"See?" she said. "It's very simple, really. You just remember the position of each letter in its portion of the diagram, and draw the corresponding shape instead of the letter; a square for E, square-plus-dot for N, an L-shape for G, same with a dot for P, an inverted V-shape for U—"
"I get it," I said. "Gad, it looks positively runic when you write that way."
Snow put the address book back into her bag. "So that's what I found scratched onto that supporting beam. The message said, simply:Snow I am all right find Clatclit the sugarfoot and he will explain."
I stared at her. "Not a very easy task he set, was it?"
"Nothing easier, as it turned out," she said airily. "Of course," she admitted, when I gave her a cold stare, "I didn't know it was easy, at the time. I was actually pretty much bewildered. I mean, I thought, like everybody else, that sugarfeet were like cats or dogs."
"So how'd you accomplish locating him?" I said.
She grinned. "I went into Marsport, went up to the first one I saw—they're as common as pigeons around the town—and said, feeling like a damned fool, 'Clatclit?' Instead of the blank-eyed stare of uncomprehending nonintelligence which I expected for my efforts, the thing looked to left and right, I guess to insure that no Earthmen were watching, then beckoned to me and started waddling off. Still feeling like an idiot, I followed it. It led me back toward the airstrip. For a while, I had the stupid impression that it was going to point me out the spot from which the boys had vanished, and that I'd be right back where I started."
"So what happened?" I demanded impatiently.
"Back of the berth where thePhobos IIhad been, there was a slope, the beginning of the hills that surround Marsport. I followed the sugarfoot partway up the slope to a sort of cave mouth, and it gestured that I should go inside."
"Okay, okay," I prodded. "You went inside, and—"
Snow shook her head. "No, I didn't. Ifyouwere on a strange planet, would you go into a cave after a red-scaled creature that looked like a pint-sized dragon?" She added, matter-of-factly, "Besides, there was a sign in front of the cave mouth, telling Earth people that it was forbidden to enter any of the many Martian caves that lay on the hillsides. It seems they're old volcanic tunnels, and wind like labyrinths into the planet. Some of the earlier colonists vanished there, you know."
"Ye gods!" I growled. "What did you do, then? Leave the sugarfoot standing at the cave mouth like an untipped bellboy?"
"More or less," she admitted. "It seemed to want to take me with it, but I begged off as politely as possible, and went back into town. Only, when I got there, the first thing I saw was my own picture on the stereo screen outside the public auditorium."
"With shoot-to-kill commands ringing into the street," I nodded. "I suppose you swooned away on the pavement?"
Snow gave me a black look. "Mister Delvin, I do not swoon!"
I shrugged. "Just as well. Marsport has no pavement, anyhow."
"Ho ho," she said. "Do you want to hear the rest of this, or not?"
"Sorry," I said. "Go on."
"Well, there didn't seem to be anything else to do then, but to get out of town, fast. I hadn't been spotted, yet. I guess my picture had only just gotten onto the screen. So I hurried back to where that cave mouth was, and the sugarfoot was still there, waiting for me."
"He does sound like an untipped bellboy at that," I remarked.
Snow ignored this, and continued. "Well, I went into the cave with him. After all, getting eaten by a dragon has no worse end result than getting hit with a collapser-bolt."
"The process is a bit more painful, though," I said.
"I took that chance," Snow said. "I had to. So I followed it for what seemed miles of slippery tubular tunnels—knowing, and it scared me stiff, that I'd never find my way out without a map—and it led me here, where I met Clatclit."
"And where, by the way," I said, "are we?"
"Darned if I know," said Snow. "We're at present in a room off one of those tunnels I mentioned. The sugarfeet have been wonderful, helping you. Especially in bringing water for you; they're deathly scared of the stuff."
"I would be, too, in their case," I said. "It'd be like toting around a carboy of sulphuric acid."
"Well, anyhow, you're alive," she said, "and that's something. But as for Ted—" her voice faltered.
I looked up, startled. "He's not dead?"
"D—? Oh, no. At least I hope not!" she said. "I only meant that, while I've located Clatclit, I can't figure out either his gestures or his—pardon the expression—words."
"He understands English, even if his vocal apparatus can't form it," I said. "Why don't you just ask him yes-and-no questions? He nods easily enough."
"I did that," she sighed. "I asked if Ted were alive, and he nodded. Then I asked to be brought to him, and he spread his hands. I said, 'Does that mean you don't know where Ted is?' He seemed stymied; he nodded, then shook his head immediately. You figure that one out!"
I tried hard. Nothing happened inside my head. It was filled with the picture of Snow, her lips slightly parted, her violet eyes anxious, her hair like a misty golden corolla.
"I can't. Not with you around. Remember?" I said, helplessly.
She stood up from my bedside. "Then close your eyes, or something, Jery! I'll stand here, quiet as a mouse."
"Well," I said, doubtfully, "I'll try."
I shut my eyes and tried to convince myself that Snow wasn't anywhere about. I couldn't do it.
"No use," I sighed, opening my eyes again. "I can feel you here."
"I guess the only thing to do is send Clatclit in to see you, and stay outside myself," she said.
"Good idea," I said. "Send him around with a lunch, though, will you? I've gone all hollow inside."
Snow smiled, and left through a rocky archway.
I lay there looking about me. With Snow in the room, I hadn't paid attention to my less stimulating environment. Now I found myself gazing over dark crimson walls, smooth and glossy looking. The room was just a bubble in the rock, about ten feet in diameter, with an artificially leveled floor.
Light came from a narrow ridge that ran around the walls near the top, a sort of ledge covered with fuzzy stuff that glowed pallidly white.
I threw back the coverlet and eased myself to my feet, and was grateful to find my trousers folded neatly upon a small hump of rock that probably served a sugarfoot as a stool. I slipped them on hurriedly, then investigated the stuff on that ledge.
It seemed to be a kind of crumbly dry fungus, not unlike the stuff found in dead logs on Earth, the phosphorescent foxfire. But it was a lot brighter, and also gave off a detectable amount of heat, too, which explained why I wasn't still turning blue.
I left off looking at the heaps of fungi, and went to the archway for a look. Beyond the room, the cave dissolved into a riot of diverging tunnels. I decided to stay put, rather than risk getting myself entombed in some pahoehoeal cavity, and succumbing to the fate Baxter had planned for me.
And besides, those tunnels were black as oil, further off from the chamber I was in. My feet might find me a quick shortcut to the center of the planet, in that treacherous gloom.
Sugarfeet, I decided, could either see in the dark, or else they carried a handful of that white-glowing fungus with them when they went for a stroll.
I went back to the cot, and sat down to wait for Clatclit's appearance, passing the time by struggling back into my durex boots. I felt a bit more competent, once trousered and shod, than I had felt while lying beneath that coverlet in my shorts. A man without his pants is only half a man, somehow.
