by Dark Planet
Would they be more of those humanlike things, like that solitary one he had seen? He hoped, wildly, that it might be so. Blind conviction assured him they would be friendly, even helpful, if only they could be located and met. But while he was still building that fantastic hope in his mind, an idea came to him that lit a fire of urgency in him.
"Come on!" he muttered, levering the girl loose from her clutch, and nudging Evans out of his daze. "That thing must have gorged a hell of a track in the mud. A furrow. Better than sludging in this stuff. And all uphill, too! Come on!"
He ran forward in an awkward slurping scramble as fast as he could, with the girl frantic at his heels and Evans puffing and snorting after.
"What the hell . . . you reckon that was?" the old man panted. "Some kind ... of lizard? Suppose . . . there's more?"
"Thing that size ... we ought to be able to dodge it!" Query reached an upflung ramp of stinking mud, hurled
39 himself at it and over and down the far side, slithering crazily into a trench that had a gravelly bottom. He scrambled up in time to see Lieutenant Evans come over the edge and skid down on her front, almost swimming, struggling madly; and then the old man, arms flailing and feet slipping out from under him. He waited only long enough to be sure they were unhurt then started up the ready-made track at a trot, turning his head to urge them on, "before it has time to flow back and swamp us. We may just get to somewhere high and half-dry. Come on!"
The mud walls were high on either side and already starting the slow slide back to fluid level, but the center of the track was reasonably clear. But not completely, as he found when he caught his foot in a half-buried root and went staggering to his knees. All this while he had carried the alloy tube, senselessly, with no clear purpose in mind except an instinctive need to clutch something. He got up and ran on, breathless and leg weary, sweating but unwilling to stop. And now, ahead, the pole was going to come in useful, possibly. He slowed to a cautious walk, then halted. Square in the base of the newly cut furrow lay something yellowish and jellylike, a roughly spherical blob about two feet deep.
It might be alive, he thought, edging close enough to prod it and be ready to duck back. It quivered. He prodded again, and it split and burst, releasing a flood of bright yellow ooze. The stench that came off it, hot and strong, made him heave instantly, and retch helplessly for a minute. As soon as he could straighten up and hold his breath, he scrambled queasily around and past it to stagger on.
"Sorry about that," he choked. "Won't do it again!"
His legs began to fail, to tremble with exhaustion, and his stomach was knotting itself into protests of its own. Sweat fairly spouted from him now as he shambled on. A part of his mind went away, cleared and looked down on his futile struggles with cold scorn.
You're doing it again! it said. Aren't you? Yielding to primitive instincts. Can't give up, can you? Lie down and die, you bloody fool! You know you're dead. Why keep on struggling?
But his body, his inheritance over untold millions of years of survival, kept right on driving, staggering, falling down and getting up again, going on with neither rhyme, reason nor sense. Until there was nothing left to get up with, and panic had nothing more to feed on. Until he fell to his knees and knew that he just could not get back up again. Breath burned in his throat as he labored for it. Reason came in and took charge. He fell flat on the damp, gravelly soil, rolled over and lay still, looking up into blue green glow-mist.
As his chest and lungs worked away by themselves, and his legs shivered in exhaustion, he realized, irrelevantly, that he could see more now and further. The dark blue boles on either side were indeed trees of some kind. At any rate they had extensions, and bits stuck on them, like branches and leaves. Would they light up, he wondered, if he could find the breath to shout loudly? And what about that light, anyway? Sunlight surely never got this far. Only this curious blue green glow, like being underwater. His memory grasped at that. It happened underwater, didn't it? Fish that spent all their lives away down deep in the ocean beds, in perpetual darkness, they had lights of their own. So why not here?
