Unearthly Neighbors (12 page)

He smelled the acrid smell of sun-blasted canyons and the brown-rock smell of the mountains. He smelled the bubbling silver of the streams and the close, heavy smell of the trees. He caught the perfume of strange flowers and the greasy scent of vines that crawled up to the roof of the world. He smelled the slow wind that had flowed like oil over places he had never seen. He sniffed the rank odor of furtive animals that padded across the forest floor. He sensed the tang of seasons and wood smoke and the great vault of the sky, and he smelled things that were unknown and nameless and lost.

How strange it was to smell things that conjured up no memories, brought back no nostalgia…

“Soup’s on,” Charlie said, looking more grotesque than ever in his bulbous spacesuit. “Get it while it’s hot.”

“I’ll settle for a cold beer.”

“Got to eat, don’t we? Can’t be a hero on an empty stomach, as someone once should have said.”

“How about Ghandi? He was good enough to have York’s ship named after him.”

Charlie tried to shrug, but it was virtually impossible. “He wasn’t lugging a spacesuit around on his back. Burns up the old calories, you know.”

Monte took a self-heating can that Charlie handed to him and awkwardly spooned out a steaming horror that was supposed to be beef stew. He ate it standing up, for the simple reason that sitting down was too much trouble. He washed the stuff down with a canteen of cold water and was surprised to find that he felt somewhat better.

Sirius was below the rim of the trees now, although it was still flooding the sky with light. There were puffy, moisture-laden clouds on the horizon, and they looked black in the middle and crimson around the edges. It was still hot, but the evening breeze was freshening.

They built up the fire in the clearing until the logs sizzled and popped and white smoke funneled into the sky. They checked their tents and then they were ready.

“Do you see them?” Monte asked.

“No. But I
feel
’em. They’re all around us, up in the trees.”

“Time for your speech, wouldn’t you say?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do it yourself? You can speak the lingo as well as I can by now.”

“Not quite. Anyhow, you’re more eloquent. Give ’em the works.”

“It’s useless, you know.”

“Maybe. We’ve got to try.”

Charlie Jenike walked stiff-legged to the other side of the fire. He stood there facing the trees. The fire hissed behind him. He looked somehow more alien than the world he faced: a squat mechanical man that had stepped out of a factory in a dark land beyond the stars.

The red-leafed forest was an abyss of electric silence: waiting, watching, listening.

Charlie Jenike took a deep breath and made his pitch.

“Merdosi!”

There was no answer; Charlie hadn’t expected one.

“Merdosi!”

There were only the trees rooted in the hostile soil, only the immense night that rolled in from far away.

“Merdosi! Hear my voice. We do not come to you in anger. We carry no weapons.”

(Monte smiled in appreciation; Charlie really
was
good with the native language. That last sentence was a marvel of circumlocution.)

“Merdosi! My people came to Walonka to be friends with your people. We meant you no harm. In our ignorance, we made many mistakes. We are sorry for them. The Merdosi too have made mistakes. It was wrong for you to send the Merdosini after our people. It was wrong to kill. We did not understand, and we too were wrong when we killed one of your men. This clearing has been stained with blood—your blood and our blood. That is past. We want no more killing. We will kill no more. Our only wish is to speak with you in peace.”

The shadow-filled forest was silent. A log burned through on the fire and collapsed in a shower of sparks.

Charlie lifted his heavy arm. “Hear me, Merdosi! This is another chance for both of us. We are all people together. We must trust one another. On our world beyond the sky, many bad things have happened because people could not trust each other. Many times the first step was never taken, and that was wrong. Here and now, we are taking the first step. We have come in peace. We have trusted you. We have washed our hands of blood. Come out! Come out and let us sit by the fire and talk as men!”

No voice answered him. In all the darkening hush of the woods, no figure stirred.

“Merdosi! We have learned your words, and we speak them to you. There is nothing to fear! There is much to be gained. Do you not wonder about us, as we wonder about you? Will you not give us a chance, even as we have given you a chance? It is wrong for a man to hide like an animal! Come out! Come out, and let us be men together!”

