Tony finished his second cup of coffee, and scraped his chair back.
“I’ll be taking a look around,” he told Laurette in explanation. He turned to the door.
Braker leaned back in his chair until it was balanced on two legs, and grinned widely.
“Where you going, Mr. Skeleton?”
Tony froze.
“After a while, Braker,” he said, eyes frigid, “the ring will be taken care of.”
Yates’ fork came down. “If you mean you’re going to try to get rid of it, you know you can’t do it. It’ll come back.” His eyes were challenging.
Masters looked up, a strange milling series of thoughts in his sullen eyes. Then he returned to his food.
Tony, wondering what that expression had meant, shrugged and left the room; and shortly the ship, by way of the cavity in the storage bin.
He wandered away from the ship, walking slowly, abstractedly, allowing impressions to slip his mind without conscious resistance. There was a haunting familiarity in this tumbled plain, though life had no place in the remembrance. There was some animal life, creatures stirring in the dark humus, in long, thick grass, in gnarled tree tops. This was mountain country and off there was a tumbling mountain stream.
He impelled himself toward it, the tiny, yet phenomenally bright sun throwing a shadow that was only a few inches long. It was high “noon.”
He stood on the brink of the rocky gorge, spray prismatically alive with color, dashing up into his face. His eyes followed the stream up to the mountain fault where water poured downward to crush at the rocks with the steady, pummeling blow of a giant. He stood there, lost in abstraction, other sounds drowned out.
All except the grate of a shoe behind him. He tried to whirl; too late! Hands pushed against his back — in the next second, he had tumbled off the brink of the chasm, clutching wildly, vainly, at thick spray. Then, an awful moment of freezing cold, and the waters had enclosed him. He was borne away, choking for air, frantically flailing with his arms.
He was swept to the surface, caught a chaotic glimpse of sun and clouded sky and rock, and then went under again, with a half lungful of air. He tensed, striving to sweep away engulfing panic. A measure of reason came back. Hands and feet began to work in purposeful unison. The surface broke around him. He stayed on top. But that was only because the stream was flowing darkly, swiftly, evenly. He was powerless to force himself against this current.
He twisted, savagely looking for some sign of release. A scaly, oily tree limb came at him with a rush. One wild grab, and the limb was bending downstream, straining against the pressure his body was exerting. He dashed hair from his eyes with one trembling hand, winced as he saw the needle-bed of rapids a hundred feet downstream. If that limb hadn’t been there—His mind shuddered away from the thought.
Weakly, he drew himself hand over hand upward, until the tree trunk was solidly below him. He dropped to the ground, and lay there, panting. Then he remembered the hands on his back. With a vicious motion, he jerked out his key ring. That was the answer — the key to the cuffs was gone, taken during the night, of course! Erle Masters, then, had pulled this prize play, or perhaps one of the outlaws, after Masters released him.
After a while, he came to his feet, took stock of his surroundings. Off to his left, a cliff side, and scarcely a half-mile distant, the pathetically awry hulk of the ship, on the top of the slope that stretched away.
The cliff side came into his vision again. A fault in the escarpment touched a hidden spot in his memory. He involuntarily started toward it. But he slowed up before he got to the fault — which was really a cave that tapered out to nothingness as its sides rose.
The cave!
And this sloping plain, these mountains, composed the surface of Asteroid 1007, millions of years from now.
Tony dropped emotionlessly to his knees at the mouth of the cave. Not so long ago, he had done the same thing. Then there had been a complete, undisjointed skeleton lying there. Somehow, then, he had known the skeleton existed before the human race — as if it were someone — the skeleton? — that had spoken to him across the unutterable years. The skeleton? That could not be! Yet, whence had come the memory?
He took the ring from his pocket and put it on his finger. It gleamed.
He knelt there for minutes, like a man who worships at his own grave, and he was not dead. Not dead! He took the ring from his finger, then, a cold, bleak smile growing on his face.
He came to his feet, a rising wind whipping at his hair. He took a half dozen running steps toward the river, brought his arm over his shoulder in a throwing gesture.
Somehow the ring slipped from his fingers and fell.
He stooped, picked it up. This time, he made it leave his hand. It spun away, twinkling in the faint sunlight. But the gravity had hold of it, and it fell on the brink of the river, plainly visible.
A dry, all-gone feeling rose in Tony’s throat. Grimly, he went forward, picked it up again. Keeping his eyes on it, he advanced to the brink of the river gorge. He held the ring over the darkly swirling waters, slowly released it.
It struck the river like a plummet. The waters enclosed it and it was gone. He looked at the spot where it had disappeared, half expecting it to spring back up into his hand. But it was gone. Gone for good!
He started dazedly back to the ship, moving in an unreal dream. Paradoxical that he had been able to get rid of it. It had dropped from his hand once, fallen short of the river once. The third time it had given up trying!
When he came up to the ship, Masters was standing at the stern, looking at the broken rocket jets. He turned, and saw Tony, water still dripping from his uniform. He fell back a step, face turned pallid.
Tony’s lips curled. “Who did it?”
“D-did what?”
“You know what I mean,” Tony bit out. He took three quick steps forward.
Masters saw that, and went reckless. Tony side-stepped him, brought his left arm around in a short arc. Masters went down cursing. Tony knelt, holding Masters down by the throat. He felt through his pockets, unearthed the key to the cuffs. Then he hauled Masters to his feet and shook him. Masters’ teeth clicked.
“Murderer!” Tony snapped, white with rage.
Masters broke loose. “I’d do it again,” he said wildly, and swung. He missed. Tony lashed out with the full power of his open palm, caught Masters on the side of the head. Masters went reeling back, slammed against the side of the ship. Tony glared at him, and then turned on his heel.
He met Laurette Overland coming down the stairs to the upper corridor.
“Lieutenant!” Her eyes danced with excitement. “I’ve been looking for you. Where in the world have you been?”
“Ask Masters.” He urged himself down the corridor, jaw set. She fell into step beside him, running to keep up with his long strides.
“You’re all wet!” she exclaimed. “Can’t you tell me what happened? Did you go swimming?”
“Involuntarily.” He kept on walking.
She grabbed his arm, and slowed him to a stop. An ominous glint replaced her excitement.
“What,” she said, “did you mean when you said I should ask Erle about it? Did he push you in? If he did, I’ll—” She was unable to speak.
Tony laughed humorlessly. “He admitted it. He stole my key to the handcuffs with the idea that it would be easier to free Braker and Yates that way after I was… uh… properly prepared to be a skeleton.”
Her head moved back and forth. “That’s horrible,” she said lowly. “Horrible.”
He held her eyes. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you about it,” he said, voice faintly acid. “He’s your fiancé, isn’t he?”