He had to admit that Lana Hilton was adept on her mud-shoes, but she
was short of wind and soon began to lag. I would get stuck with a
woman--he thought bitterly, not realizing that he spoke out loud.
She didn't know what she was talking about--he decided, but for the
sake of not starting an argument he kept that to himself. In the
meanwhile he slowed his pace to match her own and said nothing. Tiny
sparks of miniature lightning shot up from matted mud-kelp and rippled
along the supple curvature of her body. She was just goodlooking enough
to be a constant cause for trouble among the more populated centers of
interplanetary civilization--a regular jinx for a fellow who wanted to
get along with the least effort possible.
He led the way along the thicker clumps of vegetation, choosing the
firmer directions for her faltering steps, and for long moments he
heard nothing but their own heavy breathings and the sounds of their
feet slogging.
A whirl-ray came out of the mire, sending its tiny maelstrom careening
away at a tangent, and leaving a phosphorescent wake. He saw the girl
shudder and avert her eyes. Lonny's own hand had slipped quickly inside
his slicker to clutch the holster of a Z-type ray gun.
"Back at home," she said thoughtfully, "the suckers all thought Uranus
was something of a paradise, something like the south seas. And I fell
for that stuff."
"Yeh," agreed Lonny grimly. "And after you got here you were too
thick-headed to give up the thing as a bad job, too afraid to face your
friends with failure. So you punish yourself with your own temper."
"I suppose that's advice from one who knows," she retorted
sarcastically, pausing to rub the cramped muscles of her leg, then
going on as he looked back. "Don't--think--I'm crazy--if--"
"Now what's the matter?" demanded Lonny irritably, pausing to see that
she was stopped, and was clutching desperately at her throat, pulling
at her collar.
"Air--I can't get air," she gasped. "How--about--you?" Almost
instantly, breathing was becoming difficult for Lonny. He peered around
with dismay and saw that the mist was rising dangerously and that
visibility was much stronger. Out of the distance came a faint eerie
whisper, as of distant winds dying.
"Lana, it looks like we're in for it," he said grimly. "That's high
pressure you feel. Pretty soon your ears will begin to ring. And if we
don't hurry we may never get back to boast about things here to our
sappy friends at home."
When the heavy pressure areas came over Uranus, mists rose high in the
air and dispersed slowly. Swift expansion of atmospheric gases caused
a tremendous surface pressure that would last for some time. It meant
a quick crushing death under air compression if they didn't reach the
mud-submarine.
Lana Hilton was white with fright and trying hard not to show it. A
strange metamorphosis was taking place in the heavens. Lancing colors
of orange and red shot up like gigantic swords to flash across the sky.
His ears began to throb dully. As the mist rose Lonny saw that they
had come too far to the left and that the mud-ship was a hundred yards
directly to their right. He saw something else, too.
A man was running across the muddy surface--if his fast wobbling
progress on mud-shoes could have been described as a run. It could be
only one person--Link Raeburn.
A terrible fear seized him. If Raeburn reached the mud-ship and shut
them out, they would die horribly. He began to hurry forward--slipped
and fell awkwardly. Lana made a wry face and helped him to his feet.
"The rat," she gasped. "He heard you refer to my bag of pearls as a
mere 'handful'. It wouldn't do you any harm to think once in a while
before speaking, big boy." Handful--of course her small collection was
a handful compared to his own rich pickings. So that was why she had
come with him!
The world was going around in a whirl now, but Lonny kept staggering
onward. Link Raeburn had disappeared. The mud-submarine kept dancing
tauntingly before his eyes and then disappearing. If it sank before he
reached it the work of long endless months would slip from his grasp.
And with it would go his life. Back on earth, they would never know and
Raeburn would live a life of affluence and ease.
"We've got to make it, Lana," he gritted, though every breath was a
torment that sent hot flames of pain shooting through every cell. She
turned a game, tortured face to his and nodded vehemently.
A whole school of whirl-rays came rippling toward them, crisscrossing
the mud with gleaming trails, and Lonny found his Z-ray weapon--sent
the purplish beams of annihilation down into the centers of quivering,
living whirlpools. Once he went around and around in narrowing circles
toward the opened maw of a whirl-ray, only to see the lower shape
dematerialize before the deadly emanation.
* * * * *
They were at the very edge of the submarine, were clambering across the
muddy landing, using their last reserve of strength. Link Raeburn was
working at the catches of the hatch cover, and had just succeeded in
undoing the fastenings. Now he gave a tremendous heave and the thing
fell like a trapdoor.
Hurled on by his wrath, Lonny made a dive for the traitorous visage,
but as he dove his foot slipped and he skidded sidewise. His head came
down upon a railing brace with a sickening impact and the gun went
spinning. Through the darkening chaos of his mind he felt the submarine
starting to submerge.
The mud was creeping up toward his body, was sucking at Lana's ankles,
crawling in a tiny avalanche toward the dome of the hatch cover--now
closed. They were beaten--whipped--done for. Now Raeburn could go back
to earth--concocting some wild tale as to their death. He would be
laughing at them and enjoying every luxury.
Lana was either dead game or so angry at Link's betrayal that she
refused to give up. Though her face was distorted terribly from heavy
pressure and agony, she pressed onward--was crumbling at last to her
knees--and pointing wildly.
Lonny saw what she meant. He could have shouted for joy but breath
would not come from his compressed lungs. The gun had fallen upon the
lip of the hatch cowling and now the cover was jammed. Through a narrow
slit he saw Raeburn's eyes--narrowed and beastial--and his hands,
working like mad to free the mechanism.
If he went down that way--it meant death for him too. Under heavy
pressure the mud would send terrible pseudopods grasping through the
slit. Lonny could have laughed. But there was no time for gloating. He
saw the hatch door come up again, and then his foot had settled over
the gun and he was helping Lana down the stairway.
"Tough luck, Link," he whispered huskily, as weakness overcame him and
he tumbled down the stairs. Dimly he became aware that the hatch lid
was down securely now, and that the submarine was sinking rapidly.
Lana Hilton clung to the upper ladderway for a moment, then released
her hold from paralyzed fingers and fell like a rag doll, bouncing down
the steps to come to rest across his own body. A trickle of blood came
from her mouth, but she was grinning.
That was all Lonny knew, for the darkness came up to swallow everything.