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Radio Beasts

<h2>V</h2> ANT-BEAR AND ANT-MAN It is characteristic of Myles Cabot that, in desperate situations such as the one in which he now found himself, he always either becomes engrossed in some personally-detached scientific speculation as to his own fate, or else his thoughts become filled with some absurd doggerel ditty or jingle. In the present instance, as he clung naked to his perch on the side of the pit, with the ant bear approaching him from below and the ant man covering him with a rifle from above, all that he could think of was that old Harvard Glee Club song about the darky, which ends with the words: <div class="poetry"> <div class="stanza"> <div class="verse">“O Lord, if you can’t help me,</div> <div class="verse">For Heaven’s sake don’t help that bear!”</div> </div></div> As the ten-foot jaws of the huge carnivorous beast came closer and closer to Cabot, the ant man on the bank could no longer restrain his glee, and began dancing up and down with joy. Cabot watched his antics with disgust, and even shouted across at him: “Shut up, you d—— Eli! Do you think that that is a sportsmanlike way to act on the bleachers?” But, of course, the ant didn’t hear, as Cabot was without his headset and artificial antennae. The ant continued to dance, and the ant bear continued to crawl up the side of the pit, when suddenly the edge of the crater crumbled beneath the ant, and in an instant he, too, was catapulted down into the arena. A shower of gravel smote the bear, and he could no more resist the tropism which it excited in his make-up than a sunflower can resist turning its face to the sun. With a swift somersault he seized the surprised Formian between his jaws, and then backed slowly down into the depths of the sand at the bottom of the pit. Cabot watched the placid ant bear and the frantically but futilely struggling ant man until both had disappeared beneath the surface; then he heaved a sigh of relief, and looked for a way to escape before his jailer should digest the Formian and stir abroad again in search of further prey. But he could see nothing which held out any hope. Then his scientific mind came to his rescue, and he strove to recall all that he had learned of the diminutive ant bears of the earth during his childhood. He reviewed each item of their habits, until he recollected the furrows which they dig to lure their prey into their pits. He remembered seeing similar furrows in the plain where he now was. One such might furnish a way out. So he studied the edges of the crater until he located a slight dent at one side. Lowering himself from his perch, he cautiously made his way along the side of the pit until he came directly below the dent. There he started digging frantically, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing that the sliding sand was forming a gully in front of and above him. Step by step he crawled up this gully, still digging, ever digging, until he had nearly gained the top, when he heard a click behind him. Stopping digging, he glanced around, and there was the ant bear emerging from its lair, intent on eating him for its dessert. With one last supreme effort, Cabot scrambled over the edge into the furrow, and started running along it with the beast in hot pursuit. The furrow got shallower and shallower. Cabot could now see above the level of the plain as he ran on. It was like running in a dream. The shifting sands gave way with every step, so that progress seemed almost impossible, while the nightmare creature behind him gained, steadily gained. And then Cabot reached the end of the furrow and raced out upon the open plain. To his surprise the bear stopped abruptly. Evidently there were rules-of-the-game which governed even the crude mental processes of this beast, and one of these rules was: “No fair catching one of the other side when out of your territory.” But Myles did not wait to see whether this rule held. He sped on to the edge of the plain and to the shelter of the surrounding woods. There he regained his toga and revolver, and then continued into the depths of the forest. When he considered himself at a safe distance, he crawled into a clump of bushes; and not waiting for the night, lay down for a much-needed rest. It was morning again before he woke. Making his way back to the road, he continued his interminable journey northward. The word “northward” occurs very often, perhaps too often, in this narrative but it is typical of Myles Cabot’s quest. All day long, day after day, there rang in his ears the words, “northward, northward, ever northward.” He recited the words in cadence with his stride, they sang in the wind and in the swish of the trees. Have you ever sat at the extreme stern of an ocean liner in the moonlight and listened to the throb of the engines, the purr of the wake, and the hum of the rigging? Have you ever stood on the rear platform of a transcontinental train at night and watched the green lights slide backward in the converging darkness, and listened to the rush of the air and the rhythmic clank of the rails? If you have, you will understand the lilting song which impelled Myles Cabot onward, ever onward, toward his journey’s end. He had plenty of opportunity for thought as he dragged his weary feet along the road. He wondered as to the progress of the Civil War. Much of its success would depend upon whether Count Kamel had joined the Kew