Spartan Planet - A. Bertram Chandler [38]
"Exposure Day?" asked Margaret Lazenby sharply.
"Yes," Brasidus told her. "One of the days on which the newly born—those newly born who are sickly or deformed, that is—are exposed on the mountainside."
"And what happens to them?"
"Usually the wolves finish them off. But without food or water they'd not last long."
"You're joking." It was an appeal rather than a statement or a question.
"But why should I joke, Peggy? The purity of the race must be maintained."
She turned to the corporal, her face white, her eyes blazing. "You. Had the wolves come when you left the . . . the Exposure?"
"No, sir. But they're never long in hearing the cries and winding the scent."
She was on her feet, pushing her bench away so violently that it toppled with a crash. "Get a move on, Brasidus. If we hurry, we may still be in time."
Brasidus was sickened by her reactions, by her words. Exposure was necessary, but it was not something to take pictures of, to make records of. As well join the scavengers in their filth-eating rounds of the city streets.
"Come on!" she flared.
"No," he said stubbornly. "I'll not help you to make a film that you and your shipmates can gloat over."
"Make a film? " Her voice was incredulous. "You fool. We may be in time to save them."
And then it was Brasidus' turn to experience a wave of incredulity.
Chapter 17
"No!" said Brasidus.
"Yes!" she contradicted him. But, incongruously, it was not the borrowed pistol that she was leveling at the two men, but a camera. Brasidus laughed—and then the slim hands holding the seemingly innocuous instrument twitched ever so slightly, and from the lens came an almost invisible flicker of light and, behind the policemen, something exploded. There was a sudden, acrid stench of flash-boiled wine, of burning wood.
That deadly lens was looking straight at Brasidus again.
"Laser," he muttered.
"Laser," she stated.
"But . . . but you were supposed to leave all your weapons behind."
"I'm not altogether a fool, honey. And, oddly enough, this is a camera, with flash attachment. Not a very good one, but multipurpose tools are rarely satisfactory. Now, are you going to drive me out to the Exposure?"
She'll have to bring along the corporal, thought Brasidus. And the two of us should be able to deal with her.
And now the deadly camera was in her left hand only, and the borrowed stun gun was out of its holster. She fired left-handed, and at this short range she could hardly miss. The corporal gasped, made one tottering step forward, then crashed untidily to the floor. The belled muzzle swung slightly and she fired again. There was the sound of another heavy fall behind Brasidus. That, he guessed, would be the innkeeper. There would be no telephone calls made to the city for several hours. The goatherds were notorious for their reluctance to assist the forces of law and order.
"Get into the car," she said. "I'll ride behind. And make it snappy."
He walked out of the inn, into the afternoon sunlight, deliberately not hurrying. He consoled himself with the thought that, even though he was falling down on the job as a sergeant of Police, he was earning his keep as a lieutenant of Security. He had been told to find out what made these aliens tick—and he was finding out. In any case, if the wolf packs were as ravenous as usual, there would be nothing left but a scatter of well-gnawed bones.
He climbed into the driver's seat, thought briefly about making a dash for it, then thought better of it. He could never get out of range in time. He heard her clambering in behind him. He wished that he knew which way that so-called camera was pointing—and then he succeeded in catching a glimpse of it in the rear mirror. If the firing stud were accidentally pressed, it would drill a neat, cauterized hole through his head. Or would the water content of his brains explode? In that case, it would not be so tidy.
"Get going," she said. And then, as an afterthought, "I suppose you know the way."