The Space Guardian (7 page)

Ten meters. . . But the mouth did not open. Lahks shifted the laser infinitesimally to bring it to bear on a heat sensor. That would penetrate, perhaps sting. Only, did the beast have nerves? And then, just as it seemed the head would top them and it would be too late to fire, the angle changed, changed further. It was swinging away. Without appearing to notice them, the dragon was avoiding the semicircle of droms, which had not even glanced backward or changed their idiotic grins for a moment.

Three long breaths sighed out. Somewhere in the back of her mind Lahks noted that Shom was not such an idiot as to have lost a sense of danger or self-preservation. What she said, however, was, “Are you sure the droms didn’t help? The dragon avoided them.”

Stoat holstered his laser, his eyes following the retreating form of the saurian. “I don’t know. The droms accompany everyone and plenty of hunters don’t come back. I was told the droms were no help. You want to try trusting them?”

Lahks laughed. “I’d love to, but a failure of the theory would be so very final.”

“Yet to that finality the fortunate all come in the end.”

A little surprised at the strange wording and the fatalistic calm of Stoat’s tone, Lahks turned from watching the glitter of the moon on the dragon’s scales to peer at his shadowed face. “True, but I intend to let the end be as far from the beginning as possible.”

“I, too.” There was laughter in Stoat’s voice again. “And a steady courage, such as yours, Trader’s daughter can do much to prolong the middle.”

Although she knew he could not see, Lahks’ brows shot up. “We are well matched, then, all three. But we had better move on. Even if the beast takes the bait, who knows what may come of it? If it is only wounded, it may run mad.”

They were about to stand up and Suit action to the words when a dull “whump” from the direction in which they had come froze them. Stoat shook his head in negation of the question Lahks had not asked. He had not triggered the grenade, nor had its time-delay run out so that it triggered itself. Perhaps the impact of the dragon’s teeth had set it off. But there had been no squall of pain. Lahks felt a flicker of relief. She killed, when necessary, swiftly and without a second thought, but she did not like to inflict pain particularly on a dumb beast, if its head had been blown off . . . Lahks thought doubtfully of the size of that head and the power of the bomb and realized as she thought that, if they had heard the explosion, they must have heard a body of that size fall.

If the beast were frightened by the explosion, would it become immobile or run? Frankly, Lahks could not imagine the dragon being frightened by anything, except another of its own kind, It was too big and also too stupid. One needed brains to be afraid. Still, she had opened her mouth to ask Stoat which unlikelihood was more likely when she saw his laser come up and then heard the beast herself.

Had she been alone, Lahks knew she would have been in no danger. To drop her temperature to where she was uninviting, to remain so completely immobile that the dragon’s low intelligence would take her for a rock or stump, would have been possible. Now it was entirely likely she would be snapped up unnoticed with two other tasty tidbits.

Fortunately for all three tasty tidbits, the dragon was no longer hunting. Where heat sensors had flared wide, flaps had dropped so that the great head presented a uniform silvery appearance. What was more, it presented a totally satisfied expression. Lahks could feel her eyes widening with disbelief. Of course, she had never seen the expression of a completely satisfied Allosaurus before, but if this was not it, what could it be?

The dragon’s eyes were half-closed; the mouth, tight with tension when it had been hunting, sagged slightly open to display the point of a tongue from which a thick saliva drooled; the gait, previously lithe and purposeful, seemed somewhat uncertain. In fact, it looked. . . Before the thought could be finished, all three were crouching as flat against their boulder as possible. A drunken, staggering dragon might not mean them any harm, but to be trod upon would be as final as being eaten.

It could not be what she imagined. Lahks turned toward Stoat, leaning close so that she could keep her voice low. At that distance she could see in the dim light reflected from the rocks that Stoat’s face mirrored the expression she had felt on her own.

“Is it wounded and dying?” she asked.

“Wounded?” he whispered furiously. “The damned thing doesn’t even have indigestion. It liked it!”

The indignation in his voice tickled Lahks. In her effort to resist giggling, her tone was unnaturally grave. “Its heat sensors were closed. That means it isn’t hunting anymore.” Suddenly humor was intensified by a delightful notion. “Stoat!” she exclaimed with a broad grin. “You did tell me there was a rumor that the things actually breathe fire, that their breath is extremely hot?”

“That’s why they’re called dragons, yes, but it’s imposs—. Wait a bit. On an oxygen-atmosphere planet everything lives by oxidation—that is, by burning fuel. We do it indirectly, and suitable fuel is limited to those things that fit our enzyme systems. But if we were tough enough to have a fire in our bellies. . .”

“Then anything burnable at the temperature of that fire would be fuel,” Lahks finished for him. She laughed softly. “I wondered how any number of carnivores that big could exist where there was so little to prey upon. But they aren’t really carnivores. They eat anything oxidizable at their digestive temperatures.”

“But they prefer meat and fat because it burns slower and hotter—sure, and because they must have a subsidiary system to provide chemicals for growth and repair . . . unless they are a biological miracle that converts energy to mass—. By the Power, I’m ready to believe anything. Still, that bomb must have been hotter than any internal temperature.”

