 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Mark Nelson, San Jose, California. The Green Odyssey by Philip Jose Farmer. Chapters 10-12 He had no trouble at all except for making his way through the thick traffic. The explosions and shouting coming from the castle had aroused the whole town so that everybody who could stand on his two feet, or could get somebody to carry him, was outside milling around asking questions, talking excitedly, and in general trying to make as much chaos as possible and to enjoy every bit of this excuse to take part in a general disturbance. Green strode through them, his head bent, but his eyes probing ahead. He made fairly good progress, only being held up temporarily a few times by the human herd. Finally, the flat plain of the windbreak lay before him, and the many mass of the great wheeled vessels were a forest around him. He was able to get to the bird of fortune unchallenged by any of the dozens of guardsmen that he passed. The roller herself lay snugly between two docks, where a huge gang of slaves had towed her. There was a gangway running up from one of the docks, and at both ends stood a sailor on guard, clad in the family colors of yellow, violet, and crimson. They chewed Grickster nut, something like betel, except that it stained both teeth and lips and gave them a green color. When green stepped boldly upon the gangway, the nearest guard looked doubtful and put his hand on his knife. Evidently he'd had no orders from Moran about a priest, but he knew what the mask indicated and that awed him enough so that he did not dare oppose the stranger. Nor was the second guard any quicker in making up his mind. Green slipped by him, entered the middecks, and walked up the gangway to the foredeck. He knocked quietly on the door of the captain's cabin. A moment later it swung violently open, light flooded out, then was blocked off by Moran's huge round bulk. Green stepped inside, pressing the captain back. Moran reached for his dagger, but stopped when he saw the intruder take off the mask and spectacles and throw back the hood. Green, so you made it! I did not think it was possible. With me all things are possible, replied Green modestly. He sat down at the table, or rather crumpled at it, and began repeating in a dry voice, halting with fatigue the story of his escape. In a few minutes the narrow cabin rang with the captain's laughter, and his one eye twinkled and beamed as he slapped Green on the back and said that by all the gods here was a man he was proud to have aboard. Have a drink of this Les Paxian wine, even better than Chalusema, and one I bring out only for honoured guests, said Moran, shortling. Green reached out a hand for the proffered glass, but his fingers never closed upon the stem, for his head sank on the tabletop and his snores were tremendous. It was three days later that a much rested Green, his skin comfortably, even glowingly, tight with superb Les Paxian, sat at the table and waited for the word to come that he could finally leave the cabin. The first day of inactivity he'd slept and eaten and paced back and forth, anxious for news of what was going on in the city. At nightfall Moran had returned with the story that a furious search was organised in the city itself and the outlying hills. Of course the Duke would insist that the rollers themselves be turned inside out and Moran was cursing because that would mean a fatal delay. They could not wait for more than three more days. The fish tanks had been installed, the provisions were almost all in the hold. The roistering crewmen were being dragged out of the taverns and sobered up. Two days after tomorrow the great vessel would have to be towed out of the windbreak and sail set for the perilous and long voyage. I wouldn't worry, said Green. You will find that tomorrow word will come from the hills, you will find that tomorrow word will come from the hills that Green has been killed by a wild man of the clan Exaquexcan, who will demand money before handing the dead slaves head over. The Duke will accept this as true and will conveniently forget all about searching the rollers. Moran rubbed his fat oily palms, while one pale eye glowed. He loved a good intrigue, the more elaborate the better. But the second day, even though what Green had predicted came true, Moran became nervous and began to find the big blonde man's constant presence in his cabin, Exaquexcan. He wanted to send him down into the hold, but Green firmly refused, reminding the captain of his promise of haven within these very walls. He then calmly appropriated another bottle of the merchant's Laspaxian, having located his hiding-place and drank it. Moran glowered, and his face twitched with repressed resentment, but said nothing because of the custom that a guest could do what he pleased, within reasonable limits. The third day Moran was positively a tub of nerves, jittery, sweating, pacing back and forth. At last he'd left the cabin, only to begin pacing back and forth on the deck. Green could hear his footsteps for hours. The fourth day he was up at dawn and bellowing orders to his crewmen. A little later Green felt the big vessel move and heard the shouts of the foremen of the towering gangs and chants of the slaves as they bent their backs, hauling at the huge ropes attached to the roller. Slowly, oh so slowly it seemed to Green, the craft creaked forward. He dared open a curtain to look out the square porthole. Before him was the rearing side of another roller, and just for a second it seemed to him that it, not his vessel, was the one that was moving. Then he saw that the roller was advancing at a pace of about fifteen or sixteen feet a minute. It would take them an hour to get past the towering brick walls of the windbreak. He sweated out that hour and unconsciously fell into his childhood habit of biting his nails, expecting at any time to see the docks suddenly boiled with soldiers, running after the bird of fortune, shouting for it to stop because it had a runaway slave aboard. But no such thing occurred, and at last the tug gang stopped and began coiling up their ropes, and Green quit chewing his nails. Moran shouted orders, the first mate repeated them, there was the slap of many feet on the decks above, the sound of many voices chanting, a sound as of a knife cutting cloth told that the sails had been released. Suddenly the vessel rocked as the wind caught it, and a vibration through the floors announced that the big axles were turning, the huge wheels with their tires of chacarotter, a kind of rubber, were revolving. The bird was on the wing. Green opened the door slightly and took one last look at the city of Quats. It was receding rapidly at the rate of fifteen miles an hour, and at this distance it looked like a toy city nestled in the lap of a hillock. Now that the danger from it was gone and the odors too far away to offend his nose, it looked quite romantic and enticing. And so we say farewell to the exotic Quats, murmured Green in the approved travelogue fashion. So long, you son of an is it. Then, though he was supposed to stay inside until Moran summoned him, he opened the door and stepped out, and almost faded dead away. Hello, honey, said Amra. Green scarcely heard the children grouped around her also extend their greetings. He was just coming out of the dizziness and blackness that had threatened to overcome him. Perhaps it was the wine coupled with the shock. Perhaps, he was to think later, it was just that he was plain scared, scared as he had not been in the castle. A shame, too, that Amra had found out his plans to desert her, and deeply ashamed because she loved him anyway and would not allow him to go without her. She had a tremendous pride that must have cost her great effort to choke down. Probably, he was to say to himself later on, it was sheer fear of her tongue that made him quail so. There was nothing that a man dreaded so much as a woman's tongue lashing, especially if he deserved it. Oh, especially. That was to come later. At the moment, Amra was strangely quiet and meek. All she would say was that she had many business connections, and that she knew well Zingaro, the thieves' guild business agent. They had been childhood playmates, and they'd helped each other in various shady transactions since. It was only natural that she should hear about the Exorotter, the slave hiding on the Bird of Fortune had given Zingaro to take back to the duke. Cornering Zingaro, she had worked out of him enough information to be sure that Green had escaped to the roller. After all, Zingaro was under oath only to be reticent about certain details of the whole matter. From there, she had taken the business into her own hands, had told Miran that she would inform the Duchess of Green's whereabouts, unless he permitted her and her family to go along on the voyage. Here I am, your faithful and loyal wife, she said, opening her arms in an expansive gesture. I am overwhelmed with emotion, replied Green, for once not exaggerating. Then come and embrace me, she cried, and don't stand there as if you'd seen the dead return from the grave. Before all these people, he said, half stunned, looking around at the grinning captain and first mate on the four-deck beside him, and at the sailors and their families in the mid-deck below. The only ones not watching him were the goggled helmsmen, whose backs were turned because they were intent on wrestling with the great-spoked wheel. Why not, she retorted, you'll be sleeping in the open deck with them, eating with them, breathing their breath, feeling their elbows at every turn, cursing, laughing, fighting, getting drunk, making love all, all on the open deck. So why not embrace me? Or don't you want me to be here? The thought never entered my head, he said, stepping up to her and taking her in his arms. Or if it had, he rejected, you can bet that I'd not dare say it. After all, it was good to feel her soft, warm, firmly curved body again and know that there was at least one person on this God-forsaken planet that cared for him. What could have made him think for one minute that he could endure life without her? Well, he had. She just would not, could not, fit into his life if he ever got back on earth. Meran coughed and said, You too, and your children, and maid, must get off the deck and go amid ships. That is where you will live. Never again must you set foot upon the steering deck unless you are summoned. I run a tight ship, and discipline is strictly adhered to. Green followed Amra and the children down the steps to the deck below, noticing for the first time that Inzaks, the pretty blonde slave who took care of the children, was also aboard. You had to give credit to Amra. Wherever she went, she traveled in style. He also thought that if this was a tight ship, a loose one must be sheer chaos. Cats and dogs were running here and there, playing with the many infants, or else fighting with each other. Women sat and sewed, or hung up washing, or dried dishes, or nursed babies. Inzaks cluck defiantly from behind the bars of their coops, scattered everywhere. On the port side there was even a pig-pen holding about thirty of the tiny rabbit-eared porcines. Green followed Amra to a place where an awning had been stretched to make a roof. Isn't this nice, she said? It has sides which we can pull down when it rains, or when we want privacy, as I suppose we will. You being so funny in some ways. Oh, it's delightful, he hastened to assure her. I see you even have some feather mattresses, and a cook-stove. He looked around. But where are the fish tanks? I thought Moran was going to bolt them to the deck. Oh no, he said that they were too valuable to expose to gunfire if we encountered pirates. So he had the deck cut open wide enough to lower the tanks inside the hold. Then the deck planking was replaced. Most of these people here would be sleeping below if it weren't for the tanks. But there's no room now. Green decided to take a look around. He liked to have a thorough knowledge of his immediate environment, so that he would know how to behave if an emergency arose. The wind roller itself was about two hundred feet long. Its beam was about thirty-four feet. The hull was boat-shaped, and the narrow keel rested on fourteen axles. Twenty-eight enormous solid rubber-tired wheels turned at the ends of these axles. Thick ropes of the tough rubber-like substance were tied to the ends of the axles and to the tops of the hull itself. These were to hold the body steady and keep it from