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diff --git a/22882.txt b/22882.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..283779b --- /dev/null +++ b/22882.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1121 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Image of the Gods, by Alan Edward Nourse + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Image of the Gods + +Author: Alan Edward Nourse + +Release Date: October 3, 2007 [EBook #22882] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMAGE OF THE GODS *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _The Counterfeit Man More Science + Fiction Stories by Alan E. Nourse_ published in 1963. Extensive + research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on + this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical + errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + Image + of + the + Gods + + + + +It was nearly winter when the ship arrived. Pete Farnam never knew if +the timing had been planned that way or not. It might have been +coincidence that it came just when the colony was predicting its first +real bumper crop of all time. When it was all over, Pete and Mario and +the rest tried to figure it out, but none of them ever knew for sure +just _what_ had happened back on Earth, or _when_ it had actually +happened. There was too little information to go on, and practically +none that they could trust. All Pete Farnam really knew, that day, was +that this was the wrong year for a ship from Earth to land on Baron IV. + +Pete was out on the plantation when it landed. As usual, his sprayer had +gotten clogged; tarring should have been started earlier, before it got +so cold that the stuff clung to the nozzle and hardened before the spray +could settle into the dusty soil. The summer past had been the colony's +finest in the fourteen years he'd been there, a warm, still summer with +plenty of rain to keep the dirt down and let the _taaro_ get well rooted +and grow up tall and gray against the purple sky. But now the _taaro_ +was harvested. It was waiting, compressed and crated, ready for +shipment, and the heavy black clouds were scudding nervously across the +sky, faster with every passing day. Two days ago Pete had asked Mario to +see about firing up the little furnaces the Dusties had built to help +them fight the winter. All that remained now was tarring the fields, and +then buckling down beneath the wind shields before the first winter +storms struck. + +Pete was trying to get the nozzle of the tar sprayer cleaned out when +Mario's jeep came roaring down the rutted road from the village in a +cloud of dust. In the back seat a couple of Dusties were bouncing up and +down like happy five-year-olds. The brakes squealed and Mario bellowed +at him from the road. "Pete! The ship's in! Better get hopping!" + +Pete nodded and started to close up the sprayer. One of the Dusties +tumbled out of the jeep and scampered across the field to give him a +hand. It was an inexpert hand to say the least, but the Dusties seemed +so proud of the little they were able to learn about mechanized farming +that nobody had the heart to shoo them away. Pete watched the fuzzy +brown creature get its paws thoroughly gummed up with tar before he +pulled him loose and sent him back to the jeep with a whack on the +backside. He finished the job himself, grabbed his coat from the back of +the sprayer, and pulled himself into the front seat of the jeep. + +Mario started the little car back down the road. The young colonist's +face was coated with dust, emphasizing the lines of worry around his +eyes. "I don't like it, Pete. There isn't any ship due this year." + +"When did it land?" + +"About twenty minutes ago. Won't be cool for a while yet." + +Pete laughed. "Maybe Old Schooner is just getting lonesome to swap tall +stories with us. Maybe he's even bringing us a locker of T-bones. Who +knows?" + +"Maybe," said Mario without conviction. + +Pete looked at him, and shrugged. "Why complain if they're early? Maybe +they've found some new way to keep our fields from blowing away on us +every winter." He stared across at the heavy windbreaks between the +fields--long, ragged structures built in hope of outwitting the vicious +winds that howled across the land during the long winter. Pete picked +bits of tar from his beard, and wiped the dirt from his forehead with +the back of his hand. "This tarring is mean," he said wearily. "Glad to +take a break." + +"Maybe Cap Schooner will know something about the rumors we've been +hearing," Mario