Part 2

It was an old theme, though he didn't argue it. He was entitled to personal reactions. "Maybe. Would you like to live on either of them?"

"Don't have to," she said, making an adjustment on the torpedo. "Never get out on a planet more than twice a year. In fact, I've almost forgotten what a year means."

That was the point, possibly, though there was no use to discuss it. "Anything else of interest?"

"We're coming to a smaller planet. Land, oceans, warm enough, and with an atmosphere we can probably breathe as is. Don't know the composition of the solid matter yet, but from our mass reading, it's a good bet that there won't be enough heavy stuff to justify settlement." She made a final delicate adjustment on the torpedo and began wheeling it to a launching tube. "This one's in a rich system, though, and will probably be used as an administration planet--vacation spot too. It won't go to waste, if that is what's worrying you."

In a way, it was. It was too bad that so many planets that were otherwise ideal for human habitation had to be passed over because they lacked the one essential. There was no help for it, of course. To settle planets, spaceships were necessary--and heavy elements to drive those ships. Nothing else mattered in the least.

* * * * *

Larienne snapped the torpedo in place and pressed a stud. The dark shape disappeared. Out in space, it fell into an orbit which eventually would land it safely on the planet.

"There," she said with quiet satisfaction. "It's tagged, and it will stay tagged until somebody digs it up."

It might be a month, or a hundred years, before Colonization got around to it. Meanwhile the torpedo was there, broadcasting at intervals the information that the tag ship had discovered. Somewhere in a remote planning center, a new red dot appeared in a three-dimensional model of space, to be accounted for in a revised program of expansion.

Larienne brushed the hair out of her eyes. There was a smudge on her face. "I'm busy," she said. "But I can get out of this if you need me."

As long as she was more interested in what she was doing, he'd rather not have her. He shook his head. "I'll manage," he said, and headed toward the plant.

The instant he entered, something seemed wrong. He couldn't say what it was without investigation. It was a big complex machine as well as a plant, and even reading all the dials was not enough; visual inspection was necessary too. He started at one end and worked toward the other. The gauges indicated nothing out of the ordinary, but the plant was in bad condition.

It was something like a tree, the trunk and leaves of which were sound enough, no discernible injuries, but nevertheless dying. At the roots, of course. This plant had no roots, merely a series of tanks and trays, each connected to others in a bewilderingly complex fashion. In that series, though, was something which corresponded to roots.

He was near the end of the first row before he spotted part of the trouble. A flow-control valve was far out of adjustment. His hands were bandaged and clumsy, but he tried to reset it. It was jammed tight and he couldn't move it.

He could call Larienne, but she was busy. So was the rest of the crew. With sufficient leverage he could turn the valve. He looked around for something he could use. A small metal bar leaning against the wall nearby seemed adequate.

He picked it up--and the bar burned into the bandages. He knew what it was; he didn't have to think. He could hear the sparks as well as feel it. Fortunately his shoes were not good conductors and not much of the charge got through.

With an effort he relaxed his convulsive grip, and still the bar stayed in his hand. It had fused to the bandage and he couldn't shake it off. The bar was glowing red; only the relatively nonconductive properties of the bandage--heat as well as electricity--had prevented his instant electrocution. And the bar was sinking deeper into the bandage. If it ever touched his flesh, the charge would be dissipated--through his body.

He had to ground it. The metal tanks which held the plant would do that, but also crisp the plant beyond salvage. He had to make a fast choice.

* * * * *

Holding the bar at arm's length, he ran through the aisle, and, at the far end, thrust it against the side of the ship.

The resulting flash staggered him, but he stayed on his feet. Though the metal began cooling rapidly, it remained fused to the bandage. He laid one end on the floor and stepped on it, tearing it loose.

It was a plain metal bar, made into a superconductor, with an unholy charge stored in it. This couldn't be an accident. It took work to turn ordinary metal into a superconductor at room temperature. Also it couldn't be placed just anywhere. If the charge were to remain in it, a special surface had to be prepared.

