by Larry Niven
Conclusion, arrived at after long thought: I was being dragged.
I was limp as a noodle and nearly as numb. It was all over. Nobody had walked innocently out of the cave. Instead, the man in there with Lloobee had looked out with a heat sensor, then used his sonic on anything that might possibly be the temperature of a man.
Things turned dark. I thought I was unconscious, but no, I’d been dragged into the cave.
“That’s a relief,” said Bellamy. Unmistakably, Bellamy.
“Bastard,” said a woman’s voice. It seemed familiar: rich and fruity, with a flatlander accent that was not quite true. Misplaced in time, probably. A dialect doesn’t stay the same forever.
My eyes fell open.
Bellamy stood over me, looking down with no expression. Tanya Wilson sat some distance away, looking sullenly in my direction. The man named Warren, standing behind her, carefully did something to her scalp, and she winced.
“There,” said Warren, “you go back to the camp. If anyone asks—”
“I was scratched by a flower bird,” said Tanya. “The rest of you are out hunting. Will you please assume I’ve got a mind.”
“Don’t be so damn touchy. Larch, you’d better tie them up, hadn’t you?”
“You do it if you like. It’s not necessary. They’ll be out for hours.”
Oh, really?
Tanya Wilson got up and went to the cave mouth. Before leaving, she pulled a cord hanging at the side. Warren, who had followed her, pulled it again after she was gone.
The cord was attached to what looked like a police stunner, the same model as Emil’s guns. The stunner was mounted on a board, and the board was fixed in place over the mouth of the cave, aimed downward. A booby trap. So easy.
The numbness was gone. My problem was the opposite: It was all I could do to keep from moving. I was stretched full-length on a rocky floor with my heels a foot higher than my nose and my arms straight above my head. If I so much as clenched a fist…
“I wonder,” Bellamy said, “what made him turn against me.”
“Who? Shaeffer?”
I could see four in the cave. Bellamy was standing over me; Warren was nearer the cave mouth. The two others were near the back, near a line of plastic crates. One was a man I’d never seen. The other—huge and frightening in the semidark, a monster from man’s dimmest past, when demons and supernatural beings walked the homeworld—was Lloobee. They sat silently facing each other, as if each were waiting for something.
“Yes,” said Bellamy. “Beowulf Shaeffer. He seemed such a nice guy. Why would he go to so much effort to get me in trouble?”
“You forget, Larch.” Warren spoke with patient understanding. “They are the good guys; we are the bad guys. A simple sense of law and order—”
“Too much law and order around, Warren. There are no more frontiers. We sit in our one small area of the universe called known space, sixty light-years across, and we rot. Too much security. Everyone wants security.”
“That’s Shaeffer’s motive. He was backing up law and order.”
“I don’t think so. Bey’s not the type.”
“What type is he?”
“Lazy. A survival type, but lazy. He doesn’t start to use his brain until he’s in obvious, overt trouble. But he’s got pride.”
“Could the other one have talked him into it?”
“I suppose so.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Well,” said Warren, “it’s too bad. What’ll we do with them?”
Bellamy looked unhappily down at me. He couldn’t see my eyes behind the goggles, not in the dim cave light. “They could be found half-eaten. By one of those big hopping things, say. The ones that prey on the gray plains herbivores.”
“The carnivore that did it would be poisoned. It would have to be found nearby.”
“Right.” Bellamy pondered. “It’s vital that there be no evidence against us. If we tried to square a murder rap in the contract, they’d chivvy our price down to nothing. You were bright to use the sonic. A mercy needle would have left chemicals.”
A small, sharp rock was pressing against the side of my neck. It itched. If I was planning to leap to my feet from this ridiculous position, I couldn’t delay too long. Sooner or later I’d reach to scratch. Sooner or later Bellamy or Warren would notice the butts of Emil’s altered police stunners and know them for what they were.
“First we need a plains carnivore,” said Warren. “Do you think we can starve it into—”
Lloobee leapt.
