Spider Legs (14 page)

CHAPTER 21

Hatch

A
FTER DONNING SCUBA
gear and an oxygen tank, Martha climbed into one of the huge pycnogonids that waited for her in the shallow waters off the coast of Bonavista Bay. It did not fear her because it had become accustomed to her presence since hatching. It saw her as the source of its food, and of pleasure and pain.

To gain entry to the beast, she approached it from its front and waved her arms back and forth in a signal she had worked out so that it would recognize her. As if taking a cue from a director, the pycno squatted so that Martha could lift herself into the hatch. Inside, there was room enough for her to sit comfortably. A battery powered light on her helmet illuminated the eerie cavity, casting shadows off the glistening gray walls that surrounded her. Various fibers and muscle groups contracted along the walls as if in anticipation. The scene gave a whole new meaning to “living room.” Entirely satisfied with her cozy home away from home, Martha closed the chitin hatch door.

The door to the pycno had been relatively simple for her to engineer. One day she had gone to her local department store and purchased some door hinges and knobs. Later she had cut a hatch in the sea spider using an underwater circular saw, and then screwed the hinges on one side and the doorknob hardware
on the other. Before she affixed the hinges she painted them the same color as the pycno so to camouflage their presence. The pycnogonid did not move when she cut the hole, because it had become thoroughly accustomed to her constant cutting and probing since its origin.

Now that she was comfortably seated within the spider she quickly oriented herself, intimately familiar with all the bumps and ridges of the living room. First, Martha pulled out some optical fibers she had implanted in the floor of the creature. The fibers functioned as periscopes. She had mounted two such fiber optic periscopes about a month ago. They protruded ever so slightly from the beast's abdomen, so that she could get a crude image of the pycnogonid's surroundings while still inside it. If the primary periscope should break or become dirty, she could use the second as a backup.

She stuck one end of the periscope to her specially designed diving mask and with her hands began to rotate and twist the tube to see all around her. Yes, all systems seemed operative.

Finally she pressed upon the ceiling of the living room to give the pycno a signal to begin walking away from the coast and into deeper waters. As they descended, bubbles of spent air from the scuba tank began to accumulate in the internal cavity she sat in and made their way out of the spider via the small cracks between the chitin hatch door and the main body.

Training of the pycngonid to do her whims seemed like a lifetime job. Gradually, as a result of rewarding the sea spider by leading it to food within a half hour of opening its hatch, she conditioned it so that it gladly submitted to her invasion of its body. She also could stimulate some of the nerves which enervated its reproductive organs, thereby giving it a pleasurable feeling when it did as it was instructed. She also found various pain centers, which she used only seldom when the pycno misbehaved.

But then she found a more immediate way to influence it, though this had its risk. She tested it once, then saved it for the
time she had need. All she required was a hypodermic and a particularly potent drug.

The cocaine shot into the pycnogonid's dorsal tubular heart in a concentrated injection from the syringe. Suddenly, the spider's plasma enzymes called cholesterases attacked the cocaine, splitting many of the molecules to render them inert. However the chemical onslaught was simply too great for the pycno's natural defenses. Within five seconds, the cocaine was coursing from the hemocoel, a blood cavity consisting of spaces between its muscle tissues, into the legs and returning to the heart by the dorsal hemocoel. The pharmacological effects of the cocaine were intense and instantaneous. The creature's tubular heart started thumping like a conga drum played by a jazz musician.

At the same time, the cocaine molecules streaked to the brain. Like a hot poker boring through an ice block, the cocaine penetrated the blood brain barrier and stimulated the primitive pleasure centers. Hundreds of neurons began to pulse their own neurotransmitters in a chemical dance of pleasure. However, the biochemical orgy lasted for a few minutes, soon to replaced by a more ominous emotion—rage.

Yes, this would do. If natural hunger did not encourage the creature enough to do what needed to be done, this should make the difference. She would keep a sufficient supply with her when she traveled with pycno.

