Authors: Robert A Heinlein
“Slugger, when you talk that stuff, you make it sound rational.”
“That’s because I’m always rational. How well fixed are you for groceries? I’m hungry.”
“You’re as bad as Lummox. The grub sack is over there.”
“Lunch?” inquired Lummox, hearing his name.
“Umm… Betty, I don’t want him tearing down trees, not in daylight. How long will it take them to track me down?”
“I wouldn’t count on over three days, big as this place is.”
“Well… I’ll hold back food for five, just in case.” He selected a dozen canned rations and gave them to Lummox. He did not open them as Lummox rather liked having the packages suddenly become hot when he bit into them. He finished them off before Betty had their own lunches opened.
After they ate Johnnie started to bring up the subject again. “Betty, do you really think that—” He broke off suddenly. “Hear anything?”
She listened, then nodded solemnly.
“How fast?”
“Not over two hundred.”
He nodded. “Then they are scanning. Lummox! Don’t move a muscle!”
“I won’t, Johnnie. Why not move a muscle?”
“Do it!”
“Don’t get excited,” Betty advised. “They are probably just laying out their search pattern. Chances are they couldn’t identify us either in the scope or visually with these trees to break up the image.” But she looked worried. “I wish Lummie were already in the mine tunnel, though. If anyone is smart enough to run a selective scan straight down that road while we’re on it tonight…well, we’ve had it.”
John Thomas was not really listening. He was leaning forward, cupping his ears with both hands. “Hush!” he whispered, “Betty—they’re coming back!”
“Don’t panic. It’s probably the other leg of the search pattern.”
But even as she said it she knew that she was wrong. The sound came over them, hovered and dropped in pitch. They looked up, but the denseness of the forest and the altitude of the craft kept them from seeing it.
Suddenly there was a light so bright that it made the sharp sunlight seem dusky when it passed. Betty gulped. “What was
that?
”
“Ultraflash photo,” he answered soberly. “They’re checking what they picked up on the scope.”
The sound above them squealed higher, then dropped; the eyeburning flash occurred again. “Stereoed it,” Johnnie announced solemnly. “They’ll really see us now, if they only suspected before.”
“Johnnie, we’ve got to get Lummox out of here!”
“How? Take him up on the road and let them pinpoint him with bomb? No, kid, our only hope now is that they decide he is a big boulder—I’m glad I made him stay tucked in.” He added, “We mustn’t move, either. They may go away.”
Even that outside hope passed. One after another, four more ships were heard. Johnnie ticked them off. “That one has taken station to the south. The third one was north, I think. Now they’ll cover to the west…a pinwheel guard. They’ve got us boxed, Slugger.”
She looked at him, her face dead white. “What do we do, Johnnie?”
“Huh? Why, noth—No, Betty look. You duck down through the trees to the creek. Take your flight harness with you. Then follow the stream a good distance and take to the air. Keep low until you get out from under their umbrella. They’ll let you go—they don’t want you.”
“And what will
you
be doing?”
“Me? I stay here.”
“And so do I.”
Johnnie said fretfully, “Don’t make me any trouble, Slugger. You’d just be in the way.”
“What do you think you can do? You don’t even have a gun.”
“I have this,” John Thomas answered grimly, touching his sheath knife, “—and Lummox can throw rocks.”
She stared at him, then laughed wildly. “What? Rocks indeed! Oh, Johnnie—”
“They’re not going to take us without a fight. Now will you get out of here—fast!—and quit being a nuisance?”
“No!”
“Look, Slugger, there isn’t time to argue. You get clear and fast. I stay with Lummox; that’s my privilege. He’s mine.”
She burst into tears. “And you’re
mine
, you big stupid oaf.”
He tried to answer her and could not. His face began to break in the spasmodic movements of a man trying to control tears. Lummox stirred uneasily. “What’s the matter, Johnnie?” he piped.
“Huh?” John Thomas replied in a choked voice. “Nothing.” He reached up and patted his friend. “Nothing at all, old fellow. Johnnie’s here. It’s all right.”
“All right, Johnnie.”
“Yes,” agreed Betty faintly. “It’s all right, Lummie.” She added in a low voice to John Thomas. “It’ll be quick, won’t it, Johnnie? We won’t feel it?”
