Robert Silverberg: Planet of Death

Crawford sat up in surprise. “Huh?”

“Don’t play innocent,” Lazenby snapped. Suddenly he did not look so mild and weak any more. He said sharply, “I know very well that you aren’t Paul Markham of the Exploration Corps. So suppose you tell me just who you really are!”

Trying to bluff, Crawford smiled and said, “Lazenby, has that tree-thing driven you nuts?. Of course I’m Paul Markham!”

“You aren’t even a good liar,” said Lazenby.

“Now look—”

“You look,” Lazenby cut him off. “You’re no more a trained ecologist than I am a circus acrobat. You might just as well admit it. The real Paul Markham has been in the Exploration Corps for five years. I don’t know him, never met him—but I know that you aren’t any ecologist with five years of training in the field. The way you blasted down that killer animal without reason—no scientist would have done that.”

Crawford wondered if he should try to go on bluffing. He decided against it. It was very clear that he hadn’t fooled Lazenby at all.

Crawford said, “All right. Suppose I’m not Markham. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. You saved my life, whoever you are, and I don’t intend to turn you in to the Captain. But it’s unusual to have an imposter in the Exploration Corps. That’s putting it mildly. For my own curiosity, I’d like to know what you’re doing here.”

Taking a deep breath, Crawford asked, “You want the whole story?”

“Enough so I can understand it.”

“Okay. My name is Roy Crawford. I’m a native of Earth, but I’ve lived on Velliran for the last few years. I was running a yangskin business. I had six hunters working for me and everything was going fine. Then somebody framed me. I was found guilty of a crime I didn’t commit. Your ship was on Velliran to pick up the real Paul Markham. I had to get off Velliran in a hurry or else go to jail for life. This was the only way.”

“And what happened to the real Markham?” Lazenby wanted to know.

Crawford shrugged. “A friend of mine saw to it that he got to the spaceport too late. I don’t think any harm came to him. He’s probably angry that he missed the ship, though.”

Lazenby smiled and said, “How much of this wild story am I supposed to believe?”

“As much or as little as you want,” said Crawford. “It all happens to be true. I was framed for murder. They accused me of having killed a Vellirani native. It wasn’t so. But the evidence made it look that way, and the judge believed the evidence. That’s why I’m here.”

Lazenby was looking at him strangely. “Did you say you were accused of killing a Vellirani native?”

“That’s right. It was some kind of weird trick. I blanked out for a fraction of a second. Then I found myself with a bloody knife in my hand. And there was a dead Vellirani lying in the street in front of me. But I didn’t kill him.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Lazenby said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I can’t say any more just now. But I may be able to tell you something useful in a little while.”

“Don’t talk in riddles!” Crawford shouted. “Do you know something about this murder? Tell me!”

“I can’t. Look, I really don’t know much at all. I’m only guessing a little. Give me a chance to snoop around a little, will you? I’ve got only a slight suspicion right now.”

No matter how much Crawford questioned the little man, that was all he got. Finally he decided to drop the subject for now.

Lazenby said, “I think we ought to try our luck in the jungle again. How about you?”

“If you’re game I’m game.”

“Let’s go, then—Markham.”

“Are you going to go on calling me Markham?” Crawford asked.

“I think so. I’ve got nothing to gain by giving away your secret.”

They went down the elevator together. Once more Crawford stood by the door that would let him out into the devilish world outside.

He wished he could figure out what Lazenby had meant before. Did the biologist know something about the murder frameup?

Lazenby wasn’t speaking. That was certain. He simply wouldn’t answer any questions.

Crawford gave up trying to get information out of him.

The door swung open. They stepped outside. The warm, sweet-smelling jungle air of World Seven drifted against their faces.

“I’ll go first,” Crawford said.

He stepped out into the grass, following the track they had made earlier. He moved carefully. Eyes, ears, and nostrils all were at work searching for danger.

By now he knew how this planet worked. An attack might come at any moment—from anywhere.

All you could do was hope to be lucky when an enemy struck.

Step by step by step, Crawford and Lazenby crossed the clearing. They came close to the entrance of the dark, mysterious jungle.

One of the bird-things with the sword-shaped beaks flew overhead. But it didn’t dive down to attack. Maybe it was still full from its last meal, Crawford thought.

They passed the skeleton of the dog-like animal. That was all that was left: a clean white skeleton. All the flesh had been picked from the bones. Little scavengers with sharp teeth went running away from the skeleton as the Earthmen came near. They buzzed angrily as they ran. The scavengers were the creatures that had picked the bones clean, after the bird had finished eating.

Now the jungle was only a few feet away. Crawford was surprised. They had crossed the entire clearing without any trouble.

He bowed to Lazenby and pointed to the jungle. “After you, my dear Lazenby!”

Lazenby bowed right back. “No, no, my friend! After you, by all means!”

Crawford laughed. Then he turned and stepped into the jungle, keeping his blast-gun drawn and ready.

This time, the jungle did not seem so deadly to Crawford. He was getting used to its dangers. He was starting to get familiar with its terrors.

He knew that it was risky to relax too much. You always had to be on your guard in a place like this. But now he was less worried than before. He had already survived some of the worst things the jungle could throw at him. As long as he stayed alert, he would be all right in here.

He still wasn’t exactly happy to be on World Seven. In fact, every minute longer he spent in the jungle of World Seven, the less he liked the planet.

There was something sick about this world. It was an ugly, vicious place. In any jungle, there was always a struggle to stay alive. But here the struggle was too violent. Everything in this jungle seemed to be out to kill and eat. Even the trees were hungry for meat.

They edged forward, inch by inch, through the hot, sticky jungle. Lazenby was very helpful. He kept pointing out things that Crawford, as a scientist, should have noticed. Crawford was amazed at how many things he failed to see.

Luck was with them. They didn’t run across any more man-eating trees. Nor did any of the big jungle beasts come charging out of the underbrush. But Lazenby found other killers, no less deadly.

“Look here,” Lazenby said. He pointed down at a dark pool of water about three feet across. There were tiny blue creatures swimming in it.

“So?” Crawford said. “What’s so special? It’s a puddle with tadpoles in it.”

“Take a good look at the tadpoles,” said Lazenby.

Crawford knelt down and peered into the pool. Lazenby stood guard behind him in case some animal should suddenly appear.

The “tadpoles,” Crawford saw, were small shiny things about an inch long. They had bright little teeth, pointy and sharp. They could move fast, those “tadpoles.” And they were busy.