Star Ship on Saddle Mountain (13 page)
From their scattered impulses as the people went
their way, Charlie got the distinct impression from their disturbed
feelings that he had scared them. They were actually afraid, not of
him necessarily, but of what he'd said. His words had implied that
they had invaded his personal privacy, which was apparently one of
the worst things that could be done in their advanced philosophical
society. From their furtive backward glances, Charlie was becoming
aware of the importance a person's privacy held for them in this
great civilization of the Barrier World. He began at that moment to
like it a little bit.
Feeling happy over his new discovery, Charlie
watched a little longer at the door. As other aliens went past,
they seemed to make a point of paying no attention to him, and
acting as though he were not there, though he knew
from their actions that they were very much aware of his presence.
They did not stop.
the cold lighting throughout the streets outside began to dim
slowly. He watched, realizing that he didn't have any idea at all
how to turn on the lights in this house, if he needed to, as he
watched the people through the clear one-way window. Now the street
lighting outside was at a steady, low dimness. It was night in the
Capitol City.
He remembered how people marked the beginning of
night and day, in their subterranean world, and how they knew when
to go to bed, or, to take their rest period. Charlie had no idea
how long he lay there, how many hours by Earth time he had actually
slept. He awoke suddenly, sitting up, and wondered just what had
made him jump. Looking outside, he could see that the streets were
still dimly lit and deserted. Yes, he had been asleep.
Navajo wasn’t anywhere around, or kicking down any
barn door to get out, for there wasn't any barn. It was just a
dream ... a dream about Navajo.
In a sudden increasing concern Charlie jumped to
his feet. He must do something—anything, to escape, to get away and
find a way back home to Earth. He ran out onto the semi-dark and
deserted street.
slowed his trot and was about to duck out of sight, when he got a
casual greeting from the elderly man.
"You are the Primitive, young man? The Primitive
from Little Star?"
maintain order and keep the vacuums going."
"Oh, you're a—a sort of policeman?"
Though Charlie spoke the words, still the
Interplanetary language stood him in good stead, for it was the
language understandable to anybody who had a mind of his own and
the intelligence to use it.
"Well, yes, young man. Also, the past day's dust
and particles, such as these—" and he pointed about their feet.
"These must be cleared from the avenues."
Charlie looked about again, wondering where his
broom and trash cart were. The old alien smiled and showed
him.
"Hey, boy, that sure is neat!" Charlie said as the
public safety man pressed a large plate-size button set in the
street near a building.
The disc, built in the city's floor, made a
powerful cross- surface vacuum along the street to the other side,
and as Charlie watched, the surface all around was whisked clean as
the scraps and dust were sucked into the long, narrow slots
bordering the street on either side. Charlie now noticed them for
the first time, and saw that these replaced the traditional gutters
of his own world.
"Do you carry a blast gun?" Charlie asked eagerly,
"just in case there's a robbery somewhere—"
The old man was startled by the question, his eyes
wide for a moment as he looked directly at Charlie. Then he relaxed
again.
"No, son," he said finally. "I can understand now,
personally, why your Little Star is called primitive. Blast guns,
as you term them, are not necessary in our Barrier World. We long
ago learned how to live with ourselves, son. They are a symbol of
the barbarous past, something long outmoded in our life here.
I know, too, what you mean by the thought of
robbery, but there is no need for us to steal from one another.
Food, clothing, whatever we have, there is plenty, son. We treat
others as we would have them treat us."
In a flash, Charlie was about to ask why they
didn't send him back then, to his own world, but he withheld the
thought. However, it seemed the old man anticipated him
somewhat.
"You'll like our world, son. It is new to you, but
you'll like it. The timeless healer will make you understand it
some day."
even as he now watched the old man turn out of sight around the S-
curve in the street. Once more he started off, doggedly determined
to find Navajo. To find him, and somehow, also find a way to
escape. He didn't even want to consider now how he could, without
detection, manage to leave the planet Saturn and make it back to
his own world, and take Navajo, too. But he could try. No matter
how, he must get back and warn Earth of the Star Project. . . tell
them, then let them try and figure out what was so important to the
aliens to make them send regular missions all the way to
Earth.