The trap had been set up for him, and he had walked into it. The bandage had saved him, nothing else. That was the one thing the unknown person hadn't taken into account.

Who? Larienne? She had access to the plant. But so did anyone else, just by walking in.

Not Larienne. She had her ugly moments and might try to kill him in a fit of anger, but she wouldn't plan it coldly, nor go through with the scheme if she planned it. It didn't take special knowledge to sabotage the plant. Any control could be moved drastically and the plant would suffer. The only technical knowledge required was that of making the bar into a superconductor, and that knowledge she didn't have. True, she could ask someone to do it for her. But she wouldn't.

Alsint sat down. The actual physical damage from the electrical shock wasn't great. The certainty that someone had tried to kill him was.

Why? Violent personal hatred for himself he could rule out. He'd been careful in his contacts with the crew. Only a psychotic could manufacture a reason to hate him, and psychotics didn't last long on a tag ship.

It had to be connected to the plant. Someone on the ship was trying to take it away from him, or one of his competitors had hired one of the crew to see that he didn't survive. The last was unlikely.

He had no proof that his plant was better, merely a belief that it was. It seemed illogical that anyone would want to eliminate him on the strength of an untested belief.

But except for Larienne, no one had enough knowledge to nurse the plant along for the required two years. Unless he remained alive, no one would benefit.

He shook his head. It was difficult to add up and arrive at a sensible answer. One thing he knew, though--hereafter, he'd have to be on his guard at all times.

He could go to the captain with his story. He considered and rejected that in the same instant. He'd have to tell the captain everything, which would invalidate the test. He'd have to handle this by himself.

He got up and continued his inspection of the plant, making minor adjustments to compensate for the damage. Except for that one valve, nothing seemed far out of line.

That done, he limped to the dispensary. His hand was aching where he had torn the bar loose and ripped the flesh.

"Back again?" said Franklan. "Any new information on the enemy?"

By itself, that was a suspicious statement. How could he know about the latest incident? The easiest answer was that he didn't. He was referring to the time Alsint had nearly missed the ship.

"Not a thing," Alsint muttered. Unless he wanted to reinforce Franklan's original opinion, he'd better keep this to himself.

Franklan looked at his hand. "Whatever you've done, I don't recommend it. It's not the way to get well fast--or at all."

"Grabbed something hot," Alsint said. Might as well say that. The bar was now just a bar and no examination would reveal that it had been a superconductor. Same with the insulation it had rested on. He couldn't prove anything.

* * * * *

Franklan rattled the instruments. "Nothing serious. This'll heal on schedule, but it's going to hurt while I fix it." He administered a local anesthetic below the elbow.

It made Alsint dizzy. He sat down and closed his eyes while Franklan worked. He relaxed more than he intended and then deliberately opened his eyes because he was drowsy and didn't want to fall asleep.

Over Franklan's shoulder, behind the window that swung out from the dispensary to the corridor, was a little red bird. It was much like the one that had fluttered around as he had tried to get on the ship. Perhaps it had come in with him and hidden in some quiet place until now. It was possible.

Franklan looked up. "What are you staring at?"

Alsint's tongue was fuzzy. "Outside the window behind you is a little red bird," he said, speaking distinctly to overcome the side-effects of the anesthesia.

Franklan went on swabbing, not bothering to glance behind him. "You're tired," he said. "And look again at that bird outside the window. For my sake, tell it to put on a spacesuit. If it doesn't, it will die in a matter of seconds."

Startled, Alsint looked around. He was mixed up in his directions. He was facing the visionport, plain empty space, not the corridor.

He blinked his eyes frantically, but the bird wouldn't go away and it didn't die. There was no air out there, millions of miles from the nearest planet. The bird flapped its wings in the airless space and went through the motions of singing.

* * * * *

It was ridiculous. There was nothing to carry the sound. But he could imagine hearing it anyway, through the thick armorglass of the visionport--a bird singing in space.

