Part 2
"Not dead, but sleeping," Gene said, wisely refraining from burdening the simple minds of these people with scientific principles. He noticed that many tribes-people were silently drifting into the cavern, curious to see this strange being who was so like themselves, yet so different.
"Now, Old One," he addressed the chief in a respectful tone, "I know so little of your world. I am as an old woman in a strange cave; lost. Tell me of the Beast People. How do they see--for they have no eyes--and how is it there is so much animosity between your races? Perhaps, if their sin is great enough, I will help you against them."
Old One frowned and thoughtfully fingered his dingy gray beard. "Nothing can be done about the Beast People. Long ago, they came from a world beyond worlds. At the coming of our ancestors, the two races took up a constant war for possession of this cave city.
"The legend is that they, too, were spawned of a great beast that walked through air. Their air-beast, just as yours, fell from the sky with a great crash. But this sky-monster slept the sleep of no awakening, and for them there was no returning.
"In truth, they have no eyes, but my father once told me of the manner in which they find their way about. When afoot, they send out squeals, imperceptible to our ears, which come back to them from the obstacles and pitfalls they would avoid and thus guide them to an open path.
"Never, since that far day in the past, have others of their kind come to plague this world. It is my belief that the Beast People's sky-monster rebelled against them and carried them far away from their goal, wherever it may have been. For that, their brothers who searched--if search they did--could not find their spoor and perforce gave them up for lost.
"There is more to their history, but it is not for your ears. Methinks, it could well be that you are one of the Beast People; for surely those of the home world have changed in the many tens of years since these few of their kind were stranded here."
Old One paused to glance quizzically at Gene. His bewrinkled old forehead drew tightly together as he studied the wiry biologist.
"Whence come you?" he asked sharply. "If from the world beyond worlds, then truly you are a Beast Man. If from a world that is sister to this sphere of rock, then does my tribe welcome you and call you brother. May your tongue speak truth, man of the skies."
All in the cave were tense, silent--waiting for the man's answer. Gene took a step nearer Old One's bench, calm and confident. A world beyond worlds would imply a planet of another system; thus, being from a planet akin to this upon which he had been cast, he spoke without apprehension:
"I name myself Gene Drummond, and I come from Earth--the third world nearest the sun."
He looked about, expecting the tribesmen to loose shouts of welcome; but the grim silence only became more forbidding and the people drew back, as if from a leper. Gene leaped forward.
"Old One!" he cried in the aged man's face. "Explain to them that I am not of the Beast People. I am an Earthling; your brother!"
There was infinite sadness in Old One's gaze. "Nay," he said somberly, "you are not of the Beast People, and no more so are you our brother. By the gods, you are of a race a thousandfold more loathsome than the Beast People!"
III
Gene sat dejectedly at the mouth of his cave, dully staring out at the black sameness of the destitute valley. Two stalwart Wronged Ones, as Kac had termed his tribe, stood at the opening, watching the man with troubled eyes.
Thus had it been for the past week, since the day Old One had pronounced those dread words condemning Gene and all like him. True, he was allowed to roam the cave city and observe the ways of the tribe, but always the guards were with him.
What terrible deed could have been done by Earth's people to so bring the scorn of an entire race upon them? He had mulled over this night after night, but the answer was beyond his grasp. Those of the tribe had never again spoken of it after that one accusing moment in the case of their chief.
He smiled wryly. Faring forth from Earth to solve the mystery of the destructive ray, he had run squarely into another, far greater puzzle. And when he found the answer to one, then he would surely solve the other; for he now felt certain that the two were in some way connected.
The solution must come soon. He had spent much time reading the brochure given to him by President Mason, and in it Science Center had stated that the molecular patterns of metal could not long withstand the disrupting force. If surcease did not come shortly, there was no guessing what great catastrophe would befall Earth. Perhaps the entire sphere would disintegrate and fall away in space!
Another riddle he had come across was that of the always-guarded cavern in the center of the city, about which all life in the community revolved. It seemed as if the Wronged Ones lived only to gather each night in that chamber and--worship?
All that his guards would tell him about the place was that it was called the Cave of Talkers. Old One had warned him never to go near it, and the guards were careful to see that he heeded the admonition.
With such things troubling his mind, he retired into the cave and stretched out on the miserable pile of furs. Soon he made out the glow of a tiny campfire outside, about which the guards huddled in the gathering gloom.
Strange people were these. It was very seldom they smiled. The greater part of the time sadness was stamped deep in their features; sadness that spoke eloquently of a great tragedy that had come to them in the dim far past. Plague, perhaps?
Gene frowned and rolled over on his side. So many questions; so few answers. He yawned sleepily and closed his eyes. Action. That was what he wanted; action.... Then his mind became as the darkness.
