The academic problem didn't bother Teejay as much as the human one. She
said, defiantly, "What he needs is a good swift kick."
LeClarc failed to wait for that, or anything else. Chuckling, he led
the first anthrovac through the high-arched stone gateway and the
other two creatures herded the humans in after him. Charlie--although
obviously, the man was not Charlie--went on ahead with LeClarc, and
Steve had to restrain Teejay with a few terse words.
The purple mists cloaked the city completely now, and as they plodded
along a wide roadway, Steve half-saw figures watching them from the
darkness. He could not make the figures out, however, and he heard
nothing but the sounds their feet made on the stone roadway.
Presently, they came to a smaller, divergent path which led back to the
base of the wall. Here, in deepest shadow, was their destination--a
squat, rectangular building carved from stone. A gate creaked and
clanged open before them; they streamed through, weary after hours of
forced march; the gate clanged resoundingly behind them. Charlie had
not entered with them, nor LeClarc, nor the anthrovacs. It took Steve
only a moment to discover the gate had been securely fastened from the
outside.
"I guess we bed down here for the night," he said, grinning ruefully.
Teejay shrugged, wrapped the black cape tightly about her. It was cold
and damp in the one large chamber which took up the interior of the
building. In the center of the place stood a stone table, and on it a
gas lamp which flickered and spluttered and cast grotesque shadows as
the men wandered about. There were no beds, no furniture of any sort
except for the table. And the two small peep-hole windows were fifteen
or more feet off the ground.
The crew of the _Frank Buck_ gathered in small, anxious knots and
whispered grimly among themselves. After a time, men circulated between
one group and another, and finally one of them, evidently designated as
spokesman for the rest, approached Schuyler Barling.
He seemed nervous, frightened, unsure of himself. "Captain Barling, my
name's Steiner, and the fellows thought that--well, that I might speak
for them. We don't know what's going on, but we do know this much: we
don't like it."
"I can't blame you," said Barling.
"Point is, sir, we want you to do something about it."
"Eh? Me? What can I do?"
"We don't know that, sir. But a spaceman's a peculiar individual; some
say he's got characteristics you won't find elsewhere, and one of them
is this: he has complete confidence in his captain."
"Why, thank you, Steiner."
"Me, I work in fission. I like to have that confidence and the rest of
the men, they like to have it too. When they lose it, they're kind of
at a loss. We don't want to think we've lost it here, sir."
"What do you want me to do?" Barling was restless, fidgety, twisting
his hands together.
"Lead us, sir. Tell us you can get us out of here. Tell us we must be
prepared to fight behind you and maybe to die, but lead us."
"But how can you expect me to lead you when I don't know what's
happening? How can I plan for escape when I don't know what it is we
have to escape from?"
"There's talk among the men, sir," Steiner went on. "Some of them are
for you, although I'll be frank. There aren't many, sir. But they need
a leader, all of them agree on that. What they want to know is this:
are you their man?"
Barling squared his thin shoulders arrogantly. "I'm the _Frank Buck_'s
Captain."
"The _Frank Buck_ lies behind us in those purple mists, sir. Could you
find it? Finding it, could you make it run again?"
"I don't know."
"Then the fact that you captain the _Frank Buck_ doesn't mean much.
We've decided that leaves us without a leader, sir. We need a leader."
Barling smiled coldly. "Are you trying to tell me the men have selected
you?"
"No, sir. I'm not. But the majority of the men have their choice--and
that is Captain Moore. We who have been with the _Frank Buck_ longest
have heard a lot of bad talk about Captain Moore, but that changes
completely whenever we make planetfall. The talk in all the frontier
towns is all in Captain Moore's favor. When there are decisions to be
made, sir, we'd like her to make them."
"A woman? When all your lives may be at stake?"
* * * * *
One of the three hunters who'd fared so poorly in the lounge fight
strode forward, saying: "Look at yourself, sir. You're beaten and
battered, and that's Captain Moore's work. Did her sex matter then?"
Barling reddened, said nothing.
"We have a pressing need for a leader," Steiner continued. "Our
behavior cannot be chaotic. The leader must plan for us, and we must
be prepared to carry out those plans with no hesitation. We must have
faith in our leader."
Teejay joined them, grinning. "Thank you, Mr. Steiner. There was a time
not long ago when what you've just finished saying would have meant
more to me than anything. Literally, more than anything. But would you
think it strange if you hear that I don't think that now?"
"What do you mean?" Steiner demanded.
"I'm a twenty-second century female, strong as a man and proud of it.
