Behind him were two small craters in the ground.
Miraculously, McKay’s moosoid had not broken its neck or any legs. It scrambled up, its lips drawn back to reveal all its big long teeth, its eyes seemingly twice as large as usual. It sped by McKay whose mouth opened as he shouted curses that Kickaha couldn’t hear.
Anana had already grasped what had to be done. She had slipped off the saddle and was making motions to Kickaha, knowing he couldn’t hear her. He kicked the sides of the beast and yelled at it, though he supposed it was as deaf as he. It responded and went after McKay’s fleeing beast. The chase was a long one, however, and ended when McKay’s mount stopped running. Foam spread from its mouth and dappled its front, and its sides swelled and shrank like a bellows. It crumpled, rolled over on its side, and died.
Its rear parts were covered with blood.
Kickaha rode back to where Anana and McKay stood. They were wounded, too, mainly in the back. Blood welled from a score of little objects half-buried in the skin. Now he became aware that blood was coming from just behind and above his right elbow.
He grabbed the thing stuck in his skin and pulled it out. Rubbing the blood from its surface, he looked at it. It was a six-pointed crystalline star.
“Craziest shrapnel I ever saw,” he said. No one heard him.
The plants, which he had at once named cannonlabra, had observed that their shelling had failed to get the passersby. They were now heading away, traveling slowly on their hundred or so pairs of thin big-footed legs. Fifteen minutes later he was to see several lay their explosive eggs near enough to an elephant calf to kill it. Some of the things then climbed over the carcass and began tearing at it with claws which appeared from within the feet. The foremost limbs dropped pieces of meat into an aperture on the side.
Apparently McKay’s dead animal was too far away to be observed.
Anana and McKay spent the next ten minutes painfully pulling the “shrapnel” from their skins. Pieces of grass were applied to the wounds to stop the bleeding.
“I’d sure like to stuff Urthona down the muzzle of one of those,” Kickaha said. “It’d be a pleasure to see him riding its shell. He must have had a lot of sadistic pleasure out of designing those things.”
He didn’t know how the creature could convert its food into black gunpowder. It took charcoal, sodium or potassium nitrate, and sulfur to make the explosive. That was one mystery. Another was how the things “grew” shell-casings. A third was how they ignited the charge that propelled the shells.
There was no time to investigate. A half-hour had been lost in the chase, and McKay had no steed.
“Now, you two, don’t argue with me,” he said. He got off the hikwu. “Anana, you ride like hell after the palace. You can go faster if I’m not on it, and you’re the lightest one so you’ll be the least burden for the hikwu. I was thinking for a minute that maybe McKay and I could run alongside you, hanging onto the saddle. But we’d start bleeding again, so that’s out.
“You take off now. If you catch up with the palace, you might be able to get inside and stop it. It’s a slim chance, but it’s all we got.
“We’ll be moseying along.”
Anana said, “That makes sense. Wish me luck.”
She said, “Heekhyu!”, the Wendow word for “Giddap!,” and the moosoid trotted off. Presently, under Anana’s lashings, it was galloping.
McKay and Kickaha started walking. The flies settled on their wounds. Behind them explosions sounded as the cannonlabra laid down an artillery barrage in the midst of an antelope herd.
An hour passed. They were trotting now, but their leaden legs and heavy breathing had convinced them they couldn’t keep up the pace. Still, the palace was bigger. They were gaining on it. The tiny figures of Anana and her beast had merged into the rusty grass of what seemed a never-ending plain.
They stopped to drink bad-tasting water from the bag McKay had taken off of his dead hikwu. McKay said, “Man, if she don’t catch that palace, we’ll be stranded here for the rest of our life.”
“Maybe it’ll reverse its course,” Kickaha said. He didn’t sound very optimistic.
Just as he was lifting the bag to pour water into his open mouth, he felt the earth shaking. Refusing to be interrupted, he quenched his thirst. But as he put the bag down he realized that this was no ordinary tremor caused by shape-shifting. It was a genuine earthquake. The ground was lifting up and down, and he felt as if he were standing on a plate in an enormous bowl of jelly being shaken by a giant. The effect was scarey and nauseating.
McKay had thrown himself down on the earth. Kickaha decided he might as well do so, too. There was no use wasting energy trying to stand up. He faced toward the palace, however, so he could see what was happening in that direction. This was really rotten luck. While this big temblor was going on, Anana would not be able to ride after the palace.
The shaking up-and-down movement continued. The animals had fled for the mountains, the worst place for them if the quake continued. The birds were taking off, millions salt-and-peppering the sky, then coalescing to form one great cloud. They were all heading toward the direction of the palace.
Presently, he saw a dot coming toward him. In a few minutes it became a microscopic Anana and hikwu. Then the two separated, both rolling on the ground. Only Anana got up. She ran toward him or tried to do so, rather. The waves of grass-covered earth were like swells in the sea. They rose beneath her and propelled her forward down their slope, casting her on her face. She got up and ran some more, and, once, she disappeared behind a big roller, just like a small boat in a heavy sea.
