Nine Rarities

by Ray Bradbury

  "Afraid we'd better not rest any more," he said. "Come on, we'll try to make it to the cruiser this time." They could see the dark, looming shape of it perhaps a hundred yards away. It seemed like a hundred miles.

  Once his left arm bumped into her. Every light-creature on that side blinked off. In about ten seconds they came on again, as he held his arm motionless. He moved a little away, turned his head and looked at her. She was staring straight ahead. He saw her profile beneath the little halo of light around her helmet; that light enhanced every taut little muscle in her face, and Skeel suddenly realized her face was never meant to be drawn up into such a tight, grim mask. She was going along on raw nerve again. Skeel swore softly beneath his breath, marveling at her.

  Strange, too, how swiftly and clearly he could think in all this nightmare slowness and blackness. He had never seen things so clearly before. Never—

  His mind came back abruptly as something whipped around his ankles. His feet seemed caught in a net of lashing, spiked tentacles! Slowly, with some effort, he managed to disentangle himself. He took another step forward. His foot came down on something soft and squirmy which lashed up at him. He took a hasty step backward, lost his footing and fell prone in utter darkness as every light-button on him blinked out.

  * * *

  For a single horrified instant Nadia stood there, despite the tentacles moving around her own feet.

  "Keep going!" Skeel grated from the darkness where he lay. "You can make it now, don't mind me!"

  But she didn't move, except to lean far over in Skeel's direction. Slowly she lowered herself, so that her entire light-glowing body almost covered his. All the buttons on her right arm blinked out as her hand touched the ground with a slight jar. She prayed that the pounding of her heart wouldn't cause the others to go out! Tensely she propped herself there, scarcely breathing, watching the dim lashing horrors. A dozen tentacles seemed to come from one central body. At the end of each tentacle was a bulbous thing with wiry, waving antennae, and below the antennae were gaping slashes that opened and closed and might have been lips.

  With sickening horror she saw some of the bulbous things pounding at Skeel's face-plate. Others tore at his fabricoid suit. Slowly she shifted her weight, brought her left arm around and moved it toward them. The things retreated from the light slowly. Seconds later Skeel's own light-buttons began flashing on, and he rose gingerly to his feet.

  Nadia saw that his face was white. For a moment he stood quite still and stared at her. "That does it," he muttered, but she didn't know what he meant. Carefully now she forged her way ahead. Skeel moved too, ever more slowly, staying always behind her.

  The cruiser was scarcely fifty feet ahead, and she had almost reached it. It was now or never, Skeel knew. She would gain the cruiser and blast back to Ceres Base. He had told her his story, confessed to being a killer — the killer of fourteen men! She would take that story back to Ceres Base and they would believe her. There was only one thing to do.

  Her voice came to him just then. "Hurry! I think you can run and make it now!"

  "No, there's not any hurry. Not now, Miller."

  She must have detected some strange note in his voice. She looked back just as he was drawing the electro from his belt. Carefully he raised his arm in a straight line.

  Skeel saw the sudden startled look on her white face, he saw her mouth open, but she did not have time to speak.

  "I guess this is it, Miller! Number fifteen!" He pulled the trigger and the electro hissed its flame.

  * * *

  The men at Ceres Base stood in excited little groups near the dome air-lock. Every eye was on the gigantic V-panel that reflected the tiny speck far out in space that was curving in toward them. A solo cruiser, yes — but which one? The black one the girl had used? Or would this be Skeel returning from another of his murderous missions? Every man there knew about the plot by now.

  Anders stood there now, his face a picture of conflicting emotions. A thousand times he had blamed himself for allowing Nadia Miller to go out on that crazy mission! He had lived through a thousand agonies of waiting.

  The dot grew larger in the Visipanel and resolved at last into the bluish-silver cruiser of the Space Patrol. Anders' face went suddenly white, then a fever of fury burned through him. If this was Skeel— If Nadia didn't come back—

  Minutes later the blue and silver cruiser neared the dome. The lock automatically opened. It swept gracefully in, and powerful magniplates brought it to rest. A figure climbed wearily out and walked toward the men.

  "Nadia!" Anders cried, and leaped forward eagerly to help her out of the space suit. "Are you all right? What about Skeel?"

