Growing Season

by F. L. Wallace

  But it didn't mean there hadn't been an actual bird. It could be put there in a plastic bubble that wasn't visible against the blackness of space. If so, it was an ingenious way of harassing him.

  He relaxed at that formulation. It hadn't been worth the effort, but it did prove one thing — his unknown antagonist had an excellent imagination.

  Time passed — days, perhaps, though that unit had little meaning on the ship. It was the work period which counted and nobody had bothered to tell him how long that was. The last planet of the system was analyzed and the permanent markers sent down. The star was tagged and the ship proceeded on its way.

  What the destination was, Alsint didn't know and didn't inquire. They were going somewhere, to uncatalogued stars, and that was enough to know.

  His hands healed and the bandages were removed. Larienne was reassigned to help him. The rest of the crew, whatever they guessed, or sensed, said nothing and the normal pattern of life on the tag ship seemed re-established.

  His anxiety faded. It was not, he was sure, the end of the attempts to remove him, but he had time to think, to plan countermeasures.

  He was not wholly prepared. He and Larienne were approaching the plant. The door was open and he could see inside. He glanced casually at the row on row of mechanism, and stopped.

  "What's the matter?" asked Larienne.

  He moistened his lips. "Go around to the other side and close the door. Be quiet about it, but close the door quickly."

  She stared at him curiously and started to go inside.

  He grabbed her arm. "Around, I said. Not through."

  She shrugged and went around. In time he could see the other door close. Then she came back.

  "What's inside?" she whispered, adopting his own attitude.

  "Something I want you to see."

  She peered in. "I can't see anything."

  "It's out of the line of vision now, but it's still in there." He swung the door nearly shut. "Inside, fast. I'll show you."

  Obediently she went in and he followed, closing the door behind him. She waited.

  "The bird," he said. "I want you to verify that it is in here."

  "Bird?" She was puzzled and dismayed. "How did a bird get in here?"

  "I don't know. I'll figure that out later." There was no need to whisper, since it couldn't escape; nevertheless he did. "It's a psychological stunt. The best way to stop it is to catch the bird."

  She drew away uncertainly. "You saw it in here?"

  "I did, and I want you to be with me when I find it."

  "Then we should make a lot of noise. It will fly up if it's frightened."

  "Good. You take that aisle and I'll take this. Yell when you see it."

  They separated. He hunted carefully, moving everything that could be moved, looking for the flash of red wings. The bird was shy and had hidden.

  They met in the center aisle.

  In answer to his unspoken query, she shook her head. "I didn't see it."

  "It's here," he said stubbornly. "I can't be mistaken."

  She started to say something and changed her mind. "Let's look again," she suggested. It was not what she intended to say. What she thought was plain from the expression on her face.

  Again they went through the plant machine, searching. Every crevice, every hidden corner was examined. He peered into the machinery, the tanks and the trays, above and below. They looked, but there was no bird.

  Larienne stood beside him and glanced up at the ceiling. "Maybe it got out through the ventilators."

  "It couldn't," he said harshly. The ventilators were also filters; a microbe would have difficulty getting through. She was trying to give him a way out, but he couldn't take it.

  The room in which the plant machine was housed was not a simple open space; there was structure throughout. But it was inconceivable that something as large as a bird, even a small bird, could escape detection.

  "I'll take care of the plant," he said quietly. "I want to think."

  She left. He knew how she felt. It was worse because she did feel that way.

  He had scored against himself. Larienne would say nothing to the rest of the crew, but it would come out. Emotional reactions couldn't be hidden. And if there was ever an inquiry, she'd have to tell her story.

  Franklan would see that there was an inquiry. That was his job. There was nothing particularly arduous about life on a tag ship, yet not everyone was suited to it. Monotony — and each person had to adjust to the others as well as the ship. There was no room for a person who saw things.

  It was a most effective attack, without danger for the man or men behind it. Twice he had seen something that wasn't there, and there were witnesses to testify against him. It would be enough to remove him from the ship. The subsequent treatment wouldn't harm him, but the ship would be gone and he'd never get back on. Tag ships were just too unpredictable; they came and they went as they pleased, and no one could say where they would next arrive.

  Baffled, he tried to catalogue the crew. Not Larienne. She'd live with him if he wanted, more readily now than before. Ordinary rules didn't apply to her; sympathy counted for most.

  Nor was it Franklan. Bluntly he'd given his opinion, but that didn't mean he was responsible for this. The person who was behind it was keeping well hidden.

  Alsint went wearily down the line, adjusting and readjusting.

  On one of the handles was — a tiny red feather.

