HARM

  “What a dump!” said Chankey. He spat.

  “Not too far now,” said Essanits encouragingly. “Be of good cheer, lads.”

  As he spoke, Wellmod pointed ahead, gasping.

  They looked. They stared.

  At a distance from them, something resembling a great sail appeared, moving close to the horizon. This enormous triangular fin was adorned with many colors, colors not bright but subdued, the edge of each color merging fuzzily into the next, so that their diversity created a unity. A pattern was formed, centering near the peak of the sail into an oval target vaguely resembling an eye.

  The sail moved majestically, its colors seeming to change slowly as it went. Something in its magnificence left the humans speechless. It was the very essence of unimpeachable beauty.

  Fremant’s mind filled with images of sensuality. He recalled fleetingly that he had lain naked with a beautiful pale woman with fair hair. A name came back to him in a whisper—Doris. Then it was gone, such that he could not recall it, and a stifling sense of loss descended on him.

  “So so bewful!” exclaimed Bellamia, nearby.

  “What can it be?” asked Wellmod in a whisper.

  “A vision…”

  The sail began to move behind a distant concealing mound. Less and less of it remained visible. Still they stared. Soon only the oblong eye remained, seeming to gaze back at them from the horizon. Then it, too, was gone. For a while they did not speak.

  They looked to Essanits for explanation.

  “I can only guess…Fremant, have you seen such a thing before?”

  “Never.”

  “I can only guess that it was a wing of something.”

  “Then, could be it was the wing of the black things from the cave? Their next stage of development…”

  For all their talk, the immense supposed wing remained a mystery to them.

  “Better get moving,” said Chankey, sighing deeply. They had all seen something which represented what they lacked.

  ON THE FOLLOWING DAY, they came to a great body of water. Reeds fringed its edges, between which the element glittered, reflecting the sun as from a mirror. It was a lake that appeared almost as vast as an inland sea. The waters were still, as if waiting. Fremant recalled his previous alarming experience in a body of water, from which the thing grappled with him.

  Essanits pointed to the distant bank, where they could make out a grove of trees.

  “That’s our destination. There lies Incessible.”

  “But how do we get across this bluggerating lake?”

  “The water is not deep. The horses will carry us across.”

  “Supposing there is something in the water that will attack us?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The sun shone as they stood there indecisively. They were reluctant to enter the water.

  Fremant asked what they would do if they found some surviving Dogovers on the far side of the lake. Essanits fixed a glare of burning dislike on him. He replied flatly that they would take any survivors back to Stygia City, and restore them there, should they wish to return. If they did not wish to return, then there would be a ceremony to mark human penitence for the wrong that had been done.

  Will they understand that?

  Will they not rise up and kill us?

  Will they commit group suicide, as the humans had witnessed before?

  Essanits shrugged. They must trust in God and hope for the best.

  Bellamia asked how they could understand a foreign tongue. She said that she would cook them a meal. It might prove more effective in the way of communication than a ceremony. Food was the universal language, she said.

  Essanits gave a grudging assent.

  Wellmod said that the Dogovers might kill them.

  Fremant thought, If I die, on the morrow I shall wake in Paradise…

  Chankey goaded his mount into the flood.

  One by one, the others followed.

  THE LAKE WATER WAS COLD, and yet shallow, as Essanits had said. The horses struggled forward. After one hour, they were still not halfway across the lake. After two hours, when the horses were visibly tiring, they appeared to be closing in on the far shore.

  Chankey said, “There’s something in the water by us, following us. Keep your guns ready.”

  Bellamia and Fremant had already seen a telltale line of ripple on either side of them. Bellamia became very nervous. She tried to spur her horse on, but the animal was too weary to respond. They were all anxious and tense.

