Part 2

But despite the doctor's pessimistic reports that the changes had not stopped, Barry continued to tell himself he was recovering. He had to believe and keep on believing to retain sanity in the face of the weird, unclassifiable feelings that surged through his body. Still he was subject to fits of almost suicidal depression, and Dorothy's failure to visit him did not help his mental condition.

Then one day he woke from a nap and thought he was still dreaming. Dorothy was leaning over him.

"Barry! Barry!" she whispered. "I can't help it. I love you even if you do have a wife and child in Philadelphia. I know it's wrong but all that seems so far away it doesn't matter any more." Tears glistened in her eyes.

"Huh?" he grunted. "Who? Me?"

"Please, Barry, don't lie. She wrote to me before Three blasted off--oh, the most piteous letter!"

Barry was fully awake now. "I'm not married. I have no child. I've never been in Philadelphia," he shouted. His lips thinned. "I--think--I--know--who--wrote--that--letter!" he declared grimly.

"Robson wouldn't!" she objected, shocked, but there was a note of doubt in her voice.

Then she was in his arms, sobbing openly.

"I believe you, Barry."

She stayed with him for hours, and she had changed since the days at Training Base. Long months away from the patterned restraints of civilization, living each day on the edge of unknown perils, had awakened in her the realization that she was a human being and a woman, as well as a toxicologist.

When the water-mist finally forced her departure she left Barry joyous and confident of his eventual recovery. For a few minutes anger simmered in his brain as he contemplated the pleasure of rearranging Robson Hind's features.

The accident with the scaffold had been remarkably convenient, but this time the ruthless, restless, probably psychopathic drive that had made Robson Hind more than just another rich man's spoiled son had carried him too far. Barry wondered whether it had been inefficiency or judiciously distributed money that had made the psychometrists overlook some undesirable traits in Hind's personality in accepting him for the Five Ship Plan.

But even with his trickery Hind had lost.

He slept, and woke with a feeling of doom.

The slow Venusian twilight had ended in blackness and the overhead tubelight was off.

He sat up, and apprehension gave way to burning torture in his chest.

Silence! He fumbled for the light switch, then knelt beside the mist machine that no longer hummed. Power and water supplies were both dead, cut off outside his room.

Floating droplets were merging and falling to the floor. Soon the air would be dry, and he would be choking and strangling. He turned to call for help.

The door was locked!

He tugged and the knob came away in his hand. The retaining screw had been removed.

He beat upon the panel, first with his fists and then with the metal doorknob, but the insulation between the double alloy sheets was efficient soundproofing. Furiously he hurled himself upon it, only to bounce back with a bruised shoulder. He was trapped.

Working against time and eventual death he snatched a metal chair and swung with all his force at the window, again, again, yet again. A small crack appeared in the transparent plastic, branched under continued hammering, became a rough star. He gathered his waning strength, then swung once more. The tough plastic shattered.

He tugged at the jagged pieces still clinging to the frame. Fog-laden Venusian air poured in--but it was not enough!

He dragged himself head first through the narrow opening, landed sprawling on hands and knees in the darkness. In his ears a confused rustling drone from the alien swamp mingled with the roar of approaching unconsciousness.

There was a smell in his nostrils. The smell of water. He lurched forward at a shambling run, stumbling over the uneven ground.

Then he plunged from the rocky ledge into the slough. Flashes of colored light flickered before his eyes as he went under. But Earth habits were still strong; instinctively he held his breath.

Then he fainted. Voluntary control of his body vanished. His mouth hung slack and the breathing reflex that had been an integral part of his life since the moment of birth forced him to inhale.

Bubbles floated upward and burst. Then Barry Barr was lying in the ooze of the bottom. And he was breathing, extracting vital oxygen from the brackish, silt-clouded water.

III

Slowly his racing heartbeat returned to normal. Gradually he became aware of the stench of decaying plants and of musky taints he knew instinctively were the scents of underwater animals. Then with a shock the meaning became clear. He had become a water-breather, cut off from all other Earthmen, no longer entirely human. His fellows in the colony were separated from him now by a gulf more absolute than the airless void between Earth and Venus.

