The Skylark of Space - E. E. Smith (e book reading free txt) 📗

as to be almost black, as were also their eyes.

“Well, what d’you know about that?” pondered Seaton, dazedly. “They’re human, right enough, but ye gods, what a color!”

“It is hard to tell how much of that color is real, and how much of it is due to this light,” answered Crane. “Wait until you get outside, away from our daylight lamps, and you will probably look like a Chinese puzzle. As to the form, it is logical to suppose that wherever conditions are similar to those upon the Earth, and the age is anywhere nearly the same, development would be along the same lines as with us.”

“That’s right, too. Dottie, your hair will sure look gorgeous in this light. Let’s go out and give the natives a treat!”

“I wouldn’t look like that for a million dollars!” retorted Dorothy, “and if I’m going to look like that I won’t get out of the ship, so there!”

“Cheer up, Dottie, you won’t look like that. Your hair will be black in this light.”

“Then what color will mine be?” asked Margaret.

Seaton glanced at her black hair.

“Probably a very dark and beautiful green,” he grinned, his gray eyes sparkling, “but we’ll have to wait and see. Friends and fellow-countrymen, I’ve got a hunch that this is going to be some visit. How about it, shall we go ahead with it?”

Dorothy went up to him, her face bright with eagerness.

“Oh, what a lark! Let’s go!”

Even in DuQuesne’s cold presence, Margaret’s eyes sought those of her lover, and his sleeve, barely touching her arm, was enough to send a dancing thrill along it.

“Onward, men of Earth!” she cried, and Seaton, stepping up to the window, rapped sharply upon the glass with the butt of his pistol and raised both hands high above his head in the universal sign of peace. In response, a man of Herculean mold, so splendidly decorated that his harness was one blazing mass of jewels, waved his arm and shouted a command. The crowd promptly fell back, leaving a clear space of several hundred yards. The man, evidently one in high command, unbuckled his harness, dropping every weapon, and advanced toward the Skylark, both arms upraised in Seaton’s gesture.

Seaton went to the door and started to open it.

“Better talk to him from inside,” cautioned Crane.

“I don’t think so, Mart. He’s peaceable, and I’ve got my gun in my pocket. Since he doesn’t know what clothes are he’ll think I’m unarmed, which is as it should be; and if he shows fight, it won’t take more than a week for me to get into action.”

“All right, go on. DuQuesne and I will come along.”

“Absolutely not. He’s alone, so I’ve got to be. I notice that some of his men are covering us, though. You might do the same for them, with a couple of the machine guns.”

Seaton stepped out of the car and went to meet the stranger. When they had approached to within a few feet of each other the stranger stopped. He flexed his left arm smartly, so that the fingertips touched his left ear, and smiled broadly, exposing a row of splendid, shining, green teeth. Then he spoke, a meaningless jumble of sounds. His voice, though light and thin, nevertheless seemed to be of powerful timbre.

Seaton smiled in return and saluted.

“Hello, Chief. I get your idea all right, and we’re glad you’re peaceable, but your language doesn’t mean a thing in my young life.”

The Chief tapped himself upon the chest, saying distinctly and impressively:

“Nalboon.”

“Nalboon,” repeated Seaton, and added, pointing to himself:

“Seaton.”

“See Tin,” answered the stranger, and again indicating himself, “Domak gok Mardonale.”

“That must be his title,” thought Seaton rapidly. “Have to give myself one, I guess.”

“Boss of the Road,” he replied, drawing himself up with pride.

The introduction made, Nalboon pointed to the wrecked plane, inclined his head in thanks, and turned to his people with one arm upraised, shouting an order in which Seaton could distinguish something that sounded like “See Tin, Bass uvvy Rood.” Instantly every right arm in the assemblage was aloft, that of each man bearing a weapon, while the left arms snapped into the peculiar salute and a mighty cry arose as all repeated the name and title of the distinguished visitor.

Seaton turned to the Skylark, motioning to Crane to open the door.

“Bring out one of those big four-color signal rockets, Mart!” he called. “They’re giving us a royal reception⁠—let’s acknowledge it right.”

The party appeared, Crane carrying the huge rocket with an air of deference. As they approached, Seaton shrugged one shoulder and his cigarette-case appeared in his hand. Nalboon started, and in spite of his utmost efforts at self-control, he glanced at it in surprise. The case flew open and Seaton, taking a cigarette, extended the case.

“Smoke?” he asked affably. The other took one, but showed plainly that he had no idea of the use to which it was to be put. This astonishment of the stranger at a simple sleight-of-hand feat and his apparent ignorance of tobacco emboldened Seaton. Reaching into his mouth, he pulled out a flaming match, at which Nalboon started violently. While all the natives watched in amazement, Seaton lighted the cigarette, and after half consuming it in two long inhalations, he apparently swallowed the remainder, only to bring it to light again. Having smoked it, he apparently swallowed the butt, with evident relish.

“They don’t know anything about matches or smoking,” he said, turning to Crane. “This rocket will tie them up in a knot. Step back, everybody.”

He bowed deeply to Nalboon, pulling a lighted match from his ear as he did so, and lighted the fuse. There was a roar, a shower of sparks, a blaze of colored fire as the great rocket flew upward; but to Seaton’s surprise, Nalboon took it quite as a matter of course, saluting as an acknowledgment of the courtesy.

Seaton motioned to his party to approach, and turned to Crane.

“Better not, Dick. Let him think that you are the king of everything in sight.”

“Not