Presently, singing started, led by an Enigma staff member whose voice — and repertoire — were so professional that he had obviously been selected for this role. In a very short time, he had the whole group rocking and stomping, and joining in choruses describing events most of which were wholly unfamiliar to Duncan. Some seemed to be tragic, though he judged this by the musical treatment rather than the words. He was not quite sure what fate had befallen Darling Clementine, but that song was crystal clear compared with one recounting the exploits of Waltzing Matilda. He listened for a few minutes in utter bafflement, then drifted away from the circle of firelight into the semidarkness.
"It's perfectly safe to go as far as the trees," Boss had said. "But if you go into them, we can accept no responsibility whatsoever, and the indemnity clause of our contract comes into force."
Duncan would probably not have traveled even as far as this without the encouragement of the wine, but presently he was standing about fifty meters from the edge of the forest, and a considerably greater distance from the songsters. The illumination was roughly that of a cloudy night on Titan, when Saturn was in its crescent phase. Thus he could see general outlines, but no fine detail.
The trees were large and impressive, and he guessed that they were very old. Somehow, he had expected to see the slender palms which were the universal symbol of Earth's tropics — but to his disappointment, there was not a palm in sight. The trees were not very different from those at Mount Vernon; then he remembered van Hyatt's suggestion that they might be well above sea level, where the climate was mild.
Duncan's chemical courage was beginning to desert him; the thrill of standing at the edge of the unknown was rapidly losing its novelty. He turned back toward the now dwindling glow of the bonfire, from which stragglers were slowly departing as they headed to the tents, but had taken no more than a dozen paces when the sound from the forest rooted him to the spot.
Never in his life had he heard anything remotely resembling it. Only a soul in the lowest circle of hell could have produced the wail of anguish that burst from the trees and instantly quenched the festivities at the campsite. It rose and fell, rose and fell, then ululated away into silence. But even in that first moment of sheer terror, when Duncan felt the strength ebb from his limbs, he found himself feeling thankful that at least no human throat could have produced that awful sound.
Then the paralysis left him, and he was already halfway back to the camp before he remembered that he was unable to run. Deliberately slowing down was one of the bravest things he had ever done — especially when that nightmare howl echoed once more from the forest.
When he reached the tents, Boss was still trying to restore morale.
"Just some wild animal," he explained soothingly. "After the noise we've been making, I'm surprised everything has been so quiet until now."
"What kind of animal, for heaven's sake!" someone expostulated.
"Ask Mr. van Hyatt — he seems to have all the answers."
Bill van Hyatt was completely unabashed, and ready as ever to accept the challenge.
"It sounded like a hyena to me," he replied. "I've never actually heard one, but it fits the descriptions I've read."
"I don't see how anyone could describe that," somebody muttered.
"Hyenas live in Africa, don't they?" said another voice. "Anyway, they're quite harmless."
"Personally, I don't consider death from heart failure harmless."
"All right, all right," Boss interjected. "We've a busy day ahead of us. It's time to go to bed."
Everyone glanced at absent wrist watches, but no confirmation of this fact was really needed. The camp slowly settled down for the night.
Despite maneuverings that had barely stopped short of actual rudeness, Duncan had been unable to avoid sharing a tent with the van Hyatts. Just before he dozed off, he heard Bill remark sleepily to his wife: "I've just remembered — the program said that hard hats would be provided. I wonder why?"
"Because, Bill," said another voice in the darkness, "tomorrow we explore the caves of the man-eating vampire bats of Bongo Bongo. Now for heaven's sake shut up and go to sleep."
26
Primeval Forest
To Duncan's surprise, it was already full daylight when he awoke. He decided that the wine must have been responsible, and even wondered if it had been drugged, for all his companions were still sleeping stertorously.
He rolled off the air mattress, and treading carefully over unconscious bodies, opened the flap of the tent. The glare drove him back for his dark glasses, for the sun was now shining from a blue, cloudless sky. As he walked to the portable shower, carrying towel and toothbrush, he scanned the circle of trees. In broad daylight, they seemed much less ominous; but with that infernal how still echoing in his memory, nothing would have induced Duncan to venture there alone. For that matter, he was not quite sure how many companions he would need to give him any sense of security in the forest — but unless the jet returned for them, that was precisely where they would have to go. At one point he could see what looked like the beginning of a jungle trail, though from this distance it was impossible to tell whether it was made by men or animals. Nothing else was visible; the trees were so high, and so thick, that there could have been a range of mountains a few kilometers away, completely hidden from view.
Duncan ran into Boss on the way back from his toilet. The fearless leader looked as if he could use some extra sleep, but otherwise still seemed in full charge of the situation.
"Did you put something in that wine?" Duncan asked, after they had exchanged greetings. "Usually I dream — but last night..."
Boss grinned.
"Don't expect me to reveal all Enigma's little secrets. But in this case, we've nothing to hide. You can thank the natural, open-air life for you good night's sleep — though the wine probably helped. Now let's wake up the others."
This took some time, but eventually all the troops were on parade, though in a slightly disheveled condition, with not a few still yawning mightily. Groans of protest greeted Boss's first order.
