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

few jewelers have seen these stones, one of them will be offering us five million dollars apiece for them, trying to buy them for some dizzy old dame who wants to put out the eyes of some of her social rivals. Yes? No?”

“That’s about right, Dick,” replied Crane, and his face wore a thoughtful look. “We can’t keep it secret that we have a new jewel, since all four of us will be wearing them continuously, and anyone who knows jewels at all will recognize these as infinitely superior to any known Earthly jewel. In fact, they may get some of us into trouble, as fabulously valuable jewels usually do.”

“That’s true, too. So we’ll let it out casually that they’re as common as mud up here⁠—that we’re just wearing them for sentiment, which is true, and that we’re thinking of bringing back a shipload to sell for parking lights.”

“That would probably keep anyone from trying to murder our wives for their rings, at least.”

“Have you read your marriage certificate, Dick?” asked Margaret.

“Not yet. Let’s look at it, Dottie.”

She produced the massive, heavily-jeweled document, and the auburn head and the brown one were very close to each other as they read together the English side of the certificate. Their vows were there, word for word, with their own signatures beneath them, all deeply engraved into the metal. Seaton smiled as he saw the legal form engraved below their signatures, and read aloud:

I, the Head of the Church and the Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces of Kondal, upon the planet Osnome, certify that I have this day, in the city of Kondalek, of said nation and planet, joined in indissoluble bonds of matrimony, Richard Ballinger Seaton, Doctor of Philosophy, and Dorothy Lee Vaneman; Doctor of Music; both of the city of Washington, District of Columbia, United States of America, upon the planet Earth, in strict compliance with the marriage laws, both of Kondal and of the United States of America.

Tarnan.

Witnesses:

Roban, Emperor of Kondal.

Tural, Empress of Kondal.

Dunark, Crown Prince of Kondal.

Sitar, Crown Princess of Kondal.

Marc C. DuQuesne, Ph. D., Washington, D. C.

“That is some document,” remarked Seaton. “Probably a lawyer could find fault with his phraseology, but I’ll bet that this thing would hold in any court in the world. Think you’ll get married again when we get back, Mart?”

Both girls protested, and Crane answered:

“No, I think not. Our ceremony would be rather an anticlimax after this one, and this one will undoubtedly prove legal. I intend to register this just as it is, and get a ruling from the courts. But it is time for breakfast. Pardon me⁠—I should have said ‘darprat,’ for it certainly is not breakfast-time by Washington clocks. My watch says that it is eleven-thirty p.m.”

“This system of time is funny,” remarked Dorothy. “I just can’t get used to having no night, and⁠ ⁠…”

“And it’s such a long time between eats, as the famous governor said about the drinks,” broke in Seaton.

“How did you know what I was going to say, Dick?”

“Husbandly intuition,” he grinned, “aided and abetted by a normal appetite that rebels at seventeen hours between supper and breakfast, and nine hours between the other meals. Well, it’s time to eat⁠—let’s go!”

After eating, the men hurried to the Skylark. During the sleeping-period the vessel had been banded with the copper repellers: the machine guns and instruments, including the wonderful Osnomian wireless system, had been installed; and, except for the power-bars, she was ready for a voyage. The Kondalian vessel was complete, even to the cushions, but was without instruments.

After a brief conversation with the officer in charge, Dunark turned to Seaton.

“Didn’t you find that your springs couldn’t stand up under the acceleration?”

“Yes, they flattened out dead.”

“The Kolanix Felan, in charge of the work, thought so, and substituted our compound-compensated type, made of real spring metal, for them. They’ll hold you through any acceleration you can live through.”

“Thanks, that’s fine. What’s next, instruments?”

“Yes. I have sent a crew of men to gather up what copper they can find⁠—you know that we use practically no metallic copper, as platinum, gold, and silver are so much better for ordinary purposes⁠—and another to erect a copper-smelter near one of the mines which supply the city with the copper sulphate used upon our tables. While they are at work I think I will work on the instruments, if you two will be kind enough to help me.”

Seaton and Crane offered to supply him with instruments from their reserve stock, but the Kofedix refused to accept them, saying that he would rather have their help in making them, so that he would thoroughly understand their functions. The electric furnaces were rapidly made ready and they set to work; Crane taking great delight in working that hitherto rare and very refractory metal, iridium, of which all the Kondalian instruments were to be made.

“They have a lot of our rare metals here, Dick.”

“They sure have. I’d like to set up a laboratory and live here a few years⁠—I’d learn something about my specialty or burst. They use gold and silver where we use copper, and platinum and its alloys where we use iron and soft steel. All their weapons are made of iridium, and all their most highly-tempered tools, such as their knives, razors, and so on, are made of opaque arenak. I suppose you’ve noticed the edge on your razor?”

“How could I help it? It is hard to realize that a metal can be so hard that it requires forty years on a diamond-dust abrasive machine to hone a razor⁠—or that once honed, it shaves generation after generation of men without losing in any degree its keenness.”

“I can’t understand it, either⁠—I only know that it’s so. They have all our heavy metals in great abundance, and a lot more that we don’t know anything about on Earth, but they apparently haven’t any light metals at all. It must be that Osnome