But we couldn’t. Where the car radio should have been was a square hole.
Emil smote his forehead. With his Jinxian strength it’s a wonder he survived. “I forgot. Car radios won’t work on Gummidgy. You have to use a ship’s com laser and bounce the beam off one of the orbital stations.”
“Do we have a com laser?”
“Do you see one? Maybe in ten years someone’ll think of putting com lasers in cars. Well, we’ll have to do it later.”
“That’s silly. Let’s do it now.”
“First we check on Bellamy.”
“I’m not going.”
Emil just grinned.
He was right. It had been a futile comment. I had three choices:
Fighting a Jinxian.
Getting out and walking home. But we must have gone a mile up already, and the base was far behind.
Visiting Bellamy, who was an old friend, and looking around unobtrusively while we were there. Actually, it would have been rude not to go. Actually, it would have been silly not to at least drop by and say hello while we were on the same planet.
Actually, I rationalize a lot.
“Do one thing for me,” I said. “Let me do all the talking. You can be the strong, silent type who smiles a lot.”
“Okay. What are you going to tell him?”
“The truth. Not the whole truth, but some of it.”
The four-hour trip passed quickly. We found cards and a score pad in a glove compartment. The car blasted quietly and smoothly through a Mach four wall of air, rising once to clear a magnificent range of young mountains.
“Can you fly a car?”
I looked up from my cards. “Of course.” Most people can. Every world has its wilderness areas, and it’s not worthwhile to spread transfer booths all through a forest, especially one that doesn’t see twenty tourists in a year. When you’re tired of civilization, the only way to travel is to transfer to the edge of a planetary park and then rent a car.
“That’s good,” said Emil, “in case I get put out of action.”
“Now it’s your turn to cheer me up.”
Emil cocked his head at me. “If it’s any help, I think I know how Bellamy’s group found the Argos.”
“Go on.”
“It was the starseed. A lot of people must have known about it, including Margo. Maybe she told someone that she was stopping the ship so the passengers could get a look.”
“Not much help. She had a lot of space to stop in.”
“Did she? Think about it. First, Bellamy’d have no trouble at all figuring when she’d reach the Gummidgy system.”
“Right.” There’s only one speed in hyperdrive.
“That means Margo would have to stop on a certain spherical surface to catch the light image of the starseed setting sail. Furthermore, in order to watch it happen in an hour, she had to be right in front of the starseed. That pinpoints her exactly.”
“There’d be a margin of error.”
Emil shrugged. “Half a light-hour on a side. All Bellamy had to do was wait in the right place. He had an hour to maneuver.”
“Bravo,” I said. There were things I didn’t want him to know yet. “He could have done it that way, all right. I’d like to mention just one thing.”
“Go ahead.”
“You keep saying ‘Bellamy did this’ and ‘Bellamy did that.’ We don’t know he’s guilty yet, and I’ll thank you to remember it. Remember that he’s a friend of a friend and don’t start treating him like a criminal until you know he is one.”
“All right,” Emil said, but he didn’t like it. He knew Bellamy was a kidnaper. He was going to get us both killed if he didn’t watch his mouth.
At the last minute I got a break. It was only a bit of misinterpretation on Emil’s part, but one does not refuse a gift from the gods.
We’d crossed six or seven hundred kilometers of veldt: blue-green grass with herds grazing at wide intervals. The herds left a clear path, for the grass (or whatever, we hadn’t seen it close up) changed color when cropped. Now we were coming up on a forest, but not the gloomy-green type of forest native to human space. It was a riot of color: patches of scarlet, green, magenta, yellow. The yellow patches were polka-dotted with deep purple.
Just this side of the forest was the hunting camp. Like a nudist at a tailors’ convention, it leapt to the eye, flagrantly alien against the blue-green veldt. A bulbous plastic camp-tent the size of a mansion dominated the scene, creases marring its translucent surface to show where it was partitioned into rooms. A diminutive figure sat outside the door, its head turning to follow our sonic boom. The yacht was some distance away.
