by Hal Clement
Lackland paused. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted after a moment. “I’d want to measure them more carefully first. Maybe it would be best if the tank went down alone first, with you and anyone else who cared for the ride traveling on top. That way we might look more peaceful, too—they must have seen the weapons your men were carrying, and if we leave them behind—”
“They didn’t see any weapons unless their eyes are a great deal better than ours,” pointed out Barlennan. “However, I agree that we’d better go down first and measure—or better yet, tow the ship around the valley first and go down afterward as a side trip; I see no need to risk her in those narrow channels.”
“That’s a thought. Yes, I guess it would be the best idea, at that. Will you tell your crew what we’ve decided, and ask if any of them want to come down with us afterward?”
Barlennan agreed, and returned to the Bree for the purpose—he could speak in a lower tone there, although he did not feel that there was any real danger of being overheard and understood.
The crew in general accepted the advisability of taking the ship around rather than through the city, but from that point on there was a little difficulty. All of them wanted to see the town, but none would even consider riding on the tank, often as they had seen their captain do so without harm. A habit that amounts to a fixed conditioning is extremely hard to break. Dondragmer broke the deadlock by suggesting that the crew, except for those left to guard the Bree, follow the tank into the town; there was no need to ride, since all could now keep up with the speed the vehicle had been using up to this time. Barlennan approved of this suggestion.
The few minutes this discussion consumed brought the sun once more above the horizon; and at Barlennan’s signal the Earthman swung the tank ninety degrees and started around the rim of the valley just below its coping of boulders. He had taken a look at the city before starting, and saw no sign of life; but as the tank and its tow swung into motion heads appeared once more at the small doors—many more of them, this time. Lackland was able to concentrate on his driving, sure now that their owners would still be there when he was free to examine them more closely. He attended to his job for the few days required to get the sled around to the far side of the valley; then the tow cable was cast off, and the nose of the tank pointed downhill.
Practically no steering was required; the vehicle tended to follow the course of the first channel it met, and went by itself toward the space which Lackland had come to regard—wholly without justification—as the market place of the town. Approximately half of the Bree’s crew followed; the rest, under the second mate, remained as guards on the ship. Barlennan, as usual, rode on the tank’s roof, with most of the small remaining supply of trade goods piled behind him—most of his crew by now were willing to throw things, even though they wouldn’t climb or jump.
The rising sun was behind them as they approached from this side of the valley, so the seeing was good. There was much to see; some of the town’s inhabitants emerged entirely from their dwellings as the strangers approached. Neither Lackland nor Barlennan attached any significance to the fact that all who did this were on the far side of the open space; those closer to the approaching travelers remained well under cover. They supposed, if they thought of the matter consciously at all, that it was only because the more distant individuals felt safer.
As the distance narrowed, one fact became evident; the creatures were not, in spite of initial appearances, of the same race as Barlennan. Similar they were, indeed; body shape, proportions, number of eyes and limbs—all matched; but the city dwellers were over three times the length of the travelers from the far south. Five feet in length they stretched over the stone floors of the channels, with body breadth and thickness to match. Lackland hoped that their muscular strength would only match the gravity where they lived, but realized that this was unlikely—no creature so feeble could compete against its neighbors from points a little farther from the equator.
Some of the things had reared the front third of their long bodies high into the air, in an evident effort to see better as the tank approached—an act that separated them from Barlennan’s people as effectively as their size. These swayed a trifle from side to side as they watched, somewhat like the snakes Lackland had seen in museums on Earth. Except for this barely perceptible motion they did not stir as the strange metal monster crawled steadily down the channel it had chosen, almost disappeared as the walls which formed the homes of the city dwellers rose gradually to its roof on either side, and finally nosed its way out into the open central space of the town through what had become an alley barely wide enough for its bulk. If they spoke, it was too quietly for either Lackland or Barlennan to hear; even the gestures of pincer-bearing arms that took the place of so much verbal conversation with the Mesklinites Lackland knew was missing. The creatures simply waited and watched.
The silence continued for a minute or two after the tank came to a halt. Perhaps the natives were readjusting their eyesight after their encounter with the tank’s searchlight; the last half of the descent had been made at night.
The sailors edged around the tank through the narrow space left—Lackland had just barely completed emerging from the alley—and stared almost as silently as the natives. Dwellings, to them, consisted of three-inch-high walls with fabric roofs for weather protection; the idea of a covering of solid material was utterly strange to them. If they had not been seeing with their own eyes the giant city dwellers actually inside the weird structures, Barlennan’s men would have taken the latter for some new sort of natural formation.
Lackland simply sat at his controls, looked, and speculated. This was a waste of time, really, since he did not have enough data for constructive imagination; but he had the sort of mind that could not remain completely idle. He looked about the city and tried to picture the regular life of its inhabitants, until Barlennan’s actions attracted his attention.
