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diff --git a/78726-0.txt b/78726-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..65ac1dd --- /dev/null +++ b/78726-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,472 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78726 *** + + + + + Blood Lands + + by Alfred Coppel + + +[Illustration: Kenyon felt sick as he wiped his lips.] + + + “You will never take us away from our land, men from the stars ... + and no one who has touched this, our sacred land shall ever leave it!” + + + + +_--drums beating in the feather forests and a wailing in the wind as +the red sun sets protect us o father for the past men have returned and +we are afraid a deep sullen surging of the soil and a wordless reply of +alien anger mixed with pain our father rages whisper the chants leave +us alone you men of space what have we to do with you now?_ + + * * * * * + +The rendezvous was well away from the charnel, stinking area that had +been burned by the starship’s landing. Kenyon stood on the edge of +a plume-grove that grew down to where the tideless sea lay red and +shimmering. + +He looked back, cursing the flatness of the island. The spire of the +starship commanded a complete view of the territory; there was no place +to hide. Kenyon knew that anyone who wished to do so could spy on him +easily as he stood waiting for Elyra to come out of the grove. + +Not, he told himself defensively, that there was any good reason that +he should hide his doings with Elyra. Affairs with native women--while +not considered in the best taste--were common enough among starmen. It +was simply that the mission here was one of repatriation rather than +exploitation, and all members of the expedition had been warned against +forming liaisons that could conceivably become embarrassing situations +when the natives were moved off Kana. + +Kenyon shifted his weight nervously from one foot to another, peering +through the picket of quills into the grove. He would have liked to go +into the grove to meet the girl, but it was something he had never been +able to bring himself to do. One didn’t take chances on a planet like +Kana--one that had retrogressed from technology into legend-worshipping +semi-savagery. And there was that unanswered question about +cannibalism.... + +Not Elyra, Kenyon thought quickly; that wouldn’t be possible. After +all, the mission had been on Kana only a few days. It was only a matter +of time until the riddle of the native food-supply was solved. + +A soft rustling of the plumes warned him of her approach. Native +or not, he reflected, she was a handsome thing. Odd about the red +hair--they all had it, men and women alike. And the grey, almost cold, +eyes. But there was nothing cold about her body; it was lithe and +supple, burned golden by the light of the red sun. Her costume showed +most of it, and Kenyon could fully appreciate the rippling play of +muscles under the satiny skin as she walked. + +She paused at the very edge of the grove, solemn and unsmiling in the +slanting light. + +“The sunset comes, Kenyon,” she said. + +Her greeting was always the same. A dwelling on the ending of a day, +the fading of light from the sky. Kenyon unconsciously looked toward +the east, where the first pale light of a star was breaking through the +rusty glow of the sinking sun. Stars were pale on the Edge, he thought +vaguely. It filled him with a sense of distance, of vast empty spaces, +of the parsecs that separated Kana and its red star from the teeming +worlds of the inner systems. Little wonder it had been lost for so +long.... + +He shivered slightly and smiled at Elyra. “Shall we walk by the sea?” +he asked. “I’ve brought something for you--a gift.” + +Ordinarily, the promise of a bauble would have brought a smile to her +face, but she remained solemn and, it seemed to Kenyon, unduly aloof. +“Tonight you were to walk in the forest.” + +Kenyon frowned. He had promised her, and she had remembered. + + * * * * * + +In the far distance, on one of the islands across the red water, a drum +began to beat with a deep, thudding insistence. A sense of alienage +filled him, and something akin to fear--though he knew nothing that +should bring such feelings into a starman’s mind. All the teeming +billions of a starflung culture backed him with power and machines. +There was nothing in the inhabited galaxy a starman should fear; yet +Kenyon _was_ afraid--he knew it. Afraid of this watery world and its +islands. Perhaps he was even afraid of Elyra. + +“We have walked by the sea,” Elyra said, still standing apart from him, +“and now we should walk in the plume-forest. You have come here from +the sky to take my people from Kana--” + +There was little point in denying this, Kenyon realized, since both +Bothwell and Grancor had already announced it to the island chieftain. +Manpower was needed in the industrial combines of the inner worlds. +It was wasteful to let humans rusticate on a world without commercial +value like Kana. + +“--I would take you by the hand,” Elyra continued in her +quaintly-accented and archaic _lingua spacia_, “and show you why