by Anthology
The bears prowled from one to another of the corpses. Sitka Pete rumbled and lifted up a limp head. Crash! Then another. He went over the lot, whether or not they showed signs of life. When he had finished, they were wholly still.
Semper came flapping down out of the sky. He had screamed and fluttered overhead as the fight went on. Now he landed with a rush. Huyghens went soothingly from one bear to another, calming them with his voice. It took longest to calm Faro Nell, licking Nugget with impassioned solicitude and growling horribly as she licked.
“Come along now,” said Huyghens, when Sitka showed signs of intending to sit down again. “Heave these carcasses over a cliff. Come along! Sitka! Sourdough! Hup!”
He guided them as the two big males somewhat fastidiously lifted up the nightmarish creatures they and the guns together had killed, and carried them to the edge of the spur of stone. They let the dead beasts go bouncing and sliding down into the valley.
“That,” said Huyghens, “is so their little pals will gather round them and caterwaul their woe where there’s no trail of ours to give them ideas. If we’d been near a river, I’d have dumped them in to float downriver and gather mourners wherever they stranded. Around the station I incinerate them. If I had to leave them, I’d make tracks away. About fifty miles upwind would be a good idea.”
He opened the pack Sourdough carried and extracted giant-sized swabs and some gallons of antiseptic. He tended the three Kodiaks in turn, swabbing not only the cuts and scratches they’d received, but deeply soaking their fur where there could be suspicion of spilled sphex blood.
“This antiseptic deodorizes, too,” he told Roane. “Or we’d be trailed by any sphex who passed to leeward of us. When we start off, I’ll swab the bears’ paws for the same reason.”
Roane was very quiet. He’d missed his first shot with a bullet-firing weapon—a beam hasn’t the stopping-power of an explosive bullet—but he’d seemed to grow savagely angry with himself. The last few seconds of the fight, he’d fired very deliberately and every bullet hit. Now he said bitterly:
“If you’re instructing me so I can carry on should you be killed, I doubt that it’s worth while!”
Huyghens felt in his pack and unfolded the enlargements he’d made of the space photos of this part of the planet. He carefully oriented the map with distant landmarks. He drew a painstakingly accurate line across the photo.
“The SOS signal comes from somewhere close to the robot colony,” he reported. “I think a little to the south of it. Probably from a mine they’d opened up, on the far side—of course—of the Sere Plateau. See how I’ve marked this map? Two fixes, one from the station and one from here. I came away off-course to get a fix here so we’d have two position-lines to the transmitter. The signal could have come from the other side of the planet. But it doesn’t.”
“The odds would be astronomical against other castaways,” protested Roane.
“No-o-o-o,” said Huyghens. “Ships have been coming here. To the robot colony. One could have crashed. And I have friends, too.”
He repacked his apparatus and gestured to the bears. He led them beyond the scene of combat and very carefully swabbed off their paws, so they could not possibly leave a trail of sphex-blood scent behind them. He waved Semper the eagle aloft.
“Let’s go,” he told the Kodiaks. “Yonder! Hup!”
The party headed downhill and into the jungle again. Now it was Sourdough’s turn to take the lead, and Sitka Pete prowled more widely behind him. Faro Nell trailed the men, with Nugget. She kept an extremely sharp eye upon the cub. He was a baby, still. He only weighed six hundred pounds. And of course she watched against danger from the rear.
Overhead, Semper fluttered and flew in giant circles and spirals, never going very far away. Huyghens referred constantly to the screen which showed what the air-borne camera saw. The image tilted and circled and blanked and swayed. It was by no means the best air-reconnaissance that could be imagined. But it was the best that would work. Presently Huyghens said:
“We swing to the right, here. The going’s bad straight ahead, and it looks like a pack of sphexes has killed and is feeding.”
Roane was upset. He was dissatisfied with himself. So he said:
“It’s against reason for carnivores to be as thick as you say! There has to be a certain amount of other animal life for every meat-eating beast! Too many of them would eat all the game and starve!”
