drill; keeps the boys alert."
"Good idea. Now here's my plan: I've got ten hours of daylight left, soI'm heading out into the bush. Figure departure in five minutes. Weatherhas obscured signs, but I don't think I can go wrong by following mynose and taking the shortest route. I'm traveling light, just the bugrig, the W&R, belt kit, and a minicomm. I'm going to set up thistransceiver to record and transmit on command-response. I suggest youinterrogate every hour on the hour from now on. Catchum?"
I broke off, made the necessary adjustments, strapped the minicomm on mywrist, and exited the shuttler.
The antiseptic air that I drew into my lungs was beginning to seeminadequate, I felt slippery all over, and there was a cottony taste inmy mouth.
* * * * *
I made it to the start of the bush in fifteen minutes. Don't be misledinto picturing jungle. There was a variety of vegetation, includingtrees, but none of it was what you'd call heavy going. Beyond somewherewas a stream, significant enough to be noted on the chart as "FirstWater." And several miles from the camp was the start of a series ofrolling hills. Blue in the distance was a chain of mountains--"TheGuardians." The over-all impression was of peaceful, virgin wilderness.
The original survey team had made its camp in the relative frankness ofthe plain, then, after preliminary tests, had moved to higher ground,specifically, the lee side of one of the nearer hills.
They had cleared an area, using heat sweepers to destroy encroachingvegetation, and R-F beams to disenchant the local insect population.
Insects there were: a regular cacophony of buzzings, chirpings andmonotonous mutterings. By the time I'd reached the bank of the stream,I'd lost track of individual varieties.
The stream was a bare trickle; the bed was spongy and dotted with tall,spare plants that resembled horse tails; I negotiated the fifty feet tothe opposite bank without difficulty.
I threaded through a thicket and came out into a brief expanse ofsavannah.
There I found the first evidence of the fate of 231's people.
It was a small object, oval, flattened, the color of old ivory.
Although I hadn't been walking along with my head under my arm, it tookme a moment to tumble to what I'd discovered.
Then my hair tried to stand on end. I rid myself of it and used theminicomm for the first time.
Speaking to a recorder was altogether too impersonal for what I had toreport.
"I've just found a patella; a human knee-cap. I'm about a hundred feetbeyond the far bank of the stream in almost a straight line from thecamp. I'm in grass about two feet tall. I'm casting about now,looking--Hold it. Yes, it's scraps of a gray uniform. More remains.Here's a femur; here's a radius-ulna. The bones are clean, scattered.Evidence of scavengers. No chance for a P-M on this one."
I got out the chart from its case on the suit's belt, x'd the location,and went on, feeling more lonely all the time.
It wasn't that I was unconversant with the physical evidence of death.I've marked corpses on planets you've probably never heard of--corpsesresulting from disaster, unavoidable accident, stupid error, and evenmurder. What I've learned is that you never get used to coming face toface with human death, even when its manifestation is the inscrutablevacancy of bare bones.
You can put this down, too, and think what you want about incongruity: Iwas angry; angry with the spacer that had got himself catapulted intoeternity so far from home; angry with myself for having assumed beforeleaving the Interstel office in Mega Angeles that this is what I wouldfind; angry because the assumption had done nothing to prepare me forthe reality. No space padre would have admired what I said inside thebug suit's hood--nor the refinements that grew more bitter with each newdiscovery.
Within three hours, I'd accounted for all twelve of 231's missing crew.
The search had led to and beyond the hillside where the original teamhad made its second and permanent camp. In one place, I found enough toseparate four skeletons of men who had fallen within a few feet of eachother. The rest were randomly located. There was a small plant growingup through the hole in the left half of a pelvis. Somehow it lookedobscene, and I had to fight the impulse to tear it out. But it wassimply one of many, struggling for survival, that I'd seen growing hereand there throughout the area: a species that seemed to bear a familialkinship to those that sprinkled the plain.
There was equipment: field kits, a minilab, a couple of blasters, eachshowing full charge.
Cause of death: that was the enigma.
"So far I'm stumped," I said into the minicomm. "I've retrieved a fewscraps of uniform bearing stains. Maybe analysis can discover something.The tapes say that E-T's birds and mammals are comparatively rare, but_comparative_ doesn't mean much in the light of what I've seen. So far,though, everything I can come up with seems totally inadequate.Bacterial invasion, animal attack, insect incursion--none were problemswith the first survey gang, so why should they be now? Rule out gaspoisoning or allied concomitants; the suit tab shows white. Speaking ofthat--I'm peeling now. Keep your fingers crossed."
* * * * *
The air was warm and still, heavy with the ubiquitous smells and soundsof wilderness.
I was in the approximate area of the first team's camp. As per custom,they had struck the plastidome, dismantled the scanners, power panels,and other reusable equipment, and destroyed the debris of occupancy. Theclearing had repaired itself. But for the slight concavities on thehilltop that marked shuttler settlings, there was little to indicatetheir previous presence.
I sat down and waited.
