Postmarked the Stars

9.HUNTERS OF MEN

The dark closed in, but when Dane would have snapped on the lights of the flitter, as Meshler made no move to, the ranger caught his wrist.

“No use letting ourselves be seen,” he explained, and Dane was disconcerted at his own instinctive but perhaps dangerous move.

“Where are we? Any clue?” Tau asked.

“Southwest! To our reports there is nothing here but the wilds,” Meshler returned. “Have I not said that?”

“This Trosti station,” persisted the medic. “With what are their experiments concerned? Ag work, veterinary procedures, or general research?”

“Ag work, but not altogether for Trewsworld. They have a conditioning-for-export license. But they are of no concern. I have visited them on my rounds. We are well past that site, plus the fact that they had no installation capable of a beam such as this.”

“Trosti,” Tau repeated thoughtfully. “Trosti—”

“Vegan Trosti. This is one of the foundations set up under his will,” Meshler supplied.

Vegan Trosti! Dane thought of the hundreds of rumors and supposedly authentic stories about Vegan Trosti. He was one of those men possessing what Terrans used to claim was a “golden touch.” Every invention he backed, every exploration he financed, was a success, pouring more and more credits into his hoard. No one had ever learned just how much wealth Trosti had amassed. At intervals he made over some astronomical sum to a research project. If that paid off, and they regularly did, the profit went to the lucky planet giving it a base.

There were, of course, the other tales, too, such as grew from the shadow of such a man—that his “luck” was not always a matter for open investigation; that some of the research projects could not bear too open a scrutiny, or that they carried on programs on two levels, one that could be reviewed openly, the other masked by the first and for purposes far less advantageous for the public.

But, though such rumors had become legends also, there had never been one bit of proof they were true. And the credit side of Trosti’s ledger was very impressive. If he had made any mistakes or taken any steps along another road, such were buried and forgotten.

So had Vegan Trosti lived, a power about whose person practically nothing was known. He shunned publicity with an almost fierce hatred. There were stories that he often worked among his own employees—especially on explorations—without their knowing it. When he disappeared, he had set up such a tight legal control of his empire, insuring that it was to be used for knowledge and general good, that he was looked upon on many worlds as a hero, almost a demigod.

How he had disappeared was not known, in spite of the investigation of the Patrol. It seemed that his deputies simply came forward some planet years back and announced that his private ship was long overdue and that they had their instructions in such a case to dissolve his holdings, carrying out his express commands. They had proceeded to do so, in spite of a bright beam of publicity allowing no concealment.

The story was that he had set off on one of his expeditions and that he had ceased to report regularly as he had always done. Following the time order he had left, his men moved to do as he wished should such a circumstance arrive.

Never had anyone learned anything about his early years. His past, beyond a certain point, was as blank as his final ending. He was a comet that had shot across the inhabited galaxy and left changes on those worlds it touched.

“We’re losing altitude,” Meshler suddenly exclaimed.

“Something else—” Once more Tau leaned forward so that his head and shoulders were close to the two before him. “See here?” His arm was a dark shadow in the dusky cabin, but what he held out for them had its own light about a dial. On the face of that, a needle quivered to the right, and from it came a buzzing, which seemed to Dane to grow even stronger.

“What—?” began Meshler.

“There is radiation ahead, radiation of the same type but stronger than that from the box on the Queen. I think we are going to have some answers to questions shortly.”

“Listen—” Dane could not see the ranger’s face. It was only a lightish blur in the gloom, but there was a note in the other’s voice he had not heard before. “You say this radiation turns a thing back through time, retrogresses it—”

“All we have is the evidence of the embryos and the brach,” Tau said.

“Well, suppose it affected us. Could it?”

“I don’t know. That box was brought on board the ship by a human. Thorson saw it being handled by an alien woman. Of course, they may have sent their messenger on board to die, but I don’t think so. They needed the Queen to ferry their cargo here, and the ship could not have been handled by a crew who retrogressed as rapidly as the animals it affected. We would not have been able to come out of hyper. But if the radiation is stepped up, then I am not sure—”

“And you say that’s the same radiation ahead?”

“By the reading on this, yes.”

But what he might have added to that was never said, for the flitter gave a sudden downward swoop. Meshler cried out and wrestled with the controls—to no purpose. He could not wrench the craft from the force pulling it earthward.

