“Pity we ain’t got a hamster with us to try it on. But we can take some back. Iffen they’re good,” Harmon swallowed visibly, “we can have us some real eatin’! Needn’t let the critters take ‘em all. The fella what lived here, I bet he set a store by them there things. Golden apples, yeah, that’s jus’ what they be. But they ain’t gonna run away, and me, I’d kinda like to see the house and barns.”
The house and barns, if those were the correct designations for the domes, were half buried in twisting vines and rank growth. When they broke their way through to what must have been the front door of the largest dome, Cully let out his breath in a low whistle.
“Fight here. This door was smashed in from the outside.”
Dard, accustomed to the violence of the raiding parties of Pax, noted the broken scraps of metal on the portal and agreed. They edged into a scene of desolation. The place had been looted long ago, tough grass grew through a crack in the wall, and the litter underfoot went to powder when their boots touched it. Dard picked up a shred of golden glass which held a fairy tracery of white pattern. Rut there was nothing whole left.
“Raiding party, all right,” Harmon agreed, conditioned by his Terran past. “Could be that they had them some Peacemen here too. But it was a long time ago. We’d better let Kordov and the brains prospect around in here. Maybe they can learn what really happened. Wonder if the barn took a beatin’.”
But what they did discover in the larger of the two remaining domes brought a steady stream of curses from Harmon and made Dard’s skin crawl with its suggestion of wanton and horrible rapine. A line of white skeletons lay along the wall, each in what seemed a stall. Harmon tried to pick up an oddly shaped skull which went to dust in his fingers.
“Left ‘em to die of thirst and starvation!” gritted the farmer. “Knocked off the people and jus’ left the rest. They—they were worse’n Peacemen—them what did this!”
“And they must have been the winners, too,” observed Cully. “Not too pleasant to think about.”
All three started at a shout, and Dard swung his stun rifle around at the entrance of that tragic barn. What if “they” were returning? Then he forced imagination under control. This horror had occurred years ago-its perpetrators were long since dead. But had they left descendants—with the same characteristics?
Kimber came into the dome. “What’re you doing in here?” he wanted to know. “We’ve been watching you from the sled. What—what in blue blazes is this?”
“Warning left by some very nasty people,” Dard spoke up. “This farm was raided and whoever did it left the animals penned up to starve to death!”
Kimber waned slowly along that pitiful line of hones. His face was very sober indeed.
“It’s been a long time since this happened.” It appeared to Dard that the pilot was reassuring himself by that statement.
“Yeah,” Harmon agreed. “A good long time. And they ain’t bin back since. Guess we can move down here and take over, Sire. This was a good farm once, no reason why it can’t be one agin.”
5: WAR RUIN
FOR THE NEXT five days they were well occupied. An extensive exploration of the inner valley, on foot and in the air, revealed no other evidences of the former civilization. And the Terrans decided against inhabiting the farm. About those domes there dung the shreds of ancient fear and disaster, and Dard was not the only one to feel uneasy within their walls.
The tree of golden apples was one of their best finds. The hamsters relished the fruit and, so encouraged, the humans raided along with the valley’s furred and feathered inhabitants, because the globes were as good as they looked and smelled-though their intoxicating effect did not hold with the Terrans. The grain also proved to be useful, and Harmon took the risk of rousing one of the two heifer calves, carried in the ship, and feeding it in the forsaken fields where it lived and grew fat.
On the other hand a bright green berry with a purplish blush was almost fatal to a hamster and had to be shunned by the Terrans, although the hoppers and the birds gorged upon it.
Quarters were established, not outside the cliffs which walled the valley, but within them. The second day’s exploration had located a cave which led in turn to an inner system of galleries, through one of which the rivers wove a way. Habituated to such a dwelling from their years in the Cleft, they seized upon this discovery eagerly. More of the adult passengers were awakened and put to work assembling machines, laboring to make the caves into a new home which could not be easily detected. For the threat kept before them by the ruined farm was always in their minds.
Three more bodies were carried from the star ship to be interred beside Lui Skort, still encased in the boxes which had held them during the voyage. But Kordov continued to insist that they had been very lucky. There were fifteen men at work now, and ten women added their strength to harvesting the strange grain and making habitable the cave dwelling.
“Blast it!” Kimber drew out of the motor section of the sled and made a grab at thin air.
“What’s the matter?” Dard began. Then he caught sight of what had brought the pilot to the exploding point.
A hopper bounded toward the tall grass, something shiny between its front paws. Stealing again!
Dard dived, and his fingers closed about the small, frantically kicking body, while a squeak which approached a scream rent the quiet of their outdoor workshop. The boy freed his captive to nurse a bitten hand, but the hopper had also dropped the bolt it had stolen. Now it retired empty pawed into the bushes uttering impolite remarks concerning Dard’s destination and ancestry.
“Better go and have that bite looked after,” Kimber ordered with resignation as he accepted the rescued bolt.
“I don’t know what we are going to do about those little beasts. They’d carry off everything they could lug if we didn’t watch them all the time. Regular pack rats.”
Dard cradled the bitten hand in the other. “I’d like to find one of their burrows, or nests, or whatever they build to keep their loot in. It should be a regular curiosity shop.”
“If any one can—you will,” Cully spoke from the cylinder he was dismantling. “Ever notice, Sim,” he continued, “how this kid gets around? I’ll wager he could walk through the grain field and not make a sound or leave a trail another could follow. How’d you ever learn that useful trick, fella?”
Dard was sober. “The hard way, living as an outlaw. You know, those hoppers are awful pests, but I can’t help admiring them.”
Kimber snorted. “Why? Because they know what they want and go after it? They are single-minded, aren’t they? Only I wish they were a little more timid. They should be more like the duck-dogs, willing to watch us, but keeping their distance. Cut along, kid, and get that finger seen to right away. Working hours aren’t over yet.”
Dard traced Carlee Skort to where she was busy fitting up the small dispensary, a niche in the wall of the second cave, and had his bite sterilized and bandaged with plasta-skin.
“Hoppers!” She shook her head. “I don’t know what we’re going to do to discourage them. They stole Trude’s little paring knife yesterday and three spools of thread.”
He could understand her dismay over these losses. Little things, yes—but articles which could not be replaced.
“Luckily they appear to be afraid to come into the caves. So far we haven’t caught any of them inside. But they are the most persistent and accomplished thieves I have ever seen. Dard, when you go out, stop in the kitchen and pick up a lunch for your working crew. Trude should have the packets made up by now.
He obediently made his way past work gangs into the other small cave room where Trude Harmon with an assistant was setting out stacks of plastic containers. The rich scent which filled the air tickled Dard’s nose and made him very aware of hunger. It had been hours and hours since breakfast!
“Oh, it’s you,” Trude greeted him. “How many in your gang?”
“Three.”
Her lips moved, counting silently, as she apportioned the containers and set them in a carrier.
“Mind you bring those back. And don’t, don’t you dare leave them where any hoppers can put paw on them!”
“No, ma’am. Something sure smells good.”
She smiled proudly. “Those golden apples. We stewed some up into a kind of pudding. Just you wait ‘til you taste it, young man. Which reminds me—where is that queer leaf, Petra?”