“Nobody will believe us,” Anne whispered.
“I don’t think it’s classed as adultery—with a moth,” he murmured.
“Oh God, I’m cold.”
“Put your head under my arm—that better?”
“Better than cuddling a moth!”
He flicked the torch beam across their huddled bodies. Nobody moved.
“They’re all sleeping,” he hissed.
Lena Davidson eased herself away from Khomich’s broad back. She put her lips close to Magruder’s ear.
“We re going now. Hold them back as much as possible. Tell them to leave you at the Safety Station. Once we’ve got George back to the house, we’ll pick you up.”
“Good luck.”
She moved cautiously, slipping off her sleeping bag, rising to her knees. Somebody was snoring.
They tip-toed past the black silhouette of the rock and then started up the hill, stopping every few steps to listen for sounds of danger...
Robinson awoke feeling numb. He lifted his head. The sky to the east was a reddish-blue. Pins and needles flooded through his cramped legs. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as he looked down at Khomich’s fair hair sticking out of his sleeping bag. Sleeping next to Khomich? He wondered what his wife and little girl would be doing—probably still buried under warm blankets. He had never liked the high-rise SD barrack-block in Knightsbridge, not as a place to bring up a little girl, but now it seemed like the warmest, cosiest place on earth. He rubbed his hands together, shivering, his mouth dry and foul-tasting.
“Carr?” he said, blinking away the fuzz in his eyes. Must have gone around the other side of the rock for a leak, he decided. Not a bad chap—couldn’t really blame him for getting a bit needled when he found himself on a crazy assignment like this. He would tell him to forget all that business about a Disciplinary Board.
“Carr?”
Khomich grunted. Robinson stood up quickly, for some reason expecting Khomich to throw his arms around him. Khomich’s face appeared, blinking sleepily.
“Carr was on watch, sir. CARR!”
Khomich came alive suddenly, unzipping his sleeping bag with one quick movement and jumping to his feet.
“Where’s Lena?” Magruder said, yawning.
They all looked at where she had been lying between Khomich and Anne Richards. Anne rubbed her hair. “Her pack isn’t here,” she said, reluctant to unzip her bag.
“Carr’s pack isn’t here, either.” Robinson frowned.
Bruce stood up quickly. They drew their pistols and moved cautiously to the end of the rock. There was no sight or sound of Carr or Lena. A red glow was spreading across the sky.
“The bitch!” Magruder clenched his fists. “She’s taken Carr with her!”
“But I told you—we weren’t going to abandon them,” Anne Richards said accusingly.
“What are you talking about?” Khomich demanded.
“They were going to split and leave us while they got to George Richards first,” Bruce explained. “Anne told me about it— ”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Anne said they’d changed their minds.”
“That’s true,” Anne said. Magruder nodded earnestly. “It was just a crazy idea we had—to help George get out of the garden before you could collar him. Lena agreed—at least she said she did. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize she was such a fanatic— ”
“But why did Carr go with her?” Robinson demanded.
Khomich turned on him. “Because you threatened him with a Disciplinary Board, I would say. As an officer, you should have known better than to threaten a man— either you punish him immediately, or— ”
“You were going to shoot him, remember?” Robinson snapped.
“Shut up, both of you!” Bruce quickly rolled up his sleeping bag and shoved it into his pack. “My guess is she’s promised that George Richards will protect him—if they can get Richards out of the garden before we catch up with them.”
They pulled on their packs. Magruder took a few steps, then winced and clasped his leg. “I’m sorry—it’s agony...” Bruce turned to Anne.
“Is there anything seriously wrong with it that he can’t walk?”
‘‘I don’t think so,” Anne said, ‘‘nothing I can see— ”
Bruce turned on Magruder. ‘‘It’s up to you, Stanley, you either keep up with us, or you stay here.”
‘‘But I could be attacked by anything!”
“I don’t think you understand, son. We’re now in a race to reach Richards, if we don’t win, I’d say we’re dead. Tell you the truth, I don’t really give a goddamn what happens to you.”