He did not fare forth into the city next morning, but remained in the cave, putting into action a plan that had come to him during the night. The guards were not in evidence at the cavern's mouth, but he knew they were near at hand. The moment he came out, there they would be, intent on carrying out their sworn duty.
Crouched in a deep recess of the chamber, he played his energy-ray on the wall before him, shielding his eyes from the bright glare with a gloved hand.
He thanked his lucky stars that the simple-minded tribesmen had never thought to take the gun from him. With its aid he would at least be able to steal from the cave this night, all unknown to the guards, and make his way to the Cave of Talkers, there to learn what went on inside that mysterious chamber.
The ray bit ever deeper in the hard stone, gouging out a narrow tunnel through which Gene could worm his way into the adjoining cave--that of Mree-na, the patriarch, from whom Gene had learned the language of the Wronged Ones.
Mree-na would not be home. Being too old to hunt, he spent his days in going among the people to hear their woes and offer his counsel in inter-family disputes. Thus Gene worked without fear of detection.
The hours sped by, and still he labored--determined to win through by nightfall. If he had judged right, he would emerge in the far reaches of Mree-na's abode, where the shadows were heavy and where the feeble old man never ventured.
The wall was not as thick as he had expected. The call of the returning hunters was in his ears as the last foot of matter gave before the hissing ray and crashed to the floor of Mree-na's cave, mid a thunder of echoes.
Gene stuck his head through the opening, glanced about, then withdrew. The way was clear. When the tribe met tonight in the Cave of Talkers, Gene Drummond would be the uninvited guest.
Brushing the telltale dust from his clothes he walked casually from the cavern and started down the long, sloping trail leading to the valley below. His guards hurried up and one grasped him gently by the shoulder.
"There you cannot go," he said firmly. "Old One knows all. You would go yonder where the sleeping sky-beast lies and flee this world, but Old One and his people would not have it so ... ever," he added significantly.
* * * * *
"Damn it!" Gene exploded. "I'm starving for a good meal. I've got plenty of canned food in my ship; give me a couple of warriors to carry it here and I'll spread out a feast for your tribe that will make the slop you eat taste like--like slop!"
The two men did not cringe before his wrath, but stood their ground; their sad eyes growing even sadder. For a long moment there was silence; then the one who rested his hand on Gene's shoulder spoke.
"Man of the third planet, you have come among a saddened people; a people to whom a great--nay, the _greatest_--injustice was done in the dim, yet vivid, past. My tongue is pledged to speak not of this, but know you it is not by our will we are here. Know you, also, this slop you cry out against should call to you as like calls to like, for long did you wallow in it!"
Gene said nothing, but turned and stumbled away. He realized now that these barbarians meant to keep him here for as long as he should live. They wanted him to know some of their misery, their sorrow; to know the hopelessness they knew, and the futility of struggling with an environment that gave not before the onslaught of humanity. Why?
He was feeling like the lowest heel in the world by the time night fell. But he soon snapped out of it when he heard the tramp of many feet outside as the tribes-people passed on their way to the Cave of Talkers.
Hell! He didn't owe these savages anything, though they tried their best to give him that impression. Maybe their plaint of injustice done them was just an act to cover up some insidious activity going on in the great cave!
Shaking with excitement, he wriggled through his secret tunnel and dropped cat-like to the floor of the adjacent cave. A quick look about assured him Mree-na had already left for the big doings. He hurried to the mouth of the chamber and stealthily peered outside.
A few yards away, the two guards squatted on boulders in front of the cave he had just vacated, talking in low voices about the night's activities. They expressed disappointment at not being able to attend the nightly meetings, but Old One had cautioned them never to go so far from their post as to allow their charge a chance to escape.
Gene took a deep breath and darted out of the cavern, running silently over the rough ledge to the next chamber. He crouched in its maw and looked back at the guards. They sat unmoving, except to reach up now and then to adjust their fur robes in an effort to shut out the biting cold.
He moved away, satisfied they had not seen him.
As he neared the Cave of Talkers he became aware of a steady vibration of the rock underfoot. He had never before been this close to the worshipping place of the Wronged Ones, if worshipping place it was.
No guards were here; they, too, had gone inside to participate in the proceedings. Gene eased into the vast cavern, staying close to the wall so as not to be seen. A rumbling as of giant sobbing beat against his ears, accompanied by the droning undertone of a rhythmic chant.
He stood at the head of the broad stairs leading down to the cave proper; and from there he looked upon that which brought a gasp of stark incredulity to his lips.
Below, the Wronged Ones knelt on the floor of the cavern, heads bowed in veneration as they offered up the monotonous prayer. All were there: women, children, battle-scarred warriors, and aged folk who could but scarcely assume a kneeling position.
