The Blind Spot by Homer Eon Flint and Austin Hall (black female authors txt) 📗

The Jan Lucar put the craft to another upward climb. So high were they now that the Thomahlia below was totally lost from view; it was but a maze of lurking shadows. The sun was only a gash of amber—it was twilight down on the ground. And Watson watched the black line of the Thomahlian shadow climb the purple heights before him until only the highest crests and the jewelled crags flashed in the sun's last rays. Then, one by one, they flickered out; and all was darkness.

Still they ascended. Watson became uneasy, sitting there in the night.

“Where are we going?”

“To the Carbon Regions, my lord. It is one of the sights of the Thomahlia.”

“On top of those mountains?”

“Beyond, my lord.”

Whereupon, to Chick's growing amazement, the Geos went on to state that carbon of all sorts was extremely common throughout their world. The same forces that had formed coal so generously upon the earth had thrown up, almost as lavishly, huge quantities of pure diamond. The material was of all colours, as diamonds run, and considered of small value; for every day purposes they preferred substances of more sombre hues. They used it, it seemed, to build houses with.

“But how do they cut it?”

“Very easily. The material which drives this craft—Ilodium—will cut it like butter.”

Later, Watson understood. He watched as the craft continued to climb; the Jan Lucar was steering without the aid of any outside lights whatever, there being only a small light illuminating his instruments. Chick presently turned his gaze outside again; whereupon he got another jolt.

He saw a NEGATIVE sky!

At first he thought his eyes the victims of an illusion; then he looked closer. And he saw that it was true; instead of the familiar starry points of light against a velvet background, the arrangement was just the reverse. Every constellation was in its place, just as Chick remembered it from the earth; but instead of stars there were jet-black spots upon a faint, grey background.

The whole sky was one huge Milky Way, except for the black spots. And from it all there shone just about as much total light as from the heavens he had known.

Of all he experienced, this was the most disturbing. It seemed totally against all reason; for he knew the stars to be great incandescent globes in space. How explain that they were here represented in reverse, their brilliance scattered and diffused over the surrounding sky, leaving points of blackness instead? Afterward he learned that the peculiar chemical constituency of the atmosphere was solely responsible for the inversion of the usual order of things.

All of a sudden the Jan Lucar switched the craft to a level. He held up one hand and pointed.

“Look, my lord, and the Rhamda! Look!”

Both men rose from their seats, the better to stare past the soldier. Straight ahead, where had been one of the corruscating peaks, a streak of blue fire shot skyward, a column of light miles high, differing from the beams of a searchlight in that the rays were WAVY, serpentine, instead of straight. It was weirdly beautiful. Geos caught his breath; he leaned forward and touched the Jan Lucar.

“Wait,” he said in an awed tone. “Wait a moment. It has never come before, but we can expect it now.” And even as he spoke, something wonderful happened.

From the base of the column two other streaks, one red and the other bright green, cut out through the blackness on either side. The three streams started from the same point; they made a sort of trident, red, green, and blue—twisting, alive—strangely impressive, suggestive of grandeur and omnipotence—holy.

Again the Rhamda spoke. “Wait!” said he. “Wait!”

They were barely moving now. Watson watched and wondered. The three streams of light ran up and up, as though they would pierce the heavens; the eye could not follow their ends. All in utter silence, nothing but those beams of glorified light, their reality a hint of power, of life and wisdom—of the certainty of things. Plainly it had a tremendous significance in the minds of the Geos and the Lucar.

Then came the climax. Slowly, but somehow inexorably, like the laws of life itself, and somewhere at a prodigious height above the earth, the three outer ends of the red and the green and the blue spread out and flared back upon themselves and one another, until their combined brilliance bridged a great rainbow across the sky. Blending into all the colours of the prism, the bow became—for a moment—pregnant with an overpowering beauty, symbolical, portentous of something stupendous about to come out of the unknown to the Thomahlians. And next—

The bow began to move, to swirl, and to change in shape and colour. The three great rivers of light billowed and expanded and rounded into a new form. Then they burst—into a vast, three-leafed clover—blue and red and green!

And Watson caught the startled words of the Geos:

“The Sign of the Jarados!”