“Sir,” Rosemary said hesitantly, “You know what she meant, don’t you? They want all the humans to go. They want their planet back.”
“Let go,” Rosemary ordered. Lamont realized that he was still tightly gripping the arms of the medic, perhaps more now for his own comfort than hers. He forced his hands to open, and Rosemary rushed to the side of the captain, who lay in a twisted position near the pool, propped weakly on his arms. He waved the young woman away, but she ignored the gesture, looking closely into his ashen face before moving to examine his left leg. In the yellow glow of the lamp, which she had pulled from Lamont’s coat without his noticing, Lamont could see a vine-like pattern of etchings in the silver material of Carter’s pant leg where the alien’s tendrils had been.
Reminded of the alien, Lamont looked up to see what she was doing now. He was just in time to see the hatch that separated the cave from the subterranean home of the centipidal natives sliding quietly closed. The creature was gone. Looking around, he could see that the misshapen humanoids had also retreated, either deeper into the shadows beyond his view, or away from the cave entirely. It made Lamont feel as if they were alone under a fading spotlight after the final act of a tragic play. A melodramatic vignette, Rosemary tending to the tragic figure of the captain on one side, Lamont standing stiffly on the other, arms wrapped around himself—a stoic narrator who had been given no lines. And in the center of it all, the twice-dead body of Rex O’Neil. Come what may, Lamont found himself thinking, Rex would always be in the center now.
The newspaperman’s introspection was broken by Carter’s groan as he pulled himself to his feet. At first, he waved off Rosemary’s help, but when he tried to put weight on his left leg, it collapsed under him. The medic quickly positioned herself under his arm to keep him from falling.
The captain grimaced. “Lamont, I’ll need you to carry Rex.”
Lamont and Rosemary exchanged glances. Rosemary was clearly strong, but she was three-quarters the captain’s size. She shook her head subtly, strands of reddish hair falling over her face.
“I think it’s going to take both of us to get you back to the lift,” Lamont said.
“We can’t leave him here!” Francis protested.
“Then we’ll get help,” Lamont offered, “As soon as our radios are working again.”
The captain looked at the contorted body, his face stiffening. “No,” he said after a few moment’s consideration. “We’re not coming back. We promised that much.”
All Go. The alien’s droned words came back to Lamont’s mind.
“Sir,” Rosemary said hesitantly, “You know what she meant, don’t you? They want all the humans to go. They want their planet back.”
The expression on Carter’s face hardened. “We can’t do that,” he said with finality. “Perhaps someday. Not now.”
He did know, Lamont thought. He had made a bargain that couldn’t be kept for a life that couldn’t be saved.
Next: Familiar Voices
Author’s Note: Don’t miss the exciting conclusion of With What Strange Eyes? next week from Page of Pulp! If you’re enjoying PoP, please be sure to share it with a friend. Your likes, comments and subscriptions are my motivation to keep writing, and a little bit of feedback makes a big difference. Be seeing you! -ETT