From the corridor, there came a series of sharp, regular clicks, and then Clatclit waddled in. When not going full speed, in that gravity-defying bound of theirs, the sugarfeet moved rather clumsily, like an old sailor rocking down the street on legs trained to fight a rolling deck. I think it was the tail's weight that accounted for that lumbering gait. It was fully as long as the legs, and nearly as thick, except where it dwindled at the end to a solitary prismatic red spike. I rather judged that that four-inch crystalline dagger came in handy during a fight.
Clatclit made a gesture with both hands, and clacked something at me. His attitude and inflection were unmistakeable.
I gave him the Earth equivalent of the gesture, raising my right hand in a sort of lazy wave. "Hello, yourself," I said. "Snow seems to be having trouble communicating with you."
Clatclit nodded, and seated himself on that stool.
"What's this about her brother Ted?" I went on. "She asked if you knew where he was, and got a yes-no answer."
The nod again.
"Do you know where he's at?" I persisted.
Clatclit made the same yes-no motion with his nubbly head that Snow had described. I thought it over.
"You know,in a way, where he is, but notspecifically?"
Violent nods, three of them.
"Ah, so that's it!" I said. "Let's see. Can you take us to him?"
The yes-no business again.
"You can take us to a point, but no further, maybe?"
The violent triple nod.
"Is there danger?"
Three nods.
"To you?"
Headshake.
"To me and Snow, then?"
Headshake.
"Ah! ToTed."
Nods.
"How about his companions? Are they in danger too?"
Yes.
"From whom?" I said, forgetting our limitations.
Disgusted stare.
"Oh, yeah, that's right. Uh ... from Baxter?"
A rocking of the head from side to side. This was a new one. I wrinkled up my forehead, puzzling it out.
"Baxter's a danger in general, you mean, but that's not the danger you meant, right?"
Nods again.
"Okay, then, let's see who's left.... Danger from Earthmen, like those mobs who came after me?"
Negative.
"Surely not danger from me or Snow?"
Negative.
"From—from you Martians?" I choked, bewildered.
The head rocked from side to side.
"Danger.... Danger from sugarfeet?"
A very violent negative.
"But fromMartians?" I queried, blinking.
A slow, positive nod.
"But there are no Martians but you sugarfeet. Unless—" An icy cold hand grabbed my adrenal glands and squeezed, hard. "The Ancients!" I gasped, in horror.
A triple yes.
"Then they're not extinct!"
A disgusted stare.
I realized he couldn't answer till I rephrased that one, or I'd be stuck with wondering if he meant yes, they are, or yes, they aren't. "Are they extinct?" I said.
Headshake.
"And they've got the boys!"
Nod.
"And they're inimical to man, in some way!"
Violent negative.
I stared, confused, into Clatclit's lizardy eyes.
"They—they aren't dangerous to man?"
The sideways rocking motion.
"They're a danger to some men—Baxter's men!"
A nod, but with a kind of hesitation about it.
"But also to the boys?" I marvelled.
The yes-no motion.
"Under certain conditions, they're a danger to the boys!"
Yes.
"These conditions; do they have anything to do with Baxter?"
Yes.
"Hmmm...." I leaned back on my hands on the cot, and studied Clatclit's face, thinking hard. "Could it be that these Ancients want something with regard to Baxter, but that the boys' safety is the price of it?"
A jump up from the stool, a laughably Earthlike clap of the hands, and a triple series of very positive nods. Clatclit sat down again, a much happier sugarfoot than when he'd entered.
"But," I protested, "Baxter, from my last contact with him, isn't the sort who'd care about the boys, right?"
Nods.
"Well, then, for pete's sake," I protested loudly, "over whose heads are the Ancients holding the safety of the boys?"
Clatclit extended a ruddy talon directly at me, and then aimed it toward the corridor outside.
"Me and Snow?" I cried, standing up. "They're trying to force me and Snow to do something for them, and making the boys' safety the price of it. Why, that's—that's criminal!"
In my rage, I'd taken a step toward Clatclit, not even thinking of the fact that his crystalline constitution would be an easy match for my fists. Genially, though, Clatclit leaned back on the stool, widened his already wide eyes, and, pointing two index fingers at his chest, shook his head from side to side.
"What?" I said, not getting it. Then, "Oh, I see. It's not your fault what the Ancients have done. Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Clatclit."
He shrugged off the apology, and waited for more of my investigative monologue.
I dropped back to sit on the edge of the cot, and let him wait a while, while I tried to figure the whole mess out. Then I remembered something, and looked up at him.
"Clatclit, back in Marsport, when I first met you, I asked why I had been chosen, and you indicated that you'd tell me later. Why was I chosen?"
Clatclit just stared, uncertainly.
"You know what I mean. Why was I the one you didn't blast with that collapser? And why'd you go off without me the first time, but want to take me along the second?"
A very disgusted stare.
I slowed down and fed him questions one at a time.
"Back at that bar, you blasted the other men, then left without me. Why?"
Clatclit pointed to himself, then to his cranium, then to me, then made a palms-down hand-spreading gesture.
"You ... thought ... I ... negation—You thought I'd been blasted, too! Except that I'd flattened out behind that wall, and you couldn't see me behind the remaining bottom section. You originally meant to get me out of there alive?"
Nods, vigorous.
"And you thought you'd goofed with the collapser, and gotten me, too!"
Nods.
"So what happened in the street? How'd you happen to stick around?"
The talon went to his earhole, then he spread his hands wide, in a gesture of "many-ness," and waited hopefully.
"You heard a lot of—what? Oh! You heard those men coming up the street, and stuck around to see what was up. But I didn't hear them, and I was closer. In fact, they were sneaking after me."
Clatclit pointed to his ears and nodded, then indicated mine and shook his head.
I got it then. Supersensitivity. It made sense. Just as man's ears, accustomed to use in air, are even more receptive to sounds in a denser medium, as, for instance, underwater, where sound waves are more powerful; so the sugarfeet's ears, built for use in the rarefied Martian atmosphere, could hear all the better in the heavier air of Marsport.
"Okay, so you heard them, saw me, and came to the rescue. Fine. Now, the big question: Why? What is so special about me, Clatclit?"
He stood up and made the same strange gesture he'd made the night on Von Braun Street. Alternate pointing to his head, then to me.
The "me" part was easy enough, but the other.... I tried a series of likely meanings.
"That motion to your head, Clatclit. You mean I'm the head of something, the investigation, for instance?"
Negative.
"I'm intelligent?"
A pause, then the yes-no motion.
"You mean I am, but that's the wrong answer. Hmmm. Very tactful of you, Clatclit. You could have given me a no on that one."
