One of the clawed forelimbs swung, but Dane grimly stood his ground, continuing to pour the full strength of the stun beam at its head. However, its actions were such that he feared he had chosen the wrong way to knock it out. Did it carry what brain it had somewhere else in that monstrous body? Ali and Rip, seeing that Dane’s attack did not knock it out, aimed lower, one at the thorax, the other at the barrel abdomen. Some one of the three must have reached a vital part, for the flailing limbs fell, to flap feebly a time or two against the body. It shuffled half around, as if attempting to flee, and then crashed, missing the dragon cage and the beleaguered brachs by only a little.
Ali snapped off the force field, and they hurried to the smaller creatures. Three were unhurt, but the kit lying on the ground had a tear along its shoulder down to its ribs, and it whimpered pitifully as Dane bent over it, the rest of the family drawing back as if they knew he meant to help.
“The dragons”—Ali had gone to peer into the cage—“are gone. Look here!” Under his touch the door swung open as if they had never latched it. But Dane would have taken an oath that they had.
He gathered up the kit with all the gentleness he could and started back for the LB, the other three brachs close behind him, chittering those sounds that, the more one heard them, sounded like words.
“We’ll look for the dragons,” Rip said, “if you can manage.”
“I can.” Dane wanted to get the brachs back to the warmth and safety of the LB. Neither Ali nor Rip would take chances with the stunned monster he knew. The first thought must now be for the wounded brach.
Whether remedies intended for humans would heal the wounded kit, he had no way of being sure, but those were all he had to use. So he sprayed the wound with antibiotics, painted it with a thin coat of plasta- heal, and settled the small body in the hammock where its mother speedily joined it, pulling it gently against her and licking its head until its eyes closed and apparently it slept.
The male brach and the other kit still squatted on the shelf where they had all climbed to watch Dane at his doctoring. Now, as he put away the med-kit, the cargo master looked at them. That they seemed able to speak to one another was evident. Could they communicate with him or he with them? There was one provision that was regular equipment on an LB and that he might try. He went to one of the emergency storage pockets and brought out a box, taking up its contents with care. There was a small mike, a voice box to strap to his own throat, and a flat disk. The second set of throat mike and strap he put to one side. Then he set the disk before the male brach.
“I, Dane—” He tried the oldest of all approaches, giving his own name. “I, friend—”
His hopes were so far realized that a series of squeaks did come from the disk. But whether the subtle speech translator had indeed made clear that limited reassurance he could not tell.
The male brach made a startled sidewise leap that almost took it completely off the shelf, and the kit screeched, jumping for the hammock, huddling down beside the female. Her nose had come up to present the horn, her lips drawn back in a warning snarl.
But the male did not retreat any farther. Instead, he hunkered down, looking from Dane to the disk, as if he were analyzing the problem. He hitched closer, watching Dane. The man tried again.
“I, friend—”
This time the chittering did not startle the brach. He advanced to lay a forepaw on the disk, then touched its short antenna wire, looking from that to the mike against Dane’s throat.
“My hand, it is empty. I, friend—” Dane moved with infinite care, holding out his hand, palm up and empty as he had said. The brach bent forward, advanced its long nose, and sniffed.
Dane withdrew his hand, got slowly to his feet, brought out the food mixture, and filled the bowl. “Food,” he said distinctly. Water was poured into the container. “Water, to drink—” He set them both where the brach could see them.
The female brach called out, and her mate scooped up the food dish, taking it to her. She sat up in the hammock, dipping up some of the mixture, licking it from her paw, pushing more into the mouth of the injured kit, who had also roused. The male took a long drink before he carried the water to those in the hammock, but he did not remain with his family. Instead he leaped once more to the shelf by the disk. Now he squatted with his snout very close to it, chittering at some length. He had the idea, at least half of it, Dane exulted. Now, could he get him to wear the other throat mike so the translator would work both ways? Before he could reach for it, the hatch opened. The male scuttled away from the disk and plumped into the hammock, and Dane turned, with some exasperation, to face Rip and Ali.
At sight of their expressions his attempt to communicate with the brachs was no longer of first importance.
7.ICEBOUND MURDER
“How large was the thing we stunned?” Ali asked. He made no move to unseal his tunic, and he still carried his stunner ready as if prepared to fight off an attack.
“Taller than any of us.” Dane could not give a more concise measurement. What difference did the size of the thing make? It was a menace, but they had proved stunners could handle it.
“By rights”—Rip had bolstered his weapon and now measured in the air another distance, about a foot between his two hands—”it should be no bigger than this, and, well, there are other differences, too.”
“Suppose you say what you mean, loud and clear.” Dane was in no mood for any more puzzles.
“On Asgard”—Ali took up the explanation—”there’s a burrowing creature, not too different really from a Terran ant, except in size and the fact that it does not live in colonies but is solitary. Only it doesn’t grow hair or fur, and it is not able to decapitate a man with its claws or stamp him flat. They call it—the settlers do—an antline. What we met out there is an antline with embellishments.”
“But—” Dane began a protest when Rip cut in.
“Yes, but and but and but! We’re both sure that was—is—an antline with modifications, just as the embryos were modified, just as these brachs are not running true to type.”
“Then the box—” Dane’s thoughts leaped to the danger they had buried. Stotz’s guard must not have been secure. The radiation had worked again on some creature burrowing too near its hiding place.
Rip might have been reading his thoughts. “Not the box,” he said flatly. “We went to look. It’s undisturbed. Also that thing could not have altered overnight to its present form. We did a little backtracking. It’s been here since before we set down.”
“What proof have you of that?”
“A lair burrow.” Alie’s face mirrored his distaste. “Complete with the refuse. No, it’s plainly been that size and been resident there for a good deal longer than two days. But it’s an antline.”
“How can you be so sure? You say there are superficial resemblances between a Terran ant and the antline. There could well be a native animal or insect here with the same general conformation, could there not? And this has differences—you say so yourself.”
“Rational reasoning,” Ali replied. “If there was not a museum of natural history on Asgard, and if it hadn’t happened that we had a shipment for it some voyages back, some Fortian artifacts that Van Ryke wanted given special handling, we wouldn’t know. While the curator was signing off our responsibility, we did some looking around. There was an earlier type of antline that died off long before the first settlers arrived. But some got caught in flash floods, were buried deep in peat, and were preserved. Those were large, haired, and enough like that thing out there to be its loving brother or sister! Asgard being a goodly number of parsecs from here, how do you explain the transportation of a living life form that died out on another world about fifty thousand planet years ago?”