Coming to a great plaza, a spacious circle of
low-shrubbed park and flower beds laid out like a spoke-wheel,
Charlie immediately noticed the yellow-green of the plants' leaves,
and was reminded again of the need for the Sun's cosmic rays. The
cold chemical lighting denied the chlorophyll needed by flora. He
noticed, too, the smaller birds flying beneath the man-made sky in
the great space above the park, and the larger dove-like
birds—"pink pigeons" he thought they looked like—that were all
about the plaza cooing busily as they enjoyed life in the only
world they knew.
Hopelessly wandering about the plaza, Charlie was
be- ginning to feel how aimless the search for Navajo was, how
futile to hope to find the old horse in a city that held forty
million people in its strangely beautiful underground honey- comb.
Then he stopped short in his path. He stood very still. Now he
called loudly, hopefully, his voice carrying clearly across the
great empty and dim-lit plaza, as he repeated Navajo's name again
and again in his mind. And then, on his mind's ear, he heard the
sound, a far-off whinny from Navajo. Continuing his calling,
Charlie turned, as he felt Navajo's voice to be somewhere off
behind him.
Still concentrating all his mental power, hoping
that Navajo could feel his impulses, he headed toward a large
windowless building, apparently a storehouse of some sort near the
plaza. Charlie started to run at the sound—a faint sound, but
unmistakably a sound that was Navajo.
"Nav—Navajo!" Charlie called, fighting desperately
to open the big, clumsy door. "Navajo!"
As he pounded, the old horse was doing what he had
long ago learned from Charlie to do, when a door was in his way.
Charlie yelled, even as the door swung wider.
"Okay, okay, Nav—you don't have to kick the whole
building down! It's open now, Nav."
Joyfully whinnying again, Navajo pranced about as
Charlie hugged him.
"Shhh, Nav, we gotta take it easy," and with his
words, Navajo got the idea.
"We got to be quiet, Nav. Once we make it to the
airlift elevators, then it's open country for us, where all their
space ships are. And maybe if we're lucky, we can stow away on an
empty tier, and just wait for the blast off."
With a low, short whinny, Navajo showed his
approval, and it wasn't long before they were entering one of the
big surface elevators. To make Navajo whinny and pop his ears for
relief from the change of pressure, Charlie laughed and talked to
him to get him excited, and the old horse soon realized the more he
whinnied the better he felt. Reaching the surface, Charlie was
happy to find the mist heavier than ever, and almost like a deep
fog.
"Now they won't see us, Nav. Shh, you got to take
it easy, boy! Even if you are glad to be out in open country!"
Up ahead Charlie noticed dim figures on the ramps,
climbing in and out of the cradles that held a number of the
flagships. He trailed Navajo behind him and, in a roundabout way,
they at
last reached one ship being loaded. The ramp was
down and when no one was near, Charlie quickly led Navajo aboard in
the deep shadows of the mist. High mounds of material were
everywhere about the tier, and Charlie could only hope that this
flagship was scheduled to go to Arizona, or at least, somewhere on
Earth. He and Navajo squeezed their way between the supplies and
under one of the waterproof coverings that protected the supplies
from the mist.
"We did it, Nav!" Charlie whispered. "We might go a
little bit hungry on the trip, but we'll make it home again. All
this stuff's for the lower storage deck, like on that other ship,
Nav."
Charlie talked on in a low voice, keeping Navajo
quiet. Alien men went on and off the ramp of the lowered tier,
stacking more supplies in front of them and further sealing off
their detection. "We sure are going to make it, Nav!"
Hardly had Charlie finished the excited whisper
when a furtive probing came to him. It was Dondee. Charlie was not
about to answer the impulse and maybe betray their plans for
escape. He remained silent, listening, and jumbling his thoughts as
much as possible so as not to let one get through to Dondee, even
though he did want to talk to him. They were successful so far, and
he couldn't take the chance of contacting Dondee.
"Charles—will you answer? I know you can hear me,
Charles. It's very important, for there's something I must tell
you."
Charlie bit his lip, stroking Navajo's neck all the
while, for the old horse had felt the impulse, too, even though he
couldn't understand it.