There was no reply. He might as well have been talking to the trees themselves. Slowly, he let his arm fall to his side. He turned and rejoined Monte by the tents. There was a bleak sadness in his eyes.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat.

“It was good, Charlie. No man could have done any better.”

“It wasn’t good enough.”

“Maybe not. We knew it was a long shot, didn’t we? We gave it a try. What the hell.”

Monte stroked his matted beard absently. He looked around the little clearing. The firelight seemed brighter now; the long night was near. He found himself looking at the exact spot where Louise had died. Quickly, he averted his eyes.

Charlie snorted. “We’re nuts. They’re nuts. The whole thing is insane. If we had all our marbles, we’d go back to Earth and forget there ever was a Sirius Nine.”

“Think you could forget?”

“Maybe. I could try.”

Monte laughed. “I’ll tell you, Charlie: it’s probably easier for me to come here than it would be to go home, and that’s the truth. But the notion is not without its appeal. I could go back to Earth and file a classic report with the U.N. The intrepid anthropologist returns from the stars and gives the boys the word.
The natives are bloodthirsty jerks! I advise that they be obliterated for the good of mankind!
Ought to create quite a stir, hey?
”

“Maybe that’s just the report you should file,” Charlie said soberly.

“There’s another good one we could come up with; it would be very popular and would make everybody feel good.
The natives are poor ignorant dopes who don’t know what they’re doing. I advise that their culture be manipulated by the all-wise earthmen to make them smart like us. I propose an ‘earthman’s burden’ for the good of the universe!
How’s that sound?”

“Familiar. Stupid, but familiar.”

“The devil of it is that most people would welcome a report like that. It’s funny how many people there are who like to play God.”

Charlie started to say something, then changed his mind. He walked over and managed to lift another log and toss it on the fire.

“Think we’ll last out the night?” he asked casually.

“Maybe.”

“Let’s get with it. I’d just as soon try to make pals with the Devil as the Merdosi.”

“We might have a better chance, at that. After all, the Devil is a product of our own culture a few millenniums back. He’s one of the boys, even with his horns and tail. He even speaks our language, according to usually reliable sources. He makes deals.”

“To hell with him,” Charlie grinned.

“Exactly. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Put your helmet on and let me test it.”

Charlie picked up his gleaming helmet, stared at it a moment, took a deep breath, and settled it on his shoulders. It clamped into place with an audible click, and Charlie locked the catches with gloved, puffy fingers.

Monte checked the helmet carefully. It was secure. Charlie’s face, behind the thick glassite plate, seemed swollen and remote. Monte put on his own helmet and fastened the catches. All sounds from outside ceased. He knew a moment of panic when he felt as though he were smothering, but then the air came in. The doctored suits had breathing holes in the helmets, so that they did not have to depend on canned air.

He spoke into his mike. “All set?” His voice had a hollow sound to his own ears.

Charlie poked at the helmet and gave it a pull or two.

“Okay.” His voice was tinny in Monte’s ears. “You’re sealed in like a sardine.”

“This ought to be quite a night.”

“Yeah. At least we won’t die of boredom.”

“We may roast to death, though.”

“It’s a thought.”

They fell silent; there was nothing more to say. Monte felt oddly detached, as though his body belonged to someone else. It was already hot in the suit. The silence was overwhelming. The world seemed to have disappeared…

Side by side, like two cumbersome monsters who had lost their way, the two men moved into the sleeping tent. They lowered their heavy bodies onto the protesting cots and lay quietly, their eyes bright behind their glassite plates.

“Now I lay me down to sleep,” Charlie said.

Monte said nothing. He stared up into the hushed darkness of the tent and tried not to think.

Outside, the fat yellow moon would be rising. The old, uncaring stars would be looking down on the orange fire that burned in the little clearing. Somewhere, invisibly remote, the ship that had brought him from Earth would be floating in the dark silence.

Sealed in his anachronistic spacesuit, Monte Stewart was as alone as a man could ever be.

