“You mean you’re going to leave all this behind?” I asked.
“We are taking specimens of every plant with us to our new home. We could not live without them. They supply us with food and keep the air fresh.”
“But why do you live underground?” asked Jet.
“The climate of Earth is too violent for us to live permanently on its surface.”
“Hm,” said Lemmy, “they can’t be as tough as we thought.”
“Well,” the Voice went on, changing the subject, “you’d better come down.”
We were standing on a large platform, about twelve feet square, and running down from it were three very steep flights of stairs.
“Fall down that lot and you’d have a nasty bump,” observed Lemmy. Nevertheless, we made our way down, finding the going difficult as the distance between the steps was just a little more than our legs could comfortably manage.
On reaching ground level, we discovered the trees were, on an average, about twelve feet tall and even the trunks of some of them were covered in blooms. The scent was almost overpowering, but strangely invigorating, like fresh sea air. We began to feel good-humoured and quite cheerful again. We followed the path that led from the steps and wandered aimlessly along, intrigued by the purply trees, the multicoloured flowers and the dark-red soil.
Suddenly the Voice brought us back to reality. “Hullo,” it said.
“Yes?” answered Jet.
“You are getting very close to me now. In a few moments we shall meet.”
We were standing near where the path divided. One branch led to a sphere, a complete one this time. Instinctively we sensed that the Voice, whoever or whatever he was, was in it.
“Soon the door will open, but you needn’t enter if you don’t want to,” the Voice said. “You may just like to look in.”
“Very well,” said Jet. We moved towards the sphere and as we did so a circular door near the ground began to slide open.
Fear took hold of Lemmy. “I don’t like this,” he gasped. “Let’s go back.”
“No, Lemmy.” I spoke sharply. “We’re staying right here.” The door was completely open now.
“Can you see anybody--anything in there?’ asked Jet.
“No,” said Mitch. “It’s rather dark, it’s--yes, I can. There --see?” His voice changed. “Oh--cripes!”
We all gasped, for what we saw was indescribably horrifying. There was too little light to reveal much detail and what there was seemed to emanate from the creature itself. It was about twelve feet high and was scaled all over with what appeared to be a kind of bright armour. Whether it was sitting or standing, I couldn’t say, but its knees were bent and it was probably in a squatting position. Its arms-- it had two--hung loosely at its side and the scales on its body were flashing in all colours, like luminous mother-of-pearl. But the most luminous and fearsome part of the thing was its face. It glowed in red and blue.
Lemmy took one petrified glimpse, then took to his heels, shrieking: “Let me get out of here.” Jet immediately started after him, and in the moment Mitch and I turned to watch them the door of the sphere had closed again.
We looked at each other uneasily.
“He must have seen how the sight of him affected us.”
“It was a hell of a shock,” I said. “Quite unlike anything I’d expected.”
“He was like a--well--I. . .”
“An armadillo.”
“Yes, I suppose you could describe it as that--armoured anyway. It stood up on its hind legs.”
“And it had a blue and red face, like a--a mandrill.”
“It was the bright colours that gave me the biggest shock, expected somebody rather like ourselves; flesh-coloured, it least.”
Jet returned with a protesting Lemmy. “What happened?” he asked. “Did the door shut again?”
“Yes, Jet--almost immediately,” I said. “It was as though wished to hide himself from us as quickly as possible.”
Lemmy was almost whimpering. “Jet, let’s go away from here.”
“No, Lemmy. We mustn’t let him see we’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid, not anymore,” said Lemmy indignantly. “I just couldn’t stand to see anything so ugly again, that’s all.”
“The sight of you had much the same effect on us when re first saw you,” the Voice broke in.
“Eh?” said Lemmy.
“But we got over it and now we accept you.”
“But we couldn’t be that ugly.” “Quiet, Lemmy,” said Jet urgently. “It’s all a matter of comparison, what you’re used to--the habit of accepting what you
think
is normal.”
“A fellow can’t help his ugly mug,” said Lemmy, “but you’ve taken things a bit too far.”
“I’m sorry, but I did warn you. You need not see us again if you’d rather not.”
“Thanks. I’d rather not,” said Lemmy with finality.
“You must excuse us,” I said, placatingly, “but you’re so unlike anything we expected.”