_Too_ proud, Mr. Steiner, for I've spent my whole life trying to prove
it. Plenty of men have cursed me for it, I'll bet, and I guess they
were right.
"So I don't want that job you offer. It took a kind of free-for-all
brawl to make me realize it, but a woman's still a woman, and that's
one thing I had to learn. I fought your Captain Barling and I beat him.
Probably, I could do it again. But I--well, I was fighting with Captain
Barling and saying to myself all the time, 'This is stupid. What are
you--a girl--doing this for? Don't you know you shouldn't go around
fighting like a man?'" Steve noticed in the dim light that Teejay had
begun to blush. "I hate to bare my life before you like this, Mr.
Steiner, but the way it adds up I've suddenly found I've had enough of
fighting and galavanting around. So the answer is no: I won't be your
captain. The way I feel now, I can't be."
"Where does that leave us?" Steiner asked her sullenly. "We don't think
Captain Barling can do the job, whatever the job turns out to be. It's
one thing to serve on a largely automatic ship under Captain Barling,
but another thing to have to take his orders here--wherever we are."
"May I make a suggestion?" Teejay asked. And, after Steiner nodded and
most of the men grumbled their assent: "There are two men here who can
lead us the way we should be led. One is Kevin McGann, Exec of the
_Gordak_; the other is Steve Stedman."
A stir of surprise passed among the men. It was one thing to offer
their allegiance to the Captain of another ship--and an unusual thing
at that--but quite another to offer it to a couple of men they hardly
knew. The men began heated discussions once more, louder this time, and
Teejay drew Steve off into a corner.
"Does that surprise you?"
"It sure does, Teejay. On both counts. But I'll tell you this: I think
I could like you a lot better in your new role, and--Teejay?"
"What?" Her voice was soft and he felt her hand snuggle into his.
"I--I like you plenty right now." He slid his arms around her
waist, drew her toward him, one small part of his mind expecting a
roundhouse right-handed wallop from the old Teejay. But she merely
sighed contentedly and slipped her arms around his neck. He kissed
her--tentatively at first--then long and deep, and Teejay's eyes were
all aglow when he finished.
"You lug," she said, "if you didn't do something like that, and soon, I
was going to be an Amazon just once more to make you do it."
Someone--Steve saw it was Steiner--stood before them clearing his
throat. "Captain Moore?"
"Yes?" Teejay hardly saw him.
"The men have decided to accept your recommendation. McGann and Stedman
it is, Captain Moore. They bark and we'll jump. And we'll be hoping
something comes of it."
"If it's at all possible, they'll get us out of here," Teejay
predicted, and squeezed Steve's hand.
"Any orders, sir?" Steiner looked at Steve.
"Umm-mm, no. Except that we'd like to have this corner to ourselves for
a while."
"Done," said Steiner, smiling and striding away.
"I have one order," Kevin called out loudly, and silence fell on the
room quite abruptly. "Let's all get the hell to sleep before we're too
tired to do anything when morning comes."
* * * * *
A purple-blue dawn crept in through the two small windows, bringing
strange bird-sounds with it. Steve was stiff and chilled and he'd slept
badly on the hard stone floor. The groans and frowns all around the
room showed him he wasn't the only one. Teejay slept like a baby, the
cape wrapped about her, and she didn't arise until one of the men began
to bang on the stone and metal door.
"Is it morning?" said Teejay, coming into Steve's arms almost before
she was fully awake. "I had the nicest dreams, darling!"
Abruptly, Steve whirled away from her. The door had begun to creak in
ponderously on little-used hinges.
An anthrovac bent and came within the chamber, bearing a bath-tub-sized
bowl of what looked like hot, steaming cereal. It was deposited near
the table, along with a dozen or so stone spoons. Foolishly, one of
the men darted for the doorway. Reaching out with a long, hairy arm,
the anthrovac scooped him up by the scruff of the neck and flung him
back inside. He got to his feet with a nasty gash on his forehead which
Teejay bandaged with a strip of cloth ripped from the hem of her black
cape.
The spoons were passed around after that, and the men of the _Frank
Buck_ dug into the gruel with gusto. It had been fifteen hours since
any of them had eaten and surprisingly, the gruel turned out to be
quite palatable, with an appealing, nut-like flavor.
The anthrovac waited fifteen minutes, then lifted the huge bowl and
departed with it. But the door didn't close fully.
Charlie Stedman came through it.
"Good morning," he said. "We're a little late, and we'll have to hurry
if we want to reach the bazaar in time for opening."
"Are you sure we want to?" Kevin demanded sarcastically.
