A Vision of Hell: The Realms of Tartarus, Book Two by Brian Stableford

Author:Brian Stableford [Stableford, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: post holocaustkeywords, science fiction, utopia, adventure, space station
ISBN: 9781434447647
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2012-11-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

The camp was sleeping. That included Gregor Zuvara, who was notionally on watch. The rotation of sentry duty was regarded as a nuisance by most members of the expedition, who felt that they had better—or at least more interesting—things to do with their time. Hardly anyone thought that it was necessary, anyhow. They had all seen the rat-man, who did not seem a fearsome creature at all: child-size and sleeping peacefully. Zuvara, who had been at least partly responsible for the establishment of the duty, was even more off-handed about it than most. His attempt to stay awake on the night watch had been distinctly half-hearted. (In Underworld terms, of course, they were all night watches. But the expedition was still keeping religiously to Overworld timing.) Zuvara was not expecting visitors.

The attitude of the Overworlders to the matter of security was mildly curious. It was not that they were not afraid—every one of them was fully conscious of being a stranger in an alien world. But their fear did not make them vigilant. They were unsure in their reaction to what they felt. The instinctive alertness which should have been associated with it was not quite gone, but their instincts were unrehearsed, blocked out of their being by the i-minus effect. Their fear was not constructive.

Joth Magner, though, had learned the meaning of fear. The i-minus agent had been leached from his body, and he had slept for very long periods after his initial introduction into Stalhelm. He had dreamed, and his mind had learned. Now he knew how to use his fear, how to accommodate and respond to it. When he came from the edge of the Swithering Waste into the camp of the Heaven-sent he moved like a man of Hell. Silently, carefully, balanced on the adrenalin thread of his emotional tension. He led the way, and Iorga followed. They went straight for the tent which Chemec had indicated to them, not even pausing to relieve the sleeping lookout of his gun.

The tent to which they came was one of the largest—a vast plastic inflatable supported on rigidified half-hoops. Its door was inset, with a press-seal and an antechamber. Offset from the antechamber were shower baths connected to giant steel cylinders containing a sterilizing agent. The heavy suits for outdoor wear were gathered in a long series in a second invagination of the inner chamber. Joth and Iorga came through easily, leaving both seals undone and the flaps caught back, in case a hasty exit became necessary. That they were exposing the men in the tent to possible contamination did not worry Joth. Indeed, he found a certain wry pleasure in the idea. He had been pitched into the Underworld without protective clothing, with no face-mask or gloves, and he had survived. If these men wanted to get to know the Underworld, then they could get to know it his way, and welcome.

Once inside, Joth searched the tent carefully with his eyes. There was absolutely no sign of Camlak.

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