Clatclit showed a friendly array of deadly-looking teeth. I interpreted this as an evidence of camaraderie, so I just grinned back.
"Okay, Clatclit. Let's see. It has nothing to do with my brain power?"
A wild light came into his eyes, and he seemed ready to crack out of his glittering pelt, so agitated did he become. Apparently, I'd hit on something, but he didn't know what sort of signal to make.
"I'm getting warm?" I said.
Clatclit stared, and I realized that, even knowing and understanding colloquial English, he might still have missed a few of the slangier expressions.
"That is," I said, "I'm close to the answer?"
Nod.
"Something to do with brain power?"
Vigorous nod.
"Mine?"
Negative.
"Baxter's?"
Negative.
"Anyone's?"
I got the yes-no and a climactic shrug. Clatclit was apparently stuck for a response.
I tried to figure it out. Brain power, but not mine, not really anyone's, and yet, in a way, someone's. Then I jumped up and faced him, elated.
"The Brain! The composite brain of International Cybernetics!"
Clatclit emitted something that sounded very much like a sigh of relief, and nodded.
I thought back to his head-then-me gesture. "Then you mean I was rescued because I was the man chosen by the Brain?"
Three brisk nods.
Now I was really confused. I shook my head at Clatclit, and said, "I give up, friend. I'm out of questions you can answer."
He gave me a curious look, an expectant look.
"The only question I can think of is 'Why should Mars be interested in me just because I was selected by the Brain back on Earth?' And that's a tough one to do in pantomime."
Clatclit rose up proudly on tiptoe, as if stubbornly denying the slur I'd cast on his miming abilities. He looked hurt, and I felt like a crumb.
"Okay, friend. Try. But I don't guarantee I'll get it."
Clatclit stood a moment in thought, then pointed upward.
"Up? Out? Above?" I said. All received negatives. "It's no use, Clatclit, I can't—Oh, all right, once more. Uh ... away up?"
Nod.
"Earth?" I said, excitedly.
Nod.
"Well, what about it?" I said.
Clatclit pointed up to Earth, then to me, and shook his head. Then he pointed down, to Mars, I guessed by association, and to me again. This time he nodded.
"Earth-me-no. Mars-me-yes," I said mechanically. "Earth-no-what?"
Talon to head.
"Earth-me-no brain?" I choked out. "The Brain did not select me?"
Side-to-side motion.
"Not exactly? Well, then—No, that's crazy!"
Clatclit looked a question.
I laughed wearily and sank back onto the cot. "All I get, chum, is the ridiculous impression that Mars was behind the Brain's selecting me back on Earth—"
I sat bolt upright, slightly stunned.
Clatclit was nodding.
An hour later, when Clatclit had gone off to do whatever it is that sugarfeet do when they're not playing charades with Earthmen, I joined Snow in a so-so luncheon she'd been able to put together with the help of a few of our dragonish friends. It seemed to be mostly a species of watery tumble-weed, plus a smattering of rubbery white cubes that tried hard to taste like mushrooms, but failed. I was trying to be light and casual.
"We may be poisoned, you know," I remarked, chewing valiantly on a mouthful of the stuff.
"It's quicker than starving," she observed, continuing to eat. "If we don't eat, we're sure to die, but—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. If we do, we've got a fifty-fifty chance of survival. Too bad you don't carry sandwiches in that all-purpose handbag of yours."
"I do," she said, calmly. "But they're all enjoyably gone, thank you. I couldn't wait forever for you to come out of your coma."
"Thanks loads," I muttered, chomping doggedly on a stubborn white cube, and wishing I didn't have to tell her what I knew.
"So tell me more about what Clatclit said," she urged, washing down her alien meal with a cupped rock filled with clear but alkaline water.
I shrugged, and let the rest of the vegetation sit where it was. Until I grew a lot hungrier, it was safe from my alimentary system for a spell.
"As I see it, Baxter is a menace to the Ancients. They, as a self-protective gesture, decided to get an Earthman up here who could find the fact of their existence, and make it known to Earth. Then a meeting between Earth and Mars can be arranged, and we can come to some sort of peaceful co-existence. Right now, Baxter's in the dastardly position of being able to destroy the Ancients with no one back home even knowing there was anyone to destroy, see?"
"All but how they got hold of you."
"They exerted some kind of influence—heaven only knows what kind of technology they possess—and it triggered the Brain, back on Earth, into selecting me. Then the sugarfeet, who are, by the way, not servants of the ancients, but another distinct race, were used as go-betweens. First one to spot me got the hand-painted ashtray, or something. Who knows? But anyhow, they selected me, and—"
"Jery," said Snow, crinkling up her brow, "how did they know that you even existed?"
"I guess I could have put that more clearly; they didn't know there was ame, a Jery Delvin. But they knew what qualifications such a man must have, and so they influenced the Brain to choose such a man when Security tried to find a solution to the mystery of the missing Scouts."
"Who are missing only in order to create a mystery so that the IS people would use the Brain to select the man whom the Martians had gimmicked the Brain to fake." Snow shook her head, and shut her eyes. "It's got my head going in circles, Jery!"
I grinned at her. "Okay. We'll take it from the top. Baxter, for reasons yet unknown, is a menace to the ancients. In a manner yet unknown, also. Their plight must come to the attention of the peoples of Earth. With me so far?"
She nodded impatiently.
"Okay, then. So what would make the people back home sit up and take notice of little old Mars? Well, how about swiping the Space Scouts? It's a great plan, really. Not only are Earthmen suckers for a child in trouble, but these particular children are representatives of every civilized nation on our planet. So they are swiped."
"Jery...." Snow tried to interrupt.
"I know. The kids left of their own free will. I'll get to that in a minute."
She bit her lip and kept still, and I went on.
"Baxter, sensing the hand of the Ancients in this, makes a good countermove. He keeps the Earth people under the impression that all is well with the kids. This, of course, cannot go on for too damned long; he's got to find those kids and fast. So, unwittingly following the plan set up by the ancients, he feeds the known data into the Brain. However, they've geared the Brain to react to that particular data by selecting a man who will not conform to Baxter's standards—that is, a man who would have assisted Baxter's race-destruction plan—but one who will be able to size up the situation and act on it in a manner beneficial to the Martians."
"How can you be so sure of this?" Snow demanded.
"I'm not, for pete's sake!" I snapped. "Remember, I had to dredge all this information out of Clatclit by tortuous questioning. A lot of it I had to conjecture, to fill the gaps. But hell, it fits, doesn't it?"
"I'm sorry," Snow said, contritely.
"Okay, okay," I said, relenting. "Pardon me for biting your head off. Where was I?"
"Acting beneficial to the ancient Martians."
