“Which way?” Siller said. “Toward those hills?”
“Might as well. What a flat planet!” Carmichel strode off, leaving deep tracks behind him. The others followed.
“Harmless looking place,” Basset said. He picked a handful of the little plants. “What are they? Some kind of weed.” He stuffed them into the pocket of his spacesuit.
“Stop” Siller froze, rigid, his gun raised.
“What is it?”
“Something moved. Through that patch of shrubbery over there.”
They waited. Everything was quiet around them. A faint breeze eddied through the surface of green. The sky overhead was a clear, warm blue, with a few faint clouds.
“What did it look like?” Basset said.
“Some insect. Wait.” Siller crossed to the patch of plants. He kicked at them. All at once a tiny creature rushed out, scuttling away. Siller fired. The bolt from the Boris gun ignited the ground, a roar of white fire. When the cloud dissipated there was nothing but a seared pit.
“Sorry.” Siller lowered the gun shakily.
“It’s all right. Better to shoot first, on a strange planet.” Groves and Carmichel went on ahead, up a low rise.
“Wait for me,” Basset called. He fell behind the others. “I have something in my boot.”
“You can catch up.” The three went on, leaving the Doctor alone. He sat down on the moist ground, grumbling. He began to unlace his boot slowly, carefully.
Around him the air was warm. He sighed, relaxing. After a moment he removed his helmet and adjusted his glasses. Smells of plants and flowers were heavy in the air. He took a deep breath, letting it out again slowly. Then he put his helmet back on and finished lacing up his boot.
A tiny man, not six inches high, appeared from a clump of weeds and shot an arrow at him.
Basset stared down. The arrow, a minute splinter of wood, was sticking in the sleeve of his spacesuit. He opened and closed his mouth but no sounds came.
A second arrow glanced off the transparent shield of his helmet. Then a third and a fourth. The tiny man had been joined by companions, one of them on a tiny horse.
“Mother of Heaven!” Basset said.
“What’s the matter?” General Groves’ voice came in his earphones. “Are you all right, Doctor?”
“Sir, a tiny man just fired an arrow at me.”
“Really?”
“There’s—there’s a whole bunch of them, now.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No!” Basset scrambled to his feet. A volley of arrows rose up, sticking into his suit, glancing off his helmet. The shrill voices of the tiny men came to his ears, an excited, penetrating sound. “General, please come back here!”
Groves and Siller appeared at the top of the ridge. “Basset, you must be out of—”
They stopped, transfixed. Siller raised the Boris gun, but Groves pushed the muzzle down. “Impossible.” He advanced, staring down at the ground. An arrow pinged against his helmet. “Little men. With bows and arrows.”
Suddenly the little men turned and fled. They raced off, some on foot, some on horseback, back through the weeds and out the other side.
“There they go,” Siller said. “Should we follow them? See where they live?”
“It isn’t possible.” Groves shook his head. “No planet has yielded tiny human beings like this. So small!”
Commander Carmichel strode down the ridge to them. “Did I really see it? You men saw it, too? Tiny figures, racing away?”
Groves pulled an arrow from his suit. “We saw. And felt.” He held the arrow close to the plate of his helmet, examining it. “Look—the tip glitters. Metal tipped.”
“Did you notice their costumes?” Basset said. “In a storybook I once read. Robin Hood. Little caps, boots.”
“A story…” Groves rubbed his jaw, a strange look suddenly glinting in his eyes. “A book.”
“What, sir?” Siller said.
“Nothing.” Groves came suddenly to life, moving away. “Let’s follow them. I want to see their city.”
He increased his pace, walking with great strides after the tiny men, who had not got very far off, yet.
“Come on,” Siller said. “Before they get away.” He and Carmichel and Basset followed behind Groves, catching up with him. The four of them kept pace with the tiny men, who were hurrying away as fast as they could. After a time one of the tiny men stopped, throwing himself down on the ground. The others hesitated, looking back.
“He’s tired out,” Siller said. “He can’t make it.”
Shrill squeaks rose. He was being urged on.
“Give him a hand,” Basset said. He bent down, picking the tiny figure up. He held him carefully between his gloved fingers, turning him around and around.
“Ouch!” He set him down quickly.
“What is it?” Groves came over.
“He stung me.” Basset massaged his thumb.
“Stung you?”
“Stabbed, I mean. With his sword.”
“You’ll be all right.” Groves went on, after the tiny figures.
“Sir,” Siller said to Carmichel, “this certainly makes the Ganymede problem seem remote.”
“It’s a long way off.”
“I wonder what their city will be like,” Groves said.
“I think I know,” Basset said.
“You know? How?”
Basset did not answer. He seemed to be deep in thought, watching the figures on the ground intently.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s not lose them.”
They stood together, none of them speaking. Ahead, down a long slope, lay a miniature city. The tiny figures had fled into it, across a drawbridge. Now the bridge was rising, lifted by almost invisible threads. Even as they watched, the bridge snapped shut.
“Well, Doc?” Siller said. “This what you expected?”
Basset nodded. “Exactly.”
The city was walled, built of gray stone. It was surrounded by a little moat. Countless spires rose up, a conglomeration of peaks and gables, tops of buildings. There was furious activity going on inside the city. A cacophony of shrill sounds from countless throats drifted across the moat to the four men, growing louder each moment. At the walls of the city figures appeared, soldiers in armor, peering across the moat at them.
Suddenly the drawbridge quivered. It began to slide down, descending into position. There was a pause. Then—
“Look!” Groves exclaimed. “Here they come.”
Siller raised his gun. “My Lord! Look at them!”
A horde of armed men on horseback clattered across the drawbridge, spilling out onto the ground beyond. They came straight toward the four spacesuited men, the sun sparkling against their shields and spears. There were hundreds of them, decked with streamers and banners and pennants of all colors and sizes. An impressive sight, on a small scale.
“Get ready,” Carmichel said. “They mean business. Watch your legs.” He tightened the bolts of his helmet.
The first wave of horsemen reached Groves, who was standing a little ahead of the others. A ring of warriors surrounded him, little glittering armored and plumed figures, hacking furiously at his ankles with miniature swords.
“Cut it out!” Groves howled, leaping back. “Stop!”
“They’re going to give us trouble,” Carmichel said.
Siller began to giggle nervously, as arrows flew around him. “Shall I give it to them, sir? One blast from the Boris gun and—”
“No! Don’t fire—that’s an order.” Groves moved back as a phalanx of horses rushed toward him, spears lowered. He swung his leg, spilling them over with his heavy boot. A frantic mass of men and horses struggled to right themselves.
“Back,” Basset said. “Those damn archers.”
Countless men on foot were rushing from the city with long bows and quivers strapped to their backs. A chaos of shrill sound filled the air.
“He’s right,” Carmichel said. His leggings had been hacked clean through by determined knights who had dismounted and were swinging again and again, trying to chop him down. “If we’re not going to fire we better retreat. They’re tough.”