The Merchant was awake too and his steady screaming was a rumble of terror.
The Explorer called, “It’s only a native of this planet. It won’t harm you.”
But even as he spoke, the giant had swooped down and in a moment they were in its grasp being lifted closer to its monstrous ugliness.
The Merchant struggled violently and, of course, quite futilely. “Can’t you talk to it?” he yelled.
The Explorer could only shake his head. “I can’t reach it with the Projector. It won’t be listening.”
“Then blast it. Blast it down.”
“We can’t do that.” The phrase “you fool” had almost been added. The Explorer struggled to keep his self-control. They were swallowing space as the monster moved purposefully away.
“Why not?” cried the Merchant. “You can reach your blaster. I see it in plain sight. Don’t be afraid of falling.”
“It’s simpler than that. If this monster is killed, you’ll never trade with this planet. You’ll never even leave it. You probably won’t live the day out.”
“Why? Why?”
“Because this is one of the young of the species. You should know what happens when a trader kills a native young, even accidentally. What’s more, if this is the target-point, then we are on the estate of a powerful native. This might be one of his brood.”
That was how they entered their present prison. They had carefully burnt away a portion of the thick, stiff covering and it was obvious that the height from which they were suspended was a killing one.
Now, once again, the prison-cage shuddered and lifted in an upward arc. The Merchant rolled to the lower rim and startled awake. The cover lifted and light flooded in. As was the case the time before, there were two specimens of the young. They were not very different in appearance from adults of the species, reflected the Explorer, though, of course, they were considerably smaller.
A handful of reedy green stalks was stuffed between the bars. Its odor was not unpleasant but it carried clods of soil at its ends.
The Merchant drew away and said, huskily, “What are they doing?”
The Explorer said, “Trying to feed us, I should judge. At least this seems to be the native equivalent of grass.”
The cover was replaced and they were set swinging again, alone with their fodder.
IV
Slim started at the sound of footsteps and brightened when it turned out to be only Red.
He said, “No one’s around. I had my eye peeled, you bet.”
Red said, “Ssh. Look. You take this stuff and stick it in the cage. I’ve got to scoot back to the house.”
“What is it?” Slim reached reluctantly.
“Ground meat. Holy Smokes, haven’t you ever seen ground meat? That’s what you should’ve got when I sent you to the house instead of coming back with that stupid grass.”
Slim was hurt. “How’d I know they don’t eat grass. Besides, ground meat doesn’t come loose like that. It comes in cellophane and it isn’t that color.”
“Sure—in the city. Out here we grind our own and it’s always this color till its cooked.”
“You mean it isn’t cooked?” Slim drew away quickly.
Red looked disgusted. “Do you think animals eat cooked food. Come on, take it. It won’t hurt you. I tell you there isn’t much time.”
“Why? What’s doing back at the house?”
“I don’t know. Dad and your father are walking around. I think maybe they’re looking for me. Maybe the cook told them I took the meat. Anyway, we don’t want them coming here after me.”
“Didn’t you ask the cook before you took this stuff?”
“Who? That crab? Shouldn’t wonder if she only let me have a drink of water because Dad makes her. Come on. Take it.”
Slim took the large glob of meat though his skin crawled at the touch. He turned toward the barn and Red sped away in the direction from which he had come.
He slowed when he approached the two adults, took a few deep breaths to bring himself back to normal, and then carefully and nonchalantly sauntered past. (They were walking in the general direction of the barn, he noticed, but not dead on.)
He said, “Hi, Dad. Hello, sir.”
The Industrialist said, “Just a moment, Red. I have a question to ask you?”
Red turned a carefully blank face to his father. “Yes, Dad?”
“Mother tells me you were out early this morning.”
“Not real early, Dad. Just a little before breakfast.”
“She said you told her it was because you had been awakened during the night and didn’t go back to sleep.”
Red waited before answering. Should he have told Mom that?
Then he said, “Yes, sir.”
“What was it that awakened you?”
Red saw no harm in it. He said, “I don’t know, Dad. It sounded like thunder, sort of, and like a collision, sort of.”
“Could you tell where it came from?”
“It sounded like it was out by the hill.” That was truthful, and useful as well, since the direction was almost opposite that in which the barn lay.
The Industrialist looked at his guest. “I suppose it would do no harm to walk toward the hill.”
The Astronomer said, “I am ready.”
Red watched them walk away and when he turned he saw Slim peering cautiously out from among the briars of a hedge.
Red waved at him. “Come on.”
Slim stepped out and approached. “Did they say anything about the meat?”
“No. I guess they don’t know about that. They went down to the hill.”
“What for?”
“Search me. They kept asking about the noise I heard. Listen, did the animals eat the meat?”
“Well,” said Slim, cautiously, “they were sort of looking at it and smelling it or something.”
“Okay,” Red said, “I guess they’ll eat it. Holy Smokes, they’ve got to eat something. Let’s walk along toward the hill and see what Dad and your father are going to do.”
“What about the animals?”
“They’ll be all right. A fellow can’t spend all his time on them. Did you give them water?”
“Sure. They drank that.”
“See. Come on. We’ll look at them after lunch. I tell you what. We’ll bring them fruit. Anything’ll eat fruit.”
Together they trotted up the rise, Red, as usual, in the lead.
V
The Astronomer said, “You think the noise was their ship landing?”
“Don’t you think it could be?”
“If it were, they may all be dead.”
“Perhaps not.” The Industrialist frowned.
“If they have landed, and are still alive, where are they?”
“Think about that for a while.” He was still frowning.
The Astronomer said, “I don’t understand you.”
“They may not be friendly.”
“Oh, no. I’ve spoken with them. They’ve—”
“You’ve spoken with them. Call that reconnaissance. What would their next step be? Invasion?”
“But they only have one ship, sir.”
“You know that only because they say so. They might have a fleet.”
“I’ve told you about their size. They—”
“Their size would not matter, if they have handweapons that may well be superior to our artillery.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“I had this partly in mind from the first.” The Industrialist went on. “It is for that reason I agreed to see them after I received your letter. Not to agree to an unsettling and impossible trade, but to judge their real purposes. I did not count on their evading the meeting.”
He sighed. “I suppose it isn’t our fault. You are right in one thing, at any rate. The world has been at peace too long. We are losing a healthy sense of suspicion.”