"Charles, since you will not answer, I'll tell you
anyhow. It's no further use, Charles. Everybody on the Barrier
World already knows the news. They know you're trying to escape.
But it is futile, Charles. I just wanted to let you know . . .
Charles?"
Even though Charlie realized from Dondee's word
picture that his escape was known, he remained silent. There was
still a chance, unless they searched every flagship that left. And
besides, they'd have to move a lot of the cargo around him, since
much had been loaded on after he and Navajo got aboard. No, he'd
just wait and see.
"No, Charles. They'll move it," came Dondee's
impulse to his most recent thought. "The officials are on their way
to get you and the animal—you and Navajo, Charles. They know right
where you are, even now. Just to prove they do, Charles, even I can
tell where you are. You're on one of the star ships, almost in the
center of the deck, among the supplies taken aboard for the Star
Proj—" Dondee abruptly stopped the impulse. "I mean, Charles, you
are there, on one of the dome lifters with Navajo. You're both
under the equipment covering. Now do you believe me, Charles? I'm
sorry . . ."
"Thanks . . . thanks for telling me, Dondee. I'm
sorry too, Dondee. I would have talked to you, but I couldn't risk
it first. I only wanted to get home. To my own world, Dondee."
their way, Charlie got the distinct impression from their disturbed
feelings that he had scared them. They were actually afraid, not of
him necessarily, but of what he'd said. His words had implied that
they had invaded his personal privacy, which was apparently one of
the worst things that could be done in their advanced philosophical
society. From their furtive backward glances, Charlie was becoming
aware of the importance a person's privacy held for them in this
great civilization of the Barrier World. He began at that moment to
like it a little bit.
Feeling happy over his new discovery, Charlie
watched a little longer at the door. As other aliens went past,
they seemed to make a point of paying no attention to him, and
acting as though he were not there, though he knew
from their actions that they were very much aware of his presence.
They did not stop.
Going back into the circular room
now, open though it was, he felt as if he were behind a locked
door. Seeing a broad lounge off to one side, he touched it first to
test it, then lay down, stretching himself out, face down, on it.
Heaving a deep sigh, he realized as he yawned again, that aside
from very few and brief rest periods aboard the discus ship, he had
not slept very much at all in the past days. He had slept very
little since leaving Little Star—
Earth
, he reminded
himself.
"I guess I’m even getting to think
like an alien," he said aloud to himself.
"Earth, Earth, Earth"
he whispered,
not wanting to forget anything that was connected with
home.
the cold lighting throughout the streets outside began to dim
slowly. He watched, realizing that he didn't have any idea at all
how to turn on the lights in this house, if he needed to, as he
watched the people through the clear one-way window. Now the street
lighting outside was at a steady, low dimness. It was night in the
Capitol City.
He remembered how people marked the beginning of
night and day, in their subterranean world, and how they knew when
to go to bed, or, to take their rest period. Charlie had no idea
how long he lay there, how many hours by Earth time he had actually
slept. He awoke suddenly, sitting up, and wondered just what had
made him jump. Looking outside, he could see that the streets were
still dimly lit and deserted. Yes, he had been asleep.
Navajo wasn’t anywhere around, or kicking down any
barn door to get out, for there wasn't any barn. It was just a
dream ... a dream about Navajo.
In a sudden increasing concern Charlie jumped to
his feet. He must do something—anything, to escape, to get away and
find a way back home to Earth. He ran out onto the semi-dark and
deserted street.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Trial
slowed his trot and was about to duck out of sight, when he got a
casual greeting from the elderly man.
"You are the Primitive, young man? The Primitive
from Little Star?"
Sensing the friendly tone in the
old man's curiosity, and his apparent unawareness of Charlie's
intended escape, Charlie was about to shout an answer when he
realized the man was half a block away. He
thought
his answer, instead, and
repeated his greeting as he approached the old man. Smiling, he
asked what he was doing.
maintain order and keep the vacuums going."
"Oh, you're a—a sort of policeman?"
Though Charlie spoke the words, still the
Interplanetary language stood him in good stead, for it was the
language understandable to anybody who had a mind of his own and
the intelligence to use it.
"Well, yes, young man. Also, the past day's dust
and particles, such as these—" and he pointed about their feet.