going over when the roller reeled under too strong a side wind, and also to provide some resiliency when the roller was making a turn. Being aboard at such times was almost like being on a water sailing ship. As the front pair of wheels, the steering wheels, turned, and the longitudinal axis of the craft slowly changed direction, the body of the vessel, thrust by the shifting impact of the winds, also tilted. Not too far, never as far as a boat in a similar case, but enough to give one an uneasy feeling. The cables on the opposing side would stretch to a degree, and then would stop the sideways motion of the keel, and there would be a slight and slow roll to the other direction. Then a shorter and slower motion back again. It was enough to make a novice green. Roller sickness wasn't uncommon at the beginning of a voyage, or during a violent windstorm. Like its aqueous counterpart, it affected the sufferer so that he could only hang over the rail and wish he would die. The bird of fortune sported a curving bow and a high foredeck. On this was fastened the many-spoked steering wheel. Two helmsmen always attended it, two men wearing hexagonal goggles and close-fitting leather helmets with high crests of curled wire. Behind them stood the captain and first mate, giving their attention alternately to the helmsman and to the sailors on deck and aloft. The mid-deck was sunken, and the poop-deck, though raised, was not as high as the foredeck. The four masts were tall, but not as tall as those of a marine craft of similar size. High masts would have given the roller a tendency to capsize in a very strong wind, despite the weight of the axles and wheels. Therefore the yard arms, reaching far out beyond the sides of the hull, were comparatively longer than a sea-ship's. When the bird carried a full weight of canvas she looked, to a mariner's eyes, squat and ungainly. Moreover, yards had been fixed at right angles to the top of the hull and to the keel itself. Extra canvas was hung between these spars. The sight of all that sail sticking from between the wheels was enough to drive an old sailor to drink. Three masts were square-rigged. The aft-mass was foreign aft-rigged and was used to help the steering. There was no bowsprit. Altogether it was a strange-looking craft. But once one was accustomed to it, one saw it was as beautiful as a ship of the sea. It was as formidable, too, for the bird carried five large cannon on the mid-deck, six cannon on the second-deck, a lighter swivel cannon on the steering-deck, and two swivels on the poop-deck. Hung from davits were two long life-rollers and a gig, all wheeled and with folding masts. If the bird was wrecked, it could be abandoned and all the crew could scoot off in the little rollers. Green wasn't given much time for inspection. He became aware that a tall, lean sailor was regarding him intently. This fellow was dark-skinned, but had the pale blue eyes of the tropat Hillsman. He moved like a cat and wore a long, thin dagger, sharp as a claw. A nasty customer thought Green. Presently, the nasty customer, seeing that Green was not going to notice him, walked in front of him so that he could not help being annoyed. At the same time the babble around them died and everybody turned his head to stare. Friend, said Green affably enough, would you mind standing off to one side? You are blocking my view. The fellow spit Grickster juice at Green's feet. No slave calls me friend. Yes, I am blocking your view and I would mind getting out of the way. Evidently you object to my presence here, said Green. What is the matter? You don't like my face? No, I don't. And I don't like to have as a crewmate a stinking slave. Speaking of odors, said Green, would you please stand to the leeward of me? I've been through a lot lately and I have a delicate stomach. Silence, you son of an is it, roared the sailor, red-faced. Have respect towards your betters, or I'll strike you down and throw your body overboard. It takes two to make a murder, just as it takes two to make a bargain, said Green in a loud voice, hoping that Moran would hear and be reminded of his promise of protection. But Moran shrugged his shoulders. He had done as much as he could. It was up to Green to make his way from now on. It's true that I am a slave, he said, but I was not born one. Before being captured I was a freeman who knew liberty as none of you here know it. I came from a country where there were no masters because every man was his own master. However, that is neither here nor there. The point is that I earned my freedom, that I fought like a warrior, not a slave to get aboard the bird. I wished to become a crew member, to become a blood brother to the clan F. and Iken. Ah, indeed. And what can you contribute to the clan that we should consider you worthy of sharing our blood? What indeed, Green thought. The sweat broke out all over his body, though the morning wind was cool. At that moment he saw Moran speak to a sailor who disappeared below decks and come out almost at once, carrying a small harp in his hand. Oh, yes, now he remembered that he had told the captain what a wonderful harpist and singer he was. Just the man that the clan, eager for entertainment on the long voyages, would be likely to initiate. The unfortunate thing about that was that Green couldn't play a note. Nevertheless, he took the instrument from the sailor and gravely plucked its strings. He listened to the tones, frowned, adjusted the pegs, plucked them again, then handed the harp back. Sorry, this is an inferior instrument, he said haughtily. Haven't you anything better? I couldn't think of degrading my art on such a cheap monstrosity. God's above, screamed a man standing nearby. That is my harp you are talking about. The beloved harp of me, the barred grizzut. Slave, tone-deaf son of a laryngeal mother. You will answer to me for that insult. No, said the sailor. This is my affair. I, Ezker, will test this lover's fitness to join the clan and be called my brother. Over my dead body, brother. If you so wish it, brother. There were more angry words until presently Moran himself came down to the mid-deck. By Minerox this is a disgrace, he bellowed. To effinike inquiriling before a slave. Come, make a decision quietly, or I will have you both thrown overboard. It is not too far to walk back to Quartz. We will cast dice to see who is the lucky man, said the sailor, Ezker. Grinning gap-toothedly he reached into the pouch that hung from his belt and pulled out the hexagonal ivories. A few minutes later he rose from his knees, having won four out of six throws. Green was disappointed more than he cared to show, for he had hoped that if he had to fight anybody it would be the pudgy, soft-looking harpist, not the tough sailor. Ezker seemed to agree with Green that he could not have had worse luck. Chewing Grickster so rapidly that the green-flexed slaver ran down his long chin, Ezker announced the terms that the blonde slave would have to meet to prove his fitness. For a moment Green thought of leaving the ship and making his way on foot. Moran protested loudly. This is ridiculous. Why can you not fight on deck like two ordinary men and be satisfied if one gives the other a flesh wound? That way I won't stand the chance of losing you, Ezker, one of my top-topmen. If you should slip, who would take your place, this green hand here?" Ezker ignored his captain's indignation, knowing that the code of the clan protected him. He spit and said, Anybody can weld a dagger. I want to see what kind of a man this Green is aloft. Walking a yard is the best way to see the color of his blood. Yes, thought Green, his skin goose-pimpling, you'll likely see my blood all right, splashed from here to the horizon when I fall. He asked Moran if he could withdraw a moment to his tent to pray to his gods for success. Moran nodded and Green had Amra let down the sides of his shelter while he dropped to his knees. As soon as his privacy was assured, he handed her a long turban cloth and told her to go outside. She looked surprised, but when he told her what else she was to do, she smiled and kissed him. You are a clever man, Alan. I was right to prefer you above any other man I might have had, and I could have had the best. Save the compliments for afterwards when we'll know if it works, he said. Hurry to the stove and do what I say. If anybody asks you what you are up to, tell them that the stuff is necessary for my religious ritual. The gods, he said, as she ducked through the tent opening, often come in handy. If they didn't exist, it would be necessary to invent them. Amra paused and turned with an adoring face. Ah, Alan, that is one of the many things for which I love you. You are always originating these witty sayings. How clever and how dangerously blasphemous! He shrugged, airily dismissing her compliment as if it were nothing. In a minute she returned with a turban wrapped around something limp but heavy. And within two minutes he stepped out of the tent, clad in a loincloth, leather belt, dagger, and turban. Silently he began climbing the rope ladder that rose to the tip of the nearest mast. Behind him came Ezker. He did get some encouragement from Amra and the children. The duke's two boys cried out to him to cut the so-and-so's throat, but if he was killed instead they would avenge him when they grew up, if not sooner. Even the blonde maid, Inzax, wept. He felt somewhat better, for it was good to know that some people cared for him, and the knowledge that he had to survive and make sure that these women and children didn't come to grief was an added stimulus. Nevertheless he felt his momentarily gained courage oozing out of his sweat-pours with every step upward. It was so high up here, so far down below. The craft itself became smaller and smaller and the people shrank to dolls. Two upturned white faces that soon became less faces than blanks. The wind howled through the rigging and the mast, which seemed so solid and steady when he was at its base, now became fragile and swaying. It takes guts to be a sailor and blood-brother of the clan F. and Iken, said Ezker. Do you have them green? Yes, but if I get any sicker I'll lose them, and you'll be sorry being below me, muttered green to himself. Finally, after what seemed like endless clamoring into the very clouds themselves, he arrived at the topmost yard. If he had thought the mast thin and flexible, the arms seemed like a toothpick poised above an abyss, and he was supposed to inch his way out to the whipping tip, then turn and come back fighting. If you were not a coward, you would stand up and walk out, called Ezker. Sticks and stones will break my bones, replied Green, but did not enlighten the puzzled sailor as to what he meant. Sitting down on the yard, he put his legs around it and began working his way out. Halfway to the arm he stopped and dared to look down. Once was enough. There was nothing but hard grassy ground directly beneath him, seemingly a mile below, and the flat plain rushing by and the huge wheels turning, turning. Go on, shouted Ezker. Green turned his head and told him in indelicate language what he could do with the yard and the whole ship for that matter if he could manage it. Ezker's dark face reddened and he stood up and began walking out on the yard. Green's eyes widened. This man could actually do it. But when he was a few feet away the sailor stopped and said, No, you are trying to anger me so I will grapple with you here and perhaps be pushed off, since you have a firmer hold. No, I will not be such a fool. It is you who must try and get past me. He turned and walked almost carelessly back to the mast, against which he leaned while he waited. You have to go out to the very end, he repeated. Else you won't pass the test, even if you should get by me, which, of course, you won't. Green gritted his teeth and humped out what he considered close enough to the end, about two feet away. Any more might break the arm, as it was already bending far down, or so it seemed to him. He then backed away, managed to turn, and to work back to within several feet of Ezger. Here he paused to regain his breath, his strength, and his courage. The sailor waited, one hand on a rope to steady himself, the other with its dagger held point out at Green. The earthman began unwinding his turban. What are you doing? said Ezger, frowning with sudden anxiety. Up to this point he had been master, because he knew what to expect, but if something unconventional happened, Green shrugged his shoulders and