"Ummm. Yeah, okay. So I'm picked. Baxter is a little surprised when I show up, since I just don't look the race-annihilating type, I guess, but he has to follow what the Brain selected, since he has no other way of getting to those missing kids. Still with me? Okay. However, unknown to even Baxter, there is a third contingent at work: Neo-Martians."
"Those men who tried to kill you," said Snow.
"Right. These are the characters who want to team with the Martians against Earth, and make this planet the ruling one in the solar system."
"I don't understand their motivation at all."
"It's—Well, it's a little like the feelings of the early colonists in New England toward King George. They're off here on a new planet, but they're still paying taxes to Earth, and—At any rate, they want to be a separate country. Not all the Neo-Martians feel this way, just a disgruntled few. But it's always those few groaners who seem to run things, because the other people, in their neutral way, don't take any action against them.... Hell, I don't want this turning into a lecture on political science. Let me go on.
"When the news hits the stereos that a girl with a forged Amnesty is on the loose in Marsport, these people show a lot of sense. Since the customs office wouldn't let you off Earth with such a thing, and the customs people here wouldn't have let you bring one onto Mars, they know it must be the real McCoy. But if real, why this to-do about shooting to kill? Obviously, you've taken the Amnesty from the real person who should have it. Now, they don't know me from Adam, but they put the word out all over town to keep watch for anyone who might be the actual Amnesty-bearer. I qualify."
"How?" Snow asked, narrowing her eyes with interest.
"First, I'm a stranger. Secondly, though not in a Security uniform, I'm toting a collapser, which means—unless I have the approval of IS—the death penalty. I've carried it openly, so they know I haven't stolen it anyplace. Okay, I'm a stranger who has an in with Security, a collapser on my belt, and the word is out that an Amnesty-bearer minus the Amnesty is in town. What would you do if you were a Neo-Martian and I walked into your bar?"
"I'd slip you a mickey," Snow said sweetly.
"Uh.... Yeah, okay." I muttered, declining an urge to snarl something back at her. Besides, she had a cruel blow coming.
"But why did they want you?" Snow demanded.
"Honey—" I said, before I could catch myself. But she hadn't flinched, so I decided to let the appelation stand."—they don't know the Scouts are missing! As far as Marsport is concerned, those kids took off in thePhobos II, see? So what do you suppose they decide the Amnesty-bearer is after?"
Snow's eyes widened into violet pools, and she exclaimed, finally getting the point, "Them!"
"At last a light dawns in that lovely skull," I sighed. "They figured I was here to round up the rebels among the Neo-Martians and stash them in that lousy prison I was blasted free of. So they lock me in that cellar, and have a meeting to decide what's to be done. Only, Clatclit, knowing I'm the guy the ancients have been waiting for, can't let these men keep me. So he goes to the meeting, too."
"But wouldn't the rebels be surprised at a sugarfoot—"
"Dearest girl, the rebels are well aware of the fact that sugarfeet are more than just dumb animals. Clatclit tells me that they're counting on the sugarfeet for support, if it even comes to open battle. Why do you suppose that bartender went to the trouble of learning that gosh-awful clacketty language of theirs?"
"But why would the sugarfeet join with them?" Snow asked. "Aren't they friendly, on the neutral side?"
"Unh-uh," I said. "Not in the way you mean. The sugarfeet, from planetary sympathies, are on the side of the Ancients. The Neo-Martians were anti-Earth, hence, anti-Baxter. So Plan A of the Ancients was a joining of forces between sugarfeet and rebel Neo-Martians. It was a slim chance, but they needed allies. Clatclit tells me that this thing's been growing for nearly a year, now. But a few weeks ago, what happens? Up to Mars come these kids, who are not only good emotional contacts with Earth, but with all the powerful nations. The ancients immediately scrap the first scheme, and switch to Plan B, the one we're currently enmeshed in."
"So that's why Clatclit was dickering for the collapser at that meeting you eavesdropped on!" Snow exclaimed.
"Sure," I said. "The rebels wanted that collapser for purposes of duplication. Its mechanism is one of Security's best-kept secrets. Only now, the Ancients don't want to help the rebel cause, so Clatclit was instructed to get that thing from them at all costs. He did. You know the cost."
Snow shuddered. "All those men—poof! Just like that!"
"Honey, this is war," I sighed sadly. "And you and I are the key figures in it, whether we like it or not."
"I think I'm all clear except on the one point: Why did the boys leave thePhobos IIwillingly?"
"Male children, especially that brother of yours, love intrigue and adventure and secret codes. Clatclit and his ruby-red friends, knowing they'd pique the kids' curiosity, let them know that they were more than dumb animals. This, being in direct conflict with all they'd been taught back on Earth, put them in the enviable position of being 'in the know.' And kids are quick to pick up new tongues, too. I have no doubts that within three hours those kids knew more of the sugarfoot language than I'll learn in a lifetime. Here, they were told, was their chance to be heroes. Plan B was told to them, and the part they must play in it. What kid wouldn't go along with a chance to take part in a real-life adventure? And so, after leaving the evidence that they'd apparently vanished in space—Clatclit tells me this was one of the boys' idea; nice kids we grow on Earth!—leaving this baffling trail, they tramped off after the sugarfeet into the cave, like the happy youngsters following the Pied Piper."
I slowed down. This was the part I didn't want to say.
"And?" Snow said, sensing my distress, and going tense.
"And they wound up neatly jailed by the Ancients," I said. "The Ancients had made sure to select a man—me—that could be coerced by threats to those poor kids."
"You mean if you don't do what they want...?" Snow said, but couldn't complete the sentence.
"The kids pay," I finished for her. "So, tell me, lady, what's my move?"
"I don't know," she said, kind of startled, as if just beginning to realize the desperation of our situation. "I'm not sure who's right or wrong in this, Jery."
"Neither am I!" I said bitterly. "Baxter's a stinker, but he does represent Earth, of which I'm currently in favor. The rebels may be violent, but they have a few points in their favor, too. And the Ancients—"
Snow looked at me, expectantly. "The Ancients?"
"Them I hate," I said suddenly. "I don't like their slip-and-slide loyalties, Snow. They were the friends of the rebels, sure—until they thought of a better plan. Then the rebels were calmly forgotten. Or vaporized, when necessary. Right now, they're on my side, what with ordering my escape, and protecting me from Baxter. But it's only for so long as I serve their ends. Then it's good-by, Jery Delvin!"
"Then—" Snow arose, a slim hand going to her throat "—we don't know for sure if the boys are alive!"
I shook my head, solemnly. "We don't know it at all."
Clatclit came lumbering into the chamber, and paused to survey the remnants of our meal. He pointed to me, then to Snow, then made the palms-down outward gesture and looked questioningly.
