Space Trap

by Juanita Coulson

  Their brightest and best, people like Thayenta and Briv! Briv was one of two survivors among the powers on M’Nae — the movers of the prism. He had come through with this first expeditionary force to the new world, putting his life on the line again, for his people.

  It put Briv in new perspective for Ken. He forgave some of the harsh and cruel behavior. Briv was an alien leader desperately intent on survival for his race, one of the few leaders they had left.

  There was no way Briv could have known that NE 592 had already been claimed by a Terran. Nor could he have known that this Terran would return with his followers for a rendezvous nobody wanted.

  “There will be more Terrans coming, Briv,” Ken warned. “If they approach this world — even by accident — they’ll be caught and they’ll crash.” Ken indicated the prism. “The Gera-ana brings M’Nae from their home world to this one. But for Terrans it’s a trap, a deadly trap. You’ve killed Terrans with it, and you’ll kill more. They’re innocent victims, like your ambassador. My people didn’t know who he was. They panicked and fired. The man who did that is ill, his mind twisted.”

  Ken sensed emotions emanating from the M’Nae. Pity? A stricken sympathy? Eads, the Terran who’d killed the ambassador, was a man whose mind was disordered? That must have struck particularly hard at the M’Nae; they placed such reliance on the intellect.

  “More Terrans,” Briv said slowly. “The Gera-ana, the Iontran …”

  Someday Ken vowed he’d learn the specifics of those terms. But for now Ken nodded emphatically. “They will come. They will come seeking Eads. They want to cure him, heal his mind.”

  “How … how may they be stopped?” Briv had taken a giant step toward concession.

  Hurriedly, Ken seized the chance. “Maybe a beacon would work. We could cannibalize some equipment to build a crude warning signal.” As he considered that, inspiration came to him and he added enthusiastically, “When the Patrol ships see the beacon and park out in lunar orbit, the M’Nae could reach them — telepathically. Explain what has happened, the dangers of the Gera-ana. We can lick it, Briv! M’Nae and humans working together can lick it.”

  “You are not like the death bringers.” It was meant as a compliment, one Ken dared not accept.

  “But we are, Briv. We’re just like Eads and the others. We’re no different,” Ken insisted. “Except that R.C. and I understand. You must make Eads understand, somehow.”

  Briv stepped directly into Ken’s mind. There were no raking talons this time. And Ken accepted, letting the alien leader explore his thoughts at will. The sensation was unnerving. Here was an intense, very masculine personality, examining his brain. Ken felt Thayenta’s hand in his and was grateful for that gentle contact with reality.

  It was an experience of sharing. Briv, and now all the other M’Nae, were absorbing Ken’s memories and ideas. They were doing it instantly, in a heartbeat, and making a strenuous effort to adopt the human’s attitudes.

  The shock of the telepathic exploration jolted Ken. With difficulty, he held his ground. He mustn’t cringe away, not now, not when they were meeting him, compromising.

  He hoped he was up to the job — serving as a representative for the entire Terran race!

  I see.

  None of the aliens uttered the simple phrase, yet Ken heard it. He didn’t hear it in Terran. It wasn’t possible, he couldn’t understand the M’Nae language.

  Good. Thayenta spoke up, telepathically. He can be helped, become good once more.

  Eads, she was talking about curing the man. Was it possible?

  Would it be in time?

  R.C. Ken reached out with his thoughts. Where was R.C. right now? Was the space veteran managing okay? He was alone and wounded. Things would get rough for him if Eads’ search veered toward the wrecked Class-D, as inevitably it must.

  The M’Nae felt Ken’s concern for the older man. They turned his anxiety over and over, examining emotions, learning about Terrans. Ken bore the invasion of privacy stolidly.

  Then, abruptly, he was being carried on a beam of telepathy. It stretched out across kilometers, toward the colonists’ valley, across the village, to the wrecked cargo ship.

  Teleporting!

  This time Ken’s stomach didn’t complain. He was getting used to a whole new set of physical sensations.

  He moved telepathically along darkened corridors, searching for R.C.

  There! Ken saw him. The pilot had managed to climb to the middle decks in the smashed hulk. And the man was hurting. He had asked too much of that wounded leg.

  Voices echoed down the ship’s corridors. Lights flashed in the distance. Eads and his men were closing in on the injured Surveyman.

  Frustration ground at Ken. If only he were there. If only he could help R.C.!

