<h2><SPAN name="ONE_ALONE" id="ONE_ALONE"></SPAN>9. ONE ALONE</h2>
<p>Once again the beach was a wide expanse of shingle, drying
fast under a sun hotter than any Shann had yet known on
Warlock. Summer had taken a big leap forward. The Terrans
worked in partial shade below a cliff <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'overhand'">overhang</ins>, not only for
the protection against the sun's rays, but also as a precaution
against any roving Throg air patrol.</p>
<p>Under Thorvald's direction the curious shell dragged from
the sea—if it were a shell, and the texture as well as the
general shape suggested that—was equipped with a framework
to act as a stabilizing outrigger. What resulted was
certainly an odd-looking craft, but one which obeyed the
paddles and rode the waves easily.</p>
<p>In the full sunlight the outline of islands was clear-cut—red-and-gray-rock
above an aquamarine sea. The Terrans had
sighted no more of the sea monsters, and the major evidence
of native life along the shore was a new species of clak-claks,
roosting in cliff holes and scavenging along the sands, and
various queer fish and shelled things stranded in small tide
pools—to the delight of the wolverines, who fished eagerly up
and down the beach, ready to investigate all debris of the
storm.</p>
<p>"That should serve." Thorvald tightened the last lashing,
straightening up, his fists resting on his hips, to regard the
craft with a measure of pride.</p>
<p>Shann was not quite so content. He had matched the Survey
officer in industry, but the need for haste still eluded him.
So the ship—such as it was—was ready. Now they would be<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></SPAN></span>
off to explore Thorvald's Utgard. But a small and nagging
doubt inside the younger man restrained his enthusiasm over
such a voyage. Fork-tail had come out of the section of ocean
which they must navigate in this very crude transport. And
Shann had no desire to meet an uninjured and alert fork-tail
in the latter's own territory.</p>
<p>"Which island do we head for?" Shann kept private his
personal doubts of their success. The outmost tip of that chain
was only a distant smudge lying low on the water.</p>
<p>"The largest ... that one with trees."</p>
<p>Shann whistled. Since the night of the storm the wolverines
were again more amenable to the very light discipline
he tried to keep. Perhaps the fury of that elemental burst had
tightened the bond between men and animals, both alien to
this world. Now Taggi and his mate padded toward him in
answer to his summons. But would the wolverines trust the
boat? Shann dared not risk their swimming, nor would he
agree to leaving them behind.</p>
<p>Thorvald had already stored their few provisions on board.
And now Shann steadied the craft against a rock which
served them as a wharf, while he coaxed Taggi gently. Though
the wolverine protested, he at last scrambled in, to hunch at
the bottom of the shell, the picture of apprehension. Togi <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'look'">took</ins>
longer to make up her mind. And at length Shann picked
her up bodily, soothing her with quiet speech and stroking
hands, to put her beside her mate.</p>
<p>The shell settled under the weight of the passengers, but
Thorvald's foresight concerning the use of the outrigger
proved right, for the craft was seaworthy. It answered readily
to the dip of their paddles as they headed in a curve, keeping
the first of the islands between them and the open sea for a
breakwater.</p>
<p>From the air, Thorvald's course would have been a crooked
one, for he wove back and forth between the scattered islands
of the chain, using their lee calm for the protection of the
canoe. About two thirds of the group were barren rock, inhabited
only by clak-claks and creatures closer to true Terran<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></SPAN></span>
birds in that they wore a body plumage which resembled
feathers, though their heads were naked and leathery. And,
Shann noted, the clak-claks and the birds did not roost on
the same islands, each choosing their own particular home
while the other species did not invade that territory.</p>
<p>The first large-sized island they approached was crowned
by trees, but it had no beach, no approach from sea level.