"Yeah," I said. "We're finished, Clatclit. Thanks."
He nodded, then beckoned to me, and pointed toward the tunneled gloom beyond the archway.
"Come with you?" I said. "Come where?"
He pointed down.
"Downstairs?" I asked.
Furious glare.
It was nearly impossible to think, with Snow sitting right there across from me, but luckily my memory came through with what that gesture had meant the last time he'd used it.
"Mars?" I said softly.
Side-to-side motion of the head.
"Something like Mars. The Ancients!"
Brisk nods.
Snow got to her feet, apprehensive.
"It's all right," I said. "Remember. So far, they want me alive. I don't have to worry unless they think up a scheme that doesn't need me."
"No, Jery, I'm coming with you!" she said, clutching my arm. Those smooth little fingers bit in like dull teeth. She must have been better at sports than her pupil, Ted.
"Snow, the way I see it, this is going to be dangerous."
Her fists went to her hips. "And by what omniscience are you certain that I'll be safe back here?" she queried.
She had me there. The sugarfeet were being buddies at the moment. However, a quick change of plan, and Snow might end up vaporized, gnawed, or just left to starve in this devious labyrinth.
"Okay, come along," I sighed. "But hold my hand."
"I won't get lost," she protested.
"That wasn't the reason, honey," I grinned at her.
Her eyes flashed a moment, and her nostrils made a perfunctory flare. Then she smiled, surprisingly shy, and slipped her hand into mine. "For moral support," she said.
"Nice rationalizing," I said, but she didn't pull away. Together, we followed Clatclit out of the chamber.
And that's when I learned the primary function of that red spike at the tip of the tail. No sooner were we away from the fungus-lighted chamber, than that tiny trylon began to glow, first pale pink, then a brighter scarlet, and finally a brilliant yellow-orange. We followed that bobbing tailtip like theignis fatuusthrough the bowels of Hell. Snow's grip on my hand grew a little tighter as we progressed along the slippery red rock of the nearly circular passage.
"A regular candy-coated firefly," I joked, to lighten her mood. "What'll they think of next!"
She didn't answer.
"Bad joke?" I asked.
"No ... it's—Did you notice, Jery? We're goingdown."
We did seem to be descending, at that. I could imagine Snow's mind conjuring up tons of planet pressing down on us without warning.
"Not down," I said to her. "Downer. If it sets your mind at rest, we just took off from a place way below ground. If the roof didn't fall in there, it probably won't up ahead."
"How do you know that?" she asked, her curiosity taking the place of her trepidation, which was what I'd hoped for.
"The air," I said. "We were breathing in that chamber, remember? For the air to be that plentiful, we just had to be far under the ground, already. The atmosphere grows denser as one descends, you know; like on the canal bottoms."
"I've never been on a canal bottom," she said.
"Come to think of it, neither have I! I must have read that someplace."
We followed Clatclit and his magic taillight a few more yards, then Snow said, "You don't have to kid around to buck me up, Jery."
"Oh, yes I do," I disagreed sincerely. "For some reason or other, my main worry at the moment is for you. So if I can keep you happy, I'm happy. See?"
"Uh-huh," she said softly. Her hand pressed mine more tightly for a brief moment. "Thanks."
"If you think you can repay my efforts with a mere word of gratitude," I said in a villainous whisper, "you have lots to learn about men, poor child."
"Jery, don't joke any more. I'm frightened, really frightened," she said, her voice trembling.
"Okay," I said, and left off. I didn't tell her, but my own pulsebeat wouldn't have qualified me for a hero medal, either. Then, up ahead in the blackness beyond Clatclit's glowing tail spike, I heard a dull roaring.
A few hundred yards further on, the roar was louder, and I could feel it through the soles of my boots.
"What is it, Jery?" Snow whispered.
"It sounds like water!" I said. "Like more water than I thought there was on this whole spaceborne Death Valley!"
"Jery!" Snow's fingers dug into my palm. "If this is the way to the Ancients, then this must be what Clatclit meant when he told you he could only take you so far and no further!"
"Sure it is!" I exclaimed excitedly. "A child could have figured it out. What else but water could impede these rock-hard things!"
Clatclit was slowing his pace and moving more carefully. Then, not ten feet in front of him, the fiery glow of his tail tip was reflected from a million foaming, shifting wet surfaces. He took another few courageous steps, then halted, pressed back against the curve of the tunnel wall.
He'd averted his gaze from the raging torrent beyond him, but his outstretched hand still pointed in that direction. I felt a cold wet spray on my face, and saw, with a little shock, that some of the glittering facets of Clatclit's scaly hide were already becoming pocked and eroded.
"We'll have to go fast," I said, releasing Snow's hand only to clutch her arm tightly against my side. "If we take too long, our luciferous friend here will be a sticky red puddle. And I don't intend crossing that in the dark!"
"That" was a jagged ridge of rock that continued forward from where our segment of tunnel ended, scant feet beyond Clatclit's cowering form. It was glistening with pools of black water and wet froth, flung up there by the raging river that passed less than a foot beneath its slightly arched surface. The torrent rushed angrily from somewhere in the hollow blackness to our right, leaped and sprayed past the natural bridge of rock, barely two feet wide, that lay before our feet, and then—
My stomach grew sick at the sight just to the left of the bridge.
The vaulted tunnel which contained this black Martian river dipped and dropped. The river, just beyond our frail bridge, was a black cataract falling into the heart of the planet.
"Jery," Snow said, shivering. "Hold me. Hold me tight, or I'll never get across that!"
"It's all right," I said, with a calm tone that surprised the hell out of me. "Here." I got directly behind her and ran my hands along the undersides of her forearms, gripping them tightly midway to her wrists. "Now, just walk as I direct you, Snow. Close your eyes if you want. I won't guide you wrong."
"I trust you, Jery," she said softly.
"Okay then, honey." I kept my voice gentle, soothing. "Left foot forward. No, a bit more. There! Okay, now the right foot." She swayed a little in my grasp, on the first slippery section of that dangerous arch of rock. "Easy! That's it, honey, you're doing fine. Now your left. Ah! Okay. And then the right. Swell."
Step by nightmare step, we crossed the arch, Snow moving her feet blindly forward in exploratory shuffles, and I, forgetting my own danger in my concern for her, moving steadily with her, eyeing each spot on that rock ahead of her feet for safety. The light grew dimmer by the minute as we crept further and further from Clatclit.
I wondered how long I could have stood in a spray of liquid caustic or acid, holding a light for some friends.
Then the last step was made, and without my knowing how it happened, Snow was tightly in my arms, facing me now, her silky hair against my cheek, her arms locked about my waist.
