Robert Sheckley - Citizen in Spase. Stories / Гражданин в Космосе. Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“With onions,” Paxton said, starting into the cave. He jumped back abruptly. “What’s that?”

A few feet from the mouth of the cave was a small roast beef, still steaming hot, four large diamonds, and a bottle of whiskey.

“That’s odd,” Stellman said. “And a trifle unnerving.”

Paxton bent down to examine a diamond. Herrera pulled him back.

“Might be booby-trapped. [14] Might be booby-trapped. – Может быть заминировано. ”

“There aren’t any wires,” Paxton said.

Herrera stared at the roast beef, the diamonds, the bottle of whiskey. He looked very unhappy.

“I don’t trust this,” he said.

“Maybe there are natives here,” Stellman said. “Very timid ones. This might be their goodwill offering.”

“Sure,” Herrera said. “They sent to Terra for a bottle of Old Space Ranger just for us.”

“What are we going to do?” Paxton asked.

“Stand clear,” Herrera said. “Move ’way back.” He broke off a long branch from a nearby tree and poked gingerly at the diamonds.

“Nothing’s happening,” Paxton said.

The long grass Herrera was standing on whipped tightly around his ankles. The ground beneath him surged, broke into a neat disk fifteen feet in diameter and, trailing root-ends, began to lift itself into the air. Herrera tried to jump free, but the grass held him like a thousand green tentacles.

“Hang on!” Paxton yelled idiotically, rushed forward and grabbed a corner of the rising disk of earth. It dipped steeply, stopped for a moment, and began to rise again. By then Herrera had his knife out, and was slashing the grass around his ankles. Stellman came unfrozen when he saw Paxton rising past his head.

Stellman seized him by the ankles, arresting the flight of the disk once more. Herrera wrenched one foot free and threw himself over the edge. The other ankle was held for a moment, then the tough grass parted under his weight. He dropped headfirst to the ground, at the last moment ducking his head and landing on his shoulders. Paxton let go of the disk and fell, landing on Stellman’s stomach.

The disk of earth, with its cargo of roast beef, whiskey and diamonds, continued to rise until it was out of sight.

The sun had set. Without speaking, the three men entered their cave, blasters drawn. They built a roaring fire at the mouth and moved back into the cave’s interior.

“We’ll guard in shifts tonight,” Herrera said.

Paxton and Stellman nodded.

Herrera said, “I think you’re right, Paxton. We’ve stayed here long enough.”

“Too long,” Paxton said.

Herrera shrugged his shoulders. “As soon as it’s light, we return to the ship and get out of here.”

“If,” Stellman said, “we are able to reach the ship.”

Drog was quite discouraged. With a sinking heart he had watched the premature springing of his trap, the struggle, and the escape of the Mirash. It had been such a splendid Mirash, too. The biggest of the three!

He knew now what he had done wrong. In his eagerness, he had overbaited his trap. Just the minerals would have been suffifcient, for Mirash were notoriously mineral-tropic. But no, he had to improve on pioneer methods, he had to use food stimuli as well. No wonder they had reacted suspiciously, with their senses so overburdened.

Now they were enraged, alert, and decidedly dangerous.

And a thoroughly aroused Mirash was one of the most fearsome sights in the Galaxy.

Drog felt very much alone as Elbonai’s twin moons rose in the western sky. He could see the Mirash campfire blazing in the mouth of their cave. And by direct perception he could see the Mirash crouched within, every sense alert, weapons ready.

Was a Mirash hide really worth all this trouble?

Drog decided that he would much rather be floating at the five-thousand-foot level, sculpturing cloud formations and dreaming. He wanted to sop up radiation instead of eating nasty old solid food. And what use was all this hunting and trapping, anyhow? Worthless skills that his people had outgrown.

For a moment he almost had himself convinced. And then, in a flash of pure perception, he understood what it was all about.

True, the Elbonaians had outgrown their competition, developed past all danger of competition. But the Universe was wide, and capable of many surprises. Who could foresee what would come, what new dangers the race might have to face? And how could they meet them if the hunting instinct was lost?

No, the old ways had to be preserved, to serve as patterns; as reminders that peaceable, intelligent life was an unstable entity in an unfriendly Universe.

He was going to get that Mirash hide, or die trying!

The most important thing was to get them out of that cave. Now his hunting knowledge had returned to him.

Quickly, skillfully, he shaped a Mirash horn.

“Did you hear that?” Paxton asked.

“I thought I heard something,” Stellman said, and they all listened intently.

The sound came again. It was a voice crying, “Oh, help, help me!”

“It’s a girl!” Paxton jumped to his feet.

“It sounds like a girl,” Stellman said.

“Please, help me,” the girl’s voice wailed. “I can’t hold out much longer. Is there anyone who can help me?”

Blood rushed to Paxton’s face. In a flash he saw her, small, exquisite, standing beside her wrecked sports-spacer (what a foolhardy trip it had been!) with monsters, green and slimy, closing in on her. And then he arrived, a foul alien beast.

Paxton picked up a spare blaster. “I’m going out there,” he said coolly.

“Sit down, you moron!” Herrera ordered.

“But you heard her, didn’t you?”

“That can’t be a girl,” Herrera said. “What would a girl be doing on this planet?”

“I’m going to find out,” Paxton said, brandishing two blasters. “Maybe a spaceliner crashed, or she could have been out joy-riding, and —”

“Siddown!” Herrera yelled.

“He’s right,” Stellman tried to reason with Paxton. “Even if a girl is out there, which I doubt, there’s nothing we can do.”

“Oh, help, help, it’s coming after me!” the girl’s voice screamed.

“Get out of my way,” Paxton said, his voice low and dangerous.

“You’re really going?” Herrera asked incredulously.

“Yes! Are you going to stop me?”

“Go ahead.” Herrera gestured at the entrance of the cave.

“We can’t let him!” Stellman gasped.

“Why not? His funeral,” Herrera said lazily.

“Don’t worry about me,” Paxton said. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes – with her!” He turned on his heel and started toward the entrance. Herrera leaned forward and, with considerable precision, clubbed Paxton behind the ear with a stick of firewood. Stellman caught him as he fell.

They stretched Paxton out in the rear of the cave and returned to their vigil. The lady in distress moaned and pleaded for the next five hours. Much too long, as Paxton had to agree, even for a movie serial.

A gloomy, rain-splattered daybreak found Drag still camped a hundred yards from the cave. He saw the Mirash emerge in a tight group, weapons ready, eyes watching warily for any movement.

Why had the Mirash horn failed? The Scouter Manual said it was an infallible means of attracting the bull Mirash. But perhaps this wasn’t mating season.

They were moving in the direction of a metallic ovoid which Drog recognized as a primitive spatial conveyance. It was crude, but once inside it the Mirash were safe from him.

He could simply trevest them, and that would end it. But it wouldn’t be very humane. Above all, the ancient Elbonaians had been gentle and merciful, and a Young Scouter tried to be like them. Besides, trevestment wasn’t a true pioneering method.