by Perry Rhodan
The old birdman struck him on the chest with his stick. He was so old and feeble that the blow hardly had any force behind it. Pincer was shocked more by the creature's mental attitude than he was by the attack on his person. Here was evil and the worst part about it was that it had been created by poisonous imports from the Earth. He felt deeply ashamed.
What could have motivated the Springers to distribute such drugs on Alazee's planet? The birdmen knew nothing about the Earth and therefore they could not hold Terrans responsible. Schnitz had mentioned that some members of his race performed services for the Springers in the monitoring stations. It was possible that the Traders had supplied the bird people with opium in order to make them dependent upon them.
"Do you have white powder with you?" shouted the one-legged creature again. There was a panicky fear in the voice—a desperate fear of being disappointed.
"No," he answered. "We have no powder."
He thought the oldster would attack him in a senseless rage but instead the birdman bent down and snatched the cigarette packages from his jacket. He tore one of them open. Taking out a cigarette, he tried chewing it but then threw it away in disgust.
"We should show him how to do it," said Cora. "The smoke will have the same effect on him as it did on Schnitz and his friends. Then we can talk him into letting us go."
"I'm no Houdini," Pincer answered grimly. "How can I light up a cigarette in this condition?"
"By tomorrow's dawn we shall prove whether or not you are friends or enemies," croaked the one-legged birdman. "Until then you will remain where you are."
He limped away before Pincer could ask him what kind of proof he was talking about.
• • •
Alazee's planet was without a moon and the dense atmosphere all but screened out the light of the stars. This night that Pincer and his wife experienced was not to be compared to anything on Earth. The darkness was impenetrable. It seemed to cover the land like black ink. The natives had all crept back into their tree huts. Pincer and his wife conversed for a long time before they finally dropped into fitful sleep.
Pincer did not know how long he had been asleep, during which time he had been plagued by wild nightmares. He was awakened by a feeling that someone was close to him. He didn't dare awaken Cora. They were both lying on the ground, helpless in their bonds. What could he do if some carnivorous animal came sniffing around in search of prey? No matter how hard he strained to see, he could not even make out the shadows of the nearest trees.
A twig snapped under the weight of a body. The sound caused Pincer to shudder. He held his breath and listened. Now it was still again. From the trees came the faint chirping of nocturnal insects.
Pincer recalled his childhood when he had often awakened in the night and felt that the weirdest creatures of his imagination were in his room. He used to crawl under the covers then and go fearfully to sleep again and in the morning everything had always turned out to be harmless.
Whatever was moving about there in the darkness was slowly coming closer. In wild desperation Pincer began to tug at his bonds but the natives appeared to be masters at the art of knot-tying. The more he struggled with his binding cords the more tightly they cut into him. He gave up in exhaustion.
There was a movement of air across his face and in the same instant he felt the sharp, cold blade of a knife at his unprotected throat.
• • •
With a piece of chalk Valmonze drew a circle on the board and in its center he made a dot. The chalk stick broke in two.
"That's us," said the patriarch, pointing to the dot. "What I mean is, it's the spaceport. The circle indicates the maximum distance that Pincer and the woman can be from us. There's no way they could have gotten any farther. It's hard going on foot through the forest. So they could only be..." He ran his finger along the circular line. "Here, on the outer edge of this area. Razmon didn't find them at the Great Basin. So far Amat-Palong hasn't even answered our radio signals, so it's likely he hasn't had any success either." This thought caused him to chuckle with grim satisfaction. "It's night now. In the early morning hours I'll personally lead a search party. All available gliders have been reserved for the search. So it's only a matter of time until we overtake these Terrans."
Shaugnessy, who was near the board, regarded Valmonze's chalk sketch as though it were a work of art. "How can it do any good for your gliders to fly above the forest?" he asked Valmonze. "With all that thick foliage the pilots won't be able to see the ground."
