Moljar's eyes darted toward her. Beyond, far across the sands, were
a number of grey vaporous spheres. Within their depths, dim shapes,
indistinct, blurred, moved in a steady ferocious intent toward the
three.
"Fight!" yelled Gasdon. He charged toward Moljar again. His face was
twisted insanely. "We're doomed anyway. Defend yourself!" His broad
yellow face glowed with obsession as he sprang. His alloy bar whirled
in a singing arc, which was unwise. Moljar dropped beneath the level
of the bar, punched savagely with the end of his own. Gasdon screamed
hoarsely as the blunt end sank into his solar plexus. He staggered
back, trying to lift the bar. Moljar swung downward, sank his bar
halfway through the Martian outlaw's heavy skull.
Quickly Moljar retracted the yellow ring. He yelled at the girl. Then
they were running together across the death-littered amphitheatre. Rays
of force might have burned them down easily, but for some reason not
then known to Moljar, the Mistmen did not fire.
They darted through an unguarded archway, up through level after level.
They were still running easily when they reached the roof landing above
the catacombs where the monsters of the games were kept. The long low
hangar's panel slid open when the ring was applied to its invisible
photo-electronic reaction mechanism. The gyro-scout's panel and
instruments also were activated by the ring of Alhone.
Moljar hesitated, grinned at the girl. Her silver hair shone like dewed
metal. "You are following me? A half-breed? A slave?"
"I'm not following anyone, not in the sense you mean. I'm with you,
that's all. I'd have to fight alone, otherwise. That would hardly be
intelligent of me, would it?"
"Hardly," he said. "Come on." The gyro-scout lifted automatically,
straight up through increasingly thick cloud-layers, until it shot
suddenly forward, straight like a bullet across Venus Port and above
the Sea of Mort.
A radabeam and an automatic pilot was in complete control. Moljar
turned to the Terran mutant. Her taut face was trying to pierce the
dense sheath of cloud.
"This is a strange dream, Mahra."
"Dream?" She turned her weird eyes on him briefly.
"What else? A half-breed, child of a Terran woman and a Martian outlaw,
travels across the Sea of Death with an outcast mutant." He shook his
head. "And for Alhone we fly. For Alhone, the she-monster whom no one
knows, to Anghore where no one has ever been and returned."
"Is it far across this death trap?"
"I've heard that in miles it is only perhaps a hundred. But in perils--"
The girl said abruptly, angrily, "For Alhone! You're crazy! If we can
take control from the automatic pilot, we could--"
"We can not do that," said Moljar. "We would only crash down there.
It's bad ... down there."
She fell silent. The atomic motor whirred almost silently, driving them
toward Anghore.
"There is great mystery here," said Moljar. "We seem guided by forces
beyond our control. Some powerful, invisible wind."
* * * * *
Curious, nervous, Mahra's rummaging uncovered weapons beneath the
gyro's seats. Two electro-blasters and a duelling dagger. They each
took a pistol, and she gave the half-breed the long slim knife. Then,
when she sat down, her bare shoulder rubbed slightly against him. And
remained there.
His flesh tingled. His hand gripped the electro-gun tighter in his
hand. "Why do the Terrans hate you mutants so much?" he asked. "Are the
rumors about you mutant's deadly powers true?"
She sighed. "Perhaps some of them are true. Anyway the Normals are very
scared of us. That's why they isolate and scourge us. We can rule them
when we decide we want to."
"Will you want to?"
"Perhaps, someday. When the time is right."
"I am neither ruled, nor do I wish to rule," said Moljar.
"You half-breeds are a strange tribe. Too bad you must all be such
barbarians, such savages."
He smiled grimly. "We are what we were made. Somehow, the offspring
of a Martian-Terran union results in much larger, much longer-living
stock. We were envied. Much as you mutants are on Terra, blessed with
double-life compared to Normals. We were driven into the deserts,
reviled, imprisoned, beaten. There aren't many of us left. Of those
thousands who sought to migrate here and find freedom, Alhone's games
wiped out all but a few hundred."
Her voice sharpened. "You found her attractive! You know you did! You
swore to avenge your people and bring her pelt back to Mars. Instead,
you run errands for her!"
His shaggy black head turned. His eyes blazed with hate into hers.
"That alien slut! It was a way out of Venus Port. It will lead me to
her again. I could do nothing there."
She sulked. He sensed the slight trembling of her arm against his, and
smiled. "My vows cannot change. Someday her pelt will hang in Ankhar's
trophy cave."
She screamed. Her lips quivered as she raised a hand over her face.
"Will you?" Her voice shrilled. "A _gruoon_!"
Moljar's stomach knotted. He had not even time to fire. The giant
flying croc was plunging straight into them. There was a tearing
impact. The gyro wobbled. Then the controls went dead. The little ship
buckled, vibrated as though the winged crocodile was trying to devour
it, rend it with its claws. Then the crushed blades released their
hold, and the gyro spun down in a fluttering spiral.
Moljar had time to jam his electro-gun and a small magnetic compass
into a bag of water-proof plastic and belt it to his waist before they
crashed violently into the Sea of Death.