Pantropy: The Complete Stories by James Blish

Author:James Blish [Blish, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jerry eBooks
Published: 2020-03-11T21:00:00+00:00

“If it is,” Honath said grimly, “we’re going to wish more than ever that we had some stout, sharp needles among us.”

ALASKON’S judgment was quickly borne out. The three left the cave at dawn the next morning, Alaskon moving somewhat stiffly but not otherwise noticeably incommoded, and resumed following the stream bed upwards—a stream now swollen by the rains to a roaring rapids. After winding its way upwards for about a mile in the general direction of the Great Range, the stream turned on itself and climbed rapidly back toward the basalt cliffs, falling toward the three over successively steeper shelves of jutting rock.

Then it turned again, at right angles, and the three found themselves at the exit of a dark gorge, little more than thirty feet high, but both narrow and long. Here the stream was almost perfectly smooth, and the thin strip of land on each side of it was covered with low shrubs. They paused and looked dubiously into the canyon. It was singularly gloomy.

“There’s plenty of cover, at least,” Honath said in a low voice. “But almost anything could live in a place like that.”

“Nothing very big could hide in it,” Alaskon pointed out. “It should be safe. Anyhow it’s the only way to go.”

“All right. Let’s go ahead, then. But keep your head down, and be ready to jump!”

Honath lost the other two by sight as soon as they crept into the dark shrubbery, but he could hear their cautious movements nearby. Nothing else in the gorge seemed to move at all, not even the water, which flowed without a ripple over an invisible bed. There was not even any wind, for which Honath was grateful, although he had begun to develop an immunity to the motionless ground beneath them.

After a few moments, Honath heard a low whistle. Creeping sidewise toward the source of the sound, he nearly humped into Alaskon, who was crouched beneath a thickly-spreading magnolia. An instant later, Mathilda’s face peered out of the dim greenery.

“Look,” Alaskon whispered. “What do you make of this?”

This was a hollow in the sandy soil about four feet across and rimmed with a low parapet of earth—evidently the same earth that had been scooped out of its center. Occupying most of it were three grey, ellipsoidal objects, smooth and featureless.

“Eggs,” Mathild said wonderingly.

“Obviously. But look at the size of them! Whatever laid them must be gigantic. I think we’re trespassing In something’s private valley.”

Mathild drew in her breath. Honath thought fast, as much to prevent panic in himself as in the girl. A sharp-edged stone lying nearby provided the answer. He seized it and struck.

The outer surface of the egg was leathery rather than brittle; it tore raggedly. Deliberately, Honath bent and put his mouth to the oozing surface.

It was excellent. The flavor was decidedly stronger than that of birds’ eggs, but he was far too hungry to be squeamish. After a moment’s amazement, Alaskon and Mathild attacked the other two ovoids with a will. It was the first really satisfying meal they had had in Hell.

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