continued his very careful and slow unwrapping of his headpiece. I don't want to spill this, he said. Spill what? This shouted Green, and he whipped the turban upward towards Ezger's face. The turban itself was too far from the sailor to touch him, but the sand contained within it flew into his eyes before the wind could dissipate it. Amra, following her husband's directions, had collected a large amount from the fireplace's sandpile to wrap in it, and though it had made his head feel heavy, it had been worth it. Ezger screamed and clutched at his eyes, releasing his dagger. At the same time Green slid forward and rammed his fist into the man's groin. Then, as Ezger crumpled toward him, he caught him and eased him down. He followed his first blow with a chopping of the edge of his palm against the fellow's neck. Ezger quit screaming and passed out. Green rolled him over so that he could lay on his stomach across the yard, supported on one side by the mast, with his legs, arms, and head dangling. That was all he wanted to do for him. He had no intention of carrying him down. His only wish was to get to the deck, where he'd be safe. If Ezger fell off now, too bad. Amra and Inzaks were waiting at the foot of the shrouds when Green slowly climbed off. When he set foot on the deck, he thought his legs would give way, they were trembling so. Amra, noticing this, quickly put her arms around him as if to embrace the conquering hero, but actually to help support him. Thanks, he muttered. I need your strength, Amra. Anybody would who had done what you've done, she said, but my strength and all of me is at your disposal, Alan. The children were looking at him with wide, admiring eyes and yelling, That's our daddy, big, blonde, green. He's as quick as a grass-cat. He bites like a dire dog, and'll spit poison in your eye like a flying snake. Then, in the next moment, he was submerged under the men and women of the clan, all anxious to congratulate him for his feet and to call him brother. The only ones who did not crowd around, trying to kiss him on the lips, were the officers of the bird and the wife and children of the unfortunate sailor, Ezger. These were climbing up the rigging to fasten a rope around his waist and lower him. There was one other who remained aloof. That was a harpist, Grazut. He was still sulking at the foot of the mast. Green decided that he'd better keep an eye on him, especially at night when a knife could be slipped between a sleeper's ribs and the body thrown overboard. He wished now that he'd not gone out of his way to insult the fellow's instrument, but at the time that had seemed the only thing to do. Now he had better try to find some way to pacify him. End of CHAPTERS 10 THROUGH 12 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Mark Nelson, San Jose, California. The Green Odyssey by Philip Jose Farmer. CHAPTERS 13 THROUGH 15 Two weeks of very hard work and little sleep passed as Green learned the duties of a top sailman. He hated to go aloft, but he found that being up so high had its advantages. It gave him a chance to catch a few winks now and then. There were many crow's nests where musket men were stationed during a fight. Green would slip down into one of these and go to sleep at once. His foster son, Gris Quetter, would stand watch for him, waking him if the four-top captain was coming through the rigging toward them. One afternoon, Gris' whistle startled Green out of a sound sleep. However, the captain stopped to give another sailor a lecture. Unable to go back to sleep, Green watched a herd of hoovers take to their hoofs at the approach of the bird. These diminutive equines, beautiful with their orange bodies and black or white mains and fetlock, sometimes formed immense herds that must have numbered in the hundreds of thousands. So thick were they that they looked like a bobbing sea of flashing heads and gleaming hoofs stretching clear to the horizon. To stretch to the horizon was something on this planet. The plain was the flattest Green had ever seen. He could scarcely believe that it ran unbroken for thousands of miles. But it did, and from his high point of view he could see in a vast circle. It was a beautiful sight. The grass itself was tall and thick-bodied, about two feet high and a sixteenth of an inch through. It was bright Green, brighter than earthly grass, almost shiny. During the rainy season, he was told, it would blossom with many tiny white and red flowers and give a pleasing perfume. Now, as Green watched, something happened that startled him. Abruptly, as if a monster mowing machine had come along the day before, the high grass ended and a lawn began. The new grass seemed to be only an inch high, and the lawn stretched at least a mile wide and as far ahead of the bird as he could see. What do you think of that? He asked Amra's son. Gris Quetter shrugged. I don't know. The sailors say that it's done by the Wuru, an animal the size of a ship that only comes out at night. It eats grass, but it has the nasty temper of a dire dog and will attack and smash a roller as if it were made of cardboard. Do you believe that, Green said, watching him closely? Gris Quetter was an intelligent lad, in whom he hoped to plant a few seeds of skepticism. Perhaps some day those seeds might flower into the beginnings of science. I don't know if the story is true or not. It's possible, but I've met nobody who has ever seen a Wuru, and if it comes out only at night, where does it hide during the daytime? There's no hole in the ground large enough to conceal it. Very good, said Green, smiling. Happily Gris Quetter smiled back. He worshipped his foster father and nursed every bit of affection or compliment he got from him. Keep that open mind, said Green. Neither believe nor disbelieve until you have solid evidence one way or another, and keep on remembering that new evidence may come up that will disprove the old and firmly established. He smiled wryly. I could use some of my own advice. I, for instance, had at one time absolutely refused to put any credence in what I had seen with my own eyes. I put the story down as merely another idle story of those who sail the grass he sees. But I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps there couldn't be an animal of some kind like the Wuru. Both were silent for a while as they watched the animals race off like living orange rivers. Overhead the birds wheeled in their hundreds of thousands of numbers. They, too, were beautiful and even more colourful than the Hoobers. Occasionally one lit in the rigging in a burst of dazzling feathers and a fury of melodious song or raucous screeches. Look, said the boy, eagerly pointing. A grass-cat. He's been hiding, waiting to catch a hoober, and now he's afraid he'll be trampled to death by them. Green's gaze followed the other's finger. He saw the long, legged, tiger-striped body loping desperately ahead of a thundering hoofs. It was completely closed in a pocket of the orange mained beasts. Even as Green saw him, the sides of the pocket collapsed and the big cat disappeared from sight. If he remained alive, he would do so through a miracle. Suddenly, Gris Quetter cried, God's! What's the matter, cried Green? On the horizon! A sail! It's shaped like a wing sail! Others saw it, too. The ship rang with shouts. A trumpeter blew battle stations. Moran's voice rose above the others as he bellowed alone. Chaos dissolved into order and purpose as everybody went to his appointed place. The animals, children, and pregnant women were marshalled into the hold. The gun crews began unloading barrels of powder with a crane from a hatch. Musket men swarmed up the rigging. The entire top-mass crew tumbled aloft and took their places. As Green was already in his, he had some leisure to observe the whole outlay of preparations for fight. He watched Amra hurriedly give her children a kiss, make sure they'd all gone below, then begin tearing up strips of cloth for bandages and of wadding for the muskets. Once she looked up and waved at him before turning back to her task. He waved back and got a severe reprimand from the top captain for breaking discipline. An extra watch for you, Green, after this is over! The earth man groaned and wished that the Martinet would fall off and break every bone in his body if he lost any more sleep. The day wore on as the strange ship came closer. Another sail appeared behind it, and the crew grew even tenser. From all appearances they were being pursued by vings. Vings usually went in pairs. Then there was the shape of the sails, which were narrower at the bottom than at top, and there was the long, low, streamlined hull and the over-large wheels. Nevertheless, discipline was somewhat relaxed for a time. The pets and children were allowed to come up, and meals were prepared by the women. Even when the swifter craft came close enough so that the color of the sails was seen to be scarlet, thereby confirming their suspicions of the stranger's identity, battle stations weren't called. They ran estimated that by the time the vings were within range, night would fall. That is what they hate and we'd love," he said, pacing back and forth, fingering his nose ring and blinking nervously his one good eye. It'll be an hour before the big moon comes up. Not only that, it looks as though clouds may rise. See! he cried to the first mate. By Menorocs! Is that not a wisp I detect in the northeast quarter? By all the gods I believe it is, said the mate, appearing upward, seeing nothing but clear sky, but hoping that wishing would make the clouds come true. Ah! Menorocs is good to his favorite worshipper, said Moran. He that loves thee shall profit. Book of the True Gods, chapter 10, verse 8. And Menorocs knows I love him with compound interest. Yes, that he does, said the mate. But what is your plan? As soon as the last glow of the sun disappears completely from the horizon so our silhouette won't be revealed, we'll swing around and cut across their direct path of advance. We know that they'll be traveling fairly close together, hoping to catch up with us and blast us with crossfire. Well, we'll give them a chance, but we'll be gone before they can seize it. We'll go right between them in the dark, and fire on both. At the time they're ready to reply, we'll have slipped on by. And then, he whooped, slapping at his fat thigh, they'll probably cannonade each other to flinders, each thinking the other is us. Menorocs had better be with us, said the mate, paling. It'll take damn tight calculating and more than a bit of luck. We'll be going by dead reckoning, not until we're almost on them where we see them. And if we're headed straight at them, it'll be too late to avoid a collision. A room smash, boom, we're done for. That's very true, but we're done for if we don't pull some trick like that. They'll have caught us by dawn, they can outmaneuver us, and they've more combined gunfire. And though we'll fight like grass-cats, we'll go down. You know what'll happen then. The Vings don't take prisoners unless they're at the end of a cruise going into port. We should have accepted the Duke's offer of convoy of frigates, muttered the mate. Even one would have been enough to make the odds favor us. What? And lose half the profits of this voyage because we have to pay that Robert Duke for the use of his warships? Have you lost your mind, mate? If I have, I'm not the only one, said the mate, turning into the wind so his words were lost. But the helmsman heard him and reported the conversation later. In five minutes it was all over the ship. Sure, he's greedy guts himself, the crew said, but then we're his relatives. We know the value of a penny. And isn't that fat old darling the daring one know? Who but a captain of the clan F. and Iken would think of such a trick and carry it through, too? And if he's such a money grubber, why then wouldn't he be afraid to risk his vessel on cargo, not to mention his own precious blood, not to mention the even more precious blood of his relatives? No, Moran may be one-eyed and big-bellied and short of temper and wind, but he's the man to hold down the foredeck. Brother, dip me another glass from that barrel and let's toast again the cool courage and hot avariciousness of Captain Moran, master-merchant. Grazut, the plump little harpist with the effeminate manners, took his harp and began singing the song that the clan loved the most. The story of how they, a hill-tribe, had come down to the plains a generation ago, and how there they had crept into the windbreak of the