* * * *
They discussed it for the rest of the day, hidden in the deepest part of the woods. The only alternatives seemed to be Man or Dog. A Tree couldn’t walk past the gates, since that was not in the nature of trees. Nor could anything else, and escape notice.
Going as a Man seemed too risky. They decided that Ger would sally out in the morning as a Dog.
“Now get some sleep,” Pid said.
Obediently his two crewmen flattened out, going immediately Shapeless. But Pid had a more difficult time.
Everything looked too easy. Why wasn’t the atomic installation better guarded? Certainly the Men must have learned something from the expeditions they had captured in the past. Or had they killed them without asking any questions?
You couldn’t tell what an alien would do.
Was that open gate a trap?
Wearily he flowed into a comfortable position on the lumpy ground. Then he pulled himself together hastily.
He had gone Shapeless!
Comfort was not in the line of duty, he reminded himself, and firmly took a Pilot’s Shape.
But a Pilot’s Shape wasn’t constructed for sleeping on damp, bumpy ground. Pid spent a restless night, thinking of ships, and wishing he were flying one.
He awoke in the morning tired and ill-tempered. He nudged Ger.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said.
Ger flowed gaily to his feet.
“Come on, Ilg,” Pid said angrily, looking around. “Wake up.”
There was no reply.
“Ilg!” he called.
Still there was no reply.
“Help me look for him,” Pid said to Ger. “He must be around here somewhere.”
Together they tested every bush, tree, log and shrub in the vicinity. But none of them was Ilg.
Pid began to feel a cold panic run through him. What could have happened to the Radioman?
“Perhaps he decided to go through the gate on his own,” Ger suggested.
Pid considered the possibility. It seemed unlikely. Ilg had never shown much initiative. He had always been content to follow orders.
They waited. But midday came, and there was still no sign of Ilg.
“We can’t wait any longer,” Pid said, and they started through the woods. Pid wondered if Ilg had tried to get through the gates on his own. Those quiet types often concealed a foolhardy streak.
But there was nothing to show that Ilg had been successful. He would have to assume that the Radioman was dead, or captured by the Men.
That left two of them to activate a Displacer.
And he still didn’t know what had happened to the other expeditions.
* * * *
At the edge of the woods, Ger turned himself into a facsimile of a Dog. Pid inspected him carefully.
“A little less tail,” he said.
Ger shortened his tail.
“More ears.”
Ger lengthened his ears,
“Now even them up.”
They became even.
Pid inspected the finished product. As far as he could tell, Ger was perfect, from the tip of his tail to his wet, black nose.
“Good luck,” Pid said.
“Thanks.” Cautiously Ger moved out of the woods, walking in the lurching style of Dogs and Men. At the gate the guard called to him. Pid held his breath.
Ger walked past the Man, ignoring him. The Man started to walk over. Ger broke into a run.
Pid shaped a pair of strong legs for himself, ready to dash if Ger was caught.
But the guard turned back to his gate. Ger stopped running immediately, and strolled quietly toward the main door of the building.
Pid dissolved his legs with a sigh of relief…and then tensed again.
The main door was closed!
Pid hoped the Radioman wouldn’t try to open it. That was not in the nature of Dogs.
As he watched, another Dog came running toward Ger. Ger backed away from him. The Dog approached and sniffed. Ger sniffed back.
Then both of them ran around the building.
That was clever, Pid thought. There was bound to be a door in the rear.
He glanced up at the afternoon sun. As soon as the Displacer was activated, the Grom armies would begin to pour through. By the time the Men recovered from the shock, a million or more Grom troops would be here, weapons and all. With more following.
The day passed slowly, and nothing happened.
Nervously Pid watched the front of the plant. It shouldn’t be taking so long, if Ger were successful.
Late into the night he waited. Men walked in and out of the installation, and Dogs barked around the gates. But Ger did not appear.
Ger had failed. Ilg was gone. Only he was left.
And still he didn’t know what had happened.
* * * *
By morning, Pid was in complete despair. He knew that the twenty-first Grom expedition to this planet was near the point of complete failure. Now it was all up to him.
He saw that workers were arriving in great number, rushing through the gates. He decided to take advantage of the apparent confusion, and started to shape himself into a Man.
A Dog walked past the woods where he was hiding.
“Hello,” the Dog said.
It was Ger!
“What happened?” Pid asked, with a sigh of relief. “Why were you so long? Couldn’t you get in?”
“I don’t know,” Ger said, wagging his tail. “I didn’t try.”
Pid was speechless.
“I went hunting,” Ger said complacently. “This form is ideal for Hunting, you know. I went out the rear gate with another Dog.”
“But the expedition—your duty—”
“I changed my mind,” Ger told him. “You know, Pilot, I never wanted to be a Detector.”
“But you were born a Detector!”
“That’s true,” Ger said. “But it doesn’t help. I always wanted to be a Hunter.”
Pid shook his entire body in annoyance. “You can’t,” he said, very slowly, as one would explain to a Gromling. “The Hunter shape is forbidden to you.”
“Not here it isn’t,” Ger said, still wagging his tail.
“Let’s have no more of this,” Pid said angrily. “Get into that installation and set up your Displacer. I’ll try to overlook this heresy.”
“No,” Ger said. “I don’t want the Grom here. They’d ruin it for the rest of us.”
“He’s right,” a nearby oak tree said.
“Ilg!” Pid gasped. “Where are you?”
* * * *
Branches stirred. “I’m right here,” Ilg said. “I’ve been Thinking.”
“But—your caste—”
“Pilot,” Ger said sadly, “why don’t you wake up? Most of the people on Grom are miserable. Only custom makes us take the caste-shape of our ancestors.”
“Pilot,” Ilg said, “all Grom are born Shapeless!”
“And being born Shapeless, all Grom should have Freedom of Shape,” Ger said.
“Exactly,” Ilg said. “But he’ll never understand. Now excuse me. I want to Think.” And the oak tree was silent.
Pid laughed humorlessly. “The Men will kill you off,” he said. “Just as they killed off all the other expeditions.”
“No one from Grom has been killed,” Ger told him. “The other expeditions are right here.”
“Alive?”
“Certainly. The Men don’t even know we exist. That Dog I was Hunting with is a Grom from the twelfth expedition. There are hundreds of us here, Pilot. We like it.”
Pid tried to absorb it all. He had always known that the lower castes were lax in caste-consciousness. But this was preposterous!
This planet’s secret menace was—freedom!
“Join us, Pilot,” Ger said. “We’ve got a paradise here. Do you know how many species there are on this planet? An uncountable number! There’s a shape to suit every need!”
Pid ignored them. Traitors!
He’d do the job all by himself.
So Men were unaware of the presence of the Grom. Getting near the reactor might not be so difficult after all. The others had failed in their duty because they were of the lower castes, weak and irresponsible. Even the Pilots among them must have been secretly sympathetic to the Cult of Shapelessness the Chief had mentioned, or the alien planet could never have swayed them.