 Part 1 of SPACE PRISON by Tom Godwin, read by Mark Nelson. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org. SPACE PRISON by Tom Godwin, Part 1. For seven weeks the Constellation had been plunging through hyperspace with her eight thousand colonists, fleeing like a hunted thing with her communicator silenced and her drives moaning and thundering. Up in the control room Irene had been told the needles of the dials danced against the red danger lines day and night. She lay in bed and listened to the muffled, ceaseless roar of the drives and felt the singing vibration of the hull. We should be almost safe by now, she thought. Athena is only forty days away. Thinking of the new life awaiting them all made her too restless to lie still any longer. She got up to sit on the edge of her bed and switch on the light. Dale was gone. He had been summoned to adjust one of the machines in the ship's x-ray room, and Billy was asleep, nothing showing of him above the covers but a crop of brown hair and the furry nose of his ragged teddy bear. She reached out to straighten the covers gently so as not to awaken him. It happened then, the thing they had all feared. From the stern of the ship came a jarring, deafening explosion. The ship lurched violently, Gerter screamed, and the light flicked out. In the darkness she heard a rapid fire thunk, thunk, thunk as the automatic guard system slid into compartment doors shut against sections of the ship suddenly airless. The doors were still thudding shut when another explosion came from toward the bow. Then there was silence, a feeling of utter quiet and motionlessness. The fingers of fear enclosed her, and her mind said to her like the cold, unpassionate voice of a stranger, the guerns have found us. The light came on again, a feeble glow, and there was the soft, muffled sound of questioning voices in other compartments. She dressed, her fingers shaking and clumsy, wishing that Dale would come to reassure her, to tell her that nothing really serious had happened, that it had not been the guerns. It was very still in the little compartment, strangely so. She had finished dressing when she realized the reason. The air-circulation system had stopped working. That meant the power failure was so great that the air regenerators themselves were dead. And there were eight thousand people on the constellation who would have to have air to live. The attention-buzzer sounded shrilly from the public address system speakers that were scattered down the ship's corridors. A voice she recognized as that a Lieutenant Commander Lake spoke. War was declared upon earth by the guern empire ten days ago. Two guern cruisers have attacked us and their blasters have destroyed the stern and bow of the ship. We are without a drive and without power, but for a few emergency batteries. I am the constellation's only surviving officer, and the guern commander is boarding us to give me the surrender terms. None of you will leave your compartments until ordered to do so. Wherever you may be, remain there. This is necessary to avoid confusion and to have as many as possible in known locations for future instructions. I repeat, you will not leave your compartments. The speaker cut off. She stood without moving and heard again the words, I am the constellation's only surviving officer. The guerns had killed her father. He had been second in command of the Dunbar expedition that had discovered the world of Athena and his knowledge of Athena was valuable to the colonization plans. He had been quartered among the ship's officers, and the guern blast had destroyed that section of the ship. She sat down on the edge of the bed again and tried to reorient herself, to accept the fact that her life and the lives of all the others had abruptly, irrevocably been changed. The Athena colonization plan was ended. They had known such a thing might happen. That was why the constellation had been made ready for the voyage in secret, and had waited for months for the chance to slip through the ring of guern spy ships. That was why she had raced at full speed, with her communicator silenced so there would be no radiations for the guerns to find her by. Only forty days more would have brought them to the green and virgin world of Athena, four hundred light-years beyond the outermost boundary of the guern empire. There they should have been safe from guern detection for many years to come, for long enough to build planetary defenses against attack. And there they would have used Athena's rich resources to make ships and weapons to defend mineral depleted earth against the inexorably increasing enclosure of the mighty, coldly calculating colossus that was the guern empire. Success or failure of the Athena plan had meant ultimate life or death for earth. They had taken every precaution possible, but the guern spy system had somehow learned of Athena and the constellation. Now the Cold War was no longer cold, and the plan was dust. Billy sighed and stirred in the little boy's sleep that had not been broken by the blasts that had altered the lives of eight thousand people and the fate of a world. She shook his shoulder and said, Billy—he raised up, so small and young to her eyes, that the question in her mind was like an anguished prayer. Dear God, what do guerns do to five-year-old boys? He saw her face and the dim light, and the sleepiness was suddenly gone from him. What's wrong, Mama? And why are you scared? There was no reason to lie to him. The guerns have found us and stopped us. Oh, he said. In his manner was the grave thoughtfulness of a boy twice his age, as there always was. Will they? Will they kill us? Get dressed, honey, she said. Hurry, so we'll be ready when they let daddy come back to tell us what to do. They were both ready when the attention buzzer sounded again in the corridors. Blake spoke, his tone grim and bitter. There is no power for the aerogenerators and within twenty hours we will start smothering to death. Under these circumstances I could not do other than accept the survival terms the guern commander offered us. He will speak to you now and you will obey his orders without protest. Death is the only alternative. Then the voice of the guern commander came, quick and harsh and brittle. This section of space, together with planet Athena, is an extension of the guern empire. This ship has deliberately invaded guern territory in time of war, with intent to seize and exploit a guern world. We are willing, however, to offer a leniency not required by the circumstances. Terror and technicians and skilled workers in certain fields can be used in the factories we shall build on Athena. The others will not be needed and there is not room on the cruisers to take them. Your occupation records will be used to divide you into two groups, the acceptables and the rejects. The rejects will be taken by the cruisers to an earth-type planet near here and left, together with personal possessions in their compartments and additional and ample supplies. The acceptables will then be taken on to Athena and at a later date the cruisers will return the rejects to earth. This division will split families but there will be no resistance to it. Guern guards will be sent immediately to make this division and you will wait in your compartments for them. You will obey their orders promptly and without annoying them with questions. At the first instance of resistance or rebellion this offer will be withdrawn and the cruisers will go their way again. In the silence following the ultimatum she could hear the soft, wordless murmur from the other compartments, the undertone of anxiety like a dark thread through it. In every compartment parents and children, brothers and sisters, were seeing one another for the last time. The corridor outside rang to the tramp of feet, the sound of a dozen guerns walking with swift military precision. She held her breath, her heart racing, but they went past her door and on to the corridor's end. There she could faintly hear them entering compartments, demanding names and saying, Out, out! Once she heard a guern say, Acceptables will remain inside until further notice. Do not open your doors after the rejects have been taken out. Billy touched her on the hand. Isn't Daddy going to come? He, he can't right now. We'll see him pretty soon. She remembered what the guern commander had said about the rejects being permitted to take their personal possessions. She had very little time in which to get together what she could carry. There were two small bags in the compartment and she hurried to pack them, with things she and Dale and Billy might need, not able to know which of them, if any, would be rejects. Nor could she know whether she should put in clothes for a cold world or a hot one. The guern commander had said the rejects would be left on an earth-type planet, but where could it be? The Dunbar expedition had explored across five hundred light years of space and had found only one earth-type world, Athena. The guerns were almost to her door when she had finished and she heard them enter the compartments across from her own. There came the hard, curt questions and the command, Outside, hurry! A woman said something in pleading question and there was the soft thought of a blow and the words, Outside, do not ask questions! A moment later she heard the woman going down the corridor, trying to hold back her crying. Then the guerns were at her own door. She held Billy's hand and waited for