Postmarked the Stars sq-4

by Andre Norton

  A third screech and the monster seemed to have made up its mind. It shot forward to the right with a speed that made it just a dark blur, a dark arm and limb streaking down across the blob as it passed, cutting cleanly, and throwing off the stuff of at least three tentacles, which hit the ground and began a movement of its own, forming a small mass like the parent body. But the monster paid no attention to that. It faced about, its forelimbs up and whirling out, as the blob altered course, heading with less speed but with inexorable purpose for it.

  Once more the first comer made a lightning-swift attack, shearing and tossing aside what it cut away from the blob. Again those fragments combined to become a smaller blob, moving as the first cutting had done toward the monster. The monster was facing now not one opponent but three, though the two small ones would seem to be far less dangerous than the main body. Twice more the thing struck, ripping at its opponent in a frenzy, and each time it only created a new, if much smaller, enemy.

  “They have it ringed!” Meshler cried out. “It may think it’s cutting that other thing to pieces, but it’s really ringing itself in.”

  He was right. The first three blobs had become eighteen. The monster no longer attacked with the same speed. Either it was tiring, its energy perhaps already somewhat worn by its battle with the platform support, or else it was growing more wary, perhaps beginning to understand, if it had a mind to comprehend, that its efforts put it in more and more danger.

  The blob now, the parent one, was less than half the size it had been when it oozed into the open. But as it shrank, its offspring increased. Now the larger of those were beginning to sprout short, wavering tentacles in turn. And always those pointed to the creature around which they had built a ring.

  There came a pause in that weird struggle. The monster squatted motionless now, still facing the first blob. The others did not move. Instead the first tentacles they put forth, to point small fingers at their enemy, now waved to each side, spinning thinner and thinner, weaving back and forth aimlessly through the air. But that there was method in this was quickly demonstrated. Two weaving tentacles from separate smaller blobs touched. Instantly they united, so that the two became one, thin and closer to the ground. And as they had managed this unification, so did the rest. Thus the ring about their enemy was complete, save for directly before the monster, where the parent blob lay. Perhaps its inertia was meant to lull the victim. It would seem that way, for the first comer apparently did not see or care that three-quarters of the way around, it was now encircled by a ribbon band lying on the ground, momentarily quiescent.

  What signal passed to produce the next move in that struggle Dane did not know, but the two loose ends of that band flew to join themselves to the parent. As an overstretched piece of elastic material might do, the band itself snapped against the back of the squatting monster, pushing it forward, screeching and flailing wildly, until the front portion of the blob raised up, not tentacles but half its bulk, to come down with smashing finality on its captive. It heaved and rolled from side to side, the band now completely reunited.

  Though engulfed, the monster had not surrendered. The rolling blob spun around, changing shape constantly as the struggle within it beat and tore at its heart. But that struggle gradually subsided. The blob tightened, drew in and in until it was a solid-looking sphere, and there was no more movement.

  “Digesting,” Tau said. “Well, we’ve seen how you don’t fight that anyway.”

  “What is it?” Dane turned to Meshler for enlightenment He should know something of the native wildlife.

  “I don’t know.” The ranger was still staring, bemused, at the ball. “It is not native here.”

  “That makes two—three, if you count what it ate,” Dane said. “That antline and these two. The antline was certainly from off-world, maybe these, too.”

  “But”—Meshler turned his head as if it was a distinct effort to do so—“it is against the law to import without a certificate. The Trosti people would not—”

  “Who said these were imported, or—if so—in these forms?” Tau asked. “If they have a box, these could be retrogressions of things entirely different. The Trosti people have a high reputation, of course, but are you entirely sure, Meshler, that this is a Trosti undertaking?”

  “This is top-security country under Trosti management,” the ranger said slowly.

  “Orders can be used as a screen at times,” commented the medic, and in that he was reflecting what the Free Traders had learned long ago.

  “Why would anyone want monsters?” Dane looked to the blob and then away. He didn’t like to remember the details of that recent struggle, though he had no sympathy for the monster who had lost.

  “Maybe not monsters for the sake of monsters,” Tau acknowledged. “These are probably experiments of some sort. But there are other uses for such radiation. Suppose such a box were planted on a holding, how long could a settler stick it out if his livestock began to mutate to this extent? It would be an excellent way to clear off a world. Or, if they could make it work on human beings—”

  Dane sat up. Tau was giving voice to fears he shared. But Meshler was more interested in the first part of the medic’s speculation.

  “Why would they want to get rid of settlers?”

  “You know more about your own planet than I do. Ask yourself that. I am wondering whether that thing can climb,” Tau watched the blob. “Also how long before it is hungry again—”

  Dane stood up. There were huge reptiles on his native world, which, engorging a large meal, were then sluggish for days thereafter. One could never judge unknown fauna by what one knew of other species, but they could hope this was the case now. He turned to look for the haze marking the barrier. They should be able to see it from here and mark out a path if the brach was successful and the force field went out.

  “There is no reason—” Meshler was still wrestling with the problem of the settlers being the target. “There is no reason here. And this, this kind of experiment, it can’t be known by the Council.”

