Robert Silverberg: Planet of Death

“We sprang the uprising on Hendrin. He’s holed up in his cabin, armed with a blaster. Just me and Evans left here. You have a gun.”

“Yes.”

“Come on up here. But be careful.”

Crawford climbed up the catwalk of the ship, gun in hand. By the time he had reached the place where Fernandez was, the doctor was no longer there. Crawford stared ahead into the darkness. He heard the sounds of blast-gun shots.

Then Evans came staggering down the corridor. He had been shot in the middle. He died practically at Crawford’s feet. Seven corpses for World Seven now, Crawford thought.

“Fernandez?” he called. “Where are you?”

No answer. Crawford made his way toward Captain Hendrin’s cabin. When he got there, he found the door had been blasted open. Hendrin had dropped his gun. Perhaps it was out of ammunition. Fernandez was wrestling with him. The two men were down on the floor of the cabin, slugging it out with bare fists.

“Help me, Markham!” Fernandez shouted. “He isn’t armed. Let’s get him tied up.”

The Captain looked like a wild man. Crawford entered the cabin and crept around behind Hendrin. He wrapped his arm around the Captain’s throat.

“Hold still and you won’t get hurt, Captain,” Crawford said. “I’ve got a blast-gun here.”

Hendrin didn’t move. But suddenly, before Crawford knew what was happening, Fernandez grabbed the gun from his hand and fired it at the Captain. Hendrin was killed instantly. Crawford let go of him, jumped forward, and clamped Fernandez’s wrist before he could shoot again.

But Fernandez didn’t plan to shoot again. He let the gun drop. He looked dazed and bewildered.

Crawford picked the weapon up. “Why did you kill him? He was under control.”

Fernandez was shaking all over. He started to sob. “I don’t know why,” he said. “I—must have gone crazy for a moment. But it’s all over now.” He sat down, burying his head in his hands.

“They’re all dead,” said Crawford. “Every last one but you and me.”

Fernandez didn’t look up. “I’m supposed to be a healer, a man who cures. And I killed him. There was no reason. I just took the gun and killed him.”

“You couldn’t help it,” said Crawford. He had seen how men could panic suddenly. He had seen it happen to himself. “There was killing in the air, Fernandez. This world could drive anyone crazy.”

It was ten minutes before Fernandez was calm enough to think straight. He got up finally and looked around. The place looked like a battlefield.

They spent the next four hours digging graves.

The exploration trip was finished, Crawford knew. Tonight they would head back to Velliran. He would begin the job of clearing his name. And then he’d get back to the nice, peaceful business of hunting yangs.

He had been a violent man himself, once. He had a short temper and ready fists. But all that was over. He had seen enough violence to last him a lifetime and a half. He wanted nothing but a quiet life from now on.

When the last grave was filled, Fernandez looked up at Crawford. “Well, it’s done with now. They’re all buried. And we know all we need to know about World Seven of Star System Z-16.”

“Amen to that,” Crawford said.

“We’ll leave right away. I can handle the ship, if you help me. But there’s just one thing to do before we leave.”

“What’s that?”

Fernandez said, “The rules say that an Exploration Corps team is supposed to give a planet a name before it leaves. We haven’t done that.”

Crawford looked at the jungle, with its deadly trees and its hungry monsters. Then he looked at the graves of the dead men.

“That’s easy,” he said. “We’ll call it the Planet of Death.”