Astounding Science Fiction (UK Edition) — page 38: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

36 | AS1LOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION desperate, his legs going as if there was a thousand international smackers tied to the tape. Minshull yelped somewhere back of him as he jumped full tilt into my ready arms. The greenie squirmed like an eel, beat at my face, tried to kick my legs off my torso with his bare feet. His rough, harsh body exuded a weak odor of pineapple and cinnamon. The others pounced out, got him tight, talked to him in halting words until he re- laxed. His eyes shifty, anxious, he jabbered excitedly to Jay Score, making urgent gestures and waving his woody arms around in a way that reminded me of branches beat- _ ing the air. Jay soothed him with fair if faltering speech. It looked like they’d picked up enough words to get along, though not enough to understand each other poe Still, they were managing. Eventually, Jay said to Petersen, “Tell the skipper I want to let Kala go.” Petersen cleared: off, came back in a minute. ““He says do whatever you think is best.” “Good.” Conducting the ‘native to the opening of the starboard lock, Jay yapped to him briefly, let him go. The greenie dived off the rim. Someone in the forest must have owed him for a loincloth because his feet made rapid brushing sounds as he fled across the turf. Jay stood on the rim, his flaming orbs staring into outer gloom. “Why let him go, Jay?” Turning, he said to me, “I’ve tried to per- suade him to come back at sunup. He may, or he may not—it remains to be seen. We didn’t have time to get much out of him, but his language is exceedingly simple and we picked up enough of it to learn that he calls himself Kala of the tribe of Ka. All members of his tribe are named Ka-some- thing, such as Kalee, Ka’noo, or Kaheer.” “Something like the Martians with their Klis and Leids and Sugs,” I remarked. “Something,” he agreed, not caring what the Martians might think of being compared with the green aborigines. “He also told us that every man has his tree, every gnat its lichen. I can’t understand what he means by that, but he satisfied me that his life de- pended upon him being with his tree during darkness. It was imperative. I tried to delay him, but his need was almost pitiful. He was willing to die rather than be away from his tree.” “Sounds silly to me.” I blew my nose, grinned widely. “It’s sounds even sillier to Jepson.” Jay stared again into the deep murkiness from which came strange, nocturnal scents and those everlasting pulsations. Quietly, he said, “I also learned that there are others in the dark, others mightier than the Ka. They have much gamish.” “They have what?” “Much gamish,” he repeated. “That word defeated me. He used it again and again. He said that the Marathon had much gamish, I had much gamish and that Kli Yang had very much gamish. Captain McNulty, it ap- .peared, had only a little. The Ka have none at all.” “Was it something of which he’ was afraid?” “Not exactly. As far as I could make out, anything unusual or surprising or unique is chock-full of gamish. Anything just ab- normal has a lesser amount of gamish. Any- thing ordinary has none at all.” “This,” I said, “goes to show the diffi- culties of communication. It isn’t as easy as ‘the people back home think it ought to be.” “No, it isn’t.” His gleaming optics shifted toward Armstrong leaning against the pom- pom. “You doing this guard?” “Until twelve. Kelly follows me.” Picking Kelly for guard was poor psy- chology. That tattoed specimen was welded to a three-foot spanner and in any hot moment was liable to wield said instrument in preference to such new-fangled articles as pom-poms and needlers. Rumor had it that he’d held the lump of iron at his wed- ding and that his. wife had gained a divorce on account of the thing’s effect on her morale. My private opinion was that Kelly had a Neanderthal mind. ““We’ll shut the lock,” decided Jay, “fresh air or no fresh air.” That was characteristic of him, and what made him seem so human —he could mention fresh air as if he used it himself. The casual way he did it made you forget that he’d never taken a breath since the day old Knud Johanssen stood him on his dogs. “Let’s plug in the turnscrew.” Turning his back upon the throbbing gloom, he started to walk into the lighted lock, treading carefully in the cutout of the threads. A piping voice sprang from the darkness; it ejaculated, ‘““Nou baiders!” Jay stopped dead. His eyes were glowing. Feet padded outside just underneath the lock. Something spherical and glassy soared Ccomiclooks.c©