Maddened, it twirled round and jumped dangerously near the sprawling, motionless figure. Then, at another vicious cut across its hideous face, it twisted round and traveled at high speed on its enormously strong legs into the jungle fastness.
Cardew felt the sweat of relief suddenly start to pour down his face. He replaced his gun and clumped slowly forward against the raging wind, turned over the prostrate figure with considerable effort. Jerking out his torch, he flashed the beam through the dense face glass, then started back in astonishment at beholding the perspiration-dewed face of a girl, eyes closed, hair raven-dark, lips pale with unconsciousness.
“Where in Heaven’s name did you drop from?” he said in bewilderment. Then he turned industriously to his first-aid kit and set to work with her helmet trappings. Swiftly he uncapped the triple valve socket connected to her respirator, screwed the heavy metal tube to the top of his smelling-salt container.
Immediately the powerful aromatic ammonia fumes surged into her helmet, set her lips moving with sudden revulsion, forced her clear, dark eyes to open in sudden alarm.
“Better?” Cardew whispered into her external receiver, as he recapped her respirator and laid the salts container beside him.
She nodded weakly. “Yes—I think so. I—I don’t know where you’ve come from, but it certainly was opportune.” She spoke rather shakily in a voice that was pleasantly mellow. “I thought I was going to make a perfect target for the sican!”
“Not with my oxygen pistol in good order.” He smiled. Then, locking his arms round her metal-clad waist he heaved her to her feet. Her face was clearly relieved and grateful in Europa’s murky light.
“I guess that was good of you,” she said warmly. “You risked your life. Probably you’re thinking I’m an awful fool to pass out like that? Suppose we call it plain fright?”
He ignored her apologies. “American?” he questioned eagerly.
She nodded. “By inheritance, yes—but born on this ghastly planet through no fault of my own. I’m Claire Mason, daughter of Hubert Mason, the settlement governor.”
He stared at her in amazement; her gaze, too, was one of polite inquiry.
“I’ve heard of you, of course.” He hesitated. “Like the rest of the people on this ghastly world, you’re its prisoner. But that doesn’t explain what you’re doing here all the same.”
She laughed shortly. “That’s easy! If you’d been born here because your father and mother’s social position demanded that they give up all thought of Earthly life and devote their lives to this planet, what would you do on seeing a private, small-sized space machine fall two hundred miles to the east? You’d head for it, of course! Well, that’s what I’m doing. I reckon about three weeks before pressure wipes it out. Naturally, there are no small ships at the settlement—only the useless, heavy prison machines, and they’re about crushed to powder.”
She paused and regarded him rather naively. “I know you can’t be Dr. Livingstone,” she said demurely. “But just the same, I suppose you have a name?”
“I did have a number,” he growled; then, more sociably, “James Cardew’s my name—escaped prisoner trying to get back to Earth to prove my innocence. I’m heading the same way as you are.”
“Really?” Her voice seemed a little cool. She seemed to sense there was something not quite right about hobnobbing with an escaped prisoner.
“I suppose, since the governor’s place is twenty miles from the settlement, you took a wider route to this jungle?” he asked.
“Obviously,” she said calmly. Then, tossing aside her uncertain manner, she went on earnestly, “I want to see the world I belong to, feel natural instead of artificial gravity, breathe fresh air, see fields and great cities—New York in particular. It must be wonderful!”
“Not bad,” he admitted reflectively.
“To get back to Earth—or, rather, to visit it for the first time—I’m prepared to risk Jupiter drag in the spaceship. That is, if it’s still spaceworthy.”
“It’ll probably mean death,” he said.
But she only shrugged inside her huge suit. “Supposing it does? Better than Jupiter. In fact, I—”
She stopped short and gave a little cry, made a clumsy movement backward into Cardew’s protecting right arm.
“What—what is it?” she gasped in alarm, pointing. “Look!”
He tugged out his gun again. “Take it easy,” he murmured. “A joherc, or I miss my guess!”
They stood motionless, watching the fantastic creature that had suddenly appeared in the clearing, plainly visible in the now combined lights of unclouded Europa and Ganymede. It moved cautiously, with a certain oddly childlike nervousness quite incongruous for such a tremendously powerful body.
