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. Astounding Stories, July, 1931 by Various (ebook reader library TXT) 📖
- Author: Various
Book online «Astounding Stories, July, 1931 by Various (ebook reader library TXT) 📖». Author Various
"Well, we're off!" he whispered. "And where, would you guess, are we headed?"
"I wouldn't guess," Stoddard whispered back. "From the way we're riding, it might be Mars! We must be making hundreds of miles an hour."
"Or thousands! Who knows?"
They crouched there in their cramped niche, scarcely even whispering now, as the tense minutes passed.
uddenly the motion changed. They seemed to be dropping.
Another moment or two, and with a slight jar the rocket came to rest.
"Well, we're here, wherever it is," said Stoddard, stirring.
"Yes, undoubtedly," the professor agreed. "And the next move?"
"I think we'll let them make that."
They were not long in doing so. There came the sound of doors rasping open, of footsteps echoing on metal stairs and corridors. Once a giant Cossack passed within four feet of them. But at length, all was silent within the rocket.
"Now, then, suppose we have a look around," said Stoddard, stepping out.
"Right," agreed his companion, following. "I'll admit I am mildly curious to know what corner of the earth we've been transported to."
They proceeded down the dim-lit corridor the way they had come, descended a flight of stairs and headed along another corridor—to pause suddenly and gasp with astonishment. For through the door whence they had entered the rocket poured a flood of sunshine.
toddard stared at it a moment incredulously, and then glanced at his watch.
"Ten o'clock, I make it!" he muttered. "Am I crazy, or what?"
"No, I hardly think so," smiled Professor Prescott, recovering from his own surprise. "It is merely that we are in some part of the world quite a few thousand miles removed from India. Back on Kinchinjunga, it is still ten o'clock at night, but here, it is quite obviously daytime."
"That must be the explanation," Stoddard agreed. "But it certainly gave me a start at first!"
Approaching the door, followed by the professor, he peered cautiously out, to confront a desolate stretch of scrubby growth, hemmed in by a background of rugged mountains.
"Now where the devil would you say we are?" he demanded, gazing around perplexedly.
"Either in the United States or in Mexico," was the astonishing reply.[59]
"But how can you say that?"
"Because it must be some place approximately twelve hours distant from India in time, to judge from the sun, which is not far past the meridian."
"But why not Australia, for instance?"
"Because Australia is too far. It would be three o'clock tomorrow morning there, since it is ten o'clock last night now in India."
toddard pondered this a minute, then admitted its correctness.
"All right, then. Assuming that we are somewhere on the North American continent, the next thing is to give Krassnov the slip; otherwise it won't be big enough for all of us!"
And that Professor Prescott conceded readily enough.
But before making any further move, they looked over their surroundings carefully, to satisfy themselves none of their late captors were in view.
"They're evidently somewhere on the other side of the rocket," Stoddard concluded at length. "So let's make a break for it while we've got the chance."
"Lead the way!" said the professor.
"O. K., here we go!"
And, stepping through the door, they dropped to the ground and raced off under the glare of the burning sun toward the rugged mountains that loomed ahead.
or a hundred yards or so they were able to keep the rocket between themselves and the Russians but soon the ground sloped up to such an extent that they realized they must be in full view.
Dropping behind the scant shelter of a scraggly tree, they turned and glanced down—and there, beyond the rocket, they could now see a group of men standing around outside a small wooden shack, shouting and gesticulating in their direction.
"Damn it, they've seen us!" muttered Stoddard.
"But why don't they come after us?" queried Professor Prescott.
The answer came even as he spoke, for out of the shack rushed the tall figure of the prince, in his hand a pair of binoculars which he raised to his eyes.
Whether or not be spotted them, an instant later he turned and uttered a command, and two huge Cossacks sprang to the pursuit.
"There's nothing to do now but run for it!" cried Stoddard, leaping to his feet.
The professor followed and they plunged on up the slope, bullets from their pursuers' pistols and the rifles of those below kicking up the dust around them. But either because the aim was bad or the targets difficult, they escaped unscathed.
As for Stoddard, he wasted no time in firing back.
"Once we get in those mountains, we're safe!" he gasped, as they struggled on. "How are you, Professor—all right?"
"No holes in my skin so far!" came the panting answer.
Five desperate, dodging minutes passed.
Glancing over their shoulders, they saw that the heavy, stolid Cossacks were losing ground. And ahead, tauntingly near now, loomed a thickly-wooded slope that meant the beginning of big timber—and safety.
Another five minutes—each second an hour—and they had gained it.
ut there was no pausing yet, they could hear the Cossacks crashing on like determined blood-hounds behind.
"No need to climb any more!" exclaimed Stoddard, half breathless. "We'll edge along, keep in the trees, and try to throw them off."[60]
The older man said nothing; merely gritted his teeth. This climb had told on him more than anything he had experienced on the cruel slopes of Kinchinjunga.
As they struggled along now, sometimes it seemed that they had thrown their pursuers off the trail, or completely outdistanced them, but always a moment later they would hear again the crunch of the Cossacks' boots on the dry undergrowth.
So the grim flight continued, mile after heart-tearing mile, and Stoddard was beginning to realize that the professor couldn't keep on much longer—had just about decided to stop and shoot it out with their pursuers—when suddenly there came a sound that brought new hope to him.
"Did you hear that?" he gasped, pausing.
"It—sounded like—a car!" panted his companion.
"Right. And that means there must be a road through here somewhere! But where?"
