MacIntyre, a savage expression on his face, came down with both heels on a thing like a length of dull-green two-inch rope. Connely realized with a start that this was a snake, about four feet long. Just as he realized this, he felt a sensation much as if a feather pillow had been tossed lightly against his back. Something clattered to the floor. There was a scuffling behind him, and, across the control room, the familiar yellow warning light began to flash. Connely turned, to see the IntruGrab’s metal arms snatch up a gray-cloaked and hooded figure, which vanished in midair before it reached the globe. Just then, there was a grunt from MacIntyre, and the green snake went flying past Connely down the corridor. Three of the IntruGrab’s metal arms grabbed the snake before it hit the floor, and stuffed it into the globe.
A flicker of reflected light caught Connely’s attention, and he saw lying in the corridor another dagger just like the one that he had found earlier. This one, however, was not broken. Connely looked around for the thing that had caused the sensation of a pillow hitting his back, and then remembered that he was wearing a new item of equipment called “reflex clothing.” This, like the IntruGrab, had been forced on him by MacIntyre, who firmly believed in new and modern equipment—the newer and more modern, the better.
Connely put his fist out, and punched himself in the stomach. His clothing stiffened as he hit it, distributing the force of the blow so that he felt only a light push over the front of his body. The fabric of his sleeve, however, also stiffened, to drag back against his arm, so that he found it impossible to strike as quickly as he intended. It occurred to Connely that it would be a good thing if he never had to move fast while wearing “reflex clothing.”
MacIntyre was by now looking down the corridor, massaging his throat. “That snake,” he said, “was a constrictor. Did you have any snakes or snakes’ eggs in the storeroom?”
“No,” said Connely. “And I didn’t have any daggers or hooded men in the storeroom, either.” He described what had happened, and MacIntyre scowled.
“Maybe there was something to what Barnes said, after all.”
“Yes, and it explains why he didn’t try to say just what the trouble was. How would he describe this?”
* * *
Connely went into the control room, and, just in case there should be large-scale trouble outside, he pushed down the lever that put the battle-computer in control of the ship. He was thinking as he did this that a planet as backward as this one appeared to be probably couldn’t endanger the ship itself, and probably he and MacIntyre would know in time if it happened. But it was best to be on the safe side.
As soon as the lever was pushed all the way down, however, the gravitors gave a howling whine, the accelerometer needle whipped around its dial, and the scene on the outside viewscreen jumped backwards and melted into a blur.
The communications screen cut into the battle-control circuit, and lit up to show the green image of the ship hurtling toward a blocky turreted structure like a medieval castle. From this structure, the battle screen showed peculiar wavy lines and ghostly whitish blurs moving out toward the ship. From the ship, in turn, a set of yellow missile tracks, and dazzling bolts from fusion guns slammed out at the massive structure. As the ship flashed past, Connely quickly reset the viewscreen. He saw walls and towers erupt in boiling clouds of dirt and masonry. The ship now flipped end-for-end, with a tortured whine from the gravitors, raced back, and hit the remains of the structure a second time on the way past. The ship then landed, in almost the same spot where they had set down originally.
Connely, dumbfounded, looked at MacIntyre. MacIntyre pulled his jaw shut, and glanced at Connely with a blank expression. Connely shook his head, studied the viewscreen, and was rewarded by the sight of an empty expanse of grassland. Thinking it might be possible to get a better view from one of the ship’s upper turrets, Connely went up a ladder, and slid back the armor plating from the transparent dome.
A thing about eighty feet long, with teeth as big as elephant’s tusks, sprang at the ship. A snake shaped like a boa constrictor, and about the size of a sea serpent, thrust its snout at Connely like a battering ram. Connely almost fell down the ladder in his haste to get out of the turret. He only barely had the presence of mind to hit the switch that would throw the armor back over the turret. He sprang to the controls, and then it dawned on him that the battle-computer would long since have finished off any such things as he had seen. And if it hadn’t, the sheer weight of the blows would be knocking the ship around by this time.
He glanced at the viewscreen and saw merely the empty expanse of grassland. He stared at this a moment, then went back up the ladder and pulled the armor away from the turret again. The ground outside was now acrawl with waves of spiders the size of a man’s hand, that climbed up on the ship and began to spin a web of white strands from ship to ground, fastening the ship down with a thick white membrane that grew thicker and tougher as he watched.
Connely automatically reached for the hand controls of the fusion gun in the turret, and then paused. He climbed down, and readjusted the viewscreen, which showed him the same view of empty grassland. He climbed up and looked out the turret. He saw big whitish sheets and cables now covering the ship, and being drawn taut by other cables that ran off to the side. As he watched, the hull of the ship began to warp and buckle.
Connely dropped down the ladder and sprang to the viewscreen. There was nothing but empty grassland. He realized suddenly that there had been no feeling of motion, and no sound from the plates of the ship. If the ship were being squeezed like that, there would be movement, and loud creaks and groanings from the bending metal.
MacIntyre, who’d been watching with growing amazement as Connely hurtled up and down the ladder, said abruptly, “No offense, Con, but would you mind telling me what the devil you’re doing?”
“Go up to the turret and take a look,” said Connely.
MacIntyre grunted and went up the ladder. An instant later, his voice carried down from above, and he shot down the ladder to make a flying jump for the control board.
Connely leaned casually against a bulkhead in the control room, and watched as MacIntyre grabbed at the controls, then froze halfway, and stared at the viewscreen. He shifted views several times, then glanced at Connely, turned and went back to the ladder. While he was up there, Connely walked back into the corridor to see if the second knife that had been thrown at him was still there. He found it lying where he had seen it before, and noted again that it was a very narrow-bladed knife, apparently balanced especially for throwing, and designed to penetrate flesh with the slightest effort.
There was a faint hum as the armor slid back over the turret. Then MacIntyre was standing beside Connely, who straightened up from the knife, and said, “The more I see of this planet, Mac, the more I have to agree with Barnes.”
“Yes,” said MacIntyre. “Me, too. And speaking of Barnes, I wonder where he landed?”
“I don’t know,” said Connely, “but we ought to be able to find his ship. And we might just as well start looking now.”
MacIntyre nodded. His face had an unusually thoughtful expression as they walked back into the control room, and Connely lifted ship.
* * *
Once they had a reasonable altitude, Connely released several probes that flashed away on predetermined courses. As the ship streaked north, more probes dropped out. A little over an hour had gone by when a red light lit up on a small panel, to show that Probe 6 had spotted something that matched the taped description of Barnes’ ship. Connely sent out the signal to recall the others, and then studied on a small auxiliary screen the image sent back by Probe 6.
The country where Barnes’ ship had set down was rolling grassland, much like the place where Connely had landed. Here, too, there was a village a few dozen miles away, which suggested that Barnes, like Connely, had hoped to take a quiet look at the people of the planet but didn’t want to frighten them away, or make a sudden dramatic appearance that would upset their lives. Connely smiled sourly at this last thought. The native inhabitants of this planet were apparently well able to take care of themselves.