  He stared at it, relief forming nebulously in his mind. A bird had been there. How it had gotten in and then out again through closed doors, he didn't know. That part was unimportant. It had been there.

  It wasn't a hallucination, though for a time he'd almost believed it himself. Now he knew.

  Gingerly he picked up the feather. It was no proof, except to himself. That was enough. He could do something about it.

  The trap for him was set, but wouldn't be closed immediately. The ship would not go out of the way except in extreme emergency. In another four months it would run low on fuel and material for the tagging operation, assuming normal conditions. The ship would then return to the nearest inhabited planet.

  That was the way tag ships operated. Unlike other ships, freight or passenger, their objective was not to get from one inhabited planet to another as fast as possible, but to stay away as long as they could. For that reason, of ail ships, they alone had to have the plant. No other food supply was so economical of space and weight.

  Once they reached a planet, he'd be referred to the authorities for psychiatric examination. Eventually he'd be cleared, but by then it would be too late. Unless he could forestall it.

  There was a way to do that, though it was dangerous for him, and he stood a chance of ruining the plant.

  He made up his mind and went back down the line of controls. Larienne might question some of the new settings, but she'd defer to his judgment.

  It took two weeks for the plant to decline so even the captain could see that it was impossible to go on. As master of the ship, he disliked abandoning tagging operations even temporarily, but the crew had to eat.

  It was a planet. Nothing out of the ordinary, there were many planets like Earth. Not many that were settled, though; almost uniformly, that kind of planet lacked the heavy elements that made colonization economically feasible.

  It was pleasant and sunny, great grassy glades and an equal amount of forests. No intelligent life on it, so there was nothing to worry about on that score. Animals, big and little, but ordinary weapons would discourage them.

  Half a mile away was the ship, ready for instant flight. Not that there was anything to flee from. That was the way it had to come down if it was ever to rise again.

  The plant had been stripped to components and spread over the ground. An extensive layout, but it was necessary if the plant was going to get full benefit of planetary conditions. It had been put together to facilitate disassembly, and it hadn't taken long to remove it from the ship.

 
A transparent canopy covered it, protection from the elements. A sudden rainstorm could drastically alter the concentration of the vital fluids. There was also an electrified fence to keep out stray animals.

  Everything except root cells was exposed to the sun and wind. Under these conditions the plant began to recover from the deliberate injury he had done it. Why plants should recover so easily was still a mystery, but generations of plant mechanics had discovered that they always did.

  Alsint took the sundown shift. The plant could be left alone at night, locked up with the knowledge that nothing big enough to damage it could get in. It was better if there was someone to make minute adjustments from time to time, but that was not the reason he was there.

  Sundown or sunrise, and sundown was better. Either time, men were outside the ship who didn't have to account for their whereabouts. More were out at sundown. And one of them, sooner or later, would be the person he wanted.

  The plan was simple. Give the man every opportunity to kill him, make it irresistible — but shoot first. If the man lived, he would talk. If he didn't, there would be some clue in his personal effects. Dangerous, but if Alsint wanted to profit from his plant, he had no choice.

  Days passed and no one came near. He could and did retard the regrowth of the plant, but in that respect he was limited. He couldn't be too obvious about it. The time came when he couldn't stall any longer. In reply to the captain's blunt question, he had to admit that in the morning the plant would be in as good condition as he could get it.

  He sat that night in the enclosure, knowing this was his last chance. It grew dark and night sounds intruded. The lights in the ship went out. Only the light near him remained. He was careful to sit at the edge of illumination, visible, but a poor target.

  Animals snuffled in the brush near the electrified fence. They had learned quickly and knew better than to touch it. And there was another sound — no animal.

  He quietly shifted his arm and held the light in readiness. He listened. Someone was crawling through the brush. He had to wait. It was hard on his nerves, being bait.

  He flashed the light on suddenly.

  The man was half hidden behind a bush and Alsint couldn't see his face, but the gun in his hand glittered through the leaves.

  "Surprise," said Alsint. "Don't try anything."

  The man stood there, but he didn't drop his gun.

  Alsint didn't like it. He couldn't identify the man. If he ran back into the forest, Alsint wouldn't know any more than he had in the beginning. He fingered the gun. "Come out where I can see you," he said.

  The man didn't move — waiting until his eyes adjusted to the light shining on him, decided Alsint. As a choice, his own life came first. He raised the gun.

  Before he could fire, a red bird attacked his eyes, squawking wildly.

  He didn't drop the light. He tried to bat the bird away from his face, but it clung to his hair. Before he could crush it, he heard the whoosh of a gas gun. And the sound came from behind him. That was his mistake. There was more than one of them.

