Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Radio Planet by Ralph Milne Farley (detective books to read .TXT) 📖
- Author: Ralph Milne Farley
Book online «The Radio Planet by Ralph Milne Farley (detective books to read .TXT) 📖». Author Ralph Milne Farley
Quivven had furnished the inspiration for this trip by suggesting that the sparkling sands of a large river, which ran from west to east, about a day’s journey north of Vairkingi, might contain the silver grains which he sought. So thither he set out one morning, with camping equipment and a detachment of soldiers.
All day they marched northward across the level plains. Toward evening they reached a small estuary of the main stream, and there they camped.
As the silver sky pinkened in the west Myles Cabot ran quickly down this brook to inspect the sands of the river, which lay but a short distance away.
The pink turned to crimson, and then purple. The darkness crept up out of the east, and plunged the whole face of the planet into velvet and impenetrable black. But Myles Cabot did not return to the camping place.
ATT THE TERRIBLE
When Myles Cabot left his encampment beside the little brook, he hastened down stream to where the brook joined the big river, along the edge of which there stretched a sandy beach. Falling on his knees, he picked up handful after handful of the silver sands.
There was still plenty of daylight left for him to examine the multitude of shiny metallic particles.
There could be no doubt of it, these sands held some metal which could be separated out in much the same manner as that in which the California gold miners of 1849 used to wash for gold, but only time would tell whether or not this metal was the much-to-be-desired platinum which the radio man needed for the grids, filaments, plates, and wires of his vacuum tubes.
On the morrow he would wash for this metal, using the wooden pans which he had brought for that purpose. The precious dust he would carry back to Vairkingi, melt it into small lumps if possible, and then try to analyze its composition in his laboratory.
As he sat on the sandy beach and thus laid his plans, his thoughts gradually wandered away from scientific lines, and he began again to worry about Lilla.
It was many days since she had sent the S O S which had recalled him from earth to Poros. Whatever she had feared must have happened by now. It was possible that he would never be able to effect a return to Cupia. Why not then accept the inevitable, settle down permanently among the Vairkings, and solace himself as best he could?
Even an ordinarily stalwart soul would have done his best and have been satisfied with that. But Myles Standish Cabot possessed that indomitable will which had given rise to the Porovian proverb: “You cannot kill a Minorian.”
To such a man, defeat was impossible. He would rescue the Princess Lilla in the end; that was all there was to it.
So he laid his plans with precision, as he sat on the sandy shore of the Porovian river in the crimsoning twilight.
Before the velvet darkness completely enveloped the planet, the earth-man arose from the sands, and began his return up the valley of the little estuary. But, as he was hurrying along, and was passing through a small grove of trees, a dark form noiselessly dropped on him from above.
The creature lit squarely upon his back, wrapping its furry legs around his abdomen and its furry arms around his neck. Although taken completely by surprise, Cabot wrenched the creature’s feet apart and then threw it over his head as a bucking broncho would throw a rider, a jiujitsu trick which he had learned from one of the Jap gymnasts at college.
The Roy, for that is what Cabot’s assailant proved to be, scrambled quickly to his feet, although a bit stunned, and crouched, ready to spring at him again. The earth-man planted his feet firmly apart, clenched his fists, and awaited the onslaught; then, when the creature charged, he met him on the point of the jaw with a well-aimed blow. Down crashed the furry one!
Cabot was rubbing his bruised knuckles and viewing his fallen antagonist with some satisfaction, when suddenly he was seized around the knees from behind, and was hurled prone by one of the neatest football tackles he had ever experienced.
Squirming quickly to a sitting position, he dealt the Roy who held his legs a stinging blow beside the ear. The grip on his knees loosened, and he was just about to scramble erect, when a third assailant caught him around the throat and pulled him over backward. Then scores of these furry savages swarmed upon him from every side. Yet still he fought, until his elbows were pinioned behind his back, his eyes were blindfolded, and a gag was placed between his teeth.
Thereupon, he ceased struggling, not because there was no fight left in him, but rather because he wisely decided to save his strength for some time when he might really need it. So he offered no further resistance when he was picked up and thrown across a pair of brawny shoulders, and carried off, he knew not whither.
Finally, after what seemed many hours, he was unceremoniously dumped onto the ground, and then jerked roughly to his feet.
His bandage was snatched off, and he found himself standing in the center of a circle of flares, confronting a large, squat, and particularly repulsive gray-furred Roy, who sat with some pretense of dignity upon a round boulder in front of him. Beside him stood another Roy, evidently the one who had brought him thither.
This one now spoke. “See the pretty Vairking which I have brought you.”
“If that’s a Vairking,” the fat one remarked, “then I’m my own father.”
“If he isn’t a Vairking,” the other countered, “then why does he wear Vairking leather armor? Answer me that.”
“Vairking or not,” the fat one declared, “he will do very nicely to string up by the heels and shoot arrows at. For quite evidently, he is no Roy. What say you to that, my fine target?”
The guard removed the gag.
“I say,” Myles evenly replied, “that you had better not take any such liberties with me.”
“And why not, furless?” the seated Roy sneered.
“First, let me ask you a question,” Myles said. “Who is King of the Roies, Grod the Silent or Att the Terrible?”
“Grod the Silent, most assuredly. Why do you ask?”
“And do you know Prince Otto, his son?”
“Otto the Bold? Most assuredly.”
