The Killer Thing

Five

The man on the seat-bed moaned in his sleep; his legs twitched, his eyes moved behind closed lids. Beads of perspiration formed on his sunburned face, clustering in a line on his forehead, along his upper lip. A pale light shone in the dinghy, not visible from outside it around the fastenings over the round windows, not enough to do more than relieve the blackness, so that if he opened his eyes there would be something before them to see. Frantically he clung to things familiar.

His left leg jerked. He was walking among the rocks again, with a white glare of sun over him, and beams flashing around him. He walked between the beams, and smelled the heat…

Another time, the smell of heat.

A force has been spotted behind our men, on the mountainside, Captain.

Forget them, Tracy. Savages with arrows, miles out of range. Our orders are to clean out the village. Get to it.

Yes, sir, Captain L’Taugh.

He waved the men on, away from the ship, into a slip between rocks bordering a dried stream-bed. Out of sight, he motioned for them to stop, and he crept back. High up the mountainside a stream of ant-like figures appeared, staggering under loads. Motionless he watched them for five minutes until they started to throw down the loads, and the mountainside came down, thundering faster and faster, unstoppable, to cover the captain and the half-dozen men he had kept with him at the base of the mountain. Trace’s face remained expressionless as he backed up the way he had come.

Captain L’Taugh is dead. We’re going back and scour that mountain…

Yes, sir, Lieutenant!

Maximum fire range! Burn ‘em out! Yes, sir, Lieutenant! Yes, sir!

The trees had no time to turn colour even . -.. puffs of smoke arose, the ground shivered, blackened, turned grey, glazed, steam, heat… the wind bringing wafts of overheated air that smelled of kilns and ovens… keep maximum range. Yes, even this close! Those damned huts are made out of clay, good insulation, crisp them… no one to escape… air smelling of kilns, and of ovens… no time to scream, or to turn colour, just puffs of smoke and steam, and inerasable after-images of contorted figures caught in grotesque poses before they were nothing… kilns, and ovens… overheated air, wind-borne ashes, acrid smoke in his hair, in his eyes, in his mouth.

… heroic action, assuming full command… medal. Captain Tracy…

But the smell of acrid smoke on his skin, the odour of the kilns, the taste of ovens… Captain Tracy. Captain Tracy. Could have warned him. I guessed what they were going to do… Captain Tracy. The trees turned brown from the heat; grasses withered, remaining upright, rustling in the wind that rose to snap them off and fling them in his face. Red-hot clay huts, crackling as they cooled throughout the night, sounding like explosions. Burned earth, grey, sterile, powdery, rising in the wind, spiralling, slapping against his face, leaving it lined and streaked, touched with grey death, hot grey death that smelled of kilns, and of ovens.

The man groaned and half sat up, reassured by the light in the dinghy, by the quietness of the warning equipment, by the steady sound of his own heart, and of the air in his nose. He was too hot, feverish after the long rough walk in the sun, and too tired to get up for a drink of water. His legs ached; he lay back down, his eyes closing again. He had been hurt once, by a spear, by God! A spear! He thought of the hospital where he had spent fever-ridden days, his muscles contracting spasmodically as a result of the poison of the spear, his heart beating erratically while hallucinations danced before his eyes. Fever dreams, visions, voices… Cost us two hundred good men, Trace, but we got ‘em! Cave-man age, cannibals… We got ’em! Every goddam last one! Swim, rest, get well, boy ..

Swim… The water was soft and blue-green, a river with a swift current, cold, clear, clean… It washed the scar and made it not throb, washed the dust and heat from his muscles and from his brain… Swimming lazily on his back, a friendly yellow sun over the edge of a broad-leafed tree, violet and blue flowers dipping down to the water, mosses… The smell of running water, moist rich dirt, green things growing luxuriously.

Come on out, Trace. Come on!

You swim like a fish.

She dived out of sight, and he felt a tug on his ankle, and the rush of water in his mouth and nose, and laughing, catching her…A smooth sun-browned body, full breasted, bare, with strands of black hair clinging to wet cheeks, across the red mouth, hiding one shining black eye.

“Lar!” Trace moaned, stirring in his sleep. There was no perspiration on his face then; it looked as dry as yellowed parchment, and a pulse throbbed on the side of his neck. He squirmed on the hot bed and tugged at the suit that he had not taken off, pulling it open, getting out of it, all without opening his eyes. “Lar,” he whispered again, back in the water with her, feeling her cool body under his hands, remembering the way the blue and violet flowers bent over to taste of the fresh, cold water, the way they reflected where the waters were still, how the images shattered and flew apart when he tossed pebbles among them.

It pleases you to smash things, doesn’t it, Captain Tracy?