them with her heart hammering. She held her head high and composed herself with all the determination she could muster, so that the arrogant guerns would not see that she was afraid. Billy stood beside her as tall as his five years would permit, his teddy bear under his arm, and only the way his hand held to hers showed that he, too, was scared. The door was flung open and two guerns strode in. They were big, dark men with powerful, bulging muscles. They surveyed her in the room with a quick sweep of eyes that were like glittering obsidian, their mouths thin, cruel slashes in the flat, brutal planes of their faces. Your name? snapped the one who carried a sheaf of occupation records. It's—she tried to swallow the quaver in her voice and make it cool and unfrightened. Irene Lois humbled, Mrs. Dale humbled. The guern glanced at the papers. Where is your husband? He was in the x-ray room at—you are a reject, out, down the corridor with the others. My husband, he will—he wa—outside! It was the tone of voice that had preceded the blow in the other compartment, and the guern took a quick step toward her. She seized the two bags in one hand, not wanting to release Billy, and swung back to hurry out into the corridor. The other guern jerked one of the bags from her hand and flung it to the floor. Only one bag per person, he said, and gave her an impatient shove that sent her and Billy stumbling through the doorway. She became part of the rejects who were being herded like sheep down the corridors and into the port airlock. There were many children among them, the young ones frightened and crying, and often with only one parent or an older brother or sister to take care of them. And there were many young ones who had no one at all and were depended upon strangers to take their hands and tell them what they must do. When she was passing the corridor that led to the x-ray room she saw a group of rejects being heard up it. Dale was not among them, and she knew then that she and Billy would never see him again. Out from the ship! Faster! Faster! The commands of the guern guards snapped like whips around them as she and the other rejects crowded and stumbled down the boarding ramp and out onto the rocky ground. There was the pull of a terrible gravity, such as she had never experienced, and they were in a bleak, barren valley, a cold wind moaning down it and whipping the alkali dust in bitter clouds. Around the valley stood ragged hills, their white tops laying out streamers of wind-driven snow, and the sky was dark with sunset. Out from the ship! Faster! It was hard to walk fast in the high gravity, carrying the bag in one hand and holding up all of Billy's weight she could with the other. They lied to us, a man beside her said to someone. Let's turn and fight, let's take! A guern blaster cracked with a vivid blue flash and the man plunged lifelessly to the ground. She flinched instinctively and fell over an unseen rock, the bag of precious clothes flying from her hand. She scrambled up again, her left knee half numb and turned to retrieve it. The guern guard was already upon her, his blaster still in his hand. Out from the ship! Faster! The barrel of his blaster lashed across the side of her head. Move on! Move on! She staggered in a blinding blaze of pain and then hurried on, holding tight to Billy's hand, the wind cutting like knives of ice through her thin clothes and blood running in a trickle down her cheek. He hit you, Billy said. He hurt you! Then he called the guern a name that five-year-old boys were not supposed to know, with a savagery that five-year-old boys were not supposed to possess. When she stopped at the outer fringe of rejects she saw that all of them were out of the cruiser and the guards were going back into it. A half-mile down the valley the other cruiser stood, the rejects out from it and its boarding ramps already withdrawn. When she had buttoned Billy's blouse tighter and wiped the blood from her face the first blast of the drives came from the farther cruiser. The nearer one blasted a moment later and they lifted together, their roaring filling the valley. They climbed faster and faster, dwindling as they went. Then they disappeared in the black sky, their roaring faded away and there was left only the moaning of the wind around her and somewhere a child crying. And somewhere a voice asking, Where are we? In the name of God, what have they done to us? She looked at the snow streaming from the ragged hills, felt the hard pull of the gravity, and knew where they were. They were on Ragnarok, the hell-world of 1.5 gravity and fierce beasts and raging fevers where men could not survive. The name came from an old Teutonic myth and meant the last day for gods and men. The Dunbar expedition had discovered Ragnarok and her father had told her of it, of how it had killed six of the eight men who had left the ship and would have killed all of them if they had remained any longer. She knew where they were and she knew the guerns had lied to them and would never send a ship to take them to Earth. Their abandonment here had been intended as a death sentence for all of them. And Dale was gone and she and Billy would die helpless and alone. It will be dark so soon, Billy's voice shook with the cold. If Daddy can't find us in the dark, what will we do? I don't know, she said. There's no one to help us and how can I know what we should do? She was from the city. How could she know what to do when an alien, hostile world where armed explorers had died? She had tried to be brave before the guerns, but now, now night was at hand and out of it would come terror and death for herself and Billy. They would never see Dale again, never see Athena or Earth or even the dawn in the world that had killed them. She tried not to cry and failed. Billy's cold little hand touched her own, trying to reassure her. Don't cry, Mama. I guess, I guess everybody else is scared too. Every one else. She was not alone. How could she have thought she was all alone? All around her were others, as helpless and uncertain as she. Her story was only one out of four thousand. I guess they are, Billy, she said. I never thought of that before. She knelt to put her arms around him, thinking, tears and fear are futile weapons. They can never bring us any to-morrow's. We'll have to fight whatever comes to kill us, no matter how scared we are. For ourselves and for our children. Above all else, for our children. I'm going back to find our clothes, she said. You wait here for me in the shelter of that rock, and I won't be gone long. Then she told him what he would be too young to really understand. I'm not going to cry any more, and I know now what I must do. I'm going to make sure that there is a to-morrow for you, always, to the last breath of my life. The bright blue star dimmed, and the others faded away. Dawn touched the sky, bringing with it a coldness that frosted the steel of the rifle in John Prentice's hands, and formed beads of ice on his gray mustache. There was a stirring in the area behind him, as the weary rejects prepared to face the new day, and the sound of a child whimpering from the cold. There had been no time the evening before to gather wood for fires. Prowlers! The warning cry came from an outer guard, and black shadows were suddenly sweeping out of the dark dawn. They were things that might have been half-wolf, half-tiger. Each of them three hundred pounds of incredible ferocity, with eyes blazing like yellow fire in their white-fanged tiger-wolf faces. They came like the wind in a flowing black wave, and ripped through the outer guard line as though it had not existed. The inner guards fired in a chattering roll of gunshots, trying to turn them, and Prentice's rifle licked out pale tongues of flame as he added his own fire. The prowlers came on, breaking through, but part of them went down, and the others were swerved by the fire so that they struck only the outer edge of the area where the rejects were grouped. At that distance they blended into the dark ground so that he could not find them in the sights of his rifle. He could only watch helplessly and see a dark-haired woman caught in their path, trying to run with the child in her arms and already knowing it was too late. A man was running toward her, slow in the high gravity, and acts in his hands and his cursing a raging, savage snarl. For a moment her white face was turned in helpless appeal to him and the others. Then the prowlers were upon her, and she fell, deliberately, going to the ground with her child hugged in her arms beneath her so that her body would protect it. The prowlers passed over her, pausing for an instant to slash the life from her and raced on again. They vanished back into the outer darkness, the farther guards firing futilely, and there was a silence but for the distant hysterical sobbing of a woman. It had happened within seconds. The fifth prowler attacked that night and the mildest. Full dawn had come by the time he replaced the guards killed by the last attack and made the rounds of the other guard lines. He came back by the place where the prowlers had killed the woman, walking wearily against the pull of gravity. She lay with her dark hair tumbled and stained with blood. Her white face turned up to the reddening sky and he saw her clearly for the first time. It was Irene. He stopped, gripping the cold steel of the rifle and not feeling the rear sight as it cut into his hand. Irene. He had not known she was on