city of Chuttlezage and stolen a great wind-roller, and how they had ever since been men of the grassy seas, of the vast, flat Exurdimer, and had sailed their stolen craft until it was destroyed in a great battle with a whole Kringensprunger fleet. And how they had boarded a ship of the fleet and slain all the men and taken the women prisoners and sailed off with the ship right through the astounded fleet. And how they had taken the women as slaves and bred children, and how the effinike in blood was now half-Kringensprunger, and that was where they got their blue eyes. And how the clan now owned three big merchant ships or had until two years ago when the other two rolled over the green horizon during the month of the oak that they had never heard of again. But they'd come back some day with strange tales and a hold brimming with jewels, and how the clan now sailed under the mighty, grasping, shrewd, lucky religious man, Miran. Whatever else you could say about Grazut, you could not deny that he had a fine baritone. Green, listening to his voice rise from the deck far below, could vision the rise and fall and rise again of these people to appreciate why they were so arrogant and close-fisted and suspicious and brave. Indeed, if he had been born on this planet, he could have wanted no finer, more romantic, gypsyish life than that of a sailor on a wind-roller. Provided, that is, that he could get plenty of sleep. The boom of a cannon disturbed his reverie. He looked up just in time to see the ball appear at the end of its arc and flash by him. It was not enough to scare him, but watching it plow into the ground about twenty feet away from the star-bird steering-wheel made him realize what damage one lucky shot could do. However, the wing did not try again. He was a canny pirate who knew better than to throw away ammunition. Doubtless he was hoping to panic the merchantman into a frenzy of replies, powder-wasting and useless. Useless because the sun set just then, and in a few minutes dusk was gone and darkness was all around him. Moran didn't even bother to tell his men to hold fire since they wouldn't have dreamed of touching off the cannon until he gave the word. Instead, he repeated that no light should be shown and that the children must go below decks and must be kept quiet. No one was to make a noise. Then, casting one last glance at the positions of the pursuing craft, now rapidly dissolving into the night, he estimated the direction and strength of the wind. It was as it had been the day they set sail, an east wind dead astern, a good wind pushing them along at eighteen miles an hour. Moran spoken a soft voice to the first mate and the other officers, and they disappeared into the darkness shrouding the decks. They were giving pre-arranged orders, not by the customary bellowing through a megaphone but by low voices and touches. While they directed the crew, Moran stood with bare feet upon the foredeck. He held a half-crouching posture and acted as if he were detecting the moves of the invisible sailors by the vibrations of their activities running through the wood of the decks and the spars and the masts and up to his feet. Moran was a fat nerve-center that gathered in all the unspoken messages scattered everywhere throughout the body of the bird. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing and if he hesitated or doubted because of the solid blackness around him, he gave the helmsman no sign. His voice was firm. Hold it steady. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Now! Swing her hard to port. Hold her! Hold her! To green, high up on the topmost spar of the foremast, the turning about seemed an awful and unnatural deed. He could feel the hull and with it his mast, of course, leaning over and over until his senses told him that they must inevitably capsize and send him crashing to the ground. But his senses lied or though he seemed to fall forever, the time came when the journey back toward an upright position began. Then he was sure he would keep falling the other way, forever. Suddenly the sails fluttered. The vessel had come into the dead spot where there was no wind acting upon her canvas. Then, as her original impetus kept her going, the canvas boomed, seeming to his straining and oversensitive ears like cannon-firing. This time the wind was catching her from what was for her a completely unnatural direction from dead ahead. As a result, the sails filled out backwards and their middle portions pressed against the masts. The roller came almost to a stop at once. The rigging groaned and the masts themselves creaked loudly. Then they were bending backwards while the sailors clinging to them in the darkness swore under their breaths and clamped down desperately on their hand-holes. "'Gods,' said Green, "'what is he doing?' "'Quiet,' said a nearby man, the four-top captain. "'But Ran is going to run her backwards.'" Green gasped. But he made no further comment trying to visualize what a strange sight the bird of fortune must be and wishing it were daylight so he could see her. He sympathized with the helmsmen who had to act against their entire training. It was a bad enough strain for them to try to sail blindly between two vessels, but to roll in reverse. They would have to put the helm to port when their reflexes cried out to them to put it to Starbird and vice versa. And no doubt, Ran was aware of this and was warning them about it every few seconds. Green began to see what was happening. By now the bird was rolling on her former course, but at a reduced rate because the sails, bellying against their masts, would not offer as much surface to the wind. Therefore the wing vessels would by now be almost upon them since the merchant ship had lost much ground in her maneuver. In one or two minutes the wing would overtake them. Wood, for a short while, right side by side with them, then would pass. Provided, of course, that Moran had estimated correctly his speed and rate of curve in turning. Otherwise they might even now expect a crash from the foredeck as the bow of the wing caught them. Oh, Boak Sotter, praying the four-top captain, steer us right, else you lose your most devout worshipper, Moran. Boak Sotter, Green recalled, was the god of madness. Suddenly a hand gripped Green's shoulder. It was the captain of the four-top. Don't you see them, he said softly. They're a blacker black than the night. Green strained his eyes. Was it his imagination or did he actually see something moving to his right? And another something, the hint of a hint, moving to his left. Whatever it was, roller or illusion, Moran must have seen it also. His voice shattered the night into a thousand pieces and it was never the same again. Canadairs, fire! Suddenly it was as if fireflies had been in hiding and had swarmed out at his command. All along the rails little lights appeared. Green was startled even though he knew that the punks had been concealed beneath baskets so that the wings would have no warning at all. Then the fireflies became long glowing worms as the fuses took flame. Then there was a great roar and the ship rocked. Iron demons belched flame. No sooner done than musketry broke out like a hot rash all over the ship. Green himself was part of this, blazing away at the vessel, momentarily and dimly revealed by the light of the cannon fire. Darkness fell but silence was gone. The men cheered, the decks trembled as the big wooden trains holding the cannon were run back to the ports from which they'd recoiled. As for the pirates, there was no answering fire. Not at first. They must have been taken completely by surprise. Moran shouted again, again the big guns roared. Green, reloading his musket, found that he was bracing himself against a tenancy to lean to the right. It was a few seconds before he could comprehend that the bird was turning in that direction even though it was still going backwards. Why is he doing that? he shouted. Fool, we can't roll up the sails, stop and set sail again. We'd be right where we started, sailing backwards. We have to turn while we have momentum, and how better to do that than reverse our maneuver. We'll swing around until we're headed in our original direction. Green understood now. The Vings had passed them. Therefore they were in no danger of collision with them. And they couldn't continue sailing backwards all night. The thing to do now would be to cut off at an angle so that at daybreak they'd be far from the pirates. At that moment cannon fire broke out to their left. The men aboard the bird refrained from cheering only because of Moran's threats to maroon them on the plane if they did anything to reveal their position. Nevertheless they all bared their teeth and silent laughter. Crafty old Moran had sprung his best trap. As he'd hoped the two pirates, unaware that their attacker was now behind them, were shooting each other. Let them bang away until they blow each other sky high, tortled the foretop master. Ah, Moran, what a tale we'll have to tell in the taverns when we get to port. For five minutes the intermittent flashes and bellows told that the Vings were still hammering away. Then the dark took hold again. Apparently the two had either recognized each other or else had decided that night-fighting was a bad business and had steered away from each other. If this last was true then they wouldn't be much to fear or one Ving couldn't attack the merchant by itself. The clouds broke and the big and little moons spread brightness everywhere. The pirate vessels were not in sight. Nor were they seen when dawn broke. There was sail half a mile away, but this alarmed no one except the untutored Green because they recognized its shape as a sister. It was a merchant from the nearby city of Dem of the Dukedom of Potsahiti. Green was glad they could sail with it, safety in numbers. But no. Moran, after hailing it and fighting that it was also going to Astoria, ordered every bit of canvas crowded on in an effort to race away from it. Is he crazy, grown Green to a sailor? Like a zilmar, replied the sailor, referring to a fox-like animal that dwelt in the hills, we must get to Astoria first if we are to realize the full value of our cargo. Utter feather-brained folly snarled Green. That ship doesn't carry life, Fish. It can't possibly compete with us. No, but we've got other things to sell. Besides, it's in Moran's blood. If he saw another merchant pass him, he'd come down sick. Green threw his hands into the air and rolled his eyes into spare. Then he went back to work. There was much to do yet before he'd be allowed to sleep. The days and nights passed in the hard routine of his labor and the alarms and excursions that occasionally broke up the routine. Now and then the gig was launched while the roller was at full speed and it sped away under the power of its white foreign aft sail. It would be loaded with hunters who would chase a hoober or deer or a pygmy hog until it became exhausted then would shoot the tired animal. They always brought back plenty of fresh meat. As for water, the catch tanks on the decks were full because it rained at least half an hour every noon in dusk. Green wondered at the regularity and promptness of these showers. The clouds would appear at twelve and it would rain for thirty to sixty minutes. Then the sky would clear again. It was all very nice, but it was also very puzzling. Sometimes he was allowed to try target practice from the crow's nest on the grass-cats or the huge dire dogs. These latter ran in packs of half a dozen to twenty and would often pace the bird howling and growling and sometimes running between the wheels. The sailors had quite a few tales of what they did to people who fell overboard or were wrecked on the plains. Green shuddered and went back to his target practice. Though he ordinarily was against shooting animals just for the fun of it, he had no compunction about putting a ball on his wolfish-looking creatures. Ever since he'd been tormented by Alzo, he'd hated dogs with a passion unbecoming to a civilized man. Of course, the fact that every canine on the planet instinctively loathed him because of his earthman odor and it is best to sink his teeth into him strengthened Green's reaction. His legs were always healing from bites of the pets aboard. Often the roller would cruise through the grass tall as a man's knee. Then suddenly it would pass on to one of those tremendous lawns which seemed so well kept. Green had never ceased puzzling about them but all he could get from anyone was one or more