"We're going for a little safari before breakfast. Coffee will be along in a minute, but that all you're having now. Your appetites will be all the better when we get back."
"And when will that be?" cried half a dozen voices simultaneously.
"It depends how fast you march. Bob — you'll need better footwear than those sandals. Miss Lee — sorry, but in the jungle it's advisable to wear something above the waist. And even more advisable below it, Miss Perry. Right, everybody — back here in five minutes, then we start. No breakfast for stragglers."
There were no stragglers, though it must have been more than five minutes before Boss had everyone lined up in double file. Then he disappeared into his private tent, only to emerge again at once, heavily laden.
Instantly, the babble of conversation stopped. There were sudden gasps of indrawn breath, and Duncan found himself staring at Enigma's latest surprise with a curious mixture of fascination and disgust.
The fascination was undoubtedly there, despite the conditioning of a lifetime. He was ashamed of it — yet, somehow, not as ashamed as he might have been. Duncan had never concealed his impulses from himself; now he recognized the almost irresistible urge to reach and take one of those monstrous instruments in his hand, to feel its power and weight — and to use it for the only purpose for which it was designed.
It was the first time he had ever seen a gun, and Boss was carrying two, as well as a pair of cartridge belts. He handed one gun and belt over to an assistant, who took up his position at the end of the file.
"O.K.," said Boss, just as nonchalantly as if he were unaware of the impression he had created. "Let's go!"
As he walked toward the edge of the clearing, he threw the gun over his shoulder and buckled on the belt of ammunition. It was perfectly obvious that he knew how to handle his armament, but Duncan did not find this in the least reassuring. And judging by the glum silence, nei
ther did anyone else.
The track through the jungle turned out to be surprisingly well kept; when someone commented on this, Boss called back over his shoulder: "We have an arrangement with the local tribes — they're friendly — you'll meet them later."
"That's a giveaway!" whispered Bill van Hyatt in Duncan's ear. "The only primitive tribes left are in the Far East. I knew it was Borneo."
They had now walked perhaps a kilometer through the closely packed trees and were already beginning to feel the effects of the day's increasing heat. There was a chorus of relief when Boss abruptly called back: "We're nearly there — close up!"
He stepped to the side of the trail, and let the file walk on past him. Duncan was near the head of the line, and saw that they were approaching a mass of bare rocks which formed a small hillock. Now at last, he told himself, we'll be able to get a good view of the land around us.
Those ahead of him were already scrambling up the rocks, eager to see what lay ahead. Suddenly, there were cries of astonishment, inarticulate shouts. Millie van Hyatt, who had reached the top long before her husband, suddenly collapsed in hysterics. "Borneo!" she screamed. "He said Borneo!"
Duncan hurried to join her as swiftly as he could, in this unaccustomed gravity. A moment later, he reached the top of the little hill, and the vista to the south lay open before him.
Enigma had certainly fulfilled its promise. Not more than five kilometers away, gleaming in the morning light, was the most famous structure in the world. And now that all its upstart rivals had long since been demolished, it was once again the tallest.
Even a visitor from Titan could have no difficulty in recognizing the Empire State Building.
* * * * *
"Very clever," said Bill van Hyatt in grudging admiration. "They must have flown us straight back over the same course, when they picked up the second load of passengers. But there are still some questions. That hideous noise last night—"
"Oh, eat your breakfast, Bill. Don't always try to get ahead of the game."
Boss, who was clearly relaxed now that his deception had been successfully carried off, called back from the end of the table: "Surely you've guessed that one, Bill?"
"Probably the sound track from an old Tarzan movie."
Boss chuckled and glanced at his watch. All timepieces and communicators had been returned to their owners, and Duncan no longer felt so naked. He had never been able to stop himself looking at his absent watch, and he realized how cleverly Enigma had managed to disorient him in all four dimensions.
"In about five minutes, Bill, you'll know better."
"In that case, I'd appreciate it if you'd bring up the artillery again."
"No use. The guns were real, but the bullets weren't."
"I see — just another part of the act. Tell me — have you ever used one of those things?"
"Yes."
"On what? Anything big?"
"Fairly."
"Was it dangerous?"
One had to admire Bill's persistence, almost as much as his resilience. It was obvious that Boss was getting tired of this line of questioning, but was too polite to shut it off.
"Quite dangerous."
"Could it have killed you?"
"Easily," said Boss, "and now his voice had suddenly become bleak and impersonal. "You see, it was carrying a gun too."
In the ensuing silence, Duncan came to several quick conclusions. Boss was speaking the cold truth; it was no concern of theirs; and they would never learn any more.
Conversation was just getting under way again after this derailment when there was another interruption.
"Hey!" somebody shouted. "Look over there!"
A man was walking out of the ‘jungle’, and he was not alone. Trotting beside him were two enormous animals, attached to leashes which seemed highly inadequate. They were undoubtedly dogs of some kind, though Duncan had not realized that any grew to such a size. There were, he knew, thousands of different breeds, but there seemed something strange about these; they did not fit any of the visual records he had ever seen.
