Chapter V

THE PERILOUS SEAS

The gorp hunters straggled through the grass forest in family groups, and

the Terrans saw that the enterprise had forced another uneasy truce upon

the district, for there were representatives from more than just Paft's

own clan. All the Salariki were young and the parties babbled together in

excitement. It was plain that this hunt, staged upon a large scale, was

not only a means of revenge upon a hated enemy but, also, a sporting

event of outstanding prestige.

Now the grass trees began to show ragged gaps, open spaces between their

clumps, until the forest was only scattered groups and the party the

Terrans had joined walked along a trail cloaked in knee-high, yellow-red

fern growth. Most of the Salariki carried unlit torches, some having four

or five bundled together, as if gorp hunting must be done after

nightfall. And it _was_ fairly late in the afternoon before they topped a

rise of ground and looked out upon one of Sargol's seas.

The water was a dull-metallic gray, broken by great swaths of purple as

if an artist had slapped a brush of color across it in a hit or miss

fashion. Sand of the red grit, lightened by the golden flecks which

glittered in the sun, stretched to the edge of the wavelets breaking with

only languor on the curve of earth. The bulk of islands arose in serried

ranks farther out--crowned with grass trees all rippling under the sea

wind.

They came out upon the beach where one of the purple patches touched the

shore and Dane noted that it left a scummy deposit there. The Terrans

went on to the water's edge. Where it was clear of the purple stuff they

could get a murky glimpse of the bottom, but the scum hid long stretches

of shoreline and outer wave, and Dane wondered if the gorp used it as a

protective covering.

For the moment the Salariki made no move toward the sea which was to be

their hunting ground. Instead the youngest members of the party, some of

whom were adolescents not yet entitled to wear the claw knife of manhood,

spread out along the shore and set industriously to gathering driftwood,

which they brought back to heap on the sand. Dane, watching that harvest,

caught sight of a smoothly polished length. He called Weeks' attention

to the water rounded cylinder.

The oiler's eyes lighted and he stooped to pick it up. Where the other

sticks were from grass trees this was something else. And among the

bleached pile it had the vividness of flame. For it was a strident

scarlet. Weeks turned it over in his hands, running his fingers lovingly

across its perfect grain. Even in this crude state it had beauty. He

stopped the Salarik who had just brought in another armload of wood.

"This is what?" he spoke the Trade Lingo haltingly.

The native gazed somewhat indifferently at the branch. "Tansil," he

answered. "It grows on the islands--" He made a vague gesture to include

a good section of the western sea before he hurried away.

Weeks now went along the tide line on his own quest, Dane trailing him.

At the end of a quarter hour when a hail summoned them back to the site

of the now lighted fire, they had some ten pieces of the tansil wood

between them. The finds ranged from a three foot section some four

inches in diameter, to some slender twigs no larger than a writing

steelo--but all with high polish, the warm flame coloring. Weeks lashed

them together before he joined the group where Groft was outlining the

technique of gorp hunting for the benefit of the Terrans.

Some two hundred feet away a reef, often awash and stained with the

purple scum, angled out into the sea in a long curve which formed a

natural breakwater. This was the point of attack. But first the purple

film must be removed so that land and sea dwellers could meet on common

terms.

The fire blazed up, eating hungrily into the driftwood. And from it ran

the young Salariki with lighted brands, which at the water's edge they

whirled about their heads and then hurled out onto the purple patches.

Fire arose from the water and ran with frantic speed across the crests of

the low waves, while the Salariki coughed and buried their noses in their

perfume boxes, for the wind drove shoreward an overpowering stench.

Where the cleansing fire had run on the water there was now only the

natural metallic gray of the liquid, the cover was gone. Older Salariki

warriors were choosing torches from those they had brought, doing it with

care. Groft approached the Terrans carrying four.

"These you use now--"

What for? Dane wondered. The sky was still sunlit. He held the torch

watching to see how the Salariki made use of them.

Groft led the advance--running lightly out along the reef with agile and

graceful leaps to cross the breaks where the sea hurled in over the rock.

And after him followed the other natives, each with a lighted torch in

hand--the torch they hunkered down to plant firmly in some crevice of the

rock before taking a stand beside that beacon.

The Terrans, less surefooted in the space boots, picked their way along

the same path, wet with spray, wrinkling their noses against the

lingering puffs of the stench from the water.

Following the example of the Salariki they faced seaward--but Dane did

not know what to watch for. Cam had left only the vaguest general

descriptions of gorp and beyond the fact that they were reptilian,

intelligent and dangerous, the Terrans had not been briefed.

Once the warriors had taken up their stand along the reef, the younger

Salariki went into action once more. Lighting more torches at the fire,

they ran out along the line of their elders and flung their torches as

far as they could hurl them into the sea outside the reef.

The gray steel of the water was now yellow with the reflection of the

sinking sun. But that ocher and gold became more brilliant yet as the

torches of the Salariki set blazing up far floating patches of scum. Dane

shielded his eyes against the glare and tried to watch the water, with

some idea that this move must be provocation and what they hunted would

so be driven into view.