  Wellmod suddenly gave a cry. A pair of giant mandibles, black in color, flashing in the sunlight, rose from the water. They surfaced from beside Wellmod, who was bringing up the rear, as usual. But the creature was not attacking him. Rather, the huge jaws closed over the last of the string of goats. The goat struggled but, within a few seconds, was dragged below. A great splashing ensued, lasting until a whitish pulp floated up, bubbling, to the surface. Wellmod’s yells of horror vied with the cries of the horses. Essanits quickly brought his horse under control. Chankey’s mount plunged and reared. Chankey, less of a horseman than his leader, was thrown into the water.

  He was at once seized by one of the underwater creatures. He rose, spluttering, one raised arm and his neck caught in a pair of the hornlike mandibles. He managed to bring the trapped arm around so that he could grasp one of the threatening jaws; with his other hand he took hold of the other jaw. In his struggle to wrench the two mandibles apart, he dragged his attacker half out of the water. What appeared was something less stag-beetle-like than spider-like, with a balloon body studded with eyes and trailing hairy legs—a monstrous compound of a gigantic insect, gray and beige and blue. Then this tawdry thing dived, and Chankey was pulled under. He rose again, bent backward, face red with agony and exertion. With one desperate heave, he tore the mandibles apart. A yellowish puslike substance spewed out about the waters around him.

  Gasping, Chankey hauled himself back on his horse. He lay across its back, gasping.

  The water was immediately beaten into a froth. Several pairs of the black horns appeared, then disappeared, as the submerged horrors fought to devour the remains of the broken monster.

  Essanits called to everyone to make what haste they could away from the scene. Badly shaken, they pressed on, to gain the shore a few minutes later.

  They rode into a sheltering grove of trees well above the waterline, to throw themselves down, exhausted, on the ground. The horses, too, collapsed.

  “Are you all right, Chankey?” Bellamia and Fremant went over to him. Chankey was doubled up, his arms clutching each other, his knees near his chin. He rocked back and forth in pain.

  “That bastard thing nearly got me. Jupers! Something stung me. But I’m all right…”

  Staring up at the foliage above them, Bellamia, sighing, said, “Dreadful! This world where insects predommy—predom—have the upper hand.”

  Fremant’s response was to ask if a world where men had the upper hand was much better.

  No one made any response to that. He lay there, exhausted. Bellamia propped herself beside him, stroking his wet hair, smoothing his brow, whispering endearments, without a thought for herself.

  His heart and mind were filled with love for her as if with a newly opened flower.

  Getting to his knees, Essanits began to pray aloud. He stressed his own sinfulness, and that of all men. He claimed that the beautiful sail they had seen was a sign from the Almighty, a promise of redemption. He hoped that they would find forgiveness if they rescued the remnant of the autochthonous race. He begged for their safe deliverance back to Stygia City.

  On all these matters he elaborated greatly.

  “Oh, for Joe’s sake, do shut up!” said Chankey. “I can’t stand any more of this stuff.”

  “I’m praying to save your soul,” said Essanits sternly.

  “I just want to ask,” said Fremant, when a loud amen had been pronounced—“if Jesus walked this planet once on a time, did he walk as a man
or as an insect?”

  “That’s a most irreligious question.”

  “No. I’m curious. A man or an insect?”

  It was Wellmod who jumped in with an answer. “’Course he walked as a man. He didn’t walk as a lion or a tiger on Earth, did he?”

  “That’s why animals don’t go to Heaven, I guess,” Chankey replied. He began coughing violently.

  Essanits stood up and ordered them to be on their way.

  Fremant helped Chankey to his feet. They picked their way through the trees, climbing the slope as they went.

  At the crest of the slope, where the trees gave out, they stood and surveyed a narrow valley. In the valley stood a number of leather tents. Each tent rose to a point and was decorated with colored images. Fremant had seen a similar tent previously.

  “We’re here,” Essanits said. “This is the place.” They dismounted, tying their horses and the remaining goats to trees.

  “Chankey, you and I will go down on foot and speak to them. Fremant, you and Wellmod and the woman will remain up here. Stay alert in case of trouble.”

  “‘The woman’ could kick your aggorant ass,” said Bellamia quietly, as the two men set off.

