The Terror Out of Space
was safe at last and he, Fred Boone, was on his way to Titan. 

Of course, there'd be charges waiting for him when he got back. If he got back. Only that could wait. That was still far off in the future.  

He fell asleep that way ... a troubled sleep, full of mad, distorted dreams of Eileen and Krobis, and of monsters. 

Then, all at once, he was awake again, sitting bolt upright in the bunk--sweat-drenched, fists clenched. 

Dimly, confusedly, he sensed that some sound must have roused him. 

In the same instant the sound came again--a knock, echoing over-loud in the cabin's stillness.

Stumbling from the bunk, Boone jerked open the door. 

Eileen stood in the corridor outside, flanked by two guards with nerve-guns at the ready. A cold-eyed ship's officer waited behind them. 

Boone stared--unable to speak, still not quite believing. 

"I believe these are my quarters, Mister Boone," Eileen said. She was a picture of chill self-possession. Only a faint trace of color marked the place along her jaw where he had struck her. 

"Eileen--!" he choked. "Eileen...." 

"You're surprised, you mean?" Her voice stayed icy. "I thought you might be. It's just that you didn't hit me quite as hard as you thought you did. I was conscious again before you ever carried me out of this cabin. But you had a gun, so I let you take me off, then came back on again just behind you." 

"I see," Boone nodded slowly. Of a sudden there was a churning weakness in his middle. "Then--Eileen--" 

"Miss Rey," she corrected, voice still icy. And then: "You'll understand, of course, that I had no choice but to take this whole thing to the captain." 

Again, Boone nodded. "Yes." 

"To return to Ganymede once the locks were closed behind us would be an expensive undertaking. So we'll both go on to Titan. I'll serve as biologist for the run, in accordance with my orders. As for you"--she shrugged--"your status should be obvious." 

"To you, maybe. Not to me." 

"Then I'll clarify it." All at once her eyes, her face, mirrored bitter 
 Prev. P 9/73 next 
Back Top
Privacy Statement Terms of Service Contact