He held his sleep rod ready, just as the Salarik on his right had claw

knife in one hand and in the other, open and waiting, the net intended to

entangle and hold fast a victim, binding him for the kill.

But it was at the far tip of the barrier--the post of greatest honor

which Groft had jealously claimed as his, that the gorp struck first. At

a wild shout of defiance Dane half turned to see the Salarik noble cast

his net at sea level and then stab viciously with a well practiced blow.

When he raised his arm for a second thrust, greenish ichor ran from the

blade down his wrist.

"Dane!"

Thorson's head jerked around. He saw the vee of ripples headed straight

for the rocks where he balanced.

But he'd have to wait for a better target than a moving wedge of water.

Instinctively he half crouched in the stance of an embattled spaceman,

wishing now that he did have a blaster.

Neither of the Salariki stationed on either side of him made any move and

he guessed that was hunt etiquette. Each man was supposed to face and

kill the monster that challenged him--without assistance. And upon his

skill during the next few minutes might rest the reputation of all

Terrans as far as the natives were concerned.

There was a shadow outline beneath the surface of the metallic water now,

but he could not see well because of the distortion of the murky waves.

He must wait until he was sure.

Then the thing gave a spurt and, only inches beyond the toes of his

boots, a nightmare creature sprang halfway out of the water, pincher

claws as long as his own arms snapping at him. Without being conscious of

his act, he pressed the stud of the sleep rod, aiming in the general

direction of that horror from the sea.

But to his utter amazement the creature did not fall supinely back into

watery world from which it had emerged. Instead those claws snapped

again, this time scrapping across the top of Dane's foot, leaving a

furrow in material the keenest of knives could not have scored.

"Give it to him!" That was Rip shouting encouragement from his own place

farther along the reef.

Dane pressed the firing stud again and again. The claws waved as the

monstrosity slavered from a gaping frog's mouth, a mouth which was fanged

with a shark's vicious teeth. It was almost wholly out of the water,

creeping on a crab's many legs, with a clawed upper limb reaching for

him, when suddenly it stopped, its huge head turning from side to side in

the sheltering carapace of scaled natural armor. It settled back as if

crouching for a final spring--a spring which would push Dane into the

ocean.

But that attack never came. Instead the gorp drew in upon itself until it

resembled an unwieldy ball of indestructible armor and there it remained.

The Salariki on either side of Dane let out cries of triumph and edged

closer. One of them twirled his net suggestively, seeing that the Terran

lacked what was to him an essential piece of hunting equipment. Dane

nodded vigorously in agreement and the tough strands swung out in a

skillful cast which engulfed the motionless creature on the reef. But it

was so protected by its scales that there was no opening for the claw

knife. They had made a capture but they could not make a kill.

However, the Salariki were highly delighted. And several abandoned their

posts to help the boys drag the monster ashore where it was pinned down

to the beach by stakes driven through the edges of the net.

But the hunting party was given little time to gloat over this stroke of

fortune. The gorp killed by Groft and the one stunned by Dane were only

the van of an army and within moments the hunters on the reef were

confronted by trouble armed with slashing claws and diabolic fighting

ability.

The battle was anything but one-sided. Dane whirled, as the air was rent

by a shriek of agony, just in time to see one of the Salariki, already

torn by the claws of a gorp, being drawn under the water. It was too late

to save the hunter, though Dane, balanced on the very edge of the reef,

aimed a beam into the bloody waves. If the gorp was affected by this

attack he could not tell, for both attacker and victim could no longer be

seen.

But Ali had better luck in rescuing the Salarik who shared his particular

section of reef, and the native, gashed and spurting blood from a wound

in his thigh, was hauled to safety. While the gorp, coiling too slowly

under the Terran ray, was literally hewn to pieces by the revengeful

knives of the hunter's kin.

The fight broke into a series of individual duels carried on now by the

light of the torches as the evening closed in. The last of the purple

patches had burned away to nothing. Dane crouched by his standard torch,

his eyes fastened on the sea, watching for an ominous vee of ripples

betraying another gorp on its way to launch against the rock barrier.

There was such wild confusion along that line of water sprayed rocks

that he had no idea of how the engagement was going. But so far the

gorp showed no signs of having had enough.

Dane was shaken out of his absorption by another scream. One, he was

sure, which had not come from any Salariki throat. He got to his

feet. Rip was stationed four men beyond him. Yes, the tall

Astrogator-apprentice was there, outlined against torch flare. Ali?

No--there was the assistant Engineer. Weeks? But Weeks was picking his

way back along the reef toward the shore, haste expressed in every line

of his figure. The scream sounded for a second time, freezing the

Terrans.

"Come back--!" That was Weeks gesturing violently at the shore and

something floundering in the protecting circle of the reef. The younger

Salariki who had been feeding the fire were now clustered at the water's

edge.

Ali ran and with a leap covered the last few feet, landing reckless knee

deep in the waves. Dane saw light strike on his rod as he swung it in a

wide arc to center on the struggle churning the water into foam. A third

scream died to a moan and then the Salariki dashed into the sea, their

nets spread, drawing back with them through the surf a dark and now quiet

mass.