  The tents looked dilapidated. Only one appeared properly maintained. From it emerged a two-legged creature and a dog. They stood defensively, regarding the approaching men.

  A white shelf materialized between the two parties. It seemed to stretch the length of the valley. It floated approximately knee-high. Its surface became stippled with small shapes, many of them round, all dun-colored. For part of the time it was transparent.

  “It’s their speech!” Fremant called to Essanits. “They’re trying to communicate!”

  Essanits and Chankey had halted in puzzlement before the manifestation. They made no attempt at a response. The shelf changed to a reddish color.

  Chankey gave a roar of anger. He rushed forward, through the illusory shelf, toward the Dogover and the dog.

  “Careful!” shouted Essanits, as he, too, ran forward. The dog leaped out of the way. The Dogover snatched up a pole, pointing it so adroitly that Chankey ran into it, being struck full in the chest. His charge carried him on. He ran into the small Dogover. They fell together on the ground. Chankey head-butted the other. The Dogover fell back, hitting his head on one of the many stones.

  Essanits arrived, to haul Chankey off his opponent. “I’m stung,” said Chankey, in a choking voice.

  “You soul-damned fool!”

  Fremant had run down and seized the dog, who seemed to be focused on his prone friend. A minute later, Bellamia came with a wicker cage which one of the packhorses had been carrying. Between them, they crammed the dog into the cage and closed the door.

  The Dogover rose up groggily from the ground into a sitting position.

  “Are you all right?” said Essanits, kneeling, steadying the little person by an arm.

  The little person muttered something, closed his eyes—and died.

  “Oh God! Chankey, you violent fool,” Essanits exclaimed. “You have killed the last living Dogover.”

  “No, no, ’course I haven’t. Not on your life, not on anyone’s life. We just got to look in these other tents. They’re full of ’em. Miserable little critters. They’re pimghees.”

  “You mean pygmies. Stay here! The rest of you search these tents. Go careful.”

  But Chankey was off at a rolling trot, running unsteadily. He had almost reached one of the more dilapidated tents when he fell. He rolled on the ground, cursing, tearing at his shirt. Then he lay still until the others reached him.

  Bellamia knelt beside him, felt his wrist for a pulse. There was none. In his agonies, Chankey had bared his stomach. Noticing, Bellamia recoiled in horror. A large strawberry blister had formed just below his navel. Below its surface she saw small white things like maggots, swimming.

  Speechlessly, she indicated the blister to the others.

  Chankey had indeed been stung, as he claimed. In the time he had been in the waters of the lake, in the grip of the beetle-like monster, it had planted its seed below his skin.

  Fremant and Wellmod shivered with disgust.

  “We must give him burial,” said Essanits. “And bury these loathsome insects with him.”

  “How can we dig a grave?” Fremant asked. “We don’t know what may be lurking in these other tents. At least we’ve got this dog. Let’s go home. This whole expedition has been a disaster. We should have waited for another push-pull and flown here.”

  Essanits glared at him. “I frankly have no liking for you, Fremant. It shocks me that you should think of leaving this poor fellow unburied, to rot here on unhallowed ground.”

  “Why is it better to bury him in ‘unhallowed ground’? Besides, he has ruined your plans, hasn’t he? Killing off the last surviving Dogover!”

  “We must be forgiving in the face of death.”

  In the end, after much argument, they laid Chankey’s body across one of the horses and rode back to the lake. There they tied a stone to one of his legs and sank him in the chilly waters. Essanits said a solemn prayer for his soul, while the thing in the water caroused on his corpse.

  SEVEN

  THE LONG JOURNEY BACK to Haven was marked by the further deterioration of the relationship between Fremant and Essanits. Fremant protested that it was useless and cruel to keep the Dogover’s dog in the cage.

  “We are taking the creature to Stygia City. Safelkty has perfected the Cereb machine in the New Worlds laboratories. That will allow us to read the dog’s mind, which should retain some recorded images of the past culture. It’s our duty.”

