Latham stumbled on.
"You fool, you don't know these jungles! You'll die in there! You
won't last an hour!"
Latham didn't look back. Penger didn't call again. Latham could almost
imagine the man's shrug of indifference.
Vision stopped five yards away. A soft glutinous muck, worse than the
outer swamp, tugged at his ankles. Corrupt fungi-growth and giant
spiked ferns reached far above him in the blanketing fog.
Penger was wrong! He wouldn't die in here. Latham knew where he was
going. Kueelo had told him of the gweel village a mere few miles away,
where the foothills came down to touch the jungle edge. Kueelo and the
Jovian had undoubtedly headed for there and planned to lie low for a
while; when the time was propitious, they would sneak back to the
outpost and make a deal with Penger for the Josmian.
The route was long and circuitous, hugging the fringe of jungle. The
gweels traveled it every day. But Latham had a better plan. By cutting
directly through the morass, he might just arrive there ahead of them!
He would arm himself somehow and wait ... the element of surprise ...
that's all he could hope for now.
He left the glutinous path, and to his surprise it wasn't so bad. The
growths towered many times higher but were not so dense. Occasionally
the sun evidenced itself against the paling of mists hundreds of feet
above. Lusty, primeval odors were almost an opiate to his senses.
He plunged on for some ten minutes before he began to doubt. Gradually
the gloom came alive with motion and sound and unseen terrors. He
tried to segregate those that might mean danger. There came first a
gentle whirring of wings through the mist, sweeping close above him
and away. There came a gentle ripple through the foliage beside him, a
slither of sound that kept pace endlessly.
Was this what Penger meant? Still Latham had seen nothing. He wished
he had his dis-gun, though.
He wished it desperately, as a heavier sound came near. A grayish bulk
charged directly across his path. It was monstrous, semi-reptilian,
with wings arched sinuously along its spine as it half reared toward
him. Latham fell back against a tree bole and stood motionless,
staring into glittering feral eyes. The beast coughed raucously and
went thrashing back into the welter of jungle and mud.
Latham stepped away. His foot caught in a root and he fell headlong.
Instantly, tiny spheres of diaphanous substance showered about his
head, to burst in a scatter of violet spores. Those that touched his
skin turned instantly blood-red, and seemed to grow, burrowing deep.
Frantically he pulled them from his flesh, leaving raw red sores.
There was no trail to guide him now, but he did not immediately mind
that. He trekked the South Mars Desert and he had weathered the
jungles of Io. Tsith hound or no, he had an unerring instinct for
direction. He was sure the foothills couldn't be far ahead. But he
must have a weapon!
* * * * *
A silent dark shadow floated down. He glimpsed a razor-clawed
reptilian body, ten feet from wing to wing, its serpentine neck
darting wickedly. Latham threw himself aside as the tremendous whirr
of wings beat the air above his head. Close upon it came three others,
and Latham hit the mud. Looking back, he saw that one of the creatures
in its mad rush had hurtled into a giant fern, impaling itself upon a
four-foot thorn where it hung, screaming raucously as its life-fluid
ebbed away.
Latham crawled from the spot. Reaching another fern, he managed to
climb high enough to tear away one of the thorns. It was crude, but it
would serve as a weapon!
He was realizing his error now. He should have gone by the outer
route. He would never reach the gweel village ahead of Kueelo and the
Jovian, if indeed he reached it at all! Danger and death lay
everywhere about him. Time and again those serpentine shapes winged
down, silent and unwarning. He fended them off. Twice he speared them,
saw ocherous blood spill from their shiny integument. Other times he
wasn't so lucky, as sharp claws left a row of furrows in his back. The
miasmic yellow fog bit deep into his wounds.
Hours resolved into a nightmare of mud and heat and battle. Other
creatures crossed his path or curved at him from out of the tangled
fronds. He was becoming awfully weak, but a terrible madness lay
across Latham's mind like a patina, driving him on. Through feverish
turmoil, through waves of heat and pain and nausea that encompassed
the universe, Joel Latham pursued his course.
He never remembered the end. He never remembered coming out of that
deadly jungle. He pressed with his palms against moist earth, and
thought he must have been lying there for some time. His left arm was
shredded. His back was shredded. Inside his clothes he felt the warm
stickiness of his own blood. Outside his clothes was other substance
which he knew wasn't his blood.
Something long and shiny lay beneath his hands. The thorn! He clutched
at it frantically.
He felt if he could just lie there a moment, strength would come back
to him. But he didn't lie there. He tottered to his feet, and just a
few yards ahead the foothills sheered up and away from the jungle.
Every step was an agony. He followed along the foothills, trying to
find the gweel village. He had to find it! That much he remembered. A
tiny Martian and a brute of a Jovian were there, and they had
something that belonged to him. He had quite forgotten now what it
was, but it meant something to him, he knew, it meant a great deal.