His breathing eased gradually, was almost comfortable, but now he was aware of hot wire cramps starting up in his stomach. Hunger? Or was it the first pangs of something worse? He sighed and levered himself up on his elbows, just in time to see Lieutenant Evans staggering into sight, reeling like a sleepwalker. Her dark brown hair hung in a stringy mass, matted with mud and sweat, against the stark pallor of her face. Her eyes were dark hollows of fatigue and fear. Her once sleek uniform was thick with the chocolate brown mud, burst-split at elbows and knees and gaping loosely in front, her straining breasts streaked and patched with the same stuff, a pathetic single strand of gold braid dangling from her waist. Her feet were a shapeless pair of blobs. She leaned into an invisible wind, caught her foot on his and fell, slowly and helplessly, so that he stretched to catch her and ease her down by his side. And now came the old man, really old now, tottering, caked in mud all over except his face, which was darkly
41 red with effort. He, too, fell and rolled over and lay stilL
Query stared at them dully, his mind working as if full of the same mud. Why—the wonder came slowly—why hadn't the mud rolled back by now? He swiveled his tired eyes to look. It wasn't mud. The low wall on either side was a roughcast furrow of stony, gravelly earth, damp but firm enough to stand. Beyond those walls was a thickness of wild growth, bushes and shrubs and creepers and undergrowth. And the inscrutable, standing trees. No mud. They must be on some kind of high ground, he reasoned, shaking his head and having to use effort to stop it shaking. High ground. No point in running anymore. Safe here as anywhere else. He thought that over, then looked again at his companions. Die right here, why not?
The girl lay flat on her back, and his eye lingered on the upturned swell of her bosom, the rounded flesh seeming to symbolize to him all that was feminine and human and wasted. Beautiful girl destined to be some man's love, some child's mother . . . but now to die and rot here. That didn't seem right. Half-dreamily, he reached out a hand to brush away a flake of mud from her breast, and she stirred, rolled her head, caught his hand and held it fearfully tight to her flesh, her unspoken need burning in her eyes.
Then he felt movement on his other side, a grunt and wheeze, and Evans nudged him. "Just about got my breath back, Query. Not as young as I was. And this damned heat. Takes all the buck out of a man. Seem to be shut of the mud, though. What do we do now?"
"Why ask me? How would I know?"
"Damnit, you know the planet. Been here six months, haven't you?"
"Inside a bubble dome.In a protective suit. Nobody knows the planet!"
"Hah! Weill Got to do something, damnit! Can't just flop here, and wait for that blasted lizard thing to come back. Got to do something!"
"Such as what?" Query drew his hand away from its warm contact and sat up, but she sat up with him and caught his hand again, crowding close to him. He could feel her shivering. "Such as what?" he repeated.
42
"Got to get on, keep moving. Chin up. No defeatism here!"
"Look," Query was patient, "it's time you learned something. We're dead, all three of us. We were dead from the moment that drive blew. It is just taking us a while to find out, that's all. Dead. All bets are off!" She shivered again, drew his hand to her heaving breast and pressed it there, nuzzling her head against him helplessly. He felt her heart hammering.
"You're sick!" The old man's face came close, ruddy in anger, his blue eyes stem, the sweat running in rivulets among his wrinkles. "You're sick, Query! Don't know what you're saying. We are alive, and, by God, we are going to stay alive until we are rescued, got that?"
"Sure I'm sick." Query smiled at him in scom. "So are you. So is she. Sick and dying. Pains in your guts, have you? Eh? And you?" He turned his head to look down at her and she stared up blankly.
"Don't leave me!" she whispered. "Don't leave me. I'm all right as long as you hold me tight.
It doesn't hurt!"
He put his free arm around her and hugged her tight, turned back to Evans. "This air is full of life. I told you. Life, or death. It's the same thing, so far as we are concerned. Feel your uniform, Admiral. Feel the way it is rotting on you as you sit. Feel that titanium alloy tube there. Go on, feel it! And think of that in your lungs, in your mouth, in your stomach every time you swallow. Eating you away!"
