thetime-sense. But he did not know. He only knew, after a quick inspection,that the controls of _Mozart's Lady_ had been so badly damaged thatrepair was impossible.
He knew too that the scout-ship had reported his whereabouts. He had, onregaining consciousness, been in time to intercept the radio message.True, it would take any other Neptune-stationed ship close to two weeksto reach Pluto, so Bartock had some temporal leeway. But obviouslywhoever was pursuing him in the one-man ship had not come down just tosit and wait. He was out there in the snow somewhere. Well, Bartockwould go out too, would somehow manage to elude his pursuer, to getbehind him, reach the scout-ship and blast off in it. And, in the eventthat anything went wrong, he would have a hostage.
He went arearships to select one.
Went with his desperation shackled by an iron nerve.
And a blaster in his hand.
"... very lucky," Matilda Moriarity was saying, trying to keep thedespair from her voice. "We have some cuts and bruises, but no seriouscasualties. Why, we might have all been killed."
"Lucky, she says! We're marooned here. Marooned--with a killer."
Before the widow Moriarity could defend her choice of words, if she wasgoing to defend them, House Bartock came into the rear lounge, where theentire symphony and its chaperone was located. They would have lockedthe door, of course; they had locked it ever since they had learned whoBartock was. But the door, buckled and broken, had been one of thecasualties of the crash-landing.
"You," Bartock said.
He meant Jane Cummings.
"Me?"
"Yes, you. We're going outside."
"Out--side?"
"That's what I said. Let's get a move on."
Jane Cummings didn't move.
The widow Moriarity came between her and Bartock. "If you must takeanyone, take me," she said bravely.
"The girl."
Still the widow Moriarity didn't move.
House Bartock balled his fist and hit her. Three of the girls caught heras she fell. None of them tried to do anything about Bartock, who hadlevelled his blaster at Jane Cummings.
Trembling, she went down the companionway with him.
A fierce cold wind blew as they opened the airlock door.
* * * * *
It looked like a sea-serpent floundering in the snow.
Only, it was caught in the act of floundering, like an excellent candidshot of a sea-serpent floundering in snow.
Its movements were too slow for Mayhem's eyes to register.
Which meant, he realized gratefully, that he hadn't begun to slow downyet.
He had to be careful, though. If he were Bartock he would makeimmediately for the scout-ship. It would be his only hope.
Realizing this, Mayhem had gone through deep snow for what he judged tobe fifteen minutes, until he had reached a spine of rock protruding fromthe snow. Then he had doubled back, now leaving no footprints, along thespine. He was waiting in the first low range of hills not four hundredyards from the scout-ship, his blaster ready. When Bartock prowled intoview, Mayhem would shout a warning. If Bartock didn't heed it, Mayhemwould shoot him dead.
It seemed like an airtight plan.
And it would have been, except for two things. First, Bartock had ahostage. And second, Pluto-time was beginning to act on Mayhem.
He realized this when he looked at the sea-serpent again. The long neckmoved with agonizing slowness, the great gray green bulk of the monster,sixty feet long, shifted slowly, barely perceptibly, in the snow.Mountains of powdery snow moved and settled. The spade-shaped headpointed at Mayhem. The tongue protruded slowly, hung suspended, forkedand hideous, then slowly withdrew.
The neck moved again, ten feet long, sinuous. And faster.
Faster? Not really.
Mayhem was slowing down.
* * * * *
Then he saw Bartock and the girl.
They were close together. Bartock held her arm. Walking toward thescout-ship, they were too far away and too close together for Mayhem tofire. Bartock would know this and wouldn't heed any warning.
Mayhem was blocked. The gun was useless.]
So Mayhem didn't give any warning. He left the spine of rock and rusheddown through the snow toward the space-bound coffin.
A low rumble of sound broke the absolute stillness.
