The Survivors r-1

by Tom Godwin

  “Not ‘Commander,’ ” Lake said. “I—all of us—left our ranks, titles and honors on the Constellation. The past is dead for us.”

  “I see,” Schroeder said. The smile faded away and he looked into Lake’s eyes as he asked,

  “And what about our past dishonors, disgraces and such?”

  “They were left on the Constellation, too,” Lake said. “If anyone wants dishonor he’ll have to earn it all over again.”

  “That sounds fair,” Schroeder said. “That sounds as fair as anyone could ever ask for.”

  He turned away and Prentiss saw what he had noticed before: Schroeder’s black hair was coming out light brown at the roots. It was a color that would better match his light complexion and it was the color of hair that a man named Schrader, wanted by the police on Venus, had had.

  Hair could be dyed, identification cards could be forged—but it was all something Prentiss did not care to pry into until and if Schroeder gave him reason to. Schroeder was a hard and dangerous man, despite his youth, and sometimes men of that type, when the chips were down, exhibited a higher sense of duty than the soft men who spoke piously of respect for Society—and then were afraid to face danger to protect the society and the people they claimed to respect.

  *

  *

  *

  A lone prowler came on the eleventh night following the wall’s completion. It came silently, in the dead of night, and it learned how to reach in and tear apart the leather lashings that held the pointed stakes in place and then jerk the stakes out of their sockets. It was seen as it was removing the third stake—which would have made a large enough opening for it to come through—and shot. It fell back and managed to escape into the woods, although staggering and bleeding.

  The next night the stockade was attacked by dozens of prowlers who simultaneously began removing the pointed stakes in the same manner employed by the prowler of the night before. Their attack was turned back with heavy losses on both sides and with a dismayingly large expenditure of precious ammunition.

  There could be no doubt about how the band of prowlers had learned to remove the stakes: the prowler of the night before had told them before it died. It was doubtful that the prowlers had a spoken language, but they had some means of communication. They worked together and they were highly intelligent, probably about halfway between dog and man. The prowlers were going to be an enemy even more formidable than Prentiss had thought. The missing stakes were replaced the next day and the others were tied down more securely. Once again the camp was prowler proof—but only for so long as armed guards patrolled inside the walls to kill attacking prowlers during the short time it would take them to remove the stakes.

  The hunting parties suffered unusually heavy losses from prowler attacks that day and that evening, as the guards patrolled inside the walls, Lake said to Prentiss:

  “The prowlers are so damnably persistent. It isn’t that they’re hungry—they don’t kill us to eat us. They don’t have any reason to kill us—they just hate us.”

  “They have a reason,” Prentiss said. “They’re doing the same thing we’re doing: fighting for survival.”

  Lake’s pale brows lifted in question.

  “The prowlers are the rulers of Ragnarok,” Prentiss said. “They fought their way up here, as men did on Earth, until they’re master of every creature on their world. Even of the unicorns and swamp crawlers. But now we’ve come and they’re intelligent enough to know that we’re accustomed to being the dominant species, ourselves.

  “There can’t be two dominant species on the same world—and they know it. Men or prowlers—in the end one is going to have to go down before the other.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Lake said. He looked at the guards, a fourth of them already reduced to bows and arrows that they had not yet had time to learn how to use. “If we win the battle for supremacy it will be a long fight, maybe over a period of centuries. And if the prowlers win—it may all be over within a year or two.”

  *

  *

  *

  The giant blue star that was the other component of Ragnarok’s binary grew swiftly in size as it preceded the yellow sun farther each morning. When summer came the blue star would be a sun as hot as the yellow sun and Ragnarok would be between them. The yellow sun would burn the land by day and the blue sun would sear it by the night that would not be night. Then would come the brief fall, followed by the long, frozen winter when the yellow sun would shine pale and cold, far to the south, and the blue sun would be a star again, two hundred and fifty million miles away and invisible behind the cold yellow sun. The Hell Fever lessened with the completion of the shelters but it still killed each day. Chiara and his helpers worked with unfaltering determination to find a cure for it but the cure, if there was one, eluded them. The graves in the cemetery were forty long by forty wide and more were added each day. To all the fact became grimly obvious: they were swiftly dying out and they had yet to face Ragnarok at its worst.

  The old survival instincts asserted themselves and there were marriages among the younger ones. One of the first to marry was Julia.

  She stopped to talk to Prentiss one evening. She still wore the red skirt, now faded and patched, but her face was tired and thoughtful and no longer bold.

  “Is it true, John,” she asked, “that only a few of us might be able to have children here and that most of us who tried to have children in this gravity would die for it?”

  “It’s true,” he said. “But you already knew that when you married.”

  “Yes … I knew it.” There was a little silence. “All my life I’ve had fun and done as I pleased. The human race didn’t need me and we both knew it. But now—none of us can be apart from the others or be afraid of anything. If we’re selfish and afraid there will come a time when the last of us will die and there will be nothing on Ragnarok to show we were ever here.

