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now, I can hear it almost like an intermittent roar when I hold my own breath,
but there's no other change. If only I don't touch a plant-creature in the
dark. I know where the chemical I want is, I can feel my way around without
switching on a light, as I did for so many months when I lived here. Bulkley
may have made changes in the past few days, but he hasn't changed the location
of the closet. Ah, here it is. I reach inside. Here are the bottles, large and
small. I don't need to read the labels to know what's inside them. Acids,
indole derivatives ah, here's the vial I want. I know its size, its shape. All
I need now is a single crystal, but common sense dictates that I take it all.
I may need more later, and besides, there's no sense leaving anything for
Bulkley to use.
Theft mission accomplished safely  or almost, anyway. Now to get away from
here.
Unexpectedly a noise. A noise not from the hut itself, but from overhead. A
faint drone like that of some insect zooming through the air, preparing for a
dive at the end of which it will dip its tiny jaws into human skin for a meal
of blood. The drone becomes a roar the roar of a space ship. Another patrol
vessel, of course, here to see what happened to its predecessor. More cautious
than the first one, scanning the planet for danger before landing, with no
desire to come down in the dark. Very smart, laudably smart. But helpless for
all its smartness and all its caution, because its captain and its crew don't
realize the real danger, don't realize that death comes from the harmless
plants with which the surface of the planet is covered.
STILL, caution keeps the ship safe for the moment. The roar dies away to a
faint drone again, to silence again, as the visitors scout the planet.
Hope they don't find us too soon. Hope it for their sake.
Not a sound now. Not even the sound of Bulkley's breathing. And that's odd.
Very odd. A man asleep breathes deeply, heavily
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But Bulkley isn't asleep. Bulkley is standing in the doorway of his room, a
flashlight in one hand, a weapon in the other. Bulkley is grinning evilly at
him, ready to shoot, ready to kill.
Wish to amend previous report. Theft mission not accomplished safely.
The man moved forward. "Don't move, Newell," he cautioned. "Not unless you
want to die in a hurry."
Newell froze. That damned space ship, he told himself bitterly. Cautious as
all space itself. So cautious that it woke him up.
The flashlight went off as the room lights went on. Bulkley said comfortably,
"Sit down. Be comfortable. Make yourself at home. Make believe you live here."
Humor from Bulkley, of all people. Or was it just humor? The place was home,
the house was still as comfortable as ever, but that wasn't the reason Bulkley
wanted him to sit. A sitting man couldn't leap at you with the suddenness that
a standing man could. A sitting man was like a sitting duck, easy to keep
under the muzzle of your own weapon, and his weapon of surprise taken away
from him.
"Thought you'd be back, Newell. Thought you wouldn't want to leave your old
pal without saying good-bye. And you're not getting away again. I don't expect
another earthquake soon, but if there is one, I'll shoot you dead at the first
sign of it."
HE'LL SHOOT me anyway when he has no more use for me. What do I do now? Those
plant-creatures are watching me. Three of them here with us in the room.
Strange to think that they were here all the time, like dummies, hearing
nothing, seeing nothing, doing nothing. Tough-Egg and
Kind-Mugg I recognize them. Or are these their twins? Could be. The third one
looks even more human. A brown scar with white trimmings down a brown and
white face. Scar-face. Human and sinister.
Never mind how they look. It's how they act that counts. They act like robots,
perfect robots under
Bulkley's control. Well, not perfect, perhaps. They have their weaknesses. But
none that I can count on.
The question is: What do I do now?
Nothing with them directly. Can't think of a thing to do. Bulkley is very
likely the real weak link in the
chain that's got me trapped. Settle his hash, and the robots are left without
orders, they're harmless. Yes, put Bulkley out of commission for a few
seconds, and you get a start. And given that start, you can outrun them,
especially in the dark.
Let's start off. My hand can slip casually along the arm of the plastex chair
in which I'm sitting.
Bulkley notices nothing wrong. Good. The thing now is to talk, talk heatedly
passionately talk in any way that will arouse Bulkley's interest, get him
excited, not let him see what that hand is going to do. The hand is going to
be quicker than the distracted eye. The hand is going to slip into a pocket
and pull out
the hypnotizer. The pulsing light will glow and change color, and then
Bulkley's eyes will be drawn to it,
and then, before he realizes what it is and what it's doing to him..."
"All right, Bulkley, you've got me. What do you want of me?"
"First thing, I want you to help me get that girl back."
"That school teacher? Thought you didn't like her."
"School-teacher in a space-devil's eye. She's that danced I had her in my
hands and didn't realize it.
Just last night I was watching that program  yes, I fixed the television set,
my friend, and found that some of the parts were-missing. But anyway, I was
watching the program, and it struck me that I had seen her face before."
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"Quick on the trigger. That's you, Bulkley."
"I'm the one who's in a position to be funny, Newell, not you."
"Sure, sure you're a born humorist." He's beginning to burn. Fine. He isn't
watching my hand at all.
"I'm warning you for the last time, Newell. Don't, try to be funny. I want
that girl back."
Laugh at him. Laugh when you want to smash his face. "You're crazy, Bulkley.
Or is it your turn to try to be funny?"
"I'm not crazy and I'm not funny. I want her back."
"You heard me. The answer is, `No'."
The man's eyes are glittering. Hope I don't carry this too far. Don't want him
to shoot.
His lips seem to be dry. He licks them before speaking. "You're a fool,
Newell." Softly, dangerously.
"A complete fool. What's the girl to you? You've know her for only a couple of
days. She means nothing to you. She can't possibly mean anything. And whether
you live or die, sooner or later I'll get her anyway. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]