"Shut up," Ronson said.
Fire flashed at him. "Hasn't it occurred to you that you are in danger
of getting your pretty little throat slit if you talk out of turn
here?" Ronson whispered.
"Even ze noffers outside are on ze listen," the waiter added.
"What about me? Am I on it?" Jennie asked.
The waiter showed great astonishment. "But of course not. You are a
female."
"What difference does that make?" This time the fire really shot from
her eyes.
"How long do you have to wait after you're on the listen?" Ronson
hastily asked.
The waiter spread his hands and twisted his shoulders. "Who knows?
Some of ze noffers outside have been waiting since last wind time--"
"Almost an Earth year," Ronson said, calculating rapidly. Once during
each circle of the sun the great winds blew across Mars. This was
the biggest natural event on the planet. Since it occurred with the
regularity of clock work, it served as the starting point for their
year.
"Sometimes ze great Les Ro call you right away," the waiter said.
"How will I know if I'm called?" Ronson said.
A shudder passed over the waiter. "You vill know. Of a most certain,
you vill know. Ze Messenger vill call." The shudder came again. As if
he had already said too much, the waiter hurried away. Ronson turned
back to Jennie Ware. She was sparkling with fury.
"If they think they're going to keep me from seeing Les Ro just because
I'm a woman--"
"Why do you want to see him? He probably isn't pretty."
"Because I want to write a book about him."
"A book--" Ronson's memory suddenly came alive and he remembered where
he had seen her name before. He stared at her, startled and almost
aghast. Back on Earth, this woman was almost a legend. Every tabloid
and every Sunday supplement had carried her picture and stories about
her. The programs beamed to space had carried tales of her exploits.
She had explored the depths of the Venusian jungles, she had ridden
a _dothar_ across half of Mars. When Deep Space Flight One had
blasted off from Pluto, bound for the exploration of deep space,
the news telecasts back to Earth had carried the information that a
stowaway had been discovered and ejected from the ship just before
blast off. No one had been surprised when this stowaway had turned
out to be Jennie Ware. Subsequent rumors had whispered that she had
practically torn Pluto Dome apart because she had been ejected from the
ship. Even the fact that the ship had never returned had not cooled her
anger.
In addition, she was also a very competent author. Ronson had read two
of her books and had admired her deft touch with words and the deep
sincerity that had showed through in even the most hard-boiled and
raucous passages. Unquestionably Jennie Ware was a very unusual human
being.
But in spite of this, Ronson stared at her in growing horror. Her
reputation across the solar system was that of an uninhibited vixen.
Here in this place, where their lives might ride on the blinking of
an eye-lash, or on not blinking it, a temper tantrum thrown by Jennie
Ware--or by anybody else--was the last thing he wanted to see.
A tall figure loomed beside the table. A deep voice asked, laughingly,
"Well, Jim, since you've already met our lady authoress, how do you
like her?"
Ronson looked up, then got up, his hand going out, a grin spurting to
his face. The man standing there, Sam Crick, took the outstretched hand
and grinned back at him.
Crick was tall and lean. His skin was tanned a deep brown, a color that
had resulted from facing all the winds that had ever blown on Mars and
all the sun that had ever shown there. Crick was something of a legend
on the Red Planet. He was the eternal adventurer, the lonely wanderer
of the waste place, the type of human who was always looking for
something that lay just over the edge of the horizon.
Jim Ronson and Sam Crick had grown up together as boys on Earth. Ronson
had gone into a laboratory, Crick had hopped a freighter bound for
Mars. Ronson had not seen his old friend in many years, but he had
heard from him and about him. A feeling of deep warmth came up inside
the scientist at the sight of the tanned face grinning at him.
"Then you did get my space radio?" Ronson said. "I couldn't locate you
in Mars Port and I was never sure." Relief at finding Crick here was a
surging feeling deep within him. With Crick here, he not only had a man
experienced in Martian ways and customs to help him, but what was more
important, he had a friend.
Crick's face lost its smile. Wrinkles showed on his forehead. "What
space radio, Jim?"