The yacht was a gaily decorated playboy’s space boat, with a brilliant orange paint job and garish markings in colors that clashed. Some of the markings seemed to mean something. Bellamy, one year ago, hadn’t struck me as the type to own such a boat. Yet there it stood, on three wide landing legs with paddle-shaped feet, its sharp nose pointed up at us.
It looked ridiculous. The hull was too thick and the legs were too wide, so that the big businesslike attitude jets in the nose became a comedian’s nostrils. On a slender needle with razor-sharp swept-back airfoils that paint job might have passed. But it made the compact, finless Drunkard’s Walk look like a clown.
The camp swept under us while we were still moving at Mach two. Emil tilted the car into a wide curve, slowing and dropping. As we turned toward the camp for the second time, he said, “Bellamy’s taking precious little pains to hide himself. Oh, oh.”
“What?”
“The yacht. It’s not big enough. The ship Captain Tellefsen described was twice that size.”
A gift from the gods. “I hadn’t noticed,” I said. “You’re right. Well, that lets Bellamy out.”
“Go ahead. Tell me I’m an idiot.”
“No need. Why should I gloat over one stupid mistake? I’d have had to make the trip anyway, sometime.”
Emil sighed. “I suppose that means you’ll have to see Bellamy before we go back.”
“Finagle’s sake, Emil! We’re here, aren’t we? Oh, one thing. Let’s not tell Bellamy why we came. He might be offended.”
“And he might decide I’m a dolt. Correctly. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”
The “grass” covering the veldt turned out to be knee-high ferns, dry and brittle enough to crackle under our socks. Dark blue-green near the tips of the plants gave way to lighter coloring on the stalks. Small wonder the herbivores had left a trail. Small wonder if we’d seen carnivores treading that easy path.
The goggled figure in front of the camp tent was cleaning a mercy-rifle. By the time we were out of the car, he had closed it up and loaded it with inch-long slivers of anesthetic chemical. I’d seen such guns before. The slivers could be fired individually or in one-second bursts of twenty, and they dissolved instantly in anything that resembled blood. One type of sliver would usually fit all the lifeforms on a given world.
The man didn’t bother to get up as we approached. Nor did he put down the gun. “Hi,” he said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”
“We’d like—”
“Beowulf Shaeffer?”
“Yah. Larch Bellamy?”
Now he got up. “Can’t recognize anybody on this crazy world. Goggles covering half your face, everybody the same color—you have to go stark naked to be recognized, and then only the women know you. Whatinhell are you doing on Gummidgy, Bey?”
“I’ll tell you later. Larch, this is Emil Horne. Emil, meet Larchmont Bellamy.”
“Pleasure,” said Bellamy, grinning as if indeed it was. Then his grin tried to break into laughter, and he smothered it. “Let’s go inside and swallow something wet.”
“What was funny?”
“Don’t be offended, Mr. Horne. You and Bey do make an odd pair. I was thinking that the two of you are like a medium-sized beach ball standing next to a baseball bat. How did you meet?”
“On the ship,” said Emil.
/>
The camp-tent had a collapsible revolving-door to hold the pressure. Inside, the tent was almost luxurious, though it was all foldaway stuff. Chairs and sofas were soft, cushiony fabric surfaces, holding their shape through insulated static-charges. Tables were memory plastic. Probably they compressed into small cubes for storage aboard ship. Light came from glow strips in the fabric of the pressurized tent. The bar was a floating portable. It came to meet us at the door, took our orders, and passed out drinks.
“All right,” Bellamy said, sprawling in an armchair. When he relaxed, he relaxed totally—like a cat. Or a tiger. “Bey, how did you come to Gummidgy? And where’s Sharrol?”
“She can’t travel in space.”
“Oh? I didn’t know. That can happen to anyone.” But his eyes questioned.
“She wanted children. Did you know that? She’s always wanted children.”
He took in my red eyes and white hair. “I…see. So you broke up.”
“For the time being.”
His eyes questioned.
