Boris Strugatsky - Noon - 22nd Century

“I wonder,” Mandel said quietly. “If we walked backward would it still spring from the right?”

“Be quiet, Lazar,” Novago said through his teeth.

It sprang after three minutes. Morgan shot first. Novago’s ears rang. He saw the double flash of the shots; the traces, straight as an arrow, of the two streams of fire; and the white stars of the explosions on the crest of the dune. A second later Opanasenko opened fire. Pow-pow, pow-pow-pow! thundered the carbine shots, and he could hear the bullets tear into the sand with a muffled whump. For an instant it seemed to Novago that he could see a snarling muzzle and bulging eyes, but the stars of explosions and the streams of fire had already moved far to one side, and he realized that he had been mistaken. Something long and gray rushed low over the dunes, crossing the fading threads of gunfire, and only then did Novago throw himself face down on the sand.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Mandel was up on one knee and, holding the pistol in his outstretched hand, was methodically ravaging an area somewhere between Morgan’s and Opanasenko’s lines of fire. Pow-pow-pow! Pow-pow-pow! thundered the carbines. Now the Pathfinders were firing by turns. Novago saw the tall Morgan scramble over the dune on all fours and fall, saw his shoulders tremble with the shots. Opanasenko fired kneeling, and time after time white flashes lit up his huge black glasses and the black muzzle of his oxygen mask.

Then silence returned.

“We beat it off,” said Opanasenko, getting up and brushing sand from his knees. “That’s how it always is—if you open fire in time, it jumps to the side and clears out.”

“I hit it once,” Humphrey Morgan said loudly. They could hear the metallic ring as he pulled out an empty clip.

“You got a good look at it?” asked Opanasenko. “Oh, right, he can’t hear.”

Novago, grunting, got up and looked at Mandel. Mandel had turned up the bottom of his coat and was cramming his pistol into its holster. Novago began, “You know, Lazar…”

Mandel coughed guiltily. “I think I missed,” he said. “ It moves with exceptional speed.”

“I’m very glad you missed,” Novago said crossly. “Think of who you might have hit!”

“But did you see it, Pyotr?” Mandel asked. He rubbed his fur-gloved hands nervously. “Did you get a good look at it?”

“Gray and long like a hungry pike.”

“It has no extremities!” Mandel said excitedly. “I saw quite distinctly that it has no extremities! I don’t think it even has eyes!”

The Pathfinders walked over to the doctors.

“In all this commotion,” said Opanasenko, “it would be very easy to conclude it has none. It’s much harder to tell that it does have them.” He laughed. “Well, all right, comrades. The main thing is that we beat off the attack.”

“I’m going to look for the carcass,” Morgan said unexpectedly. “I hit it once.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” said Novago quickly.

“No,” said Opanasenko. He drew Morgan over and shouted, “No, Humphrey! No time! We’ll look together tomorrow on the way back!”

Mandel looked at his watch. “Ugh!” he said. “It’s already ten-fifteen. How much farther, Fedor?”

“Ten kilometers, no more. We’ll be there by midnight.”

“Wonderful,” said Mandel. “But where’s my valise?” He turned around. “Ah, here it is.”

“We’ll walk the same way as before,” said Opanasenko. “You people to the left. It could be that it isn’t alone here.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of now,” Novago muttered. “Lazar’s clip is empty.”

They set out as before. Novago was five paces behind Mandel. In front and to the right was Opanasenko, his carbine under his arm, and behind and to the right walked Morgan with his carbine hanging from his shoulder.

Opanasenko walked quickly. It was impossible to go on this way, he thought. Whether Morgan had killed that one monster or not, the day after tomorrow they would have to go to the base and organize a hunt. Using all the crawlers and rovers, with rifles, dynamite, and rockets. An argument to use with the unconvinced Ivanenko popped into his head, and he smiled. He would say to Ivanenko, “We have children on Mars now, so it’s time to rid the planet of these monsters.”

What a night! thought Novago. It’s no worse than the times I got lost in the taiga. But the most important part hasn’t even begun yet, and it won’t finish before five in the morning, Tomorrow at five, or, say, six o’clock the little guy will already be yelling over the whole planet. If only Mandel doesn’t let us down. No, Mandel won’t do that. Mark Slavin the proud papa can rest easy. In a few months all of us at the base will be taking the little guy in our arms and inquiring with monotonous regularity, “Well, who is this little fellow here, hey? Is it an itty bitty baby?” Only we’ve got to think out that business about the centrifuge very carefully. We’ll have to get them to send us a good pediatrician from Earth, The little guy has to have a pediatrician. Too bad the next ships won’t arrive for another year.

Novago never doubted that the child would be a little guy, and not a little girl. He liked boy babies. He would carry it in his arms, inquiring from time to time, “Is it an itty bitty baby?”

They were sitting in the corridor on the windowsill opposite the door—they were about to be called in. Sergei Kondratev swung his feet, while Panin, twisting his short neck around, looked out the window at the park. There, in the volleyball court, the girls from the Remote Control Division were jumping up and down near the net. His chin resting on his hands, Sergei Kondratev looked at the door, at the shining black plate that read “Large Centrifuge.” In the Advanced School of Cosmonautics there were four divisions. Three of them had training halls, with plates with the same words hanging at the door. It always made you nervous waiting till they called you into the Large Centrifuge. Take Panin, for example. He was obviously gawking at the girls in order not to show how nervous he was. And Panin just had the most ordinary conditioning scheduled for today. “They play a good game,” Panin said in his bass voice.

“Right,” Sergei said without turning around.

“Number four does a great pass.”

“Yeah,” said Sergei. He shrugged. He had a great pass too, but he didn’t turn around.

Panin looked at Sergei, glanced at the door, and then said, “They’re going to carry you out of here today.”

Sergei remained silent.

“Feet first,” said Panin.

“Sure thing,” said Sergei holding himself back. “No chance of them carrying you, though.”

“Calm down, superjock,” said Panin. “A true superjock is always calm, cool, ready for anything.”

“I am calm,” said Sergei.

“You? Calm?” Panin said, poking him in the chest with his finger. “You’re vibrating, shaking like a smallfry at a launch. It’s disgusting, seeing the way you tremble.”

“So don’t look,” Sergei advised him. “Look at the girls instead. Great passing ability, and all that.”

“You haven’t got the right attitude,” Panin said, and looked through the window. “They’re fantastic girls! They play an amazing game!”

“So look,” said Sergei. “And try not to let your teeth chatter.”

“Whose teeth are chattering?” Panin asked in amazement. “Yours.”

Sergei remained silent.

“It’s all right for my teeth to chatter,” Panin said after thinking it over. “ I’m not a jock.” He sighed, looked at the door and said, “But I wish they’d call us in and—” He broke off.