Bradbury, Ray - SSC 13 Read Online Free PDF Page A

shards, a discarded profile cleft in
two pieces, a shell segment that had been a thigh, a trace of arm, a splint of
chest—these were the fractured remains of Smith!
                   Smith was gone. Rockwell staggered to the
table, crushed. Scrabbling like a child among the rattling papyrus of skin.
Then he swung about, as if drunk, and swayed out of the room and pounded up the
stairs, shouting:
                   "Hartley! What did you do with him?
Hartley! Did you think you could kill him, dispose of his body, and leave a few
bits of shell behind to throw me off trail?"
                   The door to the room where McGuire and Hartley
had slept was locked. Fumbling, Rockwell unlocked it. Both McGuire and Hartley
were there.
                   "You're here," said Rockwell, dazed.
"You weren't downstairs, then. Or did you unlock the door, come down,
break in, kill Smith and—no, no."
                   "What's wrong?"
                   "Smith's gone! McGuire, did Hartley move
out of this room?"
                   "Not all night.'*
                   "Then—there's only one explanation—Smith
emerged from his chrysalis and escaped during the night! I'll never see him,
I'll never get to see him, damn it! What a fool I was to sleep!"
                   "That settles it!" declared Hartley.
"The man's dangerous or he would have stayed and let us see him! God only
knows what he is."
                   "We've got to search, then. He can't be
far off. We’ve got to search then! Quick now. Hartley. McGuire!"
                   McGuire sat heavily down. "I won't budge.
Let him find himself. I've had enough."
                   Rockwell didn't wait to hear more. He went
downstairs with Hartley close after him. McGuire puffed down a few moments
later.
                   Rockwell moved wildly down the hall, halted at
the wide windows that overlooked the desert and the mountains with morning
shining over them. He squinted out, and wondered if there was any chance at all
of finding Smith. The first superbeing. The first perhaps in a new long line.
Rockwell sweated. Smith wouldn't leave without revealing himself to at least
Rockwell. He couldn't leave. Or could he?
                   The kitchen door swung open, slowly.
                   A foot stepped through the door, followed by
another. A hand lifted against the wall. Cigarette smoke moved from pursed
lips.
                   "Somebody looking for me?"
                   Stunned, Rockwell turned. He saw the
expression on Hartley's face, heard McGuire choke with surprise. The three of
them spoke one word together, as if given their cue:
                   "Smith."
                   Smith exhaled cigarette smoke. His face was
red-pink as he had been sunburnt, his eyes were glittering blue.
                   He was barefoot and his nude body was attired
in one of Rockwell's old robes.
                   "Would you mind telling me where I am?
What have I been doing for the last three or four months? Is this a—hospital or
isn't it?"
                   Dismay slammed Rockwell's mind, hard. He
swallowed.
                   "Hello. I. That is— Don't you
remember—anything?"
                   Smith displayed his fingertips. "I recall
turning green, if that's what you mean. Beyond that—nothing." He raked his
pink hand through his nut-brown hair with the vigor of a creature newborn and
glad to breathe again.
                   Rockwell slumped back against the wall. He
raised his hands, with shock, to his eyes, and shook his head. Not believing
what he saw he said, "What time did you come out of the chrysalis?'*
                   "What time did I come out of—what?"
                   Rockwell took him down the hall to the next
room and