Also printed in the USA reprint USA NW No 1, March 1960.
An ideal-looking world would not necessarily be the ideal place
for a colony to be set up, although it might be very difficult
to discover the reason against such a venture. Perhaps the
world itself wouldn’t want to be colonised or a different type
of alien culture take objections to the footprints of Man
treading its soil.
The distant view, as seen through the binoculars, did not tell
much about surface conditions on the planet. Bob slightly
adjusted the focus, and again took in their surroundings up to
the perimeter of visibility. The rocky table on which they had
landed sloped down steeply to dusty brown sands, which rolled
away to the horizon. Undulant hills passed slowly across his
field of view, smooth and apparently blanketed with grass.
Rocky prominences occasionally broke up their flow. There
was no sign of habitation, indigenous animal life, or large
vegetation.
“ An ideal planet to colonise. Captain Spencer,” a clipped
voice stated.
Bob put down the binoculars. “It could be, sir.”
Major Ruffel emitted a sound indicating impatience.
Broad-shouldered, a trifle grey at the temples at forty-five, he
had a spruce, wiry manner and his gesture as he took in their
surroundings suggested his decision was already made.
“ I have none of your doubts, Captain!” He indicated the
sky, patched with cloud, and the distant hills, bright green
under spring sunshine. “Virgin land, probably so fertile that
everything we bring from Earth will flourish. No natives to
raise difficulties.” He inflated his lungs, khaki clad shoulders
thrown back. “An unsullied atmosphere, clear as wine!
What more would you ask. Captain ?”
Bob did not reply. Major Ruffel was probably right, but had
an unfortunate habit of assuming and condemning a sub-ordinate’s disagreement before it was voiced. Superficially,
Antol seemed much like Earth. But the Argemone, upright on
her stem fifty yards behind them, had crossed ten light years of
space. This far from Earth, Bob felt it unwise to make hasty
pronouncements.
“ The planet may well prove habitable, sir,” he said
guardedly.
He left Ruffel and returned to the ship. The Argemone had
touched down at dusk. They had remained inside until dawn.
Sandy Trentham, their radio man, had found no local signals
on any band, and that alone indicated no civilised race with an
advanced science occupied the planet. At the news, Ruffel had
been jubilant. Atmosphere tests, made on the spot, and with
samples taken while descending, increased his exultation. It
was apparent the Major considered this a personal triumph.
With dawn, they were ready to leave the ship, and explore.
Sandy Trentham came down the vessel’s ladder. His very
light blue uniform clashed oddly with his sandy hair and brows,
giving him a boyish look.
“ The Major been saying good morning ?” he asked. “ Or
getting your clearance on the ‘all-satisfied’ message to Earth?”
Bob glanced at him quickly. Under Sandy Trentham’s
apparent lightness was a warning.
“ He’s been asking you to radio Earth, Sandy?” he asked.
“ He has. I’ve already put through the provisional message
on the sub-space radio. We’ll get the relayed answer inside
twelve hours. It’s not within the Major’s power to give the
final okay alone, though he’d like to do just that.”
Bob nodded. Ruffel had an aptitude for taking as much
credit as possible. An ‘all-satisfied’ colonisation message
filed under Ruffel’s name alone would be a high-power
recommendation, back on Earth. Unfortunately for Ruffel, no
such message could be sent until other officers on the ship
agreed. The first colony ship from Earth could only travel at
vast expense, and was not to be risked until everyone with an
authoritative opinion had concurred.
“ I’ve not given my clearance,” Bob said. “ Nor shall I
until I’m satisfied!”
“ The Major won’t like it!”
Bob shrugged, and climbed up into the ship. He could give
no actual reason why the 'all-satisfied' message should be
delayed. He only knew that he was not yet agreed that Antol
was suitable for colonisation.
Hobbs and Griffiths, two crewmen, were preparing to lower
the light tracked vehicle used for ground exploration. It had a
radius of several hundred miles, if necessary.