  “I don’t want it to end like that. I want there to be children, to live after we’re gone. So I’m going to try to have a child. I’m not afraid and I won’t be.”

  When he did not reply at once she said, almost self-consciously, “Coming from me that all sounds a little silly, I suppose.”

  “It sounds wise and splendid, Julia,” he said, “and it’s what I thought you were going to say.”

  *

  *

  *

  Full spring came and the vegetation burst into leaf and bud and bloom, quickly, for its growth instincts knew in their mindless way how short was the time to grow and reproduce before the brown death of summer came. The prowlers were suddenly gone one day, to follow the spring north, and for a week men could walk and work outside the stockade without the protection of armed guards.

  Then the new peril appeared, the one they had not expected: the unicorns. The stockade wall was a blue-black rectangle behind them and the blue star burned with the brilliance of a dozen moons, lighting the woods in blue shadow and azure light. Prentiss and the hunter walked a little in front of the two riflemen, winding to keep in the starlit glades.

  “It was on the other side of the next grove of trees,” the hunter said in a low voice. “Fred was getting ready to bring in the rest of the woods goats. He shouldn’t have been more than ten minutes behind me—and it’s been over an hour.”

  They rounded the grove of trees. At first it seemed there was nothing before them but the empty, grassy glade. Then they saw it lying on the ground no more than twenty feet in front of them.

  It was—it had been—a man. He was broken and stamped into hideous shapelessness and something had torn off his arms.

  For a moment there was dead silence, then the hunter whispered, “What did that?”

  The answer came in a savage, squealing scream and the pound of cloven hooves. A formless shadow beside the trees materialized into a monstrous charging bulk; a thing like a gigantic gray bull, eight feet tall at the shoulders, with the tusked, snarling head of a boar and the starlight glinting
along the curving, vicious length of its single horn.

  “Unicorn!” Prentiss said, and jerked up his rifle.

  The rifles cracked in a ragged volley. The unicorn squealed in fury and struck the hunter, catching him on its horn and hurling him thirty feet. One of the riflemen went down under the unicorn’s hooves, his cry ending almost as soon as it began.

  The unicorn ripped the sod in deep furrows as it whirled back to Prentiss and the remaining rifleman; not turning in the manner of four-footed beasts of Earth but rearing and spinning on its hind feet. It towered above them as it whirled, the tip of its horn fifteen feet above the ground and its hooves swinging around like great clubs.

  Prentiss shot again, his sights on what he hoped would be a vital area, and the rifleman shot an instant later.

  The shots went true. The unicorn’s swing brought it on around but it collapsed, falling to the ground with jarring heaviness.

  “We got it!” the rifleman said. “We—”

  It half scrambled to its feet and made a noise; a call that went out through the night like the blast of a mighty trumpet. Then it dropped back to the ground, to die while its call was still echoing from the nearer hills.

  From the east came an answering trumpet blast; a trumpeting that was sounded again from the south and from the north. Then there came a low and muffled drumming, like the pounding of thousands of hooves.

  The rifleman’s face was blue-white in the starlight. “The others are coming—we’ll have to run for it!”

  He turned, and began to run toward the distant bulk of the stockade.

  “No!” Prentiss commanded, quick and harsh. “Not the stockade!”

  The rifleman kept running, seeming not to hear him in his panic. Prentiss called to him once more:

  “Not the stockade—you’ll lead the unicorns into it!”

  Again the rifleman seemed not to hear him.

  The unicorns were coming in sight, converging in from the north and east and south, the rumble of their hooves swelling to a thunder that filled the night. The rifleman would reach the stockade only a little ahead of them and they would go through the wall as though it had been made of paper.

  For a while the area inside the stockade would be filled with dust, with the squealing of the swirling, charging unicorns and the screams of the dying. Those inside the stockade would have no chance whatever of escaping. Within two minutes it would be over, the last child would have been found among the shattered shelters and trampled into lifeless shapelessness in the bloody ground.

  Within two minutes all human life on Ragnarok would be gone.

  There was only one thing for him to do.

  He dropped to one knee so his aim would be steady and the sights of his rifle caught the running man’s back. He pressed the trigger and the rifle cracked viciously as it bucked against his shoulder.

  The man spun and fell hard to the ground. He twisted, to raise himself up a little and look back, his face white and accusing and unbelieving.

  “You shot me!”

  Then he fell forward and lay without moving.

  Prentiss turned back to face the unicorns and to look at the trees in the nearby grove. He saw what he already knew: they were young trees and too small to offer any escape for him. There was no place to run, no place to hide.

  There was nothing he could do but wait; nothing he could do but stand in the blue starlight and watch the devil’s herd pound toward him and think, in the last moments of his life, how swiftly and unexpectedly death could come to man on Ragnarok.

  *

  *

  *

  The unicorns held the Rejects prisoners in their stockade the rest of the night and all the next day. Lake had seen the shooting of the rifleman and had watched the unicorn herd kill John Prentiss and then trample the dead rifleman.