Ragnarok. He had not seen her in the darkness of the night and he had hoped she and Billy were safe among the acceptables with Dale. There was the sound of footsteps and a bold-faced girl in a red skirt stopped beside him, her glance going over him curiously. The little boy, he asked, do you know if he's all right? The prowlers cut up his face, but he'll be all right, she said. I came back after his close. Are you going to look after him? Someone has to, and she shrugged her shoulders. I guess I was soft enough to elect myself for the job. Why, was his mother a friend of yours? She was my daughter, he said. Oh! For a moment the bold, brassy look was gone from her face, like a mask that had slipped. I'm sorry, and I'll take care of Billy. The first objection to his assumption of leadership occurred an hour later. The prowlers had withdrawn with the coming of full daylight and wood had been carried from the trees to build fires. Mary, one of the volunteer cooks, was asking two men to carry her some water when he approached. The smaller man picked up one of the clumsy containers, hastily improvised from canvas, and started toward the creek. The other, a big, thick-chested man, did not move. We'll have to have water, Mary said. People are hungry and cold and sick. The man continued to squat by the fire, his hands extended to its warmth. Name someone else, he said. But she looked at Prentice in uncertainty. He went to the thick-chested man, knowing there would be violence and welcoming it as something to help drive away the vision of Irene's pale, cold face under the red sky. She asked you to get her some water, he said. Get it. The man looked up at him, studying him with deliberate insolence. Then he got to his feet, his heavy shoulders hunched challengingly. I'll have to set you straight, old timer, he said. No one has appointed you head cheese around here. Now there's the container you want filled, and over there—he made a small motion with one hand—is the creek. Do you know what to do? Yes, he said. I know what to do. He brought the butt of the rifle, smashing up. It struck the man under the chin, and there was a sharp cracking sound as his jawbone snapped. For a fraction of a second there was an expression of stupefied amazement on his face, then his eyes glazed and he slumped to the ground with his broken jaw setting askew. All right, he said to Mary, now you go ahead and name somebody else. He found that the prowlers had killed seventy during the night. One hundred more had died from the hell fever that often followed exposure and killed within an hour. He went the half-mile to the group that arrived on the second cruiser as soon as he had eaten a delayed breakfast. He saw, before he had quite reached the other group, that the Constellation's Lieutenant Commander, Vincent Lake, was in charge of it. Lake, a tall, hard-jawed man, with pale eyes under pale brows, walked forth to meet him as soon as he recognized him. Glad to see you're still alive, Lake greeted him. I thought that second gurmblass got you along with the others. I was visiting Midship and wasn't home when it happened, he said. He looked at Lake's group of rejects, in their misery and uncertainty so much like his own, and asked— How was it last night? Bad, damned bad, Lake said. Prowlers and hell fever and no wood for fires. Two hundred died last night. I came down to see if anyone was in charge here, and to tell them that we'll have to move into the woods at once, to-day. We'll have plenty of wood for the fires there, some protection from the wind, and by combining our defences we can stand off the prowlers better. Lake agreed. When the brief discussion of plans was finished he asked— How much do you know about Ragnarok? Not much, Prentice answered. We didn't stay to study it very long. There are no heavy metals on Ragnarok's other son. It's position in the advance of the resources of any value. We gave Ragnarok a quick survey, and when the sixth man died we marked it on the chart as uninhabitable, and went on our way. As you probably know, that bright blue star is Ragnarok's other son. Its position in the advance of the yellow sun shows the season to be early spring. When summer comes Ragnarok will swing between the two sons, and the heat will be something no human has ever endured. Nor the cold when winter comes. I know of no edible plants, although there might be some. There are a few species of rodent-like animals, they're scavengers, and a herbivore we called a wood's goat. The prowlers are the dominant form of life on Ragnarok, and I suspect their intelligence is a good deal higher than we would like it to be. There will be a constant battle for survival with them. There's another animal, not as intelligent as the prowlers, but just as dangerous, the unicorn. The unicorns are big and fast, and they travel in herds. I haven't seen any here so far, I hope we don't. At the lower elevations are the swamp crawlers. They're unadulterated nightmares. I hope they don't go to these higher elevations in the summer. The prowlers and the hell fever, the gravity and heat and cold and starvation will be enough for us to have to fight. I see, like said, he smiled, a smile that was as bleak as moonlight on an arctic glacier. Earth-type remembered the promise the guerns made the rejects? He looked out across the camp at the snow whipping from the frosty hills, at the dead and the dying, and a little girl trying vainly to awaken her brother. They were condemned without reason, without a chance to live, he said. So many of them are so young, and when you're young it's too soon to have to die. END OF PART ONE EPISODE TWO OF SPACE PRISON by Tom Godwin, read by Mark Nelson. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. SPACE PRISON EPISODE TWO Prentis returned to his own group. The dead were buried in shallow graves, and inventory was taken of the promised ample supplies. These were only the few personal possessions the rejects had been permitted to take, plus a small amount of food the guerns had taken from the constellation's stores. The guerns had been forced to provide the rejects with at least a little food, had they openly left them to starve, the acceptables, whose families were among the rejects, might have rebelled. Inventory of the firearms and ammunition showed the total to be discouragingly small. They would have to learn how to make and use bows and arrows as soon as possible. With the first party of guards and workmen following him, Prentis went to the tributary valley that emptied into the central valley a mile to the north. It was as good a campsite as could be hoped for, wide and thickly spotted with groves of trees, a creek running down its center. The workmen began the construction of shelters, and he climbed up the side of the nearer hill. He reached its top, his breath coming fast in the gravity that was the equivalent of a burden half his own weight, and saw what the surrounding terrain was like. To the south, beyond the barren valley, the land could be seen dropping in its long sweep to the southern lowlands, where the unicorns and swamp crawlers lived. To the north the hills climbed gently for miles, then ended under the steeply sloping face of an immense plateau. The plateau reached from western to eastern horizon, still white with the snows of winter and looming so high above the world below that the clouds brushed in and half obscured it. He went back down the hill as Lake's men appeared. They started work on what would be a continuation of his own camp, and he told Lake what he had seen from the hill. We're between the lowlands and the highlands, he said. This will be as near to a temperate altitude as Ragnarok has. We survive here or else. There's no other place for us to go. An overcast darkened the sky at noon and the wind died down to almost nothing. There was a feeling of waiting tension in the air, and he went back to the rejects to speed their move into the woods. They were already going in scattered groups, accompanied by prowl-regards, but there was no organization and it would be too long before the last of them were safely in the new camp. He could not be two places at once. He needed a sub-leader to oversee the move of the rejects and their possessions into the woods and their placement after they got there. He found the man he wanted already helping the rejects get started. A thin, quiet man named Henry Anders, who had fought well against the prowlers the night before, even though his determination had been greater than his marksmanship. He was the type people instinctively liked and trusted, a good choice for the sub-leader whose job it would be to handle the multitude of details in camp, while he, Prentice, and a second sub-leader he would select, handled the defense of the camp and the hunting. I don't like this overcast, he told Anders. Something's brewing. Get everyone moved and at work helping build shelters as soon as you can. I can have most of them there within an hour or two, Anders said. Some of the older people, though, will have to take it slow. This gravity, it's already getting the hearts of some of them. How are the children taking the gravity? He asked. The babies and the very young, it's hard to tell about them yet. But the children from about four on up get tired quickly, go to sleep, and when they wake up they've sort of bounced back out of it. Maybe they can adapt to some extent to this gravity. He thought of what Lake had said that morning. So many of them are so