The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  “Marry later,” said U-Kawk.

  “The Clankolite girls will all be gone. We’re never going to steal any more.”

  “Marry later,” he repeated.

  “How much later?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  I snorted at this answer, which I took to be sarcasm. But on second thought I wondered if it could mean that there was a slow sullen rebellion against my peace terms already brewing. Perhaps a secret agreement to let matters wait a few seasons and then attempt to restore the old predatory habits.

  “Go across and bring her, U-Kawk. I want her to get a worthy vulture for her companion and mate.”

  U-Kawk flew off obediently.

  A few moments later I found myself greeting another vulture friend.

  “Is it well with you, Kut?” I asked.

  “Good! Good! Good!” Kut screamed with happy laughter.

  “You are terribly happy. What is it?”

  “My woman gives a child.”

  “Is there anything so remarkable about that?”

  “The child is girl!” he screamed, jumping up and down.

  I scowled at him and flew on wondering what had injured his brain. Kut was obviously mad, I thought, having such outrageous thoughts.

  Then I met Kurf, only to find him insane with a similar happiness.

  “Good! Good! Good! Kurf cried. “What’s so good?”

  “New child—girl!”

  My head was swimming. I was dizzy, my wings wavered. I raced on down the line crying to every winged creature on a perch. Everywhere there was the same uncontrollable excitement. “New child—girl!”

  Or sometimes it was a less enthusiastic, “New child—but not a girl. Bad.” Something revolutionary had happened. It was more than I could fathom. But I could not deny that it had happened—not after several proud Clankolite mothers gathered around me proudly displaying their babies—squirming little female vultures, with perfectly formed baby eagle heads, wings, and talons.

  I looked from one to another of the mothers, completely nonplussed.

  “How did you do it?” I gasped. They burst out with uncontrolled laughter like silly schoolgirls. But as for the answer—none could give it. The whole colony was as mystified as it was exuberant. And the imaginations of the captive women was something to excite wonderment.

  “The taboo was misunderstood,” said one of the older mothers. “These stupid eagles have been wrong all the time. To stay beyond the Lake of Fire was wrong. To fly back here was right . . . Why? . . . We don’t know . . . But we know this new crop of babies will change the eagle man’s world.”

  All the old women nodded solemnly, and the younger ones looked tenderly at their offspring—for they were seeing visions of a future eternal peace . . .

  CHAPTER XX

  It was the first time I had ridden in a space ship since the day I landed on the Blue Moon.

  The small trim craft was white inside as well as out, and it was so luxurious that a little homesickness for the old comforts of Karloora gripped me.

  A genial old lady wearing a black and white uniform served dainty Karloora foods to us in the lower observation room. Far down beneath us the red flames of the Lake of Fire kicked up at the miles of perpendicular basalt walls. An eagle’s eye view of that lake had been thrilling enough, but a scientist’s eye view was even better.

  My host was a scientist. An archeologist. He was young and keen-eyed, and at once rugged and handsome. On the belt of his white trousers he wore a gold eagle emblem—the twin of mine.

  His name was Bendetti, and in every respect he resembled his father. But especially in his genial manners and his friendly smile.

  “Just as I think I have solved a mystery by digging the answer out of forgotten ruins,” he was saying, “your race of vultures moves across to add proof to my findings.”

  “Do you think,” I asked, “that what has happened will continue to happen, generation after generation?”

  “I think so,” said young Bendetti authoritatively. “The skeletal evidences show that there were both sexes of vultures as long as the race lived to the south of the Lake of Fire. When the gradual migration rounded the west end, the female side of the population began to diminish. The farther north the vultures moved, the more evidences we find of the presence of Clankolite women. The tradition of making raids must have become established back in those years, when otherwise the race would have died out.”

  “And yet it was the taboo,” I said, “that prevented their crossing back to their more favorable region.”

  Young Bendetti laughed lightly. “Vicious things, these taboos. Though it’s likely that this taboo was based on something sound. It was a necessary taboo as long as they lived to the south of the lake. For if they had crossed to the north they would have ceased to bear girl babies—and some long lost experience must have made them know that.”

  “But after they gradually moved around to the north, they still held onto the notion that it was wrong to cross.”

  “Exactly,” said Bendetti. “And the taboo guaranteed them a tragedy. They’ve had it. But fortunately you had the nerve to break the path for their escape . . . My father used to tell me about you. He believes that Flanger himself stole you to experiment on his commercialized military schemes.”

  “What has happened to Flanger?”

  “Still promoting, the last I heard,” said Bendetti.

  Our talk rambled from Flanger back to Bendetti senior, who had come on the first excursion hoping to see me. But now I was assured I would see him again some day, and I was certain he would not regret the hours he spent with me.

  Young Bendetti continued to theorize upon the strange scientific phenomena. He was uncertain whether it was the radiations from the Lake of Fire that caused the differences in the proportions of girl babies, or whether it was a mineral content in the food and water to be found in the Blue Crater Region. It might be several years before he and other scientists would find out; but the knowledge would be worth a lifetime of study and experimentation.

