"Men might get through. A woman couldn't. Take it or leave it," Garth
repeated stubbornly.
Captain Brown nodded to the girl. "All right, it's a deal. Sorry,
Paula, but he's on the beam. Here's ten bucks, Garth. Balance when we
get to Chahnn. We leave tomorrow at Jupiter-rise."
* * * * *
Garth didn't answer. After a moment Paula and Brown rose and went out
through the mildewed tapestry curtain. Garth didn't blame them. The
_Moonflower-Ritz_ smelled.
Presently he found Tolomo and gave him the money. The Ganymedean hissed
worriedly.
"Only ten?"
"You'll get the rest later. Gimme a bottle."
"I don't think--"
Garth reached across the bar and seized a quart. "Hereafter I do my
drinking out-of-doors," he remarked. "I'll feel cleaner."
"_Sfant!_" Tolomo flung after him as he headed for the door. Garth's
cheeks burned red at the word, which is Ganymedean and untranslatable;
but he didn't turn. He stepped out into the muddy street, a cold wind,
sulphurous and strong, stinging his nostrils.
He looked around at the collection of plastic native huts. Till the
_Hunter_ had arrived, he'd been the only Earthman in Oretown. Now--
He didn't feel like talking to natives. The Tor towered against the
purple sky, where three of Jupiter's moons were glowing lanterns. At
the base of the Tor was Garth's shack.
Swaying a little, clutching the bottle, he headed in that direction. He
had waited five years for this moment. Now, when at last he might find
the answer to the problem that had turned him into a derelict, he was
afraid.
He went into his hut, switched on the radiolite, and stood staring at a
door he had not opened for a long time. With a little sigh he pushed at
the latch. The smell of musty rot drifted out.
A lamp revealed a complete medical laboratory, one that had not,
apparently, been used for months at least. Garth almost dropped a
bottle as he fumbled it from the shelf. Cursing, he opened the rotgut
Ganymedean whiskey and poured it down his throat.
That helped. Steadied somewhat, he went to work. The Noctoli pollen
antitoxin was still here, but it might have lost its efficacy.
He tested it.
Good. It seemed strong, the antibodies having a long life-cycle. It
would work.
Garth packed a compact medical kit. After that he stood for quite a
while staring at two blank spaces on the wall, where pictures had once
hung.
Moira and Doc Willard.
_Damn!_ Garth snatched up the liquor and fled the house. He fought his
way along the steep path that led to the Tor's summit. The physical
exertion was a relief.
* * * * *
At the top, he sat down, his back against a rock. Beneath him lay
Oretown, yellow-blue lights winking dimly. In a cleared field some
distance away was the ovoid shape of the spaceship that had brought
Paula and Brown--the _Hunter_.
To the west, across sandy desert, lay Chahnn, dead city that had once
housed an incredibly-advanced science--lost now, its people dust.
Northwest, beyond distant ridges, was the Black Forest, unexplored,
secret, menacing.
Six years ago Dr. Jem Willard had come to Ganymede with his intern, Ed
Garth. Willard was trying to discover the cure for the Silver Plague
that was wrecking Earth. He would have found it--he had got on the
track. But--
An emergency call had come in one night. A native needed an
appendectomy. Willard couldn't fly a plane. He had called on Garth, and
Garth had been drunk.
But he had piloted the plane anyhow. The crack-up happened over the
Black Forest.
That was the last thing Garth remembered, or almost the last. It would
have been more merciful if the oblivion had been complete. Months later
he staggered out of the Forest into Oretown, alone. The Noctoli poison
had almost erased his experiences from his mind. He could remember a
bare cell where he and Willard had been prisoned--that, and one other
thing.
A picture of Doc Willard stretched on an altar, while Garth lifted a
gleaming, razor-sharp knife above his friend's breast.
He remembered that, but no more. It was enough.
The question burning in his brain had nearly wrecked his sanity. He
had tried to get back into the Black Forest, to find Willard, dead
or alive, to learn what had happened--to discover the answer to his
problem. He had failed.
A year later he learned that his fiancée, Moira, had died of the Silver
Plague. And he knew that Willard might have saved her, had he lived and
continued his research.
After that, Ed Garth hit the skids. He went down fast, stopping only
when he reached the bottom.
He killed the bottle and threw it out into emptiness, watching yellow
light glint on glass as it dropped.
Well, he had his chance now. An expedition going into the Black Forest.
But Garth was no longer the same husky giant who had fought his way
through that deadly jungle. Five years on the skids had played havoc
with him. Stamina was gone. And the Black Forest was as terrible, as
powerful, as ever.
Garth wished he had brought another bottle.