Philip Dick - The Science Fiction Anthology

I walked to the edge of the water and shook hands with Inverness and Brady; with Tipene I exchanged bows.

“I am sorry,” said Inverness, “that I am facing you with what will, undoubtedly, be a monotonous and wearying vigil, for we shall probably be gone several weeks.” He referred, I must explain, to a period of seven Earth days, a common unit of time on Earth.

“We’ll make the best of it,” I said, thinking of Correy, and how he would rage at such a period of inaction. “The best of luck to you!”

“Thanks; we’ll remain no longer than necessary,” smiled Inverness, smiling, his shining eyes already fixed on the river ahead.

“And that will be no short time,” said the taciturn Brady. “Shall we start?”

Correy raged. I had expected that, and I was in complete sympathy with him. Routine patrol was better than being earth-fast on this barren and uninteresting ball of mud.

“Have I your permission, sir,” asked Correy on the fourth day, “to make a little tour of inspection and exploration? We might run into some fresh meat.”

“I’m not sure that would be wise. These spider creatures—”

“Pardon me, sir,” interrupted Correy eagerly, “but we could take a small landing force, armed with pistols and grenades. Even a field ray tube. Certainly we could handle anything which might turn up, then.”

“And, you rather hope that something will turn up, Mr. Correy?”

Correy grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

“It would break the monotony, wouldn’t it, sir? And, too, if anything should happen to them”—and he glanced up the river, in the direction taken by the three scientists—”we’d know something about what we had to contend with, wouldn’t we?”

I’m not sure whether it was Correy’s argument or my own venturesome disposition which swayed me, but immediately after lunch Correy and I, with a picked crew of men, started out from the ship.

Up until that time, we had confined our activities to the area between the ship and the shore—a small enough space at best. Now we rounded the shining blunt bow of the Ertak and headed inland, Correy and myself in the lead, the two portable disintegrator ray-men immediately behind us, and the four other men of the party flanking the ray operators, two on each side.

It was hot, but the air was dry and invigorating. There was not a cloud visible in the sky. Far ahead was a low line of bluish, fronded, vegetation; whether small trees or some fern-like undergrowth, we could not determine. The ground between the ship and the line of vegetation was almost completely barren, the only growth being a lichenous sort of vegetation, gray-green in color.

Here and there on the ground were the imprints of sharp, split hoofs, and Correy pointed these out to me with the comment that one of the guards had reported seeing a number of slender-legged animals roaming here in the star-light, apparently seeking water, but frightened by the strange apparition of our ship.

“From the way he described them, they’re something like the deer we used to have on Earth,” he said. “I’ve seen the fossils in the museums, and they had little sharp, split hoofs like—”

One of the men behind us shouted a warning at that instant, and we both whirled in our tracks. My eyes fell instantly upon one of the strangest and most fearsome sights I have ever seen—and I have explored many strange and terrible worlds.

To our left, a huge circular section of the earth had lifted, and was swinging back on a hinge of glistening white fibers; a disk as great in diameter as the height of a man, and as thick as a man’s body.

Where the disk had been, gaped a tunnel slanting down into the earth, and lined with the same glistening white fibers which covered the bottom of the disk, and hinged it in place. As I looked, there sprang from this tunnel a thing which I shall call a spider, yet which was too monstrous to be called by such an innocuous name.

It was rust red in color, with eight bristling legs, each tipped with three curved and tufted claws. On each side of its face was an armored mandible, tipped with shining fangs, and beside them, slender, six-jointed palps stretched hungrily.

The man who had seen the disk fly up opened fire without orders, and if he had not done so, some of us would not have returned to the ship. As it was, the atomic pistol whispered a steady stream of death which spattered the hairy body into an oozing pulp while it was still in mid-air. We leaped away, adding our fire to that of the alert guard who had first seen the apparition, and the spider, a twitching bundle of bespattered legs, fell on the spot where, an instant before, we had been.

Almost at the same instant two other great circular trap-doors swung up, just beyond the first, and their hairy, malignant occupants leaped toward us.

Our pistols were ready, now, however, and the portable ray equipment was humming. The ray dissolved the first into a sifting of reddish dust, and our pistols slashed the other into ribbons.

“Back to the ship!” I shouted. “Look, Mr. Correy—there are hundreds of them!”

Before us score upon score of the great disks were lifting, and from the tunnel each revealed, monstrous rust-red bodies were pouring.

Our retreat covered by the two ray operators, we made our way swiftly to the ship. The great spiders, apparently alarmed by the magical disappearance of those of their comrades upon which the disintegrator ray rested, hesitated for a moment, their tremendous legs tensed, and their mandibles quivering with venomous anger, and then scuttled back into their holes, swinging their covers into place as they did so.

“We didn’t do so badly, at that,” grinned Correy rather breathlessly, as we gained the welcome shelter of the Ertak . “There are a score and more of those potlids still standing open—which means that many spiders didn’t go back to tell about what happened to them.”

“True—but had they waited until they could have surrounded us, the Ertak would have been short-handed on the return trip. She would have been just two officers and six men short.”

I have never seen a real expression of fear on Correy’s face, but I came as close to it then as I ever did.

“They’re tough customers,” he said. “I never did like spiders, and I like them less, now. Those things stood half again as high as a man on their long legs, and could jump half the length of the ship.”

“Hardly that,” I said. “But I’ll say this: if they’re the gentry Inverness and the other two are investigating, they’re welcome to their jobs!”

There wasn’t any difficulty in keeping the men close to the ship after that, although waiting was a tedious and nerve-racking procedure.

We watched the spider-infested territory closely, however, and found that they fed at night upon the deer-like creatures Correy had mentioned. These unwary beasts, seeking water, were pounced upon the instant they came close to one of the hidden dens, and dragged swiftly out of sight. These observations were made by television, and Correy in particular would sit up half the night watching the creatures at work.

It was the second day of the fourth week that the sentry on duty called out that the boat was returning. We hastened down to the river to welcome them back, and I for one felt very much relieved.

But as the boat approached, I felt my fears returning, for there was only one man visible: Tipene.

The Zenian, bedraggled and weary, had lost or discarded the protective suit he had worn, and his lean, dark face was haggard.

“We leave immediately, Commander Hanson,” he said as he disembarked. “Please give the necessary orders.”