Bob went to his own cabin, stooping his lanky six feet form
to pass the bulkhead doorway. He briefly reviewed the reports
so far collected, and was forced to admit that he could give no
reason why colonists should not come. Not even the shadow
of a threat could be found in any of the details, already
radioed to Earth.
Perhaps Ruffel was right, this time, Bob thought. He
descended out of the Argemone and found that the caterpillar
truck had been lowered, and stood waiting. Hobbs was at the
wheel, and Griffiths by his side. Major Ruffel stood in the
body of the vehicle, stocky and neat as if from barracks.
Sandy Trentham would stay in the ship to watch the radio,
Bob guessed. Of the vessel’s complement, two others were
junior crewmen, engaged on routine checks, and the last
Genne Moore, biology officer, incidentally Ruffel’s attractive
niece, and presumably still enduring self-imposed captivity in
her tiny laboratory. Bob was glad she was not coming in the
truck — she had an unfortunate knack of backing up the Major
even when he was wrong. Her clear blue eyes would spark,
her slightly snub nose twitch, and she would produce some
pointedly sarcastic observation.
They rode across the hundred yards of rocky table, and
began a bumpy descent to the sands at the foot of the slope.
Ruffel stood with both hands grasping the truck’s side rail,
watching everything.
“ Looks practically ideal to me. Captain,” he said, as they
reached the sand. “ I suggest we radio confirmation when we
get back to the ship.”
On one of the side seats. Bob swayed to the truck’s motion.
“ Isn’t that a trifle hasty, sir? We’ve not really investigated
yet — ”
“ Do we need to ?” Ruffel snapped. “ Delays cost money.
My superiors don’t welcome waste. What’s more, I dislike
delay, especially without reason.”
Bob saw it was going to be difficult. The Major was so
confident that Antol was an ideal planet, that his decision was
already made. Confirmation of suitability would also enhance
the Major’s reputation as a quick worker, when received
within twenty-four hours of landing.
Hobbs, behind the wheel, gave an exclamation and pointed.
“ See those ?”
On one of the green slopes long legged animals, not unlike
small goats, were grazing. They were restless, eating in quick
snatches, heads raised between mouthfuls. As the vehicle
drew near they looked up, then trotted off, disappearing over
the hill.
“ Probably good eating!” Ruffel said.
Bob morosely gazed the way they had gone. He wondered
why he felt uneasy.
“ Still looking for hidden snags. Captain ?” Ruffel asked
acidly.
Bob shook his head. “ No, sir. Merely wondering why
there’s no large vegetation, no trees or bushes, no birds,
apparently no insects, and seemingly no variety of species like
on Earth.”
Ruffel laughed. “ You’re not wanting to delay confirmation
because you can’t find a snake in my paradise ?”
Griffiths chuckled audibly, and Bob felt uncomfortable.
Put like that, delay seemed ridiculous. He let it pass, knowing
there could be no reply.
“ I suggest we take a sample of the grass back for Miss
Moore, sir.”
They stopped to collect it. Seen closely, it was quite unlike
grass. An inch or so tall, it was extremely wiry, and had short,
stiff roots, covered with thick hairs. As he pulled a handful of
it, the sandy soil fell away. Apparently the ground held little
moisture.
Ruffel was watching him, following his thoughts. “Irrigation
will cure that. Captain. Irrigation— and Earth grass to fix the
soil if necessary, with the trees for shade.”
Bob put the tiny plants in a sample jar from the truck, and
snapped on the lid. His unease had abruptly increased ten-fold. Not the slightest breeze stirred the plants or touched his
face, and he was certain this was the slope up which the restless
goats had run.
The creatures had left no footprints in the sand.
Bob thought of that often, as the track made its round trip a
few miles from the ship. It was in his mind as they returned,
and uppermost in the hours following. He could not convince
himself that he had mistaken the slope for another.
Genne Moore took the sample jar into her room. She
paused at the door.
“ I have not found any reason why we should delay our
‘all-satisfied’ message,” she said. “ I don’t imagine I’ll find
it here.” She indicated the jar.