“They’re gone all winter,” explained Huyghens, “which around here isn’t as severe as you might think. And a good many animals seem to breed just after the sphexes go south. Also, the sphexes aren’t around all the warm, weather. There’s a sort of peak, and then for a matter of weeks you won’t see’ a one of them, and suddenly the jungle swarms with them again. Then, presently, they head south. Apparently they’re migratory in some fashion, but nobody knows.” He said drily: “There haven’t been many naturalists around on this planet. The animal life is inimical.”
Roane fretted. He was a senior officer in the Colonial Survey, and he was accustomed to arrival at a partly or completely finished colonial setup, and to pass upon the completion or non-completion of the planned installation as designed. Now he was in an intolerably hostile environment, depending upon an illegal colonist for his life, engaged upon a demoralizingly indefinite enterprise—because the mechanical spark-signal could be working long after its constructors were dead—and his ideas about a number of matters were shaken. He was alive, for example, because of three giant Kodiak bears and a bald eagle. He and Huyghens could have been surrounded by ten thousand robots, and they’d have been killed. Sphexes and robots would have ignored each other, and sphexes would have made straight for the men, who’d have had less than four seconds in which to discover for themselves that they were attacked, prepare to defend themselves, and kill eight sphexes.
Roane’s convictions as a civilized man were shaken. Robots were marvelous contrivances for doing the expected: accomplishing the planned; coping with the predicted. But they also had defects. Robots could only follow instructions—if this thing happens, do this, if that thing happens, do that. But before something else, neither this nor that, robots were helpless. So a robot civilization worked only in an environment where nothing unanticipated ever turned up, and human supervisors never demanded anything unexpected. Roane was appalled. He’d never encountered the truly unpredictable before in all his life and career. , He found Nugget, the cub, ambling uneasily in his wake. The cub flattened his ears miserably when Roane glanced at him. It occurred to the man that Nugget was receiving a lot of disciplinary thumpings from Faro Nell. He was knocked about physically, pretty much as Roane was being knocked about psychologically. His lack of information and unfitness for independent survival in this environment was being hammered into him.
“Hi, Nugget,” said Roane ruefully. “I feel just about the way you do!”
Nugget brightened visibly. He frisked. He tended to gambol. He looked very hopefully up into Roane’s face—and he stood four feet high at the shoulder and would overtop Roane if he stood erect.
Roane reached out and patted Nugget’s head. It was the first time in all his life he’d ever patted an animal.
He heard a snuffling sound behind him. Skin crawled at the back of his neck. He whirled.
Faro Nell regarded him—eighteen hundred pounds of she-bear only ten feet away and looking into his eyes. For one panicky instant Roane went cold all over. Then he realized that Faro Nell’s eyes were not burning. She was not snarling. She did not emit those blood-curdling sounds which the bare prospect of danger to Nugget had produced upon the rocky spur. She looked at him blandly. In fact, after a moment she swung off in some independent investigation of a matter that had aroused her curiosity.
The traveling party went on, Nugget frisking beside Roane and tending to bump into him out of pure cub-clumsiness. Now and again he looked adoringly at Roane, in the instant and overwhelming affection of the very young.
Roane trudged on. Presently he glanced behind again. Faro Nell was now ranging more widely. She was well satisfied to have Nugget in the immediate care of a man. From time to time he got on her nerves.
A little while later, Roane called ahead.
“Huyghens! Look here! I’ve been appointed nursemaid to Nugget!”
Huyghens looked back.
“Oh, slap him a few times and he’ll go back to his mother.”
“The devil I will!” said Roane querulously. “I like it!”
The traveling party went on.
When night fell, they camped. There could be no fire, of course, because all the minute night-things about would come eagerly to dance in the glow. But there could not be darkness, equally, because night-walkers hunted in the dark. So Huyghen set out the barrier lamps, which made a wall of twilight about their halting place, and the staglike creature Faro Nell had carried became their evening meal. Then they slept—at least the men did—and the bears dozed and snorted and waked and dozed again. But Semper sat immobile with his head under his wing on a tree limb. And presently there was a glorious cool hush and all the world glowed in morning light diffused through the jungle by a newly risen sun. And they arose, and traveled again.