Something slippery and alive touched him near one armpit. He opened his eyes in the black water and his groping hand clutched something burrowing into his skin. With a shudder of revulsion he crushed a fat worm between his fingers.

Then dozens of them--hundreds--were upon him from all sides. He was wearing only a pair of khaki pants but the worms ignored his chest to congregate around his face, intent on attacking the tender skin of his eyelids.

For a minute his flailing hands fought them off, but they came in increasing numbers and clung like leeches. Pain spread as they bit and burrowed, and blindly he began to swim.

Faster and faster. He could sense the winding banks of the slough and kept to midchannel, swimming with his eyes tightly closed. One by one the worms dropped off.

He stopped, opened his eyes, not on complete darkness this time but on a faint blue-green luminescence from far below. The water was saltier here, and clearer.

He had swum down the slough and out into the ocean. He tried to turn back, obsessed by a desire to be near the colony even though he could not go ashore without strangling, but he had lost all sense of direction.

He was still weak and his lungs were not completely adjusted to underwater life. Again he grew dizzy and faint. The slow movements of hands and feet that held him just below the surface grew feeble and ceased. He sank.

Down into dimly luminous water he dropped, and with his respiratory system completely water-filled there was no sensation of pressure. At last he floated gently to the bottom and lay motionless.

Shouting voices awakened him, an exultant battle cry cutting through a gasping scream of anguish. Streaks of bright orange light were moving toward him in a twisting pattern. At the head of each trail was a figure. A human figure that weaved and swam in deadly moving combat. One figure drifted limply bottomward.

Hallucination, Barry told himself. Then one of the figures broke from the group. Almost overhead it turned sharply downward and the feet moved in a powerful flutter-kick. A slender spear aimed directly at the Earthman.

Barry threw himself aside. The spear point plunged deep into the sticky, yielding bottom and Barry grappled with its wielder.

Pointed fingernails raked his cheek. Barry's balled fist swung in a roundhouse blow but water resistance slowed the punch to ineffectiveness. The creature only shook its head and came in kicking and clawing.

Barry braced his feet against the bottom and leaped. His head butted the attacker's chest and at the same instant he lashed a short jab to the creature's belly. It slumped momentarily, its face working.

Human--or nearly so--the thing was, with a stocky, powerful body and webbed hands and feet. A few scraps of clothing, seemingly worn more for ornament than covering, clung to the fishbelly-white skin. The face was coarse and savage.

It shook off the effects of Barry's punch and one webbed hand snatched a short tube from its belt.

Barry remembered the spring-opening knife in his pocket, and even as he flicked the blade out the tube-weapon fired. Sound thrummed in the water and the water grew milky with a myriad of bubbles. Something zipped past his head, uncomfortably close.

Then Barry struck, felt his knife slice flesh and grate against bone. He struck again even as the undersea being screamed and went limp.

Barry stared through the reddening water.

Another figure plunged toward him. Barry jerked the dead Venusian's spear from the mud and raised it defensively.

But the figure paid no attention. This one was a female who fled desperately from two men closing in from opposite sides. One threw his spear, using an odd pushing motion, and as she checked and dodged, the other was upon her from behind.

One arm went around her neck in a strangler's hold, bending her slender body backward. Together captor and struggling captive sank toward the bottom. The other recovered his thrown spear and moved in to help secure her arms and legs with lengths of cord.

One scooped up the crossbow the girl had dropped. The other ripped at her brief skirt and from her belt took a pair of tubes like the one the dead Venusian had fired at Barry, handling them as though they were loot of the greatest value. He jerked cruelly at the slender metallic necklace the girl wore but it did not break.

He punched the helpless girl in the abdomen with the butt of his spear. The girl writhed but she did not attempt to cry out.

Barry bounded toward them in a series of soaring leaps, knife and spear ready. One Venusian turned to meet him, grinning maliciously.