Resolutely he closed his eyes and kept them closed. He had enough trouble without taking on hallucinations.

Franklan finished the new bandage and tapped his shoulder. "You can come out of it now."

Alsint tried not to, but he couldn't resist. He stared past Franklan toward the visionport.

"Is it gone?" asked Franklan. His voice was quiet.

"It's gone," Alsint said in relief.

"Good. These things happen occasionally. As long as you can adjust back to reality, you have nothing to worry about." Franklan rummaged through the medical supplies. "Take these. They may help you."

Wordlessly, Alsint took the packet and went back to his room. He was sweating and shaken.

Franklan hadn't seen it because he hadn't looked, but there had been a bird out there, or there hadn't. If not, Alsint's contact with reality was precarious and he'd have to watch himself. Franklan had hinted at that. Maybe he wanted Alsint to believe it.

But it didn't mean there hadn't been an actual bird. It could be put there in a plastic bubble that wasn't visible against the blackness of space. If so, it was an ingenious way of harassing him.

He relaxed at that formulation. It hadn't been worth the effort, but it did prove one thing--his unknown antagonist had an excellent imagination.

* * * * *

Time passed--days, perhaps, though that unit had little meaning on the ship. It was the work period which counted and nobody had bothered to tell him how long that was. The last planet of the system was analyzed and the permanent markers sent down. The star was tagged and the ship proceeded on its way.

What the destination was, Alsint didn't know and didn't inquire. They were going somewhere, to uncatalogued stars, and that was enough to know.

His hands healed and the bandages were removed. Larienne was reassigned to help him. The rest of the crew, whatever they guessed, or sensed, said nothing and the normal pattern of life on the tag ship seemed re-established.

His anxiety faded. It was not, he was sure, the end of the attempts to remove him, but he had time to think, to plan countermeasures.

He was not wholly prepared. He and Larienne were approaching the plant. The door was open and he could see inside. He glanced casually at the row on row of mechanism, and stopped.

"What's the matter?" asked Larienne.

He moistened his lips. "Go around to the other side and close the door. Be quiet about it, but close the door quickly."

She stared at him curiously and started to go inside.

He grabbed her arm. "Around, I said. Not through."

She shrugged and went around. In time he could see the other door close. Then she came back.

"What's inside?" she whispered, adopting his own attitude.

"Something I want you to see."

She peered in. "I can't see anything."

"It's out of the line of vision now, but it's still in there." He swung the door nearly shut. "Inside, fast. I'll show you."

Obediently she went in and he followed, closing the door behind him. She waited.

"The bird," he said. "I want you to verify that it is in here."

"Bird?" She was puzzled and dismayed. "How did a bird get in here?"

"I don't know. I'll figure that out later." There was no need to whisper, since it couldn't escape; nevertheless he did. "It's a psychological stunt. The best way to stop it is to catch the bird."

She drew away uncertainly. "You saw it in here?"

"I did, and I want you to be with me when I find it."

"Then we should make a lot of noise. It will fly up if it's frightened."

"Good. You take that aisle and I'll take this. Yell when you see it."

They separated. He hunted carefully, moving everything that could be moved, looking for the flash of red wings. The bird was shy and had hidden.

They met in the center aisle.

In answer to his unspoken query, she shook her head. "I didn't see it."

"It's here," he said stubbornly. "I can't be mistaken."

She started to say something and changed her mind. "Let's look again," she suggested. It was not what she intended to say. What she thought was plain from the expression on her face.

* * * * *

Again they went through the plant machine, searching. Every crevice, every hidden corner was examined. He peered into the machinery, the tanks and the trays, above and below. They looked, but there was no bird.

Larienne stood beside him and glanced up at the ceiling. "Maybe it got out through the ventilators."

"It couldn't," he said harshly. The ventilators were also filters; a microbe would have difficulty getting through. She was trying to give him a way out, but he couldn't take it.

