Starman Jones

  “How did you get here in the dark, then?”

  “I didn’t. Chips and I have been hiding in thick bushes since midafternoon, not fifty feet from you.”

  “Oh.” Max looked around, looked up at the stars. “I can take us back in the dark.”

  “You can? It ’ud be a darn good thing. These babies don’t stir out at night—I think.”

  “Let me get in the lead. You get behind Ellie.”

  It took more than an hour to get to the edge of the tableland. The darkness, the undergrowth, the need for absolute silence, and the fact that Max had to take it slowly to keep his bearings despite his photographic memory all slowed them down. The trip downhill into the valley was even slower.

  When they reached the edge of the trees with comparatively flat grassland in front Sam halted them and surveyed the valley by dim moonlight. “Mustn’t get caught in the open,” he whispered. “They can’t throw those snakes too well among trees, but out in the open—oh, brother!”

  “You know about the throwing ropes?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sam,” whispered Ellie. “Mr. Anderson, why did…”

  “Sssh!” he cautioned. “Explanations later. Straight across, at a dogtrot. Miss Eldreth, you set the pace. Max, pick your bearings and guide us. We’ll run side by side. All set?”

  “Just a minute.” Max took the spider puppy from Eldreth, zipping it inside his shirt as she had done. Mr. Chips did not even wake up, but moaned softly like a disturbed baby. “Okay.”

  They ran and walked and ran again for a half hour or more, wasting no breath on words, putting everything into gaining distance from the centaur community. Knee-high grass and semi-darkness made the going hard. They were almost to the bottom of the valley and Max was straining to spot the stream when Sam called out, “Down! Down flat!”

  Max hit dirt, taking it on his elbows to protect Chips; Ellie flopped beside him. Max turned his head cautiously and whispered, “Centaurs?”

  “No. Shut up.”

  A hobgoblin balloon, moving at night to Max’s surprise, was drifting across the valley at an altitude of about a hundred feet. Its course would take it past them, missing them by perhaps a hundred yards. Then it veered and came toward them.

  It lost altitude and hovered almost over them. Max saw Sam aim carefully, steadying his pistol with both hands. There was momentarily a faint violet pencil from gun to hobgoblin; the creature burst and fell so close by that Max could smell burned meat. Sam returned his weapon and got to his feet. “One less spy,” he said with satisfaction. “Let’s get going, kids.”

  “You think those things spy?”

  “‘Think’? We know. Those polo ponies have this place organized. Pipe down and make miles.”

  Ellie found the stream by falling into it. They hauled her out and waded across, stopping only to drink. On the other bank Sam said, “Where’s your left shoe, Miss Eldreth?”

  “It came off in the brook.”

  Sam stopped to search but it was useless; the water looked like ink in the faint light. “No good,” he decided. “We could waste the whole night. You’re due for sore feet—sorry. Better throw away your other shoe.”

  It did not slow them until they reached the far ridge beyond which lay Charityville and the ship. Soon after they started up Ellie cut her right foot on a rock. She did her best, setting her jaw and not complaining, but it handicapped them. There was a hint of dawn in the air by the time they reached the top. Max started to lead them down the arroyo that he and Ellie had come up so many year-long days ago. Sam stopped him. “Let me get this straight. This isn’t the draw that faces the ship, is it?”

  “No, that one is just north of this.” Max reconstructed in his mind how it had looked from the ship and compared it with his memory of the photomap taken as the ship landed. “Actually, a shoulder just beyond the next draw faces the ship.”

  “I thought so. This is the one Chips led me up, but I want us to stay in the trees as long as possible. It’ll be light by the time we’d be down to the flat.”

  “Does it matter? There have never been any centaurs seen in the valley the ship is in.”

  “You mean you never saw any. You’ve been away, old son. We’re in danger now—and in worse danger the closer we get to the ship. Keep your voice down—and lead us to that shoulder that sticks out toward the ship. If you can.”

  Max could, though it meant going over strange terrain and keeping his bearings from his memory of a small-scale map. It involved “crossing the furrows,” too, instead of following a dry water course—which led to impasses such as thirty-foot drops that had to be gone painfully around. Sam grew edgy as the light increased and urged them to greater speed and greater silence even as Ellie’s increasingly crippled condition made his demands harder to meet.

