and before that towering, horned head rearing monstrously from the long, titanically powerful body, the ezwal backed slowly, yielding with a grim reluctance to the obvious conviction that it was no match for this vast creature.
Cool again, Jamieson directed an ironic thought at the ezwal:
“It may interest you to know that as chief scientist of the Interstellar Military Commission, I reported Eristan II unusable as a military base for our fleet; and there were two main reasons: one of the damnedest flesh-eating plants you ever saw, and this pretty little baby. There’s millions of both of them. Each snake breeds hundreds in its lifetime, so they can’t be stamped out. They’re bisexual, attain a length of about a hundred and fifty feet and a weight of ten tons.”
The ezwal, now some fifty feet away from the snake, stopped and, without looking at Jamieson, sent him a tight, swift thought:
“Its appearance did surprise me, but the reason is that its mind held only a vague curiosity about some sounds it had heard, no clear, sharp thought such as an intention to murder. But that’s unimportant. It’s here; it’s dangerous. It hasn’t seen you yet, so act accordingly. It doesn’t think it can get me, but it’s considering the situation. In spite of its desire for me, the problem remains essentially yours; the danger is all yours.”
The ezwal concluded almost indifferently; “I am willing to give you limited aid in any plan you might have, but please don’t offer any more nonsense about our interdependence. So far there’s been only one dependent. I think you know who it is.”
Jamieson was grim. “Don’t be too sure that you’re not in danger. That fellow looks muscle bound, but when he starts moving, he’s like a steel spring for the first three or four hundred feet—and you haven’t got that much space behind you.”
“What do you mean? I can run four hundred feet in three seconds, Earth time.”
Coldly, the scientist whipped out: “You could, if you had four hundred feet in which to run. But you haven’t. I’ve just been forming a mental picture of this edge of jungle, as I saw it just before I landed.
“There’s about a hundred and fifty feet of jungle, then a curving shore of mud plain, a continuation of this mud here. The curve swings back this way, and cuts you off neatly on this little outjutting of jungle. To get clear of the snake, you’ve got to dart past him. Roughly, your clearance is a hundred and fifty feet all around—and it isn’t enough! Interdependent? You’re damned right we are. Things like this will happen a thousand times a year on Eristan II.”
There was startled silence; finally: “Why don’t you turn your atomic gun on it—bum it?”
“And have it come out here, while I’m. helpless. These big snakes are born in this mud, and live half their lives in it. It would take five minutes to burn off that tough head. By that time I’d be swallowed and digested.”
The brief seconds that passed then were vibrant with reluctant desperation. But there could be no delay; swiftly the grudging request came: “Professor Jamieson, I am open to suggestions—and hurry!”
The depressing realization came to Jamieson that the ezwal was once more asking for his assistance, knowing that it would be given; and yet it itself was giving no promise in return.
And there was no time for bargaining. Curtly, he projected:
“It’s the purest case of our acting as a team. The snake has no real weakness—except possibly this:
“Before it attacks, its head will start swaying. That’s almost a universal snake method of hypnotizing victims into paralysis. Actually, the motion is also partially self-hypnotizing. At the earliest possible moment after it begins to sway, I’ll burn its eyes out—and you get on its back, and hang on. Its brain is located just behind that great horn. Claw your way there, and eat in while I burn—” The thought scattered like a chaff, as the tremendous head began to move. With a trembling jerk, Jamieson snatched his gun—
It was not so much, then, that the snake put up a fight, as that it wouldn’t die. Its smoking remains were still twisting half an hour later when Jamieson scrambled weakly from the bridge of trees and collapsed onto the ground.
When finally he climbed to his feet, the ezwal was sitting fifty feet away under a clump of trees, its middle legs also on the ground, its forelegs folded across its chest—and it was contemplating him.
It looked strangely sleek and beautiful in its blue coat and in the very massiveness of its form. And there was immeasurable comfort in the knowledge that, for the time being at least, the mighty muscles that rippled underneath that silk-smooth skin were on his side.
Jamieson returned the ezwal’s stare steadily; finally he said:
“What happened to the antigravity raft?”
“I abandoned it thirty-five miles north of here.” Jamieson hesitated; then: “We’ll have to go to it. I practically depowered my gun on that snake. It needs metal for recharging; and that raft is the only metal in bulk that I know of.”
He was silent again; then softly: “One thing more. I want your word of honor that you won’t even attempt to harm me until we are safely on the other side of the Demon Straits!”
