Stalemate

by Basil Wells

off with a twinge of drawingugly pain from his wounded forearm. He knew that he could no moresurrender without a fight than he could command his breathing to stopforever. He was a man, and men cannot give up dishonorably....

  "I'd like to see those two kids sometime, if you're still around, Treb."Neilson had moved again. His voice was lower but he was nearer.

  "Stop around anytime, Harl." Treb moved a few feet deeper into athicket. "We'll show you what real Baryt hospitality is."

  "That's a promise, Treb."

  Killing. That's what war was. So you had to kill. Or you volunteered tokill. But you didn't have to like it. All these little wars under UNsupervision were needless--arbitration would serve as well. But thepeople, the leaders--someone--wanted blood. So ten or twelve or fifteencitizens of one nation fought an equal number of the other state's sons.

  Doubtless it was an improvement over the mass bombings of innocent citydwellers, and the horror of atomic dusts and sprays. No overwhelmingarmy could sweep, unchecked, over a helpless neighbor. It was fairer,too, for those involved. Equal numbers of men, guns, supplies. Wealth ifyour side won, and a fair sum if you lost.

  The United Nations saw to that. After all the avenues to peacefulsettlement had been explored and turned down they finally permittedbloodshed. Much against their better judgement, perhaps.

  So he could destroy likeable young Andilians like Neilson.

  "Why don't you send up a rocket?" Neilson kidded, his voice coming froma changed direction again. "So I can see you."

  "Anything to oblige."

  Neilson was circling out around, as though to drive him into a trap ortrick him. They were getting back to the primitive now. Soon it would beknives, spears, and deadfalls.

  "Come on over and I'll show you Jane's picture, Treb," invited Neilson.He laughed hoarsely. "If we weren't where we are, I'd mean that."

  "I know. I feel that way myself sometimes. We've been here alone toolong. Hate hasn't lasted."

  "Why aren't you a wrongo, Treb?" The young voice was cracked and savage."Why'd you have to tell me about--Gram and Alse?"

  Treb was backing away again, cautiously. He scented a trap. No doubtNeilson's words were sincere, at the moment, but in a second's time hecould change into a cold-blooded executioner. He knew. He had seen thegentlest of men suddenly turn killer....

  And then his foot struck a yielding branch and his aroused suspicionsent him lunging forward.

  A heavy something fell with a sickening thud, brushing as it struck thesole of his disintegrating shoe. A cleverly rigged deadfall of smalltrees and rock, doubtless.

  "You're slipping, Harl," he shouted.

  But he could feel the sudden sweat damping his palms, and the musclestwitched unsteadily in his arms and across his stomach.

  * * * * *

  With morning he was half a mile away, in a foxhole less than sixty yardsfrom the massive outer perimeter of the arena. Two of his snares hadyielded a rabbit each, and so he was supplied for several days.

  The foxhole had two entrances, both well-concealed, and he had riggedelaborate warning devices should the vicinity be approached. So he wassleeping.

  His dreams were unpleasant.

  In his latest dream an extremely shapely and smiling young woman withdark hair was heaving a grenade into a pit where he lay bound andhelpless. The grenade swelled until it became a space ship headingdirectly toward the frail scout craft he piloted....

  And a tiny blob of dislodged mud from the dugout spatted his face. Hesat up.

  Another day to hunt or be hunted. Or to lie here and try to rest andmake plans. There was slight possibility that Neilson could find himhere.

  He gnawed at the scantly-fleshed ribs of the first rabbit, savoring theraw meaty smell and flavor. Hunger was his salt.

  Now that they had lost contact with one another it might require severaldays to find Neilson. A wooded platter, a mile in diameter, can affordmany hiding places for one creature hiding from another hunting beast.

  It was time to set some of the traps he had been contriving.

  There were the two nooses, attached to bent-down triggered young treesthat could not be set until darkness fell again. The net, too, wouldneed darkness to conceal the four rough pulleys, and the rocks that atug on his rope would spill.