CHAPTER 22

Storm

T
HE STORM DIDN'T
wait. They had hardly started traveling on the motorcycle before the seemingly small cloud shoved up past the horizon and revealed itself as the leading edge of a monster. Stiff gusts of wind preceded it, becoming bad enough to make Nathan Smallwood distinctly nervous. He pulled over to the side of the road, perforce. “I'm afraid we'll be blown into a ditch,” he said over the rising howl of air.

“Me too!” Natalie agreed immediately. “It was starting to feel like drunken driving.”

And she would be especially sensitive to that, he realized, because of her alcoholic ex-husband. “I'm afraid my notion of using the motorcycle wasn't a good one.”

“No, it was a good idea, just bad luck.”

“Maybe we can find shelter close by. We're not far from Sunnyside, though I'm inclined to suspect at the moment that this name is a misnomer.” He was trying to ease the tension of an event gone bad, and feared he wasn't succeeding.

“I don't remember any houses in this vicinity,” she said. “We had better just wait it out.”

“But we'll get soaked.”

“I confess I don't relish the prospect. But I'd really rather not ride on that cycle right now.”

He appreciated that; he didn't want to ride it either, in this treacherous weather. “Maybe we can take shelter under a tree.”

“No way; that's the first place lightning would strike.”

She was right. So they waited as the first drops of rain spattered around them. Then, having tasted earth, the storm got serious, and there was a sudden downpour. They were completely soaked in a moment.

“Damn, I'm sorry,” he said miserably.

“Not your fault, Nathan. I suggested this region. If I'd been satisfied to scout around closer to home—”

“If I'd been satisfied to use a car—”

“If I'd kept an eye out for the weather, instead of talking so much—”

“I wanted to learn about you.”

“We were careless, and we got soaked,” she concluded. Indeed, her hair was sadly bedraggled and hung in lank black tresses across her shoulders.

“I can't think of anyone with whom I'd rather get soaked.” Again he was making an effort at humor, but he realized as he spoke that he meant it literally.

She rewarded him with a wan smile. He wished he could kiss her, but of course anything like that was out of the question. So they just stood there in separate islands of discomfort.

After what seemed like an interminable time there came a lull in the storm. “Shall we risk it?” he asked her.

“Maybe we can get into Sunnyside,” she agreed.

“To somewhere we can get warmed and dried.”

They got on the cycle and proceeded cautiously south. But the storm, as if realizing that they might escape, revved up again, threatening to blow them away. Worse, there seemed to be nowhere to stop in Sunnyside. The sky wasn't sunny, he thought, so Sunnyside had turned its back on the world. They had to go on to Come By Chance.

And there, just as the rain got serious, he spied an inn, or the equivalent. A sign said VACANCY. He pulled in.

“I don't mind paying for a room, if there's a washer and
dryer,” he said. “We could take turns getting our clothes fixed, and go on when the storm abates.”

“Good idea,” she agreed. “We'll go Dutch.” He saw that her lips were slightly blue; his own were probably similar. They had to get dry.

He parked the cycle under cover, hoping it would survive the wetting it had already had. Then they entered the house. “Do you have a—”

“Yes,” the woman said immediately. “And bathrobes you two can borrow while you're getting those things dried.”

“How much—”

“Double occupancy, one night,” she said, pointing to a posted sheet with the rates.

“Oh, we'll pay for it, but we aren't staying the night,” he said.

“Yes you are.”

“No, we just got caught by the storm. We'll be riding back to St. John's when it passes.”

“And it will pass in the night,” she said. “This is an eight hour storm; you can see its spread on the TV weather. You don't want to be out in it on that little cycle. Not to worry; supper and breakfast are included in the tab, and nobody's ever complained about our food.”

He exchanged a glance with Natalie. They were obviously stuck for it. “Two rooms, then, please,” he said.

“One room is all we have.”

“But we're not married,” he blurted.

The woman's glance moved from him to Natalie, appraisingly. “But close enough to it,” she decided.

He looked helplessly at Natalie, who was now shivering. “Close enough,” she agreed.