my +people have no wish to go.” + +Kenyon’s eyes widened at that. No native had yet offered any of the +mission’s three members a reason for their reluctance to leave Kana. +This was the first apparent break in a wall of courteous passive +resistance. If he, Kenyon, could be the one to convince the chiefs that +they should urge their people to board the starship without coercion +and bloodshed, it would be an excellent mark in his record; it could +lead to better things than herding troglodytes back into the fold of +the galactic State. + +“Wait for me, Elyra,” he said. “I will be back before the sun is fully +down, and I will go with you into the forest.” + +She smiled, showing sharp white teeth. + +Kenyon shuddered slightly and turned back toward the starship. Into the +forest he might go, he thought bleakly, but not without weapons--and +not without Bothwell and Grancor knowing what he was about to do and +where, in the service of the State. + + * * * * * + +Even in the cargo-holds--the huge pens intended for the natives of +Kana--he could hear Grancor and Bothwell arguing. + +Bothwell: “You bloody fool--you aren’t even able to tell me what +happened to the blasted barges! Even a thousand years in this climate +wouldn’t destroy them--let alone a mere four hundred. So where are +they, then?” + +And Grancor, in his dry and acid-tinged tones, like those of an academy +professor: “Obviously, my dear Bothwell, when the islands formed they +were no longer needed. They simply sank them.” + +Kenyon paused to listen. It was a perpetual argument between the older +men, and one he thought both fruitless and exasperating. One he had no +wish to join. + +It had begun with the planetfall, and the discovery of ten thousand +islands in the shallow sea that had once--according to the +book--covered the entire planet of Kana. + +Five hundred years ago, in the first flush of stellar colonization, +Kana had been populated with human beings from the inner galaxy. +Since no land of any kind was available, and since there was a ready +market for gold salts and nitrates that could be extracted from Kana’s +sea, a first-stage barge-culture was established. Floating villages, +hydroponics, an essential and highly-developed technology. And then +came the interregnum--a commercial interregnum that found the products +of Kana unneeded. Trade fell off, and eventually the planet and its +people were forgotten. A lost colony. It took five hundred years for +the manpower of Kana and other worlds like it to become valuable enough +to send repatriation missions out to gather it up and bring it into the +industrial combines. + +Yet the Kana planetfall brought some surprises to Kenyon and Grancor +and Bothwell, the mission’s nominal head. The barges were gone, the +inhabitants strangely changed and uncivilized, and a million islands +where none had been before. + +“Vulcanism is out,” Bothwell was declaring. “Kana and the Kana sun are +too old to support that kind of thing.” + +“You don’t know,” Grancor said drily; “you are a starman, not a +geologist.” + +“I’m no agronomist, either,” bellowed Bothwell “but I can tell you +nothing grows here but those damn feathers!” + +“They only _look_ like feathers,” Grancor said, “you’ve seen stranger +growths--” + +_Isolation_, thought Kenyon, _is sharpening their natural antagonisms. +Isolation and failure. A failure that neither of them will face up +to._ He knew that, in a matter of days, Bothwell would blow up and +order the Kana natives herded into the starship’s holds by force. They +had the weapons, but somehow Kenyon dreaded taking such a step; there +were dangers on Kana that none of the three men from the stars had yet +recognized--he was sure of it. + +He armed himself and went up the ramp toward the bickering voices; it +would be a pleasure to interrupt them. + + * * * * * + +Bothwell looked up as he entered, a frown on his craggy face. Kenyon +decided again, as he had every day for weeks, that he didn’t like +Bothwell. + +“And where do you think you’re going?” + +“Where indeed?” murmured Grancor. “Booted, armed and armored, our young +colleague goes to meet his pretty savage, of course.” + +Kenyon flushed. “Since we seem to be wasting time here,” he snapped +with some bravado, “I’m going into the forest to talk to the chief.” + +“Is that wise?” Grancor asked Bothwell. + +“Let him go,” the big man said. “When he’s convinced talking won’t +help, we’ll go out with blasters and herd the trogs into the ship.” + +Kenyon forced down his anger and turned away. At the bulkhead, he +stopped, unwilling to go without asking their help, and hating to do +it. “Please guard the command channel,” he said casually. “I’ll report +my progress by radio....” + +Bothwell let out a hoot of coarse laughter. “Progress! Into the forest +at night with his pretty trog and he wants to keep us informed!” + +Kenyon turned on his heel and almost ran out of the ship, his face +burning. Damn them both anyway! + +The sun was down and a thick dusk hung over the island. Kenyon’s boots +sank into the stinking, burned soil as he went, making him stumble. +_Like a red, unhealed scar_, he