Part 2

"Beats me!" he repeated helplessly. "Guess they don't _want_ us to have the sola--!" his eyes hardened slowly. "Yeah--maybe that's it! Maybe they're--" He stiffened, glancing nervously toward the white jangle that pressed closely about them on all sides. "_Maybe they're arming right now--planning an attack--_"

Rob Cantrell's pleasant face changed. Eyes narrowed, mouth tight, he let his gaze flicker over the working men who were under his command, dependent on his judgment for their safety. His gaze returned to the small S'zetnur, feebly trying to block the entrance to that natural hole in the cliff's side. Or ... _was_ it a natural hole? Cantrell's keen eyes became observant, noting worn places in the rock--

"There's something in this cave," Harris grunted. "Something this little monkey doesn't want us to see ... a secret weapon, maybe? Sa-ay!" His pleasant face hardened, like Cantrell's. "Maybe these cookies aren't as dumb and helpless as they look! Maybe they've got something that could wipe out our whole expedition!"

Cantrell nodded and strode forward, jerking the bleating dwarf aside with one sweep of his muscular arm. The cave was not deep; and, Cantrell noted with tensed nerves, there were fresh flower-petals on the floor of the small opening. Petals like those on the flower-wreath of this fantastically decorated little S'zetnur.

The captain groped inside. Harris stepped forward, shoving the dwarf away as he flung himself at Cantrell again like a furious kitten. There was, the Earthmen both saw at once, something inside. A kind of box, crudely made of white wood, as though a clumsy child had put it together. There was no lock, Cantrell raised the lid--

Inside, dry and crumbling, was a small doll made of brown clay. Harris and Cantrell stared at it, amazed at its perfection of modeling. It was, or seemed to be, a very good image of an Earthman. Certainly, it was not intended to portray one of the stunted little S'zetnurs, for the legs and feet were perfect, the hands beautifully formed, the facial details fine and delicate--though there was about the thing, Cantrell noted, an odd expression of cruelty and arrogance--

"Well! What d'ya know?" he snapped. "A graven image! The aborigines on Terra used to make these images of an enemy--just before slipping him a poison-dart in the back! Juju ... and they made sure it worked!"

He whirled on the little S'zetnur, who was whistling shrilly now, jumping up and down in agitated protest.

At that moment, one of the diggers shouted a warning. Cantrell turned, to see beyond the handful of workers in the valley a small army of S'zetnurs advancing on them from the jungle-edge. Backs to the cliff wall, Harris and Cantrell snatched out their blasters. The captain yelled, warning the unarmed workers to make a dash for the camp:

"_General alert! Prepare for attack!_"

* * * * *

Then the dwarfs were upon them, armed rather pathetically with clubs strapped to their fingerless hands. Advancing in a rough semi-circle upon Cantrell and Harris, and completely ignoring the half-dozen workers who dashed past them, the little S'zetnurs closed in. Lips tight, eyes narrowed, the Earthmen waited until they were within ten feet--

Then, methodically, they let go with their blasters, searing the attackers from left to right.

Screaming, they went down, half-charred bodies and burning hair. One little creature, luckier or bolder than the rest, struck a blow that numbed Harris's left arm. Cantrell blazed away at him. He fell, an unrecognizable mass of ashes.

The men from Terra pressed against the cliff wall, panting, their eyes raking the pale jungle for the next wave of attackers.

"How d'you like these babies?" Cantrell snarled. "Planning to jump us all the time--And we were feeling sorry for them!"

They waited, tensed for the next attack. In the distance they could hear the siren on the spaceship, calling a general alert. Calling in the Geiger crews, and the diggers, and the ethnologists. _Natives hostile, natives hostile!_ the signal was screaming--

Cantrell turned his head briefly--and stiffened as he saw the small S'zetnur decked in flowers. He was still alive, crouched just inside the cave, clutching the mud doll and whimpering softly. The captain glared at him, hard-eyed.

"Ambassador, huh?" He smiled without mirth. "To keep us from being suspicious of this juju-attack, until it was too late!" He jerked his head at Harris. "Blast him! He's a spy, isn't he? Been all over the camp. Knows just where everything's located--"

The astrogator peered at the huddled creature nursing the doll. He raised his gun, then swallowed hard. "Rob--I can't do it! Cold like this, I mean ... can't we take him prisoner? A hostage?"

Cantrell glanced at him, then at the pitiful figure in the cave.

