by Anthology
It was a hungry camp. They had come upon tiny rills upon occasion, flowing down the mountainside. Here the bears had drunk deeply and the men had filled canteens. But this was the third night, and there had been no game at all. Huyghens made no move to bring out food for Roane or himself. Roane made no comment. He was beginning to participate in the relationship between bears and men, which was not the slavery of the bears but something more. It was two-way. He felt it.
“It would seem,” he said fretfully, “that since the sphexes don’t seem to hunt on their way uphill, that there should be some game. They ignore everything as they file uphill.”
This was true enough. The normal fighting formation of sphexes was line abreast, which automatically surrounded anything that offered to flee and outflanked anything that offered fight. But here they ascended the mountain in long lines, one after the other, following apparently long-established trails. The wind blew along the slopes and carried scent only sideways. But the sphexes were not diverted from their chosen paths. The long processions of hideous blue-and-tawny creatures—it was hard to think of them as natural beasts, male and female and laying eggs like reptiles on other planets—simply climbed.
“There’ve been other thousands of beasts before them,” said Huyghens. “They must have been crowding this way for days or even weeks. We’ve seen tens of thousands in Semper’s camera. They must be uncountable, altogether. The first-comers ate all the game there was, and the last-comers have something else on whatever they use for minds.”
Roane protested:
“But so many carnivores in one place is impossible! I know they are here, but they can’t be!”
“They’re cold-blooded,” Huyghens pointed out. “They don’t burn food to sustain body temperature. After all, lots of creatures go for long periods without eating. Even bears hibernate. But this isn’t hibernation—or estivation, either.” He was setting up the radiation-wave receiver in the darkness. There was no point in attempting a fix here. The transmitter was on the other side of the Sere Plateau, which inexplicably swarmed with the most ferocious and deadly of all the creatures of Loren Two. The men and bears would commit suicide by crossing here.
But Huyghens turned on the receiver. There came the whispering, scratchy sound of background noise. Then the signal. Three dots, three dashes, three dots. Three dots, three dashes, three dots. It went on and on and on. Huyghens turned it off. Roane said:
“Shouldn’t we have answered that signal before we left the station? To encourage them?”
“I doubt they have a receiver,” said Huyghens. “They won’t expect an answer for months, anyhow. They’d hardly listen all the time, and if they’re living in a mine-tunnel and trying to sneak out for food to stretch their supplies—why, they’ll be too busy to try to make complicated recorders or relays.”
Roane was silent for a moment or two.
“We’ve got to get food for the bears,” he said presently. “Nugget’s weaned, and he’s hungry.”
“We will,” Huyghens promised. “I may be wrong, but it seems to me that the number of sphexes climbing the mountain is less than yesterday and the day before. We may have just about crossed the path of their migration. They’re thinning out. When we’re past their trail, we’ll have to look out for night-walkers and the like again. But I think they wiped out all animal life on their migration route.”
He was not quite right. He was waked in darkness by the sound of slappings and the grunting of bears. Feather-light puffs of breeze beat upon his face. He struck his belt-lamp sharply and the world was hidden by a whitish film that snatched itself away. Something flapped. Then he saw the stars and the emptiness on the edge of which they camped. Then big white things flapped towards him.
Sitka Pete whuffed mightly and swatted. Faro Nell grunted and swung. She caught something in her claws. She crunched. The light went off as Huyghens realized. Then he said:
“Don’t shoot, Roane!” He listened, and heard the sounds of feeding in the dark. It ended. “Watch this!” said Huyghens.
The belt-light came on again. Something strangely shaped and pallid like human skin reeled and flapped crazily towards him. Something else. Four. Five—ten—twenty—more . . .
A huge hairy paw reached up into the light-beam and snatched a flying thing out of it. Another great paw. Huyghens shifted the light and the three great Kodiaks were on their hind legs, swatting at creatures which flittered insanely, unable to resist the fascination of the glaring lamp. Because of their wild gyrations it was impossible to see them in detail, but they were those unpleasant night-creatures which looked like plucked flying monkeys but were actually something quite different.