forces. Kamel had been the leader of the radicals in the popular assembly, who had launched the movement for a shorter working day, when the overthrow of the Formians two years ago had put an end to the period of slavery which every male Cupian had had to undergo in ant-land. But Prince Toron, the administration leader, at Cabot’s instigation had blocked this move, and had put through a bill authorizing the expenditure of this extra time upon the construction of public works. The measure had been cleverly baited with a promise which appealed strongly to the sport-loving Cupians, namely, that the first building erected would be a huge stadium for the holding of national games—the very stadium in which the assassination of Kew XII had later taken place. Another move which had helped in the passage of this legislation was the creation of a new cabinet post, the Minister of Public Works, which portfolio had been tactfully offered to Count Kamel, the leader of the radicals. <hr class="tb" /> Cabot smiled as he recalled these facts. “I hope that Toron gets to him again,” said Myles to himself, “and makes him some flattering offer in the present war.” Then he fell to worrying about the loss of his own artificial antennae. Without these, he would be unable to talk even to his own wife! And then it occurred to him that perhaps, even so, she might be able to talk to him, and thus only one-half of the conversation would have to be carried on by pad and stylus. How so? Quite a while ago, not content with adapting himself so as to talk in the antenna-fashion employed by these people with whom he had cast his lot, he had started to teach the Princess Lilla to talk with her mouth; for the anatomists of the university of Kuana had told him that the Cupians possess vocal chords like those of earth folk, even though they never use them. Myles had rigged up a small transmitting set, so that she could hear her own vocalization; but the performance had embarrassed her frightfully; and, therefore, she always practiced alone. “Myles,” she used to say, “the Supreme Builder gave antennae to us Cupians. Is it not a sacrilege to flout His gifts? If He had meant the men and women of our planet to send with their mouths, would He not have given us those funny cups on the side of the head to receive with? You are excusable, for the Supreme Builder made you differently. But we Cupians were made to send and receive with our antennae. Yet it cannot be wrong for a wife to do as her husband does; so I am determined to try to learn to talk with my mouth.” It is fortunate that she adhered to this determination, for by so doing she changed the history of a whole planet. But that is an episode which will be related further on in this narrative. For, at the time of which I now write, Myles did not know what progress, if any, she had made with spoken speech. One day as he trudged on, he came upon a placid herd of green cows, which were unusually well supplied with the red parasite which afflicts that breed. For some reason, the possibility of roast lobster was unusually alluring that day. Could he not spare just one cartridge, or must he save every shot for the enemy? And then it suddenly dawned on him that all these days he had not yet spent one single shot even on the enemy! What was the use of saving his ammunition for the ant men, and then never using it on them? From that thought there developed a detailed plan of action, so obvious that he cursed himself for not having conceived of it before. And yet it is just simple thoughts that are the evidence of the highest form of invention, according to innumerable patent office decisions. Ideas so simple that any one could have thought of them, except for the fact that no one ever did think of them until the inventor came along; ideas which doubtless escaped even him for a long time. Engrossed in his brilliant plan, Cabot forgot all about the green cows and their red parasites; so he pressed on, and soon found opportunity to put his plan into practice. For a kerkool, occupied by a single ant man, came charging down the concrete highway. As usual, Cabot hid in the bushes beside the road; but this time he took a pot-shot at the occupant of the car. The car, however, sped on and, rounding the turn ahead, disappeared from view. Perhaps the bright idea hadn’t been so bright after all; for how was Cabot, crack shot that he was, to expect that he could hit such a swiftly moving target as an ant in a kerkool? Once again he took up his weary march. He rounded the turn ahead. And there lay the kerkool, wrecked beside the road. The shot actually had taken effect after all! But what good was a wrecked kerkool? Would it not merely direct the attention of the Formians to the fact that one of their enemies was at large in this vicinity? It would; that was the second part of the plan. So Cabot lay down beside the wrecked car and awaited further developments. Developments were not long in developing, for soon another kerkool stopped to investigate. Its occupants were two ant men, armed with but a single rifle to the two of them. One dismounted, leaving the rifle in the car, and pattered over to take a look at the wreck. Just about then Myles opened fire, but made the mistake of shooting first at the ant who was on the ground. The shot disabled the black antagonist, without killing him, and thus permitted him to radiate a warning to his companion, who, of course had not heard the