Dangerous Planet
CHAPTER 4
After sitting a little still, Stan stretched out his legs tiredly and put a box under his head. Then he looked at Shirra's pale face and closed his eyes. Now his thoughts flowed in a different direction. Stan thought about whether he should bury Simon, Neil and the remains of the crew, or leave them there and forget about their existence. The last option suited Stan much more than the first, and he wanted to have already agreed to it, but then it occurred to him that perhaps tomorrow or the day after tomorrow he would have to return to the wreckage of the control cabin, and during this time the sun and microorganisms, as is known, will do their job, and Stan did not feel confident that he could withstand the spectacle which will wait for him, and most importantly, the smell of decaying corpses.
Lively imagined this unpleasant picture, Stan grimaced disgustedly and decided to go tomorrow to the control cabin to bury them all, or to pull them out of the spaceship and carry them away. Let microorganisms and animals (if they exist on this planet) do their work not in front of him. With these thoughts, Stan cautiously lay down on the floor next to Shirra and, not letting the weapon out of his hand, fell asleep. The next morning Stan woke up feeling that someone was watching him. Stan never liked it, and he involuntarily clasped the weapon in his hand, slowly opened his eyes. It was Shirra. She reclined on her good arm and looked at him with wide eyes. For a few moments they looked expectantly in each other's eyes, then Shirra blushed and confusedly looked away. Stan also gained the ability to move and with a noise sat down. He felt much better today, but his head still was noisy, as it was yesterday. Rubbing his head with his free hand, Stan looked at the weapon then shifted all his attention to the silent Shirra and in a hoarse voice asked: "Do you want something?" She shrugged her shoulders and looked at her bandaged fingers. "I do not know," she answered. "Mgg," Stan nodded and began to make sandwiches for himself and her from the remaining stocks. Shirra silently followed his actions with her eyes, not showing any desire to help him, nor to advise what is best to take from the ingredients for sandwiches. Just as silently, she took the sandwich stretched out to her and, only after taking a small bite, silently asked affarmatly: "We have no water?" Stan was extremely surprised by this "we", but he did not give a look and silently gave her a jar opened yesterday. "Take, there's not much left," he said, and slowly began to chew his sandwich. He did not want to eat, but, remembering his intention to bury his dead friends, he decided that he needed to regain his strength. "What is your name?" Shirra asked after a few minutes filled with the sounds of working jaws and splashing of the drink, which from time to time came from the jar. "Stan," Stan muttered, and began the second sandwich. "I'm Shirra," Shirra introduced herself and tried to move her bandaged fingers. This effort responded with pain and she gasped and left her attempts. "I know," Stan replied, watching her efforts. "You have one finger broken, and two dislocated. But now it's all right," he added, seeing Shirra's face turned pale even more as it was before. His mouth stopped chewing. "And a leg, too," he said, not knowing why. "Broken?" she tensed and was ready it seemed to burst into tears. "No," Stan hastened to reassure her. "Simple dislocation. But I corrected it and now everything is normal." he took a jar of tonic from her hand and made a big sip. "It's time for me," he said, putting the jar aside. "Where?" she shook her head and raised her blue eyes with thick eyelashes. "There's one thing. I need to make it before ... until it's too late. " "But me?" "You stay here." "Here ... Take it," Stan pulled out the weapon and threw it on Shirra's bed, "if something threaten you, shoot." "Will you come back?" Shirra asked with hope in her voice, clumsily taking the weapon with a healthy hand. "Yes, I'm just going to bury Simon and Neil and I'll be back." "It's yours ..." she did not finish and wisely stopped. "Friends," Stan said without looking at her, rising to his feet. Checking the second blaster, he looked closely at the wall then twisted and with the hit of the boot opened the door with a gaping hole. She looked at him in his back, but did not say anything. She dropped her head wearily at some bag and closed her eyes. Her leg hurt, and she did not give a damn about anything. Getting out from under the wreckage of the spaceship, Stan, not letting go of the weapon, looked around carefully then listened. From somewhere from above came some kind of indistinct sounds and a quiet rustle. From time to time there was a thin squeak, after which Stan heard a sort of gurgling and quiet slaps. All this was rather strange, but Stan decided to discover the source of these sounds after he did the most important thing. Jumping over from the boulder to the boulder, Stan jumped down and felt something under his feet, something faintly moved. Instantly jumping aside, he threw forward his hand with the weapon, but nothing except the green leaves of the grass, did not see. He snorted in surprise, and cautiously stepped on one of that leaf, and almost immediately felt under his foot as if air had been released from it, and the leaf tried to hide in the ground. But as soon as Stan removed his foot, the leaf regained its former shape and was no different from the others. Saying something under his nose to himself, Stan, screwing up his eyes, looked along the gorge and made sure that almost all of it was covered with exactly the same grass made up only boulders and stones, which at least somehow protruded above the ground. But since Stan did not intend to jump from stone to stone, and the grass seemed to be doing no harm to him, Stan decided not to pay any attention to it, and, slowly, headed for the place where the control cabin was located. But he could not pay attention at all, especially at the time when the leaves began to wither and hide in the ground. From this he slid slightly and could not get rid of the unpleasant feeling that he was about to fall to the ground. But what was Stan's most surprise when, having reached the control cabin, he sat down on a box and decided to inspect the soles of his shoes. Even during the trip, he had a feeling that the sole became much thinner, and the feet felt the tiniest pebbles. When he took off his right boot and turned it over, he could hardly resist the urge to throw it away: the whole sole was something pinched with and made twice as thin as it was at the beginning of the journey. But Stan did not throw it off. First, he did not have the desire to walk back barefoot, and secondly, what was most important, the sole was no longer corroded, and Stan concluded that the less he would attack the grass, the better for him. But he'd decided to seriously tackle this problem after he buried his friend and examined the control cabin. Having made his way through the rubble, formed during the crash, Stan entered the control cabin and froze in surprise. Instead of the dead bodies of Simon and Neil, he found the bones gnawed to white, lying on the floor. Also, nowhere in the entire control cabin was a speck of blood left. Only Neil's foot inside the boot had the remains of flesh and pieces of skin. All the rest mysteriously disappeared, and one could think that these bones lie here for a year already. "Wow," Stan muttered stunned, and with a weapon in his hand carefully examined the walls and corners of the control cabin. There was no one there. Neither animals that probably could deal with the remains of his friends, or plants (Stan also allowed this possibility). After tramping down a little on the spot, he tipped the tibia with his toe and, when that turned over, he looked at the control panel. What he hoped to see there, Stan did not know himself. The control panel was half melted, half broken. After wandering a little among the equipment and human bones that had been torn from their seats, Stan found two blasters and in the jacket of one officer – a laser gun. All this he put down on the bottom of an upturned chair and began to think about what to do with his shoes. After one more walk to Shirra, he suspected that he would come there barefoot or, worse, he would remain without a foot. Now, if he winds his boots with something around, then maybe he'll get to Shirra. This thought pleased Stan, and he once again looked around the control cabin, now with a definite purpose. At first he decided to cut off the metal backrest covered with soft material from the chair, and cut out two soles with a thin beam of a laser gun, and attach them to his shoes. But then Stan came up with the idea that the plants of this planet may have already met with iron and other metals in a free form, and it is possible that they burn it no worse than the soles of the shoes. So after a lot of thought, Stan chose plastic and it's varieties. He was sure that there wasn't any plastic on this planet. Sitting on the floor, Stan took a laser gun from the chair and climbed with the weapon under the right wing of the control panel, which was relatively in good condition. The lower part of it consisted of flat plastic sheets, and Stan needed it. * * * Sitting back, Stan spread his legs to the sides in such a way that the melted drops did not hit them, and adjusted the gun to the minimum radiation power. Then he aimed to the bottom of the control panel and pressed the trigger. A thin beam cut out a square sheet in a few seconds, and the latter, still smoking with molten edges, fell to the floor with a noise. After waiting for it to cool down, Stan together with it got out from under the control panel and with the same beam cut out new soles for his boots. They fitted and Stan carefully welded it with a ray to the eaten soles of the boots. He also cut out the soles for Shirra, but in smaller sizes. Putting them into his belt, he picked up his weapons and, unhurriedly, left the wreckage of the spaceship. Getting out, Stan found the swollen leaves, and so to speak, as an experiment, stepped on them. The green leaves immediately went limp and hid in the ground. When Stan pricked up his right leg after thirty seconds (he did not have enough patience to count more) and looked at the sole, he noted with satisfaction that the plastic had successfully withstood the impact of the aggressive substance, and only lightened a little. But in comparison with what became with real soles, it was a mere trifle. Considering that the problem with the leaves is solved and no longer exists, Stan stopped paying attention to them and went at a big pace toward Shirra. About fifteen minutes later, with a kick of his foot, he opened the door with a scorched hole and entered the room where he left Shirra. She reclined on an improvised bed and, unhurriedly, was eating the sandwich made by herself. Unexpected appearance of Stan frightened her, and she almost choked on another piece. "It's me," Stan said, without a smile. "You could have warned," Shirra took a breath and put down her half-eaten sandwich. She did not want to eat any more. "About what?" Stan asked, laying two blasters and a laser gun on some box. "That you are going," Shirra explained irritably. She was, of course, glad to see Stan again, but for some reason she tried not to show her joy. "Ah," Stan said thoughtfully. "I forgot". "Of course," Shirra inspected him imperceptibly from head to foot, and her gaze settled on his boots. "Well, have you done your business?" she asked. "No." "Why?" "Local creatures did everything for me, and I found only bones." "Oh my God!" Shirra gasped, and for almost a whole minute she did not ask for anything. This time, Stan was enough to quench his thirst and make himself a sandwich. "What about your boots?" Shirra, at last, has come to herself and again was able to speak. "It's a whole story," Stan said wearily, sitting down next to her more comfortably. "During the time I was walking to the control cabin and back, some plants with thick leaves burned out my soles." "You never say so!" Shirra exclaimed tensely, realizing how this all looked. "Well, it's not that they burned, but almost," Stan lifted his right foot and showed her the sole. "I cut out new ones from plastic and welded them on my shoes," he explained. "It hadn't fallen off yet." "And what about me?" from a purely practical point, Shirra asked after she had studied Stan's boots. "It's all right," he reassured her. "I also thought about you and cut also for you." Where are your boots?" Stan finished his sandwich and pulled plastic strips from behind his belt. "One on the leg, and the other I do not know where," Shirra shrugged and leaned out of bed. "It must have gone somewhere," she suggested. "Probably," Stan has washed down a sandwich by the tonic and has found her second boot lying among boxes with foods. While Shirra was questioning about what else he saw outside, Stan took the laser gun and, with the finest ray, accurately welded the plastic to her boots. "Well," he said with satisfaction, turning them before his eyes, "now you can walk without fear." She did not reply to this and only nodded her head whether as a sign of gratitude or agreeing to this statement. For several minutes they were silent and each thought about their own. Stan – that it's time probably to get out of the gorge and see what is at the top. It is possible that in the remaining parts of the collapsed spaceship, somebody survived, and then, together, they might think of what to do next. "Stan," Shirra called quietly when he decided to take a nap after making a decision. "What?" Stan looked at her and saw that the eyes of Shirra were red. Apparently she was crying or just about to do it. "I want to go home," Shirra said, stuttering and tears rolled down her cheeks. "Where?" Stan asked, somehow didn't understand at once what she was talking about. "Home," Shirra repeated, sobbing, and began to smear the remains of lipstick on her face. "Hmm," Stan turned around in his place and looked at her like she was a fool, "you can not even dream about it," he snapped coldly. "That is ... You can dream," he added after a moment's pause. "Can not anything be done?!" Shirra exclaimed desperately. "Perhaps," Stan muttered, not quite sure. "So why are we sitting?" "And what am I supposed to do in your opinion..fly or what?" Stan asked who did not like such conversations. "No, but you can do something?" she did not cry anymore and began to chew her sandwich. "You can, probably," Stan repeated and turned the blaster in his hands. "But first we need to get out of the gorge and find the wreckage of the cargo hold." I think that there were enough useful things left with which we really could do something." Stan paused for a second then repeated with certainty. "I think we could." "And where is it?" Shirra asked, visibly enlivened. "The devil knows it," Stan answered, not caring at all that his words completely destroyed her hope of salvation. "We'll look, Shirra. But with your foot, we will not go far." "I can walk," Shirra assured warmly, greatly fearing that he would leave without her. "I already tried." "What did you try?" "To walk." "You need to lie," Stan said coldly. "Otherwise, we'll stay in this hole for more than a week, and we do not have much food." "I needed ... In my business." she blushed and looked away. Stan wanted to ask what kind of business for god sake she has on this planet, but then it got to him, and he just asked: "Did you hurt your foot?" "No, Stan. It's all right." she smiled and added:" A good doctor would come out of you. " "You understand a lot," Stan said, still flattered by her praise. "I'm serious, Stan." "Okay," Stan waved his hand and sighed noisily, rose to his feet. "Lie down, and I'll go upstairs and walk a little." "Stan ..." "If anything – shoot," he interrupted. "I remember." "About what?" "About the order to shoot," Shirra smiled and pulled out her gun. "And do it," Stan smiled slightly in response and with a blaster in his hand left the cabin, which became their temporary shelter. Stopping between two boulders, Stan looked up for a while, looking at a few trees that could be seen on the edge of the gorge. Making sure that there is nothing suspicious there, and no one is hiding, he climbed up the flowing slope and, still on his hands and knees, listened attentively. When the noise of the grains of sand falling behind him was abated, and new sounds were not added, Stan rose to his feet and motionlessly froze. With his eyes alone, without even turning his head, Stan surveyed the place where he found himself and only then went to the nearest tree. The word "tree" fitted more closely to what he saw than any other. In front of him was a raft, with pinkish bark and branches growing horizontally some big plants. Sometimes they intertwined, forming loops among themselves, and Stan had a very timely idea that someone could hide inside. But he did not shoot. Instead of it Stan went on the other side and looked at what was there. Nothing special was there, except for a rare grass with some sort of yellow berries, or seeds on the tips, and green leaves that made an attempt to leave him previously without boots. Still not daring to enter this rather outlandish forest, Stan raised his head and followed the thick branch, which in some places hardly narrowly contracted, giving the impression that if not the branch itself was alive, but something must be inside it. Yellow leaves hanging from the branches, too, did not inspire much confidence in itself too, and Stan spent a lot of time under this tree before deciding anything. Of course, he was not going to touch anything yet, but after some hesitation he decided to go for a walk along the edge of the gorge and see what was there. In the fifty steps Stan came to the conclusion that sooner or later he and Shirra would still have to enter this forest, no matter how he or she did not want it. In the end, trees are trees everywhere. But ... Stan waited a little more and carefully entered under the rare crown of trees. From the tension that seized him, he looked like a compressed spring and was ready to open fire at any suspicious movement or rustle. But the forest lived its own life, and so far it has not reacted to his appearance. Only the branches of the trees, under which he passed, a little rose up, and the loops formed by the branches, on the contrary, fell. But, perhaps, all this Stan simply just imagined. Nerves are nerves... This continued until he, purely by accident and not suspecting anything, stepped on a small grass mat, which stood out somewhat in its darker color among the rest. At the same instant, the "grass" under his feet came alive, and made an attempt to throw him off and run away. Stan with a lightning reaction jumped back, but stumbled over some snag and nearly dropped the blaster. In two seconds, he laid on his stomach and, breathing faster, kept on sight "grass", which slowly crawled away from him. Snarling something through his teeth, Stan jumped to his feet and put a blaster charge into the dark green mat. His nerves were at the limit, and the accumulated emotions needed a way out. A green mat full of fire, which Stan really did not expect from it, jumped up and clung with something to the trunk of a tree. Then quickly curled up in a tube and tried to put out the fire. It almost succeeded, but Stan, gripped by an incomprehensible wave of irritation, quickly raised his hand and fired several times in a row. Burning like a torch, the mat fell to the ground, and the beam of blaster cut off the top of the tree, which slowly and with a noise fell down. From the scorched place where the branch was cut off with hissing and steaming, some kind of liquid began to flow out, and quickly formed several bright puddles. On the edge of one puddle laid a charred mat, which just a few minutes ago quite successfully was pretending to be a grass. It's body was no longer green but was covered with shallow furrows, which, like a thin layer of paint, peeled off and fell to the ground. When the dead creature with a dry crack split into pieces, Stan shuddered with surprise, and the blaster jerked in his hand. The damages made by shots meanwhile tightened and filled with some kind of glue-looking substance. Then the flow of liquid ceased both on the tree' branch and on the cut off top. "Wow," muttered Stan, wiping his sweaty face with his hand. All that happened in the last minutes, he did not like at all, especially the trees, which were little like to which he was accustomed. And what kind of liquid is it, which, like in a big pipe, is transported in huge quantities along branches from nowhere to nowhere? Stan did not know this nor did he know what the creature, pretending to be like grass, really was. But the fact that the local trees were too lively and mobile, he was convinced, and he did not need any other proof. But he didn't know for sure if they were dangerous for a man or not. Of course, he could for the purpose of the experiment, to cut off the branch and touch it or put it in a puddle formed by liquid leaking from the branches. But for some reason Stan did not want to do either one or the other. He waited until all the liquid had been absorbed by the soil, then approached the dead creature and began to scrutinize it carefully. But he did not see anything interesting. The creature completely burned out, and there was nothing left of the internal or external organs. Then Stan went to the cut off treetop and with a shot of the blaster cut off a branch as thick as a finger. When it fell to the ground, a light-colored liquid began to flow from the charred place and flow into the grass with a thin stream. But after about a minute and a half, the cut began to be tightened by some semi-transparent creature, and soon a dark green bulge formed on the place of the cut. "Interesting," Stan said, and went on the other side. There he also cut off a branch and saw that together with the liquid, something red and oblong appeared. This "something" clutched a claw at the edge of the cut and, wriggling in the air, tried to catch hold of the back, or maybe the "front" part behind the branch and climb back into the capillary. Deciding that this was some sort of symbiotic living inside the branches and eating a juice that was driven by the numerous capillaries, Stan winced in disgust and the blaster's beam brought the woodworm to the ground. Then he stepped on and crushed. After that, Stan did not want to do anything more, and decided to return to Shirra, rightly believing that the impressions and food for thought for the first time is enough for him.
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