The suicide complex has never been a part of my psyche, but there aretimes when you have to place yourself in jeopardy; it's occupational,and I've got the gray hair, worry lines, and scars to prove it.
I waited for three long hours.
The sweat dampness of my uniform evaporated only to be replaced by thestains of new perspiration. I sucked in great gulps of E-T's air andfound it consistently comfortable in my lungs. Insects came,investigated, and retreated, mostly because of urging. I was notapproached by anything larger than a line of creatures the size ofVici-Terran milatants, and I was able to avoid them by evasive action.As far as I could determine, I wasn't invaded by anything microscopic orsub-microscopic either, because at the end of the three hours, I feltnothing beyond the personal infirmities that I'd brought with me.
The definite decline of E-T's sun forced me to give up.
The walk back to the plain wasn't entirely fruitless; I found somethingthat I'd overlooked previously: the scattered remains of a smallvertebrate. Many of the bones were missing.
"What happened to you?" I mused. "Did you come for a meal and got killedby a larger animal? Or were you caught in the same disaster that--?"
There was no way to tell.
What was it about Epsilon-Terra that could accept one survey team formonths of occupancy--occupancy that had involved detailed examination ofthe region within miles of the plain and the hillside, and cursoryexamination of thousands of square miles of the rest of the insular massby air, including touchdowns at key points for short stays--and thatfive years later could entice, enmesh, and destroy the entirecomplement of a modern star ship, indiscriminately, within a matter ofhours?
* * * * *
It was late afternoon when I reached the camp.
I was tired, dirty, thirsty, hungry, and thoroughly frustrated.
I drank from a previously unopened water bowser and wolfed severalnutratabs.
Then I stumbled over to the shuttler, secured the recorder andinterrogation setup, raised the star ship, and brought Moya up to date.
"I'm going to move this vehicle to the hillside and spend the nightthere. I figure I'd better give E-T a full twenty-six hour rotationinterval to come up with something before the next step. Tomorrow, I'mgoing to need a man down here to witness the location and disposition ofthe corpses. You know the drill. It's your decision whether they shouldbe
identified singly, if possible, and secured for removal to Terra, orwhether they should be interred here, commonly. My recommendation is tomake a film record and plant them, but I'm too tired to argue. One thingmore: whoever you send--if he gives me any lip, I'll cut him down like asmall tree. There's been enough mistakes made here already."
I spent the night in the shuttler. Call it an atavistic response to theunknowns of darkness.
It was a restless interval between dusk and dawn.
Occasionally, I illuminated the hillside and surrounding area. A coupleof times, I glimpsed the eye reflections of small animals. They seemedto possess the shyness of most nocturnal creatures. But I couldn't helpwondering--
Morning dawned gloomily; there was a light mist hanging over thestreambed, and much of the sky was turgid with clouds.
I gave the star ship the go-ahead and specified dispatch because of thethreatening weather.
Moya mentioned plastibags, a filmer, and a porto-digger. His decisionwas obvious. I figured it wise but had the uncomfortable picture of a GSrepresentative trying to explain the reasons to bereaved relatives.
I spent a few moments going over meteorological details. As I recalledfrom the tapes, this was the rainy season. Judging from the look of thearea, it could use precipitation. Things were growing, but the streamwas mostly dry, and the plain seemed parched. Apparently the mountainsblocked much of it.
Sitting on hands has never been my delight, so I exited the shuttler andwent down the hill for another look-see.
Insects buzzed noisily; the air seemed heavy and oppressive; but nothinghad changed--there was no evidence of the creatures I'd seen during thenight.
It took about an hour for the shuttler from 250 to show.
In the interval, several things happened.
The first was a perceptive darkening of the sky, followed by a light,preliminary shower. I'd anticipated that, and was considering headingback for the bug suit when the second occurred.
I'm not going to offer excuses. From the advantage of retrospection, youcan say what you want about slipshod detective work. The point remainsthat I'd covered the area more than cursorily and had not encounteredanything specifically dangerous.
The timing was pure luck.
The shuttler penetrated the overcast about ten miles off target,located, and started its approach.
And something bit me on the leg.
I pulled up my pant's leg immediately, hoping to catch the culprit, butsaw nothing save a thin red line about an inch long. It looked more ascratch than an insect bite. But I hadn't brushed against anything.
The shuttler grounded on the hilltop, and I headed up.
Perhaps it was exertion that speeded the reaction.
There was no pain, only a local numbness.
Before I'd traveled ten yards, my leg from the knee almost to the anklefelt prickly asleep.
I paused and looked. There was no swelling, no other discoloration.
I heard a raspy voice from the hilltop.
"Are you going to give me some help, or do I have to haul all this gearmyself?"
Despite the leg, I didn't know whether to laugh or explode.
Moya was rattling around in an outsized bug suit and carrying thebiggest Moril blaster contained in a star ship's arsenal that couldstill be called portable.
"What in condemned space are you doing here?" I shouted.