Perhaps it might be possible to climb to the top of the cliff
walls. But Thorvald did not suggest that they try it, heading
on toward the next large outcrop of land and rock.</p>
<p>Here white lace patterned in a ring well out from the
shore to mark a circle of reefs. They nosed their way patiently
around the outer circumference of that threatening barrier,
hunting the entrance to the lagoon. Within, there were at
least two beaches with climbable ascents to the upper reaches
inland. Though Shann noted that the vegetation showing was
certainly not luxuriant, the few trees within their range of
vision being pallid growths, rather like those they had sighted
on the fringe of the desert. Leather-headed flyers wheeled out
over their canoe, coasting on outspread wings to peer down at
the Terran invaders in a manner which suggested intelligent
curiosity.</p>
<p>A full flock gathered to escort them as they continued
along the outer line of the reef. Thorvald impatiently dug his
paddle deeper. They had explored more than half of the
reef now without chancing on an entrance channel.</p>
<p>"Regular fence," Shann commented. One could begin to
believe that the barrier had been deliberately reared to
frustrate visitors. Hot sunshine, reflected back from the surface
of the waves, burned their exposed skin, so they dared not
discard their ragged clothing. And the wolverines were growing
increasingly restless. Shann did not know how much
longer the animals would consent to their position as passengers
without raising active protest.</p>
<p>"How about trying the next one?" he asked, knowing at the
same time his companion was not in any mood to accept such
a suggestion with good will.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>The officer made no reply, but continued to use his steer
paddle in a fashion which spelled out his stubborn determination
to find a passage. This was a personal thing now,
between Ragnar Thorvald of the Terran Survey and a wall of
rock, and the man's will was as strongly rooted as those
water-washed stones.</p>
<p>On the southwestern tip of the reef they discovered a possible
opening. Shann eyed the narrow space between two
fanglike rocks dubiously. To him that width of water lane
seemed dangerously limited, the sudden slam of a wave
could dash them against either of those pillars, with disastrous
results, before they could move to save themselves. But
Thorvald pointed their blunt bow toward the passage with
seeming confidence, and Shann knew that as far as the
officer was concerned, this was their door to the lagoon.</p>
<p>Thorvald might be stubborn, but he was not a fool. And
his training and skill in such maneuvers was proved when the
canoe rode in a rising swell in and by those rocks to gain the
safety, in seconds, of the calm lagoon. Shann sighed with relief,
but ventured no comment.</p>
<p>Now they must paddle back along the inner side of the
reef to locate the beaches, for fronting them on this side of
the well-protected island were cliffs as formidable as those
which guarded the first of the chain at which they had aimed.</p>
<p>Shann glanced now and then over the side of the boat,
hoping in these shallows to sight the sea bed or some of the
inhabitants of these waters. But there was no piercing that
green murk. Here and there nodules of rock projected inches
or feet above the surface, awash in the wavelets, to be avoided
by the voyagers. Shann's shoulders ached and burned, his
muscles were unaccustomed to the steady swing of the
paddles, and the fire of the sun stabbed easily through only
two layers of ragged cloth to his skin. He ran a dry tongue
over dryer lips and gazed eagerly ahead in search of the first
of the beaches.</p>
<p>What was so important about this island that Thorvald <i>had</i>
to make a landing here? The officer's stories of a native race<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></SPAN></span>
which they might turn against the Throgs to their own advantage
was thin, very thin indeed. Especially now, as Shann
weighed an unsupported theory against that ache in his
shoulders, the possibility of being marooned on the inhospitable
shore ahead, against the fifty probable dangers he could
total up with very little expenditure of effort. A small nagging
doubt of Thorvald's obsession began to grow in his mind.
