Classic Fiction

by Hal Clement

  As the Bree approached the barricade, the bombardment stopped. Barlennan had thought it might be continued to prevent their approaching and clearing the obstacle away, but when they reached it they found this to be superfluous. The spears were there to stay; they had been dropped from nearly a hundred feet with superlative aim in a field of seven gravities, and nothing short of power machinery was going to extract them. Terblannen and Hars proved that in five minutes of fruitless upward tugging.

  “Can’t you cut them?” Lackland asked from his distant observation point. “Those pincers of yours are pretty powerful, as I know.”

  “These are wood, not metal,” Barlennan replied. “We would need one of your hard metal saws, which you claimed would attack even our wood—unless you have some machine for pulling them out.”

  “You must have tools which will cut it; how do you do repair work on your ship? The rafts certainly didn’t grow in that shape.”

  “Our cutting tools are made of animal teeth set in strong frames, and most of them are not very portable. What we have we will use, but I doubt that we’ll be given time to do much.”

  “I should think you could keep attackers away by fire.”

  “We can, if they come from downwind. I find it hard to imagine their being that stupid.”

  Lackland fell silent, while the crew fell to work on the stakes with such edged tools as they could find. Their personal knives were of hardwood and would make no impression on the spears, but as Barlennan had intimated there were a few bone and ivory cutters, and these began to chip away at the incredibly tough wood.

  Digging was also attempted by some of the crew who lacked tools; they took turns in sinking to the bottom of the inches-deep brook, working the clay loose and letting its particles wash away in the sluggish current. Dondragmer watched these workers for a time, then pointed out that it would probably be easier to dig a canal around the obstruction than to grub out two dozen sticks from a depth of some four feet. This suggestion was eagerly adopted by the members of the crew who had nothing to cut with, and work progressed at a remarkable rate.

  The gliders kept circling while ail this was going on; apparently they either remained overnight or were replaced by others during the minutes of darkness—no one could tell which. Barlennan kept a sharp watch on the hills to either side of the stream, expecting ground forces to appear at any moment; but for a long time his own crew and the gliders formed the only moving parts of the scenery.

  The crews of the gliders themselves remained invisible; no one could even tell how many or what sort of creatures rode in the machines, though both human beings and Mesklinites had come to take more or less for granted that they belonged to Barlennan’s race. They showed no evident anxiety about the sailors’ digging activities, but it became evident finally that the excavation had not gone unnoticed.

  The job was about three quarters finished when they took action; another series of bombing runs left the path of the new waterway as completely staked off as the original. As before, pains were apparently taken to avoid transfixing any of the crew. The action, however, was about as discouraging as if it had been a personal assault; quite evidently the digging process was useless, since the work of days could be nullified in a matter of minutes. Some other line of procedure must be devised.

  At the Earthmen’s advice, Barlennan had long since ordered his men not to gather in large groups; but now he drew them in toward the ship, establishing a loose cordon parallel to the string of rafts on each side of the creek. The men were far enough apart so there was no really tempting target from above, and close enough to support each other in case an attack actually developed. There they stayed; Barlennan wished it made evident that the next move was up to the personnel of the gliders. They failed to make it, however, for several more days.

  Then a dozen more of the flimsy craft appeared in the distance, swooped overhead, split into two groups, and landed on the hilltops to either side of the imprisoned ship. The landings were made as the Flyers had foretold, into the wind; the machines skidded to a stop in a few feet from their point of touchdown. Four beings emerged from each, leaped to the wings, and hastily tied the gliders down, using the local bushes as anchors. What had been assumed all along now proved to be a fact; they were identical in form, size, and coloring with the sailors of the Bree.

  Once the gliders were secured, their crews proceeded to set up a collapsible structure upwind from them, and attach cords equipped with hooks to this. They appeared to be measuring quite carefully the distance from this device to the nearest glider. Only when this task was completed did they pay any attention to the Bree or her crew. A single prolonged wail that sounded from one hilltop to the other apparently served as a signal that the work was complete.

  Then the glider crews on the leeward hill began to descend the slope. They did not leap, as they had during the action subsequent to landing, but crawled in the caterpillarlike fashion which was the only means of locomotion Barlennan’s people had known prior to his exploration of the Rim. In spite of this they made good speed, and were within reasonable throwing distance—as several of the more pessimistic sailors regarded it—by sundown. They stopped at that point and waited for the night to pass; there was just enough light from the moons for each party to see that the other did nothing suspicious.

  With the coming of sunlight the advance was resumed, and eventually terminated with one of the newcomers only a yard or so from the nearest sailor, while his companions hung a few feet farther back. None of the party seemed to be armed, and Barlennan went to meet them, first ordering two sailors to swing one of the vision sets so that it pointed directly at the place of meeting.

