Storm Over Warlock | Page 2

wealth of shattered cities in which no native life remained. And
their hidden temporary bases were looped about the galaxy, their need
for worlds with an atmosphere similar to Terra's as necessary as that of
man. For in spite of their grotesque insectile bodies, their wholly alien
minds, the Throgs were warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing creatures.
After the first few clashes the early Terran explorers had endeavored to
promote a truce between the species, only to discover that between
Throg and man there appeared to be no meeting ground at all--total
differences of mental processes producing insurmountable
misunderstanding. There was simply no point of communication. So
the Terrans had suffered one smarting defeat after another until they
perfected the grid. And now their colonies were safe, at least when time
worked in their favor.
It had not on Warlock.
A last vivid lash of red cracked over the huddle of domes in the valley.
Shann blinked, half blinded by that glare. His jaws ached as he
unclenched his teeth. That was the finish. Breathing raggedly, he raised
his head, beginning to realize that he was the only one of his kind left
alive on a none-too-hospitable world controlled by enemies--without
shelter or supplies.
He edged back into the narrow cleft which was the entrance to the
ledge. As a representative of his species he was not impressive, and
now with those shudders he could not master, shaking his thin body, he
looked even smaller and more vulnerable. Shann drew his knees up
close under his chin. The hood of his woodsman's jacket was pushed
back in spite of the chill of the morning, and he wiped the back of his
hand across his lips and chin in an oddly childish gesture.

None of the men below who had been alive only minutes earlier had
been close friends of his; Shann had never known anyone but
acquaintances in his short, roving life. Most people had ignored him
completely except to give orders, and one or two had been actively
malicious--like Garth Thorvald. Shann grimaced at a certain recent
memory, and then that grimace faded into wonder. If young Thorvald
hadn't purposefully tried to get Shann into trouble by opening the
wolverines' cage, Shann wouldn't be here now--alive and safe for a
time--he'd have been down there with the others.
The wolverines! For the first time since Shann had heard the crackle of
the Throg attack he remembered the reason he had been heading into
the hills. Of all the men on the Survey team, Shann Lantee had been the
least important. The dirty, tedious clean-up jobs, the dull routines
which required no technical training but which had to be performed to
keep the camp functioning comfortably, those had been his portion.
And he had accepted that status willingly, just to have a chance to be
included among Survey personnel. Not that he had the slightest hope of
climbing up to even an S-E-Three rating in the service.
Part of those menial activities had been to clean the animal cages. And
there Shann Lantee had found something new, something so absorbing
that most of the tiring dull labor had ceased to exist except as tasks to
finish before he could return to the fascination of the animal runs.
Survey teams had early discovered the advantage of using mutated and
highly trained Terran animals as assistants in the exploration of strange
worlds. From the biological laboratories and breeding farms on Terra
came a trickle of specialized aides-de-camp to accompany man into
space. Some were fighters, silent, more deadly than weapons a man
wore at his belt or carried in his hands. Some were keener eyes, keener
noses, keener scouts than the human kind could produce. Bred for
intelligence, for size, for adaptability to alien conditions, the animal
explorers from Terra were prized.
Wolverines, the ancient "devils" of the northlands on Terra, were being
tried for the first time on Warlock. Their caution, a quality highly
developed in their breed, made them testers for new territory. Able to

tackle in battle an animal three times their size, they should be added
protection for the man they accompanied into the wilderness, and their
wide ranging, their ability to climb and swim, and above all, their
curiosity were assets.
Shann had begun contact by cleaning their cages; he ended captivated
by these miniature bears with long bushy tails. And to his unbounded
delight the attraction was mutual. Alone to Taggi and Togi he was a
person, an important person. Those teeth, which could tear flesh into
ragged strips, nipped gently at his fingers, closed without any pressure
on arm, even on nose and chin in what was the ultimate caress of their
kind. Since they were escape artists of no mean ability, twice he had
had to track and lead