How could Shann even be sure that that carved disk and
Thorvald's hokus-pokus with it had been on the level? On the
other hand what motive would the officer have for trying such
an act just to impress Shann?</p>
<p>The beach at last! As they headed the canoe in that direction
the wolverines nearly brought disaster on them. The
animals' restlessness became acute as they sighted and scented
the shore and knew that they were close. Taggi reared,
plunged over the side of the craft, and Shann had just time to
fling his weight in the opposite direction as a counterbalance
when Togi followed. They splashed shoreward while Thorvald
swore fluently and Shann grabbed to save the precious
supply bag. In a shower of gravel the animals made land
and humped well up on the strand before pausing to shake
themselves and splatter far and wide the burden of moisture
transported by their shaggy fur.</p>
<p>Ashore, the canoe became a clumsy burden and, light as
the craft was, both of the men sweated to get it up on the
beach without snagging the outrigger against stones and
brush. With the thought of a Throg patrol in mind they
worked swiftly to cover it.</p>
<p>Taggi raised an egg-patterned snout from a hollow and
licked at the stippling of greenish yolk matting his fur. The
wolverines had wasted no time in sampling the contents of a
wealth of nesting places beginning just above the high-water
mark, cupping two to four tough-shelled eggs in each. Treading
a path among those clutches, the Terrans climbed a red-earthed
slope toward the interior of the island.</p>
<p>They found water, not the clear running of a mountain
spring, but a stalish pool in a stone-walled depression on the<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></SPAN></span>
crest of a rise, filled by the bounty of the rain. The warm
liquid was brackish, but satisfied in part their thirst, and they
drank eagerly.</p>
<p>The outer cliff wall of the island was just that, a wall, for
there was an inner slope to match the outer. And at the bottom
of it a showing of purple-green foliage where plants and
stunted trees fought for living space. But there was nothing
else, though they quartered that growing section with the
care of men trying to locate an enemy outpost.</p>
<p>That night they camped in the hollow, roasted eggs in a
fire, and ate the fishy-tasting contents because it was food,
not because they relished what they swallowed. Tonight no
cloud bank hung overhead. A man, gazing up, could see the
stars. The stars and other things, for over the distant shore of
the mainland they sighted the cruising lights of a Throg ship
and waited tensely for that circle of small sparkling points
to swing out toward their own hiding hole.</p>
<p>"They haven't given up," Shann stated what was obvious to
them both.</p>
<p>"The settler transport," Thorvald reminded him. "If they
do not take a prisoner to talk her in and allay suspicion, then—"
he snapped his fingers—"the Patrol will be on their
tails, but quick!"</p>
<p>So just by keeping out of Throg range, they were, in a way,
still fighting. Shann settled back, his tender shoulders resting
against a tree hole. He tried to count the number of days
and nights lying behind him now since that early morning
when he had watched the Terran camp die under the aliens'
weapons. But one day faded into another so that he could
remember only action parts clearly—the attack on the
grounded scoutship, the sortie they had made in turn on the
occupied camp, the dust storm on the river, the escape from
the Throg ship in the mountain crevice, and their meeting
with the hound. Then that storm which had driven them to
seek cover after their curious experience with the disk. And
now this day when they had safely reached the island.</p>
<p>"Why this island?" he asked suddenly.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"That carved piece was found here on the edge of this
valley," Thorvald returned matter-of-factly.</p>
<p>"But today we found nothing at all——"</p>
<p>"Yet this island supplies us with a starting point."</p>
<p>A starting point for what? A detailed search of all the
islands, great and small, in the chain? And how did they
dare continue to paddle openly from one to the next with
the Throgs sweeping the skies? They would have provided an
excellent target today as they combed that reef for an hour
or more. Wearily, Shann spread out his hands in the very
faint light of their tiny fire, poked with a finger tip at smarting
points which would have been blisters had those hands
not known a toughening process in the past. More paddling
tomorrow? But that was tomorrow, and at least they need not
worry tonight about any Throg attack once they had doused
the fire, an action which was now being methodically attended
to by Thorvald. Shann pushed down on the bed of leaves he
had heaped together. The night was quiet. He could hear
only the murmur of the sea, a lulling croon of sound to make
one sleep deep, perhaps dreamlessly.</p>
<p>Sun struck down, making a dazzle about him. Shann
turned over drowsily in that welcome heat, stretching a little
as might a cat at ease. Then he really awoke under the press
of memory, and the need for alertness rode him once more.
Beaten-down grass, the burnt-out embers of last night's fire
were beside him. But of Thorvald and the wolverines there
were no signs.</p>
<p>Not only did he now lie alone, but he was possessed by
the feeling that he had not been deserted only momentarily,
that Taggi, Togi and the Survey officer were indeed gone.
Shann sat up, got to his feet, breathing faster, a prickle of
uneasiness spreading in him, bringing him to that inner slope,
up it to the crest from which he could see that beach where
last night they had concealed the canoe.</p>
<p>Those lengths of brush and tufts of grass they had used
for a screen were strewn about as if tossed in haste. And not
too long before....<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>For the canoe was out in the calm waters within the reef,
the paddle blade wielded by its occupant flashing brightly
in the sun. On the shingle below, the wolverines prowled back
and forth, whining in bewilderment.</p>
<p>"Thorvald——!"</p>
<p>Shann put the full force of his lungs into that hail, hearing
the name ring from one of the small peaks at his back. But the
man in the boat did not turn his head; there was no change
in the speed of that paddle dip.</p>
<p>Shann leaped down the outer slope to the beach, skidding
the last few feet, saving himself from going headfirst into the
water only by a painful wrench of his body.</p>
<p>"Thorvald!" He tried calling again. But that head, bright
under the sun did not turn; there was no answer. Shann tore
at his clothes and kicked off his boots.</p>
<p>He did not think of the possibility of lurking sea monsters
as he plunged into the water, swam for the canoe <ins class="corr" title="Original reads 'edgeing'">edging</ins>
along the reef, plainly bound for the sea gate to the southwest.
