Short Fiction, Poul Anderson [simple e reader .TXT] 📗

Dyann. Her clear brow wrinkled. “I fear that Ormun is offended because I left her amon’ the heathen back there. I am afraid our luck is runnin’ low.”

“And,” said Ray bleakly, “how!”

IV

They used the last sputter of flame to sit down in the wildest and remotest valley they could find. Looking out the port, Ray wondered if they hadn’t perhaps overdone it.

Beyond the little ship there was a stretch of seamed and gullied stone, a rough craggy waste sloping up toward the fang-peaked razorback ridge of the hills, weird flickering play of shadows between the looming boulders as the thin wind blew a veil of snow across the deep greenish-blue sky. Jupiter was an amber scimitar low on the northern horizon. They were near the south pole with a sprawling panorama of sharp stars around it fading out near the tiny sun. Snow lay heaped in drifts beyond the wind-scoured rocks, and the far green blink of glaciers reflected the pale heatless sunlight from the hills.

Snow⁠—well, yes, thought Ray, it was snow of a sort. All the water on Ganymede was of course solid ice. So were the carbon dioxide and ammonia. But the temperature often dropped low enough to precipitate methane or nitrogen. The moon’s atmosphere what there was of it, consisted mostly of argon, nitrogen, methane, and vapors of the frozen substances⁠—not especially breathable.

The colonists used the standard green-plant air-renewal system, obtaining extra oxygen from its compounds and water from the ice-strata, and heated their dwellings from the central atomic-energy units. Ray hoped the ship’s equipment was in working order.

There was native life out there, a few scrubby gray-leaved thickets, a frightened leaper bounding kangaroo-like into the hills. The biochemistry of Ganymede was a weird and wonderful thing which human scientists were still a long way from understanding, but it involved substances capable of absorbing heat energy directly and releasing it as needed. The carnivores lacked the secretions, obtaining them from their prey, and had given the colonists a lot of trouble because of their fondness for the generous supply of heat a human necessarily carried around with him.

“And now what do we do?” asked Ray.

Dyann’s eyes lit with a hopeful gleam. “Hunt monsters?” she suggested.

“Bah!” Urushkidan snaked his way to the small desk bolted to the cabin floor and extracted paper and pencil from the drawers. “I shall debelop an interesting aspect of unified field teory. Do not disturb me.”

Ray looked around the ship. Behind the forward cabin, which held bunks and a little cooking outfit as well as the controls, there was a larger space cluttered with assorted physical apparatus. Beyond that, he supposed, were the gyros, airplant, and misbehaving engines. “Is this a laboratory boat?” he inquired.

“Yes,” said the Martian. “I chose it because tey are always kept ready to go out for gibing field tests to new apparatus. Get me a table of elliptic integrals, please.”

“Look,” said Ray, “we’ve got to do something. The Jovians will be combing this damned moon for us, and it’s not so big that we have much chance of their not finding us before we can clean out those tubes. We’ve got to prepare an escape.”

“How?” Urushkidan fixed him with a bespectacled stare.

“Well⁠—uh⁠—well⁠—maybe get ready to flee into the hills.”

“How long would we last out tere?” The Martian turned back to his work and blew a cloud of smoke. “No, I will debote myself to te beauties of pure matematics.”

“But if they catch us, they’ll kill us!”

“Tey won’t kill me,” said Urushkidan smugly. “I am too baluable.”

“Come on, Ray,” said Dyann. “Let’s go monster-huntin.”

“Waaah!” The Earthman blew up, jumping with rage. In the low gravity, his leap cracked his head against the ceiling.

“Oh, my poor Ray!” Dyann folded him in a bear’s embrace.

“Let me go! Damn it, I want to live if you don’t!”

“Be serene,” advised Urushkidan. “Look at it from te aspect of eternity. You are one of te lower animals and your life is of no importance.”

“You octopus! You conceited windbag! If I needed any proof that Martians are inferior, you’d be it.”

“Temper, temper!” Urushkidan wagged a flexible finger at Ray. “Be objective, my friend, and if your philosophy is so deficient tat it will not prove a priori tat Martians are always right⁠—by definition⁠—ten consider te facts. Martians are beautiful. Martians habe an old and peaceful cibilisation. Eben physically, we are superior⁠—we can libe under Earth conditions but I dare you to go out on Mars witout a spacesuit. I double-dog dare you.”

“Martians,” gritted Ray, “didn’t come to Earth. Earthmen came to Mars.”

“Certainly. We had no reason to bisit Earth, but you, of course, came to Mars to admire our beauty and wisdom. Now please fetch me tat table of integrals.”

“There is nothin ve can do to help ourselves,” said Dyann, “so ve might as well go huntin. Afterward ve can make love.”

“Oh, no!” Ray grunted. “If I had that damn interstellar drive I’d get out of this hole so fast that⁠—that⁠—that⁠—”

“Yes?” asked Dyann.

“Gods of Pluto!” whispered the man. “That’s it. That’s it!”

“Get me tat table!” screamed Urushkidan.

“The drive⁠—the faster-than-light drive⁠—” Ray did a jig, bouncing from floor to wall to ceiling. “We’ve got a shipful of equipment, we’ve got the System’s only authority on the subject, we’ll build ourselves a faster-than-light engine!”

Urushkidan grumbled his way back into the lab. “I’ll get it myself, ten,” he muttered. “See if I care.”

“The engine⁠—the engine⁠—Dyann, we can escape!” Ray grabbed her by the arms and tried to shake her. “We can go home!”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You vant to leave me,” she accused. “You vant to get rid of me.”

“No, no, no, I want to save all our lives. Come on, give me a hand, we’ve got some heavy stuff to move around.”

Dyann shook her head, pouting. “No,” she said. “You don’t love me. I won’t help you.”

“Oh, Lord! Look, Dyann, I love you, I adore you, I worship at your feet. But give me a hand.”

Dyann brightened considerably, but said