"Easy, baby, easy." I mumbled into her ear. "We've arrived, we're okay. Just relax."
She turned her face up to mine, and I forgot to speak. Suddenly my mouth was down on hers, hard, my arms crushing her against me. We clung like that for a dizzy moment, then broke apart.
"Snow," I gripped her wrists and held her there, staring at me. "Snow, darling, if we ever get out of this alive—"
"I know," she breathed. "I know, Jery. I love you!"
I kissed her again, gently, this time. Then we started off down the tunnel, away from Clatclit's light. I hoped he wasn't melted beyond repair. I knew, though, after that shattering exchange of affection with Snow, that I sure was!
Behind us the light vanished. I looked back, but could discern neither Clatclit, nor the rock bridge, nor the torrent.
"I guess we feel our way from here on in," I remarked.
"No," said Snow, halting close beside me. "There, up ahead, Jery! A light."
Together we moved down the tunnel. The light grew in intensity. Then we'd reached the lighted area. We were face to face with a peculiar red-bronze stone wall. No other tunnels led off from where we stood. There was no direction we could go from there except back toward that perilous underground cataract.
"Could we have come the wrong way?" Snow asked. "Maybe we missed a turnoff back there in the tunnel where it was darker."
"No," I said. "I had my hands feeling the walls all the way from the bridge onward, until we could see our way. This must be the right place."
Then on a sudden instinctive hunch I turned to Snow. "Got a lipstick in that handbag of yours?"
She looked at me blankly, but nodded, and produced the slim metal tube for my inspection.
I took it from her fingers, slipped off the cap, and twirled up a half-inch of the glossy red wax. "Now let's see if I'm right about this wall," I said, and made a streaking motion across the rough surface with the lipstick.
The end of the wax cylinder came away a bit disturbed by its apparent contact with the surface before us, but the wall held no trace, no mark, not even a smudge. I saw the little curls of sheared-off wax falling down the face of the wall to the floor of the tunnel.
I handed the lipstick back to a bewildered Snow.
"Just as I thought," I said. "That, honey, is the rock known as parabolite. The toughest, most impervious substance in the solar system. Nothing marks it, scratches it, or even budges it. We couldn't get past here with an intercontinental size collapser!"
"But Jery, look!" Snow cried, pointing at the wall. I looked. The flat wall of parabolite, the impervious mineral, was going slowly concave in the center. I took hold of Snow by the shoulders, and pulled her back from that rapidly deepening hemisphere, expecting—I don't knowwhatI was expecting. But I was scared speechless.
The thing bulged back away from us until its diameter was equal to that of the tunnel itself, and then, before my hypnotized gaze, the deepest section of the ruddy mineral gaped, like a hole suddenly pricked in the side of a bubble. The remainder of the parabolite wrenched violently away from the opening, leaving us a clear gateway into—
Into a vast chamber of eye-disturbing metal, that shifted and shimmered in some mind-chilling fashion that made me want to turn and run with Snow back down that black tunnel behind us.
"Come in, Jery Delvin," said the voice of anancient Martian.
Snow and I stepped into the great gleaming chamber. I was very much disconcerted when the wall behind us contracted suddenly back into place. Wherever we were, we were there until the Ancients decided to let us out.
"Who is the person with you?" said a voice. It had a frowning note to it, but I could not discern the source of the words anywhere in that silver-white blur of metal universe that spread away from us in all directions.
"She—" I said as boldly as possible, feeling like an escapee from Fenimore Cooper "—she is my woman!"
Silence. Then, "She will be allowed."
"Allowed to what?" I demanded.
"Allowed to be," said the voice, without emotion.
Snow's fingers nearly went through my hand.
"Well, thanks," I said, figuring politeness wouldn't hurt. I held tight to Snow, supplementing our hand grip with an arm-in-arm lock. We took another step forward. "Where are you?" I asked.
"You must come forward," said the voice.
I took another step, then another, then came to a startled halt.
As if materializing out of the air, the Martian was before me. I stared at him, stupified.
"What's the matter, Jery? What is it?" Snow said. Then she looked where I was looking, giving a little scream.
"It's all right, honey," I said, with hollow courage. "He's a little impressionistic, but—"
"He?" she cried, clinging to me. "That—that thing?"
I looked at her, mystified, then back at the sort-of man I was standing before. He made my head spin a bit, what with apparently seeing him from front view and both profiles simultaneously, but he was mannish looking.
"This guy, the Martian, honey," I said. "Maybe you didn't take enough steps forward."
"She cannot see me as you see me, Jery Delvin," said the Martian. "Her eyes only convey to her a fantastic whirl of hideous light and dark shapes. She, along with most others of your race, cannot apprehend my form as you can. This is why you were chosen, Jery Delvin."
"That's crazy," I protested. "You're there, aren't you? You reflect light into the eyes, right? Why can't she see you?"
"The human eye is not the animal eye," said the Martian. "An animal eye sees only meaningless shapes; animals use all their senses to identify objects. But the human eye sees concepts, Jery Delvin. Where an animal merely discerns eyes, feeding apparatus and breathing vents, the human eye sees a face. Actually, there is no such thing as a face."
It was true enough, in a way, that the human eye tended to group otherwise unrelated objects into concepts of non-actual reality.
"So how come I can see you, and she can't?" I reiterated.
"You are gifted to see true," said the Martian. "Your mind apprehends concepts where it has previously expected to find none. You relate what you see, and correctly. As in the case of your deriving so much information from your conversation with Clatclit. Another man would not have succeeded in that."
I shook my head, confused. "But I—I see you!"
"No, Jery Delvin. Your mind sees me. Your eyes alone could not possibly view me since I am never entirely here to be viewed. Your eyes see one part of me, then another, then another and another. But your mind rejects the idea that I am four separate entities, and sees me as I am, a unit."
"You're here, you say, but you're not here, too?" I choked, feeling positively giddy.
"I am not a three-dimensional creature," said the Martian. "We whom you call the Ancients are existing in four dimensions."
"I thought Einsteinian physics says thattimeis the fourth dimension," I said slowly.
"It is nottime," said the Martian. "It isplacethat is the fourth dimension. What ishere, Jery Delvin? Orthere? Remember, there is nohereorthereexcept in relationship to something else. If only one small globe of rock comprised existing matter, Jery Delvin, where would it be?"
"It—That's silly.Onething can't be anywhere!" I said. "It'd just be floating in a void." Trying to picture such a void made my brain whirl. I gave it up.
"I'm glad you understand," said the Martian. "Very well, then. We, your Ancients, are existing in a perfecthere-ness, of which you can have no concept at all. We are living in notalocation, but inlocationitself."
"It's no use," I said. "I can't even picture it."
