threads of light up the walls. “The shallow end would be better,” said Kelly. His voice was hollow, and echoed back flatly. Pausing to peel off his coverall, he led George carefully down the steps into the pool. Half submerged, George floated. Kelly drew him gently out into deeper water.
Dominick and the others arranged themselves along the brink in interested attitudes. Kelly cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “the way it generally happens, one of the boys will grab ahold of another one, like this—” He put his hands on the smooth floating globe, and hesitated.
“Go ahead now, Kelly,” called Dominick. “Remember, you have a direct order to do this.”
“Sure,” said Kelly. “Well—” he turned to the gorgon. “Hold your breath now!” He pressed downward. The gorgon seemed lighter than he had expected, like an inflated ball; it was hard to force it under.
Kelly pushed harder. George went under briefly and slipped out of Kelly’s hands, bobbing to the surface. The gorgon’s speaking trumpet cleared itself of water with a phonk and said, “Nice. Do again, Kelly.”
Kelly glanced over at Dominick, who said, “Yes. Again.” Dr. Alvarez stroked his thin beard and said nothing.
Kelly took a deep sympathetic breath, and shoved the gorgon under. A few bubbles came to the surface; George’s speaking trumpet broke water, but made no sound. Down below, Kelly could see his own pale hands gripping the gorgon’s body; the water made them look bloodless; but not George; he was a clear, unblemished pink.
There was a discouraged silence when Kelly brought him back up.
“Listen,” said Dominick, “I’ve got another idea. George, can you breathe through that speaking trumpet, too?”
“Yes,” said George cheerfully.
There was a chorus of disgusted “Oh, wells.” Everybody brightened perceptibly. Josling polished his pul-motor with a rag. “Go ahead, Kelly,” said Dominick. “And this time, you hold him under.”
George went down for the third time. The bubbles swirled upward. The gorgon’s speaking trumpet swayed toward the surface, but Kelly leaned farther over, blocking it with his forearm. After a moment, all of George’s appendages began to “contract. Kelly craned his neck downward anxiously. Was a hint of blue beginning to show?
“Keep him down,” said Alvarez sharply.
George was a blank sphere again. Then one or two of the limbs began to reappear; but they looked different somehow.
“Now?” said Kelly.
“Give him a second more,” said Dominick, leaning over precariously. “It seems to me—”
Kelly’s back muscles were knotted with tension. He did not like the way George’s new limbs seemed to be flattening out, trailing limply—it was as if something had gone wrong in the works.
“I’m bringing him up,” he said hoarsely.
To Kelly’s horror, when he lifted his hands. George stayed where he was. Kelly made a grab for him, but the gorgon slipped out from under his fingers. The new limbs stiffened and sculled vigorously; George darted away, deep under the water.
Leaning, open-mouthed, Dominick slipped and went into the pool with a majestic splash. He floundered and rose up, a moment later, streaming with water like a sea lion. Kelly, wading anxiously toward him, stopped when he saw that Dominick was safe. Both men looked down. Between them and around them swam George, darting and drifting by turns, as much at home in the pool as a speckled trout.
“Fins!” said Dominick, stack-jawed. “And gills! ”
It may as well be said that Dr. Walter Alvarez was a misanthrope. He did not like people; he liked diseases. Down there on Planet Seven, once the trade mission was established, he could confidently expect enough new and startling ailments to keep him happy as a lark for years. Up here, all he got was sprained ankles, psychosomatic colds, hives and indigestion. There was one cook’s helper named Samuels who kept coming back every Wednesday with the same boil
Dominick and the others arranged themselves along the brink in interested attitudes. Kelly cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “the way it generally happens, one of the boys will grab ahold of another one, like this—” He put his hands on the smooth floating globe, and hesitated.
“Go ahead now, Kelly,” called Dominick. “Remember, you have a direct order to do this.”
“Sure,” said Kelly. “Well—” he turned to the gorgon. “Hold your breath now!” He pressed downward. The gorgon seemed lighter than he had expected, like an inflated ball; it was hard to force it under.
Kelly pushed harder. George went under briefly and slipped out of Kelly’s hands, bobbing to the surface. The gorgon’s speaking trumpet cleared itself of water with a phonk and said, “Nice. Do again, Kelly.”
Kelly glanced over at Dominick, who said, “Yes. Again.” Dr. Alvarez stroked his thin beard and said nothing.
Kelly took a deep sympathetic breath, and shoved the gorgon under. A few bubbles came to the surface; George’s speaking trumpet broke water, but made no sound. Down below, Kelly could see his own pale hands gripping the gorgon’s body; the water made them look bloodless; but not George; he was a clear, unblemished pink.
There was a discouraged silence when Kelly brought him back up.
“Listen,” said Dominick, “I’ve got another idea. George, can you breathe through that speaking trumpet, too?”
“Yes,” said George cheerfully.
There was a chorus of disgusted “Oh, wells.” Everybody brightened perceptibly. Josling polished his pul-motor with a rag. “Go ahead, Kelly,” said Dominick. “And this time, you hold him under.”
George went down for the third time. The bubbles swirled upward. The gorgon’s speaking trumpet swayed toward the surface, but Kelly leaned farther over, blocking it with his forearm. After a moment, all of George’s appendages began to “contract. Kelly craned his neck downward anxiously. Was a hint of blue beginning to show?
“Keep him down,” said Alvarez sharply.
George was a blank sphere again. Then one or two of the limbs began to reappear; but they looked different somehow.
“Now?” said Kelly.
“Give him a second more,” said Dominick, leaning over precariously. “It seems to me—”
Kelly’s back muscles were knotted with tension. He did not like the way George’s new limbs seemed to be flattening out, trailing limply—it was as if something had gone wrong in the works.
“I’m bringing him up,” he said hoarsely.
To Kelly’s horror, when he lifted his hands. George stayed where he was. Kelly made a grab for him, but the gorgon slipped out from under his fingers. The new limbs stiffened and sculled vigorously; George darted away, deep under the water.
Leaning, open-mouthed, Dominick slipped and went into the pool with a majestic splash. He floundered and rose up, a moment later, streaming with water like a sea lion. Kelly, wading anxiously toward him, stopped when he saw that Dominick was safe. Both men looked down. Between them and around them swam George, darting and drifting by turns, as much at home in the pool as a speckled trout.
“Fins!” said Dominick, stack-jawed. “And gills! ”
It may as well be said that Dr. Walter Alvarez was a misanthrope. He did not like people; he liked diseases. Down there on Planet Seven, once the trade mission was established, he could confidently expect enough new and startling ailments to keep him happy as a lark for years. Up here, all he got was sprained ankles, psychosomatic colds, hives and indigestion. There was one cook’s helper named Samuels who kept coming back every Wednesday with the same boil
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