And Steiner suggested: "Maybe you'd like to answer a few questions
first."
"Sure." This was Teejay. "About a thousand questions."
It was as if the man hadn't heard them at all. "Outside a vehicle
awaits you. There is room for all, provided each man occupies one of
the squares you will find marked off on the floor. Let's go."
Angry, sullen, but still thoroughly bewildered, the men trooped outside.
The vehicle was a sort of bus, although the noise of a gasoline engine
or the purring of a fission engine would have shocked Steve here on
the world called Uashalume. As it turned out, the bus started with a
whining whistle which quickly climbed to the super-sonic and faded
beyond the level human ears could reach. Within the vehicle there were
no seats, but the floor had been divided into two-foot squares, a thin
white line marking off each box. When each man had occupied his square,
the bus slipped away from the squat building and was soon streaking
down the roadway at a good clip.
Steve saw other buildings, most of them squat and shapeless. And now,
with the coming of daylight, he could see some of the inhabitants
of Uashalume. He'd steeled himself for it. He hadn't expected human
beings. Any variety of six-legged, multi-tentacled, bug-eyed creatures
would have been strictly in order.
He gasped.
He got more than he bargained for. Hardly two of the creatures gazing
in at them were alike! The differences were not those you might expect
to find among the members of a particular species. The differences were
_extreme_.
A furry thing hovered alongside the open-windowed bus on six
gauze-like wings.
Multiple eyes stared up at them out of a pool of amorphous protoplasm.
A bony, stick-like creature with four arms and one cyclopean eye
covering almost its entire head peered at them.
An ecto-skeletoned monstrosity made clicking noises as they passed.
Big horrors and little horrors.
Steve found himself laughing harshly. What did all his knowledge of
Extra-terrestrial zoology amount to now? Extra-terrestrial--that meant
the Solar System, one tiny, inconsequential corner of a great galaxy.
But here, here on Uashalume, denizens of a hundred Solar Systems might
have been gathered.
Why?
Such utterly different creatures--each conforming to a particular
environmental niche--would not be found together. Unless someone had
probed the depths of space for life-forms that might all be capable
of surviving on Uashalume, as, indeed, humans could survive there!
But why? The question returned, taunted him. Again, such a gathering
wouldn't be out of direct choice. If each of the creatures seemed so
completely strange, so horrible, so ludicrous to human eyes--they
probably appeared that way to one another as well.
Steve wondered how some of them might describe the obnoxious,
featherless, hairless bipeds which walked upright on two limbs and
carried two other limbs for more varied purposes than walking. Bipeds
which called themselves humans. And that, precisely, was the point.
Such a gathering stemmed from no natural cause. Such a gathering had
been imposed arbitrarily, but for what purpose? And what, if anything,
did the bazaar have to do with it? A bazaar of the worlds, bringing
together for trade, creatures of every form and size and color? Steve
doubted that somehow, for the bazaar would lack a universal means
of exchange, and even if barter were resorted to, how could totally
alien life-forms assess the value of completely foreign produce? They
couldn't.
That left Steve with nothing but a lot of half-formed questions and no
answers at all.
He had a hunch he'd begin to get some answers when the bus reached its
destination. As with the inhabitants of Uashalume, he was to get more
than he bargained for.
* * * * *
They milled about in confusion on a large raised platform under the
blue sun. A sea of impossible creatures rolled and seethed on all sides
of them, shutter-eyes, pin-hole eyes, simple light-sensitive receptors,
multiple-tube eyes--hundreds of varieties all intent upon them.
Steve heard voices around him on the platform, confused, alarmed.
"What's happening?"
"This place looks like an auction block!"
"Look at those creatures, will you?"
"Are we for sale or something?"
The human voices faded into a meaningless babble. Someone else was
speaking, but not aloud. It was like Charlie Stedman's voice, that
day on Ganymede. Steve heard it inside his head and this time--because
they all stood about more bewildered than ever--he knew that the _Frank
Buck_'s crew heard it too.
"Friends of Uashalume," the voice purred mentally, "here, at opening
day of the bazaar, we have a most unusual treat. Most unusual. Two of
us, as you know, have already tested the models in question, and we
find them entirely satisfactory."
Charlie Stedman and LeClarc stepped forward, bowed.
"For the rest of you, one hundred choice specimens! We set no
fixed price, but let this be said about the new garments. They are
unspoiled, virgin material; they've not been used before. You'll
find them stimulating for that reason alone, I'm sure. As for the
vital statistics, they vary in height from three and a half to five
_klars_; in weight from fifteen to twenty-nine _jarons_; they are a
bisexual lot, although only one female of the species is present; their
intellectual capacity is on the seventh level, their better minds can
attain to problems of relativity and universal field; emotionally, they
have twice the range of any previous garment!"