That’s not emphatic enough. There was something about Bellamy…He had a lean body and a lean face, with a straight, sharp-edged nose and prominent cheekbones, all setting off the dark eyes in their deep pits beneath black shaggy brows.
But there was more to it than eyes. You can’t tell a man’s age by looking at his photo, not if he takes boosterspice. But you can tell, to some extent, by watching him in motion. Older men know where they’re going before they start to move. They don’t dither, they don’t waste energy, they don’t trip over their feet, and they don’t bump into things.
Bellamy was old. There was a power in him, and his eyes questioned.
I shrugged. “We used the best answer we had, Larch. He was a friend of ours, and his name was Carlos Wu. You’ve heard of him?”
“Mathematician, isn’t he?”
“Yah. Also playwright and composer. The Fertility Board gave him an unlimited breeding-license when he was eighteen.”
“That young?”
“He’s a genius. As I say, he was a good friend of ours. Liked to talk about space; he had the flatland phobia, like Sharrol. Well, Sharrol and I made our decision, and then we went to him for help. He agreed.
“So Sharrol’s married him on a two-year contract. In two years I’ll go back and marry her, and we’ll raise our family.”
“I’ll be damned.”
I’d been angry about it for too long, with nobody to be angry at. I flared up. “Well, what would you have done?”
“Found another woman. But I’m a dirty old man, and you’re young and naïve. Suppose Wu tried to keep her.”
“He won’t. He’s a friend, I told you. Besides, he’s got more women than ten of him could handle, with that license of his.”
“So you left.”
“I had to. I couldn’t stand it.”
He was looking at me with something like awe. “I can’t remember ever being in love that hard. Bey, you’re overdue for a drunk, and you’re surrounded by friends. Shall we switch to something stronger than beer?”
“It’s a good offer, but no, thanks. I didn’t mean to cry on your shoulder. I’ve had my drunk. A week on Wunderland, drinking Vurguuz.”
“Finagle’s ears! Vurguuz?”
“I said to myself, why mess around with half measures? said I. So—”
“What does it taste like?”
“Like a hand grenade with a minted sugar casing. Like you better have a chaser ready.”
Silence threatened to settle. No wonder, the way I’d killed the conversation by spilling my personal problems all over everything. I said, “So as long as I had to do some traveling, I thought I’d do some people some favors. That’s why I’m here.”
“What kind of favors?”
“Well, a friend of mine happens to be an ET taxidermist. It’s a complicated profession. I told him I’d get him some information on Gummidgy animals and Gummidgy biochemistry. Now that the planet’s open to hunters, sooner or later people like you are going to be carting in perforated alien bodies.”
Bellamy frowned. “I wish I could help,” he said, “but I don’t kill the animals I hunt. I just shoot them full of anesthetic so they’ll hold still while I photo them. The same goes for the rest of us.”
“I see.”
“Otherwise I’d offer to take you along one day.”
“Yah. I’ll do my own research, then. Thanks for the thought.”
Then, being a good host, Bellamy proceeded to work Emil into the conversation. Emil was far from being the strong, silent type who smiles a lot; in fact, we were soon learning all about the latest advances in computer technology. But he kept his word and did not mention why we had come.
I was grateful.
The afternoon passed swiftly. Dinnertime arrived early. Most of the people on Gummidgy accommodate to the eighteen-hour day by having two meals: brunch and dinner. We accepted Bellamy’s invitation.
With dinner arrived a dedicated hunter named Warren, who insisted on showing us photos of everything he’d caught since his arrival. That day he’d shot a graceful animal like a white greyhound, “but even faster,” he said; a monkeylike being with a cupped hand for throwing rocks; and a flower.
“A flower?”
“See those tooth marks on my boot? I had to shoot it to get it to let go. No real sport in it, but as long as I’d already shot the damn thing…”
His only resemblance to Bellamy was this: He carried the same indefinable air of age. Now I was sure it had nothing to do with appearance. Perhaps it was a matter of individuality. Bellamy and Warren were individuals. They didn’t push it; they didn’t have to demonstrate it; but neither were they following anybody’s lead.
