The girl … sudden sick pain struck through Garth. She looked like Moira. For an incredible moment he thought, with his liquor-dulled mind, that she had come back. But Moira was dead—had been, for nearly five years now.
Five years of living death—hitting the skids on Ganymede, where men go down fast. Garth’s ravaged face hardened. He forced himself to look squarely at the girl.
She wasn’t Moira, after all. She had the same look of sleek, clean femininity, but her hair was golden-red instead of brown, and her eyes were greenish, not blue. The softness in her face was belied by the stubborn, rounded chin.
“Ten thousand?” Garth repeated softly. “I don’t get the picture. Any native could take you to Chahnn.”
The girl said, “We know that. We’re interested in—something else. Could you use ten grand?”
“Yeah! Yeah, I could,” Garth said.
“What would you do with it? Go back to Earth? We might swing it so you could get a job there. There’s been a shortage of men ever since the Silver Plague started.”
Garth laid his fingers gently around the glass and squeezed, till the transparent plastic was bent out of shape. He didn’t look at the girl.
“I’m through with Earth. If I could collect—ten thousand?—I’d commit suicide, in a very funny way. I’d go into the Black Forest. The money could get me the men and equipment I’d need, but—well, nobody gets out of the Black Forest alive.”
“You did,” Captain Brown said.
“Eh? You heard about that?”
“We’ve heard stories—plenty of them. About how you came out of the Black Forest six years ago, raving with fever and talking in a language nobody could understand. And how you’ve been taking trips into the Forest ever since. Just what happened? I know you tried to get up expeditions to rescue a man named Willard—he was with you, wasn’t he?”
Garth felt again that sick deadness in his brain—the monstrous question that had been tormenting him for five years now. Abruptly he slammed his fist on the table. Tolomo’s face appeared behind a curtain and vanished again as Brown waved him back.
“Forget it,” Garth said. “Even on Ganymede, men mind their own business—usually.”
Brown stroked his cheek with a calloused thumb. “Suit yourself. Here’s the setup, then. It’s strictly confidential, or the deal’s off. You’ll know why later. Anyhow—we want you to guide us into the Black Forest.”
Garth’s laughter rang harsh and bitter. Brown and the girl watched him with impassive eyes.
“What’s so funny about it?” she asked, scowling.
Garth sobered. “Nothing much. Only for five years I’ve been sweating blood trying to get into the Forest, and I know the place better than anybody on Ganymede. See this?” He rolled up his sleeve and exhibited a purplish scar along his arm. “A cannibal-plant did that. I couldn’t get away from the thing. Bullets and knives don’t hurt the bloodsucker. I had to stand there for two hours, helpless, till it got all the blood it wanted. After that I managed to pull away.”
“I’ve picked up a few scars myself,” Brown said quietly.
Garth glared at him. “Not in the Black Forest. The only way to get through that pesthole is with a big, armed expedition. Even then … you ever heard of the Noctoli?”
“No. Who—”
“Flowers. Their pollen works funny—plenty funny. They grow in the interior, and they give you amnesia. Not even gas-masks help. The stuff works in through your skin.”
“Doesn’t it affect you?” the girl wanted to know.
Garth shivered and drank again. “It did—once. Later I managed to work out an antitoxin. And I’ve built up immunity, anyway. But it’s quite a laugh. The two of you wanting to go into the Black Forest!”
Brown’s face was emotionless. “With an expedition, well armed. I’ll provide that.”
“Oh. That’s a bit different. Just the same—what are you after?”
“Just sightseeing,” the girl said.
Garth grinned crookedly. “Okay. I know the stories. Everybody on Ganymede’s heard of the Ancients.”
Captain Brown’s eyes hooded. “What about them?”
“The lost race? That they lived on Ganymede thousands of years ago, and had the greatest science ever known to the System. That they died, nobody knows how, and the secrets of their civilization were lost. Chahnn’s only one of their ruined cities. There’ve been a dozen others found. And full of gadgets and robots that nobody knows how to work. There was a central power-source, but Earthmen have never figured out how it worked or what fuel was used. The inscriptions found in the cities didn’t tell anything.”
“Fair enough,” Brown nodded. “Except you forgot one thing. You know the Ancient Tongue. You speak it.”
Garth chewed his lip. “So what?”
“Where did you learn it?”
“I don’t know. In the Black Forest, I suppose. I don’t remember.”
The girl made an impatient gesture. She quieted as Brown glanced at her.
“From the Zarno, Garth?”
“I don’t know! There’s no proof the Zarno even exist!”
“If you’ve gone far enough into the Black Forest—”
Garth said angrily, “Remember what I told you about the Noctoli? The effect of the pollen? When I got back to Oreport here I had amnesia. I—” He hesitated. “I don’t remember. I never did remember what happened in the Black Forest.”
“Um‑m.” Brown rubbed his cheek again. “A lost race of savages no outsiders have ever seen—a race speaking the tongue of the Ancients. How could they live around those Noctoli flowers of yours?”
“Natural immunity,” Garth said. “Built up over a period of generations. I didn’t have that—then.”
The girl leaned forward, ignoring Brown. “Mr. Garth,” she said swiftly, “I think I’d better explain a bit more. Shut up, Carver!” She frowned at Brown. “There’ve been too many mysteries. Here’s the setup. I’ve got half of a—a map. It shows the location of something in the Black Forest that’s immensely valuable—the greatest treasure the System’s ever known. I don’t know what it is. The original inscription, in the Ancient’s language, is cryptic as the devil. But the
