Norb settled back on his bed of straw and did not answer. It had been an exhausting walk through the snow and now was the time for some sleep.
It seemed to be an instant later that there was a timid rap on the wall of their room. A girl tiptoed in and stood there. She was bundled in furs except for her pretty, somewhat dirty, high-cheekboned face. About eighteen, Norb judged, as he waited for her to master her fear.
“The dance is about to start, sirs,” she whispered. “McNeil thinks you’ll be interested.” Having delivered her message, she turned quickly and dashed away into the corridor.
“We’d better go,” Jannes said; “they’re expecting us.”
“Right.” They wandered down the corridor toward where they heard the sound of drums.
All hundred and two inhabitants of Earth were gathered in the largest room of the underground village. They were massed in a compact group—except for McNeil, who stood in front, and two drummers pounding drums made of animal-skin.
“We’re about ready to start,” said McNeil. “We hold these dances regularly, but this is the first time we’ve had outsiders to watch. They’re all very excited about it.”
McNeil sat down at the side of the room, beckoning to the two Vegans to follow suit. “It’s our only remaining art form to speak of. We had to discourage other forms of art because they weren’t useful; but at least the people get some exercise out of this.”
“What sort of a dance is it?”
“It’s really an historical pageant. It dramatizes the history of Earth from its time of greatest strength to its old age. Which reminds me—are you still thinking of taking the Earthfolk off to Vega with you?”
“Yes,” Norb said.
“Forget about it; we can’t come. And don’t try to get any of my younger men to come back with you. You’ll be in for a surprise or two, I think.”
“But why, McNeil? Here we offer you free transportation, and all the comforts of the universe on a warm planet, and you refuse. Do you really enjoy living in this frozen hole?”
“Whisper, please,” said the king; “I don’t want to alarm my subjects. No, of course we don’t enjoy living here. But it isn’t as bad as it seems; Earth’s been freezing for thousands of years, and we’re used to cold weather and nothing else; we’ve never known any other. But that’s not the reason why we can’t leave. You’ll find out during the dance. I think they’re ready to start.”
The drummers began to beat in a tricky syncopation, and the massed Earthmen in the center of the room slowly began to move. They were interweaving in intricate patterns, moving faster and faster, winding around one another in snakelike rhythms.
“That represents Earth as it used to be,” said McNeil; “the crowded home of mankind.”
Norb and Jannes watched as the motion became more and more rapid, the Earthmen entangling themselves in complex patterns and then patterns still more complex.
Suddenly there was a terrible pounding on the drums, and one of the dancers burst from the twisting multitude and ran toward an empty corner of the room.
“First interplanetary voyage,” McNeil whispered.
The rest of the dancers continued to move in a close-packed mass. Then, another drumroll and a second dancer detached himself and headed for another corner of the room. “The second,” McNeil said.
Now the dancers ran in more dizzy patterns than before, and a third and fourth ran off to corners. The drumbeats grew more frenzied.
“Here comes the exodus,” said McNeil. “The big push outward that left Earth almost deserted.”
The drummers practically went wild, as one after another of the dancers pranced out from the center and headed for one corner or another, until there were more dancers in the clusters in the corners of the room than in the center. Those in the center began to move more slowly now, as their numbers diminished.
Only about ten Earthmen were still in the center of the room, out of the original ninety-nine. They continued to weave through their patterns, but more and more slowly. One dancer finally pulled himself free and ran to the most distant corner. Another followed. Then another.
Finally, there were just three left in the center, revolving slowly around each other. Their movements grew more and more tortured, and they writhed as if their feet were glued to the floor. Slowly they sank to the cold floor and stayed there, their bodies still wriggling. They stretched out flat on the ground, moving now a finger, now a toe, but seemingly unable to rise. One by one they stopped moving completely, until the last one let his head drop.
That was the signal for a wild demonstration by all the dancers. They began shouting and singing, and the three in the middle leaped up and joined them. The dance was over.
Norb and Jannes sat transfixed. “That’s our last art form,” said McNeil. “What do you think of it?”
“It’s wonderful,” Norb said, suddenly jarred back to reality. “But I didn’t quite catch the symbolism at the end. Why didn’t the last three run off to join the others on the other planets?”
“I thought it would be obvious,” McNeil said; “but perhaps it’s just that I’ve seen the dance so many times. Look: they would have left but they couldn’t; the planet wouldn’t let them.”
“What’s that?” said Jannes in surprise.
“Earth is a very lonely world, Vegans. She’s not getting much heat from her sun any more, and she knows she’s dying. And she doesn’t want to die alone. Just about all of her people have left her, but she’s clinging with all her might to her last hundred-and-two. It’s been centuries since any Earthman’s been allowed to get off-planet. Earth doesn’t want us to leave, and she’s holding us in a tight grip.”
“Don’t give us that, McNeil,” said Jannes angrily. “I know you think that we regard you as savages, but that doesn’t mean you have to play along. There’s some other reason why you don’t want to leave. Don’t start spouting mythology at me. We know—”
Jannes suddenly spilled to the floor. The ground gave a convulsive shudder.
