Crashlander

At the last minute I got a break. It was only a bit of misinterpretation on Emil's part, but one does not refuse a gift from the gods.

We'd crossed six or seven hundred kilometers of veldt: blue-green grass with herds grazing at wide intervals. The herds left a clear path, for the grass (or whatever, we hadn't seen it close up) changed color when cropped. Now we were coming up on a forest, but not the gloomy green type of forest native to human space. It was a riot of color: patches of scarlet, green, magenta, yellow. The yellow patches were polka-dotted with deep purple.

Just this side of the forest was the hunting camp. Like a nudist at a tailors' convention, it leapt to the eye, flagrantly alien against the blue-green veldt. A bulbous plastic camp tent the size of a mansion dorninated the scene, creases marring its translucent surface to show where it was partitioned into rooms. A diminutive figure sat outside the door, its head turning to follow our sonic boom. The yacht was some distance away.

The yacht was a gaily decorated playboy's space boat with a brilliant orange paint job and garish markings in colors that clashed. Some of the markings seemed to mean something. Bellamy, one year ago, hadn't struck me as the type to own such a boat. Yet there it stood, on three wide landing legs with paddle-shaped feet, its sharp nose pointed up at us.

It looked ridiculous. The hull was too thick and the legs were too wide, so that the big businesslike attitude jets in the nose became a comedian's nostrils. On a slender needle with razor-sharp swept-back airfoils that paint-job might have passed. But it made the compact, finless Drunkard's Walk look like a clown.

The camp swept under us while we were still moving at Mach two. Emil tilted the car into a wide curve, slowing and dropping. As we tumed toward the camp for the second time, he said, «Bellamy's taking precious little pains to hide himself. Oh, oh.»

«What?»

«The yacht. It's not big enough. The ship Captain Tellefsen described was twice that size.»

A gift from the gods. «I hadn't noticed,» I said. «You're right. Well, that lets Bellamy out.»

«Go ahead. Tell me I'm an idiot.»

«No need. Why should I gloat over one stupid mistake? I'd have had to make the trip anyway, sometime.»

Emil sighed. «I suppose that means you'll have to see Bellamy before we go back.»

«Finagle's sake, Emil! We're here, aren't we? Oh, one thing. Let's not tell Bellamy why we came. He might be offended.»

«And he might decide I'm a dolt. Correctly. Don't worry, I won't tell him.»

The «grass» covering the veldt turned out to be kneehigh ferns, dry and brittle enough to crackle under our socks. Dark blue-green near the tips of the plants gave way to lighter coloring on the stalks. Small wonder the herbivores had left a trail. Small wonder if we'd seen carnivores treading that easy path.

The goggled figure in front of the camp tent was cleaning a mercy rifle. By the time we were out of the car, he had closed it up and loaded it with inch-long slivers of anesthetic chemical. I'd seen such guns before. The slivers could be fired individually or in one-second bursts of twenty, and they dissolved instantly in anything that resembled blood. One type of sliver would usually fit all the lifeforms on a given world.

The man didn't bother to get up as we approached. Nor did he put down the gun. «Hi,» he said cheerfully. «What can I do for you?»

«We'd like —»

«Beowulf Shaeffer?»

«Yeah. Larch Bellamy?»

Now he got up. «Can't recognize anybody on this crazy world. Goggles covering half your face, everybody the same color — you have to go stark naked to be recognized, and then only the women know you. Whatinhell are you doing on Gummidgy, Bey?»

«I'll tell you later. Larch, this is Emil Home. Emil, meet Larchmont Bellamy.»

«Pleasure,» said Bellamy, grinning as if indeed it were. Then his grin tried to break into laughter, and he smothered it. «Let's go inside and swallow something wet.»

«What was funny?»

«Don't be offended, Mr. Home. You and Bey do make an odd pair. I was thinking that the two of you are like a medium-sized beach ball standing next to a baseball bat. How did you meet?»

«On the ship,» said Emil.

The camp tent had a collapsible revolving door to hold the pressure. Inside, the tent was almost luxurious, though it was all foldaway stuff. Chairs and sofas were soft, cushiony fabric surfaces, holding their shape through insulated static charges. Tables were memory plastic. Probably they compressed into small cubes for storage aboard ship. Light came from glow strips in the fabric of the pressurized tent. The bar was a floating portable. It came to meet us at the door, took our orders, and passed out drinks.

«All right,» Bellamy said, sprawling in an armchair. When he relaxed, he relaxed totally, like a cat. Or a tiger. «Bey, how did you come to Gummidgy? And where's Sharrol?»

«She can't travel in space.»

«Oh? I didn't know. That can happen to anyone.» But his eyes questioned.