The fact that at least one gorp had managed to get on the inner side of

the reef made an impression on the rest of the native hunters. After an

uncertain minute or two Groft gave the signal to withdraw--which they did

with grisly trophies. Dane counted seven gorp bodies--which did not

include the prisoner ashore. And more might have slid into the sea to

die. On the other hand two Salariki were dead--one had been drawn into

the sea before Dane's eyes--and at least one was badly wounded. But who

had been pulled down in the shallows--some one sent out from the Queen

with a message?

Dane raced back along the reef, not waiting to pull up his torch, and

before he reached the shore Rip was overtaking him. But the man who lay

groaning on the sand was not from the Queen. The torn and bloodstained

tunic covering his lacerated shoulders had the I-S badge. Ali was already

at work on his wounds, giving temporary first aid from his belt kit. To

all their questions he was stubbornly silent--either he couldn't or

wouldn't answer.

In the end they helped the Salariki rig three stretchers. On one the

largest, the captive gorp, still curled in a round carapace protected

ball, was bound with the net. The second supported the wounded Salarik

clansman and onto the third the Terrans lifted the I-S man.

"We'll deliver him to his own ship," Rip decided. "He must have tailed us

here as a spy--" He asked a passing Salarik as to where they could find

the Company spacer.

"They might just think we are responsible," Ali pointed out. "But I see

your point. If we do pack him back to the Queen and he doesn't make it,

they might say that we fired his rockets for him. All right, boys, let's

up-ship--he doesn't look too good to me."

With a torch-bearing Salarik boy as a guide, they hurried along a path

taking in turns the burden of the stretcher. Luckily the I-S ship was

even closer to the sea than the Queen and as they crossed the slagged

ground, congealed by the break fire, they were trotting.

Though the Company ship was probably one of the smallest Inter-Solar

carried on her rosters, it was a third again as large as the Queen--with

part of that third undoubtedly dedicated to extra cargo space. Beside her

their own spacer would seem not only smaller, but battered and worn. But

no Free Trader would have willingly assumed the badges of a Company man,

not even for the command of such a ship fresh from the cradles of a

builder.

When a man went up from the training Pool for his first assignment, he

was sent to the ship where his temperament, training and abilities best

fitted. And those who were designated as Free Traders would never fit

into the pattern of Company men. Of late years the breech between those

who lived under the strict parental control of one of the five great

galaxy wide organizations and those still too much of an individual to

live any life but that of a half-explorer-half-pioneer which was the Free

Trader's, had widened alarmingly. Antagonism flared, rivalry was strong.

But as yet the great Companies themselves were at polite cold war with

one another for the big plums of the scattered systems. The Free Traders

took the crumbs and there was not much disputing--save in cases such as

had arisen on Sargol, when suddenly crumbs assumed the guise of very rich

cake, rich and large enough to attract a giant.

The party from the Queen was given a peremptory challenge as they reached

the other ship's ramp. Rip demanded to see the officer of the watch and

then told the story of the wounded man as far as they knew it. The Eysie

was hurried aboard--nor did his shipmates give a word of thanks.

"That's that." Rip shrugged. "Let's go before they slam the hatch so hard

they'll rock their ship off her fins!"

"Polite, aren't they?" asked Weeks mildly.

"What do you expect of Eysies?" Ali wanted to know. "To them Free Traders

are just rim planet trash. Let's report back where we are appreciated."

They took a short cut which brought them back to the Queen and they filed

up her ramp to make their report to the Captain.

But they were not yet satisfied with Groft and his gorp slayers. No

Salarik appeared for trade in the morning--surprising the Terrans.

Instead a second delegation, this time of older men and a storm priest,

visited the spacer with an invitation to attend Paft's funeral feast, a

rite which would be followed by the formal elevation of Groft to his

father's position, now that he had revenged that parent. And from remarks

dropped by members of the delegation it was plain that the bearing of the

Terrans who had joined the hunting party was esteemed to have been in

highest accord with Salariki tradition.

They drew lots to decide which two must remain with the ship and the rest

perfumed themselves so as to give no offense which might upset their now

cordial relations. Again it was mid-afternoon when the Salariki escort

sent to do them honor waited at the edge of the wood and Mura and Tang

saw them off. With a herald booming before them, they traveled the beaten

earth road in the opposite direction from the trading center, off through

the forest until they came to a wide section of several miles which had

been rigorously cleared of any vegetation which might give cover to a

lurking enemy. In the center of this was a twelve-foot-high stockade of

the bright red, burnished wood which had attracted Weeks on the shore.

Each paling was the trunk of a tree and it had been sharpened at the top

to a wicked point. On the field side was a wide ditch, crossed at the

gate by a bridge, the planking of which might be removed at will. And as

Dane passed over he looked down into the moat that was dry. The Salariki

did not depend upon water for a defense--but on something else which his

experience of the previous night had taught him to respect. There was no

mistaking that shade of purple. The highly inflammable scum the hunters

had burnt from the top of the waves had been brought inland and lay a

greasy blanket some eight feet below. It would only be necessary to toss

a torch on that and the defenders of the stockade would create a wall of

fire to baffle any attackers. The Salariki knew how to make the most of

their world's natural resources.