“Ulysses!” Enoch cried, but even as he spoke he realized it was not Ulysses.
For an instant he had the impression of a top hat, of white tie and tails, of a jauntiness, and then he saw that the creature was a rat that walked erect, with sleek, dark fur covering its body and a sharp, axlike rodent face. For an instant, as it turned its head toward him, he caught the red glitter of its eyes. Then it turned back toward the corner and he saw that its hand was lifted and was pulling out of a harnessed holster hung about its middle something that glinted with a metallic shimmer even in the shadow.
There was something very wrong about it. The creature should have greeted him. It should have said hello and come out to meet him. But instead it had thrown him that one red-eyed glance and then turned back to the corner.
The metallic object came out of the holster and it could only be a gun, or at least some sort of weapon that one might think of as a gun.
And was this the way, thought Enoch, that they would close the station? One quick shot, without a word, and the station keeper dead upon the floor. With someone other than Ulysses, because Ulysses could not be trusted to kill a long-time friend.
The rifle was lying across the desk top and there wasn’t any time.
But the ratlike creature was not turning toward the room. It still was facing toward the corner and its hand was coming up, with the weapon glinting in it.
An alarm twanged within Enoch’s brain and he swung his arm and yelled, hurling the Pet toward the creature in the corner, the yell jerked out of him involuntarily from the bottom of his lungs.
For the creature, he realized, had not been intent on the killing of the keeper, but the disruption of the station. The only thing there was to aim at in the corner was the control complex, the nerve center of the station’s operation. And if that should be knocked out, the station would be dead. To set it in operation once again it would be necessary to send a crew of technicians out in a spaceship from the nearest station—a trip that would require many years to make.
At Enoch’s yell, the creature jerked around, dropping toward a crouch, and the flying Pet, tumbling end for end, caught it in the belly and drove it back against the wall.
Enoch charged, arms outspread to grapple with the creature. The gun flew from the creature’s hand and pinwheeled across the floor. Then Enoch was upon the alien and even as he closed with it, his nostrils were assailed by its body stench—a sickening wave of nastiness.
He wrapped his arms about it and heaved, and it was not as heavy as he had thought it might be. His powerful wrench jerked it from the corner and swung it around and sent it skidding out across the floor.
It crashed against a chair and came to a stop and then like a steel coil it rose off the floor and pounced for the gun.
Enoch took two great strides and had it by the neck, lifting it and shaking it so savagely that the recovered gun flew from its hand again and the bag it carried on a thong across its shoulder pounded like a vibrating trip hammer against its hairy ribs.
The stench was thick, so thick that one could almost see it, and Enoch gagged on it as he shook the creature. And suddenly it was worse, much worse, like a fire raging in one’s throat and a hammer in one’s head. It was like a physical blow that hit one in the belly and shoved against the chest. Enoch let go his hold upon the creature and staggered back, doubled up and retching. He lifted his hands to his face and tried to push the stench away, to clear his nostrils and his mouth, to rub it from his eyes.
Through a haze he saw the creature rise and, snatching up the gun, rush toward the door. He did not hear the phrase that the creature spoke, but the door came open and the creature spurted forward and was gone. And the door slammed shut again.
32
Enoch wobbled across the room to the desk and caught at it for support. The stench was diminishing and his head was clearing and he scarcely could believe that it all had happened. For it was incredible that a thing like this should happen. The creature had traveled on the official materializer, and no one but a member of Galactic Central could travel by that route. And no member of Galactic Central, he was convinced, would have acted as the ratlike creature had. Likewise, the creature had known the phrase that would operate the door. No one but himself and Galactic Central would have known that phrase.
He reached out and picked up his rifle and hefted it in his fist.
It was all right, he thought. There was nothing harmed. Except that there was an alien loose upon the Earth and that was something that could not be allowed. The Earth was barred to aliens. As a planet which had not been recognized by the galactic cofraternity, it was off-limit territory.
He stood with the rifle in his hand and knew what he must do—he must get that alien back, he must get it off the Earth.
He spoke the phrase aloud and strode toward the door and out and around the corner of the house.
The alien was running across the field and had almost reached the line of woods.
Enoch ran desperately, but before he was halfway down the field, the ratlike quarry had plunged into the woods and disappeared.
The woods was beginning to darken. The slanting rays of light from the setting sun still lighted the upper canopy of the foliage, but on the forest floor the shadows had begun to gather.
As he ran into the fringe of the woods, Enoch caught a glimpse of the creature angling down a small ravine and plunging up the other slope, racing through a heavy cover of ferns that reached almost to its middle.
If it kept on in that direction, Enoch told himself, it might work out all right, for the slope beyond the ravine ended in a clump of rocks that lay above an outthrust point that ended in a cliff, with each side curving in, so that the point and its mass of boulders lay isolated, a place hung out in space. It might be a little rough to dig the alien from the rocks if it took refuge there, but at least it would be trapped and could not get away. Although, Enoch reminded himself, he could waste no time, for the sun was setting and it would soon be dark.