“Crash aid!” Dane sensed rather than saw the pilot’s hand swing out to hit the panic button. He did the same on his side of the cabin. How much time did they have? Enough? The ground was only a dark mass, and he had no idea of how fast they were falling to meet it.

He felt the soft spurt of safe-foam on his body, curdling around it in the protective device of the flitter. It twined and coiled as he sat. Now it was as high as his throat, about his chin. He followed crash procedure, settled back in his seat, and shut his eyes as the protective covering jellied in around the three of them and the brach. Dane should have warned the brach, but he had forgotten all about the creature, who had been so quiet, and now it was too late.

Relax. His mind fought his nerves. Relax, leave it to the protective jelly. Tense up and he would delay the safety factor in that. Relax. He set his will to that now.

They struck. In spite of the safe-foam, it was a jar that knocked Dane into semiconsciousness. He did not know how long it was before he regained his senses enough to grope for the release catch on the cabin door to his right. He had to fight the pressure of the jelly to do that, but at last his fingers closed on the bar, but his half hold was torn loose as the door was opened with a sharp jerk. The jellied foam slipped toward that opening, carrying him with it as he struggled feebly to break free.

The safe-foam was being torn away. A great scarf of it fell from his head and shoulders. He opened his eyes into a blinding glare of beamer and blinked, unable to see, nor as yet able to understand what had happened. They had crashed and then—

Hands pulled him free of the foam with no care or gentleness. Speed seemed to be the thing desired. When he could stand, he was jerked to his feet, the beamer still so centered on him that he could not see who held it or the faces of the men who stripped off the jelly. There were two of them, and when they had done, they swung him expertly around and applied a tangler to his arms and wrists behind his back. Now he was as safely their prisoner as if they had encased him from shoulder to waist in plasta of the quick-drying sort.

Having made sure of him, they gave a shove that sent him staggering forward until he bumped against a surface with painful force. With that to steady him, he edged around. The bedazzlement left by the beam straight in his eyes was wearing off. He could see, though the men who were working on Tau remained only shadowy figures.

Dane never knew how many of them there were, for he was sure some of the party kept out of sight, using the beamer as a cover, but they worked with such efficiency that one could believe this was an action in which they had been drilled.

They had all three from the flitter under control. But they had not brought out the pack with the brach! Didn’t they know about the animal, or didn’t they consider the alien important?

The jelly, once exposed to the air, would disappear as the strips pulled from the prisoners were already doing, so that the brach would be freed shortly by himself. But the alien might be so terrorized by the crash and the jellied foam that—Dane did not know what he expected of—or for—the brach. Then he heard the crashing of what could only be a crawler in progress toward them, and he hoped the alien would escape notice.

A line snaked out of the dark into the path of the beamer, was hooked fast to the fore of the flitter, and that mass of wreckage began to move, complainingly, under the steady pull of the crawler. Dane was not to see its eventual destination. A hand caught his shoulder, dragged him away from his support, but continued to

push him along over a very rough path, where he stumbled and would have gone down several times if the unseen guard and guide had not kept his hold.

They came at last into a clearing, where a rock ledge jutted out to make a roof over a camp. There was a portable cooker there and other gear piled under the overhang, enough to suggest their captors had been there for some time and were well equipped.

There was also a diffuse lamp, which gave a subdued light. It had been set on lowest level, as if the campers begrudged the need for it at all.

In that glow Dane was able to see the three men who had brought them in. They wore regulation one-piece hunting suits with the instrument- and tool-hung belts of those venturing into the wild on a planet not native to them. All three were Terran or Terran colonial stock. But the one who rose from beside the lamp at their coming was not.

He was of a species strange to Dane, very tall, so that he had to hunch his shoulders and incline his head under that roofing ledge. In the light his skin was yellow (not brown-yellow, as one of ancient Terran Oriental stock might be, but a brighter hue). And his eyes and his teeth as he opened his mouth gave off fluorescence—the eyes being ringed with some glowing substance.

His hair was scant and grew in ring patches, with even spaces between, about a skull that rose to a cone- dome at the top. But his body, save that his arms and legs appeared too long for the size of his torso, was like that of a Terran and covered also by a hunter’s suit.

Dane wondered if Tau, with his greater knowledge of X-Tees, could name the species. From whatever world he came, it was plain that the alien was in command of the camp. He did not speak but gestured, and the three from the flitter were shoved on, back against the rock wall, then pushed down, to sit facing out into the night, while the tall alien hunkered down beside the lamp. What he held in his hands, curiously limber hands—his fingers moved as if they were boneless tentacles—was a com. But he did not speak into it. Instead, he used the tips of two of those squirming fingers to beat against the mike in a swift clicking.