young, and when you're young it's too soon to have to die. Maybe the guerns made a mistake. Maybe tearing children aren't as easy to kill as they thought. It's your job and mine and others to give the children the chance to prove the guerns wrong. He went his way again to pass by the place where Julia, the girl who had become Billy's foster mother, was preparing to go to the new camp. It was the second time for him to see Billy that morning. The first time Billy had still been stunned with grief, and at the sight of his grandfather he had been unable to keep from breaking. The guern hit her! He had sobbed, his torn face bleeding anew as it twisted in crying. He heard her, and daddy was gone, and then the other things killed her. But now he had had a little time to accept what had happened, and he was changed. He was someone much older, almost a man, trapped for a while in the body of a five-year-old boy. I guess this is all Billy, Julia was saying, as she gathered up her scanty possessions and Irene's bag. Get your teddy bear and we'll go. Billy went to his teddy bear and knelt down to pick it up. Then he stopped and said something that sounded like, no. He laid the teddy bear back down, wiping a little dust from its face, as in a last gesture of farewell, and stood up to face Julia empty-handed. I don't think I'll want to play with my teddy bear any more, he said. I don't think I'll ever want to play at all any more. Then he went to walk beside her, leaving his teddy bear lying on the ground behind him, and with it leaving forever the tears and laughter of childhood. The overcast deepened, and at mid-afternoon dark storm clouds came driving in from the west. Efforts were intensified to complete the move before the storm broke, both in this section of the camp and in lakes. The shelters would be of critical importance, and they were being built of the materials most quickly available. Dead limbs, brush, and the limited amount of canvas and blankets the rejects had. They would be inadequate protection, but there was no time to build anything better. It seemed only a few minutes until the black clouds were overhead, rolling and racing at an incredible velocity. With them came the deep roar of the high wind that drove them, and the wind on the ground began to stir restlessly in response, like some monster awakening to the call of its kind. Prentice knew already who he wanted as his other sub-leader. He found him hard at work helping build shelters. Howard Craig, a powerfully muscled man with a face as hard and grim as a cliff of granite. It had been Craig who had tried to save Irene from the prowlers that morning with only an axe as a weapon. Prentice knew him slightly, and Craig still did not know Irene had been his daughter. Craig had been one of the field engineers for what would have been the Athena Geological Survey. He had had a wife, a frail blonde girl who had been the first of all to die of hell fever the night before, and he still had their three small children. We'll stop with the shelters we already have built, he told Craig. It will take all the time left to us to reinforce them against the wind. I need someone to help me, in addition to Anders. You're the one I want. Send some young and fast moving men back to last night's camp to cut all the strips of prouder skins they can get. Everything about the shelters will have to be lashed down to something solid. See if you can find some experienced outdoorsman to help you check the jobs. And tell Anders that women and children only will be placed in the shelters. There will be no room for anyone else, and if any man, no matter what the excuse, crowds out a woman or child, I'll personally kill him. You needn't bother, Craig said. He smiled with savage mirthlessness. I'll be glad to take care of any such incidents. Prentice saw to it that the piles of wood for the guard fires were ready to be lighted when the time came. He ordered all guards to their stations, there to get what rest they could. They would have no rest at all after darkness came. He met Lake at the north end of his own group's camp, where it merged with Lake's group and no guard-line was needed. Lake told him that his camp would be as well prepared as possible under the circumstances within another hour. By then the wind in the trees was growing swiftly stronger, slapping harder and harder at the shelters, and it seemed doubtful that the storm would hold off for an hour. But Lake was given his hour, plus half of another. Then deep dust came, although it was not quite sundown. Prentice ordered all the guard fires lighted and all the women and children into the shelters. Fifteen minutes later the storm finally broke. It came as a roaring downpour of cold rain. Complete darkness came with it and the wind rose to a velocity that made the trees lean. An hour went by and the wind increased, smashing at the shelters with a violence they had not been built to withstand. The prouder skin lashings held, but the canvas and blankets were ripped into streamers that cracked like rifle shots in the wind before they were torn completely loose and flung into the night. One by one the guard fires went out and the rain continued, growing colder and driven in almost horizontal sheets by the wind. The women and children huddled in chilled misery in what meager protection the torn shelter still gave, and there was nothing that could be done to help them. The rain turned to snow at midnight, a howling blizzard through which Prentice's light could penetrate but a few feet as he made his rounds. He walked with slogging weariness, forcing himself on. He was no longer young, he was fifty, and he had had little rest. He had known, of course, that successful leadership would involve more sacrifice on his part than on the part of those he led. He could have shunned responsibility and his personal welfare would have benefited. He had lived on alien worlds almost half his life, with a rifle and a knife he could have lived until Ragnarok finally killed him, with much less effort than that required of him as leader. But such an action had been repugnant to him, unthinkable. What he knew of survival on hostile worlds might help the others to survive. So he had assumed command, tolerating no objections and disregarding the fact that he would be shortening his already short time to live on Ragnarok. It was, he supposed, some old instinct that forbade the individual to stand aside and let the group die. The snow stopped an hour later and the wind died to a frigid moaning. The clouds thinned, broke apart, and the giant star looked down upon the land with its cold blue light. The prowlers came then. They fainted against the east and west guard lines, then hit the south line in a massed ferocious attack. Twenty got through, passed the slaughtered south guards, and charged into the interior of the camp. As they did so the call, prearranged by him in case of such an event, went up the guard lines. Emergency guards, east and west, close in! In the camp above the triumphant, demoniac yammering of the prowlers came the screams of women, the thinner cries of children, and the shouting and cursing of men as they tried to fight the prowlers with knives and clubs. Then the emergency guards, every third man from the east and west lines, came plunging through the snow firing as they came. The prowlers launched themselves away from their victims and toward the guards, leaving a woman to stagger aimlessly with blood spurting from a severed artery and splashing dark in the starlight on the blue-white snow. The air was filled with the cracking of gunfire and the deep, savage snarling of the prowlers. Half of the prowlers broke through, leaving seven dead guards behind them. The others lay in the snow where they had fallen and the surviving emergency guards turned to hurry back to their stations, reloading as they went. The wounded woman had crumpled down in the snow, and a first aid man knelt over her. He straightened, shaking his head, and joined the others as they searched for injured among the prowlers' victims. They found no injured, only the dead. The prowlers killed with grim efficiency. John! John Chiara, the young doctor, hurried toward him. His dark eyes were worried behind his frosted glasses and his eyebrows were coated with ice. The wood is soaked, he said. It's going to be some time before we can get fires going. There are babies that will freeze to death before then. Prentice looked at the prowlers lying in the snow and motioned toward them. They're warm! Have their guts and lungs taken out! What?! Then Chiara's eyes lighted with comprehension and he hurried away without further questions. Prentice went on to make rounds of the guards. When he returned he saw that his order had been obeyed. The prowlers lay in the snow as before, their savage faces still twisted in their dying snarls, but snug and warm inside them babies slept. The prowlers attacked again and again, and when the wan's sun lifted to shine down on the white frozen land, there were five hundred dead in Prentice's camp, three hundred by hell fever and two hundred by prowler attacks. Five hundred, and that had been only one night on Ragnarok. Lake reported over six hundred dead. I hope, he said with bitter hatred, that the guern slept comfortably last night. We'll have to build a wall around the camp to hold out the prowlers, Prentice said. We don't dare keep using up what little ammunition we have at the rate we've used it the last two nights. That will be a big job in this gravity, Lake said. We'll have to crowd both groups in together to let its circumference be as small as possible. It was the way Prentice had planned to do it. One thing would have to be settled with Lake. There could not be two independent leaders over the merged groups. Lake, watching him, said, I think we can get along. Alien worlds are your specialty rather than mine, and according to the Ragnarok law of averages there will be only one of us pretty soon anyway. All were moved to the center of the camp area that day, and when the prowlers came that night they found a ring of guards and fires through which they could penetrate only with heavy sacrifices. There was warmth to the sun the next morning, and the snow began to melt. Work was commenced on the stock-aid wall. It would have to be twelve feet high so the prowlers could not jump over it, and since the prowlers had the sharp claws and climbing ability of cats, its top would have to be surmounted with a row of sharp, outward and downward projecting stakes. These would be set in sockets in the top rail and tied down with strips of prowler skin. The trees of East Camp were festooned for a great distance with the remnants of canvas and cloth the wind had left there. A party of boys, protected by the usual prowler guards, was sent out to climb the trees and recover it. All of it, down to the smallest fragment, was turned over to the women, who were physically incapable of helping work on the stock-aid wall. They began patiently sowing the rags and tatters back into usable form again. The first hunting party went out and returned with six of the tawny yellow, sharp-horned woods-goats, each as large as an earth deer. The hunters reported the woods-goats to be hard to stock and dangerous when cornered. One hunter was killed and another injured because of not knowing that. They also brought in a few of the rabbit-sized scavenger animals. They were all legs and teeth and bristly fur, the meat almost inedible. It would be a waste of the limited ammunition to shoot any more of them. There was a black bark tree which the Dunbark expedition had called the Lance Tree because of its slender, straightly outthrust limbs. Its wood was as hard as hickory and as springy as cedar. Prentice found two amateur archers who were sure they could make efficient bows and arrows out of the Lance Tree limbs. He gave them the job, together with helpers. The days turned suddenly hot, with nights that still went below freezing. The hell fever took a constant, relentless toll. They needed adequate shelters, but the dwindling supply of ammunition and the nightly prouder attacks made the need for a stockade wall even more imperative. The shelters would have to wait. He went looking for Dr. Chara one evening and found him just leaving one of the makeshift shelters. A boy lay inside it, his face flushed with hell fever, and his eyes too bright and too dark as he looked up into the face of his mother who sat beside him. She was dried-eyed and silent as she looked down at him, but she was holding his hand in hers, tightly, desperately, as though she might that way somehow keep him from leaving her. Prentice walked beside Chara, and when the shelter was behind them he asked, There's no hope? None, Chara said. There never is with hell fever. Chara had changed. He was no longer the stocky, cheerful man he had been on the constellation whose brown eyes had smiled at the world through thick glasses, and who had laughed and joked as he assured his patients that all would soon be well with them. He was thin and his face was haggard with worry. He had, in his quiet way, been fully as valiant as any of those who had fought the prowlers. He had worked day and night to fight a form of death he could not see and against which he had no weapon. The boy is dying, Chara said. He knows it and his mother knows it. I told them the medicine I gave him might help. It was a lie to try to make it a little easier for both of them when the end comes. The medicine I gave him was a salt tablet. That's all I have. And then, with the first bitterness Prentice had ever seen him display, Chara said, You call me doctor. Everyone does. I'm not. I'm only a first-year intern. I do the best I know how to do, but it isn't enough. It will never be enough. What you have to learn here is something no Earth doctor knows or could teach you, he said. You have to have time to learn and you need equipment and drugs. If I could have antibiotics and other drugs, I wanted to get a supply from the dispensary but the Gerns wouldn't let me go. Some of the Ragnarok plants might be of a value if a person could find the right ones. I just came from a talk with Anders about that. He'll provide you with anything possible in the way of equipment and supplies for research. Anything in the camp you need to try to save lives. You'll be at your shelter to-night to see what you want. Do you want to try it? Yes, of course. Chara's eyes lighted with new hope. It might take a long time to find a cure. Maybe we never would, but I'd like to have help so I could try. I'd like to be able, some day once again, to say to a scared kid, take this medicine and in the morning you'll be better. And no, I told the truth. The nightly prouder attacks continued and the supply of ammunition diminished. It would be some time before men were skilled in the use of the bows and arrows that were being made, and work on the wall was pushed ahead with all speed possible. No one was exempt from labour on it who could as much as carry the pointed stakes. Children, down to the youngest, worked alongside the men and women. The work was made many times more exhausting by the 1.5 gravity. People moved heavily at their jobs, and even at night there was no surcease from the gravity. They could only go into a coma-like sleep in which there was no real rest and from which they woke tired and aching. Each morning there would be some who did not awaken at all, though their hearts had been sound enough for working on earth or Athena. The killing labour was recognized as necessary, however, and there were no complaints until the morning he was accosted by Peter Beaman. He had seen Beaman several times on the Constellation, a big, soft-faced man who had attached much importance to his role as a minor member of the Athena Planning Board. But even on the Constellation Beaman had felt he merited a still higher position, and his ingratiating attitude when before his superiors had become one of fault-finding insinuations concerning their ability as compared with his when their backs were turned. His resentment had taken new form on Ragnarok, where his former position was of utterly no importance to anyone, and his lack of any skills or outdoor experience made him only one worker among others. The sun was shining mercilessly hot the day Beaman chose to challenge Prentice's wisdom as leader. Beaman was cutting and sharpening stakes, a job the sometimes too lenient Anders had given him when Beaman had insisted his heart was on the verge of failure from doing heavier work. Prentice was in a hurry and would have gone on past him but Beaman halted him with a sharp command. You, wait a minute! Beaman had a hatchet in his hand but only one stake lay on the ground, and his face was red with anger, not exertion. Prentice stopped, wondering if Beaman was going to ask for a broken jaw, and Beaman came to him. How long, Beaman asked, anger making his voice a little thick, do you think I'll tolerate this absurd situation? What situation? Prentice asked. This stupid insistence upon confining me to manual labor. I'm the single member on Ragnarok of the Athena Planning Board, and surely you can see that this bumbling confusion of these people, Beaman indicated the hurrying, laboring men, women and children around him, can be transformed into efficient, organized effort only through proper supervision. Yet my abilities along such lines are ignored, and I've been forced to work as a common laborer, a woodchopper. He flung the hatchet down viciously, into the rocks at his feet, breathing heavily with resentment and challenge. I demand the respect to which I'm entitled. Look, Prentice said. He pointed to the group just then going past them. A sixteen-year-old girl was bent, almost doubled under the weight of the pole she was carrying, her once pretty face, flushed and sweating. Behind her, two twelve-year-old boys were dragging a still larger pole. Behind them came several small children, each of them carrying as many of the pointed stakes as he or she could walk under, no matter if it was only one. All of them were trying to hurry, to accomplish as much as possible, and no one was complaining, even though they were already staggering with weariness. So, you think you're entitled to more respect? Prentice asked. Those kids would work harder if you were giving them orders from under the shade of a tree. Is that what you want? Beaman's lips thinned and hatred was like a sheen on his face. Prentice looked from the single stake Beaman had cut that morning to Beaman's white, unblistered hands. He looked at the hatchet that Beaman had thrown down in the rocks and at the V-notch broken in its keen-edged blade. It had been the best of the very few hatchets they had. The next time you even nick that hatchet, I'm going to split your skull with it, he said. Pick it up and get back to work. I mean work. You'll have broken blisters on every finger tonight, or you'll go on