“We understand. You need worry about it no more. Now I expect you’d like to refresh yourselves and rest.”
“Yes, we’d like to very much,” said Jet.
“It has all been arranged. If you follow this path, you will come to another sphere, just like this one. Go inside. When you have rested, I will contact you again.”
Lemmy, who had got over his fright and now seemed rather ashamed of his behaviour, said: “Thanks a lot. I’m sorry I kicked up all that fuss.”
We found our ‘lodging’ without difficulty and entered the sphere by the usual circular door. Inside were four couches, a table with what appeared to be food on it, and a spherical televiewer by the wall. Otherwise the place was bare. Mitch walked over the table and picked up one of the platters. “Do you think this is good to eat?” he asked.
“Only one way to find out.” Breaking a piece off, I put it in my mouth.
“Well, what’s it like, Doc?” asked Jet.
“Not bad,” I told. “Very sweet, rather like honey but with the texture of bread.”
“And I suppose these things are for us to sleep on?” said Lemmy, going over to one of the beds and pressing it with his fingers.
“What else?” asked Mitch.
“What do we do for bedcovers?” went on Lemmy.
“Perhaps they don’t expect us to undress. The Voice didn’t seem to be wearing any clothes.”
“Eh? What about all that shell stuff--that armour-plating--wasn’t that clothes?”
“I doubt it,” I told him.
“Well, I don’t know about you,” said Mitch, “but I’m hungry. I’m going to risk eating some of this stuff and then get me some sleep, bedclothes or no.”
We’d soon consumed every piece of food in sight, including the sweet, rather sticky liquid that we found in a large container placed in the middle of the table. After we’d eaten, Mitch moved to one of the beds and lay down on it.
“How’s it feel, Mitch?” Jet asked.
“Oh, quite comfortable,” he yawned. “I feel so tired I could sleep on a clothes line.”
“Are you warm?” asked Jet. “Hey, Mitch--.” But he was sound asleep.
“Here,” said Lemmy, “I suppose it
is
just sleep. That couch couldn’t be some kind of trap, could it?”
“How could it?” asked Jet.
“Well, why not? You lie on it and--whoops, you’re off, lost to the world. Then when all four of us are laid out, in come them gremlins or whatever they are and we’ve had it.” Jet walked over to Mitch and shook him.
“Huh? What’s the matter ?” asked the Australian.
“Are you all right, Mitch?” asked Jet.
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Well, we thought that. . .” He didn’t finish, for Mitch had turned over and was fast asleep again.
“It’s as though those beds made you sleep whether you want to or not,” said Lemmy.
“But he woke very easily for Mitch,” said Jet; “almost as soon as I touched him.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” I said. “‘It seems the whole make-up of these people is based on gentleness and kindness.”
“But how could anybody so ugly be so kind and considerate?” asked Lemmy.
“For the same reasons as anything so beautiful as a--a cat can be so cruel.”
“That makes a kind of sense, Doc,” admitted Lemmy.
“And sleeping makes sense, too,” said Jet, lying down as he spoke. “I think you’d better turn in as well, both of you.”
“Good night, Lemmy,” I said as I stretched out on the third couch.
“What do you mean, ‘good night’?” he asked. “It’s broad daylight out there.”
“I expect it always is,” I told him. “But that won’t stop me from sleeping.”
I woke to find the bed hard, uncomfortable and prickly. I was glad to climb out of it. Mitch and Jet were already up and were standing over Lemmy, smiling as they watched him writhing.
“What’s up, Lemmy?” said Jet. “Can’t you sleep?”
“No, I can’t. This bed’s so darned uncomfortable,” he replied. “It was fine when I first got in, but now it feels like a plank--a bare plank with splinters in it.”
“That’s just how mine was,” said Jet, “and Mitch’s.”
“What’s that human mandrill trying to do--make a monkey out of us?”
‘Good morning,” said the Voice. “I trust you slept well.”
“I would have done if the bed had stayed as comfortable as when I first got in it.”
“But it did.” “Eh?” said Lemmy.
“You slept for hours. The beds don’t get uncomfortable until you’ve had your full sleep.”
“You mean they are a sort of sleeping pill and alarm clock combined?”
“What an ingenious idea!” said Jet.
