Duel by Richard Matheson Page B

announced.
    â€œThen this is your first time.”
    â€œYes,” she replied, gazing afar. “I am very frightened.”
    You nodded, you patted her knee with what you meant to be a parental manner, but which, posthaste, brought the crimson of modesty flaming into her cheeks.
    â€œJust stay close to me,” you said, trying hard for a double meaning. “I’ll take care of you.”
    Primitive, but good enough for sixteen. She blushed more deeply.
    The city towers flashed beneath. Far off, like a minute button on the fringes of spiderweb, you saw your machine. You eased the wheel forward; the tiny ship dipped down and began a long glide toward Earth. You kept your eyes on the control board with strict attention, wondering about this strange sense of excitement running pell-mell through your body, not knowing whether it presaged combat fatigue of one sort or another.
    This was war. The city first. Hola!
    The ship floated down to and hovered over the machine as you threw on the air brakes. Slowly, it sank to the roof like a butterfly settling on a flower.
    You threw off the switch, heart pounding, all forgotten but the present danger. Grabbing the ray gun, you jumped out and ran to the edge of the roof.
    Your machine was beyond the perimeter of the city. There were fields about. Your keen eyes flashed over the ground.
    There was no sign of the enemy.
    You hurried back to the ship. She was still sitting inside, watching
you. You turned the knob and the communicator system spilled out its endless drones of information. You stood impatiently until the announcer spoke your machine number and said the Rustons were within a mile of it.
    You heard her drawn-in breath and noted the upward cast of frightened eyes in your direction. You turned off the set.
    â€œCome, we’ll go inside,” you said, holding the ray gun in a delightfully shaking hand. It was fun to be frightened. A fine sense of living dangerously. Wasn’t that why you were here?
    You helped her out. Her hand was cold. You squeezed it and gave her a half smile of confidence. Then, locking the door to the spacecar, to keep the foe out, you went down the stairs. As you entered the main room, your head was at once filled with the smooth hum of machinery.
    Here, at this juncture of the adventure, you put down your ray gun and ammunition and explained the machinery to her. It is to be noted that you had no particular concern for the machinery as you spoke, being more aware of her proximity. Such charm, such youth, crying out for comfort.
    You soon held her hand again. Then you had your arm around her lithesome waist and she was close. Something other than military defense planned itself in your mind.
    Came the moment when she flicked up her drowsy lids and looked you smack-dab in the eye, as is the archaic literary passage. You found her violet eyes somewhat unbalancing. You drew her closer. The perfume of her rosy breath tied casual knots in your limbs. And yet there was still something holding you back.
    Swish! Slap!
    She stiffened and cried out.
    The Rustons were at the walls!
    You raced for the table upon which your ray gun rested. On the couch next to the table was your ammunition. You slung the case over
your shoulder. She ran up to you and, sternly, you handed her the preventive case. You felt like the self-assured General when he was in a grim mood.
    â€œKeep the needles loaded and handy,” you said. “I may …”
    The sentence died as another great slobbering Ruston slapped against the wall. The sound of its huge suckers slurped on the outside. They were searching for the machinery in the basement.
    You checked the gun. It was ready.
    â€œStay here,” you muttered. “I have to go down.”
    You didn’t hear what she said. You dashed down the stairs and came bouncing out into the basement just as the first horror gushed over the edge of a window onto its metal floor like a stream of gravity-defying