Bob noted her tone. “ Aren’t we being a little hasty ?
We’ve scarcely seen the planet, yet we seem to want to rash off
a clearance message — ”
Her eyes sparked. “ Delay costs money!”
“ So I’ve heard already.” Bob felt extreme irritation, and
wished she were not Ruffel’s niece. “ But it would cost more —
much more — if we got a colony ship out here, and found the
planet unsuitable.”
“ Why should it be unsuitable ?” Ruffel’s snap was in her
voice, now. “ I’ve found no parasites, no significant or
harmful bacteria. The air would suit a health resort.”
“ And there are no minor life forms,” Bob put in. “ No
small creatures, no trees.”
“ I’d noted that.” Her voice suggested it was unimportant.
“ Presumably some oddity in local conditions or evolution
which we can soon explain.”
“ And are we to give the ‘ all clear ’ before it is explained?”
They stood eye to eye. Additional colour came slowly to the
girl’s cheeks. Bob saw that she was taking his words as a
deliberate slight — an implication that both she herself and
Major Ruffel, her uncle, did not know their job.
“ You wouldn’t be trying to cause delay to detract from what
my uncle has achieved ?” she demanded icily at last.
Bob’s lips snapped together. A retort sprang to his mind,
but he suppressed it. He let his eyes say what he thought,
turned on a heel, and strode down the narrow corridor. He
heard her door close with an angry click.
In the cramped radio room Sandy Trentham sat before his
communications equipment. His eyes, keen under his
shockingly sandy brows, were sympathetic.
“ Been through it again ?”
Bob sat down in the spare seat. “ It’ll be awkward. If the
Major didn’t pride himself on being a quick worker, he
wouldn’t rush things so. As it is, I’m witholding my approval
on the 'all clear' without apparent reason. It looks bad.” He
sighed. Just how bad it could look had been shown by
Genne Moore. “ There seems to be every reason in the world
for giving my approval, and none for withholding it. It
worries me.”
“You’re thinking of some points in particular,” Sandy
Trentham said, half questioning.
“ Only the lack of animal life in general, and vegetation —
and the fact that those creatures we saw run up the hill seemed
to leave no tracks.”
The other started. “ You’re not serious!”
“ I am, Sandy.”
“ You’ve mistaken the slope — ”
“ I’ll not deny that would be an explanation.”
Sandy Trentham relaxed, again idly twanging the bug key at
his hand. “ You’ll need more than that to convince the Major,
or Earth,” he said. “ Wind could cover their tracks.”
“ I’m afraid so.”
Bob got up. He could see the way everything was leading.
He must agree with Ruffel — against his own conviction. Or
stand out, without logical reason. In the latter case, the
Argemone would probably be his last ship : Ruffel’s eventual
report to his superiors would assure that.
A knock came on the steel door. Sandy Trentham rose,
opening it. Genne Moore stood in the corridor. Half as much
anger would have made her twice as attractive, Bob thought.
Her gaze came directly on him.
“ Did you clear the sample jar, Captain Spencer ?”
It had been a long time since her tone had been quite so
condemning. Bob thought. He shook his head. “ I’ve not
touched it, or even seen it since you had it. Why ?”
“ The plants are gone!” She seemed about to accuse him,
but did not. “ If it’s a joke by one of the crew — or anyone
else — it’s pretty poor.”
“ Maybe you think I gave you an empty jar!” Bob growled.
“ No. I looked in. I was gone perhaps five minutes. When
I got back, the jar was empty.”
They stared at each other. There seemed nothing further to
say, but a tiny fear had re-awakened in Bob’s mind.
“ Get Hobbs or one of the others to fetch you a new sample,”
he said lamely at last.
He spent an hour alone in his cabin ; another hour studying
the hills through binoculars. Evening was coming. The scene
was peaceful. Near the ship, Hobbs and Griffiths were
preparing the truck for a longer expedition. Sandy Trentham
eventually came from the radio room with news that Earth was
highly pleased with Ruffel’s preliminary report, and awaited a
complete all-clear as soon as possible. Genne Moore had
prepared a brief report on the plants. They were hardy, tough,
but lived on a photosynthesis and neutriment basis akin to
that on Earth. Guarded questions by Bob did not find the
practical joker.
