"Planetary zoology must be a closed book to you,” Gunner Welk told him dourly. “If you knew any, you'd know that the aboriginal animal life of Saturn is asexual, and propagates by fission."
"Come on, we'll get the teeth out of these carcasses,” Thorn said. “It's lucky we've killed a few, for slith hunters going back to town without any teeth might arouse suspicion."
They advanced to the torn dead bodies, feeling with this first locomotion the powerful drag of Saturnian gravitation. Only the fact that that gravitation was partly neutralized by the centrifugal force of the planet's rapid spin made it tolerable to men. The space-trained muscles of the Planeteers quickly began to adjust themselves to the greater load, though they felt very slow and heavy.
With their keen knives of Earth steelite they hacked and slashed at the repulsive bodies of the sliths, digging the huge white fangs out. Those teeth, the hardest and most perdurable organic substance in the system, were in high demand on all worlds for carving into jewelry and for certain industrial processes. The system wide demand for them was responsible for the fact that slith-hunting was a profession on this world.
Dawn was rapidly filtering through the mists about them. The brief five hour night of Saturn was ending.
"Curse these cold fogs!” muttered Sual Av, his teeth chattering as he worked. “I wouldn't trade one hot, steamy swamp of Venus for all these outer worlds."
"If you liked that mud-puddle native world of yours so much, why did you leave it?” demanded Gunner.
They had the last of the teeth out, and were putting them into the pouches at their belts, when Thorn suddenly sprang to his feet, gripping his heavy atom-gun.
"Stand by, boys, and don't show any excitement,” he said in a low, rapid voice.
Through the chill, dawn-lit mists of the fungus forest toward the three comrades were coming a dozen green-faced Saturnians, all heavily armed.
CHAPTER XI
Secret Police
John Thorn perceived that the approaching Saturnians were slith-hunters. They were a rough-looking crew, wearing stained leather and carrying heavy atom-guns. In their lead was a hulking man of middle age who hailed the Planeteers in a bull voice.
"What luck, friends?” he called jovially. “I see you've got a few sliths, at least."
"A few is right,” John Thorn answered ruefully. “We've been roaming the fungi for days, and these are the first teeth we've got."
Thorn was careful to speak with the heavy Saturnian accent. The language of all the system's peoples is the same, since all are descended from the original colonizing Earth stock. But each world has developed its characteristic accent.
Sual Av and Gunner Welk had risen to their feet. They stood, casually wiping the gray blood of the slain sliths from their leather jackets as the Saturnians came up.
"I'm Kribo,” announced the hulking leader of the newcomers in his bull voice. “I thought I knew all the hunters in these parts, but you lads are new."
Thorn nodded. “We came down here from Karies, figuring the hunting might be better here. Instead, it's worse."
Kribo nodded his big head in emphatic agreement. “Aye, it's getting so a hunter can't make a living in these parts,” he boomed. “Too near Saturnopolis, I guess."
He slapped a bulging pouch at his belt. “Anyway, we've made a fair haul of teeth and we're on our way back to Saturnopolis. Wanta lift in our rocket-plane?"
John Thorn's pulses leaped at the offer. Here was a quick way to get into the Saturnian capital in company that would nullify, suspicion. But he frowned doubtfully, and looked questioningly at the other two Planeteers beside him.
"What about it?” he asked them. “Shall we pull out of these forests with what few teeth we have?"
"I say yes,” growled Gunner Welk disgustedly, in Saturnian accents. “This section isn't as good hunting as where we came from."
Sual Av nodded his agreement. “I want to see a few lights and get a few drinks, after two weeks like we've had."
"Ho, ho!” guffawed the hulking Kribo. “Don't be so down-hearted about your bad luck, lads. It'll change soon, sure."
The disguised Planeteers trudged through the towering fungi with their new-found friends. Thorn and his two comrades had to exert all their strength to keep from showing the dragging, leaden effect of the Saturnian gravitation upon them.
The wan, sickly day of Saturn had come. The little, far-off disk of the sun was rising rapidly to cast its thin, feeble rays upon the looming gray fungi and spongy gray mosses. Across the dusky sky, the incredible arc of the rings soared stupendously. The usual cold morning rain was dripping from the mists by the time they reached the rocket-plane.
Kribo's vehicle proved an ancient, battered one whose glassite windows were cracked and whose inertrum power-chamber had been strained, and crudely reinforced with chromaloy bands.
As they piled into the tubular body, Thorn hoped fervently that that power-chamber would not choose to let go at this particular time.
Kribo started the antique machine, and it lurched crazily up from the fungus forest into the rainy mists. The Saturnian turned to Thorn with a large, ostentatious air.
"I suppose you're wondering where a slith-hunter got money enough to buy a fine rocket-plane like this,” he boomed to Thorn over the irregular roar of defective tubes. “The fact is that me and my boys here own it together."
"It's a fine machine,” Thorn said admiringly. “I always hoped to own one. But times are hard for a hunter."
"Aye, and getting harder,” growled the hulking Saturnian. “Since this war-scare cut off all trade with the inner worlds, the price of teeth has gone down almost to nothing. When the war really starts, our market will be gone altogether."
A youthful Saturnian behind them spoke up, his face flushed with patriotic ardor.
"You forget, Kribe, that once we have conquered the Inner Alliance and have access to the rich resources of those worlds, we'll all be prosperous. The Chairman has said so, hasn't he? And the Chairman is always right."
"Oh, sure, the Chairman is always right,” hastily boomed Kribo, with a doubtful glance at the Planeteers.
It was the slogan of the four League worlds, Thorn knew, the formula that Haskell Trask, the dictator, had impressed almost hypnotically upon his followers. Everyone in the rocketplane, to show his patriotism, hastened to repeat it.
"The Chairman is always right,” they chorused together, the Planeteers joining in.
Sual Av choked over a sneeze that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and Thorn shot the disguised Venusian a furious glance.
Thorn guessed after a little while that they were approaching Saturnopolis. The city was not yet visible through the misty rain, but below them now lay vast cultivated groves of the queer fungus-fruits developed on this world. Many workers could be seen down there, toiling and plodding through the cold, dripping rain.
Saturnopolis came into sight, low on the distant horizon ahead. Underneath the dusky daylight sky, framed by the colossal shining arch of the rings, the metropolis showed as a great mass of low black structures. A square, terraced black fortress rose near the center of the city, vague and distant in the mists.
John Thorn's hands clenched as he glimpsed, miles north of the capital, the huge expanse of an enormous spaceport. He could make out rows of hundreds on hundreds of battle cruisers parked there, and others landing or taking off. That hive of swarming activity, he knew, was the main base at which most of the ships of the League navies were gathering for the coming attack on the Alliance.
Kribo had followed Thorn's intent gaze. The booming voice of the hunter startled the disguised young Earthman.