At the sound of that voice the Venusians stopped all motion.
Again the voice boomed through the room.
"Bring the human to me."
The voice came from Unger.
The knot of Venusians around the human came back to life. A knife
flashed.
"Bring him to me unharmed!" Unger boomed.
The knife went hastily out of sight. The knot of Venusians came
untangled. They carried a struggling human down the ramps toward the
bottom of the pit.
"It's Martin!" Caldwell shouted. "Let's knock these Venusians over,
grab him, and break for the door."
"Hold it," Johnson said. "It may not be that easy. We will go with them
to Unger."
Carrying Martin to the bottom of the pit, the Venusians set him on his
feet. Martin was tall, dark-haired, a slender length of living, nervous
whipcord. His hair was tousled, his clothing torn. As Martin came to
his feet, Johnson saw that blood was running down one side of his face.
Unger was standing erect. His 300 pounds radiated anger, rage, hate.
"Dreamer, he had a thing which the humans call a camera or a recorder."
The speaker, an elderly Venusian, was outraged. He jerked a knife from
its scabbard. "Dreamer, allow me the privilege of slitting his throat!"
He held the knife high, awaiting only the signal to plunge it into
Martin's neck.
A fierce throb of anger seemed to flow through the Room of the
Dreaming.
"All things in their time," Unger said. "Do you hold your knife for
now."
The fingers of the Venusian trembled as he slipped the knife back into
its scabbard.
"Dreamer, I obey. But remember, when the time comes, the privilege is
mine. I spoke first!" Hot anger sounded in the Venusian's voice.
"It will be remembered, Taldero," Unger said. He lifted his gaze.
"Bring me this camera, this thing that the human was using."
A Venusian carried the camera down the steps and handed it to Unger.
While the Venusians had never denied humans entry to the dreaming
rooms, any kind of a camera or other recording device had always
been strictly forbidden. Neither argument, persuasion nor offers of
payment had ever moved a Dreamer to permit the recording of a dream
performance. Under his breath, Johnson cursed. The recorder was
evidence that could not be denied. "The fool!" Johnson cursed.
Unger took the device and examined it.
"Hmmmm." His eyes sought Martin. "This is not only a camera, it
is a very complex and compact recording device designed to make a
permanent record of the sights, sounds, and many of the other vibratory
frequencies present in this room."
"Well--" Martin said.
"There is no point in attempting to deny it. The object speaks for
itself. Why did you bring this recording device into the Room of the
Dreaming?" Unger's words were hard and cold.
"No excuse!" Martin's words were hot. "Just a single question: Why are
they forbidden in these rooms?"
"Why?" Unger's voice suddenly lost its certainty.
Martin's voice continued. "Why have you kept this information from us
humans? Is it because these Dreaming Rooms, and the act of dreaming as
practiced by you Venusians, is nothing but a hypnotic device, a trick
used to cheat fools of their money?"
"It--"
"Fraud!" Martin shouted. The word seemed to roar through the room.
Unger lost his poise. The Venusian seemed to writhe, to squirm, to
twist as if some unseen and invisible force was torturing him.
Johnson moved forward. Caldwell went with them. Martin saw them for the
first time.
"Johnny! Caldwell! Where did you come from?"
Johnson's eyes were centered on Unger. The zit gun in his hand was
poised and aimed at the eyes of the Venusian.
"If anyone makes a move toward us, the charge in this gun will go
into your eyes," Johnson said. "I suppose you know that under such
circumstances the charge from a zit gun will kill."
Unger stopped his squirming. He seemed suddenly to realize that other
humans were present. His round, impassive face turned toward Johnson.
"Ah, yes, you," he said.
"Call off your dogs," Johnson said. "Tell these people to permit us to
leave."
"But--"
"You look at death, Dreamer!"
"I know that. Death is not important. Have you considered that these
dogs are really wolves who will tear you to pieces at my nod?" Unger's
shifting gaze indicated the other Venusians in the room. Out of the
corners of his eyes Johnson saw that Taldero had drawn his knife again.
Others were moving like jungle cats getting ready to pounce.
"True, you can have your wolves kill us," Johnson said. "But our deaths
will follow yours, not precede it."
His voice was clear and firm. If there was fear in him it was out
of sight. He did not know how much most of the Venusians were
understanding of what he was saying but one thing they certainly
understood--the zit gun in his hand.
"We are going out of here," Johnson said. "You are going with us as a
hostage. Our lives for your life."
Unger lifted his hand. "One minute, if you please. There are questions
I want to ask. Who is this man?" He gestured toward Martin.
"A very renowned human scientist."