variations of the fable of the Wuru, the herbivore bigger than two ships put together. One day they passed a wreck. Its burned hulk lay sideways on the ground and here and their bones gleamed in the sun. Green expressed surprise that the masts, wheels, and cannon were gone. He was told that those had been taken away by the savages who roamed the plains. They used the wheels for their own craft which are really nothing but large sailing platforms, land rafts you might say, Amra told him. On these they pitched their tents and their fireplaces and from them they go forth to hunt. Some of them however disdain platforms and make their homes upon the roaming islands. Green smiled but said nothing about the fairy story because disbelief excited these people, even Amra. You will not see many wrecks, she continued, not because there aren't many, for there are. Out of every ten rollers that leave for distant breaks you can expect only six to get back. That few? I'm amazed that with such a casualty ratio you could get anybody to risk his fortune and life. You forget that he who comes back is many times richer than when he sailed away. Look at Moran, he is taxed heavily at every port of call. He is taxed even more heavily in his home port. And he has to split with the Klansmen, though he does get a tenth of the profit of every cargo. Despite this he is the richest man in Quats, richer even than the Duke. Yes, but a man is a fool to take risks like these just for the remote chance of a fortune, he protested. Then he stopped. After all, for what other reason had the Norsemen gone to America and Columbus to the West Indies? Or why were so many hundreds of thousands of earthmen daring the perils of interstellar space? What about himself, for instance? He'd left a stable and well-paying job on earth in raising seed crops to go to Pushover, a planet of the Albirio. He'd expected to make his fortune there after two years of not-too-hard work and then retire. If only that accident hadn't happened. Of course some of the pioneers weren't driven by the profit motive. There was such a thing as love of adventure. Not a pure love, however, even the most adventurous saw Eldorado gleaming somewhere in the wilds, greed conquered more frontiers than curiosity. You'd think the ruins of rollers would not be rare, even if these planes are vast, said Amra, breaking in on his reflections. But the savages and pirates must salvage them as fast as they're made. You're a pardon-mother for interrupting, said Grisquetter. I heard a sailor, Zube, remark on that very thing just the other day. He said that he once saw a roller that had been gutted by pirates, he supposed. It was three days' journey out of Yeshkhevach, the city of Quartz in the far north. He said the roller was a week there, then returned on the same route. But when they came to where the wreck had been, it was gone, every bit of it. Even the bones of the dead sailors were missing. And he said that that reminded him of a story his father had told him when he was young. He said his father told him that his ship had once almost run into a huge, uncharted hole in the plane. It was big, at least 200 feet across, and earth had been piled up outside, like the crater of a volcano. At first that was what they thought it was, a volcano just beginning, even though they never heard of such a thing on the Exertimer. Then they met a ship whose men had seen the hole made. It was caused, they said, by a mighty falling star. A meteor, commented, green. And it had dug that great hole. Well, that was as good an explanation as any. But the amazing thing was that when they came by that very spot a month later, the hole was gone. It was filled up and smoothed out, and grass was growing over it as if nothing had ever broken the skin of the earth. Now, how do you explain that, foster father? There are more things in heaven and earth than ever your philosophies dreamed of Horatio. Green nonchalantly replied, though he felt as though he wasn't quoting exactly right. Amra and her son blinked. Horatio? Never mind. This sailor said that it was probably the work of the gods who labor secretly at night that the plane may stay flat clean of obstacles so their true worshipers may sail upon it and profit thereby. Will the wonders of rationalization never cease, said Green? He rose from his pile of furs. Almost time for my watch. He kissed Amra, the maid, the children, and stepped out from the tent. He walked rather carelessly across the deck, absorbed in wondering what the effect would be upon Amra if he told her his true origin. Could she comprehend the concept of other worlds existing by the hundreds of thousands yet so distant from each other that a man could walk steadily for a million years and still not get halfway from earth to this planet of hers? Or would she react automatically, as most of her fellows would do, and think that he must surely be a demon in human disguise? It would be more natural for her to prefer the latter idea. If you looked at it objectively, it was more plausible, given her lack of scientific knowledge. Much more believable, too. Somebody bumped him. Jarred out of his reverie, he automatically apologized in English. Don't kiss me in your foreign tongue, snarled Grazut, the plump little harpist. Ezger was standing behind Grazut. He spoke out of the side of his mouth, urging the bard on. He thinks he can walk all over you, Grazut because he insulted your harp once and you let him get away with it. Grazut puffed out his cheeks, reddened in the face and glared. It is only because Moran has forbidden duels that I have not plunged my dagger into this son of an is-it. Green looked from one to the other. Obviously the scene was pre-arranged with no good end for him in view. Stand aside, he said haughtily. You are interfering with the discipline of the roller. Moran will not like that. Indeed, said Grazut, do you think Moran cares at all about what happens to you? You are a lousy sailor and it hurts me to have to call you brother. In fact, I spit every time I say it to you, brother. Grazut did just that. Green, who was downwind, felt the fine mist on his legs. He began to get angry. Out of my way or I'll report you to the first mate, he said firmly, and walked by them. They gave way, but he had an uneasy feeling in the small of his back, as if a knife would plunge into it. Of course they shouldn't be so foolish because they would be hamstrung and then dropped off the roller for the crime of cowardice. But these people were so hot-headed they were just as likely as not to stab him in a moment of fury. Once on the rope ladder that ran up to the crow's nest, he began to lose the prickly feeling in his back. At that moment, Grazut called out, Oh, Green, I had a vision last night, a true vision, because my patron God sent it, and he himself appeared in it. He announced that he would snuff up his nostrils the welcome scent of your blood spilled all over the deck from your fall. Green paused with one foot on the rail. You tell your God to stay away from me, or I'll punch him in the nose, he called back. There was a gasp from the many people who'd gathered around to listen. Sacrilege, yelled Grazut, blast for me! He turned to those around him. Did you hear that? Yes, said Ezger, stepping out from the crowd. I heard him, and I am shocked. Men have burned for less. Oh, my patron God, Tenniscala, punish this pride-swollen man. Make your dreams come true. Cast him headlong from the mast and dash him to the deck and break every bone in his body so that men may learn that one does not mock the true gods. Tuck I, murmured the crowd, amen. Green smiled grimly. He had fallen into their trap and now must be on guard. Plainly, one or both of them would be aloft tonight during the dark hour after sunset, and they'd be content with nothing less than pitching him out over the deck. His death would be considered to have come from the hands of an outraged God. And if Amra should accuse Ezger and Grazut, she'd get little justice. As for Moran, the fellow would probably heave a sigh of relief because he'd be rid of a troublesome fellow who could carry damaging stories of a certain conspiracy to the Duke of Tropat. He climbed up to the crow's nest and settled gloomily to staring off at the horizon. Just before sunset, Gris Quetter came up with a bottle of wine and food in a covered basket. Between bites, Green told the boy of his suspicions. Mother has already guessed as much, said the lad. She is a very clever woman indeed, my mother. She has put a curse upon the two if you should come to harm. Very clever. That will do a great deal of good. Thank her for her splendid work while you're picking up my pieces from the deck, will you? To be sure, replied Gris Quetter, trying hard to keep his sober face from breaking into a grin, and Mother also sent you this. He rolled the handkerchief all the way off the top of the basket. Green's eyes widened. A rocket flare. Yes, Mother says that you are to release it when you hear the Boson's whistle from the deck. Now, why in the world would I do that? Won't I get into tremendous trouble by doing that? I'll be run through the gauntlet a dozen times for that. No, sir, not me. I've seen those poor fellows after the whips were through with them. Mother said for me to tell you that nobody will be able to prove who sent up the flare. Perhaps, it sounds reasonable, but why should I do it? It will light up the whole ship for a minute, and everybody will be able to see that Ezker and Grisud are in the rigging. The whole ship will be in an uproar. Of course, when it is discovered that somebody has stolen two flares from the storeroom, and when a search is conducted and one flare is found hidden in Ezker's trunk, then, well, you'll see. Oh, a beamish boy, chortled green. Kalu Kale, go tell your Mother she's the most marvelous woman on this planet, though that's not really much of a compliment now that I think of it. Oh, wait a minute. About this Bosun's whistle. Now, why should he be warning me to send up a flare? He won't. Mother will be blowing it. She'll be waiting for a signal from me or Azaxu, Gris Quetter said, referring to his younger brother. We'll be watching Ezker and Grisud, and when they start to climb aloft, we'll notify her. She'll wait until she thinks they're about halfway up, then she'll whistle. That woman has saved my life at least a half a dozen times. What would I do without her? That's what Mother said. She said that she doesn't know why she went after you when you tried to run away from her, from us, because she has great pride, and she doesn't have to chase a man to get one. Princes have begged her to come live with them, but she did because she loves you, and a good thing, too. Otherwise, your stupidity would have killed you ten times over by now. Oh, she did, did she? Well, hum. Yes, well. Thoroughly ashamed of himself, yet angry at Amra for her estimate of him, Green miserably watched Gris Quetter climb down the rat lines. During the next half hour, time seemed to coagulate, to thicken and harden around him so that he felt as if he were encased in it. The clouds that always came up after sunset formed, and a light drizzle began. It would last for about an hour, he knew, then the clouds would disappear so swiftly that they would give the impression of being yanked away, like a tablecloth by some magician over the horizon. But he'd cram a highly nervous lifetime into those minutes, wondering if perhaps there wouldn't be some unforeseen frustration of Amra's schedule. The first webby drop struck his face, and he wondered if perhaps that wouldn't be what the two would wait for. They'd probably taken the first step up the rigging, but he mustn't expect her whistle for some time yet. If they were clever, they wouldn't climb up directly beneath him, but would go aft, ascend to the top, then climb over to him. It was true that they'd have to pass others, who, like Green, were also stationed aloft on watch. But Esker and Grazut knew the locations of these. So dark was it they could pass within touching distance and not be seen or heard. The wind in the rigging, the creak of masts, the rumble of the great wheels would drown out any slight noise they might make. The roller did not stop sailing, just because the helmsmen could not see. The bird followed a well-charted route. Every permanent obstacle along there had been memorized by helmsmen and officers alike. If anything formidable was expected in their path during the dark period, a course would be set to avoid it. The