All this, he had more or less expected; for after all, these people were but superstitious savages who looked to their gods for guidance. But the thing that astounded him was the two colossal objects upon which the Wronged Ones bestowed their homage.
In the center of the ring of kneeling tribesmen stood twin machines, throbbing with power and sending off a weird effulgence. From one, a long, tapering tube thrust up through the ceiling of the cavern, vibrating violently under some great stress. Gene pressed nearer the wall, unconsciously fearful of the tremendous energy surging through that giant machine.
The other object of worship vaguely resembled an outsized dynamo, though such as Gene had never before seen. In truth, the resemblance was so little as to be all but non-existent.
Great comets! How did such a mass of intricate machinery get here, in this underground vault, on a world where metal was not known? And what was its purpose?
A narrow ledge ran around the chamber's walls, and Gene moved along this to a spot where he could look down on the scene without risk of being seen.
Now and again the droning supplication halted, and during these pauses Old One arose and moved about the machines. In his hand he carried a small skin sack. This he tilted over certain parts of the whirring, pounding colossi, and from it poured a thin trickle of what could be nothing but oil.
This ceremony performed, Old One moved back, then once more the gathered throng took up the melancholy strain of the interrupted invocation. Above all, the machines hummed and sang with unbelievable power; deathless power. Yet, it seemed the prolonged roar faltered now and then; stopped for the barest fraction of an instant. At such times, the multitude groaned; then prayed all the more fervently.
* * * * *
Gene's mind was in tumult. This world was so unlike Earth: it did not revolve on its axis, the false night of the valley was caused by dense clouds of dust or some other substance which, carried by the wind, passed over in irregular periods; thus one day would be longer or shorter than another. He doubted that a thorough search of the sphere would turn up enough metal to be worth the hunting, yet here were two giant machines, idols of a primitive people who could not conceivably grasp the mechanics involved. What a world! A world of riddles, Gene thought absently.
Then, a wild shout stabbed through his thoughts and he jerked startledly, almost losing his foothold on the treacherous ledge. The urgent cry came again, nearer the cave now, and with it a frightful uproar that raised the short hairs on the nape of Gene's neck. He could make out the yell now: "Out! Out! The Beast People come!"
The Wronged Ones heard also, and poured up the stairs with cries of wrath at thus having their ritual broken short, snatching up spears from the floor as they went.
Gene hung back until the last of them had passed outside, then he, too, flung himself through the cave mouth. His hand clutched the deadly energy-ray, finger ready on the trigger to unloose a barrage of hissing death on the repulsive creatures assailing the city. He did owe the Wronged Ones something for saving his life, even though they had not treated him as nicely as they might have.
Chaos met his eyes. Grouped together as they were, the Wronged Ones offered a perfect target for the spears of the Beast People. Screaming women and children floundered about, colliding with the warriors and making it difficult for them to cast their weapons with accuracy. A great sorrow clutched his heart as he saw old Mree-na go down, his hands tearing at a shaft imbedded deep in his chest. Of all on this world, the withered patriarch and Kac alone had been friendly toward Gene. The rest bore him no hate, no ill will; but their eyes never looked upon him but that they looked with accusation.
He pushed to the fore of the throng, brusquely shoving aside all in his path. A long line of Beast People stretched across the valley floor, moving forward rapidly and determinedly. Gene could see they were set on winning the city this time, no matter what the cost. They carried many firebrands, and some of these they threw among the disorganized foe. Cries of agony rent the air as the blazing missiles ignited hair and fur garments. Now, even the staunch warriors dropped their weapons to beat at the tormenting flames. Utter defeat was hard upon them.
* * * * *
Gene felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Kac standing beside him, desperation in his eyes. The young giant paused to launch a spear at the oncoming horde, then ducked behind a boulder, dragging the biologist with him.
The chief's son looked wonderingly for a moment at his strange companion, then spoke quickly: "I do not know how you managed to escape, Gene, but somehow I find myself glad to have you here in this hour of crisis. See, even now my people fall by the tens; it will be slaughter when the Beast People close with our warriors for hand-to-hand battles. Can not you, a man capable of bending a fiery sky-monster to your will, find a way to turn back this vermin that would bring annihilation to all in this city?"
Gene peeped over the rounded stone and snapped a shot at the nearest half-man. The thing fell, its head completely blown away. Kac gasped and backed away in fear, for although he had seen the Earthling use the gun when trapped near the ship, he still thought of it as some form of black magic.
"Small loss to those monstrosities," Gene murmured. "There's swarms of them." Then in a louder voice, "I might think of something shortly. But first we must rally your men and get the women and children to safety. Then we can work on a method of counterattack."
Old One joined them and Gene quickly gave the men their instructions. Leaders that they were, he was certain they would succeed in the task of bringing order to the panic-stricken community. He was to hold off the half-men until the two could draw up an effective defense.
