Transit

TWENTY-THREE

Avery had perched himself on a thick branch just above the main fork in a fairly tall tree. He sat there, almost motionless, watching. He had been there for about half an hour. He was some fifty yards away from the camp of the golden people, which he could see through a convenient and roughly triangular gap in the tree’s thick foliage. Soon it would be sunset. Soon he would have to act.

He was not the type of person for whom violence had any attraction. The thought of it normally made him sick with fear. But his sudden hatred for these people, who had so abruptly brought his small world of happiness tumbling, was strong enough to dominate his fear; and was strong enough also to transmute part of it into a lust for vengeance.

The day, having started so happily, had turned into a traumatic nightmare. The shock that had been injected into his nervous system was still acting as a stimulant. Later, no doubt, there would be depression and reaction; but for the time being, it had made him into a computer with muscles and purpose, a machine running on borrowed energy.

He had eaten nothing since breakfast, but he did not feel either hungry or tired. Anxiety and hatred were food enough.

However, the compulsion to find out about Barbara had not impaired the mechanical logic that began to drive him almost like an automaton. Before he left Camp Two he had made sure that Tom was as comfortable as possible. He had also gone to the stream for a fresh supply of water—he had an idea that Mary was going to need a lot of water for her patient—and had collected as much fruit as he could carry on the way back. That at least ensured that she would not have to leave Tom unattended for quite a while. When he had satisfied himself that nothing more could be done at the camp, he had armed himself with two knives and two tomahawks and set off. He would have liked to take the gun, but then Mary would not have been able to defend the camp effectively.

The journey had taken much longer than he anticipated—nearly four hours. At first he tried to follow Tom’s trail; but that proved a hopeless task. He was not trained to follow a blood spoor—or, indeed, a spoor of any kind—and soon abandoned the idea. It would be faster to travel in the general direction of the camp of the golden people and hope that he would strike the stream that supplied their water. Eventually, he came to a stream that seemed as if it might be the right one; but after he had followed it for a couple of hours, he saw that it joined the sea on an uninhabited piece of the coast. Fortunately, he recognized the strip of shore. There was and odd little rock formation that had attracted his attention when he and Barbara had walked round the island.

So now he knew where he was. The camp of the golden people lay about another six miles away. He struck inland once more, then turned to travel roughly parallel with the coast. Presently, he found the right stream. His progress became slow and cautious. He did not intend being taken by surprise.

Having found the camp, he needed a vantage point from which to observe it. He thought of the cliff that he and Barbara had used; but it was too exposed. Finally, he decided upon a tree.

His vigil proved to be a considerable challenge to the computer that was operating inside his head. For he could see Barbara.

She was, apparently, unharmed. That at least was a relief. But her condition was such as made him want to charge in, tomahawks flying, in an attempt to free her by sheer strength and determination. He had enough determination—but strength? The odds were four to one —or, counting Barbara, four to two. Four golden people versus two human beings. The computer gave its logical answer. He would have to wait. He would have to wait for darkness and surprise. He would have to employ more strategy than strength.

Meanwhile he could only look at Barbara and let the cold rage chum inside him. They had stripped her of all her clothes. They had tied a rope or a thong round one of her ankles and had made the other end fast to a large, heavy stone. She could walk, but she had to carry the stone with her. And she could not go far or move fast.

They were mocking her. She was the new plaything. From the way they were treating her, it was evident that they wanted to reduce her to something half-way between a servant and a pet. Occasionally, one of the men would grab her in passing and play some stupid little trick upon her. At first, she had struggled; but a box or two on the ears, bringing her to her knees and making her half senseless, had demonstrated the futility of struggling. She tried to endure their attentions with indifference. This did not please them greatly, so they had gone to greater lengths to obtain a reaction.

One of them held her while the other, using a brush and some kind of blue dye or paint had made a curious symbol rather like the Greek omega on each of her breasts and her belly. This seemed to amuse them; but the two women who were watching appeared less enthusiastic.

One of them tried to stop the men, but was pushed roughly away.

At the evening meal—which was still in progress—the golden people sat at their table, but Barbara was made to crouch on the ground. One of the women gave her a bowl of water and a platter with some kind of food on it. But when the men noticed this, the platter was taken away. Occasionally, they threw her scraps from the table. Then, since she made no move to eat, one of the men flung a heavy bone from which he had been cutting meat. Barbara was knocked over by the impact. The burst of laughter that greeted this amusing incident drifted across the fading light to Avery as he waited in the tree, praying for darkness.

He tried not to think how Barbara was feeling. He tried to concentrate only on forming an effective plan…. A plan! He had already made and discarded about twenty.

