Just so long as they did nothing but watch Assuming they could watch without eyes. Probably they could; Dor knew there were other senses than man's, some just as effective. Maybe the plants resonated to sounds, hence reacted to his laughter, which must seem strange indeed to them. Or to the heat of his body. Or the smell of his sweat. How would they react to the zombies? He smiled privately; the zombies might make quite a stir wherever they passed!
The forest-for such it had become-opened into a grassy glade. In the center there was a depression, and there was a mound in it. The mound appeared to be made of wood, yet had no branches or leaves. What was it?
The antenna-trees merely looked; they did not act. That would not protect this forest from threats unless there was something else. Something that could act, once the trees had pinpointed the threat. Could this be an action device?
Dor would ordinarily have left it alone, for it could be folly to mess with things not understood. But he was scouting a path for the zombie army, and he did not want to lead it into some devious trap. Probably this growth was harmless, as it seemed to be immobile. But he had to be sure.
He was not so foolish as to step on it, of course. He cast about for deadwood, found an old dry branch, and used it to poke the object. He could just reach it, this way, standing on the rim of the depression. He would not have been surprised if water poured forth in a fountain, filling the bowl, or if the knob had sunk into an awesome hole. This whole woods could be carnivorous, luring animals to the center, dumping them into its maw-
But nothing happened. His speculations had been foolish. Why should trees go to so much trouble, when it was so much easier simply to grab passing prey, as tanglers did, or to repel intrusions by brambles or forget spells or bad odors? There had been no lure, either; he had come here only because he needed a good route through.
Well, whatever it was did seem to be inert, therefore probably harmless. The zombies could pass safely. Dor turned about and saw Jumper.
"There seems to be no threat," Jumper chittered. "Have you determined the nature of this formation?"
Dor froze. The spider had come up quietly behind him, sneaking up, intent on mischief. Only by chance had Dor turned in time. Now the sinister creature was pretending to be innocuous, until he could get close enough to bite off Dor's head with his gruesome chelicerae.
"Is there something the matter?" Jumper chittered, his ugly huge green front orbs glinting evilly. "You look unwell. May I rendder assistance?" And the monster took a step toward Dor with his hairy long legs. Dor whipped out his sword. "Back, traitor!" he cried. "Come not near me!"
The spider stepped artfully back, as if confused, only far enough to remain beyond slash range. "Friend, what is the meaning of this? I seek only to help."
Goaded beyond endurance by the thing's duplicity, Dor lunged. The sword sped forward with a precision that would have been unattainable by his own body. But the hairy arachnid jumped right over his head, out of the way.
Dor whirled. Jumper had landed on the wooden knob. Even in his righteous rage, Dor had some caution; he did not wish to step into that mysterious depression. So he stood at the rim, on guard, watching the enemy spider.
Jumper's attitude had changed. He balanced neatly on six legs, his long front two legs stroking the air softly. Dor recognized this as a fighting stance. "So you attack me without provocation?" the creature demanded, and there was a harsh edge to his chitter. "I should have known better than to trust an alien thing."
The stick Dor had used to poke the knob lay at his feet. He picked it up awkwardly with his left hand, keeping his sword ready with his right. "You were the one who betrayed trust!" he cried, poking at the spider.
It was a tactical mistake. Jumper threw a line around the end of the pole and jerked it to him. Dor was almost hauled into the depression before he let go. He staggered back.
The spider seized his opening. He jumped across the depression, landing beside Dor. He threw another loop, catching Dor's sword arm, drawing him off balance. But Dor reacted with the fighting reflexes of his powerful body. He jerked the arm back. Such was the strength and weight of his body that it was the gross arachnid who was now hauled off balance. No single leg of the spider's could match Dor's arm; the muscle tissue simply wasn't there. Jumper came forward, not falling because it was just about impossible for a thing with eight legs to fall, but lurching toward Dor. Dor reversed his motion and slashed viciously with his sword.
The spider shot straight up, barely avoiding the cut. There was no overhanging branch here, so what went up had to come down. Dor stood below with his point straight up, waiting for the spider to skewer himself on it.
But he had reckoned without the creature's monstrous agility. Jumper landed on the sword-feet first, all eight of them closing about the tip of the blade, supporting him. His weight carried blade and arm down, and Dor collapsed under it. Immediately the spider's sickening strands of web were all about him, entangling him.
Dor closed his left fist and rammed it into the spider's soft abdomen. The flesh gave way disgustingly, and strands of silk stretched and snapped. Then Dor put both hands on the sword and hauled it up, half-carrying the spider with it. He kicked with one foot to dislodge his antagonist-but this was another error. The spider looped that leg, drew his line in tight, and Dor had two hands and the leg tied together. Those spindly spider legs were savagely swift!
Dor fell on his back, fighting to free his limbs. But now the spider was all over him, throwing strand after strand around him, drawing them in tight. Dor heaved mightily, snapping more strands, but his strength was giving out. Soon he was hopelessly bound.
The monster brought his head close to Dor's head. The horrible hairy green chelicerae parted, ready to crush Dor's helpless face into a pulp. The sharp fangs were extended. The two largest green front eyes glared.
Dor screamed and kicked his bound feet and flung his head about as uselessly as Millie ever had. How had he come to this? Yet even in this moment of annihilation he retained some human perspective. "Why did you ever pretend to be my friend?" he demanded.
Jumper folded his jaws closed. "That is an excellent question," he chittered. Then he backed off, adjusted his lines, and dragged Dor over the ground toward a large tree. The antenna at the tree's top rotated to cover him, but could do nothing. The spider jumped to a stout branch, fastened a line, then hauled Dor laboriously into the air to dangle helplessly. Then he descended his own dragline to land beside Dor.
"The answer is, I did not pretend to be your friend," Jumper chittered. "I made a truce with you and treated you fairly, believing that you would honor that truce in the same fashion I did. Then, suddenly, without warning, you attacked me with your sword, and I had to defend myself. You were the one who pretended."
"I did not!" Dor cried, struggling vainly against his bonds. "You sneaked up on me!"
"I suppose it could be interpreted that way. But you attacked me, not I you."
"You jumped right at me, snagging my sword. That was an attack!"
"That was after you took your blade to me, and prodded me with the stick. Then I recognized your hostile nature, and took appropriate action." But the spider paused, considering. "I felt no hostility to you until that moment. Why should a stick provoke me when a sword did not?"