Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1959 by The Dark Destroyers (v1.1) Page B

he saw Orrin Lyle gazing at the girl, in a strange mood of mingled
suspicion and relish.
                 The
second cup she gave to Lyle, and seated herself with the third cup in her hand.
"All right," she smiled to Darragh. "Begin."
                 He
told them, as briefly as possible, about how his people lived in the tropics;
how a group of chieftains planned a counter-assault on the Cold Creatures; and
how he had gone out as a spy and a scout, to what adventures so far. Both
Brenda Thompson and Orrin Lyle asked frequent questions. To illustrate his
tale, Darragh fumbled inside his leather suit to drag his drawings from his
belt-pouch and offer them.
                 "This
is the kind of shelter the Owners make?" asked Brenda Thompson. "I've
never seen one."
                 "Never
seen one?" echoed Darragh. "How did you get in here?"
                 "I
was bom here," she told him, and handed the sketches to Lyle. "He
draws very well, doesn't he, Orrin?"
                 "Very
well indeed," granted Lyle. "Now, Mr. Darragh, I find a couple of odd
points in your story."
                 "Odd
points?" echoed Darragh sharply.
                " Oh," and Lyle grinned, showing big, even teeth, "I didn't mean I thought you
were telling lies."
                 "Let's
hope not," said Darragh.
                "I meant your attitude toward
the Owners—what you call the Cold People. You say you argued against those
chiefs of yours. You urged a policy of waiting for the right time."
                 "And
that's what I did," Darragh assured him.
                "Yet,"
went on Lyle, sipping his tea, "just now you started talking about escape
from here, when the rest of us are content to wait for the right time.
                 "And
how long have you waited for the right time?" inquired Darragh.
                 "Some years now. We don't want to go off half-cocked."
                "Apparendy you don't. When do
you think the right time will come?"
                 Lyle's
eyes grew narrow in thought. "Perhaps not for years," he replied. "Perhaps not for generations. We have an escape
committee, made up of our best minds, gathering knowledge, studying . . ."
                 "Hold
on," interrupted Darragh unceremoniously. "It just happens that I
can't wait for years or generations. I have to get back home and make my report
to the council of chiefs."
                 "Indeed?"
Lyle's grin was harsh again above his teacup. "And just how do you propose
to escape?"
                 "I'm
not quite sure yet," Darragh was forced to admit, and felt his ire grow
warmer as Lyle's grin broadened. "Yet," and he forced himself to
speak calmly and coolly, "it ought to be possible. There are about thirty
people here, and . . ."
                 "These
people obey me, Darragh," Lyle reminded him, frostily and blundy.
"They're my people. I'm related to many of them, and I'm a friend of all
of them."
                 "I
want to be their friend, too," Darragh tried to temporize. He glanced
toward the front window. "They're out there now, and they seem mighty
interested in what's going on in here."
                 "They
understand cooperation and discipline," elaborated Lyle. "They put
their trust in the committee."
                 "Please,"
spoke up Brenda Thompson. "Mr. Darragh's our guest, Orrin."
                 "Thank
you, ma'am," said Darragh.
                "An uninvited guest, you might
say," rejoined Lyle. "I don't want to be impolite or stubborn,
Darragh, but you must realize that we are scientists here."
                 "Scientists?"
repeated Darragh:
                "How's the state of science
down there in your jungle?" "Why," said Darragh, "we do
what we can ..." "And what can you do? Do you have electricity or
steam