"The one I sent you, asking you to meet me here. Quit kidding me. If
you didn't get my space radio, how does it happen that you're here?
Don't tell me this is a coincidence."
Crick shook his head. A doleful expression appeared on his face. "I
sure didn't get it, Jim. As to what I'm doing here, I'm chaperoning our
lady authoress. Meet my boss." He nodded to Jennie Ware.
Ronson turned startled eyes toward the girl.
"I caught him flat broke in Mars Port just before you arrived," she
answered. "Since he was broke, I took advantage of him and hired him
as my bodyguard. Not that I would really need a bodyguard, but in case
I fell and broke a leg, he might be handy. But his being here wasn't a
coincidence."
"Eh?" Ronson said. It was difficult to follow her thinking. She seemed
to say a lot, or nothing, all with the same words, the only difference
being the voice tone she used. If she chose, she had all the gifts of a
man in concealing her true feelings and real opinions.
Her voice was calm, her face expressionless. "The grapevine in Mars
Port said the Earth's top-flight bio-physicist was coming here, that
old Les Ro was thought to have something that human scientists were all
hotted up about, and that you were coming here to investigate, and to
chisel Les Ro out of a piece of it, if he would stand still for such
treatment."
Ronson blinked at her. She had delivered a bombshell and she had done
it as if she thought what she said was of no importance: "I'm not
trying to chisel Les Ro or anybody out of anything." His calm matched
her aplomb.
"That's not the way the grapevine had it."
"I don't care how the grapevine had it. I know my own motives and my
purpose in coming here." An edge crept into his voice as he realized
one possible result of what she was saying.
"That may be true. But do the Martians know them?"
Ronson was silent, his thinking perturbed.
"So I hired Sam and came here," Jennie Ware continued. "If Les Ro was
big enough to attract you, he was also big enough to provide me with
copy for my next book."
"So you could find copy for a damned book, you risked my neck!" Ronson
said, his voice hot.
"I didn't risk it a tenth as much as you're doing, by yelling at the
top of your lungs where half of Mars can hear you. Anyhow, I saved your
clothes and maybe your hide out in front a while ago. Doesn't that
count for something?"
"Sorry," Ronson said abruptly. "I lost my temper."
"I'd like to make one point," Crick said. "We've got a mighty hot
collection of thieves, crooks, and killers present in this joint."
Jennie Ware and Jim Ronson stared at him.
Crick gestured toward the Martian with the two guards. "That's Tal
Bock. He belongs in the upper lentz country, where he is the leader of
a gang of killers and thieves. The one over there soaking his hands in
smoke is Kus Dorken. He's not any better than Tal Bock."
"What are they doing here?" the girl asked.
"I don't know," Crick answered. "Unless maybe they've been listening in
on the grapevine too."
For a moment, it looked as if Jennie Ware was about to cry. She seemed,
suddenly, to become a small girl who had done something wrong and
was very sorry for it and was trying to find some way to express her
sorrow. Her hand came across the table again, touched Ronson's hand
hesitantly.
"I'm sorry, Jim, if I got you into trouble. But I knew your reputation.
If you were coming here, something big was here. I--I wanted to be in
on it. I guess all my life I've wanted to be in on something big. If I
actually got you into trouble, Sam and I are here to help you get out
of it. Isn't that right, Sam?"
"Right, Jennie." A growl sounded in the tall adventurer's voice.
"Thanks, both of you," Ronson said. He was deeply touched. In spite of
the shell of bravado that she wore, and her sudden spurting anger, he
liked this girl. She might have the reputation of an uninhibited vixen,
but somewhere inside of her was a small girl looking out from awed and
wondering eyes at the vastness of the world.
"Watch it!" Crick's whisper was shrill and sharp. His eyes were focused
on the ceiling.
All the sounds of the place, the rattle of glasses, the sharp giggling
of soliciting women, the deep voices of the Martian males, had gone
into sudden and complete silence. Like Crick, they were looking upward.
Ronson followed their gaze to the ceiling. Jennie Ware gave a quick
cry. Glass tinkled and broke as she dropped her drink.