He was five yards from the man who was guarding him at the back of the cave. The man fired instantly, and then he screamed and tried to dodge. The Kdatlyno slammed into him and knocked him sliding across the floor.
I didn’t see any more. I was running. I heard panicky shouting and then Bellamy’s roar: “Relax, you idiot. He was unconscious before he left the ground.” And Warren’s, “Relax, hell! Where’s Shaeffer?”
I barely remembered to pull the trigger cord on Bellamy’s booby trap. The cave entrance was long and low, sloping upward. I took it at a crouching run. Behind me was more confusion. Could the first man through have pulled the trigger cord again? That would give me time I needed.
Outside the cave I turned sharp right. The winding, half-exposed roof was almost Emil’s height. I went over it like a spider monkey and then under it, hiding under its protective bulk.
CY Aquarii was directly behind me, minutes from sunset. Its white light threw a sharp black shadow along the side of the root.
I started crawling uphill, staying in the shadow. Two sets of pelting footsteps followed me from the other side of the root.
Voices came from below, barely audible. They didn’t sound like a search in progress. Why not? I looked back and saw no pursuit. Halfway up the hill I slid out of my blue falling jumper, tucked it as far under the root as it would go, and went on, thinking kindly thoughts about tannin pills. Now I’d be all but invisible if I stayed in the shadows. All but my white hair.
Why had Lloobee made that grandstand play? It was as if he’d read my mind. He must have known there was no chance of escape for him. But I’d have had no chance without his diversion. Had he known I was conscious?
Could Kdatlyno read minds?
At the top of the hill I stopped in a cleft between two huge roots. The magenta tree seemed much too small to need all that root area, but the sunlight was rich, and maybe the soil was poor. And the roots would hide me.
But where were my pursuers?
I knew they needed me. They couldn’t dispose of Emil until they had me. Granted that they could find me as soon as it got dark; I’d stand out like a beacon on a heat sensor. But suppose I reached the car first?
The car!
Sure, that was it. While I was crouching somewhere or taking a tangled trail that would keep me hidden at all times, Bellamy or one of his men was taking the shortest, straightest route to my car. To move it before I could reach it.
I pounded my head to get it working. No use. I was stymied. The cave? I’d find guns in there, hunting guns. The anesthetic slivers probably wouldn’t work on human beings, but they might be poisonous—and they would certainly hurt. But no, I couldn’t attack the cave. There’d be no way around the booby trap.
But there’d be someone in there to turn the booby trap on and off and to guard Lloobee. Another on the way to the car, that made two.
The third would have found some high point, chosen days previously for its view of the surroundings. He’d be waiting now for a glimpse of my snow-white hair. I couldn’t break and run for the car.
Maybe.
And maybe the third man had been the first to come charging after me. And maybe he’d snatched at the trigger cord as he passed to turn off a police stunner that was already off. And maybe he’d run through the beam.
Maybe.
But if anyone reached the car, I was cooked.
I spun it over and over while handfuls of neede
d seconds passed me by. There was no other way to figure it. Tanya was back at camp. A second man was in the cave; a third was on the way to the car. The fourth either was waiting for me to show myself or he wasn’t. I had to risk it.
I came out from under the roots, running.
I’m good at sprinting, not so good at a long-distance run. The edge of the forest was half a mile away. I was walking when I got there and blowing like a city-sized air pump. There was no sign of anyone and no sign of the car. I stood just within the forest, sucking wind, nerving myself to run out into the fern grass.
Then Bellamy emerged to my left. He dog-trotted fearlessly out onto the veldt, into the fern grass, and stood looking around. One of Emil’s sonics dangled from one hand. He must have known by then that it was only a dueling pistol, but it was the only sonic he had.
He saw something to his right, something hidden from me by a curve of forest. He turned and trotted toward it.
