Read Online The Time Trap by Henry Kuttner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Henry Kuttner
Ads: Link
the Wave will come…”
Puzzled, Mason nodded agreeably. “Bring what food you can spare, then.”
“You must come with us. We may not carry food to the surface.”
Mason considered, glanced back at the ship. “How far must I go?”
“Not far.”
“Well, wait a minute.” He went back to the others and explained what had happened. Murdach shook his head.
“I don’t like it.”
“They seem harmless enough. I’m not afraid of ’em. It’s probably the other way around. They’ll be glad to see the last of us. They’re in deadly fear of some creatures they call the Deathless Ones, and they think we’re related to them somehow.”
“Well—” Murdach rubbed his lean jaw. “If you’re not back soon, we’ll come after you.”
With a smile for Alasa, Mason leaped out through the port and approached the Gorichen. “I’m ready,” he told them. “Let’s get started.”
Keeping a safe distance from the man, the plant-creatures led him to the edge of the great earth-crack. A sloping ladder led down into the depths. Several of them began to descend it swiftly, and more gingerly Mason followed.
It grew darker. A hundred feet down the ravine narrowed to a silt-covered floor, into which Mason’s feet sank. The Gorichen led him toward a round metal disk, ten feet in diameter, that protruded from the ground. One of them fumbled at the disk with its pinkish tentacles. Silently metal slid aside, revealing a dim-lit hollow beneath.
Another ladder led down. At its bottom Mason found himself in a sloping corridor cut out of rock, leading into hazy distances. The plant-men urged him along this.
“How far?” Mason asked again.
“Soon, now.”
But it was fully half an hour later when the Gorichen halted before a gleaming door at the end of the passage. It opened, and beyond it Mason saw a vast and shining cavern, hot with moist warmth. A musky, strong odor blew dankly against his face.
“We feed here,” one of the Gorichen told Mason. “See?”
At a little distance was ranged a long row of flat, shallow basins let into the stone floor. Intense heat blazed down upon them. With the basins was a black-scummed, oily liquid. As Mason watched a plant-man marched forward on his tentacles and lowered himself into a tank. He remained there unmoving.
“The rays from the great lamps overhead give us strength,” a Gorichen told Mason with its thought-message. “Within the pits we have food, created artificially and dug out of our mines, dissolved in a liquor that aids the transmutation to chlorophyl.”
The arrangement was logical enough, Mason realized. Plant-food, absorbed through the roots—radiation from the huge lights in the cavern’s roof, a substitute for solar radiation, waning with the inevitable cooling of the Solar System. But such food was useless for human beings.
Mason said so. One of the Gorichen touched his arm with a soft tentacle-tip.
“It does not matter.”
“What?” A chill premonition shook Mason. He glanced around swiftly at the blankly shining heads of the plant-men. “What d’you mean?”
“You are to be used in our experiments, that is all.”
“Like hell!” Mason snarled—and struck. His fist crashed out, pulping the body of one of the Gorichen. Its flesh was horribly soft and fungoid. Moist, soft stuff clung to Mason’s hand. The Gorichen, a gaping hole in its torso, halted and then came forward again, apparently uninjured. And the others pressed toward the man, tentacles waving.
The battle was brief. Mason’s muscles were toughened with fury and desperation, but he had no chance against overwhelming numbers. So at last he went down; was bound tightly, still struggling, with flexible metal ropes. Then the plant-men retreated, and Mason saw something that made his throat dry with horror.
A group of Gorichen were carrying a figure into the cavern—the body of Alasa, bound and silent, bronze hair hanging in disheveled ringlets about her pale face. She saw
Puzzled, Mason nodded agreeably. “Bring what food you can spare, then.”
“You must come with us. We may not carry food to the surface.”
Mason considered, glanced back at the ship. “How far must I go?”
“Not far.”
“Well, wait a minute.” He went back to the others and explained what had happened. Murdach shook his head.
“I don’t like it.”
“They seem harmless enough. I’m not afraid of ’em. It’s probably the other way around. They’ll be glad to see the last of us. They’re in deadly fear of some creatures they call the Deathless Ones, and they think we’re related to them somehow.”
“Well—” Murdach rubbed his lean jaw. “If you’re not back soon, we’ll come after you.”
With a smile for Alasa, Mason leaped out through the port and approached the Gorichen. “I’m ready,” he told them. “Let’s get started.”
Keeping a safe distance from the man, the plant-creatures led him to the edge of the great earth-crack. A sloping ladder led down into the depths. Several of them began to descend it swiftly, and more gingerly Mason followed.
It grew darker. A hundred feet down the ravine narrowed to a silt-covered floor, into which Mason’s feet sank. The Gorichen led him toward a round metal disk, ten feet in diameter, that protruded from the ground. One of them fumbled at the disk with its pinkish tentacles. Silently metal slid aside, revealing a dim-lit hollow beneath.
Another ladder led down. At its bottom Mason found himself in a sloping corridor cut out of rock, leading into hazy distances. The plant-men urged him along this.
“How far?” Mason asked again.
“Soon, now.”
But it was fully half an hour later when the Gorichen halted before a gleaming door at the end of the passage. It opened, and beyond it Mason saw a vast and shining cavern, hot with moist warmth. A musky, strong odor blew dankly against his face.
“We feed here,” one of the Gorichen told Mason. “See?”
At a little distance was ranged a long row of flat, shallow basins let into the stone floor. Intense heat blazed down upon them. With the basins was a black-scummed, oily liquid. As Mason watched a plant-man marched forward on his tentacles and lowered himself into a tank. He remained there unmoving.
“The rays from the great lamps overhead give us strength,” a Gorichen told Mason with its thought-message. “Within the pits we have food, created artificially and dug out of our mines, dissolved in a liquor that aids the transmutation to chlorophyl.”
The arrangement was logical enough, Mason realized. Plant-food, absorbed through the roots—radiation from the huge lights in the cavern’s roof, a substitute for solar radiation, waning with the inevitable cooling of the Solar System. But such food was useless for human beings.
Mason said so. One of the Gorichen touched his arm with a soft tentacle-tip.
“It does not matter.”
“What?” A chill premonition shook Mason. He glanced around swiftly at the blankly shining heads of the plant-men. “What d’you mean?”
“You are to be used in our experiments, that is all.”
“Like hell!” Mason snarled—and struck. His fist crashed out, pulping the body of one of the Gorichen. Its flesh was horribly soft and fungoid. Moist, soft stuff clung to Mason’s hand. The Gorichen, a gaping hole in its torso, halted and then came forward again, apparently uninjured. And the others pressed toward the man, tentacles waving.
The battle was brief. Mason’s muscles were toughened with fury and desperation, but he had no chance against overwhelming numbers. So at last he went down; was bound tightly, still struggling, with flexible metal ropes. Then the plant-men retreated, and Mason saw something that made his throat dry with horror.
A group of Gorichen were carrying a figure into the cavern—the body of Alasa, bound and silent, bronze hair hanging in disheveled ringlets about her pale face. She saw
Similar Books