Jim Ronson did not hear the sound. His entire attention was focused on
what was happening on the ceiling.
The dive itself had been cut into the side of the cliff. The solid rock
of the ceiling had not been disguised or masked.
At first glance, Ronson thought his eyes were deceiving him. The solid
stone itself seemed to be in motion. A sort of melting, shifting flow
seemed to be taking place as if the molecules and perhaps even the
atoms themselves were dissolving.
"That's atomic disintegration, or atomic shifting, under control!" Sam
Crick gasped.
"It's a mirage," Jennie Ware whispered. "It must be."
"If it's a mirage, everybody in the place is seeing it," Ronson said.
There was not a sound in the huge room. The waiters had come to
attention like trained soldiers. The females had abruptly lost all
interest in what they were doing. Out of the corner of his eyes, Ronson
saw one female make a sudden darting movement across the room. One foot
touched the circle on the floor as she ran. She took two more steps
and fell, sagging downward as if every muscle in her body had suddenly
refused to function. She lay on the floor without moving. Not a head
was turned toward her, not a Martian moved to help her. In her action
Ronson saw one reason why the Martians avoided the circle on the floor.
Something was definitely wrong with that circle. Looking at the roof,
he saw the reason.
The flowing, shifting movement there had formed into a circle the same
size as the circle on the floor and directly above it. Little flickers
of light, like the discharge of high frequency currents, were flowing
between the two circles. Swiftly the flickers of light became an opaque
cylinder of misty flame extending from the ceiling to the floor.
From the opaque cylinder of light, a Martian stepped.
Without quite knowing how he knew it, Ronson knew that this was Les
Ro's Messenger.
The Messenger was old, perhaps as old as the granite mountain above
them, if the network of fine wrinkles on his face were an accurate
indication of his age. With age, calmness and serenity had come to this
Martian. His eyes gave the impression that they had seen everything.
What they had not seen, the brain behind them had imagined. Peace was
in the eyes and on the face, the deep peace that many human saints had
sought and had found.
"I like him," Jennie Ware whispered.
The Messenger carried himself with a sureness that was full of meaning.
He glanced around the room. His eyes settled on the three humans at the
table. A sort of a glow appeared on his face, lighting it as if with a
halo. He moved toward them, stopped and stood looking down at them. For
a moment, his face was blank, and even his eyes seemed to be withdrawn.
"ESP!" Crick whispered. "Guard your thinking."
The eyes flicked toward Crick, then came to Ronson. The human felt a
touch that was feather-light appear in his brain. It seemed to run like
lightning through the nerve cells. Then it was withdrawn. The smile
came back to the face of the Messenger.
"Les Ro has waited a long time for one like you, my son. He will see
you." The voice was deep and pleasant. Somewhere in it were tones that
were bell pure.
Ronson rose to his feet.
"Watch it!" Crick whispered. "This may not be on the up and up."
"I came here to see Les Ro." Ronson answered. "I'm not going to back
out now. Which way do I go?" The last was spoken to the Messenger.
The Martian bowed. The wave of his hand indicated the cylinder of misty
radiance flowing from the ceiling to the floor. "Just step into the
light, my son."
"Jim!" Jennie's voice had a frantic plea in it.
"May my friends go with me?" Ronson said.
The Messenger shook his head. His face said he was very sorry but that
the answer was no. "I have no instructions for them. Only you, my son.
Les Ro has waited very long for someone like you."
Ronson did not know whether he was pleased or not. But he knew he was
greatly excited. If the rumors had been right, if the grapevine had
reported correctly, something was here in the heart of the Martian
mountain that had never existed before in the solar system--and
perhaps not in the universe. He stepped boldly into the opaque radiance.
To Jennie Ware and Sam Crick it looked as if he had stepped out of
existence.
To Jim Ronson, when he stepped into the light, it seemed to him that
millions of tiny hands instantly grasped him. They lifted him upward.