  Obviously this young scientist was tremendously in love with his work.

  But all the while I was curious to know certain other things about his love life.

  “You said you were taking me across the lake to see a friend of yours,” I broke in bluntly.

  “Yes—a girl you used to call Tangles. She’s missed seeing you on each of our previous trips. I dropped her off near White Tooth Point at her request. She mentioned something about gifts.”

  “I’m not sure that I’ll know her any more,” I said. The chills were playing through my spine. “She’s probably very different from the girl I used to know, after these years in Karloora.”

  Bendetti took a small picture from his pocket. My eagle head moved from side to side as I looked at it. If this was Tangles—

  “She’s pretty!” I gasped.

  “Rather—yes.”

  “And she’s clean!”

  “Of course. What did you expect?”

  “And she’s all dressed in Karloora clothes. I—I’m afraid I won’t know her.”

  Young Bendetti laughed until I grew embarrassed.

  “She’s been coming with you each time,” I said. “You must be—”

  “We’re very good friends.”

  “You’re not married to her?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “You love her?”

  “In a way—yes. She’s a grand girl, always bubbling over with mischief. On my first trip she came as a stowaway, just for a joke. She said she used to sneak rides on growser’s tails the same way.”

  “She loves you?”

  “She loves you,” said young Bendetti. “Why do you think she came to Karloora in the first place? To tell my father about you. Why was she so anxious to come back with me? To leave gifts for you. Why are we rushing back across the lake to find her? She loves you, Fire Jump. If you’ve got any brains inside that eagle head of yours you’ll never let her go back to Karloora.�
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  It was evening when we landed on a table of rock within walking distance of White Tooth Point. Bendetti and I hurried through the locks and down the dusty trail. I could see Breath of Clover standing near my observation perch a hundred yards ahead of us. She was peering off in the distance.

  It was the first time in what seemed years since I had seen her, and I was amazed that our arrival did not distract her from her dreamy star gazing—or was she studying the fair red glow that could be seen rising off the lake at this time of evening?

  It was U-Kawk who bounded over to greet us.

  U-Kawk showed signs of distress. He had found the beautiful Clankolite girl, but had been unable to persuade her to go back with him.

  “Not go,” he said sullenly. “First cry . . . Then talk with women . . . Then run.”

  “I’ll talk with her,” I replied and flew across to the foot of my perch.

  Breath of Clover greeted me, but it was not easy to decipher her emotions. She had been crying, but she was trying to hide that fact from me. And she had been running. Breathlessly she pointed off to the southward.

  “Hurry, Fire Jump. There she goes. Maybe you can catch her. If those old women told me the truth, she’s gone to throw herself into the lake—”

  “Not Tangles!”

  “Yes. They said she came to find you. But you haven’t returned her faith-gifts. She could see that, the moment she came to the perch. Then she went running toward the lake. I couldn’t catch her—”

  I shot into the air and in ten hard strokes was winging it full speed. I could see the tiny figure, more than a mile away and soon it was evident that she was running.

  Once I thought she looked back. She must have known the space ship had landed. She must have guessed someone would try to overtake her before she reached the rim of the pit.

  The air flooded past me. Already I could feel the warming of the lake’s radiation.

  Thoughts flooded my mind too.

  I knew that Breath of Clover had never stopped to cry after she heard about Tangles. That weeping had happened beforehand; her tears had been shed for troubles of her own. But the moment she heard that Tangles had been there, and had gone off on this act of desperation, Breath of Clover had forgotten herself and tried to save Tangles.

  How could Tangles do such a mad thing? It was not like her—not the Tangles I used to know. It was insane,

  I saw her make the leap.

  I was within fifty yards of the rim when she leaped over.

  Down she went, out of my sight, and for an instant I was gripped by a horror that was almost paralyzing. Everything started to go black.

  But I forced myself to keep breathing and keep flying. I swooped down in a wide arc over the edge of the precipice. The red flames were straight below me, and I started the desperate plunge—

  I might have flown vertically for more than a mile.

  I might have winged down so deep that my wings would have vanished in two bursts of flame.

  But I didn’t.

  I flew only a few yards—owing to the fact that the moment I swung through my downward arc I heard an outburst of teasing laughter from somewhere near the top of the precipice. The same laughter I had once heard from a dirty-faced scamp of a girl who had stolen a ride on the tail of a growser.

  There was Tangles standing on a ledge not more than three yards beneath the point of her jump-off. She was waving at me.

  A minute later we were winging it through the evening sky, and she was still laughing.

  “I wish, Fire Jump,” she said, “that I could learn to read your expressions. Are you really as angry as you look? Or do I see a faint smile at the comers of your beak?”

  “I’m much angrier than I look,” I said. “I’m thinking of eating you up. How do I know you didn’t intend to throw yourself over? How could you be sure there’d be a ledge to catch you?”

  “You’ll always wonder about that, won’t you,” she said, adding, “always.”

  Karloora was showering down its creamy colored light when we returned from a long, aimless circling of the skies and alighted at White Tooth Point.

