"How?"
"Have you got any idea of what it means to spend a night in the jungle here, with nothing at all to shut it out? When it gets dark and the slime worms come up and start : nibbling at your toes? Maybe we could live through a night of it, or even two nights, by being active and very, very lucky-but how about him?" Oscar gestured at Thurlow's still form. "That's why I made it our first business to find natives. We're safe, even if we are locked up."
Matt shivered. The slime worms have no teeth; instead they excrete an acid that dissolves what they wish to sample. They average about seven feet long. "You've sold me."
Tex said, "I wish my Uncle Bodie was here."
"So do I-he'd keep you shut up. I'm not anxious to get out of here until we've had something to eat and some sleep. Then maybe the boss will be back on his feet and will know what to do next."
"What makes you think they'll feed us?"
"I don't know that they will, but I think they will. If they are anything like the same breed of cat as the natives around the polar colonies, they'll feed us. To keep another creature shut up without feeding it is a degree of orneriness they just wouldn't think of." Oscar groped for words. "You have to know them to understand what I mean, but the Little People don't have the cussedness in them that humans have." , v .
Matt nodded. "I know that they are described as being a gentle, unwarlike race. I can't imagine becoming really fond of them, but the spools I studied showed them as friendly."
"That's just race prejudice. A Venerian is easier to like than a man."
"Oz, that's not fair," Tex protested. "Matt hasn't got any race prejudice and neither have I. Take Lieutenant Peters-did it make any difference to us that he's as black as the ace of spades?"
"That's not the same thing-a Venerian is really different. I guess you have to be brought up with them, like I have, to take them for granted. But everything about them is different-for instance, like the fact that you never lay eyes on anything but females."
"Say, how about that, Oz? Are there really male Venerians, or is it just a superstition?"
"Sure there are-the Little People are unquestionably bisexual. But I doubt if we'll ever get a picture of one or a chance to examine one. The guys who claim to have seen one are mostly liars," he added, "because their stories never add up."
"Why do you suppose they are so touchy about it?"
"Why won't a Hindu eat beef? There doesn't have to be any reason for it. I go for the standard theory; the males are little and helpless and have to be protected."
"I'm glad I'm not a Venerian," Matt commented.
"Might not be such a bad life," Tex asserted. "Me-I could use a little coddling right now."
"Don't go taking me for an authority on Venerians," warned Oscar. "I was born here, but I wasn't born here." He patted the floor. "I know the polar region natives, the sort around my own home town-and that's just about the only sort anybody knows."
"You think that makes such a difference?" Matt wanted to know.
"I think we're lucky to be able to talk with them at all-even if the accent does drive me wild. As for other differences-look, if the only humans you had ever met were Eskimos, how far would that get you in dealing with the mayor of a Mexican town? The local customs would all be different."
"Then maybe they won't feed us, after all," Tex said mournfully. t,
But they were fed, and shortly. The curtain was thrust back, something was deposited on the floor, and the door was closed again.
There was a platter of some lumpish substance, color and texture indeterminate in the dim light, and an object about the size and shape of an ostrich egg. Oscar took the platter and sniffed at it, then took a small piece and tasted it. "It's all right," he announced. "Go ahead and eat."
"What is it?" inquired Tex.
"It's . . . well, never mind. Eat it. It won't hurt you and it will keep you alive."
"But what is it? I want to know what I'm eating."
"Permit me to point out that you eat this or go hungry. I don't care which. If I told you, your local prejudices would get in your way. Just pretend it's garbage and learn to love it."
"Aw, quit horsing around, Oz."
But Oscar refused to be drawn into any further discussion. He ate rapidly until he had finished his share, glanced at Thurlow and said reluctantly, "I suppose we ought to leave some for him."
Matt tried the stuff. "What's it like?" asked Tex.
"Not bad. Reminds me of mashed soybeans. Salty-it makes me thirsty."
"Help yourself," suggested Oscar.
"Huh? Where? How?"
"The drinking bladder, of course." Oscar handed him the "ostrich egg." It was soft to Mart's touch, despite its appearance. He held it, looking puzzled.
"Don't know how to use it? Here-" Oscar took it, looked at the ends, and selected one, which he placed to his lips.
"There!" he said, wiping his lips. "Try it. Don't squeeze too hard, or you'll get it all over you." Matt tried it and got a drink of water. It was a bit like using a nursing bottle.
"It's a sort of a fish's gizzard," explained Oscar, "and spongy inside. Oh, don't look squeamish, Tex! It's sterile."
Tex tried it gingerly, then gave in and tackled the food. After a while they all sat back, feeling considerably better. "Not bad," admitted Tex, "but do you know what I'd like? A stack of steaming hotcakes, tender and golden brown-"
"Oh, shut up!" said Matt.
"-with melted butter and just swimming in maple syrup. Okay, I'll shut up." He unzipped his pouch and took out his harmonica.. "Well, what d'yuh know! Still dry." He tried a couple of notes, then broke into a brilliant execution of The Cross-Eyed Pilot.
"Hey, stop that," said Oscar. "This is a sort of a sick room, you know."
Tex turned a troubled glance, at the patient. "You think he can hear it?"
Thurlow turned 'and muttered in his sleep. Matt bent over him. "J'ai soif," the lieutenant mumbled, then repeated distinctly, "fai soif."
"What did he say?"
"I don't know."
"It sounded like French to me. Either of you guys savvy French?"
"Not me."
"Nor me," Matt concurred. "Why would he talk French?
I always thought he was North American; he spoke Basic like one."
"Maybe he was French-Canadian." Tex knelt beside hiifi and felt his forehead. "He seems sort of feverish. Maybe; we should give him some water."
"Okay." Oscar took the bladder and put it to Thuflow's Korps; he squeezed gently so that a little welled out. The injured man worked his lips and then began to suck on it, without appearing to wake up. Presently he let it fall from his mouth. "There," said Oscar, "maybe he'll feel better now;
"Are we going to save that for him?" asked Tex, eyeing the remainder of the food.
"Go ahead and eat it, if you want it. It turns a few hours after it's . . . well, it turns rancid."
"I don't believe I want any more," Tex decided.
They had been sleeping an undetermined length of time when a noise awakened them-a voice, unquestionably human. "Hey!" it demanded, "where art thou taking me? I insist that thou take me to see thy mother!"
The noise was right at their door. "Quell thy tongue!" answered a native accent; the curtain was shoved aside and someone was pushed into the room before the door was again closed.
"Hello there!" called out Oscar.
The figure spun around. "Men ..." he said, as if he could not believe it. "Men!" He began to sob.
"Hello, Stinky," said Tex. "What are you doing here?"
It was Girard Burke.
There was considerable confusion for the next several moments. Burke alternated between tears and uncontrollable shaking. Matt, who had awakened last, had trouble] sorting out what was going on from the fantasy he had been dreaming, and everybody talked at once, all asking questions and none of them answering. |
"Quiet!" commanded Oscar. "Let's get this straight. Burke^ as I understand it, you were in the Gary?" (
"I'm skipper of the Gary."
"Huh? Well, I'll be switched. Come to think of it, we knew the captain of the Gary was named Burke, but it never occurred to anybody that it could be Stinky Burke. Who would be crazy enough to trust you with a crate, Stinky?"