When he descended from the ship he found that Hobbs had
stowed provisions and additional fuel in the truck. Bob
frowned.
“ You’re — not staying outside the ship tonight ?”
Hobbs drew cords tight. “ Yes, sir. Major Ruffel wants us
to camp just beyond the hills, to observe those creatures we
saw — perhaps catch one.”
“ But it’s a general rule no one stays outside the ship at night
until final clearance.”
“ It has been a general rule,” a voice said acidly.
Ruffel had come silently round the ship. He stood eyeing
Bob as if mentally composing censuring phrases for his report.
A thin smile came to his lips.
“ I have decided we need not observe the rule about staying
in the ship, Captain.” His tone had a sting. “ In twenty-four
hours we have found not a single dangerous animal, nor any
other imaginable reason for delaying our investigations.” He
paused significantly. “ You may have the power to hinder my
final report to Earth — but I think you will have none to object
to my instructions here.”
Bob knew he had none. Not out of his unease or doubt
could he produce anything to convince Ruffel. He watched
the truck slip away into the gathering evening, Hobbs and
Griffiths riding jauntily. They had quickly reached the sandy
plain which led to the hills, and were soon gone from view.
Bob walked halfway round the ship, and to the edge of the
plateau. Here, it was only a few feet down over broken rocks,
to reach the sands. He had not remembered they came so
near at any point.
Evening made its last long shadows, almost gone. The sky
was clear, the sunset like that following a summer day on Earth.
He halted at the foot of the brief slope. Ahead were high hills
of sandy soil, tops at least level with the rock table where the
Argemone rested. The terrain was deceptive. Bob decided. He
had not noticed hills that high during the morning’s circular
trip.
He set off for a near hilltop. The tiny plants were very thick
here, carpeting the sand like some wiry, noble moss. Some-
times his boots sank through them, into loose sand underneath.
Once he bent, testing the dampness of the powdery soil with a
hand. It was almost devoid of moisture, very fine, less gritty
than seashore sand, and rather like the multitude particles of a
newly built anthill. It should be an excellent basis for cropping
and afforestation, as the Major said.
The clear atmosphere made nightfall rapid. From the
hilltop Bob could only see other hills, extending to the limit of
visibility, and he turned back. All around him there seemed to
be a tiny rustling, barely on the threshold of audibility, and the
night air moved quietly against his face.
Major Ruffel was waiting for him inside the ship, his
expression determined. Bob guessed what was coming — the
question of final clearance.
“ Have you discovered any other possible dangers, Captain
Spencer ?” Ruffel asked. “ If so, perhaps you will discuss
them with us.”
Bob did not miss the irony. His grey eyes clouded. Sandy
Trentham stood in the corridor to the radio cabin, and nodded
slightly.
“ Yes,” the Major said. “ We are all otherwise agreed that
the ‘all-satisfied’ message can be sent. It’s up to you. Captain.”
Bob dusted his trousers. He had hoped the question would
not become quite so direct. Apparently Sandy had agreed :
there was no clear reason why not. Genne Moore would have
followed the Major’s lead. She nearly always did. Therefore
responsibility for delaying the clearance now rested solely on
his own two shoulders. Bob thought.
“ Hobbs and Griffiths are out.” He knew he was playing
for time. “ Wouldn’t it be wise to wait till morning. They may
have something to report.”
Ruffel made an explosive sound, and moved impatiently.
“ Delay! Delay! Why ? What reasons have you ?”
A direct question Bob knew he could not avoid. He wished
there were more time — to prove his unease was without cause,
or to locate its grounds. He gazed out over the dim terrain
below, then back at the watching faces, outlined by the ship’s
interior lighting.
