“To the slaughterhouse,” said Caldwell dully.
I pushed and struggled, but it was to no avail. I was efficiently straitjacketed. Above me, the big diamond stared coldly out, its radiant brilliance seeming to mock us.
Caldwell and Strauss had been trapped the same way I had—by the beckoning diamond. I wondered how many more Sharane would catch, would draw across space to this strange planet. And I wondered why? Who was this strange woman, what power did she have, why was she doing what she did? What motivated her?
I didn’t know. And it didn’t look like I was ever going to find out.
All I knew was I was caught, and there didn’t seem to be any way out. But I wasn’t going to give up. I could still keep on hoping.
We lay there for hours, talking occasionally, more often remaining silent, staring up at the cloudless sky. I could see how the days would roll by, in empty, mindless waiting, until the mysterious ship returned for its next load of Earthmen.
By dint of much eyeball-rolling, I was able to make out what my two companions looked like. Strauss was balding, sandy-haired, middle aged, Caldwell much younger, dynamic-looking.
There wasn’t much we could say, and after a while conversation ceased entirely. We were so placed that I could see the giant diamond clearly, and I started to pass the time by staring at its peak, wondering how many carats the thing could weigh. Millions, no doubt.
Then I began searching the sky, waiting for the ship to come, the ship that would carry us off to our unknown next destination. After a while longer I grew tired, and closed my eyes. I slept, uneasily, and no doubt I would have been tossing and turning if only I could move at all.
I was awakened by the sound of Caldwell’s deep, sharp voice exclaiming, “Look! Here comes a new one!”
Then Strauss commented, “And it’s a girl!”
I struggled to get my eyes open and keep them that way, and swiveled them around, searching for the newcomer. And then I saw her.
She was just emerging from the edge of the jungle. I saw her plainly, clad in sweater and tight-clinging khaki trousers; she had evidently had a rough time of it in the jungle, because her sweater was torn and shredded and her hair was wildly disheveled. But she kept moving onward, her eyes wide in amazement at the sight of the diamond.
She was Peg.
I watched her almost dazedly as she made her way across the clearing. I knew she couldn’t see me yet, but I could see her. It was Peg, all right. How, why she had come, I could only conjecture, But she was here, madly, unbelievably, and I was glad to see her.
“Where’d she come from?” Caldwell asked.
“I thought only men came through,” said Strauss. “Maybe she’s an accomplice of Sharane.”
“No,” I said. “I know her.”
I tried to call to her, to attract her attention in some way. I didn’t know where Sharane was.
“Peg!” I called. My voice was a hoarse croak, barely more than a whisper. I tried again. “Peg! Peg!”
The third time she heard me. I saw her mouth drop open as she turned slowly and saw us spread out on the ground, and then she started running joyfully toward us.
“Les! Oh, Les!” she called, from a hundred yards away. Her voice came across clearly, and at the moment it seemed like the most wonderful sound I had ever heard.
I watched her as she ran, drinking in the sight of her—the smooth stride, the long, powerful legs, the bobbing red hair that fluttered up and down as she ran. And a hot burst of shame flooded my face as I remembered the kiss—Sharane’s kiss.
Peg would forgive me, though. I knew she would.
She kept running, running toward us—and then, she stopped and recoiled back, as if she had struck a glass wall.
I saw her move back a few paces and rub her nose as if she had bruised it. Then she stepped forward again, and, in perplexity, extended a hand in front of her. It stopped short at the same barrier.
She began to edge around in a wary semicircle, feeling in front of her, and everywhere it was the same. An invisible barrier, blocking us off from her. She wouldn’t be able to reach us. Whoever had snared us really knew his business.
Tears of frustration came to her eyes, but she wiped them away and continued to search for some break in the barrier, while I shouted words of encouragement to her. It was a miracle that Peg was here at all, Peg whom I thought I’d never see again, and I wanted desperately to be holding her tight.
She completed the circle around us, without finding any way in. I saw her kick the barrier viciously, saw her foot stop in mid-air as the invisible field rebuffed the blow.
And then I saw Sharane come up behind her.
“Watch it!” I yelled, but there was no need of the warning. Peg turned, and the two women faced each other uneasily.
I felt torn apart when I saw the two of them together. Peg was a wonderful girl, wonderful to look at, wonderful to be with—but Sharane! Sharane was something different, something unearthly, something irresistible. No wonder she had trapped sixty-seven men so far. Sixty-seven, plus Peg—if Peg had been trapped.
The two women moved closer to each other, and then, incredibly, I heard Sharane say, in the same throaty, erotic voice she had used on me and on everyone else who had come through the crystal gateway, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Peg’s sarcastic answer rang out sharp and clear. “I’ll bet you have,” she snapped.
“It has been so long since I called, and you did not come,” Sharane said caressingly.
My eyes popped. Was Sharane trying to make love to Peg? What kind of thing was Sharane, anyway?
“Let me through that barrier,” Peg demanded.
Sharane made no answer, but merely moved closer. “My name is Sharane,” she said. “I have been waiting for you.”
Word for word, the same routine she’d given me! Only how did she expect it to work on Peg?
It didn’t. Sharane moved even closer, reached out her arms, started to embrace Peg—
And Peg knocked her sprawling with an open-fisted blow.
Sharane went reeling back on the ground, but picked herself up with no apparent bruises, and returned to her strange task. She moved back to Peg, turning on all her siren charms.
It was incredible, unbelievable. But Peg wasn’t to be tempted as easily as a mere man would be. As Sharane approached, Peg whipped out at her with another blow, and followed with a neat fist to the dark-haired woman’s stomach.
Sharane backed up, and apparently caught on that she wasn’t getting the usual reaction from Peg. She charged in a mad flurry, failed to get much of a handhold on Peg’s short-cut hair, and launched out in an attack of wild violence.
Peg parried most of the punches, but a stray fingernail got through the defense and raked down her cheek, leaving a long, bloody line, and one of Sharane’s frantic blows landed in her mid-section, throwing her back gasping for breath.
I heard my own voice shouting encouragement, roaring as if I were at a prizefight. And, from around me, I heard the other men cheering Peg on too.
I had never seen two women fight before. It was quite a sight.
Sharane kept the upper hand for a few moments, forcing Peg back, and on the areas of flesh exposed where Peg’s sweater had been torn in the jungle, I saw livid bruises starting to appear.
Then Peg regained the initiative, and with an outburst of kicks, punches, and slaps she drove Sharane back. Peg used every tactic in the book, and some that weren’t—such as reaching out, seizing Sharane’s lovely blue-black hair, and yanking.