the log carrying for us to-morrow. Now move!" What Beaman had thought to be his wrath deserted him before Prentice's fury. He stopped to obey the order, but the hatred remained on his face, and when the hatchet was in his hands he made a last attempt to bluster. "'The day may come when we'll refuse to tolerate any longer your sadistic displays of authority.'" "'Good,' Prentice said. "'Anyone who doesn't like my style is welcome to try to change it, or to try to replace me. With knives or clubs, rifles or broken hatchets, Beaman, any way you want it, and any time you want it.'" "'Aye!' Beaman's eyes went from the hatchet in his half-raised hand to the long knife in Prentice's belt. He swallowed with a convulsive jerk of his Adam's apple and his hatchet-bearing arm suddenly wilted. "'Aye! Don't want to fight! To replace you!' He swallowed again and his face forced itself into a sickly attempt at an ingratiating smile. "'I didn't mean to imply any disrespect for you or the good job you're doing. I'm very sorry.'" Then he hurried away, like a man glad to escape, and began to chop stakes with amazing speed. But the sullen hatred had not been concealed by the ingratiating smile, and Prentice knew Beaman was a man who would always be his enemy. END OF EPISODE II SPACE PRISON EPISODE III The days dragged by in the weary routine, but overworked muscles slowly strengthened, and people moved with a little less laborious effort. On the twentieth day the wall was finally completed, and the camp was prouder proof. But the spring weather was a mad succession of heat and cold and storm that caused the hell fever to take its toll each day, and there was no relaxation from the grueling labour. Weatherproof shelters had to be built as rapidly as possible. So the work of constructing them began. Wearily, sometimes almost hopelessly, but without complaint other than to hate and curse the guerns more than ever. There was no more trouble from Beaman. Prentice had almost forgotten him when he was publicly challenged one night by a burly, threatening man named Hagar. "'You've bragged that you'll fight any man who dares disagree with you,' Hagar said loudly. "'Well, here I am. We'll use knives, and before they even have time to bury you to-night, I'm going to have your stooges kicked out and replaced with men who give us competent leadership instead of blundering authoritarianism.'" Prentice noticed that Hagar seemed to have a little difficulty pronouncing the last word, as though he had learned it only mildly. "'I'll be glad to accommodate you,' Prentice said mildly. "'Go get yourself a knife.'" Hagar already had one, a long-bladed butcher-knife, and the duel began. Hagar was surprisingly adept with his knife, but he had never had the training and experience in combat that interstellar explorers such as Prentice had. Hagar was good, but considerably far from good enough. Prentice did not kill him. He had no compunctions about doing such a thing, but it would have been an unnecessary waste of needed manpower. He gave Hagar a carefully painful and bloody lesson that thoroughly banished all his lust for conflict without seriously injuring him. The duel was over within a minute after it began. Behmann, who had witnessed the challenge with keen interest and then watched Hagar's defeat with agitation, became excessively friendly and flattering toward Prentice afterward. Prentice felt sure, although he had no proof, that it had been Behmann who had spurred the simple-minded Hagar into challenging him to a duel. If so, the sight of what had happened to Hagar must have effectively dampened Behmann's desire for revenge because he became almost a model worker. As Lake had predicted, he and Prentice worked together well. Lake calmly took a secondary role, not at all interested in possession of authority but only in the survival of the rejects. He spoke of the surrender of the constellation only once to say, I knew there could be only Ragnarok in this section of space. I had to order four thousand people to go like sheep to what was to be their place of execution so that four thousand more could live as slaves. That was my last act as an officer. Prentice suspected that Lake found it impossible not to blame himself subconsciously for what circumstances had forced him to do. It was irrational, but conscientious men were quite often a little irrational in their sense of responsibility. Lake had two sub-leaders, a genial red-haired man named Ben Barber, who would have been a farmer on Athena, but who had made a good sub-leader on Ragnarok, and a life cat-like man named Carl Schroeder. Schroeder claimed to be twenty-four, but not even the scars on his face could make him look more than twenty-one. He smiled often, a little too often. Prentice had seen smiles like that before. Schroeder was the type who could smile while he killed a man, and he probably had. But if Schroeder was a born fighter, and perhaps killer, they were characteristics that he expended entirely upon the prowlers. He was Lake's right-hand man, a deadly marksman and utterly without fear. One evening, when Lake had given Schroeder some instructions concerning the next day's activities, Schroeder answered him with a half-mocking smile and the words, I'll see that it's done, Commander. Not, Commander, Lake said. I, all of us, left our ranks, titles and honors on the Constellation. The past is dead for us. I see, Schroeder said. The smile faded away, and he looked into Lake's eyes as he asked, and what about our past dishonors, disgraces, and such? They were left on the Constellation too, Lake said. If anyone wants dishonor, he'll have to earn it all over again. That sounds fair, Schroeder said. That sounds as fair as anyone could ever ask for. He turned away and Prentice saw what he had noticed before. Schroeder's black hair was coming out light brown at the roots. It was a color that would better match his light complexion, and it was the color of hair that a man named Schroeder, wanted by the police on Venus, had had. Hair could be dyed, identification cards could be forged, but it was all something Prentice did not care to pry into until and if Schroeder gave him reason to. Schroeder was a hard and dangerous man, despite his youth, and sometimes men of that type, when the chips were down, exhibited a higher sense of duty than the soft men who spoke piously of respect for society, and then were afraid to face danger, to protect the society and the people they claimed to respect. A lone prowler came on the eleventh night following the wall's completion. It came silently, in the dead of night, and it learned how to reach in and tear apart the leather lashings that held the pointed stakes in place and then jerk the stakes out of their sockets. It was seen as it was removing the third stake, which would have made a large enough opening for it to come through and shot. It fell back and managed to escape into the woods, although staggering and bleeding. The next night the stockade was attacked by dozens of prowlers who simultaneously began removing the pointed stakes in the same manner employed by the prowler of the night before. Their attack was turned back with heavy losses on both sides, and with a dismayingly large expenditure of precious ammunition. There could be no doubt about how the band of prowlers had learned to remove the stakes. The prowler of the night before had told them before it died. It was doubtful that the prowlers had a spoken language, but they had some means of communication. They worked together, and they were highly intelligent, probably about half way between a dog and man. The prowlers were going to be an enemy even more formidable than Prentice had thought. The missing stakes were replaced the next day, and the others were tied down more securely. Once again, the camp was prowler-proof, but only for so long as armed guards patrolled inside the walls to kill attacking prowlers during the short time it would take them to remove the stakes. The hunting party suffered unusually heavy losses from prowler attacks that day and that evening, as the guards patrolled inside the walls, Lake said to Prentice, The prowlers are so damnably persistent. It isn't that they're hungry. They don't kill us to eat us. They don't have any reason to kill us. They just hate us. They have a reason, Prentice said. They're doing the same thing we're doing, fighting for survival. Lake's pale brows lifted in question. The prowlers are the rulers of Ragnarok, Prentice said. They fought their way up here, as men did on earth, until they're master of every creature on their world, even of the unicorns and the swamp crawlers. But now we've come, and they're intelligent enough to know that we're accustomed to being the dominant species ourselves. There can't be two dominant species on the same world, and they know it, men or prowlers. In the end, one is going to have to go down before the other. I suppose you'll write, Lake said. He looked at the guards, a fourth of them already reduced to bows and arrows that they had not yet had time to learn how to use. If we win the battle for supremacy, it will be a long fight, maybe over a period of centuries, and if the prowlers win, it may all be over within a year or two. The giant blue star that was the other component of Ragnarok's binary grew swiftly in size as it preceded the Yellow Sun farther each morning. When summer came, the blue star would be a sun as hot as the Yellow Sun, and Ragnarok would be between them. The