diff options
Diffstat (limited to '78738-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 78738-0.txt | 364 |
1 files changed, 364 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/78738-0.txt b/78738-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..07b27bf --- /dev/null +++ b/78738-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,364 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78738 *** + + + + + The Watchers + + by Jan Smith + [Pseudonym of George H. Smith] + + + + +Many stories have been written about the problems of dealing with alien +races, of wars between mankind and bems. But maybe that won’t be a +serious problem after all; we’d probably have no use for planets suited +to alien life-forms, our troubles may be with life-forms similar to +us--oxygen-breathing bipeds, looking for Earth-type planets, like the +Rumi. It’s then that we’ll have need for + + =The Watchers= + + + + +Man had been happy back in his little two-by-four system. Happy but not +contented. So he had invented himself a stellar drive and had burst +out of his nice safe little system into a galaxy that he wasn’t really +ready for. A galaxy where there just wasn’t enough of him to go around +and where other races were on the move, some of them races that also +wanted oxygen planets. + +That’s why there was a Space Frontier Watcher Service--just as if there +could be any frontiers in space. Man was spread so wide and far between +that sometimes he was only a rumor. But always out on the periphery of +his empire was the Watcher Service; The Watchdogs of Space, they called +us. That’s why I was sprawled in front of my fire on a tiny hunk of +moon they called Thirty which wound its way around a worthless molten +planet named Nestrond in a system you probably never heard of on the +other side of Wolfe 359. + +Thirty was a small, jagged planet with just enough gravity to hang on +to a breathless atmosphere, the thirtieth out among Nestrond’s huge +litter of moons. There were nights on Thirty when the big planet hung +overhead like a bloated pumpkin, the bulges in its gaseous mass lending +an impossibly grotesque appearance to its face. Sometimes I would +watch it as it came peeping over the ragged edge of Thirty; it seemed +so close that you held your breath for fear it would puncture itself. +There were other nights when Nestrond was eclipsed by clouds of gaseous +matter and by the nearer moons and then I’d lie there and listen to the +stars whispering--whispering the same age old stories that were always +new, the stories that lured man to Luna, then to Mars and finally right +out of the Solar System itself. + +But mostly I watched the screens in my underground bunker, watched the +space search radar screens and listened to the robot patrol rockets as +they reported back, their mechanical voices reeling off the endless +series of numbers that were their only language. Numbers that were +punched into cards and fed into interpreters as fast as the information +came over the hyperwave radio. + +They picked you out for this Service because your mother and father +and their mothers and fathers had been Watchers. The training course +was your whole life up to the time you were graduated to the tune of +speeches and cheering. Then they pinned a little gold radarscope on +your collar and assigned you to your first six months of lonely vigil +somewhere away off from everywhere. You ate and you slept and you were +bored and you were lonely but you watched. + +And then one day you weren’t bored anymore. You were excited and maybe +just a trifle scared because the keys of the translators were pounding +out a report from one of your brood of robots, a report that meant that +something was coming in from outside. A fleet of somethings and a fleet +could mean only one thing--a Rumi raid. + +Man had managed to get along with the flying squid from Sirius, with +intelligent plants on Varga but never with the Rumi. They were just too +much alike. Two races of oxygen-breathing bipeds in one Galaxy were +about one too many. + +This was why I was here on a moon in a deserted system that had been +ignored by men until the Space Patrol had learned that Rumi raiders +sometimes passed through it on their sporadic raids on the colonial +worlds of Wolfe 359. Now they were coming and I had only to wait and +watch my radar screens until they were in range, count them and press +the red labeled button that activated the hyperwave General Alarm +Radio, a radio buried deep in the solid granite of Thirty. A radio +which would keep broadcasting even if the Rumi should blast my bunker +off the face of the moon and sear it from end to end. + +Then the Rumi squadron came onto my screen. Man and Rumi had fought +a five year war, a war without a fleet action or a general battle. A +war of slashing cruiser raids, of surprise and trap. A war of sudden +raids in the night, of atomic torpedoes smashing into the hulls of +ships, of men dying in suddenly airless compartments. A war of blasted +frontier towns and brief, flaming battles over distant worlds. A war of +attrition in which the heavy Terran battlefleet could never quite bring +its full weight to