Yes, sir, Captain Tracy.
The Outsiders’ ships had come in waves like the ocean waves on an endless beach. The skies had been filled with the great golden ships. You could hate the Outsiders, You could hate their lovely ships that were larger, more beautiful than the WG ships. You could hate them for their tall upright bodies and their golden hair and shining blue and green eyes, for the red hair and brown eyes, for the beauty that was in all of them, down to the darkest of the brunettes. You could hate them for being what you might have become in enough time.
Trace heard a groan escape his lips and he stirred again. The dinghy was sweltering; he had forgotten to set the air conditioner when he moved the night before. He was thinking of the Outsiders when he moved from the seat for water. They had conquered everything that plagued man; they had no disease, no death, no unnameable desires. It was as if they had climbed continuous stairs and were nearing the top while man was only then beginning to suspect that the evolutionary ladder continued upward far beyond the point that Earthmen already had reached. Yet the Outsiders were willing to risk all that they had gained, willing to risk warfare with the powerful WG forces, not for anything material for themselves, so far as Trace had been able to learn, but merely because they had promised to come to the aid of the peoples of Mellic if such aid ever should be requested.
He didn’t believe it. They would gain something for themselves; no one risked anything at all without the thought of some gain to make the risk worth taking. He wondered what had happened at the conferences since he had left Mellic in pursuit of the robot. He hoped war had not been declared yet, not until he was back and able to get Lar away from Mellic. That would be the first place the Fleet would hit, he knew, and they would hit it with all the fire power they had ― fusion bombs, lasers, probably even the ultimate weapon yet to be devised by man, Inacred, the infinite atmospheric chain reaction device. This had been used only once, as a test and a demonstration, and it had worked beautifully. The WG government would not hesitate to use it, however, against a planet that had called in powers as great as, or greater than, its own. Mellic would die.
But the conference would take years, decades even before that happened. The WG government knew how to prolong conferences that went badly. Trace measured out the water and touched it to his lips and tongue, and then with shaking hands tilted the plastic cup and finished it. He had to have more; his tongue was thick, his lips cracking deeper and deeper. The anti-fever capsules were helping, but he was dehydrating anyway. He took another measure of the water and sat down on the floor with it, this time deliberating over it, making each mouthful last a long time before he swallowed it. He should eat, and knew he couldn’t, not yet. He had never ached so much in his life as he did then, each muscle on fire, his skin sore, flayed by sand, raw; his eyes burned and felt gritty and his whole body was crusted over with grime, sweat, and sand.
He had to get up and go out, he had to find the dinghy, had to fortify the valley. He could not move then. He finished the water and licked the drops from the inside of the plastic. He would rest a little while and then go out. He had to rest first. Painfully he leaned back against the storage unit, the metal feeling cool to his hot face, and he let his eyes close again.
Eleven
Later the shrieks of the wind caused him to stir, but there was no comprehension on his face, no awareness in his eyes and he simply hauled himself to the seat-bed and collapsed. Still later, when all was quiet again, he got up and drank, sparingly, remembering that he had to conserve the water, not questioning why. He slept through the morning wind storm.
He awakened hungry. For a long moment the thought of the wasted day nagged him, but he shrugged it away. He had needed the rest more than anything else. His body was still sore, but without the intensity of the day before, and he could use his arm now. A spreading discoloration covered his entire shoulder, but the scrape was healing over, as were the various cuts and scratches that seemed to be all over him. He was a healthy animal; his body had needed time and had taken it, and now he was nearly as well as ever. There was no more fever that morning. Exertion probably would bring it back again; it would be even worse the next time, but he had a day or several days of grace before then, several days in which to do the things he had to do.
He ate a tube of fruit mixture, and after it a high-protein compound that was labelled ‘Meat’. It tasted mellow, and had a tendency to line his tongue and mouth, but it left him feeling stronger, ready to start the day’s work. It was too hot to go out yet; it didn’t matter, there were things to do inside the dinghy ― his suit to be repaired, a map to be made so he wouldn’t get lost again and have to run the gauntlet of flying debris. He had to set up his warning system, just in case the robot managed to get to him before he expected it. He felt a start of surprise that two of his six days were already gone. He could expect three more full days, and company on the fourth. He had less than two quarts of water left.
He could leave as soon as the wind died down the next morning, find a piece of shade somewhere for the three hours of midday, and resume his search when the shadows started to form. He considered the plan and accepted it reluctantly.
He didn’t like travelling far from the dinghy… What if the fever returned? What if the robot arrived while he was gone? He knew he was groping for excuses, and he forced himself to stop. He would walk for three hours, rest in the shade for three more, search again and return to the valley before the evening winds made it impossible. That decided, he knew he would not go beyond the valley until the next morning; he would keep this afternoon free to explore it, examine the various entrances to it, and see if plugging them would be possible. If they were all as well concealed as the chimney the dinghy was in, he had nothing to worry about; the robot would not be able to get to him directly, but would have to burn down the walls of the cliffs themselves.
Suddenly he cursed himself for a fool. He could take the dinghy out for the search, cover the entire area in one day, using the radiation detector. Excitement buoyed him. He would find the other dinghy tomorrow. He couldn’t miss it in so limited an area. Once he had the trail of radiation to follow, it would lead him directly to the place where the shield concealed the other lifeboat. Then he would have water, fuel, oxygen.
He would refuel his own dinghy, take the water and oxygen, destroy the other dinghy. He laughed in relief at the simplicity of his plan and its infallibility. A map first, then he would go out, start the hunt that afternoon, perhaps even complete the search before evening.
The automatic camera had been on when he hovered over the valley looking for the area where he first had seen the robot; he took the photographs out and spread them flat, joining them to each other to make a composite picture of an area of twenty-five square miles. If only he had mapped it on landing. There had seemed to be no need then; he had known the relief ship would map the entire planet as a matter of routine. He studied the area he had to cover, put the copier on it and awaited for the composite photograph to emerge. If only he had brought weapons…
Analysis shows no water, no life of any type…
Okay, dump the armaments and take extra water from the other dinghies, might as well be comfortable down there.
Sure, Trace… This one’s hit, no water… Three extra bags, that’s about it…
The ship shuddered violently as more of the controls went out, and Trace pulled the final switch, cutting off the engines completely. Only the lights from the dinghy were there; the patrol ship was ghostly in the pale light coming from the little craft.