The bears did not snarl or snap. They swatted, with a remarkable air of businesslike competence and purpose. Small mounds of broken things built up about their feet.
Suddenly there were no more. Huyghens snapped off the light. The bears crunched and fed busily in the darkness.
“Those things are carnivores and blood-suckers, Roane,” said Huyghens calmly. “They drain their victims of blood like vampire bats—they’ve some trick of not waking them—and when they’re dead the whole tribe eats. But bears have thick furs, and they wake when they’re touched. And they’re omnivorous—they’ll eat anything but sphexes, and like it. You might say that those night-creatures came to lunch. But they stayed. They are it—for the bears, who are living off the country as usual.”
Roane uttered a sudden exclamation. He made a tiny light, and blood flowed down his hand. Huyghens passed over his pocket kit of antiseptic and bandages. Roane stanched the bleeding and bound up his hand. Then he realized that Nugget chewed on something. When he turned the light, Nugget swallowed convulsively. It appeared that he had caught and devoured the creature which had drawn blood from Roane. But Roane had lost none to speak of, at that.
In the morning they started along the sloping scarp of the plateau once more. During the morning, Roane said painfully:
“Robots wouldn’t have handled those vampire-things, Huyghens.”
“Oh, they could be built to watch for them,” said Huyghens, tolerantly. “But you’d have to swat for yourself. I prefer the bears.”
He led the way on. Here their jungle-formation could not apply. On a steep slope the bears ambled comfortably, the tough pads of their feet holding fast on the slanting rock, but the men struggled painfully. Twice Huyghens halted to examine the ground about the mountain’s base through binoculars. He looked encouraged as they went on. The monstrous peak, which was like the bow of a ship at the end of the Sere Plateau, was visibly nearer. Towards midday, indeed, it looked high above the horizon, no more than fifteen miles away. And at midday Huyghens called a final halt.
“No more congregations of sphexes down below,” he said cheerfully, “and we haven’t seen a climbing line of them in miles.” The crossing of a sphex-trail meant simply waiting until one party had passed, and then crossing before another came in view. “I’ve a hunch we’ve crossed their migration-route. Let’s see what Semper tells us!”
He waved the eagle aloft. And Semper, like all creatures other than men, normally functioned only for the satisfaction of his appetite, and then tended to loaf or sleep. He had ridden the last few miles perched on Sitka Pete’s pack. Now he soared upwards and Huyghens watched in the small vision-plate.
Semper went soaring—and the image on the plate swayed and turned and turned—and in minutes was above the plateau’s edge. And here there was some vegetation and the ground rolled somewhat, and there were even patches of brush. But as Semper towered higher still, the inner desert appeared. But nearby it was clear of beasts. Only once, when the eagle banked sharply and the camera looked along the long dimension of the plateau, did Huyghens see any sign of the blue-and-tan beasts. There he saw what looked like masses amounting to herds. But, of course, carnivores do not gather in herds.
“We go straight up,” said Huyghens in satisfaction. “We cross the plateau here—and we can edge downwind a
bit, even. I think we’ll find something interesting on our way to your robot colony.”
He waved to the bears to go ahead uphill.
They reached the top hours later—barely before sunset. And they saw game. Not much, but game at the grassy, brushy border of the desert. Huyghens brought down a shaggy ruminant which surely would not live on a desert. When night fell there was an abrupt chill in the air. It was much colder than night temperatures on the slopes. The air was thin. Roane thought confusedly and presently guessed at the cause. In the lee of the prow-mountain the air was calm. There were no clouds. The ground radiated its heat to empty space. It could be bitterly cold in the nighttime, here.
“And hot by day,” Huyghens agreed when he mentioned it. “The sunshine’s terrifically hot where the air is thin, but on most mountains there’s wind. By day, here, the ground will tend to heat up like the surface of a planet without atmosphere. It may be a hundred and forty or fifty degrees on the sand at midday. But it should be cold at night.”
