"GOOD LORD!"
The tone rather than the words of that horrified exclamation
awoke Dard and brought him up on the acceleration pad. Kimber,
Rogan, and Cully were crowded together before the visa-screen. The
hour might have been in the middle of the night, or late in the
morning, for inside the ship day and night had no division. But on
the screen it was day.
A gray sky was patched by ragged drifts of cloud. And as Dard
leaned over the back of the pilot's seat, he saw what had so
startled the others.
Where the day before there had stretched that smooth sweep of
blue sand, forming a carpet clear to the base of the colorful
cliffs, there was now only water, a sheet of it. Rogan set the
viewer to turning so that they could see the flood completely
surrounded the ship. Even the river had been swallowed up without
any red stain left to betray its flow.
As the scene reached the seaside Rogan pushed the button which
held it there. The beach was gone, it was the sea which had come in
to enclose them.
"Surprise, surprise!" that was Rogan. "Do we now swim
ashore?"
"I don't think that it is that deep," answered Kimber.
"The water may come in this way during every hard storm. Switch
over to the cliffs again, Les."
The picture whizzed with a dizzy speed back to the cliff. Kimber
was right, already there was a stretch of sand showing at the base
of that rock escarpment. The water was draining away.
They clattered down through the quiet ship, sending out the ramp
so that they could venture to the water's swirl. A weak current
swilled around the fins and the bare sand at the cliff grew wider
as they watched.
The flood was not clear, and caught around the fins of the ship
were huge loops of weed. Some variety of fish had been beached
close to the foot of the ramp, and a scaled tail beat waves as the
stranded monster fought for life. Other debris showed tantalizingly
now and again as the water was sullenly sucked away from the
sand.
"What the—!" Cully's start was near to a jump. "Over—over to
the right! What is that?"
Something was venturing out on the still-wet sand, following the
retreating line of the sea. But, what it was, none of them dared
guess. Kimber ran back into the ship while the rest tried vainly to
see it better. The color was queer, a pale green, hardly to be
distinguished from the sea water as it scurried along on four thin
legs. But the outline of its head!
"Here!" Kimber skidded down the ramp, keeping himself out of the
sea by a quick grab for the rail. He carried a pair of field
glasses. "Is it still there—yes, I see it!" He focused the lenses
in the right direction. "Great guns!"
"What is it?" demanded Rogan, plainly doing his best to keep
from snatching the glasses away from the pilot.
"Yeah," Cully, too, was shaken out of his usual calm, "pass
those along, fella! We all want a look-see!"
Dard squinted, trying to make natural sight serve as well as the
lenses Kimber was now passing to Rogan. At least the thing on the
sand did not appear to be alarmed either by the ship or the men
watching it. Maybe it would stay in sight until he, as the very
junior member of the party, had the right to use the lenses
too.
It stayed, digging in the wet sand, until Cully did pass the
glasses. Dard adjusted them feverishly. Having met the fungi
spiders and a flying dragon, he could hardly be surprised by the
weird beast he saw now. Its pale green skin was entirely hairless,
nor was that skin scaled—instead it resembled to a marked degree
his own smooth flesh. The creature's head was pear-shaped with ears
which were hardly more than holes and large eyes set far apart so
that the range of vision was probably wider than that of any Terran
animal. But that pear head ended in what could only be described as
a broad, duck's bill or hard blackish substance. And just as Dard
trained the glasses upon it, it folded its hind legs neatly under
it, to sit up in a doglike stance and gaze mildly across the
dwindling tongue of sea straight at the star ship. Sand clung to
its bill and it absent-mindedly brushed that off with a
foreleg.
"Duck-dog," Kimber named it. "Doesn't look dangerous, does it?
I'll be—! Just look at that!"
'That' was a short procession of more duck-dogs emerging from
a dark crevice in the cliff to join the first. One of them, about
three-quarters the size of the first, was the same pale green, but
the three others were yellow, the exact yellow, Dart noted, of the
strata in the diff. In fact, as they marched by a projection of
that particular stratum, they faded from sight. Two of the yellow
beasts were full grown but the third was very small. And halfway
along the path it sat down, refusing to move on until one of the
larger animals returned to butt it ahead.
"Family party," suggested Dard, not daring to hold the glasses
away from Kimber's impatient reach any longer.
"But harmless," the pilot suggested for the second time.
"Do you suppose they'd let us near them? The water's gone down a
lot."
"Nothing like trying. Just let Jorge be ready with that ray gun,
then if they do turn out to be first-class menaces, we'll be
prepared." The communications techneer lowered himself cautiously
into the flood, which was at knee level.
He detoured to avoid the floating weed and paused when be
reached the fish still beating the air with a frenzied tail. Dard
caught up with him at that point.
Save for a curiously flattened head and a huge, paunchy middle,
the stranded fish was the first living thing they had seen here
which did resemble a Terran product. It was a good five feet long
and displayed murderous teeth. The powerful tail beat the receding
water into froth but it was beyond hope of escape. Dard spoke
impulsively:
"Can't—can't you shoot it? It won't be able to get away and I
think it knows that."
"Uh-huh." That was Cully and as usual he wasted no words. He
snapped the ray at that writhing head. With a last convulsion the
fish flopped completely out of the water, to float with its huge
belly up when it fell back.
"Maybe breakfast?" Rogan asked. "Looks a little bit like a
tuna—might even taste like one. We'll let Kordov get it and see if
it's fit for us to bury the teeth in. I could do with a
steak—maybe two of them! Hello—the fireworks didn't send our
duck-dogs running. I'd say they were enjoying the show."
Rogan was right. The duck-dog family party sat in a line along
the crest of the fast-drying sand ridge, appreciably closer to the
ship, their attention all for the men and the now limp fish.
But, as Dard tentatively splashed another step in the direction
of that sand bank, the yellow members of the clan retreated, one of
them nudging the smallest one in front of it. The green ones
continued to stand their ground, the half-grown one running along
the water's edge hissing. Dard stopped, the flood swishing about
his legs.
Cully looped a cord about the tail of the dead fish and fastened
it to the ramp rail. Perhaps overcome by the sight of so much meat,
the smallest duck-dog gave a tiny whimpering cry and ran between
the legs of its guardian to the water. Resignedly the larger yellow
beast followed the cub, turning over the loose sand with large
blunt claws of a forepaw to dig out a squirming red creature which
the baby pounced upon to swallow greedily. But the green boss of
the party hissed angrily at the hunter and sent both scuttling
back.
Then he withdrew also, with his head turned toward the men,
facing the danger represented by the Terrans bravely, hissing a
stern warning. When the last of the smaller duck-dogs had dodged
into the break in the cliff, he disappeared there also leaving only
scuffed tracks in the sand to mark their trail. But Dard sighted
the tip of a dark bill still protruding from the crack.
"It's still watching us."
"Wary," mused the pilot. "Which suggests that it has
enemies—enemies which may look like us. But it's curious, too. If
we ignore it—maybe—"
He was interrupted by a shout from the ship Kordov had come out
on the ramp and was waving vigorously to the explorer. As the
others sloshed back he pulled on the cord, reeling in the fish.
"What's your verdict?" Hogan wanted to know when they joined him
bending over their capture. "Do we eat that, or don't we?"
"Give me but a few minutes and some aid in the laboratory and I
shall have an answer to that. But this is close to Terran life. So
it may be edible. And what were you watching by the cliffs—more
dragons?"
"Just passing the time of day with another breakfasting party,"
Hogan told him, and went on to explain about the duck-dogs.
It was worth waiting for Kordov's verdict, Dard thought later,
as he savored the white flakes of meat, grilled under Kordov's
supervision, and portioned out to the hungry and none-too-patient
crew.
"At least we can chalk old pot-belly up on our bill of fare,"
observed Rogan.
"But finding this one may only be a fluke. It's a deep-water
fish and we won't have storms to drive such ashore every day,"
Kimber pointed out.
He explored his lips with his tongue and then studied the empty
plastic plate he held wistfully. "We can, however, look around for
another stranded one."
Cully unfolded long legs. "We'll take out the sled now?"
"The wind has died down—I'd say it was safe. And," the pilot
turned to Kordov, "how about rousing Santee and Harmon—we're going
to need them."
The First Scientist agreed. "But first Carlee, as a doctor. And
then we shall bring out the others. You are leaving soon?"
"We'll tell you before we go. And we don't intend to go far.
Maybe a turn into that valley up ahead, and then along the shore
for a mile or so. We may have landed in a wilderness—indications
point to that—but I want to be sure.
Until a sun breaking through the clouds overhead said it was
noon they were hard at work. The sled, Dard discovered, was just
what its name implied, a flat vehicle possessing two seats each
wide enough for two passengers, with a space behind for supplies.
He helped to assemble the larger sections while Kimber and Gully
sweated and swore over the business of installing the engine.
It was a flying craft, Dard realized, but totally unlike a
'copter or rocket, and he did not see what would make it airborne
without blades or tubes. When he said as much to Rogan the techneer
leaned back against a convenient sand dune to combine rest and
explanation.
"I can't tell you how it works, kid. The principle's something
really new. They whipped that engine together during the last
months we were in the Cleft. But it's some sort of anti-gravity.
Takes you up and keeps you there until you shut it off. Broadcasts
a beam which sends you along by pushing against the earth. If they
had had the time they might have powered the ship with it. But
there was only this one experimental sled built and we had to
depend upon power we knew more about. How about it, Sim? Getting
her together?"
The pilot smiled through a streak of grease which turned his
brown skin black.
"Tighten that one bolt, Cully," he pointed out the necessary
adjustment, "and, she's ready to lift! Or at least she should be.
We'll try her."
He boarded the shallow craft and settled himself behind the
controls, buckling a safety belt around his hips before he
triggered the motor. The sled zoomed straight up with a speed which
sent the spectators sprawling and tore an exclamation from the
pilot. Then, under Kimber's expert hand, it leveled off and swung
in a wide circle about the star ship. Finishing off the test flight
with a figure eight, Kimber brought the sled back to a slow and
studied landing on the now dry sand at the foot of the ramp.
"Bravo!"
That encouraging cheer came from the open hatch.
Kordov beamed down at them and with him, one hand on the rail,
her head lifted so that the sun made a red glory of the braids
wreathing it, was a woman. Dard stared up at her with no thought of
rudeness. This was the Carlee who had taken care of Dessie.
But she was younger than he had expected, younger and somehow
fragile. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes, and when she
smiled at them, it was with a patient acceptance, which hurt.
Kimber broke the silence as she joined the party below.
"What do you think, Carlee?" he asked matter-of-factly, as if
they had parted only the hour before and no tragedy lay between.
"Would you trust yourself to this crazy flyer?"
"With the right pilot at the controls, yes." And then looking at
each one she spoke their names slowly as if reassuring herself that
they were really there. "Les Rogan, Jorge Cully and"—She reached
Dard, hesitated, before her smile brightened—"why, you must be
Dessie's Dard, Dard Nordis! Oh, this is good—so good—" She looked
beyond the men at the cliffs, the sea, the blue-green sky arching
over them.
"Now—before you start off, explorers," Kordov announced, "there
is food to be eaten."
The food was fish again, together with quarter portions of the
concentrate cakes and some capsules Kordov insisted they take. When
they were finished the First Scientist turned to Kimber.
"Now that you have that sky-buggy of yours put together you will
be off?"
"Yes. There are four, maybe five hours of daylight left. I think
that a survey from the air would show us more in that length of
time than a trip on foot."
"You say "us." Whom do you take with you?" asked Carlee.
"Rogan—he's had experience on Venus. And—"
Dard held his tongue. He could not beg to go; Kimber would
choose Cully, of course. The pilot didn't want a green hand. He was
so sure of that choice that he could hardly believe it when he
heard Kimber say:
"And the kid—he's light weight. We don't want to overload if we
haul back game or specimens, too. Cully's a crack shot and I'll
feel safer to leave him on guard here."
"Good enough!" Kordov agreed. "Just do not voyage too far, and
do not fall off that silly ship of yours—to land on your heads. We
have no time to waste patching up explorers who do not know enough
to keep themselves right side up!"
Thus Dard found himself sharing the pilot's seat on the sled
with Rogan crawling in behind. Kimber insisted that they buckle
their safety belts under his supervision and he tested their
fastenings before they took off. The rise of the light craft was
not so abrupt as the first time and Kimber did not try to get much
above the level of the cliff tops.
They skimmed along only a few feet above the rock as they
flashed north, the curving shoreline as their guide.
From this height he had a good view to the west, seeing most of
the wide valley through which the red river flowed. The low
vegetation they sighted from the ship thickened into clumps of
good-sized trees. And among these were flying things which did not
appear to be dragons.
Along the edge of the sea the cliff rose in an unbroken,
perpendicular wall. Apparently the starship had earthed in the
only opening in it. For from the elevation of the sled they could
sight nothing but that barrier of brilliantly hued stone dividing
vegetation and low land from the heating sea.
Rogan cried out and a moment later Dard, too, cringed as a ray
of light struck painfully into his eyes. It flashed up from sea
level, as if a mirror had been used to direct the sunlight straight
at them. Kimber brought the sled around and ventured out over the
water in a sweep designed to bring them to the source of that
light.
There was a scrap of beach, a few feet of sand across which the
weed, driven up by the storm, lay. Kimber, with infinite caution,
maneuvered to set them down there.
When the sled jolted to earth its occupants stared in open
amazement at the source of the mirrored ray.
Protruding from the face of the cliff, as if from a pocket or
hollow especially fashioned to contain it, was a cone-shaped
section of metal. And not metal in a crude, unworked state, but of
a finely fashioned and refined alloy!
Dard split a fingernail on the buckle which fastened his belt in
his haste to get to the find. But Kimber was already halfway across
the sand before he gained his feet. The three, not quite daring to
touch, studied the peculiar object.
Kimber squatted down to peer under it. There was a thin ring of
similar metal encircling the widest part of the cone, as if it
rested within a tube.
"A bullet in a rifle barrel!" Rogan found a comparison which was
none too reassuring. "This a shell?"
"I don't think so." Kimber pulled gently at the tip. "Let's see if we can work it out." From the sled he brought an
assortment of tools.
"Take it easy," Rogan eyed these preparations askance. "If it is
an explosive, and we do the wrong thing—we're apt to finish up in
pieces."
"It isn't a shell," Kimber repeated stubbornly. "And it's been
here a long time. See that?" He pointed to fresh scars on the cliff
face. "That's a recent break. Maybe the storm tore that down and
uncovered this. Now—a little probing."
They worked gingerly at first, and then, when nothing happened,
with more confidence—until they had it out far enough to see that
the cone was only the tip of a long cylinder. Finally they hooked a
chain to it and used the power of the sled to draw it completely
free of the tube.
Six feet long, it lay half in, half out of the water, a sealed
opening showing midway in its length. Kimber knelt down before the
tube and flashed his hand-light inside. As far as they could see
ran a tunnel lined with seamless metal.
"What in the name of Space is it, anyway?" Hogan wondered.
"Some form of transportation, I would say." Kimber still held
the light inside as if by wishing alone he could deduce the
destination of their discovery.
Hogan prodded the cylinder with his foot and it rolled slightly.
The techneer stooped and tugged at the end in the sand. To his
astonishment he was able to lift it several inches above the
beach.
"A whole lot lighter than you'd think! I believe we could take
it back on the sled!"
"Hmm . . ." Kimber took Rogan's place and hoisted. "We might at that. No harm in trying."
The three of them manhandled the cylinder on board the sled and
lashed it into place—though both ends projected over the sides of
the craft.
Kimber was doubly careful in his take-off. He brought them up
with much room to spare away from the cliff side and circled back
toward the valley.
"This answers one question," Hogan leaned forward. "We aren't the first intelligent life here."
"Yes." The pilot added nothing to that bare assent. He was
intent on reaching the starship.
Dard squirmed in his seat. He did not need to turn to see that
smooth piece of metal, he could feel its presence and what its
presence meant to all of them.
Only intelligence, a high standard of intelligence could have
fashioned it. And where was that intelligent life now? Watching and
waiting for the Terrans to make the first fatal move?
"GOOD LORD!"
The tone rather than the words of that horrified exclamation
awoke Dard and brought him up on the acceleration pad. Kimber,
Rogan, and Cully were crowded together before the visa-screen. The
hour might have been in the middle of the night, or late in the
morning, for inside the ship day and night had no division. But on
the screen it was day.
A gray sky was patched by ragged drifts of cloud. And as Dard
leaned over the back of the pilot's seat, he saw what had so
startled the others.
Where the day before there had stretched that smooth sweep of
blue sand, forming a carpet clear to the base of the colorful
cliffs, there was now only water, a sheet of it. Rogan set the
viewer to turning so that they could see the flood completely
surrounded the ship. Even the river had been swallowed up without
any red stain left to betray its flow.
As the scene reached the seaside Rogan pushed the button which
held it there. The beach was gone, it was the sea which had come in
to enclose them.
"Surprise, surprise!" that was Rogan. "Do we now swim
ashore?"
"I don't think that it is that deep," answered Kimber.
"The water may come in this way during every hard storm. Switch
over to the cliffs again, Les."
The picture whizzed with a dizzy speed back to the cliff. Kimber
was right, already there was a stretch of sand showing at the base
of that rock escarpment. The water was draining away.
They clattered down through the quiet ship, sending out the ramp
so that they could venture to the water's swirl. A weak current
swilled around the fins and the bare sand at the cliff grew wider
as they watched.
The flood was not clear, and caught around the fins of the ship
were huge loops of weed. Some variety of fish had been beached
close to the foot of the ramp, and a scaled tail beat waves as the
stranded monster fought for life. Other debris showed tantalizingly
now and again as the water was sullenly sucked away from the
sand.
"What the—!" Cully's start was near to a jump. "Over—over to
the right! What is that?"
Something was venturing out on the still-wet sand, following the
retreating line of the sea. But, what it was, none of them dared
guess. Kimber ran back into the ship while the rest tried vainly to
see it better. The color was queer, a pale green, hardly to be
distinguished from the sea water as it scurried along on four thin
legs. But the outline of its head!
"Here!" Kimber skidded down the ramp, keeping himself out of the
sea by a quick grab for the rail. He carried a pair of field
glasses. "Is it still there—yes, I see it!" He focused the lenses
in the right direction. "Great guns!"
"What is it?" demanded Rogan, plainly doing his best to keep
from snatching the glasses away from the pilot.
"Yeah," Cully, too, was shaken out of his usual calm, "pass
those along, fella! We all want a look-see!"
Dard squinted, trying to make natural sight serve as well as the
lenses Kimber was now passing to Rogan. At least the thing on the
sand did not appear to be alarmed either by the ship or the men
watching it. Maybe it would stay in sight until he, as the very
junior member of the party, had the right to use the lenses
too.
It stayed, digging in the wet sand, until Cully did pass the
glasses. Dard adjusted them feverishly. Having met the fungi
spiders and a flying dragon, he could hardly be surprised by the
weird beast he saw now. Its pale green skin was entirely hairless,
nor was that skin scaled—instead it resembled to a marked degree
his own smooth flesh. The creature's head was pear-shaped with ears
which were hardly more than holes and large eyes set far apart so
that the range of vision was probably wider than that of any Terran
animal. But that pear head ended in what could only be described as
a broad, duck's bill or hard blackish substance. And just as Dard
trained the glasses upon it, it folded its hind legs neatly under
it, to sit up in a doglike stance and gaze mildly across the
dwindling tongue of sea straight at the star ship. Sand clung to
its bill and it absent-mindedly brushed that off with a
foreleg.
"Duck-dog," Kimber named it. "Doesn't look dangerous, does it?
I'll be—! Just look at that!"
'That' was a short procession of more duck-dogs emerging from
a dark crevice in the cliff to join the first. One of them, about
three-quarters the size of the first, was the same pale green, but
the three others were yellow, the exact yellow, Dart noted, of the
strata in the diff. In fact, as they marched by a projection of
that particular stratum, they faded from sight. Two of the yellow
beasts were full grown but the third was very small. And halfway
along the path it sat down, refusing to move on until one of the
larger animals returned to butt it ahead.
