Fletcher Pratt (13 page)

* The reader cannot have failed to notice the general falling off in quality of the writing of this narrative in this chapter. Apparently Schierstedt's diary, which he mentions above, ends here; or perhaps just before this chapter begins.

From this point on there are numerous discrepancies in the narrative, due either to faulty memory, haste in writing or some strong emotion on the part of the writer, a theory which is perfectly explicable in view of the end of the narrative.

In this chapter there is one discrepancy to be noted. Schierstedt has spoken of Ashembe's climbing out and cutting loose one shell from the space ship while in transit; but when they arrive, there is only one shell remaining besides the central chamber. The other was probably cut away during the voyage at some time not mentioned.

The transcriber also wishes to point out that from this point on the handwriting of the original manuscript was particularly bad and occasioned much trouble.

He
shook off
my inquiries, hurrying to get into the interior chamber again and snap shut the locks on the door. Then he turned to me.

"This is a hunting ground," he repeated, a bit out of breath. "It is very dangerous and unfortunate that we should land herein."

"Why is it dangerous and why is it unfortunate that we should land here? Wild animals?"

"A few. But these are far from the chief danger. The danger is from men."

"From men! Is your part of this planet at war with the rest, or do you still have savages on Murashema?"

"Not so. We have no savages. These are the young men in training. The substitute for armed combat. Every explorer has to pass through it as part of his training course. It is an evolutionary process."

I remained dense.

"Attend," said Ashembe patiently. "On your planet you have many different groups of men under different governments, not so? Between these governments there are always wars. This creates tumult and disturbances and kills off many people. Your philosophers recognize that this should not be so and seek to abolish all wars. On this planet we have long ago arrived at this stage. There is only one government and one language. No wars, no, not one." "Very good for you," said I, "but what has that to do with it?"

"Permit me to say. You fight your wars with scientific apparatus which is unselective. The best men in your world might as easily be killed in wars as the worst."

"True," I admitted, "and that's what's the matter with war. You don't mean to tell me that you wish to justify it as an institution?"

"No. We know this. However, your people do not carry their knowledge to the logical conclusion.

"We have passed through the similar stages. Our scientists decided that something was necessary to produce an effect of selection, an elimination of the unfit. Hence, we have the hunting grounds, of which this is it."

"But what's the point? What is a hunting ground, and how does it help?"

"This is one. They are certain districts of the planet where the agricultural value is small. Forestation is allowed to occur on them and they are stocked with various animals which run wild. They are of very large extent.

"Every young man or woman of the Bodrog class, when he arrives at seventeen years of age or a germane period, is turned loose in them and furnished with primitive weapons.

"From the time he is admitted to the hunting ground, the young man is not allowed to emerge for five years of your time. It is permitted for him to make certain studies if he cares to take the handicap of instruments of study along with his weapons and tools. For all other matters, his dependence is totally upon himself. The young men and women are under no restraint. They may do as they choose. If there are others of the same class they wish to kill, it is not imputed a crime. They may hunt for a living or engage in agriculture, if they think they can do this without others raiding and stealing their crops. They may form into associations. No one guides them. Upon emerging after their period is up, their rank in society depends upon how they have accomplished the period in the hunting ground. It supplies also an excellent evolutionary process, as only two-thirds of them survive."

"But, what if they don't wish to enter the hunting ground?"

"Very good, they cannot belong to the Bodrog or even the Davex. In youth, every child is subjected to a scientific, determination for intellectual quality. Those of certain grades of intellect are named as Bodrogs, and unless they object, are turned into the hunting grounds. According to their conduct there, they receive different work when they come out. Those who form groups or associations, for instance, being appointed political administrators. Some few of the Davex, who are our scientists, also come from here. Those who do not enter the hunting ground or who are barred from it by previous determination are shut out of upper employments and are not allowed to have more than two children."

"Did you go through a hunting ground?"

"Most certain. Is not my name Bodrog? But I am of the Fotas class, which is explorer. During my period in the hunting ground, I stayed almost altogether alone and wandered about from place to place. Hence, I am a Fotas." The shadow of a problem rose in my mind. "Did you say that girls were turned loose in the hunting ground as well as men?"

"Certainly. Women are in all professions."

"What if ... that is, suppose—do they ever join with any of the men?"

"Oh, you mean do they ever have children? Certainly. If they have children while in the hunting ground, the responsibility is their own. But in cases where it happens, the mother is nearly always of a high type fitted for a lofty administrative or scientific position, and receives due credit for her courage."

"Did you say that nothing was done to those who kill others while in the hunting ground?"

"Certainly not. Before going to the hunting ground, as I already say, they are examined for all criminal tendencies. In the hunting ground everything is lawful. Merely a stage in development of the individual. Our scientists only want to know how each occupies his time in the hunting ground."

"How do you make certain you do know?"