said gloomily. + +Pete looked at him sharply. "About Earth?" + +Mario nodded. "Schooner's a pretty good guy, I guess. I mean, he'd tell +us if anything was _really_ wrong back home, wouldn't he?" + +Pete nodded, and snapped his fingers. One of the Dusties hopped over +into his lap and began gawking happily at the broad fields as the jeep +jogged along. Pete stroked the creature's soft brown fur with his +tar-caked fingers. "Maybe someday these little guys will show us where +_they_ go for the winter," he said. "They must have it down to a +science." + +Somehow the idea was funny, and both men roared. If the Dusties had +_anything_ down to a science, nobody knew what. Mario grinned and +tweaked the creature's tail. "They sure do beat the winter, though," he +said. + +"So do we. Only we have to do it the human way. These fellas grew up in +the climate." Pete lapsed into silence as the village came into view. +The ship had landed quite a way out, resting on its skids on the long +shallow groove the colonists had bulldozed out for it years before, the +first year they had arrived on Baron IV. Slowly Pete turned Mario's +words over in his mind, allowing himself to worry a little. There _had_ +been rumors of trouble back on Earth, persistent rumors he had taken +care to soft-pedal, as mayor of the colony. There were other things, +too, like the old newspapers and magazines that had been brought in by +the lad from Baron II, and the rare radio message they could pick up +through their atmospheric disturbance. Maybe something _was_ going wrong +back home. But somehow political upheavals on Earth seemed remote to +these hardened colonists. Captain Schooner's visits were always welcome, +but they were few and far between. The colony was small; one ship every +three years could supply it, and even then the _taaro_ crates wouldn't +half fill up the storage holds. There were other colonies far closer to +home that sent back more _taaro_ in one year than Baron IV could grow in +ten. + +But when a ship did come down, it was a time of high excitement. It +meant fresh food from Earth, meat from the frozen lockers, maybe even a +little candy and salt. And always for Pete a landing meant a long +evening of palaver with the captain about things back home and things on +Baron IV. + +Pete smiled to himself as he thought of it. He could remember Earth, of +course, with a kind of vague nostalgia, but Baron IV was home to him now +and he knew he would never leave it. He had too many hopes invested +there, too many years of heartache and desperate hard work, too much +deep satisfaction in having cut a niche for himself on this dusty, +hostile world, ever to think much about Earth any more. + +Mario stopped in front of the offices, and one of the Dusties hopped out +ahead of Pete. The creature strode across the rough gravel to the door, +pulling tar off his fingers just as he had seen Pete do. Pete followed +him to the door, and then stopped, frowning. There should have been a +babble of voices inside, with Captain Schooner's loud laugh roaring +above the excitement. But Pete could hear nothing. A chill of uneasiness +ran through him; he pushed open the door and walked inside. A dozen of +his friends looked up silently, avoiding the eyes of the uniformed +stranger in the center of the room. When he saw the man, Pete Farnam +knew something was wrong indeed. + +It wasn't Captain Schooner. It was a man he'd never seen before. + + * * * * * + +The Dustie ran across the room in front of Pete and hopped up on the +desk as though he owned it, throwing his hands on his hips and staring +at the stranger curiously. Pete took off his cap and parka and dropped +them on a chair. "Well," he said. "This is a surprise. We weren't +expecting a ship so soon." + +The man inclined his head stiffly and glanced down at the paper he held +in his hand. "You're Peter Farnam, I suppose? Mayor of this colony?" + +"That's right. And you?" + +"Varga is the name," the captain said shortly. "Earth Security and +Supply." He nodded toward the small, frail-looking man in civilian +clothes, sitting beside him. "This is Rupert Nathan, of the Colonial +Service. You'll be seeing a great deal of him." He held out a small +wallet of papers. "Our credentials, Farnam. Be so good as to examine +them." + +Pete glanced around the room. John Tegan and Hank Mario were watching +him uneasily. Mary Turner was following the proceedings with her sharp +little eyes, missing nothing, and Mel Dorfman stood like a rock, his +heavy face curiously expressionless as he watched the visitors. Pete +reached out for the papers, flipped through them, and handed them back +with a long look at Captain Varga. + +He was younger than Captain Schooner, with sandy hair and pale eyes that +looked up at Pete from a soft baby face. Clean-shaven, his whole person +seemed immaculate as he leaned back calmly in the chair. His civilian +companion, however, had indecision written in every line of his pink +face. His hands fluttered nervously, and he avoided the colonist's eyes. + +Pete turned to the captain. "The papers say you're our official supply +ship," he said. "You're early, but an Earth ship is always good news." +He clucked at the Dustie, who was about to go after one of the shiny +buttons on the captain's blouse. The little brown creature hopped over +and settled on Pete's knee. "We've been used to seeing Captain +Schooner." + +The captain and Nathan exchanged glances. "Captain Schooner has retired +from Security Service," the captain said shortly. "You won't be seeing +him again. But we have a cargo for your colony. You may send these +people over to the ship to start unloading now, if you wish--" his eye +swept the circle of windburned faces--"while Nathan and I discuss +certain matters with you here." + +Nobody moved for a moment. Then Pete nodded to Mario. "Take the boys out +to unload, Jack. We'll see you back here in an hour or so." + +"Pete, are you sure--" + +"Don't worry. Take Mel and Hank along to lend a hand." Pete turned back +to Captain Varga. "Suppose we go inside to more comfortable quarters," +he said. "We're always glad to have word from Earth." + +They passed through a dark, smelly corridor into Pete's personal +quarters. For a colony house, if wasn't bad--good plastic chairs, a +hand-made rug on the floor, even one of Mary Turner's paintings on the +wall, and several of the weird, stylized carvings the Dusties had done +for Pete. But the place smelled of tar and sweat, and Captain Varga's +nose wrinkled in distaste. Nathan drew out a large silk handkerchief and +wiped his pink hands, touching his nose daintily. + +The Dustie hopped into the room ahead of them and settled into the +biggest, most comfortable chair. Pete snapped his fingers sharply, and +the brown creature jumped down again like a naughty child and climbed up +on Pete's knee. The captain glanced at the chair with disgust and sat +down in another. "Do you actually let those horrid creatures have the +run of your house?" he asked. + +"Why not?" Pete said. "We have the run of their planet. They're quite +harmless, really. And quite clean." + +The captain sniffed. "Nasty things. Might find a use for the furs, +though. They look quite soft." + +"We don't kill Dusties," said Pete coolly. "They're friendly, and +intelligent too, in a childish sort of way." He looked at the captain +and Nathan, and decided not to put on the coffee pot. "Now what's the +trouble?" + +"No trouble at all," the captain said, "except the trouble you choose to +make. You have your year's _taaro_ ready for shipping?" + +"Of course." + +The captain took out a small pencil on a chain and began to twirl it. +"How much, to be exact?" + +"Twenty thousand, Earth weight." + +"Tons?" + +Pete shook his head. "Hundredweight." + +The captain raised his eyebrows. "I see. And there are--" he consulted +the papers in his hand--"roughly two hundred and twenty colonists here +on Baron IV. Is that right?" + +"That's right." + +"Seventy-four men, eighty-one women, and fifty-nine children, to be +exact?" + +"I'd have to look it up. Margaret Singman had twins the other night." + +"Well, don't be ridiculous," snapped the captain. "On a planet the size +of Baron IV, with seventy-four men, you should be producing a dozen +times the _taaro_ you stated. We'll consider that your quota for a +starter, at least. You have ample seed, according to my records. I +should think, with the proper equipment--" + +"Now wait a minute," Pete said softly. "We're fighting a climate here, +captain. You should know that. We have only a two-planting season, and +the 'proper equipment,' as you call it, doesn't operate too well out +here. It has a way of clogging up with dust in the summer, and rusting +in the winter." + +"Really," said Captain Varga. "As I was saying, with the proper +equipment, you could cultivate a great deal more land than you seem to +be using. This would give you the necessary heavier yield. Wouldn't you +say so, Nathan?" + +The little nervous man nodded. "Certainly, captain. With the proper +organization of labor." + +"That's nonsense," Pete said, suddenly angry. "Nobody can get that