He closed his eyes.

Patiently, he waited.

They came out of the night and out of the stillness that lay beneath the silver stars. They came as he had known they would come, on great padded feet, with yellow eyes that gleamed in the close darkness of the tent.

He saw them coming; he was not asleep. They were phantoms, slipping like fog through the entrance to the tent. He could not hear them through his helmet, but he could see their glowing yellow eyes.

He imagined what he could not see: the dirty-gray coat with the long muscles rippling under a taut skin, the long sleek head with the crushing jaws, the saliva dripping from the pulled-back mouth…

He could smell the stink of them, hot and moist and heavy in the trapped air of the tent.

The wolf-things, the killers, the Merdosini.

They had come back to kill again.

“Charlie.”

“Yes.” The voice was tinny in his ear. “I see them.”

He felt nothing, but he could see them nosing at his cot. He could see the black flowing shadows around Charlie’s bed.

He lay very still, trying to slow down his breathing. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. The sweat trickled down from under his arms and it was cold as ice in his hot suit. He waited, not moving a muscle.

Nightmare? Yes, this was what a nightmare was like. A nightmare was all terrible silence and the black shadows of death.

Incredibly, the punch-line of an ancient joke came to him:
Here comes old cold-nose.

He fought down a mad impulse to laugh, to scream, to yell. These were the beasts that had killed Louise. These were the animals that had destroyed Helen Jenike. These were the killers that had torn Ralph Gottschalk apart.

These were the voiceless horrors of a fevered dream…

The wolf-things attacked.

Suddenly, with mindless ferocity, they were all over him. He couldn’t see, couldn’t move. The cot must have cracked under their plunging weight, for he felt himself fall to the ground. He was smothered under them, the stink of them filled his nostrils.

He waited, fighting down panic. They couldn’t hurt him. He grabbed that thought and held onto it.
They couldn’t hurt him.
That was what the spacesuits were for. If your, defense is strong enough, you don’t have to worry about the offense. The spacesuit was tough and it covered every inch of his body. It would take more than teeth and jaws to tear through that suit. The natives scorned weapons. Very well. Let them try to open a can without a can-opener!

He felt nothing at all, he heard nothing but Charlie breathing into his suit mike. He could not see; one of the things was blocking his face plate. Flat on his back, he tried to move and failed. They must be all over him…

The stench was terrific. He lost track of time. Unbidden, his mind began to work. What if they blocked his air supply? Was the air getting stale? What if they found a fault in the suit, a weak spot, and white teeth began to gnaw at his bones? What if one of the natives came in
and unlocked his helmet? What if the natives could direct the wolf-things well enough so that
they
could pry open his helmet, get at his head?

If only he could
see!

There was some sound coming through the air filters—or was it only his imagination? A wet roaring, a growling, a slavering…

“Charlie!”

“I hear you.”

“Can you move?”

“No.”

“How long has it been?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if they don’t stop, never stop?”

“You tell me. Calm down, Monte. This is your party, boy.”

Monte flushed in hidden shame. Couldn’t he take it? What was the matter with him?

If only he could see.

If only he could move…

Suddenly, he
had
to move. He had miscalculated his own staying power; he could not endure this blind suffocation, this being buried alive. He tried to lift his arms and failed. He tried to bend his knees and failed. He tried to sit up and failed.

He began to cry, and choked it off as rapidly as it came. He gathered himself, sucked in fetid air. He
was
going to move. No stinking animal was going to stop him. He felt a strength pouring through him that was almost superhuman.

Now!

He wrenched and twisted to his right, felt the suit roll over. He was clear! He lurched to his feet, his eyes blazed. He stumbled out of the tent, pulling shadow beasts with him.

He could see! The fire in the clearing still burned feebly, and the moon was pouring silver down through the night. The wolf-things were all around him, circling him, moving in again. The muscles rippled on their lean flanks, their jaws were bleeding where they had tried to tear a hole in his suit.

Monte laughed wildly. “Come on, you devils! Come on and fight!”