CHAPTER XIII

The dawn-man, a thing like a wet rat, bared its teeth at the dinosaur.... The Cro-Magnon faced a horde of hulking Neanderthals with a grin.... The Crusader stood with a broken sword and brandished the hilt at the charging Saracens.... The Apache drew his knife to fight a double-troop armed with carbines.... The American flung his empty M-1 in the faces of forty Japanese ... _toujours le beau geste_. Captain Pinkham, standing in his cabin aboard the spaceship _Elephant's Child_ adrift in Star System Ninety, leaned forward and pulled the trigger to the two-century-old, out-moded, laughable popgun of a Colt .44 firing once and twice and again and again into the face of the bronze-yellow space-dwelling giant.

The being loomed over him, and a scream like the death-wail of a meteor lanced into his eardrums and made him gasp with anguish. He pumped the last slug into the enemy and launched himself side-long, without much hope of landing anywhere but in a bushel-sized palm. He was actually surprised when he found himself on the rug. He scrambled for cover, but before he reached it, it dawned on him that he might not need it.

The alien had sunk to its knees, was making a convulsive effort to rise but obviously lacked the strength! Somehow, and God alone knew how, Pinkham had wounded the beast!

He drew back to the wall, watching. The agony of the big humanoid was doubling it over and throwing it upright as though a volcano were erupting in its belly. It flung out an arm, struck a foam-chair, which shattered explosively. Pink put more feet between them. The convulsions were like those of a harpooned whale. Yet the creature did not seem able to move from its knees. Finally, perhaps a minute after the first throes, it collapsed all at once, a crumpled titan. Pink cautiously opened the door, just as Daley was reaching for the handle.

"What in hell did you _do_?" shouted the lieutenant.

"Shot him with a revolving-chamber pistol of the mid-19th Century," said Pink. His rib was hurting and his flesh felt bruised all over. He grinned. "Figure that one, boy. Atomic disintegrator doesn't work, antique powder-using firearm does. I'm too beat to know why."

"It's crazy," said Joe Silver flatly. They all stood around the alien, which was sprawled on its back. The red eyes gleamed, but no muscle moved in the great body. They looked for signs of the wounds, for holes or dissolving matter, for anything different; there was nothing. "What if--" began Silver.

"This can wait." Pink took a deep breath, which hurt, and cleared his throat. "There's plenty to be done. Jerry, check your scanner and detectors for possible damage. Sparks, get on the radio to _Cottabus_ and _Diogenes_; tell 'em everything, and warn them to come in cautiously. Kinkare, Daley, see what you can do with the space drive."

He walked to the chest and picked up the box of Colt cartridges. He loaded the weapon again. "This works--and for now I'm not asking why. I'll stay with this scum of the void and try to get something out of him that'll clear things up. Bill, you determine our position and give it to Sparks; then start checking all the other equipment for bugs." He looked at Joe Silver. "You collect the bodies of the dead officers and prepare them for space burial."

"Why me?" blurted Silver.

Pink gave him a long look. "Because it's an officer's job. Because I tell you to. And Silver--"

"Yeah?"

"I have decided that this is no longer a grade A emergency."

Joe Silver said stiffly, "Yes, sir."

* * * * *

Pink activated the intercom screen, told the crew briefly what had happened. Then he raised the mutiny gates, giving a sigh of relief. "Get going," he told his officers.

"What about the girl?" asked Jerry suspiciously. "She could still be one of them."

"Leave her with me. I have six bullets in this thing and forty-eight more after that." He looked at Circe, who was pale and weary. "Sit down, O. O. Smith," he said gently. "I think you're all right. But you realize we can't chance anything till we have proof."

"I understand," she said listlessly, and dropped into a foamseat, staring at the fallen giant. The others trooped out.

With the door shut, Pink walked to the head of the creature; it was a swollen and hideous head, but by rights it should have been even more hideous, should have had half a dozen wounds. The yellow hide was unmarked. Pink said, "You're alive. Can you speak?"

"Certainly." The lips barely moved. "I am but immobilized for the moment."

"What caused it?"

The being sneered at him without answering. Pink said, "I can keep you in this state for a long time, chum. And when we've shown our heels to your brothers, I'm going to dump you out an air-lock and let you drift around between the stars."

He knelt beside it. "What did you do to the space drive?"

There was a long pause. Then it evidently made up its mind. "The drive should be in working order now. Your men will discover so when they try it. As with the other contrivances, I merely placed a temporary stasis on the protons of certain atoms, which rendered them futile. There should be no damage by this time."

Echoing his words, Pink heard the first throbbing murmur of the activated piles. He looked without conscious volition at Circe, and they exchanged smiles of vast relief.

"You'll be popping out that air-lock sooner than I'd hoped," said Pink to the giant. Then he was startled by a great peal of harsh laughter.

"Oh, you pigmy!" shouted the alien. "You flea-brained besotted fool! Your ship is out of control even now, and your hours are numbered on one hand. You've lost, and haven't the brains to see why!"

And, thought Pink, listening to the mirthless laugh while a chill sought out his belly, the monster's words did not sound remotely like a bluff.

He knew something hidden from the captain, and even in his captivity he felt himself master of the _Elephant's Child_.

Why? Why? Why?

Then Pink turned and looked at Circe.