It seemed as if they changed directions, but he could not be sure of
that. The motion stopped. He felt a firm substance under his feet. The
tiny hands released him, the opaque light fell away from him. He was
standing in the center of a circle in a room cut out of solid stone, a
room that had no exit and no entrance except the one under his feet,
the solid stone floor through which the microscopic hands had lifted
him.
Panic came up in him then and his hand dived for the gun in his coat
pocket. It came away empty. The gun had been removed without his
knowledge on the transit upward. Examination revealed that every bit
of metal had been removed from his pockets. Only his wrist watch had
been left and that apparently because the metal strap around his wrist
had resisted removal. Automatically he pushed the button on the side of
the watch. On the dial the tiny green light glowed. Neither the light
that had lifted him upward nor this room contained lethal radiations.
The sight of the green light made him feel better. But not much. Sweat
appeared on his skin as he waited. Inside his chest, he felt his heart
begin to speed up its beating.
Light danced in the wall. The stone seemed to dissolve. The Messenger
came through. The wrinkles on the fine face glowed like ivory at the
sight of Ronson.
"I hope you will forgive me for keeping you waiting. Other--ah--tasks
demanded my attention at the moment."
"It's quite all right. Finding myself here unexpectedly was a little
hard on my nerves but the chance to see Les Ro will be worth the shock
to my nervous system. I assume this is the way." Ronson moved toward
the light dancing on the wall, then stopped as he saw the Martian was
not following. "What's wrong?"
The smile was gone from the face of the Messenger. "One must prove
himself worthy of seeing Les Ro."
"Eh?" A little touch of fear came up in the human. "Worthy?"
"Also, it would be well to tell me why you want to see Les Ro. I will
carry your request to him."
"But you said Les Ro wanted to see me, that he had waited a long time
for someone like me. Though how he knows anything about me--" Ronson's
voice went into uneasy silence. Had the grapevine reported his coming
here? Or had Crick's whisper about extra-sensory perception in
operation had some basis in fact?
"I said Les Ro waited a long time for someone _like_ you." For a
moment hope showed on the wrinkled face. "But not necessarily for you.
You have certain qualities that Les Ro seeks, but until you have proved
that you have other qualities as well--" Sadness replaced the hope.
"Tell me what you seek here?"
Ronson felt rebellion come up in him. Then he remembered that on Mars
the only law protecting humans was what they could make and enforce
for themselves. "Rumors have reached us on Earth of Les Ro's great
accomplishments. It is our hope that we can share our knowledge, pool
our discoveries. It is our belief that great advances can come from
this sharing--for both humans and Martians."
Ronson spoke quietly. Only the tone of his voice expressed the very
deep and very real feeling he was putting into words. Yet in the
quietly spoken words his dream was expressed--and the dream of every
real scientist in the history of Earth--of progress, of forward motion,
of leaving behind them a world a little better than the one they had
known. Once this dream had been only for humans. Now it included
Martians too, and every other race within the solar system.
The Messenger smiled at the words. But under the smile was concern.
"Do you mean that you humans still face problems that you cannot solve?
But you have made tremendous scientific advances, much greater than we
of Mars have made. Space flight is only one illustration--"
"Unfortunately, many of our scientific advances have brought more
problems than they have solved." Grimness crept into Ronson's voice
"Before atomic energy was released, it was prophesied that the release
of this energy would solve all the problems of our planet. This was
over two hundred years ago. We are still striving to regain the losses
suffered in the first and second atomic wars."
"Wars?" The face of the Martian showed amazement. "You humans are
fools."
"We are trying to stop being fools. Or some of us are. But something
seems to defeat our efforts."
"Yes." Keen interest showed on the face of the Martian. "Do you have
this problem too? I wonder if it's the same something--"
"We live in the same universe."
"Can you state the problem more exactly?"
"I can give you an illustration of it. At the same time, I will give
you my reason for being here." Ronson took a deep breath, considered
the words he was going to use. "I'm a bio-physicist. This means that
my specialty is the living cell and the changes that can and do take
place in it. We have a name for one of the changes that may take place
there--cancer."
"A disease."
"Yes. And a very serious one. Often tied up with radioactivity, it is a
change that takes place in the interior of a living cell."
