go down the same way we came up. There are some small cliffs over there, a kind of arch—that’s it, right!—drive into the shadow between them and stop.”
Slowly, as if with exaggerated caution, the transporter moved in between the slabs of rock half buried in sand and froze in their shadow, which would render it invisible.
“Excellent!” said Pirx almost cheerfully. “Now I need two men to go with me and do a little reconnoitering…”
McCork raised his hand at the same time as the cadet.
“Good! Now listen; you”—he turned to the others—“will remain here. Don’t move out of the shadow, even if the Setaur should come straight at you—sit quietly. Well, I guess if it walks right into the transporter, then you’ll have to defend yourselves; you have the laser. But that’s not very likely. You,” he said to the driver, “will help this young man remove those cylinders of gas from the wall, and you”—this to the radio operator—“will call Luna Base, the cosmodrome, Construction, the patrols, and tell the first who answers that it destroyed one transporter, probably belonging to Construction, and that three men from our machine have gone out to hunt it. So I don’t want anybody barging in with lasers, shooting blindly, and so on… And now let’s go!”
Since each of them could carry only one cylinder, the driver accompanied them and they took four. Pirx led his companions not to the top of the “skull,” but a little beyond, where a small, shallow ravine could be seen. They went as far as they could and set the cylinders down by a large boulder; Pirx ordered the driver to go back. He himself peered out over the surface of the boulder and trained his binoculars on the interior of the basin. McCork and the cadet crouched down beside him. After a long while he said:
“I don’t see him. Doctor, what the Setaur said, did it have any meaning?”
“I doubt it. Combinations of words—a sort of schizophrenic thing.”
“That wreck has had it,” said Pirx.
“Why did you shoot?” asked McCork. “There might have been people.”
“There wasn’t anyone.”
Pirx moved the binoculars a millimeter at a time, scrutinizing every crease and crevice of the sunlit area.
“They didn’t have time to jump.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he cut the machine in half. You can still see it. They must have practically run into him. He hit from a few dozen meters. And besides, both hatches are closed. No,” he added after a couple of seconds, “he’s not in the sun. And probably hasn’t had a chance to sneak away. We’ll try drawing him out.”
Bending over, he lifted a heavy cylinder to the top of the boulder and, shoving it into position before him, muttered between his teeth:
“A real live cowboys-and-Indians situation, the kind I always dreamed of…”
The cylinder slipped; he held it by the valves and, flattening himself out on the stones, said:
“If you see a blue flash, shoot at once—that’s his laser eye.”
With all his might he pushed the cylinder, which, at first slowly but then with increasing speed, began to roll down the slope. All three of them took aim; the cylinder had now gone about two hundred meters and was rolling more slowly, for the slope lessened. A few times it seemed that protruding rocks would bring it to a stop, but it tumbled past them and, growing smaller and smaller, now a dully shining spot, approached the bottom of the basin.
“Nothing?” said Pirx, disappointed. “Either he’s smarter than I thought, or he just isn’t interested in it, or else…”
He didn’t finish. On the slope below them there was a blinding flash. The flame almost instantly changed into a heavy, brownish-yellow cloud, at the center of which still glowed a sullen fire, and the edges spread out between the spurs of rock.
“The chlorine…” said Pirx. “Why didn’t you shoot? Couldn’t you see anything?”
“No,” replied the cadet and McCork in
Slowly, as if with exaggerated caution, the transporter moved in between the slabs of rock half buried in sand and froze in their shadow, which would render it invisible.
“Excellent!” said Pirx almost cheerfully. “Now I need two men to go with me and do a little reconnoitering…”
McCork raised his hand at the same time as the cadet.
“Good! Now listen; you”—he turned to the others—“will remain here. Don’t move out of the shadow, even if the Setaur should come straight at you—sit quietly. Well, I guess if it walks right into the transporter, then you’ll have to defend yourselves; you have the laser. But that’s not very likely. You,” he said to the driver, “will help this young man remove those cylinders of gas from the wall, and you”—this to the radio operator—“will call Luna Base, the cosmodrome, Construction, the patrols, and tell the first who answers that it destroyed one transporter, probably belonging to Construction, and that three men from our machine have gone out to hunt it. So I don’t want anybody barging in with lasers, shooting blindly, and so on… And now let’s go!”
Since each of them could carry only one cylinder, the driver accompanied them and they took four. Pirx led his companions not to the top of the “skull,” but a little beyond, where a small, shallow ravine could be seen. They went as far as they could and set the cylinders down by a large boulder; Pirx ordered the driver to go back. He himself peered out over the surface of the boulder and trained his binoculars on the interior of the basin. McCork and the cadet crouched down beside him. After a long while he said:
“I don’t see him. Doctor, what the Setaur said, did it have any meaning?”
“I doubt it. Combinations of words—a sort of schizophrenic thing.”
“That wreck has had it,” said Pirx.
“Why did you shoot?” asked McCork. “There might have been people.”
“There wasn’t anyone.”
Pirx moved the binoculars a millimeter at a time, scrutinizing every crease and crevice of the sunlit area.
“They didn’t have time to jump.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he cut the machine in half. You can still see it. They must have practically run into him. He hit from a few dozen meters. And besides, both hatches are closed. No,” he added after a couple of seconds, “he’s not in the sun. And probably hasn’t had a chance to sneak away. We’ll try drawing him out.”
Bending over, he lifted a heavy cylinder to the top of the boulder and, shoving it into position before him, muttered between his teeth:
“A real live cowboys-and-Indians situation, the kind I always dreamed of…”
The cylinder slipped; he held it by the valves and, flattening himself out on the stones, said:
“If you see a blue flash, shoot at once—that’s his laser eye.”
With all his might he pushed the cylinder, which, at first slowly but then with increasing speed, began to roll down the slope. All three of them took aim; the cylinder had now gone about two hundred meters and was rolling more slowly, for the slope lessened. A few times it seemed that protruding rocks would bring it to a stop, but it tumbled past them and, growing smaller and smaller, now a dully shining spot, approached the bottom of the basin.
“Nothing?” said Pirx, disappointed. “Either he’s smarter than I thought, or he just isn’t interested in it, or else…”
He didn’t finish. On the slope below them there was a blinding flash. The flame almost instantly changed into a heavy, brownish-yellow cloud, at the center of which still glowed a sullen fire, and the edges spread out between the spurs of rock.
“The chlorine…” said Pirx. “Why didn’t you shoot? Couldn’t you see anything?”
“No,” replied the cadet and McCork in
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