"Sick!" Evans snorted. "Sick in the head, I mean. Queer. Always were, if you ask me. Where's your common sense, man! This air can't touch living tissue! Stands to reason, damnit! Look! Bushes, trees, plants and that damned lizard thing—all alive, aren't they? It doesn't eat them, does it? Does it?"
"They live here. They belong here. We are alien."
"The hell with that. We are alive, damnit! Sure we have pains, who wouldn't? But we are alive! And we are going to stay alive until they find us. Get that in your head, Sergeant! Hold on to it!"
"You're out of your mind!" Query had a sudden rush of rage, spurred by a twist of cramp in his belly. "Nobody
43 is coming for us. Why would they? Common sense, you say? Why the hell don't you use some?"
Evans edged back at this sudden fury. The girl moaned and clung, and Query was suddenly disgusted with her, too, shoved her away and stood to stare down at the pair of them. Evans backed, got to his knees and stood.
"That's not the way to talk to your superior officer, Sergeant!"
Query laughed at him openly and then down at her, on her knees, coming to grasp his legs and clutch in fear. "Superior? You two? Superior what? You don't have a pretty uniform anymore, either of you. You'd be dead two or three times over if it hadn't been for me. Not that it matters now, because you're dead anyway. But don't give me that superior bit, not now!"
VI
EVANS SEEMED TO WILT a little, and Query could feel sorry for him, could understand a little of his difficulty in facing something utterly new and outside his comprehension. And the girl, too. All her snotty efficiency, her pert-ness, her down-the-nose look had gone along with the uniform facade. She was groveling now, dragging at his legs, and it offended him.
"You're taking advantage, Query," the old man muttered. "We' re in a bit of a mess right now. Dependent on each other. Got to pull together. And you're taking advantage. It will be remembered."
"You just can't shake it, can you? This conviction that you are somehow superior, qualified to give me orders, you can't shake it. Look, one more time. When that drive blew the ship went. So did we, so far as anybody knows or cares. So nobody is going to come and look for us, even if they had the equipment. Or the urge. Think about it, Admiral Evans. Not one man in Step Two will shed a tear nor heave a single sigh to know that you are dead. Get that? No rescue. There's just the three of us. As I said, all bets are off. We start even. If you are superior to me,
44 you'll have to show me. And be quick, we haven't a lot of time."
Evans turned away from him, made a pathetic attempt to square his shoulders and set his chin. Then he looked down at his daughter.
"Up on your feet, Christine. Come on, upl Pay attention now. We're going on and up, aiming for high ground. Better visibility. Come onl"
She started to scramble up, stood looking from one to the other, and Query smiled at her and waved ahead. "Go on, Christine," he said softly. "It will be all right. Ill be right behind you." For what good that does, he added, but inwardly. The old man set out, trudging doggedly, a pathetic figure, and she tramped wearily after him. Query shook his head at this latest manifestation of that wildly irrational creature called Man. Onward and upward to better things. The final confusion between symbol and reality. What a stupid way to die. But then, death makes everything alike, pointless and unimportant. And that was what these two couldn't grasp. That they were not important. He trudged after them, swinging the tube, feeling the grit-tiness of it in his grasp, wondering what his insides must be like. He ran his tongue over his teeth, and they felt normal. Perhaps the digestive juices were battling with the decay? Perhaps—wildly—the old man was right, and living tissue was somehow immune?
Even so . . . Query sniffed the riotous smells, felt the steady trickle of sweat down his face and chest, his back, his legs . . . even so, there was still starvation. Maybe his stomach cramps were nothing more than hunger, but even so—that was just as deadly. In all his solitary jaunts outside the Dome he had never once seen anything that looked even remotely edible. And starvation was an even slower and more painful way to die.