Enoch angled slightly westward to go around the head of the small ravine, keeping an eye on the fleeing alien. The creature kept on up the slope and Enoch, observing this, put on an extra burst of speed. For now he had the alien trapped. In its fleeing, it had gone past the point of no return. It could no longer turn around and retreat back from the point. Soon it would reach the cliff edge and then there’d be nothing it could do but hole up in the patch of boulders.
Running hard, Enoch crossed the area covered by the ferns and came out on the sharper slope some hundred yards or so below the boulder clump. Here the cover was not so dense. There was a scant covering of spotty underbrush and a scattering of trees. The soft loam of the forest floor gave way to a footing of shattered rock which through the years had been chipped off the boulders by the winters’ frost, rolling down the slope. They lay there now, covered with thick moss, a treacherous place to walk.
As he ran, Enoch swept the boulders with a glance, but there was no sign of the alien. Then, out of the corner of his vision, he saw the motion, and threw himself forward to the ground behind a patch of hazel brush, and through the network of the bushes he saw the alien outlined against the sky, its head pivoting back and forth to sweep the slope below, the weapon half lifted and set for instant use.
Enoch lay frozen, with his outstretched hand gripping the rifle. There was a slash of pain across one set of knuckles and he knew that he had skinned them on the rock as he had dived for cover.
The alien dropped from sight behind the boulders and Enoch slowly pulled the rifle back to where he would be able to handle it should a shot present itself.
Although, he wondered, would he dare to fire? Would he dare to kill an alien?
The alien could have killed him back there at the station, when he had been knocked silly by the dreadful stench. But it had not killed him; it had fled instead. Was it, he wondered, that the crea
ture had been so badly frightened that all that it could think of had been to get away? Or had it, perhaps, been as reluctant to kill a station keeper as he himself was to kill an alien?
He searched the rocks above him and there was no motion and not a thing to see. He must move up that slope, and quickly, he told himself, for time would work against him and to the advantage of the alien. Darkness could not be more than thirty minutes off and before dark had fallen this issue must be settled. If the alien got away, there’d be little chance to find it.
And why, asked a second self, standing to one side, should you worry about alien complications? For are you yourself not prepared to inform the Earth that there are alien peoples in the galaxy and to hand to Earth, unauthorized, as much of that alien lore and learning as may be within your power? Why should you have stopped this alien from the wrecking of the station, insuring its isolation for many years—for if that had been done, then you’d have been free to do as you might wish with all that is within the station? It would have worked to your advantage to have allowed events to run their course.
But I couldn’t, Enoch cried inside himself. Don’t you see I couldn’t? Don’t you understand?
A rustle in the bushes to his left brought him around with the rifle up and ready.
And there was Lucy Fisher, not more than twenty feet away.
“Get out of here!” he shouted, forgetting that she could not hear him.
But she did not seem to notice. She motioned to the left and made a sweeping motion with her hand and pointed toward the boulders.
Go away, he said underneath his breath. Go away from here.
And made rejection motions to indicate that she should go back, that this was no place for her.
She shook her head and sprang away, in a running crouch, moving further to the left and up the slope.
Enoch scrambled to his feet, lunging after her, and as he did the air behind him made a frying sound and there was the sharp bite of ozone in the air.
He hit the ground, instinctively, and farther down the slope he saw a square yard of ground that boiled and steamed, with the ground cover swept away by a fierce heat and the very soil and rock turned into a simmering pudding.
A laser, Enoch thought. The alien’s weapon was a laser, packing a terrific punch in a narrow beam of light.
He gathered himself together and made a short rush up the hillside, throwing himself prone behind a twisted birch clump.
The air made the frying sound again and there was an instant’s blast of heat and the ozone once again. Over on the reverse slope a patch of ground was steaming. Ash floated down and settled on Enoch’s arms. He flashed a quick glance upward and saw that the top half of the birch clump was gone, sheared off by the laser and reduced to ash. Tiny coils of smoke rose lazily from the severed stumps.
No matter what it may have done, or failed to do, back there at the station, the alien now meant business. It knew that it was cornered and it was playing vicious.
Enoch huddled against the ground and worried about Lucy. He hoped that she was safe. The little fool should have stayed out of it. This was no place for her. She shouldn’t even have been out in the woods at this time of day. She’d have old Hank out looking for her again, thinking she was kidnapped. He wondered what the hell had gotten into her.
The dusk was deepening. Only the far peak of the treetops caught the last rays of the sun. A coolness came stealing up the ravine from the valley far below and there was a damp, lush smell that came out of the ground. From some hidden hollow a whippoorwill called out mournfully.
Enoch darted out from behind the birch clump and rushed up the slope. He reached the fallen log he’d picked as a barricade and threw himself behind it. There was no sign of the alien and there was not another shot from the laser gun.
Enoch studied the ground ahead. Two more rushes, one to that small pile of rock and the next to the edge of the boulder area itself, and he’d be on top of the hiding alien. And once he got there, he wondered, what was he to do.
Go in and rout the alien out, of course.
