The Passenger Page 3
to sip again at each glasswhen the liquid splashed as she was going down. The ice tickled her noseand made her sneeze.
"You live a long way down," she said.
"I've got to be near my charges," he answered. "I told you I work on theship; I'm a zoologist classifying any of the new specimens ofextraterrestrial life they're always picking up. And I always get stuckwith the worst quarters on the ship. Why, I can't even call all my suitemy own. The whole front room is filled with some sort of ship's gearthat my steward stumbles over every meal time."
She went on and on, down and down. "How many flights?" she wondered."Two or twelve or twenty?" Now, why couldn't she remember? Only fourlittle sips and her mind felt so cloudy. Down another corridor, and whatwas that funny smell? These passages were poorly ventilated in the lowerlevels; probably that was what made her feel so dizzy.
"Only one more flight," he whispered. "Only one more."
Down and along and then the door. She paused, conscious of risingexcitement, conscious of her beating heart.
Dimly she noticed the sign on the door. "You--you mean whatever it isyou're taking care of is in there with you?"
"Don't be frightened," his persuasive thought came. "It can't hurt you.It's locked in a cage."
Then she slid the bolt and turned the handle. Her head hurt for aninstant; and she was inside, a blue and silver shadow in the dimanteroom, with the tray in her hand and the books under her arm and herpulse hammering.
She looked around the dim anteroom, at the spidery tangle of orange andblack ropes against the left-hand wall; then at the doorway in theright-hand wall with the warm light streaming through. He was standingin the second room, one hand on the chair for support, the otherextended toward her. For the first time he spoke aloud.
"Hello, butterfly," he said.
"Hello," she said. She smiled and walked forward into the light. Shereached out for his hand.
Then she stopped short, her hand pressed against an impenetrable wall.
* * * * *
She could see him standing there, smiling, reaching for her hand, butthere was an invisible barrier between them. Then, slowly, his roombegan to fade, the light dimmed, his figure grew watery, transparent,vanished. She was standing, staring at the riveted steel bulkhead of acompartment which was lit only by the dim light filtering through thethick glass over the transom.
She stood there frozen, and the ice in the glasses tinkled nervously.Then the tray slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Icyliquid splashed the silver sandals. In the silent gloom she stoodimmobile, her eyes wide in her white face, her fist pressed to hermouth, stifling a scream.
Something touched her gently at head and wrist and ankle--all over herbody. The web clung, delicate as lace, strong as steel.
Even if she had been able to move, she could not have broken free as thething against the wall began to clamber down the strands on eight furredlegs.
"Hello, butterfly," he said again.
--KENNETH HARMON
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Galaxy Science Fiction_ February 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.