  U-Kawk was still there, waiting with the patient endurance that becomes a true eagle man. But he wanted to start back, for he was eager to know whether any new girl babies had been born during his absence, and with my kind permission—

  “Go ahead, U-Kawk. But first, where is Breath of Clover? Is she still crying?”

  “Not cry,” said U-Kawk. “Laugh.”

  “Where is she? Where is the ship?”

  “Gone . . . I go.”

  He winged away to the southward. It was not until I found the older women that I got a satisfactory explanation of what had happened. They told Tangles and me that the young man of the ship had been not only attracted by the beauty of Breath of Clover; he had been so fascinated with her that he had made her tell all about herself.

  Then he had told her the great news which I had told him—that Flint Fingers had been killed, that Stone Jaw was now the leader of the Clankolites.

  And with that news all her sadness melted away.

  She wanted to go back. She was eager to see her father. Then the young man of the ship offered to take her back at once.

  “You never saw anyone change to happiness so quick,” the old women told me, their eyes sparkling. “But Breath of Clover did not know whether she could go. You had once told her, she said, that vultures never let their women go back.”

  “And what did you say?” I asked the old Clankolite women.

  . They looked at each other dubiously, and then came out with a full admission. “We told her you had agreed to let her go.”

  I glanced at Tangles, nestled within my arm, and replied to the women, “You were right.”

  Life was good in the new vulture colony, and all of its population looked forward to interesting times to come.

  But now that peace reigned on the Blue Moon our isolation from the Clankolites was not so complete but what now and then rumors and news would seep through from one race to the other.

  It was only two seasons later that the story reached us of the fate of the man from Karloora who had once schemed to employ both races for military purposes.

  This man Flanger, who had moved about on crutches ever since a certain perilous escape during which he dropped to the ground from the end of a claytung wire, had come to the Blue Moon again. A few of his assistants had come with him.

  They had come for the purpose of making friends with the vultures. They had intended giving the vultures weapons to renew war on the Clankolites.

  But they had failed to find the vultures and so had finally confided in a

  Clankolite whom they considered to be unscrupulous enough to be friendly.

  The Clankolite instructed them on how to attract the vultures. They should station themselves at the edge of a certain forest and should fasten vulture wings to their backs.

  Flanger and his associates followed these instructions. But no vultures came. Instead, they were visited by some vicious growsers who inhabited that forest and who were attracted by the display of vulture wings.

  A pair of crutches, picked up afterward by a hunter, had been presented to Stone Jaw as a souvenir.

  THE DEADLY YAPPERS

  First published in Fantastic Adventures, September 1942

  They were very lovely, these luminous winged moths, but those who dared love in their caves met a terrorizing fate!

  CHAPTER I

  Vacationing along the sea-coast I happened into Greencliff on a day of excitement. The legend of the purple yappers was in the air!

  “Two fresh skeletons in the cavern!” I overheard someone say. I cocked my ears. Everyone on the street was talking about it.

  “Two again! Who were they?”

  “Nobody knows. Vacationers from up the coast, I reckon.”

  “Of course the local authorities won’t do anything. They’re afraid to go near the place.”

  “And why
shouldn’t they be considerin’ what the yappers feed on?”

  The curious superstition was that the deadly yappers fed on evil thoughts!

  I had heard that story a hundred times. The old sailor, Libinger, who had once taken me for a day’s fishing along the reefs below Greencliff, believed it implicitly.

  The yappers were said to be shaped like butterflies, but they were more deadly than any plague of locusts. I can’t give you their scientific classification, for our attempt to capture a specimen was ill-fated, as I shall relate presently. At any rate they were luminous purple insects of an unknown variety, and were never seen except in the dark, when their double wings would float about like illuminated dominoes swimming through the blackness.

  I had learned about y supers from Libinger. On our aforementioned excursion he had talked of them from the minute we pushed off in our rowboat.

  “On evil thoughts they feeds,” he had repeated, grunting at the oar. “And I’m thinkin’ it’s well fed they be.”

  “But why does anyone ever go near them?”

  He spat at a wave and squinted his eyes. “No one does ’cept drifters, pullin’ along this coast fer the first time, who don’t know. Them an’ the lovers.”

  “The lovers?” I asked in surprise. “Sure. They’re the ones that’s really pie fer the yappers. Them that’s tender and juicy. God only knows where they come from. Vacationers, I reckon. Skimmin’ down the coast lookin’ fer a trystin’ place, an’ here’s this nice secluded cavern, yawnin’ at ’em. So they ties up and goes ashore, not knowin’ that these devilish yappers is hoverin’ over ’em invisible, waitin’ and workin’ up their appetites fer the moment that they gits carried away by sinful thoughts.”

  Old Libinger was utterly serious, so I had him take me around the cape to see the place. It was a three hours’ row, and might have been worth it if we had tied up and taken a look at the skeletons. But Libinger wouldn’t hear of it. So all that I saw was the cavern, as big as a schooner, that opened a little above the water’s edge.

  “Those yappers may be over us right this minute—” he had insisted that they were invisible in the daylight—“and I’m not fer takin’ no chances.”