“ We’re ten light-years from Earth. Can we judge by
appearances, or by Earth standards, out here ? Why is this
planet apparently so perfect ? Why no animals except that
nervy lot of ghosts ? Why no insects or birds — ”
“ I’ve a provisional theory to cover that,” Genne Moore said
from the background. “ Evolution has been rapid, so few
secondary forms have branched off. Hence the simplicity of
fauna. Traces of extinct, earlier types will doubtless be found.
Given specific conditions, an area may easily be almost or
exclusively adopted by one type of plant or animal. It happens
on Earth. With the remarkable uniformity of conditions here,
the area is larger, and the suitability of one life form more
exclusive, that’s all.”
Bob admitted that it could be so. Yet he did not believe it
was quite the full explanation. His lips set, his eyes grew stony,
and his features became stubborn.
“ I’ll give my answer in the morning,” he said.
The Major reddened visibly. “ Earth is waiting our message,
and we’re ready to send it — ”
“ I’m not ready to send it,” Bob said coldly.
“ For what reason ?”
“ I can’t give my reason.”
“ You mean you haven’t one, but want to cause delay!”
Ruffel snapped. “ When this is known on Earth, I wouldn’t
give a penny for your chances. As your superior, I demand
you agree — ”
“ That’s the one thing in the world you can’t order!” Bob
moved past them, into the corridor, and stalked to his cabin.
Ruffel would never risk sending the clearance signal with one
dissident on the ship. In the event of the millionth chance
turning up, and something being against colonisation, he
would lose his major’s crown, or worse.
Ten minutes brought a tap on the door. Sandy Trentham
came in, visibly worried. He stood his back to the closed door.
“ The Major will break you. Bob.” It was a sad statement
of fact. “ Why not give your clearance ? If anything is wrong,
we’ll all be in it together. But as things stand, you’re in for a
personal squashing. Bricks fall harder with fewer backs to hit,
and when thrown by the Major.”
Bob shook his head sadly, and again pillowed his chin on his
hands. “ I’m not satisfied, Sandy.”
“ Can you give me one watertight reason why not ?”
“ None I haven’t already mentioned.”
“ Then I wouldn’t be in your shoes from now on.”
Shaking his head sadly, Trentham left. Bob nibbled his lips.
He wondered if he were risking virtual disgrace for a mere
whim. For the twentieth time he reviewed all he knew. The
restless goats, grabbing mouthfuls of food, the fertile soil . . .
nothing here why Antol should not become a second Earth.
Another knock, more hesitant. He opened the door, was
astonished to find Genne Moore, and gave her his chair. She
sought for words, avoiding his gaze, then looked him squarely
in the face.
“ This is private ?”
“ Of course.”
“ Then I must tell you rapid clearance means a lot to my
uncle.” Her gaze was direct, but her voice had an undertone of
embarrassment. “ He’s with two other men on a short list for
a most important post — an extremely important post — ”
“ And a snappy job here could tip the balance ?”
She looked at the cabin floor. “ Probably.”
Bob considered it : a quick, justified ‘ all-clear ’ would
indeed be a feather in Ruffel’s crown.
“ If he passed the ‘ all-clear,’ and something turned up, he’d
be back in the ranks,” he pointed out cautiously. “ It works
both ways.”
“ But there is no reason why anything should turn up! I’ve
not found any reason — you’ve not — ”
She gazed at him, half pleading. Bob nibbled his lips.
“ Before men flew rockets, they lived in trees. Somewhere in
my ancestry is a devilishly suspicious fellow. There’s women’s
intuition, too. Why deny it men? Man survived to fly rockets
because he was mistrustful of things he didn’t understand,
when he lived in trees.”
He left it at that. There was nothing further to say. She got
up, was about to open the door, then surprisingly her fingers
closed over his arm.
“ My uncle thinks you’re making delay, where there need
be none, because of a personal grudge or dislike. You know
what he can do when he gets back to Earth.”
“ I know it,” Bob admitted with deep regret.