“I’m going to get sick,” McKay said. He did. Up to then Kickaha had been able to manage his own nausea, but the sound of the black man’s heavings and retchings sparked off his own vomit.
Now, above the sounds he was making, he heard a noise that was as loud as if the world were cracking apart. He was more frightened then he’d ever been in his life. Nevertheless, he got to his hands and knees and stared out toward where Anana had been. He couldn’t see her, but he could see just beyond where she’d been.
The earth was curling up like a scroll about to be rolled. Its edges were somewhat beyond where he’d last seen Anana. But she could have fallen into the gigantic fissure.
He got to his feet and cried, “Anana! Anana!” He tried to run toward her, but he was pitched up so violently that he rose a foot into the air. When he came down he slid on his face down the slope of a roller.
He struggled up again. For a moment he was even more confused and bewildered, his sense of unreality increasing. The mountains in the far distance seemed to be sliding downward as if the planet had opened to swallow them.
Then he realized that they were not falling down.
The ground on which he stood was rising.
He was on a mass being torn away to make a temporary satellite for the main body of the planet.
The palace was out of sight now, but he had seen that it was still on the main body. The fissure had missed by a mile or so marooning it with its pursuers.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The splitoff now was one hundred miles above the primary and in a stable, if temporary, orbit. It would take about four hundred days before the lesser mass started to fall into the greater. And that descent would be a slow one.
The air seemed no less thick than that on the surface of the planet. The atmosphere had the same pressure at an altitude of 528,000 feet as it had at ground zero. Urthona had never explained the physical principles of this phenomenon. This was probably because he didn’t know them. Though he had made the specifications for the pocket universe, he had left it up to a team of scientists to make his world work. The scientists were dead millenia ago, and the knowledge long lost. But their manufactures survived and apparently would until all the universes ran down.
The earthquakes had not ceased once the splitoff had torn itself away. It had started readjusting, shaping from a wedgeform into a globe. This cataclysm
ic process had taken twelve days, during which its marooned life had had to move around much and swiftly to keep from being buried. Much of it had not succeeded. The heat of energy released during the transformation had been terrible, but it had been alleviated by one rainstorm after another. For almost a fortnight, Kickaha and his companions had been living in a Turkish bath. All they wanted to do was to lie down and pant. But they had been forced to keep moving, sometimes vigorously.
On the other hand, because of the much weaker gravity, only one-sixteenths that of the primary, their expenditure of energy took them much more swiftly and further than it would have on the planet. And there were so many carcasses and dead plants around that they didn’t have to hunt for food. Another item of nourishment was the flying seed. When the separation had started, every plant on the moon had released hundreds of seeds which were borne by the wind on tissue-thin alates or masses of threads. These rose, some drifting down towards the parent world, others falling back onto the satellite. They were small, but a score or so made a mouthful and provided a protein-high vegetable. Even the filmy wings and threads could be eaten.
“Nature’s, or Urthona’s, way of making sure the various species of plants survive the catastrophe,” Kickaha said.
But when the mutations of terrain stopped and the carcasses became too stinking to eat, they had to begin hunting. Though the humans could run and jump faster, once they learned the new method of locomotion, the animals were proportionately just as speedy. But Kickaha fashioned a new type of bola, two or three antelope skulls connected by a rawhide cord. He would whirl this around and around and then send it skimming along the ground to entangle the legs of the quarry. McKay and Anana made their own bolas, and all three were quite adept at casting them. They even caught some of the wild moosoids with these.
Those seeds that fell back on the splitoff put down roots, and new plants grew quickly. The grass and the soil around them became bleached as the nutritional elements were sucked up. The plantling would grow a set of legs and pull up the main root or break it off and move on to rich soil. The legs would fall off but a new set, longer and stronger, would grow. After three moves, the plants stayed rooted until they had attained their full growth. Their maturation period was exceedingly swift by Terrestrial standards.
Of course, many were eaten by the elephants, moosoids, and other animals which made plants their main diet. But enough survived to provide countless groves of ambulatory trees and bushes.
The three had their usual troubles with baboons, dogs, and the feline predators. Added to those was a huge bird they’d never seen before. Its wingspread was fifty feet, though the body was comparatively small. Its head was scarlet; the eyes, cold yellow; the green beak, long, hooked, and sharp. The wings and body were bluish, and the short thick heavily taloned legs were ochre. It swooped down from the sky just after dusk, struck, and carried its prey off. Since the gravity was comparatively weak here, it could lift a human into the air. Twice, one of them almost got Anana. Only by throwing herself on the ground when Kickaha had cried a warning had she escaped being borne away.
“I can’t figure out what it does when there is no satellite,” Kickaha said. “It could never lift a large body from the surface of the primary. So what does it live on between-times?”
“Maybe it just soars around, living off its fat, until the planet spits up another part of it,” Anana said.
They were silent for a while then, imagining these huge aerial creatures gliding through the air fifty miles up, half-asleep most of the time, waiting for the mother planet to propel its meat on a Moon-sized dish up to it.