“A joherc, all right,” Cardew affirmed. “Heard of ’em many a time, and heard their description, but never saw one. They’re pretty good scientists in their way—maybe a bit dangerous, though.”
Still they watched as the joherc came into complete view—a biped, only two feet tall, with two legs nearly as thick as a man’s body and almost fantastically muscled. Further support was provided by the broad, kangaroo-like tail. on which it sat ever and again. Its remaining anatomy was made up of a pear-shaped body, stumpy arms, enormous pectoral muscles and chest—in which, according to description and reconstruction at the settlement bureau, there beat three powerful hearts to create a normal circulation in the eternal drag. On the mighty shoulders was the strange, triple-jointed neck, semi-human face with wide, half-grinning mouth and scaly head.
A pure product of ammonia, living in a climate ideally suited to it—a living, thinking creature of superhuman strength and swiftness, mentally active, yet humanly childlike in manner—a veritable cosmic paradox.
The two remained motionless as the creature advanced. His broad nostrils were quivering oddly, scenting something. The deeply-set, many-layered eyes stared penetratingly round the coldly lighted clearing—then suddenly espied Cardew’s smelling-salt container! That was enough! The joherc dived like a flash of gray and seized the container in a powerful hand, picking out the already half-pressure-crushed crystals with the blunt fingers of the other, tossing them into his huge mouth,
Cardew came to life at that and let out a yell. “Hey, you! That belongs to my kit! Get out of it! Get going!”
He flung himself forward strainedly and snatched up the container with a gloved hand, slammed the cap back on top of it. The joherc sat on its broad tail, licking its lips complacently. Obviously, with its usual phenomenal sense of smell, it had detected the crystals from a distance. Such a treasure trove, though sheer poison to an Earthling, was evidently too much to resist.
“On your way, joherc!” Cardew snapped, returning the container to the hook on his belt. “No crystals going free!”
The joherc made no move, but his keen eyes followed Cardew’s every move as he returned to the relieved girl, replacing his pistol in its holster.
“Obviously not hostile,” was her comment.
He grinned behind his face glass, “Not while I have these crystals, anyhow.” He chuckled. “Try to imagine a guy wandering around with a bag of priceless gems, not caring much whether he had them or not. If you were naturally decent, would you be hostile? No, sir! You’d just stick around on the chance of getting some—”
He stopped and looked about him. “What do we do?” he asked. “Stop for the night or carry on?”
She surveyed the jungle’s menacing depths. “Might as well carry on, since every moment counts. We’ve got to find our way through this tangle somehow and reach the Seven Peaks. Let’s be going.”
“Suits me!” He fell into clumsy step beside her as they began their laborious struggle forward into the Europa-and Ganymede-lighted madness of the Jovian forest—
And behind them, sniffing the ammoniated breeze, shooting against the enormous gravity with the ease of an Earthly kangaroo, came the joherc, odd face almost like that of an anxious child, as its unmoving gaze
watched the bobbing smelling-salt container on Cardew’s waist belt—
The forest became sparser as the two progressed, but its life teemed as furiously as of yore. Here and there a deadly lance-stem, fastest growing thing in the wilderness, stabbed outward with an unbearably cold, dagger-like frond, able at close quarters to penetrate the thick armor of the spacesuits.
Somehow the two avoided the horrors, only to find themselves constantly dodging whizzing feather-spheres and jabbering ostriloaths. Ever and again they found themselves hurled to the ground as the cannon-ball hardness and speed of the feather-spheres knocked their legs from under them. Nor were their feelings improved at finding the joherc not far behind in the moonlight.
“I wish you’d go away, Jo!” Cardew snorted in discomfiture, and his voice boomed through his microphone on the creature’s tiny ears. “Go play tag with the cannon balls! In plain words, scram!”
Jo sat on his tail and waited, cast a thoughtful pair of eyes toward the now vaguely dawn-lighted sky.
“No go,” Cardew growled to the girl, shrugging. “I guess he’ll follow until we reach the spaceship.”
