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The Marooner By: Charles A. Stearns |
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By CHARLES A. STEARNS
ILLUSTRATOR SUMMERS
Wordsley and Captain DeCastros
crossed half a universe suffered
hardship faced unknown dangers;
and all this for what a breath
of rare perfume?
[Illustration: The creature was more pitiful than fearsome.] Steadily they smashed the mensurate battlements, in blackness beyond
night and darkness without stars. Yet Mr. Wordsley, the engineer, who
was slight, balding and ingenious, was able to watch the firmament from
his engine room as it drifted from bow to beam to rocket's end. This was
by virtue of banked rows of photon collectors which he had invented and
installed in the nose of the ship. And Mr. Wordsley, at three minutes of the hour of seventeen over four,
tuned in a white, new star of eye blinking magnitude and surpassing
brilliance. Discovering new stars was a kind of perpetual game with Mr.
Wordsley. Perhaps more than a game. "I wish I may, I wish I might ..." Mr. Wordsley said. The fiddly hatch clanged. DeCastros, that gross, terrifying clown of a
man, clumped down the ladder from the bridge to defeat the enchantment
of the moment. DeCastros held sway. He was captain. He did not want Mr.
Wordsley to forget that he was captain. The worst of Captain DeCastros was that he had moods. Just now he was
being a sly leprechaun, if one can imagine a double chinned,
three hundred pound leprechaun. He came over and dug his fingers into
Mr. Wordsley's shoulder. A wracking pain in the trapezius muscle. "The ertholaters are plugged," he said gently. "The vi lines are giving
out a horrible stink." "I'll attend to it right away," Mr. Wordsley said, wincing a little as
he wriggled free. "Tch, tch," DeCastros said, "can anyone really be so asthenic as you
seem, Mr. Wordsley?" "No, sir," Mr. Wordsley said, uncertain of his meaning. The captain winked. "Yet there was that ruffled shirt that I found in
the laundromat last week. It was not my shirt. There are only the two of
us aboard, Mr. Wordsley." "It was my shirt," Mr. Wordsley said, turning crimson. "I bought it on
Vega Four. I I didn't know that is, they wear them like that on Vega
Four." "Yes, they do," DeCastros said. "Well, well, perhaps you are only a
poet, Mr. Wordsley. But should you happen to be a little well, maggoty,
you positively do not have to tell me. No doubt we both have our
secrets. Naturally." " I haven't," Mr. Wordsley said desperately. "No? Then you certainly will not mind that I am recommending an Ab Test
for you when we get home." Mr. Wordsley's heart stopped beating for several seconds. He searched
Captain DeCastros' face for a sign that he might be fooling. He was not.
He looked too pleasant. Mr. Wordsley had always managed to pass the
Aberrations Test by the skin of his teeth, but he was sure that, like
most spiritual geniuses, he was sensitively balanced, and that the power
and seniority of a man like DeCastros must influence the Board of
Examination. "You might be decommed. Or even committed to an institution. We wouldn't
want that to happen, would we, Mr. Wordsley?" "Why are you doing this to me?" Mr. Wordsley asked strickenly. "To tell the truth, I do not propose to have any more of my voyages
blighted with your moon calfing, day dreaming and letting the
ertholaters stink up the bridge. Besides " Captain DeCastros patted his
shoulder almost affectionately. " besides, I can't stand you, Mr.
Wordsley." Mr. Wordsley nodded. He went over to the screen that was like a window
of blessed outer night and sank down on his knees before it. Have the wish I wish tonight. "Ah, ha!" DeCastros exclaimed with sudden ice frozen around the rim of
his voice. "What have we here?" "A new nova," Mr. Wordsley answered sullenly. "It is common knowledge that no engineer can tell a nova from the D.R.
blast of an Iphonian freighter. Let me see it." He shoved Mr. Wordsley
out of the way and examined the screen intently. "You fool," he said at last, "that's a planet... Continue reading book >>
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