  “I really am sorry,” he whispered after she had to slide and scramble down a rock slope, checking herself with bare and bloody feet. “But it’s better to get there on stumps than to let them catch you.”

  “I know.” Her face contorted but she made no sound. It was daylight by the time Max led them out on the shoulder. Silently, he indicated the ship, a half mile away. They were about level with its top.

  “Down this way, I think,” he said quietly to Sam.

  “No.”

  “Huh?”

  “Chilluns, it’s Uncle Sam’s opinion that we had better he doggo in those bushes, holding still and letting the beggar flies bite us, until after sundown.”

  Max eyed the thousand yard gap. “We could run for it.”

  “And four legs run faster than two legs. We’ve learned that lately.”

  The bushes selected by Sam grew out to the edge of the shoulder. He crawled through them until he reached a place where he could spy the valley below while still hidden. Ellie and Max wriggled after him. The ground dropped off sharply just beyond them. The ship faced them, to their left and nearer was Charityville.

  “Get comfortable,” Sam ordered, “and we’ll take turns keeping guard. Sleep if you can, this will be a long watch.”

  Max tried to shift Mr. Chips around so that he might he flat. A little head poked out of his collar. “Good morning,” the spider puppy said gravely. “Breakfast?”

  “No breakfast, hon,” Ellie told her. “Sam, is it all right to let her out?”

  “I guess so. But keep her quiet.” Sam was studying the plain below. Max did the same.

  “Sam? Why don’t we head for the village? It’s closer.”

  “Nobody there. Abandoned.”

  “What? Look, Sam, can’t you tell us now what’s happened?”

  Sam did not take his eyes off the plain. “Okay. But hold it down to whispers. What do you want to know?”

  That was a hard one—Max wanted to know everything. “What happened to the village?”

  “Gave it up. Too dangerous.”

  “Huh? Anybody caught?”

  “Not permanently. Daigler had a gun. But then the fun began. We thought that all they had were those throwing snakes and that we had scared them off. But they’ve got lots more than that. Things that burrow underground, for example. That’s why the village had to be abandoned.”

  “Anybody hurt?”

  “Well…the newlyweds were already in residence. Becky Weberbauer is a widow.”

  Ellie gasped and Sam whispered sharply to be quiet. Max mulled it over before saying, “Sam, I don’t see why, after they got my message, they didn’t…”

  “What message?”

  Max explained. Sam shook his head. “The pooch got back all right. By then we knew you were missing and were searching for you—armed, fortunately. But there was no message.”

  “Huh? How did you find us?”

  “Chips led me, I told you. But that was all. Somebody stuffed her into her old cage and that’s where I found her yesterday. I stopped to pet her, knowing you were gone, Miss Eldreth—and found the poor little thing nearly out of her mind. I finally got it through my head that she knew wh
ere you two were. So…” He shrugged.

  “Oh. But I can’t see,” Max whispered, “why you risked it alone. You already knew they were dangerous; you should have had every man in the ship with you, armed.”

  Sam shook his head. “And we would have lost every man. A sneak was possible; the other wasn’t. And we had to get you back.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know how to say it, Sam. Anyhow, thanks.”

  “Yes,” added Ellie, “and stop calling me ‘Miss Eldreth.’ I’m Ellie to my friends.”

  “Okay, Ellie. How are the feet?”

  “I’ll live.”

  “Good.” He turned his head to Max. “But I didn’t say we wanted to get you back, I said we had to. You, Max. No offense, Ellie.”

  “Huh? Why me?”

  “Well…” Sam seemed reluctant. “You’ll get the details when you get back. But it looks like you’ll be needed if they take the ship off. You’re the only astrogator left.”

  “Huh? What happened to Simes?”

  “Quiet! He’s dead.”

  “For Pete’s sake.” Max decided that, little as he liked Simes, death at the hands of the centaurs he would not have wished on any human; he said so.

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t that way. You see, when Captain Blaine died…”

  “The Captain, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew he was sick, I didn’t know he was that sick.”

