The Secret Visitors # aka Tourist Planet by James White

Author:James White [White, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: aliens, SF
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1957-04-14T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

FROM A distance the Grosni ship had not been an esthetically pleasing object, but close up it was ugly to the point of obscenity. Leprous patches of rust grew on its hull, which was scarred and pitted so deeply that in places it looked like the bark of a tree rather than metal plating. A row of dark, slot-like openings encircled the hull about eighty feet from the ground, from which sprouted a fringe of thin, ropy tentacles like limp spaghetti. Most of these lay motionless across the supply containers spilled around the ship's base, but some of them twitched spasmodically.

"I cannot understand its landing to die," Naydrad said. "They are usually more considerate."

Cedric said, "Please hurry."

The tone, Lockhart noted curiously, was exactly that used to the doctor when a close relative is very ill; worried, and almost pleading. As he followed Cedric up the telescopic ladder—used once and abandoned in haste by a Retlonian port official—Lockhart wondered again what that previous contact with the Grosni had done to Cedric's mind to make him feel like that about them. The thought of something similar being done to his own mind made him shudder.

Hedley had said, "Think of it as an ordinary patient, Doctor. It's big, but it seems to be made up pretty much like a Human, and it uses ordinary air and water. Do your best to patch it up enough for it to take off. Kerron won't be able to stall the people here for more than a couple of hours, so be as fast as you can, Doc. There's an awful lot depending on you."

He did not need reminding of his responsibilities, Lockhart thought angrily as he pulled himself up the ladder. If he failed to do the well-nigh impossible, the Shekkaldor would not reach Harla, the Earth party would not appear before the Galactic Court, and on Earth the Agency would have everything its own way. If anything was lacking in this, Lockhart thought bitterly, it certainly was not incentive.

Cedric was several rungs above him on the ladder and Naydrad was following, but Lockhart did not look down. He had no head for heights. Instead he examined the slots from which the tentacles hung as he came level with them. They were deeply recessed and the yellow, flaccid ropes went far into them and disappeared in darkness. From the bottom of one of the slots a thick liquid, like oily green porridge, oozed out and dripped slowly to the ground. There was a sharp, unpleasant smell; he turned his head away.

From up here he had a good view of the three great, needle-peaked mountains, overhanging the capital of Retlone, which gave it the reputation of being one of the most beautiful places in the Galaxy. The mountains looked volcanic, but their bare slopes were streaked and dappled with vivid patches of brilliant color. They were beautiful, Lockhart admitted, in a garish sort of way.

Naydrad had told him that the effect was due to oxides in

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