  She smiled at him. "Jim Skeel won't come back." Quickly she related the story of the caves and the light-button creatures and their perilous path through the night beasts toward the cruiser.

  "Skeel was a changed man in those final minutes," she explained. "He must have known what he was going to do — what he had to do. It was all so deliberate. I had almost reached the cruiser, not realizing he was so far behind me. I turned just in time to see him raise the weapon. He called, 'Number fifteen!' Then he fired."

  "Fired at you?" Anders was puzzled.

  "No. I thought he meant to. But the beam didn't come within twenty feet of me. He merely fired at random, and instantly all the light-things on him went out. Then I–I could see those horrible night beasts rushing in — from all sides — waves of them—" She buried her face in her hands, trying to shut out the memory.

  "The electro-beam," Anders said musingly. "Yes, that would do it. You fire one of those pistols, especially full power, and it sends a slight electric shock all through you. But Skeel knew that! Why did he do it? If it was to save you, now, I might understand; but you say you had already gained the ship—"

  "To save me?" Nadia murmured. "No. I think it was to save himself."

  Anders still looked a little puzzled. "But what about your brother? Did Skeel confess anything?"

  She looked up and her eyes were shining, but she was not crying. Within her was only a vast, singing quiet too deep for tears.

  "My brother, Commander? When you enter that case into the records you might say — you may say, Commander, that my brother was killed when he fell off a cliff."

  The End

  Defense Mech.

  Planet Stories (1946)

  Halloway stared down at Earth, and his brain tore loose and screamed, Man, man, how'd you get in a mess like this, 1st a rocket a million miles past the moon, shooting for Mars and danger and terror and maybe death.

  Oh, my God, do you realize how far from Earth we are? Do you really think about it? It's enough to scare the guts from a man. Hold me up. Do something. Give me sedatives or hold my hand or run call mama. A million cold miles up. See all the flickering stars? Look at my hands tremble. Feel my heart whirling like a hot pinwheel!

  The captain comes toward me, a stunned expression on his small, tight face. He takes my arm, looking into my eyes. Hello, captain. I'm sick, if that's what you want to know. I've a right to be scared — just look at all that space! Standing here a moment ago, I stared down at Earth so round and cloud-covered and asleep on a mat of stars, and my brain tore loose and screamed, man, man, how'd you get in a mess like this, in a rocket a million miles past the moon, shooting for Mars with a crew of fourteen others! I can hardly stand up, my knees, my hands, my heart, are shaking apart. Hold me up, sir.

  What are hysterics like? The captain unprongs the inter-deck audio and speaks swiftly, scowling, into it. I hope he's phoning the psychiatrist. I need something. Oh, dammit, dammit!

  The psychiatrist descends the ladder in immaculate salt-white uniform and walks toward me in a dream. Hello, doctor. You're the one for me. Please, sir, turn this damned rocket around and fly back to New York. I'll go crazy with all this space and distance!

  The psychiatrist and the captain's voices murmur and blend, with here and there an emphasis, a toss of head, a gesture:r />
  "Young Halloway here's on a fear-jag, doctor. Can you help him?"

  "I'll try. Good man, Halloway is. Imagine you'll need him and his muscles when we land."

  "With the crew as small as it is, every man's worth his weight in uranium. He's got to be cured."

  The psychiatrist shakes his head.

  "Might have to squirt him full of drugs to keep him quiet the rest of the expedition."

  The captain explodes, saying that is impossible. Blood drums in my head. The doctor moves closer, smelling clean, sharp and white.

  "Please, understand, captain, this man is definitely psychotic about going home. His talk is almost a reversion to childhood. I can't refuse his demands, and his fear seems too deeply based for reasoning. However, I think I've an idea. Halloway?" Yes, sir? Help me, doctor. I want to go home. I want to see popcorn exploding into a buttered avalanche inside a glass cube, I want to roller skate, I want to climb into the old cool wet ice-wagon and go chikk-chikk-chikk on the ice with a sharp pick, I want to take long sweating hikes in the country, see big brick buildings and bright-faced people, fight the old gang, anything but this—awful!

  The psychiatrist rubs his chin.