He came upon the village, a cluster of clay huts high upon an
escarpment. Latham began climbing. He had to be careful now, something
pounded that warning into his brain. He saw groups of frail,
pallid-faced gweels moving about. They were harmless enough, Latham
knew that; but if those other two were here--
He reached the level of the village and moved nearer, staying behind
rocks and clumps of growth. Then he saw Kueelo! The Martian huddled
beside an open fire, stirring some substance in a huge gourd. As
Latham watched, Kueelo opened a leather pouch at his waist and took
something out. The Josmian! He held it up to the flickering firelight,
and the purple sheen of the gem was no more brilliant than the gleeful
look that appeared in Kueelo's yellowish eyes.
In that instant Latham almost leaped forward, but a tightness in his
temples stopped him. The distance was too great. And the Jovian must
be somewhere about! Quick surprise was his only chance. His gaze roved
up to the steepening cliff behind the village, and he saw the way.
Still clutching the thorn-weapon, he followed a little ravine up to a
rocky abutment. Thence along a ledge, to a spot just above the hut
near Kueelo. He judged the distance, decided he could make it in two
leaps; first to the roof of the hut, then to the ground.
Latham paused the merest instant, then launched himself downward. He
struck the roof with a force that jarred him to the teeth. He sprang
again, and that's when luck deserted him. His feet tangled in the
coarse thatchwork. He felt himself going over the edge, spinning
wildly off-balance, plunging headlong into the ground as the
thorn-weapon was flung far out of his grasp.
With a startled oath, Kueelo whirled about. Latham had a vision of the
man's ludicrous face. Then a tiny, shiny tube appeared like magic in
the Martian's hand. A power-rapier. Latham had heard that Martians
carried them always. Tiny and easy to conceal. A press of a stud
released a rapier-like shaft of electronic power that reached perhaps
five feet.
This occurred to Latham in a mere kaleidoscopic instant, then he was
propelling himself forward. His shoulder took Kueelo squarely in the
middle. Kueelo screamed as he went back. He tried to get the shiny
tube up. Latham got hold of the Martian's wrist and jerked it sharply
against his knee. Kueelo let out another yell and dropped the
power-tube.
* * * * *
The Martian was small, but possessed of a wiry strength. He was
squirming like an ocelan, bringing his knees up into Latham's groin.
Latham felt fainter every moment. He let go of the wrist and tried to
find the power-tube. Kueelo smashed a fist into his face.
"I'll kill you, Earthman, I swear it! I've got to kill you!" The
Martian kept yelling that, his little voice going shrill. Then he
yelled, "Kraaz! Kraaz!" Latham got a hand around Kueelo's throat and
he didn't yell any more. The place was very still. Then Latham heard a
sloughing sound of heavy footsteps coming up the slope. Kraaz was the
Jovian! That's when the real panic hit Latham and he knew he had to
get the power-rapier.
He fumbled and found the power-rapier. Kueelo brought a knee into his
stomach and Latham felt sick. He couldn't get the weapon around.
Kueelo had hold of his wrist and was bending it backward. Latham
thought: _Kraaz is coming! If I don't_--
They twisted and rolled and Kueelo was trying with both hands for the
weapon. Latham held onto the weapon. Kueelo was using his knees to
keep him down and Latham kept feeling weaker. Kueelo kept coming
forward and making noises in his throat and he seemed big and heavy.
He kept going forward until he got a knee against Latham's throat.
Latham thought: _the Jovian's running now, he's almost here_--
Kueelo pressed with his knee and Latham's head went back. His throat
was hurting and blocking the air. The knee pressed harder, and it was
bad. Then it was very bad. But he wouldn't let go of the power-rapier.
_The Jovian'll be here! I've got to_--
Latham moved his hand beneath him. The hand twisted and brought up the
tube and his fingers touched a tiny stud. He didn't know which way it
was pointing, it was too late to wonder. His finger pressed the stud
and Kueelo was screaming. Then the pressure in his throat went away.
He was on his feet as the Jovian came ploughing through the huddle of
frightened gweels. Latham tried to get the rapier-tube up, but his
arms were numbed and weary, a red mist swam before his eyes. A
powerful blow sent the weapon hurtling away, then the Jovian was upon
him; huge arms closed about him. It was useless to struggle. Latham
could see the man's lips writhing back in a soundless rage.
Latham brought a knee up in a purely desperate move. Kraaz grunted,
stumbled and fell, but he didn't let go. They were rolling together
down the slope. The Jovian's arms were a vise crushing away his life.
Latham had a glimpse of a cliff falling sheerly away, with those
deadly thorn-ferns reaching up from below.