The voice paused significantly, permitted that point to sink in. "Yes,
twice the range. We none of us have ever experienced such strong, vital
emotions. Can you imagine, twice the emotional range of the _scouradi_
of Deneb XIX! It means a new way of life for those among us who select
some of these humans for their own.
"Now, the auction-master will please step forward."
"We _are_ for sale," Steiner gasped.
It was Charlie Stedman who came to the fore, climbing the auction-block
and looking around him. After a time, he singled out Steiner and pulled
the man forward by an elbow. "The first specimen is typical," he droned
in English, and Steve figured he spoke mentally to the assembled
throngs, reeling off the height, weight, and other vital statistics for
Steiner. Finally: "What am I bid?"
Mental voices sang out, one after another:
"Three _char_!"
"Four."
"Six."
"Ten _char_."
"Ten?" The man who was Charlie Stedman laughed. "Ten char indeed! One
hundred is not enough."
The bidding continued, became hot, became a contest between two mental
voices. Steiner went for seventy-four _char_, whatever a _char_ was.
They took him down and carted him away, struggling. It looked like an
ugly scene would develop, for a score of men surged toward the front
of the block angrily. But some of the creatures held what looked like
strange, possibly lethal weapons, and Kevin growled: "Not now! There's
no sense getting all of us killed. Relax, and we'll see."
Grumbling, the men subsided, and Kevin turned to Steve: "If this isn't
the damndest cosmic joke of all."
"What do you mean?"
"We're hunters, big game hunters. We go out into space to hunt for
specimens, only this time we've become specimens ourselves! This time
we weren't the hunters, but the quarry!"
The auction continued, and one by one the men were sold. Once one
of them, a radar technician, bolted and ran. He was cut down quite
efficiently by one of the hand-weapons and Charlie Stedman asserted it
was a pity one of the specimens had been lost. "Keep your tempers,"
Kevin said grimly as a wave of anger washed over the auction block.
"I don't like it any more than you do, but we won't fight until we
understand--and then perhaps we'll have a chance."
* * * * *
When half the men had been taken, Charlie Stedman reached for Teejay
and dragged her forward. "This," he said, "is the female of the
species. You will notice the long hair atop her head and the twin
out-thrust developments of the upper ventral region; these are the
marks of distinction. And for two reasons we will demand a special
price for the female.
"First, we are primarily interested in these humans for emotion.
Stronger garments we have, and garments which live longer. But none
attain to the human emotional level. And, among the humans, the female
is capable of stronger surges of emotion, perhaps because in general
she is physically weaker and must compensate for it, although, from
what I've seen, this particular specimen is a physical match for the
others.
"Second, one specific high degree of emotion is possible only when a
male and a female are in one another's presence. Therefore, whichever
one of you owns the female can be certain of that added stimulus, and,
as a consequence, certain of a more satisfactory garment from the
emotional point of view. Now, what am I offered?"
Teejay went for three hundred _char_.
Kevin had to circle Steve's body with his huge arms and hold him firm
as they took Teejay away. He'd found the woman quite suddenly, and he
loved her all the more for it. His potential worst enemy had become
his lover. And now, brief hours later she was taken from him, perhaps
forever. "Let go of me! Get your filthy hands off me. That's Teejay
they're taking! Teejay!"
"And they'll take you too. But you're going alive, not dead. Stand
still and let them get on with this."
"Don't you realize what they've been talking about?" Steve shouted his
rage. "They'll _wear_ us, like clothing. They'll get inside our brains
and share our bodies with us, like they've done with all these other
creatures. Did you think these monsters were all native to Uashalume? I
wouldn't be surprised if none of them was. They've all been taken, as
we have, from their own worlds. They all live here--as clothing. Maybe
the masters don't have physical form at all, maybe they're just mental
essence.
"And all they want to do is run the gamut of our emotions. They know
how to play with emotions, too. Remember the Ganymede-fear, Kevin?"
"I remember, boy." Kevin still held him.
"Well, that was their work. Probably, Ganymede was their base in our
Solar System, although it's possible they first got into LeClarc's
brain on Mercury. And Kevin, all those theories you had were right!"