One thing was sure, though, he would have to try to catch the golden people at maximum disadvantage. That meant waiting until some of them had retired for the night. He hoped that only one would remain on watch. Given the element of surprise, he felt he could cope with one of them: two—particularly if they were both men— was a very doubtful proposition.

As the sun went down, they piled more wood on their fire. And it was fire itself that gave Avery an idea. If, when they finally went to sleep, he could somehow get quickly across the moat and start a fire in the doorways of the huts, he would at least be able to imprison temporarily whoever was inside If the fire was big enough But first he had to get into the camp and then he had to deal with the guards.

While the plan was still only half-formed in his mind, Avery climbed quietly down the tree, retreated a hundred yards or so and then began to collect a large armful of dry grass and dead twigs before the light faded completely. As he worked, the scheme crystallized in his mind.

The moat itself was no real problem. At its widest it was, perhaps, three yards. In a running long jump, Avery felt sure he could cover three yards. Whether he could do it with an armful of grass and a couple of tomahawks was, perhaps, a shade more debatable. But he did not have any serious doubts. The anger he felt did not permit him to doubt.

So, if only one man was on watch, the drill would be to take a running leap across the moat, tomahawk the watcher, dip the armful of grass into the fire, dump it in the doorway of one of the huts, slip back to the side of the other hut, then tomahawk the occupant as he or she came out. After all that, he would be able to attend to Barbara…

It was a nice simple formula, he thought cynically. All it needed was good timing, one hundred per cent luck—and the golden people helpfully reacting as per blueprint.

But the computer inside him rejected the cynicism. It told him that the plan was elaborate enough. If he tried anything more elaborate, it would be sure to come unstuck.

When he had collected enough grass and twigs, he went through the material carefully to make sure that it was all really dry. Then he made his way to the edge of the stream that fed the moat, scooped up handfuls of mud and plastered it over his face and body The commando touch—as in all the best war films. He smiled j grimly to himself. He smiled at the thought of exschoolmaster Richard Avery, on an alien planet, tackling four superbeings with an armful of straw and a couple of 1 home-made tomahawks. And then rescuing the traditional damsel in distress.

A year ago, just one short year ago, never in his wildest dreams—but this situation was wilder than anybody’s wildest dreams. It was itself a dream—in three dimensions, with natural colour and full stereophonic sound.

He finished the smear campaign, picked up his armful of incendiary material and made his way cautiously back towards the enemy camp. He did not climb the tree again. There was no need to. Under cover of darkness he circled round the moat a distance of about twenty yards, looking for the best place to jump. When he had found it, he retreated a little, checked that one of the tomahawks and both sheath knives were firmly in his belt, then settled down to wait. He sat cross-legged on the ground. Under his left arm was the bundle of grass and in his right hand was his favourite tomahawk. He might have to wait hours, he knew, but he did not want to put them down. Hunched in the darkness, with mud on his face and body, and a cold anger seething inside him, he felt like a weird malignant gnome. He tried to relax, and couldn’t—which was irritating, because he felt that he was probably in for a long, long wait.

He could see Barbara, crouching close to the camp fire, obviously cold. There were only three of the golden people visible: two men and a woman. They were drinking something from a kind of pitcher. Avery hoped that, whatever it was, it was intoxicating. They certainly seemed to be getting more boisterous. Presently one of the men offered Barbara a drink. He did so with what seemed to be a polite gesture. She refused it. The other man laughed, grabbed her hair and forced her head back. He poured the drink down her throat. She collapsed spluttering and coughing. The sound brought the other woman out of one of the huts. She knelt beside Barbara and appeared to be trying to soothe her. Presently, she gave it up and joined the others. Barbara recovered herself, picked up the stone that was tied to her ankle and edged surreptitiously away from the men.

Avery gripped his tomahawk tightly. There were many accounts to be settled.

Time passed. It passed so slowly that Avery began to be horribly afraid that the golden people were intent upon having an all-night party—perhaps to celebrate their victorious encounter with the inferior race.

But at last one of the men and one of the women stood up, yawned and stretched, then retired to a hut. That left two. Avery began to pray that the remaining man would eventually turn in, while the woman took the first watch. Chivalry to hell! It would probably be easier to tomahawk the woman.

For a time, it looked as if they were going to keep watch together. But in the end, the woman went. That left the man—and Barbara. She crouched on the far side of the fire, watching him. Occasionally, the man stood up and took a walk round the camp area, peering vaguely into the outer darkness. Occasionally he addressed some unintelligible remark to her. On one of his tours he stopped by the part of the moat opposite Avery and peered intently into the darkness for a moment or two. Avery began to sweat. He was sure the man had seen him; but at thirty yards and with mud daubed all over him it was hardly possible. He was sitting in the shadow of a bush, and though the moons had already risen, the sky was cloudy.