“You’d accept my word?” The steel-gray, three-in-line eyes meditated on him curiously.
“Yes.”
“Very well, I give it.”
Jamieson shook his head, smiling darkly. “Oh, no, you don’t, not as easily as that.”
“I thought you said you’d accept my word.” Peevishly.
“I will, but in the following phraseology.” Jamieson stared with grim intentness at his mighty and deadly enemy. “I want you to swear by the sun that rises and by the green, fruitful earth, by the joys of the contemplative mind and the glory of immortal life—”
He paused. “Well?”
There was a gray fire in the ezwal’s gaze, and its thought held a ferocious quality when finally it replied;
“You are, Professor Jamieson, even more dangerous than I thought. It is clear there can be no compromise between us.”
“But you’ll make the limited promise I ask for?”
The gray eyes dulled strangely; long, thin lips parted in a snarl that showed great, dark fangs.
“No!” Curtly.
“I thought,” said Jamieson softly, “I ought to get that clear.”
No answer. The ezwal simply sat there, its gaze fixed on him.
“Another thing,” Jamieson went on, “stop pretending you can read all my thoughts. You didn’t know that I knew about your religion. I’ll wager you can only catch my sharpest idea-forms, and those particularly when my mind is focused on speech.”
“I made no pretenses,” the ezwal replied coolly, “I shall continue to keep you as much in the dark as possible.”
“The doubt will, of course, harass my mind,” said Jamieson, “but not too much. Once I accept a theory, I act accordingly. If I should prove wrong, there remains the final arbiter of my atomic gun against your strength. I wouldn’t bet on the victor.
“But now”—he hunched his long body, and strode forward—“let’s get going. The swiftest method, I believe, would be for me to ride on your back. I could tie a rope from my parachute around your body just in front of your middle legs and by hanging onto the rope keep myself from falling off. My only qualification is that you must promise to let me off before making any hostile move. Agreeable?”
The ezwal hesitated, then nodded: “For the time being.”
Jamieson was smiling, his long, spare, yet strong, face ironical.
“That leaves only one thing: What did you run up against that made you change your mind about killing me immediately? Could it have been something entirely beyond the isolated, static, aristocratic existence of the ezwal?”
“Get on my back!” came the snarling thought. “I desire no lectures, nor any further sounds from your rasping voice. I fear nothing on this planet. My reasons for coming back have no connection with any of your pitiful ideas; and it would not take much to make me change my mind. Take warning!”
Jamieson was silent, startled. It had not been his intention to provoke the ezwal. He’d have to be more cautious in the future, or this great animal, bigger than eight lions, deadlier than a hundred, might turn on him long before it itself intended.
It was an hour later that the long, fish-shaped spaceship swung out of the steamy mists that patrolled the skies of Eristan II. It coasted along less than a thousand feet up, cruel-looking as a swordfish with its finely pointed nose.
The explosive thought of the ezwal cut into Jamieson’s brain: “Professor Jamieson, if you make so much as a single effort at signaling, you die—”
Jamieson was silent, his mind held stiff and blank, after one mental leap. As he watched, the great, half-mile-long ship sank visibly lower and, as it vanished beyond the rim of the jungle ahead, there was no doubt that it was going to land.
And then, the ezwal’s thoughts came again, sly now, almost exultant:
“It’s no use trying to hide it—because now that the actuality is here, I remember that your dead companions had awareness of another spaceship in the back of their minds.”
Jamieson swallowed the hard lump in his throat. There was a sickness in him, and a vast rage at the incredibly bad luck of this ship coming here—now!
Miserably, he gave himself to the demanding rhythm of the ezwal’s smooth gallop; and for a while there was only that odor-tainted wind, and the pad of six paws, a dull, flat flow of sound; and all around was the dark jungle, the occasional, queer lap, lap of treacherous, unseen waters. And it was all there, the strangeness, the terribleness of this wild ride of a man on the back of a blue-tinted, beastlike being that hated him—and knew about that ship.
At last, grudgingly, he yielded. He said snappishly, as if his words might yet snatch victory from defeat:
“Now I know, anyway, that your thoughtreading ability is a damned sketchy thing. You didn’t begin to suspect why you were able to conquer my ship so easily.”
“Why should I?” The ezwal was impatient. “I remember now there was a long period when I caught no thoughts, only an excess of energy tension, abnormally more than were customary from your engines. That must have been when you speeded up.
“Then I noticed the cage door was ajar—and forgot everything else.”