I was ready to give it to him right off the top of the regs about therelationship between ship's master and agents-on-assignment and theresponsibilities of command, but the leg chose that moment to fail.Until then, I hadn't really been worried. I fell forward against thepitch of the slope, caught myself with my arms, and rolled over on myback. I hit my left thigh with my fist and felt absolutely nothing.Massage didn't help.
I heard Moya panting down the brow of the hill.
"Keep away!" I shouted. "Get back to the ship!"
Moya bent over me; he had opened the hood of the bug suit, and his facewas grave.
"What's the trouble, Callum?"
"Can't you take orders?"
He shook his head. I pointed to the leg. He looked swiftly at the brokenskin.
"How does it feel?"
"That's the trouble; it doesn't."
He grabbed my arm, put it over his shoulder, and got me on my feet.
We made good time, considering.
"Too bad you're such a shrimp," I said.
"I can take you on any time."
Shuttler IV was closest, parked on a shelf fifty yards below the top ofthe hill, but Moya was heading to miss it.
"I programmed for auto, just in case, and the generators are up topower. We waste time to save time. That way I can give you some help onthe ascent."
The generator part was fine; the rest wasn't.
It started to rain again, just before we reached 250's shuttler.
I put my face up to it.
Moya got me through the lock and onto an acceleration couch. Then heheaded for the panel. I was beginning to feel a desperate weakness, butmy head was still clear.
"Wait a minute," I said. "What's your gee tolerance?"
"High, but--"
"So strap me and raise this couch to vertical. Then override the autoand take us up fast."
He blinked.
"Listen," I said. "This feels like a neuro-toxin. Remember snake-biteaid? Well, the numbness is up to my groin now. No place for atourniquet. And nothing here for freezing."
It was strange going up. I blacked out almost immediately, but Moya tookit flat and apparently stayed alert all the way.
"Space!" I managed to gasp finally. "Any more of that sort of thing andI'd have ended up stupid."
Then there was utter confusion.
* * * * *
I came to full awareness under the luminescence of the infirmary'soverhead. I was naked on the padding of the table. I could see arespirator off to my right, and a suction octopus near it. The medic wasjust stowing an auto-heart. But for a different tingling in my leg andan all-is-lost sensation south of my diaphragm, I felt reasonably sound.
The medic approached. I hadn't gotten a very good impression of thelean, blond youngster on the trip out, but now he seemed Hippocrates,Luke, Lister, Salk, O'Grady, and Yakamura all rolled into one.
He weakened it by asking the classic redundancy.
"How do you feel?"
I elbowed up for a look at the leg. There was a series of little weltsthe length of it, masked by forceheal.
"Where did you learn your trade?" I asked. "In a production expediter'soffice?"
He grinned.
"It took more than three hours, Mr. Callum. Suction, flushing, fulltransfusion. You've got some good blood in you now."
I lay back and let him talk.
"There'll be nerve damage, probably. Regeneration should take care ofmost of it, but you might need transplants. You were lucky. First, thatwhatever nipped you barely broke the skin. Second, that the skipper wasthere to help. And third, that you had the sense to block the spread ofthe toxin by gee forces."
"Yeah. Remind me to thank Moya--immediately after I write him up forleaving his station."
The medic looked pleased.
"Well, now, the way I got it--and I believe the recorder will bear meout--is that you requested a witness. You left it up to the skipper tomake the selection."
He cleared his throat.
"And, by the way, Moya said he'd look in on you after a bit. The thingto do now is rest."
I sat up again.
"Where're my clothes?"
The kid commenced noises of disapproval.
"Damnation! I'm not going anywhere. I just want to look over that pant'sleg."
Came the dawn.
"What'd you say Moya was doing?"
"Oh, I expect he's busy up forward."
The trouble was that he looked me straight in the eye. It takes practiceto lie convincingly. And the Space Academy doesn't list the Art ofPrevarication among its
curricula.
"That misbegotten little son of an Aztec! He went back down, didn't he?"
I tried to jackknife off the table.
The medic flexed his muscles and said: "I can't take theresponsibility--"
"When are you people going to get it through your stubborn heads thatthe responsibility for this whole shebang is mine and mine alone?"
Two more of the crew showed up. Under other circumstances, I might haveenjoyed tangling with them. I know tricks that even the inventors ofkarate overlooked.
"All right," I gasped. "But give me the dope. He's not alone, is he? Areyou in contact?"
It developed that Moya had returned to the site of the disasterimmediately upon learning that I was out of danger. He'd taken acrewman. He was also equipped with my chart of the area complete withlocales of the remains. The last word had been that the two had groundedand that the weather front was dissipating. He'd been gone about twohours.
"They both had bug suits," the medic offered.
"Great," I said. "Just splendid. Suppose there's a creature down therethat can go through plastic like--"
For the first time the three lost their smug expressions.
"We destroyed your clothes," the medic said sheepishly. "We figured--"
I railed at them for a couple of minutes, but it was mostly unfair.Moya's decision could be justified, too.
They rustled up a uniform and helped me to Astrogation. The remainingcrewman was at the comm. The freeze was beginning to wear off, and myleg burned.
I alternated between berating myself and trying to think up an adequateexplanation for