revolver. Cabot, in turn, could not hear the radiated warning, so he merely surmised it, but he had learned fairly well to judge such matters during his three years on Poros. The driver of the kerkool quickly fired one shot in Cabot’s direction and threw on full speed ahead. But, with a leap, the earthman grabbed the rear end of the car and trailed out behind as it rapidly accelerated. And now they were deadlocked. By this time Cabot had secured a foothold, but was not able to clamber aboard without dropping his revolver. Nor did he dare to shoot, for even a momentary release of the control levers by the driver would have spelled a collision and death to them both. The driver, for his part, was driving so fast that, in spite of his six legs, he could not spare two of them to take another shot at his passenger. Nor did he dare slow down, for that would have given Cabot an opportunity to shoot at him. But the deadlock was to the ant’s advantage. Time was playing into his hands; for he knew, and Cabot sensed, that they were rapidly nearing a town, at which it would be an easy matter for the ant to turn the man over to the authorities. And then the great god coincidence sat into the game, in opposition to his old enemy, the god of time. A Formian pinqui, on guard at a cross-road, held up one paw as a signal to stop, for another kerkool was approaching from the left and had the right of way. The driver disregarded the signal and the pinqui fired. The next instant Cabot was at the levers. How he ever got there he does not know; but the fact remains that fate had forced him into a situation which he had not dared to face, and that somehow he had mastered the situation. The other car just barely skinned by the rear, the pinqui fired a parting shot, and Cabot’s kerkool was off for the open country again. The ant-man at his side turned out to be only stunned, which probably accounts for his not letting go the levers and wrecking the car when he was shot. He was rapidly recovering, and Cabot was unarmed, having dropped his revolver when he had sprung to seize the controls. <hr class="tb" /> The rifle of the ant was lying beneath the ant’s body. Cabot stopped the kerkool as quickly as possible, and pondered for a moment on what course to take next. Escape from the ant would be easy; but if he fled, his whole brilliant scheme for obtaining possession of a kerkool would have gone for naught. To attempt to wrench the rifle from beneath the rapidly recuperating beast would probably bring the latter fully to his senses. Therefore, the only thing to do appeared to be to grapple with the Formian at once; and by taking him by surprise, try to get a strangle hold on him in his present comatose condition. Imagine tackling single-handed an ant with the brain of a man, the size of a horse, with razor-sharp mandibles! But it was Cabot’s only hope. If he could get the better of the Formian before the latter fully came to his senses, Myles had a bare chance of victory. As bad luck would have it, the ant man came to his senses before Cabot did get the better of him. But not before Cabot had placed both hands under the edge of the ant’s head, preparatory to twisting his neck, which is the weakest and most vulnerable spot on a Formian, the spot always sought in their frequent duels. A moment more of leeway, and this plan would have succeeded. But as it was, Myles was just too late. A sweep of the ant’s leg and Cabot’s right hand was dislodged and held down to the floor. The ant’s jaw clicked savagely, as he turned and faced his opponent; but still the man’s left hand held him off. This could not last long. Cabot’s left arm was gradually weakening. Nearer and nearer came the ant’s jaws to his throat. The fingers of his right hand twitched convulsively as he strove to release that arm. And then those fingers touched something familiar. With one last supreme effort, he moved his hand sufficiently to grasp his lost revolver. A shot severed the leg which was holding him, and in an instant he had thrust the smoking weapon squarely between the horrid jaws and fired again. The battle was over. It was Cabot’s last cartridge, but the battle was over. Cabot’s first inclination was to heave the body over among the rubbish; but on second thought he decided to use it as the keystone of a rather clever plan of camouflage. Propping the dead carcass up at the levers, so that it would appear to be driving, he crouched beside it, reached in front of it and started the kerkool. Thank Heavens he had had experience in driving the seatless machines of the Formians, as well as the more comfortable cars of his own people. Cabot passed through the first town without challenge, but evidently his strange appearance was noted and excited some curiosity, for at the second town he was confronted by a formidable array of ant pinquis. Hoist by his own petar, he was, for it was his own system of radio-communication, installed throughout the Kingdom, which had enabled the authorities to broadcast the news of his approach. There was nothing to do but run the gantlet; so thrusting aside the dead body of his companion, Myles took a firmer hold on the levers and charged full into the midst of the pinquis. The kerkool shuddered from stem to stern at the shock, but her gyroscopes kept her steady, and Cabot sped on out of town amid a shower of lead from the greatly surprised and demoralized enemy. The third town proved to be even a worse proposition, for