Barry dug one foot into the bottom and sidestepped a spear thrust. His own lunge missed completely. Then he and the Venusian were inside each other's spear points, chest to chest. A pointed hook strapped to the inside of the creature's wrist just missed Barry's throat. The Earthman arched his body backward and his knife flashed upward. The creature gasped and pulled away, clutching with both hands at a gaping wound in its belly.

The other one turned too late as Barry leaped.

Barry's hilt cracked against its jawbone.

* * * * *

Barry bent over the girl and realized with a start that she was different.

Her skin was a strange blue-brown. Her features were delicate, intelligent, very different from the savage faces of the males he had battled. Her dark hair grew further down the back of her neck than was customary on Earth, forming a short, silky mane between her shoulder blades.

She was slender of body, except that the muscles running down her sides from armpit to waist were amazingly well developed. Her high-set, compactly pointed breasts were uncovered, and he could see that any sort of upper clothing would interfere with full use of those unusual swimming muscles. Her skirt was short and close-fitting.

Her eyes, though, were filled with hatred, defiance, terror.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, hoping his tone would convey the meaning.

She seemed more puzzled than grateful as he slid the knife gently between her ankles to sever the binding cords, and she shrank under his touch as he rolled her over to reach her wrists.

"There you are," he said, and started to straighten up.

Something struck him from above and many hands clutched at him. Within seconds he was flat in the mud. Two Venusians held each arm and leg.

Another stood over him with spear poised.

But the girl shouted and grasped the spearman's arm.

The girl spoke with rapid urgency, pointing from Barry to her erstwhile captors.

Barry could not believe his ears. The sounds were familiar. He could even understand a word here and there, and in these entirely alien surroundings the effect was eerie.

A Venusian looked at the pink clouds of diluted blood rising from the bodies, then gazed apprehensively up into the dimness overhead.

"Kill him quickly and let us go," he suggested. "The torvaks will soon come."

The girl turned upon him. "He lives!" she snapped. "From what yort he comes I know not, but assuredly he is no noru!"

Although his right arm was pinioned Barry still clutched his knife. Now the girl stooped and touched his fist without attempting to pry it open. Barry surrendered the weapon.

The men allowed him to sit up, but they remained wary. Meanwhile the girl was examining the knife with intense interest.

Barry smiled at her, and being careful to make no sudden motions that might be misinterpreted he held out his hand. Hesitantly she laid the knife on his palm while around him his guards raised their spears and crossbows.

He closed the blade. Then, showing her exactly how it was done, he pressed the button that let the five-inch blade snick out. Repeating the demonstration, he handed it back with a gesture indicating it was a gift.

The girl smiled and spoke to him, and although most of her words were unintelligible he gathered she was asking if he wanted to accompany them. Emphatically he nodded, overcome with a sudden dread of being left alone on the sea bottom.

Her suggestion created consternation among the others.

"We must consult Komso," one suggested uneasily.

The girl frowned. "We do not consult Komso," she contradicted. "I take full responsibility."

The man shrugged. "Let us go before the torvaks come," he evaded.

Weapons were slung for carrying and the band leaped from the bottom and began swimming. Barry followed, keeping close beside the girl.

Although he relied more on power than skill he found himself able to maintain their fast pace. He soon caught the knack of using the webs between his fingers and toes.

And muscles trained under Earth gravity and without water support seemed superior to those of the Venusians.

The men talked as they swam, and Barry remembered where he had heard those particular combinations of sounds before.

A construction job had once taken him to an almost inaccessible mountain section of Mexico and there he had picked up a few words of the dialect used by the native Indian laborers. Aztec? Incan? Mayan? Something predating all three? He had no idea of its origin, but the similarity opened astounding trails of speculation.

The girl, he learned from hearing the others address her, was named Xintel.

* * * * *

An undersea cliff loomed craggy and irregular ahead. As the group slanted up toward a black hole in its face the voices of the men took on tones of happy relief.