Her voice as cool and fluid as the water, her body sinuous with water beads shining like diamonds, a line of them meeting, running in a wavering silvery line down her browned back as she walked away from him. The way her flesh rippled as she walked, the suggestion of muscles under her firm, round buttocks…

Did you see her, Duncan? A small dark girl.

Forget her, Trace. You know how these girls are, how they all are…

Not this one, Duncan. Did you see her?

Forget her, Trace! You’re army! You’re army! You’re army you’re army you’re army you’re armyarmyarmy…

He bathed in the cold, running water among the blue and violet flowers, and his hands found her and were delighted by her cool, firm flesh, and the cold water and cool flesh drained away the poison and fever and made him well again.

Duncan, didn’t you really even see her? Small and dark…

Forget her, Trace. Forget her…

Trace smiled softly, his eyes ceased their restless movements, the twitching in his legs stopped, and the pulse that had beaten wildly in his throat subsided. His right hand dangled over the side of the bed, glistening with water that already was drying. His left hand slowly relaxed its grip on a plastic water bag whose sides were stuck together, an air bubble captured in the bottom of it. As his hand relaxed, the sides came unstuck, and with a whisper too low to rouse him, the air bubble escaped and the bag lay flattened, finished. A trail of drying, naked footsteps led from the storage unit to the seat-bed.

He dreamed again, but this time the dreams were gentle and without pain, Lar and their meetings, strangely innocent, the nameless happiness of being near her.

Are you going to take me to one of the rooms?

Do you want to go with me?

What difference does that make? I know the rules. The Fleet must be obeyed, first law to learn for a captive people.

Please, Lar, don’t do that.

Why not, Captain? It is true. You are one of the new gods, didn’t they tell you? Your slightest wish is our command. My body, my house, my food, my mother… What is your pleasure, Captain?

Nothing, Lar. To be near you, if you want it too, no more than that.

Do you mean it?

Yes.

Then let us swim. Let us play and be the children that we were a long time ago, before your silver and black ships came from the sky and we knew the taste of war and conquest. Forget who you are, Captain Tracy; be a child with me…Forget your wounds and your wars without end…

And I’ll forget my dead brothers, and our burned cities, and the wars yet to come when you too may die… when you face your equals in battle…

Her eyes blazed with passion and she clamped a slim hand over her lips quickly, and dived into the water.

The drooping, gentle flowers, sifted sunlight touching the water turning silver ripples to gold, playing on waving plants anchored on the river’s bed, darting birds of fairy tale plumage… The girl whose words were like poetry, whose voice was a song, whose body was sculptured flesh…

A rapid drum tattoo sounded and he was in parade formation, rigidly at attention, in full uniform heavy with medals and ribbons, gleaming in the hot bright light of Venus. An execution. The drums beat for an execution, crying rapidly over and over, kill the traitor, kill the traitor, kill the traitor… eyes were turning towards him, cold eyes, black eyes, uniforms glazed white hot, ringing him in, and the drums beat out, kill the traitor… He was against the fence, a military execution, his execution. He opened his mouth to tell them it was a mistake, and he couldn’t remember how to say the words. The drum burst in louder staccato, and with a cry Trace awakened.

He sat up, completely awake in an instant. The radiation detector! He adjusted the light and read the screen that showed a blip of light on the farthest concentric line, moving inward so slowly that it was painful to watch. Four miles, and coming his way.

He checked the hatch and raised the seat-bed to operating position, and then there was nothing else to do except wait for it to get closer. It was still very dark outside. He had slept less than seven hours. How had it found him so quickly this time? Why hadn’t it gone out on the sands after him?

It’s a logic machine, Trace. Whatever you can reason out, so can it. Don’t forget that, or you’re lost. Use your humanness on it, your instincts, your intuition, anything that isn’t a part of logical planning. You can’t beat it at its game.

Yeah, Duncan, I tried that, twice now. The first time it didn’t see me take out over the desert, but this time it did. I was sure to let it see which way I was going. It didn’t follow me, Duncan.

Logic machine, Trace. Simple logic machine.

Trace shook his head impatiently, willing the whispering voice away. The blip was not coming straight at him; it was heading south. It was zigzagging, searching for him among the mammoth rock formations. He expelled a long sigh when the beeping voice of the detector abruptly stopped. It had passed out of range.