  “Well, call it a broken heart. Or honorable hara-kiri. Or an accident. I found an empty box for sleeping pills when I helped pack his things. Maybe he took them, or maybe your pal Simes slipped them in his tea. The Surgeon certified natural causes and that’s how it was logged. What is a natural cause when a man can’t bear to live any longer?”

  Ellie said softly, “He was a good man.”

  “Yes,” agreed Sam. “Too good, maybe.”

  “But how about Simes?”

  “Well, now, that was another matter. Simes seemed to feel that he was crown prince, but the First wouldn’t stand for it. Something about some films the Chief Computerman had. Anyhow, he tried to get tough with Walther and I sort of broke his neck. There wasn’t time to be gentle,” Sam added hastily. “Simes pulled a gun.”

  “Sam! You aren’t in trouble?”

  “None, except here and now. If we—quiet, kids!” He peered more sharply through the bushes. “Not a sound, not a movement,” he whispered. “It may miss us.”

  A hobgoblin was drifting down from north, paralleling the ridge above and out from it, as if it were scouting the high land. Max said in Sam’s ear, “Hadn’t we better scrunch back?”

  “Too late. Just hold still.”

  The balloon drifted abreast of them, stopped, then moved slowly toward them. Max saw that Sam had his gun out. He held his fire until the hobgoblin hovered above them. The shot burned needles and branches but it brought down the thing.

  “Sam! There’s another one!”

  “Where?” Sam looked where Max pointed. The second hobgoblin apparently had been covering the first, higher and farther out. Even as they watched it veered away and gained altitude.

  “Get it, Sam!”

  Sam stood up. “Too late. Too far and too late. Well, kids, away we go. No need to keep quiet. Sit down and slide, Ellie; it’ll save your feet some.”

  Down they went, scattering rocks and tearing their clothes, with Mr. Chips on her own and enjoying it. At the bottom Sam said, “Max, how fast can you do a half mile?”

  “I don’t know. Three minutes.”

  “Make it less. Get going. I’ll help Ellie.”

  “No.”

  “You get there! You’re needed.”

  “No!”

  Sam sighed. “Always some confounded hero. Take her other arm.”

  They made a couple of hundred yards half carrying Eldreth, when she shook them off. “I can go faster alone,” she panted.

  “Okay, let’s go!” Sam rasped.

  She proved herself right. Ignoring her injured feet she pumped her short legs in a fashion which did not require Max’s best speed to keep up, but nevertheless kept him panting. The ship grew larger ahead of them. Max saw that the cage was up and wondered how long it would take to attract attention and get it lowered.

  They were half way when Sam shouted, “Here comes the cavalry! Speed it up!”

  Max glanced over his shoulder. A herd of centaurs—a dozen, two dozen, perhaps more—was sweeping toward them from the hills on a diagonal plainly intended to cut them off. Ellie saw them too and did speed up, with a burst that momentarily outdistanced Max.

  They had cut the distance to a few hundred yards when the cage swung free of the lock and sank lazily toward the ground. Max started to shout that they were going to make it when he heard the drum of hooves close behind. Sam yelled, “Beat it, kids! Into the ship.” He stopped.

  Max stopped too, while shouting, “Run, Ellie!”

  Sam snarled, “Run for it, I said! What can you do? Without a gun?”

  Max hesitated, torn by an unbearable decision. He saw that Ellie had stopped. Sam glanced back, then backhanded Max across the mouth. “Get moving! Get her inside!”

  Max moved, gathering Ellie in one arm and urging her on. Behind them Sam Anderson turned to face his death…dropping to one knee and steadying his pistol over his left forearm in precisely the form approved by the manual.

  20

  “—A SHIP IS NOT JUST STEEL—”

  The cage hit the ground, four men swarmed out as Max stumbled inside and dumped Ellie on the floor. The door clanged shut behind them, but not too quickly for Mr. Chips. The spider puppy ran to Ellie, clutched her arm and wailed. Eldreth tried to sit up.

  “You all right?” Max demanded.

  “Uh, sure. But…” She shut up as Max whirled around and tried to open the cage door.

  It would not open. It was not until then that he realized that the lift was off the ground and rising slowly. He punched the “stop” control.