Warren left after dinner. Going to see how the others were doing, he said; they must be hot on the trail of something, or they’d have been back to eat. Not wanting to wear out our welcome, we said our good-byes and left too. It was near sunset when we emerged from the camp-tent.
“Let me drive,” I said.
Emil raised his brows at me but moved around to the passenger seat.
He did more than raise his brows when he saw what I was doing.
I set the autopilot to take us back to the base and let the car fly itself until we were below the horizon. We were a mile up by then and a goodly distance away. Whereupon I canceled the course, dipped the car nearly to ground level, and swung back toward the forest. I flew almost at treetop level, staying well below the speed of sound.
“Tell me again,” I said, “about Beowulf the hero.”
“What kind of game are you playing now?”
“You thought the size of the Drunkard’s Walk cleared Bellamy, didn’t you?”
“It does. It’s much too small to be Captain Tellefsen’s pirate.”
“So it is. But we already know there was a pirate on board the Argos.”
“Right.”
“Let’s assume it’s Margo.”
“The captain?”
“Why not?”
I’ll say this for him, he got it all in one gulp. Margo to release the gas. Margo to tell Bellamy where to meet the Argos and to hold the ship in one place long enough to be met. Margo to lie about the size of Bellamy’s ship.
And me to keep Emil in the dark until now, so he wouldn’t blow his lines when he met Bellamy.
He gulped, and then he said, “It fits. But I’d swear Bellamy’s innocent.”
“Except for one thing. He didn’t invite me to go hunting with him.”
A yellow patch of forest streamed away beneath us. The purple polka dots we’d seen from high up turned out to be huge blossoms several feet across, serviced by birds the size of storks. Then we were over scarlet puffballs that shook in the wind of our passage. I kept us low and slow. A car motor is silent, but a sonic boom would make us more than conspicuous.
“That’s your evidence against him? He didn’t want you hunting with him?”
“And he gave lousy reasons.”
/> “You said he hated ETs. He’s a flatlander. To some flatlanders, we’d both look like ETs.”
“Maybe. But the Drunkard’s Walk is still the only ship that could have landed Lloobee, and Margo’s still our best bet as the kidnaper on the Argos. Maybe the pirates could have found the Argos by guess and hope, but they’d have a damn sight better chance with Margo working with them.”
Emil glared out through the windshield. “Were you thinking this all the time we were in the camp?”
“Not until he turned down the chance to take me hunting. Then I was pretty sure.”
“You make a first-class liar.”
I didn’t know how to deny it, so I said nothing. Nonetheless, Emil was wrong. If I’d spilled my personal problems in Bellamy’s lap, if I’d accepted his hospitality, professed friendship, drunk his liquor, laughed at his jokes and made him laugh at mine—it was not an act. Bellamy made you like him, and he made you want him to like you. And Emil would never understand that in my eyes Bellamy had done nothing seriously wrong.
Six years earlier I’d tried to steal a full-sized spacecraft, fitted more or less for war, from a group of Pierson’s puppeteers. I’d been stopped before the plan got started, but so what? The puppeteers had been blackmailing me; but again, so what? Who says the aliens of known space have to think we’re perfect? We know we’re not. Ask us!
“I’m sorry,” said Emil. “Excuse my mouth. I got you into this practically over your dead body, and now, when you do your best to help out, I jump on you. I’m an ungrateful…” And what he said then about his anatomical make-up probably wasn’t true. He was married, after all. He concluded, “You’re the boss. Now what?”
“Depends. We don’t have any evidence yet.”
“You really think Bellamy’s the one?”
“I really do.”
“He could be holding Lloobee anywhere. Hundreds of miles away.”
“We’ll never find him thinking that way. He wasn’t in the camp-tent. Even Bellamy wouldn’t have that much nerve. If he’d been in the ship, we’d have seen the airlock open—”
“Closed.”
“Open. Lloobee couldn’t sense anything through a ship’s hull. In a closed ship that size he’d go nuts.”