In Deep Read Free Page B

why you didn’t turn back as soon as you regained consciousness.”
    “That’s right,” Gumbs put in self-consciously. “If you can’t do anything, Meister, maybe the other technical fellows can.”
    George patiently explained his theory of their probable reception by the guards at the camp. McCarty’s keen mind detected a flaw. “You grew legs, and stalks for your eyes, according to your own testimony. If you weren’t lying, you can also grow a mouth. We’ll announce ourselves as we approach.”
    “That may not be easy,” George told her. “We couldn’t get along with just a mouth, we’d need teeth, tongue, hard and soft palates, lungs or the equivalent, vocal cords, and some kind of substitute for a diaphragm to power the whole business. I’m wondering if it’s possible at all, because when Miss Bellis finally succeeded in making herself heard, it was by the method we’re using now. She didn’t—”
    “You talk too much,” said McCarty. “Major Gumbs, Miss Bellis, you and I will try to form a speaking apparatus. The first to succeed will receive a credit mark on his record. Commence.”
    George, being left out of the contest by implication, used his time in trying to restore his hearing. It seemed to him likely that the whatever-it-was meisterii had some sort of division-of-labor principle built into it, since Gumbs and he—the first two to fall in—had kept their sight without making any special effort in that direction, while matters like hearing and touch had been left for the latecomers. This was fine in principle, and George approved of it, but he didn’t like the idea of Miss McCarty’s being the sole custodian of any part of the apparatus.
    Even if he were able to persuade the other two to follow his lead—and at the moment this prospect seemed dim—McCarty was certain to be a holdout. And it might easily be vital to all of them, at some time in the near future, to have their hearing hooked into the circuit.
    He was distracted at first by muttered comments between Gumbs and Vivian—“Getting anywhere?” “I don’t think so. Are you?”—interspersed between yawps, humming sounds and other irritating noises as they tried unsuccessfully to switch over from mental to vocal communication, Finally McCarty snapped, “Be quiet. Concentrate on forming the necessary organs—don’t bray like jackasses.”
    George settled down to his work, using the same technique he had found effective before. With his eyes shut, he imagined that the thing with all the teeth was approaching in darkness—tap, slither; tap; click. He wished valiantly for ears to catch the faint approaching sounds. After a long time he thought he was beginning to succeed—or were those mental sounds, unconsciously emitted by one of the other three? Click. Slither. Swish. Scrape .
    George opened his eyes, genuinely alarmed. A hundred meters away, facing him across the shallow slope of rocky ground, was a uniformed man just emerging from a stand of black, bamboolike spears. As George raised his eye stalks, the man paused, stared back at him, then shouted and raised his rifle.
    George ran. Instantly there was a babble of voices inside him, and the muscles of his “legs” went into wild spasms. “Run, dammit!” he said frantically. “There’s a trooper with—”
    The rifle went off with a deafening roar, and George felt a sudden hideous pain aft of his spine. Vivian Bellis screamed. The struggle for possession of their common legs stopped, and they scuttled full speed ahead for the cover of—a nearby boulder. The rifle roared again, and George heard rock splinters screeching through the foliage overhead. Then they were plunging down the side of a gully, up the other slope, over a low hummock and into a forest of tall, bare-limbed trees.
    George spotted a leaf-filled hollow and headed for it, fighting somebody else’s desire to keep on running in a straight line. They plopped into the hollow and stayed there while three