thought. Typical of the improvements +made by man on the worlds he exploited. + +Elyra was still where he had left her, waiting in the shadow of the +tall plumes. The drums sounded louder, their leaden beat drifting +across the darkling water of the sea from island to island. The last +bloody light was fading from the sky. + +Without talk, Kenyon took the girl’s extended hand and together they +vanished into the forest of waving plumes. + + * * * * * + +--_the night wind and drums in the forest a feeding circle forms to +greet a past man from the stars and the anger in the throbbing beat +underfoot grows dark and hungry wait the plumes whisper he is coming +wait the soil says he is coming to us your father will care for you and +feed you and you need not go out among the stars I will protect you_-- + + * * * * * + +It seemed to Kenyon that they walked for hours through the darkness. He +was conscious of a growing excitement in Elyra, of a feeling of triumph +and anticipation. He thought of Grancor’s speculations on cannibalism +among the Kana people and a sick thrill ran through him. + +As they reached a clearing in the forest, the drums stopped; silence +fell like a blow. Elyra turned to face him, her eyes wide and dark in +the shadows. + +He struck a match and lit a cigaret, sucking the smoke deep into his +lungs. Elyra flicked her tongue over her lips and Kenyon noticed its +sharp tip. He almost succumbed to an impulse to turn back, but the +thought of Bothwell and Grancor laughing at him held him where he was. + +“Be steadfast, Kenyon,” Elyra said, as though she had guessed his +thoughts. “Be brave and above all--be wise when you meet the father.” + +“Father?” + +She stamped a bare foot on the resilient ground impatiently. “The +father, Kenyon,” she said again. “The great one who came to my people +after yours had deserted us--” + +There it was again, Kenyon thought--that schism between the people of +Kana and the rest of the inhabited worlds. _Your_ people. _My_ people. +As though the birth of a legend of gods from space had changed the +inhabitants of Kana into something apart from the rest of the human +race. + +“There are no gods from space, little one,” Kenyon said gently. “Only +more men.” + +“The father is not a man,” Elyra whispered. Kenyon could almost feel +the mystic calm that descended on her as she contemplated the legendary +past. “Long ago, when the people of Kana lived on the sea and were +dying, the great gods came to us and fed us and made us warm.” Her +tone grew scornful. “_You_ would not understand me; I cannot make you +understand. But the father will speak with you, I am sure, and you will +know why our people must remain here for always.” + +“No,” Kenyon said. “One way or another, your people will come with us. +You are needed elsewhere.” + +She laughed at him. “When time ends--when the red star dies--we will be +here on Kana. _And so will every man who touched the sacred soil....”_ + +She stood on tip toes and kissed him, and Kenyon felt a stinging pain +on his lips. + +“Savage!” He stepped back, wiping blood from his mouth where her sharp +tongue had pierced his flesh. He struck her across the face, hard, +and she fell. It came to him in a sickening flash of completion. Not +cannibals--vampires. He felt his stomach heave convulsively. That +descendants of civilized men could become so depraved was unbelievable. + + * * * * * + +Grancor and Bothwell had to be warned. He keyed his pack radio with +the message and waited for a response as Elyra watched him from the +shadows. There was no response. Damn them! Were they guarding the +channel or weren’t they? He had no way of knowing. + +Elyra laughed. The sound of it was infuriating. He drew his blaster +and pointed it at her. “Lead the way back,” he commanded with more +confidence than he felt. + +For answer, she laughed again and vanished into the darkness of the +thicket of plumes. Nightmare! Kenyon fired blindly, searing a path +through the feathery growth. Again, laughter. + +And then a sudden thudding rush of naked feet, and hands laid roughly +on him, clawing, beating. He screamed with fright, threshing about in +the grip of strong arms. Then there was a stunning pain at the base of +his skull and darkness, deep and black as the night of space itself. + + * * * * * + +When Kenyon awoke, he lay naked in a clearing lit with torches. All +about, a sea of faces--the people of Kana. Someone was beating a drum, +very softly, with an insistent and hypnotic rhythm. His bare flesh +touched the ground, and for the first time, Kenyon was conscious of +the peculiar texture of the soil. Smooth, but warm with some kind of +latent, inner heat. + +The entire tribe of trogs was swaying, self-entranced by the drum beats +and the smoky night. Kenyon could hear their murmured chant, made +endless by repetition: + +“--_wake father wake father wake father_--” + +Kenyon tried to sit up, found that he could not. Unseen, fleshy bands +held him firm to the ground. Panic stirred in him, and he suppressed +it with all the power of his will and training. He twisted his head +about to see if he could find Elyra in the sea of faces, but she was +indistinguishable from any other woman. All were naked, all were +swaying in their ritual chant. The very air seemed to vibrate with the +beat of it. + +Kenyon twisted his head aside and froze with horror. Not ten meters +from him a stump of a man stood upright-- + +--no, it was not a stump at all--but a native buried to the armpits in +the ground. His eyes were wide open and his mouth worked convulsively. +The soil itself was pulsating slowly as the man sank steadily downward. +The man screamed. A liquid mumbling wail that broke into jibberish. A +yell erupted from the gathered trogs. + +“--_father wakes father wakes!