But the girl was frowning.

The group which had held together compactly during the long swim broke up, each man heading for the cave mouth at top speed. Barry saw that huge boulders had been piled one upon another to narrow the entrance until not more than three abreast could pass.

Xintel motioned to Barry to stay close behind her. She seemed to be anticipating trouble.

It came as they started to enter. A huge, bull-necked man with a well fed appearance in marked contrast to the lean muscularity of the other Venusians, stepped out and barred their passage, arms outflung. Heavy glittering bracelets jangled on his wrists. Something in the contrived melodrama of his gestures told Barry that unseen eyes were watching from the darkness.

"Xintel! What is this thing you bring to the portal of Tana?" the man asked harshly.

The girl stood her ground. "He comes with me!"

"He's an alien. He must die!" The man's tone was arrogant.

Xintel stiffened angrily. "He will not be killed, Komso. He is not a noru."

Komso's face reddened angrily. "But he is--" he began, and then stopped abruptly.

"You would take this one, then, into Tana itself?" His voice conveyed the impression that such a course was unheard of.

The girl nodded, motioning Barry to follow.

"Sacrilege! Offspring of a blasphemer!" Komso shouted.

Xintel did not pause.

Komso motioned and someone in the dark tunnel behind him placed a loaded crossbow in his hands. He swung the weapon to cover the Earthman.

"Over my dead body shall this alien thing enter Tana," he snarled.

Barry stood motionless and helpless, trying to conceal his fear.

Xintel's voice was coldly defiant. "So be it, then. Over your dead body, if you insist."

With a movement of feline grace and speed she snatched a tube-weapon from her belt. She was bluffing. Barry had seen the savages who had captured her test the weapons and find them unloaded. But Komso had not.

His face grew pale but his slitted eyes glared murder. "You bring your own death. I tried only to save you from the consequences of your folly."

He turned and swam into the opening.

Xintel did not allow herself the vestige of a smile. Instead she grabbed Barry's wrist and pulled him after her into the black hole. In the darkness she passed him his knife.

The passage was several hundred yards long but the girl guided him unerringly around its turns. The Earthman's nerves were jangling.

IV

They rounded a sharp bend and Barry gasped at the vista before him. The passage opened into a tremendous cavern.

Far below on the bowl-shaped floor sprawled a town composed of cylindrical houses higher than they were wide, scattered in an irregular pattern.

He looked upward for the source of the cold yellow light flooding everything, and a few yards above his head lay a flat silvery plane. Just below it the water glowed, like the phosphorescence that microscopic life forms cause in the tropic seas of Earth--but a thousand times brighter.

The men from Xintel's group had taken no part in her altercation with Komso save to watch in uneasy silence. Now they were scattering downward toward the houses. Nearly all had been joined by waiting women, but Barry saw two women swimming pitifully and dejectedly alone. The battle into which he had been precipitated had not been without its casualties.

He stared about as Xintel led him in a long dive. On the bottom were trees--he had no other name for them--with stiff trunks and snake-like branches supported by air-filled knobs.

Their pale leaves were covered with minute bubbles that gave them a frosty appearance despite the warmth of the water.

There were no streets or paths between the cylindrical houses, but in small areas around the entrances the bright varicolored seaweed-moss had been worn away by Venusian feet.

A few Venusians eyed them in curiosity as they swam downward, but none approached.

They touched bottom beside one of the houses. Xintel pushed aside a curtain covering the circular doorway. Barry saw the house was constructed by training and grafting a number of the large trees until they intertwined. Its foundations were the roots that clung to irregularities in the rocks.

There were no windows, and for a moment after the girl let the curtain fall into place it was pitch black. Then suddenly the circular room was brilliantly lighted.

From the ceiling hung a globe a foot in diameter, the translucent floatation chamber of some subaqueous plant. It was spinning at the end of a twisted cord, the luminous milky fluid it contained stirred by the motion.

