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
But the bombs were all gone! And the ant-men in the plane below were raising their rifles, watching for a good opening.
What was to be done? With Doggo’s deafness to sound waves, it would be impossible to explain the situation to him in time for him to veer away. He naturally assumed that, as he maneuvered the ship into this position of advantage, Cabot would at once put an end to the fight.
In this extremity the earth-man suddenly thought of the obsolete fighting tail. Its levers were there. Was it still in operation? He would see.
Grasping its levers, he manipulated them swiftly, and drove the tip of the tail through the fuel tank of the enemy. Two bullets zipped by him. Then the machine below careened and soared to earth—or rather, Poros—followed by a stream of shots from the earth-man’s rifle. The battle was over.
Cabot relieved Doggo at the controls, and circled the palace once more. His own squad of laboratory guards were just entering one of the palace gates. The captain waved to him. But he noted that Quivven was not among them. Poor girl! What could have become of the poor little golden creature?
But there was no time to ask. With so many of the ants killed, all their aircraft disabled and the Vairkings firmly entrenched in the palace and supplied with at least six ant-rifles, Quivven’s people were in as good a position as possible.
For Cabot to stop now might mean not only renewed complications with the golden maid, but also possibly the confiscation of his plane by Jud. It would not pay to take any chances; he must hasten home to Lilla, leaving the ants, the Roies, and the Vairkings to contend for the possession of the burning city.
As he turned the nose of the airship upward and began the ascent preparatory to flying across the western mountains to the sea, he observed a large marching body of troops far to the south. These might change his responsibility with respect to his late hosts; it would only take a few minutes to investigate; so southward he turned the plane.
The marching troops were Roies, as he judged by their absence of leather armor. Swooping low he picked out the face of their leader. It was Otto the Bold, son of Grod the Silent, the leader of the friendly faction of the furry wild-men of the hills. Having captured and sacked the city of the ants, they were now evidently on their way to relieve Vairkingi.
The last feeling of obligation passed from the earth-man, as, waving to his savage friend, he turned the nose of his plane upward once more. Then it occurred to him that, having flown so far south, he might just as well take a final look at the ant-city. Besides, this would place him in exactly the location where the ant-men had landed when they flew east across the boiling seas from Cupia to found New Formia, and thus would be a good point for him to take off in his flight westward.
Accordingly, he turned to the right until he topped the mountain range, then turned to the left again, and followed the range southward.
But a tropical thunderstorm forced him to descend in a cleft of hills. Myles hoped that this rain extended to Vairkingi, and would serve to quench its fires.
After several hours, the weather cleared once more. The two companions compared notes on the adventures which had befallen them since their first hop-off that morning. Then they embarked once more, and continued their course southward. Soon they passed over the smoking ruins of the once-impregnable Sur, and at last came to the little radio hut of the Formians.
This, too, was in ruins; Otto had received his note. Wireless communication between Cupia, and Vairkingia and New Formia was at an end. Yuri would now believe the worst that Cabot had told him over the air. And that worst was likely to prove to be the truth after all.
Swinging to the westward, Myles passed over the deserted city of the ants, patrolled by a handful of Otto’s Roies; and thence on and on until there loomed before him a solid wall of steam. It was the boiling sea, over which he must pass in order to rejoin his loved ones.
Hovering gently down on a little silver-green meadow about five miles inland, the two fugitives prepared for the trip. First they pulled off some of the tapestries to pad the fuel tank.
And there before them lay a figure in leather Vairking armor, a golden figure smiling up at them, little Quivven, whom they thought they had left behind.
“You!” Myles exclaimed, scowling.
“Yes,” she replied. “I usually accomplish what I set out to do. When you sent me away, I persuaded one of the guards to lend me his suit. Then I returned, helped with the loading, and hid myself while you and Doggo were writing notes to each other. But I nearly died of fright when you were turning me over and over, up there in the sky.”
Myles sighed resignedly. “I can’t send you back now,” he said, “though what I shall do with you in Cupia, the Builders only knows!”
So the three friends completed the preparations, and then sat down together for a meal.
It was too late to start their flight that day and, besides, a rest would do them all good; so they encamped for the remainder of the afternoon and the night.
The next morning, as the first faint flush of pink tinged the eastern sky, they took their farewell meal on Vairkingian soil. Then, swathed in tapestries and with goggles in place, they took their stations in the plane, and headed straight for the bank of steam.
As they passed within its clouds, all sight was blotted out.
They had decked the fusilage over like an Eskimo kayack, only Cabot’s well-wrapped head protruding. Within, Doggo manipulated the levers and watched the altimeter and gyro-compass by the light of a Vairking stone lamp; strange mingling of modernity and archaism. Cabot’s vigil was for the purpose of guarding against flying too high, and thus piercing the cloud envelope and exposing them to the fatal glare of the sun.
On and on they went. Cabot could see nothing. The hot vapor condensed on his wrappings, seeped through, and scalded his head and shoulders unbearably. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He pulled in his head and tore off the bandages. The relief was instantaneous. He seized the levers, and Doggo took his place at the opening.
But at last even Doggo succumbed. Having braved the heat too long, he collapsed weakly on the floor of the cockpit.
