The Second Randall Garrett Megapack. Randall Garrett

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СКАЧАТЬ small, flat package that had fallen from the box back on Earth. It had been his first thought upon regaining consciousness near the Ofridian well but it had been pushed from his mind by subsequent events.

      How long ago had that been? He tried to assess the passage of time but failed. The only indication of its length was the fact that he bore no wound where the Abarian’s blade had entered his body. That pointed to a long span of unconsciousness but perhaps there were contributing factors.

      * * * *

      He had sensed that the mysterious Ylia had at her command something that had healed him very swiftly but he had no proof of this.

      At any rate, he had to retrieve the package if possible. But would it be possible? Granted the strange disc had brought him somehow from Earth to Tarth, would it repeat the process in the opposite direction?

      He resolved to find out and began unbuckling the disc from its place on his right wrist.

      As he did this a sound manifested outside the cavern but he was so intent upon his task that he gave little note. Quickly, he strapped the disc into its potent position on his left wrist. Then he sat tensely awaiting the reaction.

      As he waited, the sound without became so pronounced he could no longer ignore it. He raised his head and saw a tall, sinister form outlined against the moonlight. He was unable to distinguish the features, but the outline told a sickening truth. Also the drawn whip-sword spoke eloquently of who this intruder was.

      The Abarian of the Ofridian well in search of prey. The cowardly assassin who would now enter and find a defenseless man and a beautiful girl who would set him aflame with lust.

      Rage threw a red curtain over Bram Forest’s eyes as he struggled up to meet the intruder. But the latter never saw him because at that moment the now-familiar nausea seized Bram Forest’s vitals, doubling him over.

      And when the Abarian had advanced into the cavern, he found only an empty bed of moss, Bram Forest having been snatched up and whirled into darkness by the relentless hand of time put into terrifying motion.

      PAGAN PASSIONS (1959) [Part 1]

      Written with Laurence M. Janifer

      CHAPTER ONE

      The girl came toward him across the silent room. She was young. She was beautiful. Her red hair curled like a flame round her eager, heart-shaped face. Her arms reached for him. Her hands touched him. Her eyes were alive with the light of pure love. I am yours, the eyes kept saying. Do with me as you will.

      Forrester watched the eyes with a kind of fascination.

      Now the girl’s mouth opened, the lips parted slightly, and her husky voice murmured softly: “Take me. Take me.”

      Forrester blinked and stepped back.

      “My God,” he said. “This is ridiculous.”

      The girl pressed herself against him. The sensation was, Forrester thought with a kind of awe, undeniably pleasant. He tried to remember the girl’s name, and couldn’t. She wriggled slightly and her arms went up around him. Her hands clasped at the back of his neck and her mouth moved, close to his ear.

      “Please,” she whispered. “I want you.…”

      Forrester felt his head swimming. He opened his mouth but nothing whatever came out. He shut his mouth and tried to think what to do with his hands. They were hanging foolishly at his sides. The girl came even closer, something Forrester would have thought impossible.

      Time stopped. Forrester swam in a pink haze of sensations. Only one small corner of his brain refused to lose itself in the magnificence of the moment. In that corner, Forrester felt feverishly uncomfortable. He tried again to remember the girl’s name, and failed again. Of course, there was really no reason why he should have known the name. It was, after all, only the first day of class.

      “Please,” he said valiantly. “Miss—”

      He stopped.

      “I’m Maya Wilson,” the girl said in his ear. “I’m in your class, Mr. Forrester. Introductory World History.” She bit his ear gently. Forrester jumped.

      None of the textbooks of propriety he had ever seen seemed to cover the situation he found himself in. What did one do when assaulted (pleasantly, to be sure, but assault was assault) by a lovely girl who happened to be one of your freshman students? She had called him Mr. Forrester. That was right and proper, even if it was a little silly. But what should he call her? Miss Wilson?

      That didn’t sound right at all. But, for other reasons, Maya sounded even worse.

      The girl said: “Please,” and added to the force of the word with another little wriggle against Forrester. It solved his problems. There was now only one thing to do, and he did it.

      He broke away, found himself on the other side of his desk, looking across at an eager, wet-lipped freshman student.

      “Well,” he said. There was a lone little bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, across his frontal ridge and down one cheek. He ignored it bravely, trying to think what to do next. “Well,” he repeated at last, in what he hoped was a gentle and fatherly tone. “Well, well, well, well, well.” It didn’t seem to have any effect. Perhaps, he thought, an attempt to put things back on the teacher-student level might have better results. “You wanted me to see you?” he said in a grave, scholarly tone. Then, gulping briefly, he amended it in a voice that had suddenly grown an octave: “You wanted to see me? I mean, you—”

      “Oh,” Maya Wilson said. “Oh, my goodness, yes, Mr. Forrester!”

      She made a sudden sensuous motion that looked to Forrester as if she had suddenly abolished bones. But it wasn’t unpleasant. Far from it. Quite the contrary.

      Forrester licked his lips, which were suddenly very dry. “Well,” he said. “What about, Miss—uh—Miss Wilson?”

      “Please call me Maya, Mr. Forrester. And I’ll call you—” There was a second of hesitation. “Mr. Forrester,” Maya said plaintively, “what is your first name?”

      “First name?” Forrester tried to think of his first name. “You want to know my first name?”

      “Well,” Maya said, “I want to call you something. Because after all—” She looked as if she were going to leap over the desk.

      “You may call me,” Forrester said, grasping at his sanity, “Mr. Forrester.”

      Maya sidled around the desk quietly. “Mr. Forrester,” she said, reaching for him, “I wanted to talk to you about the Introductory World History course.”

      Forrester shivered as if someone had thrown cold water on his rising aspirations.

      “Oh,” he said.

      “That’s right,” Maya whispered. Her mouth was close to his ear again. Other parts of her were close to other parts of him once more. Forrester found it difficult to concentrate.

      “I’ve got to pass the course, Mr. Forrester,” Maya whispered. “I’ve just got to.”

      Somehow, СКАЧАТЬ