Shann was not a powerful swimmer. His first impetus
gave him a good start, but after that he had to fight for each
foot he gained, and the fear grew in him that the other would
reach the reef passage before he could catch up. He wasted
no more time trying to hail Thorvald, putting all his breath
and energy into the effort of overtaking the craft.</p>
<p>And he almost made it, his hand actually slipping along
the log which furnished the balancing outrigger. As his fingers
tightened on the slimy wood he looked up, and loosed that
hold again in time perhaps to save his life.</p>
<p>For when he ducked to let the water cover his head in an
impromptu half dive, Shann carried with him a vivid picture,
a picture so astounding that he was a little dazed.</p>
<p>Thorvald had stopped paddling at last, because that paddle
had to be put to another use. Had Shann not released his
hold on the log and gone under water, that crudely fashioned
piece of wood might, have broken his skull. He saw only too
clearly the paddle raised in both hands as an ugly weapon,<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></SPAN></span>
and Thorvald's face, convulsed in a spasm of rage which
made it as inhuman as a Throg's.</p>
<p>Sputtering and choking, Shann fought up to the air once
more. The paddle was back at the task for which it had been
carved, the canoe was underway again, its occupant paying
no more attention to what lay behind than if he <i>had</i> successfully
disposed of the man in the water. To follow would be
only to invite another attack, and Shann might not be so
lucky next time. He was not good enough a swimmer to try
any tricks such as oversetting the canoe, not when Thorvald
was an expert who could easily finish off a fumbling opponent.</p>
<p>Shann swam wearily to shore where the wolverines waited,
unable yet to make sense of that attack in the lagoon. What
had happened to Thorvald? What motive had led the other
to leave Shann and the animals on this island, the island
Thorvald had called a starting point in his search for the
natives of Warlock? Or had every bit of that tall tale been
invented by the Survey officer for some obscure purpose of
his own, certainly no sane purpose? Against that logic Shann
could only set the carved disk, and he had only Thorvald's
word that that had been discovered here.</p>
<p>He dragged himself out of the water on his hands and
knees and lay, winded and gasping. Taggi came to lick his
face, nuzzle him, making a small, bewildered whimpering.
While above, the leather-headed birds called and swooped,
fearful and angry for their disturbed nesting place. The Terran
retched, coughed up water, and then sat up to look
around.</p>
<p>The spread of lagoon was bare. Thorvald must have
rounded the south point of land and be very close to the reef
passage, perhaps through it by now. Not stopping for his
clothes, Shann started up the slope, crawling part of the way
on his hands and knees.</p>
<p>He reached the crest again and got to his feet. The sun
made an eye-dazzling glitter of the waves. But under the
shade of his hands Shann saw the canoe again, beyond the<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></SPAN></span>
reef, heading on out along the island chain, not back to shore
as he had expected. Thorvald was still on the hunt, but for
what? A reality which existed, or a dream in his own disturbed
brain?</p>
<p>Shann sat down. He was very hungry, for that adventure
in the lagoon had sapped his strength. And he was a prisoner
along with the wolverines, a prisoner on an island which was
half the size of the valley which held the Survey camp. As
far as he knew, his only supply of drinkable water was that
tank of evil-smelling rain which would be speedily evaporated
by a sun such as the one now beating down on him.
And between him and the shore was the sea, a sea which
harbored such creatures as the fork-tail he had watched die.</p>
<p>Thorvald was still steadily on course, not to the next island
in the chain, a small, bare knob, but to the one beyond that.
He could have been hurrying to a meeting. Where and with
what?</p>
<p>Shann got to his feet, started down to the beach once more,
sure now that the officer had no intention of returning, that
he was again on his own with only his wits and strength to
keep him alive—alive and somehow free of this water-washed
prison.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></SPAN></span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />