“Anything which survived the burn-off,” Tau half whispered, “must have been far down the scale—”
“But the fields,” protested Dane. He had been trying to figure out a possible lure for the mysterious Limbians, if and when they appeared. Having no idea as to their nature, he was faced with a real problem in contact. What if their eyesight differed—the brightly coloured trifles designed to attract the usual primitive races would then be worthless. And if their auditory sense was not within human range the music boxes which had been used to such excellent advantage in establishing friendly relations with the Kanddoyds could not be brought out. He was inclined to dwell on the scent of the field plants. Their spiciness, which was so strong that it was thick to notoriously dull human nostrils, was the only distinctive attribute he had to follow. A contact baited with scent—spicy scent—might just work. He asked Tau a question:
“Those plants are aromatic. Do you have anything like that scent in your medical stores? I’ve some perfumed soap from Garatole in my trade kit, but that’s pretty strong—”
Tau smiled. “The problem of bait, eh? Yes, scent might just bring them in. But look here, I’d try Mura’s stores instead of the medical ones. Get some pinches of his spices—”
Dane leaned back against the rock. Now why hadn’t he thought of that! Flavours used in cooking—sure, Mura might have some substance in the galley which would attract a people who raised the lacy leaved herbs. But he’d have to go back to the Queen to see—
“I’d say,” the Medic continued, “that we’re not going to make contact today. It’s my guess they’re nocturnal and we should rig a contact point on that theory. Let’s go—”
As the senior officer of the scouting party, Tau had the right to make such a decision. And Dane, eager to start his own preparations for contact, was ready to agree. They waved the flitter down and reported back to the Queen, getting orders to return.
They were received in the Captain’s office and the Cargo-Master and Jellico heard them out, allowing Dane to state his suggestion concerning the use of spice to draw the Limbians from hiding. When he had spilled it out in eager enthusiasm, the Captain turned to Van Rycke.
“What about it, Van? Ever use spices in a contact?”
The Cargo-Master shrugged. “You can make contact with anything which will attract an X-Tee, Captain. I’d say this is worth a try—along with the rest of the usual stuff.”
Jellico picked up his com-mike. “Frank,” he said into the phone, “come up here and bring samples of all your spices—anything with a strong, pleasant odour.”
Two hours later Dane studied his handiwork with what he hoped was the necessary critical appraisal. He had selected a broad rock mid-way between two of the small fields. On the stone he had arranged materials from a basic trade kit. There was a selection of jewellery, small toys, metallic objects, which would easily catch the eye, then a music box arranged to be triggered into tune if handled. And last of all three plastic bowls, each covered with a fine gauze through which came the aroma of mixed spices.
Behind a bush was concealed the contact visa-view which would record any approach to that rock for the benefit of those in the flitter on the cliffs above—where he, Tau, and Kamil would spend the night on watch.
He was still amazed that he had been allowed to take over this presentation—but he had discovered that the creed of the Queen was just—the idea was his, he was to carry it out—the success or failure would depend on him. And he was uncertain within as he climbed into the flitter for the rise to the cliff tops.
CHAPTER SIX:
SINISTER VALLEY
Again Dane was conscious of the thick quality of the Limbian night. Since the planet possessed no satellite, there was nothing to break the dark but those cold pin points which marked the stars. Even the visa-screen they had set up below could hardly pierce the gloom, though it was equipped with a tri-strength delve-ray.
Tau stretched and shifted in his seat, inadvertently nudging Dane. Although they were wearing double-lined winter outer tunics and the temperature of the closed flitter was supposedly akin to the interior of the Queen, an insidious chill caught at them. They had divided the night into watches, the two off duty at the tiny receiving screen trying to nap. But Dane found rest beyond him. He stared out at the dark which folded about them like a smothering curtain.
He did not know what time it was that he saw the first flash—a red sword of light striking up into the sky in the west. At his exclamation Ali on duty at the screen glanced up and Tau stirred into wakefulness.
“Over there!” They might not be able to follow his pointing finger but by now they needed no such guide. The flashes of light were multiplied—then they were gone—leaving the night darker than ever.
It was Ali who spoke first: “Blaster fire!” His fingers were already busy on the keys, flashing a message to the Queen.
For an instant Dane felt a prick of panic and then he realized that the disturbance was far westward of the Queen. The ship had not been attacked in their absence.
Ali reported the evidences of distant battle. From the ship the flares had not been sighted and the men there knew nothing of any trouble. Nor had they seen, across the barrens, any disturbance at the ruins where Rich was encamped.
“Do we stick here?” Ali asked a last question. And the reply came promptly that they should—unless forced to withdraw. It was more than ever necessary to discover the nature of any native Limbian life.
But the screen which connected them with the valley below remained obstinately dark. There was the rock, the trade goods, and nothing else.
They kept two watches now, one for the screen and the other westward. But no more flares split the night. If a battle had been in progress it was now over.
By Dane’s reckoning it was close to dawn and it was his trick at the screen when the first hint of change came. The movement on the plate before him was so slight that at first he thought he had been mistaken. But a bush to the right of the rock below provided a dark background for something so weird he could not believe that he was seeing aright. Luck alone, and reflex action, pressed his finger down on the button of the recorder at the right moment.
For the thing was not only unsubstantial, it was also fast, moving at a speed which blurred its already wispy outline. Dane had seen something, he was sure of that. But what it had been, even its general form, he could not have sworn to.
With both Ali and Tau breathing down the back of his neck, Dane hung over the screen, alert to the slightest movement on its surface. But, though dawn was upon them, and the light was growing better all the tune, they could see nothing now but leaves fluttered by the wind. Whatever had passed that way had had no interest in the trade display. They would have to depend upon the film from the recorder to discover what it was.
Limbo’s sun began the upward climb. The rime of night-born frost which had gathered on the stones of the heights was lapped away. But the valley remained deserted, Dane’s visitor did not return.
The other flitter arrived with a fresh crew to take over the post. Rip walked over to speak to the yawning crew of the first.
“Any luck?” he wanted to know.
“Got something with the recorder—I hope,” Dane replied, but he was feeling more apologetic than triumphant. That faint shadowy thing might not be the owner of the fields—just some passing animal.