Horn: Green Page 4

  catalog.

  "I'm sure it doesn't," he answered.

  He bent down to shove a few branches out of the way and in the same moment he heard Cora cry out in terror behind him. He whirled around to see Cora suspended by a snare that hung down from the impenetrable foliage of a giant tree. He plunged toward her but her body was suddenly drawn upward. Desperately he grasped at her legs but the invisible forces above were stronger. Before his horrified eyes she disappeared among the leaves.

  "Cora!" he shouted.

  "Run for it, Johnny!" he heard her cry out to him.

  But Pincer had no intention of running. In a rage he ran to the trunk of the tree but then he felt himself jerked from the ground. He struggled but discovered that a second sling had ensnared him. He struggled in vain against his bonds as unseen hands drew him slowly but surely upward.

  • • •

  Amat-Palong was an Ara, a Galactic Medical Master. Taller than a Terran, he was very thin and not a single hair grew on his head. He poured a greyish powdery substance from a test tube into a funnel, from which it trickled into a box. He then sprinkled the remainder onto a transparent strip of glass, which he shoved under a microscope. He peered through the eyepiece for some time in silence. Finally he pulled the slide out again. He placed it in his open palm and brought it to his mouth. Cautiously he moistened his lips and drew in the grey powder with an inward puff.

  Amat-Palong shook his head. He went to his desk and switched on the intercom. "Is Valmonze in the vicinity?" he asked. His voice sounded inhuman because of a lack of tone. It was completely flat, with neither low tones nor high.

  "He's in the canteen," came the reply over the speaker. "He has his sons with him."

  "I only need the patriarch," explained Amat-Palong quietly. "Send him up here to the laboratory immediately."

  Instead of waiting for a confirmation he simply switched off when he had finished speaking. He observed his hands reflectively and then pulled a chair over to sit down. But then he heard the rumble of the elevator and directly after Valmonze stepped into the laboratory. He held a pot-bellied bottle in his hand and his eyes were bloodshot.

  "You caught me while I was eating," he announced thunderously. "Maybe you can't understand that, Ara, but I consider it an important process that I don't like to be disturbed at."

  Unimpressed by the Springer's anger, Amat-Palong stood up and watched Valmonze without expression as the latter took a long swig from the bottle and then belched.

  "Alright," growled Valmonze, "what's so important that you had to call me?"

  Amat-Palong calmly folded his arms across his narrow chest. "Put the bottle away, Trader," he requested coldly. "You'll need a clear head when you issue your next orders."

  Valmonze stared at him incredulously. His eyes narrowed to slits as he slowly approached the Ara. "You've got a nerve!" he raged. "You're talking to a patriarch!"

  Amat-Palong nodded. "I know," he said. "The only question is how long you'll continue to be one."

  Valmonze took a step back and then slammed the bottle down on the desk. He was simultaneously enraged and confused by the Ara's amazing composure. "Talk—before I break your neck for this insult!" he roared at the Ara.

  Amat-Palong shrugged his shoulders and then bent down to open the door of a cabinet. With practiced fingers he took out several plastic bags which were filled with a whitish powder. He held them up to Valmonze's face. "What is this,

  patriarch?" he asked.

  "Heroin!" snorted Valmonze.

  Amat-Palong produced other bags, the contents of which were dark brown in color. "Opium," he said. "Extracted from the sap of unripened poppy seeds, Valmonze. It contains about 15% morphine and smaller percentages of other alkaloids. That's the way its been so far while we've been getting prepared narcotics from the Earth."

  The patriarch closed the cabinet door. He grasped the medico roughly by the shoulder. "You know very well that's too dangerous in the long run. So we made

  an agreement with Aplied to send us a load of the seeds so that we could grow our own plants. Now the seeds have arrived, so what more do you want?"

  "I want poppy seeds," said Amat-Palong disdainfully. "You may be a good merchant but you "Don't understand anything about this particular commodity."

  Valmonze stared at him suspiciously. "What do you mean by that?"