“Uh, I guess so! Hey! None of that—in just one half second I’m going to punch you right on the button…and then dump you off the bank. That ought to protect you from the blast.”
She shook her head slowly, without anger nor fear. “It’s too late, Johnnie. You know it is. Don’t scold me—just hold my hand.”
“But—” He stopped. “Hear that?”
“More of them.”
“Yeah. They’re probably building an octagon…to make sure we don’t get out.”
A sudden thunderclap spared her the need to answer. It was followed by the squeal of a hovering ship; this time they could see it, less than a thousand feet over their heads. Then an iron voice rumbled out of the sky. “Stuart! John Stuart! Come out in the open!”
Johnnie took out his sheath knife, threw back his head and shouted, “Come and get me!”
Betty looked up at him, her face shining, and patted his sleeve. “Tell ’em, Johnnie!” she whispered. “That’s my Johnnie.”
The man behind the giant voice seemed to have a directional mike trained on him; he was answered: “We don’t want you and we don’t want to hurt anybody. Give up and come out.”
He threw back a one-word defiance and added, “We aren’t coming out!”
The thundering voice went on, “Final warning, John Stuart. Come out with your hands empty. We’ll send a ship down for you.”
John Thomas shouted back, “Send it down and we’ll wreck it!” He added hoarsely to Lummox, “Got some rocks, Lummie?”
“Huh? Sure! Now, Johnnie?”
“Not yet. I’ll tell you.”
The voice remained silent; no ship came down to them. Instead a ship other than the command ship dropped swiftly, squatted a hundred feet above the pines and about the same distance from them laterally. It started a slow circle around them, almost a crawl.
Immediately there was a rending sound, then a crash as a forest giant toppled to the ground. Another followed at once. Like a great invisible hand a drag field from the ship knocked over trees and swept them aside. Slowly it cut a wide firebreak around them. “Why are they doing that?” Betty whispered.
“It’s a forestry service ship. They’re cutting us off.”
“But why? Why don’t they just do it and get it over with?” She began to shake, he put an arm around her.
“I don’t know, Slugger. They’re driving.”
The ship closed the circle, then faced them and seemed to settle back on its haunches. With the delicate care of a dentist pulling a tooth the operator reached in, selected one tree, plucked it out of the ground, and tossed it aside. He picked another—and still another. Gradually a wide path was being cut through the timber to the spot where they waited.
And there was nothing to do but wait. The ranger’s ship removed the last tree that shielded them; the tractor field brushed them as he claimed it, making them stagger and causing Lummox to squeal with terror. John Thomas recovered himself and slapped the beast’s side. “Steady, boy. Johnnie is here.”
He thought about having them retreat back from the clearing now in front of them, but there seemed no use in it.
The logging ship lay off; an attack ship moved in. It dropped suddenly and touched ground at the end of the corridor. Johnnie gulped and said, “
Now
, Lummox. Anything that comes out of that ship—see if you can hit it.”
“You bet, Johnnie!” Lummox reached with both hands for ammunition.
But he never picked up the rocks. John Thomas felt as if he had been dumped into wet concrete up to his chest; Betty gasped and Lummox squealed. Then he piped, “Johnnie! The rocks are stuck!”
John Thomas labored to speak. “It’s all right, boy, Don’t struggle. Just hold still. Betty, you all right?”
“Can’t breathe!” she gasped.
“Don’t fight it. They’ve got us.”
Eight figures poured out of the door of the ship. They looked not human, being covered head to foot with heavy metal mesh. Each wore a helmet resembling a fencer’s mask and carried as a back pack a field anti-generator. They trotted confidently in open double file toward the passage through the trees; as they struck the field they slowed slightly, sparks flew, and a violet nimbus formed around each. But on they came.
The second four were carrying a large metal-net cylinder, high as a man and of equal width. They balanced it easily up in the air. The man in the lead called out, “Swing wide of the beast. We’ll get the kids out first, then dispose of him.” He sounded quite cheerful.
The squad came up to the odd group of three, cutting around without passing close to Lummox. “Easy! Catch them both,” the leader called out. The barrellike cage was lowered over Betty and John Thomas, setting slowly until the man giving orders reached inside and flipped a switch—whereupon it struck sparks and dropped to the ground.
He gave them a red-faced grin. “Feels good to get the molasses off you, doesn’t it?”
