Whatever Gods May Be (30 page)

Zolan nearly went over the platform railing as the entire gangplank was abruptly jolted beneath him.  He leaned over the edge to see if the gantry rigging was failing, but he could determine very little from where he was on the very top level.  Possibly one of the support legs had become damaged, he thought reasonably; it had happened once before on Earth when he had first arrived and as he had customarily ignored the problem, eventually it collapsed one day and sent him flying to the ground with a broken leg.  He would not make the same mistake again, and though the storm was becoming increasingly stronger, Zolan descended the platform carefully to see what had caused the shudder.

A flash of lightning sparkled overhead, followed by explosions of thunder, and not far from where the Rover stood, falling boulders from the cliff tops roared down the rock face and smashed into the sand below.  Zolan reached beach level and pulled himself around to the two support columns of the landing gantry.  The water was almost knee level now, and tugged at Zolan as it surged in and out off the beach.

A rather alarming surprise confronted him.  The cross-bar rigging that latticed itself between the two landing supports had been torn away at ground level.  It was an impressive piece of damage, insofar as the metal used to keep the platform stable was one of the hardest in the known galaxy.  It was odd that he hadn't felt the bars hanging up as the gantry was lowered down.  Zolan twisted off the remainder of the gnarled part, then moved back to the steps.  Since the damage was more surprising than severe, Zolan decided that it could wait until the brunt of the storm would pass.

The whining growl behind him stopped him in his tracks.

He felt his stomach go numb; he took another step forward without turning around, but as he did so, the purring growl turned into a loud, angry snarl.  No, he was not imagining it, that much was for sure.

Staring down at the ruptured metal cross-bar in his hands, Zolan realized there was no longer a mystery involved with how it got that way.

Wherever he had landed, one thing was now certain.

He was definitely not alone.

THIRTY-THREE

The Birdog stared on fascinated.

The Ball had exceeded her wildest expectations.

Unbelievably, it had dismantled itself, or rather, metamorphosized into something completely different.  The new extension gave the Ball a safer looking appearance, she thought; the symmetrical appendages running perpendicularly to the sand floor gave it an added strength, something it would desperately need if it was going to withstand the abuse the Jumpers were about to deliver to it.

Then something horrible happened.

The Birdog whined in incredulity and surprise.  For out of the Ball, a man had appeared, and it was obvious to the concerned Birdog that he was unaware of the three rats prowling around the other side of his ship.  Howling in frustration, the Birdog screamed a muffled warning to the man.  The wind had started to whine and groan around her, so she knew that she was not making herself heard.  Not that it would have made much difference; the Birdog was quite confident that the man, had he even listened to her frantic barks, would have failed to understand her.  She watched miserably as one of the Jumpers took hold of the new piece of the Ball and chewed at it, even as the man was standing high above, blind to what was transpiring below him.

Something began to tickle the Birddog’s ears.  She was so engrossed in the scene below that she was barely aware of it.  The Birdog scratched her head with a back leg and shook herself, then continued to gaze ahead, but the buzzing that filled the cave wouldn't depart.  The Birdog snapped at the air irritably, more puzzled than frightened by the invisible intruder.

The buzzing took on a commanding tone, which the Birdog finally was unable to ignore.  She listened momentarily, then turned back to what was happening to her Ball.  The instructions were clear and concise.

Help the man:

The Birdog shook her head in disbelief.  Yes, she wanted to help, but it was too dangerous.  She had pups to care for; if she died trying to save the stranger, her children would also die.  The risk was far too great.

Help the man!

"Dalka, dalka," the Birdog protested, though the idea of getting involved in the dreadful events about to take place on the beach was becoming more irresistible by the moment.

HELP THE MAN!  LISTEN...

The Birdog did as she was told.

Rather quickly, the three rats had formed a semi-circle around Zolan, forcing him up against the boarding gantry.  The beasts were clearly uncomfortable with being surrounded by water, but this did not diminish their obvious interest in him.  Snapping occasionally at the furious waves crashing beneath them, the rats inched towards Zolan from all sides.