_If I'm to die, it's going to be my way!_
That was Latham's last conscious thought as he surged against the
Jovian's braking body; his fingers clung tenaciously, his last ebbing
strength carried them both over the edge. Kraaz's arms broke away.
Latham lashed out with his feet, then he was twisting, falling, far
out into space ... and that's all he remembered.
Hands were tugging at him. A shrill chatter of voices rang in his
ears. Someone was holding a gourd to his lips, trying to pour a hot
sticky substance down his throat. Latham sat up and knocked the gourd
away. The little group of gweels fell back. Some of them were still
chattering, staring overhead with awe-stricken eyes.
Latham looked up and saw Kraaz, the Jovian. The huge bulk hung twenty
feet above, tangled in the foliage of a giant fern.
One thorn had entered his chest, another completely pierced his
throat. He was quite dead.
Wearily, Latham made his way back up to the village. Kueelo still lay
there with the blackened hole through him. Latham tore away the
leather pouch holding the Josmian; he had fought through hell and
swamp and jungle for this, and by all the Redtails of Jupiter, he was
taking it back! He thought of Penger, and the tsith awaiting him
there. Most of all he thought of Callisto and the iridium fields,
which would mean much more tsith. Clutching the Josmian as though it
were his life's blood, Joel Latham staggered away from there and began
the long route back.
* * * * *
The men at the compound would not soon forget the night when Joel
Latham returned. Penger was there of course; some prospectors from the
near-by hills, the crew of a supply freighter, a motley scattering of
others whose business was unknown and unasked.
They stared in disbelief at the caricature that suddenly came out of
the night to stand in the doorway of Penger's place. Clothes ripped in
shreds, mud and blood bespattered, one arm dangling, tangled hair that
looked unreal as if sewed to his scalp. An awful whiteness about the
lips and eyes that were dark empty pools. Maybe it had once been an
Earthman, but it was unrecognizable now! Joel Latham stood there for
an instant, seeking out Penger behind the bar. Black exhaustion
threatened to take him, but with an effort he hoisted himself up.
He made his way across the room and slumped against the bar. Spacemen
moved out of his way. There was something about his eyes.
Penger moved down to him, stood staring in amazement.
"So it's you!" said Penger, and seemed unable to say more.
"It's me, all right." Latham's eyes were searching out the rows of
bottles. Martian thasium, Earth bourbon, the potent arack from
Ganymede. It all left him cold. He was looking for the deadly tsith,
and he saw no sign of it. "It's me, all right," Joel Latham said
again, and he placed a closed fist upon the bar. "I've come to make
that deal with you, Penger!"
His fist opened slowly, and Penger was staring down at the Josmian.
"So it was true! And you really went after that thieving pair ... you
took it from them...." Penger's voice was unbelieving, but he
continued to stare at the Josmian.
"It's yours if you want it, Penger. Dirt cheap! One thousand credits.
That'll be enough to get me out of here on the first freighter, and
set up for another try at the Callisto iridium fields. That's all I
want."
Penger nodded, took the gem from Latham's hand and held it to the
light. "It's a beauty!" He replaced it in Latham's open palm. "But I
didn't promise to buy it! All I said was, I'd make you a deal."
Latham felt his stomach turning over. Kueelo had said this man was a
devil! He got the words out: "What kind of a deal?"
"You ask one thousand credits. I offer you one thousand glasses of
tsith! That'll last you a long time here."
So that was the devil's plan! Latham felt a cold sickness come over
him. He was sick from his wounds, sick from exhaustion, sick for the
desperate need of tsith. He found himself saying, "One drink right
now! And eight hundred credits--"
"No drinks. Not until we make the deal. One thousand glasses of tsith,
and that's my final offer."
Latham stared about him. Any spaceman here would offer five times a
thousand credits for such a gem! But they sensed that this was private
between him and Penger, and no man dared go against Penger here at
Venusport. They watched the tableau in silence.
"I've got to get to Callisto!" Latham cried wretchedly, fighting back
the sickness. "Here--it's yours--just one drink now, and enough
credits for passage!"
"Why Callisto?" Penger's voice was mocking. "So you make another
strike there, and it all ends with tsith anyway!" He reached beneath
the bar, brought out a crystal flagon of tsith. For a moment he held
the sparkling blue liquid to the light, then placed it on the shelf
behind him.
"Damn you!" Latham tried to leap forward, but almost collapsed as
waves of nausea shook him.
"So. You see what I mean? In another year you'll be dead anyway, so
what does it matter?" Penger leaned forward, smiling thinly.
"Earthman, what did you say your name was? Joel Latham, wasn't it?"
Latham swayed and clutched at the bar. He glared at the man, wondering
what diabolical scheme he was planning now.