"Yes, I know. And sub-space--"
"The hell with that. They're taking Teejay and they may take all of us
and spread us out all over the face of this world. We'll never find
each other. We'll--"
"You're next, Steve Stedman." It was Charlie's voice, and Steve felt
Kevin release him with a word of warning, felt himself drawn to the
front of the block. Somehow, he found he was incredibly objective as
the bidding began. He was claimed for one hundred fifty _char_ and led
away by a creature with a stilt-like body and six arms. Or rather, he
thought, that was the garment. But the real creature--the mental entity
within it--had grown tired of last year's cloak, and Steve was to take
its place.
Moments later, Steve's buyer whisked him away in a smaller version of
the bus that had taken the _Frank Buck_'s crew to the bazaar. On the
outskirts of the city, the car stopped. Steve climbed out, followed
the stilt-figure up a flight of stairs as a round, fat, furry creature
bounced up behind him with a weapon.
Inside, the place looked like a laboratory. And at the center of the
room squatted a great round tank, large enough to hold a man. A green
liquid boiled within it, but somehow Steve got the impression of
boiling without much heat. He became absorbed in the idea, reached up
over the lip of the tank to verify it on a thoroughly peculiar impulse.
Something struck him from behind. He staggered to his knees and tried
to keep his eyes opened. The hard stone floor slammed against his face
as he lost consciousness.
* * * * *
He was floating, and when he could see again, a murky green haze
surrounded him.
_Floating, completely submerged!_
He felt no desire to breathe. He did not have to breathe at all. It was
as if his life had been suspended completely, as if there was no need
for his body to carry out its normal functions. But he wasn't dead. He
could open his eyes and stare at the green liquid, and he could think.
And after a time, vague forms appeared outside. He saw the walls of the
laboratory and the shining instruments--through green murk. And he saw
something else moving about, a shadowy form. The stilt-like creature?
Abruptly, sharp pain lanced from the front of his skull to the back.
Briefly. And it did not repeat itself.
A voice whispered, "You are struggling. Do not struggle, for it can
only prolong the inevitable. Transfer takes time, of course; but the
longer it takes the more unpleasant it will be for you."
"Go to hell."
It was then that the pain came back--stronger. And something almost
physical pushed in at his mind, something ugly, unclean, wet with a
damp, chilling moisture which brought twinges of fright. _Like the
Ganymede-fear, but more intense._
"To struggle is useless."
The wet feeling, like fingers now, fingers which oozed slime, clung to
his brain, probed it, bore inward.
"Why struggle? I think you will make a good fit."
"Go away. Damn you, go away!"
"I see the auction-master was right. Emotionally, you are strong."
The fingers departed, came back again, more insistent. No longer wet,
they were digits of fire now, burning, burning.
Steve screamed soundlessly and fainted.
* * * * *
When Steve came to, he was outside the tank. He was tired and did
not feel like walking. Nevertheless, he walked. At first he did not
understand. He thought: _I will sit down and rest._
His body failed to obey, continued walking.
"We share this body," the voice whispered to him, within his skull.
"You are merely an observer as long as I am awake. I am in control.
Henceforth, I dwell in this body."
"I want to sleep."
"You will learn that your mind can sleep while your body does not. And
the body interests me, human. The body is capable of strong emotion. I
want to feel that emotion."
The place, Steve realized later, was a sort of proving-grounds. He felt
himself walking, walking. He reached the edge of a cliff, stared down
from giddy heights. He felt himself teetering on the edge, saw jagged
rocks far below him. He jumped. He did not want to, but he jumped.
"We'll be killed!" he cried, icy fear making his heart pound.
"That is fear," said the voice in his skull. "That is wonderful fear.
So strong--"
Something cushioned their fall, slowly. It _was_ that, Steve knew.
_Their_ fall, not his alone. For the creature shared it with him.
He tumbled, but slowly, like a feather, like a wraith of fog. He
alighted on the rocks with hardly a jar, cushioned by some advanced
application of a force-field. A large cube of metal was there to convey
them to the top once more.
After that, he became giddy. He did not know why, but the impulse to
laugh was too strong to resist. He laughed until it grew painful,
laughed until the tears came to his eyes.
"That is joy," said the voice. "I can instill joy in you. But the way
you express it, that is unique. More!"
And Steve's laughter bubbled up insanely again. The creature was
wrong--not joy. Hysteria, more nearly. Unused to emotions, the creature
could not tell them apart.
Something grabbed his arms and held it. A giant vise which could crush
and twist. He saw nothing, realized that it was some mental trick--but
thoroughly effective. His arm was being wrenched from its socket,
slowly, terribly.
He clenched his teeth, groaned. From somewhere far off, the voice
laughed calmly. "I like that. Oh yes, I do. I like your reaction to
pain."
