by Dark Planet
47 up on its back, stood, ran unsteadily, leaped and thumped down on the side, rolled over and clapped himself onto her free arm, alongside Evans.
The bankside had an edge just here, a small wall that came up against his chest and gave him support. Her agonized face was close, her eyes wide in terror.
"Hold on!" he grunted, as the blind beast swallowed more, gulping her legs down, the blubbery hps clamping on her thighs. The drag was frightful as the monstrous thing drew back, trying to pull her in and swallow its mouthful. We can't possibly hold against thatl he thought, as the sinews in his arms creaked and ached and his chest felt as if it was caving in. Something's got to give! The strain was unbearable now. Then, all at once, the creature slipped back, and she shot forward over the edge, rolling all three of them over and over in a tangled heap. Query scrambled up and gave her a hand as Evans fought his way to his feet. They squandered just one backward glance to see the blind head lifted, and from that clamped mouth dangled a pathetic length of black stuff.
"Lucky!" Query gasped. "Your fancy uniform . . . came in useful . . . after all! Come on! Run! Before the damned thing comes out after us!" They ran, heavily and wetly, slurping mud, gasping, heedless of direction, crashing through the undergrowth, blundering around tree boles— with Christine pinkly and incongruously skin naked and clean from the waist down. They ran until they dropped at the foot of a massive tree.
"Safe enough . . . here ... no tracks!" Query panted. "The thing ... it doesn't. . . get this far!"
"Damned lucky . . . that time!" Evans choked. "That thing ... no teeth! Lucky! Thought we were done for!"
"We're done!" Christine rolled over on her back, lay heaving for breath, staring up into the mist. "Done! Lucky that time! But ... we can't go on . . . finished! What's the use?"
"Chin up!" Evans grunted, but all the heart was gone out of him.
"What's the point?" she gasped. "We're done! Lost! No food! Dark! Monsters all over the place! It's hopelessl" She struggled up on one arm and stared at Query. "You were right! We're all dead!"
"I'm afraid you're right," he muttered, dabbing at his leg and seeing the plastic of his uniform come away with the mud. "I did try to tell you. Might as well be civilized about it!"
"Not dead yet!" the old man mumbled stubbornly. Query ignored him, made the effort, got to his feet, leaned on the tree, and plucked at his rotting uniform, pulling it away in flaking patches. Symbolism again he thought. Naked I came into the world; naked I die! There was something satisfying about it, and he felt just that little bit cooler, easier, when he had brushed away the last shreds of civilization from his skin. A man ought to feel defenseless, like this, he thought, but I don't. I feel at home. He peered into the dark green mystery all around and smiled. I said I'd be back, didn't I? he thought. Well, here I am!
But there was no sense this time of unseen watchers. A little disappointed, he sat again, setting his back to the tree. And saw Christine's eyes on him. She had been watching him.
"I hope you don't mind." He sketched his nakedness with a gesture of indifference. "There didn't seem much point in trying to pretend anymore."
"That's right," she said quietly. "Pretending. That's all it was. Uniform and drill, cadet school and routine, gold braid and snappy salutes. Trying to be the boy he always wanted me to be." She glanced over there, and they both saw that exhaustion had taken natural toll on the old man; he was fast asleep. "It was all pretense. I've never really lived. Not like you. All my life, trying to be something else."
"Like me?" he frowned. "I haven't lived all that much."
"I know about you. I read you up, on the way here. Your files, and your civil record. Artist and designer. That's the kind of thing I would have liked. To deal with shape and beauty and color. Purpose. Create new ideas. You said civilized. That's civilized. That's what intelligence should do, make beauty. Create things. There's nothing beautiful or creative about the Service, about war and destruction."
"Depends on the point of view, I suppose," he said. "To the military mind I suppose there is beauty in a uniform,
49 in a drill, in slick efficiency, in everything working together."
"You must have hated it!"
