The World That Couldn't Be
Page 2
Duncan. "Iwouldn't hear of it."
They ate in silence for a time. Finally Shotwell said: "I'm gettingnowhere, Gavin. The natives are willing to talk, but it all adds up tonothing."
"I tried to tell you that. You could have saved your time."
Shotwell shook his head stubbornly. "There's an answer, a logicalexplanation. It's easy enough to say you cannot rule out the sexualfactor, but that's exactly what has happened here on Layard. It's easyto exclaim that a sexless animal, a sexless race, a sexless planet isimpossible, but that is what we have. Somewhere there is an answer andI have to find it."
* * * * *
"Now hold up a minute," Duncan protested. "There's no use blowing agasket. I haven't got the time this morning to listen to yourlecture."
"But it's not the lack of sex that worries me entirely," Shotwellsaid, "although it's the central factor. There are subsidiarysituations deriving from that central fact which are most intriguing."
"I have no doubt of it," said Duncan, "but if you please--"
"Without sex, there is no basis for the family, and without the familythere is no basis for a tribe, and yet the natives have an elaboratetribal setup, with taboos by way of regulation. Somewhere there mustexist some underlying, basic unifying factor, some common loyalty,some strange relationship which spells out to brotherhood."
"Not brotherhood," said Duncan, chuckling. "Not even sisterhood. Youmust watch your terminology. The word you want is ithood."
The door pushed open and a native walked in timidly.
"Zikkara said that mister want me," the native told them. "I am Sipar.I can track anything but screamers, stilt-birds, longhorns anddonovans. Those are my taboos."
"I am glad to hear that," Duncan replied. "You have no Cytha taboo,then."
"Cytha!" yipped the native. "Zikkara did not tell me Cytha!"
Duncan paid no attention. He got up from the table and went to theheavy chest that stood against one wall. He rummaged in it and cameout with a pair of binoculars, a hunting knife and an extra drum ofammunition. At the kitchen cupboard, he rummaged once again, filling asmall leather sack with a gritty powder from a can he found.
"Rockahominy," he explained to Shotwell. "Emergency rations thought upby the primitive North American Indians. Parched corn, ground fine.It's no feast exactly, but it keeps a man going."
"You figure you'll be gone that long?"
"Maybe overnight. I don't know. Won't stop until I get it. Can'tafford to. It could wipe me out in a few days."
"Good hunting," Shotwell said. "I'll hold the fort."
Duncan said to Sipar: "Quit sniveling and come on."
He picked up the rifle, settled it in the crook of his arm. He kickedopen the door and strode out.
Sipar followed meekly.
II
Duncan got his first shot late in the afternoon of that first day.
In the middle of the morning, two hours after they had left the farm,they had flushed the Cytha out of its bed in a thick ravine. But therehad been no chance for a shot. Duncan saw no more than a huge blackblur fade into the bush.
Through the bake-oven afternoon, they had followed its trail, Sipartracking and Duncan bringing up the rear, scanning every piece ofcover, with the sun-hot rifle always held at ready.
Once they had been held up for fifteen minutes while a massive donovantramped back and forth, screaming, trying to work up its courage forattack. But after a quarter hour of showing off, it decided to behaveitself and went off at a shuffling gallop.
Duncan watched it go with a lot of thankfulness. It could soak up alot of lead, and for all its awkwardness, it was handy with its feetonce it set itself in motion. Donovans had killed a lot of men in thetwenty years since Earthmen had come to Layard.
With the beast gone, Duncan looked around for Sipar. He found it fastasleep beneath a hula-shrub. He kicked the native awake with somethingless than gentleness and they went on again.
The bush swarmed with other animals, but they had no trouble withthem.
Sipar, despite its initial reluctance, had worked well at thetrailing. A misplaced bunch of grass, a twig bent to one side, adisplaced stone, the faintest pug mark were Sipar's stock in trade. Itworked like a lithe, well-trained hound. This bush country was itsspecial province; here it was at home.