  Amat-Palong calmly picked up the box containing the grey powder. "Here, patriarch, is your supposed 'real stuff'. You can be glad you haven't transshipped it yet. I've taken the trouble to pulverize a handful of the seed kernels and to analyze the results."

  Valmonze leaned heavily on the desk, so close that he was breathing into the doctor's face. "What's wrong with the seeds?" he demanded.

  "There is nothing wrong with the seeds, such as they are," answered Amat-Palong. "But if you were to plant them you would only get some kind of a vegetable."

  The patriarch jerked the box out of the Ara's hand. The veins in his neck stood out sharply as he stared at the pulverized dust. "You mean to say this stuff isn't poppy seeds?"

  "It only looks like the real thing," confirmed the Ara. "Actually, however, it has nothing in common with poppy seeds."

  Cursing heavily, Valmonze threw the box of powder aside. He raised a fist threateningly in the air. "That pig of an Aplied has pulled a fast one!" The patriarch didn't hesitate to describe his business associate with colorful expressions that applied to himself as well. "He most likely thought I'd just transship the stuff without examining it."

  Amat-Palong calmly endured the Trader's raving outburst and when Valmonze simmered down a bit the Ara said: "I can't very well imagine that Aplied would fool around with childish and clumsy methods like this. I think you would do better to have a closer look at his contact man, this Shaugnessy person. Perhaps he thinks he can trick both you and Aplied."

  "Shaugnessy?" Valmonze's eyes flashed with a sudden revelation. "Shaugnessy didn't make the contact this time. Aplied sent another man. His name is Pincer."

  "What difference does that make? Shaugnessy or Pincer—in the end analysis you've been 'had' as the Terrans say."

  "You ought to see this Pincer character!" yelled Valmonze, suddenly enraged again. "He's the most stupid ass that's ever been—seen in this system! He's even afraid of elevators and he doesn't know a damned thing about our business!" He thrust a thick index finger into the Ara's chest. "I'll just have him fetched here and then we'll find out whether or not he's tried to throw us a curve!"

  Amat-Palong smiled thinly. "There's nothing easier than that. Meanwhile, I shall prepare an injection. Under its influence, this Pincer person will blab out any kind of information you want."

  Valmonze leaned over the Ara's intercom and flipped it on. He growled out his name to identify himself and then started issuing orders. "Go find that Terran and his female companion—the two who landed with us in the Val 1. They are to be brought here immediately. I'll be waiting for them in the lab!"

  Satisfied, he sat down in a chair. "So!" he said. "We'll just have a look at this Pincer character and see what makes him tick!"

  5/ THE GREENHORN'S GALACTIC GAMBIT

  Leaves and branches brushed against his face but suddenly he felt something solid under his feet again. The sling became loose. He found himself on a platform between the branches which had been fashioned with rough-hewn planks of some kind. Cora was only a few feet from him and was just freeing herself of her rope snare. Both lines were still suspended from somewhere overhead. Pincer looked upward. Above them was a kind of tree house nestled in the heavy branches. In front of its entrance he saw the hunched figures of some very strange creatures. Their size was that of a normal man but that was just about the only thing they had in common with humans. Dark, intelligent eyes gleamed in their birdlike heads, which were framed in a crest of bluish feathers. Their faces were dominated by wide, short beaks and between their thin arms Pincer could see what appeared to be folded membranous skin. He could imagine that in this de
nse atmosphere the creatures should be capable of perfect flight. The bird creatures' bodies were covered with feathery garments.

  Now Pincer understood what Valmonze had meant when he suggested that they should flush the natives out of the trees.

  "They are the native inhabitants," he called to Cora reassuringly. "They can't be very malicious or the Springer would have warned us about them."

  One of the birdmen lowered himself down to the platform. Since the thick surrounding foliage didn't permit flying, he had used the rope to descend.

  He greeted Pincer in broken Intercosmo. "We have big fun—pull no-fly people up from ground."

  When he talked his beak clattered. His voice croaked shrilly. Pincer had definite ideas about types of humor but being caught in snares wasn't so funny.

  He winked a signal at Cora. "Lower us down again," he demanded. "We're in a hurry."