It would be back, all he had gained was a matter of extra minutes. He touched his lips; they were cracked and sore, and for the first time he became aware of a curious distant ringing in his ears, and a burning in his eyes. He rummaged in the medical supplies and came up with anti-fever capsules. As his hand groped for the water bags, he rose up sharply. There were only two of them left, one partially emptied. He remembered the dream, swimming in cold, fresh water, and his gaze swung around to the seat-bed where he saw the bag, inert and empty. He cursed harshly, picked up the bag, and threw it against the wall of the dinghy. He had crushed one of the capsules, and he flung the granular medicine from him also, swallowing the other one dry. The screen continued blank, the system silent, and he made a scant breakfast on prepared emergency rations, squeeze tubes of concentrated foods that tasted pasty and disgusting. He paid little attention to which of them he grabbed from the dwindling stock. Food wouldn’t be a problem. It would be abundant long after he was dead from thirst.

He refused the thought. Death came in space, in battle, with a tearing pain that killed before the brain received the pain signal. Or it came when a faulty pressure suit exploded, or when a ship’s pile flared without warning. Death had many approaches, but it would not catch him alone on a planet where no other man walked.

His audio system picked up the first sigh of the wind, a long soft rustle of noise that was like a silken cloth stirring. Dawn. In forty minutes he would have to move whether or not the killer robot again entered the circle of his screen. His jaw was tight. Where could he go this time? He had run out of mountains to hide in, and behind him the ground was crisscrossed with “hot” rocks that would throw his radiation detection system way the hell out. He had led the thing six hundred miles, and, as obedient as a dog, it had followed every step of the trail, never slowing down or faltering or making a mistake. He gnawed on a knuckle and stared at his screen, the wind noises now steady in his ears, and he visualised the backbone of the mountain range with its jutting rocks and pocked ground. Six hundred miles long, and he could move only one hundred miles more before the fuel was gone, before he would be using the fuel he needed to return to his orbiting ship. He had to wait six days before he returned to his ship. The killer robot might kill him on the ground, but the lack of reserve oxygen would kill him in space. If only he had been able to hide…

Or, he thought, he could make the whole jump, back to the other end, back to the beginning, and he could look for the robot’s dinghy. It had fuel in it. In time, even though it was hidden by the shield of invisibility, he would find it. If he had to drag his detector over every square inch of the ground, he would find it. And if he didn’t… The wind screamed, increasing in intensity as the sun rose higher over the horizon, heating the chilled night air, sucking it high into the frigid upper atmosphere. Trace clamped his hands over his ears so he could think without the maniacal voice shrilling at him. If he didn’t find the robot’s dinghy, and if the relief ship didn’t orbit before the robot caught up with him, it would get away.

It would return to its own damaged dinghy, make the repairs needed, and leave this hellish desert. In space it would take the Fleet ship that Trace had left, and repair that. Where would it go next? Trace thought of his ship, his first ship, in the hands of the metal killer, and he felt hatred pour through him, drenching his skin with sweat, knotting his stomach. Even if he continued the hop and run flight it would be only two days before he would have used the precious supply of available fuel, and then he would have to leave the planet and sit in the orbiting ship, waiting for it to appear and take him there in space. It would take him with ease, the crippled ship would offer no resistance. It wouldn’t matter to it if the ship got “hot” or had no pressure, or no oxygen. It would be able to fix it enough to escape, and then, lost again in deep space, it would have all the time in the galaxy to repair the ship properly.

“I have to keep it on the ground. I have to keep it away from its lifeboat, and away from mine. I can boobytrap mine, and the other one, if I find it. Not good enough. It will attack and kill the relief crew. They won’t be expecting it. The end will be the same…”

The radiation beep startled him so that he jerked. It was advancing again, three miles away. It was time to go.

“Okay, we shoot the works. I’m going to find it, you hear me? And I’m going to fix it so that it won’t fly. Then I’m going to take your fuel and the oxygen tanks and leave you here! You can tramp up and down this piece of hell for eternity! You can have this stinking planet! Your own kingdom. You can be god of everything on it! Do you hear me?”

Trace heard his own shriek over that of the wind, and he closed his eyes hard for a moment. He turned on the engines and eased the dinghy out from under the sheltering ledge, and immediately the wind smashed into it, making it shudder. He clamped his mouth and fought the wind, getting the small lifeboat airborne, heading back. The wind buffeted him, sending his instrument needles skittering again and again, and after twenty minutes of the struggle, he knew he had to land or be torn to pieces by one of the tornadoes. His ground distance indicator said he had gone nine hundred and twenty miles. He knew there could be no second-guessing now. There no longer was enough fuel in his little craft to return to the ship.

The robot would waste some time searching for him. It couldn’t know about the very human ability to gamble on a long shot; this was not a decision built on the firm ground of pure logic. Even allowing it one whole day for the vain search, Trace had only six days before he could expect it to show again on his screen. Six days in which to find the invisible dinghy, get its fuel, sabotage it, and leave the planet.