The captain did not believe in wasting time; he was going to trade with these people, and, if they wouldn’t trade, he would move on. His action, which focused Lackland’s attention on him, was to start tossing the packaged trade goods from the roof beside him, and calling to his men to get busy. This they did, once the packages had stopped falling. Barlennan himself leaped to the ground after the last bundle—an act which did not seem to bother in the least the silently watching giants—and joined in the task of preparing the goods for display. The Earthman watched with interest.
There were bolts of what looked like cloth of various colors, bundles that might have been dried roots or pieces of rope, tiny covered jars and larger empty ones—a good, varied display of objects whose purpose, for the most part, he could only guess at.
With the unveiling of this material the natives began to crowd forward; whether in curiosity or menace Lackland could not tell. None of the sailors showed visible apprehension—he had come to have some ability at recognizing this emotion in their kind. By the time their preparations seemed to be complete an almost solid ring of natives surrounded the tank. The way it had come was the only direction unblocked by their long bodies. The silence among the strange beings persisted, and was beginning to bother Lackland; but Barlennan was either indifferent to it or able to conceal his feelings. He picked an individual out of the crowd, using no particular method of choice that the Earthman could see, and began his selling program.
How he went about it Lackland was utterly unable to understand. The captain had said he did not expect these people to understand his language, yet he spoke; his gestures were meaningless to Lackland, though he used them freely. How any understanding could be transmitted was a complete mystery to the alien watcher; yet apparently Barlennan was having some degree of success. The trouble was, of course, that Lackland in his few months’ acquaintance with the strange creatures had not gained more than the tiniest bit of insight into their psychology. He can hardly be blamed; professionals years later were still being puzzled by it. So much of the Mesklinite
action and gesticulation is tied in directly with the physical functioning of their bodies that its meaning, seen by another member of the same race, is automatically clear; these giant city-dwellers, though not of Barlennan’s precise species, were similar enough in makeup so that communication was not the problem Lackland naturally assumed it would be.
In a fairly short time, a number of the creatures were emerging from their homes with various articles which they apparently wished to trade, and other members of the Bree’s crew took active part in the bargaining. This continued as the sun swept across the sky, and through the period of darkness—Barlennan asked Lackland to furnish illumination from the tank. If the artificial light bothered or surprised the giants at all, even Barlennan was unable to detect any signs of the fact. They paid perfect attention to the business at hand, and when one had gotten rid of what he had or acquired what he seemed to want, he would retire to his home and leave room for another. The natural result was that a few days later all of Barlennan’s remaining trade goods had changed hands, and the new articles were transferred to the roof of the tank.
Most of these things were as strange to Lackland as the original trade materials had been; but two attracted his attention particularly. Both were apparently living animals, though he could not make out their details too well because of their small size. Both appeared to be domesticated; each stayed crouched at the side of the sailor who had purchased it, and evinced no desire to move away. Lackland guessed—.correctly, as it turned out—that these were creatures of the sort the sailors had been hoping to raise in order to test possible plant foods.
“Is that all the trading you’re going to do?” he called, as the last of the local inhabitants drifted away from the neighborhood of the tank.
“It’s all we can do,” replied Barlennan. “We have nothing more to trade. Have you any suggestions, or do you want to continue our journey now?”
“I’d like very much to find out what the interiors of those houses are like; but I couldn’t possibly get through the doors, even if I could discard my armor. Would you or any of your people be willing to try to get a look inside?”
Barlennan was a trifle hesitant. “I’m not sure whether it would be wise. These people traded peacefully enough, but there’s something about them that bothers me, though I can’t exactly put a nipper on it. Maybe it’s because they didn’t argue enough over prices.”
“You mean you don’t trust them— you think they’ll try to get back what they’ve given, now that you’re out of trade goods?”
“I wouldn’t say precisely that; as I said, I don’t have actual reason for my feeling. I’ll put it this way; if the tank gets back to the valley rim and hooked up to the ship so that we’re all ready to go, and we’ve had no trouble from these things in the meantime, I’ll come back down and take that look myself. Fair enough?”
Neither Barlennan nor Lackland paid any attention to the natives during this conversation; but for the first time, the city dwellers did not share this indifference. The nearer giants turned and eyed, with every indication of curiosity, the small box from which Lackland’s voice was coming. As the talk went on, more and more of them drew near and listened; the spectacle of someone talking to a box too small to contain any intelligent creature they knew seemed, for the first time, to break down a wall of reserve that not even the tank had been able to affect. As Lackland’s final agreement to Barlennan’s suggestion came booming from the tiny speaker, and it became evident that the conversation was over, several of the listeners disappeared hastily into their homes and emerged almost at once with more objects. These they presented, with gestures which the sailors now understood quite well. The giants wanted the radio, and were willing to pay handsomely for it.
Barlennan’s refusal seemed to puzzle them. Each in turn offered a higher price than his predecessor. At last, Barlennan made an ultimate refusal in the only way he could; he tossed the set onto the roof of the tank, leaped after it, and ordered his men to begin throwing the newly acquired property up to him. For several seconds the giants seemed nonplussed; then, as though by signal, they turned away and disappeared into their narrow doorways.