An intense loathing he had never before experienced took hold of him.
At first he thought it was another trick, but he could sense alarm in
the creature which shared him. The loathing, then, was his body's
reaction to its parasite. Almost, he could feel the creature squirming,
and he gave free reign to the emotion.
"Stop!" The voice was strident, alarmed.
_I hate you_, Steve thought intensely. _I hate you._
"Stop! I warn you, you will kill us with that, or drive us insane."
Vertigo followed the loathing as the creature fought back. Steve was
tired, suddenly more tired than he'd ever been. He sank back into
blackness, knew even as his senses fled that his mind alone would
sleep, not his body. With two minds, the body would not sleep at
all--and in a matter of months it would perish of fatigue. But the
creature within him feared his hatred, and that he must remember.
* * * * *
The days followed each other in a slow, tortuous procession. Nothing
seemed to satiate the parasite, for each day it strove for new
emotions, and after a time Steve learned he could frustrate it by
regarding everything as unreal, imaginative, non-existent.
Sometimes, the guest slept when the host did not. At such times,
Steve found, he had freedom of a sort. His field of action was not
circumscribed in any way except that violent activity would awaken the
parasite. Steve toyed with his freedom, timorously at first, then grew
more confident. He played with it, basked in it after steady days of
control. He even discovered he could use the telepathic abilities of
his uninvited mental guest.
He missed Teejay, wondered about her, longed for her. His astonishment
was so extreme when he first heard her voice within his head that he
almost awakened the parasite.
"Steve? Steve, is that you?"
"Teejay--"
"I've been trying to reach you. When these creatures sleep, we can use
_their_ minds."
"Then you're all right?"
"I'm as all right as can be expected, Steve. But they've been running
me through all sorts of emotional mazes. My clothing is torn and they
don't care about it. My skin is torn and bruised. They don't care
about that, either. They'll run us down. Did you notice all the other
creatures here? Some of their bones are broken--if they have bones--and
they've never been set. They're bruised and bloody and infected and the
parasites don't care! Why should they, they can get new bodies? But
Steve--oh, Steve, I've never felt so unclean in all my life and it's
just as if I've been defiled and--"
"Take it easy, Teejay. Thinking like that won't help."
"I hate them. Oh, I hate them. I--"
"Listen. I want you to concentrate like that. Hate weakens them.
Remember how the animals aboard the _Frank Buck_ died? Well, since our
emotions are so much stronger than the parasites, maybe, maybe--"
"You mean it could work in reverse?"
"I don't know."
"You want me to try, darling?"
"Yes--no! We can't do it now. If it works, we'd still be leaving a
hundred men here. They're doomed, Teejay. We're all doomed unless
we can do something about it, and soon. But at night they sleep.
Yeah, they sleep at night! If we can contact the others, and make
a concentrated effort of it, using the telepathic powers of the
parasites--"
"Shh! That's enough, Steve. My friend here is getting up. I can feel
him stirring inside my head. Shh, later!"
At the end, hope had made Teejay her old spunky self again. But when
Steve's own master awakened, that hope seemed mighty slim indeed.
Each night they managed to contact two or three of the others, and the
word was supposed to be passed on. Finally, it was arranged. The night
for action was decided upon, and for some few of them it would be a
gamble, for there was no guarantee that all the parasites would be
asleep. Once the attempt was made, however, there would be no turning
back. Whoever was left behind--was left behind.
Provided the plan worked at all.
* * * * *
The creature was asleep again.
"I hate you," Steve said quietly.
Silence.
"_I hate you._" He thought it now, thought it with all his being--and
somehow he could sense the thought was being reinforced as scores of
men concentrated on it around the city. The mind within him stirred
sluggishly, but he pushed it under again. Hate, hate, hate.
Hadn't the creature said it could kill them both? A gamble. Everything
was a gamble. Naturally the parasite would say that.
Steve began to sweat, physically. He was weak and the muscles of his
arms and legs trembled. His mind found the strange telepathic channel
of the parasite, traveled inward along it--with hatred. That, at least,
was easy. He did _hate_ the creature so thoroughly and so completely
that the feeling pushed everything else from his mind.
A concert of hatred, all over the city. And slumbering masters who
might or might not awaken.
"Stop!" A clarion command inside his skull. The parasite was fighting
back.
Steve tumbled to the floor, lay there writhing. Two minds fought for
control of his body, and he was being pushed back and out of control.
He got to his feet stiffly, strode to a cabinet, took out a knife. He
stared at the knife, fascinated, pointed it toward his chest.