“So, what? You can set oil afire with an alcohol burner and the oil burns hotter than the original flame. They must have a mechanism for carrying the heat away and distributing it, just as we have. Now all we need to know is how long that many calories will keep the beast contented.”

Stoat shook his head. “I can figure the caloric value of the bomb, but I don’t know anything about the dragon’s metabolism or its usual intake.”

A drom leaned forward and nudged Lahks. She rose, stared around. “Look, there’s some higher ground ahead that looks as if it might provide shelter. We could go to earth there, set another bomb, and watch.”

“Do you think you can tell one dragon from another?”

“Not unless they’re markedly different in size, but you said they were loners, not gregarious. We’ll know what direction it comes from.”

On his feet, too, Stoat looked toward the area Lahks had noticed, then swung slowly. The ridge she had seen, silvered in places by the old moon, continued in a rough semicircle for some distance. The light was deceptive because Stoat, like the cup-dwellers, had lost the habit of traveling in the dark. He judged it to be about a kilometer to the crest,

“I would guess,” he said slowly, “that the area inside that ridge is this fellow’s territory. We were pretty central, which might be why he showed up so soon. Let’s try for that ridge, see if we can find cover, and set our bomb. If the beastie doesn’t show up, we can count on a good hour’s traveling time for each bomb swallowed.”

“But. . .” Lahks began. Then she said, “Oh, I see. The trap is a much higher heat stimulus than we are and might attract the dragon even if it wasn’t too hungry. But, then what?”

They were already walking toward their objective and the full moonlight struck Stoat’s face. A grin flickered across its feral intensity.

“I think,” he replied, “that if this one doesn’t take the bait and it goes off, the heat will attract the inhabitant of the next territory. If our luck holds, it probably won’t dare invade, but it will be close to the ridge and hungry. If the ground slopes away on the other side, we can toss another bomb down. Even if the impact sets it off—which it shouldn’t—it will draw the new dragon away from our direct path and give us time to set another bomb and get free.”

The next morning found them still in the highlands but overlooking the lip of a desert that glittered in the rising sun. Lahks sat in her favorite cross-legged position chuckling quietly as Stoat, who was lying flat, laughed aloud. Both had been bottling up laughter for hours on end. In fact, they had studiously refrained from allowing their eyes to meet for fear of making unseemly noise. There was no sense in tempting even a drunken dragon, or anything else that roamed the hills, with shouts of laughter. There was something deeply satisfying in leaving a trail of totally contented creatures behind, as well as escaping.

Eventually Stoat stretched and turned his still-smiling face to Lahks. “Do we plan our next stage now or sleep first, Trader’s daughter?”

“Tell me more tales of Wumeera while we eat. Then if nothing is certain, we can sleep on our problems. This world is so weird that dreams may provide better answers than thought.”

Unfortunately the details Stoat furnished with regard to the desert fauna provided no new inspiration to Lahks. The silverfish were not too dangerous to a party equipped with lasers. They depended for protection against the wind and heat on overhanging carapaces covered with the same skin the dragons had. However, since their legs could be folded under the carapaces, these were not armored. They could be sliced off so that the creature was left helpless. Then it could be turned like a turtle and killed. The material of the windsuits came from silverfish, since the skin over the carapace stripped off readily.

Crabs were another problem altogether. They were not really a single animal at all, but a colony held together by a vitreous growth, which Lahks had seen used as windows. Unlike coral, which they resembled in some respects, the crabs had some sort of communication between individuals. If one saw food, the whole colony seemed to be aware of it and willing to move in the direction of the stimulus. These creatures were not resistant to lasers; however, killing one individual or even slicing the beast apart had no effect on the others. As long as one was alive, it strove to attack and eat.

The silverfish hunted by night, using heat sensors, as did the dragons; the crabs hunted more by day, but not exclusively. There was no certainty about how they sensed their prey, but Stoat thought it might be by vibration. They spent most of their time beneath the surface of the desert sands, but they always seemed to rise disastrously close to their victims.

At the end of a fruitless discussion, they all stretched out flat and slept. But when Lahks woke, her first words continued, as if the talk had had no interruption.

“We made a mistake, I think,” she murmured sleepily. “If the stones are farther out in the desert, we must be able to move more quickly. We need a flyer.”

Stoat grinned. “I agree that we could use one, but would it not be easier if a heartstone grew legs and walked into the tent? That is equally likely.”

“Not at all. A flyer was virtually offered to us, but, like fools, we hid instead of . . . ah, no, we did just right if. . . What is the likelihood that the Landlord will search in this direction?”

“There is some chance they will sweep it by flyer.”

“And what would you have done if you knew the Landlord was after me, I was a complete fool, and you were thoroughly unscrupulous? Would you perhaps steal my goods, lead me in the wrong direction, and abandon me?”

Red flickered in Stoat’s eyes. “I have fallen far,” he spat, “but not that far. I . . .” His voice checked suddenly, he choked, and burst into laughter. “Yahweh save me from setting myself against a Trader. I have dealt with the Guild, but they, at least, think honestly of dishonesty.”

