"_It's me--Joseph._"
He unlocked the door and the boy came in with light, eager tread. "You
all right?" he said.
"Yes--yes, I'm all right. But I can't see. Tell me, what time is it?"
"It's nearly morning."
"Thank God! Now listen carefully. Do you know what a strategic
withdrawal is?"
"Sure, everybody knows that. Every spaceman, I mean."
"Good. It is time for me to withdraw to my patrol monitor in space and
make a radio report. Will you guide me to the rocket? There may be
danger."
"I'm not afraid," Joseph said. "Come on, I know a short cut."
Wellesley slung his space kit over his shoulder and followed, with his
hand on Joseph's collar. They went out into the night air which smelled
fresh and clean after the daub-hut, and revived him a little.
At first he walked easily, for the ground was level, but after a minute
or two the growth became heavy underfoot, causing him to stumble, and
reeds were whipping against his face.
Presently they halted.
"Why have we stopped?" Wellesley asked.
"Here we are," Joseph said.
"We couldn't have gotten there in such a short time. Not even by a
short cut."
"Put your hand out before you," Joseph commanded. "You'll see. I guess
we can blast off any time." There was a sound of feet, scrambling up a
steel ladder. A moment later he could hear Joseph's voice from inside,
echoing hollowly.
He put his hand out and touched the ladder. The rungs were flaked with
heavy rust beneath his finger. "_This is not my rocket!_"
"It's _my_ rocket," said Joseph's disembodied voice, from somewhere
above his head.
Wellesley cursed him.
"It's the fastest ship in the universe," Joseph said. "_Where you
going?_"
* * * * *
Black anger possessed him, but the keen instinct of orientation common
to men who have lived in interstellar space worked for his salvation.
He might have blundered into the swamp, but he did not. Instead he
came up, after a terrible half-hour, against the wall of a building
which, by its immense extent, could only have been the warehouse. He
moved along its sheer, featureless side until he came to a door, which
reoriented him, then struck out in the direction that he guessed the
daub-hut to be.
He bumped against it at last, located its door, flung himself in and
thankfully bolted it behind him.
But he was not alone. She was there, waiting for him. He started when
she spoke.
"Where have you been?" she breathed. "I have been terrified. I found
the hut empty and I was sure that you were dead."
"Like a bad penny," he said, "I return. But your being here is good
fortune. I am certain that _you_ will consent to leading a blind man to
his ship without resorting to childish trickery. In fact, I shall make
sure of it."
"Not now," she said. "It is too dangerous. We could never get through
the swamp. Besides, you must still be weak from the effects of the
poison. Let us wait until morning."
He seized her wrists and squeezed.
"You're hurting me!" she cried.
"Then waste no time. And if you try to break way, or lead me into a
trap, I'll snap your wrist like a straw!" He dragged her to the door.
"Through the village is best," she said. "They are sure to see us, but
in the open we may be able to outrun them."
"_Who_ is sure to see us?"
"Never mind that now. Follow me!"
Their flight had a rather dream-like quality because nothing impeded
them, even beyond the village. Miraculously she seemed to guide him
where no underbrush or tangling grasses caught his feet, so that not
once did he fall.
"There it is, just ahead," she said. "The rocket tubes appear to have
sunk into the mud two or three feet, though. Do you think you will be
able to take off?"
"It will not matter in the least," he said. "But tell me, is it still
dark?"
"Yes."
"Quite dark?"
"Very dark," she said.
"That's all I wanted to know. Open the airlock and climb up. I'll
follow."
Once aboard, he found the controls and set them for take-off. Then he
pressed a small button. The port began to swing shut. He heard her run
toward it, but he caught her and held her until the heavy hatch had
banged shut with a hiss of escaping air.
"Let me go," she whimpered. "What are you going to do to me?"
"You are under civil arrest," he said harshly.
"But I haven't done anything. I have helped you."
"Of course. But you forget that I represent law--not justice. Once I
told you that I could be ruthless. You see, whoever you are, you are
what I came here to find. I have suspected all along; now I am certain."
"What do you mean?"
"You brought me here without losing the way. Then, from a hundred feet
away you saw that this rocket tender had settled two feet into mud.
_All this in absolute darkness._ That must mean that you have night
sight--like the natives, a sure sign of abnormality. Besides that, you
have consistently avoided me in daylight. Meaning that I must not get
a glimpse of you, even though you were able to see me quite well. You
were the reason for Sealilly's hostility. He wanted to get rid of me
before I found out about you. Joseph, the normal child, was used as a
decoy to mislead me. But Joseph's sister was a mutant."
She fell to the deck, sobbing, as he throttled full power for the
blast-off.
* * * * *
Wellesley left Ophir a small, grey-green globe in the vastness of
black space and set an automatic course for the mother ship, where he
intended to submit a detailed report by radio to Regional Headquarters
on Rigel Twelve.
So far as he was concerned, the case was closed, once they were aboard
the patrol ship, but it was three weeks to the vicinity of Rigel, and
in that time a curious sequel had developed.
The girl (her name turned out to be Laura) had stopped crying, and had
begun to take an interest in life once more. In fact, he sensed that
she was studying him a great deal of late.
They were standing before the viewport, she looking at the great angry
mass of Rigel, magnified in the glass, but actually still two days
ahead, he listening to every sound aboard the huge ship as he had
learned to listen since the darkness closed in on Ophir.