"Family party," suggested Dard, not daring to hold the glasses
away from Kimber's impatient reach any longer.
"But harmless," the pilot suggested for the second time.
"Do you suppose they'd let us near them? The water's gone down a
lot."
"Nothing like trying. Just let Jorge be ready with that ray gun,
then if they do turn out to be first-class menaces, we'll be
prepared." The communications techneer lowered himself cautiously
into the flood, which was at knee level.
He detoured to avoid the floating weed and paused when be
reached the fish still beating the air with a frenzied tail. Dard
caught up with him at that point.
Save for a curiously flattened head and a huge, paunchy middle,
the stranded fish was the first living thing they had seen here
which did resemble a Terran product. It was a good five feet long
and displayed murderous teeth. The powerful tail beat the receding
water into froth but it was beyond hope of escape. Dard spoke
impulsively:
"Can't—can't you shoot it? It won't be able to get away and I
think it knows that."
"Uh-huh." That was Cully and as usual he wasted no words. He
snapped the ray at that writhing head. With a last convulsion the
fish flopped completely out of the water, to float with its huge
belly up when it fell back.
"Maybe breakfast?" Rogan asked. "Looks a little bit like a
tuna—might even taste like one. We'll let Kordov get it and see if
it's fit for us to bury the teeth in. I could do with a
steak—maybe two of them! Hello—the fireworks didn't send our
duck-dogs running. I'd say they were enjoying the show."
Rogan was right. The duck-dog family party sat in a line along
the crest of the fast-drying sand ridge, appreciably closer to the
ship, their attention all for the men and the now limp fish.
But, as Dard tentatively splashed another step in the direction
of that sand bank, the yellow members of the clan retreated, one of
them nudging the smallest one in front of it. The green ones
continued to stand their ground, the half-grown one running along
the water's edge hissing. Dard stopped, the flood swishing about
his legs.
Cully looped a cord about the tail of the dead fish and fastened
it to the ramp rail. Perhaps overcome by the sight of so much meat,
the smallest duck-dog gave a tiny whimpering cry and ran between
the legs of its guardian to the water. Resignedly the larger yellow
beast followed the cub, turning over the loose sand with large
blunt claws of a forepaw to dig out a squirming red creature which
the baby pounced upon to swallow greedily. But the green boss of
the party hissed angrily at the hunter and sent both scuttling
back.
Then he withdrew also, with his head turned toward the men,
facing the danger represented by the Terrans bravely, hissing a
stern warning. When the last of the smaller duck-dogs had dodged
into the break in the cliff, he disappeared there also leaving only
scuffed tracks in the sand to mark their trail. But Dard sighted
the tip of a dark bill still protruding from the crack.
"It's still watching us."
"Wary," mused the pilot. "Which suggests that it has
enemies—enemies which may look like us. But it's curious, too. If
we ignore it—maybe—"
He was interrupted by a shout from the ship Kordov had come out
on the ramp and was waving vigorously to the explorer. As the
others sloshed back he pulled on the cord, reeling in the fish.
"What's your verdict?" Hogan wanted to know when they joined him
bending over their capture. "Do we eat that, or don't we?"
"Give me but a few minutes and some aid in the laboratory and I
shall have an answer to that. But this is close to Terran life. So
it may be edible. And what were you watching by the cliffs—more
dragons?"
"Just passing the time of day with another breakfasting party,"
Hogan told him, and went on to explain about the duck-dogs.
It was worth waiting for Kordov's verdict, Dard thought later,
as he savored the white flakes of meat, grilled under Kordov's
supervision, and portioned out to the hungry and none-too-patient
crew.
"At least we can chalk old pot-belly up on our bill of fare,"
observed Rogan.
"But finding this one may only be a fluke. It's a deep-water
fish and we won't have storms to drive such ashore every day,"
Kimber pointed out.
He explored his lips with his tongue and then studied the empty
plastic plate he held wistfully. "We can, however, look around for
another stranded one."
Cully unfolded long legs. "We'll take out the sled now?"
"The wind has died down—I'd say it was safe. And," the pilot
turned to Kordov, "how about rousing Santee and Harmon—we're going
to need them."