officers on duty would advise the helmsmen on their steering by means of an ingenious dial on a notched plate. His sensitive fingers, following its flickerings back and forth and comparing them with the directional notches, would tell him how close to the course they were keeping. The dial itself was fixed the needle of a compass beneath it. Green hunched his shoulders beneath his coat and walked around the walls of his nest. He strained his eyes to make out something in the blackness that wrapped around him like a shroud. There was nothing, nothing at all. No, wait, what was that? A vague outline of a white face? He stared hard until it disappeared. Then he sighed and realized how rigidly he'd been standing there. And, of course, he'd been open to attack from behind all that time. No, not really. If he couldn't see an arm's length away, neither could the other two. But they didn't have to see. They knew the ropes so well that they could grope blindfolded to his nest and there feel him out. A touch of a finger, followed by a thrust of steel. That would be all it would take. He was thinking of that when he felt the finger. It poked into his back and held him like a statue for just a second, quivering, paralyzed. Then he gave a horse cry and jumped away. He snatched out his dagger and crouched down close to the floor, straining his eyes and ears, trying to detect them. Surely if they were breathing as hard as he, he couldn't fail to hear them. On the other hand, he realized with a sudden sickishness that they could hear him just as well. Come on, come on, he said soundlessly through clenched teeth. Do something. Make a move so I can pin you, you sons of wizards. Perhaps they were doing the same, waiting for him to betray himself. The best thing was to hug the floor where he was and hope they'd stumble over him. He kept reaching out in front of him, feeling for the warm mesh of a face. His other hand held his dagger. It was during one of his tentative explorations that he felt the basket where Gris Quetter had left it. At once, seized with what he thought was an inspiration, he pulled out the flare. Why wait for them to close in on him and butcher him like a hog? He'd send up the flare now, and in the first shock of its glare, he'd attack them. The only trouble was he'd have to put down his dagger in order to take his flint and steel and tinderbox from his pocket. He hated not to have it ready for thrusting. Solving this problem by putting the dagger between his teeth, he took out his firebox, paused, and swiftly put them back. Now, how was he supposed to get the tinder going when it was drizzling? That was one thing Amra, with all her cleverness, hadn't thought of. Fool, he whispered to himself, I'm the fool. Then the next moment he was removing his coat and putting the flint and steel and box under its protecting cover. He couldn't see what he was doing, but if he held the tinder close enough a spark should fall on it. Then he'd have a flame hot enough to touch off the fuse of the flare. Again he froze. His enemies were waiting for him to reveal himself through noise. What better giveaway than flint scraping against steel? And what about the sound of the rocket flare spiked support being driven into the wooden floor? He suppressed it groaned. No matter what he did he was leaving himself wide open. It was then that the shrillness of a whistle below startled him. He rose, wondering frenziedly what he should do next. So convinced was he that Ezger and Grazut were poised just outside the nest, he could not believe that Amra had not misjudged the time it had taken to climb to him or she had not been held up for some reason and now was frantically trying to warn him. But he realized he couldn't just stand there like a scared sheep. Whether Amra was right or not whether they were within Dagger's thrust or not he had to take action. Do your damnedest! He growled at whatever might be in the dark and he struck steel against flint. The materials were under his coat blocking his view, but he laid down again so he could see between his arms and under the coat held over them. The tinder caught at once and blazed up then began a small but steady glow in the harder wood of the box. Without waiting to look around Green rammed the flair's spike into the deck of the nest. Swiftly he brought the punk up still holding the coat over it for protection from the drizzle and also from any watching eyes. He held it against the fuse on the flame and sizzle like a frying worm. Then he had ducked under the other side of the mast that supported the nest for he knew how unpredictable these primitive rockets were. Like as not it would go off in his face. Hardly had he rounded the big pillar of the mast when he heard a soft whooshing sound. He looked up just in time to see the rocket explode in a white glare. The moment it dispelled the darkness he jerked his head to the right and left in an effort to see if Ezker and Grizzut were on him as he'd known they must be, but they weren't. They were still half his ships length away from him caught by the light in the rigging like flies in a spider's web. What he had thought was a finger poking him in the back must have been the bolt that held the support for the muskets which were to be fired from the nest during combat. So relieved was he he would have broken into loud laughter at that moment a great cry broke from the decks below. The mate and helmsman were shouting in alarm. Green looked down saw them pointing and his gaze followed the direction of their extended fingers. A hundred yards ahead rushing at them at a collision course was a towering clump of trees. End of chapters 13 through 15 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org Reading by Mark Nelson San Jose, California The Green Odyssey by Philip Jose Farmer Chapter 16 through 18 Then the flare had died and had left nothing but its after image on the eye and panic on the brain. Green did not know what to make of it. In the first instant he had thought that it was the roller alone that was speeding toward an uncharted forest-grown hill. Immediately after he'd seen that his senses were deceiving him and that the mass was also moving. It had looked like a hill or several hills sliding across the grass toward them. But even as the darkness came back he'd seen that there were other hills behind it and the whole thing was actually a sort of iceberg of rocks and of soil from which grew trees. That was all he could make out in that confusing moment. Even then he couldn't believe it because a mountain just didn't run along of its own volition on flat land. Credible or not it was not being ignored by the helmsmen. They must have turned the wheel almost at once for Green could feel the leaning of the mass to port and the shift of wind upon his face. The bird was swinging to the south west in an effort to avoid the roaming island. Unfortunately it was too dark for the men to have worked swiftly in trimming the sails even if a full crew had been aloft. And there were far too few on the top as it was not thought necessary to have them on duty when the roller was running in the post-sunset drizzle. Green had time for one short prayer. No nonsense about punching a god in the nose now. And then he was hurled against the wall of the nest. There was the loudest noise he'd ever heard. The loudest, because it was the crack of doom for him. Ropes split like a giant's whip-cracking. Spars suddenly released from the rigging strum-like monster violins. The masts, falling down, thundered. Intermingled with all that were the screams of the people below on the deck and in the holds. Green himself was screaming as he felt the four masts lean over, and he slid from the floor of the nest, which had suddenly threatened to become a wall, and fought to hold himself on the wall, which had now become a floor. His fingers closed on the musket support with the desperation of one who clings to the only solid thing in the world. For a minute the mass stopped its forward movement, held taut by the tangled mass of ropes. Green hoped that he was safe, that all the damage had been done. But no, even as he dared think he might come out alive, the mighty grinding noise began again. The island of rock and trees was continuing its course and was smashing the hull of the ship beneath it, gobbling up wheels, axles, keel, timber, cargo, cannon, and people. The next he knew he was flying through the air, torn from his hold, catapulted far away from the roller. It seemed as if he actually soared, gained altitude, though this must have been an illusion. Then the hard return to earth, the impact on his face, his body, his legs. The outstretched arms to soften the blow that must surely splinter his bones and pulp his flesh. The pitiful arms, the last warding-off gesture for annihilation. The series of hard blows, like many fists. The sudden realization that he was among tree branches and that his fall was being broken by them. He is trying to grab one to hang on and it slipping away and his continued rapid and punishing descent. Then Oblivion. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but when he sat up he saw through the trunks of the trees a shattered hull of the bird about a hundred feet away. It was lying on its side on a lower level than he was so he supposed that he was sitting on the slope of a hill. Only half of the craft was in sight. It must have broken in two and most of the mid-deck and stern ground into rubble beneath the advancing juggernaut of the island. Dully he realized that the drizzle had stopped, the clouds had cleared and little moons were up. The seeing was good. Too good. There were people left alive in the wreck, men, women and children who were trying to climb through the tangle of ropes, spars, and broken jagged projecting planks. Screams, moans, shouts and calls for help made a chaos. Growning he managed to rise to his feet. He had a very painful headache. One eye was so swollen he couldn't see with it. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt several broken teeth with his lacerated tongue. His sides hurt when he breathed. The skin seems to have been torn off the palms of his hands. His right knee must have been wrenched and his left heel was a ball of fire. Nevertheless he got up. Amra and Paxi and her other children were in there, unless they'd been caught in the other half. He had to find out. Even if they were beyond his help there were others who weren't. He started to hobble through the trees. Then he saw a man step out from behind a bush. Thinking that he must be a survivor who had wandered off in a dazed condition Green opened his mouth to speak to him. But there was something odd about him that imposed silence. He looked closer. Yes, the fellow wore a headdress of feathers and held a long spear in his hand. And the moonlight where it slipped through the branches and shone upon an exposed shoulder gleamed red, white, blue-black, yellow and green. The man was painted all over with stripes of different colors. Green slowly sank down upon his hands and knees behind a bush. It was then that he became aware of others who stood behind trees and watched the wreck. Then these emerged from the darkness under the branches. Presently at least fifty plumed, painted, armed men were gathered together all silent, all intently inspecting the wreck and the survivors. One raised a spear as a signal and gave a loud, whooping war cry. The others echoed him and when he ran out from beneath the branches they followed him. Green could watch only for a minute before he had to close his eyes. No, no, he moaned, the children, too. When he forced himself to look again he saw that he had been mistaken in thinking that everybody had been put to spear. After the first vicious onslaught in which they had killed indiscriminately and hysterically, like all primitives, they had spared the younger women and the little girls. Those able to walk were lined up and marched off under the guard of half a dozen spearmen. The two badly injured were run through on the spot. Even in the midst of this scene Green felt that some of his intense anguish eased a little. Amra was still alive. She held Paxie in one arm and with the other pulled soon her daughter by the temple sculptor. Though she must have been terribly frightened, she faced her captors with the same proud bearing she'd always had, whether in the presence of peasant or prince. In zacks her maid stood behind her. Green decided that he'd better try to follow her and her captors at a discrete distance. But