A Place in the Sun by Stephen Marlowe (beautiful books to read txt) 📗

quickly, he rushed toward the control board, rushed blindly in its direction, or in the direction he thought it would be, tripped over something, sprawled on the hot, blistering floor, got himself up somehow, crawled forward, pulled himself upright….

There was no sensation in his fingers. He did not know if he had actually reached the control board but abruptly he realized that he had not felt Mayhem’s presence in his mind for several minutes. Was Mayhem conserving his energy for a final try, letting Larry absorb the punishment now so he—

Yes, Larry remembered thinking vaguely. It had to be that. For Mayhem knew how to work the controls, and he did not. Now his mind receded into a fog of semi-consciousness, but he was aware that his blistered fingers were fairly flying across the control board, aware then of an inward sigh—whether of relief or triumph, he was never to know—then aware, abruptly and terribly, of a wrenching pain which seemed to strip his skin from his flesh, his flesh from his bones, the marrow from….

“Can you see?” the doctor asked.

“Yes,” Larry said as the bandages were removed from his eyes. Three people were in the room with the doctor—Admiral Stapleton, the President—and Sheila. Somehow, Sheila was most important.

“We are now in subspace, thanks to you,” the Admiral said. “We all have minor injuries as a result of the transfer, but there were only two fatalities, I’m happy to say. And naturally, the ship is now out of danger.”

“What gets me, Grange,” the President said, “is how you managed to work those controls. What the devil do you know about sub-space, my boy?”

“The two fatalities,” the Admiral said, “were Ackerman Boone and the man he had killed.” Then the Admiral grinned. “Can’t you see, Mr. President, that he’s not paying any attention to us? I think,  at the moment, the hero of the hour only has eyes for Miss Kelly here.”

“Begging your pardons, sirs, yes,” Larry said happily.

Nodding and smiling, the President of the Galactic Federation and Admiral Stapleton left the dispensary room—with the doctor.

“Well, hero,” Sheila said, and smiled.

Larry realized—quite suddenly—that, inside himself, he was alone. Mayhem had done his job—and vanished utterly.

“You know,” Sheila said, “it’s as if you—well, I hope this doesn’t get you sore at me—as if you grew up overnight.”

Before he kissed her Larry said: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday. But you’d never believe me.”