Robert Heinlein - Starman Jones

The spider puppy hustled through branches, got directly above them, dropped a cone on Max. Then she laughed, a high giggle. "See? She just wants to play."

The ridge was high and Max found that his hillbilly's wind had been lost somewhere among the stars. The arroyo meandered slowly upwards. He was still woodsman enough to keep a sharp eye out for landmarks and directions. At weary last they topped the crest. Ellie paused. "I guess they're gone," she said disappointedly, staring out over flatter country below them. "No! Look over there. See them! About two dozen little black dots."

"Uh huh. Yeah."

"Let's go closer. I want a good look."

"I wonder if that's smart? We're a far piece from the ship and I'm not armed."

"Oh, they're harmless."

"I was thinking of what else might be in these woods."

"But we're already in the woods, and all we've seen are the hobgoblins." She referred to the balloonlike creatures, two of which had trailed them up the arroyo. The humans had grown so used to their presence that they no longer paid them any attention.

"Ellie, it's time we went back."

"No."

"Yes. I'm responsible for you. You've seen your centaurs."

"Max Jones, I'm a free citizen. You may be starting back; I'm going to have a close look at those underslung cow ponies." She started down.

"Well-- Wait a moment. I want to get my bearings." He took a full look around, fixed the scene forever in his mind, and followed her. He was not anxious to thwart her anyhow; he had been mulling over the notion that this was a good time to explain why he had said what he had said to Mr. Daigler--and perhaps lead around to the general subject of the future. He wouldn't go so far as to talk about marriage-- though he might bring it up in the abstract if he could figure out an approach.

How did you approach such a subject? You didn't just say, "There go the hobgoblins, let's you and me get married!"

Ellie paused. "There go the hobgloblins. Looks as if they were heading right for the herd."

Max frowned. "Could be. Maybe they talk to them?"

She laughed. "Those things?" She looked him over carefully. "Maxie, I've just figured out why I bother with you."

Huh? Maybe she was going to lead up to it for him. "Why?"

"Because you remind me of Putzie. You get the same puzzled look he does."

"'Putzie?' Who is Putzie?"

"Putzie is the man my father shipped me off to Earth to get me away from--and the reason I crushed out of three schools to get back to Hespera. Only Daddy will probably have shipped him off, too. Daddy is tricky. Come here, Chipsie. Don't go so far."

She continued, "You'll love Putzie. He's nice. Stop it, Chipsie."

Max despised the man already. "I don't like to fret you," he said, "but it's a long way to Hespera."

"I know. Let's not borrow trouble." She looked him over again. "I might keep you in reserve, if you weren't so jumpy."

Before he could think of the right answer she had started down.

The centaurs--it seemed the best name, though the underparts were not much like horses and the parts that stuck up were only vaguely humanoid--clustered near the foot of the hill, not far out from the trees. They weren't grazing, it was hard to tell what they were doing. The two hobgoblins were over the group, hovering as if in interest just as they did with humans. Ellie insisted on going to the edge of the clearing to see them better.

They reminded Max of clowns made up to look like horses. They had silly, simple expressions and apparently no room for a brain case. They appeared to be marsupials, with pouches almost like bibs. Either they were all females or with this species the male had a pouch too. Several little centaurs were cavorting around, in and out the legs of their elders.

One of the babies spied them, came trotting toward them, sniffling and bleating. Behind it the largest adult pulled out of the herd to watch the young one. The colt scampered up and stopped about twenty feet away.

"Oh, the darling!" Ellie said and ran out a few feet, dropped to one knee. "Come here, pet. Come to mama."

Max started for her. "Ellie! Come back here!"

The large centaur reached into its pouch, hauled out something, swung it around its head like a gaucho's throwing rope. "Ellie!"

He reached her just as it let go. The thing struck them, wound around and held them. Ellie screamed and Max struggled to tear it loose--but they were held like Laocoцn.

Another line came flying through the air, clung to them. And another.

Mr. Chips had followed Ellie. Now she skittered away, crying. She stopped at the edge of the clearing and shrilled, "Max! Ellie! Come _back_. _Please_ back!"

Ellie did not faint nor grow hysterical. After that involuntary scream, her next remark was simply, "Max, I'm sorry. My fault."

The words were almost in his ear, so tightly were they tied together by the clinging ropes. He answered, "I'll get us loose!" and continued to strain at their bonds.

"Don't struggle," she said quietly, "It just makes them tighter. We'll have to talk our way out of this."

What she said was true; the harder he strained the tighter the pythonlike bonds held them. "Don't," Ellie pleaded. "You're making it worse. It's hurting me." Max desisted.

The largest centaur ambled up and looked them over. Its broad simple face was still more ludicrous close up and its large brown eyes held a look of gentle astonishment. The colt approached from the other side and sniffed curiously, bleated in a high voice. The adult bugled like an elk; the colt shied sideways, then rejoined the herd on a dead run.

"Take it easy," Ellie whispered. "I think they were scared that we would hurt the baby. Maybe they'll just look us over and let us go."

"Maybe. But I wish I could get at my knife."

"I'm glad you can't. This calls for diplomacy."

The rest of the herd came up, milled around and looked them over, while exchanging calls that combined bugling, whinnying, and something between a cough and a snort. Max listened. "That's language," he decided.

"Of course. And how I wish I had studied it at Miss Mimsey's."

The largest centaur leaned over them, smoothed at their bonds; they became looser but still held them. Max said sharply, "I think they are going to untie us. Get ready to run."

"Yes, boss."

Another centaur reached into its built-in pouch, took out another of the ropelike things. It dropped to its fore knees, flipped the end so that it curled around Max's left ankle. The end seemed to weld into a loop, hobbling Max as effectively as a bowline knot; Ellie was treated the same way. The biggest centaur then patted their bonds, which fell off and writhed gently on the ground. It picked them up and stuffed them into its pouch.

The centaur which had hobbled them wrapped the ends of their tethers around its upright trunk, they merged into a belt. After an exchange of sour bugle calls with the leader, it patted the leashes, ... which then stretched like taffy, becoming quite twenty feet long and much more slender. Max pressed his knife on Ellie and said, "Try to cut yourself loose. If you can, then run for it. I'll keep them busy."

"No, Max."

"Yes! Dawggone it, quit being a brat! You've made enough trouble."

"Yes, Max." She took the knife and tried to saw through the strange rope near her ankle. The centaurs made no attempt to stop her, but watched with the same air of gentle astonishment. It was as if they had never seen a knife, had no notion of what one was. Presently she gave up. "No good, Max. It's like trying to slice duraplastic."

"Why, I keep that knife like a razor. Let me try."

He had no better luck. He was forced to stop by the herd moving out--walk or be dragged. He managed to close the knife while hopping on one foot to save his balance. The group proceeded at a slow walk for a few steps, then the leader bugled and the centaurs broke into a trot, exactly like ancient cavalry.