Astounding Stories of Super-Science September 1930 by Various (online e book reader .txt) 📗
- Author: Various
Book online «Astounding Stories of Super-Science September 1930 by Various (online e book reader .txt) 📗». Author Various
Perona: "He is not around here, De Boer. That is foolish."
Spawn: "He could have gone anywhere. Maybe a walk around the village."
Perona: "Go back home, Spawn. De Boer will come—"[Pg 330]
Their voices faded as I moved away. A searching bandit behind me poked with his light into the crevice where a moment before I had been crouching. I moved faster. Only Gutierrez now was in front of me. He was at the far end of the arch. I could slip past, and still be fifty feet from him—if I could avoid his swinging little light-beam.
I was running now, chancing that he would hear me. I was on the path; I could see it vaguely.
From behind me came a sizzling flash, and the ting of the flying needle as it missed me by a foot.
"The Americano! He goes there!"
Another shot. The shouts of the bandits in the archway. A turmoil back there.
But it was all behind me. I leaped sidewise off the path as Gutierrez small light-beam swept it. I ran stumbling through a stubble of boulders, around an upstanding rock spire, back to the path again.
There were other shots. Then De Boer's voice, faint by distance: "Stop! Fools! We will alarm the village! The landing field can see our shots from here! Take it easy! You can't get him!"
The turmoil quieted. I went around a bend in the path, running swiftly.
Pursuit was behind me. I could hear them coming.
It was a run of no more than ten minutes to the junction where, down the slope, I could see the lights of the landing field.
The glow of the village was ahead of me. Then I was in its outskirts. Occasional dark houses. Deserted streets.
I slowed to a fast walk. I was breathless, panting in the heat.
I heard no pursuit now. But Spawn and the rest of them doubtless were after me. Would they head back for Spawn's inn? I thought they would. But I could beat them back there; I was sure there was no shorter route than this I was taking.
Would they use their flyer? That would not gain them any time, what with launching it and landing, for so short a flight. And a bandit flyer could not very well land unseen or unnoticed, even in somnolent Nareda.
I reached the main section of the village. There were occasional lights and pedestrians. My haste was noticeable, but I was not accosted. There seemed no police about. I recalled Perona's remark that he had attended to that.
My electrode was tingling. I had been running again. I slowed down.
"Chief?"
"Phil." His voice carried relief. "You got away?"
"Yes. I'm in the village."
"Go to President Markes."
"No, I'm headed for Spawn's! They're all behind me; I can get there a few minutes ahead of them."
I panted an exclamation, incoherently, but frankly, about Jetta. "I'm going to get her out of there."
"Phil, what in hell—"
I told him.
"So you've fallen in love with a girl? Entangled—"
"Chief!"
"Go after her, Phil! Got her bound and gagged, have they? Going to marry her to this Perona? Like the Middle Ages?"
I had never seen this side of Hanley.
"Get her if you want her. Get her out of there. Take her to Markes—No, I wouldn't trust anybody in Nareda! Take her into the uplands behind the village. But keep away from that mine! Have you got flash-fuses?"
"Yes."
I was within sight of Spawn's house. The street was dim and deserted. I was running again.
I panted. "I'm—almost at Spawn's!"
"Good! When it's over, whatever happens up there at the mine, then signal the patrol."[Pg 331]
"Yes."
I reached Spawn's front gate. The house and front garden were dark.
"Use your fuses, Phil. What colors?"
"I have red and blue."
"I'll talk to the patrol ship again. Tell them to watch for you. Red and blue. Two short red flashes, a long blue."
"Right, Chief. I'm here at Spawn's, cutting off."
"Come back on when you can." His voice went anxious again. "I'll wait here."
"All right."
I cut silent. I ran through the front doorway of Spawn's inn. The living room was dim and empty. Which way was Jetta's room? I could only guess.
I had a few minutes, perhaps, before my pursuers would arrive.
I reached the inner, patio garden. The moon was well out from under the clouds now. The patio shimmered, a silent, deserted fairyland.
"Jetta!" I called it softly. Then louder. "Jetta!"
Spawn's house was fairly large and rambling. There were so many rooms. Jetta was gagged; how could she answer me? But I had no time to search for her.
"Jetta?"
And then came her voice. "Philip?"
"Jetta! Which way? Where are you?"
"Here! This way: in my room."
A window and a door near the pergola. "Jetta!"
"Yes. I am in here. They tied me up. Not so loud, Phil: father will hear you."
"He's gone out."
I reached her garden door. Turned its handle. Rattled the door. Shoved frantically with my shoulder!
The metal door was firmly sealed!
(To be continued)
It was a big mistake. I should not have done it. By birth, by instinct, by training, by habit, I am a man of action. Or I was. It is queer that an old man cannot remember that he is no longer young.
But it was a mistake for me to mention that I had recorded, for the archives of the Council, the history of a certain activity of the Special Patrol—a bit of secret history[1] which may not be mentioned here. Now they insist—by "they" I refer to the Chiefs of the Special Patrol Service—that I write of other achievements of the Service, other adventures worthy of note.
