“I’m glad you came, he said. “I haven’t slept for days. For weeks—I don’t know how long. I was afraid I’d have to kill her, and I wasn’t sure I could. Because I don’t dare let her wake up.”
He thrust the box at Ferguson, who automatically accepted it.
“Kill her?” Ferguson asked, and Parry echoed him.
“I’ll show you how to use a hypodermic—
I’ve been using apomorphine, a strong shot.”
“I know how,” Ferguson said.
“Good,” Cairns muttered, not even showing surprise. “Fill it up to here . . . whenever she shows signs of waking . . . don’t let her wake up. I’ve got to sleep a little.”
Sheer physical exhaustion suddenly drained the life out of the man’s face. He slumped bonelessly in his chair, as though only force of will had kept him awake till now.
“Doctor?” Groot said.
“Later,” Cairns whispered. “Tell you—later. Only—Jan, don’t take chances. Keep her under. Last time—mistake . . . Don’t . . .” His voice faded.
He slept.
“This is plain crazy,” Sampson said.
Ferguson was examining the bottle.
“He’s used up most of his benzedrine supply,” Ferguson said. “I wonder how long he’s been awake, anyhow?”
Parry said, “Who cares? I’m wondering if he’s got any more radium around the place. Here!” He went swiftly to the unconscious doctor’s body and began searching Cairns’ pockets.
“He wouldn’t keep it in his pockets,” Ferguson grunted.
“No, but he’d keep the key to that room.”
“It is in de lock,” Groot said. He was at the padlocked door, staring at the heavy wood panel as though hoping to pierce its solidity. When Parry turned the key, Ferguson half expected the Dutchman to object, but Groot made no move, though a slight shiver shook the gross body.
Parry swung the door open, stepped over the threshold—and his footsteps paused. His voice came back.
“What the devil! Sampson—Ferguson! C’mere!”
CHAPTER II
Escape
THEY all came, crowding into the bare little room. There was little to see. Through a grimy window light came faintly. And on an army cot lay a girl, wrapped in an old flannel bathrobe. She was bound, slim wrist and ivory ankle, by thin, strong ropes.
She slept. Tiny marks on her bare arm told Ferguson where the hypodermic needle had gone in.
This was no Indio girl. Her hair was pure silver, not with age, for it was silky and Sleek, but with the cool shine of polished spun metal. Utter relaxation was in the abandon of her posture, even trussed as she was. Her skin was a luminous white, faintly tinged with a darker tone beneath—like thin ivory against the light.
“Do you feel it?” Groot whispered.
“Feel what?” Parry asked sharply.
“De—whatever it is. I don’t know! Only dis is wrong. She does not belong here. It was a sin to take her out of de forest.” Groot stumbled forward and stood looking down at the girl. “A sin,” he mouthed. “De earth is her mother—we took her from de earth. Wake up!” he cried suddenly, his big hands closing on the girl’s shoulders. He shook her gently. “Wake up! You lie dere as if you were dead—I can’t have it.”
The cloudy lashes quivered. Instinctively every man in the room shrank back—for a sound had come from outside the house. It was horribly human, but Ferguson had heard the cry of jaguara before.
Something crashed against the house door. There was a ripping, tearing noise, and again that furious screaming sounded. With a swift, easy movement Sampson darted into the next room; he didn’t seem chunky and awkward any more. He picked up Cairns’ rifle and moved out of Ferguson’s range of vision.
The girl’s eyes opened. They were intensely black. Pupil merged with jet iris.
Again the door shook; again that wailing scream ripped out.
“Parry!” Sampson yelled. “There’s a couple more of the big cats coming!” The rifle blasted. The jaguar’s death cry was swallowed by a heavier crash against the door.
“They don’t act like that—unless they’re goaded,” Parry said. He stared at the girl, hesitated, cursed, and whirled toward the outer room.
Expressionless, lovely, and withdrawn, the girl lay waiting. Groot wrung his big hands, making helpless sounds. Ferguson stared at him.
“Jan! Come on. We’ve got to drive those cats away.”