We had awoken with a remarkable feeling of freshness, for our long sleep had done all of us the world of good. The tired, strained look had left Jet’s face, Mitch was sweeter-tempered and Lemmy less pessimistic. A bath or shower would have made my morning complete, but either the Time Travellers thought we had no need of such twentieth-century luxuries or they were not acquainted with aquatic methods of cleanliness. But they had not forgotten our breakfast. We sat down at the table and cheerfully ate a hearty, if somewhat monotonous, meal. We had hardly finished when the Voice called us again.
It wanted information about our ship, Luna--how it worked, what the motive power was, its maximum speed and all kinds of technical details which only Mitch could give. The enquiry went on for nearly an hour. Between them Jet and Mitch explained why it would be impossible for us to take off from the Earth and return to the Moon under our own power, and why it was impossible for us to take off at all while the ship remained in a horizontal position. Finally the Voice said: “Now we are in possession of the facts, it is easy for us to see how the accident happened.”
“Accident?” asked Jet. “What accident?”
“The one that brought you to your present position. It was never intended. But I think perhaps now we can get you off the Earth again, and back into space.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Jet, his relief manifest in his voice.
“Could you leave in a few hours if your ship were ready?” “Certainly,” said Jet eagerly, overwhelmed, as we all were, at the prospect of going home.
“Then return to your ship,” said the Voice, “and take off in the usual way. Climb as high from the surface of the Earth as your motor will allow, and leave the rest to us.”
“I hope,” said Jet, “that you don’t intend to return us to the Moon. It will take about all the fuel we have to effect a take-off. Once we landed on the Moon, we would never get off again.”
“We do not intend to take you back to the Moon.”
“You’ll leave us coasting towards the Earth, then?”
“No.”
Jet looked a little puzzled. “Then where do you intend to take us?” he asked.
“To the planet you call Venus.”
“To Venus?” Jet repeated. “Why to Venus?”
“Because that is where we are going.”
The piece of honey bread I was chewing turned sour in my mouth. There was a hollow, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mitch, who’d been taking a drink from a shiny metal container, let the cup fall to the table from where, after spilling its pale-yellow liquid, it rolled with a clatter to the floor. Lemmy gulped. Jet struggled to remain calm, and it was some time before he spoke. “You heard that, gentlemen?” he said quietly.
“I told you this was a trap,” said Lemmy. “All this feeding us, these beds and everything--it wasn’t kindness at all. It was just a trick to get us here and make us prisoner.”
“But why to Venus?” asked Jet, almost to himself. “We’d die as soon as we set foot on the place.”
“Why should you?” the Voice enquired. “You managed to exist on the Moon, and Venus is not nearly so hostile.”
“But I don’t want to go to Venus,” said Lemmy. “I want to go home--to Earth.”
“But you are on Earth.”
“Back in our own time, I mean; in the twentieth century where we came from.”
“That we can’t allow.”
“Why not?” asked Jet.
“If we take you back you will build other space ships and make further trips to the Moon and beyond.”
“Of course,” said Mitch. He could not suppress the note of fanaticism in his voice. “That’s the reason why we started out on this trip in the first place. Man has a new frontier to conquer, the frontier of space. And nothing will stop him.”
“Not even if every space ship that left Earth failed to return?”
“Oh, so that’s your little game, is it?” said Lemmy. “You’re going to lie up there on the Moon, waiting for ships to come out from Earth so that you can knock ‘em from there into the middle of next week.”
“How else can we prevent Man conquering space?”
“Why should you wish to?” asked Jet. “You’ve conquered it yourself, haven’t you?”
“We had to leave our planet--we had no choice.”
“I don’t see that that makes any difference,” argued Mitch. “There’s no universal law to say that beings from one part of the Universe should travel it at will while those of another should not.”
“Our reasons are sound enough,” said the Voice. “Perhaps, if you care to watch the televiewer globe, I can convince you.”
We all turned towards the pedestal where it stood near the curving wall. Jet got up from his seat and walked round the table towards the glowing sphere, as did the rest of us.
“These,” said the Voice, “are the forest creatures.”
The picture was clear enough. It showed a group of men, if you could call them that; for they were men from a long-forgotten age, men at their wildest and most primitive. “Pre-historic men--our an--ancestors!” I gasped.