So Nathan paid for double occupancy, and the woman showed them to the room. “The washer and dryer are down the hall, there,” she said. “I'll bring robes. Don't run the TV too loud, too late. Supper when you're ready.”

In the room, Nathan faced Natalie, quite out of sorts. “I never anticipated—”

“I know it. Now we'll both have to strip completely, and we can take turns using the shower. We're adults, after all. Suppose we flip a coin for first shower?”

“You can have it,” he said quickly. “You're shivering.”

“All right. You take care of the bathrobes, meanwhile.”

“Gladly.” He turned to the door, resolutely facing away from her. But his imagination pictured her peeling the sodden clothing off, stepping naked into the shower. He felt guilty for not restraining it.

Soon the woman came with the robes, and he accepted them with thanks. He closed the door, but did not turn around until he heard the shower starting. Then he took the robes to the little bathroom and hung one within easy reach of the shower stall. He saw her wet jeans lying on the floor, about the only place where they wouldn't be in the way.

He retreated to the main room and stood gazing out the window, not daring to touch any of the furniture in his present state. The rain had intensified; certainly they did not want to be out in that.

He jumped as something touched his shoulder. “Your turn,” Natalie said. She was in her bathrobe, decorously tied. Her hair was still wrung out straight, but looked much better now. So did she.

“I didn't hear you,” he said, bemused.

“Water is flowing outside at the same rate as inside. You would have heard me if you had turned it off outside.”

“Surely so,” he agreed, smiling. He liked her humor, especially because it was occurring in a situation that would have brought out the worst in most women. He went into the bathroom, peeled away his sodden things, laid them on the floor by hers, and stepped into the shower.

The hot water was glorious. It washed away the clammy misery and restored the joy of living to his skin. Natalie had experienced the same restoration, he realized. It was intriguing to think of her as having been so recently naked in this same shower. This was about as close as he was ever likely to get to a naked
woman. He would not care to admit it to others, but during his brief marriage he had never seen his wife naked. She had changed in locked-bathroom privacy, and had worn a negligee under the covers even for sex. He had known that wasn't normal, but had lacked the fortitude to protest it. And even if he had protested, what good would it have done? A person couldn't make another person want to have sex, or to be sexy, simply by protesting. But Natalie was not of that type, he was sure. If she gave herself to a man, it would be completely. He envied that man, whoever he might be.

If only he could have the ability to make the kind of impression he wanted to, instead of losing altitude and crashing every time he got near a woman he might like. He had been gratifyingly fortunate in being approached by Natalie, but once she won free of this disaster she would have only a bad memory of the occasion. Fortune always canceled out in the course of time, as with the flips of a coin. How fitting that it happen in a place called Come By Chance!

He turned off the shower, shook himself, reached out, found his towel, and rubbed himself dry. He donned the other bathrobe, drew it closed, then looked for his comb. It was beside the sink along with his wallet and other items of his pockets. He realized that his clothing was gone. Natalie had taken it for cleaning. Now he saw that her rock and other items were sitting on the other side of the sink. She had emptied her pockets similarly. Indeed, there was an accumulation of what must be the contents of the belt-packet she had used in lieu of a purse; she must be cleaning that too. It all seemed so intimate, so homey. His side, her side. Of the sink.

Then he saw the gun. It had to be her police pistol. Where had she carried that? He had never suspected. There it was, clean and dry, lying on the counter beside the other things. He realized that its holster would have gotten soaked too, so she had to fix that before being able to carry the gun on her person again. So she had left it with him for safekeeping, perhaps.

An emotion passed through him that he couldn't define immediately. He focused, and managed to get an approximate registration: it was the peculiar pleasure of being trusted. That gun wasn't for any protection from him; it couldn't be, if she had left it with him. She knew that he was the last person she had to fear.

He went out into the room. She wasn't back yet. She would be taking care of the laundry, his clothes and hers. It seemed best simply to wait for her return.