At last the man turned away and went to Barbara. He pulled her to her feet, pointed to the symbols on her breasts and belly, said something, then laughed. Finally, he sat down and poured himself another drink.

His back was to Avery. And Avery felt that he had waited long enough. He got to his feet silently and indulged in a few small movements and flexions to get rid of the stiffness. Then he took a careful look at the moat and at the ground leading towards it. He prayed fervently that there were no nasty holes.

Finally, he hitched the bundle of grass and twigs more firmly under his arm, took a few paces back and launched into action.

Fortunately the approach to the moat was fairly flat. He was so intent upon gathering speed that he almost missed the line where the ground sloped sharply to the water. But he saw it just in time, and took a flying leap.

As he landed on the other side, the plan—the master plan—began to go wrong. The first thing that happened was that Barbara let out a half-stifled scream. Coming flying out of the darkness as he did, he must have looked briefly like a demon from hell.

As Barbara screamed, Avery came crashing into the camp area and the man half turned. The tomahawk blow that should have buried a couple of pounds of stone in his brain glanced off his head. But he toppled forwards nevertheless.

Avery did not wait to inspect the damage, nor did he give Barbara more than a glance. There was no time. He dipped one end of the bundle of grass and twigs into the fire, forced himself to wait until he saw the flames and heard them crackle as they took hold, then he ran to the hut where two of the golden people slept and dumped it in the doorway. There was a satisfactory spitting as the flames and billows of smoke leapt up. The effect was even better than he had hoped.

Meanwhile, Barbara had realized what was happening. She had begun to work frantically at the leather thong tying the stone to her ankle. It was at that point that Avery’s plan went to pieces. Being so near to her at last after all the terrible uncertainty and waiting, instead of making sure of the man he had struck and then going to the other hut to tomahawk the woman as she came out, he could only think of helping Barbara. The computer inside him had finally lost the battle with glands and sentiment.

Avery ran to Barbara, knelt by her, whipped out his knife and began sawing at the leather. So far, they had not exchanged a word. So far, the entire assault had hardly lasted ten seconds.

Barbara looked up. Her first words came in a half scream. ‘Look out, Richard!’

Avery dropped the knife and dived to one side. The point of a javelin bit into the ground where he had been kneeling.

He came to his feet and snatched the tomahawk from his belt all in one motion. He was unaware that his teeth were bared and that he was growling like an animal. He was only aware of the tall, formidable being who faced him—a man with blood trickling down the side of his head. A man with anger and pain in his eyes and a javelin in his hand. He was no more than two paces away, and he was jabbing viciously.

The private computer tried to make a come-back. Get in close! it told Avery. Get in close, or you’ve had it!

The javelin came and he managed to slap it to one side. With an angry cry, he raised the tomahawk and charged. What happened next was totally unexpected and totally disastrous. Instead of attempting to ward off the blow or even dodge it, Avery’s opponent simply doubled himself up.

The force of the charge could not be checked. As Avery went hurtling helpless over the arched back, he tried a flashing stroke with the tomahawk—and missed.

The golden man suddenly straightened up. The thrust lifted Avery—already in mid-flight—and somersaulted him high in the air. He landed flat on his back and momentarily blacked out. Then he saw the javelin poised above him. He saw it and, behind it, a face contorted with pain and anger.

The man raised the javelin slightly for the death stroke. But suddenly there was someone else. A woman. Not Barbara.

She shouted something. But the man did not seem to hear. The expression on his face resolved into a ghastly smile.

Avery suddenly recognized the woman. ‘Zleetri!’ He did not know why he called her name. There was no rational explanation.

As the javelin came thrusting down, she gripped it, pulling it to one side. She pulled too hard. The man who was holding it thrust too hard. The javelin twisted.

Its point took her in the pit of the stomach. With a low, bewildered cry, she sank to her knees. The man stared at her in amazement. He hardly appeared to realize what had happened.

The private computer clicked away, and Avery seized his chance. He sprang up, butting the golden man in the solar plexus with his head. Avery put all his weight into the blow and was rewarded by an agonized grunt. The man buckled. As his head came down, Avery helped him along with a two-fisted blow on the back of his thick neck. Before the massive body hit the ground, Avery followed it up with a forceful kick.

Then he flung himself on top of the prostrate man and began savagely battering his head on the ground as if he intended to continue the satisfying process until his strength gave out.

Barbara had to drag him off. All through those few terrible moments, she had been sawing feverishly at the tough leather thong. Finally she had cut herself free.

