settled under the tremendous weight, and the ship now rested in a pit of its own making.
“Put these in your ears,” Sam said, handing two plugs to the giant.
“What for?”
“There’s an hypnotic command constantly played in the ship. You go in there without earplugs and you’ll be blubbering like a helpless idiot in seconds.”
“But how do we talk?”
“There’s a micro-miniature receiver, transmitter, and amplifier in the tip. It touches the bones of your ear, picks up the vibrations of your own voice from your jaw, and transmits them to me. Mine does the same. Just whisper, and I’ll hear you. Of course, we won’t hear anything else.”
Hesitantly, the big man followed suit, inserting the tight-fitting plugs.
“Now hold your head here,” Sam said, producing a small tin.
“Why? What’s that?”
“Sound-proofing jelly.”
“I’ll put it in myself.”
“Very well.” Sam dipped his fingers into the thick goo, smeared it over the back of the plug and the rest of his ears, handed the tin to Buronto.
“Remember,” Sam said, “when we get inside, no useless—”
“Killing,” Buronto finished. “Don’t worry. Just lead me in.”
“Just to the Ship’s Core,” Sam said. “I’ll take you there, but you won’t catch me fighting this thing.”
“I’m not scared!” Buronto snapped, a child being tested.
“Let’s go.”
They moved from the oaks, crouched and running, darting from one patch of growth to another. They reached the ship without incident. Fifteen minutes later, the laser torch had burned through all the layers of the hull… And the snout of a laser rifle punched through the hole, aimed directly between Sam’s eyes.
There was a blue blast. Sam was falling before he realized he had not been shot. Buronto had burned the alien down. The slug leaned out, hanging for a moment on the edge of the ragged hole, its flesh tearing on the shards of metal poking like fingers from the rim of the crudely cut aperture. The rifle dangled in its pseudopod, trembled almost as a living thing itself, then fell out onto the grass. The slug gurgled, swayed, tore itself further on the metal, then toppled out also, sprawling full-length at their feet. There was a yard-long gash on its side. Things spewed from it, wet and orange.
“Okay that I killed it?” Buronto asked snidely.
Sam coughed, got up. “Yes. Fine. Very good.”
Buronto laughed, half at Sam’s embarrassment, half at the pile of gore he had made.
“It seems to have been a solitary guard,” Sam said, peering into the dimly lighted corridor. “But let’s hurry just the same.” He pulled himself over the sill, disappeared into the ship.
Buronto climbed in after.
Blessed be the time. The time is near.
“This way,” Sam hissed. “Gun at ready, but—”
“No killing unless necessary.”
“Exactly. You learn well. Slow, but well.”
Halfway down this corridor, Sam planted a small transmitter behind the edge of a jutting beam. He looked at his watch-screen. There was a yellow blip near the edge. That was the transmitter. The screen coordinates had been set so that, once they reached a position where their own blips (green) were in the center of the screen, they would be in the middle of the ship, somewhere near Ship’s Core. They moved on.
Though powerful and ruthless, the aliens were unimaginative. The ship was void, in the corridors at least, of any decoration or special styling. Solid gray walls, floors, and ceilings. One step brought them past the same sights as the last hundred had. The last thousand.
There was one danger with the earplugs. They could not hear the Racesong, but neither could they hear the slugs coming. Two aliens slithered into view at the end of the corridor, cloaks of shimmering purple material falling behind them and trailing a few feet on the floor. “Back!” Sam whispered.
They stood against the wall, pressing as tight as they could to its cool surface. The slugs came on, apparently talking, oblivious of their presence. They walked right past the two men… and whirled! Something had registered — but too late. Buronto brought his gun up, then hesitated as if he wasn’t certain whether he should fire or not.
“Yes!” Sam shouted. “Before they call for help!”
“We have to move faster now,” Sam said. “They find these bodies and we’re sunk.”
They moved, faster now. Sam thought how dreamlike the last encounter had been. Without sound, it had all been a grotesque parody of reality. Death without sound. Murder without screaming. Certainly, the time was coming.
Eventually, after many steps and many turns, the wall to their right turned from gray to a brilliant bronze. They clung to the glittering metal and followed the wall. In a few minutes, they discovered they had walked in a large circle.
“We’re here,” Sam croaked, mouth suddenly dry, every nerve now sharp with fear.
“Where?”
“Ship’s Core. It’s right inside this glittering wall — not more than two hundred feet in diameter.”
Buronto stepped ahead of Sam to a door they had passed twice during their circumnavigation of the chamber. “I’m going to get it over with.”
Buronto twisted the knob, almost broke it off. The door hummed, lifted to reveal a shimmering blue chamber hung with webs and permeated with mists. There seemed to be darker hulks concealed in the fog, looming like icebergs. As Sam watched from the hall, Buronto stepped through the doorway, rifle at ready.
XVI
Buronto stepped further into the chamber. At ten feet, the mists started to close in on him. At fifteen feet, they concealed his legs, his hips, the back of his head.
The floor was spongy, pores beginning to open in it. It bounced as he stepped on it.
“I’m here!” the giant shouted defiantly.
A muffled echo was the only answer.
Then the floor heaved, and the room was alive.
It bucked, swayed, and Buronto went down. Wildy, he blasted it, boring holes through the sponge, holes that immediately healed over and were full again. He tried to stand, but the body of God served as a mat for no creature. Down he went, floor seeming to un-gel and clutch at him. He sank into it, kicked and tried pulling free.
Sam leaned against the wall, gripping himself with his arms. This God was more powerful than the last, undrained. It was able to heal Itself where the other whimpered and died. More powerful, but ruling this vastly shrunken universe: one ship and spoors. He watched Buronto’s flesh peel away under the acidic touch of the floor that now resembled a tongue. All in silence, all deadly and still. A play seen through other eyes. And God was winning…
But, Sam hoped, in winning, God would also lose.
Buronto struggled to his feet again, fighting mightily against this much superior force, fighting with panic. Half his face was a bloody pulp. He held the beam on the floor, screaming steadily. Here comes the devil to the gates of Heaven, cursing and spraying foam, tossing the lightning bolts of his black power to tumble down the equal blackness of the divine light…
The floor bucked again. Buronto fell. And this time, he did not get up. The floor frothed, boiled about him, and when the foam steamed away, there were only fragments of steaming, bubbling bone. No worry now about how to handle Buronto. Now all he had to worry about was whether or not the trick had worked. It should have — given one fact as a truth! God must be, like the other God, a sado-masochist by nature, liking to give pain — the omnipotent fist ringed with smiling lips. Surely, the very nature of God demanded that He be a liker of pain and a
