THE CHASERS
By DANIEL F. GALOUYE
Illustrated by Harrington
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Magazine February 1961.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Civilizations must make sense somehow. But
was this one the gaudy, impossible exception?
As the dust drifted clear of the ship's landing skids, at least twothings became obvious:
One—although they had missed the city (if that's what it was) bymiles, they had nevertheless managed to slam down near one of thenumerous rural estates.
Two—the landscape would be crawling with Zaortian Fuzzy Tails for along while to come. They were still pouring out of hatches sprung openby the crunching impact.
Kent Cassidy untangled himself from the control column and pluckedone of the Fuzzy Tails from his neck. The creature scampered arounduntil it found the ruptured hatch, then scurried through to join thesquealing zoological exodus.
"There goes ten thousand credits' worth of cargo," groaned Gene Mason.His stout form was slumped in dejection before the view port.
Cassidy sniffed the refreshing air that was drifting into the ship."Any idea where we are?"
"After the directional stabilizer blew, we made three blind jumps, allin the direction of Galactic Center. We could be anywhere betweenZaort Seven and the Far Rim."
"Hey, look," said Cassidy.
From the hatchway, the sumptuous estate sprawled nearby, its manygabled manor closed off behind a high wire fence. Cassidy squinted, butfailed to recognize the bold, flowing architectural style.
A small, bent figure clung to the wire netting of the fence. He wasshouting at the ship, but his excited words were no match for thedecompression hisses of the auxiliary drive.
"Humanoid?" Mason suggested.
"Human, I'd say." Cassidy gestured toward the gear locker. "Betterbreak out the translator."
In baggy trousers and sagging blouse, the man raced back and forthbehind the fence—the picture of frustrated anger. However, large,doleful eyes, complemented by a bald head and huge, pendulous earlobes, belied his furious actions.
Presently the squeals of the Fuzzy Tails trailed off in the distanceand the auxiliary drive quieted with a final sigh. And now the native'sshouts rang out distinct and loud:
"Quick! From here get you! Shoo! Scram! Or out there I'll come andapart tear you!"
"It's English!" Mason exclaimed.
"Of a sort. Archaic, but understandable. And not at all friendly."
Mason scratched his blunt chin. "Guess we're not too far off the beatenstar paths, eh?"
Cassidy could find no grounds for challenging this observation as theystarted down the ladder—not until he looked overhead and saw threesuns shining in the same sky. As far as he knew, there were no settledtrinary systems.
Beyond the fence the native, a wisp of a man was still fuming. "Thehell away from here get! You I'm warning—no closer come!"
Mason displayed a half frown. "He's sure a sour cuss."
"You stay with the ship," said Cassidy. "I'll see what's fouling histubes."
Before Cassidy reached the fence, his pet Fuzzy Tail came scamperingfrom behind a bush. It clambered up his trousers and wra