  Nothing happened, the car continued upward. About ten feet off the ground it stopped. Max looked up through the grille roof and shouted, “Hey! In the lock, there! Lower away!”

  He was ignored. He tried the door again—uselessly, as its safety catch prevented it being opened when the cage was in the air. Frustrated and helpless, he grabbed the bars and looked out. He could see nothing of Sam. The centaurs were milling around in the middle distance. He saw one stumble and go down and then another. Then he saw the four men who had passed him. They were on their bellies in fair skirmish line not far from the cage, each with a shoulder gun and each firing carefully. The range was not great, about three hundred yards; they were taking steady toll. Each silent, almost invisible bolt picked off a centaur.

  Max counted seven more centaur casualties—then the monsters broke and ran, scattering toward the hills. The firing continued and several more dropped before distance made firing uncertain.

  Somebody shouted, “Hold your fire!” and one of the men stumbled to his feet and ran toward the center of the battle. The others got up and followed him.

  When they came back they were carrying something that looked like a bundle of clothing. The cage lowered to the ground, they came inside and laid it gently on the floor. One of them glanced at Eldreth, then quickly removed his jacket and laid it over Sam’s face. Not until then did Max see that it was Mr. Walther.

  The other three were Mr. Daigler, a power man whom Max knew only by sight, and Chief Steward Giordano. The fat man was crying openly. “The filthy vermin!” he sobbed. “He never had a chance. They just rode him down and trampled him.” He choked, then added, “But he got at least five of ’em.” His eyes rested on Max without recognition. “He made ’em pay.”

  Eldreth said gently, “Is he dead?”

  “Huh? Of course. Don’t talk silly.” The steward turned his face away.

  The car bumped to a stop. Walther looked in through the lock and said angrily, “Get those bystanders out of the way. What is this? A circus?”
He turned back. “Let’s get him in, men.”

  As he was bending to help, Max saw Eldreth being led away by Mrs. Dumont. Tenderly they carried Sam in and deposited him on the deck where the Surgeon was waiting. Walther straightened up and seemed to notice Max for the first time. “Mr. Jones? Will you see me in my stateroom as quickly as possible, please?”

  “Aye aye, sir. But…” Max looked down at his friend. “I’d like to…”

  Walther cut him short. “There’s nothing you can do. Come away.” He added more gently, “Make it fifteen minutes. That will give you time for a wash and a change.”

  Max presented himself on time, showered, his face hastily scraped, and in clean clothes—although lacking a cap. His one cap was somewhere in the far valley, lost on capture. He found Chief Engineer Compagnon and Mr. Samuels, the Purser, with the First Officer. They were seated around a table, having coffee. “Come in, Mr. Jones,” Walther invited. “Sit down. Coffee?”

  “Uh, yes, sir.” Max discovered that he was terribly hungry. He loaded the brew with cream and sugar.

  They sat for a few minutes, talking of unimportant matters, while Max drank his coffee and steadied down. Presently Walther said, “What shape are you in, Mr. Jones?”

  “Why, all right, I guess, sir. Tired, maybe.”

  “I imagine so. I’m sorry to have to disturb you. Do you know the situation now?”

  “Partly, sir. Sam told me… Sam Anderson…” His voice broke.

  “We’re sorry about Anderson,” Mr. Walther said soberly. “In many ways, he was one of the best men I ever served with. But go on.”

  Max recounted what Sam had had time to tell him, but shortened the statements about Simes and Captain Blaine to the simple fact that they were dead. Walther nodded. “Then you know what we want of you?”

  “I think so, sir. You want to raise the ship, so you want me to astrogate.” He hesitated. “I suppose I can.”

  “Mmm…yes. But that’s not all.”

  “Sir?”

  “You must be Captain.”

  All three had their eyes fixed on him. Max felt lightheaded and for a moment wondered what was wrong. Their faces seemed to swell and then recede. He realized vaguely that he had had little to eat and almost no sleep for many hours and had been running on nerve—yes, that must be what was wrong with him. From a long distance away he heard Walther’s voice: “…utterly necessary to leave this planet without delay. Now our legal position is clear. In space, only an astrogation officer may command. You are being asked to assume command responsibility while very young but you are the only qualified person—therefore you must do it.”