[Pg 332]
Perhaps that is the penalty of becoming old. From commander of the Budi, one of the greatest of the Special Patrol ships, to the duties of recording ancient history, for younger men to read and dream about. That is a shrewd blow to one's pride.
But if I can, in some small way, add luster to the record of my service, it will be a fitting task for a man grown old and gray in that service; work for hands too weak and palsied for sterner duties.
But I shall tell my stories in my own way; after all, they are my stories. And I shall tell the stories that appeal to me most. The universe has had enough and too much of dry history; these shall be adventurous tales to make the blood of a young man who reads them run a trifle faster—and perhaps the blood of the old man who writes them.
This, the first, shall be the story of the star L-472. You know it to-day as Ibit, port-o'-call for interplanetary ships, and source of ocrite for the universe, but to me it will always be L-472, the world of terrible tentacles.
My story begins nearly a hundred years ago—reckoned in terms of Earth time, which is proper, since I am a native of Earth—when I was a young man. I was sub-commander, at the time, of the Kalid, one of the early ships of the Special Patrol.
We had been called to Zenia on special orders, and Commander Jamison, after an absence of some two hours, returned to the Kalid with his face shining, one of his rare smiles telling me in advance that he had news—and good news.
He hurried me up to the deserted navigating room and waved me to a seat.
"Hanson," he said. "I'm glad to be the first to congratulate you. You are now Commander John Hanson, of the Special Patrol Ship Kalid!"
"Sir." I gasped, "do you mean—"
His smile broadened. From the breast pocket of the trim blue and silver uniform of our Service he drew a long, crackling paper.
"Your commission," he said. "I'm taking over the Borelis."
It was my turn to extend congratulations then; the Borelis was the newest and greatest ship of the Service. We shook hands, that ancient gesture of good-fellowship on Earth. But, as our hands unclasped, Jamison's face grew suddenly grave.
"I have more than this news for you, however," he said slowly. "You are to have a chance to earn your comet hardly."
I smiled broadly at the mention of the comet, the silver insignia, worn over the heart, that would mark my future rank as commander, replacing the four-rayed star of a sub-commander which I wore now on my tunic.
"Tell me more, sir," I said confidently.
"You have heard of the Special Patrol Ship Filanus?" asked my late commander gravely.
"Reported lost in space," I replied promptly.
"And the Dorlos?"
"Why—yes; she was at Base here at our last call," I said, searching his face anxiously. "Peter Wilson was Second Officer on her—one of my best friends. Why do you ask about her, sir?"
"The Dorlos is missing also," said Commander Jamison solemnly. "Both of these ships were sent upon a particular mission. Neither of them has returned. It is concluded that some common fate has overtaken them. The Kalid, under your command, is commissioned to investigate these disappearances.
"You are not charged with the mission of these other ships; your orders are to investigate their disappearance. The course, together with the official patrol orders, I shall hand you presently, but with them go verbal orders.
"You are to lay and keep the course designated, which will take you well out of the beaten path to a small world[Pg 333] which has not been explored, but which has been circumnavigated a number of times by various ships remaining just outside the atmospheric envelope, and found to be without evidence of intelligent habitation. In other words, without cities, roads, canals, or other evidence of human handiwork or civilization.
I believe your instructions give you some of this information, but not all of it. This world, unnamed because of its uninhabited condition, is charted only as L-472. Your larger charts will show it, I am sure. The atmosphere is reported to be breatheable by inhabitants of Earth and other beings having the same general requirements. Vegetation is reported as dense, covering the five continents of the world to the edges of the northern and southern polar caps, which are small. Topographically, the country is rugged in the extreme, with many peaks, apparently volcanic, but now inactive or extinct, on all of its five large continents."
"And am I to land there, sir?" I asked eagerly.
"Your orders are very specific upon that point," said Commander Jamison. "You are not to land until you have carefully and thoroughly reconnoitered from above, at low altitude. You will exercise every possible precaution. Your specific purpose is simply this: to determine, if possible, the fate of the other two ships, and report your findings at once. The Chiefs of the Service will then consider the matter, and take whatever action may seem advisable to them." Jamison rose to his feet and thrust out his hand in Earth's fine old salute of farewell.
"I must be going, Hanson," he said. "I wish this patrol were mine instead of yours. You are a young man for such a responsibility."
"But," I replied, with the glowing confidence of youth, "I have the advantage of having served under Commander Jamison!"
He smiled as we shook again, and shook his head.
"Discretion can be learned only by experience," he said. "But I wish you success, Hanson; on this undertaking, and on many others. Supplies are on their way now; the crew will return from leave within the hour. A young Zenian, name of Dival, I believe, is detailed to accompany you as scientific observer—purely unofficial capacity, of course. He has been ordered to report to you at once. You are to depart as soon as feasible: you know what that means. I believe that's all—Oh, yes! I had almost forgotten.
"Here, in this envelope, are your orders and your course, as well as all available data on L-472. In this little casket is—your comet, Hanson. I know you will wear it with honor!"
"Thank you, sir!" I said, a bit huskily. I saluted, and Commander Jamison acknowledged the gesture with
Comments (0)