"Hell," Tal Bock said. He got up and walked into the shrubbery behind him.
Ronson rose. He was shaky, his legs seemed too long to reach the sand, a subjective impression that almost amused him, but didn't quite. To the left another Martian was squatting cross-legged on the sand. Ronson looked, then looked again. He moved toward the Martian to make certain.
It was the leper who had been on the street outside the dive. Without the rags, the Martian was hardly recognizable. The sores provided a certain means of identification. There was no mistaking them.
"How did you get here?" Ronson asked.
The leper made a weak gesture with his hands which said, "Go away." His attitude was resigned but about his manner was an air of expectancy.
Ronson discovered that the place in which he had found himself was a cavern about half a mile in diameter. It was adequately lighted though the light sprang from no source that he could detect. The place was pleasant enough. There was water here. It flowed in little rills set in stonework. Grass and desert shrubs grew here. The air was moist, with a fragrant sweetness somewhere about it.
Something was in the air besides the moisture and the fragrant sweetness. It was intangible, almost imperceptible. Ronson cocked his head, trying to catch this something. It was always out of the range of his sensory perception, an intangible, elusive quality that perplexed him.
"Subliminal," he thought. "Maybe super-sonic sound just above the range of hearing."
Why super-sonic sound? He did not know. He felt dazed. There was a heavy feeling through his whole body. Why was he here? He had been told he would see Les Ro. There was also talk about a man proving if he was worthy—
He did not like this thinking. He tried to shut it off, but it was a persistent gadfly that returned to buzz again and again in his brain.