  The bird creature regarded him craftily. His claw-like hand pointed at a carton of cigarettes under Pincer's arm. "Your present for Schnitz?" he asked excitedly.

  When Pincer made a move toward him the platform began to sway. Schnitz didn't seem to notice it but Pincer paled as he sensed the movement of the plank flooring. Cora supported herself on an upright branch.

  "Present!" repeated Schnitz impatiently.

  Pincer wasn't in a gift-making mood. While they were losing time here, the Springers might be starting their pursuit already. "I'm afraid not, my friend," he informed the native. "We don't have any presents. We'd like to go on our way."

  Schnitz stared at him fixedly. Then he gabbled in some incomprehensible language to his three companions who were still crouched in front of the tree house. To Pincer's dismay and fright, the three responded by also lowering themselves to the platform, which trembled under their additional weight. With one free hand he grasped one of the dangling lines for support.

  The indigenous birdman's tone of voice was now distinctly threatening. "Nofly man—now have present for Schnitz?"

  "Give him a carton," said Cora. "Maybe that'll make him friendlier. And I'll take one myself."

  Pincer reluctantly carried out his wife's suggestion. He handed Schnitz a carton and then dipped into the other to get a pack for Cora. Drawing out a cigarette he handed it to her and gave her a light. Meanwhile Schnitz had begun to examine his present in great excitement. His companions aided him, accompanied by an unbearable chattering.

  Cora drew in deeply, then exhaled a cloud of smoke.

  Schnitz looked at her with sudden interest. He sniffed at the smoke and breathed it in.

  "Don't you want one too, Johnny?" asked Cora.

  Pincer looked up into the treetop, vaguely embarrassed. "Cora, you know I don't smoke," he said. "My stomach can't take it."

  Meanwhile Schnitz had come closer to Cora in order to breathe in the smoke more deeply. Pincer watched in revulsion. To him it was inexplicable how a

  reasonable being could do something like that.

  "He seems to like it," observed Cora.

  Suddenly Schnitz began to whirl around in circles. He opened up his arms and his wing-surfaces tautened. As though intoxicated, he reeled back and forth across the platform. The boards creaked and threatened to crack.

  "With all that shaking he'll make us fall!" yelled Pincer.

  Schnitz staggered over closer to Cora again. Pincer didn't dare get in his way. To do so he would have had to let go of the rope and maybe lose his balance, in which case he could fall from the platform. But now the other three creatures had also taken an interest in the cigarette smoke. They followed Schnitz and eagerly breathed in the acrid fumes.

  "Throw that thing away!" shouted Pincer to his wife. "Can't you see that vapor is setting them into a frenzy?"

  By this time Schnitz and his friends had cast all care and caution to the winds. They danced about on the boards so wildly that it made Pincer break out in a sweat.

  "Stop it!" he yelled at Schnitz. "Knock it off, will you!"

  In a rapturous state, Schnitz staggered over to him. "No-fly make good present!" he cackled. "Him have wish, too?"

  "Yes!" Pincer blurted out. "We're trying to escape from the Springers. It's important for us to find a hiding place and that we get out of here! Can you help us?"

  "We help!" replied the aborigine willingly "Schnitz send friend to landing place. Him watch Springers. Schnitz make carry seats."

  The birdman went into a conference with one of his companions, who quickly clambered into the treetop. Pincer presumed that the creature would fly to the spaceport from there.

  "What does he mean by 'carry seats'?" asked Cora in English. "Do you think they want to sneak us away into the forest?"

  Pincer suspected that Schnitz had other intentions and just the thought of being right about it made him the more uncertain. He wondered if the friendliness of the birdmen would continue after the intoxicating effects of the cigarettes wore off.

  "Why don't you smoke a cigarette now and then?" suggested Cora. "That will keep them in a good mood."

  Even before she finished speaking, Pincer experienced a twinge of conscience. "It's not right to take advantage of them and misuse them for our own purposes like that!" he said emphatically. "Were getting them into something they have nothing to do with."

  "Well, if you don't want to do anything for yourself," she retorted, "you could at least think about me! Or remember your plan to send word to Perry Rhodan about this smuggling business! Do you think we'll ever get to do that if you're going to stop at every chance and go into the right and wrong of it?"