by now the ant-men fully recognized Cabot’s identity and had thrown up a hasty barricade in the very heart of town. Putting on the brakes, he was just barely able to steer sharp to the right into a side street and thus avoid a collision with the barricade. But, alas, the side street proved to be merely a blind alley, a cul-de-sac. He was trapped! Well, so be it. He had the rifle and ammunition of the dead ant, and would sell his life dearly. Although the rifle was built to fit claws rather than hands and a shoulder, still he could use it. So parking the kerkool crossways at the end of the street, he crouched behind it, and opened fire on the ant men as they rounded the corner in pursuit. They at once withdrew, thus giving him a brief respite. But he realized that almost any moment they were likely to attack him from the roofs of the surrounding houses; and, accordingly, as soon as he had momentarily cleared the street, he withdrew into the house at its end. Of course, this was taking a chance on the occupants; but whoever they were, they discreetly kept out of the fight. The narrow window openings, which are typical of Porovian architecture, afforded ideal loopholes, and enabled Cabot to pick off with ease any black form which showed itself, either at the opening of the street or at the edge of any of the adjoining roofs. But this could not keep on forever. Even the bandolier which he had taken from the dead driver of the kerkool would in time become exhausted. And at any moment his enemies could be expected to enter his stronghold from the rear. So leaving the muzzle of his rifle conspicuously protruding from the window, he made a hurried search of the ground floor of the house and finally found what he wanted, namely, a chair, the legs of which were about the same size and shape as rifle barrels. When he returned to the window with the four chair legs, the Formians were throwing up breastworks at the corner of the street, so that they could fire at the window from under cover. Cabot arranged his chair legs at four of the windows, took a few shots at the barricade to let them know that his “force of defenders” was still active, and then hurriedly withdrew to the rear of the house with his real rifle and the few remaining rounds of ammunition. The street in the rear was vacant. There were still many simple points of the art of war, which the black rulers of Poros had yet to learn. But evidently they were learning very quickly; for Cabot had scarcely gone two blocks before the alley behind him was filled with rattling Formians intent on entering the dwelling which he had just quitted. Luckily he gained the cover of a doorway without their seeing him; and finding the door unlocked, he entered his second house of refuge. Within it was a Cupian. Eagerly the earthman rushed forward to greet him. But the Cupian, giving one horrified look at the intruder’s hair and beard, fled frantically to the upper floors. He could not hear Cabot’s words of reassurance, nor could Cabot hear the shriek of terror which he must have given. Undoubtedly he would spread the alarm; so there was no time to be lost. Rushing through this house as he had through the other, Myles found that the rear of this house looked out upon open fields with woods beyond; and soon he was rapidly running toward this new haven. But before he could gain the woods, the black pack debouched from the city in pursuit. It was now evening. The red sky in the west enabled Myles to get his sense of direction, and to proceed due northward through the woods, which fortunately he reached in advance of his pursuers. But still the pack gained. Finally he arrived at the top of a cliff, beneath which lay a placid lake. And in the middle of the lake rose a turreted island. He had reached his journey’s end after forty days of weary wandering. For this was Lake Luno! There were only a few more paraparths of daylight left: so, lying down behind a fallen tree-trunk at the very edge of the bank, Cabot opened fire at the oncoming Formians. They, too, at once took cover, and thus both sides sniped at each other as the velvet blackness of the Porovian night crept up out of the eastern sky. Between shots the earthman took many a longing look at his home across the water. Soon it would be too dark to see to shoot, and then the black horde would rush Cabot’s position. So, just before the pink light had completely faded in the west, he rapidly fired all his remaining ammunition among the trees before him, heaved his now useless rifle over into the water, dived off into the lake below, and struck for his island, his family and his home. <hr class="tb" /> As he cleaved the water with the long measured sweep of the trained swimmer that he was—for he had been a distinguished member of the aquatic team at Harvard and had never let a day go by without a dip in the tank—his heart sang to the time of his strokes: “Going home, going home, going home.” There was still just enough light in the sky for him to make out the outline of the island, but not enough for his pursuers to see him from the top of the cliff, though they did pepper the water pretty well in a direct line from their position to the island. But they gave him credit for much more speed than he was capable of, and so most of their bullets landed far ahead of him. He knew that the Formians would not follow him farther, at least for that night. Formians are no swimmers, having a horror of