“Earthquake,” McNeil said calmly. “It’s pretty common now. Every time the Earth gets angry—and I suppose you made her angry. I think you’d better get back to your ship before there’s worse trouble. Kalvin, you’d better guide them to their ship.”
“Wait. Before you let us go, we want to speak to our commander and find out what he thinks.”
“What he thinks can’t possibly concern us,” McNeil said; “but go ahead if it’ll please you.”
Jannes began to set up the radio equipment. It was fairly simple work for an experienced pilot like Jannes; but for some reason, his hands shook and it took longer than usual. He dialed the Haughtsmith, and Mukennik’s familiar voice crackled down to them.
“How’s it going?” the commander asked. “We watched you go into that hole with the Earthman; what’s been happening?”
“You’d better do the talking,” Jannes whispered to Norb. Norb replaced him at the controls of the set.
“Trouble, chief,” Norb said. “We found the Earthmen all right—a hundred and two of them—and they say they’re the whole population of the planet.”
“Healthy?”
“Healthier than we are. It’s about five below down here and I guess that keeps them in shape.”
“Are they savages?”
Norb looked around. A knot of curious Earthmen had gathered around the transmitter and were watching closely. “No, Mukennik. But they’re—well, not quite civilized either.” Norb heard a snort of protest from McNeil.
“What do you mean? Have you asked them to leave Earth?”
“Yes,” Norb said. “I told them all about Vega; but they’re not going to come.”
“Not coming? Why?”
“We spoke to the king here, and he tells us there’s an Earth-spirit w
hich is lonely and dying, and won’t let them leave. He seems to say they’d like to get to a warmer planet, but they’re stuck here for good.”
“Oh,” Mukennik said. He was obviously disappointed. “So they won’t come at all.”
“No.”
There was silence from the Haughtsmith for a moment. “Well, don’t try to force them,” Mukennik said, finally. “It doesn’t pay to meddle with tribal customs. Might as well give it up as a bad job and come back; we’ll do up a report on it and let it go at that. At least we’ve found the legendary Earthmen.”
“Yes,” Norb said. “At least we’ve found them. Well, we’re going to head for our ship now; get the airlock ready to receive us.”
The trek across the snow to where the gleaming two-man ship stood upright was a long and slow one. Kalvin accompanied them—the old man was seemingly tireless—and stared with apparent amazement at the ship.
Norb and Jannes began to climb the catwalk to the entrance of the cruiser. Kalvin stood below, watching.
“So long, old man,” Norb said.
“So long,” Jannes echoed; “we’ll remember you on Vega. It’s nice and warm there, you know. An old chap like you could live forever in that warm climate.”
“I know,” boomed Kalvin. “But I belong here. Farewell, Longnose. Farewell, Squarehead.”
“Farewell, Kalvin,” Norb said, a little miffed at the nickname.
“Don’t rush about blasting off,” said Kalvin. “I want to be clear of the ship before you do… If you do, that is.” The old man emitted a series of deep chuckles from the back of his throat and wandered off in the snow, heading toward his people.
Norb watched him retreat. “Well, that’s that. They’re funny people, these Earthmen; the cold has made them strong and—and sort of noble.”
“You’re still sentimental,” Jannes said. “Take a last look before we blast off.”
Norb stared out the port at the flickering red sun which so soon would be dark. Jannes reached for the firing stud.
“Hey!”
Norb turned and saw Jannes straining to touch the firing stud; his arm was not fully unbent at the elbow. “Something’s wrong; I can’t straighten my arm. You better come over here and push the stud for me.”
Norb hurried over to the control board. “I’m not too sure how it works.”
“Nothing to it,” said Jannes, grimacing from the sharp pain in his arm. “Just reach out and push the stud.”
Norb extended his arm. It did not reach the stud. “I can’t do it.”
He looked at Jannes with growing horror. “I can’t touch the stud.”
“Go ahead,” Jannes urged. “Just push it.” The pilot continued to rub his bent arm trying to straighten it out.
Beads of perspiration broke out on Norb’s forehead. He tried to push his hand forward to meet the stud. “It’s as if there’s a wall around it,” Norb said. “I can’t get to it.” He tried again and then sat down in a rage of frustration.
Jannes reached out with his good arm. “I can’t do it either.” He looked at Norb; Norb looked at him.
“You know what I think?” Jannes demanded, quietly.
Norb nodded. “I think so too.” He made another attempt to push the stud, and failed.
Norb stared out at the reflection of the red sun along the snow. Jannes watched him silently.
“But it’s crazy,” he finally burst out. “You don’t believe that story about the Earth-spirit, do you?”
“I’m the sentimental one, remember, Jannes?”
“This is no time for bickering. Why can’t we touch that stud?”
Norb said slowly, “They believe in the Earth-spirit. Maybe the Earthfolk hypnotized us during that dance, and left a post-hypnotic command not to go near the firing stud. There’s no physical reason why we can’t touch it.”
“Can we un-hypnotize ourselves?” Jannes joined Norb at the port and looked out over the snow.