The First Scientist agreed. "But first Carlee, as a doctor. And
then we shall bring out the others. You are leaving soon?"
"We'll tell you before we go. And we don't intend to go far.
Maybe a turn into that valley up ahead, and then along the shore
for a mile or so. We may have landed in a wilderness—indications
point to that—but I want to be sure.
Until a sun breaking through the clouds overhead said it was
noon they were hard at work. The sled, Dard discovered, was just
what its name implied, a flat vehicle possessing two seats each
wide enough for two passengers, with a space behind for supplies.
He helped to assemble the larger sections while Kimber and Gully
sweated and swore over the business of installing the engine.
It was a flying craft, Dard realized, but totally unlike a
'copter or rocket, and he did not see what would make it airborne
without blades or tubes. When he said as much to Rogan the techneer
leaned back against a convenient sand dune to combine rest and
explanation.
"I can't tell you how it works, kid. The principle's something
really new. They whipped that engine together during the last
months we were in the Cleft. But it's some sort of anti-gravity.
Takes you up and keeps you there until you shut it off. Broadcasts
a beam which sends you along by pushing against the earth. If they
had had the time they might have powered the ship with it. But
there was only this one experimental sled built and we had to
depend upon power we knew more about. How about it, Sim? Getting
her together?"
The pilot smiled through a streak of grease which turned his
brown skin black.
"Tighten that one bolt, Cully," he pointed out the necessary
adjustment, "and, she's ready to lift! Or at least she should be.
We'll try her."
He boarded the shallow craft and settled himself behind the
controls, buckling a safety belt around his hips before he
triggered the motor. The sled zoomed straight up with a speed which
sent the spectators sprawling and tore an exclamation from the
pilot. Then, under Kimber's expert hand, it leveled off and swung
in a wide circle about the star ship. Finishing off the test flight
with a figure eight, Kimber brought the sled back to a slow and
studied landing on the now dry sand at the foot of the ramp.
"Bravo!"
That encouraging cheer came from the open hatch.
Kordov beamed down at them and with him, one hand on the rail,
her head lifted so that the sun made a red glory of the braids
wreathing it, was a woman. Dard stared up at her with no thought of
rudeness. This was the Carlee who had taken care of Dessie.
But she was younger than he had expected, younger and somehow
fragile. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes, and when she
smiled at them, it was with a patient acceptance, which hurt.
Kimber broke the silence as she joined the party below.
"What do you think, Carlee?" he asked matter-of-factly, as if
they had parted only the hour before and no tragedy lay between.
"Would you trust yourself to this crazy flyer?"
"With the right pilot at the controls, yes." And then looking at
each one she spoke their names slowly as if reassuring herself that
they were really there. "Les Rogan, Jorge Cully and"—She reached
Dard, hesitated, before her smile brightened—"why, you must be
Dessie's Dard, Dard Nordis! Oh, this is good—so good—" She looked
beyond the men at the cliffs, the sea, the blue-green sky arching
over them.
"Now—before you start off, explorers," Kordov announced, "there
is food to be eaten."
The food was fish again, together with quarter portions of the
concentrate cakes and some capsules Kordov insisted they take. When
they were finished the First Scientist turned to Kimber.
"Now that you have that sky-buggy of yours put together you will
be off?"
"Yes. There are four, maybe five hours of daylight left. I think
that a survey from the air would show us more in that length of
time than a trip on foot."
"You say "us." Whom do you take with you?" asked Carlee.
"Rogan—he's had experience on Venus. And—"
Dard held his tongue. He could not beg to go; Kimber would
choose Cully, of course. The pilot didn't want a green hand. He was
so sure of that choice that he could hardly believe it when he
heard Kimber say:
"And the kid—he's light weight. We don't want to overload if we
haul back game or specimens, too. Cully's a crack shot and I'll
feel safer to leave him on guard here."
"Good enough!" Kordov agreed. "Just do not voyage too far, and
do not fall off that silly ship of yours—to land on your heads. We
have no time to waste patching up explorers who do not know enough
to keep themselves right side up!"
