by Unknown
De Boer: "... Get up with my men through the streets to Spawn's house? You have it fixed?"
"Yes. Over the route from here as I told you, there are no police to-night. I have ordered them off. In the garden. Dios! You offer so many objections! I tell you all is fixed. In an hour, half an hour; even now, perhaps, the Americano is in the garden. The girl has promised to meet him there. He will be there, fear not. Will you go?"
"Yes."
"Hah! That is the De Boer I have always admired!"
I could see them in the moonlight across the pit. Perona now standing up, the giant figure of the bandit towering over him.
* * * * *
Hanley's microscopic voice cut in: "Getting it, Phil? To seize you for ransom!"
"Yes. I hear it."
"This girl. Who--?"
"Wait, Chief. Off--"
De Boer: "I will do it! Fifty thousand."
Perona: "An hour now. Spawn will be at his home asleep."
"And you will go to the mine?"
"Yes. Now, from here. You seize this fellow Grant, and then attack the mine. Our regular plan, De Boer. This does not change it."
Attack Spawn's mine! Half a million of treasure was there to-night!
Perona was chuckling: "You give Spawn's guards the signal. They are all my men--in my pay. They will run away when you appear."
Hanley cut in again. "By the gods, they're after that treasure! Phil, listen to me! you must...." His voice faded.
"Chief, I can't hear you!"
Hanley came again: "... And I will notify Porto Rico. The local patrol will be about ready to leave."
"Or notify Nareda headquarters," I suggested. "If you can get President Markes, he can send some police to the mine--"
"And find all Nareda's police bribed by Perona? I'll get Porto Rico. We have an hour or two; the patrol can reach you in an hour."
The bandits were preparing to leave here. Two or three of them had gone to the flyer. Perona and De Boer were parting.
"... Well, that is all, De Boer."
"Right, Señor Perona. I will start shortly."
"On foot, by the street route to Spawn's--"
Hanley's hurried voice came back: "I've sent the call to Porto Rico."
* * * * *
The guard had moved again. He was no more than forty feet away from me now--standing up gazing directly toward where I was crouching over my tiny instruments in the shadows of the rocky arch. A footstep sounded behind me, on the path outside the arch. Someone approaching!
A tiny light bobbing!
Then a voice calling, "Perona! De Boer!"
The guard took a step forward; stopped, with levelled weapon.
Then the voice again: it was so loud it went through my opened relay, flashed up to New York, and blew out half a dozen of Hanley's attuned vacuums.
"Perona!"
Spawn's voice! He was coming toward me! I lay prone, my little grids switched off. I held my breath.
Spawn's figure went past within ten feet of me. But he did not see me.
He met the guard. "Hello, Gutierrez. The damned American--"
Perona and De Boer came hastening. Spawn joined them in the moonlight just beyond the archway, close enough for me to hear them plainly. Spawn was out of breath, panting from his swift walk. He greeted them with a roar.
"The American--he is gone!"
"Dios! Gone where, Spawn?"
"The hell--how do I know, Perona? He is gone from his room--from the house. Maybe he followed you here? Did he?"
CHAPTER VII - Behind the Sealed Door
There was a moment when I think I might have escaped unseen from that archway. But I was too amazed at Spawn's appearance to think of my own situation. I had believed that Perona was plotting against Spawn, meeting these bandits in this secret place; I had just heard them planning to attack Spawn's mine--to rob it of the treasure doubtless, which I knew was stored there.
But I realized now it was not a plot against Spawn. He had come here swiftly to join Perona and tell him that I, their intended victim, was missing. He had greeted the bandit guard by name. He seemed, indeed, as well known to these bandits as Perona himself.
They stood now in a group some thirty feet away from me. I could hear their excited voices perfectly clearly. My instruments were off; but I recall that as I listened to Spawn I was also aware of the tingle of the electrode-band on my chest--Hanley, vigorously calling me back to find out why I had so summarily disconnected.
"I took him to his room," Spawn was explaining excitedly. "De duvel, why should I have sealed him in? How could I? He is no child!"
De Boer laughed caustically. "And so he has walked away from you? I think I am a fool to mix myself with you two."
Perona retorted, "I have made you rich, De Boer. Think what you like; to-night is the end of our partnership. Only, you do what I have told you to-night."
"Hah! How can I? Your American has flown his trap."
This guard--this Gutierrez, as Spawn had called him--was listening with interest. De Boer's several other men were gathered there. I felt myself safe where I was, for the moment at least.
* * * * *
I cut Hanley in. "Chief, they're closer! Spawn has come! They've missed me! I'll relay what they're saying, but you step it down; there's too much volume."
"You're all right, Phil? Thank Heaven for that! Something blew my vacuums."
"Chief, listen--here they are--"
Perona: "But he will be back. In the garden now, no doubt, with Jetta."
De Boer: "Ah--the little Jetta! So she is there, Spawn? Not in years have you spoken of your daughter. A young lady now, I suppose. Is it so?"
Spawn cursed. "We leave her out of this. You follow the Señor's plan."
"Come to your house? You think the bird will be there for me to seize?"
"Yes," Perona put in. "You go there; in an hour. Then to the mine."
Spawn undoubtedly was in this plot to attack his mine! He said, "At the mine we have arranged everything. Damn this American! But for Perona I would not bother with him."
"But you will bother," Perona interjected.
De Boer laughed again. "I would be witless could I not figure this! He is a young man, and so handsome he has frightened you with the little Jetta! Is that it, Perona? Jealous, eh?"
I had been holding the image finder so that Hanley might see them. Hanley's voice rattled my ear-grid. "Phil! Get away from there! Look! De Boer is searching!"
* * * * *
De Boer had, a moment before, spoken quietly aside to Gutierrez. And now three or four of the men were spreading out, poking about with small hand-flashes. Searching for me! The possibility that I might be here, eavesdropping!
Hanley repeated vehemently, "Phil, they'll find you! Get out of there: the way is still open!"
Gutierrez was approaching the archway. But I lingered a moment longer.
"Chief, you heard about that girl, Jetta, Spawn's daughter--"
I stopped. Perona was saying, "Spawn, was Jetta still in her room? You did not untie her?"
"No."
"And gagged? Suppose the Americano was back there now? She might call to him, and he would release her--"
De Boer: "How do you know he is not around here? Listening?"
With the assumption that I might be within hearing, De Boer tried to trap me. Gutierrez, at a signal now, suddenly dashed through the archway and planted himself on the path outside. The other searchers spread their rays; the rocks all about me were lighted. But my niche was still untouched.
De Boer: "If he is around here--"
Perona: "He could not have followed me; I was too careful."
I was murmuring: "Chief, they've got that girl."
"Phil, you get away! Go to Markes. Stay with him."
"But Chief, that Jetta, I--"
"Keep out of this! You're only one; you can't help any! I've sent for the Porto Rican patrol ship to handle this."
"Chief, I'm going back to Spawn's."
"No--"
I cut off abruptly. In another moment I would have been discovered. The searchers were headed directly for me.
* * * * *
I moved, crouching, back along the inner wall of the archway. The moon was momentarily behind a cloud. It was black under the arch; and out front it was so dim I could only see the faint blob of Gutierrez's standing figure, and the spot of his flashlight.
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--"
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."
"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)
The Terrible Tentacles of L-472
By Sewell Peaslee Wright
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.
[Sidenote: Commander John Hanson of the Special Patrol Service records another of his thrilling interplanetary assignments.]
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.
[Footnote 1: Editors Note: "The Forgotten Planet" July 1930 issue of Astounding Stories]
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 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.