They struggled on again. Then, in the increasing light, they suddenly saw ahead that lance-stems and Fishnets were smashing and splintering violently under the force of enormous feet. Exactly as they had expected, a huge specimen of the sican genus came blundering into view.
Cardew’s fingers tensed on his oxygen pistol; but long before he could take aim, something shot past him in a blur of motion, stumpy arms and hands flung wide, block-like legs tensing into bulgings of muscle at each terrific spring.
“Jo!” the girl cried in amazement. “Of all the foolhardy things—”
“Don’t be too sure!” Cardew interrupted her tensely. “These Jovian blighters, especially the bipeds, have got strength beyond imagination. Look!”
He pointed quickly. The joherc had already seized the powerful sican by the throat, was crushing, with every scrap of his enormous, concentrated, tight-packed strength, into that leathery neck, performing his actions at such a terrific rate it was hardly possible to follow him. Working against a gravity two and a half times more powerful than Earth’s, his actions correspondingly increased in like ratio.
He was obviously lighter than his antagonist, and by far the more intelligent. The sican finally retreated, thin, aqueous humor freezing solid on its thick neck as fast as it appeared.
“Bet the air smells even more pungent than usual outside,” Claire said reflectively as she watched the brute retreat in the now full daylight. “Imagine bursting a bladder of pure ammonia in an atmosphere already thick with it!”
“I can imagine!” Cardew murmured. Then he turned quickly as Jo came springing back, grinning hugely. “Nice going, Jo!” he exclaimed in gratitude, swinging round his smelling-salt container. “Here are some crystals for services rendered!”
The Jovian’s powerful tail sent him thumping to Cardew’s side. The greedy, scaled fingers scooped out a dozen of the crystals before the pressure had a chance to crush them, transferring them to his wide mouth with astonishing avidity.
“Ammonia, so you say,” he said suddenly in a hoarse voice—and the two stared at him blankly. “Your poison. Good to me. Block salt extra good. Cliffs of it—way there!” He swung his blocky arm vaguely.
“That covers a lot of territory,” Claire murmured.
“Yeah, about two hundred and sixty-five thousand miles of it,” Cardew agreed dryly. Then he looked at the Jovian in puzzlement. “So you talk, eh?”
“Read mind,” Jo explained briefly. “Not very clear—only damn smatterings. Not sure of position of words but meaning get. Read minds easily.”
“You’re ammonia, aren’t you? Formed by pressure and below zero temperature?”
“For years numbering hundreds,” Jo agreed affably. “Eat white salt. Water, you call it. Peroxides, too. Plenty of those. And crystals—like I saved your life for. You got them.”
“Hm-m-m,” Cardew murmured, frowning. “Strikes me as queer to find a fellow like you hopping about on a mad world like this, and yet you can read thoughts. High mental development, eh?”
“Very high,” Jo agreed modestly. “I am clever. I have oriental, too. No, not oriental—orientation!”
“What’s that?” Claire asked in puzzlement.
“Sort—sort of homing instinct common in pigeons,” Cardew explained. “And you’ve got it, Jo?”
“You’re right I have! And I smell, too!”
Cardew grinned. “You’re telling us! But I suppose you mean you have a strong sense of smell? Well, thanks for the help, anyway. We’ve got to be getting along.”
“You can’t do without my clever ideas,” Jo remarked flatly. “I’m coming like hell with you.”
Cardew winced as he caught sight of the girl coolly smiling at him.
“Seems to be reading your language quite well, doesn’t he?” she asked sweetly.
He looked anxiously. “Just what I’m afraid of! If he happens on the language I used at the settlement, he’ll set the atmosphere on fire.”
He caught her by the arm, and they pushed on again, followed constantly by the tireless Jo, occasionally directing their path. He stopped only now and again to break off pieces of unclassifiable crystallized bark and jam it in his mouth. Then, with that same look of asinine foolishness on his face, he sprang on behind them.
By another nightfall they had cleared the jungle—but away to the west, under the lowering sky, there beat scarlet tremblings and pulsings.