Magruder made little grunts and hisses, screwing up his face with agony—but he managed to keep up.
On their way to the top in the gray dawn light, they had to skirt the body of the hooded crow. They saw congealed blood on various parts of its black and gray feathers. Even in death, it dwarfed them; although the head and strong beak lay inert, they had an eerie feeling that it was only feigning. Big blowflies were already walking over the open gunshot wounds, their black bodies glinting with greenish tints. They caught a whiff of the ammonia secreted by the flies and hurried on, consciously averting their eyes from the shadows under the lifeless feathers, where they sensed rather than saw a grim scurrying of industrious scavengers. For the first time in his life, Robinson came to know why human beings placed such importance on strong coffins to guard their eternal rest.
Khomich got to the top first. He threw out his rope, winding it around his waist to take the weight of Anne Richards. Robinson climbed without help. As he took a grip of the rope, he said, quietly, ‘‘Next time, I’m going to put a bullet in Carr.”
“Next time, he will be trying to put a bullet in us, Captain.”
It was warm inside the large dome of the Safety Station. When the noise of smashing ceased and Lena
came down the metal stairs from the observation gallery, Carr seemed reluctant to leave.
“You know what’ll happen to you if they catch up with us,” she said sternly. Then she smiled and patted his cheek. “Don’t worry, Roy, George will be extremely grateful for what you’re doing. And so will I.”
Carr grimaced. “You sure we’ll be all right—only two of us?”
“We’ll travel faster without that stupid cow Anne to hold us up.”
“If we went back now— ”
“You know Khomich. He was going to shoot you— for nothing. And that drip Robinson—he hates your guts because you’re twice the man he is. They won’t be happy until you’re doing hard labor in a permafrost camp. Come on—Lena will take care of you.” She reached up and kissed him on the lips. Carr took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, “let’s get a move on. Got the spare transceiver?”
“Yes—you better carry this wire-saw, we’ll use it to cut through the bridge at Crossing Two. They’ll never catch up with us.”
A short way down the slope she saw a small earthworm sliding across a patch of dew-covered cooch-grass.
“Give me the wire-saw,” she said.
He watched incredulously as she ripped the wildly- threshing worm to bloody pieces with the deadly wire of the gas-powered saw.
“What are you doing that for?”
“Scatter the bits down that gully—use your prod. Don’t get blood on your boots, or you’ll leave a scent.” She smiled, giving him another pat on the cheek. “It’s a delaying tactic, Roy. The smell will attract every predator on the rockery. By the time they arrive, this whole area will be a death-trap.”
He began to wonder if he wouldn’t have been safer with Khomich. But it was too late to turn back.
The Safety Station was a gray alloy dome with a glass roof, standing on massive titanium stilts. By then, they
had stopped trying to measure things by normal perspectives; it looked as big and solid as any lunar base—and as safe. Magruder led them under the stilts, still limping heavily.
“The idea was to
design something that no insect could penetrate,” he said, using his prod to reach up and push at a red plate set flush in the huge under-floor. With a whirring noise, a set of aluminum steps came down from between two flaps. They waited, pistols drawn. Nobody appeared in the hatchway. Khomich climbed the steps. His boots disappeared. Robinson followed him. The others waited, shivering in a cold draught.
Robinson’s face appeared in the hatchway. “Nobody here.”
They climbed up and found themselves in a large, bare auditorium with a glass roof, the sides honeycombed with partitions for half-constructed rooms. The air was beautifully warm. Using his prod as a walking-stick, Magruder limped into the middle of the big floor space.
“In time, this place was meant to have a permanent base staff of about a hundred people,” he said. “It’s solar-heated—we can all have a hot shower. You’ll find spare clothes and—”
“Where is the communications room?” Khomich demanded.
Magruder used his stick to point up at a gallery running round the inward-curved walls. “See where all those cables are—that’s the console. There’s a videolink with base station and a radio.”