“ Then why not give your permission ?” Her face had a
look Bob had never seen before. “ Don’t seek trouble —
Bob—”
Sad, head slightly bowed, Bob gazed at her. There were
eleven reasons out of ten why he should agree — or so it seemed.
He dropped his eyes, drew his lips into a thin line.
“ I cannot give my permission,” he said.
He did not watch her go ; scarcely heard her. When he
lifted his head, the cabin was empty.
Bob did not seek the others early. He found Ruffel stamping
up and down the narrow corridor, his attention directed on the
radio room. Sandy Trentham emerged, nodded, but spoke to
the Major.
“ No reply from the truck, sir.”
“ But they were supposed to radio at dawn!” Ruffel looked
jerkily at his watch. “ That’s over an hour ago! You contacted them last night ?”
“ Yes, sir. Immediately after they had camped, confirming
the spot.”
“ Then why don’t they reply now ?”
Sandy Tentham offered no reason, but returned to his radio
room. Ruffel went down out of the ship, and stamped to the
edge of the rock plateau. Bob half opened the radio cabin
door.
“ Any reason you can think of why they don’t answer,
Sandy ?”
“ None worth mentioning. The transmitter could have
packed up — but I wouldn’t bet on it. And they have spares.”
Another hour passed, with no reply, and Ruffel studied the
far landscape through binoculars, from the highest attainable
point on the ship. Descending, he made the only decision
which seemed possible : go on foot and find what Hobbs and
Griffiths were doing.
Bob soon saw that the march would be no fun. It was
difficult to average even three miles an hour, on foot over the
loose sandy soil. At that rate it would take nearly seven hours
to travel the twenty miles.
Their emergency packs increased in weight with each hour.
Major Ruffel took frequent bearings. He had become morose,
his face heavy. The straight course was one relatively easy to
follow, and the high sun lit the hills brilliantly. When four
miles out, the ship was still visible behind. The truck should
be seen without trouble, Bob thought.
They rested once, briefly. It was apparent they could not
return to the Argemone by nightfall, but Genne Moore and the
other crewmen should expect to see them by noon.
Hours passed. One green undulant hill replaced another.
The sun lowered, and ahead the ground seemed higher.
“ Truck should be visible from there,” Major Ruffel said.
He wiped his face, and went on. Their course had deviated
less than a straight pencil line across a map.
From the top of the highest hill could be seen a vast
expanse of other hills, mostly green. The truck could not be
found.
“ Perhaps we’ve made less speed than I supposed,” Ruffel
said.
They went two more miles, and surveyed the terrain from
another hill. Bob judged that a circle of at least three miles
radius was within the reach of their binoculars, but no vehicle
was visible.
“ I think we’ve come a trifle too far,” Ruffel said.
No one pointed out that the truck had not been seen. Thirty
minutes later the Major halted on a low hill. “ This is where it
should be,” he said, defeated.
They could not see it. Nor did they find it during the day-
light hours remaining. Their binoculars picked up no sign of
it from any of the surrounding hills, and they abandoned the
search when evening had reduced the perimeter of visibility to a
few hundred yards. Sandy Trentham voiced the question
which had been in Bob’s mind.
“ Why haven’t we seen their tracks ? We must have crossed
them somewhere.” Trentham screwed a foot through the
everlasting green carpet, into the loose soil below. “ The
caterpillars would make a trail we’d see half a mile away.”
There was no answer. The light breeze, usual at evening, was
too slight to cause drifting, and the verdure secured the top soil
against movement, even if winds had swept the locality before
they arrived.
They camped halfway up a slope, chewing iron rations, each
sunk within himself. Ruffel was the last to speak.
“ We’ll check this area again, until about noon, then go back
to the ship. Hobbs and Griffiths may have returned there by
another route.”
That was exceedingly unlikely, Bob thought. Their outward
trip had been straight as a line. If they had returned, it would
be along that line, and Ruffel, Trentham and he himself would
have met them early in the day.
Thin clouds came across the sky, obscuring the stars. A
whisper as of night wind was all around them, and Bob dozed
only fitfully. In some inexplicable way he felt that the green-clad desert hated their intrusion, and wanted them gone, or
dead.