"All persons tell the truth. Of what use to do otherwise? Of course, all young men are taught to know the truth only will avail them, and besides we have the truth serum. One application and it becomes impossible for the individual to do otherwise than tell the truth."

I stretched. "All very interesting," I said, "but I'm hungry. Let's have something to eat. How soon before we will dare to go out?"

"In the morning," said Ashembe. "I am uncertain how far we are from the borders of the hunting ground. We will have to make instrumental calculation. It may be long journey. There are always those in the hunting ground who will attempt to secure from us whatever we possess." "What about your destructive ray? Isn't that weapon enough to protect us?"

He laughed, a trifle grimly. "You do our people insufficient credit. Some young men and women in the hunting ground are very clever at laying ambush. We would not have the chance to use the ray, if caught. Moreover, the use of the ray-flash in the hunting ground is contrary to regulation. I am unable to do so."

"I should think there would also be regulations against attacking returning explorers," I said.

"Wherefore? Explorers of the Bodrog Fotas are supposed to be able to care for themselves. To impose regulations of such a kind would be the beginning of destroying the whole spirit of the hunting ground. There is no regulation in the hunting ground."

"Didn't you just say there was a regulation against using modern weapons?"

"The law is against bringing them to the hunting ground. Since we are here with the Shoraru, it is considered a small spot of territory belonging to the rest of Murashema."

"Oh. But won't someone else on Murashema have seen you landing, and be sending expeditions?"

"Not expeditions. I am an explorer, as I repeatedly say. I am supposed to aid myself. Pause." He dug out his tensal helmet, snapped some keys in it and put it on. An hour later, he rose. "The landing has been perceived, but they do not know it is I. There are always many Shoraru traveling here and there. They are awaiting report and conjecture that my sending apparatus is damaged. Nothing further to do." *

* This chapter is in quite bad shape. The text is frequently well-nigh unreadable, and at the end of the chapter appears the following note in Schierstedt's handwriting:

"Don't forg.
2 insrt. my quest. 'Don't you leave lot to chance' & Ash's ans. explaining there is no such thing as chance; all governed by natural laws."

It would be interesting to have Schierstedt's (or rather Ashembe's) exposition of this point of view. Unfortunately we have not, nor is there any place where such a remark would seem to have been the proper thing.

The Murasheman
day is only about twenty-one hours in length, and as the planet's orbit is more nearly circular than Earth's and the axial inclination less, both days and seasons have greater regularity than ours. In something near ten hours, I should judge, Ashembe led the way to the door of the space ship again, and we crawled through into the wrecked outer chamber, where he paused long enough to seal the inner door with the welding flash, before taking a cautious look around outside.

Our improvised ladder still stood against the side of the space ship, to my eyes, just as we had left it, but Ashembe frowned as he looked it over in the pale cold light that just precedes the rising of the sun. "We are found," he said in a whisper, looking intently at the ground nearby. "See," he pointed. I could make out nothing but a little depression in the sand which might have been a heel mark made when the tree was set against the side of the car.

"Print of a sling base," said my companion. "The comer has covered footprints but forgotten this. Here!"

He handed me a knife with a narrow six-inch blade, made in one piece with a metal handle. "Made it during the night," he said. "Quickly, descend the tree. I will cover your descent." Producing a knife, the mate in all respects of the one he had handed me, he balanced himself just inside the door with the weapon ready in his hand for throwing.

I had begun to realize that the danger was perfectly genuine and imminent, and I slid down the tree at the cost of some scratches with the weapon firmly clutched in my fist. Nothing happened. My feet struck the sand with a soft plud! I picked myself up and looked around. A few branches were stirring gently in the light air of morning; that was all. No sound; no other motion.

A moment more and Ashembe stood beside me. He looked around briefly, and motioned me wordlessly to follow him. Imitating his motions, I bent low, and ran rapidly behind him into the scrub, straight ahead for a short distance, then back along the way we had come, and off to the right a little way from our path to a clump of stubby trees. "Cut down two straight trees," Ashembe whispered, balancing his knife for throwing, "while I prepare the footprints."

Still no sound or motion from the scrub. Under the direction of my companion I hacked down, cut the limbs from and smoothed into staves a couple of the short, pinelike trees. I noted the thickness of the bark and the softness of the wood where I cut into it. Ashembe, returning from his business, looked them over critically, and drew from his pocket two long and broad metal points, with sockets at their bases. At the side of the socket, each had an ingenious screw arrangement to hold the head firmly to the shaft. He fixed these heads on the staves I had cut, hefted and balanced them, and then cut an inch or two off one. They made not unsatisfactory javelins.

By now I had become contemptuous of the promised terrors of the hunting ground. Surely, if we were to be set upon, the most defenseless moment when we emerged from the Shoraru would have been the time.