  His mind was divorced from his body, yet towing it along invisibly, like cargo. And he wasn’t alone. Many other presences crowded into the wrecked space craft alongside him.

  They were here in the ship. And it wasn’t dark any more. With those cat’s eyes of theirs, the M’Nae didn’t need artificial lighting. But they provided illumination for their new Terran friends: glowing, sourceless light, like the one that had led from the prism chamber to the raft by the stream.

  “What? Ken!” R.C. turned and stared at his apprentice and at the aliens accompanying him, Briv, Thayenta, and a dozen of the M’Nae.

  “My escort,” Ken said wryly, shifting mental gears to cope with the situation. He ran to the door of the cargo hold where R.C. had been hiding. He saw bobbing torches, down the corridor. The hunters were coming to catch their "quarry — just as Ken had seen them in his mind’s eye.

  “Closing fast,” R.C. said heavily. He leaned on a bulkhead, breathing hard. He hefted his needler and glared at it. “I hate to use this damned thing, but … So far I’ve been able to dodge them, lead them on a wild goose chase. But it’s getting harder and harder. They’ve got me pinned. Where’s your needler, Ken?”

  “I threw it away.”

  “You … have you gone crazy, son?” Zachary gawked at him.

  Ken said quietly, “I won’t need it, and you won’t need yours, R.C. Briv, can you teleport all the weapons out of range? All the weapons — the clubs and farm tools too?”

  Briv jerked his head in that characteristic M’Nae sideways nod. Down the corridor there were startled shouts, followed by silence, then a confused murmuring.

  Zachary gazed at his empty hand.

  “Gives you something to think about, doesn’t it?” Ken said with a wry grin. “And it’ll give the colonists something to think about, too, namely — just what they’re up against. It’s more than they can handle with brute force, and might inject a note of compromise, one we’ve been hoping for.”

  “But without weapons … ”

  Ken went to the pilot, urging the man to sit down and rest. As R.C. submitted to Thayenta’s ministrations, Ken said, “We don’t need weapons. Not now. I got through to the M’Nae, R.C.”

  “What about their dead ambassador? asked R.C., eying Briv warily.

  “He understands. And I’m beginning to,” Ken said. “There’s a lot yet for me to learn. But I seem to be a quick study. Maybe I have telepathic abilities. You were right, R.C. The M’Nae have power, more than we can comprehend, totally different from human technology and they’re willing to work with us.” Ken felt Briv and the other M’Nae brushing against his mind, taking their cues from Earth’s unofficial spokesman to the alien delegation.

  The mutterings of the search party had died away. Their footsteps were measured and unmenacing. R.C. tensed, waved a warning hand at Ken.

  Ken shook his head, unalarmed, knowing what was coming.

  Eads, his Praetorians, and several other colonists entered the cargo hold. They weren’t in a trance, but their belligerence was gone. A completely different mood had taken hold of them, one of openness. They were willing to listen, to have their questions answered.

  “I … I don’t know.”
Noland Eads said softly. There was an uneasy stirring among his followers. Without Eads’ direction, they were rudderless, and Ken conveyed that fact to the M’Nae. A few of the men were still staring wonderingly at their empty hands. Naked without their weapons, they acted without desperation. They were simply confused.

  “It’s okay, Captain Eads,” Ken said smoothly. “There has been some confusion. That alien you met earlier was an ambassador from the M’Nae. His people would like to negotiate with you, Captain, about sharing this planet.”

  “Sharing?” Eads wasn’t angry. In fact he looked like a man waking out of a nightmare. He shook his head slightly. “An ambassador?” Remembrance slid over his craggy features, remembrance and horror. “We … we killed him! My God! We killed him.”

  Sanity was returning to him.

  “It was a mistake,” Ken said. “The M’Nae understand. They’d still like to be friends. You might be interested in some of their methods of living, Captain Eads. The M’Nae live in complete harmony with nature.”

  “Harmony?” Eads settled on the critical point, brightening.

  “That’s right. They work with nature, not against it. This is Briv, the leader of the M’Nae,” Ken introduced. “I’m sure he’d be glad to tell you about their clothes and rafts and other materials. They have some astonishing techniques, Captain.”

  He played on Eads’ vulnerabilities, won his interest. And Briv made the next logical step in this sudden peace conference. His hand went out — not palm up — ready to take Eads’.

  “And don’t try to outgrip him,” Ken warned telepathically. He noticed a slight quirk at Briv’s mouth. So the M’Nae leader did have a sense of humor, after all!

