The Science Fiction Anthology. Филип Дик

until that time, we had confined our activities to the area between the ship and the shore—a small enough space at best. Now we rounded the shining blunt bow of the Ertak and headed inland, Correy and myself in the lead, the two portable disintegrator ray-men immediately behind us, and the four other men of the party flanking the ray operators, two on each side.

      It was hot, but the air was dry and invigorating. There was not a cloud visible in the sky. Far ahead was a low line of bluish, fronded, vegetation; whether small trees or some fern-like undergrowth, we could not determine. The ground between the ship and the line of vegetation was almost completely barren, the only growth being a lichenous sort of vegetation, gray-green in color.

      Here and there on the ground were the imprints of sharp, split hoofs, and Correy pointed these out to me with the comment that one of the guards had reported seeing a number of slender-legged animals roaming here in the star-light, apparently seeking water, but frightened by the strange apparition of our ship.

      “From the way he described them, they’re something like the deer we used to have on Earth,” he said. “I’ve seen the fossils in the museums, and they had little sharp, split hoofs like—”

      One of the men behind us shouted a warning at that instant, and we both whirled in our tracks. My eyes fell instantly upon one of the strangest and most fearsome sights I have ever seen—and I have explored many strange and terrible worlds.

      To our left, a huge circular section of the earth had lifted, and was swinging back on a hinge of glistening white fibers; a disk as great in diameter as the height of a man, and as thick as a man’s body.

      Where the disk had been, gaped a tunnel slanting down into the earth, and lined with the same glistening white fibers which covered the bottom of the disk, and hinged it in place. As I looked, there sprang from this tunnel a thing which I shall call a spider, yet which was too monstrous to be called by such an innocuous name.

      It was rust red in color, with eight bristling legs, each tipped with three curved and tufted claws. On each side of its face was an armored mandible, tipped with shining fangs, and beside them, slender, six-jointed palps stretched hungrily.

      The man who had seen the disk fly up opened fire without orders, and if he had not done so, some of us would not have returned to the ship. As it was, the atomic pistol whispered a steady stream of death which spattered the hairy body into an oozing pulp while it was still in mid-air. We leaped away, adding our fire to that of the alert guard who had first seen the apparition, and the spider, a twitching bundle of bespattered legs, fell on the spot where, an instant before, we had been.

      Almost at the same instant two other great circular trap-doors swung up, just beyond the first, and their hairy, malignant occupants leaped toward us.

      Our pistols were ready, now, however, and the portable ray equipment was humming. The ray dissolved the first into a sifting of reddish dust, and our pistols slashed the other into ribbons.

      “Back to the ship!” I shouted. “Look, Mr. Correy—there are hundreds of them!”

      Before us score upon score of the great disks were lifting, and from the tunnel each revealed, monstrous rust-red bodies were pouring.

      Our retreat covered by the two ray operators, we made our way swiftly to the ship. The great spiders, apparently alarmed by the magical disappearance of those of their comrades upon which the disintegrator ray rested, hesitated for a moment, their tremendous legs tensed, and their mandibles quivering with venomous anger, and then scuttled back into their holes, swinging their covers into place as they did so.

      “We didn’t do so badly, at that,” grinned Correy rather breathlessly, as we gained the welcome shelter of the Ertak. “There are a score and more of those potlids still standing open—which means that many spiders didn’t go back to tell about what happened to them.”

      “True—but had they waited until they could have surrounded us, the Ertak would have been short-handed on the return trip. She would have been just two officers and six men short.”

      I have never seen a real expression of fear on Correy’s face, but I came as close to it then as I ever did.

      “They’re tough customers,” he said. “I never did like spiders, and I like them less, now. Those things stood half again as high as a man on their long legs, and could jump half the length of the ship.”

      “Hardly that,” I said. “But I’ll say this: if they’re the gentry Inverness and the other two are investigating, they’re welcome to their jobs!”

      There wasn’t any difficulty in keeping the men close to the ship after that, although waiting was a tedious and nerve-racking procedure.

      We watched the spider-infested territory closely, however, and found that they fed at night upon the deer-like creatures Correy had mentioned. These unwary beasts, seeking water, were pounced upon the instant they came close to one of the hidden dens, and dragged swiftly out of sight. These observations were made by television, and Correy in particular would sit up half the night watching the creatures at work.

      It was the second day of the fourth week that the sentry on duty called out that the boat was returning. We hastened down to the river to welcome them back, and I for one felt very much relieved.

      But as the boat approached, I felt my fears returning, for there was only one man visible: Tipene.

      The Zenian, bedraggled and weary, had lost or discarded the protective suit he had worn, and his lean, dark face was haggard.

      “We leave immediately, Commander Hanson,” he said as he disembarked. “Please give the necessary orders.”

      “But the others, sir? Where are Inverness and Brady?”

      “Dead,” said Tipene. “The Aranians got them. I barely escaped myself.”

      “And who are the Aranians?” I asked.

      “The creatures which control this world. The spider creatures. Aranians, they call themselves. Do we leave at once, as I ordered?”

      I thought quickly. I didn’t like Tipene, and never had, and I fancied even less the high-handed attitude he was taking.

      “I would suggest, sir, that you first give us an account of what has happened,” I said shortly. “If there is anything we can do for the other two, perhaps—”

      “I said they were dead,” snapped Tipene. “You can’t do anything for dead men, can you?”

      “No. But we must have a report to enter on our log, you understand, and—I’ll be very busy on the return trip. I’d like to have your story before we start.” Somehow, I was suspicious of Tipene.

      “Very well. Although I warn you I shall report your delay to your superiors.” I shrugged, and led the way to the dining saloon which, small as it was, held chairs enough to seat us all.

      “My story is very brief,” he said, when my three officers, Tipene, and myself were seated. “We proceeded up the river to a spot which we deemed suited as a point of entry into the country, and far enough from the ship so that its presence would not be alarming to the inhabitants.

      “We permitted ourselves to be captured by the Aranians, knowing that our protective suits would prevent them from doing us serious bodily injury.

      “You have seen the creatures—word of your adventure with them precipitated our misfortune, I might say here—and you know of their tunnels. We were taken down one of these tunnels, and into a still larger one. This in turn gave onto a veritable subterranean avenue, and, in time, led to a sort of underground metropolis.”

      “What?” growled Correy. “An underground city of those things?”

      “I should like to ask that you do not interrupt,” said Tipene coldly. “This metropolis was really no more than a series of cubicles, opening off the innumerable crisscrossing