"Don't be a damned fool!" he snapped. "If he gets away and brings reinforcements, none of us'll get off this apple alive! You lost your guts or something?"

Harris scuffed his toe, looking down. "No-o.... It's just that.... Well, hell!" his gruff voice cracked. "He's so ... _helpless_!"

"Helpless, my eye!" Rob Cantrell growled. "There may be thousands of these joes, closing in on us right now from that jungle! _Millions!_ All right, I'm in command," he said quietly. "Make a run for the camp. I ... I'll do it...."

His buddy tossed him a grateful look, born of their long-time friendship. With another look at the silent wall of forest, he sprinted in the direction of the camp. Once he paused, wincing, as the blare of a ray-gun sounded behind him. Then Cantrell caught up with him, his eyes pained, his lips white.

"Poor slob!" he muttered through clenched teeth as he ran. "Poor ugly little slob.... He kept shielding that damn doll with his body!"

They burst into the clearing, where the lieutenants were already rounding up those of the ship's crew who were trained to fight. Others, the workmen and the experts, were piling into the ship for safety. The siren kept up its woman-like screaming: _Hostile natives, hostile!_

Cantrell and Harris stopped in the center of the clearing, to view the ordered shambles with sick eyes. They glanced at each other, and shrugged.

"All right!" the captain's clear voice rang out. "Prepare to take off! Repeating: Prepare to take off! Abandon all equipment not vital to crew. Repeating...."

The men from Terra were efficient men, quick, intelligent, and well-organized under the pilot and astrogator who commanded their expedition. In exactly 8-3 kilos, shiptime, men and machinery were loaded aboard the big silver rocket. Fire belched from her twin jets. She took the atmosphere of the planet designated as S'zetnur like a pale streak of flame. In another kilo, she was bulleting into free flight.

Cantrell, the pilot, fixed her automatic on "Sol-Terra," then strolled back to the chart room, where Harris was rechecking their line of flight. He sat down on the plastine desk, lighting a cigarette. Harris took it from him, inhaled a deep drag, and handed it back. They looked at each other, smiling wryly.

"Well ..." Rob Cantrell sighed. "There goes that presidential citation you were yapping about--with bonus. We'll be lucky if we keep our rating!"

"Oh, it won't be that bad," Harris predicted cheerfully. "I mean, nobody could expect us to form a trade-alliance with a bunch of hot-heads like that! Graven images! Tricked-up spies!" He spat disgustedly. "And all because we wanted one shipload of lousy sola!..."

Cantrell nodded bitterly. "And we could have done so much for them in return. A new world, I think you said!..." He emitted a short laugh, edged with cynicism. "Well ... Terra-Government can't afford to ship from a hostile planet. Too damn expensive. We'll just have to equip another expedition and start looking again...."

Harris nodded absently, his eyes thoughtful. "Uh-huh.... But if we could only have understood those little monkeys! Maybe they didn't mind our taking the sola. Maybe it was something else.... Rob," he blurted, "one of the junior ethnologists has a theory; did you hear? He...."

"Junior ethnologists have always got a theory!" the captain snorted. "Lack of experience!"

"Yeah, but ..." Harris pursued. "This kid says he thinks those little S'zetnurs were a cult of beauty-worshippers. You know? Like they used to have on Venus? Eugenic mating--killing off the imperfect ones. He says they just don't understand about nutrition; that's why it's so tragic that they're all deformed and diseased now. None of them are beauties any more, and they don't know why. But when they saw us...."

"Nuts!" said Cantrell rudely.

"Yeah, but.... The doll. Maybe it was an image of the way _they_ used to be. A sort of pattern for them to remember.... And you know how that poor joe kept ... _looking_ at us? The one all tricked-up in flowers? This ethno thinks they sent him to be mated with one of our women...."

"Good God!" the pilot laughed.

"... and that poor slob of a woman, who acted so upset when you strapped your spacewatch around her wrist. The kid thinks you marked her for death, and...."

"Oh, go soak your head! And that junior ethnologist's, too!" Cantrell chuckled. "I understood those babies, all right! They're just a bunch of greedy, ignorant morons, who were determined not to let a shipful of strangers cart off any of their lousy little planet! You and your ... glass wall!"

He punched Harris on the shoulder in affectionate scorn. The astrogator grinned feebly; then with more assurance, because Cantrell was his friend and he trusted his judgment.

"Yeah ..." he said. "Yeah, Rob; I guess you're right...."

End of Project Gutenberg's The Conquistadors Come, by M. E. Counselman