Johnnie glared at him with his chin quivering, and replied insultingly while he tried to rub cramps out of his leg muscles. “Now, now!” the officer answered mildly. “No good to feel that way. You made us do it.” He glanced up at Lummox. “Good grief! He
is
a big beast, isn’t he? I’d hate to meet him in a dark alley, without weapons.”
Johnnie found that tears were streaming down his face and that he could not stop them. “Go ahead!” he cried, his voice misbehaving. “Get it over with!”
“Eh?”
“He never meant any harm! So kill him quickly…don’t play cat-and-mouse with him.” He broke down and sobbed, covering his face with his hands. Betty put her hands on his shoulders and sobbed with him.
The officer looked distressed. “What are you talking about, son? We aren’t here to hurt him. We have orders to bring him in without a scratch on him—even if we lost men in the process. Craziest orders I ever had to carry out.”
CHAPTER XII
Concerning Pidgie-Widgie
MR
.
KIKU
was feeling good. Breakfast was not a burning lump in his middle; he felt no need to shop in his pill drawer, nor even a temptation to get out his real estate folders. The Triangular Conference was going well and the Martian delegates were beginning to talk sense. Ignoring the various amber lights on his desk he began singing: “
Frankie and Johnnie were lovers…and oh boy how they could love…swore to be true to each other…
”
He had a fair baritone voice and no sense of pitch.
Best of all that silly, confused Hroshian affair was almost over…and no bones broken. Good old Doc Ftaeml seemed to think that there was an outside chance of establishing diplomatic relations, so delighted the Hroshii had been at recovering their missing Hroshia.
With a race as powerful as the Hroshii diplomatic relations were essential…they must be allies, though that might take a while. Perhaps not too long, he decided; they certainly did nip-ups at the sight of Lummox…almost idolatrous.
Looking back, the things that had confused them were obvious. Who would have guessed that a creature half as big as a house and over a century old was a baby? Or that this race attained hands only when old enough to use them? For that matter, why was this Hroshia so much bigger than its co-racials? Its size had misled Greenberg and himself as much as anything. Interesting point…he’d have the xenologists look into it.
No matter. By now Lummox was on his…
her
way to the Hroshian ship. No fuss, no ceremony, no publicity, and the danger was over. Could they actually have volatilized Terra? Just as well not to have found out. All’s well that ends well. He went back to singing.
He was still singing when the “urgent” light began jittering and he delivered the last few bars into Greenberg’s face: “…
just as true as the stars above!
” He added. “Sergei, can you sing tenor?”
“Why should you care, boss? That wasn’t a tune.”
“You’re jealous. What do you want, son? See them off okay?”
“Unh, boss, there’s a slight hitch. I’ve got Dr. Ftaeml with me. Can we see you?”
“What is it?”
“Let’s wait until we are alone. One of the conference rooms?”
“Come into the office,” Mr. Kiku said grimly. He switched off, opened a drawer, selected a pill and took it.
Greenberg and the medusoid came in at once: Greenberg flopped down in a chair as if exhausted, pulled out a cigarette, felt in his pockets, then put it away. Mr. Kiku greeted Dr. Ftaeml formally, then said to Greenberg, “Well?”
“Lummox didn’t leave.”
“Eh?”
“Lummox refused to leave. The other Hroshii are boiling like ants. I’ve kept the barricades up and that part of the space port around their landing craft blocked off. We’ve got to do something.”
“Why? This development is startling, but I fail to see that it’s our responsibility. Why the refusal to embark?”
“Well…” Greenberg looked helplessly at Ftaeml.
The Rargyllian said smoothly, “Permit me to explain, sir. The Hroshia refuses to go aboard without her pet.”
“Pet?”
“The kid, boss. John Thomas Stuart.”
“Exactly,” agreed Ftaeml. “The Hroshia states that she has been raising ‘John Thomases’ for a long time; she refuses to go home unless she can take her John Thomas with her. She was quite imperious about it.”
“I see,” agreed Kiku. “To put it in more usual language the boy and the Hroshia are attached to each other. That’s not surprising; they grew up together. But Lummox will have to put up with the separation, just as John Thomas Stuart had to. As I recall, he made a bit of fuss; we told him to shut up and shipped him home. That’s what the Hroshia must do: tell her to shut up, force her, if necessary, into their landing craft and take her along. That’s what they came here for,”