Indeed there was. First one, then two vehicles came onto the field. They were covered over and the only people visible were the two drivers, sitting on raised platforms at the front of both wagons.
Each holding the reins of the six horses that were harnessed to them and pulling the contraptions in our direction.
“Not good!” Angelina said.
“Agreed!” I agreed, already in motion before she spoke. Running towards the forest, shouting back to Angelina over my shoulder.
“Get the women back inside. I’ll do the same with the men.”
The wagons were closing at a good gallop. As they rushed closer I recognized the drivers.
They were the same two men who had taken away the medical papers.
They were reining in the horses now, so close that the screaming women were hurrying to get out of the way, rushing up the ramp. I called again to the men, who were gaping at me as though I was demented. I was.
“Follow the women, you morons!” I passed the ship’s papers to Elmo as he ran by. “Back to the ship. What we have to do—” I shouted, but never finished the sentence.
Armed, uniformed men were pouring out of the back of each wagon. Armed with what looked like, could only be, bows and arrows. Just as this fact registered I realized something far stranger still.
Their skins weren’t black or pink or brown . . .
Their hands—their faces—were all bright green.
CHAPTER 17
It would have been a bizarre comedy had it not been so serious.
The women, shrieking in terror, were running up the ramp—leaving behind a scattering of chairs and overturned picnic baskets. The men, some of whom were trying to round up the porcuswine, were starting to hurry back. When they heard the terror of the screaming women even the laggards began to run as well. I turned back to our green attackers—and discovered that Angelina was ahead of me. Her gun was small but powerful; her quick shot blasted out and exploded by the first wagon with a great gout of flame.
The attackers instantly panicked. One managed to fire an arrow—straight up into the air. The others were either fumbling with their bows or throwing them away. To hurry them along I fired a shot into the ground just before the horses. They whinnied with fear and bolted.
“Well done,” I said.
“I didn’t want to hurt the horses,” Angelina said. “As for the green-skinned soldiers . . .”
“In full flight.” And they were. Only the two drivers remained. Trying to rally their troops—with little success. One of them actually kicked a soldier, who scuttled away on all fours. They were the last to leave the field of action—now strewn with discarded quivers, bows and arrows.
The frustrated driver with the quick boot turned and shook an angry fist back at us, cursed and shouted.
“Green is great—pink is putrid!”
Angelina’s next shot—between his legs!—spattered him with clods of earth. He turned and fled after the others.
The last of our passengers were now running up the ramp. But the porcuswine were still rooting under the trees, unbothered by our little dustup.
“What happens next?” Angelina asked.
“Good question.”
“While you’re deciding, might I draw your attention to a large number of wagons that are now arriving on the field.”
And they were too, one after another—soon almost too many to count.
“Do we try and herd the porkers back aboard?”
“Not enough time before the troops arrive. If they remember to use their bows there is no way to stop them.”
The thought of the possibility of porcine butchery made my mind up. The pieces of a possible plan clicked into place. I turned on my phone.
“Tell Stramm to crank in the ramp and close the outer port.”
“What will you do?”
“Angelina and I will join the beasts in the woods. We’re free and mean to stay that way. These green guys seem to be pretty dim for the most part . . .”
“Did you say ‘green’?”
“Take a close look—over and out.”
Angelina nodded. “A fine idea. Fresh air and a nice stroll in the forest with our four-legged friends. I agree. But let’s bring some of these baskets with us—unless you intend to root for food like our swinish companions.”
“Most practical,” I said and picked one up. “We need to know more about these pea-green thugs before we can figure out what to do next.”
“Reluctant thugs,” she said pointing across the field.
Far across the field more and more bowmen had emerged from the forest—but they weren’t going very far or fast. They huddled together, clutching their bows, and only advanced slowly when a few of their officers kicked and pushed them forward.
Then we reached the shelter of the trees, among the friendly snuffles of the rooting animals: there was a shrill squeak as Pinky emerged from the herd, her snout covered with loam, and enjoyed a quick scratch from Angelina.
“While the Greenies are being kicked into action,” I said, “I think it might be wisest to put a little space between them and us.”
With a little gentle prodding the herd moved deeper into the woods, away from any pursuit. I kept in radio touch with the captain, who reported very little action among the attacking troops. They milled about, but appeared to be reluctant to approach the ship. Some of them had been goaded into apparently starting after us, but little by little they filtered back into the woods.
They were soon left behind and out of sight as we moved steadily away. After an hour of slow progress we were far enough from the field to take a break. We stopped on the shore of a small lake where the porcuswine drank their fill.
“I have been thinking,” I said digging out a crock of cider to slake my own thirst.
“Well, I should hope so—and kindly pass that over. After all it was your decision to land on this planet.”
I could only pass the jug to her in silence. Feeling that this was not the time to apportion blame. If ever.
“I think everyone on this planet has green skin,” I said. A foolproof subject-changer.
“But the other people we talked to on the screen. Black, pink, brown—”
“Makeup to hide their green skin.”
“Why?”
