forward, seized the horrified girl in hisarms, and bit her on the ear.
"Oh, Nick," Erika murmured, closing her eyes. "Why didn't you ever--no,no, _no_! Nick! Stop it! The contract release. We've got to--Nick, whatare you doing?" She snatched at Martin's departing form, but too late.
For all his ungainly and unpleasant gait, Martin covered ground fast.Almost instantly he was clambering over Watt's desk as the most directroute to that startled tycoon. DeeDee looked on, a little surprised. St.Cyr lunged forward.
"In Mixo-Lydia--" he began. "Ha! So!" He picked up Martin and threw himacross the room.
"Oh, you beast," Erika cried, and flung herself upon the director,beating at his brawny chest. On second thought, she used her shoes onhis shins with more effect. St. Cyr, no gentleman, turned her around,pinioned her arms behind her, and glanced up at Watt's alarmed cry.
"Martin! What are you doing?"
There was reason for his inquiry. Apparently unhurt by St. Cyr's toss,Martin had hit the floor, rolled over and over like a ball, knocked downa floor-lamp with a crash, and uncurled, with an unpleasant expressionon his face. He rose crouching, bandy-legged, his arms swinging low, asnarl curling his lips.
"You take my mate?" the pithecanthropic Mr. Martin inquired throatily,rapidly losing all touch with the twentieth century. It was a rhetoricalquestion. He picked up the lamp-standard--he did not have to bend to doit--tore off the silk shade as he would have peeled foliage from atree-limb, and balanced the weapon in his hand. Then he moved forward,carrying the lamp-standard like a spear.
"I," said Martin, "kill."
He then endeavored, with the most admirable single-heartedness, to carryout his expressed intention. The first thrust of the blunt, improvisedspear rammed into St. Cyr's solar plexus and drove him back against thewall with a booming thud. This seemed to be what Martin wanted. Keepingone end of his spear pressed into the director's belly, he crouchedlower, dug his toes into the rug, and did his very best to drill a holein St. Cyr.
"Stop it!" cried Watt, flinging himself into the conflict. Ancientreflexes took over. Martin's arm shot out. Watt shot off in the oppositedirection.
The lamp broke.
Martin looked pensively at the pieces, tentatively began to bite one,changed his mind, and looked at St. Cyr instead. The gasping director,mouthing threats, curses and objections, drew himself up, and shook ahuge fist at Martin.
"I," he announced, "shall kill you with my bare hands. Then I go over toMGM with DeeDee. In Mixo-Lydia--"
Martin lifted his own fists toward his face. He regarded them. Heunclenched them slowly, while a terrible grin spread across his face.And then, with every tooth showing, and with the hungry gleam of a madtiger in his tiny little eyes, he lifted his gaze to St. Cyr's throat.
Mammoth-Slayer was not the son of the Great Hairy One for nothing.
* * * * *
Martin sprang.
So did St. Cyr--in another direction, screaming with sudden terror. For,after all, he was only a medievalist. The feudal man is far morecivilized than the so-called man of Mammoth-Slayer's primordially directera, and as a man recoils from a small but murderous wildcat, so St. Cyrfled in sudden civilized horror from an attacker who was, literally,afraid of nothing.
He sprang through the window and, shrieking, vanished into the night.
Martin was taken by surprise. When Mammoth-Slayer leaped at an enemy,the enemy leaped at him too, and so Martin's head slammed against thewall with disconcerting force. Dimly he heard diminishing, terrifiedcries. Laboriously he crawled to his feet and set back against the wall,snarling, quite ready....
"Nick!" Erika's voice called. "Nick, it's me! Stop it! _Stop it!_DeeDee--"
"Ugh?" Martin said thickly, shaking his head. "Kill." He growled softly,blinking through red-rimmed little eyes at the scene around him. It swamback slowly into focus. Erika was struggling with DeeDee near thewindow.
"You let me go," DeeDee cried. "Where Raoul goes, I go."
"DeeDee!" pleaded a new voice. Martin glanced aside to see Tolliver Wattcrumpled in a corner, a crushed lamp-shade half obscuring his face.
