The death crystal
wrong. Fact is, Jane, I've to kick off in six months, otherwise Old Doc Meteridge is a quack and a charlatan."

"He may be wrong."

Dave found her hand and held it over his side. "Feel warm? That's a collection of fission products, tossing all sorts of junk around."

After a moment she said, "Some men wait for death complacently; some spend their remaining time roistering; and Dave Crandall spends his time doing dangerous jobs for humanity. Now tell me that you're not an idealist, Dave."

"I—"

"Oh, stop arguing," she said. She still held the hand that had pressed hers over his side. Now Jane caught it in a hard grip and pulled, rolling him towards her. She met him halfway, missed his lips on the first try, and then made contact as her free arm went around his shoulders. Dave's was a startled response at first.

"Who's arguing?" he asked after a moment. He added his free arm to the embrace and held her to him.

The stars above them whirled a quarter way across the sky—unnoticed.

CHAPTER THREE

The Other World

Crandall awoke to the faint sounds of farm life and spent a few sleepy moments wondering where he was. The low of a cow, the creak of a windmill, and the bustle of activity in another part of the house; the sigh of a free wind and the whisper of leaves—none of these were indigenous to his normal habitat and it annoyed him until the sleep left him and he recalled.

Days of hard work and too little sleep, the relaxation of the farm for an evening. Jane. Jane!

Crandall swore mildly. He became introspective and carefully analyzed his feelings, even though he knew that he was hopelessly incapable of coming to an honest solution about himself. His glands and his intellect were at wide variance. He had no right to ask for nor could he offer love.

Dave growled at himself and climbed out of bed. A cool shower helped; he was glad that the Nolan farm was not of the older variety. Here at least was farm life with almost every comfort of urban living. He dressed and then went down the stairs slowly.

"Sleepyhead," Jane called as she saw him. "It's nearly nine o'clock."

"Middle of the 
 Prev. P 14/32 next 
Back Top
Privacy Statement Terms of Service Contact