"We'll be using infrared search instruments," explained the patriarch. "They can detect a body's heat radiations and indicate the presence of a person on the meters."
"But every birdman down there will trigger a response on your instruments," Shaugnessy reminded him.
"That's correct," Valmonze conceded. "But don't forget that the instruments also pro-rate the heat pickup in terms of average numbers of bodies detected. So all we have to do is land only when we have a reading for just two people. Of course there's a chance that there might be just two or three natives in a particular place but as a rule those feather-heads are gregarious—they normally gather in large groups."
The Springers who were present murmured their approval. The door opened and Valmonze's eldest son, Toraman, came in. There were a number of documents in his hand. He came to his father and made a slight bow.
"Speak, my son," the patriarch urged him. Without such permission Toraman would have not dared, in his father's presence, to address a meeting.
"Like all of us here," Toraman began, "I've been wondering who this Pincer person could be. My first thought was to make a thorough search of his ship."
"You were right!" his father interrupted. "Why didn't I think of that myself? What have you found?"
Toraman handed the papers to his father. "I have no command of the Terran language," he said. "But we have Shaugnessy here. He can translate these documents for us."
"Very good!" said the patriarch approvingly. He handed the sheets over to Shaugnessy. "Can you get anything out of these?"
The smuggler carefully read each document through. The more he studied the information they contained the broader he smiled.
Valmonze was anxious to share his knowledge with him so he finally grumbled impatiently at him. "Alright, so what do they say?"
Shaugnessy waved the papers around. "If these documents are valid, and there can be no doubt about it, our friend is completely harmless!" He raised the first paper in the air. "This," he said to the gathering, "is a wedding license for a John Edgar Pincer and his wife Cora, maiden name Hatfield. They were married in Denver—25th of July 2102 Earth time. We're just now at the middle of August.
So it can be presumed that the fugitive couple are on their honeymoon!" He laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. Since Valmonze had no sense of humor for such things, he visibly took a very dim view of the whole affair. After Shaugnessy regained control of himself he presented the next document. "This is a flight permit for a discus ship registered under the name of Error," he explained. "It gives the right to the vessel's owner, John Edgar Pincer, to make a takeoff into space from the private spaceport of the Intercosmic Fruit Company."
He continued: "Then we also have a freight permit and bill of lading. It's made out by the IFC and validated by the Solar Ministry of Commerce. The manifest describes a cargo of Super Tenderleaf destined for Ferrol in the Vega System." He gave the papers back to Valmonze. "So your supposed poppy seeds are nothing more than a new development of spinach seeds."
Valmonze suspected that the Terrans amusement was based mostly on the fact that he, the patriarch, had been fooled. He snapped at him angrily: "If you can get hold of yourself we might be able to continue like reasonable men!" When the smuggler suppressed another burst of laughter and wiped the tears from his eyes, Valmonze asked, "What is spinach?"
It's a vegetable which every mother on Earth claims to be especially nourishing," Shaugnessy explained. "They prime their ki
ds with it until the juice runs out of their ears."
Valmonze frowned. "So you take this whole thing to be a great big joke, do you? Then can you explain how Pincer came here when he should actually be in the Vega System?"
"He probably wanted to make his honeymoon trip interesting, so he decided to take a little side excursion," Shaugnessy grinned.
The patriarch lost his patience. "Spare me your foolishness!" he raged. "I've had enough of your idiotic laughter! I still say something's rotten behind all this. To get to the bottom of it we have to find this Pincer freak—and by Tolomon we're going to get him!"
Shaugnessy sat back leisurely in his chair. He said nothing but his whole attitude came near to expressing his thoughts: You forget one thing, old man—he's a Terran...
• • •
A warm rough hand that was not a hand closed Pincer's mouth and prevented his outcry.
"No-fly shut mouth," came a familiar whisper close to Pincer's ear. "Heap sound bring enemies."