"You're not supposed to," said the Martian, with a mechanical smile of contempt. "Even your mind, Jery Delvin, cannot fathom the magnitude of our being."
"Hold on a minute!" I said, changing the subject. "Clatclit told me that you expected to compel my cooperation by keeping the Space Scouts your prisoners unless I obeyed you."
"That is correct, Jery Delvin. And so, our desire is that you—"
"Damn it!" I exploded. "Stop taking so much for granted! Before I even scratch where it itches to please you guys, I want to see those kids! And in damned good shape, too!"
Snow held onto my arm and trembled. This was it. Now we'd know for sure if the boys were all right.
The Martian looked exasperated, but then he reached an arm out from himself—I couldn't tell exactly, without getting a blinding headache, just which way his arm went, left, right, up or down. But he reached away from himself in some direction or other, and the next moment, the shimmering blur of metallic flooring between him and us gave way to a red-bronze platform of parabolite which rose like a sluggish elevator on close-intervalled narrow rods of the same mineral. Then, as the apparatus halted, I realized that these rods were more than just supports for that slab of rock. They were bars.
And huddled together in this escape-free cage, I saw the fifteen missing Space Scouts.
"Snow!"
One of the boys, his hair as raven as Snow's was blonde, tore away from the group and rushed over to the bars, jamming his arms between them to reach out for her.
"Ted!" Snow cried, and rushed over to him. It was kind of awkward, embracing with the bars in the way, but they did it anyhow.
"Ted, dear Ted! Are you all right?"
"Yeah," he said, with a note of uncertainty. "Yeah, I guess we are. Only, I was almost giving up on you."
"Have you," the Martian's icy voice cut into the reunion, "seen quite enough?"
"Hold your horses!" I hollered at him through the cage. "She hasn't checked him for broken bones, yet!"
The Martian, whether out of patience or alien incomprehension of my sarcasm, left the cage where it was, and stood waiting.
"I knew you'd get my message, Snow!" said Ted eagerly, quite forgetting his doubts of a few seconds before. "I just knew it. When do we get out of here, hey? We want to go home!"
Apparently adventure lost its tang when the cage had first been lowered into the—the whatever it was that served us as a floor. The other boys had come up to the bars, now, all of them looking at Snow with longing, as the next best thing to a human-type mother.
"Oh, you poor kids," Snow sobbed suddenly. "Have they been feeding you? When did you last wash your face, Ted?"
"They don't feed us at all!" Ted said sorrowfully. "It's been weeks now since we ran out of candy, and—"
"Jery Delvin!" the Martian's voice interrupted imperiously. "Before that look on your woman's face erupts into some more of her tiresome vituperation, will you explain to her what a metabolic stasis is?"
"Sure," I said, folding my arms. "As soon as you explain it to me!"
The Martian seemed to be gathering himself for a cry of utter exasperation. Then he caught hold of himself and said with rigid calm, "We merely have held the children within a field of radiation that obviates the necessity of their taking alimental nourishment."
Snow looked over her shoulder at me, wonderingly.
"He means, honey, that they fixed it somehow so the kids didn't need to eat. I guess it was simpler than running a catering service."
"Didn't need to eat!" she exploded. "Doesn't that blob of black sparklers know that growing boys need food to grow!"
"There's no need to be redundant!" said the Martian.
"To what?" she cried, standing back from the cage to glare at him the better, with arms akimbo. The Martian took this golden opportunity to let the cage drop suddenly back out of our ken. The shimmering blur of metallic luster was once more at our feet.
"Oh!" she cried, stepping forward and staring down. "Ted! Teddy!"
"Jery, Jery, Jery," Snow murmured tearfully, turning about and burrowing her nose into my chest, while I held her helplessly. "He looked s-so hungry!"
I decided to let her sob. Neither I nor the Martian, no matter what our brain power, could drive this fixed notion out of her pretty little head.
"Now that you have seen them," said the Martian, "perhaps we can get to the business at hand?"
I seemed to be out of dilatory alibis.
"Okay," I said. "What do you want from me?"
"We want you to destroy Philip Baxter," said the Martian.
"Destroy Baxter?" I echoed stupidly. "I was dragged all the way from Earth to do that?"
"Since we are here, and you were there," said the Martian, condescendingly, "what other choice did we have?"
"You could have sent a letter," I muttered.
"Hardly," the Martian said, unperturbed. "Since physical contact between our two dimensions is impossible."
"It is?" I said, surprised.
"Of course!" the Martian snapped. "If it were not, we'd have destroyed Baxter ourselves."
"Why didn't you use the sugarfeet?" I asked, bewildered. "Clatclit seems to have shown no ineptness in disintegrating other Earthmen."
"For the simple reason," said the Martian, with cold anger, "that on your wretchedly humid planet, a sugarfoot would be corroded to death before it could locate him. If, of course, it had already overcome the other obvious difficulties such as getting there, since Earth does not permit immigration of alien species."
Like a hot spark flaring where only ice had been before, a tiny light of hope began to burn in my heart. The Martians, for all their four-dimensional superiority, didn't know that Baxter was on Mars! Hell, why should they? I knew Baxter personally, and I didn't know he was on Mars until he was good and ready to let me know it.
"Jery—" said Snow, about to spill the beans.
"Ixnay, lover!" I growled. "Unless you want these guys tossing in the hand, and switching to Plan C! Remember?"
I hoped she'd recall what had happened to those would-be rebels once the Ancients no longer had a use for them. I could tell, a second later, by her involuntary gasp, that she did.
"What was the import of that exchange?" the Martian asked, fairly smoldering with suspicion. "Your idioms were elusive."
"My woman was about to beg me not to do your will," I lied carefully. "I merely pointed out to her that if I refused, you would simply obliterate us and utilize some other scheme."
"Intelligent thinking, Jery Delvin," said the Martian. For a horrible moment, I thought he meant he'd caught onto my misinterpretation of my words. Then I knew all was well, relatively, as he went on. "As to the method of destruction, we leave it to you to choose. However, haste is of paramount importance to us."
"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but would you answer me one probably idiotic question?"
"If it is within my range of information," said the Martian.
"Well, just why are you so set on getting rid of Baxter? Mind you, I have no overwhelming affection for him myself. But I can't figure your angle."
"The motivation is the usual, basic one. Even you humans follow it: Survival."
"Survival?" I repeated, blinking.
"Philip Baxter possesses the knowledge of the method of our destruction," said the Martian. "That in itself is a bad thing, but he has two more things besides this knowledge that make his removal imperative. He also possesses the means and the intention of using this means."
"What?" said Snow, losing the pedantic thread.
"He means, honey, that Baxter's not only got the knowhow to bump off this bunch, but the wherewithal and the urge."
"You Earthmen have a rather colorful succinctness of speech," the Martian observed.