It was. Before midnight Huyghens built a fire. There could be no danger of night-walkers where the temperature dropped to freezing.
In the morning the men were stiff with cold, but the bears snorted and moved about briskly. They seemed to revel in the morning chill. Sitka and Sourdough Charley, in fact, became festive and engaged in a mock fight, whacking each other with blows that were only feigned, but would have crushed in the skull of any man. Nugget sneezed with excitement as he watched them. Faro Nell regarded them with female disapproval.
They went on. Semper seemed sluggish. After a single brief flight he descended and rode on Sitka’s pack, as on the previous day. He perched there, surveying the landscape as it changed from semi-arid to pure desert in their progress. His air was arrogant. But he would not fly. Soaring birds do not like to fly when there are no winds to make currents of which to take advantage. On the way, Huyghens painstakingly pointed out to Roane exactly where they were on the enlarged photograph taken from space, and the exact spot from which the distress signal seemed to come.
“You’re doing it in case something happens to you,” said Roane. “I admit it’s sense, but—what could I do to help those survivors even if I got to them, without you?”
“What you’ve learned about sphexes would help,” said Huyghens. “The bears would help. And we left a note back at my station. Whoever grounds at the landing field back there—and the beacon’s working again—will find instructions to come to the place we’re trying to reach.”
Roane plodded alongside him. The narrow non-desert border of the Sere Plateau was behind them, now. They marched across powdery desert sand.
“See here,” said Roane, “I want to know something! You tell me you’re listed as a bear-thief on your home planet. You tell me it’s a lie—to protect your friends from prosecution by the Colonial Survey. You’re on your own, risking your life every minute of every day. You took a risk in not shooting me. Now you’re risking more in going to help men who’d have to be witnesses that you were a criminal. What are you doing it for?”
Huyghens grinned.
“Because I don’t like robots. I don’t like the fact that they’re subduing men—making men subordinate to them.”
“Go on,” insisted Roane. “I don’t see why disliking robots should make you a criminal. Nor men subordinating themselves to robots, either!”
“But they are,” said Huyghens mildly. “I’m a crank, of course. But—I live like a man on this planet. I go where I please and do what I please. My helpers, the bears, are my friends. If the robot colony had been a success, would the humans in it have lived like men? Hardly! They’d have to live the way the robots let them! They’d have to stay inside a fence the robots built. They’d have to eat foods that robots could raise, and no others. Why—a man couldn’t move his bed near a window, because if he did the house-tending robots couldn’t work! Robots would serve them—the way the robots determined—but all they’d get out of it would be jobs servicing the robots!”
Roane shook his head.
“As long as men want robot service, they have to take the service that robots can give. If you don’t want those services—”
“I want to decide what I want,” said Huyghens, again mildly, “instead of being limited to choose among what I’m offered. On my home planet we halfway tamed it with dogs and guns. Then we developed the bears, and we finished the job with them. Now there’s population-pressure and the room for bears and dogs—and men—is dwindling. More and more people are being deprived of the power of decision, and being allowed only the power of choice among the things robots allow. The more we depend on robots, the more limited those choices become. We don’t want our children to limit themselves to wanting what robots can provide! We don’t want them shriveling to where they abandon everything robots can’t give—or won’t! We want them to be men—and women. Not damned automatons who live by pushing robot-controls so they can live to push robot-controls. If that’s not subordination to robots—”
“It’s an emotional argument,” protested Roane. “Not everybody feels that way.”
“But I feel that way,” said Huyghens. “And so do a lot of others. This is a big galaxy and it’s apt to contain some surprises. The one sure thing about a robot and a man who depends on them is that they can’t handle the unexpected. There’s going to come a time when we need men who can. So on my home planet, some of us asked for Loren Two, to colonize. It was refused—too dangerous. But men can colonize anywhere if they’re men. So I came here to study the planet. Especially the sphexes. Eventually, we expected to ask for a license again, with proof that we could handle even those beasts. I’m already doing it in a mild way. But the Survey licensed a robot colony—and where is it?”
