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 Onslaught from Rigel by Fletcher Pratt (best pdf reader for ebooks TXT) 📖
- Author: Fletcher Pratt
Book online «The Onslaught from Rigel by Fletcher Pratt (best pdf reader for ebooks TXT) 📖». Author Fletcher Pratt
He reached his trunk up and disconnected the thought-helmet, and standing up, with a certain high dignity, pointed to the door.
Relieved of the helmet Sherman could hear a confused roaring like that on the day when Marta Lami and he had short-circuited the mining machine. "Come on," he called to the rest, dropping the helmet. "Hell's let loose. We've got to hurry."
Outside the roaring was perceptibly louder and seemed to be approaching. As they leaped down to the track a faint glow was borne to them redly along the rail. The ape-men in the cage-room they had escaped from were howling and beating the bars of their cages, with no blue lights to forbid them.
The track was slippery—Marta Lami and the three they had released from the cage room, unshod. Sherman gripped her by the hand. "Hurry, oh, hurry," he panted, pulling her along.
They passed another passage, down which a door stood open. The soft light that normally illuminated the place was flickering wildly, they caught a glimpse of three or four Lassans within, stirring wildly, rushing from place to place, trying this connection and that. The dull sound behind them increased; the track grew steeper.
"What about the rest?" gasped Gloria, running by his side.
"Don't know," he answered. "They did something. The whole place is coming down."
As they rounded a corner the track forked before them. Remembering the Lassan's parting instructions, Sherman led them to the left, passed another passage mouth, and they found themselves in a small blue-domed hall, empty save for a single car that stood on the track. There was just room to squeeze past it where the passage began again at the other end. And as they made it the roaring sound changed to a series of explosions, sharp and clear. The ground trembled, seemed to tilt; the car slid backward into the passage they had just vacated.
Ten feet, twenty-five feet more—and they were on the platform leading to the hall of the green globes. Sherman swung himself up, offered a hand to Marta. In a moment the others were beside them and they were darting for the door. The ground was trembling again, shock after shock. Something fell with a crash as they raced across the platform and into the hall.
Within, all was confused darkness and a babble of sound. A dodo screamed somewhere. An ape-man ran past them, gibbering, mad with fright, and dived to the track. Sherman ran across the hall, followed by Marta and the three he had released. Gloria halted.
Behind them something fell with a crash; ape-men ran gibbering with fright.
"Murray!" she cried, "Murray!" and then lifted the light-gun and sent a pencil of fire screeching to the roof. There was an answering shock as something tumbled from the ceiling.
"Murray!" she called again, at the top of her voice. Behind them, through the platform something fell with a crash and a long red flame licked through the door, throwing tall shadows and weird lights across the bedlam within.
"Here!" came a voice, and Gloria turned to see Murray and Ben running toward her.
"Come on," she said, "hurry. The works is busted."
They made the doorway just as Sherman was pulling Marta up the six-foot step. Ben and Murray lifted Gloria in their arms, tossed her up. The red flame in the background had given place to a white one, and a boiling white mass of something was sending a long tongue creeping across the floor.
Willing arms snatched at those of Ben and Murray, pulling them upward to safety. They turned to run down the tunnel.
"No!" cried Sherman. "Stick! It's all right. The old bloke told me so."
There was another explosion and a great white cloud rolled toward them above the liquid tide. Then they lapsed into unconsciousness.
Murray Lee yawned and sat up.
The others lay around him in curious piled attitudes as though they had dropped off to sleep in the midst of something. He noted, with a shock of surprise, that Ben Ruby's face, turned in his direction, was not metal, but good, honest flesh and blood. He gazed at his own hands. Flesh and blood likewise. He looked around.
The hall of the blue dome had vanished. A tangled mass of rock, cemented in some grey material, was before them, obscure in the darkness. At the other end was the passage, its ceiling fallen here and there, its sides caved in. But a stream of light showed that an opening still led to the outside.
He bent over and shook Gloria. She came to with a start, looked about her, and said with an air of surprise, "Oh, have I been asleep? Why, what's happened to you Murray? You need a shave." Then felt of her own face and found it smooth again.
"For Heaven's sake!" she ejaculated.
The sound brought the rest bolt upright. Sherman looked round at the others, then at the passage, and smiled with satisfaction.
"That old Lassan," he remarked, "told me the metal evolution would reverse if we got the emanation without letting the stuff touch us. Well, he was a sport."
"Yes, but—" said Marta Lami, standing up and feeling of herself. "Look what they did to us. My toes are flexible and my figure bulges in such queer places. I'll never be able to dance again. Oh, well, I suppose it doesn't matter—I'll be marrying the boy friend anyway." She took Sherman's hand and he blushed with embarrassment.
"Good idea," said Murray Lee and looked hard at Gloria.
She nodded and turned her head.
"Ho hum," said Ben Ruby. "The dictator of New York seems to be de trop. How does one get out of here?"
THE END[Transcriber's Note: Hyphen variations left as printed.]
End of Project Gutenberg's The Onslaught from Rigel, by Fletcher Pratt
Comments (0)