  “Good. Let us get out, and you can tell them all about it,” replied Tau. “Is the field still up,” he asked Dane.

  “Yes.” The thin haze was unbroken. How long before they must conclude that the brach had failed? And how long before that blob would uncoil and be hungry again? Could it climb? He would rather not guess, though his treacherous imagination kept suggesting that there was no reason in the world to believe it could not.

  Resolutely he concentrated on the matter at hand, to calculate the nearest point of the haze. He thought that lay to the north, and he said as much.

  “The question is, do we stay here, or do we try to reach the field before our visitor comes out of his after dinner trance,” Tau said. “I’m wondering how many more surprises may be lurking in the undergrowth.”

  He had gotten so far when Dane saw the flicker of the haze. Had the brach been successful? But the barrier steadied, and he choked back his cry, only to see a second flicker before the force field disappeared.

  “It’s off!”

  “We move!” Tau stooped to pick up something Meshler had laid beside his pack. It was the torch made from the branch. The medic weighed it in one hand, as if he meditated its use as a club, then thrust the butt in his belt.

  Dane took a careful bearing on the nearest point of freedom. Beyond that the land was clear, and they could make better time. He gave a last glance at the blob, but that remained so quiet that one could believe it a rock outcrop.

  He kicked the ladder out, feeling its weighted end thump on the ground, and swung over. But as he descended, he continued to peer between the supports to watch the blob. He wished that they did not have to turn their backs on the thing to flee.

  There was thick brush between them and the open, matted stuff through which Meshler had earlier guided them. As they ran for that, Tau pulled the torch from his belt.

  “How inflammable is this woods?” He came level with the ranger to ask.


  “This is winter, and the leaves are dried. They will fall in the spring when pushed off by new growth. What would you do?”

  “Set a wall behind us—make sure we won’t be ambushed by other nasty surprises.”

  Again they locked hands, and Meshler led them through the bush. When they could see the open land, Tau brought from one of the loops of his belt a sparker and touched it to the soaked torch. The thing blazed fiercely, and the medic turned, whirled it about his head, and hurled it into the thicket through which they had forced their way.

  That’s a perfect beacon,” Dane protested.

  “Maybe so, but it’s the best answer, short of setting on the field again—which we can’t do—to deter a tracker. I don’t fancy anything from that horror pen sniffing on my trail!”

  They ran, speeding out into the open. When they stumbled into the road left by the crawlers, there was a growing line of fire behind.

  “Where now?” Dane fully expected Meshler to turn back to the lamp-guarded way. But instead he faced in the other direction.

  “We still need transportation—more than ever if they hunt us down after that—” He gestured to the fire, not only spreading a red and yellow ring at ground level, but also now setting tall candles by igniting trees.

  “We just walk in and ask—” Dane stood where he was. “That’s about as stupid as kicking that blob—”

  “No.” At least Meshler had some sense left. “We wait.” He looked about, hitching the pack off his shoulder. “That place up there might do.”

  The place up there was a cut made by crawler treads running between slightly higher banks. There was cover, though of a meager sort, in some crumbling ridges of soil. Had they blasters, it would have been a place for an ambush. Was Meshler thinking that the fire would draw attention—bring a vehicle here they could take? But without weapons?

  “What will you do?” he demanded. “Wave them down?”

  For the first time he heard a rusty noise. Could it be that Meshler was laughing?

  “Something like that. If we are lucky and someone comes to see what is happening.”

  He took something from his pack, but what it was Dane could not see. It appeared the ranger was not going to explain his plan. The sensible thing was to jet off—he and Tau—and leave Meshler to his folly, but they were not left time for decision. The clank of a crawler in operation came to their ears.

  With Tau, Dane speedily took cover behind the all-too-slight ridge. The ranger was on the other side of the road and had so well melted into the landscape that Dane had no idea where he lay.

  Whoever drove the crawler was pushing that machine to its top speed. The engine and frame were protesting the resulting shaking with a medley of small noises. They could see it nosing into the cut, and it clanked on past them, while Dane waited tensely for Meshler’s attack. When that did not come, he gave a sigh of relief. The ranger must have thought better of his wild idea.

  As the crawler continued, a dark shape separated from the opposite ridge and came down into the road. What followed Dane could not see clearly, but he thought that Meshler had tossed something on the rear of the machine. The crawler ground on for a couple of rounds of its treads, and then vapor began to wreathe it in.

  From the cabin sounded coughing and shouts indistinguishable to the Terrans. The door swung open on one side, and a man threw himself out and rolled to the ground, followed by another. There was a spat of blaster fire aimed straight up into the night. By that Dane saw two more men drop from the cabin, clawing at their faces and yelling. The blaster fell from the grip of whoever had held it and lay in one of the ruts, beaming its deadly ray along the ground, sending the full of its charge back within the narrow walls of that deep track.

  Reflection from that continued to give them a limited view of what was going on. The crawler, cabin doors hanging open, kept on, but the men who had fallen or jumped from it were lying still. Two more had made valiant efforts to draw hand weapons. One got his free of the holster before he went limp.

  Now Meshler appeared, sprinting along beside the road, leaping for the crawler, catching an open door, being dragged until he pulled himself up to wriggle in. The heavy machine ground to a stop.