  The glider pilot wasted no time, but began speaking as soon as Barlennan stopped in front of him. The captain failed to understand a word. After a few sentences the speaker appeared to realize this; he paused and, after a moment continued at somewhat slower speed in what Barlennan judged to be a different language. To save the time that a random search through the tongues known to the other would consume, Barlennan this time indicated his lack of comprehension verbally. The other shifted languages once more, and rather to his surprise Barlennan heard his own speech, uttered slowly and badly pronounced, but quite comprehensible.

  “It is long since I have heard your tongue spoken,” the other said. “I trust I can still be understood when I use it. Do you follow me?”

  “I can understand you perfectly well,” replied Barlennan.

  “Good. I am Reejaaren, linguist for Marreni, who is Officer of the Outer Ports. I am ordered to find out who you are and where you are from, and your purpose in sailing the seas about these islands.”

  “We are on a trading journey, with no particular destination.” Barlennan had no intention of talking about his connection with the creatures of another world. “We did not know of the existence of these islands; we simply were heading away from the Rim, of which we had had enough. If you wish to trade with us, we are willing to do business; if not, we ask only to be allowed to continue our journey.”

  “Our ships and gliders trade on these seas—we have never seen others,” replied Reejaaren. “I fail to understand one point. The trader far to the south from whom I learned your language said that he came from a country that lay on the farther side of a sea across the western continent. We know that there is no sea passage from that ocean to this between here and the ice; yet you were sailing from the north when we first sighted you. That would suggest that you were quartering back and forth through these seas in deliberate search of land. How does that square with your story? We do not like spies.”

  “We came from the north, after crossing the land between this ocean and ours.” Barlennan had no time to think up a convincing lie, though he realized that the truth was likely to be unbelievable. Reejaaren’s expression showed that he was right.

  “Your ship was obviously built with large tools, which you do not have. That means a shipyard, and there is none to the north on this ocea
n. Do you want me to believe you took her apart and dragged her across that much land?”

  “Yes.” Barlennan felt that he saw his way out.

  “How?”

  “How do you fly? Some would find that much harder to believe.” The question was not quite as good a one as Barlennan had hoped, judging by the interpreter’s reaction.

  “I am sure you do not expect me to tell you that. Mere trespassers we may tolerate; but spies receive much harder treatment.” The captain covered up as well as he could.

  “I did not expect you to tell me. I was simply pointing out as tactfully as possible that perhaps you should not have asked me how we crossed the land barrier.”

  “Oh, but I should—and must. You do not yet seem to realize your position, Stranger. What you think of me is unimportant; but what I think of you counts a great deal. To put it simply, to leave here as you desire you will have to convince me that you are harmless.”

  “But what harm could we do you—the crew of a single ship? Why should you fear us so?”

  “We do not fear you!” The answer was sharp and emphatic. “The damage you could do is obvious—one person, let alone a shipload, could take away information which we do not wish to give. We realize, of course, that the barbarians could not learn the secret of flight unless it were very carefully explained to them; that is why I laughed at your question. Still, you should be more careful.”

  Barlennan had not heard any laughter, and began to suspect a good deal about the interpreter and his people. For some reason they were unusually afraid of other races and nations; the contempt expressed by Reejaaren’s word “barbarians” was not usual and hardly defensible. Whether he actually regarded Barlennan as his inferior in culture and knowledge was hard to tell; but the captain was practical psychologist enough not to say or do anything that would tend to oppose such a belief. There was no point in getting the interpreter angry—contempt was a safer emotion, whether the situation came to selling or simply getting away. A half truth that seemed like yielding on Barlennan’s part would probably be the best move.

  “We had much help pulling the ship across the land,” he said, putting a little sullenness in his tone.

  “From the rock-rollers and river-dwellers? You must have a remarkably persuasive tongue. We have never received anything but missiles from them.”

  To Barlennan’s relief, Reejaaren did not pursue the subject further. He returned to more immediate matters.

  “So you desire to trade with us, now that you are here. What have you to trade? And I suppose you wish to go to one of our cities?” Barlennan sensed the trap, and answered accordingly.

  “We will trade here, or anywhere else you desire, though we would rather not go any farther from the sea. All we have to trade at the moment is a load of foods from the isthmus, which you doubtless have in great quantity already because of your flying machines.”

  “Food can usually be sold,” the interpreter replied noncommittally. “Would you be willing to do your trading before you got any closer to the sea?”

  “If necessary, as I said, though I don’t see why it should be necessary. Your flying machines could catch us before we got very far, if we tried to leave the coast before you wanted, couldn’t they?” Reejaaren might have been losing his suspicions up to this point, but the last question restored them in full force.

  “Perhaps we could, but that is not for me to say. Marreni will decide, of course, but I suspect you might as well plan on lightening your ship here. There will be port fees, of course, in any case.”

  “Port fees? This is no port, and I didn’t land here; I was washed up.”

  “Nevertheless, foreign ships must pay port fees. I might point out that the amount is determined by the Officer of the Outer Ports, and he will get much of his impression of you through me. A little more courtesy might be in order.”

