Part 2 (2/2)

But eager as he was to get to work, he paused just to look at the earth scuffed up by his boots, to stare for a long moment at a stalk of tough gra.s.s and remember with a thrill which never lessened that this was not native earth or gra.s.s, that he stood where none of his race, or even of his kind, had stood before--on a new planet in a new solar system.

Raf's expert training and instruction paid off. By evening he had the flitter a.s.sembled save for the motor which still reposed on the turning block. One party had gone questing out into the gra.s.s and returned with the story of a stream hidden in a gash in the plain, and Wonstead carried the limp body of a rabbit-sized furred creature he had knocked over at the waterside.

”Acted tame.” Wonstead was proud of his kill. ”Stupid thing just stood and watched me while I let fly with a stone.”

Raf picked up the little body. Its fur was red-brown, plush-thick, and very soft to the touch. The breast was creamy white and the forepaws curiously short with an uncanny resemblance to his own hands. Suddenly he wished that Wonstead had not killed it, though he supposed that Chou, their biologist, would be grateful. But the animal looked particularly defenseless. It would have been better not to mark their first day on this new world with a killing--even if it were the knocking over of a stupid rabbit thing. The pilot was glad when Chou bore it off and he no longer had to look at it.

It was after the evening meal that Raf was called into consultation by the officers to receive his orders. When he reported that the flitter, barring unexpected accidents, would be air-borne by the following afternoon, he was shown an enlarged picture from the records made during the descent of the _RS 10_.

There was a city, right enough--showing up well from the air. Hobart stabbed a finger down into the heart of it.

”This lies south from here. We'll cruise in that direction.”

Raf would have liked to ask some questions of his own. The city photographed was a sizable one. Why then this deserted land here? Why hadn't the inhabitants been out to investigate the puzzle of the s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p's landing? He said slowly, ”I've mounted one gun, sir. Do you want the other installed? It will mean that the flitter can only carry three instead of four--”

Hobart pulled his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. He glanced at his lieutenant then to Lablet, sitting quietly to one side.

It was the latter who spoke first.

”I'd say this shows definite traces of retrogression.” He touched the photograph. ”The place may even be only a ruin.”

”Very well. Leave off the other gun,” Hobart ordered crisply. ”And be ready to fly at dawn day after tomorrow with full field kit. You're sure she'll have at least a thousand-mile cruising radius?”

Raf suppressed a shrug. How could you tell what any machine would do under new conditions? The flitter had been put through every possible test in his home world. Whether she would perform as perfectly here was another matter.

”They thought she would, sir,” he replied. ”I'll take her up for a shakedown run tomorrow after the motor is installed.”

Captain Hobart dismissed him with a nod, and Raf was glad to clatter down ladders into the cool of the evening once more. Flying high in a formation of two lanes were some distant birds, at least he supposed they were birds. But he did not call attention to them. Instead he watched them out of sight, lingering alone with no desire to join those crew members who had built a campfire a little distance from the s.h.i.+p. The flames were familiar and cheerful, a portion, somehow, of their native world transported to the new.

Raf could hear the murmur of voices. But he turned and went to the flitter. Taking his hand torch, he checked the work he had done during the day. To-morrow--tomorrow he could take her up into the blue-green sky, circle out over the sea of gra.s.s for a short testing flight. That much he wanted to do.

But the thought of the cruise south, of venturing toward that sprawling splotch Hobart and Lablet identified as a city was somehow distasteful, and he was reluctant to think about it.

3

SNAKE-DEVIL'S TRAIL

Dalgard drew the waterproof covering back over his brow, making a cheerful job of it, preparatory to their pus.h.i.+ng out to sea once more.

But he was as intent upon what Sssuri had to tell as he was on his occupation of the moment.

”But that is not even a hopper rumor,” he was protesting, breaking into his companion's flow of thought.

”No. But, remember, to the runners yesterday is very far away. One night is like another; they do not reckon time as we do, nor lay up memories for future guidance. They left their native hunting grounds and are drifting south. And only a very great peril would lead the runners into such a break. It is against all their instincts!”

”So, long ago--which may be months, weeks, or just days--there came death out of the sea, and those who lived past its coming fled--”

Dalgard repeated the scanty information Sssuri had won for them the night before by patient hour-long coaxing. ”What kind of death?”

Sssuri's great eyes, somber and a little tired, met his. ”To us there is only one kind of death to be greatly feared.”

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