  The blaster still continued to discharge fire along the rut, and the two Terrans made a careful detour by that ribbon of radiance as they ran to join the ranger. Tau paused by the first of the crumpled figures. He did not stoop to touch the man, only sniffed and then hurriedly drew a succession of quick breaths to clear his lungs.

  “Sleep gas,” he said to Dane. “So he did have a weapon.”

  “And used it brilliantly!” Dane was willing to give credit. But what if only one of those in the crawler had had time to really aim? Meshler could easily have been crisped. He went down on one knee, caught at the discharging blaster, and thumbed it off. With the failure of that light, he had to feel his way from one body to the next, collecting the rest of their weapons.

  But in spite of recklessness, Meshler had made his venture pay off handsomely. They had the crawler, plus four blasters, though one was close to power exhaustion, transportation, and arms.

  Only Meshler was not yet satisfied, it seemed, when the Terrans joined him. The crawler had come to life again and was slowly edging around. The ranger only grunted, as if thinking of something else when the Terrans congratulated him on his success.

  “Clear them off the road, will you,” he said when the machine was turned to face its source. “Stow them well up on the ridge. They’ll sleep it off.”

  “But where are you planning to go?” Dane demanded.

  “You know how fast one of these moves?” There was a shade of contempt in that question. “We can take it, sure. And then they can retake us, long before we reach Cartl’s. We need a flitter, or a shuttle flier—”

  “You believe we can just ride into their camp and pick out the kind of transportation we want?” snapped Dane.

  “Won’t know until we try, will we?” Meshler sounded reasonable, but reason and what he suggested had no common base. “Crawler came out with their men in it—crawler comes back. Who’s to know it isn’t their men coming back? And you have blasters—”

  Oh, it was all logical in an insane kind of way. The Terrans could pull the blasters on Meshler, but the ranger probably knew they would not. And the crawler was slow transport.

  “Light two prayer sticks to Xampbrema,” Tau commented. “Beat the drum, summon the seven spirits of Alba Nuc—” He might have been reciting one of the spells he had culled over the years. “He’s mad enough to try it. We might as well aid and abet him.”

  Together Dane and Tau carried the sleepers to one of the ridges, stretching them out to await dawn or whatever waking hour the gas allowed them, while, under Meshler’s guidance, the crawler waddled past the scene of the ambush.

  Anyway, he did, as Meshler had pointed out, now have a blaster, thought Dane, as he climbed into the cabin. And the—the brach! In the push of late events, he had forgotten the brach. Somewhere the alien must be—they could not pull out and leave him.

  What the crawler, following its own rutted trail, brought them to was a basin, oval in shape. But when they stared down, Dane shook his head and rubbed his eyes. There was something there—

  “Take it in quick!” Tau gave that order sharply, as if they were confronted by danger.

  The crawler’s nose dipped. There was a strange feeling of disorientation, almost akin to that one felt on entering hyper. But they were not on board ship now.

  Dane had closed his eyes almost involuntarily to keep out that queer feeling. Now he opened them, realizing the crawler was descending a steep slope.

  What lay before them was no longer affected, or else he was not affected, by the dizzying blurring that had struck moments earlier. There were diffuse lamps out, none of them on high, yet strong enough to have provided a beacon reaching above the level of the basin’s rim. Only they had not seen them. They had been in the dark until th
ey slipped through that thing which acted as a lid over the valley basin.

  “A sight-distort,” Tau murmured. “A wide-scale distort. This place could not be seen by a flier.”

  But Dane was more interested now in what lay ahead. The lamps marked four bubble structures, the usual shelters carried by any scouting camp. Beyond those were two buildings that looked, so low were their walls and those roofed with earth, as if they were more excavated in the ground than built above the surface.

  What was more important now was a vehicle park to one side. There was another crawler there, and beyond it a flitter, and farther still—Dane gave a muffled exclamation, for the surface of the ground had been hollowed out and in that large pit, balanced on its fins, was a spacer. The diffuse lamps near the rim showed the glassy, congealed earth, proving that the ship had planeted here more than once. Many blast­offs and setdowns, with the pilot riding in on deter rockets, had built up that burn.

  “The flitter—” Meshler nodded as if he had known all along their amazing luck was going to hold.

  But the camp was in nowise deserted. Men were hurrying to the other crawler. Dane distinctly saw in the light the long barrel of a disrupter, though what such a weapon, forbidden for civilian use, was doing here was just more of the puzzle. Also, from one of the earth-roofed buildings rose a rod shining metallically in the light. That was a power com send, by its length able not only to reach the port in the north but also perhaps to beam messages into space.

  Meshler kept the crawler at its steady pace. They would have to pass close to the other vehicle in order to reach the flitter, and he made no attempt to swing wide. Perhaps he thought their bluff would hold.

  The other machine, which had started up, ground to a halt as they approached, and a man leaned out of its cabin to shout at them. Meshler waved his hand through the window. Perhaps he hoped that ambiguous gesture would buy them a little more time. The bulk of the crawler and its walls would protect them for a little. But once they left it to run to the flitter—