* * * * *
Penger's eyes bored into him. "Joel Latham, I knew your father years
ago before he died on Mars. He was a fine man. A man of courage. I
wonder what Carl Latham would say now if he could see his son--"
"People from here to Mars and back," Latham rasped, "are always
telling me they knew my father! I'm sick of hearing about it! All I
want to know, do you buy this Josmian or not?"
"I may make you another deal. Suppose I give you the thousand credits.
But if I do, you don't go to Callisto."
"Where, then?" Latham's brain was throbbing, seeking out the gimmick.
There must be a gimmick.
Penger glanced at a tall, angular man who had stayed in the
background. A silent signal passed between them.
"They need a chart man at Asteroid Station Three. The work is not hard
but it's a thankless, monotonous existence. You're alone on an
anchored world a half-mile in diameter. You sign on for three years,
and there you stay. You have every need within reason, including
technical library and one-way radio. A government ship brings supplies
once a year, and they don't include tsith."
Penger paused and peered at Latham, whose face had gone pale beneath
the growth of beard. "Your task would be to chart the thousands of
rogue asteroids that cause havoc in the spacelanes every year. I
understand you once knew ray-screens, co-ordinates and parabolics. You
could brush up."
"It seems ... you know a lot about me!" Latham's voice was frightened.
It didn't want to leave his throat. He was staring at the glittering
blue tsith behind Penger.
Penger motioned to the tall, angular man with the bright eyes. The man
stepped to the bar.
"This is George Elston of Interplanet Commerce. He's been looking for
months for the right man. Frankly, I don't think it's you"--Latham
felt the impact of Penger's scorn--"but he has a cruiser outside, and
he can up gravs within half an hour in case you are interested."
"I'm not--" Latham continued to stare at the glittering blue flagon
just out of reach.
"I thought not. Well, I've made you two offers. I'll buy your Josmian
for credits or tsith!" Penger counted out a thousand credits and
slapped them on the bar. He poured a glass of tsith and placed it down
gently. "Your choice, Latham! A choice of escape!"
* * * * *
A terrible quiet had come over the room. Latham's eyes were
fever-bright, burning deep in his skull. His stomach twisted like a
nest of cold serpents. A choice of escape! There was no choice. There
was only tsith. He had only to take it. Penger was right. He would die
here within a year, but he had resigned himself to that.
He would die out there on the Station, too; he would die a thousand
deaths without tsith. Three years! Latham had heard of a few tsith
hounds who tried it. He knew in every detail the agonies of body and
mind a man went through, before the absence of the stuff either broke
him of the terrible need, or left him a gibbering, mindless wreck. Not
many of them ever pulled through it.
Joel Latham thought of all this and made his choice. He slammed the
Josmian on the bar; his trembling hand seized the glass.
Penger shrugged and sighed as if this was what he expected. He took up
the Josmian. "The deal is closed, Latham! I'd better put this away in
my safe."
He walked to the end of the bar. When he came back, the glass in
Latham's hand was empty.
Penger met George Elston's gaze. "You'll have to keep looking, Elston.
You'll have to look for a man, not a--"
The tall man smiled, stopping the words. He pointed to the mirror
where a splash of blue, glutinous tsith was dripping.
Latham threw the empty glass at Penger's head. It missed him and
struck the mirror, bringing it down in shattering fragments. He seized
the bundle of credits and sent them flying.
"Keep these too, Penger! Keep them all, damn you! I won't need them
where I'm going!" Tottering and pale, a fury still upon his lips, he
seized Elston's arm. "Come on! Make it quick--"
Elston hurried with him. At the door, he pointed across the compound.
"The black cruiser, there beside the freighter. Get aboard. I'll be
with you in five minutes--"
Penger was at the door too. They watched Latham hurrying, stumbling,
not looking back.
Then Penger did an amazing thing. He opened his fist and he still held
the Josmian. He placed it on the floor, put a heavy heel on it and
came down with all his weight. There was an absurd little pop as the
Josmian shattered.
Elston stared at him, bewildered.
"Not a Josmian," Penger grinned at him. "Glass. One of the cheap glass
baubles that sometimes come here on the trade freighters." He gripped
Elston's arm. "But don't tell him! Don't ever tell him, at least not
for three years."
"But I thought he found it in the swamp!"
"He found it in his boot, where I placed it when I found him lying out
there this morning in a stupor. An experiment, a whim--" Penger
shrugged. "I didn't know what would come of it."
Joel Latham had almost reached the cruiser. They saw him pause, and
then he turned. Joel Latham raised a fist and shook it straight at
Penger.
"Damn you, Penger! Damn you, damn you!"
With that he stumbled up into the waiting lock as Elston hurried after
him.
* * * * *