"I know--"
"No less than eight times in the past hundred years, human doctors
have found a cure for this mutation within the cell. Each cure worked,
perfectly, for a time."
"And then--"
"Then this something defeated their efforts. A change took place. A new
form of cancer appeared, which did not yield to the treatment that had
been effective previously." Ronson found his breathing was becoming
heavier.
The Messenger moved up and down the cell, pacing, his right hand
rubbing his chin. "Yes, it is the same something. Les Ro has talked of
it often. It has defeated even him. He calls it _change_. There
seems to be a law in this universe against anything remaining the
same--But why did you come here? Do you seek a new way to cure this
disease called cancer?"
"Yes. A permanent way. A way that goes behind the law of change."
"Do you think you could find such a thing here?"
"Yes. And here I have proof. Detailed reports from human physicians at
Mars Port. In three instances, Martian patients admitted to the human
hospital there were found to be suffering from inoperable cancer.
Each was discharged, as incurable. Within the following two years,
each patient returned to the hospital there, one to have a knife
wound treated, a second to have a broken bone set, a third because of
injuries suffered in an accident. As soon as they were admitted, the
records were checked, and the previous diagnosis of cancer was found.
Each case of cancer had been cured. Each Martian told the same story,
that he had been here, and that Les Ro had cured the disease."
"And you came here seeking the ninth solution from Les Ro for your
people?"
"Yes. And for one other reason."
"Eh?"
"The cancer I am trying hardest to cure is--here." Very gently, Jim
Ronson rubbed his chest. At the action, and at his thought, his heart
picked up an anxious beat.
For an instant, the face of the Martian showed blank astonishment.
Compassion followed the astonishment, a flood of it. "My son!" The
voice had pity and understanding and sympathy in it. "Les Ro will see
you."
"Good!" Relief surged up inside Jim Ronson. He had travelled many a
weary mile for this moment. He had faced frustration and despair. The
best doctors on Earth had told him they could do nothing for him. Now,
here, in the heart of a mountain near the south pole of Mars--
"Follow me," the Messenger said.
The wall swirled in front of him. He stepped into the misty opaqueness
and Ronson followed him. Inside the light, the human felt the millions
of microscopic hands take hold of him. Their touch was gentle and
caressing, softly tender. Suddenly their touch was firm and strong. He
felt them seize his clothing and rip it from his body. Their gentle,
caressing touch was gone. In its place was an almost manic fury. A
scream ripped involuntarily from his throat.
The scream was flung into complete silence. No echo of it came back to
his ears.
Blackness beat at him, flowed in over him, flowed through him. The
blackness ransacked every nook and corner of his body. It probed to the
bottom of his soul.
It swallowed him whole. It dissected his consciousness, tore it to
shreds, then yanked away even the shreds. He seemed to be falling into
a black hole that had no end.
Ronson did not know how long the blackness lasted. The first sense to
come back was hearing. Somewhere near him he heard a grunt. Then the
sense of feeling came back and he realized he was lying naked on sand.
He didn't much want to open his eyes. Finally he forced them open. His
vision was blurred and vague. When it cleared he saw the source of the
grunt.
The sound had come from Tal Bock, squatting on the sand near him. Tal
Bock was also naked. Unlike Ronson, the millions of microscopic hands
in the darkness had not left even a wrist watch on the Martian.
"Happy--ah--wind time," Ronson said. Tal Bock grunted, but did not
answer.
"Where are we?"
"Hell," Tal Bock said. He got up and walked into the shrubbery behind
him.
Ronson rose. He was shaky, his legs seemed too long to reach the sand,
a subjective impression that almost amused him, but didn't quite. To
the left another Martian was squatting cross-legged on the sand. Ronson
looked, then looked again. He moved toward the Martian to make certain.
It was the leper who had been on the street outside the dive. Without
the rags, the Martian was hardly recognizable. The sores provided a
certain means of identification. There was no mistaking them.
"How did you get here?" Ronson asked.
