Edmund Cooper

by Transit

  ‘But how?’ asked Tom helplessly.

  ‘Use her body, man. Forget she has a soul. Treat her like a paid prostitute.’

  Tom’s eyes widened. ‘I—I couldn’t do it.’

  Avery smiled. ‘There’s a remedy for that—four shots of Barbara’s whisky. Strictly medicinal. Three shots for you and one for Mary.’

  ‘But ’

  ‘But me no buts Tonight, I’m going to take Barbara for a long walk on the beach. When we come back, we’ll take first watch. With a bit luck and some thoughtful help, Nature will take care of the rest.’

  ‘I couldn’t do it,’ said Tom. ‘Not to Mary.’

  ‘Man, you bloody well will do it,’ snapped Avery. ‘Otherwise, I shall have a heart-to-heart talk with Mary myself, and tell her all about your piddling little inhibitions.’

  ‘Steady on, old man,’ said Tom hotly. ‘We’re in danger of getting just a shade personal.’

  Avery began to laugh. ‘May I quote you,’ he gloated. ‘It’s the saying of the week.’

  Without a word, and muttering as much dignity as possible, Tom stood up and began to walk away. Neither of them spoke all the way back to camp. Lunch was a very strained meal indeed. The two women, looking at them, suspected a major quarrel.

  That evening, however, as he had said, Avery took Barbara along the beach. The evening was so warm that tfyey decided on a moonlight swim—still a novelty, when there were two moons to provide the light.

  By the time they got back to the rock, Tom and Mary had retired. Barbara was surprised, because Avery had said nothing to her about the plot. In fact, he had said very little at all; and though she had tried to draw him on the assumed difference with Tom, his answers had been infuriatingly evasive.

  Avery spotted two empty tumblers by the camp fire. He sniffed them with satisfaction.

  ‘If you’d like to turn in, I’ll take the first watch,’ he said to Barbara.

  She was suspicious. ‘Something’s going on. What the hell is it?’

  ‘Nothing at all, my sweet. I’ll take the first watch. You get some sleep.’

  ‘Whatever we do, we do together,’ she said, firmly. ‘Something is happening. I want to know what.’

  ‘You’ll probably find out in the fullness of time.... Well, let’s go to bed anyway. Precautions can go to blazes for one night. The devil will look after his own.’

  Yawning, but still mystified, Barbara raised no objection. It had been a long time since there had been any contact with the golden people. Presently, she and Avery went into their tent.

  In the morning, a single glance at Mary was sufficient to tell both Barbara and Avery that something had indeed happened. She looked not conventionally radiant, as women are supposed to look on such occasions, but a little surprised, a little tired and vaguely smug.

  Tom looked perplexed and obscurely proud.

  Barbara, with her woman’s intuition, soon discovered what it was all about; and Avery already knew.

  As he surreptitiously inspected them both with—as he thought—a somewhat clinical detachment, he felt a sudden shaft of envy, and guilt.

  He was conscious of a great and complicated irony. He looked at Barbara, and saw that she, too, was envious. Suddenly, he wanted to hold her in his arms. But he didn’t. He pretended to notice nothing at all.

  ‘Physician,’ he murmured softly, ‘physician, heal thyself.’

  SEVENTEEN

  About a week after what Avery privately called Tom and Mary’s Nuptial Flight, contact was made with one of the golden people—a woman. It seemed, in retrospect, a rather indecisive kind of contact; but at least it was a beginning. And, if nothing else, it should surely have demonstrated to the golden people that the occupants of Camp Two did not harbour any warlike intentions.

  One afternoon Tom and Avery had wandered inland in search of a rather rare kind of fruit that had become a great favourite with all of them. It was an odd mixture of grapefruit and coconut—refreshing and satisfying. The ‘milk’ had a distinctly grapefruity flavour about it, and so did the ‘nut’ part, which was soft and rubbery and could be chewed as a kind of thirst-quenching chewing gum. Even the shell was useful, being hard but not britde. When it was dried in the sun, it made an almost non-porous bowl, several of which had now been added to the crockery supply at Camp Two.

