Weird Space 2: Satan's Reach Read Online Free PDF Page A

wondered where the barge was heading, and how long it might take to reach its destination. What had Zeela said about the Ajantans’ subterranean lair?
    Zeela... he wondered if she were at the spaceport now, waiting for him. Or... had she seen his collapse in The Rat and Corpse, and Rasnic carry him from the premises?
    On any civilised world he might have expected Zeela to have summoned the judiciary, but he was on Ajanta now. No human police force kept order here; it was a lawless world governed by the inscrutable edicts of the green men. Humans were here on penance, the descendants of the starship crash five centuries ago, and as such knew no better.
    He tried again to tug his arm from under the obese crone, and gave up seconds later when the cartilage of his shoulder threatened to snap.
    Unbidden he recalled the images he’d gleaned from Zeela when he’d briefly accessed her thoughts. He vicariously shared her horror of what, one day, would happen to her. He could not shut out her fear, or the attendant images: a slithering mass of green Ajantans taking their pleasure with comatose humans. The vision made him retch.
    He recalled the words of the old space captain. “The Ajantans take their pleasure with you when you’re living, and then when you succumb to the poisons in their... secretions, let’s say... you go into painful paralysis. This lasts up to a week, during which you still suffer the indignity of the aliens’ lust. Then, mercifully, you expire. But, you see, there’s a preservative in the Ajantan’s jism that keeps you fresh for a month while they continue to take their pleasure...”
    A hot wave of nausea rose from his midriff. He tried to vomit but evidently he’d emptied his stomach earlier. He closed his eyes and drifted into unconsciousness, smiling at the thought of the atolls of Amahla.
    A sound brought him to his senses.
    He turned his head with difficulty and stared through the bars behind him. Something splashed in the water. A bellyfish, perhaps, anticipating an early feast of human corpses.
    The canal appeared calm, but he made out a slim shape just beneath the surface, swimming towards the gunwale. It rose from the water beside the boat in a sleek cascade.
    He almost cried out in alarmed surprise, but Zeela gripped the bars beside his head and, with her free hand, pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhh!” she whispered. “We are one kilometre from the caves where the Ajantans will unload you. We must work fast.”
    “Fine, but...”
    She gripped the bars with both hands, her pointed chin just above the surface of the water. “Under no circumstances,” she warned, “attempt to overcome the green man. They are ferocious and he would kill you in seconds.”
    “I had no intention of attacking it,” he said.
    “Are you still drugged? Can you move?”
    “A little,” he hissed. “But I feel...” It seemed weak to admit to feeling sick, so he held his tongue.
    Zeela removed a hand from the bar, slipping it beneath the material of her dress. “Chew this,” she said.
    She passed what looked like a twig into the cage. He took it with his free hand. “Chew?”
    “It will counter the effects of the dhoor and give you energy.”
    He took a bite and tasted liquorice, or something similar. He chewed, then swallowed the resultant saliva, and within seconds his nausea abated.
    Zeela said, “The bars are flimsy. They can easily be prised apart. The Ajantans expect none of their drugged cargo to try to escape.”
    “There is just one slight problem,” he whispered. “My left arm is lodged tight beneath...” He indicated the bloated human to his left. He tugged on his arm to illustrate his plight.
    Zeela twisted her mouth in a frown, assessing the situation, then quickly reached through the bars. Her hand found the woman’s face and covered her nose and mouth. Seconds later the crone spluttered, thrashing as she fought for breath.
    Zeela flashed him an imperative look. He took the hint and,