The leper made a weak gesture with his hands which said, "Go away." His
attitude was resigned but about his manner was an air of expectancy.
Ronson discovered that the place in which he had found himself was a
cavern about half a mile in diameter. It was adequately lighted though
the light sprang from no source that he could detect. The place was
pleasant enough. There was water here. It flowed in little rills set in
stonework. Grass and desert shrubs grew here. The air was moist, with a
fragrant sweetness somewhere about it.
Something was in the air besides the moisture and the fragrant
sweetness. It was intangible, almost imperceptible. Ronson cocked his
head, trying to catch this something. It was always out of the range of
his sensory perception, an intangible, elusive quality that perplexed
him.
"Subliminal," he thought. "Maybe super-sonic sound just above the range
of hearing."
Why super-sonic sound? He did not know. He felt dazed. There was a
heavy feeling through his whole body. Why was he here? He had been told
he would see Les Ro. There was also talk about a man proving if he was
worthy--
He did not like this thinking. He tried to shut it off, but it was a
persistent gadfly that returned to buzz again and again in his brain.
The out-of-hearing sound seemed to buzz with it, slipping in and out
of hearing too fast for the mind to grasp it. Each time it slipped
into hearing for the fractional part of a second, it brought a flick
of agony with it. At the touch, he became almost giddy. Alarm bells
rang suddenly inside his head. The note went out of hearing again, the
giddiness passed, the alarm bells went into silence.
In the shrubbery ahead of him, a figure moved--Kus Dorken.
Two of the worst killers on Mars were here in this place. A leper. A
human. Unease came up inside Jim Ronson, a sharp stab of it. Inside his
chest a surge of pain broke through the barriers he had erected around
it, reminding him of what was there.
He had come here seeking relief for that surge of pain. Instead of
getting what he had asked for, he had been thrust into place. With two
killers and a leper and--A shout broke into his thinking. A Martian
was running along the walls, seeking for an exit. It was Te Hold.
Te Hold had recovered from the effect of the thormoline and had been
brought here. Ronson watched the Martian run along the walls, searching
desperately for a way out. Te Hold screamed as he ran but he didn't
find an exit. The screams died out as he reached the far end of the
oval, then grew stronger as he came back again upon his own steps.
Kus Dorken slid out of sight. Tal Bock was somewhere in that shrubbery
too, where, Ronson didn't know. And didn't care. A feeling of
hopelessness was coming up in him. He moved back to the leper, squatted
on the sand beside the man, asked a question.
The leper's eyes flicked at him in response but there was no other
answer. An ecstacy was in the eyes now. The leper was so lost in this
ecstacy that such things as grunted noises from a member of an alien
race made no impression on him. Ronson envied him. The leper was close
to death but he was so lost in some inner ecstacy that death was
unimportant to him.
"Did Les Ro's Messenger promise you that you would be cured of your
leprosy?" Ronson asked, persisting.
The leper nodded. Again his hand waved in the "Go away," gesture.
"Go away and let you die in peace?" Ronson said.
"Just go away," the leper answered.
Ronson rose to his feet, angry. What farce was being perpetrated here?
What--The super-sonic note came into hearing. Pain stabbed at his chest.
He lifted his hand involuntarily. The sight of the dial on his wrist
watch forced itself through the pulses of pain.
As a part of his research into cell structure, Ronson had worked
extensively with radioactivity. In order to protect himself, he had had
a microscopically small radiation detector built into the watch itself.
Three tiny glow tubes were set into the dial. If the green tube glowed,
radiation was present but was safe. If the amber light glowed, be wary.
If the red light glowed, _get out fast_!
The red light was glowing now. As Ronson stared, it winked out. Before
he could take his eyes away from the dial, the red light flicked on
again. The super-sonic note came with it. A flick of very real pain
came with the note. The red light flicked out, the note vanished. The
pain was gone.
"Regular pulsations of radiation are being poured through this place!"
Ronson whispered.
It was being done deliberately. The whole cavern was being flooded
periodically with bursts of radiation. This meant deliberate intention,
purpose, plan. He did not know what impact this radiation might have
on Martian flesh but he could guess the effect it might have on human
tissue.