As the hours passed, the breath of night wind ceased,
replaced by a close airlessness which might precede a storm.
Bob stirred occasionally, trying to make his pack a more
comfortable pillow. For a long interval, rather after midnight,
he lay on his back awake, his gaze often on the stars high
above. If Earth’s sun were visible, he could not pick it out
from other brighter specks scattered across the sky, seen now
the cloud had gone.
The feeling of hidden enmity remained, just on the threshold
of awareness. He could not pinpoint its cause. It was some
primitive instinct keyed into activity by an unknown danger.
It was some hours after midnight when he awoke with a start
from uneasy sleep, the feeling of unease vastly intensified. His
eyes opened and a warning sensation jerked at his nerves as with
physical fingers.
The night was quiet, the stars directly overhead bright and
clear. The air felt heavy, confined, yet somehow alive with
activity. Straining his ears. Bob decided that there was a
continuous sound, so near silence that it could almost have
been his imagination. Suddenly an abrupt shock ran through
every nerve. He could see stars only at the zenith. All around
was a darkness closer than night skies.
He started to his feet, calling Ruifel and Sandy awake. He
took a pace forward, stumbled, and found himself on elbows
and knees in a sloping wall of crumbly earth. He rolled over,
got a hand lamp from his pack, and switched it on.
With Ruffel and Sandy, he occupied the centre of a steep
conical depression. All around was a tiny downwards trickle
of particles, slowly closing in the walls round them, whispering
grain on grain just audible. The sloping sides of the depression
were much steeper than forty five degrees, and its upper
perimeter could have been thirty feet high.
“ Climb!” he said. “ For your life!”
Getting out of the pit was so difficult it could have been
impossible. Groping hands and toes brought down minor
landslides of powdery soil, burying them knee deep. Repeated
attempts in one spot undermined the sand above. Minor
avalanches descended on head and shoulders, covering them.
Ruffel struggled out of the earth, his lamp gone, and swore.
Bob spat out a mouthful of sandy soil.
“ Keep moving, or we’re finished.”
It could have been an hour by the time they reached the
top, and even then the escape was only possible because of the
masses of sandy earth they had dragged down into the basin,
so that it filled and became less steep.
A continuous, faint rustling filled the night, more audible
as their laboured breathing subsided. All round the perimeter
of the hole the tiny plants stood thick as grass on a pasture. A
ceaseless wavy motion passed over the plants, beginning
farther away than the light beam could reach, and racing like
breakers towards the lip of the crater.
Sandy Trentham’s teeth clicked audibly. “ Let’s get out of
here!” he said, and his voice shook.
The plants were so thick, walking over them was like moving
ankle deep in moss. Bob bent momentarily, flashing his lamp
close on the ground. A thin film of sand was moving rapidly
towards the crater, uncannily resembling flowing water. Each
of the uncounted millions of tiny plants seemed to sway, brushing along a grain of sand with each minute leaf, simultaneously
raising itself, so that it was always on top of the accumulating
particles of earth, always moving more grains along towards
the hole.
He shivered. It was so tiny an action, yet so devastating in
its purpose. All at once he recalled the rocky plateau, and the
way in which it had seemed nothing like so far to descend, that
morning. And obliterating the goat tracks had taken only
minutes.
“ I think we should return at once to the ship!” he said, and
Major Ruffel did not disagree.
As they marched, at first by hand lamp on a compass
bearing, then by a growing dawn fight, Bob wondered if it
would be too late. He knew, now, why the restless goat-like
creatures snatched uneasy mouthfuls. Any living thing that
had to stay in one spot, or slept, or could not move its young,
was an inevitable victim for the moving sands. Could men
fight an enemy as numerous as the grains on all the seashores of
Earth itself ?
It was a gruelling forced march. Driven by a sense of danger,
they did not rest. The sun rose clear in a cloudless sky, making
bright emerald patches upon the hill slopes. The soil was
dusty, loose as freshly turned anthills, slowing their progress.