This day they stopped stock-still for two hours while sphexes puzzled over the trail the bears had left. Huyghens discoursed calmly on the need for an anti-scent, to be used on the boots of men and the paws of bears, which would make the following of their trails unpopular with sphexes. And Roane seized upon the idea and absorbedly suggested that a sphex-repellent odor might be worked out, which would make a human revolting to a sphex. If that were done—why—humans could go freely about unmolested.
“Like stink-bugs,” said Huyghens, sardonically. “A very intelligent idea! Very rational! You can feel proud!”
And suddenly Roane, very obscurely, was not proud of the idea at all.
They camped again. On the third night they were at the base of that remarkable formation, the Sere Plateau, which from a distance looked like a mountain-range but was actually a desert tableland. And it was not reasonable for a desert to be raised high, while lowlands had rain, but on the fourth morning they found out why. They saw, far, far away, a truly monstrous mountain-mass at the end of the long-way expanse of the plateau. It was like the prow of a ship. It lay, so Huyghens observed, directly in line with the prevailing winds, and divided them as a ship’s prow divides the waters. The moisture-bearing air currents flowed beside the plateau, not over it, and its interior was pure sere desert in the unscreened sunshine of high altitudes.
It took them a full day to get halfway up the slope. And here, twice as they climbed, Semper flew screaming over aggregations of sphexes to one side of them or the other. These were much larger groups than Huyghens had ever seen before—fifty to a hundred monstrosities together, where a dozen was a large hunting pack elsewhere. He looked in the screen which showed him what Semper saw, four or five miles away. The sphexes padded uphill towards the Sere Plateau in a long line. Fifty—sixty—seventy tan-and-azure beasts out of hell.
“I’d hate to have that bunch jump us,” he said candidly to Roane. “I don’t think we’d stand a chance.”
“Here’s where a robot tank would be useful,” Roane observed.
“Anything armored,” conceded Huyghens. “One man in an armored station like mine would be safe. But if he killed a sphex he’d be besieged. He’d have to stay holed up, breathing the smell of dead sphex, until the odor had gone away. And he mustn’t kill any others or he’d be besieged until winter came.”
Roane did not suggest the advantages of robots in other directions. At that moment, for example, they were working their way up a slope that averaged fifty degrees. The bears climbed without effort despite their burdens. For the men it was infinite toil. Semper the eagle manifested impatience with bears and men alike, who crawled so slowly up an incline over which he soared.
He went ahead up the mountainside and teetered in the air currents at the plateau’s edge. Huyghens looked in the vision-plate by which he reported.
“How the devil,” panted Roane—they had stopped for a breather, and the bears waited patiently for them—“do you train bears like these? I can understand Semper.”
“I don’t train them,” said Huyghens, staring into the plate. “They’re mutations. In heredity the sex-linkage of physical characteristics is standard stuff. But there’s been some sound work done on the gene-linkage of psychological factors. There was need, on my home planet, for an animal who could fight like a fiend, live off the land, carry a pack, and get along with men at least as well as dogs do. In the old days they’d have tried to breed the desired physical properties into an animal who already had the personality they wanted. Something like a giant dog, say. But back home they went at it the other way about. They picked the wanted physical characteristics and bred for the personality—the psychology: The job got done over a century ago—a Kodiak bear named Kodius Champion was the first real success. He had everything that was wanted. These bears are his descendants.”
“They look normal,” commented Roane.
“They are!” said Huyghens warmly. “Just as normal as an honest dog! They’re not trained, like Semper. They train themselves!” He looked back into the plate in his hands, which showed the ground five and six and seven thousand feet higher. “Semper, now, is a trained bird without too much brains. He’s educated—a glorified hawk. But the bears want to get along with men. They’re emotionally dependent on us! Like dogs. Semper’s a servant, but they’re companions and friends. He’s trained, but they’re loyal. He’s conditioned. They love us. He’d abandon me if he ever realized he could—he thinks he can only eat what men feed him. But the bears wouldn’t want to. They like us. I admit that I like them. Maybe because they like me.”