With the sun dropping toward the west, they had climbed a long, steephill and as they neared the top of it, Duncan hissed at Sipar. Thenative looked back over its shoulder in surprise. Duncan made motionsfor it to stop tracking.
The native crouched and as Duncan went past it, he saw that a look ofagony was twisting its face. And in the look of agony he thought hesaw as well a touch of pleading and a trace of hatred. It's scared,just like the rest of them, Duncan told himself. But what the nativethought or felt had no significance; what counted was the beast ahead.
Duncan went the last few yards on his belly, pushing the gun ahead ofhim, the binoculars bumping on his back. Swift, vicious insects ranout of the grass and swarmed across his hands and arms and one got onhis face and bit him.
* * * * *
He made it to the hilltop and lay there, looking at the sweep of landbeyond. It was more of the same, more of the blistering, dustyslogging, more of thorn and tangled ravine and awful emptiness.
He lay motionless, watching for a hint of motion, for the fitfulshadow, for any wrongness in the terrain that might be the Cytha.
But there was nothing. The land lay quiet under the declining sun. Faron the horizon, a herd of some sort of animals was grazing, but therewas nothing else.
Then he saw the motion, just a flicker, on the knoll ahead--abouthalfway up.
He laid the rifle carefully on the ground and hitched the binocularsaround. He raised them to his eyes and moved them slowly back andforth. The animal was there where he had seen the motion.
It was resting, looking back along the way that it had come, watchingfor the first sign of its trailers. Duncan tried to make out the sizeand shape, but it blended with the grass and the dun soil and he couldnot be sure exactly what it looked like.
He let the glasses down and now that he had located it, he coulddistinguish its outline with the naked eye.
His hand reached out and slid the rifle to him. He fitted it to hisshoulder and wriggled his body for closer contact with the ground. Thecross-hairs centered on the faint outline on the knoll and then thebeast stood up.
It was not as large as he had thought it might be--perhaps a littlelarger than Earth lion-size, but it certainly was no lion. It was asquare-set thing and black and inclined to lumpiness and it had anawkward look about it, but there were strength and ferociousness aswell.
Duncan tilted the muzzle of the rifle so that the cross-hairs centeredon the massive neck. He drew in a breath and held it and began thetrigger squeeze.
The rifle bucked hard against his shoulder and the report hammered inhis head and the beast went down. It did not lurch or fall; it simplymelted down and disappeared, hidden in the grass.
"Dead center," Duncan assured himself.
He worked the mechanism and the spent cartridge case flew out. Thefeeding mechanism snicked and the fresh shell clicked as it slid intothe breech.
He lay for a moment, watching. And on the knoll where the thing hadfallen, the grass was twitching as if the wind were blowing, onlythere was no wind. But despite the twitching of the grass, there wasno sign of the Cytha. It did not struggle up again. It stayed where ithad fallen.
Duncan got to his feet, dug out the bandanna and mopped at his face.He heard the soft thud of the step behind him and turned his head. Itwas the tracker.
"It's all right, Sipar," he said. "You can quit worrying. I got it. Wecan go home now."
* * * * *
It had been a long, hard chase, longer than he had thought it mightbe. But it had been successful and that was the thing that counted.For the moment, the _vua_ crop was safe.
He
tucked the bandanna back into his pocket, went down the slope andstarted up the knoll. He reached the place where the Cytha had fallen.There were three small gouts of torn, mangled fur and flesh lying onthe ground and there was nothing else.
He spun around and jerked his rifle up. Every nerve was screaminglyalert. He swung his head, searching for the slightest movement, forsome shape or color that was not the shape or color of the bush orgrass or ground. But there was nothing. The heat droned in the hush ofafternoon. There was not a breath of moving air. But there wasdanger--a saw-toothed sense of danger close behind his neck.
"Sipar!" he called in a tense whisper, "Watch out!"
The native stood motionless, unheeding, its eyeballs rolling up untilthere was only white, while the muscles stood out along its throatlike straining ropes of steel.
Duncan