Read Online New Folks' Home: And Other Stories (The Complete Short Fiction of Clifford D. Simak Book 6) by Clifford D. Simak - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Clifford D. Simak
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head and then suddenly the head seemed to dissolve, melting down into a gob of blackened matter that glowed redly in places. The Eater slowly toppled sidewise and skidded ponderously down the slope to come to rest against a crimson boulder.
Kent signaled to the visitor.
“Come on,” he shouted. “Quick about it! There may be more!”
Swiftly the man in the space suit came up the slope toward Kent.
“Thanks,” he said as he drew abreast of the trapper.
“Get going, fellow,” said Kent tersely. “It isn’t safe to be out here at night.”
He fell in behind the visitor as they hurried toward the open port of the airlock.
The visitor lifted the helmet and laid it on the table and in the dim light of the radium bulb Kent saw the face of a woman.
He stood silent, staring. A visit by a man to their igloo in this out-of-the way spot would have been unusual enough; that a woman should drop in on them seemed almost incredible.
“A woman,” said Charley. “Dim my sights, it’s a woman.”
“Yes, I’m a woman,” said the visitor, and her tone, while it held a hidden hint of culture, was sharp as a whip. It reminded one of the bite of the wind outside. Her eyebrows were naturally high arched, giving her an air of eternal question and now she fastened that questioning gaze on the old trapper.
“You are Charley Wallace, aren’t you?” she asked.
Charley shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortable under that level stare. “That’s me,” he admitted, “but you have the advantage of me, ma’am.”
She hesitated, as if uncertain what he meant and then she laughed, a laugh that seemed to come from deep in her throat, full and musical. “I’m Ann Smith,” she said.
She watched them, eyes flickering from one to the other, but in them she saw no faintest hint of recognition, no start of surprise at the name.
“They told me at Red Rock I’d find you somewhere in Skeleton Canal,” she explained.
“You was a-lookin’ for us?” asked Charley.
She nodded. “They told me you knew every foot of this country.”
Charley squared his shoulders, pawed at his beard. His eyes gleamed brightly. Here was talk he understood. “I know it as well as anyone,” he admitted.
She wriggled her shoulders free of the spacesuit, let it slide, crumpling to the floor, and stepped out of it. Kent stored his own suit on the rack and, picking the girl’s suit off the floor, placed it beside his own.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Charley, “I’ve roamed these canals for over twenty Martian years and I know ‘em as good as most. I wouldn’t be afraid of gettin’ lost.”
Kent studied their visitor. She was dressed in trim sports attire, faultless in fashion, hinting of expensive shops. Her light brown, almost blond hair, was smartly coiffed.
“But why were you lookin’ for us?” asked Charley.
“I was hoping you would do something for me,” she told him.
“Now,” Charley replied, “I’d be glad to do something for you. Anything I can do.”
Kent, watching her face, thought he saw a flicker of anxiety flit across her features. But she did not hesitate. There was no faltering of words as she spoke.
“You know the way to Mad-Man’s Canal?”
If she had slapped Charley across the face with her gloved hand the expression on his face could not have been more awe-struck and dumfounded.
He started to speak, stuttered, was silent.
“You can’t mean,” said Kent, softly, “that you want us to go into Mad-Man’s Canal.”
She whirled on him and it was as if he were an enemy. Her defenses were up. “That’s exactly what I mean,” she said and again there was that wind-like lash in her voice. “But I don’t want you to go alone. I’ll go with you.”
She walked slowly to one of the two chairs in the igloo, dropped into it, crossed her knees, swung one booted foot impatiently.
In the silence Kent could hear the chuckling of the atmosphere condensers, the faint sputter of the heating
Kent signaled to the visitor.
“Come on,” he shouted. “Quick about it! There may be more!”
Swiftly the man in the space suit came up the slope toward Kent.
“Thanks,” he said as he drew abreast of the trapper.
“Get going, fellow,” said Kent tersely. “It isn’t safe to be out here at night.”
He fell in behind the visitor as they hurried toward the open port of the airlock.
The visitor lifted the helmet and laid it on the table and in the dim light of the radium bulb Kent saw the face of a woman.
He stood silent, staring. A visit by a man to their igloo in this out-of-the way spot would have been unusual enough; that a woman should drop in on them seemed almost incredible.
“A woman,” said Charley. “Dim my sights, it’s a woman.”
“Yes, I’m a woman,” said the visitor, and her tone, while it held a hidden hint of culture, was sharp as a whip. It reminded one of the bite of the wind outside. Her eyebrows were naturally high arched, giving her an air of eternal question and now she fastened that questioning gaze on the old trapper.
“You are Charley Wallace, aren’t you?” she asked.
Charley shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortable under that level stare. “That’s me,” he admitted, “but you have the advantage of me, ma’am.”
She hesitated, as if uncertain what he meant and then she laughed, a laugh that seemed to come from deep in her throat, full and musical. “I’m Ann Smith,” she said.
She watched them, eyes flickering from one to the other, but in them she saw no faintest hint of recognition, no start of surprise at the name.
“They told me at Red Rock I’d find you somewhere in Skeleton Canal,” she explained.
“You was a-lookin’ for us?” asked Charley.
She nodded. “They told me you knew every foot of this country.”
Charley squared his shoulders, pawed at his beard. His eyes gleamed brightly. Here was talk he understood. “I know it as well as anyone,” he admitted.
She wriggled her shoulders free of the spacesuit, let it slide, crumpling to the floor, and stepped out of it. Kent stored his own suit on the rack and, picking the girl’s suit off the floor, placed it beside his own.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Charley, “I’ve roamed these canals for over twenty Martian years and I know ‘em as good as most. I wouldn’t be afraid of gettin’ lost.”
Kent studied their visitor. She was dressed in trim sports attire, faultless in fashion, hinting of expensive shops. Her light brown, almost blond hair, was smartly coiffed.
“But why were you lookin’ for us?” asked Charley.
“I was hoping you would do something for me,” she told him.
“Now,” Charley replied, “I’d be glad to do something for you. Anything I can do.”
Kent, watching her face, thought he saw a flicker of anxiety flit across her features. But she did not hesitate. There was no faltering of words as she spoke.
“You know the way to Mad-Man’s Canal?”
If she had slapped Charley across the face with her gloved hand the expression on his face could not have been more awe-struck and dumfounded.
He started to speak, stuttered, was silent.
“You can’t mean,” said Kent, softly, “that you want us to go into Mad-Man’s Canal.”
She whirled on him and it was as if he were an enemy. Her defenses were up. “That’s exactly what I mean,” she said and again there was that wind-like lash in her voice. “But I don’t want you to go alone. I’ll go with you.”
She walked slowly to one of the two chairs in the igloo, dropped into it, crossed her knees, swung one booted foot impatiently.
In the silence Kent could hear the chuckling of the atmosphere condensers, the faint sputter of the heating
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