"Right. But then, I'm not the military type. And it doesn't seem to matter a damn now either way, does it?"
"I hated it too, inside, where I could never get the chance to say it and mean it. I can say it now, to you. You understand." She plucked at the soiled shreds of the upper tunic of her uniform, pulled them away and crumbled the rotted stuff, threw it aside, brushing the last flakes from her skin with her fingers. "I wish I had done that years ago," she sighed. "So many things I wish, now that it is too late." She sat in silence awhile, staring in front of her, and he saw that she was trembling. Then she turned her head, her eyes wide on his. "You're not afraid to die, are you?"
He moved to sit close to her, to put his arm around her, and she put her face to his chest blindly. "I can't help you," he said, very softly. "Death has always been inevitable to me. And I've known about it longer than you. I knew we were dead when that drive blew. The rest was just a matter of waiting for it to happen."
"But you helped to rescue me. Several times. You hit me. You pulled me out of the wreck. You dragged me inshore. And . . . that monster thing ... it had me . . . and you helped to save me!"
"Blind instinct, nothing more. That's built into us. It's very hard to fight."
She lifted her face suddenly, very close to his, her eyes huge and dark. "I don't know your name—yes, I do. Stephen. Stephen, I don't want to die. Isn't it instinctive to want to go on living?"
"To want to, certainly. I'd rather go on living, if I had the choice. But we don't have any choice, anymore, Christine. It's just a matter of waiting for it."
Her face came closer, and it seemed inevitable that their lips should meet and cling for a long while. She urged closer to him, hungrily, pulling him down to the damp soil, clinging to him. She moved her lips away from his just far enough to whisper, "We're still alive, Stephen, for a while yet. A little while only, and so much life to live . . .
50 all the things I've never done . . and she clung to him again, savagely, ". . . the primitive things!"
Query couldn't stop himself, even if he had wanted to. And he saw nothing but good in this, in making the happiest possible use of their last moments. It was a place and a time to be primitive.
Something of the strain, the shocks, the terrors of the recent past surged up out of both of them, lent fire to their embrace. And then, after the frenzied fire had burned low, she lay back in the crook of his arm and sighed and looked up at him contentedly.
"That was primitive," she breathed, "and good. Beautiful. It's all beautiful now. Even this place. Isn't it?"
"And you. You're very beautiful, Christine, now that you are being just you."
She smiled sleepily, found his hand and brought it to her breast and held it there, full and warm in his palm. "I'm glad," she said; and in another moment she was fast asleep. Query kept quite still, aware of the rise and fall of her bosom and the steady beat of her heart. He felt sad now, that this had to come to him so late, that he had to lose himself on this dark and primitive planet in order to find the simplicity of life lovingly offered to him. And he wondered about her, about the kind of life she must have led, armored in uniform and regulation, having to be cold and stern and stiff, when all the while there was the fire of life beating inside.
And his eyelids drooped too, and he rested his head on hers, and slept. His dream was a strange one peopled with things unseen but felt, that were positive and yet utterly strange. Eyes watched, eyes that he couldn't see. Minds touched his, wondered at him, ruffled through his thoughts like some casual stranger turning the pages of a book. Yet kindly. Curious. And he had the sense of someone wonderfully intelligent and wise who was intrigued at him as an adult might be at the momentary cleverness of a child. And he knew a longing, just as a child might, to know more. Tell me more!
He came awake suddenly and totally and kept quite still, absolutely certain that he was not alone. Heavy in the crook of his arm, Christine still slept, peaceful as a child. Query moved his head a fraction to stare aside and
51 he saw feet. Bare feet. Human feet, over there. Very slowly he eased free and raised his head more, came up to a sitting position and stared. And there was a man over there, ten feet away.