"Listen." Professor Prescott pointed to the left. "The sound seems to be coming from over there."
And sure enough, from the left came a wheezing grind of a car making a heavy grade.
"Near, too," decided Stoddard. "Come on—let's go! We've got to head it off. It's our only hope, except—"
With relief, he shoved his automatic back into its holster and led the way in the direction of the now rapidly nearing car.
hundred yards they had made, up a slight rise, when there spread before them a rutted mountain road, and on it, in full view, was a laboring Ford of ancient vintage.
Over the wheel hovered a lanky, leathery native, and beside him sat a small, plump woman who looked as though she might be his wife.
They were almost to the top of the hill when Stoddard hailed them.
"Say!" he said. "Give us a ride, will you? We're lost."
"Keep on, Henry!" he heard the woman urge. "I don't like the looks of 'em."
Americans! Well, thought Stoddard, they were in the United States, anyway. That was something. And he didn't exactly blame the good woman for her suspicions. They must look pretty wild, at that, with their two-day beards and tattered clothes.
"Sorry," spoke up Henry. "Missus says no. She knows best. 'Sides, it ain't fur to Martin's Bluff. You kin make it in an hour."
"But say, wait a minute!" They were running along beside the wheezing car now. "We've got to get there in a hurry. We'll pay you."
Henry pricked up his ears at this, but his wife shook her head.
"Keep on!" she urged. "They may be bandits!"
hereupon Stoddard drew his automatic, for there was no more time to argue.
"Stop!" he commanded. "You'll take us, understand? I'll pay you well!"
"See, I was right!" screamed the woman. "Bandits! Bandits! Oh, Henry—save me!"
Wildly she clung to him, as Stoddard mounted the running-board, but before he could make another move, Professor Prescott gasped out:
"The Cossacks! Quick!"
And jumping down, he wheeled to face the two leering Russians, not forty feet down the road. Pistols levelled, they were advancing stolidly.
Stoddard half-raised his own weapon, then turned to see if the car was within range of the return fire it would bring. It was—but not for long.
With a furious chattering of bands,[61] as Henry gave it the gas, the decrepit vehicle gained the top of the hill and disappeared from view down the far slope, and the last thing he saw of it was a dusty plate flapping under its tail-light.
It was a Texas license!
Then, turning back, he lifted his automatic; but it was too late. The Cossacks were on them.
In answer to a guttural command, he dropped the weapon and raised his hands, as the professor had already done.
wo hours later, they were back at the rocket.
Led into the shack—which was furnished inside like an Oriental hunting-lodge—they were confronted at once by Prince Krassnov.
Though his aristocratic features were immobile, it was obvious that he was in no amiable frame of mind.
"So, my friends!" he exclaimed. "I leave you in India, and meet you again in America, all within a matter of hours. It is but an example of our modern progress, is it not?"
They made no reply.
"Ha! You are not sociable, after enjoying my hospitality, my transportation? Then suppose we—as you Americans so quaintly say—call a spade a spade! I gave you your chance. You declined it. And what is the result? My beautiful Diamond Thunderbolt, my immeasurable treasure, is buried forever."
"Through no fault of ours!" put in Stoddard.
"But buried nevertheless, and my adopted kingdom in revolt. Yet do not think I mourn too much, my friends. Though the game is what you call up, my plans shall go on. Here and elsewhere in the world, where we have sub-headquarters, are billions of dollars' worth of diamonds—supplies for years ahead. We shall not suffer. But you—Professor Prescott and Doctor Stoddard—I have a very interesting fate in store for you. How would you care to make a little scientific expedition to Mars, say?"
"Mars?" gasped the professor.
"Yes, or Venus, or even Jupiter, not to mention the moon! Or how about the sun? That would be an interesting sphere for exploration."
"We don't know what you're talking about," said Stoddard growing nettled. "Why mince matters? Call a spade a spade, if you're going to! What do you propose to do with us, now that you have us in your power?"
The prince paused, drew forth a long Russian cigarette from an exquisite platinum case.
"I propose," he smiled, when he had lit it, "to turn over my rocket to you, my fellow scientists, since I shall have no further use for it and it might be embarrassing to be found with it in my possession."
And the way he proposed to turn it over to them, as they had already suspected, was to lock them in it and fire it off into space.
ithin the hour, the man's diabolical plan had been put into operation.
Led to the rocket, the luckless pair were locked within a small metal room somewhere within its recesses. There sounded again the peculiar rasping that told them its doors were being sealed. And then came the roar of that mighty exhaust beating down.
There followed the lifting, rushing sensation they had experienced before, and again they were flung violently to the flooring by the force of the upward impulse.
When the pressure slacked, they staggered to their feet and groped around the dark, stuffy little room.
"Well, this is the end, I guess," sighed Professor Prescott. "I had never thought," with a grim attempt at humor, "that I would meet quite such a scientific fate as this!"[62]
"Nor had I!" Stoddard agreed. "But I'm not quite ready to cash in my checks yet. The game isn't over!" He was pacing around the room, knocking on the metal walls with something that gave back a strident ring. "Have you any idea what composition this stuff is?"
he professor rapped on one of the panels; felt of it.
"Aluminum, I would say."
"Nothing so lucky! If it were, I could cut it like cheese. But duralumin, probably, a very light, strong alloy; and what I have here is a hunting knife with a can-opener on one end! If I'm not mistaken, we'll be out
Comments (0)