kind +of yield from this planet. The ground won't give it, and the men won't +grow it." + +The captain gave him a long look. "Really?" he said. "I think you're +wrong. I think the men will grow it." + +Pete stood up slowly. "What are you trying to say? This business about +quotas and organization of labor--" + +"You didn't read our credentials as we instructed you, Farnam. Mr. +Nathan is the official governor of the colony on Baron IV, as of now. +You'll find him most co-operative, I'm sure, but he's answerable +directly to me in all matters. My job is administration of the entire +Baron system. Clear enough?" + +Pete's eyes were dark. "I think you'd better draw me a picture," he said +tightly. "A very clear picture." + +"Very well. Baron IV is not paying for its upkeep. _Taaro_, after all, +is not the most necessary of crops in the universe. It has value, but +not very much value, all things considered. If the production of _taaro_ +here is not increased sharply, it may be necessary to close down the +colony altogether." + +"You're a liar," said Pete shortly. "The Colonization Board makes no +production demands on the colonies. Nor does it farm out systems for +personal exploitation." + +The captain smiled. "The Colonization Board, as you call it, has +undergone a slight reorganization," he said. + +"_Reorganization!_ It's a top-level board in the Earth Government! +Nothing could reorganize it but a wholesale--" He broke off, his jaw +sagging as the implication sank in. + +"You're rather out on a limb, you see," said the captain coolly. "Poor +communications and all that. The fact is that the entire Earth +Government has undergone a slight reorganization also." + + * * * * * + +The Dustie knew that something had happened. + +Pete didn't know how he knew. The Dusties couldn't talk, couldn't make +_any_ noise, as far as Pete knew. But they always seemed to know when +something unusual was happening. It was wrong, really, to consider them +unintelligent animals. There are other sorts of intelligence than human, +and other sorts of communication, and other sorts of culture. The Baron +IV colonists had never understood the queer perceptive sense that the +Dusties seemed to possess, any more than they knew how many Dusties +there were, or what they ate, or where on the planet they lived. All +they knew was that when they landed on Baron IV, the Dusties were there. + +At first the creatures had been very timid. For weeks the men and women, +busy with their building, had paid little attention to the skittering +brown forms that crept down from the rocky hills to watch them with big, +curious eyes. They were about half the size of men, and strangely +humanoid in appearance, not in the sense that a monkey is humanoid (for +they did _not_ resemble monkeys) but in some way the colonists could not +quite pin down. It may have been the way they walked around on their +long, fragile hind legs, the way they stroked their pointed chins as +they sat and watched and listened with their pointed ears lifted +alertly, watching with soft gray eyes, or the way they handled objects +with their little four-fingered hands. They were so remarkably +human-like in their elfin way that the colonists couldn't help but be +drawn to the creatures. + +That whole first summer, when the colonists were building the village +and the landing groove for the ships, the Dusties were among them, +trying pathetically to help, so eager for friendship that even +occasional rebuffs failed to drive them away. They _liked_ the colony. +They seemed, somehow, to savor the atmosphere, moving about like solemn, +fuzzy overseers as the work progressed through the summer. Pete Farnam +thought that they had even tried to warn the people about the winter. +But the colonists couldn't understand, of course. Not until later. The +Dusties became a standing joke, and were tolerated with considerable +amusement--until the winter struck. + +It had come with almost unbelievable ferocity. The houses had not been +completed when the first hurricanes came, and they were smashed into +toothpicks. The winds came, vicious winds full of dust and sleet and +ice, wild erratic twisting gales that ripped the village to shreds, +tearing off the topsoil that had been broken and fertilized--merciless, +never-ending winds that wailed and screamed the planet's protest. The +winds drove sand and dirt and ice into the heart of the generators, and +the heating units corroded and jammed and went dead. The jeeps and +tractors and bulldozers were scored and rusted. The people began dying +by the dozens