Fear came up in him, a flood of it. Anger followed it. The lights on
his watch danced. Pain, agony, and the shrill note of the super-sonic
came again. Grimly, he began to prowl the cavern, searching for the
source of the radiations. The radiation counter in his watch led him to
it, by the increased intensity of its glow. The radiations were coming
from a single spot in the wall of the cavern. So far as he could tell,
the wall was solid stone at this place, but he had seen solid stone
walls dissolve in this madhouse. Behind this spot there was intelligent
direction of the bursts of radiation.
Back there Les Ro, or someone with him, was playing games of life and
death with--
Te Hold came past him, screaming. The Martian was beginning to stumble
as he ran. The screams were only gasping sounds in his throat.
Voices rose in shouted argument somewhere in the shrubbery. Ronson
moved away.
"What's going on there?" he asked the leper.
"Tal Bock--and Kus Dorken--have disagreed--as to which is the bigger
killer--and therefore which is the more worthy. They fight--to decide
the problem."
The words were quietly spoken. The tone said the matter was of no
importance. After he had finished speaking, the leper's eyes went
back to the inner ecstacy that he seemed to be watching. Or was it
_future_ ecstacy that he was imagining?
"I hope there is a heaven for Martians," Ronson said. So far as he
knew, only in heaven could this leper's health be restored. Was the
same true for him?
Voices screamed in the shrubbery. Giving ground before the heavy blows
Tal Bock was striking at him, Kus Dorken came stumbling backward. He
slipped in the sand and fell heavily. Tal Bock leaped at him. Kus
Dorken screamed once, a sound that gasped into silence as Tal Bock's
fingers closed over his throat. For a time, they threshed in the sand.
Then Kus Dorken went limp. Viciously Tal Bock slapped his foe across
the face. When there was no response, he poured sand into Kus Dorken's
mouth, scooping it up in handfuls and cramming it down his foe's gullet.
Tal Bock got to his feet. The scream that ripped from his lips was pure
triumph. Utterly naked, he stood beside the body of his victim, shaking
his fist at the roof of the cavern, screaming defiance at the universe.
Ronson fervidly hoped that the radiation flowing through the Martian
would strike him dead. The scream went into silence. Tal Bock's gaze
fell on the leper, he moved in that direction. Viciously he kicked the
leper.
The sick Martian slipped from his squatting position and lay inert.
Ronson moved forward. With all the strength that he possessed, he hit
Tal Bock behind the ear. As he struck the blow, the super-sonic note
screamed through him.
Ronson's blow knocked Tal Bock sprawling. Like a gigantic cat, the
Martian came to his feet.
_Ping!_
Tal Bock moved toward Ronson in little short steps. He was like a cat
getting ready to pounce. The grin on his face said he was going to
anticipate destroying this human.
_Ping!_
Tal Bock lost his footing. He fell heavily and tried to rise. A
confused expression was on his face. The effort to rise was more than
he could manage. Collapsing, he lay without moving.
"Jim! Here! Quick!" The voice came from the shrubbery. His first
thought was that he was hallucinating. Jennie Ware and Sam Crick
could not be there in that shrubbery, fully clothed, Jennie beckoning
frantically to him, Crick with a needle gun in his hand.
They came to him, on the run. Jennie caught one arm, Crick caught the
other. Supporting him between them, they ran through the shrubbery.
In the opposite wall, a hole showed, an honest opening, not a
light-swirling mirage. Inside it, Crick swung shut a door. A Martian
lay on the floor of the tunnel.
"How--how did you get here?" Ronson gasped.
Crick nodded to the Martian on the floor. "We persuaded Tocko to bring
us. He knew a little more about this place than he ever let on. After
he brought us here, we gave him a needle, to keep him quiet while we
rescued you." The tall adventurer grinned as he spoke.
"Come on, Jim. We know the way out of here. If we get out before they
discover what has happened--" The girl was all frantic motion moving
toward escape.
"I'm not going," Ronson said.
"What?" the girl gasped.