There was no plan that could be made, no tactics that could be laid out in advance. Once he got to the edge of the boulders, he must play it all by ear, taking advantage of any break that might present itself. He was at a disadvantage in that he must not kill the alien, but must capture it instead and drag it back, kicking and screaming, if need be, to the safety of the station.
Perhaps, here in the open air, it could not use its stench defense as effectively as it had in the confines of the station, and that, he thought, might make it easier. He examined the clump of boulders from one edge to the other and there was nothing that might help him to locate the alien.
Slowly he began to snake around, getting ready for the next rush up the slope, moving carefully so that no sound would betray him.
Out of the tail of his eye he caught the moving shadow that came flowing up the slope. Swiftly he sat up, swinging the rifle. But before he could bring the muzzle round, the shadow was upon him, bearing him back, flat upon the ground, with one great splay-fingered hand clamped upon his mouth.
“Ulysses!” Enoch gurgled, but the fearsome shape only hissed at him in a warning sound.
Slowly the weight shifted off him and the hand slid from his mouth.
Ulysses gestured toward the boulder pile and Enoch nodded.
Ulysses crept closer and lowered his head toward Enoch’s. He whispered with his mouth inches from the Earthman’s ear: “The Talisman! He has the Talisman!”
“The Talisman!” Enoch cried aloud, trying to strangle off the cry even as he made it, remembering that he should make no sound to let the watcher up above know where they might be.
From the ridge above a loose stone rattled as it was dislodged and began to roll, bouncing down the slope. Enoch hunkered closer to the ground behind the fallen log.
“Down!” he shouted to Ulysses. “Down! He has a gun.”
But Ulysses’s hand gripped him by the shoulder.
“Enoch!” he cried. “Enoch, look!”
Enoch jerked himself erect and atop the pile of rock, dark against the skyline, were two grappling figures.
“Lucy!” he shouted.
For one of them was Lucy and the other was the alien.
She sneaked up on him, he thought. The damn’ little fool, she sneaked up on him! While the alien had been distracted with watching the slope, she had slipped up close and then had tackled him. She had a club of some sort in her hand, an old dead branch, perhaps, and it was raised above her head, ready for a stroke, but the alien had a grip upon her arm and she could not strike.
“Shoot,” said Ulysses, in a flat, dead voice.
Enoch raised the rifle and had trouble with the sights because of the deepening darkness. And they were so close together! They were too close together.
“Shoot!” yelled Ulysses.
“I can’t,” sobbed Enoch. “It’s too dark to shoot.”
“You have to shoot,” Ulysses said, his voice tense and hard. “You have to take the chance.”
Enoch raised the rifle once again and the sights seemed clearer now and he knew the trouble was not so much the darkness as that shot which he had missed back there in the world of the honking thing that had strode its world on stilts. If he had missed then, he could as well miss now.
The bead came to rest upon the head of the ratlike creature, and then the head bobbed away, but was bobbing back again.
“Shoot!” Ulysses yelled.
Enoch squeezed the trigger and the rifle coughed and up atop the rocks the creature stood for a second with only half a head and with tattered gouts of flesh flying briefly like dark insects zooming against the half-light of the western sky.
Enoch dropped the gun and sprawled upon the earth, clawing his fingers into the thin and mossy soil, sick with the thought of what
could have happened, weak with the thankfulness that it had not happened, that the years on that fantastic rifle range had at last paid off.
How strange it is, he thought, how so many senseless things shape our destiny. For the rifle range had been a senseless thing, as senseless as a billiard table or a game of cards—designed for one thing only, to please the keeper of the station. And yet the hours he’d spent there had shaped toward this hour and end, to this single instant on this restricted slope of ground.
The sickness drained away into the earth beneath him and a peace came stealing in upon him—the peace of trees and woodland soil and the first faint hush of nightfall. As if the sky and stars and very space itself had leaned close above him and was whispering his essential oneness with them. And it seemed for a moment that he had grasped the edge of some great truth and with this truth had come a comfort and a greatness he’d never known before.
“Enoch,” Ulysses whispered. “Enoch, my brother …”
There was something like a hidden sob in the alien’s voice and he had never, until this moment, called the Earthman brother.
Enoch pulled himself to his knees and up on the pile of tumbled boulders was a soft and wondrous light, a soft and gentle light, as if a giant firefly had turned on its lamp and had not turned it off, but had left it burning.
The light was moving down across the rocks toward them and he could see Lucy moving with the light, as if she were walking toward them with a lantern in her hand.
Ulysses’s hand reached out of the darkness and closed hard on Enoch’s arm.
“Do you see?” he asked.
“Yes, I see. What is …”
“It is the Talisman,” Ulysses said, enraptured, his breath rasping in his throat. “And she is our new custodian. The one we’ve hunted through the years.”
33
You did not become accustomed to it, Enoch told himself as they tramped up through the woods. There was not a moment you were not aware of it. It was something that you wanted to hug close against yourself and hold it there forever, and even when it was gone from you, you’d probably not forget it, ever.
The Works of Clifford D. Simak Volume Two Page 75