A good question. I could only shrug my shoulders and respond feebly. “Solve that and we are a lot closer to finding out what is happening here.”
“I know what they did. They tried to con us into landing by having the same skin color as we have.”
“But why so many different colors?’ I asked.
“It is obvious: they didn’t know our skin color—so they gave us a selection to chose from.”
I shrugged. It was as good an explanation as any until we could find out more.
We ate in silence, wrapped in our own thoughts. Pinky snuffled over for a handout. The other beasts were resting and dozing. That was a good idea. It had been a long and busy day that had ended with a lengthy walk. I spread one of the tablecloths on a mossy bank, then pulled two others over for a blanket. As warm dusk descended so did we, emulating our four-legged friends.
It was dark when I awoke, the darkness tempered by a large pinkish moon just visible through the trees. One of the boars was rumbling angrily deep in his throat as he sniffed the evening air. It had been many years since I had heard that sound, but its meaning was clear. There was something out there he didn’t like. I slipped out of our rustic bed, without waking Angelina, and walked over to the boar. It was Gnasher, top pig in the pack. I gave him a quick scratch under his quills but he had other things in mind. He gave a quick shake and rose, still sniffing and grumbling.
“Let’s go see what it is,” I whispered and he gave an answering grunt.
On silent hooves he moved his tonne of porker silently through the trees. I followed him, doing my best to be quiet as well. He stopped at the edge of a clearing, sniffing the air and staring intently at the cover on the far s
ide of the opening among the trees. Was that a dark form moving against the darkness under the trees there? We were both silent and motionless.
Watching as a man stepped into the clearing. The silhouette of a bow rose up over his shoulder.
With a thunderous crash Gnasher burst through the undergrowth and was on the stranger before he could move. Banging into him and tossing him aside as he did. The soldier screamed shrilly and I was grabbing him. Holding him to the ground with one foot while I tore the bow from his shoulder.
“Good swine . . . good Gnasher!” I said. Turning to face the foam-flecked tusks of the irritated animal.
“Sweet little swine!” I cried desperately as I dug the bow into the spines along his shoulders, prodding and scratching.
For long moments he grumbled in anger while I sweated and scratched. Then the grumble died away and became a burble of pleasure. The man writhed under my foot and I crunched down harder. Then I grabbed his collar and hauled him to his feet.
“You are coming with me, Greenie. One move to escape and you are pig meal . . .”
Gnasher rumbled agreement and my prisoner shivered like a leaf in the wind.
Our crashing about in the forest had roused the herd. They milled about in the growing light of dawn, the boars grumbling angrily, the sows protecting their piglets. I made all the soothing sounds to cool them down. Gnasher had had enough excitement for the night. He flopped down and soon muttered himself to sleep. The rest of the herd followed his example and calmed down as well.
“And dare I ask: what was all that about?” Angelina asked, stepping out of the cover of the forest and slipping her gun back out of sight.
“This,” I said, holding my prisoner by the neck and shaking him a bit. In the growing light we could see that he was shivering with fear.
“He’s just a boy,” Angelina said. “You’ve terrorized the poor creature.”
“With good reason—those arrows in his quiver go with this bow. I really don’t enjoy being shot at in the dark.”
“You’re twice his size,” Angelina said. “He doesn’t look like much of a threat now.”
He was clearly visible in the breaking dawn. Staring around wildly, still terrified, his pale green skin dotted with sweat. His uniform was crude, made of a coarse fabric of some kind that had been stained brown.
“I have some questions for him to answer,” I said, stepping forward. He whimpered with fear and shied away.
“Stop being a bully, Jim diGriz. Now let me try talking to him.” She faced him, smiling and talking softly. I grumbled a porcuswinish grumble, sat down and reached for the jug of cider.
“Relax, young green friend—I just want to talk with you,” she said. My private feelings were that a touch of the boot in the right place would extract answers a lot faster. “Why don’t you tell me your name . . .”
With great reluctance he finally muttered an answer.
“Grinchh . . .”
“Is that a name—or stomach trouble?” I muttered. And was rightly ignored.
“Are you a soldier, Grinchh?”
“No—no soldier.” He drew himself erect with a touch of pride. “Tracker. Best tracker in Mittelflop!”
Wonderful claim to fame, I thought, but wisely kept this to myself.
“But why were you following us?”
“Bad Ones come! Tried to hide in hay, me and Pssher, but they push in sharp hay fork. Pull out—take away. Momma . . . !”
“Now don’t you worry. There are no bad ones here . . .”
It was more than I could take. Muttering under my breath I went over to the picnic basket, shooed Pinky away and dug into it in search of some breakfast. Behind me the interrogation continued—obviously not needing my help.
It was some time before Angelina left the prisoner sitting dejectedly under a tree and joined me.
“If he makes a run for it the pigs will eat him alive.”
“Don’t be cruel, Jim, that’s not like you. He’s a simple country bumpkin—and a long way from home. He’s far more frightened of what he calls the Bad Ones than he is of us.”
