“Keep it, then,” shrugged Brant good-humoredly. “Nobody else is likely to stake a claim to It.”
She gave him a shy smile, dimpling most charmingly, and tucked it away in a pocket of her robe. Brant was studying the sea. The surface seemed in constant turmoil, swirling this way and that, coiling into miniature shallow whirlpools, but there didn’t seem to be much in the way of waves.
He pointed this out to Will Harbin.
“Not this far below the surface, even if the moons of Mars were big enough to make tides like our Moon does back home,” murmured the older man. “Chemical ferment, perhaps; amoeboid life. Even centrifugal force, caused by the planet as it swings on its axis.”
He bent, dabbling his forefinger in the milky luminance, tasting a drop of the seawater gingerly. Then he made a face.
“Mineral salts, all right!” he exclaimed. “Ugh, what a taste! And so thick with salt it would rust stainless steel. Well, there’s the last proof of our theorising … to get that rich in minerals, the water just had to seep through interstices in the crust for long centuries.”
At Brant’s side, Zuarra spoke up timidly:
“Is it … is all of this water, O Brant?” she whispered.
He nodded. “Water of a sort,” he grunted. “But I wouldn’t try drinking any of it, if I were you. Which makes me think, Doc—are we likely to find any fresh water down here? We certainly can’t drink this stuff, and my canteen’s nearly empty. I guess all of them are, by now. And we’re going to start getting mighty thirsty before long.”
“As to springs of fresh water, who can say?” was Harbin’s , reply. “Maybe, maybe not. But there’s lots of juice in those 1 huge mushrooms, so we won’t suffer from lack of fluids.”
He scratched his nose. “Pity you couldn’t carry the pressure-still along. It could easily have been adjusted to extract the pure water from this mineral muck. As it is, we may have to do it by ourselves, by the slow process of evaporation and condensation. Collect the sea-water in some kind of container, boil it over a fire—the dry stalks of some of those fallen fungus-trees back in the forest ought to burn like tinder. Then ; we rig a shield out of something … maybe the nioflex of our thermal-suits, collect the condensation, funnel it off …” his voice trailed away, uncertain as to the details.
Brant grinned. “Oh, I guess we can put our heads together and figure out some way of doing it.”
He glanced out over the surface of the luminous sea. “Can we take baths in this muck, d’you suppose? It’s been so long since I’ve had a swim, or even a halfway decent bath, it sure would be a treat!”
Doc grinned. “Expect it would be safe enough,” he said. “One thing’s certain, you won’t have to worry about drowning, no matter how much about swimming you may have forgotten. In that sea, you couldn’t drown if you tried to!”
Brant looked puzzled. Harbin chuckled.
“Water’s so rich with salt and minerals, it’s hard to sink in. Look—” he picked up one of the larger gemlike pebbles, weighed it in his palm. It looked about as heavy as a baseball, but when he tossed it a little ways out to sea, it floated.
“Just like Great Salt Lake in Utah, or the Dead Sea in Palestine,” he said. “Our bodies are pretty buoyant as it is. In this stuff, though, we’d float like corks.”
Brant shook his head wonderingly.
“This is sure one hellova strange place,” he said, with a low whistle of amazement.
“It is that,” Doc agreed. And then he added, soberly: “And I’ve a feeling we’ve only seen a few of the marvels we’re going to discover before long.”
And, as usual, the older man proved right, eventually.
Since it had been long enough since Agila had devoured the meat of the giant mushrooms, and he showed no signs of sickness or discomfort, they returned to the midst of the fungus-forest and made a zestful meal, sampling the flesh of different-colored growths.
Brant found them all tasty, but the one he liked best was his own discovery. The huge stalk, crowned with its nodding head the size of a barrel, was silvery-gray on the outside, mottled with irregular lavender spots. Inside, the flesh proved creamy in color and of the consistency of vanilla pudding. But it tasted like nothing else than the finest white meat of the tuna fish. The succulent, meaty taste pleased them all, even the three Martians, who had never tasted anything remotely like fish in their lives.
“Well,” sighed Brant contentedly, patting a full stomach at the conclusion of their feast, “after weeks of canned rations and lizard meat, it’s good to have a decent meal again!”
Harbin grinned in agreement. “Even if the dishes were a trifle exotic,” he said. “The meat from that tuna-tree might taste even better with a chewier consistency. We could try broiling slices over a slow fire. …”
Brant stifled a huge yawn. “Incidentally, Doc … d’you suppose it ever gets dark in this place?”
“I doubt it. We’ve been here quite a while by now, and the luminosity does not seem to wax or wane. We’re going to have to learn to sleep with the lights on, that’s all.”
18 The Lovers
They were all weary from their exertions on the stone stair, and felt emotionally drained from the succession of marvels they had found in this weird underground world, and were not long in seeking their rest.
In this humid warmth, there was no need for bedrolls or blankets. The travelers simply lay down wherever they were and fell asleep almost instantly. The dewy moss was springy and soft, and made as comfortable a bed as any they could recently recall.
During the night—odd word to use in this land of perpetual day, but old habits are difficult to break—Brant woke. His bladder was full and he felt the need to relieve himself. He rose and padded a little ways into the depths of the fungus-forest for privacy, and found that two of his companions had also sought seclusion, but for a somewhat different reason.
Agila and little Suoli lay wrapped in each other’s arms, their bodies moving vigorously in the act of love. From her moans and whimpers and soft little sighs, the young woman did not seem exactly unwilling. «
Brant stopped short at the sight and lingered for a moment on the edge of the little glade in which the lovers lay. It was none of his business, and the two had every right to their private pleasures, so he withdrew silently. They had not noticed him come and were too busy to notice him leave.
But their passion had another witness, it seemed. Not far from the place where Brant had stood, discovering them, stood another. It was Zuarra. The expression on her face was unreadable, but it did not look to Brant like either sorrow or anger, nor even jealousy. There was no telling how long she had stood there, watching the two from the concealment of a tall spotted mushroom-tree.
As Brant went past her, she turned and saw him, and reached out to take his arm. Somehow—and afterwards he could never quite remember how it came about—she was in his arms, her firm breasts warm against his bare chest, her mouth sweet and eager under his own.
They exchanged no words, for none were needed. Arm in arm they turned to seek another place, and when they found a cozy bower, sheltered by thickly set mushroom-trees, they sank to the soft cushion of the moss and made love hungrily, almost savagely, coupling like beasts.
When they were done, and he thought to rise, she clung to him, locking her arms around his neck.
“Stay in me,” she whispered hoarsely, and he did. After a time, they dozed off, only to wake and to love again. And the second time it was even better. He discovered in her a hungry passion equal to his own, a tirelessness and a vigor. And she found in him a warmth, a tenderness, a gentle strength she had never found in another man. It was, to her, as satisfying, as draining, as the love of women, but different, very different, in a way she could not put into words.