All at once he became aware that he was being watched. The spine-tickling sensation was unmistakable, as was the curious sense of people, curious . . . they were curious! And now that it had broken through to consciousness he realized the feeling had been with him for some time. He took a firmer grasp on the tube and flicked his gaze about, from side to side, ahead, over his shoulder, hoping to see something in the mysterious dark jungle. But nothing moved that he could see. And no sound came. Yet the sense of presence was still there, quite positive. And not just one, but many. A host, all around, watching. And now there was subtle menace, a warning of impending danger, a threat. The tickle in his spine was almost tangible. He struggled with it, then suddenly whipped around to stare. And wheeled back just as frantically as Evans gave a great shout. Query ran, saw the girl break into a shambling run. The old man was nowhere to be seen. All at once Christine shrieked, flailed her arms wildly, and disappeared from view as if the ground had swallowed her.
Slowing through caution, Query ran on, and checked himself only just in time, to catch his breath and teeter on the lip of a huge, scooped out depression in the track. It was bowl shaped and steep sided, a hole all of forty feet across of compacted gravel and grit. And about nine feet down was the level of liquid mud that filled it, now bubbling and churning and giving off a fetid stench from the frantic struggles of father and daughter. Query swayed on the edge, staring. It looked to be about shoulder deep, so they wouldn't drown, at least, but how to reach down that nine feet to them? Then, as he fell to his knees and leaned over, trying to think of something to help, the far surface of the mud pool erupted, heaved up and splattered away from the big blunt snout and toothless gape of another many-legged thing. A lizard beast. Not as big as the other, possibly an infant, but terrifyingly huge in that confined pool.
Christine saw it, screamed with all her breath, and hurled herself around and at the gravel wall, scrabbling crazily at it, vainly seeking to climb out. Query shivered, leaned over and thrust the alloy pole at her. She snatched it, tried to climb crazily up it, jerldng at his hold, and the edge crumbled and yielded under his knees so that he slid, lurched and went over and headfirst into the ooze. He landed on top of her, and she at once grabbed him, climbed up and over him in her mad urge to get out, shoving him deep under. Choking, spitting foul-tasting mud, he managed to get his feet on the bottom and his head out, to wipe away the slime, to see her go frantically for that wall again, shrieking, struggling uselessly to dig her nails into the hard gravel.
And the disturbed lizard thing bellowed, lifted its blunt head, and came slurping through the mud, following the noise. Up above and all around Query saw that strange flare-up of rainbow lanterns again, throwing a limelight glow, like muted floodlights in an arena. One crooked, flip-pered leg smashed him in the chest, kicked him aside as the creature wallowed on its way through the sludge, heading for its target. The huge, wet, toothless mouth gaped hungrily. Christine turned, saw it, shrieked again, and hammered" at it with her fists, beating at the blind head. She might as well have punched at an elephant. The vast slobbering mouth snapped at her hand and caught her right arm up to the shoulder. She screeched again, battering away with her other fist. Query remembered the metal tube still in his grasp, whirled it, swung, and struck at the thing, at where he guessed its brain might be, if it had one. Mud squirted off. The impact was solid and gratifying. The creature didn't like it. It opened its enormous maw to bellow a deafening complaint and dropped the girl.
Query hit it again, savagely, hard on what should have been its snout. It bellowed again, right at him, blasting its stinking breath full in his face. He swung his feeble club again, and saw Evans, filthy and frantic, actually scrambling up on the thing, onto its lumpy back, to teeter there a moment and then leap crazily for the edge of the pool. The blunt, blind head was confused now, swinging uncertainly from side to side, washing the liquid ooze in great waves of stench. Query backed away, wallowing, hoping to get to one side and deliver a useful blow. Then he heard Evans shouting; "Over herel Come onl This way!"
There he was, on the edge, flat on his face and reaching down and out. Christine saw him, went splashing and wallowing frantically along the wall to reach him, to seize his hand and hang on, trying to get up. But the beast had another fix on the noise, slurped around, and started heading for it. She screamed as she saw it come, kicking out crazily, Evans hanging on like grim death, trying to hoist her out against the suck of the mud. Again that great wet maw opened and snapped hungrily, and caught her struggling feet And fastened on them, sucking, holding on. Query smashed at it again, then grabbed, heaved himself
