Part 2 (1/2)
_Andruul cursed. ”Allowed it! Those nomadic sc.u.m are like flies! No matter how many you exterminate, they never fail to come back in double their number. And they strike at the precise moment you are certain the bones of the last one are sinking beneath the sand. Somehow Central Patrol has got to get that unit back._”
”_You're certain it was a theft, then?_”
”_Don't be an idiot. Since when can those gypsies build anything more complex than a crude electrical generator? Let alone a psibeam unit?
They've forgotten what little their civilization ever knew._”
”_They are clever enough at evading directed over-surface missiles._”
_Andruul muttered something, and lapsed into silence._
”_Well there is one thing for certain at any rate.... A psibeam unit is unaccounted for, and despite our protective screening, the Earthman was visibly disturbed in his sleep. His encephalotapes show that clearly.
They know about him, Andruul, and they're making their bid. Central Patrol had better be quick and certain this time._”
_Andruul kept his silence. But he thought. He thought Central Patrol was getting less efficient and more stupid every day._
It was a strange feeling; a feeling with which no human was emotionally equipped to deal.
Johnny looked at his flawlessly renovated s.h.i.+p, poised like a snub-nosed bullet against the blue-black brittleness of the Martian sky, and then looked behind him at the crescent-shaped formation of tracked vehicles that had escorted him back across the sucking red sand to this place.
With each heavy-booted step away from them he closed the short distance between them and his s.h.i.+p, and there was not enough time to think about the feeling. Or about the heavy sealed tube they had given him to take back to his people.
Usually, when a man ventured beyond the bounds of familiar existence, there was conflict. Either a struggle to win, or, immediately recognizable success, with no struggle or hint of conflict at all.
But not this. Not this success that seemed--what was the _word_?
Hostile? That was ridiculous. These people were friendly. _But somehow--there was an empty ring--_
h.e.l.l! They had saved his life. Rebuilt his s.h.i.+p. Given him the tube that contained transcriptions, in his own language, of every scientific secret his people could ever hope to learn for themselves in the next thousand years! And, they had even buried Ferris....
Use the brains of a mature man, Johnny Love! You've pulled it off without even trying! The most stupendous thing any man in any age has ever pulled off ... without even trying! For G.o.d's sake don't question--don't question things you don't understand! Take the credit and let the soul-searching go!
He looked behind him again. They were still there. A special, smiling farewell escort, watching a single, solitary figure cross a short expanse of sand to a towering, glistening thing of power.
He raised a booted foot to the bottom fin-step, hauled himself up by the stern mounting rungs, hammered the outer lock stud with his gloved fist and the hatch swung open. Like a trap.
He could feel the skin at the back of his neck tighten but he forced himself to ignore it. The lock cycled up to thirteen psi and the inner port swung automatically inward, and then he was inside, clambering up the narrow ladder past the t.i.tanium alloy fuel tanks and the spidery catwalks between them to the tiny control room in the forehull.
He would not be waiting for Harrison and Janes. He would get the h.e.l.l out of here and then radio them and let them make all the decisions from there. Earth for him. Home. He ached for it.
He strapped himself in the hammock, punched the warming studs for each engine, and there was a dull, m.u.f.fled throb below him as each jumped into subdued life. The banks of dials that curved in front of him glowed softly, and he started an almost automatic blast-off check. It took twelve precious minutes.
Then he was ready. Scanners on, heat up ... ready.
The Martian sky was like frozen ink above him and his hands were wet inside his gloves and there was a choking dryness in his throat.
_Now...._
And he could not move. There was a sudden, awful nausea and his head spun, and before his eyes there spread a bleeding Earth; the sun dimmed, and fertile plains were cast in sudden shadow.... The air chilled, the shadow spread, and there were skeletons reaching upward to a puffy, leaden sky!