He turned on the television set. In a moment he found a mixed news/weather station, and verified what the landlady had said: they were caught in a huge mass of rain that would take hours to pass. He realized that he should have had the common sense to check the weather before making an excursion like this. But he had been so intrigued by the prospect of a day alone with Natalie that it had never entered his mind.

Or hers either, evidently. That pleased him, despite the consequence. Actually, now that he was warm and dry, the consequence did not seem bad at all. It was merely extending his date with Natalie, and giving it the semblance of greater intimacy than was warranted, but pleasant for all that. However sterile this night with her might be in reality, he would remember it with fondness for its might-have-been quality.

She returned. “I have them in the dryer,” she reported. “It seemed pointless to take the time for a full washing cycle, when it was only water that was the problem. So I just did a quick rinse.”

“I should have done my own,” he protested.

“Do you know how to operate a dryer?”

“Yes. I'm a bachelor, remember?”

“Then if we ever have to go through this again, you can dry the clothes. But you know, it will be a while before those trousers are dry enough. We might as well see about supper.”

“In bathrobes?”

“The landlady knows the situation. They're her robes.”

He shrugged. “I'm game if you are. Though I admit I would feel a bit easier if I had something on under the robe.”

She made a quick smile. “Yes. The underwear will dry soonest. But let's live dangerously.”

“What about your gun?” he asked.

She grimaced. “That's not a gun. It’s my Llamma .32 automatic. But you're right; I shouldn't leave it behind.” She stopped into the bathroom, and returned in a moment.

“But I don't see it,” he said.

“Of course you don't; I don't want to advertise it. What would the landlady think?”

What, indeed! He had no idea where or how she was wearing it; nothing showed. That impressed him more than the fact of the gun itself.

She led the way to the front room of the house. He followed, bemused.

It turned out that the landlady had fixed them platters of peas, potatoes, and roast that could be taken back to the room. There was also a bottle of inexpensive wine. Nathan pushed it back on the table, not taking it.

“No, it's paid for,” Natalie demurred. “Might as well have it.”

“But alcohol—”

“I'm not a teetotaler. I just don't like the strong stuff. Especially in a man. Anyway, I'm trying to discipline my aversion, so as not to be ruled by it. This is as good a time to start as any.”

“You're sure?”

“No. But take the wine.”

He shrugged and took the bottle. They returned to the room. They pulled out the small table there and sat on opposite sides, their knees almost touching.

The meal was good. The landlady was right: there would be no complaints from this quarter. Nathan hesitated to pour out any wine, but Natalie went ahead and did it. She lifted her glass in a defiant little toast and drank. He followed, reluctantly. He feared that this was treacherous territory.

But they got through the meal without untoward event. Nathan really enjoyed it, despite the awkwardness of having to avert his gaze when her robe started to fall open. Fortunately she realized what was happening and drew it closed before anything showed. Then their knees touched again, and he was off on another flight of guilty fancy.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she said.

He shook his head. “I was just wishing this were real.”

“Things seem real enough to me. It's hard to forget that rain.” Indeed, it was still beating against the windowpane.

“I mean that our relationship would be—I don't know.”

“You would like to have an affair with a woman.”

“No. Well, yes, I suppose. But not a casual one. I'd like to—to love and be loved.”

“Oh. As if we were a married couple, doing this routinely.”

“Yes. To have a woman in my life, without stress. A woman like you.” Then he feared he had said too much. “I mean no offense. It's just an idle fancy.”

“Offense? It's a compliment.”

“A dream.”

“A good dream. Finish your drink.”

He realized that he had hardly touched his wine. “I really haven't much taste for this, tonight.”

“Because of what I said this afternoon?”

“Yes. I wouldn't want you to think I would ever be that way.”

“Then drink it and show me you aren't that way.”

Surprised, he saw her logic. Her husband might have been a nice man, until he drank. So she wanted to be sure that Nathan's character didn't change for the worse when he did drink. It was the kind of calculated risk a woman might take if she were considering getting serious about a man. Better one bad night, than a bad relationship.