It was the monster, and now that his own hearing had slowed down, Mayhemwas able to hear the slower cycles of sound. How much time had reallypassed? He didn't know. How much time did he have left before death cameswiftly and suddenly because he had been too long in his temporary body?He didn't know that either. He sprinted toward the scout-ship. At leastit felt like he was sprinting. He didn't know how fast he was reallymoving. But the sea-serpent creature was coming up behind him, faster.No place near what would have been its normal apparent speed, butfaster. Mayhem, his breath coming raggedly through his mouth, ran asfast as was feasible.
So did Bartock and the girl.
It was Bartock, spotting Mayhem on the run, who fired first. Mayhemfell prone as the raw _zing_ of energy ripped past. Thesea-serpent-like-creature behind him bellowed.
And reared.
It didn't look like a sea-serpent any longer. It looked like a dinosaur,with huge solid rear limbs, small forelimbs, a great head with anenormous jaw--and speed.
Now it could really move.
Subjectively, time seemed normal to Mayhem. Your only basis wassubjective: time always seemed normal. But Mayhem knew, as he got up andran again, that he was now moving slower than the minute hand on aclock. Slower ... as objective time, as measured in the solar system atlarge, sped by.
He tripped as the creature came behind him. The only thing he could dowas prop up an elbow in the snow and fire. Raw energy ripped off the twotiny forelimbs, but the creature didn't falter. It rushed by Mayhem,almost crushing him with the hind limbs, each of which must have weigheda couple of tons. It lumbered toward Bartock and Jane Cummings.
Turning and starting to get up, Mayhem fired again.
His blaster jammed.
Then the bulk of the monster cut off his view of Bartock, the girl andthe scout-ship. He heard the girl scream. He ran toward them.
Jane Cummings had never been so close to death. She wanted to scream.She thought all at once, hysterically, she was a little girl again. Ifshe screamed maybe the terrible apparition would go away. But it did notgo away. It reared up high, as high as a very tall tree, and its fangswere hideous.
Bartock, who was also frightened, raised his blaster, fired, and missed.
Then, for an instant, Jane thought she saw someone running behind themonster. He had a blaster too, and he lifted it. When he fired, therewas only a clicking sound. Then he fired again.
Half the monster's bulk disappeared and it collapsed in the snow.
That was when Bartock shot the other man.
Mayhem felt the stab of raw energy in his shoulder. He spun around andfell down, his senses whirling in a vortex of pain. Dimly he was awareof Bartock's boots crunching on the snow.
They fired simultaneously. Bartock missed.
And collapsed with a searing hole in his chest. He was dead before hehit the snow.
The girl went to Mayhem. "Who--who are you?"
"Got to get you back to the ship. No time to talk. Hurry."
"But you can't walk like that. You're badly hurt. I'll bring help."
"... dangerous. I'll take you."
He'd take her, flirting with death. Because, for all he knew, his timeon Pluto, objectively, had already totalled forty-eight hours. If itdid, he would never live to get off Pluto. Once his thirty days were up,he would die. Still, there might be danger from other animals betweenthe scout-ship and _Mozart's Lady_, and he couldn't let the girl go backalone. It was almost ludicrous, since she had to help him to his feet.
He staggered along with her, knowing he would never make it to _Mozart'sLady_ and back in time. But if he left her, she was proba
bly doomed too.He'd sacrifice his life for hers....
They went a hundred yards, Mayhem gripping the blaster and advancing bysheer effort of will. Then he smiled, and began to laugh. Jane thoughthe was hysterical with pain. But he said: "We're a pair of bright ones.The scout-ship."
Inside, it was very small. They had to lie very close to each other, butthey made it. They reached _Mozart's Lady_.
Mayhem didn't wait to say good-bye. With what strength remained to him,he almost flung the girl from the scout-ship. The pain in his shoulderwas very bad, but that wasn't what worried him. What worried him was theroaring in his ears, the vertigo, the mental confusion as his _elan_drifted, its thirty days up, toward death.
He saw the girl enter _Mozart's Lady_. He blasted off, and when thespace-bound coffin pierced Pluto's heavyside layer, he called the Hub.
The voice answered him as if it were mere miles away, and not halfwayacross a galaxy: "Good Lord, man. You had us worried! You have