“It’s my turn,” Quivven shouted, above the noise of the motors. “Now aren’t you glad you brought me along?”
And in spite of Cabot’s remonstrances, she swathed her golden head and stuck it through the opening.
By this time, scalding water was leaking through all the covering of the cockpit. It was only a question of minutes before it would soak through the body-coverings of those within.
But just then the girl cried out, “Land. Land, once more; and clear silver sky.”
Doggo revived and tore off the covers. True, the steam bank of the boiling seas lay behind them. Below them was the silver-green land.
What did it hold in store?
XXTHE WHOOMANGS
Thoroughly exhausted by their flight across the boiling seas, the Radio Man and his two strange companions—the huge ant-man, Doggo, and the beautiful, golden-furred Vairking maiden, Quivven—wished to land at once, without waiting to ascertain what particular section of Cupia lay beneath them. But the entire area below appeared to be thickly wooded.
Accordingly the fugitives hovered down to a short distance above the ground and then just skimmed the treetops at a slow rate of speed, keeping a careful watch for a landing place. They had not long to wait, for presently they espied a road running beneath the trees; and, after putting on more speed and following this road for a couple of stads, they finally came to a sufficiently large clearing a short distance from the road, to enable them to settle down quietly to the ground.
The party quickly disembarked upon the silver-green sward, and the three companions then broke through the bushes to the road, which proved to be of dirt, although well-traveled.
Myles remarked, “This must be some very out-of-the-way part of my country; for practically all of our roads are built of concrete, a material similar to the cement with which I fastened the bricks together in making our furnaces in Vairkingi.”
Quivven shuddered. “Please don’t remind me of my poor city,” she begged piteously; then in a more resigned tone: “But that is behind us. Let us forget it and face the future. You were speaking of cement roads?”
“Yes,” Myles replied. “The fact, that this road is not made of concrete indicates that it is not a main highway, but the fact that it is well-worn shows that it is traveled considerably. Let us therefore wait for some passer-by who can tell us where we are.”
At this point Doggo produced a pad and stylus, and wrote, “Let me in on this.”
Cabot obligingly transcribed, in Porovian short-hand, an account of the conversation. Meanwhile the golden girl abstractedly examined the foliage beside the road.
While Doggo was reading the manuscript, Quivven called Cabot’s attention to the trees and shrubs. “How different they are from those in Vairkingia,” she remarked.
“That is to be expected,” Myles answered, “for your land and mine are separated by boiling seas across which no seeds or spores could pass and live. Thus it is surprising that the two continents support even the same general classes of life. Come, I will point out to you some of the more common forms of our flora.”
He had in mind to show her the red-knobbed gray lichen-tree; and the tartan bush, the heart-shaped leaves of which are put to so many uses by the Cupians; and the saffra herb, the roots of which are used for anaesthesia; and the blue and yellow dandelionlike wild flowers. But although he searched for a hundred paces or so along the road, he was unable to locate a single specimen of these very common bits of Porovian vegetation.
“It is strange,” he muttered half to himself. “When I want to show the common plants of Cupia, I find nothing but unfamiliar plants, and yet I’ll bet that if I were to go out in search of rare specimens for my castle garden at Lake Luno, I should find nothing but tartan, saffra, lichen-trees, and blue dandelions.”
The mention of Luno Castle turned his thoughts homeward with a jerk. Here he was at last, after many adventures, on the same continent with his Lilla and his baby Kew. He had come here to rescue them, if it were not too late, from Yuri the usurper and his whistling bees. Now that he was apparently within reach of his loved ones, he began to worry about their safety a great deal more than ever before.
But this fear for Lilla was completely out-weighed by a growing fear of Lilla. What would she say to his two allies? Doggo, the ant-man, was a representative of a race which Cabot had vowed to exterminate from the face of Poros; for, as he had repeatedly asserted, there can be no lasting peace on any continent, which is inhabited by more than one race of intelligent beings.
And Quivven, the golden-furred Vairking maiden, would be even more difficult to explain. She was beautiful, even by Cupian standards. She was more nearly the same race as Myles than was his own wife, Lilla. She and Myles could talk together, unheard by the radio-sense of Lilla. In these circumstances, it was hardly possible that the Princess Lilla would receive Quivven with open arms, or even be passably decent to her.
At this point, his reveries was interrupted by Doggo handing him the following note:
If we are to await passers-by, do you not think it would be well to return to the plane and secure our rifles, so as to protect ourselves in case the passers-by should prove to be hostile?
Myles nodded his assent, and informed Quivven of their intentions. She, being nearer to the point where they had entered the road, plunged through the bushes at once, and they hastened after her.
Just as Myles and Doggo were breaking through the bushes in the wake of the golden one, they heard an agonized scream ahead. Redoubling their efforts, they reached the clearing in an instant, and beheld a most unexpected sight!
Perched upon the airship, like a flock of enormous vultures, were about a dozen huge, bat-winged, pale green reptiles, each with a wing-spread of fully ten-feet; and one of these loathsome creatures held the writhing form of Quivven tight in its claws.
Without a moment’s thought for his own safety, the intrepid earth-man drew the Vairkingian sword which hung at his side, and rushed straight at the beast which held the
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