Part 3

Everybody laughed, and Uncle Andy did not try to avoid taking in all of Valerie with his eyes. She wore light blue slacks, beach sandals and a white shirt, the tails of which were tied in a knot under her breasts, making it an appropriate midriff outfit. Her voluminous blond hair floated cleanly in the salty breeze and her face and neck were already deeply tanned. She looked up at him and caught his eyes and their smiles faded--slowly.

Words between them would have been superfluous. Inevitably, their companionship in this lost world had developed into a much closer relationship.

The four of them sat there on the rock, bare legs dangling over, and ate K-rations. In the reassuring warmth and sunlight before the comprehensible aspect of the ageless sea, they felt little need for conversation. They were content with the awareness of _not_ being alone.

Henry watched a printed wrapping from the K-rations float on the waves below, and he thought it far more incongruous than the picnic basket. K-rations--a million years removed from their source. Along these shores were empty tin cans and bottles and old newspapers and magazines lying among the seaweeds and flotsam.

_Man_ had come to Paradise....

* * * * *

After lunch they fell into the usual discussion. Where were they? How had they come here? What was the alien's purpose of taking the two babies? Was the alien here, in this world, or in some other one? What would be the possibilities of exploring this world and what might they discover--if anything? Were they doomed to stay here forever?

Uncle Andy expressed the opinion that, until something better developed, it would be the sanest course to get their little colony organized under a recognizable form of government. Dwellings had to be built. Sources of food had to be secured. Exploration parties must be sent out.

"In substance," he said, "that's what the big meeting tonight is all about. We have to get organized and come to decisions regarding the future."

"Look!" said Henry. "There's Tommy Weston and some of his gang." He pointed back toward the jungle.

All four of them looked shoreward and discerned six bare-chested men standing there about a hundred feet from them, just under the shade of the flowering trees. Four of them were construction men, led by the big man who had sat with Scarface in the seat behind Henry, Uncle Andy and Dr. Edwards back when--things were normal. This two hundred and forty pound package of trouble was Tommy Weston, heavy chested, big fisted, tattooed, square jawed, bewhiskered, and with a brooding tawny-eyed stare. His crinkly hair, on his head, chest and brawny arms, was a dark, rusty red. And he was heavily freckled.

He stood there talking to his men and gesticulating toward the group on the rock. Henry recognized two of the men as the only two cooks belonging to the camp. One was an ugly hulk of a man who in his youth might have been more than a match for Weston. He was a garrulous, argumentative Pole, pale-faced, perspiring, and wearing a battered, black felt hat. The other was young, probably only twenty, but squarely built and already notoriously hot-tempered, having been in three fistfights since the crash landing. His hair and lashes were pure white. Hence the obvious name, Whitey.

"They're coming up here," said Valerie. "I wish they wouldn't. It was so peaceful."

"Relax, honey," Uncle Andy replied. "Maybe they only want to borrow my fishing gear."

"Man, de only thing dat big boy wants to borrow 'round here is trouble!" put in Pee Bee. "Ah wish ah was back home playin' pool on Central Avenue now!"

Henry merely watched the men climb the rock. He saw their ugly grins as they looked at Valerie, and he thought of the separation of the sand and pebbles in the jar again. Uncle Andy got to his feet and held up the devil lizard for them to see. It was a disarming neighborly gesture, but Henry felt it was somehow pathetic. He had a distinct feeling of being cornered. He knew Uncle Andy felt that, too, but he didn't show it.

* * * * *

Camp was almost a mile distant and completely out of sight behind two jungle covered headlands. The six men came up onto the rock and stood there grinning at them.

"It probably isn't even edible," said Uncle Andy, still referring to the devil lizard. "But this sea is teeming with life."

Tommy Weston looked down at Henry and saw his box of worms. "You ain't doin' so hot, then," he answered. "Lemme try that pole. Gimme some of them worms, Henry."

Both Uncle Andy and Henry complied, while Valerie kept very much to herself. She still sat on the edge of the rock, with her back toward them, and looked down into the swirling water. Pee Bee was a powder blue study in self-effacement. He kept his eyes on the water as though he wished he were a fish.

Weston hooked on his bait and cast far out. "We been makin' the rounds," he said. "We're checkin' up on everybody's ideas about the meeting tonight."

"Well, now, that's a pretty sure sign we're all going to survive," remarked Uncle Andy, but not as naively as he sounded. "I didn't know anyone was actively concerned about it. I'm glad you fellows think the meeting is that important."

"Sure it's important!" exclaimed the big, Polish cook with the felt hat. "Vot you t'ink ve goink around for a valk only for our healt'?"

"Shut up, Sceranka!" said Weston, reeling in the line. "You see, we don't like the set-up. There's too many government boys who think naturally they got the say-so around here. They still recognize Captain Merman as the head man. And it seems they sort of got things set up their own way." The other five men, if they were not watching Valerie, were watching Uncle Andy for his reactions as Weston spoke.

The fishline came in empty. Weston baited again.

"I can see your point," said Uncle Andy. "You favor a more democratic method of setting up the colony, now that the emergency is over and we are peacefully established on land. The rules governing international flights do not apply here. Since there is no government, or any contact with one, the people must elect one. Is that what you're getting at?"

Weston looked at him in surprise. "Yeah! That's the idea!" he exclaimed. "The democratic system!"

But Uncle Andy and Henry did not like the grins on the other men's faces.

"Now take me, for instance!" Weston continued, casting out his line again. "I'm up for election!"

This time, Valerie had to turn and stare at him in astonishment. He looked down at her as he reeled in the line and gave her a smile that revealed gold-capped teeth.

"What's the matter, beautiful? Wouldn't I make a good candidate? I got a platform already. No red tape. No promises. And no taxes. Just do as I say and we'll all get along."

"Obviously," said Uncle Andy, "that's a brand of politics that belongs to gangsters. What can you possibly hope to gain even if you are the Boss of this outfit?"

* * * * *

The hook came in empty, so Weston threw the pole down on the rock. He faced Uncle Andy and gave him that twany-eyed, brooding look of his. "I got this to gain," he said. "None of us knows what's gonna happen. Maybe our chances of gettin' back to civilization are slim. But if things get tough I ain't going to be breakin' my back under nobody else's whip. I don't go for this gold braid and paper baloney. I think half the camp is made up of a helpless mess of blubber as far as _men_ go. Of course, as far as the women go we don't mind them bein' helpless! We'll take care of them, but first they gotta come down off their pedestals and get some sense into 'em!" He and all his men looked at Valerie. "We might never get back home," he said, pointedly, "and in that case things have got to be a lot different around here. And me and my boys have just got the guts to make the necessary changes!"

Uncle Andy stiffened, but he held his temper. "Tommy," he said, "what is it you want? How does this visit of yours apply to the meeting tonight?"

"We're going to force the issue on voting in a new leader. I'll be a candidate. If you know what's good for you, you'll vote for _me_!"

Uncle Andy wanted to ask him why they should vote at all as long as Weston had decided how the voting was going to go, but instead he said, "How about giving us time to consider it? Until tonight."

"Sure! Just so you decide by tonight. You can't vote before then!"

"Yeah but what about the dame?" Whitey blurted out. "You know what you said."

Instinctively, Valerie sprang to her feet and drew close to Uncle Andy. Just as instinctively, he put an arm around her, protectively.

Tommy Weston hooked his thumbs into his pants and drew close to Uncle Andy. "Now there's another point I'd like to bring up," he said. "Just who elected you the fair haired boy with blondie, here? You may have to get used to some different ideas before long."

"So it might as well be now!" put in Whitey, coming shoulder to shoulder with Weston.

The other four men closed in also. The big Pole with the hat was sweating more profusely now, and his eyes grew large as he stared at Valerie.

"So we've come to this," said Uncle Andy, actually stalling for time.

"Let's face it!" exclaimed Weston. "We always _been_ here!"

"Yes," Henry broke in. "You're right! There was a thin, fake covering called civilization, once. But now at the end of time the covering comes off and we find nothing has changed since the Stone Age!"

Tommy Weston sneered. "So the young genius has to put his two-bits in, too! Well, boys, the conference is over!" He reached out for Valerie's shirt, just as Pee Bee suddenly got to his feet in a crouching position, ready to uncoil.

Uncle Andy's fists were coming up when another man shouldered his way between the construction men. Action froze on all sides as they looked at the newcomer. He stood there in shirt, trousers and tan sport shoes. It was Scarface, wearing a very handy looking shoulder holster. From the holster, the butt of a black automatic protruded.

"Any trouble up here?" he queried, nonchalantly, as though he were asking if the fish were biting.

* * * * *

Tommy Weston's already tanned face darkened, as did Whitey's. The other men backed away, slightly. In addition to having a respect for the gun, they respected the man. None of them knew who Scarface was, actually, but they remembered he had had the nerve to shoot it out with the alien.

"So the little gun boy is going to take sides!" sneered Weston.

Scarface raised his brows and spoke unsmilingly through his teeth. "I've got news for you," he said. "As a trouble maker you're an amateur. I'm professional, but please don't ask for a demonstration today. Now I want all you hairy-chested little girls to climb back on your kiddy cars and toddle home, because there's no more Mickey Mouse today."

"If you didn't have that goddam gun I'd swedge your sassy yap shut!" threatened Weston, looming over him and fuming.

Scarface's eyes flashed. "I said get the hell out of here!"

Weston brought himself under control and tried another tack. "What's in this for you, Scarface?" he asked. "You don't strike me as the Sunday School type. You know what the score is around here. So why don't you put in with us or sit out?"

"Your business and what you do is none of _my_ business," said Scarface, "as long as you leave my friends alone. These are my friends, so lay off!"

"Look out!" screamed Valerie, and Uncle Andy jerked Scarface out of the way just in time to avoid Whitey's lunge.

Whitey lunged again, for the gun, and as Scarface turned toward him, Weston threw an arm around his neck that looked like the root of an oak tree. Scarface kicked out at Whitey, making him lose his balance, and Pee Bee bowed his back as Whitey went over him. When Pee Bee straightened up, two things happened. His head collided solidly with the big Pole's chin, knocking him out, and Whitey sailed beautifully into the crashing waves below. His terrified yell was drowned by foaming seawater. Simultaneously, Uncle Andy snatched the gun from Scarface just as the latter broke loose by scraping his heels down Weston's shins, almost breaking his arches, and at the same time nearly pulling the other's ears off.

Weston broke free of the ear grip while Uncle Andy held the other men at bay. As Scarface turned on Weston, the latter swung at him ponderously. Scarface ducked and gave him a swift jab into the stomach. As Weston doubled, he received a two-fisted uppercut, and as he toppled he was aided on his way by a double blow across the left temple. He came down like a brick chimney and lay there in a heap.

Pee Bee stood there rubbing his head and looking down at the prostrate figure of the Polish cook.

"Get Whitey!" cried one of the construction men, pointing at the ocean. "He'll drown!"

While Uncle Andy still held them at bay, they all looked at the man in the water. Whitey was screaming and flailing wildly about, while the undertow and the incoming waves alternately dragged him outward and dashed him against the rocks.

"What's the matter?" asked Scarface, rubbing his knuckles. "Can't he swim?"

"He can swim," said the same man, "but something's got him!"

As they watched, the water darkened around Whitey.

"It's blood!" cried Valerie. "Oh my God, the poor man!"

"Look!" cried Henry. "Those are devil lizards! Hundreds of them!"

* * * * *

Like a voracious swarm of piranhas, the scarlet little monsters converged on Whitey and tore him apart. As the blood filled the water, other "things" were attracted. There were glimpses of finned, serpentine backs and vast, amorphous shadows beneath the churning waves. To those who watched, the eternal light above them seemed deceptive. Subjectively, they were aware of the dark Unknown. The very dark _Unknown_.

_Where were they?_

One of the construction men ran away screaming. Pee Bee, carrying the lunch basket, took Henry's arm and also started to lead the way, gently but firmly. Uncle Andy handed the gun back to Scarface. He led Valerie down the rock, wordlessly. And Scarface stood there looking back at the bloodied water for a full minute.

Then he followed the others. Weston and Sceranka, he decided, would have to come by themselves and find their own way back to camp.

The fishing pole lay there, abandoned....

The camp was similar, in effect to a military beachhead prior to organization. There was one tent, salvaged from the survival gear that the plane carried. This was used by the women for the purpose of changing their clothes, as well as a sort of "safety deposit vault" for valuable articles such as the ship's log, medicinal supplies and various instruments--plus short wave sending and receiving gear, now quite useless owing to a lack of power source and an absence of activity on the wave bands.

Beyond the tent lay confusion. Small huts constructed of branches and giant leaves, or square areas enclosed by sheets or towels, suspended on crude frameworks rigged together with poles. Here and there a more presentable structure of branches indicated the work of construction men. Between these were scattered both small and large heaps of luggage and personal belongings--suitcases, pullmans, hatboxes, overnight bags, small trunks, packing cases--even an aluminum cage in which reposed a bewildered Pekingese dog. A very lonely dog. The only dog in the universe.

Inevitably, there were clotheslines displaying underwear, shirts, socks, silk stockings, bras--and a man's pair of black silk monogrammed pajamas. These latter belonged to the Englishman, Sir Cyril Rollins. And there was a hammock strung between two straight-boled trees without leaves which bore a weird fruit that looked like pomegranates. The hammock was shared by the three soldiers from Texas. Just now the hammock was empty except for a ukelele and a million year old copy of Life Magazine.

Farther up the endless beach was the plane, lying crumpled on its belly, with wings drooping dejectedly into the sand and water. One of the landing gears had burst up through a nacelle. The great, swift, mechanical bird of another age was a useless thing--and a painful reminder of what once was their own familiar world.

Altogether there were in camp sixty males and twenty-four females, representing three races and eight nationalities. A cross section of the human race. Seemingly, all there was left of it.

* * * * *

When Henry returned with the others to camp, Martia was the first to greet him. She had suddenly lost the last vestige of her patrician affectations, because she ran to him abruptly. Or rather, their thoughts seemed to meet between them even before they drew together. He squeezed her hand warmly as she drew him to one side, excitedly.

"Mother is lost!" she exclaimed. Her eyes were slightly reddened from crying.

"Lost! How do you know?"

"She and Sir Rollins and that Mr. Langham and the Crispin sisters and those two mothers who lost their babies went exploring for spring water. They've been gone all day and nobody can find them! Henry, I'm so worried! Can you speak to your Uncle and ask him to organize a real search party. There's no night here. We can start right away!"

"But the meeting--"

"Please!" she insisted.

"What I mean is, no search party can be organized during the big meeting, and that's about ready to get under way--after everybody eats supper." They could see the fires along the beach where men and women were cooking. Either they were cooking small game caught in traps or certain species of edible crustacea, or a potato-like fruit that was abundant in this region. The food from the plane was long gone. "Why doesn't your governess do something about it? What does she think?"

"Emily? She made a few soldier boys go with her to search--those three Texas boys--and I think three of those WAACs went along. But they've disappeared, too!"

"All right," said Henry. "Let's go see Uncle Andy."

They found him, with Valerie Roagland and the air hostess, Peggy Hollenbeck, engaged in a group discussion that included Captain Merman, several high-ranking U.S. Army officers and the five congressmen led by Burley. Also, there were a few businessmen and scientists present, including Dr. Edwards. Most of them stood around a charcoal fire boiling small chunks of meat on long wires and drinking "Beachcomber's Tea," made from the leaves of a giant vine that someone had discovered. A chemist and a doctor had collaborated on its analysis and found it to be healthful.

"We still represent the United States," Congressman Burley was saying, "and Colonel Rogers here says that the servicemen are on our side. Also, we can count on the English to be with us, if necessary, and the three Norwegians. I don't think Weston has a chance of making trouble. Now here is a list compiled today showing the number of men--"

* * * * *

Congressman Burley stopped talking and followed the gaze of all the others. He saw Henry and Martia standing by the fireside, holding hands and looking very impatient.

"All right!" he said. "You kids will have to clear out. We're having a conference."

"That," said Henry, "is somewhat obvious. But I--"

"Now look here! Don't you get sassy!" Burley glared at Henry impatiently, but Uncle Andy walked over to the boy and put an arm around his shoulders. He placed his other arm around Martia.

"Just a minute!" he interrupted. "I'm afraid you don't know Henry. He would never have intruded if he did not have something important to say."

"Always pampering the kid," commented Dr. Edwards to Captain Merman. "Thinks he's a genius and he's only a pest!"

"Your English allies have gotten themselves lost," said Henry. "Lady Dewitt, Sir Rollins, the Crispin sisters, Langham, Emily Duncan, several other women and three servicemen."

"Please!" Martia cried. "It's always daylight here. Can't a search party be sent right away?"

Some of the men looked at Captain Merman. He was a tall, lean man in his late thirties, still wearing the pants and shirts of his uniform, as well as the cap. His paleness and the redness of his eyelids, thought Henry, were probably due to a hyperthyroid condition.

"My orders," said Merman, "were that no explorations would be conducted without proper authorization. They went on their own, principally because of Lady Dewitt's refusal to use the river water and because our distilled water can't be rationed in her favor. I don't see why--"

"You are engaged here in an emergency conference," said Henry, "to determine what can be done about Tommy Weston's gang. If you're worried, why don't you stall for time by organizing the whole camp into a search party--including Weston's men? The physical action and the adventure of it will be tantamount to a psychological weapon against anarchy."

Martia beamed at Henry in pride and gratitude, but most of the men guffawed.

"Ye gods!" exclaimed one of the other congressmen. "That sounded like it was going to be a filibuster! Talk about lobbying! This kid is Capitol material!"

"But it isn't getting us anywhere," said Burley.

"Just a minute," said a small, dark-complexioned man wearing a black shirt, white slacks and dark glasses. "I've heard, second-handedly, some interesting ideas from this boy." Henry had learned that this was Dr. Jules Bauml, a noted astro-physicist attached to the Mount Palomar Observatory. "He thinks we have been transported through time and that it is futile to try contacting our own civilization unless we avail ourselves of a time machine. Of course that is a pessimistic view, but owing to observations of my own I should like to hear his reasons for arriving at such a conclusion."

"Oh hell!" ejaculated one of the businessmen present. "We're probably down in the Caribbean somewhere!"

"No, by God!" said another one. "That wouldn't explain the permanent daylight and no sun!"

"A freak of Nature," insisted the first one. "You've heard of the Land of the Midnight Sun. What's so different about this?"

"Everything!" said Henry.

They all looked at him, startled, including Uncle Andy.

* * * * *

Henry addressed Dr. Bauml. "As an astronomer you will understand the nature and importance of the ionosphere," he said, amidst raised eyebrows all around. "It is that layer of the atmosphere which protects us from the dangerous short radiations from the sun. These quanta, striking atoms of oxygen, create ionized oxygen and ozone, forming the ionosphere. Such atoms are necessarily in such rapid motion that they would be lost in space were it not for the magnitude of Earth's gravitation. That is why Earth bears--or _bore_--a high form of intelligent life whereas Mars must continue to lose its ionized oxygen into space and could therefore not support a high form of life."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Bauml, impressed. "But what has that to do with the present?"

"Venus does not have an ionosphere," continued Henry. "Otherwise it would have shown up in spectrographs. Its atmosphere is caused largely by violent volcanic action. Volcanoes, incredibly heated storms and no ionosphere, spells no oxygen and no life. Therefore, conclusion number one: We are still on Earth."

Several congressmen snorted. "Who said we weren't?"

"Go on!" encouraged Bauml, while Dr. Edwards began to listen in some surprise. "I agree so far! This is Earth, but where do we go from here?"