“Surprise, surprise!” that was Rogan. “Do we now swim ashore?”
“I don’t think that it is that deep,” answered Kimber.
“The water may come in this way during every hard storm. Switch over to the cliffs again, Les.”
The picture whizzed with a dizzy speed back to the cliff. Kimber was right, already there was a stretch of sand showing at the base of that rock escarpment. The water was draining away.
They clattered down through the quiet ship, sending out the ramp so that they could venture to the water’s swirl. A weak current swilled around the fins and the bare sand at the cliff grew wider as they watched.
The flood was not clear, and caught around the fins of the ship were huge loops of weed. Some variety of fish had been beached close to the foot of the ramp, and a scaled tail beat waves as the stranded monster fought for life. Other debris showed tantalizingly now and again as the water was sullenly sucked away from the sand.
“What the—I” Cully’s start was near to a jump. Over—over to the right! What is that?”
Something was venturing out on the still-wet sand, following the retreating line of the sea. But, what it was, none of them dared guess. Kimber ran back into the ship while the rest tried vainly to see it better. The color was queer, a pale green, hardly to be distinguished from the sea water as it scurried along on four thin legs. But the outline of its head!
“Here!” Kimber skidded down the ramp, keeping himself out of the sea by a quick grab for the rail. He carried a pair of field glasses. “Is it still there—yes, I see it!” He focused the lenses in the right direction. “Great guns!”
“What is it?” demanded Rogan, plainly doing his best to keep from snatching the glasses away from the pilot.
“Yeah,” Cully, too, was shaken out of his usual calm, “pass those along, fella! We all want a look-see!”
Dard squinted, trying to make natural sight serve as well as the lenses Kimber was now passing to Rogan. At least the thing on the sand did not appear to be alarmed either by the ship or the men watching it. Maybe it would stay in sight until he, as the very junior member of the party, had the right to use the lenses too.
It stayed, digging in the wet sand, until Cully did pass the glasses. Dard adjusted them feverishly. Having met the fungi spiders and a flying dragon, he could hardly be surprised by the weird beast he saw now. Its pale green skin was entirely hairless, nor was that skin scaled-instead it resembled to a marked degree his own smooth flesh. The creature’s head was pear-shaped with ears which were hardly more than holes and large eyes set far apart so that the range of vision was probably wider than that of any Terran animal. But that pear head ended in what could only be described as a broad, duck’s bill or hard blackish substance. And just as Dard trained the glasses upon it, it folded its hind legs neatly under it, to sit up in a doglike stance and gaze mildly across the dwindling tongue of sea straight at the star ship. Sand clung to its bill and it absent-mindedly brushed that off with a foreleg.
“Duck-dog,” Kimber named it. “Doesn’t look dangerous, does it? I’ll be–! Just look at that!”
“ ‘That’ was a short procession of more duck-dogs emerging from a dark crevice in the cliff to join the first. One of them, about three-quarters the size of the first, was the same pale green, but the three others were yellow, the exact yellow, Dart noted, of the strata in the diff. In fact, as they marched by a projection of that particular stratum, they faded from sight. Two of the yellow beasts were full grown but the third was very small. And halfway along the path it sat down, refusing to move on until one of the larger animals returned to butt it ahead.
“Family party,” suggested Dard, not daring to hold the glasses away from Kimber’s impatient reach any longer.
“But harmless,” the pilot suggested for the second time.
“Do you suppose they’d let us near them? The water’s gone down a lot.”
“Nothing like trying. Just let Jorge be ready with that ray gun, then if they do turn out to be first-class menaces, we’ll be prepared.” The communications techneer lowered himself cautiously into the flood, which was at knee level.
He detoured to avoid the floating weed and paused when be reached the fish still beating the air with a frenzied tail. Dard caught up with him at that point.
Save for a curiously flattened head and a huge, paunchy middle, the stranded fish was the first living thing they had seen here which did resemble a Terran product. It was a good five feet long and displayed murderous teeth. The powerful tail beat the receding water into froth but it was beyond hope of escape. Dard spoke impulsively:
“Can’t-can’t you shoot it? It won’t be able to get away and I think it knows that.”
“Unhuh.” That was Cully and as usual he wasted no words. He snapped the ray at that writhing head. With a last convulsion the fish flopped completely out of the water, to float with its huge belly up when it fell back.
“Maybe breakfast?” Rogan asked. “Looks a little bit like a tuna—might even taste like one. We’ll let Kordov get it and see if it’s fit for us to bury the teeth in. I could do with a steak—maybe two of them! Hello-the fireworks didn’t send our duck-dogs running. I’d say they were enjoying the show.”
Rogan was right. The duck-dog family party sat in a line along the crest of the fast drying sand ridge, appreciably closer to the ship, their attention all for the men and the now limp fish.
But, as Dard tentatively splashed another step in the direction of that sand bank, the yellow members of the clan retreated, one of them nudging the smallest one in front of it. The green ones continued to stand their ground, the half-grown one running along the water’s edge hissing. Dard stopped, the flood swishing about his legs.
Cully looped a cord about the tail of the dead fish and fastened it to the ramp rail. Perhaps overcome by the sight of so much meat, the smallest duck-dog gave a tiny whimpering cry and ran between the legs of its guardian to the water. Resignedly the larger yellow beast followed the cub, turning over the loose sand with large blunt claws of a forepaw to dig out a squirming red creature which the baby pounced upon to swallow greedily. But the green boss of the party hissed angrily at the hunter and sent both scuttling back.
Then he withdrew also, with his head turned toward the men, facing the danger represented by the Terrans bravely, hissing a stern warning. When the last of the smaller duck-dogs had dodged into the break in the cliff, he disappeared there also leaving only scuffed tracks in the sand to mark their trail. But Dard sighted the tip of a dark hill still protruding from the crack.
“It’s still watching us.”
“Wary,” mused the pilot. “Which suggests that it has enemies-enemies which may look like us. But it’s curious, too. If we ignore it—maybe—“
He was interrupted by a shout from the ship Kordov had come out on the ramp and was waving vigorously to the explorer. As the others sloshed back he pulled on the cord, reeling in the fish.
“What’s your verdict?” Hogan wanted to know when they joined him bending over their capture. “Do we eat that, or don’t we?”
“Give me but a few minutes and some aid in the laboratory and I shall have an answer to that. But this is close to Terran life. So it may be edible. And what were you watching by the cliffs—more dragons?”
“Just passing the time of day with another, breakfasting party,” Hogan told him, and went on to explain about the duck-dogs.
It was worth waiting for Kordov’s verdict, Dard thought later, as he savored the white flakes of meat, grilled under Kordov’s supervision, and portioned out to the hungry and none-too-patient crew.
“At least we can chalk old pot-belly up on our bill of fare,” observed Rogan.
“But finding this one may only be a fluke. It’s a deep-water fish and we won’t have storms to drive such ashore every day,” Kimber pointed out.
He explored his lips with his tongue and then studied the empty plastic plate he held wistfully. “We can, however, look around for another stranded one.
Cully unfolded long legs. “We’ll take out the sled now?”
“The wind has died down—I’d say it was safe. And,” the pilot turned to Kordov, “how about rousing Santee and Harmon—we’re going to need them.”