Part 2

Most of the interior fittings of the vessel, they found, had long ago rotted away. Only the metal parts still remained intact. The instrument board was unfamiliar to them. "Pretty definitely an early model," Wallace said.

Saxton found something on one wall that held his absorbed interest. "Come here, Ivan," he called.

"What is it?" Wallace asked, going over to stand beside him.

"Read that."

Wallace read aloud from the engraved plaque: "_Spring, 2676. We, the Dukobors, leave our Earth homes in the hope that we may find a dwelling place for ourselves and our children, where we may worship our God as we believe proper. We place ourselves in His hands and pray that He will watch over us on our journey, and in the time to come._"

"That's over nineteen hundred years ago," Saxton said.

"Soon after the discovery of spacebridge," Wallace added. Without being aware of it they both spoke in whispers.

They inspected the vessel for some time more, but found little of any further interest.

* * * * *

A short time after they left the ancient spaceship Wallace and Saxton stumbled on Al-fin and his group of naked natives.

This time they made a concerted effort to communicate with Al-fin, and one or two of the others, but with no more success than before. Neither side could understand more than a few words of the other's language, and they could accomplish very little with signs.

Al-fin sat with them for a time, until they saw him tilt his head in the gesture they remembered. On his face was the same expression of listening. After a moment he rose leisurely and indicated that they were to follow him. Most of the other natives, Wallace noticed on rising, had already gone over and bunched together at one end of the clearing. They appeared restless, but not frightened.

"What's it all about?" Saxton asked.

"I suspect there's another cat in the neighborhood," Wallace answered.

Saxton pointed to the center of the clearing. Beneath a tree the oldster with the scar on his arm sat alone, seemingly unaware that the others had left him.

"Are they using their chief for a decoy?" Saxton asked.

"Perhaps the old duffer isn't the chief," Wallace answered. He reached for his firearm.

A dirt-encrusted hand closed over his own. He looked up. Al-fin shook his head.

Wallace turned to look back at the clearing just in time to see a big cat step out of the bushes. It glanced across at them with an easy hate in its red-shot eyes, and turned its attention to the fat man, who was nearer. Slowly it gathered itself to spring.

Wallace shrugged off Al-fin's hand, that still rested on his, just as the cat left its feet. He had no chance to fire. The cat finished its spring--and the ground caved in beneath its feet. A moment later they heard its snarling and spitting from several yards underground.

Calmly, unhurriedly, the natives picked boulders from the ground and carried them to the pit. They dropped or threw them down on the cat until its snarls changed from anger to pain, and died completely.

Wallace and Saxton walked to the edge of the pit and looked down. The cat was dead. Its carcass lay sprawled over those of another dozen of its kind.

"Evidently they've used this method often before," Wallace remarked. A thought occurred to him and he looked at Saxton.

Saxton nodded in unspoken agreement. "We've just seen another demonstration of that ability we're trying to find," he said.

"But what is it?" Wallace asked.

"Can it be anything except acute hearing?"

"If it was only that, how did they know where the cat would appear, and what it would do? If it had circled the pit they would have been helpless. Yet they did nothing except retreat to the far side of the clearing and wait."

Saxton shook his head in defeat. "They did act with plenty of assurance--but how did they know? Do you think we should stay around some more, and watch how they operate?"

Wallace glanced up at the rapidly moving sun. "We'd better get back to the ship," he said. "We have only about enough time to reach it before dark. We can come back again tomorrow, if you want."

* * * * *

That evening as he lay on his bunk, Wallace noted that Saxton was growing restless again. Their being unable to find a way to evade the bloodhound was bringing the irritable part of his nature to the surface. The time had come again to furnish diversion. "I'm sure we have all the clues on those savages," he said. "If we just understood how to fit them together."

It worked. Saxton stopped pacing and bared his teeth in a smile. "You still think they developed some special ability, don't you?" he asked. "I don't agree. Nineteen hundred years--the time the colony's been here--is too short for any change to take place. Evolution doesn't work that fast."

"I'm not thinking of the slow process of adaptation," Wallace said, "where the most fit, and their descendants, are the ones that tend to survive and propagate. What I had in mind was a form of genetic change. Such as a plant, or an animal, appearing that is different from the rest of its species. A botanist, or a biologist, would call it a 'sport.' Like the appearance of a black rose on a bush of red roses. If the black rose is more fitted to survive in its environment, or if it is artificially propagated, it would soon replace the red."

"You think then that a child was born here with a difference that made it more fit to survive in this environment than the others, and that the savages we saw are its direct descendants?"

Wallace nodded.

"But wouldn't it be too much of a coincidence that the particular trait should appear just when it was needed?"

"I don't think so," Wallace said. "Nature has a way of providing the particular trait just at the time it _is_ most needed. A good example is the way more male children are born during a war. There's no known explanation for something like that. But nature seems to know what is needed--and provides it."

"That sounds plausible," Saxton said, after a minute of consideration. "According to your theory, then, those savages possess an ability radically different from that of normal humans?"

