The Space Guardian by Max Daniels Page B

asked.
    “Wounded?” he whispered furiously. “The damned thing doesn’t even have indigestion. It liked it!”
    The indignation in his voice tickled Lahks. In her effort to resist giggling, her tone was unnaturally grave. “Its heat sensors were closed. That means it isn’t hunting anymore.” Suddenly humor was intensified by a delightful notion. “Stoat!” she exclaimed with a broad grin. “You did tell me there was a rumor that the things actually breathe fire, that their breath is extremely hot?”
    “That’s why they’re called dragons, yes, but it’s imposs—. Wait a bit. On an oxygen-atmosphere planet everything lives by oxidation—that is, by burning fuel. We do it indirectly, and suitable fuel is limited to those things that fit our enzyme systems. But if we were tough enough to have a fire in our bellies. . .”
    “Then anything burnable at the temperature of that fire would be fuel,” Lahks finished for him. She laughed softly. “I wondered how any number of carnivores that big could exist where there was so little to prey upon. But they aren’t really carnivores. They eat anything oxidizable at their digestive temperatures.”
    “But they prefer meat and fat because it burns slower and hotter—sure, and because they must have a subsidiary system to provide chemicals for growth and repair . . . unless they are a biological miracle that converts energy to mass—. By the Power, I’m ready to believe anything. Still, that bomb must have been hotter than any internal temperature.”
    “So, what? You can set oil afire with an alcohol burner and the oil burns hotter than the original flame. They must have a mechanism for carrying the heat away and distributing it, just as we have. Now all we need to know is how long that many calories will keep the beast contented.”
    Stoat shook his head. “I can figure the caloric value of the bomb, but I don’t know anything about the dragon’s metabolism or its usual intake.”
    A drom leaned forward and nudged Lahks. She rose, stared around. “Look, there’s some higher ground ahead that looks as if it might provide shelter. We could go to earth there, set another bomb, and watch.”
    “Do you think you can tell one dragon from another?”
    “Not unless they’re markedly different in size, but you said they were loners, not gregarious. We’ll know what direction it comes from.”
    On his feet, too, Stoat looked toward the area Lahks had noticed, then swung slowly. The ridge she had seen, silvered in places by the old moon, continued in a rough semicircle for some distance. The light was deceptive because Stoat, like the cup-dwellers, had lost the habit of traveling in the dark. He judged it to be about a kilometer to the crest,
    “I would guess,” he said slowly, “that the area inside that ridge is this fellow’s territory. We were pretty central, which might be why he showed up so soon. Let’s try for that ridge, see if we can find cover, and set our bomb. If the beastie doesn’t show up, we can count on a good hour’s traveling time for each bomb swallowed.”
    “But. . .” Lahks began. Then she said, “Oh, I see. The trap is a much higher heat stimulus than we are and might attract the dragon even if it wasn’t too hungry. But, then what?”
    They were already walking toward their objective and the full moonlight struck Stoat’s face. A grin flickered across its feral intensity.
    “I think,” he replied, “that if this one doesn’t take the bait and it goes off, the heat will attract the inhabitant of the next territory. If our luck holds, it probably won’t dare invade, but it will be close to the ridge and hungry. If the ground slopes away on the other side, we can toss another bomb down. Even if the impact sets it off—which it shouldn’t—it will draw the new dragon away from our direct path and give us time to set another bomb and get free.”

    The next morning found them still in the highlands but overlooking the lip