He remembered that, but no more. It was enough.
The question burning in his brain had nearly wrecked his sanity. He had tried to get back into the Black Forest, to find Willard, dead or alive, to learn what had happened—to discover the answer to his problem. He had failed.
A year later he learned that his fiancée, Moira, had died of the Silver Plague. And he knew that Willard might have saved her, had he lived and continued his research.
After that, Ed Garth hit the skids. He went down fast, stopping only when he reached the bottom.
He killed the bottle and threw it out into emptiness, watching yellow light glint on glass as it dropped.
Well, he had his chance now. An expedition going into the Black Forest. But Garth was no longer the same husky giant who had fought his way through that deadly jungle. Five years on the skids had played havoc with him. Stamina was gone. And the Black Forest was as terrible, as powerful, as ever.
Garth wished he had brought another bottle.
II
Jupiter is a ball of luminous clouded marble, gigantic in the sky of Ganymede. Its light is a queer, pale glow that lacks the warm brilliance of sunlight. When the titanic planet lifts over the horizon, gravity seems to shift, and the ground feels unstable beneath your feet.
Jupiter was rising now. Oretown lay ugly and desolate in the strange dawn. Across the plain where the spaceship had landed a string of truck-cats, big silvery desert freighters, stood motionless, ready to start the trip. There were signs of activity. At the central port of the Hunter stood a lanky, gray-haired man with a clipped, stiff Van Dyke. Behind him was Captain Brown.
Garth, his medical kit strapped to his back, ploughed through the light film of snow that lay over the sand. He was shivering in his thin garments, wishing he had a drink. Neither Brown nor his companion saw Garth’s approach. The gray-haired man was speaking.
“—time to start. If this guide of yours doesn’t show up, we’ll have to wait till we find another.”
“He’ll show up,” Brown said. “I only gave him ten bucks.”
Garth reached the foot of the ramp leading up to the port-valve. “ ’Morning. Am I late?”
There was no answer. He climbed the slope, slippery with snow despite the skid-treads, and stopped before the two men. Brown nodded at him.
“Here’s our guide, Commander Benson.”
Benson scowled incredulously under tufted brows. “What the devil! You—you’re an Earthman!”
“Sure,” Garth said. “What about it?”
The Commander glanced at Brown. “I expected a native. I didn’t know—” He left the sentence hanging. “You can’t wear those rags, man. Captain, break out some clothes for him.” Without another look at Garth, Benson hurried down the ramp, shouting orders to someone below.
Brown grinned at the other. “Come on inside,” he urged, and, in a lower tone, “He’s the big shot. You know enough to keep your mouth shut—eh?”
Garth nodded. Brown peered at him sharply.
“You need coffee. I’ll lace it. Come along.” He took Garth to the galley, and, presently, supplied food, drink, and clothing. He lit a cigarette, idly watching the smoke sucked into the air-conditioning grill.
“Benson’s a tough egg,” he said at last. “If he had the slightest idea we were figuring on—what we’re figuring on, there’d be trouble. The Commander never takes chances. We’ve got to give him the slip, somehow.”
Garth gulped coffee. “How many men do you have?”
“Ten.”
“Not many.”
“Fully armed, though. There are sixty in the expedition altogether, but I could only feel sure of ten. Some of them I planted myself.”
Garth took the cigarette Brown handed him. “Thanks … I know Chahnn pretty well. Once we get there, we can get away from the others.”
“How?”
“Underground passages—not well known. We’ll come out about thirty miles from Chahnn, and from there it’s another twenty to the Black Forest.”
“The last lap on open ground?”
“Yeah.”
“Not so good. If Benson misses us, he’ll have planes out scouting. I’ve a hunch he’s suspicious already.”
“If he catches up with us, so what? There’ll be other chances.”
“That’s what you think,” Brown said grimly. “I told you Benson was a tough egg. He’d clap us all in the brig and we’d end up with prison sentences on Earth—hazarding the success of a planetary expedition, they call it. So you see why we’ve got to find this treasure, whatever it is.”
“Then you don’t know either, eh?”
“Maybe I’ve a few ideas. … Finished? Let’s go, then.” Brown came to his feet.
Garth followed Brown out of the ship, pondering. The Ancients had, admittedly, been an incredibly advanced race. Any treasure they thought worth guarding would be plenty valuable. Gold? Gems? They seemed trivial, compared to the tremendous scientific powers of the Ancients. And unimportant as well, while the Silver Plague raged over Earth.
They moved along the string of truck-cats, each loaded with the necessary equipment, and reached the first. Commander Benson was already there, talking to the pilot. He looked around.
“Ready? What’s your name—Garth? All right, get in.”
The front compartment of the truck-cat was roomy enough. Paula Trent, Garth saw, was already there. She gave no sign that she noticed him. He shrugged and found a seat, and Captain Brown dropped beside him, impassive as ever.
The pilot came in. “Sit up here, next to me, buddy,” he ordered. “I’ll need your help wrestling this tank through the arroyos.”
Benson himself was the last man to enter. He slid the door shut and nodded.
“Warm her up.”
Beside the driver, Garth could not see the others, nor could he hear their conversation as the motors coughed and snarled into life. The truck-cat lurched forward on her caterpillar treads. The pilot looked inquiringly at Garth.
“Where’ll I head? West? What about these quicksands I’ve been hearing about?”
“Steer for that mountain peak ’way over there,” Garth told him. “It’s easy to see the sinkholes. They’re big grey patches on the sand, with no snow on ’em.”
The roar of the engine died into
