Part 2 (1/2)

Marenson could see how that might be. He had run up against opposition before, and for the most part it was a simple matter of legal procedure. This seemed now to be in the same category.

Clugy would have to act fast if he hoped to change the camp order before his s.h.i.+p departed forMira.

Marenson said: ”Keep somebody watching him till he leaves.”

He slept well, and he must have relaxed his vigilance. As he headed for his gyro on the roof after breakfast, he was only vaguely aware of the two men who came toward him.

”Mr. Marenson?” one asked.

Marenson looked up. They were well-dressed, young, strong looking. ”Why, yes,” he said, ”What-”

A gas gun exploded in his face.

Marenson woke up mad. He could feel that fury tensing his body as he came slowly up out of the darkness. And just as he was about to become fully conscious, he recognized the anger for what it was.

The anger of fear.

He stayed where he was, eyes closed, body very still, forcing his breath into the slow, deep pattern of a sleeper. He was lying on something that felt like a canvas cot. It sagged in the middle, but it was reasonably comfortable.

A faint breeze blew against his cheek, and it brought a thick rancid odor to his nostrils. Jungle, he thought. Rotting vegetation intermingled with the tangy scent of innumerable growing things. The mustiness of the damp earth and some-thing else-an acridness in the air itself, an alien atmosphere that registered on human nostrils with an almost sulphurous sharpness.

He was in a jungle on a planet that was not Earth.

He remembered the two young men who had come out of the stairway entrance as he walked toward his gyro. Marenson groaned inwardly.Ga.s.sed, by heaven, he thought.Caught by a simple trick like that. But why? Was it personal-orYved?

Involuntarily, at that final possibility, Marenson cringed. The anger faded out of him completely, and only a cold fear remained. He lay then for a while simulating deep sleep. But slowly his spirit revived, and his mind began to work again. His thoughts became a.n.a.lytical. He remembered Clugy, but realized he couldn't be sure. As head of the procurement division for the s.h.i.+p, he had in his time offended many bold and dangerous individuals.

That was one aspect, one possibility.

The other one was that the Yevd enemy of man was using him in one of their intricate games to slow down the con-struction of the s.h.i.+p. If the Yevd were responsible, it would be complicated. The masters of light had devious minds, and took it for granted that any simple scheme would be quickly suspected.

Marenson began to breathe more easily. He was still alive, his hands were not tied; and the biggest question was: What would happen when he opened his eyes?

He opened them.

He was staring up through dense foliage at a reddish glowing sky. The sky looked hot, and that gave him a sudden awareness that he was perspiring furiously. And, oddly, now that he knew about it, the heat almost smothered him. He shrank from the flamelike intensity, then slowly climbed to his feet.

It was as if he had given a signal. From his right, beyond a line of bushes, he heard the sounds of a large camp suddenly coming to life.

For the first time, Marenson noticed that he was dressed in a light mesh unit that incased him from head to foot. Thematerialwas transparent, and even covered his boots. The clothing shocked him. For it was the kind of hunting outfit used on primitive planets that swarmed with hostile life of every description.

Which planet, and why? He began to think now with more conviction that his predicament was Clugy's doing, and that this was the famousMiraworld where the lymph beast lived.

He started off in the direction of the sounds.

The line of brush that had barred his view was, he dis-covered, about twenty feet thick, and the moment he was through it, he saw that it was not on the outskirts of the camp, but near the center. And now he noticed that the reddish sky was something of an illusion. It was part of a barrier that had been electronically raised around the camp. An energy screen. The red effect was merely the screen's method of reacting to the light of the particular sun that was s.h.i.+ning down upon it.

Marenson began to breathe easier. All around were men and machines-men by the hundreds. Even the most cunning group of Yevd wouldn't try to create so ma.s.sive an illusion. And, besides, their great skill in the use of light was personal to each individual, and not a ma.s.s phenomenon.

A clearing was being created out of a tangle of growth. There was so much movement it was hard to know what any individual was doing. Marenson's eye for such things was ten years out of practice, but in a few moments he had oriented himself. The plastic huts were going up to his left. Those at the right were merely waiting their turn to be moved into place. Clugy's office would be in the permanent part of the encampment.

Grimly, Marenson started towards the hut village. Twice ”digger” machines harrumphed past him, sowing their insect poison, and he had to step gingerly over the loose earth; in its early stages the poison was as unfriendly to human beings as to anything else. The upturned soil glittered with long, black, s.h.i.+ny worms writhing feebly, with the famous redMira bugs that shocked their victims with electric currents, and with otherthings that he did not recognize. He reached the huts, walked on, and came presently to a sign which read:

PRODUCTION SUPERINTENDENT.

Ira Clugy

A youth of fifteen or sixteen lolled in an easy-chair behind the counter inside. He looked up with the lazy, insolent eyes of a clerk whose boss is absent. Then he turned his back.

Marenson went through the gate, and reached for the scruff of the kid's neck. There must have been a preliminary warning, for the neck twisted away, and like a cat the boy was on his feet. He came around with a snarl on his face.

Baffled and furious, Marenson retreated into words. ”Where's Clugy?”

”I'll have you broken for this!” the boy snapped. ”My father-”

Marenson cut him off. ”Look, Mr. Big Shot, I'm Marenson from Administration. I'm not the kind that's broken. I break. You'd better start talking, and fast. Is Clugy your father?”

The boy stood stiff, then nodded.

”Where is he?”

”Out in the jungle.”

”How long will he be gone?”

The boy hesitated. ”Probably be in for lunch-sir.”

”I see.” Marenson pondered the information. He was surprised that Clugy had chosen to absent himself, and so leave Ancil Marenson temporarily in full control of the camp. But from his own point of view that was all to the good. Even as he made his plans, his mind reached to another thought. He asked: ”When's the next s.h.i.+p due?”

”In twenty days.”

Marenson nodded. It seemed to him that he was beginning to understand. Clugy had known he was due to leave on his vacation, and so he had decided to inconvenience him. Instead of pleasure on Paradise Planet, he'd spend his vacation on primitive and dangerousMira92. Having no other method of countering his order, Clugy was repaying him with personal discomfort.

Marenson's lips tightened. Then he said: ”What's your name?”

”Peter.”

”Well, Peter,” said Marenson grimly, ”I've got some work for you to do. So let's get busy.”

For a while, then, it was a case of ”Where's that, Peter?” And, ”Peter, how about the stamp for this kind of docu-ment?” Altogether, in one hour he wrote out five orders. He a.s.signed himself a Model A hut. He authorized himself to make visiradio calls to Earth. He a.s.signed himself to Clugy's food unit. And he requisitioned two blasters, the use of a helicar and a pilot to operate it.