  "All right, son. You can go back to Earth, now, tonight."

  Again the captain explodes.

  "You can't tell him that. We're landing on Mars today!"

  The psychiatrist pats down the captain patiently.

  "Please, captain. Well, Halloway, back to New York for you. How does it sound?"

  "I'm not not so scared now. We're going down on the moving ladder and here is the psychiatrist's cubicle.

  He's pouring lights into my eyes. They revolve like stars on a disc. Lots of strange machines around, attachments to my head, my ears, Sleepy, Oh, so sleepy. Like under warm water. Being pushed around. Laved. Washed. Quiet. Oh, gosh. Sleepy.

  "— listen to me, Halloway—"

  Sleepy. Doctor's talking. Very soft, like feathers. Soft, soft.

  "— you're going to land on earth. No matter what they tell you, you're landing on Earth… no matter what happens you'll be on Earth… everything you see and do will be like on earth… remember that… remember that… you won't be afraid because you'll be on Earth… remember that… over and over… you'll land on Earth in an hour… home… home again… no matter what anyone says…."

  Oh, yes, sir, home again. Sleepy. Home again. Drifting, sleeping, oh thank you, sir, thank you from the bottom of my drowsy, sleepy soul. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Sleepy. Drifting.

  I'M AWAKE!

  Hey, everybody, come look! Here comes Earth! Right at us, like a green moss ball off a bat! Coming at us on a curve!

  "Check stations! Mars landing!"

  "Get into bulgers! Test atmosphere!"

  Get into your what did he say?

  "Your baseball uniform, Halloway. Your baseball uniform."

  Yes, sir. My baseball uniform. Where'd I put it? Over here. Head into, legs into, feet into it. There. Ha, this is great! Pitch her in here, old boy, old boy! Smack! Yow!

  Yes, sir, it's over in that metal locker. I'll take it out. Head, arms, legs into it— I'm dressed. Baseball uniform. Ha! This is great! Pitch 'er in here, ole boy, ole boy! Smack! Yow!

  "Adjust bulger helmets, check oxygen." What?

  "Put on your catcher's mask, Halloway."

  Oh. The mask slides down over my face. Like that. The captain comes rushing up, eyes hot green and angry.

  "Doctor, what's this infernal nonsense?"

  "You wanted Halloway able to do his work, didn't you, captain?"

  "Yes, but what in hell've you done to him?"

  Strange. As they talk, I hear their words flow over my head like a wave dashed on a sea-stone, but the words drain off, leaving no imprint. As soon as some words invade my head, something eats and digests them and I think the words are something else entirely.

  The psychiatrist nods at me.

  "I couldn't change his basic desire. Given time, yes, a period of months, I could have. But you need him now. So, against all the known ethics of my profession, which say one must never lie to a patient, I've followed along in his own thought channel. I didn't dare frustrate him. He wanted to go home, so I let him. I've given him a fantasy. I've set up a protective defense mechanism in his mind that refuses to believe certain realities, that evaluates all things from its own desire for security and home. His mind will automatically bloc any thought or image that endangers that security."

  The captain stares wildly.

  "Then, then Halloway's insane!"

  "Would you have him mad with fear, or able to work on Mars hindered by only a slight 'tetched' condition? Coddle him and he'll do fine. Just remember, we're landing on Earth, not Mars."

  "Earth, Mars, you'll have me raving next!"

  The doctor and the captain certainly talk weirdly. Who cares? Here comes Earth! Green, expanding like a moist cabbage underfoot!

  "Mars landing! Air-lock opened! Use bulger oxygen."

  Here we go, gang! Last one out is a pink chimpanzee!

  "Halloway, come back, you damn fool! You'll kill yourself!"

  Feel the good sweet Earth! Home again! Praise the Lord! Let's dance, sing off-key, laugh! Ha! Oh, boy!

  In the door of the house stands the captain, his face red and wrinkled, waving his fists.

  "Halloway, come back! Look behind you, you fool!"

  I whirl about and cry out, happily. Shep! Shep, old dog! He comes running to meet me, long fur shining amber in the sunshine. Barking. Shep, I haven't seen you in years. Good old pooch. Come 'ere, Shep. Let me pet you.