Yellow Sun would burn the land by day, and the Blue Sun would sear it by night that would not be night. Then would come the brief fall, followed by the long, frozen winter, when the Yellow Sun would shine pale and cold far to the south, and the Blue Sun would be a star again, two hundred and fifty million miles away, and invisible behind the cold Yellow Sun. The hell fever lessened with the completion of the shelters, but it still killed each day. Chihara and his helpers worked with unfaltering determination to find a cure for it, but the cure, if there was one, eluded them. The graves in the cemetery were forty long by forty wide, and more were added each day. To all the fact became grimly obvious. They were swiftly dying out, and they had yet to face Ragnarok at its worst. The old survival instincts asserted themselves, and there were marriages among the younger ones. One of the first to marry was Julia. She stopped to talk to Prentice one evening. She still wore the red skirt, now faded and patched, but her face was tired and thoughtful, and no longer bold. "'Is it true, John?' she asked. That only a few of us might be able to have children here, and that most of us who tried to have children in this gravity would die for it. "'It's true,' he said. But you already knew that when you married. Yes, I knew it. There was a little silence. All my life I've had fun and done as I pleased. The human race didn't need me, and we both knew it. But now none of us can be apart from the others, or be afraid of anything. If we're selfish and afraid, there will come a time when the last of us will die, and there will be nothing on Ragnarok to show we were even here. I don't want it to end like that. I want there to be children, to live after we're gone. So I'm going to try to have a child. I'm not afraid, and I won't be.' When he did not reply at once, she said, almost self-consciously, coming for me, that all sounds a little silly, I suppose. It sounds wise and splendid, Julia, he said, and it's what I thought you were going to say. Full spring came, and the vegetation burst into leaf and bud and bloom quickly, for its growth instincts knew in their mindless way how short was the time to grow and reproduce before the brown death of summer came. The prowlers was suddenly gone one day, to follow the spring north, and for a week men could walk and work outside the stockade without the protection of armed guards. Then the new peril appeared, the one they had not expected, the unicorns. The stockade wall was a blue-black rectangle behind them, and the blue star burned with the brilliance of a dozen moons, lighting the woods in blue shadow and azure light. Prentice and the hunter walked a little in front of the two riflemen, winding to keep in the star-lit glades. It was on the other side of the next grove of trees, the hunter said in a low voice. Fred was getting ready to bring in the rest of the woods-goat. He shouldn't have been more than ten minutes behind me, and has been over an hour. They rounded the grove of trees. At first it seemed there was nothing before them but the empty grassy glade. Then they saw it lying on the ground no more than twenty feet in front of them. It was, it had been, a man. He was broken and stamped into hideous shapelessness and something had torn off his arms. For a moment there was dead silence. Then the hunter whispered, What did that? The answer came in a savage, squealing scream and the pound of cloven hooves. A formless shadow beside the trees materialized into a monstrous charging bulk, a thing like a gigantic gray bull, eight feet tall at the shoulders, with the tusked, snarling head of a bore, and the starlight glinting along the curving, vicious length of its single horn. Unicorn! Prentice said, and jerked up his rifle. The rifles cracked in a ragged volley. The unicorn squealed in fury and struck the hunter, catching him on its horn and hurling him thirty feet. One of the riflemen went down under the unicorn's hooves, his cry ending almost as soon as it began. The unicorn ripped the sod in deep furrows as it whirled back to Prentice and the remaining riflemen, not turning in the manner of four-footed beasts of earth, but rearing and spinning on its hind feet. It towered above them as it whirled, the tip of its horn fifteen feet above the ground and its hooves swinging around like great clubs. Prentice shot again, his sights on what he hoped would be a vital area, and the riflemen shot an instant later. The shots were true. The unicorn's swing brought it on around, and it collapsed, falling to the ground with jarring heaviness. "'We got it,' the riflemen said. "'We.' It half scrambled to its feet and made a noise, a call that went out through the night like the blast of a mighty trumpet. Then it dropped back to the ground to die while its call was still echoing from the nearer hills. From the east came an answering trumpet blast, a trumpeting that was sounded again from the south and from the north. Then there came a low and muffled drumming like the pounding of thousands of hooves. The riflemen's face was blue-white in the starlight. "'The others are coming. We'll have to run for it.' He turned and began to run toward the distant bulk of the stockade. "'No,' Prentice commanded, quick and harsh. Not the stockade.' The riflemen kept running, seeming not to hear him in his panic. Prentice called to him once more. "'Not the stockade! You'll lead the unicorns into it!' Again the riflemen seemed not to hear him. The unicorns were coming in sight, converging in from the north and east and south, the rumble of their hooves swelling to a thunder that filled the night. The riflemen would reach the stockade only a little ahead of them and they would go through the wall as though it had been made of paper. For a little while the area inside the stockade would be filled with dust, with the squealing of the swirling, charging unicorns and the screams of the dying. Those inside the stockade would have no chance whatever of escaping. Within two minutes it would be over. The last child would have been found among the shattered shelters and trampled into lifeless shapelessness in the bloody ground. Within two minutes all human life on Ragnarok would be gone. There was only one thing for him to do. He dropped to one knee so his aim would be steady and the sights of his rifle caught the running man's back. He pressed the trigger and the rifle cracked viciously as it bucked against his shoulder. The man spun and fell hard to the ground. He twisted to raise himself up a little and look back, his face white and accusing and unbelieving. You shot me!" Then he fell forward and lay without moving. Prentice turned back to face the unicorns and to look at the trees in the nearby grove. He saw what he already knew. They were young trees and too small to offer any escape for him. There was no place to run, no place to hide. There was nothing he could do but wait. Nothing he could do but stand in the blue starlight and watch the devil's herd pound toward him and think, in the last moments of his life, how swiftly and unexpectedly death could come to a man on Ragnarok. The unicorns held the rejects' prisoners in their stockade the rest of the night and all the next day. Lake had seen the shooting of the rifleman and had watched the unicorn herd kill John Prentice and then trample the dead rifleman. He had already given the order to build a quick series of fires around the inside of the stockade walls when the unicorns paused to tear their victims to pieces, grunting and squealing in triumph as bones crushed between their teeth and they flung the pieces to one side. The fires were started and green wood was thrown on them to make them smolder and smoke for as long as possible. Then the unicorns were coming on to the stockade and every person inside it went into the concealment of the shelters. Lake had already given his last order. There would be absolute quiet until and if the unicorns left, a quiet that would be enforced with fist or club wherever necessary. The unicorns were still outside when morning came. The fires could not be refueled. The sight of a man moving inside the stockade would bring the entire herd charging through. The hours dragged by, the smoke from the dying fires dwindled to thin streamers. The unicorns grew increasingly bolder and suspicious, crowding closer to the walls and peering through the openings between the rails. The sun was setting when one of the unicorns truppeted, a sound different from that of the call to battle. The others threw up their heads to listen, then they turned and drifted away. Within minutes the entire herd was gone out of sight through the woods toward the north. Lake waited and watched until he was sure the unicorns were gone for good. Then he ordered the all clear-given and hurried to the south wall to look down across the barren valley and hope he would not see what he expected to see. Barbara came up behind him to sigh with relief. That was close. It's hard to make so many people stay absolutely quiet for hour after hour, especially the children, they don't understand. We'll have to leave, Lake said. Leave, Barbara asked. We can make this stockade strong enough to hold out unicorns. Look to the south, Lake told him. Barbara did so and saw what Lake had already seen, a broad, low cloud of dust moving slowly toward them. Another herd of unicorns, Lake said. John didn't know how they migrated. The Dunbar expedition wasn't here long enough to