  “They’re not so bad, are they?” the Praetorians were murmuring. “If they really can do things like that …”

  Briv didn’t push it, but there was a small test of strength between him and Eads, a mute little challenge between two strong males of different species. It ended in a draw. Both of them backed off simultaneously. That gesture had good implications.

  Eads smiled and said, “That’s pretty good, friend.”

  “Friend,” Briv repeated, not using the translator.

  Eads rubbed his forehead, struggling to recall something. “It might work. It just might work. But that gravity trap of yours! We’ve got to stop it.”

  “Beacon,” Briv said, picking up a word from Ken’s thoughts.

  “Yes, yes!” Eads bubbled with enthusiasm, addressing his men. “Of course. That’s the answer. A beacon. We’ll make sure nobody else gets sucked down. It’ll warn them off. Don’t you see, men? The M’Nae can guarantee we’ll be left alone. There’ll be just us, working together with nature!”

  Ken eased out of the mainstream of the conversation. Eads seemed to be doing all right without further human help. He knelt beside R.C. and asked, “How’s it going?”

  “Not too bad, now that the war’s delayed,” R.C. murmured.

  “Not delayed. Over.”

  Doubtful, R.C. eyed his old classmate. “How long can that last?”

  “Leg better,” Thayenta announced, patting pink fluff around R.C.’s wound. “The Chief’s mind is better, too.”

  R.C. looked at her, then at Ken. Grinning, Ken said, “I told you she was a great little nurse. The M’Nae have a knack for medicine — and it’s not limited to repairing needler wounds. Remember, R.C., they can go directly into a man’s mind, and if that mind’s sick, they just may be able to put it right again.”

  “If they can …” R.C. hardly dared hope.

  “Relax, R.C. you’ve earned a vacation.” At the pilot’s outraged sputtering Ken laughed, and Thayenta muffled one of those noises between a giggle and sneeze. She fully grasped the teasing going on. Ken glanced at her fondly. “Briv can handle it, now that he understands Terrans. Think of all our two peoples can learn from each other.”

  R.C. caught the exchange between Ken and Thayenta and rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I was talking about a war.”

  “Which is over.” Ken chuckled and said, “Have you ever ridden a telepathic wave, R.C.? You’ve got something to look forward to.”

  R.C.’s indulgent smile reflected approval and pioneer excitement.

  “It could have turned out a lot worse,” Ken murmured. “For a first contact between two such disparate species.”

  “First contact.” R.C. tasted the word, liking it.

  “Let them probe your mind,” Ken advised. “Don’t fight them. Let them in, so they can get all they need. Don’t think of it as an invasion.”

  “Peaceful co-existence,” R.C. responded. “Terrans and M’Nae.”

  Ken nodded. “The M’Nae have got to come here before their sun goes cold. They’re already coming through the transmitter. You can’t blame them for that.”

  “No, certainly not.”

  “It will work,” Ken promised.

  “Easy.” Thayenta spoke the word out loud and in Terran, smiling shyly at Ken.

  “Right. We have a good solid beginning right here!” Ken took her small hand.

  R.C. tried to ignore them, muttering to himself. “They’ll have to leave that space trap transmitter of theirs in place till then. How long will that be?”

  “Why, what difference does it make, Captain?” Ken said. “We are in Survey. Didn’t you always tell me survival is our business? The first item on our agenda is exploring new worlds and new people, if we can find them, isn’t it? Very few Secondary Sur-veymen ever have this kind of opportunity — discovering a whole new race of intelligent telepaths. And until they’re all transmitted here from their home world, we’re stuck, rooted on this planet by that gravity vortex. There’s plenty of leisure time for us to get to know the M’Nae well.”

  R.C. sighed and conceded. Thayenta sat back on her heels, admiring her handiwork in rebandaging R.C.’s leg. As a result of that first aid, her dress was once more reduced to an attractive, skimpy version of its former pink glory.

  What had Ken told Dave Saunders back on Earth before he’d lifted ship on his way to NE 592? Survey was a soft assignment!

  It was not true, of course, as this strange world had proved.

  But with lovely Thayenta by his side — and he wondered if the thought were entirely his own, for she glanced at him with a special expression he hadn’t seen before — he would never be able to call the years ahead the worst of times!

  If you enjoyed Space Trap check out Juanita Coulson’s books in the Children of the Stars series.

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