  If the fruit was peculiar, the tree on which it grew was even more peculiar. It stood on stilts—or rather dozens of long tough whitened roots that rose quite high from the ground, then curved in to join the short tree trunk. From a distance, the tree itself gave the impression of standing neatly on top of an old-fashioned bird-cage— about eight feet high.

  Inevitably, the fruit came to be called bird-cage fruit. So far, Avery and Tom had only discovered half a dozen bird-cage trees. Another mysterious thing about them was that the ripe fruit seemed to disappear far more rapidly than could be accounted for by the occasional raids made to replenish the larder at Camp Two. The two men assumed that the fruit itself was probably attractive to various animals; and they had even considered devising ways of protecting ‘their’ crop.

  But it was not the animals—or, at least, not wholly the animals—that had been reducing the supply, as they discovered when they returned to raid the largest tree they had found so far, and which was farther inland than the rest. It stood on a small patch of grassland; and because it was not restricted by the competition of other trees, its bird-cage was much wider and the dome formed by the roots was more flattened.

  Climbing the bird-cage trees was a difficult busines: because the roots, though strong, were thin and slippery. Sometimes a foot would slip between the ‘bars’ of the cage. Then the climber had to force the roots apart and ease it out by himself, get someone to help him, or, if he was alone, slither cautiously back down the dome and hope that the gap between the roots at ground level would be wide enough for the foot to be pulled free.

  That was what had happened to the golden woman: her foot had been trapped. But she was unlucky. The roots at the base on the side of the tree where she had been climbing were almost as close together as, and certainly much thicker than, they were higher up.

  Tom and Avery found her sitting helplessly on the ground, a small cross-bow near by and, a yard or two away, a home-made basket on its side with two or three bird-cage fruit spilling out of it. Fortunately, they were quite a distance away when they spotted her. The woman’s immediate reaction was to wriggle towards her cross-bow (which must have been quite painful), snatch it and fit one of the short arrows that hung from it in a small quiver.

  ‘Down!’ shouted Avery—just in time. He and Tom flattened themselves in the thick grass, and almost simultaneously an arrow whisded a foot or two above Avery’s head.

  ‘Homicidal bitch!’ said Tom. ‘Harm can come to a young boy like this What the hell is she doing?’

  ‘She got her foot trapped in the roots.’

  ‘Serve her bloody right. Let’s leave her to stew. No doubt her boy friend will come looking for her if she doesn’t get home in time for dessert.’

  Avery shook his head. ‘The opportunity is too good to miss. If we can help her, it might eventually register that we are friendly and harmless.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Tom, fingering his tomahawk lovingly. ‘Judging by what they did to Camp One, I bet these people don’t even have a word for friendship. .. .’ He laughed grimly. ‘Anyway, you’d look bloody silly trying to help her with three arrows stuck in your tummy.’

  ‘There’s a solution to that one,’ retorted Avery. ‘We make her use up all her ammunition.’ He raised himself on one knee, then immediately fell flat again. Another arrow whirred peevishly overhead.

  Tom smiled. ‘She’ll catch on to it, then you’ll get out of phase and collect one.’

  Avery shook his head. ‘Wriggle a bit farther away from me. It’s your turn this time.’

  Tom let out a profanity; but he crawled a few yards to the right, raised himself and flopped back quic
kly. Another arrow came.

  Avery waited a moment or two, then offered himself as a brief target. He hit the ground quickly; but no arrow came.

  Tom then exposed himself once more, but again there was no arrow. ‘What did I tell you? She’s tumbled to it.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Avery raised his head cautiously above the top of the grass.

  The woman had an arrow fitted and ready, but she did not release it. Cautiously, Avery got up to his knees. Then the arrow came. He was lucky. It fouled in a high clump of grass and went veering off course. He hit the ground, with his heart thumping madly.

  Tom was vastly amused. ‘There you are, old sport. Fraternization just isn’t popular.’

  But Avery was determined not to be beaten. ‘I think she’s only got one shot left.’

  ‘You hope. Personally, I’m not taking any more chances. It isn’t worth it.’