Thus Dard found himself sharing the pilot's seat on the sled
with Rogan crawling in behind. Kimber insisted that they buckle
their safety belts under his supervision and he tested their
fastenings before they took off. The rise of the light craft was
not so abrupt as the first time and Kimber did not try to get much
above the level of the cliff tops.
They skimmed along only a few feet above the rock as they
flashed north, the curving shoreline as their guide.
From this height he had a good view to the west, seeing most of
the wide valley through which the red river flowed. The low
vegetation they sighted from the ship thickened into clumps of
good-sized trees. And among these were flying things which did not
appear to be dragons.
Along the edge of the sea the cliff rose in an unbroken,
perpendicular wall. Apparently the starship had earthed in the
only opening in it. For from the elevation of the sled they could
sight nothing but that barrier of brilliantly hued stone dividing
vegetation and low land from the heating sea.
Rogan cried out and a moment later Dard, too, cringed as a ray
of light struck painfully into his eyes. It flashed up from sea
level, as if a mirror had been used to direct the sunlight straight
at them. Kimber brought the sled around and ventured out over the
water in a sweep designed to bring them to the source of that
light.
There was a scrap of beach, a few feet of sand across which the
weed, driven up by the storm, lay. Kimber, with infinite caution,
maneuvered to set them down there.
When the sled jolted to earth its occupants stared in open
amazement at the source of the mirrored ray.
Protruding from the face of the cliff, as if from a pocket or
hollow especially fashioned to contain it, was a cone-shaped
section of metal. And not metal in a crude, unworked state, but of
a finely fashioned and refined alloy!
Dard split a fingernail on the buckle which fastened his belt in
his haste to get to the find. But Kimber was already halfway across
the sand before he gained his feet. The three, not quite daring to
touch, studied the peculiar object.
Kimber squatted down to peer under it. There was a thin ring of
similar metal encircling the widest part of the cone, as if it
rested within a tube.
"A bullet in a rifle barrel!" Rogan found a comparison which was
none too reassuring. "This a shell?"
"I don't think so." Kimber pulled gently at the tip. "Let's see if we can work it out." From the sled he brought an
assortment of tools.
"Take it easy," Rogan eyed these preparations askance. "If it is
an explosive, and we do the wrong thing—we're apt to finish up in
pieces."
"It isn't a shell," Kimber repeated stubbornly. "And it's been
here a long time. See that?" He pointed to fresh scars on the cliff
face. "That's a recent break. Maybe the storm tore that down and
uncovered this. Now—a little probing."
They worked gingerly at first, and then, when nothing happened,
with more confidence—until they had it out far enough to see that
the cone was only the tip of a long cylinder. Finally they hooked a
chain to it and used the power of the sled to draw it completely
free of the tube.
Six feet long, it lay half in, half out of the water, a sealed
opening showing midway in its length. Kimber knelt down before the
tube and flashed his hand-light inside. As far as they could see
ran a tunnel lined with seamless metal.
"What in the name of Space is it, anyway?" Hogan wondered.
"Some form of transportation, I would say." Kimber still held
the light inside as if by wishing alone he could deduce the
destination of their discovery.
Hogan prodded the cylinder with his foot and it rolled slightly.
The techneer stooped and tugged at the end in the sand. To his
astonishment he was able to lift it several inches above the
beach.
"A whole lot lighter than you'd think! I believe we could take
it back on the sled!"
"Hmm . . ." Kimber took Rogan's place and hoisted. "We might at that. No harm in trying."
The three of them manhandled the cylinder on board the sled and
lashed it into place—though both ends projected over the sides of
the craft.
Kimber was doubly careful in his take-off. He brought them up
with much room to spare away from the cliff side and circled back
toward the valley.
"This answers one question," Hogan leaned forward. "We aren't the first intelligent life here."
"Yes." The pilot added nothing to that bare assent. He was
intent on reaching the starship.
Dard squirmed in his seat. He did not need to turn to see that
smooth piece of metal, he could feel its presence and what its
presence meant to all of them.
Only intelligence, a high standard of intelligence could have
fashioned it. And where was that intelligent life now? Watching and
waiting for the Terrans to make the first fatal move?