  The captain shrieks:

  "Don't pet it! It looks like a carnivorous Martian worm. Man, the jaws on that thing! Halloway, use your knife!"

  Shep snarls and shows his teeth. Shep, what's wrong? That's no way to greet me. Come on, Shep. Hey! I pull back my fingers as his swift jaws snap. Shep circles me, swiftly. You haven't rabies, have you? Shep? He darts in, snatches my ankle with strong, locking white teeth! Lord, Shep, you're crazy! I can't let this go on. And you used to be such a fine, beautiful dog. Remember all the hikes we took into the lazy corn country, by the red barns and deep wells? Shep clenches tight my ankle. I'll give him one more chance. Shep, let go! Where did this long knife come from in my hand, like magic? Sorry to do this, Shep, but—there!

  Shep screams, thrashing, screams again. My arm pumps up and down, my gloves are freckled with blood-flakes.

  Don't scream, Shep. I said I was sorry, didn't I?

  "Get out there, you men, and bury that beast immediately."

  I glare at the captain. Don't talk that way about Shep.

  The captain stares at my ankle.

  "Sorry, Halloway. I meant, bury that 'dog,' you men. Give him full honors. You were lucky, son, another second and those knife-teeth'd bored through your ankle-cuff metal."

  I don't know what he means. I'm wearing sneakers, sir.

  "Oh, yeah, so you are. Yeah. Well, I'm sorry, Halloway. I know how you must feel about — Shep. He was a fine dog."

  I think about it a moment and my eyes fill up, wet.

  * * *

  There'll be a picnic and a hike; the captain says. Three hours now the boys have carried luggage from the metal house. The way they talk, this'll be some picnic. Some seem afraid, but who worries about copperheads and water-moccasins and crawfish? Not me. No, sir. Not me.

  Gus Bartz, sweating beside me on some apparatus, squints at me.

  "What's eatin' you, Halloway?"

  I smile. Me? Nothing. Why?

  "You and that act with that Martian worm."

  What're you talking about? What worm?

  The captain interrupts, nervously.

  "Bartz, lay off Halloway. The doctor'll explain why. Ask him."

  Bartz goes away, scratching his head.

  The captain pats my shoulder.

  "You're our strong-arm man, Halloway. You've got muscles from working on the rocket engines. So keep alert today, eh, on your hike
to look over the territory? Keep your — b.b. gun — ready."

  Beavers, do you think, sir?

  The captain swallows, hard and blinks. "Unh — oh, beavers, yeah, beavers. Sure. Beavers! Maybe. Mountain lions and Indians, too, I hear. Never can tell. Be careful."

  Mountain lions and Indians in New York in this day and age? Aw, sir.

  "Let it go. Keep alert, anyhow. Smoke?" I don't smoke, sir. A strong mind in a healthy body, you know the old rule.

  "The old rule. Oh, yes. The old rule. Only joking. I don't want a smoke anyway. Like hell."

  What was that last, sir?

  "Nothing, Halloway, carry on, carry on."

  I help the others work, now. Are we taking the yellow streetcar to the edge of town, Gus?

  "We're using propulsion belts, skimming low over the dead seas."

  How's that again, Gus?

  "I said, we're takin' the yellow streetcar to the end of the line, yeah."

  We're ready. Everyone's packed, spreading out. We're going in groups of four. Down Main Street past the pie factory, over the bridge, through the tunnel, past the circus grounds and we'll rendezvous, says the captain, at a place he points to on a queer, disjointed map.

  Whoosh! We're off! I forgot to pay my fare.

  "That's okay, I paid it"

  Thanks, captain. We're really traveling. The cypresses and the maples flash by. Kaawhoom! I wouldn't admit this to anyone but you, sir, but momentarily, there,

  I didn't see this street-car. Suddenly we moved in empty space, nothing supporting us, and I didn't see any car. But now I see it, sir.

  The captain gazes at me as at a nine-day miracle.

  "You do, eh?"

  Yes, sir. I clutch upward. Here's the strap. I'm holding it.

  "You look pretty funny sliding through the air with your hand up like that, Halloway."

  How's that, sir?

  "Ha, ha, ha!"