Robinson ran up a flight of steep metal stairs. A few minutes later, he leaned over the rail. “They’ve been here,” he called down. “They’ve smashed everything.”
Magruder closed his eyes and shook his head. “Honestly, I’ve always known Lena was pretty fanatical about the Project, but I never realized she’d go this far.” He looked at Anne, sighing apologetically. “I guess there’s nothing she won’t do for George.”
Before Anne could say anything, Bruce pulled off his pack and took hold of Magruder’s arm. “Okay, Stanley,
show us where to have a quick wash and get some new clothes—didn’t they say there was a stock of food here?”
Bruce and Khomich came out of the shower-room together. In the kitchen, they found Magruder serving out cups of hot broth. ‘‘Freeze-dried vegetables and hunks of real chicken,” he said proudly, ‘‘after that—just smell some aphid honeydew!”
Khomich tried the broth and nodded appreciatively. He emptied his cup and then opened a jar of honey, dipping in his middle finger. ‘‘Very good.”
‘‘Great for energy,” said Magruder cheerfully. He winced with pain as he turned to give Anne more soup.
‘‘There are three things we can do,” Khomich said, licking honey off his finger. ‘‘We can stay and let them come for us.” Magruder nodded. ‘‘However,” Khomich went on, ‘‘if that woman and Carr get Richards out of the garden, he might decide not to come for us.”
‘‘No, I don’t think he’d leave us,” Magruder said, ‘‘even if he is down on you people, there’s still me.” He smiled guiltily. “I’m supposed to be on his side.”
“I think we should try to catch up with them,” said Bruce. “We can leave Stanley.”
“What do you think we should do, Stanley?” Khomich said.
“Well, if you’re set on catching up with them, I guess you’ll have to leave me.”
“Why is that?”
Magruder frowned. “This goddamn leg, of course. I’d never make it down the rockery and across the stream.”
Khomich nodded. He dipped his finger into the honey and licked it noisily. With his right hand he pulled his pistol out of his waistband and calmly placed the nozzle against Magruder’s temple.
“What are you doing that for?” Magruder asked, sounding innocently astonished, eyes flicking nervously from the pistol to Khomich’s face.
“Take off your boots, Stanley,” said Khomich.
“Why? Oh hell—come on— ” he laughed nervously. Khomich wiped his finger on Magruder’s chest.
‘‘Take off your boots.”
Magruder looked appealingly at Bruce. ‘‘What’s he playing at?”
‘‘Maybe he thinks you’re dirty.”
‘‘Are you guys serious?” Magruder was frightened now.
‘‘Yes,” said Khomich. ‘‘I will count to three—are you going to take off your boots?”
‘‘But— ”
‘‘One— ”
“Just tell me why, for God’s sake!”
“I want to find out if your leg is really injured. Two — ”
“Okay, okay.” Magruder bent down cautiously, eyes still on the pistol.
“And your socks,” said Khomich.
“So what happens now?” Magruder said, standing in his bare feet. Khomich handed him the jar of honey.
“Rub that on your feet.”
“Are you crazy? What good is honey for a bad leg?”
“We will see. Rub it on your feet and then we’ll let you go down the ladder.”
“Go outside? With bare feet—covered in honey?” Magruder’s voice was squeaky with terror.
“You’re frightened the smell will attract some of your insect friends?”
“You know damn well it will!”
“Then we will see how bad your leg really is.” Khomich shoved the jar at Magruder. The young American looked beseechingly at Anne. “I’ll be torn to pieces!”
“You were going to leave them to die, Stanley,” she said calmly.
Magruder’s head dropped. His voice was almost inaudible. “Okay, okay, so my leg’s all right. I just didn’t want to go with you people.”
“Second question,” said Khomich. “Is there another radio?”
“Yeah—but Lena’s taken it.”
“Why?”
“She can call base-station on another channel. They
can speak direct to the Recovery Vehicle without your soldiers hearing anything up in the Control Room.”