A man. No more than about five feet six and lean, sinewy, completely poised, his skin a pale tint against the dark blue green of the vegetation. Hair was a dark fuzz on his skull but nowhere else. Eyes were dark and intent, bright with intelligence. In his right hand, low down, he held the end of a rod—cane—something slim and dark, and his left hand, angled across his chest, held the upper end of it, bent it back under tension as if it was some kind of bow. A weapon at the ready. But a man, that was the main thing. A totally humanlike and adult man.
VII
QUERY GOT SLOWLY to his feet. In the face of that unmistakable weapon and the competent threat backing it, he had no desire to do anything fast or provocative. Now he had the awareness very strongly of many eyes watching him all around. This man wasn't alone. And yet there was no real threat now that he could feel it properly, more a sense of readiness. And also that curious feeling that he knew exactly what this man was thinking. That he was as good as saying, right now, This is a weapon. One false move and you get it!
He stooped slowly to nudge Christine awake, moved to stir the old man with his foot. "Don't do anything sudden," he cautioned, "but we have some company come to call."
And the strange man moved now, relaxing the tension in his weapon, dropping his left hand, letting the rod rest on his right shoulder. Evans snorted a time or two, rolled over and struggled to his feet.
"Eh? What? By God, who the hell's that?"
"Take it easy!" Query warned. "We're not in any trouble yet. Let's hope they're friendly." He tried to read the man's features, which were almost Oriental, but not quite. He felt sure this was no enemy, but that was just a feel-
52 ing without evidence. He heard Christine stir and move and get up—and gasp and cling to him anxiously.
"Who's that?" she cried, and he touched her shoulder.
"Local inhabitants, obviously."
"They're cannibals!" she gasped. "They'll eat us!"
"Where the hell did you get that idea from?" he snapped. "For heaven's sake, woman, use your head! Cannibals?"
"That'll do!" Evans growled. "We'll have none of that kind of talk, Query. Mind your manners!"
"And you, you stupid, fat, flabby, old fool!" Query rapped. "Will you never learn? These people are the local inhabitants. They are all around us. They have us helpless. If you have any brains left in that stupid skull of yours, you have to see that it's up to us to be friendly. Rational. If you start throwing a panic or blustering from some mythical authority, we've had it!" He shook Christine free, stood her away. "Come on, now!" he said. "All that talk about the primitive. Well, here it is. Take a look at it!"
"Damned insubordination!" Evans roared. "You expect me to kowtow to a naked, bloody savage, man!" He lurched around to face the stranger, ready to stride toward him. "Here, you. Can you talk? Eh? What the . . . ?" His loud-voiced approach choked off as a snaking black thong flicked from one side and snapped around his ankle, sending him prone. In short order came three more: one for the other foot, one catching each wrist; the old man was helpless. Christine cried out and started to run to her father, and another snaking thong caught her ankle. Within seconds she was flat on her face and just as helpless as the old man. Query held still, turning only his head to follow back those black thongs.
There was a woman at the business end of each one. Native women, just like the man, about the same height and slim, but definitely and beautifully female. And competent, too, judging by the way they kept the tension on their lines. Whips, he concluded. Possibly some kind of creeper with a thickened handhold stem. And now there were men appearing out of the dark shadows, men just like the first one, each with a tube against his shoulder.
Query knew they were all looking at him, watching, waiting to see what he would do next. Edgy curiosity, that was all. No harm done. He felt no fear at all, just a sense
53 of shame at his stupid companions and bewilderment at what he ought to do next. And there was no time to wonder at the greatest wonder of all, that he was positive he knew what they were all thinking. He knew, for one thing, that the first man who had shown, and who still stood there waiting, was the head man. The man in charge. He looked at him again now, helplessly. Give me a minute, he thought, to talk to them. Maybe I can get some sense into their heads!
As if he had asked for it, all the ropelike lashes snaked away free, and Query had a fascinated moment watching the easy way in which each woman coiled her whip into a handful that dangled ready by her thigh. Then he went forward to where the old man was struggling to sit up.