  Avery waited for a minute or two, then very slowly raised his head to grass-top level. The woman was still sitting there with her foot trapped and her cross-bow ready. She and Avery stared intently at each other across a distance cf some thirty or forty yards. He saw that her breast was heaving, and she didn’t look any too happy. So far as he could see, she didn’t have any more arrows —but that, of course, might be a simple trick.

  ‘Don’t shoot,’ he called. ‘We want to help you.’ Even as he shouted to her he was conscious of the ridiculousness of hoping to communicate in English. But at least she might disentangle a bit of the sense from the sound.

  She made no move, but continued to glare at him apprehensively. He decided to take a chance and stand up. But no sooner were his head and shoulders visible than he noticed a slight movement of her hand. He hurled himself to one side as the arrow came, rolled over once, then stood upright.

  ‘Idiot!’ shouted Tom, who was still flat.

  But the woman did not have any more arrows left. She flung the cross-bow down and, with low moans of pain, tried feverishly to free her trapped foot.

  Avery began to walk towards her. Seeing that his gloomy predictions were not fulfilled, Tom also stood up and advanced. When they were about ten yards away, the woman stopped her futile endeavours and sat waiting for them, her fists clenched, her eyes sullen and afraid.

  Avery came up close to her, crouched down and smiled. He gestured towards her trapped foot and the thick roots. ‘We,’ he said, pointing to Tom and himself, ‘want... to ... help ... you.'' He pointed at her, then at the foot.

  She flinched, but appeared to understand. Keeping his movements slow so that she would not be alarmed, Avery leaned forward and put out his hands towards the roots. At that moment the woman unclenched one of her hands, and, using her arm almost like a short spear, jabbed the extended and rigid fingers unerringly into his solar plexus. Avery gave a painful grunt, then writhed on the ground. Before Tom could stop her, the woman delivered a chopping blow with her forearm to Avery’s exposed throat.

  It was a long time since he felt such pain. There was a drumming in his ears, trying to breathe was itself an agony of frustration, and a woolly mist seemed briefly to be closing in on him from all sides. Through it, he saw Tom’s silhouette—and a raised tomahawk.

  ‘Bitch!’ yelled Tom. ‘Try the play-back for size.’ The tomahawk came down with a dull thud.

  Wincing, groaning, Avery forced himself to sit up. The woman’s body lay almost touching him. ‘Bloody clown! ’ he croaked. ‘What did you kill her for?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Being soft-hearted, I didn’t give her the edge, only the flat,’ he said drily. ‘A spot of sleep treatment seemed to be indicated.... She made a real mess of you in no time at all.’

  Avery massaged his throat gently. It felt as if he had just swallowed a number of sharp stones. He coughed experimentally, and the pain made him wince; but at least the ache in his stomach was fading. The golden woman certainly packed a hell of a punch.

  He looked down at her. The long, luxurious golden hair was spread like a ragged fan over the grass. Her eyes were closed, but she seemed to be breathing normally. In repose, her face was beautiful but—somehow not human. He tried to define its non-human quality, and couldn’t. Evidently, he decided, it was the sum of many of the little peculiarities that occur in ordinary human beings—but not all at the same time.

  Her ears were well formed, but they did not have any lobes, and simply joined the side of the face in a smooth downward sweep; her nostrils were wide, almost negroid, but the top of her nose was faintly Grecian, without any bridge; her Ups were fuU, but the mouth seemed small in proportion to the rest of her face; her chin was firm, perhaps a shade emphatic, and her cheek bones were large and finely moulded, transforming the Une from cheek to chin into an odd but attractive parabola.

  Her body, apart from the blue band of fabric stretched between her legs, was naked, golden and quite superb. Altogether, she was a magnificent specimen. Avery judged that she must be at least four inches taller than either him or Tom—and probably a couple of stone heavier. And she was tough, as he knew from personal experience.

  ‘Big tits,’ observed Tom crudely, ‘just as in my late collection. It makes you think, doesn’t it? Maybe these birds were the original inventors of pornography.’

  ‘And maybe they don’t even know what it means,’ retorted Avery acidly. He stood up. ‘I hope you haven’t cracked her skuU.’