With a violent effort Martin straightened up. Walking upright seemedunnatural, somehow, but it helped submerge Mammoth-Slayer's worstinstincts. Besides, with St. Cyr gone, stresses were slowly subsiding,so that Mammoth-Slayer's dominant trait was receding from the activeforeground.
Martin tested his tongue cautiously, relieved to find he was stillcapable of human speech.
"Uh," he said. "Arrgh ... ah. Watt."
Watt blinked at him anxiously through the lamp-shade.
"Urgh ... Ur--release," Martin said, with a violent effort. "Contractrelease. Gimme."
Watt had courage. He crawled to his feet, removing the lamp-shade.
"Contract release!" he snapped. "You madman! Don't you realize whatyou've done? DeeDee's walking out on me. DeeDee, don't go. We will bringRaoul back--"
"Raoul told me to quit if he quit," DeeDee said stubbornly.
"You don't have to do what St. Cyr tells you," Erika said, hanging ontothe struggling star.
"Don't I?" DeeDee asked, astonished. "Yes, I do. I always have."
"DeeDee," Watt said frantically, "I'll give you the finest contract onearth--a ten-year contract--look, here it is." He tore out awell-creased document. "All you have to do is sign, and you can haveanything you want. Wouldn't you like that?"
"Oh, yes," DeeDee said. "But Raoul wouldn't like it." She broke freefrom Erika.
"Martin!" Watt told the playwright frantically, "Get St. Cyr back.Apologize to him. I don't care how, but get him back! If you don't,I--I'll never give you your release."
Martin was observed to slump slightly--perhaps with hopelessness. Then,again, perhaps not.
"I'm sorry," DeeDee said. "I liked working for you, Tolliver. But I haveto do what Raoul says, of course." And she moved toward the window.
Martin had slumped further down, till his knuckles quite brushed therug. His angry little eyes, glowing with baffled rage, were fixed onDeeDee. Slowly his lips peeled back, exposing every tooth in his head.
"You," he said, in an ominous growl.
DeeDee paused, but only briefly.
* * * * *
Then the enraged roar of a wild beast reverberated through the room."_You come back!_" bellowed the infuriated Mammoth-Slayer, and with oneagile bound sprang to the window, seized DeeDee and slung her under onearm. Wheeling, he glared jealously at the shrinking Watt and reached forErika. In a trice he had the struggling forms of both girls captive, oneunder each arm. His wicked little eyes glanced from one to another.Then, playing no favorites, he bit each quickly on the ear.
"Nick!" Erika cried. "How dare you!"
"Mine," Mammoth-Slayer informed her hoarsely.
"You bet I am," Erika said, "but that works both ways. Put down thathussy you've got under your other arm."
Mammoth-Slayer was observed to eye DeeDee doubtfully.
"Well," Erika said tartly, "make up your mind."
"Both," said the uncivilized playwright. "Yes."
"No!" Erika said.
"Yes," DeeDee breathed in an entirely new tone. Limp as a dishrag, thelovely creature hung from Martin's arm and gazed up at her captor withidolatrous admiration.
"Oh, you hussy," Erika said. "What about St. Cyr?"
"Him," DeeDee said scornfully. "He hasn't got a thing, the sissy. I'llnever look at him again." She turned her adoring gaze back to Martin.
"Pah," the latter grunted, tossing DeeDee into Watt's lap. "Yours. Keepher." He grinned approvingly at Erika. "Strong she. Better."
Both Watt and DeeDee remained motionless, staring at Martin.
"You," he said, thrusting a finger at DeeDee. "You stay with him. Ha?"He indicated Watt.
DeeDee nodded in slavish adoration.
"You sign contract?"
Nod.
Martin looked significantly into Watt's eyes. He extended his hand.
Slowly Watt pulled the contract release from his pocket and held it out.But Martin was already shambling toward the window. Erika reached backhastily and snatched the document.
"That was a wonderful act," she told Nick, as they reached the street."Put me down now. We can find a cab some--"
"No act," Martin growled. "Real. Till tomorrow. After that--" Heshrugged. "But
The Ego Machine Page 11