“I’m just guessing that that’s what they did. That whatever happened, they did it. But for all I know, it’s the Earth herself that won’t let us go.”
“But that’s crazy!” Jannes shouted. He leaped to the board and tried to press the stud. He made no contact. “It must be hypnotism,” he said. “I can put my arm out, but when I reach the stud I draw back; I just can’t bring myself to touch it.”
“Maybe if you keep your hand there, and I back up into you, and accidently nudge your hand into the stud—”
“It’s worth a try,” Jannes said. He put his finger as close to the gleaming stud as he could, and waited. Norb casually sauntered up behind him, whistling, and suddenly pushed.
Jannes screamed and held up his finger. “It’s no use; there might just as well be a wall around that stud.”
Norb frowned. “Look out the port,” he said pointing. “Under that tree.”
Kalvin was sitting cross-legged in the snow, about a hundred meters from the ship, watching and waiting.
“They know exactly what’s going on in here,” Jannes said. “I’ll bet he’s roaring with laughter.”
Savagely he grabbed a length of pipe from the tool-cabinet and brought it down on the firing stud.
The ship stayed on the ground.
The stud broke off.
“Now you’ve done it,” Norb said. “How do you plan to get up now? Do you know anything about repairing the starting mechanism?”
“Not much, but we don’t have to bother; I’m going to call Mukennik and have them come down and pick us up.”
“Suppose they get stuck here, too?”
“At least we’re no worse off, and we’ll have company.”
“That’s not a very good attitude, Harl; but I suppose I’m being sentimental again.”
“Shut up.” Jannes was dialing in the Haughtsmith.
“I thought you were coming back up,” said Mukennik immediately. “We’re waiting for you.”
“We’re stuck. We can’t get the ship up.”
“What’s the trouble? Mechanical difficulties?” Mukennik sighed. “Or won’t the Earth-spirit let you go?”
“We’ve broken the firing stud.”
“Use the auxiliary; it’s under the rear cover.”
They looked. It was. They failed to make contact.
“We can’t touch it,” Norb said. “I think the Earthmen left us with a posthypnotic command against blasting off.”
Jannes looked out the port. “Kalvin’s still there. Why don’t we get him in here and get him to push the stud for us?”
“That’s out,” said Mukennik; “we’d only have to return him afterward.”
“What do we do?” Jannes demanded.
“Hold on a while. I’m going to send down the other ship to get you out of this, you idiots.”
In a short while, the second cruiser stood on its tail in the snow not far from the first. Norb saw that Kalvin was watching with evident interest as the rescue-cruiser came down.
Two well-clad spacemen came dashing down the cat-walk and hurried toward Norb and Jannes. “Hurry up,” one of them said. “Mukennik doesn’t want to waste any more time than necessary. Kinnear’s going to take you two up in our ship, and I’ll bring yours in alone.”
Norb and Jannes headed back to the second ship with Kinnear. Kalvin stood up under his tree and yawned loudly.
Kinnear tried to push the stud; he failed.
“Are we all crazy?” he demanded.
“It looks as if it’s contagious,” Norb said. He glanced through the port. “Doesn’t seem as if Bartle’s gotten very far with our ship, either.”
Kalvin was wandering in slow circles in the snow.
“Is there any way out of this?” Kinnear asked. “Let’s call Mukennik and ask him t
o bring the Haughtsmith down for us.”
“You don’t think he’s going to risk getting stranded here himself, do you?”
“He can’t leave four men here.”
“You don’t know Mukennik, then.” Norb waved to Kalvin, who was still outside. The old man approached and stood outside the ship.
“What’s the trouble spacemen? I thought you’d be gone long before.”
“We can’t blast off,” Norb said.
“Oh? Motor trouble?”
“No. You know what it is?”
Kalvin smiled. “We’ll welcome you at our little village; it isn’t often that we get new blood.”
“Isn’t there any way out?”
“The earth is a lonely planet,” Kalvin said. “It wants all the company it can get.”
Norb looked back toward the control room. Jannes was talking into the transmitter and Mukennik’s voice crackled faintly through the air.
“What’s happening?”
“They won’t come,” Jannes said. “He’s awarding us all medals and leaving us behind.”
“Leaving us behind? Why?”
“He wants to get out of the atmosphere fast. He’s afraid this Earth-spirit will get him to bring the Haughtsmith down here, and that would never do. You know how Mukennik hates cold weather.”
Norb felt an icy chill growing inside him.
“That’s too bad,” Kalvin said. “It would have been nice to have the big ship down here, too. We all could have lived in that instead of our cave.”
“Yeah, too bad. I’m really sorry for you,” Jannes said.
Bartle came trotting over from the other ship. They explained what had happened.
They looked up. The giant silvery form of the Haughtsmith was still circling in its orbit around the Earth. Norb turned and went back into the ship.
“They’re starting to move,” Jannes called from outside.
“Come on back in,” Norb yelled. “One last try.” They all crowded into the little ship except Kalvin. The old Earthman stood by the side of the ship.