before he could get away he saw the women and older children of the savages appear bearing torches. Fortunately none came his way. Some of these mutilated the dead, dancing around the hacked corpses and howling in imitation of the adult men. Then began the work in earnest, the carving up of the flesh. These painted people were cannibals and made no bones about it. Fires were being lit for a midnight snack before the bulk of the meat was brought back to wherever their homes were. Green stayed far enough behind the barricades of the city. Green stayed far enough behind the prisoners and savages to keep out of sight if any man should turn. The path was narrow, winding between crowding trunks and under low branches. The soil underfoot was rich and springy as if composed of generations of leaves. Green estimated he must have gone at least a mile and a half, not as the crow flies, but more like a drunk trying to find his way home. Then, without warning, the forest stopped and a clearing was before him. In the midst of this stood a village of about ten log houses with thatched roofs. Six were rather small outhouses serving one purpose or another. The four large ones were, he guessed, long houses for community living. They were grouped about a central spot in which were the remains of several large fires beneath big iron pots and spits. Clay tanks were scattered here and there. These held rainwater. Before each house was a twenty-foot high totem pole brightly painted and around it many slender poles holding skulls. The prisoners were led into one of the outhouses and the door barred. A man stationed himself at the front squatting with his back to the wall and holding a spear in one hand. The others greeted the old women and younger children who had been left behind. Though they spoke in a language Green didn't understand, they were obviously describing what they'd found at the wreck. Some of the old crones then began piling brushwood and small logs under one of the huge iron kettles. Presently they had a fire blazing brightly. Others brought out glasses and cups of precious metals, loot from the wrecks. These they filled with some sort of liquor, probably a native beer judging from the foam that spilled over the sides. One of the young boys began idly tapping upon a drum and soon was beating out a momentous simple rhythm. It looked as if they were going to make a night of it. But after a few drinks the warriors arose, picked up jugs of liquor and walked into the woods leaving one man to guard the prisoner's hut. All the children over the age of four left with them, trailing along dark, though the warriors made no effort to slow their pace so the children could keep up. Green waited until he was sure the spearmen were some distance away, then rose. His muscles protested any movement and pains shot through his head, knee and ankle. But he ignored them and limped around the edge of the clearing until he came to the back of one of the longhouses. He slipped inside and stood by the side of the doorway. It was more illuminated than he'd thought at first because of the several large and open windows which admitted moon-beams. Hens sleepily clucked at him and one of the midget pigs grunted questioningly. Suddenly something soft brushed across his ankles. Startled he jumped to one side. His heart, which had been beating fast enough before, threatened to hammer a hole in his ribs. He crouched, straining to see what it was. Then a soft meowing nearby told him. He relaxed a little and stretched out a hand, saying, Here kitty, kitty, come here. But the cat walked by. His tail raised and a look of disdain on his face as he disappeared through the door. Seeing the animal reminded Green of something about which he was anxious. That was whether the natives kept dogs or not. He hadn't seen any and thought that surely if there were some he'd have long ago heard the noisy beasts. Undoubtedly by now he should have had a whole pack of the obnoxious monsters snarling at his heels. Silently he walked into the long single room with its high ceiling. From thick rafters hung rolled up curtains which he supposed would be let down to make a semi-private room for any families that wished it. From them also hung vegetables, fruit and meat, chickens, rabbits, piglets, squirrels, hoober and venison. There were no human parts so he guessed that the flesh of man was not so much a staple diet to these people as a food for religious purposes. All he did know was that he would have to take some meat with him. He gathered strips of dried hoober, rolled them into a ball and stuffed them in a bag. He handed spear and a sharp steel knife from their rack on the wall. Knife in belt and spear in hand he went out the back door. Outside he stopped to listen to the far-off beating of drums and the chanting of voices. There must be quite a celebration around the wreck. Good, he muttered to himself, if they get drunk and pass out I'll have time for what I want to do. Staying well within the shadows of the trees he picked his way to the back of the hut in which the prisoners were. From where he stood he could see that there were only six old women about all the island's economy could afford he supposed and some ten infants, all toddlers. Most of these, once the excitement caused by the noisy warriors had subsided with their leave-taking, had lain down close to the fire and gone to sleep. The only one who might give real trouble, aside from the guard, was a boy of ten, the one who was now tapping softly on the drum. At first Green could not understand why he hadn't gone with the others of his age to the wreck, but the empty stare and the unblinking way he looked into the fire showed why. Green had no doubt that if he were to come close enough to the lad he'd see that the eyeballs were filmed over with white. Blindness was nothing rare on this filthy planet. Satisfied as to everybody's location, he crept to the back of the hut and examined the walls. They were made of thick poles driven into the ground and bound together with rope taken from a roller's rigging. There were plenty of openings for him to look through, but it was so dark that he could see only the vague outlines moving about. He put his mouth to one of the holes and said softly, Amra! Somebody gasped. A little girl began to cry but was quickly hushed up. Amra answered, faint with joy. Alan! It can't be you! I am not thy father's ghost! he replied and wondered at the same time how he could manage to inject any levity at all into the midst of this desperate situation. He was always doing it. Perhaps it was not the product of a true humor, but more like the giggle of a person who was embarrassed or under some other stress, more the result of hysteria than anything else, his particular type of safety valve. Here's what I'm going to do, he said. Listen carefully then repeat it after me so I'll know you have it down. She had to hear it only once to give it back to him, let her perfect. He nodded. Good girl, I'm going now. Alan! Yes, you replied impatiently. If this doesn't work if anything should happen to you or me, remember that I love you. He sighed. Even in the midst of this the eternal feminine emerged. I love you too but that hasn't got much to do with this situation. Before she could answer and waste more valuable time he slid away, in all fours around the corner of the hut. When he was where one more pace would have brought him into view of the guard and the old crones he stopped. All this while he'd been counting the seconds. As soon as he'd clocked five minutes, which he thought would never pass, he rose and stepped swiftly around the corner, spear-held in front of him. The guard was drinking out of his mug with his eyes closed and his throat closed. He fell over with green spear plunged through his windpipe just above the breast-bone. The mug fell onto his lap and gushed its amber and foam over his legs. Green withdrew the blade and whirled ready to run upon anybody who started to flee. But the old women were huddled on their knees around a large board on which they were rolling some flour, cackling and talking shrilly. His open eyes glaring into the fire. Only one saw green, a boy of about three. Thumb and mouth he stared with great round eyes at this stranger. But he was either too horrified to utter a sound or else he did not understand what had happened and was waiting to find out his elder's reactions before he offered his own. Green lifted one finger to his lips in the universal sign of silence, then turned and lifted up the bar over the door. Amra rushed out and took the guard's spear from her husband. The dead man's knife went to Inzaks and his other knife to Aga, a tall muscular woman who was captain of the female deck hands and who had once killed a sailor while defending her somewhat dubious honor. At the same time the chattering of the hags stopped. Green whirled around and the silence was broken by shrieks. Frantically the hags tried to scramble up from their stiff knees and run away, but Green and the women were upon them before they could take more than a few steps. Not one of them reached the forest. It was grim work, one in which the effinike and women took fierce joy. Without wasting a look on the poor old carcasses Green rounded up the children and the blind boy and put them in the prisoner's hut. He had to hold Aga back from slaughtering them. Amra, he was pleased to see, had made no motion to help them in their intended butchery. She, understanding his brief look, replied, I could not kill a child, even the spawn of these fiends. It would be like stabbing Paxi. Green saw one of the women holding his daughter. He ran to her, took Paxi out of her arms and kissed the baby. Soon Amra's ten-year-old child came shyly and stood by his side, waiting to be noticed. He kissed her too. You were getting to be a big girl soon, he said. Do you suppose you could tag along behind your mother and carry Paxi for her? She has to carry her spear. The girl, a big-eyed, red-headed beauty, knotted and took the baby. Green eyed the long houses with the idea of setting them a fire. He decided not to when it became apparent that the wind would carry sparks to the hut in which the savage's children were. Moreover, though a fire would undoubtedly create consternation among the roisterers at the wreck and keep them busy for some time, it would also cause them to start tracking down the refugees just that much sooner. Besides, there was the possibility of setting fire to the forest, wet though it was. He didn't want to destroy his only hiding place. He directed some women to go into the long house and load themselves with as much food and weapons as they could carry. In a few minutes he had the party ready to leave. We'll take this path that leads out of the village, away from the path that goes to the wreck, he said. Let's hope it goes to the other edge of the island, where we may find some small rollers on which we can escape. I presume these savages have some kind of sailing-craft. This path was as narrow and winding as the other one. It worked in the general direction of the western shore and the savages were on the eastern shore. Their way at first led upward, sometimes through passes formed by too large rocks. Several times they had to skirt little lakes, catch basins for rain. Once a fish flopped out of the water scaring them. The island was fairly self-sufficient, what with its fish, rabbits, squirrels, wild fowl, pigs and various vegetables and fruit. He estimated that if the village was in the center of the island then the mass should have had a surface area of about one and a half square miles. Rough though the land was, and thickly covered with grass, the place should offer cover for one refugee. For one, yes, but not for six women and eight children. After much puffing and panting, muttered encouragements of each other and occasional cursing, they finally reached the summit of the tallest hill. Abruptly they found themselves facing a clearing which ran around its crown. Directly ahead of them was a forest of totem poles, all gleaming palely in the moonlight. Beyond it was the dark yawning of a large cave. Green walked out from the shadows of the branches to take a closer look. When he came back he said, There's a little hut by the side of the cave. I looked in the window. An old woman's asleep in it. But her cats are wide awake and likely to wake her up. All these totem poles bear the heads of cats, said Aga. This place must be their holy of holies. It's probably taboo to all but