Bob guessed that every hill and slope had been moved again
and again, sifted and turned over ceaselessly by the tiny plants.
Other species of life had vanished unknown thousands of
years before, buried beneath the obliterating particles. That
also would have been the destiny of any camp or habitation of
Man.
The emerald patches were not static, but seemed to drift with
a slow, wavy motion across the hills, moving roughly parallel
to their own bearing. Bob saw that his two companions had
also noted the tide. Tiny plants were brushed ahead, then in
turn gave motion to their companions. The multitude of tiny
motions were culminating in a vast flow directed towards the
plateau where the Argemone rested.
The sun was high when Ruffel paused, checked his watch,
compass and pedometer, and made brief mental calculations.
“ The ship should almost be in sight ahead,” he said, voice
rough from fatigue.
A low ridge lay across their line of march, perhaps half a mile
away, surmounting higher ground. Bob did not remember
having seen it when they set out. As they walked, the tiny
plants became even more numerous, so that in places layer on
layer formed a bed knee deep.
Panting, they reached the high point of the ridge. Directly
ahead, where the Argemone had stood, was a vast hill of
emerald-covered earth, perhaps eighty feet high, conical and
regular. Its top looked flat, and waves like those of an incoming tide ran up its sides.
Bob felt chilled, despite the sun. Ruffel’s face had a sallow,
aged expression.
“ I would scarcely have believed they could do it — ” he said
hoarsely.
“ It’s their numbers. Millions. Millions of millions.”
Sandy Trentham’s lips were drawn, his features grimy, sagging
with fatigue.
“They’ve been at it twenty four hours or more,” Bob pointed
out, remembering how each time it had been less far down from
the rocky plateau to the hilly plains. “ The movement
probably began the minute we landed.” Their night camp
would have had a similar appearance, on a smaller scale — a
regular cone, with a flat top. While the cone was uncompleted,
there was hope.
The ascent was over a green carpet sometimes ankle deep,
sometimes reaching their knees. They slipped often, hands and
toes, gripping, masses of the wiry plants coming away under
their weight. The slope levelled out, and Bob saw that it was
the rim of a crater. In its exact centre stood the Argemone,
already buried higher than her entrance lock. The plants had
not rested at dawn.
“ Are we — too late ?” Ruffel said, panting, as he came up to
the rim.
Bob saw a shovel appear out of the sandy earth, momentarily
revealing a hole up through which peered the stained face of
one of the crewmen. The man saw them, shouted, beckoning.
Then a minor avalanche of powdery soil collapsed on him,
again filling the hole. Bob raised himself over the rim, sliding
down feet first, Ruffel and Trentham behind him . . .
Coughing, filthy, they got the exit port closed. The corridors
just inside were two thirds filled with soil it had been impossible
to remove. Bob scrambled along on hands and knees, reached
a clear corridor, and ran for the ship’s control room.
The Argemone's drive awoke slowly, reluctantly. Long
before any lift became apparent a vast cloud of dust rose round
the ship, towering towards the heavens as if from a bomb
exploded under sand. Out of the billowing brown masses the
ship lifted, gaining speed.
A minute later they were in clear sky. Below was a vast
brown patch formed by the curling clouds of dust, casting a
shadow miles long over the hills.
“ We never thought you’d make it back in time,” Genne
Moore said from beside the control room window.
Bob locked the ship on automatic, and looked down on the
surface of Antol, a peaceful, dreaming paradise indeed, he
thought, but one with a snag it was certainly not yet within
Man’s power to overcome!
“ You’ve saved me from the greatest blunder of my career,”
Major Ruffel said in a clipped, tired voice. “ I have instructed
a message go out at once cancelling my earlier favourable
report. When we get back to Earth, I’ll not forget what you’ve
done. Captain Spencer.”
Bob smiled. “ It was only that somewhere in my past was
that devilishly suspicious old fellow, Major,” he said. He felt
a smaller, smoother hand momentarily touch his.
Francis G. Rayer.
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