Xintel sighed wearily and hung up her crossbow. Then with a graceful leap she vanished through a hatchway in the ceiling.

She returned, floating down with a pair of pronged darts and a small round box with bubbles dribbling upward in a steady stream through the perforated lid. She opened it and, with a fingertip, smeared a dab of vermilion paste on the base of each dart. Then she pushed the missiles base first into her tube-weapons, twisting them until a latch caught.

Her weapons prepared, the girl turned back to the Earthman and made the universal gesture of eating. Barry had no idea how long it had been since he had eaten, and for the first time since the Sigma sickness began he was really hungry. He nodded.

She leaped upward and he followed her to a second windowless room above the first, then up through another hatchway to a third. This was the top of the house, for through an opening in the flat roof he could look up into open water. Several baskets, woven of strips of undersea wood and equipped with close-fitting lids, stood along the wall. In a wooden cage a few dozen strange fish swam sluggishly.

With her bare hands Xintel caught one and pulled it out. She picked up a dagger of the same material as the spears--an unfamiliar substance which Barry had had no chance to examine closely--and jumped to the open roof. She returned a few minutes later with the fish neatly cleaned and divided into halves.

Barry was hungry but Earth habits were still strong. The girl saw his involuntary grimace. She looked hurt. He forced himself to take a bite of the raw fish and to his amazement found it pleasant. Evidently his taste organs had changed with the rest of his body.

From the baskets Xintel took other foods of vegetable origin. Barry ate ravenously.

The cumulative effects of fatigue overwhelmed him even as he finished. He felt a sense of dreamlike unreality and detachment, as though nothing mattered. The girl too appeared tired but he could see she was bursting with curiosity. He appreciated her restraint in not bombarding him with questions. At her gesture he stepped through the hatch and floated down to the middle room.

The light there had gone dim but she gave the globe a deft spin that brightened it again. She motioned to a wide pallet woven of resilient fiber, and he lay down at once. There were no coverings, no need for them in the soothingly warm water.

Despite his tiredness Barry's nerves were still tense and twitching, and he kept hearing soft sounds as the girl moved about the room. After several minutes he opened his eyes again.

Xintel had removed her brief skirt and was wearing only her silvery necklace. She was anointing herself with an oily salve that sent a pleasantly pungent odor through the water, giving special attention to her wrists and ankles where the cords of the norus had chafed them and to the livid bruises that were developing on other portions of her slender body. She paused and smiled at him, not at all embarrassed.

Finally she came toward the pallet and without hesitation lay down beside him. She stretched and moved slightly until she found a comfortable position, and then her breathing took on the slow regularity of sleep while the light dimmed.

For a while Barry remained awake. Half-formed questions spun madly through his mind but when he tried to think rationally his tired brain balked.

* * * * *

He woke and sat up, floated up from the pallet in the unaccustomed support of the black water, settled back slowly while he strove to winnow true memories from the remnants of nightmare. The girl woke and spoke questioningly. It required great concentration on Barry's part to understand and answer, for he had forgotten much of what he had learned from those Mexican laborers.

"Yes, I feel better," he said hesitantly. "But--."

In the blackness their bodies touched accidentally. Her skin was warm and smooth, soft but with the firmness of underlying muscle. After a long moment she drew away.

Barry blinked as she spun the light into brilliance. Her dressing was a simple and brief process, and then she turned to him with an intent look on her face.

"You come here from the Above." It was more statement than question.

Barry nodded.

"But from what yort? And how did your people change to live in the Above?"

"I come from Earth."

"Earth?" she repeated with a puzzled frown. "There is no yort beneath the seas called Earth."

Trying to explain was like describing color to a man born blind. With the surface of Venus she seemed to have a slight familiarity, but she had never glimpsed planets or stars, never seen the sun.

"You are from the World Beyond--and yet you are alive!" she said in awe.

She smiled and seemed relieved when Barry hastily assured her there was nothing supernatural about his place of origin, but she understood only that he was not an undersea dweller by birth. She hurried on to other questions.