The room in which the plant machine was housed was not a simple open space; there was structure throughout. But it was inconceivable that something as large as a bird, even a small bird, could escape detection.

"I'll take care of the plant," he said quietly. "I want to think."

She left. He knew how she felt. It was worse because she did feel that way.

He had scored against himself. Larienne would say nothing to the rest of the crew, but it would come out. Emotional reactions couldn't be hidden. And if there was ever an inquiry, she'd have to tell her story.

Franklan would see that there was an inquiry. That was his job. There was nothing particularly arduous about life on a tag ship, yet not everyone was suited to it. Monotony--and each person had to adjust to the others as well as the ship. There was no room for a person who saw things.

It was a most effective attack, without danger for the man or men behind it. Twice he had seen something that wasn't there, and there were witnesses to testify against him. It would be enough to remove him from the ship. The subsequent treatment wouldn't harm him, but the ship would be gone and he'd never get back on. Tag ships were just too unpredictable; they came and they went as they pleased, and no one could say where they would next arrive.

Baffled, he tried to catalogue the crew. Not Larienne. She'd live with him if he wanted, more readily now than before. Ordinary rules didn't apply to her; sympathy counted for most.

Nor was it Franklan. Bluntly he'd given his opinion, but that didn't mean he was responsible for this. The person who was behind it was keeping well hidden.

Alsint went wearily down the line, adjusting and readjusting.

On one of the handles was--a tiny red feather.

* * * * *

He stared at it, relief forming nebulously in his mind. A bird _had_ been there. How it had gotten in and then out again through closed doors, he didn't know. That part was unimportant. It _had_ been there.

It wasn't a hallucination, though for a time he'd almost believed it himself. Now he knew.

Gingerly he picked up the feather. It was no proof, except to himself. That was enough. He could do something about it.

The trap for him was set, but wouldn't be closed immediately. The ship would not go out of the way except in extreme emergency. In another four months it would run low on fuel and material for the tagging operation, assuming normal conditions. The ship would then return to the nearest inhabited planet.

That was the way tag ships operated. Unlike other ships, freight or passenger, their objective was not to get from one inhabited planet to another as fast as possible, but to stay away as long as they could. For that reason, of all ships, they alone had to have the plant. No other food supply was so economical of space and weight.

Once they reached a planet, he'd be referred to the authorities for psychiatric examination. Eventually he'd be cleared, but by then it would be too late. _Unless he could forestall it._

There was a way to do that, though it was dangerous for him, and he stood a chance of ruining the plant.

He made up his mind and went back down the line of controls. Larienne might question some of the new settings, but she'd defer to his judgment.

It took two weeks for the plant to decline so even the captain could see that it was impossible to go on. As master of the ship, he disliked abandoning tagging operations even temporarily, but the crew had to eat.

* * * * *

It was a planet. Nothing out of the ordinary, there were many planets like Earth. Not many that were settled, though; almost uniformly, that kind of planet lacked the heavy elements that made colonization economically feasible.

It was pleasant and sunny, great grassy glades and an equal amount of forests. No intelligent life on it, so there was nothing to worry about on that score. Animals, big and little, but ordinary weapons would discourage them.

Half a mile away was the ship, ready for instant flight. Not that there was anything to flee from. That was the way it had to come down if it was ever to rise again.

The plant had been stripped to components and spread over the ground. An extensive layout, but it was necessary if the plant was going to get full benefit of planetary conditions. It had been put together to facilitate disassembly, and it hadn't taken long to remove it from the ship.

A transparent canopy covered it, protection from the elements. A sudden rainstorm could drastically alter the concentration of the vital fluids. There was also an electrified fence to keep out stray animals.

Everything except root cells was exposed to the sun and wind. Under these conditions the plant began to recover from the deliberate injury he had done it. Why plants should recover so easily was still a mystery, but generations of plant mechanics had discovered that they always did.