“Yes, but it has to land somewhere on the satellite to eat and to mate,” he said. “I wonder where?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I got an idea, but it’s so crazy I don’t want to talk about it yet. It came to me in a dream last night.”
Anana suddenly gripped his arm and pointed upward. He and McKay looked up. There, perhaps a half a mile above them, the palace was floating by.
They stood silently watching it until it had disappeared behind some high mountains.
Kickaha sighed and said, “I guess that when it’s on automatic it circles the satellite. Urthona must have set it to do that so that he could observe the moon. Damn! So near yet so far!”
The Lord must have gotten pleasure out of watching the shifts in the terrain and the adjustments of people and animals to it. But surely he hadn’t lived alone in it. What had he done for companionship and sex? Abducted women from time to time, used them, then abandoned them on the surface? Or kicked them out and watched them fall one hundred miles, perhaps accompanying them during the descent to see their horror, hear their screams?
It didn’t matter now, Urthona’s victims and Urthona were all dead now. What was important was how they were going to survive the rejoining of primary and secondary.
Anana said that her uncle had told her that about a month prior to this event, the satellite again mutated form. It changed from a globe to a rough rectangle of earth, went around the primary five times, and then lowered until it became part of the mother world again.
Only those animals that happened to be on the upper part had a chance to live through the impact. Those on the undersurface would be ground into bits and their pieces burned. And those living in the area of the primary onto which the satellite fell would also be killed.
Urthona had, however, given some a chance to get out and from under. He’d given them an instinctive mechanism which made them flee at their fastest speed from any area over which the satellite came close. It had a set orbital path prior to landing, and as it swung lower every day, the animals “knew” that they had to leave the area. Unfortunately, only those on the outer limits of the impact had time to escape.
The plants were too slow to get out in time, but their instincts made them release their floating seeds.
All of this interested Kickaha. His chief concern, however, was to determine which side of the moon the three would be on when the change from a globe to a rectangle was made. That is, whether they would be on the upper side, that opposite the planet, or on the underside.
“There isn’t any way of finding out,” Anana said. “We’ll just have to trust to luck.”
“I’ve depended on that in the past,” he said. “But I don’t want to now. You only use luck when there’s nothing else left.”
He did much thinking about their situation in the days and nights that slid by. The moon rotated slowly, taking about thirty days to complete a single spin. The colossal body of the planet hanging in the sky revealed the healing of the great wound made by the withdrawal of the splitoff. The only thing for which they had gratitude for being on the secondary was that they weren’t in the area of greatest shape-change, that near the opening of the hole, which extended to the center of the planet. They saw, when the clouds were missing, the sides fall in, avalanches of an unimaginable but visible magnitude. And the mass shrank before their eyes as adjustments were made all over the planet. Even the sea-lands must be undergoing shakings of terrifying strength, enough to make the minds and souls of the inhabitants reel with the terrain.
“Urthona must have enjoyed the spectacle when he was riding around in his palace,” Kickaha said. “Sometimes I wish you hadn’t killed him, Anana. He’d be down there now, finding out what a horror he’d subjected his creations to.”
One morning Kickaha told his companions about a dream he’d had. It had begun with him enthusiastically telling them about his plan to get them off the moon. They’d thought it was wonderful, and all three had started at once on the project. First, they’d walked to a mountain the top of which was a sleeping place for the giant birds, which they called rocs. They’d climbed to the top and found that it contained a depression in which the rocs rested during the day.
The three had slid down the slope of the hollow, and each had sneaked up on a sleeping roc. Then each had killed his or her bird by driving the knives and
a pointed stick through the bird’s eye into its brain. Then they’d hidden under a wing of the dead bird until the others had awakened and flown off. After which they’d cut off the wings and tail feathers and carried them back to their camp.
“Why did we do this?” Anana said.
“So we could use the wings and tails to make gliders. We attached them to fuselages of wood, and …”
“Excuse me,” Anana said, smiling. “You’ve never mentioned having any glider experience.”
“That’s because I haven’t. But I’ve read about gliders, and I did take a few hours’ private instruction in a Piper Cub, just enough to solo. But I had to quit because I ran out of money.”
“I haven’t been up in a glider for about thirty years,” Anana said. “But I’ve built many, and I’ve three thousand hours flight time in them.”
“Great! Then you can teach Mac and me how to glide. Anyway, in this dream we attached the wings to the fuselage and, to keep the wings from flexing, we tied wood bars to the wing bones, and we used rawhide strips instead of wires …”
Anana interrupted again. “How did you control this makeshift glider?”
“By shifting our weight. That’s how John Montgomery and Percy Pilcher and Otto and Gustave Lilienthal did it. They hung under or between the wings, suspended in straps or on a seat, and they did all right. Uh … until John and Otto and Percy were killed, that is.”
McKay said, “I’m glad this was just a dream.”
“Yeah? Dreams are springboards into reality.”
McKay groaned, and he said, “I just knew you was in earnest.”
Anana, looking as if she was about to break into laughter, said, “Well, we could make gliders out of wood and antelope hide, I suppose. They wouldn’t work once we got into the primary’s gravity field, though, even if they would work here. So there’s no use being serious about this.