Robert Silverberg - Planet of Death

Roy Crawford felt the firm, new snow crunch under his boots. He stepped forward carefully, keeping his eyes sharp. In his hand he held a deadly needle-gun.

Six other hunters were fanned out beside him on the field of snow. He was the leader. This was a dangerous business, and a lot depended on him.

“It’s a bad day,” said a hunter to his left. “We haven’t seen a single yang.”

“Don’t worry,” Crawford snapped. “We’ll get plenty before we’re through.”

He knew that they would. Roy Crawford had been hunting yangs on the planet Velliran for three years now. It was a rough, exciting way to make a living. You risked your life to shoot the yangs—but you could get rich that way. Yangskins made beautiful fur coats. Women back on Earth were willing to pay good money for a yangskin coat.

“There’s one now!” shouted one of the hunters.

Yes! There came a yang! Roy Crawford narrowed his eyes and stared at the lovely, deadly beast.

It was about the size of a wolf. But it had eight strange knobby-kneed legs, a mouth full of long teeth, and claws as sharp as razors. You had to watch your step when hunting yangs. A wounded yang running wild was a cruel killer.

Crawford waved to his men to fan out over the ice. They had to form a wide circle around the yang, so it could not escape. The yang’s body was covered with silky, white fur. It was hard to see the animal against the white of the snowy ground.

“Move this way, you,” Crawford called. “More to your left! Plug that hole! Hurry it along!”

He was the boss of this team. It had to be that way. Only one man could give the orders, and he was that man.

Crawford took careful aim. It was important to shoot the yang carefully through the head. Otherwise the fur might be spoiled. And if he only wounded the yang, instead of killing it, they’d all be in bad trouble.

His trigger-finger tightened—

And suddenly a blast of flame came from a needle-gun to Crawford’s right. One of the other hunters had shot first! It was a poorly aimed shot. The fiery beam hit the yang in the side.

The beast leaped high in the air. Its long claws flashed brightly in the sun. Then it fell over, lying on its back. The eight legs kicked wildly for a moment. They became still. The yang was dead.

Even at this distance, Crawford could see the big burned place in the yang’s fur. The hide was ruined. It could never be used for a fur coat.

He slammed his gun against the ground and turned around. A red haze of rage was in his eyes. Angrily he stalked toward the hunter who had fired the bad shot.

“You stupid fool!” Crawford shouted. “Who told you to shoot?”

“I thought—”

“You thought! You thought! Idiot, did you ever think anything in your life?”

The hunter was a young Earthman with yellow hair and pale blue eyes. He looked very embarrassed. He stuttered and blushed as he said, “I’m sorry, Roy, I—”

“Sorry? What good is sorry? You’re supposed to wait for orders! You shot out of turn, and you shot badly. I could smash your head in for that!”

Crawford’s hot temper boiled over. He grabbed the young hunter by the shoulder and shook him hard. Then his fist smashed out and connected solidly. Crawford was a big man, six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than the other. When Crawford swung, the man went over. He fell backward and landed on the icy ground. Blood dribbled from a cut on his lip.

Standing over him, Crawford snarled, “The next time you listen for orders! I ought to ram that gun right down your throat for wasting that yang!”

The man on the ground looked groggy and afraid. He sat up, shaking his head, and dabbed at his bloody lip. Crawford clenched his fists. He was still angry.

One of the hunters came over—a man named Bryce, who had a lean face and iron-gray hair. He was older than Crawford, and had been hunting yangs for many years. But he worked for Crawford, and so Crawford told him what to do.

Bryce said, “Go easy on him, Roy. Anybody can make a mistake.”

“He made two mistakes. He shot when he shouldn’t have. And he didn’t make a neat kill.”

“That was no reason to knock him down,” said Bryce. “It didn’t bring the yang back to life. That’s a bad habit of yours, Roy. You try to settle everything with your fists. You’re too violent.”

“Don’t preach to me, or you’ll get hit too,” Crawford said. “What do you want me to do? Get down on my knees and forgive him? He had to be taught a lesson.”

“Not that way.”

Crawford snorted and turned away. If this kind of talk went on, he might hit Bryce. He didn’t want to do that. So he walked over and picked up his gun.

Maybe it had been wrong to get so angry, he told himself. Just because these men worked for him, it didn’t mean he could knock them around.

But orders were orders. The blond kid shouldn’t have jumped the gun. Crawford had to show them he was top man here, and he had done it the quickest way—with his fists.

The man who had been knocked down got to his feet. He brushed the snow from his leggings.

“Look!” Bryce yelled. “More yangs!”

They all turned. Four big yangs were racing across the field of ice. Right away all seven of the hunters had their needle-guns aimed.

“Spread out!” Crawford told them.

They did as he said. Suddenly the pack of yangs swung around. One of them crouched and leaped through the air, claws outstretched. He was heading for old Bryce! In another minute those claws would rip the man apart!

“Shoot!” Crawford ordered.

“I’ve got him,” said the hunter Crawford had knocked down.

He fired. The hot beam shot forth and caught one of the yangs right through the head. It was a perfect shot.

“I thank you kindly,” Bryce said, as the dead yang fell harmlessly at his feet.

“Good shot,” Crawford called out. His anger was gone. The man had made up for his mistake.

The yangs were still coming. Crawford himself fired. A second yang fell dead. It was another perfect shot.

The survivors ran back and forth over the ice. They screamed and snarled, trying to kill the hunters. One of Crawford’s men had a narrow escape. Sharp claws ripped through his fur jacket. But two quick shots brought the last two yangs down.

Three of the hunters picked up the dead animals. They began to drag them toward a truck. The rest of the hunters continued to fan out over the ice, looking for more yangs.

Up here in the north was the best place to hunt yangs. They were cold-weather animals, and they lived in places where snow stayed on the ground all year round. Their bright white fur helped them hide against the background of snow. But Earthmen with sharp eyes could still see them.

“It won’t be a bad day after all,” Crawford said to Bryce. “Four yangs bagged already, and it’s still early.”

Crawford was glad that he had come to this planet. Earth didn’t hold enough adventure for him. In this year of 2411, Earth was too crowded. There were cities everywhere. All the forests and jungles had been chopped down to make room for houses.

Roy Crawford didn’t like living in a city. He wanted to breathe fresh air and see open country. He wanted real excitement. So when he was twenty-two years old, he left Earth. He bought a ticket on a starship heading for other worlds.

For three years now he had lived on the planet Velliran. It was a planet a little larger than Earth, but with fewer people. He earned his living as a hunter. There were dangers in that, but also rewards.

“Got another yang!” one of the hunters called out.