learn that. There'll be herd after herd coming through and no time for us to strengthen the walls. We'll have to leave tonight. Preparations were made for the departure. Preparations that consisted mainly of providing each person with as much in the way of food or supplies as he or she could carry. In the 1.5 gravity that was not much. They left when the blue star rose. They filed out through the northern gate and the rear guard closed it behind them. There was almost no conversation among them. Some of them turned to take a last look at what had been the only home they had ever known on Ragnarok. Then they all phased forward again to the northwest where the foothills of the plateau might offer them sanctuary. They found their sanctuary on the second day, a limestone ridge honeycombed with caves. Men were sent back at once to carry the food and supplies left in the stockade to the new home. They returned to report that the second herd of unicorns had broken down the walls and ripped the interior of the stockade into wreckage. Much of the food and supplies had been totally destroyed. Lake sent them back twice more to bring everything down to the last piece of bent metal or torn cloth. They would find uses for all of it in the future. The cave system was extensive, containing room for several times their number. The deeper portions of the caves could not be lived in until ventilation ducts were made, but the outer caves were more than sufficient in number. Work was begun to clear them of fallen rubble, to pry down all loose material overhead and to level the floors. A spring came out of the ridge, not far from the caves, and the approach to the caves was so narrow and steep that unicorns could scramble up it only with difficulty and one at a time. And should they ever reach the natural terrace in front of the caves, they would be too large to enter and could do no more than stand outside and make targets of themselves for the bowmen within. Anders was in charge of making the caves livable. His working force restricted almost entirely to women and children. Lake sent Barber out, with a small detachment of men, to observe the woods goats and to learn what plants they ate, and then learn by experimenting if such plants could be safely eaten by humans. The need for salt would be tremendously increased when summer came. Having once experienced a saltless two weeks in the desert, Lake doubted that any of them could survive without it. All hunting parties, as well as Barber's party, were ordered to investigate all deposits that might contain salt, as well as any stream or pond that was white along the banks. The hunting parties were of paramount importance, and they were kept out to the limits of their endurance. Every man physically able to do so accompanied them. Those who could not kill game could carry it back to the caves. There was no time to spare. Already the unicorns were decreasing in numbers, and the woods goats were ranging farther and farther north. At the end of twenty days Lake went in search of Barber and his party, worried about them. Their mission was one that could be as dangerous as any hunting trip. There was no proof that humans and Ragnarok creatures were so similar as to guarantee that food for one might not be poisoned for the other. It was a very necessary mission, however. Dried meat alone would bring grave deficiency diseases during summer, which dried herbs and fruits would help prevent. When he located Barber's party he found Barber lying under a tree, pale and weak from his latest experiment but recovering. It was the guinea pig yesterday, Barber said, some little purple berries that the woods goats nibble at sometimes, maybe to get a touch of some certain vitamin or something. I ate too many, I guess, because they hit my heart like the kick of a mule. Did you find anything at all encouraging, Lake asked? We found four different herbs that are the most violent cathartics you ever dreamed of, and a little silvery fern that tastes like vanilla flavored candy, and paralyzes you stiff as a board on the third swallow. It's an hour before you come back out of it. But on the good side we found three different kinds of herbs that seem to be all right. We've been digging them up and hanging them in the trees to dry. Lake tried the edible herbs and found them to be something like spinach in taste. There was a chance they might contain the vitamins and minerals needed. Since the hunting parties were living exclusively on meat he would have to point out the edible herbs to all of them so they would know what to eat should any of them feel the effects of diet deficiency. He traveled alone as he visited the various hunting parties, finding such travel to be safer each day as the dwindling of the unicorns neared the vanishing point. It was a safety he did not welcome. It meant the last of the game would be gone north long before sufficient meat was taken. None of the hunting parties could report good luck. The woods-goats, swift and elusive at best, were vanishing with the unicorns. The last cartridge had been fired, and the bowman, while improving all the time, were far from expert. The unicorns, which should have been their major source of meat, were invulnerable to arrows unless shot at short range in the side of the neck just behind the head, and at short range the unicorns invariably charged and presented no such target. He made the long, hard climb up the plateau's southern face to stand at last on top. It was treeless, a flat green table that stretched to the north for as far as he could see. A mountain range, still capped with snow, lay perhaps a hundred miles to the northwest. In the distance it looked like a white low-lying cloud on the horizon. No other mountains or hills marred the endless sweep of the high plain. The grass was thick, and here and there were little streams of water produced by the recently melted snow. It was a paradise land for the herbivores of Ragnarok, but for men it was a harsh, forbidding place. At that elevation the air was so thin that only a moderate amount of exertion made the heart and lungs labor painfully. Hard and imprelonged exertion would be impossible. It seemed unlikely that men could hunt and dare unicorn attacks at such an elevation, but two hunting parties were ahead of him, one under the grim craig and one under the reckless Schroeder, both parties stripped down to the youngest, strongest men among all the rejects. He found Schroeder early one morning, leading his hunters toward a small band of woods-goats. Two unicorns were grazing in between and the hunters were swinging down wind from them. Schroeder saw him coming and walked back a little way to meet him. Welcome to our breathtaking land, Schroeder greeted him. How are things going at the rest of the hunting parties? Schroeder was gaunt, and there was weariness beneath his still life movements. His whiskers were an untamed sorrel bristling and across his cheekbone was the ugly scar of a half-heeled wound. Another gash was ripped in his arm, and something had battered one ear. He reminded Lake of a battle-scarred, indomitable Tomcat who could never, for as long as he lived, want to relinquish the joy of conflict and danger. So far, he answered, Ewan Craig are the only parties to manage to tackle the plateau. He asked about Schroeder's luck and learned it had been much better than that of the others due to killing three unicorns by a method Schroeder had thought of. Since the bowmen have to beat to one side of the unicorns to kill them, Schroeder said, it only calls for a man to be the decoy and let the unicorns chase him between the hidden bowmen, if there's no more than one or two unicorns, and if the decoy doesn't have to run very far, and if the bowmen don't miss, it works well. Judging from your beat-up condition, Lake said, you must have been the decoy every time. Well, Schroeder shrugged his shoulders. It was my idea. I've been wondering about another way to get in shots at close range, Lake said. Take the skin of a woods-goat, give it the original shape as near as possible, and a bowman inside it might be able to fake a grazing woods-goat until he got the shot he wanted. The unicorns might never suspect where the arrows came from, he concluded, and then of course they might. I'll try it before the day's over, on those two unicorns over there, Schroeder said. At this elevation and in this gravity, my own method is just a little bit rough on a man. Lake found Craig and his men several miles to the west, all of them gaunt and bearded as Schroeder had been. We've had hell, Craig said. It seems that every time we spot a few woods-goats there will be a dozen unicorns in between. If only we had rifles for the unicorns. Lake told him of the plan to hide under the woods-goat skins and of the decoy system used by Schroeder. Maybe we won't have to use Schroeder's method, he said. We'll see if the other works. I'll give it the first try. This he was not to do. Less than an hour later one of the men who helped dry the meat and carry it to the caves returned to report the camp stricken by a strange, sudden malady that was killing a hundred a day. Dr. Chiara, who had collapsed while driving himself on to care for the sick, was sure it was a deficiency disease. Anders was down with it helpless, and Behmann had assumed command, setting up daily work quotas for those still on their feet and refusing to heed Chiara's requests concerning treatment of the disease. End of episode three.