  But the almost invisible nylon cords, set at ankle height across thepaths, and the ugly little pits with their sharpened stakes set threefeet below, could trip up a man and cripple him. He must put out severalof those.

  He had no wish to kill Neilson. If he could capture him, very good. Hecould go back to Andilia and perhaps his Jane would be glad to take him.If she did not--it was worth knowing how little she really cared, was itnot?

  So he would try to trap the younger man and save his life.

  It would be difficult. The other man had grenades, a carbine and a keenneedle-knife. Perhaps, before the end, he would be forced to kill afterall. But regretfully.

  Treb dumped the last of the _tsaftha_ antibiotic into his wound and layback for a few more hours of rest before going out to prepare the traps.

  His head was not clear. And his eyes drew together from exhaustion....

  * * * * *

  Another night and another day, and it was night again.

  His traps were set and ready. All through the day he had prowled thetrees, watching for some sign of Neilson. He found he was muttering tohimself, hungry for the sound of spoken words.

  It was nervous work. His muscles were jumping in faint spasticexplosions. Neilson could have been lying in ambush in any of a hundredleafy coverts, resting there and waiting....

  He had covered less than two miles of inching, crawling paths, his eyesever alert for deadfalls, pits and spear-traps that might flash acrossthe way to impale him.

  And he had caught no sight of Neilson.

  Now it was night again. Time to check on his traps. The rabbit traps aswell as the human traps.

  He was approaching the net. And the awareness that this furtive game ofhide-and-seek might go on for weeks oppressed him. He might lie hereclose by the net for days without sight of Neilson. They were too evenlymatched--and Neilson was younger. It was Neilson's youth against hisexperience.

  He found the thin rope of knotted nylon and plastic scraps that led tothe four balanced rocks. One stout yank and the net would jerk upwardfour feet and tighten around its victim.

  But, in the dim starlight from the small globes spotting the Satellite'sceiling, the path was an indistinct blur. A moving body's exactposition.... And at fifty feet....

  He saw Neilson--it could only be Neilson.

  Moving on hands and knees, he was keeping low and to the side of thelittle-used trail--but within the width of the hand-patched net. And hemoved slowly, probing before him with a stick or his needle-knife; Trebcould not tell which.

  Another two feet and he could trip the net. Neilson would be captured,alive, and the stalemate ended.

  Now!

  The net flung into the air, snapped tight about Neilson's thrashingbody! He heard the pop of parting strands as Neilson slashed with hisknife. And then he swung the butt of his carbine, twice, against thetrapped man's skull.

  Neilson went limp. It was finished. He could take his prisoner to thelock, summon the UN guards, and go home to the Krekar Hills. And an endto all blood-letting for him.

  He set about binding tight the arms and legs of Neilson, and had barelycompleted his task when the prisoner groaned and struggled.

  "So this is it, Treb?"

  "Yes."

  "You win again. And I--I lose everything."

  "So?" Treb touched his pocket torch to a heap of shredded dry twigs."What have you lost? Your health, your life? And will not the womanforget all else and love you?"

  "Hah! She will laugh at me if I come near her. Defeated, and with apaltry ten thousand to offer. Better that I died than this."

  "Perhaps you do not--know this woman, Harl. If she is goo
d, she willcome to you."

  The growing firelight was on Neilson's bearded face. And beneath hiseyes something glistened and beaded. He laughed bitterly.

  "She's not good, Treb, understand that. She's evil and money-hungry, andambitious. But she is beautiful and I love her. I'd sell my soul and mybody to possess her.

  "That's why I volunteered. With the winners' grant I would have money.Prestige. Honor. There would be a thousand new opportunities for acareer. And Jane could not refuse me then."

  "It is wrong, Harl Neilson, to so worship a woman. Like alcohol orVenerian fire pollen--it is unnatural."

  "I know. I have tried to forget, to put her memory aside. But it is likea disease. An incurable disease. I must have Jane."

  Treb threw more wood on the little fire and checked over the lashingsabout Neilson's body.

  "I am going to look at my rabbit snares,"