Roberts said, “There weren’t any footprints near the cache. Whatever cultivates this field must have wiped out the prints.” They turned back to the forest.
“Well,” said Hammell, “Which way?”
Roberts looked around thoughtfully. “South.”
“South it is.”
For the next hour-and-a-half, they trudged south, and had just decided to go back north when, in the distance ahead, they saw the open end of the angling track through the forest.
Simultaneously, they saw, far away and straight ahead, a low cloud of dust. Out of this, there speedily resolved a low broad frame, straddling the rows at the edge of the field, with an angled wing thrust out into the wide ditch. The frame was rushing toward them at high speed, suspended above the earth on antigravs, with the low cloud of dust rising behind it.
Hastily they looked around, took half-a-dozen steps toward the center of the field, then saw another dust cloud coming fast behind the first one, and further back, still another cloud of dust.
They whirled, looked back.
Already, the frame loomed larger. It was coming fast.
Roberts plunged toward the broad, dry ditch, rushed across the bottom of it with Hammell close behind, and scrambled up the far bank. A roaring hiss was now audible, and growing louder fast. Breathing hard, Roberts forced himself up the last of the slope into a patch of brush at the forest edge. The brush gave way before them. An instant later, the cultivator roared past.
* * *
Wind swept over them, and they looked out through a whirling cloud of dust. “That was close!”
“Sure was. But—”
Suddenly, Roberts grabbed for his sheath knife.
All around them, the brush was unfolding large leathery leaves that swung up to blot out earth and sky. At a touch, the leaves wrapped themselves around Roberts and Hammell, and clung tighter with every movement.
Roberts barely had time to reach his knife. As the leaves wrapped around him, his arms were pinned to his sides down to the elbow. The clinging velvety surface drew snug across his face, tight against his nostrils, and shut out the air. Only from the waist down was he free. He turned, felt a stem draw tight like a stretched cord, reached out with his knife, and cut it. With his free lower left arm, he tore at the big leaf across his face. At once, fresh leaves wrapped snugly around his arm and chest, pinning his arm. He sucked in desperately, bit through the leaf as it pressed into his mouth, then dragged in a breath of air that stopped as abruptly as a slammed door when a new leaf wrapped around his face.
Roberts struggled to concentrate on that sharp knife held in his right hand. He turned slowly, cutting away each stalk as it grew taut. Carefully, he stayed in the same spot, lest he bring himself within reach of fresh leaves. Meanwhile, his need for breath was growing. Already, his chest was straining in a spasmodic effort to draw in air. He cut and turned, cut and turned, then strained desperately to free his left arm. The clinging leaves, slashed loose at the base, reluctantly pulled free, and for an instant, all he could do was drag in great gasps of air.
Hammell, working the same way, managed to free himself a moment later. The two men stood breathing deeply, then cut their way out through the few remaining leaves.
“That’s the eighth time,” said Hammell heavily, “that this planet has almost killed us.”
Roberts looked around. “I know. I’ve had nightmares I liked better than this.” Behind them, clouds of dust were blowing into the forest. Atop the bank, the thicket folded its leaves, and the stalks pulled together to give the appearance of a place only sparsely overgrown and easily crossed. As the last big leaves folded out of sight, the rib cage of a large animal came into view, white and smoothly polished, just a few short steps from the edge of the clearing.
Hammell grunted. “There, but for the Grace of—”
“Don’t talk too soon. We’ve still got the forest to get through, and the ship to find.”
“That’s right.”
They found the straight wide path cut by the insects, and holding their guns warily at the ready, they started into the forest. Stretching out in front of them was a patch of devastation that stretched as far as they could see. There was no blade of grass, no tiniest small plant in sight in front of them, but only an occasional tree, stripped leafless and bare. They walked through an eerie silence between clumps of vegetation to right and left, but nothing bothered them. Nothing came near, save a small mouselike creature that blundered onto the path, looked in both directions, gave a desperate squeak, and vanished back into the undergrowth with desperate kicks of its hind legs.
* * *
After a few hours, they found where the horde of insects had first poured into view. In another hour, they found the clearing, and near one side of the clearing, the wrecked tender. The large flattened metal spheroid on its three stubby legs looked like home. They shouted, and a tall lean individual with sandy hair and electric-blue eyes looked out. This was Morrissey, the communications man.
Morrissey beamed and waved as they ran over.
Roberts called, “How are Cassetti and the others?”
“Those technicians we got in touch with the first night dropped down in a grav-skimmer and picked them up. They’ve got doctors and medicines, and they think everything will be all right. But believe me, that bunch was all business. If we hadn’t had anything to trade, it would have been no go.”
“Could they offer any help getting anybody down from Orion?”
Morrissey’s smile faded. “They said they didn’t have the equipment. They said the City has the equipment, and they’ll fight to the death before they go back to the City. What’s wrong with the City?”
Roberts and Hammell described their experiences, and Morrissey shook his head in disgust. “Then, the brains to do the repairs are one side of this forest, the equipment is on the other side, and never the twain shall meet?”
“That’s it,” said Roberts exasperatedly.
“How do we get around that?”
“I don’t know.”
Morrissey shook his head. “In time, we’ll have a ship full of corpses orbiting the planet.”
Hammell said, “Even if we somehow fix the tender, and get everybody down here, then where are we? We never wanted to get marooned on this planet. The idea of coming here was just to get some repairs done.”
Roberts nodded. “Maybe if we could talk to those technicians some more, we could work out something. Have you got the communicator working?”
Morrissey gave an odd laugh. “It’s working, all right. But it doesn’t communicate.”
Roberts frowned. “What does it do?”
“Come on inside,” said Morrissey, “maybe you can settle a problem that’s been bothering me. The question is, whether or not I’ve gone nuts.”
* * *
The communicator’s case had been removed, exposing the works, and Morrissey pointed out a timer unit between the set and the power supply.
“I put that timer in there when I started work. I wanted to check the hatches again, and be sure everything was secure before nightfall. I knew if I just started work, I’d forget everything else, so I set the timer to cut off the current and give a long loud ring.”
Roberts and Hammell nodded.
Morrissey said, “I got working on this, and saw after a few minutes that it would be no great problem to fix it—just a matter of a few connections that had jarred loose when the set was knocked to the deck. I thought what a sloppy system it was to use these pluggable connections, instead of permanent connections that couldn’t come loose. Then I thought that this was quick and convenient, though, and handy when you wanted to hook something up temporarily. Then it occurred to me I had plenty of time, and nothing to do, and for the first time in a long time I could just fool around if I wanted to. Well, I was visualizing the circuit, and the action of the different parts, and suddenly I wondered what would happen if I fed the current to an interface that’s ordinarily left unconnected in this kind of circuit. I made a few adjustments, so I wouldn’t wreck anything, and then I tried it. The next thing I knew, the timer went off.”
Roberts and Hammell looked blank.
Morrissey paused.
Roberts said “What of it?”
“I’d fallen asleep. I figured I must have been more tired than I’d realized. I checked the ship, and came back, still curious about this circuit. I reset the timer, and switched on the set. The next thing I knew, the timer was going off again, and this time I was picking myself up off the deck. Again I’d fallen asleep. This began to seem peculiar. I checked the ship, came back, cut the current to the interface way down, set the timer for ten minutes and switched on the set. Right away, I wanted to go to sleep. I wanted the worst way to sink deep asleep, sound asleep—and then the timer was going off and I came awake again.”