bear on the light Rumi forces. It was always a city +blasted here or a convoy cut to pieces someplace else. + +Slowly the beeps on the screen drew closer, dividing themselves into +half-a-dozen pencil-thin cruiser shapes. With a quick leap across the +room I pressed the general alarm stud and started the hyperwave signals +on their way. The warnings would alert every Terran cruiser squadron +within range and would give the teeming cities of Asgard and Olympia a +few hours notice before the disruptor bombs of the Rumi rained down on +them. Then, my purpose on Thirty accomplished. I settled back to watch, +my excitement fading away; fading away and then suddenly flaring up +again as a seventh object came on the screen, an object that showed as +a red dot which meant a Terran ship. An unarmed, private craft, for a +warship would have shown as orange on the IFF screen. + +The Rumi had picked up the Terran craft also, because even as I watched +one of the alien cruisers peeled off and headed toward it. The Terran +craft was aware of its danger now and had changed course and was +heading directly toward the Nestrond system. + +My eyes glued to the spacescope I watched as the two ships came within +visual range. The long black Rumi cruiser with its bulging blaster +turrets was closing in quickly on a small Terran Crossley 18 of a type +used mostly for private yachts. I watched as the Terran ship went into +what must have been a body wracking turn in a desperate attempt to +throw off the cruiser. The pilot of the Crossley was good but not good +enough. A disruptor beam from the raider caught the Earth ship in the +port tubes and it fell away spiraling into the gravity of Thirty, with +flames engulfing its after portion as it reached atmosphere. + +With only a few hundred feet to spare the damaged spacer pulled out +of its fall with a flare of landing rockets, slowly leveled off into +a wobbly glide and headed for a fairly level plateau about twenty +miles from my bunker. Then the Rumi ship was coming back, orbiting +just outside atmosphere and finally plunging into it to pass over my +concealed post with the heavy beat of ion rockets. The big ship filled +my whole vision screen for a few moments and I would have given my ears +for a pair of six-inch blasters in turret mounting. But I didn’t even +have as much as a sidearm; Watchers were supposed to watch and warn, +not fight. + +The raider swept across the bow of the crippled Terran ship and poured +everything she had into it at point blank range. I could see that she +had been holed repeatedly but was still not finished, she had a pair +of jets in action and someone at the controls who knew his business. +The one thing that the automatics can’t do is to set a spacer down in +one piece; the intricate business of landing takes a pilot, not exactly +a superman but the closest thing to homo superior in reflexes and +know-how you could find. And setting a damaged ship down on a pillar +of fire with only half your jets in action just can’t be done. The guy +in this ship came close, though. He was at tree top level now, shaving +off trees like blades of grass and splashing flame about like a Martian +fire dancer, fighting the ship all the way. He just couldn’t keep her +level and the ship nosed over and smashed itself into a ball of smoke +and flame in a dry river bed. The odds against anyone surviving that +crack-up seemed overwhelming but with my scanner trained for close +range I thought I saw a space-suited figure stumble, fall and then +crawl away from the ship just before the fuel tanks let go with a blast +that shook every instrument in my station. + +The raider had swung up out of Thirty’s atmosphere and was turning its +nose outward but it had launched a life boat which was circling down +for a landing. Those cat-faced devils never miss a trick. That landing +force was to make sure that no one had survived to send a possible +warning. + +If those catmen thought someone had survived that crash, maybe I +thought so too. My orders were very specific about not leaving my +bunker and about not taking any chances of my whereabouts being +discovered but something within me was just as specific about not +leaving an injured human being to the Rumi’s none too tender mercies. +In a matter of minutes I was into my outer clothing and hurrying up the +ramp from my bunker. + +The cold on Thirty was unlike the cold anyplace else. It seemed to +have the ability to seep its way through the thickest clothing or the +stoutest walls. Even hurrying as I was through the gathering hoar +frost, I could feel it creeping into my flesh. I hoped fervently that +I would be back in the warmth of the bunker by the time the sun set +because then it really got cold. + +To travel a mile on Thirty you have to climb twenty up and down. It +was hard going all the way and my breath was coming in heavy, gasping +pants by the time I reached a ledge over the dry river bed in which +the wrecked spacer lay. It took me only one look to see that I was too +late. Beside the twisted mass of the ship sat a small gleaming object, +the spaceboat from the Rumi cruiser. Six of the raiders were gathered +about