  He had already given the order to build a quick series of fires around the inside of the stockade walls when the unicorns paused to tear their victims to pieces, grunting and squealing in triumph as bones crushed between their teeth and they flung the pieces to one side. The fires were started and green wood was thrown on them, to make them smolder and smoke for as long as possible. Then the unicorns were coming on to the stockade and every person inside it went into the concealment of the shelters.

  Lake had already given his last order: There would be absolute quiet until and if the unicorns left; a quiet that would be enforced with fist or club wherever necessary. The unicorns were still outside when morning came. The fires could not be refueled; the sight of a man moving inside the stockade would bring the entire herd charging through. The hours dragged by, the smoke from the dying fires dwindled to thin streamers. The unicorns grew increasingly bolder and suspicious, crowding closer to the walls and peering through the openings between rails.

  The sun was setting when one of the unicorns trumpeted; a sound different from that of the call to battle. The others threw up their heads to listen, then they turned and drifted away. Within minutes the entire herd was gone out of sight through the woods, toward the north. Lake waited and watched until he was sure the unicorns were gone for good. Then he ordered the All Clear given and hurried to the south wall, to look down across the barren valley and hope he would not see what he expected to see.

  Barber came up behind him, to sigh with relief. “That was close. It’s hard to make so many people stay absolutely quiet for hour after hour. Especially the children—they don’t understand.”

  “We’ll have to leave,” Lake said.

  “Leave?” Barber asked. “We can make this stockade strong enough to hold out unicorns.”

  “Look to the south,” Lake told him.

  Barber did so and saw what Lake had already seen; a broad, low cloud of dust moving slowly toward them.

  “Another herd of unicorns,” Lake said. “John didn’t know they migrated—the Dunbar Expedition wasn’t here long enough to learn that. There’ll be herd after herd coming through and no time for us to strengthen the walls. We’ll have to leave tonight.”

  *

  *

  *

  Preparations were made for the departure; preparations that consisted mainly of providing each person with as much in the way of food or supplies as he or she could carry. In the 1.5

  gravity, that was not much.

  They left when the blue star rose. They filed out through the northern gate and the rear guard closed it behind them. There was almost no conversation among them. Some of them turned to take a last look at what had been the only home they had ever known on Ragnarok, then they all faced forward again, to the northwest, where the foothills of the plateau might offer them sanctuary.

  They found their sanctuary on the second day; a limestone ridge honey-combed with caves. Men were sent back at once to carry the food and supplies left in the stockade to the new home.

  They returned, to report that the second herd of unicorns had broken down the walls and ripped the interior of the stockade into wreckage. Much of the food and supplies had been totally destroyed.

  Lake sent them back twice more to bring everything, down to the last piece of bent metal or torn cloth. They would find uses for all of it in the future.

  *

  *

  *

  The cave system was extensive, containing room for several times their number. The deeper portions of the caves could not be lived in until ventilation ducts were made, but the outer caves were more than sufficient in number. Work was begun to clear them of fallen rubble, to pry down all loose material overhead and to level the floors. A spring came out of the ridge not far from the caves and the approach to the caves was so narrow and steep that unicorns could scramble up it only with difficulty and one at a time. And should they ever reach the natural terrace in front of the caves they would be too large to enter and could do no more than stand outside and make targets of themselves for the bowmen within.

  Anders was in charge of making the caves livable, his working force restricted almost ent
irely to women and children. Lake sent Barber out, with a small detachment of men, to observe the woods goats and learn what plants they ate. And then learn, by experimenting, if such plants could be safely eaten by humans.

  The need for salt would be tremendously increased when summer came. Having once experienced a saltless two weeks in the desert Lake doubted that any of them could survive without it. All hunting parties, as well as Barber’s party, were ordered to investigate all deposits that might contain salt as well as any stream or pond that was white along the banks. The hunting parties were of paramount importance and they were kept out to the limits of their endurance. Every man physically able to do so accompanied them. Those who could not kill game could carry it back to the caves. There was no time to spare; already the unicorns were decreasing in numbers and the woods goats were ranging farther and farther north. At the end of twenty days Lake went in search of Barber and his party, worried about them. Their mission was one that could be as dangerous as any hunting trip. There was no proof that humans and Ragnarok creatures were so similar as to guarantee that food for one might not be poison for the other. It was a very necessary mission, however; dried meat, alone, would bring grave deficiency diseases during the summer which dried herbs and fruits would help prevent.

  When he located Barber’s party he found Barber lying under a tree, pale and weak from his latest experiment but recovering.

  “I was the guinea pig yesterday,” Barber said. “Some little purple berries that the woods goats nibble at sometimes, maybe to get a touch of some certain vitamin or something. I ate too many, I guess, because they hit my heart like the kick of a mule.”

  “Did you find anything at all encouraging?” Lake asked.

  “We found four different herbs that are the most violent cathartics you ever dreamed of. And a little silvery fern that tastes like vanilla flavored candy and paralyzes you stiff as a board on the third swallow. It’s an hour before you come back out of it.

  “But on the good side we found three different kinds of herbs that seem to be all right. We’ve been digging them up and hanging them in the trees to dry.”