Read Online Lin Carter - Down to a Sunless Sea by Lin Carter, Ken W. Kelly - Cover - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lin Carter, Ken W. Kelly - Cover
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and sternly warned her against falling asleep on duty. After all, the lives of them all might depend upon her alertness and vigilance.
Returning to camp, he turned in and caught a couple of hours of badly needed sleep. But he had determined to rouse at the time it was Agila's turn to be awakened for guard-duty, for he meant to have it out with the fellow before the night was done. While Agila was certainly entitled to his own privacy, and to the secrets of his heart, that privilege must yield when it might involve the lives and safety of all the others.
Brant had lived long enough in the wilderness of Mars to have developed that "inner clock" by which a man may wake himself at any particular time. The mental mechanism did not always work that well, depending, as it did, upon the extent of his exertions and the degree of his fatigue, but he relied upon it now to awaken him when it was time for Agila to get up in order to relieve Suoli,
This done, Brant fell at once into a deep, dreamless sleep from which he awoke a couple of hours later, refreshed and alert. The air was bitterly cold, the stars a blaze of diamond fire across the velvet heavens. Both moons were aloft at this period, but neither was at all visible, due to their extremely low albedo.
Brant rose and looked about him warily, closing the pressure-seams on his insulated suit. His inner mechanism had awakened him exactly at the right time, for a light was on in the small tent where Agila and the older scientist slept, and by its dim luminance, Brant saw the lean silhouette of the native guide as he donned his own garments. The big Earthsider strode on swift and silent feet to the double tent and opened the flap.
Agila shot him a swift, sharp, nervous glance. Harbin, roused by the lighting of the lamp, blinked curiously as Brant entered the tent and strode abruptly to the guide's bedroll. Agila uttered a short cry and his hand darted toward the blankets. But Brant's left hand closed upon his wrist with crushing force that wrung a squawk of pain from the other.
With his right hand, Brant dipped into the blankets and found a flat, hard, circular object closely wrapped in oiled silks. It was even as the Martian woman had informed him.
"What is this thing that you hide against your bosom when you sleep?" Brant demanded of Agila.
Hot resentment flared in the amber eyes of the native guide, but then he swiftly mastered the emotion, and presented a bland, smooth gaze free of emotion.
"It is a private matter and nothing that need concern the fyagha ," he muttered in sullen tones, dropping his gaze to Brant's boots.
"Everything is of concern to me, because I am the leader of this group of chance-met strangers—and I need to know why those people are pursuing us," growled Brant. Then he carefully began to unwrap the silk covering from the flat object.
Agila whined a curse, and one hand dipped to the knife scabbarded in his boot after the native custom. But Brant had expected that, and his power gun appeared almost miraculously in one capable fist. The cold stubby barrel of the weapon was aimed directly at the heart of Agila. Its cold black eye stared at him. Agila licked thin lips with a pointed tongue.
"Don't try it," Brant advised.
"My boy, would you mind awfully if I asked what all of this is about?" inquired Harbin querulously.
As he removed the wrappings from the discoid tiling, Brant made his explanation in brusque terms.
"I see," mused the scientist. "Well, let's see what we've got here—"
Brant unwrapped a circular object of pale metal, slightly concave, like a ceremonial dish. The pallid gleam of the metal made his eyes narrow: it was "Martian gold," and the metal was rare and precious. There was writing on it of some sort, and a curious design of curving, meandering lines—both of which were meaningless to him.
With an expression of inquiry, Brant handed the gold dish to the older man, who examined it curiously, turning it from side to side so that
Returning to camp, he turned in and caught a couple of hours of badly needed sleep. But he had determined to rouse at the time it was Agila's turn to be awakened for guard-duty, for he meant to have it out with the fellow before the night was done. While Agila was certainly entitled to his own privacy, and to the secrets of his heart, that privilege must yield when it might involve the lives and safety of all the others.
Brant had lived long enough in the wilderness of Mars to have developed that "inner clock" by which a man may wake himself at any particular time. The mental mechanism did not always work that well, depending, as it did, upon the extent of his exertions and the degree of his fatigue, but he relied upon it now to awaken him when it was time for Agila to get up in order to relieve Suoli,
This done, Brant fell at once into a deep, dreamless sleep from which he awoke a couple of hours later, refreshed and alert. The air was bitterly cold, the stars a blaze of diamond fire across the velvet heavens. Both moons were aloft at this period, but neither was at all visible, due to their extremely low albedo.
Brant rose and looked about him warily, closing the pressure-seams on his insulated suit. His inner mechanism had awakened him exactly at the right time, for a light was on in the small tent where Agila and the older scientist slept, and by its dim luminance, Brant saw the lean silhouette of the native guide as he donned his own garments. The big Earthsider strode on swift and silent feet to the double tent and opened the flap.
Agila shot him a swift, sharp, nervous glance. Harbin, roused by the lighting of the lamp, blinked curiously as Brant entered the tent and strode abruptly to the guide's bedroll. Agila uttered a short cry and his hand darted toward the blankets. But Brant's left hand closed upon his wrist with crushing force that wrung a squawk of pain from the other.
With his right hand, Brant dipped into the blankets and found a flat, hard, circular object closely wrapped in oiled silks. It was even as the Martian woman had informed him.
"What is this thing that you hide against your bosom when you sleep?" Brant demanded of Agila.
Hot resentment flared in the amber eyes of the native guide, but then he swiftly mastered the emotion, and presented a bland, smooth gaze free of emotion.
"It is a private matter and nothing that need concern the fyagha ," he muttered in sullen tones, dropping his gaze to Brant's boots.
"Everything is of concern to me, because I am the leader of this group of chance-met strangers—and I need to know why those people are pursuing us," growled Brant. Then he carefully began to unwrap the silk covering from the flat object.
Agila whined a curse, and one hand dipped to the knife scabbarded in his boot after the native custom. But Brant had expected that, and his power gun appeared almost miraculously in one capable fist. The cold stubby barrel of the weapon was aimed directly at the heart of Agila. Its cold black eye stared at him. Agila licked thin lips with a pointed tongue.
"Don't try it," Brant advised.
"My boy, would you mind awfully if I asked what all of this is about?" inquired Harbin querulously.
As he removed the wrappings from the discoid tiling, Brant made his explanation in brusque terms.
"I see," mused the scientist. "Well, let's see what we've got here—"
Brant unwrapped a circular object of pale metal, slightly concave, like a ceremonial dish. The pallid gleam of the metal made his eyes narrow: it was "Martian gold," and the metal was rare and precious. There was writing on it of some sort, and a curious design of curving, meandering lines—both of which were meaningless to him.
With an expression of inquiry, Brant handed the gold dish to the older man, who examined it curiously, turning it from side to side so that
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