"Ah, and what is he doing on Venus?"
"Don't tell him!" Caldwell spoke sharply. "It's none of his business."
"It might be some of my business if I knew," Unger said.
Warning voices were urging Johnson away from this place, screaming at
him to get away while he had the chance. Inside of him, tiny voices
were shouting warnings, his skin was reporting sweat again, his brain
was reporting the pressure of an emotional overload. Inside of him was
still another voice insisting that here he dealt with illusion and
hallucination, shouting at him, "You saw a space ship where no space
ship could exist! In this place how can you determine reality?"
* * * * *
The expression on the face of the Venusian was very strange but it was
some kind of a smile. Seeing it, Johnson hesitated, spoke impulsively.
"We three are a group of human scientists who have come to Venus
to ..." he hesitated.
"Damn it, Johnny!" Caldwell gritted.
"Tell him, Johnny," Martin spoke. "There may be more involved in
telling him than we know. The recordings will tell."
"We came here to investigate the dreaming," Johnson spoke.
"Ah," Unger said. Shades of feelings played across his face. "You are
the three humans who came asking about the dreaming! I have heard of
you."
"We asked for information, knowledge, understanding," Johnson's voice
got hard again. "We sought these things. What did we get?"
"You asked for bread and we dreamers gave you a stone," Unger spoke.
"What?" Johnson gasped. The shift to a religious framework startled
him. He had not thought that a Venusian understood such things.
"Perhaps the stone we gave you was more palatable than the bread you
asked for," Unger continued.
"But--"
"However, when your request was denied, you did not stop seeking?"
Unger asked.
"Of course not! We don't belong to a race that stops seeking. We sought
other ways to get the information."
"Is the information important to you?"
"Yes."
"What luck did you have with the other ways?"
Johnson shook his head. Bitterness came up in him. "None. The Dreaming
Rooms were everywhere, the Dreamers were a group apart. The Dreamers
would not talk. No other Venusian ever admitted knowing anything."
"And so--"
"One of us, the most impetuous and perhaps the most brilliant of us,
became impatient." Imperceptibly Johnson nodded toward Martin. "We
knew there was danger in the Dreaming Rooms. He ignored that danger.
He slipped away from us. I think perhaps he hid from us to protect us
from the danger he intended to face. We discovered that possibly he had
come here tonight. We did not know for sure that he was here until a
Venusian discovered the recorder in operation."
Martin stepped forward and took the recorder from Unger's hands. The
Venusian released it without reluctance.
"So you came here tonight to find and help a friend?" Unger said.
"Yes. He is impetuous and impatient. He wants answers."
"And I've got 'em right here." Martin clutched the recorder in a
tighter grip. "Let's get out of this joint. I want to see what these
wires have on them. Come on, Johnny. You cover that Dreamer and we will
take him with us--"
"One instant more," Unger spoke. "What was the vision that you saw?" He
addressed Johnson.
"A--"
"Eeeeeeeh!" A woman's scream ripped through the room. Martin and
Caldwell both turned. Johnson did not move. He kept his eyes rigidly
fixed on Unger. The Venusian stood in the bright glare from the spot,
glanced toward the source of the scream.
"Bring the human forward unharmed," Unger spoke.
Fighting, scratching, clawing, doing everything but spit and she would
have done that if she had had the chance, Vee Vee was dragged forward.
Johnson still did not move. Neither his gaze nor the focus of the zit
gun ever left Unger's face. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw
Martin leap forward.
"Vee Vee!" Martin screamed. "What in the devil are you doing here? What
the hell are you doing on Venus?"
Out of the corners of his eyes, Johnson saw Vee Vee flow into Martin's
arms. "Hank, Hank, darling, I came by the last rocket. I've been
looking everywhere for you." Her arms were around Martin's neck and she
was kissing him wildly. "I learned you might be here and I came here
looking for you. When they caught you, I tried to escape and go for
help. I couldn't get out. They caught me too, Hank." Again she kissed
him.
The word, "Hank," rang through Johnson's mind like a bell. Very few
people knew Martin's nickname. He was very sensitive about this name,
it was his most carefully guarded secret, known only to friends
intimate enough not to use it. If Vee Vee knew Martin's carefully
guarded name.
"Oh, hell!" Something inside Johnson said. "Damn!"
He glanced at the two, to make certain of what he was seeing out of the
corners of his eyes. The instant after he shifted his gaze he knew it
was not the thing to do. He swung quickly back to look at Unger.
The circle of light was empty.
Unger had vanished.
In the silence, Johnson could hear Venusian feet drawing closer, the
soft rustle of knives being pulled from scabbards.