much to his surprise he found himself accepting it without rancor. If he lost her for a few moments he could quickly enough find her again; and somehow he felt convinced that the big man was not a torch-carrying admirer.
“I’ll have to stop off in the ladies’ lounge first”, she said. She had opened her vanity case and was making a swift inventory of its contents. “Two shades of lipstick, but no powder! Oh, well”.
She smiled at the big man and then at Corriston, gesturing slightly as she did so.
“We’ve just been discussing the Station”, she said. “This gentleman hasn’t told me his name” —
“Lieutenant David Corriston”, Corriston said quickly. “My interest in the Station is tied in with my job. I’ve just been assigned to it in the very modest capacity of ship’s inspection officer, recruit status”.
The big man stared at Corriston more intently, his eyes kindling with a sudden increase of interest. “Say, I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes. When my friends ask me I’d like to be able to talk intelligently about the terrific headaches the research people must have experienced right from the start. The expenditure of fuel alone...”
“See you in the Captain’s cabin, Jim”, the girl said.
She moved out from her chair, her expression slightly constrained. Was it just imagination, or had the big man’s immoderate expansiveness grated on her and brought a look of displeasure to her young face? Corriston couldn’t be sure, and his brow remained furrowed as he watched her cross the passenger cabin and disappear into the ladies’ lounge.
“I’m Jim Clakey”, the big man said.
Corriston reseated himself, a troubled indecision still apparent in his stare. Then gradually he found himself relaxing. He nodded up at the big man. “Sit down, Mr. Clakey”, he said. “Ask me anything you want. Security imposes some pretty rigid restrictions, but I’ll let you know when you start treading on classified ground”. Clakey sat down and crossed his long legs. He was silent for a moment. Then he said: “You know who she is, of course”.
Corriston shook his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea”.
“She isn’t traveling under her real name only because her father is a very sensible and cautious man. You’d be cautious too, perhaps, if you were Stephen Ramsey”. Clakey’s gaze had traveled to the ladies’ lounge, and for an instant he seemed unaware of Corriston’s incredulous stare.
“You mean I’ve actually been sitting here talking to Stephen Ramsey’s daughter?”.
“That’s right”, Clakey said, turning to grin amiably at
Corriston. “And now you’re talking to her personal bodyguard. I’m not surprised you didn’t recognize her, though; very few people do. She doesn’t like to have her picture taken. Her dad wouldn’t object to that kind of publicity particularly, but she’s even more cautious than he is”.
The door of the ladies’ lounge opened and two young women came out. They were laughing and talking with great animation and were quickly lost to view as other passengers changed their position in front of the viewscreen.
The door remained visible, however — a rectangle of shining whiteness only slightly encroached upon by dark blue drapes. Corriston found himself staring at it as his mind dwelt on the startling implications of Clakey’s almost unbelievable statement.
“Biggest man on Mars”, Clakey was saying. “Cornered uranium; froze out the original settlers. They’re threatening violence, but their hands are tied. Everything was done legally. Ramsey lives in a garrisoned fortress and they can’t get within twenty miles of him. He’s a damned scoundrel with tremendous vision and foresight”.
Corriston suddenly realized that he had made a serious psychological blunder in sizing up Clakey. The man was a blabbermouth. True, Corriston’s uniform was a character recommendation which might have justified candor to a moderate extent. But Clakey was talking outrageously out of turn. He was becoming confidential about matters he had no right to discuss with anyone on such short acquaintance. Corriston suddenly realized that Clakey was slightly drunk.
“Look here”, Corriston said. “You’re talking like a fool. Do you know what you’re saying?”.
“Sure I know. Miss Ramsey is a golden girl. And I’m her bodyguard... important trust... sop to a man’s egoism”. An astonishing thing happened then. Clakey fell silent and remained uncommunicative for five full minutes. Corriston had no desire to start him talking again. He was appalled and incredulous. He was debating the advisability of getting up with a frozen stare and a firm determination to take himself elsewhere when the crazy, loose-tongued fool leapt unexpectedly to his feet.
“She’s taking too longl” he exclaimed. “It just isn’t like her. She’d never keep the captain waiting”.
As he spoke, another woman came out of the ladies’ lounge. She was small, dark, very pretty, and she seemed a little embarrassed when she saw how intently Clakey was staring at her. Then a middle-aged woman came out, with a finely-modeled face, and a second, younger woman with haggard eyes and a sallow complexion who was in all respects the opposite of attractive.
“She’s been in there for fifteen minutes”, Clakey said, starting toward the lounge.
“It takes a good many women twice that long to apply makeup properly”, Corriston pointed out. “I just don’t see” — “You don’t know her”, Clakey said, impatiently. “I may have to ask one of those women to go in after her”.
“But why? You can’t seriously believe she’s in any danger. We both saw her go into the lounge. She made the decision on the spur of the moment and no one could have known about it in advance. No one followed her in. You were sitting right here watching the door”.
But Clakey was already advancing across the cabin. He was reeling a little, and a dull flush had mounted to his cheekbones. He seemed genuinely alarmed. Corriston was about to follow him when something bright flashed through the air with a faint swishing sound.
A startled cry burst from Clakey’s lips. He clutched at his side, staggered, and half-swung about, a look of incredulous horror in his eyes.
Corriston’s mouth went dry. He stood very still, watching Clakey lose all control over his legs. The change in the stricken man’s expression was ghastly. His cheeks had gone dead white, and now, as Corriston stared, a spasm convulsed his features, twisting them into a horrible, unnatural caricature of a human face — a rigidly contorted mask with a blanched, wide-angled mouth and bulging eyes.
A passenger saw him and screamed. His knees had given way and his huge frame seemed to be coming apart at the joints. He straightened out on the deck, jerking his head spasmodically, propelling himself backwards by his elbows. Almost as if with conscious intent, his body arched itself, sank level with the floor, then arched itself again.
It was as though all of his muscles and nerves were protesting the violence that had been done to him, and were seeking by muscular contractions alone to dislodge the stiff, thorned horror protruding from his flesh.
He went limp and the barbed shaft ceased to quiver. Corriston had a nerve-shattering glimpse of a swiftly spreading redness just above Clakey’s right hipbone. The entire barb turned red, as if its feathery spines had acquired a sudden, unnatural affinity for human blood.
Corriston started forward, then changed his mind. Several passengers had moved quickly to Clakey’s side and were bending above him. Someone called out: “Get a doctor!”
Corriston turned abruptly and strode toward the ladies’ lounge. Brushing aside such scruples as he ordinarily would have entertained, he threw open the door and went inside.
He called out: “Miss Ramsey?” When he received no answer he searched the lounge thoroughly. There was no one there. He was thinking fast now, desperately fast. He hadn’t seen her come out and neither had Clakey. He’d seen four women come out: three young women and an elderly one. None of them faintly resembled the girl he’d been talking to.
The first young woman had emerged almost immediately. He remembered how intently Clakey had been watching the door. Clakey had sat down to discuss the Station with him, and in less than two minutes the first young lady had emerged. Then neither of them had taken their eyes from the door for five or six minutes. The second young lady had apparently known someone in the crowd. She had seemed annoyed by Clakey’s persistent stare and had disappeared quickly. The elderly woman had looked her age. Her walk, her carriage, the lines of her face had borne the unmistakable stamp of genteel aging, and the dignity inseparable from it. The last woman had been the drab creature.