the space-suited figure of a human being. In a few minutes they +would either have loaded the injured person into their ship and taken +off or they would have done away with him. My first thought was to try +to get to their ship but since it lay only a few hundred feet away +from where they stood that was impossible. If I only had some sort of +weapon, I thought, I would be in an ideal spot to pick them off one by +one. The closest I could come to a weapon was a small pocket magnesium +flare for signalling purposes. + +If I was to do anything before it was too late I realized that I would +have to get closer. Dropping down on my stomach, I began to crawl inch +by inch down among the rocks and scrub growth toward where the Rumi +were busying themselves over the supine human figure. + +After ten minutes of crawling and slithering through underbrush that +ripped my clothing and scratched me badly about the face, I had worked +my way to within twenty feet of the Rumi. I had been careful to keep +downwind of them for I wasn’t sure how strong their animal sense of +smell was. Certainly the musty odor of them floated down on the wind so +strongly that I could make my way around them without having to risk +looking until I reached what I took to be a safe spot in a clump of +brush on the bank of the river almost above their heads. + +When I did look I saw that the Rumi had finished taking the spacesuit +off the prisoner and had gotten her--for the survivor of the Terran +yacht was a girl--to her feet. Behind them I could see clearly the +wreck of the Crossley with the name _Star Lady_ on her bow. Even I +had heard of the yacht _Star Lady_ and her owner Charles Thomson, +millionaire explorer. Without a doubt the girl was Thomson’s daughter. +The Rumi hadn’t killed her immediately so they probably intended to +hold her for ransom as they did so many of their prisoners. + +The girl was fighting and kicking as two of the raiders dragged her +back toward their ship. I knew that if I didn’t act quickly they would +have her aboard and far beyond any help I could give her. There was +only one thing I could do and that was to delay them until I could +think of some way of getting her out of their hands. If they thought +there was someone else on the satellite, they might make an attempt to +get me too before they left. I shoved with my foot and sent a small +avalanche of rocks and gravel down into the river bed. They were +after me instantly, three of them bounding along in my direction with +their flamers out. By the time they had scrambled up the bank, I was +crashing away into the undergrowth and out of sight. Now I knew they +wouldn’t leave, not without tracking me down first and I had an idea +it would turn out to be quite a job. Even with their catlike ability +for following a spoor, I intended to give them a run for their money +and if they caught me at least one or two of them might regret it. I +knew my satellite and I was confident that my training would give me an +advantage over them on its rugged surface. If I could get them to split +up, the odds against me might even come down a little. + +Running, climbing, crawling, I kept them always upwind of me and always +the sickening big cat odor warned me that they weren’t far behind, +that big cat odor that anyone who has ever visited a zoo or lion farm +is familiar with. Occasionally when I stopped to catch a few breaths +I would hear them pounding along tirelessly and I would be on my feet +again and plunging ahead. + +A few hours before it was time for the sun to set, they split up. We +had been crossing one of the few level spots on the planet, a great +stretch of grassland. The tall, hardy grass reached almost over my +head. The Rumi were a good bit taller than I, so much taller in fact +that I could see their heads above the grass when they still could not +see me. I watched them split up in an attempt to cut me off from the +hills which they took to be my destination. Half an hour after they +split up, I killed the first of them and doubled back in the direction +of the river bed. Now I had a weapon, one of those deadly Rumi heat +rays called flamers. They wear them strapped to their forepaws because +of their lack of a grasping hand. As I put on an extra burst of speed I +wasn’t much worried about the other two. They had gotten well off the +scent in their attempt to head me off and by the time they realized +that they had lost me, night would have closed in and I didn’t put much +store in the ability of those jungle cats to survive a night on Thirty. +There were still three of them left back at the wreck and they would +either have returned to their lifeboat or made a camp--I hoped it would +be the latter. + +My luck was still holding for when I reached the river bed I found them +huddled about a fire in the shelter of the wrecked Terran ship. An +officer and two others made perfect targets against the firelight but I +couldn’t fire because the figure of the girl sat in the circle of light +near them. With such an unfamiliar and widely destructive weapon, I +would be almost certain to cut her down as well as her captors. + +Once more I took advantage of a