Groot gripped Ferguson’s arm. “It is no use. She will only call more.”
“You’re crazy!”
“I don’t know what to do,” the Dutchman faltered. She—she will kill us all—she’s bringing jaguara here.”
“How could she?”
“Ask him,” Groot said. He pointed to the doorway. “Ask him. He knows!”
Dr. Cairns stood there, his eyes dull, a loaded syringe in his hand. His teeth showed in a mirthless grin.
“Wrong time for me to fall asleep,” he said—and a jaguar screamed outside the house as Sampson’s rifle snarled.
Ferguson stared. Cairns hurried toward the cot. The girl did not look at him as he punched a fold of her skin and sank the needle into the ivory flesh of her arm.
“You’ll kill her!” Ferguson said.
“No,” Cairns said. “Not her. She’ll just sleep longer. And as long as she’s awake, we’re not safe. Watch and listen.”
The rifle boomed again; the sharper crack of the pistol sounded. The shrieking of the big cats rose to a pitch of blind fury. A great body hurled itself against the door with a splitting of wood.
The screaming died.
Ferguson looked at the girl. The jet eyes were closed.
“We’ve licked the brutes!” Parry yelled. “They’re getting out of here fast!”
“She sleeps,” Groot said thickly.
“This is the third time it’s happened,” Cairns said.
Ferguson frowned at him. “But who is she? What is she?”
“Call her Circe,” Cairns said.
He staggered back through the doorway, threw himself across the cot and fell asleep again.
The doctor slept without stirring for six hours. Ferguson waited, the medical kit ready, but there was no further disturbance. Once he thought he heard a stirring from behind the locked door, and got up to investigate, but the girl had not moved. Parry and Sampson took cat-naps, while Groot vanished into the night, muttering vague phrases.
BEFORE dawn, in the fresh, gray coolness, Cairns and Ferguson drank strong black coffee and talked. Parry and Sampson still lay on their cots, but Ferguson did not believe they were asleep.
“I’m glad you came,” Cairns said. “I’d probably have gone mad here by myself. With her. That trauma you mentioned?” Ferguson had spoken of his impression of Groot’s psychic bloc. “Yes, it’s possible. In the forest there were some strange things, and I’ve an idea I don’t remember everything that happened.”
“Groot spoke of dowers—and stones.”
“Yes,” Cairns said, “I suppose he did. My own theory—” He hesitated. “It’s hard to explain. Over twenty years ago a group of scientists—came here—built this station—to experiment with atomic power. They failed, and went back. But one of them stayed, a physicist named Bruce Jacklyn. His wife came up here to join him. And, after a while, they went further into the forest, with some Indios. They never came back.”
“You think Jacklyn found—whatever It is?”
“No,” Cairns said, “I think he made it. Even today we don’t know much about atomic power. Wave-lengths, vibration, quanta—we can tie them in with radioactivity and life energy. I think Jacklyn stumbled on something quite incredible. I haven’t any idea what it was—or is. But I’ve seen some of the results. A force that can create nebulae, that can create life—or develop it—can do wonders. Mr. Ferguson, do you know what causes mutations?”
“Well, hard radiations can do it.”
“Working on germ plasm. But imagine something a million times
more powerful, an energizing force locked in the heart of the atom, a magic wand that can create mutations not only among humans, but among—” He paused. Ferguson said softly, “Plants?”
“Stones,” Cairns said, his eyes bright and blind. “I can’t remember . . . now—but once I remembered. Once I saw it. A super-race . . . but not quite that—I don’t know.” The look faded. “I’ve found Jacklyn’s diary. He left it here before he went into the forest with his wife. It doesn’t tell much. But there’s a little. His wife was expecting a child.”
Ferguson glanced toward the locked door. “You think—?”
“She’s no Indio. I’m not sure she’s even human, now. A mutation, perhaps the highest type of human ever to be born on earth so far. You saw the power she has over beasts. I suppose a super-being would have that power.”
“She can’t control humans, though.”