Roane said deliberately:
“Aren’t you a trifle loose-tongued, Huyghens? I’m a Colonial Survey officer. I have to arrest you sooner or later. You’ve told me something that will locate and convict the people who set you up here. It shouldn’t be hard to find where bears were bred for psychological mutations, and where a bear named Kodius Champion left descendants! I can find out where you came from now, Huyghens!”
Huyghens looked up from the plate with its tiny swaying television image, relayed from where Semper floated impatiently in mid-air.
“No harm done,” he said amiably. “I’m a criminal there, too. It’s officially on record that I kidnaped these bears and escaped with them. Which, on my home planet, is about as heinous a crime as a man can commit. It’s worse than horse-theft back on Earth in the old days. The kin and cousins of my bears are highly thought of. I’m quite a criminal, back home.”
Roane stared.
“Did you steal them?” he demanded.
“Confidentially,” said Huyghens, “no. But prove it!” Then he said: “Take a look in this plate. See what Semper can see at the plateau’s edge.”
Roane squinted aloft, where the eagle flew in great sweeps and dashes. Somehow, by the experience of the past few days, Roane knew that Semper was screaming fiercely as he flew. He made a dart towards the plateau’s border.
Roane looked at the transmitted picture. It was only four inches by six, but it was perfectly without grain and in accurate color. It moved and turned as the camera-bearing eagle swooped and circled. For an instant the screen showed the steeply sloping mountainside, and off at one edge the party of men and bears could be seen as dots. Then it swept away and showed the top of the plateau.
There were sphexes. A pack of two hundred trotted towards the desert interior. They moved at leisure, in the open. The viewing camera reeled, and there were more. As Roane watched and as the bird flew higher, he could see still other sphexes moving up over the edge of the plateau from a small erosion-defile here and another one there. The Sere Plateau was alive with the hellish creatures. It was inconceivable that there should be game enough for them to live on. They were visable as herds of cattle wou
ld be visible on grazing plants.
It was simply impossible.
“Migrating,” observed Huyghens. “I said they did. They’re headed somewhere. Do you know, I doubt that it would be healthy for us to try to cross the plateau through such a swarm of sphexes.”
Roane swore, in abrupt change of mood.
“But the signal’s still coming through! Somebody’s alive over at the robot colony! Must we wait till the the migration’s over?”
“We don’t know,” Huyghens pointed out, “that they’ll stay alive. They may need help badly. We have to get to them. But at the same time—”
He glanced at Sourdough Charley and Sitka Pete, clinging patiently to the mountainside while the men rested and talked. Sitka had managed to find a place to sit down, though one massive paw anchored him in his place.
Huyghens waved his arm, pointing in a new direction.
“Let’s go!” he called briskly. “Let’s go! Yonder! Hup!”
4
They followed the slopes of the Sere Plateau, neither ascending to its level top, where sphexes congregated, nor descending into the foothills, where sphexes assembled. They moved along hillsides and mountain-flanks which sloped anywhere from thirty to sixty degrees, and they did not cover much distance. They practically forgot what it was to walk on level ground. Semper, the eagle, hovered overhead during the daytime, not far away. He descended at nightfall for his food from the pack of one of the bears.
“The bears aren’t doing too well for food,” said Huyghens drily. “A ton of bear needs a lot to eat. But they’re loyal to us. Semper hasn’t any loyalty. He’s too stupid. But he’s been conditioned to think that he can only eat what men feed him. The bears know better, but they stick to us regardless. I rather like these bears.”
It was the most self-evident of understatements. This was at an encampment on the top of a massive boulder which projected from a mountainous stony wall. This was six days from the start of their journey. There was barely room on the boulder for all the party. And Faro Nell fussily insisted that Nugget should be in the safest part, which meant near the mountain-flank. She would have crowded the men outwards, but Nugget whimpered for Roane. Wherefore, when Roane moved to comfort him, Faro Nell contentedly drew back and snorted at Sitka and Sourdough and they made room for her near the edge.