as they huddled down in the pitiful little pits they had +dug to try to keep the winds away. + +Few of them were still conscious when the Dusties had come silently, in +the blizzard, eyes closed tight against the blast, to drag the people up +into the hills, into caves and hollows that still showed the fresh marks +of carving tools. They had brought food--what kind of food nobody knew, +for the colony's food had been destroyed by the first blast of the +hurricane--but whatever it was it had kept them alive. And somehow, the +colonists had survived the winter which seemed never to end. There were +frozen legs and ruined eyes; there was pneumonia so swift and virulent +that even the antibiotics they managed to salvage could not stop it; +there was near-starvation--but they were kept alive, until the winds +began to die, and they walked out of their holes in the ground to see +the ruins of their first village. + +From that winter on, nobody considered the Dusties funny any more. What +had motivated them no one knew, but the colony owed them their lives. +The Dusties tried to help the people rebuild. They showed them how to +build windshields that would keep houses intact and anchored to the +ground when the winds came again. They built little furnaces out of dirt +and rock which defied the winds and gave great heat. They showed the +colonists a dozen things they needed to know for life on the rugged +planet. The colonists in turn tried to teach the Dusties something about +Earth, and how the colonists had lived, and why they had come. But there +was a barrier of intelligence that could not be crossed. The Dusties +learned simple things, but only slowly and imperfectly. They seemed +content to take on their mock overseer's role, moving in and about the +village, approving or disapproving, but always trying to help. Some +became personal pets, though "pet" was the wrong word, because it was +more of a strange personal friendship limited by utter lack of +communication, than any animal-and-master relationship. The colonists +made sure that the Dusties were granted the respect due them as rightful +masters of Baron IV. And somehow the Dusties perceived this attitude, +and were so grateful for the acceptance and friendship that there seemed +nothing they wouldn't do for the colonists. + +There had been many discussions about them. "You'd think they'd resent +our moving in on them," Jack Mario had said one day. "After all, we +_are_ usurpers. And they treat us like kings. Have you noticed the way +they mimic us? I saw one chewing tobacco the other day. He hated the +stuff, but he chewed away, and spat like a trooper." + +One of the Dusties had been sitting on Pete's knee when Captain Varga +had been talking, and he had known that something terrible was wrong. +Now he sat on the desk in the office, moving uneasily back and forth as +Pete looked up at Mario's dark face, and then across at John Tegan and +Mel Dorfman. John's face was dark with anger as he ran his fingers +through the heavy gray beard that fell to his chest. Mel sat stunned, +shaking his head helplessly. Mario was unable to restrain himself. His +face was bitter as he stomped across the room, then returned to shake +his fist under Pete's nose. "But did you see him?" he choked. "Governor +of the colony! What does he know about growing _taaro_ in this kind of +soil? Did you see those hands? Soft, dainty, pink! How could a man with +hands like that govern a colony?" + +Pete looked over at John Tegan. "Well, John?" + +The big man looked up, his eyes hollow under craggy brows. "It's below +the belt, Pete. But if the government's been overthrown, then the +captain is right. It leaves us out on a limb." + +Pete shook his head. "_I_ can't give him an answer," he said. "The +answer has got to come from the colony. All I can do is speak for the +colony." + +Tegan stared at the floor. "We're an Earth colony," he said softly. "I +know that. I was born in New York. I lived there for many years. But +Earth isn't my home any more. This is." He looked at Pete. "I built it, +and so did you. All of us built it, even when things were getting stormy +back home. Maybe that's why we came, maybe somehow we saw the +handwriting on the wall." + +"But when did it happen?" Mel burst out suddenly. "How could _anything_ +so big happen so fast?" + +"Speed was the secret," Pete said gloomily. "It was quick, it was well +organized, and the government was unstable. We're just caught in the +edge of it. Pity the ones living there, now. But the new government +considers the colonies as areas