“Know then,” the captive asserted, “that I am no Vairking, but rather a Minorian, which is a sort of creature I venture you have never met before. Furthermore, I am a particular personal friend of Otto the Bold. He will not thank you to string up Cabot the Minorian by the heels, and shoot arrows into him. I demand that I be taken before Prince Otto.”
Thereat the fat Roy smiled a crafty smile. “I shall take you before Att the Terrible,” he said.
It thus became evident that this fat chieftain had falsely asserted his belief in the kingship of Grod for the purpose of securing from Myles an admission as to which side the earth-man favored.
The rest of the night Myles spent on a pile of smelly bedding in a tent. He was still bound, and was kept under constant surveillance by a frequently changing guard. By morning, his arms below the elbows had become completely numb, in spite of his having loosened his bonds somewhat by straining against them.
When the velvet night had given place to silver day, the guard brought some coarse porridge in a rough stone bowl, which he held to the prisoner’s lips until it was all consumed. Myles thanked him politely, and then asked if he would mind chafing the numbed arms.
For reply, the soldier kicked him savagely.
“Get up!” he ordered. “The time is here to start the march. You’ll wish the rest of you were numb, too, when Att the Terrible starts shooting arrows into your inverted carcass.”
Presently, Myles was driven into the open, the tents were struck and loaded onto carts—probably stolen from the Vairkings—and the furry warriors took up the march, with their prisoner in their midst. The fat chief alone rode in a cart; all the others walked.
By straining at the thongs which bound his arms, Myles further loosened them sufficiently to relieve the pressure on his blood vessels, and then by wiggling his fingers, he managed finally to restore the circulation.
After that he began to take some interest in his surroundings.
His captors were a coarse-looking lot of brutes, with long gangling arms, thickset necks, low foreheads, and prognathous jaws. In general, they more closely resembled the anthropoid apes of the earth than they resembled the really human, although furred Vairkings.
Their weapons—wooden spears and swords, and flint knives—were like those of the Vairkings, only cruder. They marched without any particular order or discipline, and jested coarsely with each other as they ambled along.
After taking in all this, Myles next turned his attention to the country through which they were passing. The trail led upward into mountains. This at once aroused his interest. Here and there he noted what he felt sure must be zinc-blende. Yes, and cropping out of the rocks on the left was an unmistakable rosette of galena crystal!
The radio man was sincerely glad that he had been captured. And so he even joked jovially with the soldiers around him, until they became quite friendly.
At one point, their route lay across a foaming mountain stream, by means of a log bridge. As they were crossing over, one of the furry soldiers had the misfortune to stumble, and in another instant completely lost his footing and plunged headlong into the stream below. He happened to be one who had recently become particularly chummy with the captive.
“Poor fellow,” one of the guard casually remarked. “It’s too bad he can’t swim.”
“I can,” Myles shouted. “Quick, some one cut my cords!”
And, before any one could interfere, a young and impetuous Roy had drawn his knife and severed the earth-man’s bonds, thus permitting him to dive after the poor creature who was rapidly being washed down stream by the swift current.
It had all happened in an instant. A few swift strokes brought Myles up to the other. But it became no easy matter to reach the shore. However, the troop of Roies showed much more interest in regaining their captive, than they had shown in rescuing their comrade; and thus, by the aid of their spears, finally dragged the two ashore.
Then Cabot was bound again, and the march resumed. The carts had detoured, and so the fat chief had not seen the episode.
“Better not tell him, any one,” one of the guard admonished, “or it will go hard with the youngster. Our leader would not relish any chance of not being able to present this furless Vairking to Att the Terrible.”
“And will Att shoot arrows into me?” Myles asked.
“Most assuredly.”
Myles thought to himself: “I guess they are right, especially if Att knows how I was befriended by Arkilu, whom he covets!” Then he asked: “And when am I to see the Terrible One?”
“To-morrow morning,” was the reply.
However, Myles Cabot fell asleep at the encampment that night wondering when he would get that radio set finished for a talk with Lilla and wondering whether that really was galena crystal which he had passed on the road.
But galena crystal wasn’t going to help him any with Att the Terrible.
XIICOMPANIONS IN MISERY
In the morning Myles Cabot was to be brought before Att the Terrible, king of the Roies—for execution in the diabolical manner common to these furry aborigines, namely by being strung up by the heels and then used as a target for the archery of the king.
In spite of this, he slept soundly and dreamed of radio sets and blast furnaces and galena mines, until he was awakened by a soft furry paw shaking his shoulder.
A voice spoke close to his ear: “A life for a life.”
“So you have that proverb on this continent as well as in Cupia?” was his reply. “Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I am the soldier whom you saved from the raging mountain torrent, and what I want is to repay that favor. It is really true that you are a friend of Otto the Bold?”
“Yes.”
“Then come. The forces of Grod the Silent, Prince Otto’s father, are encamped but a short distance from here. I am on guard over you for the moment. Come, while there is yet time.”
Cabot arose in haste. The other promptly severed the cords which bound his elbows. Oh, how good it felt to have his arms free once more! He held them aloft, and flexed and reflexed the lame and bloodless muscles. Excruciating pain shot through the nerves of his forearm, but it was pleasant pain, easy to bear, for it portended peace and rest to his tired members.
He wiggled all his fingers rapidly, and the pain gave way to a prickly tingling, which in turn gradually faded off as the blood
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