  Tom grinned. ‘For Christ’s sake don’t start feeUng sorry for the bitch. She was trying to kill us—remember? Besides, I only clocked her fairly lightly. Supertypes like that are bound to have super-hard skulls.’

  ‘Well, we’d better make use of the anaesthetic and get her foot out while she’s still under.’

  Tom bent down to examine the trapped leg. ‘She’s made quite a mess of it,’ he said with some satisfaction. ‘Serves her right for being bloody superior.’

  The skin round the ankle, where it was caught between the thick bird-cage roots was tom and bleeding. The leg itself had swollen considerably and had developed a purplish hue.

  Avery said: ‘What do we do? Chop our way through the roots?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I don’t think she’d like that. The vibrations wouldn’t improve her at all. Besides the hatchet might glance off and take a piece out of her. These things are like spring steel.... No, we’d better try and lever her out.’

  They tried using one of the tomahawk handles as a lever, but the bird-cage roots wouldn’t move. Avery finally solved the problem by forcing one of the bird-cage fruit that the woman had already collected between the roots, about a yard above her anlde. Then, using it as a wedge, he hammered it slowly down towards the ankle, and forced the roots apart.

  Tom just managed to ease her foot through the gap before the increase in pressure and the battering it had taken suddenly became too much for the bird-cage fruit. Its shell collapsed inwards, and the roots resumed their original position.

  ‘Ah, the proverbial nick of time,’ said Tom.

  Avery began to feel the bones in her foot. He didn’t know much about anatomy—especially alien anatomy— but nothing seemed to be broken. The woman stirred and groaned. She tried to sit up, and fell back.

  ‘It’s as well she stayed out for the operation,’ said Avery. ‘You did her a good turn.... I think.’

  He put the foot down gently, then raised the woman’s head. She opened her eyes, closed them again, then shuddered. She gave another moan. Avery felt the bump where Tom had hit her. It was not as bad as he had expected. The hair had cushioned the blow.

  ‘Now she’s O.K., we can push off,’ said Tom.

  ‘We can’t leave her like this.’

  ‘Hell, it’s more than she deserves! ’

  The woman managed to raise herself so that she was half sitting, half leaning against Avery. She saw that her foot was free and gave a sigh of relief. She looked it Avery and treated him to a somewhat doubtful smile. ‘Let’s try to get her on her feet,’ suggested Tom.

  ‘All right, but demonstrate on
me first. Then she won’t get ary odd ideas.’

  Tom solemnly lifted Avery to his feet, then pointed at the woman and made the same motion. She nodded.

  They lifted her with difficulty. When she tried to put some weight on her injured foot, she winced but did not cry out.

  ‘She needs a stick to lean on,’ said Avery.

  ‘Maybe we ought to go the whole hog, make a stretcher and take her home,’ retorted Tom with sarcasm. ‘Let’s leave her now. She’s O.K. And you never know, the boy friend may turn up.’

  ‘We’ve got to find something for her to lean on.’

  In the end, Tom went off to cut a branch from a less difficult tree than the bird-cage. While he was away, Avery got the woman to practise taking a few steps leaning upon him. By the time Tom returned, she was managing reasonably well.

  Tom had found a very sturdy piece of wood. He even trimmed the top to make a handle. ‘This should hold her up,’ he said drily. ‘It’s guaranteed tested for half a ton.’ ‘I think she might make it home under her own steam now,’ said Avery. ‘She’s got a lot of stamina.’ He watched her hobbling experimentally with the aid of the staff.

  Suddenly, Tom had an idea. ‘If we follow her at a discreet distance, we’ll find out where their camp is. It might come in rather useful.’

  Avery considered the idea, then finally decided against it. ‘If she finds out she’s being followed, she’ll either lead us away or try to get us into some sort of trap. And if she doesn’t find out, she may still lead us too near her playmates for comfort. Their philosophy seems to be shoot first and ask questions afterwards.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘We shan’t get another opportunity like this—but you’re supposed to be the brains.’ Suddenly, he lifted his tomahawk and brought it crashing down on the woman’s cross-bow. He kicked the wreckage away. ‘That will teach her not to be anti-social...