Pincer almost fainted in his relief. "Schnitz!" he nevertheless blurted out. "Schnitz, you old rascal!"
The birdman cut through his bonds with deft, experienced skill. Pincer immediately began to massage his limbs to restore his circulation. Meanwhile Schnitz began to work on Cora and he freed her as quickly as he had Pincer.
The birdman explained in low tones: "Schnitz see no-flies he make prisoners. Wait night come. Now here."
Pincer shook the native creature's claw-hand in gratitude. Schnitz had been moved to help them without being influenced by cigarette smoke. He knew the birdman had placed his own life in the gamble. This hostile band of aborigines would not hesitate to bind him also if they could get their hands on him.
Now Pincer stared into the darkness. How were they to proceed in this complete absence of light? It made him wonder to himself how Schnitz had managed to locate them. It was possible that these natives' eyes were adapted to such nights as this and that they might have a special sense of perception.
Give hand," ordered Schnitz softly. "Schnitz lead way.
Pincer guided his wife to where she could find the birdman's extended claw, which she grasped. He brought up the rear as they moved forward with a surprising swiftness. There was nothing the two humans could do but to rely on Schnitz entirely. Unaided, they would have bumbled into every obstacle without seeing it. Once they had crossed the clearing their progress became more difficult as they came into the forest again.
In that moment a tremendous commotion occurred at the far end of the village of tree huts. It caused Pincer to pause in alarm. Back there across the clearing it seemed that an entire army had broken loose all at once. He heard Schnitz giggle softly.
"That Kankantz, Lupatz and Tonitutz," he explained. "Make heap trick. Enemy flock run wrong way. Give no-flies time for escape."
There was a great stir in the tree huts as evidenced by loud crowing and shrill cries and the sound of flying birdmen in the darkness. The entire village was in an uproar. Inasmuch as the din and clamor drowned out local noises, Schnitz increased the pace of their flight, now unconcerned about maintaining silence. In the far distance, Schnitz's cohorts were cawing and screeching their lungs out. Schnitz found his way dim the forest with the certainty of a sleepwalker. The howling of the tree dwellers receded in another direction and finally could hardly
be heard.
"Please, Johnny," Cora panted, "we have to take a little rest!"
"You make pleasure smoke?" asked Schnitz hopefully.
Neither one of them made an answer. Everything was very quiet for awhile and
then Pincer heard the birdman ask again, this time more timorously: "No-fly make smoke for Schnitz?"
"You tell him, Johnny," Cora pleaded.
He'll leave us—thought Pincer—he'll simply fly away. Nevertheless he told him. "We can't make any smoke. They took the cigarettes away from us."
In the complete darkness Pincer couldn't see the reaction of the other. Schnitz was silent but he did not fly away. Cora leaned against her husband and he gently stroked her hair, inwardly marveling at her exemplary behavior under the circumstances.
After a few minutes they heard Schnitz speak again. "We go," the birdman announced curtly.
Pincer could sense that their feathery guide was disappointed and once more he was assailed by a feeling of guilt. Even though it had been unintentional, Cora had started something with her cigarettes. Nonetheless they had exploited the weakness of these creatures for their own purposes. "If you want to," he said, "you can go back to your friends."
"No-flies also friends," Schnitz declared categorically.
By dawn they arrived at the Springers' radio station. It was an angular building at the edge of a clearing. Next to it was a small landing field which was large enough to accommodate a glider but no Springer craft were in sight. Everything seemed to be calm and quiet.
Schnitz came to a stop. They were at the opposite end of the clearing. Cora leaned against her husband in exhaustion.
"There doesn't seem to be anybody there," said Pincer in a low voice.
"Three birdman inside station," Schnitz told him. "No have weapons. No-fly overcome quick."
Pincer wasn't so sure. He observed the building indecisively. If he were to find a hypercom there he could contact Earth or a Terran ship and tell them what he had discovered. He wavered between conviction and fear. All this time he had been wanting to get to this station but now that he was here he could not find the strength to transform his plan into action.
