Quig joined them, camera held to his eye. “I’m getting as much as I can on film anyway.”
At that moment the Avernian stood up in a slow-flowing movement and turned to face them. Its arms were extended from the pleated robes and in its hands was a faintly visible square of thin material. Due to the translucency of the alien and everything about it, Snook had trouble in discerning that there were marks on the square sheet. He narrowed his eyes and picked out an almost invisible design: tightly-waved lines; an arrow; loosely-waved lines.
“That’s our message,” Ambrose breathed. “We got through to him. And so fast!”
“There’s something else there,” Snook said. Further down on the faint square was another diagram—two slightly irregular circles almost fully superimposed.
“It’s astronomical.” Ambrose was hoarse with excitement. “They know what’s happening!”
Snook kept staring at the second diagram, and deep in his guts there heaved the iciness of premonition. The symbols of the upper diagram were flawlessly drawn—the sine waves exactly regular, the lines of the arrow dead straight, which suggested the Avernian was a good draughtsman. And yet the two overlapping circles of the lower diagram—which Ambrose supposed to represent two well-nigh perfect spheres—had definite irregularities. They also had several internal markings…
The Avernian was now sinking, with its world, below the rock floor of the tunnel.
It came towards Snook, apparently wading knee-deep in stone, and reached upwards with webbed translucent hands, the long trembling fingers circling to enclose Snook’s head.
“No!” Snook backed off from the yearning hands, unable to prevent himself from shouting. “I’m not doing it. Never!”
He turned and ran towards the main shaft.
Chapter Eight
“Gil, I don’t see why you refuse to accept this thing,” Boyce Ambrose said impatiently.
He threw the sheaf of photographs down on the table. “When we were driving out here—only hours after having met you—I suggested you were telepathic. That sort of thing is an established and respectable scientific phenomenon these days. Why won’t you admit it?”
“Why do you want me to admit it?” Snook spoke in a sleepy voice, nursing his drink.
“I mean the fact that you understood the Avernian diagram, when I thought it was astronomical, shows that you have a telepathic faculty.”
“You still haven’t said why you’re so keen for me to claim this power,” Snook persisted.
“Because…”
“Go on, Boyce.”
“I would do it,” Ambrose said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “I would do it if I had been chosen.”
Snook swirled the gin in his glass, creating a miniature vortex. “That’s because you’ve got the scientific spirit, Boyce. You’re one of those people who would fly a kite in a thunder-storm, regardless of the danger, but I’m not going to let any blue monster shove its head inside mine.”
“The Avernians are people.” Prudence eyed Snook with disdain.
Snook shrugged. “All right—I’m not going to let any blue people shove their heads inside mine.”
“The idea doesn’t bother me.”
“That remark just cries out for an obscene reply, but I’m too tired.” Snook settled further down in the armchair and closed his eyes, but he had time to see Prudence tighten her lips in anger. I owed you that one, he thought, pleased at having scored a point, yet appalled at his own childishness.
“Too drunk, you mean.”
Without opening his eyes, Snook raised his glass in Prudence’s direction and took another drink. He found he could still see the translucent blue face advancing on his own, and a hard knot formed in his stomach.
“I think,” Ambrose said anxiously, “it might be a good idea if we all got some rest. We’ve been up all night and we’re bound to be tired.”
“I’ve got to get back to the plant,” Culver said. He turned to Des Quig, who was still examining the pictures he had taken. “How about you, Des? Want a ride back?”
“I’m not going back,” Quig replied, absently stroking his sandy moustache. “This is too much fun.”
“How about your job?” Ambrose asked. “I appreciate your help here, but…”
“They can shove my job. Do you know what they’ve got me doing? Designing radios, that’s what I’m doing.” He had been drinking neat gin, while exhausted and hungry, and his voice was beginning to slur. “That would be bad enough, but I design them a good radio and they hand it over to the commercial people. You know what happens then? The commercial people start .taking bits out of it…and they keep doing that till the radio stops working…then they put the last bit back in again—and that’s the radio they put into production. It makes me sick. No, I’m not going back there. I’m damned if I’ll…”
Recognising a cry from the heart, Snook opened his eyes and saw Quig lay his head on his arms and promptly fall asleep.
“I’ll go then,” Culver said. “See you tonight.” He left Snook’s living room and George Murphy went at the same time, saluting tiredly with his bandaged hand.
Snook got to his feet, waving the two men goodbye, and turned to Ambrose. “What do you want to do?”
Ambrose hesitated. “I’ve had about four hours’ sleep in the last three days. I hate to impose, but the thought of driving back to Kisumu…”
“You’re welcome to stay here,” Snook said. “I’ve got two bedrooms, with one bed in each. Des seems very comfortable at the table, so if I sleep on the couch in here, you and Prudence can have a bedroom each.”
Prudence stood up also. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you out of your own bed. I’ll go in with Boyce—I’m sure I won’t come to much harm.”
Ambrose grinned and rubbed his eyes. “The tragedy is that, the way I fell now, you probably won’t come to any harm.” He put an arm around Prudence’s shoulders and they walked into the bedroom which was directly across the corridor from the living room. Prudence reappeared in the opening as she closed the door and, in the narrowing aperture, her eyes steadied on Snook’s for the briefest instant. He tried to smile, but his lips refused to conform.
Snook went into the other bedroom. The early morning sun was blazing in from the east, so he closed the blind, creating a parchment-coloured dimness. He lay down on the bed without undressing, but the tiredness which had been so insistent a few minutes earlier seemed to have fled his system, and it was a long time before he was able to escape from his loneliness into sleep.
Snook was awakened in the late afternoon by the sound of a loud, unfamiliar voice filtering through from his living room. He got up, ran his fingers through his hair and went to see who the visitor was. He found Gene Helig, the Press Association representative, standing in the centre of the room and talking to Ambrose, Prudence and Quig. Helig, who was a lean, greying Englishman with drooping eyelids, gave Snook a critical glance.
“You look bloody awful, Gil,” he said heartily. “I’ve never seen you look so bad.”
“Thanks.” Snook sought a parry to Helig’s remarks but the pounding in his head made it difficult to think. “I’m going to make some coffee.”
Des Quig sprang to his feet. “I’ve already done it, Gil. Sit down here and I’ll fetch you a cup.”
Snook nodded gratefully. “Four cups, please. I always have four cups.” He dropped into the chair Quig had vacated and looked around the room. Ambrose was regarding him with concerned eyes; Prudence appeared not to have noticed his arrival. Though wearing the same clothes as on the previous day, she was as cream-smooth and immaculate as ever. Snook wondered if, at any time during their hours in bed, Ambrose had succeeded in disturbing that practised serenity.