“No. Though—well, she can, a little. It’s a subtle matter. More than once I’ve felt a nearly irresistible impulse to let her go. I’ve kept her doped partly because of that; I don’t trust myself.”
“You can’t keep her here forever. Besides, what about the legal aspects? Not to mention the moral ones!”
Cairns tightened his mouth. “If I let her go now, she’d never come back. We trapped her, Groot and I, because she didn’t expect it. It wouldn’t work twice. Ferguson, I can’t even tell you some of the powers she has; you wouldn’t believe me. It would be a crime to let her go now.”
“Maybe it’s a crime to keep her.”
Cairns didn’t hear.
“If I can get her back to civilization, away from these animal friends of hers, teach her English, we might learn much. She’s intelligent enough, I’m sure. Whatever Jaeklyn discovered, it shouldn’t be lost to the world. A method of artificial mutation—a new race of supermen, perhaps—eugenics would probably be the science. If you found a million tons of—well, if you found the Fountain of Youth, wouldn’t you want the world to know about it?”
“Perhaps,” Ferguson said. “You don’t remember what’s out there?”
The doctor rubbed his forehead. “I’m not sure. I—ah, well,” He stood up. “I’m going to find Groot. See you later.” He went out. “Crackpot,” Sampson said.
Ferguson smiled. “Think so? Here, have some coffee. No use playing possum any longer. What did you hope to find out?”
Both Sampson and Parry rose from their cots and accepted the coffee Ferguson poured.
“The doc’s an educated man and so are you,” Parry said. “I figured he’d talk more to you than to us, that’s all.”
Sampson examined his pistol. “Those jaguars were hungry. They smelled grub.” But Parry seemed less certain.
“Look, Ferguson. D’you think there’s anything in what Cairns was saying?”
“Frankly, I don’t know. He can’t even describe what he saw, you know. It might have been something so impossible that his subconscious won’t let him remember.”
“D’you think he knows what we’re after?”
FERGUSON smiled at this question and nodded.
“Of course,” he said. “He’s not a complete fool. He simply isn’t interested in the radium It isn’t his line.”
“There won’t be any—trouble?”
“Not with Cairns. I’m sure of that.”
“So’m I,” Sampson said, reholstering the pistol. His hand stayed near the flap as Dr. Cairns hurried into the room, his tired face drained paper-white.
The doctor went directly to the locked door and opened it. Parry exchanged puzzled glances with Ferguson. Then the two men got up and followed Cairns. Sampson remained where he was, his cpld eyes watchful.
Cairns had got the door open at last. Over his shoulder Ferguson could see the cot—empty—with cut ropes coiling on the blanket. The window was open.
The rigidity went out of Cairns’ figure. Ferguson saw him slump. He reached out, but the doctor straightened again, his mouth twisting.
“That crazy Dutchman!” he forced out. “What’s happened?” Ferguson said. But he had already guessed the answer.
“When I was outside, I noticed somebody’d opened that window,” Cairns said. “Groot must have done it last night sometime. The girl woke up.”
He turned. “If he’s gone off without a protective suit, he’s finished. Blasted fool!” Cairns stepped into the outer room. Parry moved closer to Ferguson.
“So the Dutchman’s taken a powder, eh? With the girl?”
“Looks like it.”
“Who’ll guide us now?”
Without answering Ferguson followed Cairns. The doctor had opened a tall cupboard and was examining folds of darkish fabric hanging within.
“He took one of ’em all right. I’m not going to let him get away with this! The biggest thing man ever stumbled upon—and one man’s sentimentality throwing it away forever! Pah!” Cairns pulled out one of the shapeless cloaks and began folding it into a neat bundle.
“What are you going to do?” Parry asked softly.
“I’m going after him,” Cairns snapped. “I’m going to bring the girl back!”
“Better take your hypo along,” Sampson suggested, reaching for the medical kit.
“Yeah,” Parry said. “And don’t forget Groot’s got a gun.”
“So have I,” Cairns growled.
“Mind if we go along?” Parry asked. “You may need some helo.”
The doctor hesitated, His eyes were troubled.
