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diff --git a/32890.txt b/32890.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5b7af54 --- /dev/null +++ b/32890.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1008 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Home is Where You Left It, by Adam Chase + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Home is Where You Left It + +Author: Adam Chase + +Release Date: June 19, 2010 [EBook #32890] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOME IS WHERE YOU LEFT IT *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + HOME IS WHERE YOU LEFT IT + + By ADAM CHASE + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories February +1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Illustration: The chance of mass slaughter was their eternal +nightmare.] + + +[Sidenote: _How black is the blackest treachery? Is the most callous +traitor entitled to mercy? Steve pondered these questions. His decision? +That at times the villain should possibly be spoken of as a hero._] + + +Only the shells of deserted mud-brick houses greeted Steve Cantwell when +he reached the village. + +He poked around in them for a while. The desert heat was searing, +parching, and the Sirian sun gleamed balefully off the blades of Steve's +unicopter, which had brought him from Oasis City, almost five hundred +miles away. He had remembered heat from his childhood here on Sirius' +second planet with the Earth colony, but not heat like this. It was like +a magnet drawing all the moisture out of his body. + +He walked among the buildings, surprise and perhaps sadness etched on +his gaunt, weather-beaten face. Childhood memories flooded back: the +single well from which all the families drew their water, the mud-brick +house, hardly different from the others and just four walls and a roof +now, in which he'd lived with his aunt after his parents had been killed +in a _Kumaji_ raid, the community center where he'd spent his happiest +time as a boy. + +He went to the well and hoisted up a pailful of water. The winch creaked +as he remembered. He ladled out the water, suddenly very thirsty, and +brought the ladle to his lips. + +He hurled the ladle away. The water was bitter. Not brackish. + +Poisoned. + +He spat with fury, then kneeled and stuffed his mouth with sand, almost +gagging. After a while he spat out the sand too and opened his canteen +and rinsed his mouth. His lips and mouth were paralyzed by contact with +the poison. He walked quickly across the well-square to his aunt's +house. Inside, it was dim but hardly cooler. Steve was sweating, the +saline sweat making him blink. He scowled, not understanding. The table +was set in his aunt's house. A coffeepot was on the stove and last +night's partially-consumed dinner still on the table. + +The well had been poisoned, the town had been deserted on the spur of +the moment, and Steve had returned to his boyhood home from Earth--too +late for anything. + +He went outside into the square. A lizard was sunning itself and staring +at him with lidless eyes. When he moved across the square, the lizard +scurried away. + +"Earthman!" a quavering voice called. + +Steve ran toward the sound. In the scant shadow of the community center, +a Kumaji was resting. He was a withered old man, all skin and bones and +sweat-stiffened tunic, with enormous red-rimmed eyes. His purple skin, +which had been blasted by the merciless sun, was almost black. + +Steve held the canteen to his lips and watched his throat working almost +spasmodically to get the water down. After a while Steve withdrew the +canteen and said: + +"What happened here?" + +"They're gone. All gone." + +"Yes, but what happened?" + +"The Kumaji--" + +"You're Kumaji." + +"This is my town," the old man said. "I lived with the Earthmen. Now +they're gone." + +"But you stayed here--" + +"To die," the old man said, without self-pity. "I'm too old to flee, too +old to fight, too old for anything but death. More water." + + * * * * * + +Steve gave him another drink. "You still haven't told me what happened." +Actually, though, Steve could guess. With the twenty-second century +Earth population hovering at the eleven billion mark, colonies were +sought everywhere. Even on a parched desert wasteland like this. The +Kumaji tribesmen had never accepted the colony as a fact of their life +on the desert, and in a way Steve could not blame them. It meant one +oasis less for their own nomadic sustenance. When Steve was a boy, +Kumaji raids were frequent. At school on Earth and Luna he'd read about +the raids, how they'd increased in violence, how the Earth government, +so far away and utterly unable to protect its distant colony, had +suggested withdrawal from the Kumaji desert settlement, especially since +a colony could exist there under only the most primitive conditions, +almost like the purple-skinned Kumaji natives themselves. + +"When did it happen?" Steve demanded. + +"Last night." It was now midafternoon. "Three folks died," the Kumaji +said in his almost perfect English, "from the poisoning of the well. The +well was the last straw. The colonists had no choice. They had to go, +and go fast, taking what little water they had left in the houses." + +"Will they try to walk all the way through to Oasis City?" Oasis City, +built at the confluence of two underground rivers which came to the +surface there and flowed the rest of the way to the sea above ground, +was almost five hundred miles from the colony. Five hundred miles of +trackless sands and hundred-and-thirty-degree heat.... + +"They have to," the old man said. "And they have to hurry. Men, women +and children. The Kumaji are after them." + + * * * * * + +Steve felt irrational hatred then. He thought it would help if he could +find some of the nomadic tribesmen and kill them. It might help the way +he felt, he knew, but it certainly wouldn't help the fleeing colonists, +trekking across a parched wilderness--to the safety of Oasis City--or +death. + +"Come on," Steve said, making up his mind. "The unicopter can hold two +in a pinch." + +"You're going after them?" + +"I've got to. They're my people. I've been away too long." + +"Say, you're young Cantwell, aren't you? Now I remember." + +"Yes, I'm Steve Cantwell." + +"I'm not going anyplace, young fellow." + +"But you can't stay here, without any good water to drink, without--" + +"I'm staying," the old man said, still without self-pity, just +matter-of-factly. "The Earth folks have no room for me and I can't blame +'em. The Kumaji'll kill me for a renegade, I figure. I lived a good, +long life. I've no regrets. Go after your people, young fellow. They'll +need every extra strong right arm they can get. You got any weapons?" + +"No," Steve said. + +"Too bad. Well, good-bye and good luck." + +"But you can't--" + +"Oh, I'm staying. I want to stay. This is my home. It's the only home +I'll ever have. Good luck, young fellow." + +Slowly, Steve walked to his unicopter. It was nothing more than a small +metal disk on which to stand, and a shaft with four turbo-blades. It +could do sixty miles an hour at an elevation of two thousand feet. + + * * * * * + +Steve turned the little turbo-jet engine over, then on impulse ran back +to the old man and gave him his canteen, turning away before it could be +refused and striding quickly back to the unicopter and getting himself +airborne without looking at the deserted village or the old man again. + +The old man's voice called after him: "Tell the people ... hurry ... +Kumaji looking for them to kill ... desert wind ought to wipe out their +trail ... but hurry...." + +The voice faded into the faint rushing sound of the hot desert wind. +Steve gazed down on bare sun-blasted rock, on rippled dunes, on +hate-haze. He circled wider and wider, seeking his people. + +Hours later he spotted the caravan in the immensity of sand and +wasteland. He brought the unicopter down quickly, with a rush of air and +a whine of turbojets. He alighted in the sand in front of the +slow-moving column. It was like something out of Earth's Middle +East--and Middle Ages. They had even imported camels for their life here +on the Sirian desert, deciding the Earth camel was a better beast of +burden than anything the Sirius II wastelands had to offer. They walked +beside the great-humped beasts of burden, the animals piled high with +the swaying baggage of their belongings. They moved through the sands +with agonizing slowness. Already, after only one day's travel, Steve +could see that some of the people were spent and exhausted and had to +ride on camelback. They had gone perhaps fifteen miles, with almost five +hundred to go across searing desert, the Kumaji seeking them.... + +"Hullo!" Steve shouted, and a man armed with an atorifle came striding +clumsily through the sand toward him. "Cantwell's the name," Steve said. +"I'm one of you." + +Bleak hostility in his face, the man approached. "Cantwell. Yeah, I +remember you. Colony wasn't good enough for young Steve Cantwell. Oh, +no. Had to go off to Earth to get himself educated. What are you doing +here now on that fancy aircraft of yours, coming to crow at our wake?" + +The bitterness surprised Steve. He recognized the man now as Tobias +Whiting, who had been the Colony's most successful man when Steve was a +boy. Except for his bitterness and for the bleak self-pity and defeat in +his eyes, the years had been good to Tobias Whiting. He was probably in +his mid-forties now, twenty years Steve's senior, but he was +well-muscled, his flesh was solid, his step bold and strong. He was a +big muscular man with a craggy, handsome face. In ten years he had +hardly changed at all, while Steve Cantwell, the boy, had become Steve +Cantwell the man. He had been the Colony's official trader with the +Kumajis, and had grown rich--by colony standards--at his business. Now, +Steve realized, all that was behind him, and he could only flee with the +others--either back to the terribly crowded Earth or on in search of a +new colony on some other outworld, if they could get the transportation. +Perhaps that explained his bitterness. + +"So you've come back, eh? You sure picked a time, Cantwell." + +The refugees were still about a quarter of a mile off, coming up slowly. +They hardly seemed to be moving at all. "Is my aunt all right?" Steve +said. She was the only family he remembered. + +Tobias Whiting shook his head slowly. "I hate to be the one to tell you +this. Brace yourself for a shock. Your aunt was one of those who died +from the poisoned water last night." + +For a long moment, Steve said nothing. The only emotion he felt was +pity--pity for the hard life his aunt had lived, and the hard death. +Sadness would come later, if there was to be a time for sadness. + + * * * * * + +The caravan reached them then. The first person Steve saw was a girl. +She wore the shroud-like desert garment and her face--it would be a +pretty face under other circumstances, Steve realized--was etched with +lines of fatigue. Steve did not recognize her. "Who is he, Dad?" the +girl said. + +"Young Cantwell. Remember?" + +So this was Mary Whiting, Steve thought. Why, she'd been a moppet ten +years ago! How old? Ten years old maybe. The years crowded him suddenly. +She was a woman now.... + +"Steve Cantwell?" Mary said. "Of course I remember. Hello, Steve. I--I'm +sorry you had to come back at a time like this. I'm sorry about your +aunt. If there's anything I can do...." + +Steve shook his head, then shook the hand she offered him. She was a +slim, strong girl with a firm handshake. Her concern for him at a time +like this was little short of amazing, especially since it was +completely genuine. + +He appreciated it. + +Tobias Whiting said: "Shame of it is, Cantwell, some of us could get +along with the Kumaji. I had a pretty good business here, you know +that." He looked with bitterness at the dusty file of refugees. "But I +never got a credit out of it. Wherever we wind up, my girl and I will be +poor again. We could have been rich." + +Steve asked, "What happened to all your profits?" + +"Tied up with a Kumaji moneylender, but thanks to what happened I'll +never see it again." + +Mary winced, as if her father's words and his self-pity were painful to +her. Then others came up and a few minutes were spent in back-pounding +and hand-shaking as some of the men who had been boys with Steve came up +to recognize and be recognized. Their greeting was warm, as Tobias +Whiting's had been cool. Despite the knowledge of what lay behind all of +them, and what still lay ahead, it was a little like homecoming. + +But Steve liked Mary Whiting's warm, friendly smile best of all. It was +comforting and reassuring. + + * * * * * + +Three days later, Tobias Whiting disappeared. + +The caravan had been making no more than ten or fifteen miles a day. +Their water supply was almost gone but on the fourth day they hoped to +reach an oasis in the desert. Two of the older folks had died of +fatigue. A third was critically ill and there was little that could be +done for him. The food supply was running short, but they could always +slaughter their camels for food and make their way to Oasis City, still +four hundred and some miles away, with nothing but the clothes on their +backs. + +And then, during the fourth night, Tobias Whiting disappeared, taking +Steve's unicopter. A sentry had heard the low muffled whine of the +turbojets during the night and had seen the small craft take off, but +had assumed Steve had taken it up for some reason. Each day Steve had +done so, reconnoitering for signs of the Kumaji. + +"But why?" someone asked. "Why?" + +At first there was no answer. Then a woman whose husband had died the +day before said: "It's no secret Whiting has plenty of money--with the +Kumaji." + +None of them looked at Mary. She stood there defiantly, not saying +anything, and Steve squeezed her hand. + +"Now, wait a minute," one of Whiting's friends said. + +"Wait, nothing." This was Jeremy Gort, who twice had been mayor of the +colony. "I know how Whiting's mind works. He slaved all his life for +that money, that's the way he'll see it. Cantwell, didn't you say the +Kumaji were looking for us, to kill us?" + +"That's what I was told," Steve said. + +"All right," Gort went on relentlessly. "Then this is what I figure must +have happened. Whiting got to brooding over his lost fortune and finally +decided he had to have it. So, he went off at night in Cantwell's +'copter, determined to get it. Only catch is, folks, if I know the +Kumaji, they won't just give it to him--not by a long sight." + +"No?" someone asked. + +"No sir. They'll trade. For our location. And if Whiting went off like +that without even saying good-bye to his girl here, my guess is he'll +make the trade." His voice reflected some bitterness. + + * * * * * + +Mary went to Gort and slapped his face. The elderly man did not even +blink. "Well," he asked her gently, "did your pa tell you he was going?" + +"N-no," Mary said. There were tears in her eyes, but she did not cry. + +Gort turned to Steve. "Cantwell, can he get far in that 'copter?" + +Steve shook his head. "Ten or fifteen miles is all. Almost out of fuel, +Mr. Gort. You saw how I took her up for only a quick mile swing each +day. He won't get far." + +"He'll crash in the desert?" + +"Crash or crash-land," Steve said. + +Mary sobbed, and bit her lip, and was silent. + +"We've got to stop him," Gort said. "And fast. If he gets to the Kumaji, +they'll send down a raiding party and we'll be finished. We could never +fight them off without the protection of our village. Near as I can +figure, there's a Kumaji base fifty miles due north of here. Whiting +knows it too, so that's where he'll be going, I figure. Can't spare more +than a couple of men to look for him, though, in case the Kumaji find +us--or are led to us--and attack." + +Steve said, "I should have taken something out of the 'copter every +night, so it couldn't start. I'll go." + +Mary came forward boldly. "I have to go. He's my father. If he crashed +out there, he may be hurt. He may be--dying." + +Gort looked at her. "And if he's trying to sell us out to the Kumajis?" + +"Then--then I'll do whatever Steve asks me to. I promise." + +"That's good enough for me," Steve said. + +A few minutes later, armed with atorifles and their share of the food +and water that was left, Steve and Mary set out northward across the +sand while the caravan continued east. Fear of what they might find +mounted. + + * * * * * + +The first night, they camped in the lee of low sandhills. The second +night they found a small spring with brackish but drinkable water. On +the third day, having covered half the distance to the Kumaji +settlement, they began to encounter Kumaji patrols, on foot or +_thlotback_, the six-legged desert animals running so swiftly over the +sands and so low to the ground that they almost seemed to be gliding. +Steve and Mary hardly spoke. Talk was unnecessary. But slowly a bond +grew between them. Steve liked this slim silent girl who had come out +here with him risking her life although she must have known deep in her +heart that her father had almost certainly decided to turn traitor in +order to regain his fortune. + +On the fourth day, they spotted the unicopter from a long way off and +made their way toward it. It had come much further than Steve had +expected. With sinking heart he realized that Tobias Whiting, if he +escaped the crash-landing without injury, must surely have reached the +Kumaji encampment by now. + +"It doesn't seem badly damaged," Mary said. + +The platform had buckled slightly, the 'copter was tilted over, one of +the rotors twisted, its end buried in sand. Tobias Whiting wasn't there. + +"No," Steve said. "It's hardly damaged at all. Your father got out of it +all right." + +"To go--to them?" + +"I think so, Mary. I don't want to pass judgment until we're sure. I'm +sorry." + +"Oh, Steve! Steve! What will we do? What _can_ we do?" + +"Find him, if it isn't too late. Come on." + +"North?" + +"North." + +"And if by some miracle we find him?" + +Steve said nothing. The answer--capture or death--was obvious. But you +couldn't tell that to a traitor's daughter, could you? + +As it turned out, they did not find Tobias Whiting through their own +efforts. Half an hour after setting out from the unicopter, they were +spotted by a roving band of Kumajis, who came streaking toward them on +their _thlots_. Mary raised her atorifle, but Steve struck the barrel +aside. "They'd kill us," he said. "We can only surrender." + +They were hobbled and led painfully across the sand. They were taken +that way to a small Kumaji encampment, and thrust within a circular +tent. + +Tobias Whiting was in there. + + * * * * * + +"Mary!" he cried. "My God! Mary...." + +"We came for you, Dad," she said coldly. "To stop you. To ... to kill +you if necessary." + +"Mary...." + +"Oh, Dad, why did you do it? Why?" + +"We couldn't start all over again, could we? You have a right to live +the sort of life I planned for you. You...." + +"Whiting," Steve said, "did you tell them yet?" + +"No. No, I haven't. I have information to trade, sure. But I want to +make sure it's going to the right people. I want to get our...." + +"Dad! Our money, and all those deaths?" + +"It doesn't matter now. I--I had changed my mind, Mary. Truly. But now, +now that you're a prisoner, what if I don't talk? Don't you see, they'll +torture you. They'll make you talk. And that way--we get nothing. I +couldn't stand to see them hurt you." + +"They can do--what they think they have to do. I'll tell them nothing." + +"You won't have to," Whiting said. "I'll tell them when we reach the +larger settlement. They're taking us there tomorrow, they told me." + +"Then we've got to get out of here tonight," Steve said. + +The low sun cast the shadow of their guard against the _thlot_skin wall +of their tent. He was a single man, armed with a long, pike-like weapon. +When darkness came, if the guard were not increased.... + +They were brought a pasty gruel for their supper, and ate in silence and +distaste, ate because they needed the strength. Mary said, "Dad, I don't +want you to tell them anything. Dad, please. If you thought you were +doing it for me...." + +"I've made up my mind," Tobias Whiting said. + +Mary turned to Steve, in despair. "Steve," she said. "Steve. +Do--whatever you have to do. I--I'll understand." + +Steve didn't answer her. Wasn't Whiting right now? he thought. If Steve +silenced him, wouldn't the Kumaji torture them for the information? +Steve could stand up to it perhaps--but he couldn't stand to see them +hurt Mary. He'd talk if they did that.... + +Then silencing Whiting wasn't the answer. But the Kumajis had one +willing prisoner and two unwilling ones. They knew that. If the willing +one yelled for help but the yelling was kept to a minimum so only one +guard, the man outside, came.... + + * * * * * + +Darkness in the Kumaji encampment. + +Far off, a lone tribesman singing a chant old as the desert. + +"Are you asleep?" Mary asked. + +"No," Steve said. + +"Dad is. Listen to the way he's breathing--like a baby. As if--as if he +wasn't going to betray all our people. Oh, I hate him, I hate him!" + +Steve crawled to where the older man was sleeping. Tobias Whiting's +voice surprised him. "I'm not asleep. I was thinking. I--" + +"I'm going to kill you," Steve said very softly, and sprang at Whiting. +He paused, though. It was a calculated pause, and Whiting cried out as +Steve had hoped he would. Then his hands found the older man's throat +and closed there--not to kill him but to keep him from crying out again. + +Sand stirred, the tentflap lifted, and a bulky figure rushed inside. +Steve got up, met him halfway, felt the jarring contact of their bodies. +The pike came up dimly in the darkness, the point scraping against +Steve's ribs as the guard lunged awkwardly. Steve's fingers sought the +thick-muscled neck, clamped there--squeezing. + +The guard writhed. His feet drummed the sand. With one hand he stabbed +out wildly with the unwieldy pike. There was a cry from Mary and the +guard managed a low squawking noise. Outside, the rest of the camp +seemed undisturbed. There was death in Steve's strong tightening +fingers. There had to be death there. Death for the Kumaji guard--or +death for the fleeing Earthmen, who had lost one colony and must seek +another. + + * * * * * + +They fell together on the sand, the guard still struggling. Steve +couldn't release his throat to grab the pike. The guard stabbed out +awkwardly, blindly with it, kicking up sand. Then Tobias Whiting moaned, +but Steve hardly heard him. + +When the guard's legs stopped drumming, Steve released him. The man was +either dead or so close to death that he would be out for hours. Steve +had never killed a man before, had never in violence and with intent to +kill attacked a man.... + +"Steve!" + +It was Mary, calling his name and crying. + +"It's Dad. Dad was--hit. The pike, a wild stab. He's hit bad--" + +Steve crawled over to them. It was very dark. He could barely make out +Tobias Whiting's pain-contorted face. + +"My stomach," Whiting said, gasping for breath. "The pain...." + +Steve probed with his hands, found the wound. Blood was rushing out. He +couldn't stop it and he knew it and he thought Whiting knew it too. He +touched Mary's hand, and held it. Mary sobbed against him, crying +softly. + +"You two ..." Whiting gasped. "You two ... Mary, Mary girl. Is--he--what +you want?" + +"Yes, Dad. Oh, yes!" + +"You can get her out of here, Cantwell?" + +"I think so," Steve said. + +"Then go. Go while you can. I'll tell them--due south. The Earthmen are +heading due south. They'll go--south. They won't find the caravan. +You'll--all--get away. If it's--what you want, Mary." + +She leaned away from Steve, kissing her father. She asked Steve: "Isn't +there anything we can do for him?" + +Steve shook his head. "But he's got to live long enough to tell them, to +deceive them." + +"I'll live long enough," Whiting said, and Steve knew then that he +would. "Luck to--all of you. From a--very foolish--man...." + + * * * * * + +Steve took Mary's hand and pulled her out into the hot, dark, wind-blown +night. He carried the dead Kumaji's pike and they slipped across the +sand to where the _thlots_ were hobbled for the night. He hardly +remembered the rest of it. There was violence and death, but necessary +death. He killed a man with the pike, and unhobbled one of the _thlots_. +The animal screamed and two more Kumajis came sleepily through the night +to see what was the matter. With the long edge of the pike's blade he +decapitated one of them. He slammed the shaft of the weapon across the +other's face, probably breaking his jaw. The camp was in a turmoil. In +the darkness he flung Mary on the _thlot's_ bare back in front of him, +and they glided off across the sand. + +Pursuit was disorganized--and unsuccessful. It was too dark for +effective pursuit, as Steve had hoped it would be. They rode swiftly all +night and continued riding with the dawn. They could have gone in any +direction. The wind-driven sand would obliterate their trail. + +Two days later they reached the caravan. As they rode up, Mary said, +"Steve, do you have to tell them?" + +"We can tell them this," Steve said. "Your father died a hero's death, +sending the Kumajis off in the wrong direction." + +"And not--not what he'd planned to do at first." + +"No. We'll tell them that was his intention all the while. A man can +make a mistake, can't he?" + +"I love you, Steve. I love you." + +Then they rode down on the caravan. Somehow Steve knew they would all +reach Oasis City in safety. + +With Mary he would find a new world out in the vastness of space. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Home is Where You Left It, by Adam Chase + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOME IS WHERE YOU LEFT IT *** + +***** This file should be named 32890.txt or 32890.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/8/9/32890/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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