"Not necessarily _radically_ different," Wallace answered. "It would probably be a trait inherent in all of us, but not so evident, or fully developed. Or perhaps it has made its appearance before, in rare individuals, but not being a survival characteristic--where it appeared--it died. Something like telepathy, or poltergeism, or any of the other so-called wild talents."

"I'll admit I'm stumped," Saxton said. "And I don't think we'll learn anything more here without staying and observing them a lot longer than I'd care to. If we ever get back home, there are specialists in that sort of thing, who can do more with the facts we gave them than we can."

Wallace sighed. "I suppose you're right," he said. "I hope we learn what it is before we leave, but of course we can't wait if we get the chance to go."

* * * * *

Early the next afternoon they spied a figure hurrying toward them from the edge of the wood.

"It's Al-fin," Saxton said. "I wonder why he's in such a hurry."

"He's carrying something under his arm," Wallace commented.

They waited while the native puffed his way up the bank of the small plateau on which the spaceship rested. When he reached them he stood for a moment fighting to regain his breath. It was evident that he had run long and hard.

Pushing his package under one arm, Al-fin raised the other and pointed at the sky. Bringing his arm around in a wide half-circle, he made a sound with his lips like an Earth bumblebee. When he reached the end of the half-circle he held a finger out in a long point. He ended the performance by holding his hand out toward the spaceship and making a scooping motion--as though he were throwing it into the air. Three times he repeated the maneuver.

Wallace watched him in puzzled silence. At the end of the third repetition his eyes widened with slowly dawning understanding. He ran for the portal of the ship. "I'll be right back," he tossed over his shoulder.

Inside he glanced quickly at the s-tracer. Its needles indicated that the bloodhound was directly across the planet from them!

He dashed back to the open portal. "Inside! Quick!" he called to Saxton.

Saxton wasted not a minute in obeying. As he pushed past Wallace, Al-fin came to the portal of the ship. He extended the parcel he had been carrying under his arm to Wallace. "Meat," he said. "Bye."

"Thanks," Wallace answered, taking the gift. "Thanks--for everything." He closed the portal quickly.

* * * * *

Three hours later they were in hyperspace. Another five minutes and they were in the Ten Thousand Worlds portion of the galaxy--and safe.

Saxton turned over on his side. He had made a faster recovery from the nausea of the bridge than usual. "Okay," he said to Wallace. "Give."

Wallace smiled. "Perhaps we'd better open Al-fin's gift first," he said, deliberately teasing Saxton with his procrastination. He unwrapped the several large leaves from the package on the table.

Inside was a man's fat arm--with a long scar running from shoulder joint to elbow!

* * * * *

Saxton groaned and dashed for the lavatory. This time he was sicker than he'd been during the jump. When he turned, streaks of pale green showed through the duskiness of his cheeks. "They're cannibals," he whispered.

"I wouldn't hold that against them," Wallace said. "It might have been one of the necessities of their survival."

"I suppose so." Saxton turned intently to Wallace. "This much I got," he said. "When Al-fin said 'Bye,' I figured that he was telling us to get out. But how did he know that it would be safe--and how did you know enough to trust him?"

"I can't take too much credit," Wallace said. "Just all at once everything clicked together--at the exact moment I understood that Al-fin was trying to tell us to leave. You remember we decided that their survival characteristic would probably be something inherent in all of us, but not developed--or at least not to the extent that an isolated colony of humans would need here?"

Saxton nodded.

"Well, I'm convinced that the answer is intuition."

"Intuition?"

"Yes," Wallace said. "Everyone knows what intuition is, and has it to some degree. With no evidence to back up his reasoning a person knows that something is going to happen. Sometimes he can even give exact details. It's a definite, perceivable faculty. Yet no one has ever been able to explain just what it is, or even how it works. But if you looked at it in another way it wouldn't be so mysterious. It's another sense--too deeply buried in our subconscious to be consistently active. Those savages needed it here--fully developed--and nature provided it."

Saxton pulled himself up on one elbow. "And with it they can practically see what's going to happen in the future," he finished for Wallace. "They can predict--and be right every time! That's how Al-fin knew it would be safe for us to leave." He paused. "It all fits. I think you've got it."

Wallace smiled. "My guess is that they can't see very far into the future. That's why Al-fin was out of breath when he came. By the time he learned about the coming opposition of our ship and the aliens he had to hurry to get to us, and tell us, before it was too late."

Wallace rubbed the stubble of whiskers on his chin with his knuckles. "We'll have to report this planet suitable for colonizing," he said. "I hate to think what will happen to those poor savages when civilization moves in. They'll soon lose that future-seeing."

Saxton's eyes widened at some inner thought. He sat straight up in his bunk. "Will they?" he asked. "Or will it work the other way? Someday the children of those naked savages may...." He stopped. Wallace recognized the glaze of abstraction that moved over his features.

Saxton began to sing a stanza from an old popular song that had recently been revived: "_There's gonna be some changes made...._"