He opened them.

He was staring up through dense foliage at a reddish glowing sky. The sky looked hot, and that gave him a sudden awareness that he was perspiring furiously. And, oddly, now that he knew about it, the heat almost smothered him. He shrank from the flamelike intensity, then slowly climbed to his feet.

It was as if he had given a signal. From his right, beyond a line of bushes, he heard the sounds of a large camp suddenly coming to life.

For the first time, Marenson noticed that he was dressed in a light mesh unit that incased him from head to foot. The material was transparent, and even covered his boots. The clothing shocked him. For it was the kind of hunting outfit used on primitive planets that swarmed with hostile life of every description.

Which planet, and why? He began to think now with more conviction that his predicament was Clugy's doing, and that this was the famous Mira world where the lymph beast lived.

He started off in the direction of the sounds.

The line of brush that had barred his view was, he discovered, about twenty feet thick, and the moment he was through it, he saw that it was not on the outskirts of the camp, but near the center. And now he noticed that the reddish sky was something of an illusion. It was part of a barrier that had been electronically raised around the camp. An energy screen. The red effect was merely the screen's method of reacting to the light of the particular sun that was shining down upon it.

Marenson began to breathe easier. All around were men and machines--men by the hundreds. Even the most cunning group of Yevd wouldn't try to create so ma.s.sive an illusion. And, besides, their great skill in the use of light was personal to each individual, and not a ma.s.s phenomenon.

A clearing was being created out of a tangle of growth. There was so much movement it was hard to know what any individual was doing. Marenson's eye for such things was ten years out of practice, but in a few moments he had oriented himself. The plastic huts were going up to his left. Those at the right were merely waiting their turn to be moved into place. Clugy's office would be in the permanent part of the encampment.

Grimly, Marenson started towards the hut village. Twice "digger" machines harrumphed past him, sowing their insect poison, and he had to step gingerly over the loose earth; in its early stages the poison was as unfriendly to human beings as to anything else. The upturned soil glittered with long, black, shiny worms writhing feebly, with the famous red Mira bugs that shocked their victims with electric currents, and with other things that he did not recognize. He reached the huts, walked on, and came presently to a sign which read: PRODUCTION SUPERINTENDENT.

Ira Clugy A youth of fifteen or sixteen lolled in an easy-chair behind the counter inside. He looked up with the lazy, insolent eyes of a clerk whose boss is absent. Then he turned his back.

Marenson went through the gate, and reached for the scruff of the kid's neck. There must have been a preliminary warning, for the neck twisted away, and like a cat the boy was on his feet. He came around with a snarl on his face.

Baffled and furious, Marenson retreated into words. "Where's Clugy?"

"I'll have you broken for this!" the boy snapped. "My father--"

Marenson cut him off. "Look, Mr. Big Shot, I'm Marenson from Administration. I'm not the kind that's broken. I break. You'd better start talking, and fast. Is Clugy your father?"

The boy stood stiff, then nodded.

"Where is he?"

"Out in the jungle."

"How long will he be gone?"

The boy hesitated. "Probably be in for lunch--sir."

"I see." Marenson pondered the information. He was surprised that Clugy had chosen to absent himself, and so leave Ancil Marenson temporarily in full control of the camp. But from his own point of view that was all to the good. Even as he made his plans, his mind reached to another thought. He asked: "When's the next ship due?"

"In twenty days."

Marenson nodded. It seemed to him that he was beginning to understand. Clugy had known he was due to leave on his vacation, and so he had decided to inconvenience him. Instead of pleasure on Paradise Planet, he'd spend his vacation on primitive and dangerous Mira 92. Having no other method of countering his order, Clugy was repaying him with personal discomfort.

Marenson's lips tightened. Then he said: "What's your name?"

"Peter."

"Well, Peter," said Marenson grimly, "I've got some work for you to do. So let's get busy."

For a while, then, it was a case of "Where's that, Peter?" And, "Peter, how about the stamp for this kind of doc.u.ment?" Altogether, in one hour he wrote out five orders. He a.s.signed himself a Model A hut. He authorized himself to make visiradio calls to Earth. He a.s.signed himself to Clugy's food unit. And he requisitioned two blasters, the use of a helicar and a pilot to operate it.

While Peter raced around delivering four of the orders to the proper departments, Marenson wrote out a news item for the editor of the camp newspaper. When that also was delivered, and Peter was back, Marenson felt better. What could be done on the scene was done. And since he'd have to remain for twenty days, the men in the camp might as well believe he was here on an inspection tour. The newspaper account would see to that.

Frowning, but partially satisfied, he started for the radio hut. His requisition was not questioned. He sat down and waited while the long and involved connection was put through.

Outside, men and machines were forcing a malignant stretch of jungle to be temporarily friendly to the hothouse needs of human flesh. Inside, surrounded by embanked instrument boards, Marenson pondered his next move. He had no evidence. His presence here against his will was not transparently the fault of Clugy. He had a lot of obscure back trails to investigate.

"Here's your connection," said the radio man at last. "Booth Three."

"Thank you."

Marenson talked first to his lawyer. "I want a court order," he said after he had described his situation, "authorizing the camp magistrate to question Clugy by means of a lie detector, and authorizing complete amnesia afterwards. That's for my protection during the rest of the time I'll have to spend in the camp with him. Can do?"

"Can," said the lawyer, "by tomorrow."

Next, Marenson connected with Jerred, head of his protective staff. The detective's face lighted as he saw who it was. "Man," he demanded, "where have you been?"

His listened soberly to Marenson's account, then nodded. "The outrage has one favorable aspect," he said, "it puts us into a better legal position. Perhaps now we can find out who the woman was that called Clugy's room at eleven o'clock the night before you were kidnapped. Apparently, his son answered, and must have communicated the message to him.

"Woman?" said Marenson.

Jerred shrugged. "I don't know who it was. My agent didn't report to me till the following morning. He had no opportunity to listen in."

Marenson nodded, and said: "Try to see if there were any eyewitnesses to my kidnapping, then we'll get a court order and find out from Clugy and his son who the woman was."

"You can count on us to do everything possible," said the detective heartily.

"I expect results," said Marenson, and broke the connection.

His next call was to his apartment. The visiplate did not brighten, and after the proper length of time, a recorder sighed at him: "Mr. and Mrs. Marenson have gone to Paradise Planet until August 26th. Do you wish to leave a message?"

Marenson hung up, shaken, and went quietly out of the hut.

The fear that had come faded before his determination not to be alarmed. There must be a rational explanation for Janet's departure. He couldn't quite see how the Yevd could be involved.

He was annoyed that his mind had leaped instantly to that possibility.

A minute later, wearily, he unlocked the door of the hut. Inside, he removed his boots and sprawled on the bed. But he was too restless to relax. After less than five minutes, he got up with the intention of going to Clugy's office, and waiting there for the man to return. He had a lot of hard things to say to Ira Clugy.

Outside, he stopped short. Climbing up to his hut, he hadn't realized what a vantage point he had. The hill reared up a hundred feet above the jungle and the main part of the camp. It gave him an unsurpa.s.sed view of a green splendor, of the endless, shining forest. Clugy had chosen his camp site well. Lacking the higher mountains hundreds of miles to the south, he had nevertheless found in the hilly jungle country a sizeable semimountain that sloped gradually up until it was about eight hundred feet above the main jungle. The hill where Marenson stood was the final peak of the long, jungle-robed slope.

Marenson saw the glint of rivers, the sparkling color of strange trees; and, as he looked, something of his old feeling for this universe of planets beyond Earth stirred within him. He glanced up at the famous and wonderful Mira sun, and the thrill that came ended only when he thought of his situation and his purpose. Grimly, he started down the hill.

Both Clugy and his son were in the office when Marenson entered it a few minutes later. The s.p.a.ceman stood up. He seemed curious rather than friendly. "Peter was telling me about you being here," he said. "So you thought you'd come and look the territory over personally, eh?"

Marenson ignored the comment. Coldly, he made his accusation. He finished, "You may think you're going to get away with this trick, but I a.s.sure you that you aren't."

Clugy gazed at him in astonishment. "What's all this nonsense?" the s.p.a.ceman demanded.

"Do you deny you had me kidnapped?"

"Why, certainly, I deny it." Clugy was indignant. "I wouldn't pull a fool stunt like that in these days of authorized lie detector tests. Besides, I don't work that way."

He sounded so sincere that for a moment Marenson was taken aback. He recovered swiftly. "If you're so positive," he said, "how about coming down right now to the camp magistrate's office, and taking an immediate test."

Clugy frowned at him. He seemed puzzled. "I'll do just that," he said. He spoke quietly. "And you'd better be prepared to take such a test yourself. There's something funny about this whole business."

"Come along!" Marenson said.

Clugy paused at the door. "Peter, keep an eye on the office till I get back."

"Sure, Pop."

The man's swift acceptance of the challenge was in itself convincing, Marenson thought as he walked along at Clugy's side. It seemed to prove that he actually had accepted the ruling of his union. His part in this affair must have ended the very night of their argument.

But then, who had seized on the situation? Who was trying to take advantage of the quarrel? Yevd? There was no indication of it. But then who?

The two tests required slightly less than an hour and a half. And Clugy was telling the truth. And Marenson was telling the truth. Convinced, the two men gazed at each other in baffled amazement. It was Marenson who broke the silence.

"What about the woman who called up your son the night before you left Earth?"

"What woman?"

Marenson groaned. "You mean to tell me you don't know anything about that either?" He broke off with a frown. "Just a minute," he said, "how come Peter didn't tell you?"

His mind leaped to a fantastic possibility. He said in a hushed voice: "I think we'd better surround your hut."

But the superintendent's office, when they finally closed in on it, was empty. Nor was Peter discoverable at any of his usual haunts.

"Obviously," said Clugy, his face the color of lead, "when he heard me agree to a lie detector test, he realized the game was up."

"We've got to trace this whole thing back," Marenson said slowly. "Somewhere along the line a Yevd was subst.i.tuted for your son. He came with you to Solar City, and took no chances on being caught by one of the several traps we have around The Yards to catch Yevd spies. I mean by that, he stayed in his room, and apparently communicated with other Yevd agents by visiradio. That woman who called the Yevd who was impersonating your son was probably another Yevd, and there's still another one of them impersonating me--"

He stopped. Because that other one was with Janet. Marenson started hastily for the radio hut. I've got to contact Earth," he called over his shoulder to Clugy.

The radio hut was a shambles. On the floor, with his head blown off, was a man--Marenson couldn't be sure it was the operator. There was blood splattered on dozens of instruments, and the whole intricate machinery of an interstellar radio system had been burned by innumerable crisscrosses of energy from a powerful blaster.

Marenson did not linger in the radio hut. Back in Clugy's office, he paused only long enough to find out from that distracted man that the nearest radio station was in a settlement some nine hundred miles to the south.

"It's all right," he said to Clugy's offer of a requisition for a helicar and pilot. "I signed one myself this morning."

A few minutes later he was in the air.

The speed of the machine gradually soothed Marenson. The tenseness went out of his muscles, and his mind began to work smoothly again. He stared out over the green world of the jungle, and thought: The purpose of the Yevd is to slow down procurement of lymph juice. That's the important thing to remember. They must have struck first at the source of the juice, and did an easy imitation of a boy. That was their usual tactic of interference at the production level. Then a new factor came into the situation. They discovered that Ancil Marenson, head of the procurement department, could be fitted into an enlarged version of their sabotage plan. Accordingly, two Yevd who looked like human beings ga.s.sed him and put him aboard the Mira freighter.

At the same time, a Yevd image of Marenson must have continued on to the office, and later that day the duplicate and Janet had probably departed together for Paradise Planet.

But why did they let me live? Marenson wondered. Why not get me completely out of the way?

There was only one reasonable explanation. They wanted to make further use of him. First of all, he must establish his presence, and his authority, and then--and not till then--he would be killed. And another Marenson image would order Clugy to transfer his camp to the distant mountain. In that fashion they would convince the willing Clugy that Marenson, having come to see for himself, had recognized the justice of Clugy's arguments.

Marenson felt himself change color--because that stage had arrived. All they needed from him was his signature on the order to Clugy. And even that could possibly be dispensed with, if they had managed to obtain some copy of his signature in the time available to them. But how would the attempt on him be made?

Uneasily, Marenson gazed out of the small helicar. He felt unprotected. He had been hasty in leaving the camp. In his anxiety to secure the safety of Janet he had exposed himself in a small ship which could be destroyed all too easily. I'd better go back, he decided.

He called to the pilot, "Turn back!"

"Back?" said the man. He sounded surprised.

Marenson waved and pointed. The man seemed to hesitate, and then--he turned the machine upside down. With a crash, Marenson was flung to the ceiling of the craft. As he scrambled and fought for balance, the machine was spun once again. This time he had hold of a crossbar, and he came down more easily. He struggled to pull out a blaster.

The helicar was plummeting down towards the jungle now, and the pilot was jerking it violently to and fro. Marenson guessed his purpose and his ident.i.ty, and felt ill. What a fool he had been to rush so blindly into this trap. The Yevd, knowing that he would try to send a radio message, must have killed the regular pilot--and simply waited for that simpleton Ancil Marenson to do what it expected him to do.

Marenson had a glimpse of trees terribly near. And realized the enemy's plan. A crash landing. The weak human being would be knocked unconscious, or killed. The Yevd, a carbon-hydrogen-oxygen-fluorine life form, would survive.

The next moment, there was a thump that shook his bones. During the seconds that followed, he seemed to be continuously conscious. He was even aware that the branches of strong trees had broken the fall of the ship, and so possibly saved his life. More vaguely, he knew when his blasters were taken from him. The only period of blur occurred when he was dropped to the ground from the helicar.

When his vision cleared again, he was in time to see another helicar come down in a nearby open s.p.a.ce among the trees. The image of young Peter Clugy stepped out of it, and joined the image of the pilot. The two Yevd stood looking down at him.

Marenson braced himself. He was as good as dead, but the will to meet death standing up and fighting made him try to climb to his feet. He couldn't. His hands were tied to his legs.

He lay back weakly. He had no memory of having been tied. Which meant that he was wrong in believing that he had not been unconscious. It didn't matter, of course. With sick eyes he gazed up at his captors.

"What happened to the real Peter Clugy?" he asked finally.

The two Yevd merely continued to look at him, bleakly. Not that an answer was needed. Somewhere along the line of their moves to this point, Clugy's son had been murdered. It was possible that these two individuals did not even know the details of the killing.

Marenson changed the subject, and said with a boldness he did not feel: "I see I made a slight personal error. Well, I'll make a bargain with you. You release me, and I'll see to it that you get safely off the planet."

The two images wavered ever so slightly, an indication that the Yevd were talking to each other by means of light waves above the human vision level. Finally, one of them said: "We're in no danger. We'll get off this planet in our own good time."

Marenson laughed curtly. The laugh sounded unconvincing in his own ears, but the fact that they had answered him at all was encouraging. He said savagely: "The whole game is up. When I called Earth, the merest suspicion that Yevd were involved set in motion a far-flung defense organization. And, actually, my call was not necessary. The discovery that Yevd were involved was made in connection with my wife, Janet."

It was a shot in the dark, but he was desperately anxious to find out if Janet were all right. Once more, there was the faint unsteadiness in the human images, that indicated conversation. Then the Yevd who was imitating Peter Clugy said: "That's impossible. The person who accompanied your wife to Paradise Planet had instructions to destroy her if she showed the faintest sign of suspicion."

Marenson shrugged. "You'd better believe me," he said.

He was tingling. His own a.n.a.lysis had been confirmed. Janet had gone off on her vacation with someone she thought was her husband. It was a characteristic of Yevd imitating human beings that they liked to be with a real woman or man who would be able to do things for them. There were so many things that a Yevd could do only with great difficulty, so many places where it was dangerous for an individual Yevd to go. Thus the image of Peter Clugy had taken the risk of living with the real Peter's father, and the image of Ancil Marenson had gone along with the real Janet.

The pilot Yevd said: "We don't have to worry too much about any small group of human beings. Long-married couples are not demonstrative with each other. Days go by without kissing. In other words, the person imitating you is protected from discovery by contact for at least a week. Our plan will be accomplished by then."

Marenson said: "Don't be a couple of fools. I can see you're going to be stupid and make us all die. That's where this kind of stuff is so depressing. We three will die. And no one will care. It's not as if we'll be heroes, any of us. You'll be burned, trying to escape, and I--" He broke off. "What's your plan for me?"

"First," said young Clugy's image, "we want you to sign a paper."

He paused; and Marenson sighed. His a.n.a.lysis of the situation had been so completely right--too late.