"These must be cleared from the avenues."
Charlie looked about again, wondering where his
broom and trash cart were. The old alien smiled and showed
him.
"Hey, boy, that sure is neat!" Charlie said as the
public safety man pressed a large plate-size button set in the
street near a building.
The disc, built in the city's floor, made a
powerful cross- surface vacuum along the street to the other side,
and as Charlie watched, the surface all around was whisked clean as
the scraps and dust were sucked into the long, narrow slots
bordering the street on either side. Charlie now noticed them for
the first time, and saw that these replaced the traditional gutters
of his own world.
"Do you carry a blast gun?" Charlie asked eagerly,
"just in case there's a robbery somewhere—"
The old man was startled by the question, his eyes
wide for a moment as he looked directly at Charlie. Then he relaxed
again.
"No, son," he said finally. "I can understand now,
personally, why your Little Star is called primitive. Blast guns,
as you term them, are not necessary in our Barrier World. We long
ago learned how to live with ourselves, son. They are a symbol of
the barbarous past, something long outmoded in our life here.
I know, too, what you mean by the thought of
robbery, but there is no need for us to steal from one another.
Food, clothing, whatever we have, there is plenty, son. We treat
others as we would have them treat us."
In a flash, Charlie was about to ask why they
didn't send him back then, to his own world, but he withheld the
thought. However, it seemed the old man anticipated him
somewhat.
"You'll like our world, son. It is new to you, but
you'll like it. The timeless healer will make you understand it
some day."
About to retort hotly to that
comment from the old alien, Charlie again refrained, as the man
turned and started on his way. Charlie watched him press and start
another automatic vac cleaner further down the street. He wanted to
shout to him, to tell him they could let him go, could treat him as
they would want to be treated on his world. But he thought then,
how
would
Earth
treat a stranger from somewhere out in space? Charlie well knew the
answer. His own world, if they did not destroy that stranger on
sight, would at least immediately make him a prisoner.
even as he now watched the old man turn out of sight around the S-
curve in the street. Once more he started off, doggedly determined
to find Navajo. To find him, and somehow, also find a way to
escape. He didn't even want to consider now how he could, without
detection, manage to leave the planet Saturn and make it back to
his own world, and take Navajo, too. But he could try. No matter
how, he must get back and warn Earth of the Star Project. . . tell
them, then let them try and figure out what was so important to the
aliens to make them send regular missions all the way to
Earth.
Coming to a great plaza, a spacious circle of
low-shrubbed park and flower beds laid out like a spoke-wheel,
Charlie immediately noticed the yellow-green of the plants' leaves,
and was reminded again of the need for the Sun's cosmic rays. The
cold chemical lighting denied the chlorophyll needed by flora. He
noticed, too, the smaller birds flying beneath the man-made sky in
the great space above the park, and the larger dove-like
birds—"pink pigeons" he thought they looked like—that were all
about the plaza cooing busily as they enjoyed life in the only
world they knew.
Hopelessly wandering about the plaza, Charlie was
be- ginning to feel how aimless the search for Navajo was, how
futile to hope to find the old horse in a city that held forty
million people in its strangely beautiful underground honey- comb.
Then he stopped short in his path. He stood very still. Now he
called loudly, hopefully, his voice carrying clearly across the
great empty and dim-lit plaza, as he repeated Navajo's name again
and again in his mind. And then, on his mind's ear, he heard the
sound, a far-off whinny from Navajo. Continuing his calling,
Charlie turned, as he felt Navajo's voice to be somewhere off
behind him.
Still concentrating all his mental power, hoping
that Navajo could feel his impulses, he headed toward a large
windowless building, apparently a storehouse of some sort near the
plaza. Charlie started to run at the sound—a faint sound, but
unmistakably a sound that was Navajo.
"Nav—Navajo!" Charlie called, fighting desperately
to open the big, clumsy door. "Navajo!"
As he pounded, the old horse was doing what he had
long ago learned from Charlie to do, when a door was in his way.
Charlie yelled, even as the door swung wider.
"Okay, okay, Nav—you don't have to kick the whole
building down! It's open now, Nav."
Joyfully whinnying again, Navajo pranced about as
Charlie hugged him.
