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Updated: June 29, 2025
The Throg drew the translator back to his mandibles. "When ship call you answer make lip talk your words! Say bad sickness here need help. Code man dead you talk in his place. I listen. You say wrong, you die you die a long time. Hurt bad all that time " Clear enough. So he had been able to buy a little time! But how soon before the incoming ship would call? The Throgs seemed to expect it.
If the Survey officer was going to make any move in the mottled dusk, it would have to be soon. Mottled dusk.... The Throgs had moved a little away from him. Shann looked beyond them to the perimeter of the cleared field, not really because he expected to see any rescuers break from cover there. And when he did see a change, Shann thought his own sight was at fault.
When we intercept their calls they're pure gibberish to us. Can they read our codes?" "The supposition is that they can't. Only, concerning Throgs, all we know is supposition. Anyway, they do know the routine for establishing a Terran colony, and we can't alter that procedure except in small nonessentials," Thorvald said grimly.
"And what are the chances of our becoming warlocks ourselves?" Again Thorvald's smile faded, but he gave a curt little nod to Shann as if approving that thought. "That is something we are going to look into, and now! If we have to convince some stubborn females, as well as fight Throgs, well" he shrugged "we'll have a busy, busy, time." "Well, it works as good as new."
Two of the Throgs back on the firing line started up after their leader. Shann caught a whiff of their odor as the wounded alien advanced with the single-mindedness of a robot. It would be best to head for the river. Tall grass twisted about the Terran's legs as he began to run. In spite of the gloom, he hesitated to cross that open space.
Shann reached the count of one hundred. Twice a blaster bolt singed ground within distance close enough to make him wince, but most of the fire carried well above his head. All of his spears were gone, save for one he had kept, hoping for a last good target. One of the Throgs who appeared to be directing the fire of the others was facing Shann's position.
Those dark lumps, most of them bare rock, only a few crowned with stunted vegetation, might well harbor anything, Shann decided, giants or the malignant spirits of any race. Perhaps even the Throgs had their tales of evil things in the night, beetle monsters to people wild, unknown lands. He caught at Thorvald's arm and suggested a practical course of action.
He knew enough of Survey procedure to guess the reason for such a move on the part of the aliens. "The settler transport?" "Yes, the ship. She won't planet here without the proper signal. And the Throgs can't give that. If they don't take her, their time's run out before they have even made a start here." "But how could they know that the transport is nearly due?
There was a limit to their amount of varied ammunition, although they had dedicated every waking moment of the past few days to manufacture and testing. Luckily the enemy had had none of their energy beams at the domes. And so far they had made no move to lift their flyers for retaliation blasts. But the Throgs were pulling themselves into order. Blaster fire cut the dusk.
Thorvald tossed his improvised stone ax from hand to hand. "But do the Throgs know that?" The implications, the possibilities, in that idea struck home to Shann. Now he began to understand what Thorvald might be planning. "Now there is going to be a native race."
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