The chief and his son hurried away to exhort the tribe and Gene took his post behind the large boulder. He noticed the hideous ones were not advancing so rapidly now. They were reluctant to face again the fearful death of fire that had done for so many of them the first time they had come upon the explorer.
Kac raced up, flung himself down beside Gene, just as a spear whizzed overhead and clattered to the ground a few yards away.
"They are poor marksmen," he laughed mirthlessly. Then, with pride in his voice, "Gene, the warriors have already rallied, and of their own accord! They are ready to fight the invader."
A look assured Drummond that the Wronged Ones had indeed come back fighting; they scorned the protection of the rocks, but stood straight and firm, casting their shafts with a trueness that took great toll of the disappointed Beast People, who had thought victory already in their grasp. The long line moved ever slower.
"Well, that was certainly taken care of in a hurry!" he said admiringly. "What about the women and children--are they safe?"
"Yes," Kac nodded. "The aged men of the tribe even now aid Old One in herding the weak ones into the caves. Now we may fight unhindered. Now shall the vermin know the wrath of my people!"
* * * * *
Gene did not voice his fears, but he was afraid the rally had come too late. The attacking force had gained too far up the side of the valley, and with their greatly superior numbers they could soon squelch the opposition in a man-to-man fight. It was uncanny, the way the eyeless beings moved over and around the obstructions in their path, as if they knew the location of each from memory. Even so, they were about the clumsiest things he knew of.
The valley was brighter now, and looking up he could see a dim glow filtering through the heavy clouds. It had been a short night, and that was well for the tribe; for heretofore they had been forced to direct their weapons to the target by the light of torches dropped by fallen half-men.
But even though the advantage of daylight was now with them, they were forced to give back before the doggedly advancing enemy. Soon they would be forced to seek refuge in the caves. And as the foul creatures came on there rose up an endless, terrifying scream of hate. The fall of the cave city was near at hand.
Gene had been thinking about the things he had witnessed in the Cave of Talkers, and now he turned excitedly to the man beside him, a desperate plan taking shape in his mind.
"Listen, Kac! Go now--and may your feet sprout wings--to the Cave of Talkers and bring from there the sack of liquid used in your ritual. We may yet save the city, my friend."
Fear was in Kac's eyes, but only a moment. Surely the gods would give up their sustenance to save their devout people. He hurried off, bending low and weaving.
While he waited, Gene poured a steady fire at the abhorrent foe. Still, not a gap showed in that long, undulating line. The moment one creature fell, another rushed in to take his place.
Kac returned shortly, carrying the big skin sack of oil.
"This is all we have," he apologized. "The plants that produce this are scarce, and so we never have a very large supply."
"We can only hope it will be enough," Gene said grimly, taking the sack. "Here, give me your spear."
Kac turned over the long shaft and the biologist quickly poured oil over it. Then he inserted the shaft of the slippery weapon in the leatherlike carrying strap of the sack. While doing this, a torch fell at his side in a burst of sparks and he snatched it up, smiling.
"Thanks, sucker! I'll be returning the favor shortly! Now, Kac, here's what you must do: Take the torch and when I give the signal, touch it to the oilsack. Then stand away in a hurry. That clear?"
Kac grinned in quick understanding of Gene's plan and enthusiastically prepared for his part in it. He crouched low, smoking firebrand ready in his hand, while Gene climbed to his feet and hoisted the odd ensemble over his shoulder. Gauging distance, he adjusted the angle of the spear, then took a firm stance.
"Let 'er rip!"
Kac leaped up and thrust the torch against the saturated sack, then threw himself to the ground and rolled frantically away.
The bag blazed up instantly, and just as swift did Gene whip the spear up and forward. The roaring ball of fire left the shaft in a high arc, sailing straight toward the unsuspecting Beast People.
Down it came, bursting at the feet of the nearest half-men. Flaming oil spewed over everything within a wide radius. It ate away flesh and hair with a voracity that was dreadful to see. Living torches raced madly about in circles, screaming at the top of their voices--then to collapse in smouldering heaps, the evil life within them fled before the cleansing flame.
All along the line, creatures stopped dead in their tracks, an unreasoning fear striking deep in their hearts, if hearts they had. They could not see the cause of disaster, but they could hear its roar and the shrieks of their dying fellows. To them, it was as if a raging holocaust had leaped from the bowels of the earth to gulp them in. Then, as once before, the Beast People gave up to panic, and the solid ranks suddenly disintegrated. Pell-mell they fled, back into and across the valley, putting distance between themselves and the horror that supposedly pursued them.
A jubilant shout went up from the defenders of the city: "The accursed ones are beaten! The man from Earth has this day given us final victory! Hail the man from Earth--our brother!"