  Her tirade made his face redden as he looked unhappily at her. His fingers plucked at the rope as though it were the most urgent thing he had to do. In sudden remorse, Cora came toward him across the swaying platform.

  "I'm sorry, Johnny," she said. "Of course it was wrong of me to reproach you. I'll do whatever you say." She caressed his face.

  "It was alright," he said somewhat hoarsely. He bent down to kiss her but the swaying of the platform made him desist in a hurry. "You shouldn't have to smoke all the cigarettes by yourself," he told her. "I'll take over some of them."

  He braced himself and turned again to Schnitz, who was dangling on the rope in a nonchalant fashion. "What do you intend to do with the carry seats?" he asked.

  "Fly away with no-fly people," announced Schnitz laconically. "Make big flight to good hide-place."

  Just the thought of being thus airborne caused Pincer's stomach to rebel. "But we're far too heavy," he objected. "One of you can't carry us."

  "Us four," explained Schnitz happily. "Two carry one no-fly."

  "What do you think of it?" Pincer asked his wife.

  "The birdmen know this country," she reminded him. "They know exactly where to go. Certainly it would give us a faster head start. It seems to me that going through the forest on foot would be more dangerous—and besides, that way the Springers would soon overtake us."

  "Alright then," said Pincer. "Schnitz, let's make two carry seats."

  Schnitz gave one of his companions an order and the latter swung up to the tree hut above them. Pincer would have liked very much to learn more about these bird creatures but he didn't want to waste any time asking questions. This place up here in the branches seemed to be only an observation post which served to keep an eye on the Springers. And the tree hut did not have the appearance of an actual dwelling.

  Cora lit up another cigarette. Schnitz looked at her agreeably and sniffed with pleasure. Pincer had a humanitarian feeling of sympathy for these native creatures and for that very reason he found it difficult to go along with this method of dealing with them.

  When Schnitz's friend came back down from the hut it was enough to make him forget his worries for a few minutes.

  "Kankantz bring material for carry seats," Schnitz explained to the Terrans. "Make much fast."

  Kankantz made an enthusiastic gurgling noise. He blinked in a friendly fashion and the feathery crown around his eyes bobbed up and down. But Pincer
only had eyes for* the two thin slats and the several pieces of frayed rope that Kankantz

  had procured.

  "You mean you're going to make the seats out of that?" he asked weakly.

  Schnitz grasped one of the slats and swept it energetically about him, apparently wishing to demonstrate the stability of the board.

  "Do you really think this method of transport is trustworthy?" Pincer asked his wife. "I can't imagine we'll get very far with it."

  "Well, Johnny, do we have any other choice?"

  Meanwhile Schnitz, Kankantz and the third birdman began to cut notches in the two slats. For this purpose they used knives that were obviously trade merchandise of the Galactic Traders. At the ends of the boards they cut indentations in both sides of the wood. Then they tied on the lines by making loops at each end of the seats and tightening them around the notches. The finished products looked like primitive swings.

  Schnitz snapped his knife shut and tucked it away inside his thick covering of feathers. He regarded his work proudly, testing the ropes and checking the elasticity of the slats. Pincer watched him doubtfully.

  "Make good work," Schnitz announced while he scratched his meager belly.

  And with that he seemed to regard the matter as settled. He calmly squatted in front of Cora and breathed in the smoke from her cigarette. While he did so he rolled his eyes and clattered his beak in a sign of pleasure. Kankantz hunched down beside him and the other birdman simply hung down from a branch and dangled his head in front of Cora.

  "What are we supposed to do now?" asked Pincer. "Schnitz, we can't just stay here forever on this platform!"

  Schnitz was apparently annoyed by the interruption. "Wait for Lupatz," was his curt reply.

  A crackling of the underbrush attracted Pincer's attention. The foliage here was so dense that he could hardly see below. But what little he could observe was enough to set his heart to thumping.

  100 meters from the tree in which they were located, Pincer saw three Springers hacking a path through the thickets. They were headed straight for the hiding place.