Free Space Gypsies by Murray Leinster Page A

monstrous quaverings went up and down the scale, and flying things launched themselves from jungle treetops and dashed crazily about, and doubtless there were small walking or crawling things that crouched down in their holes and listened to it fearfully, But Howell and Karen hardly noticed it.
    They were looking at each other as if they’d never seen each other quite completely before, when Ketch shouted from a little distance away. Then Karen smiled ruefully and drew away from Howell as he released her, and they greeted Ketch and Karen’s father as they came to the port of the yacht.
    “We found a rubble-heap,” said Ketch, with a look of shrewdness on his face. “And something else.”
    Breen puffed up into the yacht.
    “Bad luck!” he grunted. “Very bad luck! There were holes there! Somebody or something dug those holes! Lately!”
    Howell nodded unemotionally. Ketch and Breen were agitated by some discovery they’d made. He had now to make them resolute and ready to face what the revelation of a slug-ship’s approach meant. It was, in substance, that they were almost certainly about to be killed. If they reacted as he believed they should—And if they didn’t—He said, “I’ve something to tell you—”
    “They were humans,” said Ketch. “They—”
    “No doubt about it!” puffed Breen. “No doubt at all! They dug holes down to deposits of metal in the rubble. There was rust left behind. They’d found machinery, maybe. Rusted past recognition, but they can smelt it down, no doubt. Their ships—”
    “We found where their ships had grounded,” interposed Ketch. “Brushwood crushed flat. They’d landed, and they’d stayed a while, digging in the rubble-heaps.”
    “Must’ve had metal detectors,” said Breen, still partly out of breath. “To tell where the metal was. That’d make them—human. They couldn’t be anything else!”
    “They could,” said Howell coldly. “They could be slug-ship beings like those in the one that’s orbiting now, to come down next time around.”
    “But they have to be humans! They’re gone now, but—” Then Breen stopped short. “What’s that you say?”
    “There’s a slug-ship in orbit,” said Howell. “Karen heard its whine. Considering the booby trap and the Marintha plainly visible from the sky, where do you think they’ll turn up?”
    There was silence. Then Ketch said almost with zest, “We’ve got to get away fast! Take what we can carry and hide until we can make contact with the humans here. They’re bound to go away again!”
    “After studying the Marintha ,” said Howell savagely, “and learning that there’s another human race than the one they know and set traps for! After possibly guessing that this other human race was wiped out and now has built up again from survivors of the rubble-heap cities after they were smashed thousands of years ago!”
    “What—” Ketch’s mouth dropped open.
    “And after very probably learning,” continued Howell, still savagely, “that they can do another massacre now, because they’ll have traditions if they haven’t records of smashing the civilization of the rubble-heap men! And they’ll know where to find it. Surely! Do we have to go and hide so they can do that all over again?”
    Breen asked querulously, “What else can we do?”
    Then Howell told them what else they could do. Their response was almost unbelievable. They were civilized men, citified men, generations removed from any real danger of sudden death. But they were not generations removed from drama-tapes, in which they’d experienced vicariously all sorts of thrills and splendid adventures. Watching them, they developed a fine confidence that they’d survive unharmed all the dangers and dramatic twists of the plot. Now they found themselves cast in roles of a highly dramatic type. Howell’s instructions sounded like stage directions. Breen obediently took one of Ketch’s sporting rifles. Ketch hesitated. He spoke