“That’s good to know—maybe we can raise a peasant rebellion.”
“I doubt that—he’s far too afraid of them.”
“And just who are the Bad Ones he talks about?”
“It’s hard to tell exactly. Other than that they are all-powerful, all-ruling. But one thing is obvious. He is simple and stupid, illiterate too I am sure. Not so the ones we talked to with the painted faces. I don’t know how or why, but relative intelligence seems to be a powerful factor in the equation.”
I sat up, intrigued by the idea. “Makes a lot of sense. That’s why the two men who asked us for the paperwork later drove the wagons! They have a limited supply of intelligence—the Bad Ones! A planet full of peasant morons led by an elite few with a monopoly on the brains. But why?”
“Answer that—” she said with grim certainty “—and you answer the big question about this puzzling planet. So, master planner, what do we do next?”
What indeed?
I had no answers to that riddle.
It was full daylight now. All the food baskets were empty and we—or I—had drained the last of the jugs. I saw a future of pond water and starvation. The porcuswine might be able to live on their bosky resources, but we humans couldn’t.
“We will have to go back. Contact the ship . . .”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man said stepping out of the shelter of the forest. “Not yet at least.”
CHAPTER 18
It was reflex, pure and simple. As the first words were spoken Angelina’s gun—and mine too of course—appeared. Pointing dead center at the intruder.
“I mean you no harm,” he said, smiling and holding up the bow he was carrying. “I use this for hunting only. I’ll place it on the ground to prove that I wish only peace.”
Angelina smiled at the thought of his causing us any harm and her gun vanished as fast as it had appeared. As did mine.
“You surprised us,” she said.
“I’m sorry. But it was necessary for me to contact you.”
He wore a kilt of tanned green leather, shoes made of the same material. The bow was carefully constructed, as were the arrows protruding from the quiver.
Most important was the color of his skin. It was tanned a light and healthy brown.
“My name is Bram. Might I sit? It has been a long and tiring night following that one who was tracking you.”
He dropped to the ground and leaned back against the thick bole of a tree. “Again welcome strangers, to our unhappy world.”
“And a hearty welcome to you, good Bram,” I said, sitting down as well. “Since you are here by your own choice I hope you won’t mind a few questions?”
“I am delighted to help in any way I can.”
“What are you doing here?” Angelina asked, getting in the first question.
“A runner came to our camp and told us the wonderful news of the arrival of an off-planet spaceship. It has been over five years since the last one. We have been waiting—and hoping to make contact this time. The Rememberer tells us that we have always failed in the past. But could we do it now? I must say there was great jubilation when word was passed that a number of domestic animals and two people had left the ship and escaped capture. You were followed by a small party of our people as soon as you entered the forest. You were not approached until we had captured most of the trackers the Greens had sent to follow you. The one remaining tracker was kept under surveillance until you took possession of him. Then I was chosen to have the honor of greeting you.”
He sprang to his feet and bowed.
“Welcome, good travelers. May the future be a wonderful one.”
“It would be more wonderful,” Angelina said, pointing to our captive, “if you would tell us why he is green and you are not.”
“Would that I could—but I am not conversant with the details of the history of this unhappy
planet. But I will be more than happy to take you to the one who can tell you. The Rememberer, who at this moment is being joyfully rushed to meet with you. It has been agreed that we will join him at our campsite. It will be my pleasure to guide you—and your domestic creatures—there.”
He was intelligent—unlike our prisoner—and happy to talk with us. But it appeared that there was little he could add to what he had already told us. Angelina walked with him as the trek began, attempting to find out more of what he knew about this world.
“It seems pretty clear the way he tells it,” Angelina said to me later, when we had stopped at a running stream that bubbled down a green valley. “And he gave me this bag.”
She opened the soft leather pouch she was carrying and took out what looked like a handful of dark chips of wood. “It’s the meat of some nameless beast. Smoked and dried. Delicious.”
“It is,” I said crunching vigorously away.
“He apologized for it. Said we will have much better fare when we reach their encampment. This is a far more friendly reception than we got from the Greenies.”
I could but agree. “Did he tell you much about this world?”
“Little more than what we already know. The planet apparently has two separate races or groups, divided by skin color. The Greenies who guided us to this world dominate everywhere—and greatly outnumber those of a different skin color.”
“Are there many other skin colors?”
“No, just the two. And that was makeup the Bad Ones used on their skin when they met us. They really do hate the pale faces of other races. At least the intelligent ones do. Most of the Greenies are simpletons like the soldiers who so feebly attacked us. The green minority bosses work hard to kick them into line. Our friend Bram was a little vague about this—kept telling me to save our questions for the Rememberer.”
“Not that we have much choice.”
Half an hour later the track we were following ran through a stand of what looked very much like chestnut trees. At least the porcuswine thought so and chomped happily at the windfalls.
“There is no way we can get them moving now,” I said gloomily, disinterring my youthful memories of swinish husbandry.
Stainless Steel Rat 11: The Stainless Steel Rat Returns Page 12