‘‘So you knew they were going to leave us?”
‘‘Yeah, I guess so.”
‘‘Why did you stay behind?”
‘‘To hold you back as long as possible.”
“Then what?”
Magruder shrugged. Khomich raised the pistol again. “If you don’t tell us the truth, I will put you down that ladder with no clothes on at all—except a skin of honey.”
“All right—I was to stay here, they would get George out of the capsule, the Recovery Arm would pick them up, George would be back to full-size before your soldiers up in the house knew anything. Then they’d pick me up—and you would all be lost somewhere in the garden. It was Lena’s idea!”
“Was it her idea to lose me as well?” Anne asked.
“I was against that, Anne—honest! But she said you’d changed sides— ”
“I’d be out of the way and she’d have her great hero George Richards all to herself? They are having an affair, aren’t they?”
Magruder sighed. “Yes. I’m sorry, Anne.”
Khomich looked knowingly at Bruce. “You said I was too cynical about people, Professor.”
“I’ve been out of touch with the human race. I thought people were despicable—I see now I was flattering them. We’d better be on our way.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Magruder asked, his voice shaky and his eyes apprehensive.
“We’re going to take great care of you, Stanley,” Bruce said briskly. “You’re coming with us—until we get hold of George Richards, you’re the best insurance policy we’ve got. They wouldn’t letyou die, would they?”
“Don’t count on it,” said the young American dejectedly.
A few minutes later, they were climbing down the ladder. Bruce felt confident. Invigorated by a hot shower and warm food, he was ready to meet any challenge—
especially now that he could regard Khomich as an ally. In place of the sadist they called “The Butcher,” there was a brave man who had conquered his own terror of the garden’s creatures. His calm professionalism in forcing the truth out of Magruder had revealed his true strengths—an iron will coupled with a subtle comprehension of human character. Khomich was the man you would want at your side in the jungle.
“Would you actually have put Stanley outside in his bare feet?” Anne dared to ask Khomich.
“And waste good honey?” He shook his head. As she began to smile with relief, he added, “No, I would have shot him through the neck.
“What’s all that commotion down there?” said Robinson. They stopped. Their route lay down a narrow gully of bare earth between some big stones and an impenetrable forest of heather. In the gully, four or five starlings were pecking at something on the ground.
“Starlings always look to me like robber barons, the aggressive way they strut about,” said Anne.
As they climbed down the humming and buzzing sounds grew louder.
“We’ll waste too much time making a detour,” said Bruce. He looked down at the glinting black and green feathers of the sleekly rapacious birds. “Throw stones at them.”
“This will be quicker,” Khomich raised his pistol, aiming just above the starlings. The bullet hit the rock and exploded in a spray of mercury. The birds bolted off into the air.
They hurried down into the gully. Houseflies rose in buzzing swarms. “They’re harmless enough,” Robinson said.
“On the contrary,” said Anne. “As a doctor, I can tell you they’re probably the biggest menace of all to man. Do you know they each carry about two million bacteria? Cholera, typhoid, dysentery— ”
THE MICRONAUTS
“Let’s not hang around to let them land on us,” Bruce snapped. “What the hell are they eating anyway?”
They came down a steep incline of hard, gritty earth, digging in their heels, reaching up for holds in the rough surface of the stones.
“Looks like bits of meat,” Robinson said. He was in the lead. He stopped where the rock’s overhang formed a shadowy cave. He was holding out his hand to help Anne when, through the buzzing, he heard a creaking noise, like sheets of metal rubbing against each other. He held up his hand.
“Hold it a minute,” he said urgently. “I think there’s something in this— ”
They heard a sharp hissing noise and then it hit them, a stench of vinegary acid that brought tears to their eyes.
Out from its daytime lair under the rock came the whiptail scorpion, an armor-plated monster twice the size of themselves, its low-slung body a dirty brown color- like an army tank with huge claws.
The Micronauts Page 15