Planet Stories Super Pack #2. Ray Bradbury, Nelson S. Bond, Leigh Brackett

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      And these were the gods of Venus, Vanning thought bitterly. Devils, rather!

      He turned to the door. The locks were in plain sight, and yielded after a minute or two to his trained hands. The door swung open automatically.

      Beyond was an empty, lighted tunnel, stretching bare and silent for perhaps fifty yards. At its end was another door.

      Vanning held up his hand. "Wait a bit!" he called softly. "I’ll open the other one. Then come running!"

      "Right!" Sanderson’s voice called back.

      An eternity later the second door swung open. Vanning gave the signal, and heard the thud of racing feet. He didn’t turn. He was staring out across the threshold, a sick hopelessness tugging at his stomach.

      *

      The door to freedom had opened—mockingly. Ahead of him was the floor of a canyon, widening as it ran on. But the solid ground existed for only a quarter of a mile beyond the threshold.

      Beyond that was flame.

      Red, crawling fire carpeted the valley from unscalable wall to granite scarp. Lava, restless, seething, boiled hotly down the slope, reddening the low-hanging fog into scarlet, twisting veils. Nothing alive could pass that terrible barrier. That was obvious.

      Zeeth said softly, "It will be a quicker death than the Swamja will give us."

      "No!" Vanning’s response was instinctive. "Damned if I’ll go out that way. Or let—" He stopped, glancing at Lysla. Her blue eyes were curiously calm.

      "The cliffs?" she suggested.

      Vanning scanned them. "No use. They can’t be climbed. No wonder the Swamja left this door unguarded!"

      "Wonder why they had it in the first place?" Hobbs asked.

      "Maybe there was a way out here once. Then the lava burst through ... I’ve seen lava pits like this on Venus," Sanderson grunted. "They’re pure hell. This isn’t an exit—except for a salamander."

      "Then there’s no way?" Lysla asked.

      Vanning’s jaw set. "There’s a way. A crazy way—but I can’t see any other, unless we can get out by the south gate."

      "Impossible," Hobbs said flatly.

      "Yeah. They’ll have plenty of guards there now ... I mean the space-ship."

      There was a momentary silence. Zeeth shook his head.

      "No ship can live in the air of Venus."

      "I said it was a crazy way. But we might get through. We just might. And it’s the only chance we have."

      Sanderson scratched his red head. "I’m for it. I don’t want to be skinned alive ... I’m with you, Vanning. You a pilot?"

      "Yeah."

      "You’ll have to be the best damned pilot in the System to get us through alive."

      Lysla said, "Okay. What are we waiting for?" An indomitable grin flashed in her grimy, lovely face.

      "Good girl," Hobbs encouraged. "We’d better get out of here, anyway. Back to the city."

      They returned through the valve, without troubling to close the doors. "The Swamja might think we tried to get through the lava," Vanning explained. "We need all the false trails we can lay. Now—we’d better hide out for a bit till the riot dies down."

      "Good idea," Sanderson nodded.

      "These outer buildings are deserted—I told you that. We can find a hiding-place—"

      Lysla led them into one of the structures, and into a room below the level of the street. "They’ll search, but it’ll take a while. Now I suppose we just wait."

      Since there were no windows, the light Lysla turned on would not attract attention. Nevertheless, Vanning subconsciously felt the urge to remain in darkness.

      He grinned mirthlessly. "I’m beginning to know how you feel, Callahan. Being a fugitive must be pretty tough."

      Nobody answered.

      The silence ran on and on interminably. Finally Sanderson broke it.

      "We forgot one thing. No slaves are allowed on the streets tonight without a Swamja along."

      "I didn’t forget," Lysla said in a low voice. "There wasn’t any other way."

      "But we haven’t a chance in the world to get through."

      "I know that, too," the girl whispered. "But—" Abruptly she collapsed in a heap, her auburn curls shrouding her face. Under the red tunic her slim shoulders shook convulsively.

      Sanderson took a deep breath. A wry smile twisted his mouth.

      "Okay, Vanning," he said. "Let’s have that make-up kit."

      *

      The detective stared. Curiously, he felt no exultation. Instead, there was a sick depression at the thought that Sanderson—the man who had fought at his side—was Callahan.

      "I don’t—"

      Sanderson—or Callahan—shrugged impatiently. "Let’s have it. This is the only way left. I wouldn’t have given myself away if it hadn’t been necessary. You’d never have suspected me ... let’s have it!"

      Silently Vanning handed over the make-up kit. Lysla had lifted her head to watch Callahan out of wondering eyes. Hobbs was chewing his lip, scowling in amazement. Zeeth was the only one who did not look surprised.

      But even he lost his impassivity when Callahan began to use the make-up kit. It was a Pandora’s box, and it seemed incredible that a complete disguise could issue from that small container. And yet—

      Callahan used the polished back of it as a mirror. He sent Lysla for water and containers, easily procurable elsewhere in the building, and mixed a greenish paste which he applied to his skin. Tiny wire gadgets expanded his mouth to a gaping slit. Artificial tissue built up his face till his nose had vanished. Isoflex was cut and moulded into duplicates of the Swamja’s bulging, glassy eyes. Callahan’s fingers flew. He mixed, painted, worked unerringly. He even altered the color of his garments by dousing them in a dye-solution, till they had lost the betraying red tint that betokened a slave.

      In the end—a Swamja stood facing Vanning!

      "All right," Callahan said tiredly. "I’ll pass—if we keep out of bright lights. Now go out and help Lysla do guard duty. I’m going to disguise you all. That’ll help."

      Vanning didn’t move as the others left. Callahan took an oilskin packet from his belt and held it out. "Here’s the treaty. I suppose you came after that."

      The detective opened the bundle and checked its contents. He nodded. It was the vital treaty, which would have caused revolution on Callisto. Slowly Vanning tore it into tiny shreds, his eyes on Callahan. It was СКАЧАТЬ