downwind position to work my way around +their camp and in among the wreckage of the _Star Lady_. The feel of +the magnesium flare in my pocket had given me an idea. If I could just +panic them and spread them out where the girl wouldn’t be in my line of +fire, I would have a good chance of picking them off. As silently as +possible I climbed up on what remained of the fore section of the craft +and dragged myself to a spot that was almost directly over their heads. +In the leaping light of the fire, I looked almost squarely into the +narrow, fur-covered faces of the raiders and could also see the pale, +pretty face of the girl framed in blond hair. Quietly but with my heart +pounding, I edged forward even closer--I had to be close--I couldn’t +afford to miss. If any of them looked up now they couldn’t miss seeing +me. Slowly I worked the flare out of my pocket and let it roll off +the edge of the wreck. An intense white light shot upward temporarily +blinding the Rumi. Two of them did just what I had hoped, they stumbled +off in the direction of their lifeboat. The officer did what I had +hoped they wouldn’t do, he grabbed the girl and pulled her back out of +the light. + +Even with that strange weapon, I knew I couldn’t miss those two running +Rumi. I cut them down with three quick blasts and then slid quickly +from the top of the ship as the officer poured a stream of fire at me, +fire that splashed and roared over my head. As I fell to the ground, +I caught a quick glimpse of the girl. She had broken away from her +captor and was darting into the undergrowth. He sent one burst of flame +after her and then had to leap for cover as I sent a steady stream of +fire in his direction. Then I was running, dodging and twisting behind +boulders and rocks and firing as I ran until my gun clicked empty. I +cursed myself for having forgotten to take the extra clips of ammo from +the creature I had killed. As my quarry almost got my range, I plunged +headlong into some brush and lay for a minute getting my bearings in +the rapidly fading light from the flare. Carefully now and with more +deliberate air, the Rumi tried to burn me. As quietly as I could I +moved toward him in the heavy undergrowth. The light was almost gone +and I didn’t think that even his cat eyes would be much good in the +ebony dark Thirty night. I could smell him, clearly in my nose was that +musty smell and no matter how still he might lie or how silently he +might creep about on those padded feet of his, I could follow him. I +stalked him in the darkness and he knew he was being stalked. He blazed +away at every shadow, at every bush that moved in the cold wind that +whistled along the river bed. + +He was afraid now and his scent was stronger. Then he was running, +trying to get to the lifeboat and I was after him. He was stumbling +and sobbing now, occasionally turning to fire back along the way he +had come. But I had already bounded around ahead of him and was coming +in to attack. He turned, his paw with the flamer darting upward. He +was quick but not quick enough. My hurtling body struck him before the +gun could fire and we went down in a struggling heap. The Rumi rolled +over trying to regain his feet but he couldn’t break my grip. The heat +gun had fallen into the undergrowth and he was trying desperately to +recover it and to fight me off at the same time. Unable to find the gun +he turned his full attention to me. + +We fought body to body, the musky smell of him almost choking me at +such close quarters. At the same time it sent a hot flood of rage +surging through me. He clawed vainly for the knife in his belt. He was +big and had the muscles of a wildcat but he had evolved too far up the +scale of evolution for a battle of fang and claw. I found his throat +and he screamed wildly like the big jungle cats his ancestors had been, +screamed and thrashed about until I found his jugular vein. Then he lay +still and his cat blood was all over me. + +A few hours later I found the girl. She had been running in circles for +hours and had finally settled down near a small fire she had started +with a Rumi flamer. She was all hunched over with her arms wrapped +about her as I stepped out into the circle of light. I came as near to +dying then as I had at any time that night. + +Miss Thomson screamed at first sight of me and her heat gun leaped +upward. I saw her finger tighten on the firing pin--then she relaxed +and ran toward me. + +“Thank God! You’re not a raider, are you? Come here, doggie! Nice +doggie!” + +I nuzzled her hand as she patted my head. Later I might tell her that +I came from a race of mutant dogs with I.Q.’s in the 200’s, developed +by man to aid him in guarding the far boundaries of his space frontiers +... later I might tell her all about the watchdogs of space ... but +right now I felt like having my ears scratched. + + + + +Transcriber’s note: + + + This etext was produced from Universe Science Fiction, March 1954 + (Vol. 1, No. 4.). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence + that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but + minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78738 *** |