“Guess we ought to rest, but I don’t like risking it with that going on,” Cardew muttered wearily.
“The Great Red Spot, eh?” Claire mused.
“Correct. And from the look of things, it’s in a state of eruption. It may mean a thousand-mile flood of destruction. Coming our way, too! Eh, Jo?”
The joherc fixed his odd eyes on the disturbance. “Better step on hurry,” he suggested anxiously. “Give yourselves gas, I imagine. The way is straight; I know it.”
“What way?” Cardew demanded irritably. “For Heaven’s sake, pick your words straight, Jo! Can we rest, or is the danger too great?”
“I’ll say!” Jo responded surprisingly. “Straight is the way to Seven Peaks, and then to Turquoise Sea and oxygen block cliffs—out to spaceship. That’s where you head?”
“Sure, but how did you know?” Cardew shrugged wearily. “Oh, I’d forgotten your thought reading for the moment. If you know the way, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
Jo didn’t answer the question. Instead, he said slyly, “Way guided for crystals only. Like hell I want them now. Step on it!”
Cardew grimaced and handed him some more from the container.
“There you are. Now lead on.”
Jo needed no second bidding. He leaped forward with astounding energy, leading the way across the barren red plain in the direction of the main giant cleft in the Seven Peak range. Weary, unutterably leaden, the two jogged after him. Then, suddenly, Claire, exhausted beyond measure, could stand it no longer. She sank weakly to the ground. “It’s no good; I can’t make it!” she panted, her face pale and strained in the Europa light.
Cardew braced himself against the screaming wind and looked down at her in perplexity. Certainly he could not carry her; his own weight was severe enough. He glanced anxiously to the rear and beheld visible streams of redness crawling through the night—searing overflows from the erupting Spot. Once through the cleft there would be safety, but here— To wait until dawn meant certain death.
“Only another few miles, Claire!” he implored desperately. “We’ve got to make it! It’s the difference between life and death—”
She did not answer—only lay flat and relaxed.
Then Jo descended from the gloom. “No dice?” he questioned anxiously. “Claire lie down?”
“It’s the damned gravity,” Cardew growled. “We’re not used to it.”
Jo did not respond. Without a moment
’s hesitation he bent down and hauled the girl, spacesuit and all, onto his broad left shoulder; then, before Cardew could grasp the situation, he was treated likewise on the other shoulder. The next thing he knew he was flying through the air with dizzying speed, heart and lungs strained to the uttermost by the upward pulls against the gravity.
“Trifles mere!” Jo tossed out enthusiastically, vaulting mightily with legs and tail. “I have clever brain and big legs. Strength in large size. Get you safe, or else—”
Cardew couldn’t reply; he was too strained for that. But the apparent marvel of Jo’s activity soon vanished from his mind. The odd creature, gifted by Nature with a complex brain in which there ran a decided streak of generosity, was deliberately risking his own life to save two people of another world—unless it was for love of the smelling salts. The extraordinary nature of his giant strength became more and more evident as time passed. He seemed to regard the weight on his shoulders with no more concern than a man would trouble over a couple of canaries.
And he kept it up, mixing American slang with observations of considerable scientific significance ever and again—until at last the mountain cleft was reached and all possible danger from the overflowing Red Spot was far behind.
Ahead, in the light of the moons, lay the amazing Turquoise Ocean, greenish blue in the pale light—enormous in extent, pure ammonia; its heavy, turgid waves thundering ear-splittingly on a beach that was red rock, backed to the rear with crawling cliffs of white, frozen oxygen.
Here Jo stopped and dropped his burdens rather violently on the shore. Like a gray streak, he headed toward the cliffs and began tearing at their frozen hardness, until, at last, he wrested free a jagged, splintering square.
By the time Cardew and the girl had sat up, he was eating the stuff hungrily. When at last he finished, he came forward rather sheepishly.
“The eats,” he explained.
Cardew nodded as he and Claire allowed tabloids to drop into their own mouths. “Not surprised, old man. Guess I’d never get used to your diet any more than you’d get used to mine. Incidentally, how much further shall we have to go after staying the night?”
World Without Chance Page 4