A huge red sun popped suddenly above the low mountains in the east, flooding the shrub with light. It was all very delicious—light, open air, green things around. We were home at last. I turned to say something to Ashembe, and just as I turned, he gripped my arm quickly, pulling me down beside him to a crouching position and pointing in the direction of our vehicle.

Its top was clearly visible above the thicket, not far away, the rays of the dawn-sun picking out the pits and scars of the surface. I could see nothing unusual, but as I looked, there was the sudden sound of a clanging blow—of metal striking metal. Ashembe pulled me by the arm, motioning me to follow, and crawled on hands and knees away from the clump where we had made our weapons in the direction we had come. The clanging blow on the Shoraru was repeated; my companion halted by another clump of trees and peered cautiously through the branches. I watched with him. Nothing.

Again the sound of the blow, and among the branches I thought I detected something that had not been there before. A moment later I was certain—a man was cautiously following our trail into the scrub. He looked young; was dressed in a jerkin of dark leather, sleeveless and stained in weird markings by some woodland dye. On his head was a closefitting Phrygian cap of the same material and his legs bore pliable buskins. At his belt, a hand-axe swung and over his shoulder a quiver. He was carrying a bow, with arrow astring, and moving slowly, peering from this side to that.

The enemy! I thought, and drew back my arm to test my new javelin on him. But Ashembe, before I could throw, grasped me by arm and body, pulling me flat on my face behind the trees. I dared to lift my head and caught a glimpse of the hunter. He had turned, and stood with drawn arrow pointing in our direction, eagerly watching for the source of whatever whisper of sound had reached him.

As I watched, another man, dressed like the first, and like him, armed with a bow, but carrying also a round shield slung over his shoulder, appeared soundlessly not twenty feet away from us on our side of the trail as though he had risen from the ground. The first bowman relaxed his tension on the string and made a rapid series of motions with one hand; the other turned and looked in our direction—right in my eyes apparently—then turned back and himself moved a hand rapidly. I saw why Ashembe had kept me from throwing the javelin.

A moment more of this silent colloquy and the newcomer vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared, while the questing bowman turned again to the trail. From the left, the clanging sound of another blow on the Shoraru rang out again.

We lay in our covert for perhaps two hours more. After a time the sound of the blows on the side of the car ceased and we saw one of the hunters among the trees as he glided silently back along our trail, his face wearing an expression of cold and intense thoughtfulness. At last Ashembe, moving slowly and holding his body low, started out motioning me to follow him.

He led across the intervening space to the trail, where there were now two series of footsteps mingled with our own, and stepping carefully, so that his feet should fall in the same tracks as before, began to lead down it. Every few moments he paused, listening intently. It was not till he reached the place where we had turned aside, that he let out a long breath, and stepped out briskly, moving away from the car.

He set a killing pace and at the end of an hour I was forced to grab his arm and whisper that I wished to halt. He smiled, "All right," and then in an ordinary voice, "I think we have outdistanced pursuit for the moment. Let us have to eat."

We dined on some of the concentrated foods from the Shoraru, and after a brief rest, set out again at the same rapid pace as before. The sun grew warm. Unused to exercise, I tired easily, and it was not long before I was again calling for a halt. Ashembe spared me as much as possible during that day's journey, but for all that, it was a nightmare to me. I was never so heartily glad as when, with the sun westering, Ashembe turned round, led me back along the trail we had made and off to one side as before, returning to obliterate the footprints that marked our divagation.

The landscape had changed not at all. Twice we crossed the beds of small streams, deep-cut to reddish rock amid the sandy soil. For the rest there was only an infinitude of the pine-like trees, and low rolling sandy ground. Our camp was pitched a few paces back from the edge of one of the little canyons where a stream ran. From it we secured water for drinking and washing, one of us dipping it up while the other watched from concealment on the bank above, javelin in hand. When our meal was finished, Ashembe cut down another of the trees, and working with some care and many pauses to measure the result, began to shape it into something or other. It became distinctly chilly; my request for a fire was refused with a mere shake of the head, and when I dozed off to sleep, it was from sheer weariness.

I was wakened by the pressure of Ashembe's hand on my shoulder. The night was extraordinarily bright; I could make out his features clearly in the light of the stars, and he had a finger laid on his lips to enjoin silence as I rose. He pointed off in the direction I took to be north and I dimly perceived a faint, ruddy glow somewhere there. As silently, he motioned*me to gather up my few belongings and follow, and set off through the brush, following the line of the stream a little back from its verge.

I was staggering sleepy, but I toiled after him, wondering what all this meant. We had traveled about twenty minutes and must have covered nearly a couple of miles with the red glow growing stronger all the time, when he halted so suddenly that I ran into him. After a second of listening he dropped to his hands and knees; I imitated him and we began to crawl toward the bank of the stream, pausing every time a twig snapped. I heard nothing. He came to a halt behind a clump of trees, holding out a restraining hand to keep me from making unnecessary noise. I still heard nothing, but a moment later my ears caught the sound of a pebble, rolled by a careless foot, and then a low gurgle of laughter. Shadowy forms became apparent in the canyon below.

