The Judas Valley

Boggs wandered dizzily for a second before Wayne’s other fist came blasting in, knocking the breath out of him. A third blow, and the sergeant collapsed on the sand.

Wayne paused and caught his breath. The sergeant remained unconscious. Wayne shook his head uncertainly, wondering what had come over the mild-mannered Boggs. A chilling thought struck him: was this what happened to the crew of the Mavis?

He looked up the cliff, where the other two men were still peering over the edge.

“MacPherson! Manetti! Come down! We’re going back to the ship!”

He heaved the unconscious body of Sergeant Boggs over his shoulder like a potato-sack, and waited for the two men to come down. They drew near.

“Boggs must have gone out of his head,” Wayne said. “He jumped me like a madman.”

They had nothing to say, so he turned and began to trudge back to the Lord Nelson, trying to assemble the facts in his mind. They followed alongside.

What was behind the attack? After seeing the monster, why had Boggs attempted to push his superior officer over into the sand? There were other little beasts under that sand; why would Boggs want one of them—there seemed to be dozens—to jab him with its needle of a beak?

And what were the beastly little animals, anyway?

There were no answers. But the answers would have to come, soon.

He tossed Boggs into the airlock and waited for the others to catch up. They climbed up the ladder and said nothing as the airlock went through its cycle and the antibacterial spray covered them.

Colonel Petersen looked at him across the desk and put the palms of his hands together. “Then, as I understand it, Captain, Sergeant Boggs tried to push you over into the sand when this—ah— monster jabbed you in the foot?”

“That’s right, sir,” Wayne said. He felt uncomfortable. This wasn’t a formal court-martial; it was simply an inquiry into the sergeant’s actions. Charges would be preferred later, if there were any to be preferred.

Sergeant Boggs stood stolidly on the far side of the room. A livid bruise along his jaw testified to the struggle that had taken place. One eye was puffed, and his expression was an unhappy one. Near him, MacPherson and Private Manetti stood stiffly at attention.

The colonel looked at Boggs. “What’s your side of the story, Sergeant?”

The non-com’s face didn’t change. “Sir, the captain’s statement isn’t true.”

“What’s that?” Wayne asked angrily.

“Quiet, Captain,” Petersen said. “Go ahead, Boggs.”

The sergeant licked his bruised lips. “I was about to start up the rope when, for no reason at all, he struck me in the stomach. Then he hit me again a few more times, and I passed out.”

“Did he say anything when he did this?” the Colonel asked.

“No, sir.”

Wayne frowned. What was the sergeant trying to do? What the devil was he up to?

“Corporal MacPherson,” the colonel said, “Did you witness the fight?”

“Yes, sir,” the small man said, stepping a pace forward.

“Describe it.”

“Well, sir, we were up on top of the cliff, and we called—or rather, I called for the captain and the sergeant to come on up. Sergeant Boggs took a hold of the rope and then the captain hit him in the belly, sir. He hit him twice more and the sergeant fell down. Then the captain told us to come down, which we did, sir. That was all.” He gestured with his hands to indicate he had no more to say.

Wayne could hardly believe his ears. Making an effort, he managed to restrain himself.

“Private Manetti, do you have anything to add to that?” the colonel asked.

“No, sir. It happened just like that, sir. We both seen the entire thing. That’s the way it happened. The captain hauled off and let him have it.”

The colonel swivelled around and let his cold eyes rest on Wayne. “Captain, you have stated that Sergeant Boggs did not talk to either of these two men after you struck him. That eliminates any collusion.”

“Yes, sir,” Wayne said stonily.

“I talked to both men separately, and they tell substantially the same story. The records of all three of these men are excellent. The sergeant claims he never saw any monster of the type you describe, and the group I sent out to check says that there is no body of any alien animal anywhere near the spot. How do you explain the discrepancies between your story and theirs?”

Wayne glared angrily at the three men. “They’re lying, sir,” he said evenly. “I don’t know why they’re doing it. The whole thing took place exactly as I told you.”

“I find that very difficult to believe, Captain.”

“Is that a formal accusation, sir?”

Petersen shrugged and rubbed his hands against his iron-grey temples. “Captain,” he said finally, “you have a very fine record. You have never before been known to strike an enlisted man for any cause whatever. I hold that in your favor.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“On the other hand, the evidence here definitely indicates that your story is not quite true. Now, we know that Lieutenant Jervis acted peculiarly after the crew of the Mavis met its mysterious end, and the Medical Corps thinks that whatever is causing the deaths could also cause mental confusion. Therefore, I am remanding you to the custody of the Medical Corps for observation. You’ll be kept in close confinement until this thing is cleared up.”

Wayne frowned bitterly. “Yes, sir,” he said.

Peter Wayne sat in his cell in the hospital sector and stared at the wall in confusion. What in blazes was going on? What possible motive would three enlisted men have to frame him in this way? It didn’t make any sense.

Was it possible that he really had gone off his rocker? Had he imagined the little beast under the sand?

He lifted his foot and looked again at the sole. There it was: a little pit about an eighth of an inch deep.

The colonel had explained it away easily enough, saying that he might possibly have stepped on a sharp rock. Wayne shook his head. He knew he wasn’t nuts. But what the hell was going on?

There were no answers. But he knew that the eventual answer, when it came, would have something to do with the mystery of the Mavis’s eight corpses.

It was late that afternoon when Sherri James came storming into the hospital sector. She was wearing a spacesuit, and she was brandishing a pass countersigned by Colonel Petersen himself. She was determined to enter.

“The medics didn’t want to let me in,” she explained. “But I told them I’d wear a spacesuit if it would make them any happier.”

“Sherri! What the devil are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to check on you,” she said. Her voice sounded oddly distorted coming over the speaker in the helmet. “You’re supposed to have blown your wig or something. Did you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so.” She unscrewed her helmet quickly. “Listen, Peter, there’s something funny going on aboard this ship.”

“I’ve known that a long time,” he said.

“I think Boggs and those other two are trying to frame you,” she said, her voice low. “Do you know of anyone aboard named Masters?”

“Masters?” Wayne repeated. “Not that I know of—why?”

“Well, I overheard Boggs talking to one of the other men. I didn’t hear very clearly, but it sounded as though he said: ‘We’ve got to get Moore out and turn him over to Masters.’ Bill Moore is one of my computermen—tall, skinny fellow.”

Wayne nodded, frowning. “Yeah, but who is Masters? This is the queerest thing I ever heard of.”

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside.

“Better put your helmet on,” Wayne advised. “Whoever’s coming might not like to see you this way.”