“Listen,” he said at last, “You can come if you want. The radium’s there; I don’t want the stuff. I just want the girl. But it’ll be dangerous. I’ve enough material for suits for all of you, but radium bums aren’t the only things that could happen. You’ll have to decide for yourselves.”
Ferguson let his gaze slide from one face to another. In Sampson’s and Parry’s he read only greed and wariness. In Cairns was a deep, troubling fear, veiled by the man’s burning fixity of purpose. Of the four, Cairns was the only one who had been into the unknown country. And he could not quite remember what he had seen there.
“If we can catch up with them fast, Groot will be burdened with the girl,” the doctor said “She won’t recover from that last shot I gave her for quite a while. Once she wakes up it’ll be harder.” He picked up the medical kit “Made up your minds?”
“Sure,” Sampson said, and stood up. Parry merely nodded. Cairns looked at Ferguson.
“What about you?”
“I’ll string along,” Ferguson said. But a muscle at the comer of his jaw twitched uncontrollably.
As they packed, he wondered. He had too much imagination, that was the trouble. Years of drifting aimlessly had not entirely dulled the original keenness of his mind; he was still a scientist and a technician. In the safe, aseptic surroundings of a laboratory there wasn’t much room for the unknown. Part of an equation might be lacking, or a chemical component. But in a lab you had control. Here, on the shadowed edge of the world, things went on happening without control, recklessly plunging ahead like one of the great rivers that rush down from the Andean summits.
Yes, he was afraid of what they might find. But he was too curious to turn back now.
They took only light field packs. And they went north, toward the high blue crags of the Serra. But they did not overtake Jan Groot.
CHAPTER III
Place Of Fantasy
WHEN they found him, he was not Jan Groot any longer. It was the morning of the second day, and Cairns was growing obscurely restless, as a man might who is nearing things his conscious mind is too wise to let him remember clearly.
“I’m not sure,” he said that morning after they had broken camp and started out along the barely perceptible trail through the jungle. “I think we’re nearly there. But I can’t remember any more. I thought I knew the way, but everything is so vague.” He shook his head.
Sampson only plodded doggedly on, but Parry gave the doctor a cold, suspicious glance. Here, in the jungle, Ferguson was beginnin
g to understand his companions more thoroughly than he had been able to understand them back at the outpost. There, they had been simple adventurers, not especially troubled by ethics, for ethics were excess baggage up the Amazonas. Parry was imaginative and therefore apt to be more dangerous; Sampson had a single-minded tenacity that could not be easily swayed.
Had the stakes been less, Ferguson might have taken precautions, but there were fortunes enough here for a hundred men. He wondered if there’d be enough radium to fill the makeshift lead-protected containers he had made. Even half filled—there would be enough!
No need to extract the element from pitchblende ore, either. Groot had said the stuff lay in plates over the rock. Fantastic—but Ferguson had seen the radium the Dutchman had brought back with him.
A pulse of excitement began to beat deep in his mind. This was the first chance for wealth he had discovered since he had gone adrift. Years of floating around the back country hadn’t made him any softer. This time he’d redeem his fortunes.
Cairns asked him a question once, and Ferguson broke a long silence.
“You have your research, Doctor. I had my work once, too. Not any more. I’m after that radium, and nothing’s going to stop me from getting it.”
“Nothing? You’re tempting the fates.”
“I’ve learned how important money is,” Ferguson said slowly, his jaw hardening. “More important than anything else. I’d face the devil himself now if necessary. I intend to go back to New York and—oh, a lot of things. But that’ll come later.”
“You’re a technician—a metallurgist. You must know how unimportant such matters as an economic system are, Ferguson.”
“Not to me. Not any more. Wealth is everything now.”
They plodded on in silence, watchful, feeling the eyes of the jungle upon them. The eyes were knowing. It was a very curious feeling. Ferguson had never experienced it before—as if the trees and the rocks through which they passed were invested with a sentience that was almost reasoning, as if it was known all through the jungle where they were bound and why, and the jungle did not want them there.
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