News From Elsewhere by Edmuind Cooper Page A

came down the ladder to see them off. He exchanged a few last-minute words with Alsdorf, who had decided to ride with the turret hatch open—in case quick action was needed.
    “How is the adrenalin, Kurt?”
    The geophysicist gave him a thin smile. “I’m not trigger-happy, if that’s what you mean.”
    Lukas grinned. “If they start throwing telepathy at you, don’t waste time with the sleep bombs. Get the hell out of there.”
    “We’ll see.”
    Lukas went to the driver’s compartment. “I’ll call you on the transceiver in fifteen minutes, Joe. Don’t let them pull any rabbits out of your hat.”
    Duluth laughed. “Maybe we’ll use a little magic ourselves.”
    Chirico waved and switched on the engine. Presently the tractor was lumbering purposefully toward the forest in a dead straight line.
    Lukas went back to the navigation deck and settled down to wait and watch. He lit a cigarette and made himself comfortable in the astrodome, thus commanding the view on all sides. There was nothing to be seen. Eventually he realized it was time for the radio check. He climbed down the short ladder and switched the transceiver on.
    “Ship to tractor, ship to tractor. Have you made contact yet?”
    “Tractor to ship.” Lukas recognized Duluth’s voice. “Tractor to ship. We hit shantytown a couple of minutes ago. Kurt is raising his blood pressure trying to make Masumo understand what he’s talking about. The old son of an ape is playing stupid. Looks as if he’s enjoying it, too. Any developments your end?”
    “Dead quiet. I hope it stays that way. ... I’ll leave this set on receive; then you can call me any time.”
    “O.K., Mike. This is the picture so far. The old boy wanted to take Kurt into one of those adobe shacks—a bit bigger than the rest. It looks like some kind of council chamber. But Kurt wasn’t having any. So he and Masumo are standing just in front of the tractor. The louder Kurt shouts, the more the old boy seems to like it. At the moment he’s calmly drawing patterns in the sand with a pointed stick. You know, they look like star maps. . . . Jesus, they are star maps! Mike, can you believe this—he’s plotted our course for a Solar deceleration! Now Kurt has really lost his temper. Any moment now he’ll start tossing something. . . . Hey, Kurt! For Chrissake—”
    Suddenly Duluth’s voice was cut off. Lukas felt the sweat forming on his forehead. He immediately threw the switch to transmit.
    “Ship to tractor! Joe! What’s happened? Are you receiving me?”
    There was no background noise—nothing.
    Lukas stared dully at the transceiver, trying to work out all possibilities. Mechanical failure was possible, but least likely. Somebody or something had blasted the transmission.
    Minutes went by, and nothing happened. Lukas hauled himself up into the astrodome and gazed intently on all sides. The landscape was as empty as ever. He went down and tried the transceiver again, but his calls were unanswered. He tried to decide what to do. But all the plans he devised were blocked by the basic fact that he must not leave the ship unguarded. That would be the final stupidity. Again he tried the transceiver, and again there was no response. He could only wait and hope.
    Meanwhile the sun moved slowly down the yellowish sky until it hung over the forest. Mechanically, Lukas swung himself up into the astrodome for the twentieth time and looked around. Then he saw something moving and grabbed the telescope.
    He couldn’t believe his eyes. The tractor was halfway across the sand belt, heading straight for the   Henri Poincare.   Sitting crosslegged in front of its turret, rocking gently with the tractor’s motion and looking like a somnolent toad, was Masumo.
    Lukas jumped down from the dome. He knew simultaneously that everything had gone wrong and yet, that somehow it was all right.
    Then he heard a voice speak softly in his ear:   “Be not afraid, man