"Of course!" someone exclaimed. "That's Fido and Susie."
There were murmurs of assent, but Duncan was none the wiser. He also thought that he could have chosen more appropriate names.
He was even more certain of this by the time that the monsters had reached the camp. They stood half as high as a man, and must have weighed two hundred kilos.
"What are they?" he asked. "Wolves?"
"Yes and no," Boss answered. "They're dire wolves. They've been extinct for about ten thousand years."
Now Duncan remembered. He had heard vaguely of the experiments on genetic reversal that had been taking place on Earth. There had been much excitement a few years ago about something called a passenger pigeon, which had now become such a pest that efforts were being made to control it. And there was even talk of restoring dinosaurs when the technique was perfected.
"Hello, Professor," said Boss. "Your hounds really shook some of us last night. By the way, folks, this is Cliff Evans, head of the department of animal genetics at the Central Park Zoo — have I got that right? And as some of you have guessed, this is the famous Fido and Susie. Is it safe to feed them a few scraps, Cliff?"
The professor shook his head.
"Not on your life; I'm afraid they're not terribly bright. We go to a lot of trouble balancing their diet. I should hate to get human protein mixed up in it."
"Very considerate of you. Now, how's the transport going to work out?"
"I can let you have ten well-behaved horses and five ditto ponies."
"That's only enough for fifteen. We need at least twenty-five."
"No problem. You can also have six miniphants. They can each take two riders, and they're safer than horses..."
While this discussion was in progress, Duncan examined the professor and his pets. The survey did not inspire much confidence; in particular, he did not care for the way in which the scientist was covered from head to heels in smooth leather, with massive reinforcements around the throat and from elbow to heavily gloved hands. It could not have been very comfortable on a hot June morning, and presumably he was not wearing this armor for fun.
However, Fido and Susie seemed sleek, well fed, and even somnolent. From time to time they yawned and licked their chops, with a disturbing display of dentition, but they showed no interest in after-breakfast snacks. In fact, they showed very little interest in anything, and Duncan could see the truth of the professor's remarks about their intelligence. Their narrow skulls obviously contained much smaller brains than those of modern wolves; it was no wonder that they had become extinct. Duncan — himself an experiment in controlled genetics — felt rather sorry for the big, clumsy beasts.
"Attention, everyone!" Boss called. "We're breaking camp in thirty minutes, and then we have a short trip to make — only about six kilometers. You know the restrictions on transport in New York City, so we have the following choices — foot, horse, or miniphant. On a beautiful morning like this, I'm going to walk. But it's up to you — who wants to ride horseback? One, two, three — was your hand up, Bill? ... four ... eleven, twelve, thirteen ... that's unlucky — any more? No? O.K., thirteen it is."
"What about bicycles?" somebody shouted.
"Not allowed in the park," said Professor Evans. "Only last year a mad cyclist killed one of my ponies. Unfortunately, he survived. If you want a bike, you can go across Fifth Avenue and hire one. For that matter, you can walk to 96th Street station and catch the subway. It runs every ten minutes in the tourist season."
There were no takers, but all the miniphants were snapped up. Duncan opted for this mode, on Boss's advice. The rest of the party elected to walk.
Half an hour later, the string of animals arrived at the camping site. To Duncan's astonishment, they were unaccompanied by humans. One large miniphant led the procession, and the other five kept the horses from straying. The two species seemed to be on excellent terms with each oth
er.
"I suppose it's the fist time you've seen a miniphant?" said Boss, noticing Duncan's interest.
"Yes — I'd heard about them, of course. Why are they so popular?"
"They have the advantage of the elephant without the handicap of its size. As you see, they're not much bigger than horses. But they're much more intelligent, understand several hundred words, and can carry out quite complicated orders without supervision. And with that trunk they can open doors, pick up parcels, work switches — would you believe that they can operate viddies?"
"Frankly, no."
"You're wrong; some of them can, though not reliably yet. They get the right number about eight times out of ten."
The leader ambled up to Boss and raised his trunk in salutation.
"Hello, Rajah — nice to see you again."
Rajah brought down his trunk and wound it affectionately around Boss's wrist. Then he bent his legs and knelt ponderously on the ground, so that his riders could climb easily into the pair of seats arranged sidesaddle on his back. The other five miniphants performed the same act with the timing of a well-trained corps de ballet.
Did a boat feel like this? Duncan asked himself, as he swayed gently and comfortably out of the park. This was certainly the way to travel if the weather was fine, you didn't have far to go, and you wanted to enjoy the view. As all three criteria were now satisfied, he was blissfully content.
The file of animals and humans made its way out of the clearing, through the belt of trees, and past the pile of rocks from which they morning's revelation had been vouchsafed. They skirted the little hill, and presently came to a lake on which dozens of small boats were being languidly paddled back and forth. Each boat appeared to contain one young man, who was doing the paddling, and one young lady, who was doing nothing. Only a few couples took enough notice of the procession wending past to wave greetings; presumably New Yorkers were too accustomed to miniphants to give them more than a passing glance.
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