"One of us must die, human, but it shall not be I!"
He drove the knife inward, slowly, an inch at a time toward his chest.
He felt the point sting, saw a thin trickle of blood. For a moment,
he fought to possess his arms and the knife with them. That was a
mistake--almost, a fatal one.
The parasite wanted that, for, in such a battle, it would win
everytime. Perhaps it could not fight his hatred, but it could fight
anything else he had to offer.
The knife went in, scraped against a rib.
Steve yelled hoarsely, drenched every atom of his soul in hatred.
Slowly, he withdrew the knife, watched bright red blood well up after
it.
Something tugged at his mind, slipped away--first scalding, then wet.
It oozed out, and pain blurred Steve's vision as he tumbled to the
floor again.
When he got up moments later and managed to staunch the flow of blood,
he knew the parasite had perished.
* * * * *
Barely sixty of them met near the city gate--grim and weary, most of
them with fresh wounds. Steve's joy was an emotion the dead parasite
would have loved to share when he saw Teejay among the sixty. Kevin
was there too, and Steiner. Surprisingly, Schuyler Barling seemed more
sprightly than the rest.
"LeClarc?" Steve demanded.
"He was the first," said Kevin. "Stronger control, perhaps. He's among
those who could not make it."
"Maybe they're still alive."
"No," Teejay told him. "I saw three men die, horribly. Most of the
others probably did, too."
"Don't you see, boy, we can't chance survival for all of us to seek out
one or two who might still be alive! It wouldn't be fair." Kevin shook
his head grimly.
Steve knew he was right. He was far too exhausted to argue, anyway.
"Then we'll go as we are?"
"Well, there are half a dozen others in the gate-house now, forcing
information from some of the hosts."
"What information?"
"About sub-space, boy. A hunter named McSweeney was possessed by a
scientist of sorts, and he learned the sub-space gear is a compact
little device which a man can carry. They store a few dozen of 'em in
the gate-house, and--hello!"
Half a dozen men emerged from the stone structure, and one of them fell
as a beam of energy seared out and caught him. A variety of creatures
streamed out after them, triggering strange weapons. Soon the fighting
became general, and it looked for a time as though the humans--without
weapons of any sort--would be slaughtered. But Steve grabbed one of
the stilt-creatures, twisted its neck quickly, heard a sharp cracking
sound. The creature fell and Steve plunged down with it, coming up with
the hand-weapon and firing into the ranks that bore down upon them.
As others of the aliens fell, men retrieved their weapons, fighting
back with ever-increased fire-power, although their numbers were
decreasing. And battling thus, they broke through the gate and out
among the purple-misted hills. Hissing beams of energy emitted
sufficient light to see by, and Kevin's voice could be heard roaring
above the sounds of fighting:
"Stick together! If a man's lost in this purple fog, he's done for!
Stick together!"
It was a nightmare. Steve fought shoulder to shoulder with Teejay. Now
that he'd been reunited with her, there'd be no more separation, he
vowed silently. Not unless he died here on the purple world.
Energy beams crossed back and forth as the men retreated, stumbling
and darting among the little hillocks. Time lost its normally rigid
control. Hours might have been minutes, or the other way around. Time
became utterly subjective, with each man living in his own particular
continuum. For Steve it seemed at least a short version of eternity
until they reached the _Frank Buck_. And when they did, dawn was
streaking the horizon with pale blue radiance, casting a deep purple
shadow from the ship to where they fought.
It was Kevin who reached the airlock first, Kevin who sprung it open.
Two by two they filed in, still facing the aliens and firing their
weapons. At the last moment--when fully half of those who remained had
entered the ship--the three anthrovacs appeared, came loping across the
plain toward them.
Steve cut the first one down and drew careful aim on the second. It
wasn't necessary. The third anthrovac abruptly turned on its fellow
and sent it reeling, senseless, with one blow. In the confusion, its
parasite must have been careless, must have relaxed its control. The
anthrovac, which made a habit of miming men, whirled and began to
wreack havoc among the pursuers.
It helped turn the tide of battle, and with Steve and Teejay, it was
the last to enter the ship.
* * * * *
"Twenty-two of us," Kevin said grimly. "There are twenty-two who
survived." They all sat about, nursing their wounds. The ship had flung
itself through hyper-space, now hovered a million miles off Ganymede.
"You're wrong. There are twenty-three." It was Charlie Stedman. In the
darkness and confusion, he'd managed to fight his way back with them.
But why?
"Charlie!" Steve forgot the question. "You're free too."