One thing he was sure of was that in the long run he would not be able to elude the Traders. Sooner or later they would be taking him and Cora prisoner. If he were to get off a radio message now it would be only a matter of hours before they would fall into the hands of the enemy.
"I'll sneak around to the building," he said finally. "Schnitz, I'd like to have you stay with my wife. If you see any threat of danger, escape with her—and
don't think about me."
"Schnitz stay watch no-fly woman," promised the birdman.
Cora pushed past Schnitz. "I think I have something to say about that," she interjected. "I'm going with you."
Pincer looked at her sadly. It was hard for him to contradict anybody, much less a beautiful woman who in addition happened to be his wife. He raised his hands imploringly.
"Don't try to explain anything," said Cora swiftly. "I've come this far with you—so why stop now?"
Schnitz twittered in an expression of birdlike mirth. "Think not heap much good make talk to female, no-fly," he confided.
"That's what I think, too," grumbled Pincer. "Alright, then we'll both go. I thank you for your help, Schnitz."
Schnitz watched him for a moment in silence and then suddenly announced: "Schnitz go too. Maybe try heap trick."
The birdman's self-confidence and his faith in his "trick" strategies appeared to be unshakable. In some strange way, Schnitz always seemed to be filled with a sprite-like cheerfulness. It was as though he was endowed with a picaresque philosophy of life which enabled him to understand and endure everything with an almost mischievous smile. Pincer felt an inner attachment to this alien creature such as he had never experienced with his friends back on Earth.
He could only nod his acquiescence and start toward the building. Schnitz and Cora followed him. No one seemed to be concerned about their arrival on the scene. The station had no windows, only a skylight and a door, which was closed. They managed to come close to the entrance, where Pincer paused.
"Nothing's stirring," he said softly. "Do you think anybody's here? Maybe they've abandoned the station and taken all the equipment with them."
"Look see," suggested Schnitz matter-of-factly.
Pincer came closer to the door. His pulse began to race again. It could be that only a thin plastic wan separated him from death. Nevertheless, as he reached for the latch handle his hand did not falter.
He turned the lever around and pushed the door open. It swung inwar
d while making a grating sound. Nothing happened. The building was evidently divided into two main rooms. Pincer could easily make out the contents of the first room. There was no one in sight. Enough illumination came through the skylight so that he could recognize the equipment—a full array of monitoring and tracking consoles. Apparently the radio communication gear was in the other room.
Decisively then, he entered the place while Schnitz and Cora followed closely in silence. "Seems to be nobody here," he muttered in relief. "Not even any natives."
He took one more step and then stopped as a man appeared from the adjacent room. He was tall and very thin without a hair on his head. The expression on his face was as cold as death itself as he silently surveyed the three intruders. Pincer was incapable of moving a muscle.
Then the stranger slowly produced a weapon from under his coat and aimed it at Pincer's chest, his thin lips curving in a mirthless smile. "No matter how cunning anyone may be," he said, "there comes a time when someone outsmarts him."
In this case the cunning one was Amat-Palong, the Ara.
7/ THE CARROT EATER'S LAMENT
The measures which Perry Rhodan and his administrative staff had taken proved to be as futile as they were unpopular. Although every cargo leaving Terra was inspected and controlled, it had not resulted in a single arrest. The smugglers had evidently become suspicious and had shut down their supply lines.
The policing and red tape were costing the big commercial companies too much in terms of time and precious fuel. Once more it was demonstrated that the egotism of certain people took precedence over reason. The Solar Ministry of Commerce was receiving angry calls. Freighter captains were making warning threats against customs officials. Since the man in the street hadn't yet heard of the narcotics rings, the dangers involved were derided as negligible. People reproached Rhodan for being a doomsday prophet or calamity howler and accused him of making exaggerated concessions to protect his extraterrestrial friends.
