III
1126 Words
IIISIMULTANEOUSLY WITH his recognition of the pair, Joe Roberts saw him. A gasp of relief escaped the wounded man.
“Jones! Thank the Lord! Then you picked up our cry for help? Quick, man—where is it? Theres not a moment to waste!”
“W-where,” faltered Isobar feebly, “is what?”
“The tank, of course! Didn’t you hear our telecast? We can’t possibly make it back to the gate without an armored car. My foot’s broken, and—” Roberts stopped suddenly, an abrupt horror in his eyes. “You don’t have one! You’re here alone! Then you didn’t pick up our call? But, why—?”
“Never mind that,” snapped Isobar, “now!” Placid by nature, he could move when urgency drove. His quick mind saw the immediateness of their peril. Unarmed, he could not help the Patrolmen fight a delaying action against their foes, nor could he hasten their retreat. Anyway, weapons were useless, and time was of the essence. There was but one temporary way of staving off disaster. “Over here ... this tree! Quick! Up you go! Give him a lift, Brown—There! That’s the stuff!”
He was the last to scramble up the gnarled bole to a tentative leafy sanctuary. He had barely gained the security of the lowermost bough when a thundering crash resounded, the sturdy trunk trembled beneath his clutch. Stony claws gouged yellow parallels in the bark scant inches beneath one kicking foot, then the Granny fell back with a thud. The Graniteback was not a climber. It was far too ungainly, much too weighty for that.
Roberts said weakly, “Th-thanks, Jonesy! That was a close call.”
“That goes for me, too, Jonesy,” added Brown from an upper bough. “But I’m afraid you just delayed matters. This tree’s O.Q. as long as it lasts, but—” He stared down upon the gathering knot of Grannies unhappily—“it’s not going to last long with that bunch of superdreadnaughts working out on it! Hold tight, fellows! Here they come!”
For the Grannies, who had huddled for a moment as if in telepathic consultation, now joined forces, turned, and as one body charged headlong toward the tree. The unified force of their attack was like the shattering impact of a battering ram. Bark rasped and gritted beneath the besieged men’s hands, dry leaves and twigs pelted about them in a tiny rain, tormented fibrous sinews groaned as the aged forest monarch shuddered in agony.
Desperately they clung to their perches. Though the great tree bent, it did not break. But when it stopped trembling, it was canted drunkenly to one side, and the erstwhile solid earth about its base was broken and cracked—revealing fleshy tentacles uprooted from ancient moorings!
- - - -
BROWN STARED AT THIS evidence of the Grannies’ power with terror-fascinated eyes. His voice was none too firm.
“Lord! Piledrivers! A couple more like that—”
Isobar nodded. He knew what falling into the clutch of the Grannies meant. He had once seen the grisly aftermath of a Graniteback feast. Even now their adversaries had drawn back for a second attack. A sudden idea struck him. A straw of hope at which he grasped feverishly.
“You telecast a message to the Dome? Help should be on the way by now. If we can just hold out—”
But Roberts shook his head.
“We sent a message, Jonesy, but I don’t think it got through. I’ve just been looking at my portable. It seems to be busted. Happened when they first attacked us, I guess. I tripped and fell on it.”
Isobar’s last hope flickered out.
“Then I—I guess it won’t be long now,” he mourned. “If we could have only got a message through, they would have sent out an armored car to pick us up. But as it is—”
Brown’s shrug displayed a bravado he did not feel.
“Well, that’s the way it goes. We knew what we were risking when we volunteered to come Outside. This damn moon! It’ll never be worth a plugged credit until men find some way to fight those murderous stones-on-legs!”
Roberts said, “That’s right. But what are you doing out here, Isobar? And why, for Pete’s sake, the bagpipes?”
“Oh—the pipes?” Isobar flushed painfully. He had almost forgotten his original reason for adventuring Outside, had quite forgotten his instrument, and was now rather amazed to discover that somehow throughout all the excitement he had held onto it. “Why, I just happened to—Oh! the pipes!”
“Hold on!” roared Roberts. His warning came just in time. Once more, the three tree-sitters shook like dried peas in a pod as their leafy refuge trembled before the locomotive onslaught of the lunar beasts. This time the already-exposed roots strained and lifted, several snapped; when the Grannies again withdrew, complacently unaware that the “lethal ray” of Brown’s Haemholtz was wasting itself upon their adamant hides in futile fury, the tree was bent at a precarious angle.
Brown sobbed, not with fear but with impotent anger, and in a gesture of enraged desperation, hurled his now-empty weapon at the retreating Grannies.
“No good! Not a damn bit of good! Oh, if there was only some way of fighting those filthy things—”
But Isobar Jones had a one-track mind. “The pipes!” he cried again, excitedly. “That’s the answer!” And he drew the instrument into playing position, bag cuddled beneath one arm-pit, drones stiffly erect over his shoulder, blow-pipe at his lips. His cheeks puffed, his breath expelled. The giant lung swelled, the chaunter emitted its distinctive, fearsome, “Kaa-aa-o-o-o-oro-oong!”
Roberts moaned.
“Oh, Lord! A guy can’t even die in peace!”
And Brown stared at him hopelessly.
“It’s no use, Isobar. You trying to scare them off? They have no sense of hearing. That’s been proven—”
Isobar took his lips from the reed to explain.
“It’s not that. I’m trying to rouse the boys in the Dome. We’re right opposite the atmosphere-conditioning-unit. See that grilled duct over there? That’s an inhalation-vent. The portable transmitter’s out of order, and our voices ain’t strong enough to carry into the Dome—but the sound of these pipes is! And Commander Eagan told me just a short while ago that the sound of the pipes carries all over the building!
“If they hear this, they’ll get mad because I’m disobeyin’ orders. They’ll start lookin’ for me. If they can’t find me inside, maybe they’ll look Outside. See that window? That’s Sparks’ turret. If we can make him look out here—”
“Stop talking!” roared Roberts. “Stop talking, guy, and start blowing! I think you’ve got something there. Anyhow, it’s our last hope. Blow!”
“And quick!” appended Brown. “For here they come!”
- - - -
ISOBAR PLAYED, BLEW with all his might, while the Grannies raged below.
- - - -
HE MEANT THE GRANNIES. Again they were huddling for attack, once more, a solid phalanx of indestructible, granite flesh, they were smashing down upon the tree.
“Haa-a-roong!” blew Isobar Jones.
- - - -
- Writer