_” + +Kenyon, eyes bulging, lay stiff--waiting for he knew not what. The +sinking man raised an arm like an automaton, pointing directly at +the captive. As though something had taken control of his vocal +cords--something alien that found speech a clumsy thing--the man spoke +in a hollow, ragged, sepulchral voice. + +“_You--man from the stars! Why have you come here?_” + +Kenyon could not reply. + +“_To steal my people. To take them from me_,” the accusing voice +thundered. “_When their own kind deserted them--I came across parsecs +of space--across the gulf between the galaxies--to live with them and +care for them. And now you think to take them away?_” And the buried +man laughed. A hollow, booming, awful sound in the firelit forest. The +trogs echoed his mirthless laughter. + +_--it’s a trick_, Kenyon thought. _Hypnosis. Or I’m going mad. I +thought the whole world was speaking through that man’s mouth--_ + +The man swept his arms about in a wild circle. He shouted at the trogs: +“_Eat! I feast! Join me, eat!_” + +Kenyon struggled against the bonds that held him, panic surging in him. +But the trogs did not attack him with their sucking, pointed tongues. +They bent over, pressing their mouths against the ground, plunging +their tongues into the soil. The buried man screamed once more and +vanished, with a wet, sucking noise. + +The whole thing leaped into focus in Kenyon’s mind, like a picture +forming. The soil, the earth--the islands; that was the father. A race +of beings from across space, finding refuge in the shallow, warm waters +of a world abandoned by the humans of the inner galaxy. Huge, plumed +beasts, willing to live in a ghastly symbiosis with the men they found +on Kana. Giving them the blood of the land to eat, and taking in return +the flesh of men. It was sickening, horrifying. Kenyon could imagine +the people leaving the barges for the islands they could see rising in +their ocean, and eventually living like parasites on the blood under +the tawny skin.... + + * * * * * + +With sick disgust raging in him, Kenyon threshed about, fighting tooth +and nail to free himself. He had to get away--out into the cold, clean +dark of space--away from this nightmare of alien and human depravity. + +And then suddenly, he was free and running through the forest, with the +naked horde of trogs running behind him, torches blazing. + +The awful plumes tore at his flesh, the hot pulsing soil of the island +softened to slow him. He could hear himself screaming in mixed rage and +terror as he fled. + +He had to get back! + +Back to warn the others! + +Back to the starship and cold clean metal under his naked feet and +sanity again. + +Behind him the trogs howled, and the dark forest echoed their cries. + +And at last he was running across the burned flesh of the area of the +starship’s landing. A ragged, craterlike puckered mouth. The ground +rippled and heaved in anger. Kenyon stumbled, fell. Picked himself up +again and plunged into the open valve with a sobbing, rasping cry. + +Grancor and Bothwell sat in the control room, their faces white. They +did not move when Kenyon stumbled into the cabin. They did not speak as +he babbled his story and yelled at them to lift the ship. + +“You’ve gone mad! Can’t you understand what I’m saying? We must get +_out!_” + +When they did not respond, he took the controls himself and closed the +relays. The rockets did not fire. + +There was a sinking sensation to the deck. Kenyon felt his sanity +totter. + +Grancor took him by the arm and led him to a port near the still-open +valve. + +“Look outside,” Grancor said gently. + +“You got my message,” Kenyon said. + +Grancor nodded. + +Kenyon stood in the open port, looking out. + +The sky was reddening in the east, and in the crimson light the plumes +were waving agitatedly. The ground was close. Too close. The red, +mutilated mouth had closed on the ship. Kenyon remembered the buried +man with a thrill of horror. The ship was sinking. In another few +moments it would be completely ingested. + +Kenyon was conscious of the nearness of a supernal, mammoth +intelligence. It hungered. + +Grancor and Kenyon stood in the open port, watching the silent circle +of trogs that had formed around the starship. They felt their craft +sinking slowly, down and down--into the bloody, living land. + + + + +Transcriber’s note: + + +This etext was produced from Dynamic Science Fiction, December 1952 +(Vol. 1, No. 1.). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78726 *** |