Five hundred yards and fifteen minutes later, he reached the meadow edge, but he didn’t go out. An aircar was patrolling with a big search light.
“Hah!” he thought, “Those bozos are trying to contain the problem. They haven’t sent the alarm up the line.”
“How do you know?”
Hansen jumped. A rock in the meadow was talking to him. “Oh, it’s you, beachball.
“Well, first: They haven’t caught us yet. Second: They only have one aircar up, and that’s using a search light, not infra-red or chemical sensors. The pro catchers come in quietly and pounce quickly. You’re caught before you even find out they’re looking for you.”
“Sort of like those other beings moving towards us along the tree line?”
“Shit!”
“Stay put, meat eater. Go under that log next to you. Get under and don’t move!”
“That won’t do any good. They’ve got sensors that—”
“Do it, now!”
Hansen suddenly felt like a mouse. Deftly he squirmed under the log. He twitched his lips once or twice as if he had whiskers, then he froze. The Harpupon spread his antennas.
Seconds later, the catchers were there, then gone. They came back, then were gone again. For fifteen minutes, the area swarmed with searchers, then they left.
“We must leave now.” The Harpupon partially closed up and began scuttling along again.
Hansen groaned, then slowly, stumblingly, crawled out from under the log. As he moved his arms, they cramped. As he moved his legs, they cramped. As his body shook, the dozens of insects, spiders, slugs, and other creepy-crawly things that had been hiding under the log with him started squirming over his face and body.
“Oh God!” He squirmed harder in spite of the cramps, until he was finally free, then he rolled over and over in the grass, trying to crush and dislodge his sanctuary co-inhabitants.
“Hurry!” exhorted the Harpupon. “Get up and come. They will go away on their own, you don’t have to convince them.”
“I have to convince my legs that they can bend. Both calves are cramped tight.”
“Do it!”
Hansen finally grabbed the log and staggered to his feet. His head throbbed, and his ears rang. He was panting again, his eyes wide with unblinking determination. As he walked, the cramps loosened, and soon he could trot again. He followed the Harpupon across the meadow.
“What’s the hurry?”
“Those creatures knew you were there. They just couldn’t find you. Should you be there when they return, they would find you. After all, they did catch me, once.”
“How’d they do that?”
“One of them knew enough to believe I existed. He got close, then had his men do a linked-hands search. There were too many for me to convince all of them that I wasn’t there.”
“Speaking of which, how are we going to get out of here now?”
“You tell me, meat eater.”
“Don’t call me that. My name is Hansen. Call me that.”
“Right, Hansen. I’m back in my element. They won’t find me again. As for you, I don’t know. They didn’t seem to have any problem finding you at all. It may be time to separate.”
“Don’t count on being home free. He found you once, he can do it again. You’re an interesting creature, and the more you get known, the more interesting you become to us aliens.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right.”
“Now’s the time to reverse.”
“What?”
“We’re going back. You got us by the first wave, but we’ll never shake ’em on foot. They’ve got too much technology. We’re going back and taking an aircar.”
“A what?”
“One of those fast-moving things you saw flying. It doesn’t leave tracks.”
“Oh, a tool does that for you?”
“Yes, and speaking of tools, how fast can you move?”
“Oh, I’m quite dexterous.” The Harpupon sped off at a fast walk.
“I thought so. Can you hold on to me?”
“What?”
“Hold on to my body. Wrap yourself around my chest or back, so I can run? We’ll get back a lot faster that way, and when I have to make a quick move for the aircar, I’ll know you’re right there with me.”
Slowly, tentatively, the Harpupon approached. Hansen lifted it up in his arms. The Harpupon unfolded, and slowly dozens of fleshy finger-sized legs began grasping.
“Try under the shirt, you’re putting too much weight on the cloth.”
The legs gently grasped Hansen’s skin as the Harpupon maneuvered to between his shoulder blades.
“Hey, this feels pretty good.”
“I can tell.”
“You ever think becoming a massage-giver?”
“What’s that?”
“Someone who rubs you just because it feels good.”
“Why don’t you find us an aircar, or whatever it is we need.”
“Right.”
Hansen started off at a trot, not feeling too bad at all.