[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories August 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It was only the dew-god making a monstrous noise off in the darkness,but Fahnes allowed his eyes to open and he halfway sat up. There was ashaded light over by Boles' bunk, and Boles was fussily arranging hiskit for a journey to the trading-center in the Lamphian hills. Food,canteens, and the trading-stuff, these things would be left at theuntended mart in exchange for a new lot of llossa fiber, whichon Earth was equal in exchange pound for pound with platinum.
Fahnes made an apologetic noise as Boles whirled at his movement. Bolessnorted indignantly.
"It's just one of them gods," he said scornfully. "They make a racketlike that before dawn every mornin'."
Fahnes made himself grin sheepishly, as if half-awake. He knew aboutthe dew-god. He had more brains than Boles, and he knew more than Bolesabout all the things that really mattered on Oryx, though he'd onlybeen on the small planet five months. Because of his knowledge, he'dbeen awake for hours, feverishly debating with himself whether as amatter of common-sense he had not better murder Boles this morning.There were reasons for killing him, but it would be satisfying to letBoles come back from the Lamphian hills to find the trading-post inashes, the Honkie village a mere black scar on the green surface ofOryx, and the supply-ship come and gone.
It would be amusing, too, to picture Boles trying to live on Oryxwithout supplies from Earth until another ship came to reestablishtrade. Fahnes inclined not to do murder, this morning, so Boles couldlearn what a fool he'd been. Meanwhile Boles regarded him in a superiorfashion.
"I know," said Fahnes. He yawned, now. "But the racket does seem louderthan usual, this morning. I wonder—"
"Regulations say native customs an' religions ain't to be messed with,"said Boles inflexibly. "You ain't paid to wonder. Quit it."
Boles checked off his equipment on a list. Then he glanced atthe instrument-bank and laboriously began to copy the regulationbefore-dawn observations into the post's log-book. Temperature.Humidity—always from 97 to 100 per cent in the day time, but sometimesdropping to a conservative 90 at night. Ionization-constant of the air.Fahnes watched the ironic zest. A lot of good these observations were!
He said impatiently, "I can fix the log, Boles. I'm going to do itwhile you're gone."
"While I'm here," said Boles dogmatically, "regulations say I got to doit. When I'm gone, regulations say you do it. You stick to regulations,Fahnes, an' you'll get along."
The unholy racket which was the dew-god off beyond the jungle seemedto grow louder yet. No man, it was said in the Instructionsfor Oryx, had ever yet seen a dew-god. But the native deitieswere of extreme importance to the Honkies, and the maintenance oftrade-relations required that their religion should be undisturbed.
"Blister it!" said Fahnes, in private irony but seeming peevishness. "Iwish regulations would let a man do something about that racket. It'stough to be waked up every morning by some kind of Honkie god with avoice like sixteen steam-whistles in different keys all going at once."
Boles struggled into his waterproof garments. On Oryx, where it neverrains, one naturally wears waterproof clothing.
"Listen here!" said Boles firmly. "You get this! Before this post wasset up, the Comp'ny had a survey-party on Oryx for months. You readthe re