  “What’s the dog likely to say? ‘Down, boy’? ‘Fetch’? It’s a waste of time. You’re just hoping to save face…”

  “Nonsense. The dog could prove valuable.”

  Fremant closed his eyes, raising a hand in rejection. “Think, will you? Ever since we landed on Stygia, our efforts have been devoted to the genocide of the Dogovers. Weren’t you the leader of that? We’ve just killed off the last one between us, and you think this wretched dog ‘could prove valuable.’ What kind of a fool are you?”

  “Who are you to challenge me? The day will come when we see that it was necessary to destroy the autochthonous race in order to establish God’s will on the planet.”

  “Really? Then I don’t think much of your God.”

  Bellamia caught his wrist. “Don’t anger him, Free!” she said. It was unclear whether she meant God or Essanits.

  They journeyed on, becoming ever more hungry. The rest of their goats had been seized by the monsters on their return through the lake. Wellmod suggested they eat the dog, but the men said no.

  The dog lay supine, almost inert, although its eyes were open and alert. It only vaguely resembled any breed of terrestrial dog, although much of its insect origin had been shed. Its body was segmented in four sections, the hind three of which bore pairs of stiltlike legs. Small tubes with lidded ends projected from each section, to carry air into the body. Lungs had yet to develop on Stygia.

  Its tail folded neatly over the ridge of its back when not in use. A tassel at the end of the tail proved on inspection to be six delicate fingers. When Fremant offered the dog crumbs of bread, the tail would protrude through the bars of its cage and the fingers, taking hold of the crumbs, would convey them daintily to its mouth.

  Its head carried the sharp-jawed mouth of its kind, and two large eyes. There appeared to be no ears. With no auditory function, the dog projected imagery instead. This it evidently refused to do while in captivity.

  They saw the great sail again. It floated grandly on a gentle wind. They stopped on the trail to stare. It was so unlikely, so beautiful: the very image of serenity. On this occasion there were two sails, flying close together. When the wind direction changed, the twin sails began to head toward the travelers.

  Both sails bore their harmoniously tinted markings. One set of markings was brighter than its mate’s.

 
“That’ll be the female,” said Bellamia.

  “The male, more likely,” said Essanits.

  As the sails approached—gradually, magnificently—the group sought defensive positions behind a rock barrier. They were now able to judge the immense size of the sails, and to see that a curved stanchion ran from the base of the leading edge to the top of the sail, becoming more slender as it rose, to hold the sail steady. The sail itself appeared almost paper thin, delicate as a moth’s wing.

  Both sails were drawing near now, drifting only a few feet aboveground.

  Glorious as the sails were, the body below them, from which they grew, was another matter: a snakelike legged insect, gray of body, equipped with massive jaws in front and something resembling a stinger at its rear.

  Still the sails came nearer. Essanits raised his gun, steadied it on his left arm, and fired. The bullet hit the front end of the flier, which burst, showering the leader with a stinking, greenish pus.

  For a moment, the sail sailed on. Then it faltered, declined, the body hit a rock, and the entire grand structure slowly sank to the ground. The other sail never paused, but floated forward on the wind, finally to disappear into the blue distance.

  Bellamia and Fremant pulled up handfuls of grass to mop each other down from the splashes of pus. Essanits went over with a swagger to inspect his target.

  “There you are!” he said. “Something to eat now.”

  “Bluggeration! Who wants to eat that stinking thing?” Bellamia exclaimed. “But maybe if it were cooked…”

  Fremant went to inspect the great sail. Already its colors were fading, the fabric crumpling like an old tissue. An intense melancholy overcame him, a sorrow he could hardly bear or understand.

  Coming up behind him, Essanits said, “Stop moping, man, and let’s get on.”

  Fremant swung around and struck him savagely in the chest.

  WHEN AT LAST THEY ENTERED HAVEN, they found it much changed. Duplicates of a new flag flew everywhere. New wooden buildings were going up, and men—several of them in uniform—thronged the place, shouting and calling to one another in a stupidly military manner.