water. There were plenty of boats along the shore of Lake Luno, but he was certain that his enemies would not venture out in the night, for fear of a spill. The only danger was that they might send some of their Cupian allies across; but he doubted this, in view of the fact that they probably thought him still armed with the rifle and respected his marksmanship. No, he was fairly safe for the present. Darkness had completely enveloped the planet as Cabot pulled himself wearily upon the beach of his own island. For some time he lay weakly upon the sand, panting, utterly worn out. But at last he roused his exhausted frame and groped his way up the familiar path to the summit. He was there! He was home! In a few moments he would be clasping his Lilla close in his arms. Oh, how he loved her, who had made this planet a home for him, instead of a mere dreary exile in the skies. In a few moments he would see for the first time his tiny son. Forgotten were his enemies. Forgotten was Prince Yuri, the traitor. Forgotten was the thousand-stad journey. For as Myles clambered up the path, his sole idea was: “Lilla and home and little Kew.” But the civil war was abruptly recalled to his memory when he reached the summit and found Luno Castle in total darkness! The massive door was standing idly open. There was not a sound of occupancy within. With an intense pang of anxiety, he rushed across the threshold. He switched on the hall light. At least there was some comfort, for the electricity was still in working order. But scarcely had the light gone on, when a bullet whistled through the doorway from outside. Doubtless the best sharpshooters of the enemy had been waiting on the opposite bank for just such an opportunity as this! Several more bullets followed in rapid succession, but a hasty slamming of the great door put a stop to any further incursions of this sort. And Myles found and lighted a pocket flash lamp, before proceeding to the upper floors. The flash would not throw enough light to furnish a target for the Formians. Upstairs there was evidence of considerable confusion; furniture overturned, draperies torn and so forth; but no signs of his family, of the doctors and nurses, or of the servants. His heart was filled with an agony of suspense, his mind with a growing realization that he had arrived too late. Each room he penetrated in turn, searching, ever searching, until at last he reached the great banquet hall on the highest story. And there a sad sight met his eyes! A square altar had been erected in the center of the room. Around it, in a Pythagorian triangle, stood three candlesticks, holding the burned-out stubs of candles. And on the altar, wrapped in the imperial robes of the Kew dynasty, lay the body of a baby Cupian, only a few sangths old! With a cry of anguish Cabot clasped the tiny form to his breast and covered it with kisses. But it gave back no response; it was cold and stiff. For a long time he stayed with his dead. He examined the little toes, with which, but for this cruel civil war, he might have played, “This little pig went to market.” He chafed one tiny hand, and wrapped all its little fingers around a finger of his own, fondly picturing himself as strolling in the castle garden with a little toddler at his side. He knelt by the altar and talked baby talk to the little dead darling. Then wept bitterly and cursed the pride which had kept him from his child in its hour of need. And what of Lilla, more precious to him than this infant whom he had never known? Very evidently she had been taken prisoner rather than killed. Perhaps Yuri would hold her as a hostage, as the price of Cupian surrender. Or more likely he would force her to marry him, as soon as he could dispose of her husband. Whichever was his plan, it behooved Myles to remain alive for Lilla’s sake. If Myles’ own grief could be so sharp at the death of a baby whom he had never known, how much more bitter must have been the grief of her who had held this child warm and gurgling to her breast! And in addition, she was now the captive of the murderer of her father, of her babe, and—for all that she knew—of her husband. Poor dear girl! Cabot roused himself and, clasping the little form close to his breast, carried it outside, and by the light of his flash, dug for it a shallow grave in the castle courtyard. Over the grave he said a Christian prayer, the mound he covered with flowers, and at the head he placed a rude cross. The problem remained to reach the troops to the northward, and now for the first time he realized his own predicament. Undoubtedly the shore of Lake Luno was already thickly lined with ants, whose airplanes would certainly start dropping bombs on the island as soon as it was daylight. They might even attack by boat, but he rather thought that they respected his rifle too much for this. At all events, what possible chance was there for him ever to escape this trap? But trap or no trap, northward again he must go, for it was only by reaching his army that he could learn the fate of his princess. Nothward again! After he had thought he had reached his journey’s end. The word “northward” had already seared itself into his very soul during his interminable quest for Luno Castle, and yet now he must travel north once more. If only he could travel east, or in some other direction than north! <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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