Alsint took the sundown shift. The plant could be left alone at night, locked up with the knowledge that nothing big enough to damage it could get in. It was better if there was someone to make minute adjustments from time to time, but that was not the reason he was there.

* * * * *

Sundown or sunrise, and sundown was better. Either time, men were outside the ship who didn't have to account for their whereabouts. More were out at sundown. And one of them, sooner or later, would be the person he wanted.

The plan was simple. Give the man every opportunity to kill him, make it irresistible--but shoot first. If the man lived, he would talk. If he didn't, there would be some clue in his personal effects. Dangerous, but if Alsint wanted to profit from his plant, he had no choice.

Days passed and no one came near. He could and did retard the regrowth of the plant, but in that respect he was limited. He couldn't be too obvious about it. The time came when he couldn't stall any longer. In reply to the captain's blunt question, he had to admit that in the morning the plant would be in as good condition as he could get it.

* * * * *

He sat that night in the enclosure, knowing this was his last chance. It grew dark and night sounds intruded. The lights in the ship went out. Only the light near him remained. He was careful to sit at the edge of illumination, visible, but a poor target.

Animals snuffled in the brush near the electrified fence. They had learned quickly and knew better than to touch it. And there was another sound--no animal.

He quietly shifted his arm and held the light in readiness. He listened. Someone was crawling through the brush. He had to wait. It was hard on his nerves, being bait.

He flashed the light on suddenly.

The man was half hidden behind a bush and Alsint couldn't see his face, but the gun in his hand glittered through the leaves.

"Surprise," said Alsint. "Don't try anything."

The man stood there, but he didn't drop his gun.

Alsint didn't like it. He couldn't identify the man. If he ran back into the forest, Alsint wouldn't know any more than he had in the beginning. He fingered the gun. "Come out where I can see you," he said.

The man didn't move--waiting until his eyes adjusted to the light shining on him, decided Alsint. As a choice, his own life came first. He raised the gun.

Before he could fire, a red bird attacked his eyes, squawking wildly.

He didn't drop the light. He tried to bat the bird away from his face, but it clung to his hair. Before he could crush it, he heard the whoosh of a gas gun. And the sound came from _behind_ him. That was his mistake. There was more than one of them.

He breathed once and then felt himself fall forward.

* * * * *

It was morning when he awakened, bright sunlight streaming into his eyes. That was not the reason his head hurt, though he could be thankful the man or men had used a gas pellet instead of a projectile. Whoever _he_ or _they_ were.

He got up and staggered toward the ship. A few steps were all he took. The ship wasn't there. He leaned against a tree and looked wildly around. The plant was gone too.

Shakily he fumbled for a cigarette. Smoke didn't help much. They had taken the plant aboard while he was unconscious. They had left him alone on an uninhabited planet.

A pretty planet and a useless one. No ship ever stopped here except to revive a plant, and that wouldn't happen often. It would be several lifetimes before another ship came, if one ever did.

He stared miserably into the bright blue distance and thrust his hands into his jacket, and made a discovery. They'd left him a gun, at least, and ammunition. He'd be able to keep himself alive at a minimum level.

There was a whistle in the distance. His head came up. He wasn't alone. Larienne?

It couldn't be. From the direction of the sound, if it was Larienne, she was hiding in a nearby tree. But Larienne didn't like trees.

"Richel Alsint," said a loud voice. Behind him this time.

He turned around. There was no one there. Nothing but a red bird sitting on a branch. He started. The same red bird that had flown mysteriously in and out of his life. If it weren't for that creature, he'd be safely on the ship. He raised the gun.

From one foot to another, the bird hopped on the branch. "Birds can't talk," it screeched. "Birds can't talk."

The implication was clear. "Since you _can_ talk, you're not a bird." The gun was still leveled. "Then what are you?"

"I could tell," said the bird. It had stopped hopping and was watching him calmly. It was red, but sometimes blue. The colors wouldn't remain fixed.