for exploitation instead of +development." + +"Well, they can't do it," Mario cried. "This is _our_ land, _our_ home. +Nobody can tell us what to grow in our fields." + +Pete's fist slammed down on the desk. "Well, how are you going to stop +them? The law of the land is sitting out there in that ship. Tomorrow +morning he's coming back here to install his fat little friend as +governor. He has guns and soldiers on that ship to back him up. What are +you going to do about it?" + +"Fight it," Mario said. + +"How?" + +Jack Mario looked around the room. "There are only a dozen men on that +ship," he said softly. "We've got seventy-four. When Varga comes back to +the village tomorrow, we tell him to take his friend back to the ship +and shove off. We give him five minutes to get turned around, and if he +doesn't, we start shooting." + +"Just one little thing," said Pete quietly. "What about the supplies? +Even if we fought them off and won, what about the food, the clothing, +the replacement parts for the machines?" + +"We don't need machinery to farm this land," said Mario eagerly. +"There's food here, food we can live on; the Dusties showed us that the +first winter. And we can farm the land for our own use and let the +machinery rust. There's nothing they can bring us from Earth that we +can't do without." + +"We couldn't get away with it!" Mel Dorfman shook his head bitterly. +"You're asking us to cut ourselves off from Earth completely. But they'd +never let us. They'd send ships to bomb us out." + +"We could hide, and rebuild after they had finished." + +Pete Farnam sighed. "They'd never leave us alone, Jack. Didn't you see +that captain? His kind of mind can't stand opposition. We'd just be a +thorn in the side of the new Earth Government. They don't want _any_ +free colonies." + +"Well, let's give them one." Mario sat down tiredly, snapping his +fingers at the Dustie. "Furs!" he snarled. He looked up, his dark eyes +burning. "It's no good, Pete. We can't let them get away with it. +Produce for them, yes. Try to raise the yield for them, yes. But not a +governor. If they insist on that we can throw them out, and keep them +out." + +"I don't think so. They'd kill every one of us first." + +John Tegan sat up, and looked Pete Farnam straight in the eye. "In that +case, Peter, it might just be better if they did." + +Pete stared at him for a moment and slowly stood up. "All right," he +said. "Call a general colony meeting. We'll see what the women think. +Then we'll make our plans." + + * * * * * + +The ship's jeep skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. Captain Varga +peered through the windshield. Then he stood up, staring at the three +men blocking the road at the edge of the village. The little pink-faced +man at his side turned white when he saw their faces, and his fingers +began to tremble. Each of the men had a gun. + +"You'd better clear the road," the captain snapped. "We're driving +through." + +Pete Farnam stepped forward. He pointed to Nathan. "Take your friend +there back to the ship. Leave him there. We don't want him here." + +Nathan turned to Varga. "I told you," he said viciously. "Too big for +their boots. Go on through." + +The captain laughed and gunned the motor, started straight for the men +blocking the road. Then Jack Mario shot a hole in his front tire. The +jeep lurched to a stop. Captain Varga stood up, glaring at the men. +"Farnam, step out here," he said. + +"You heard us," Pete said, without moving. "Crops, yes. We'll try to +increase our yield. But no overseer. Leave him here and we'll kill him." + +"Once more," said the captain, "clear the way. This man is your new +governor. He will be regarded as the official agent of the Earth +Government until the final production capacity of this colony is +determined. Now clear out." + +The men didn't move. Without another word, the captain threw the jeep +into reverse, jerked back in a curve, and started the jeep, flat tire +and all, back toward the ship in a billow of dust. + +Abruptly the village exploded into activity. Four men took up places +behind the row of windbreaks beyond the first row of cabins. Pete turned +and ran back into the village. He found John Tegan commandeering a +squad of ten dirty-faced men. "Are the women and children all out?" he +shouted. + +"All taken care of." Tegan spat tobacco juice, and wiped his mouth with +the back of his hand. + +"Where's Mel?" + +"Left flank. He'll try to move in behind them. Gonna be tough, Pete, +they've got good weapons." + +"What about the boys last night?" + +John