None of the men spoke to the prisoners, nor did Meshler ask questions. When Dane glanced at the ranger, he saw that the man was studying the scene with an intentness that suggested he was making a mental listing.

The strangers wore hunters’ clothing. Their equipment was that Dane had seen used by sport hunters on other worlds. But if they had legitimately entered the wilderness on Trewsworld with that excuse, they would have been licensed and had with them a guide. There was no sign of any guide. Nor did they hear again the crawler that had dragged away the flitter. Dane deduced that the party was larger, and there might be a reason for the others to keep out of sight.

Having sent his click message, the tall alien brought out a long, hooded cloak, wrapping it well about him, and went to curl up at the other end of the camp under the ledge. He was followed shortly afterward, not to the same place, but into slumber, by two of the three Terrans, none of whom had so much as glanced at their prisoners since they had herded them in. The third man remained by the fire and held an unholstered tangler across his knee.

Dane knew little of electronics, but in this camp he saw nothing like the box from the Queen. Nor was there anything to suggest that the powerful force that had brought down the flitter had its source here. The puzzle that had enmeshed the Queen gave hope of clue now and then, but none such led anywhere.

He was tired, but in his present uncomfortable position he was not so fatigued that sleep came. Nor, when he looked at Tau and Meshler, had they succumbed either. The sentry by the fire now and then arose to walk back and forth, dividing his attention between a quick glance at the captives and a longer look into the dark beyond the very limited light of the lamp.

He was on one such beat when Dane caught a flicker at the other end of the campsite. Something moved there, and with caution. It was far too small for even a creeping man. The brach! Though why he expected the alien to have tracked them here, Dane could not say. The creature would be more likely to run away from the threat of a party who had so easily taken men prisoners.

The sentry turned, and now Dane could see nothing at all. When the man came back to the lamp, Dane was not quite sure he had ever seen anything.

Yet he kept stealing glances in that direction, being careful not to turn his head, to attract in any way the attention of the sentry. And he was rewarded seconds later by the sign of another flitting, this time from the protection of brush to a second cover behind a couple of supply boxes. There was no mistaking that silhouette—the long horned snout of the brach.

What the alien proposed to do (unless he had merely followed to cling to the proximity of the three from the flitter because their familiarity was a forlorn feeling of security), Dane could not guess. He had seen the brach use a stunner. But those who had stripped them out of the safe-foam had disarmed them. And, unless there had been some weapons in the flitter that the brach had located, he had no chance if discovered.

There was no way of communication possible, yet Dane found himself thinking a warning over and over— not that that would carry.

The sentry got up for another of those periodic prowls, and as he turned his back, the brach scuttled out into the open, as soundless in his passing as if he were a shadow. Making a quick dash, the alien was now crouched beside Tau, his head stretched at an uncomfortable angle. The horn—he was using his horn on the cords of the tangle!

Being what they were, those spun restrainers could not be easily cut or broken. They were ultra elastic on the surface, yielding under pressure of knife blade but not allowing their thick surfaces to be cut.

Yet Dane could see the small movements of the brach’s head. He must be tearing at those ties. Tau winced as if those efforts were painful, but he did not move and held steady.

Then Tau’s arms flexed a fraction, and Dane knew a spurt of excitement. Somehow the brach had broken the tangle strand. Tau was free, though he made no move to act upon that freedom.

However, the medic leaned forward slowly, holding his body as far as he could away from the wall, and Dane knew that the brach was wriggling through to come to Dane’s own assistance. He was right, for shortly thereafter he felt the fluffy warmth of the creature pressed tightly to him, the jerk and tug on the tangle as the alien sawed away with the horn. Then, too, he was freed, edging away from the wall, in turn, to give the brach a chance to reach Meshler.

The guard had completed his sentry beat and settled down again by the lamp, though he continued to divide his watch between the prisoners and the outer dark. He was too alert for unarmed men to make any plan not well thought out.

At last he got to his feet and went to one of his sleeping comrades to shake him awake. Oddly enough the roughly aroused man said nothing, only accepted the tangler and the post by the lamp, while the first rolled up in the same coverings from which the other had just crawled. Their silence struck an odd note—it was almost as if they could not talk.