I followed as best I could. Multicolored things kept tripping me, and I didn’t dare step out into the fern grass. Bellamy was going to get there first…
He was examining the car when I found him. The car was right out in the open, tens of yards from any cover. Any second now he’d get in and take off.
What was he waiting for? Me?
I knelt behind a magenta bush, dithering. Bellamy was peering into the backseat. He wanted to know just what we’d planned before he made his move. Every two seconds his head would pop up for a long, slow look around.
A black dot in the distance caught my eye. It took me a moment to realize that it was in the plastic goggles, blotting out the dot of actinic sunlight. The sun was right on the horizon.
Bellamy was opening the trunk.
…The sun.
I started circling. The magenta bushes offered some cover, and I used it all. Bellamy’s eyes maintained their steady sweep, but they hadn’t found me yet.
Abruptly he slammed the trunk, circled the car to get in.
I was where I wanted to be. My long shadow pointed straight at the car. I charged.
He looked up as I started. He looked straight at me, and then his eyes swept the curve of forest, taking their time. He bent to get into the car, and then he saw me. But his gun hand was in the car, and I was close enough. The dots on his goggles had covered more than CY Aquarii. They’d covered my approach.
My shoulder knocked him spinning away from the car, and I heard a metal tick. He got up fast, empty-handed. No gun. He’d dropped it. I turned to look in the car, fully expecting to find it on the floor or on the seat. It was nowhere to be seen. I looked back in time to duck, and his other hand caught me and knocked me away. I rolled with it and came to my feet.
He was standing in a relaxed boxer stance between me and the car.
“I’m going to break you, Bey.”
“So you can’t find the gun, either.”
“I don’t need it. Any normal ten-year-old could break you in two.”
“Then come on.” I dropped into boxer stance, thanking Finagle that he didn’t know karate or ju-whatsis or any of the other illegal killing methods. Hundreds of years had passed since the usual laws against carrying a concealed weapon were extended to cover special fighting methods, but Bellamy had had hundreds of years to learn. I’d come up lucky.
He came toward me, moving lightly and confidently, a flatlander in prime condition. He must have felt perfectly safe. What could he have to fear from an attenuated weakling, a man born and raised in We Made It’s point six gee? He grinned when he was almost in range, and I hit him in the mouth.
My range was longer than his.
He danced back, and I danced forward and hit him in the nose before he got his guard up. He’d have to get used to the extra reach of my arms. But his guard was up now, and I saw no point in punching his forearms.
“You’re a praying mantis,” he said. “An insect. Overspecialized.” And he moved in.
I moved back, punching lightly, staying out of his reach. He’d have to get used to that, too. His legs were too short. If he tried to move forward as fast as I could backpedal, he wouldn’t be able to keep his guard up.
He tried anyway. I caught him one below the ribs, and his head jerked up in surprise. I wasn’t hurting him much…but he’d been expecting love pats. Four years in Earth’s one point oh gee had put muscle on me, muscle that didn’t show along my long bones. He tried crowding me, and I caught him twice in the right eye. He tried keeping his guard intact, and that was suicide because he couldn’t reach me at all.
I caught that eye a third time. He bellowed, lowered his head, and charged.
I ran like a thief.
I’d led him in a half circle. He never had a chance to catch me. He reached the car just as I slammed the door in his face and locked it.
By the time he reached the left-hand door, I had that locked, too, and all the windows up. He was banging a rock on a window when I turned on the lift units and departed the field of battle.
He’d have to get used to my methods of fighting, too.
As I took the car up, I saw him running back toward the hunting camp.
No radio. No com laser. The base was a third of the way around the planet, and I’d have to go myself.
I set the autopilot to take me a thousand miles north of the base, flying low. Bellamy was bound to come after me with a car, and I didn’t want to be found.
Come to that, did he have a car? I hadn’t seen one.
Maybe he’d use—But that didn’t bear thinking about, so I didn’t.
A glove compartment held a small bar. Emil and I hadn’t depleted it much on the way out. I ordered something simple and sat sipping it.