‘Richard! Richard!’ she screamed. ‘We’ve got to get out! For God’s sake!’

He looked at her uncomprehendingly. Then sanity came back. He gave the man’s head a final battering and let it drop. The golden woman was lying in her own blood, moaning. Avery knew she had saved his life. He wanted to help her—but… But he could not afford to.

For Barbara’s sake, he could not afford to…

‘Zleetri,’ he murmured softly. ‘Zleetri.’ On an impulse, remembering the incident at the bird-cage tree, he touched her forehead. As he did so, he glanced at the now burning hut. Any moment, its occupants would come leaping through the flames.

He grabbed Barbara’s hand. ‘The moat! We’ve got to jump it. Take a hell of a run. It’s easy.’

Barbara, naked and barefoot, hesitated only a moment. Then she ran and launched herself across the water. She mistimed it and hit the far bank with an agonizing thud, her feet dangling in the water. Avery, who crossed a second later, grabbed her arms as she began to slip down.

While he was pulling her out, he saw that the two occupants of the hut, roused from their sleep, had finally had sense enough to jump through the flames in the doorway. They came out scorched, bewildered and utterly dismayed by what they found.

Barbara seemed to be unconscious. But as he gathered her into his arms and struggled into the blessed darkness, Avery had the consoling thought that pursuit—if any— would hardly be immediate. For once, the golden people were in a situation that was as much as—if not more than —they could handle.

Avery staggered on with his burden at a jog-trot for about a couple of hundred yards. Then his strength gave out, and they both fell in a heap.

Barbara had only been winded. For a few seconds, they lay groaning and gulping in the cool air with their heads close together. Then Avery sat up and listened. He could hear nothing. Nothing but the breeze in the trees.

‘Can you walk?’ he croaked.

‘I…I think so. It will have to be slow. They took my shoes.’

He stood up. ‘Put an arm round my neck and lean on me. I’ll carry you a bit more when I’ve pulled myself together. We’ve got to get as far away as we can…. Are you hurt?’

‘I don’t think so. Are you?’

‘No. Come on. We’ll nurse each other later.’

‘Oh, darling,’ said Barbara.

It was so wonderful to hear it. There was really nothing more to be said.

They hobbled along for a while, with Avery half supporting her. Presently, he carried her for a spell. Then they hobbled some more.

They seemed to have been struggling on for a long time—but Avery judged that they had not covered more than a couple of miles—when Barbara began to cry.

‘What is it?’

‘Sorry, Richard…. I don’t think I can go any farther.’

‘I’ll carry you, then.’

‘No, please…. I—I’m feeling all shaken up.’

‘This is a hell of a time to be feeling all shaken up,’ he said with sudden savagery. ‘Walk, damn you! Or at least let me carry you. I’ll be civilized tomorrow, but tonight it’s a question of survival.’

She let him carry her, but the crying became a sobbing. Presently he put her down.

‘What is it?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Goddammit, you must be hurt! ’

‘Oh, darling,’ she moaned, ‘I’m not hurt. At least, I hope I’m not hurt…. I wanted so much to tell you— but not like this…. It feels strange and—and…’ the sobbing stopped her.

‘Sweetheart, what is it?’ His voice was tender this time. ‘We’re all right now. We can stay here if you like. Somehow, I don’t think they will come looking for us yet. They’ve got enough on their hands.’

‘Oh, my dear one,’ she said. ‘I’m pregnant, and I’m afraid for the baby….’ She shuddered. ‘It feels all wrong, as if something has happened.’

He held her in his arms. He held her and murmured tender, meaningless things.

‘Don’t be afraid, my love,’ he whispered finally, though he, too, was now afraid. ‘We’ll rest here. And as soon as there is a glimmer of light, I’ll take you home.’ The use of the word ‘home’ did not sound odd in his ears. Home was a place of love and security, a place of comfort and known smells and routines that had become rituals. Home was Camp Two and Tom and Mary. Home was a concept whose meaning he had only learned to understand on a strange planet light-years away from Earth…

They did not sleep. Presently he told her how Tom had got back, and how he had pulled the javelin out. Then, to take their minds off their own troubles, they looked at the stars—now known and friendly stars—and divided them up into constellations and played at naming them…. And they thought of their child, and prayed simply that they would not lose it….

They whispered to each other of many things, but they did not talk about the golden people. With the first sign of light, they stretched their weary and aching limbs and stumbled on in the rough direction of Camp Two.

The feelings of unrest in Barbara’s stomach had subsided. She began to feel happier. But when, in the early light, she saw the strange symbols that had been painted on her body, she was suddenly and violently sick.