the old priestess. Maybe so, replied Green, but they must hold religious services of some sort here. There's a big pile of human skulls on the other side of the cave mouth and also a stake covered with blood stains. We can do two things. Go on down the other side of this hill, jump off onto the plane and take our chances there, or else hide inside the cave and hope that because it's taboo nobody will explore it to look for us. It seems to me that that's the first place they'd look into, said Aga. Not if we don't wake the old woman. Then if the savages come along later and ask her if anybody's come by they'd get no for an answer. What about the cats? Green shrugged his shoulders. We'd have to take that chance. Perhaps if once we could buy them and into the cave they may quiet down. He was referring to their catter-walling, which was beginning to sound dreadful. No, said Aga. That noise will be a signal to the islanders. They'll know something's up. Well, replied Green, I don't know what you intend doing, but I'm going into that cave. I'm too tired to run any further. So are we, affirmed the other women. We've reached the end of our strength. There was a silence, and into that silence came a voice, a man's. It whispered, Please do not be startled. Be quiet. Eat his eye. We ran stepped out of the shadows behind them, with his finger to his lips, his one eye round and pale in the moonlight. He was a ragged captain, not at all the elegantly uniformed commander of the bird of fortune, and the wealthy appearing patriarch of the clan of Anikin. But he carried in his other hand a canvas bag. Green, seeing it, knew that Moran had managed somehow not only to escape with his skin, but had also carried off a treasure in jewels. Behold, he announced, waving the bag, all is not lost. Green thought he was referring to the jewels. However Moran had turned and beckoned to someone in the darkness behind him. Out of it slipped Gris Quetter, tears shone in his eyes as he ran to his mother and fell into her arms. Amra began weeping softly. Until now she had repressed her grief over the children and not forever lost to her. All thought had been directed to saving her own life and the lives of the two girls who had survived with her. Now, seeing her eldest son emerge from the shadows as if from the grave, had thawed the frozen well of sorrow. She sobbed, I thank for gods that they have given me back my son. If the gods are so wonderful, why do they kill your other two children? asked Moran sourly. And why do they kill my clansmen? And why do they smash my bird? Why? Shut up, said Green. This is no time to cry about anything. We have to get out with whole hides. The philosophizing and tears can come later. Menorox is an ungrateful god, muttered Moran. After all I did for him too. Amra dried her tears and said, How did you escape? I thought all the males who had been killed in the wreck were speared. Almost everybody was, replied Grisquetter, but I crawled down into the hold and slipped through to a hiding-place beneath one of the fish tanks, which had overturned. It was wet there, and there were dead fish nestling beside me. The savages did not find me, though doubtless they would have when they began salvaging. It was thinking about that, that decided me to crawl back out into the woods. I did so, and I found that I could belly my way through the grass growing on the edge. I almost died of fright though because I crawled head on into Moran. He was hiding there too. I was thrown off the foredeck by the impact, interrupted the captain. I should have broken every bone in my body, but I landed on a hull sail which had come down and was lying on the starboard side, supported by the fallen mast. From there I had dropped into the grass and snaked along the very edge of the island. Several times I almost fell off, and I would have if I had been a pound fatter and inch wider as it was. Listen, said Grisquetter, breaking in. This island is the Wuru. What do you mean, said Green? While I was clinging to the edge of the island I thought I'd hang down over it and see if there was any place there to hide. There wasn't, because the underside of the island is one smooth sheet. I know, because I could see in the moonlight clear to the other side. It was smooth, smooth like a slab of iron. And that's not all. You know how the grass on the plains hereabouts has been tall, uncut? Well, the grass just ahead of the edge was uncut. But the grass underneath the island was being cut off. Rather, it was vanishing. The top of the grass was just disappearing into air. Only a lawn of grass at an inch high was left. Then this island is one big lawnmore, said Green. More than just interesting. But we'll have to investigate that later. Right now. And he walked toward the little hut by the cave mouth. As he approached it several large house cats streaked out of the doorway. A moment later Green came out. He grinned broadly. The priestess has passed out. The place smells like a brewery. The cats are in their cups too. All drinking from bowls set on the ground for them. Staggering around. Yowling, fighting. If they don't wake her up, nothing can. I have heard that these old priestesses are often drunkards, said Amra. They lead a lonely life because they're taboo and nobody even goes near them except during certain religious customs. They only have their bottle and their cats to keep them company. Ah, said Moran. You're thinking of the tale of Sam Drew. The tailor who turned sailor. Yes, that is supposed to be a story to entertain children, but I'm beginning to think there is a great deal to it. Remember, the story describes just such a hill and just such a cave. It is said that every roaming island has just such a place. And you talk too much, broken Aga harshly. Let's get on into the cave. Green could appreciate what Aga's comet meant. Moran had lost face because he'd allowed his vessel to be wrecked and his clansmen murdered on Maas. To Aga and the other women he was no longer Captain Moran, the rich patriarch. He was Moran, the shipwrecked sailor. A fat old sailor. Just that. Nothing more. He could have redeemed himself if he had committed suicide. But his eagerness to live was replacing himself on an even lower level in their estimation. Moran must have realized this for he did not reply. Instead he stood to one side. Green walked 30 paces into the cave and looked back over his shoulder. The entrance was still visible and Arch outlined in the bright moonshine. Someone coughed. Green was about to caution them to keep quiet when he felt his nostrils tickling and had to fight to down a loud sneeze himself. Dust. Good, said Green. Maybe they never come down here. Suddenly the tunnel turned at right angles to the left. The little light that penetrated from the entrance disappeared in total blackness. The party halted. What if there are traps set for intruders? Wailed in zacks. Take, Green growled. We'll go in the dark until we come to another turn. Then we'll light up a torch or two. The natives won't be able to see the glow. He walked ahead feeling the wall with his left hand. Suddenly he stopped. Amra bumped into him. What is it, she asked anxiously. The rock wall has now become metal. Feel here. He guided her hand. She whispered, there's a definite seam and I can tell the difference between the two. The floor is metal too, added soon. My feet are bare and I can feel it. What's more, the dust is all gone. Green went ahead and after 30 more paces he came to another 90 degree turn to the right. The walls and floor were composed of the smooth, cool metal. After making sure that the entire party was clear, he told a woman carrying some torches taken from a long house to light one. Its bright flair showed the group staring round-eyed at the large chamber in which they stood. Everywhere were bare grey metal walls and floors. No furniture of any kind. Nor a speck of dust. There's a doorway to another room, he said. We might as well go on in. He took the torch from the woman and, holding a cutlass in the other, he led the way. Once across the threshold he halted. This room was even larger than the other. But it had furnishings of a sort. And its farther wall was not metal, but earth. At the same time the room began to brighten with light coming from an invisible source. Soon screamed and threw herself against her mother, clinging desperately to her waist. The babies began howling and the other adults acted in the various ways that panic affected them. Green alone remained unmoved. He knew what was happening, but he couldn't blame the rest for their behavior. They had never heard of an electronic eye, so they couldn't be expected to maintain coolness. The only thing that Green feared at that moment was that the outcries would be heard by the savages outside the cave. He hastened to assure the women that this phenomenon was nothing to be frightened about. It was common in his home country, a mere matter of white magic that anyone could practice. They quieted down, but were still uneasy. Wide-eyed they bunched up about him. The natives themselves aren't scared of this, he said. They must come here at times. See, there's an altar built against the dirt wall. And from the bones piled beneath it they say that sacrifices were held here. He looked for another door. There seemed to be none. He found it hard to believe that there couldn't be. Somehow he'd had the feeling that great things lay ahead of him. These rooms and this lighting were evidences of an earlier civilization that quite possibly had been on a level with his own. He'd known that the island itself must be powered with an automatically working anti-gravity plant fueled either atomically or from the planet's magnetogravitic field. Why the whole unit should be covered with rocks and soil and trees he didn't know. But he had been sure that somewhere in the bowels of this massive land was just such a place as this. And more. Where was the power plant? Was it sealed up so that no one could get to it? Or, as was likely, was there a door to the plant unless one had a key of some sort? First he had to find the door. He examined the altar which was made of iron. It was a platform about three feet high and ten feet square. Upon it stood a chair fashioned from pieces of iron. From its back rose a steel rod about a half inch in diameter and ten feet long. Its lower end held secure between two uprights by a thick iron fork. Once the fork was withdrawn the rod would obviously fall over against the earth wall behind it. Both the lower end would still remain on the uprights and would, in fact, stick against whoever was sitting in the chair at the moment. Odd, said Green. If it weren't for those cat-headed idols on the ends of the platform and the bones at its foot I'd not know this was an altar. Bones. They're black. He looked again at the rod. Now, he said half to himself, if I were to withdraw the fork and the rod fell it would strike the wall. That is evident. But what is it all about? Amra brought him some long pieces of rope. These were stacked against the wall, she said. Yes? Ah! Now if I were to tie one end of this rope about the apex of that rod and someone else were to stand upon the altar and take out the fork then I could control which direction the rod would fall by pulling it toward me or allowing it to go away from me. And the person who had taken the fork out would then have plenty of time to get down from the altar and back to the region of safety where the rope-wielder and his friends would be stationed. Alas! the poor fellow sitting in the chairs. Yes, I see it all now. He looked up from the rope held in his hand. Aga! he said sharply, get away from that wall! The tall, lean woman was walking past the altar, holding her bare cutlass in her hand. When she heard green she paused in her stride, gave him an astonished look then continued. You don't understand, she called back over her shoulder. This wall isn't solid earth, it's fluffy like a young chick's feathers. It's dust. Dust. I think we can knock it down and cut our way through. There must be something on the other side. Aga! he yelled, don't stop where you are! But she had lifted her blade and brought it down in a hard stroke that was to show him how easy the stuff would be to slash away. Green grabbed Amra and Paxi and dived to the floor, pulling them with him. He was covered and lightning filled the room, dazzling and deafening him. Even in its mist he could see the dark figure of Aga, transfixed, crucified in white fire. End of chapters 16 through 18.