Barlennan felt more uneasy than ever, and kept watch on as many portals as his eyes could cover while he stowed the newly bought goods; but it was not from the dwellings that the danger came. It was the great Hars who saw it, as he half reared himself over his fellows in imitation of the natives to toss a particularly bulky package up to his captain. His eye chanced to rove back up the channel they had descended; and as it did so he gave one of the incredibly loud hoots which never failed to amaze—and startle—Lackland. He followed the shriek with a burst of speech which meant nothing to the Earthman; but Barlennan understood, looked, and said enough in English to get the important part across.
“Charles! Look back uphill! Move!”
Lackland looked, and in the instant of looking understood completely the reason for the weird layout of the city. One of the giant boulders, fully half the size of the tank, had become dislodged from its position on the valley rim. It had been located just above the wide mouth of the channel down which the tank had come; the slowly rising walls were guiding it squarely along the path the vehicle had followed. It was still half a mile away and far above; but its downward speed was building up each instant as its tons of mass yielded to the tug of a gravity three times as strong as that of the earth!
VIII.
Flesh and blood have their limits as far as speed is concerned, but Lackland came very close to setting new ones. He did not stop to solve any differential equations which would tell him the rock’s time of arrival; he threw power into the motors, turned the tank ninety degrees in a distance that threatened to twist off one of its treads, and got out from the mouth of the channel which was guiding the huge projectile toward him. Only then did he really come to appreciate the architecture of the city. The channels did not come straight in to the open space, as he had noticed; instead, they were so arranged that at least two could guide a rock across any portion of the plaza. His action was sufficient to dodge the first, but it had been foreseen; and more rocks were already on their way.
For a moment he looked around in all directions, in a futile search for a position which was not about to be traversed by one of the terrible projectiles; then he deliberately swung the nose of the tank into one of the channels and started uphill. There was a boulder descending this one, too; a boulder which to Barlennan seemed the biggest of the lot—and to be growing bigger each second. The Mesklinite gathered himself for a leap, wondering if the Flyer had lost his senses; then a roar that outdid anything his own vocal apparatus could produce sounded beside him. If his nervous system had reacted like that of most Earthly animals, he would have landed halfway up the hill. The startle reaction of his race, however, was to freeze motionless, so for the next few seconds it would have taken heavy machinery to get him off the tank roof. Four hundred yards away, fifty yards ahead of the plunging rock, a section of the channel erupted into flame and dust—the fuses on Lackland’s shells were sensitive enough to react instantly even to such grazing impact.
An instant later the rock hurtled into the dust cloud, and the quick-firer roared again, this time emitting half a dozen barks that blended almost indistinguishably with each other. A fair half of the boulder emerged from the dust cloud, no longer even roughly spherical. The energy of the shells had stopped it almost completely; friction took care of the rest long before it reached the tank. It now had too many flat and concave surfaces to roll very well.
There were other boulders in position to roll down this channel, but they did not come. Apparently the giants were able to analyze a new situation with fair speed, and realized that this method was not going to destroy the tank. Lackland had no means of knowing what else they might do, but the most obvious possibility was a direct personal attack. They could certainly, or almost certainly, get to the top of the tank as easily as Barlennan and repossess everything they had sold as
well as the radio; it was hard to see how the sailors were to stop them. He put this thought to Barlennan.
“They may try that, indeed,” was the answer. “However, if they try to climb up we can strike down at them; if they jump we have our clubs, and I do not see how anyone can dodge a blow while sailing through the air.”
“But how can you hold off alone an attack from several directions at once?”
“I am not alone.” Once again came the pincer gesture that was the Mesklinite equivalent of a smile.
Lackland could only see the roof of his tank by sticking his head up into a tiny, transparent view dome, and he could not do this with the helmet of his armor on. Consequently he had not seen the results of the brief “battle” as they applied to the sailors who had accompanied him into the city.
These unfortunates had been faced with a situation as shocking as had their captain when he first found himself on the roof on the tank. They had seen objects—heavy objects—actually falling on them, while they themselves were trapped in an area surrounded by vertical walls which were guiding the fearful missiles inexorably toward them. To climb was unthinkable, though the sucker-feet which served them so well in Mesklin’s hurricanes would have served as adequately in this task; to jump as they had now seen their captain do several times was almost as bad—perhaps worse. It was not, however, physically impossible; and when minds fail, bodies are apt to take over.
Every sailor but two jumped; one of the two exceptions climbed—rapidly and well—up the wall of a “house.” The other was Hars, who had first seen the danger. Perhaps his superior physical strength made him slower than the others to panic; perhaps he had more than the normal horror of height. Whatever the reason, he was still on the ground when a rock the size of a basketball and almost as perfectly round passed over the spot he was occupying.