Lahks’ tilted eyes twinkled with amusement. “Because the Guild deals in illegal things, it must be reasonably honest to exist at all. A Trader is debarred from the high profit of stolen goods and illegal merchandise. Therefore, the thinking of a Trader is more . . . ah . . . flexible.”

“Flexible,” Stoat murmured, “that is a beautiful word.”

He rose, stretched sinuously, and went to peer cautiously out of the tent, then left, with Shom following. The stillsuits took care of all bodily functions, but it was necessary to empty the dehydrated wastes from their receptacle. When they returned, Lahks went out in turn. She was beginning to feel distastefully gritty and dirty, but there was no help for that. Water was far too precious to be wasted on washing.

The light of the old sun was already reddening, although it was only an hour or so past midday, but there was no lack of heat. Without thinking, Lahks moved toward the shade of a low boulder. As she did so, it occurred to her that the boulder was incredibly black, far different from the ordinary rocks of the soil, and that its shape was peculiarly symmetrical. An artifact? If so, it was old, for the surface was deeply pitted. She moved closer.

The laser gun leaped into her hand as a tiny movement alerted her. After a moment, however, she drew closer still, and then still closer, holding the laser ready but feeling more curious than cautious. The air within a meter or two of the object was noticeably cooler, although she was still well outside of the small patch of shadow that it cast. With widening eyes Lahks circled the object, then holstered her gun and simply stared.

“Stoat,” she called softly.

Before she had drawn another breath, he was in sight, a laser in one hand and a stunner in the other. With each passing moment Lahks was better pleased with her choice of partner. The integrity that awoke rage in him at the suggestion he might abandon a helpless comrade, the courage that brought instant response to danger, and the thoughtfulness that made him draw a stun-gun, as well as a laser, in case the threat did not require killing—all these delighted her. Perhaps . . . but that could wait.

“No danger,” she said, “but come here.”

Wisely, he did not holster his weapons. If she was the focus of an ambush and had been told what to say, so wary a hunter would not be caught.

“What do you make of that?’ Lahks asked, pointing.

After repeating movements essentially like Lahks’ own, Stoat said flatly, “I don’t believe it. It isn’t a rock. It’s a drom. Only it looks like it’s been solidified in some kind of tar with its head buried inside its body. But you can’t hurt them—and no one would want to, anyway. Even homicidal maniacs like droms.”

“I don’t think it’s hurt,” Lahks said slowly. “I think it’s . . . guess you would have to say eating . . . although recharging might be more appropriate.”

“But how can a living thing act like a solar battery? What does it do, turn itself inside out?”

Lahks shrugged. “Perhaps.” Her eyes glowed with wonder. “You were right, of course. The droms don’t belong here. They are artifacts—living artifacts. By all the Powers that Be, what sort of people could build such a thing? I must find them. I must know them.”

Eyes and long canines gleaming, Stoat nodded in agreement “Trader’s daughter, I have been on Wumeera some five S-years, and in four days in your company I have learned more about this place than the natives know. When we have our heartstones— note that I say ‘when,’ no longer ‘if’—and we go off-planet, will you consider permanent Contract with me?”

“Body or labor?” Lahks teased.

“Either or both!” Stoat responded promptly.

Lahks held out her hand, laughing. “When we go off-planet and you know the full tale of my woes, we will talk of it. But now we must get us a flyer.”

Stoat gestured grandly toward the horizon. “Whistle, and doubtless one will come down to you.”

“Now, that is a very good idea,” she said gravely. “I think we should do just that.”

Again a momentary puzzlement in Stoat’s eyes altered swiftly into comprehension. His thin lips pulled back ma rather mirthless grin. The robbery the Landlords had practiced upon him still rankled, and the hope that he would get his own back by the worth of a flyer gave him bitter pleasure.

“Certainly if I knew the Landlord wanted you, I would not desire that you be killed. I would want him to have you so that he would not pursue me. I would drug you, perhaps, and leave you your weapons and a distress caller. Shom and I can use the comcov to conceal us. I think the caller will cover its field even if they have a detect.” Suddenly his grin faded and he hooked his lower lip with a sharp tooth. “But the damned droms will give us away. If those in the flyer see three droms, they will know you are not alone.”

“If you ride, the comcov will cover you and them.”

“Yes, but you can’t stop them or steer them. How do I know what my psyche will want to do when I see the flyer? Remember, those idiot beasts don’t read minds, they read the ego’s, or maybe it’s the id’s, intentions.” He paused, looking shocked. “Do you realize, Trader’s daughter, that a people who designed such a creature had either no id or no superego? They had no conflict between desire and intention!” This time it was Stoat’s eyes that grew round with wonder. “Trader’s daughter, if you go to seek out these people, I will follow you with or without Contract.”

“If they still exist.” Lahks looked at the reddening sun. “This is an old planet, much older even than Terra, I think.” She shook herself briskly, as if to shed physically the sense of melancholy her words had engendered. “But first things first. Why should the presence of extra droms betray us? Many came with a few men to the landing field.”