The SPHERE of SLEEP
By CHESTER S. GEIER
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories December1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"I've got to kill you, Big Tim. I've just got to kill you! I wantLaura—and you're standing in my way...."
The thought beat urgently and continuously in Brad Nellon's mind. He wasabsorbed in it to the extent that the terrible Titanian gale whichroared beyond the shelter of his thermalloy suit was forgotten.
Beside him, the object of his deadly thoughts strode unknowing. Hislarge, brown face crinkled in a grin of boyish enjoyment, Tim Austin wasfighting his way through the fierce drive of wind and snow. That grinwas always there. It was as much a part of him as his thick, tow hair,his gentle brown eyes and giant's frame. He was big and carefree, andlife ran rich and full in his veins.
On Brad Nellon's face there was no enjoyment in the battle against thestorm. There was not even his usual resentment of the bitter cold andthe thick, white snow. His grey eyes were covered with a heavy film ofthought. He walked in a world where there was no storm save that of hisemotions, no reality outside of the imagery constructed by his brain.His stocky, powerful form plodded along mechanically.
They moved in a world of snow and ice and screaming wind. Greatpinnacles and ridges, worn into fantastic shapes by the gale, towered onevery side. The curtain of snow occasionally lifted to reveal whitehills marching upon white hills, huge, glittering ice sheets, yawningchasms. And sometimes, farther in the distance, there would be awesomealien vistas.
The dark thread of Brad Nellon's thoughts was broken abruptly by thesudden hum of his helmet earphones. He looked up with guilty quickness.Awareness of his companion, of the frigid hell of his Titaniansurroundings, rushed back in a flood.
"On the watch, guy," the voice of Big Tim Austin cautioned. "We'realmost near Tower Point."
Nellon moved his head in a jerky nod of understanding. His eyes probedmomentarily into those of the other, then dropped quickly back to thesnow. His earphones hummed again.
"Say, Brad, anything wrong?"
Nellon's face tautened in sudden panic. Again his eyes flashed toAustin. But he did not find in them the suspicion which he expected.There was only solicitous wonder.
"I'm all right," Nellon answered. "Just a bit tired, that's all." Herealized that his voice sounded hoarse and unnatural. With masked gaze,he tried to learn its effect upon Austin.
But it was the content of his voice, not its tone which had registeredupon Big Tim. Nellon was startled by the unexpected flood of vehemencewhich poured in through his earphones.
"That's the result of short rations, damn it! I knew it would get ussooner or later. We should've been on our way home long ago. The wholeexpedition has been a mess from beginning to end.
"You shouldn't have come with me, Brad, when I volunteered to go afterold Ryska's stuff. But I thought it would be all right, because we'rethe only real he men among all those runty scientists. They're good fornothing but theory-spinning. They've thrown the expedition off schedulewith their mental butterfly chasing, and got the rest of us down onshort rations. And now, just as we're ready to leave at last, one ofthem has to remember