Snow looked at me for help. "We what?"
I grinned at her despite our situation. "We talk purty," I interpreted. Then turning back to the Martian: "But if there cannot be physical contact between the races, why worry about Baxter? It seems to me that the worst he could do is snub you!"
"I'd better give you a bit more detail."
"Wait a minute." I held up a hand in protest. "If you tell me what Baxter knows then won't I be—"
"A threat to us? No. I do not intend to tell you the specific manner in which we can be destroyed, simply the nature of the destruction."
"All right. What?"
"You're aware, of course, of the geocentric theory of the universe?"
"Mmmm, I've heard of it. Isn't that the theory, once held by people on earth, that the Earth was the center of all creation, and the sun revolved around it, not vice-versa?"
"That is the one. Now, though your race believed it to be a false theory—"
"It is false!" I protested.
"For Earth, yes. But not, you see, for Mars. This place where you now stand, this brief liaison-point between our dimension and yours, is the center of your physical universe."
"You're crazy," I said. "Why, the sun alone is too massive to swing about this planet, let alone everything else! It'd be like a small boy trying to twirl a ten-ton boulder on the end of a rope; even if he managed, somehow, to get it started in motion, within ten seconds it'd be swinging him!"
"And if this small boy had another ten-ton boulder on the other side of him?"
"Well—uh ..."
"And another one above, and below, and in all directions from him? What then?"
I thought it over. "He'd be a mighty tired boy."
"That is not funny."
"It needs work," I admitted.
"Jery Delvin," said the Martian with open irritation, "time is fleeting, and I cannot afford to dally while you play semantic pingpong with my words! Kindly allow me to complete my statement of this situation, or I shall decide by your flippancy that you no longer desire the companionship of your woman!"
That one, I detected by the sudden stiffening of Snow's hand in mine, I didn't need to translate. I shut up.
"This, then," the Martian went on more calmly, "is despite what your scientists say, the center of your universe. If they will but compute the masses, orbits and velocities of all other matter in the universe, they will see that. Or are they yet aware of the universe in its entirety?"
"Not—not quite," I said carefully, not wanting to chance losing Snow. "Our astronomical instruments have a limited sensitivity to light. We see pretty damned far, but there's always something more beyond."
"Very well, then, you'll have to take my word for it. However, if you have properly understood the fact that our dimension exists at the place of Location itself, you will see at once that our only possible point of contact with your universe is at the central, non-moving point."
"I think I see," I said. "If you tried making contact anywhere else, it'd go speeding off from you, so to speak."
"Good. You understand perfectly. What Baxter proposes to do is to break our liaison, thus confining us to our own dimension forever.
"He proposes to do this by detonating a segment of our physical universe, one which coexists with yours. This will produce only the slightest of jolts in our world, but the balance between the two universes is so delicate that even this minor tremor will move us—by moving our contact-material—out of alignment. And we, since we exist in Location, cannot then move ourselves back."
"Would ... uh, would that be so terrible?" I asked nervously. "What do you gain by the contact anyhow?"
"The contact," said the Martian. "It is something we have always had. We don't need it, but we like less the idea of having it arbitrarily taken from us."
"Oh," I said. "I don't suppose you happen to know Baxter's angle in all this? I mean the reason for his urge to destroy you."
"Power," the Martian said simply. "You have heard of the Amnesty, of course?"
"Have I!" I muttered.
"Well, then. You know that the wearer cannot be countermanded by any but the combined veto of the World President and Philip Baxter himself."
"Yes," I said, puzzled.
"Then who, if Philip Baxter were to wear the Amnesty, could countermand him?"
I realized with a shock that no one on the three planets of Earth's domain could, the way the rules were set up.
"But people wouldn't stand for a dictator," I argued. "They'd vote out the power of the Amnesty."
"And if there was no more vote? Jery Delvin, Interplanetary Security is currently the most powerful organization in your world. Its agents possess the most invincible of weapons, the collapser ray-gun. Philip Baxter wields the power, even now. But he desires that it should become known."
"Known?" said Snow uncertainly.
"He means, Snow, that it's no fun being the boss if nobody knows it. The more I think of it, the more I think Baxter can actually get away with it." I returned my attention to the Martian. "If he's held off taking over until you people were unhitched from our universe, then you must be a threat to him!"
"Only in his mind, Jery Delvin. He learned that we exist. He also learned that we had non-Earthly abilities. He decided that we therefore were superior in knowledge of weapons of destruction. One cannot be a successful dictator when another being has more power, or if one thinks such is the case."
"Then you haven't such weapons?"
"We have. But, as I told you, physical contact between our races is impossible." It gave a shrug. "Any attempt on our part to use our weapons would result in that very jolt we are trying so desperately to avoid."
"I get it. You can shoot the charging rhino, but the recoil knocks you off the cliff."
"Overly metaphoric but substantially correct. So you must destroy Baxter for us."
"I'd like nothing better. I can get back to Earth, and alert the president, and maybe get the wheels rolling for an investigation of IS."
"Impossible!" the Martian snapped. "We dare not wait any longer. As yet, Baxter has confided hismodus operandito no one. Once he tells another man, then that man tells a third, and soon we become hopelessly vulnerable. No, the man himself must be destroyed, not just his power. When he dies, the power will die with him if you then tell your story."
"But I can't just walk up to him and kill him," I said.
"Since we are completely aware that you can, I must take it that you mean you will not."
"No, not that, exactly. But look, he's been a stinker, I know, but it's not in my power to destroy a fellow human being in cold blood."
"Then we shall heat your blood, Jery Delvin," the Martian replied. "We will warm it with the racking anger you shall feel against us, knowing that these human children shall perish if you fail!" A cunning light came into the Martian's eyes. "And not only these children," it said. "But your woman as well!"
"No!" I cried, grabbing hold of Snow in both my arms. "I'll do it, but just leave her alone!"
"She stays here with us until you return successful."
"She does not!" I yelled, shaking. "I can't leave the woman I love with a creep that looks to her like a blob of black sparklers! I—"
With cold horror, I realized that my arms were embracing nothingness. Snow was standing, wide-eyed, ten feet away.
"Jery!" she cried, trying to come toward me. Instead, her steps slid over that shimmering metallic blur, and she remained in place.
"We who live in the heart of Location," said the Martian affably, "have a certain mastery over locale."
"You can't do this," I said unreasonably. Because it was quite obvious it was being done. Inexorably.
"Snow—" I said, and couldn't go on. The vision of Snow was moving back from me, or I was moving backward, or both. But the gap between us widened by the second. Then I was back in the rocky red tunnel, the parabolite sphincter narrowing swiftly before my face.
"Be—be careful, Snow!" I called, like an imbecile.