  Barlennan restrained his temper with difficulty, but agreed aloud that the interpreter spoke the clearest truth. He said it at some length, and apparently mollified that individual to some extent. At any rate he departed without further threats, overt or implied. Barlennan expressed himself to his mate at length and with feeling as the interpreter climbed the hill once more and got into his glider.

  Two of his fellows accompanied him; the other remained behind. Men from the other gliders hastily seized the two ropes attached to the collapsible framework and pulled. The cords stretched unbelievably, until their hooks were finally fastened to an attachment in the glider’s nose. The aircraft was then released and the ropes contracted to their original length, hurling the glider into the air. Barlennan instantly formed a heartfelt desire for some of that stretching rope. He said so, and Dondragmer sympathized. He had heard the entire conversation, and sympathized also with his captain’s feelings toward the linguist for the Officer of the Outer Ports.

  “You know, Barl, I think we could put that lad in his place. Want to try it?”

  “I’d love to, but I don’t think we can afford to let him get mad at us until we’re good and far away. I don’t want him and his friends dropping their spears on the Bree now or any other time.”

  “I don’t mean to make him angry, but afraid of us. ‘Barbarians’—he’ll eat that word if I have to cook it personally for him. It all depends on certain things: do the Flyers know how these gliders work, and will they tell us?”

  “They probably know, unless they’ve had better ones for so long they’ve forgotten—”

  “So much the better, for what I have in mind.”

  “. . . But I’m not sure whether they’ll tell. I think you know by now what I’m really hoping to get out of this trip; I want to learn everything I possibly can of the Flyers’ science. That’s why I want to get to that rocket of theirs near the Center; Charles himself said that it contained much of the most advanced scientific equipment they have. When we have that, there won’t be a pirate afloat or ashore who’ll be able to touch the Bree, and we’ll have paid our last port dues—we’ll be able to write our own menus from then on.”

  “I guessed as much.”

  “That’s why I wonder whether they’ll tell what you want; they may suspect what I’m after.”

  “I think you’re too suspicious yourself. Have you ever asked for any of this scientific information you want to steal?”

  “Yes; Charles always said it was too difficult to explain.”

  “Maybe he was right; maybe he doesn’t know it himself. I want to ask one of his people about these gliders, anyway; I want to watch that Reejaaren grovel.”

  “Just what is this idea of yours, anyway?”

  Dondragmer told him, at length. The captain was dubious at first, but gradually grew more enthusiastic; and finally they went over to the radios together.

  XIII.

  Fortunately, Reejaaren did not return for a good many days. His people remained; four to six gliders were always drifting overhead, and several more squatted on the hilltops beside their catapults. The number of aircraft did not change noticeably, but the population of the hilltops increased day by day. Barlennan could not tell whether gliders were leaving and returning with more people, or whether some or all of the newcomers were arriving on foot. He did not particularly care, since he had matters of more immediate importance to settle. No further attempt was being made to free the ship, since that would obviously be an error in diplomacy; but the crew was busy just the same.

  Barlennan and his mate were alternately at the radios and talking long and earnestly to the crew; the Earthmen above had entered into Dondragmer’s plan with enthusiasm and, Barlennan suspected, some little amusement. A few of the sailors were unable to pick up what was needed with sufficient speed, and had to be left out of the main plan in one sense; but even they understood the situation and would, Barlennan was sure, be able to contribute to the desired effect. In the meantime, he put them to work repairing the shattered masts, whose rigging had at least kept them with the ship.

  Some other physical work was also done
during this time; such goods as Barlennan cared to trade from the material he had acquired crossing the isthmus were unloaded and displayed on shore. As he had said, they amounted to little, principally supplies of the “fir cones” and materials acquired from the rock-rollers. The captain did not care too much whether these were greatly desired by his present customers or not, provided he could unload enough to purchase some of the stretching rope and a supply of the fabric used in covering the wings on the gliders. The latter was a new desire, picked up as a result of his conversations with the Earthmen about the operation of the flying machines.

  He realized perfectly well that neither item might be for sale, but he intended to try, anyway. He saw uses for both of them.

  The plan was matured and well rehearsed long before the interpreter’s return, and the officers found themselves impatient to try it out though Dondragmer had been spending time at the radio meanwhile on yet another project. In fact, after controlling themselves for a few days, the captain and mate strolled one morning up the hill toward the parked gliders with a full determination to make a test of the idea, though neither had said a word to the other about his intention. The weather had completely cleared long since, and there was only the perpetual wind of Mesklin’s seas to help or hinder flying. Apparently it wanted to help; the gliders were tugging at their tie-down cables like living creatures, and crewmen were standing by the wings with a secure grip on the surrounding bushes, evidently ready to add their strength if necessary to that of the restraining lines.

  Barlennan and Dondragmer approached the machines until they were ordered sharply to halt. They had no idea of the rank or authority of the individual giving the order, since he wore no insignia; but it was not part of their plan to argue such matters. They halted, and looked over the machines casually from a distance of thirty or forty yards, while the crewmen looked back rather belligerently. Apparently Reejaaren’s superciliousness was not a rare trait with his nation.