was checking the bolt on his ancient rifle. "Hank and Ringo? Just +got back an hour ago. If Varga wants to get his surface planes into +action, he's going to have to dismantle them and rebuild them outside. +The boys jammed up the launching ports for good." He spat again. "Don't +worry, Pete. This is going to be a ground fight." + +"Okay." Pete held out his hand to the old man. "This may be it. And if +we turn them back, there's bound to be more later." + +"There's a lot of planet to hide on," said Tegan. "They may come back, +but after a while they'll go again." + +Pete nodded. "I just hope we'll still be here when they do." + +They waited. It seemed like hours. Pete moved from post to post among +the men, heavy-faced men he had known all his life, it seemed. They +waited with whatever weapons they had available--pistols, home-made +revolvers, ortho-guns, an occasional rifle, even knives and clubs. +Pete's heart sank. They were bitter men, but they were a mob with no +organization, no training for fighting. They would be facing a dozen of +Security's best-disciplined shock troops, armed with the latest weapons +from Earth's electronics laboratories. The colonists didn't stand a +chance. + +Pete got his rifle and made his way up the rise of ground overlooking +the right flank of the village. Squinting, he could spot the cloud of +dust rising up near the glistening ship, moving toward the village. And +then, for the first time, he realized that he hadn't seen any Dusties +all day. + +It puzzled him. They had been in the village in abundance an hour before +dawn, while the plans were being laid out. He glanced around, hoping to +see one of the fuzzy brown forms at his elbow, but he saw nothing. And +then, as he stared at the cloud of dust coming across the valley, he +thought he saw the ground moving. + +He blinked, and rubbed his eyes. With a gasp he dragged out his +binoculars and peered down at the valley floor. There were thousands of +them, hundreds of thousands, their brown bodies moving slowly out from +the hills surrounding the village, converging into a broad, liquid +column between the village and the ship. Even as he watched, the column +grew thicker, like a heavy blanket being drawn across the road, a +multitude of Dusties lining up. + +Pete's hair prickled on the back of his neck. They knew so little about +the creatures, so _very_ little. As he watched the brown carpet rolling +out, he tried to think. Could there be a weapon in their hands, could +they somehow have perceived the evil that came from the ship, somehow +sensed the desperation in the men's voices as they had laid their plans? +Pete stared, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. They were +there in the road, thousands upon thousands of them, standing there, +waiting--for what? + +Three columns of dust were coming from the road now. Through the glasses +Pete could see the jeeps, filled with men in their gleaming gray +uniforms, crash helmets tight about their heads, blasters glistening in +the pale light. They moved in deadly convoy along the rutted road, +closer and closer to the crowd of Dusties overflowing the road. + +The Dusties just stood there. They didn't move. They didn't shift, or +turn. They just waited. + +The captain's car was first in line. He pulled up before the line with a +screech of brakes, and stared at the sea of creatures before him. "Get +out of there!" he shouted. + +The Dusties didn't move. + +The captain turned to his men. "Fire into them," he snapped. "Clear a +path." + +There was a blaze of fire, and a half a dozen Dusties slid to the +ground, convulsing. Pete felt a chill pass through him, staring in +disbelief. The Dusties had a weapon, he kept telling himself, they +_must_ have a weapon, something the colonists had never dreamed of. The +guns came up again, and another volley echoed across the valley, and a +dozen more Dusties fell to the ground. For every one that fell, another +moved stolidly into its place. + +With a curse the captain sat down in the seat, gunned the motor, and +started forward. The jeep struck the fallen bodies, rolled over them, +and plunged straight into the wall of Dusties. Still they didn't move. +The car slowed and stopped, mired down. The other cars picked up +momentum and plunged into the brown river of creatures. They too ground +to a stop. + +The captain started roaring at his men. "Cut them down! We're going to +get through here!" Blasters began roaring into the faces of the Dusties, +and as they fell the jeeps moved forward a few feet until more of the +creatures blocked their path. + +Pete heard a cry below him, and saw Jack Mario standing in the road, gun +on the ground, hands out in front of him, staring in horror as the +Dusties kept moving into the fire. "Do you see what they're doing!" he +screamed. "They'll be slaughtered, every one of them!" And then he was +running down the road, shouting at them to stop, and so were Pete and +Tegan and the rest of the men. + +Something hit Pete in the shoulder as he ran. He spun around and fell +into the dusty road. A dozen Dusties closed in around him, lifted him up +bodily, and started back through the village with him. He tried to +struggle, but vaguely he saw that the other men were being carried back +also, while the river of brown creatures held the jeeps at bay. The +Dusties were hurrying, half carrying and half dragging him back through +the village and up a long ravine into the hills beyond. At last they +set Pete on his feet again, plucking urgently at his shirt sleeve as +they hurried him along. + +He followed them willingly, then, with the rest of the colonists at his +heels. He didn't know what the Dusties were doing, but he knew they were +trying to save him. Finally they reached a cave, a great cleft in the +rock that Pete knew for certain had not been there when he had led +exploring parties through these hills years before. It was a huge +opening, and already a dozen of the men were there, waiting, dazed by +what they had witnessed down in the valley, while more were stumbling up +the rocky incline, tugged along by the fuzzy brown creatures. + +Inside the cavern, steps led down the side of the rock, deep into the +dark coolness of the earth. Down and down they went, until they suddenly +found themselves in a mammoth room lit by blazing torches. Pete stopped +and stared at his friends who had already arrived. Jack Mario was +sitting on the floor, his face in his hands, sobbing. Tegan was sitting, +too, blinking at Pete as if he were a stranger, and Dorfman was +trembling like a leaf. Pete stared about him through the dim light, and +then looked where Tegan was pointing at the end of the room. + +He couldn't see it clearly, at first. Finally, he made out a raised +platform with four steps leading up. A torch lighted either side of a +dais at the top, and between the torches, rising high into the gloom, +stood a statue. + +It was a beautifully carved thing, hewn from the heavy granite that made +up the core of this planet, with the same curious styling as other +carving the Dusties had done. The design was intricate, the lines +carefully turned and polished. At first Pete thought it was a statue of +a Dustie, but when he moved forward and squinted in the dim light, he +suddenly realized that it was something else indeed. And in that moment +he realized why they were there and why the Dusties had done this +incredible thing to protect them. + +The statue was weirdly beautiful, the work of a dedicated master +sculptor. It was a figure, standing with five-fingered hands on hips, +head raised high. Not a portrait, but an image seen through other eyes +than human, standing high in the room with the lights burning reverently +at its feet. + +Unmistakably it was the statue of a man. + + * * * * * + +They heard the bombs, much later. The granite roof and floor of the +cavern trembled, and the men and women stared at each other, helpless +and sick as they huddled in that great hall. But presently the bombing +stopped. Later, when they stumbled out of that grotto into the late +afternoon light, the ship was gone. + +They knew it would be back. Possibly it would bring back search parties +to hunt down the rebels in the hills; perhaps it would just wait and +again bomb out the new village when it rose. But searching parties would +never find their quarry, and the village would rise again and again, if +necessary. + +And in the end, somehow, Pete knew that the colonists would find a way +to survive here and live free as they had always lived. It might be a +bitter struggle, but no matter how hard the fight, there would be one +strange and wonderful thing they could count on. + +No matter what they had to do, he knew the Dusties would help them. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Image of the Gods, by Alan Edward Nourse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IMAGE OF THE GODS *** + +***** This file should be named 22882.txt or 22882.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/8/8/22882/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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