FIRST SKIRMISH
 
I 
 
As the spaceship vanished into the steamy mists of Eristan II, Trevor Jamieson drew his gun. He felt dizzy, sickened by the way he had been tossed and buffeted for long moments in the furious wind stream of the great ship. But awareness of danger held him tense there in the harness that was attached by cables to the antigravity plate above him. With narrowed eyes, he stared up at the ezwal which was peering down at him over the edge of the still-swaying skyraft.
Its three-in-line eyes, as gray as dully polished steel, gazed at him, unwinking; its massive blue head poised alertly and—Jamieson knew—ready to jerk back the instant it read in his thoughts an intention of shooting.
“Well,” said Jamieson harshly, “here we are, both of us—thousands of light-years from our respective home planets. And we’re falling down into a primitive hell that you, with only your isolated life on Carson’s Planet to judge by, cannot begin to imagine despite your ability to read my thoughts. Even a six-thousand-pound ezwal can’t survive down there alone.”
A great claw-studded paw slid over the side of the raft, flicked down at one of the three slender cables that supported Jamieson’s harness. There was a bright, steely ping as the cable parted from the slashing blow, and the force of it lifted Jamieson in his harness several feet. He dropped back heavily and began swinging from the two remaining cables as from a trapeze. Awkwardly, gun in hand, he craned his neck to defend these last two supports from attack.
But the ezwal made no further threatening move, and there was only the great head and the calm, unwinking eyes peering down at him. Finally, a thought penetrated to Jamieson. A thought cool and unhurried: “At the moment I have one concern. Of the hundred or more men on your ship, only you remain alive. Out of all the human race, therefore, only you know that the ezwals of what you call Carson’s Planet are not senseless beasts but intelligent beings. Your government, we know, is having great difficulty in settling or keeping colonists on our planet, because we are regarded simply as a sort of natural force, very dangerous to cope with but unavoidable. That is just the way we want the situation to remain. Once human beings became convinced that we are an intelligent enemy, there would be a systematic, full-scale warfare against us. This would handicap us seriously in our unalterable purpose of driving all trespassers from our world. Because you know this, rather than take the slightest risk of your escaping the jungle dangers below, I took the chance of jumping on top of this antigravity raft just as you were launching yourself out of the lock.”
“What makes you so sure,” asked Jamieson, “that finishing me off will settle the matter? Have you forgotten the other ship with two ezwals aboard, a female and her young? At last contact, it was undamaged by the Rull warship that wrecked this one, and it is probably on its way to Earth right now.”
“I am aware of that,” returned the ezwal contemptuously. “And I am also aware of the frank disbelief on the part of its commander when you merely hinted that ezwals might be more intelligent than most human beings suspected. You alone might be able to convince Earth’s government of the truth, because you alone are certain. As for the other ezwals you have captured, they will never betray their kind.”
“Ezwals may not be quite as altruistic as you indicate,” said Jamieson cynically. “After all, you saved your own life when you jumped on this antigravity raft. You would not have been able to operate a lifeboat, so you would have crashed with the ship by now, and I doubt that even an ezwal could—”
His voice collapsed in an ugh of amazement as in a blur of motion the ezwal twisted up, a rearing, monstrous blue shape of frightful fangs and edged claws that reached at a gigantic bird. On huddled, tentlike wings, the bird was diving straight down at the raft. It did not swoop aside. Jamieson had a brief, terrifying glimpse of its protruding eyes and of the sicklelike talons, tensing for the thrust at the ezwal.
The crash as it struck the ezwal set the raft tossing like a ship in stormy waters. Jamieson swung with dizzy speed from side to side. Gusts of sound from the smashing beat of those great wings were like thunderclaps about his head. Gasping, he raised his gun. The white flame of it reached toward one of those wings and made a dark smear across it. The wing drooped, and, simultaneously, the bird was flung from the raft by the raging strength of the ezwal. It plunged down, and down, turning slowly, until it became lost against the dark background of the land mass below.
A grating sound above him made Jamieson look up quickly. The ezwal, dangerously off balance, teetered at the very edge of the raft, with its four upper limbs pawing the air uselessly. The remaining two fought with bitter effort at the metal bars on top of the raft—and won. The great body drew back, until, once again, only the massive head was visible. Jamieson lowered his gun in grim good humor.
“You see,” he said, “even a bird was almost too much for us—and I could have burned your belly open. I didn’t because of the simple fact that I need you—and you need me. Here is the situation: As nearly as I can reckon, the ship will have crashed by now on the mainland not far beyond the Demon Straits, a body of water about twenty miles wide which separates this great island from that mainland. We got out of that falling ship none too soon; in another minute or so, the slipstream would have made it impossible. But now our only chance of rescue is to get to it again. It has stores of food, and it will provide shelter against some of the most insensately feral animal life in the known galaxy. I might just possibly be able to repair the sub-space radio—or even one of the lifeboats.
“But to get there will take all the resources both of us can muster. First, fifty miles or more of hostile, dense jungle between here and the Demon Straits. Then to build a navigable raft large enough to protect us from sea monsters that could swallow you whole. All your tremendous strength and fighting ability, plus your telepathic powers, all my skill, plus my atomic weapon, will be needed to get us through. What do you say?”
There was no answer. Jamieson slid his gun into its holster. It would do no good to damage with his weapon the one being that could help him escape. He could only hope that the ezwal would be equally careful not to hurt him.
A warm, wet wind breathed against his body, bringing the first faint, obscene odors from below. The raft was still at a great height, yet through the steamy mists that pervaded this primeval land patches of jungle and sea showed more clearly now—a patternless sprawl of dark trees alternating with water that glimmered in the probing sunlight.
Minute by minute the scene grew vaster and more fantastic. To the north, as far as the eye could see among the coiling vapors, spread the dank tangle of vegetation. Somewhere in the dimness beyond, Jamieson knew, lay the ugly swell of water called the Demon Straits. It all added up to the endless, deadly reality that was Eristan II.
“Since you’re not answering,” continued Jamieson softly,...