  He breathed once and then felt himself fall forward.

  It was morning when he awakened, bright sunlight streaming into his eyes. That was not the reason his head hurt, though he could be thankful the man or men had used a gas pellet instead of a projectile. Whoever he or they were.

  He got up and staggered toward the ship. A few steps were all he took. The ship wasn't there. He leaned against a tree and looked wildly around. The plant was gone too.

  Shakily he fumbled for a cigarette. Smoke didn't help much. They had taken the plant aboard while he was unconscious. They had left him alone on an uninhabited planet.

  A pretty planet and a useless one. No ship ever stopped here except to revive a plant, and that wouldn't happen often. It would be several life times before another ship came, if one ever did.

  He stared miserably into the bright blue distance and thrust his hands into his jacket, and made a discovery. They'd left him a gun, at least, and ammunition. He'd be able to keep himself alive at a minimum level.

  There was a whistle in the distance. His head came up. He wasn't alone. Larienne?

  It couldn't be. From the direction of the sound, if it was Larienne, she was hiding in a nearby tree. But Larienne didn't like trees.

  "Richel Alsint," said a loud voice. Behind him this time.

  He turned around. There was no one there. Nothing but a red bird sitting on a branch. He started. The same red bird that had flown mysteriously in and out of his life. If it weren't for that creature, he'd be safely on the ship. He raised the gun.

  From one foot to another, the bird hopped on the branch. "Birds can't talk," it screeched. "Birds can't talk."

  The implication was clear. "Since you can talk, you're not a bird." The gun was still leveled. "Then what are you?"

  "I could tell," said the bird. It had stopped hopping and was watching him calmly. It was red, but sometimes blue. The colors wouldn't remain fixed.

  He lowered the gun in defeat. He couldn't kill a harmless creature just for the sake of killing. It hadn't been responsible for this.

  "Don't be so sure, Richel Alsint. Don't be so sure." The bird burst into a wild trilling song.

  He glared at it speechlessly. Bird it wasn't. Either it could read his thoughts or it had been taught a patter that fitted his present situation with remarkable precision.

  "What do you think?" said the bird, cocking its head.

  He forgot about the bird. It was only a momentary diversion. "I've been marooned," he said dully.

  "It's happened before. It will happen again," chirruped the bird. "Don't worry, I'm here."

  It was, but he wished it would go away.

  "There is a note. Why don't you read, read, read?" sang the bird.

  He looked, catching a glimpse of sunlight on metal. They had left something. He ran over to it, a few hundred yards away.

  And there was a note. He seized it feverishly.

  I made them leave this. You may not need it, but you deserve to know the answers.

  Don't you understand? You were infuriating everyone, even me, and I liked you better than anyone on the ship. You were always changing things for the sake of that damn plant! It was too dry, so we had to have more humidity than liked. Or the pilot had to keep the drive from vibrating. Or this, or that, on and on and on! Who cares, really?

  A good plant mechanic ought to keep the plant alive for five months and then let it die. We can live the last month off the remains. We have to go back every six months for supplies anyway. It's expensive, I know, but until you can get a plant that reacts as we do, it will just have to die and be replaced.

  I thought of staying with you, but I couldn't stand all those changes — rain and sun — all the things an uncontrolled planet has. And then there was that story of the bird. That was too much!

  Don't think too badly of me. At least I kept them from killing you.

  There was no signature, but there was no doubt who had written it.

  "All of them," he muttered. Not just one man. Everyone, from the captain down. Larienne too. And they were safe. Who would bother to look for him when the captain recorded in the log that Richel Alsint had deserted because his plant was a failure? And, of course, it was going to fail.

  "The crew of the craft was daft, and you were the only one who was sane?" said the bird. "Don't you believe it. There are people on countless planets just like them."

  It was true. The crew was part of the civilization. On those planets where it was possible to have parks, no one went to them. They stayed in the cities as the crew stayed in the ship. And on other planets — roofed over against poisonous gases, and inhabitants who never saw the sun — those planets were not much better than spaceships. He was the one who was different, not they. They had a mechanical culture and they liked it.

  He could see how he had irritated the crew in ways he didn't suspect. They had wanted to get rid of him and they had.

  He
looked down at the machine they had left him, robbed, at Larienne's insistence, from the major plant. Small, just large enough to supply one man, but containing all the necessary parts. A plant machine in miniature.

  She really hadn't understood. He could live on the food this provided. But would he, on a world teeming with animals and covered with plants, real plants? He laughed bitterly.

  "Now you know," said the bird. "In the past there were others marooned. Just like you. I came from them."