Roane made a sour face.
“You picked the wrong way to go about it, Huyghens. It was illegal. It is. It was the pioneer spirit, which is admirable enough, but wrongly directed. After all, it was pioneers who left Earth for the stars. But—”
Sourdough raised up on his hind legs and sniffed the air. Huyghens swung his rifle around to be handy. Roane slipped off the safety-catch of his own. Nothing happened.
“In a way,” said Roane vexedly, “you’re talking about liberty and freedom, which most people think is politics. You say it can be more. In principle, I’ll concede it. But the way you put it, it sounds like a freak religion.”
“It’s self-respect,” corrected Huyghens.
“You may be—”
Faro Nell growled. She bumped Nugget with her nose, to drive him closer to Roane. She snorted at him. She trotted swiftly to where Sitka and Sourdough faced towards the broader, sphex-filled expanse of the Sere Plateau. She took up her position between them.
Huyghens gazed sharply beyond them and then all about.
“This could be bad!” he said softly. “But luckily there’s no wind. Here’s a sort of hill. Come along, Roane!”
He ran ahead, Roane following and Nugget plumping heavily with him. They reached the raised place—actually a mere hillock no more than five or six feet above the surrounding sand, with a distorted cactuslike growth protruding from the ground. Huyghens stared again. He used his binoculars.
“One sphex,” he said curtly. “Just one. And it’s out of all reason for a sphex to be alone! But it’s not rational for them to gather in hundreds of thousands, either!” He wetted his finger and held it up. “No wind at all.”
He used the binoculars again.
“It doesn’t know we’re here,” he added. “It’s moving away. Not another one in sight—” He hesitated, bitting his lips. “Look here, Roane! I’d like to kill that one lone sphex and find out something. There’s fifty percent chance I could find out something really important. But—I might have to run. If I’m right—” Then he said grimly. “It’ll have to be done quickly. I’m going to ride Faro Nell—for speed. I doubt Sitka or Sourdough would stay behind. But Nugget can’t run fast enough. Will you stay here with him?”
&nbs
p; Roane drew in his breath. Then he said calmly:
“You know what you’re doing. Of course.”
“Keep your eyes open. If you see anything, even at a distance, shoot and we’ll be back—fast! Don’t wait until something’s close enough to hit. Shoot the instant you see anything—if you do!”
Roane nodded. He found it peculiarly difficult to speak again. Huyghens went over to the embattled bears. He climbed up on Faro Nell’s back, holding fast by her shaggy fur.
“Let’s go!” he snapped. “That way! Hup!”
The three Kodiaks plunged away at a dead run, Huyghens lurching and swaying on Faro Nell’s back. The sudden rush dislodged Semper from his perch. He flapped wildly and got aloft. Then he followed effortfully, flying low.
It happened very quickly. A Kodiak bear can travel as fast as a racehorse on occasion. These three plunged arrow-straight for a spot perhaps half a mile distant, where a blue-and-tawny shape whirled to face them. There was the crash of Huyghens’ weapon from where he rode on Faro Nell’s back—the explosion of the weapon and the bullet were one sound. The somehow unnatural spiky monster leaped and died.
Huyghens jumped down from Faro Nell. He became feverishly busy at something on the ground—where the parti-colored sphex had fallen. Semper banked and whirled and came down to the ground. He watched, with his head on one side.
Roane stared, from a distance. Huyghens was doing something to the dead sphex. The two male bears prowled about. Faro Nell regarded Huyghens with intense curiosity. Back at the hillock, Nugget whimpered a little. Roane patted him roughly. Nugget whimpered more loudly. In the distance, Huyghens straightened up and took three steps toward Faro Nell. He mounted. Sitka turned his head back toward Roane. He seemed to see or sniff something dubious. He reared upwards. He made a noise, apparently, because Sourdough ambled to his side. The two great beasts began to trot back. Semper flapped wildly and—lacking wind—lurched crazily in the air. He landed on Huyghens’ shoulder and his talons clung there.