There were four of them, following the stream toward its mouth; first one man alone, then three in a group, all heavily loaded. I expected Ashembe to spring out, but he remained perfectly silent until they were past.

Then, with his lips close to my ear, he whispered, "No more. We will pursue. I will take the first one." And without further explanation, he began to work his way along the bank. I followed, my heart in my mouth.

We were not long in overtaking them. The canyon made a bend away at a point not far below, and Ashembe led me across the tongue of land at a rapid gait. We ensconced ourselves at the edge of the bank and a moment later I could make out the form of the first picking his way among the rocks, and then the other three. Without a sound Ashembe rose to one knee, balanced his javelin carefully, and flung it straight down into the form of the leader.

The man gave a curious strangled cry and tumbled into a heap with a clash of metal, as I flung my own weapon at the next fellow. Ashembe leaped down the bank with a shout; I followed him and things resolved into a haze of conflict. I was struggling with a burly chap who had dropped an armload of something and was struggling to get a sword from its scabbard. I realized I had missed him and without trying to pick up the javelin, flung myself upon his arm. He let go the hilt abruptly, swinging me half round, and as I tripped over the things he had dropped, swung his foot up in a glancing kick, which was stout enough to throw me sprawling. I saw him draw the blade and take a stride, but before he could do more, he was jerked backward from behind. My clutching fingers caught a loose stone; I threw it as I rose, and though it only caught him on the chest, it took him off balance again, and I dived forward in a football tackle before he could swing his weapon, catching him around the knees and taking him cleanly off his feet.

We went down together. I was on top, but as we fell, someone else landed on my back, screaming rapid, unintelligible words in Murasheman. I let go my man's legs and rolled free, catching at the javelin where it stood in the ground; missed it; clutched again, successfully, and struggled to my feet. My two adversaries lay on the ground, engaged in combat, the big fellow underneath trying to get loose the hand that held the sword. I suddenly grasped the idea that the other was a friend and flung myself into the combat again, pinning the big man's hands just as he managed to work free. I heard the slap of his blade as it struck the other chap sidelong; he said something quickly, the big man bellowed, and as though despairing of my comprehension, my ally thrust close to my face a pair of hands bound together with leather thongs.

I shifted position to bring the big man under me, holding him down with difficulty. The prisoner began to rub his bonds frantically against the edge of the sword, and I heard a clash of arms behind that told me Ashembe was busy. The big man gave a heave that threw me on my side. I clutched him desperately, but at that moment the prisoner won free, snatched up the javelin and calmly and accurately plunged it into the throat of the man who was now trying to down me. He gripped me convulsively for a second, then went limp and something warm and wet hit me under the chin. I felt ill, but struggled unsteadily to my feet in time to see Ashembe's opponent making off down the canyon and my friend making toward the recent prisoner with arm drawn back to strike.

"Don't!" I called. "He's with us!" Ashembe lowered his blade and came over to us.

"Quickly," he said to me, rummaging among the articles our adversaries had dropped. "We must go. Here."

He was extending to me a sword, a bow and some packages. I bundled them together and followed him up the bank of the canyon and off into the low forest. Our newfound friend came with us wordlessly.

I was ready to drop with fatigue and sleepiness. But Ashembe led on remorselessly through the clutching branches and it was not for a good hour that he halted at all, flinging down his load and motioning me to do likewise. We were in a circular clearing, with trees all around it, and I didn't even bother to pull branches for a bed; simply sank to sleep, utterly worn out.

The sun, striking down through the trees, woke me at last. I urged my aching limbs to a sitting posture and saw Ashembe and our new friend sitting on the ground before me, sorting the various things we had brought, and engaged in low conversation. Ashembe smiled a greeting at me and handed me food—dark meat of some kind with a strong wild taste, quite unlike the concentrated foods we had lived on for the last three years.

"This is," he said, "Tandana Kabu," and then to the former prisoner, "Angara sheg Alvin Schierstedt loth umt mashec." I bowed from the waist and received the bent-kneed gesture of courtesy in return.

"She is," continued Ashembe in English, "extremely grateful for our rescuing her." (
She!"
I thought, looking at the newcomer with aroused interest. I perceived a slender young woman, clad more or less like the hunters who had sought us the day before, but without the helmet; a pleasing face tanned by exposure to the sun and of the triangular shape softened to an oval, and—with so little hair that she would have passed for bald in New York.) "Grateful for rescuing her. She was a member of a small agricultural association in the hunting ground—where we last night saw the fire. It was raided by a predatory association, and most of the people killed. She was taken prisoner by the three we attacked."