"Listen," he said urgently, "and you, Christine. Shut up and listen, both of you. All this time you have been telling me what to do, shoving me around, telling me to get a grip on myself. Now it's my turn." As Evans started to roar he said again, savagely, "Shut up! These are people. They are as human as we are, by the look. They have been close by, watching us for a long time. Don't ask me how I know that, I do. They live here, and they look healthy enough. If we have any chance of surviving at all, we have it here by learning from them. Do you want to live or not?"
"A bunch of naked bloody savages . . . !"
"I'm naked. Look! And so is she. And your remaining rags are about to drop off any minute. So what's that got to do with anything? As for them being savages, take a good look. Do they look savage to you? See those whips? They could have cut you to ribbons with them, had they a mind to. And they have been watching us for some time, but they haven't done us any harm, yet. For God's sake forget that you are Admiral Evans—and you're Lieutenant Evans—that doesn't work here. We are the savages, the interlopers, and we are in trouble. We need help. And these people can help us, if we do it right. Do you want to eat? Do you want to live?"
"He's right, Father." Christine said, putting out her hand to the old man. "We need help. And I want to live, if possible."
"Siding with him?" Evans stared at her stupidly, and Query sighed.
"Work it out between you." He turned to look at the head man, to put his open palms wide apart in the obvious attitude of defenselessness. "I know my words won't mean a thing, friend, but they are all I have. We mean you no harm, no trouble. We need your help." The man was clean. Up close Query noticed that. Not a sign of mud on him, nor sweat either. And the hair on his head was bristle short and dark and matched the dark fuzz of eyebrows, but there wasn't a hair on him elsewhere. Then his eyes flickered and Query revolved swiftly. One of the women had come forward to face up to Christine, looking lean and small alongside her ample shape. Query felt the quick curiosity, saw the woman's hand go up and touch Christine's tangle of hair . . . and a handful of it came away in her exploring hand. She stared at it, tossed it away, and reeled back as Christine brought her palm around in a healthy swipe. The single palm slap switched the atmosphere to instant tension. Query caught his breath as the native woman steadied herself, put away her whip with a single flick of her hand, and came forward tigerishly to avenge the insult.
Then Query got a shock, as Christine stood back and fell into a pose that had science built into every line: one foot forward and knee bent, arms advanced and palms ready to chop. Oh well, he thought This should be interesting. The native woman sprang, fingers clawed to grab, but ready arms batted hers aside, the heel of a firm palm jabbed under her chin, and she flew through the air to land in a heap. And bounced up readily in a way that made Query shake his head. Christine had the reach, the weight, maybe the skill too, but this woman was fit. And cautious now, coming forward, poking out an arm, and as Christine elbowed it aside those crooking fingers achieved a hold and clung, and the pair of t
hem went down in a mad scramble of arms and legs. Evans roared and charged forward, and stopped with a jerk as a lash took him around the throat and yanked him off his feet, so that he fell back with a thud that knocked the wind out of him.
Query watched the scramble, saw that Christine was still holding her own, and his mind spun away to that hair. He touched his own, and it too was flaky, crumbling away, all except about an inch or so close to the scalp. He
55 scowled at it, sent his eyes back to the battle, but the idea took shape in his mind. Perhaps the old man was right. Perhaps living stuff was immune. That would make sense. Hair wasn't alive past the first inch or so. But now Christine was on her back, flat, with the native woman straddling her, choking her into hopeful submission. Until, desperately, she drew her legs up close to her chest and kicked, shooting her opponent away over her head. Christine scrambled up, heaving for breath but ready in that karate stance. The native woman came back, also blowing hard, ran full into a chopping left, a right, an elbow to the jaw, another chop, a savage kick to the groin that folded her up, right into a knee in the face; and she was out on her feet, staggering and falling back. Christine moved in for the kill . . . and a half a dozen snaking black lines hissed through the air to hold her.
Query flashed a look at the head man and knew in-standy. He went forward, caught Christine by the arm as she struggled against the bonds.