The brach had wriggled from behind Meshler, and Dane knew that the ranger must also be free. The alien worked his way along, using the men and shadows for cover, finally hunkering down behind the pile of boxes that had been his first goal upon entering the camp. The guard by the lamp was on sentry go now. Just as he reached the most outward point of his beat, the brach moved. Dane could not quite make out

what the creature had loosened and pushed, but it rolled with a clatter for the lamp. In the last few seconds before it struck, Dane made ready.

It had impact enough to overbalance the lamp, and the light went out. Dane and the others threw themselves forward, out of range, or so they hoped, of any tangle discharge. Nor did Dane try to get to his feet, but scuttled, keeping as belly-down as he could, heading for the open. Sounds told him that his companions must be following the same tactics.

He expected to hear a shout from the sentry, some outcry to awaken the sleepers. There was a scuffling, and he heard the hiss of what could only be a tangler discharged. But if that touched anyone, it was not him.

Then he was out, getting to his feet. He brushed against another body, flailed out with his arm, and felt the slick surface of a thermo jacket. A hand caught his, linked fingers, and together they made what speed they could into the thick brush lying to the right of the ledge. That vegetation would deflect any tangler. But surely their captors had more dangerous weapons—

“Tau?”

“Yes!” The whisper was from his side.

“Meshler?”

“I don’t know,” the medic whispered.

They had no way of keeping their forced entry into the brush silent. The crackle of their passing must be a loud announcement of their path to their late captors. Then Dane was brought up short as a pair of hands seized him, and he swung about, aiming a blind blow at his assailant.

“Quiet!” There was no mistaking the ranger’s voice. “Take it smooth—easy!”

He tugged Dane along, and Dane’s own hold on the medic drew him in turn. The ranger certainly had, Dane decided, an extraordinary degree of night sight, for they were no longer threshing about in brush, though that did beat at them as they threaded a way along, either following a winding path or going through a thinner area of growth.

Their best pace was not a good one. Dane still wondered why there had been no sounds of alarm from the camp. Then came a sudden spring of light. The diffuse lamp must not only be working again but also turned higher. Only the fugitives were screened by the growth in between.

The plates in their space boots clicked on a more solid surface, and the brush was gone. Walls of some kind rose dark and solid on either hand. Dane looked up. He could see a narrow strip with a star or two emblazoned in it.

Something brushed his knee. He broke his hold on his two companions and stooped to feel the brach. The alien was shivering, and Dane held him close while he unsealed the seal of his thermo jacket and pulled it around them both.

“What is it?” whispered Meshler.

“The brach—he’s cold.” Dane wondered how long the creature had suffered the cruel night air.

“Does it—he—know where the flitter is?” Meshler’s whisper was urgent.

In handling the brach, Dane had discovered the alien still wore the translator. Now he pulled at his hood and whispered into the mike, “The flying thing—where is it?”

“In a hole—in the ground.” To his relief the alien answered promptly. Dane had thought that he might be half conscious from cold.

“Where?”

The brach wriggled in his hold and Dane felt his head bump against his chin as it turned, pointing left. “Left—in a hole, he says,” Dane reported to the ranger.

Meshler started so confidently in that direction that it was as if he could see clearly. But when the Terrans stumbled and lagged, he came back.

“Hurry!”

“Do us no good to hurry if we get broken bones for it,” Tau returned reasonably.

“But,” Meshler began, “this is open ground.”

“In the dark,” countered Tau, “it could be anything.”

“Dark? You mean you can’t see?” Meshler sounded honestly surprised, almost shocked.

“Not at night, not well enough to go charging along through this,” Tau answered.

“I did not know. Wait then!” Meshler’s indistinct figure twisted about. Then the end of a belt flapped into Dane’s reach. “Link together—I’ll lead.”

As soon as Dane caught the belt and Tau’s hand was set on his shoulder, the ranger stepped out as confidently as if he held a beamer focused on the path ahead.

“Still this way?” he asked a moment later.

“This way?” Dane relayed through the translator to the brach.

“It is so. Soon big hole—”

Dane supplied that information. And soon indeed did they come to a big hole—a break from the height on which they stood, leading to an unknown dark plunge.

“You see anything?” he asked.

“They’ve finished off the flitter,” Meshler returned bleakly. “But we’ll need supplies—if they’ve left any.”

The belt was suddenly hanging limp and loose in Dane’s grasp, and he heard sounds that must mean that Meshler was descending to the flitter.