The Unprotected Species

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  The Unprotected Species

  By Melvin Sturgis[1]

  [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic UniverseSeptember 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

  [Sidenote: It was a chill, terrifying planet inhabited by furtivegnomes. And something was forcing the crew into homicidal insanity. Butwhat?]

  Early on the first morning after the camp had been secured--scarcelytwenty-four hours after the first plastic shack had been erected--fourmembers of the surveying section brought in Bradshaw.

  Gallifa, the senior biologist of the party, was loading the halftrack inpreparation for a field trip when the men placed the stretcher in theshade of the truck. He took one look; and immediately stoppedcongratulating himself on the ease of operations.

  "Damn! Is he dead?" asked the stunned Gallifa.

  "He isn't dead," the mapping officer said lamely. "But he's damn wellbeat up."

  Gallifa nodded awkwardly and looked down at the stretcher. Bradshaw wasone of his team. A good man. Gallifa hadn't known he wasn't in thecompound. Bradshaw wasn't a pleasant sight. Blood covered his face froma deep gash above the temple, and his clothes and body were cut andscratched in a dozen places.

  "Better get him over to the hospital," Gallifa ordered brusquely. "I'llbe along as soon as I can."

  The mapping officer gestured, and the men moved away with their burden.The officer inspected the toes of his boots uncomfortably.

  "How did it happen?" Gallifa asked quietly. "I would say that he hadbeen clawed by some kind of animal."

  "That's possible," the other agreed unconvincingly. He licked his lipsnervously. "Of course, we are not sure just what did happen." He noddedat a tall, sad-faced man standing almost at his elbow. "Hawkins spottedhim from the 'copter on his second recon flight this morning. He cameback and directed a crew to pick Bradshaw up."

  The officer's manner was hesitant and confusing. Gallifa started tospeak, then glanced questioningly at Hawkins and motioned impatiently.

  Hawkins cleared his throat. "I saw him almost as soon as I was in theair. He was about half a mile on the other side of camp. I probablywouldn't have paid any attention if he hadn't been acting so funny."

  Hawkins paused and glanced apologetically at Gallifa. Gallifa frowned.

  "You know how thick those brambles are all around here?" Hawkinscontinued quickly. "Well, Bradshaw was running through them, just as ifsomething was chasing him. The thorns were cutting the clothes right offhis back. I couldn't see anything from the air, so I swung the 'copterback and grabbed some men to see if we could find out what was wrong.

  "It took almost an hour to find him again. He was in the bottom of alittle ravine, leaning against a rock. He seemed to be all right untilwe were close. Then he picked up a stick and started swinging it aroundlike a wild man. He was clear crazy. I finally had to hit him over thehead with a rock to save myself. He was true crazy."

  So that was what they had been so hesitant in telling him! Gallifa shookhis head in bewilderment. Bradshaw was one of his most competent men. Itdidn't make sense that he suddenly should go berserk. Something seemedto be missing in the report.

  "That doesn't sound right," Gallifa argued stubbornly. "Are you sureBradshaw wasn't scared half to death by something? A man sometimes doessome funny things if he's scared."

  "Maybe he _was_ scared," Hawkins admitted. "But he was sure actingcrazy. I'm sorry--" He spread his hands helplessly and walked away,accompanied by the mapping officer.

  Gallifa glanced at his wrist watch and swore softly to himself. He hadplanned to get an early start, but the Bradshaw tragedy was tooimportant. They still knew relatively nothing about the planet. If a mancould wander around for only an hour or so and return with grievous,unexplained injuries--Well, it obviously needed looking into.

  It would be difficult enough to finish the pre-colonization survey inthe allotted time under the best of circumstances, and this was hardlywhat could be called a smooth beginning. He sighed and walked over tothe hospital.

  Dr. Thorndyke, a small, swarthy man with the penetrating gaze of hisprofession, greeted him with a shrug and a puzzled frown.

  Gallifa framed the question with his eyes.

  "I don't know," the doctor said slowly. "Frankly, I've never seenanything like this before. Your man seems to have lost his mindcompletely, yet his reactions are at least pseudo-normal. He has anintense homicidal mania, however. He regained consciousness unexpectedlyand almost brained two of my medics with a headboard before we couldgive him a hypo. I don't know whether he'll improve or not. But I'veclassified him unfit for further survey duty."

  Gallifa shook his head in disbelief. The doctor had told him exactlynothing. He had intelligently diagnosed Bradshaw's condition, but heapparently hadn't the slightest idea what had caused it. It was damnedstrange. Bradshaw's psych check certainly hadn't hinted at anyinstability. The initial spot check notwithstanding, maybe there _was_something disturbingly wrong with this planet. If such were the case,his team would have to uncover it. The problem would belong to Gallifa.