Zolan held the metal crossbeam with both hands in front of him, put it gave him very little comfort.  His weapon was at most two feet long; hardly a viable defense against three house-size rodents with tusks nearly as long as the severed rod he was gripping.

It was clear that breakfast was a foremost priority on the rats' lists of things to do today, and Zolan realized that there was little he could do to keep from becoming an immediate entree.  Three sets of blood-shot eyes seemed to agree with this consensus; delighted with the situation, the Jumpers began to slobber madly.  Such involuntary foaming from their point of view was an excellent omen for palatability, but though they were eager for the kill, the rats were patient enough to study their prey carefully.

The man was not like the giant humans they were familiar with; this creature had flown through the air, and now had the audacity to feign a defensive posture - both feats that the Jumpers had never seen the men of their world do before.  Such uncharacteristic behavior merited consideration, and for a few moments more, the rats contented themselves with simply growling at Zolan with voracious sincerity.  Like all survivors in this predatory world, the rats understood that anything not safely disemboweled and in several scattered pieces, was always a potential danger; these things, occasionally, simply couldn't be rushed.

Zolan offered a few slashes with the metal, which the rats pawed at almost diffidently.  At last, the largest rat stepped forward for the challenge.

Only ten feet from the man, the rat stuck its ablated head out and parried with Zolan.  Zolan swung his weapon viciously, while holding on to the support columns.  His aim was low, and the Jumper clapped two jagged jaws together.  Spit and ooze hit the air as incisors crunched sickeningly - and fortunately for Zolan - harmlessly together.

The miscalculation on the part of the rat gave Zolan a momentary surge of hope.  He could see that it was basically a sluggish animal for all its ferocity; if only there weren't three of them...

Zolan again slashed at the beast, while sidestepping quickly as the rat made another snapping attack.  To it's credit, the thing anticipated Zolan's response, but not in time to save itself from considerable damage.  Zolan's weapon connected and sliced off a goodly portion of snout, sending it flying to a slushy impact against the hull of the Rover.

Howls of agony and surprise reverberated against the cliffs and echoed horribly with the converging wind and rain.  The rat twisted and squirmed in the sand several feet away from the heaving Zolan, while its famished compatriots stared on in wonder.  Awe quickly turned into desire, as the two other monsters detected an entire new dimension to the morning menu.  As they approached their injured fellow, Zolan made a quick move around the gantry to where the steps were located.

Suddenly, though, the snoutless rat was back on its haunches confronting Zolan again.  With a snarl of warning to his drooling companions, the de-nosed Jumper approached the man with unmistakable intent.  Shooting a nervous glance at the other two dining guests, Zolan prepared for the next attack.  He thought briefly about yelling to the Rover, but he knew that this was almost certainly a vain gesture; the ship was still fast asleep, and would be of no use to him for hours.  By then, of course, it might make very little difference what the Rover could do; Zolan would have long before become an after-dinner rat mint.

The rat weaved drunkenly in front of Zolan; blood was falling into its sickened eyes, and several times it nearly collapsed.  Zolan noticed that a few test lunges failed to prod the groggy beast into a speedy reprisal.  The rat was bleeding to death in front of him as it lunged awkwardly forward.  Zolan jammed his crossbar out, sending the metal deep into the rat's spongy skull.  Swallowing a surprised growl, the Jumper reared backward on its back legs.  Zolan tried to retrieve the weapon, but it was too firmly entrenched in bone, and as the rat fell to the ground, he realized that his only form of defense against the other two monsters was gone forever.