The forest disappeared behind me. I watched the endless plain of fern grass whipping underneath. Mach four is drifting with the breeze if you’re a spaceman, but try it in a car with the altitude set for fifty yards. It wasn’t frightening; it was hypnotic.
The sun had been setting. Now it stayed just where it was, on the horizon, a little to my left. The ground was a blur; the sky was a frozen sphere. It was as if time had stopped.
I thought of Margo.
What an actress she would have made! The confusion she’d shown after the kidnapping. She hadn’t remembered the cargo mass meter; oh, no! She hadn’t even known Lloobee was one of her passengers! Sure she hadn’t.
She’d taken me for a fool.
I had no wish to harm her. When I told the MPs about Bellamy, she would not be mentioned. But she’d know that I knew.
I wondered what had brought her into this.
Come to that, what had brought Bellamy? He couldn’t need the money that badly. Simple kicks? Had he wanted to strike at human-alien relationships? The races of known space are vastly richer for the interstellar trade. But Bellamy had lived through at least three human-kzinti wars; he’d read of things that looked like Lloobee in his children’s books.
He was a man displaced in time. I remembered the way he’d said “stark naked.” I’d used a nudist’s license myself on Earth, not because I believed the incredible claims for nudism’s health-giving properties but because I was with friends who did. Come to that, I was nude now. (Would I have to buy a license when I reached the base?) But Bellamy had laughed when he’d said it. Nudism was funny.
I remembered the archaisms in his speech.
Bellamy. He’d done nothing seriously wrong, not until he had decided to kill Emil and me. We could have been friends. Now it was too late. I finished my drink and crumpled the cup; it evaporated.
A black streak on my goggles at the edge of my right eye.
…Much too late. The black blotch of Bellamy’s fusion flame was far to the north, passing me. He’d done it. He’d brought the Drunkard’s Walk.
Had he seen me?
The ship curved around toward the sun, slowed, and stopped in my path. It came down my throat. I swerved; Bellamy swerved to meet me.
He flashed by overhead, and my car, moving at Mach four, bucked
under the lash of the sonic boom. The crash field gripped me for an instant, then went off.
He turned and came from behind.
Slam! And he was disappearing into the blue and green and orange sunset. What was he playing at? He must know that one touch of fusion flame would finish me.
He could end me any time he pleased. The Drunkard’s Walk was moving at twice my speed, and Bellamy moved it about like an extension of his fingers. He was playing with me.
Again he turned, and again the hypersonic boom slapped me down. The blur of veldt came up at me, then receded. Another such might slap me into the fern grass at Mach four.
He wasn’t playing. He was trying to force me to land. My corpse was to carry no evidence of murder.
Slam! And again the black blotch shrank against the sunset.
It was no playboy’s yacht he was flying. Such an expensive toy would have been long and slender, with a superfluous needle nose and low maneuverability due to its heavy angular movement. The Drunkard’s Walk was short, with big attitude jets showing like nostrils in the stubby nose. I should have known when I saw the landing legs. Big and wide and heavy, folded now into the hull, but when they were down, they were comically splayfooted, with a wide reach to hold the ship on almost any terrain.
The playboy’s flashy paint job was indirection only. The ship…
The ship made a wide loop ahead of me and came slashing back.
I pulled back hard on the wheel.
The blood left my head, and then the crash field took hold. I was in a cushioned shell, and the crash field held my shape like an exoskeleton. As I curved up to meet him Bellamy came down my throat.
Give him a taste of his own medicine!
If I hadn’t been half-loaded, I’d never have done it.
A crash now was the last thing Bellamy wanted. It would leave evidence not only on the car but on the Drunkard’s Walk. But space pilots crack up more cars. They can’t get used to the idea that in the atmosphere of a planet Mach four is fast. He must have been doing Mach eight himself.
He pulled up too late.
I smashed into the ship’s flank at a low angle. Without the crash field I’d have been hamburger. As it was, I blacked out instantly.
