In that moment he knew that his friend was ensorcelled.
Superstition—foolishness! He shook the thought away. But all the blood of his Northern ancestors rose up in him, the Vikings who had believed in Queen Ran of Ocean, in trolls and warlocks and the water-maidens who guard sunken gold.
“You’re dreaming,” he said stubbornly, more loudly than he thought. “It’s time we got back to the city. We’ve been here long enough.”
To his surprise, O’Brien agreed. “I think so. I’ve an idea I want to work on.” And the boy shut up like a clam, relaxing almost instantly into peaceful slumber.
But Arnsen did not sleep for a long time. The stars seemed too close and, somehow, menacing. From the black void, eyes watched—not human eyes, for all their loveliness. They were pools of darkest night, and stars glimmered within them.
He wished that O’Brien had not found the meteorite.
II
Lure of the Crystal
There was a change in the boy after that. The dream in his eyes did not fade, but he worked now with an intensity of purpose that had never existed before. Previously, the two had held routine jobs in a huge commercial organization. Without warning O’Brien quit. Arnsen followed suit, feeling the necessity for staying close to the younger man. Yet in the days to come, he amounted to little more than excess baggage.
O’Brien had plans. He borrowed money, scraped together enough to equip a small laboratory, and there he worked long hours. Arnsen helped when he could, though that was not often. He seldom knew exactly what the boy was trying to accomplish.
Once O’Brien said a queer thing. They were in the laboratory, awaiting the result of an experiment, and Arnsen was pacing back and forth nervously.
“I wish I knew what was up, Doug,” he said almost with anger. “We’ve been at this for months now. What do you expect, anyway? You’ve had no more than an ordinary training in physics.”
“The jewel helps,” O’Brien said. He took the gem from its suede bag and stared into the cloudy depths. “I catch—thoughts from it.”
Arnsen stopped short, staring. His face changed.
“You kidding?” he demanded.
O’Brien flushed. “Okay, try it,” he said, thrusting the stone at Arnsen, who took it rather reluctantly. “Shut your eyes and let your mind go blank. That does it, sometimes.”
“I—all right.” Arnsen squeezed his eyes closed and thought of nothing. Instantly a sick, horrible feeling swept through him—a terrible yearning such as he had never known before. So might the Assassins feel, deprived of the magic drug that took them to Paradise. An Assassin exiled, cast into outer darkness.
A face swam into view, lovely and strange beyond imagination. Only a glimpse he had, blotted out by rainbow, coruscating lights that darted and flashed like elfin fireflies. Then darkness, once more, and the frightful longing—for what?
He let go of the gem; O’Brien caught it as it fell. The boy smiled wryly.
“I wondered if you’d get it, too. Did you see her?”
“I saw nothing,” Arnsen snarled, whirling toward the door. “I felt nothing!”
“Yet you’re afraid. Why? I don’t fear her, or the stone.”
“The more fool you,” Arnsen cast over his shoulder as he went out. He felt sick and weak, as though unnameable vistas had opened before him. There was no explanation for what he had felt—no sane explanation, at least.
And yet there might be, he thought, as he paced about the yard, smoking an endless chain of cigarettes. Telepathy, thought-transference—he had simply caught what was in O’Brien’s mind. But it was horrible to know that Doug was feeling that soul-sick craving for the goddess-girl who could not exist.
O’Brien came out of the laboratory, eyes aglow. “It’s done,” he said, trying to repress his triumph. “We’ve got the alloy at last. That last treatment did the trick.”
Arnsen felt vague apprehension. He tried to congratulate O’Brien, but his tone rang false to his own ears. The boy smiled understandingly.
“It’s been good of you to string along, Steve. The thing will pay off now. Only—I’ll need a lot of money.”
“You’ll have a lot. Plenty of companies will be bidding for the process.”
O’Brien said, “I want enough to buy a spaceship.”
Arnsen whistled. “That’s a lot. Even for a small boat.” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you want it?”
“I’m going to find Deirdre,” the other said simply. “She’s out there, somewhere.” He tilted his head back. “And I’ll find her.”
“Space is pretty big.”
“I’ve a guide.” O’Brien took out the gray gem. “It wants to go to her, too. It wants to go back. It isn’t really alive here on Earth, you know. And I’m not just dreaming, Steve. How do you suppose I managed to make this alloy—the perfect plastic, tougher than beryllium steel, lighter than aluminum, a conductor or nonconductor of electricity depending on the mix. … You know I couldn’t have done it alone.”
“You did it.”
O’Brien touched the jewel. “I found out how to do it. There’s life in here, Steve. Not earthly life, but intelligent. I could understand a little, not much. Enough to work out the alloy. I had to do that first, so I could get money enough to buy a spaceship.”
“You don’t know how to pilot in space.”
“We’ll hire a pilot.”
“We?”
He grinned. “I’m going to prove my point. You don’t believe in Deirdre. But you’ll see her, Steve. The jewel will guide us. It wants to go home—so we’ll take it there.”
Arnsen scowled and turned away, his big shoulders tense with unreasoning anger. He found himself hating the imaginary being O’Brien had created. Deirdre! His fists clenched.
She did not exist. The major planets and satellites had been explored; the inhabited ones held nothing remotely human. Martians were huge-headed, spindle-legged horrors; Venusians were scaled amphibians, living in a state of feudalism and constant warfare. The other planets … the avian, hollow-boned Callistans were closest to humanity, but by no stretch of the imagination could they be called beautiful. And Deirdre was beautiful. Imaginary or not, she was lovely as a goddess.
Damn her!
But that did no good. O’Brien