No sooner had the corpse fallen into the water, than the two remaining Jumpers proceeded to rip it apart.  Zolan made a move to reach the stairs again, but as he did, the rats both issued a snarl of warning to him.  Zolan froze.  The rats were no longer in a hurry to attack him now, but they were not prepared to let him go, just because a more convenient dining agenda had been arranged for them.  Within moments, the deceased rats was a shredded mess of fur and grizzle.  The Jumpers occasionally gave Zolan a bloody smile of gratitude, but it was usually followed up by growling promises that convinced Zolan a similar fate awaited him.

Zolan was only a few feet from the stairs leading up to the ship's entrance, but he realized unhappily that it might as well be a hundred miles away.  Even if he successfully ascended the gantry, one of the monsters would assuredly pursue and catch him before he reached the top.  For several numbing minutes, Zolan continued to watch the gory festivities in disgusted silence.  It was now pouring down rain, and blowing around the Rover something fierce.  The rats, however, took very little notice to the conditions around them, nor did they seem perturbed about devouring soaked meat.  Even as large waves washed over them - a loathsome by Jumper standards - they remained engrossed with the task of consuming the body of their late compatriot.

Finally, the moment arrived that Zolan had been dreading.  The rat closest to Zolan had grown tired of the fair he had been enjoying, and now looked with culinary love at him.  He hated to admit it, but the rat actually did look like it was smiling at him.  If it was, Zolan reflected grimly, it had good reason; for there was nothing he could now do to help himself.

Deep within the diseased recesses of the watching rat's brain, a line of logic and intuition developed that was unprecedented; the beast guessed correctly that the man was unable to offer further resistance.  A grudging respect had grown for the quarry; never in the rat's life had it seen one of its kind murdered by a man.  Zolan was therefore more than just mere prey; he was in fact considered a trophy now.  The prodigy rodent savored the moment, before testing its hind quarters for a final leap to victory.

The other Jumper was still feeding on the unrecognizable remains of the dead rat, and showed no immediate interest in sharing his associates impending kill.  Zolan derived little comfort from this observation; even with one of these monsters to contend with, the probability of him coming out completely undigested was sickeningly remote.

The attacking rat grinned with lascivious famishment, then lowered itself into a crouch.  It was only five feet from Zolan, and such melodramatic preparations were totally unnecessary; a well-place slash would have shredded the man instantly.  This particular rat, however, possessed a dramatic flair; after all, it thought dimly, hopping on a sure thing like this came once, maybe twice a year -- a little pomp and ceremony certainly couldn't hurt:

The Alexander of ratdom took to the air.  It had one, brief, sparkling moment of satisfaction to see Zolan's eyes widen with terror, before it's head separated from its body in a pulp of brain, bone and bafflement.

THIRTY-FOUR

A single image crossed through her mind which lasted a millionth of a second, yet it was of sufficient duration to successfully impart to the Birdog the important meaning it held.-She glanced down at the Ball, the rats and the trapped man on the beach.  Yes, the instructions had been memorized, and she knew what needed to be done.

Barking an acknowledgement to the invisible voice in her cave, the Birdog plunged off her ledge into the hissing winds.  There was no time for any casual circling, or studious examination of the situation below her; she knew - and had been informed - that she would have to work quickly if the man was going to be saved.

The gale force winds bounced her around mercilessly, but she stubbornly nosed herself into a steep climb several hundred feet above her cave entrance.  Planing off, she hovered for a moment, then plunged into an almost vertical dive towards the Ball.  It was an enormous risk for the Birdog to take; she, like all members of her species used flying only when necessary, and rarely engaged in the kind of aerodynamic experimentation she was now performing.  The buzzing voice, however, had assured her that she would be safe, and for reasons that were totally beyond her comprehension, she trusted them implicitly.

The air whistled past her shaggy ears, and as the earth grew nearer, she readied herself for the crucial moment to come.  As the Birdog descended to within only twenty feet from the ground and the rat standing opposite the man, she looped herself up and rocketed skyward again.  It was a precision maneuver, and one which she executed with deadly intention.  The Birddog’s enormous tail suddenly lassoed itself around the neck of the rat as it commenced its final attack on the man.