Charlie lifted a neutron gun. "No. You're wrong. None of us is free.
You'll find a ship has followed you here. And you're going to follow it
back."
Of course, Steve thought dully. Charlie was dead. Charlie could not
return as himself. But they were right back where they started from,
for the creature who was Charlie could force their return.
Kevin stood near the viewport, spoke grimly. "He's not lying. There's a
ship out there."
Schuyler Barling smiled coldly, took up his position near Charlie. "You
all rejected my command once," he said. "You shouldn't have. I had no
desire to come back to Earth like that. I've also learned that I can
share my body on an equal basis with my master, something none of you
would consider. Now we'll take you back."
Almost eighty men had died--for nothing. Steve held Teejay's hand
briefly, released it. One life more wouldn't matter, and if there were
a chance....
"Charlie, don't you remember anything?"
"What should I remember?"
"I'm your brother."
"That much I knew when I called you on Ganymede. But there are no
emotional ties. Keep back!"
Steve took a step toward him. "You're my brother, and you wouldn't
kill me. You can't."
It was wild, impossible, and he knew it. The creature was not his
brother, had not been his brother for years. Yet if some small vestige
of his brother's emotional memories remained--
"Keep back, I warn you!"
Steve could see the finger tightening on the trigger when he dove. His
shoulder jarred Charlie's knees, and they went down together, rolling
over and over on the floor. The neutron gun hissed once, between them,
and Charlie relaxed.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for a moment, and he said,
"Steve." He died that way, with the smile still on his lips.
Schuyler Barling was laughing and screaming, froth flecking his chin.
The delicate balance between parasite and host had been entangled,
possibly beyond repair. Neither could dominate, and the result was a
hopeless, gibbering hulk of a man.
"Poor devil," said Kevin. "He'll get psychiatric treatment on Earth, if
that will help."
Steve crossed to the airlock, climbed into a spacesuit.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Teejay wanted to know.
"You're forgetting about the other ship. We haven't got a blasting
cannon on the _Frank Buck_, and there isn't one down on the _Gordak_,
either. But with no absorbing medium in space, one of these neutron
guns can be a potent weapon." Steve clamped the fishbowl helmet down
over his head and activated the airlock.
Soon he stood outside, with nothing but space on three sides of him.
On the fourth, his magnetic boots gripped the _Frank Buck_'s steeloid
hull as he set himself, ready to fire the small hand gun.
Energy flared brightly from its muzzle, and the other ship, a slim,
sinister shape miles off in the void, flared up with it and dissolved
in a shower of sparks and mist. But the neutron gun had a kick which
dislodged Steve from the hull and sent him spinning off into space.
Through the lock-port, no more than four feet away, he saw Kevin
donning a vac-suit. The big Exec reached out to grab him but his arm
fell a full foot short. All at once, Kevin was dwarfed by the anthrovac
as the big animal joined him, scratching its head as Kevin reached out
hopelessly into space. The gap was increasing.
Did the anthrovac understand? No, Steve thought; an anthrovac could no
more understand than a parrot could actually talk. But like a parrot,
an anthrovac could mimic.
A huge hairy arm reached out into space, the hand locking on Steve's
gauntleted fist. He was drawn back into the _Frank Buck_ and to safety,
and it was many minutes before they could stop the anthrovac from
probing out experimentally into empty space.
* * * * *
"You know," Steve told Teejay and Kevin later, "I think at the last
minute my brother understood."
"It looked that way to me, boy," Kevin nodded. "So he died happy. But
there's a lot of work for Earth to do. We'll have to clear the System
of anything that remains here of Uashalume's power. And then maybe
someday we'll have to get up an expedition and clean out that foul
place."
"One good thing came from it," Steve told them. "We've got sub-space
drive now, and the stars are ours." He lit a cigarette, frowning. "But
I think we ought to go easy on our game-hunting, and you can tell that
to Brody Carmical or anyone else, Teejay. Those, creatures out there
were hunters too, you know."
"Forget about the past, will you?" Teejay snapped at him, then grinned
when he looked hurt. "I still feel unclean, Steve. I'd love to sit in a
hot bath for about twenty-four hours straight."
Steve grinned back. "If we were married, I could scrub around your
shoulder-blades for you."
Kevin cleared his throat ominously. "They made me Captain of this ship,
didn't they. What are we waiting for?"
The ceremony was brief, and after it, Steve and Teejay hustled back to
the recreation rooms and swimming pools with a bar of strong soap, a
couple of washcloths, and a lot of pleasant ideas.