Growing Season
BY F. L. WALLACE
Why would anyone want to kill a tender
of mechanized vegetation—with, of all
things, a watch and a little red bird?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1959.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The furry little animal edged cautiously toward him, ready to scamperup a tree. But the kernel on the ground was tempting and the animalgrabbed it and scurried back to safety. Richel Alsint sat motionless,enjoying himself greatly.
Outside the park in every direction were many tiers of traffic. He wasthe only person in the park; it was silent there except for birds. Onein particular he noticed, all body, or entirely wing—it was impossibleto say which at this distance—soared effortlessly overhead, a smallbundle of bright blue feathers. The wings, if it had wings, didn'tmove at all; the bird balanced with remarkable skill on air currents.Everything about it might be small, but the voice wasn't, and it madegood use of every note.
Alsint twisted his hand slowly toward the sack beside him.
In that position the ship watch was visible. There was no need to look;it was connected to the propulsion processes of the ship and wouldsignal long before he had to be back. Nevertheless he did glance at it.
In sudden alarm, he jumped up, scattering the contents of the sack.The circle of animals fled into the underbrush and the birds stoppedsinging and flew away.
He left everything on the bench. It was untidy, but his life would bemore untidy if he missed the ship. He ran to the aircar parked in theclearing and fumbled at the door. The bright blue bird was changing tored, but he didn't notice that.
He bounced the car straight up, sinking into the cushions with theacceleration. High above the regular levels of traffic, he located thespaceport in the distance and jammed the throttle forward. The ship wasthere, and as long as it was, he had a chance. Not much, though. Theabsence of activity on the ground indicated they were getting ready.
He dropped the aircar down as close as he could get and left it. Therewas no time to take the underground passage that came up somewhere nearthe ship. The guard at the surface gate stopped him.
"You're too late," said the attendant.
"I've got to get in!" Alsint said.
The guard recognized the uniform, but, sitting in the heavilyreinforced cubicle, made no move to press the button which would allowthe gate to swing open. It was a high gate and there was no way to getover it.
He grinned sourly. "Next time you'll pay attention to the signal."
There were worse times and places to argue about it, but Alsintcouldn't remember them. "There wasn't any signal," he said. He caughtthe cynical expression on the guard's face and extended his hand. "Seefor yourself."
The watch was working, indicating time till takeoff, but theunmistakable glow and the irritating tingle, guaranteed to wake any manout of a sleep this side of the final one, were missing.
The guard blinked. "Never heard of that ever happening," he said. "Tellyou what—I'll testify that it wasn't your fault. That'll clear you.You can get a job on the next ship and catch up with your own in amonth at the most."
It wasn't that easy, nor so simple. Alsint glanced frantically at thewatch. Minutes left now, though he couldn't be sure. If the signalwasn't functioning, maybe the time was wrong too. "I'll