The scientist nodded, gloom a sickish weight on him. “We received some awful buffeting, nothing palpable, of course, because the interstellars were full on. But, somewhere, there must have been a blow that knocked our innards out of alignment.
“Afterward, we watched for dangers from outside; and so you, on the inside, got your chance to kill a hundred men, most of them sleeping—”
He tensed his body ever so carefully, eyes vaguely as possible on the limb of the tree just ahead, concentrating with enormous casualness on the idea of ducking under it—Somehow, his real purpose leaked from his straining brain.
In a single convulsion of movement, like a bucking horse, the ezwal reared. Shattering violence of movement! Like a shot from a gun, Jamieson was flung forward bang against that steel-hard back. Stunned, dizzy, he fought for balance—and then it was over.
The great animal plunged aside into a thick pattern of jungle, completely away from the protruding limb that had momentarily offered such sweet safety. It twisted skillfully between two giant trees, and emerged a moment later onto the beach of a long, glittering bay of ocean.
Fleet as the wind, it raced along the deserted sands, and then on into the thickening jungles beyond. No thought came from it, not a tendril of triumph, no indication of the tremendous victory it had just won.
Jamieson said sickly: “I made that attempt because I know what you’re going to do. I admit we had a running fight with that Rull cruiser. But you’re crazy if you think they mean advantage for you.
“Rulls are different. They come from another galaxy. They’re—”
“Professor!” The interrupting thought was like metal in the sheer, vibrating force of it. “Don’t dare try to draw your gun to kill yourself. One, false move, and I’ll show you how violently and painfully a man can be disarmed.”
“You promised,” Jamieson almost mumbled, “to make no hostile move—”
“And I’ll keep that promise—to the letter, after man’s own fashion, in my own good time. But now—I gathered from your mind that you think these creatures landed because they detected the minute energy discharge of the antigravity raft.”
“Pure deduction.” Curtly. “There must be some logical reason, and unless you shut off the power as I did on the spaceship—”
“I didn’t. Therefore, that is why they landed. Their instruments probably also registered your use of the gun on the snake. Therefore they definitely know someone is here. My best bet, accordingly, is to head straight for them before they kill me accidentally. I have no doubt of the welcome I shall receive when they see my captive, and I tell them that I and my fellow ezwals are prepared to help drive man from Carson’s Planet. And you will have gotten off my back unharmed—thus my promise—”
The scientist licked dry lips. “That’s bestial,” he said finally. “You know damned well from reading my mind that Rulls eat human beings. Earth is one of the eight planets in this galaxy whose flesh is palatable to these hell-creatures—”
The ezwal said coldly: “I have seen men on Carson’s Planet eat ezwals with relish. Why shouldn’t men in turn be eaten by other beings?” Jamieson was silent, a shocked silence at the hatred that was here. The flintlike thought of the other finished:
“You may not realize how important it is that no word of ezwal intelligence get back to Earth during the next few months, but we ezwals know. “I want you dead!”
And still there was hope in him. He recognized it for what it was: that mad, senseless hope of a man still alive, refusing to acknowledge death till its gray chill lay cold on his bones.
A crash of brush roused him out of himself. Great branches of greater trees broke with wheezing unwillingness. A monstrous reptile head peered at them over a tall tree.
Jamieson had a spine-cooling glimpse of a scaly, glittering body; eyes as red as fire blazed at him—and then that lumbering nightmare was far behind, as the ezwal raced on, contemptuous, terrible in its unheeding strength.
And after a moment, then, in spite of hideous danger, in spite of his desperate conviction, that he must convince the ezwal how wrong it was—admiration flared inside him, a wild, fascinated admiration.
“By God!” he exclaimed, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you really could evade the terrors of this world. In all my journeys through space, I’ve never seen such a perfect combination of mind and magnificent muscle.”
“Save your praise,” sneered the ezwal.
Jamieson hardly heard. He was frowning in genuine thoughtfulness:
“There’s a saber-toothed, furred creature about your size and speed that might damage you, but I think you can outrun or outfight all the other furred animals. Then there are the malignant plants, particularly a horrible creeper affair—it’s not the only intelligent plant in the galaxy, but it’s the smartest. You’d need my gun if you got tangled up with one of those.
“You could evade them, of course, but that implies ability to recognize that one’s in the vicinity. There are signposts of their presence but”—he held his mind as dim as possible, and smiled grimly—“I’ll leave that subject before you read the details in my brain.
“That leaves the great reptiles; they can probably catch you only in the water. That’s where the Demon Straits would be a mortal handicap.”