"Shhh, Nav, we gotta take it easy," and with his
words, Navajo got the idea.
"We got to be quiet, Nav. Once we make it to the
airlift elevators, then it's open country for us, where all their
space ships are. And maybe if we're lucky, we can stow away on an
empty tier, and just wait for the blast off."
With a low, short whinny, Navajo showed his
approval, and it wasn't long before they were entering one of the
big surface elevators. To make Navajo whinny and pop his ears for
relief from the change of pressure, Charlie laughed and talked to
him to get him excited, and the old horse soon realized the more he
whinnied the better he felt. Reaching the surface, Charlie was
happy to find the mist heavier than ever, and almost like a deep
fog.
"Now they won't see us, Nav. Shh, you got to take
it easy, boy! Even if you are glad to be out in open country!"
Up ahead Charlie noticed dim figures on the ramps,
climbing in and out of the cradles that held a number of the
flagships. He trailed Navajo behind him and, in a roundabout way,
they at
last reached one ship being loaded. The ramp was
down and when no one was near, Charlie quickly led Navajo aboard in
the deep shadows of the mist. High mounds of material were
everywhere about the tier, and Charlie could only hope that this
flagship was scheduled to go to Arizona, or at least, somewhere on
Earth. He and Navajo squeezed their way between the supplies and
under one of the waterproof coverings that protected the supplies
from the mist.
"We did it, Nav!" Charlie whispered. "We might go a
little bit hungry on the trip, but we'll make it home again. All
this stuff's for the lower storage deck, like on that other ship,
Nav."
Charlie talked on in a low voice, keeping Navajo
quiet. Alien men went on and off the ramp of the lowered tier,
stacking more supplies in front of them and further sealing off
their detection. "We sure are going to make it, Nav!"
Hardly had Charlie finished the excited whisper
when a furtive probing came to him. It was Dondee. Charlie was not
about to answer the impulse and maybe betray their plans for
escape. He remained silent, listening, and jumbling his thoughts as
much as possible so as not to let one get through to Dondee, even
though he did want to talk to him. They were successful so far, and
he couldn't take the chance of contacting Dondee.
"Charles—will you answer? I know you can hear me,
Charles. It's very important, for there's something I must tell
you."
Charlie bit his lip, stroking Navajo's neck all the
while, for the old horse had felt the impulse, too, even though he
couldn't understand it.
"Charles, since you will not answer, I'll tell you
anyhow. It's no further use, Charles. Everybody on the Barrier
World already knows the news. They know you're trying to escape.
But it is futile, Charles. I just wanted to let you know . . .
Charles?"
Even though Charlie realized from Dondee's word
picture that his escape was known, he remained silent. There was
still a chance, unless they searched every flagship that left. And
besides, they'd have to move a lot of the cargo around him, since
much had been loaded on after he and Navajo got aboard. No, he'd
just wait and see.
"No, Charles. They'll move it," came Dondee's
impulse to his most recent thought. "The officials are on their way
to get you and the animal—you and Navajo, Charles. They know right
where you are, even now. Just to prove they do, Charles, even I can
tell where you are. You're on one of the star ships, almost in the
center of the deck, among the supplies taken aboard for the Star
Proj—" Dondee abruptly stopped the impulse. "I mean, Charles, you
are there, on one of the dome lifters with Navajo. You're both
under the equipment covering. Now do you believe me, Charles? I'm
sorry . . ."
"Thanks . . . thanks for telling me, Dondee. I'm
sorry too, Dondee. I would have talked to you, but I couldn't risk
it first. I only wanted to get home. To my own world, Dondee."
Even as he talked with the alien
boy, Charlie was aware of a commotion outside, and it was only
seconds before the cargo was being moved and angry aliens pushed
their way in between the stacks toward him. Then everything
happened fast. Navajo was taken separately, and once again Charlie
found himself "celled," but this time in a small room with no
one-way panoramic view, and the door was really locked.
Caged
, Charlie
thought,
like an animal
. No lock, no key, but a force field that kept the panel in
place so tightly that he couldn't even make it budge a little. And
the one brief impulse the guards had tossed back to him as they
went out still burned in his mind.
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