Chapter III

As the hours dragged on, Madsen sat quietly on guard, while the sick man tossed in uneasy slumber. The eternal day was comfortably warm, and eventually the watcher closed his eyes. Just for a moment, he thought drowsily, just for a nap. Head pillowed on his arm, he slept. The alien hillside was very quiet. He slept, dreaming of the long trip home, of Port Chicago, of beer, and girls, and a fistfull of credits.

When Madsen awoke, he knew instantly that something was out of key, that some subtle change in the surroundings had triggered a warning bell in his subconscious. Without any sudden move, he cast an all inclusive glance over the surrounding terrain. Morley still slept, and the scene seemed unchanged. But no! Wait! There on the fitful breeze that had sprung up, that faint sweetish smell. He sniffed, facing upwind. What the devil was it? Frowning, he stared toward the crest of the hill. There was one tree, a few rods away, that seemed different from the others. Larger, and the branches were whiplike, drooping. It looked vaguely like a weeping willow on Earth. Madsen started toward it, walking softly. As he drew nearer, the scent became stronger, and now he recognized it. Carrion! It was coming from the tree, and he was able to see the source.

The corpses of two or three scaled green lizards, and one of the lopers from the fern forest. The drooping limbs of the tree moved undulantly in the breeze, almost as if they possessed an awareness of his approach, and he noticed that they were armed with two inch thorns. He was very close now. He took another step, and then, without warning, every nerve and muscle seemed to twist and contract violently. Blacking out between two breaths, he still realized what had happened. Once before, on Ceres, he had experienced the paralyzing effect of a blaster bolt from a weapon set at high aperture.

An hour passed. Deep down in the blackness, in the solid dark, some wisp of consciousness stirred and quickened. It quested, as the black became gray. It flowered into life, Ego once again, suddenly aware of the pale warm sunlight, and an intolerable aching. He looked up at Morley and cursed.

"Why did you do it?"

"Had to." Morley's voice was a harsh whisper. "You'd have been a goner in another step or two, and I couldn't yell. That tree's deadly."

"So that's it." A pause. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you know?"

"Remembered it from a picture in Valdez' book, when I saw you walking into that--thing! Watch this."

He picked up a chunk of shale, and lobbed it into the tree. The reaction was violent and immediate. The formerly quiescent limbs whipped sinuously through the air, their thorny armament glinting in the light. Madsen felt the back of his neck tingle at the hiss of their passage. Dozens of black, hornet-like insects took wing, and buzzed angrily and aimlessly around until the agitated motion subsided and the tree sank slowly into its former somnolence.

"How does it work?" asked Madsen.

"The thorns, they're almost instantly lethal. Notice those wasps, or whatever they are?"

"Yeah."

"Well, they live in those trees, and pollinate them. They lay eggs in the game that the tree polishes off. When the larvae graduate and get their wings, they make a brief nuptial flight, and set up housekeeping in a similar tree. Other insects stay away. It's a beautiful case of highly specialized symbiosis."

"Funny, eh?"

"Not very. You might say our position is similar, to a degree. How are you feeling now?"

"A lot better, except for the ache. Your throat seems to be coming along all right, too." His eyes ranged the slope, estimating the distance to their initial resting place. "Man alive, I was lucky to be in range!"

"You were at that, Madsen. There's just one chronic bug in energy weapons, the old law of inverse squares. Short range tools, that's all."

"You said it. Say, Morley--"

"Yes?"

"Doesn't a symbiotic relationship usually refer to some type of parasitism? Sort of a put and take game, with one organism doing all the putting, and the other, all the taking?"

Can it be? thought Morley, incredulously. Honest gratitude was natural, but the idea that Madsen's granite exterior might conceal a slowly burgeoning respect--!

"Not exactly," he said carefully. "Often there is a mutual dependence, as with us. That's what I meant to say in the first place."

"Thanks. I feel, well, pretty foolish about being so careless, and holding us up. Not that I'd have gone on walking into that tree, mind you. And I'd hate to have you think of me as a human--liana, or remora, or something."

"Don't be silly. We're partners, aren't we?"

"Yeah, that's true. Morley, I--"

"Well?"

"Thanks, a lot."

"Er--that's all right. Skip it."

* * * * *

The mesa stretched to the horizon on all sides, timeless and forbidding, drowsing through the sunlit millennia. To a casual celestial voyager, it would have appeared barren of life, except for the two scarecrow figures which scrabbled in the sand in spots where a stunted, ropy vine was growing. At intervals one or the other would triumphantly dig out a baseball-sized melon like object, and wolf it hungrily, the juice dribbling over his bearded chin. The trail they had made was blurred in spots where they had fallen, light-headed with weakness. The melons helped, though their caloric count would never constitute a dietitian's dream of joy. They were food, of a sort, and more important, water. Finally one of the figures scrambled to his feet, and stared defiantly at the dim sun, higher now, but still far from the zenith.

"Let's get going," said Morley thickly.

The two men shambled silently through the knee-high grass and dwarf trees of the savannah. They didn't feel particularly hungry anymore. There was only a vaguely irritating condition of lassitude, and dizziness, and an annoying tendency of the knees to buckle uncontrollably without the slightest warning. They plodded on, weaving uncertainly from time to time. There was game here, creatures like antelope, but they maddeningly stayed well out of blaster range. Madsen had discarded everything but his pack, while Morley's weapon still hung at his hip. With seemingly irrational stubbornness, he also clung to the impedimenta he had picked up at the wreck, despite Madsen's petulant remarks about excess weight.

It seemed to Morley as if they had been traveling forever through some grassy Gehenna. It grew harder and harder for him to think in logical sequence. When he climbed painfully to his feet after a fall, he had to fight back a sudden overwhelming urge to burst into babyish tears. Madsen hardly ever fell down. It didn't seem fair, and he wished bitterly that he were more like Madsen. Still he fought on without knowing why. Another step, and another, and a thousand more, each one an individual effort to which he forced his failing muscles.

Another eternity or two passed, and suddenly Madsen staggered and sat down in his tracks. He stared resentfully at his knapsack and then peered up at Morley.

"We've still got four of those melon things. If we eat them now, we won't have to carry them. How about it?" he mumbled.

Through Morley's weariness crept a doubt as to the validity of his comrade's logic, but it seemed to be too difficult to analyze at the moment.

They ate the scanty meal in silence, and rested for an hour, half comatose. Then, somewhat refreshed, Morley levered himself slowly erect. He stirred Madsen with his toe.

"Up and at 'em, chum."

Madsen blinked at him and started to rise. He was on one knee, when suddenly, he turned his head in a listening attitude. Morley had heard the distant hum, too, and was standing stock still, an anxious frown on his gaunt face. Madsen was on the verge of scrambling to his feet, when Morley spoke.

"Don't move."

"What's the--?"

"Shut up, for God's sake. Don't stir." He was trembling, his bony features white as paper under their coating of grime. Madsen froze, wordless. Sailing through the tall grass, straight toward them, came one of the gray antelope-like creatures. It passed within twenty feet. They could see the heaving flanks, the foam on its muzzle, the rolling, terror stricken eyes. Close behind, and closing in rapidly, came the origin of the hum. It was a host of tiny iridescent flying creatures, no larger than bumblebees. They streaked by, green and crimson winged gems, the hum rising to a vicious crescendo.

The chase ended a hundred yards away. As the cloud struck, the antelope screamed, a lone cry of agony and despair. It staggered once, tried to leap forward, staggered again, was down. There was a threshing, a violent movement of the grass, then silence.