The Marooner Read online

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  The MAROONER

  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?_

  The creature was more pitiful than fearsome.]

  Steadily they smashed the mensurate battlements, in blackness beyondnight and darkness without stars. Yet Mr. Wordsley, the engineer, whowas slight, balding and ingenious, was able to watch the firmament fromhis engine room as it drifted from bow to beam to rocket's end. This wasby virtue of banked rows of photon collectors which he had invented andinstalled 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 surpassingbrilliance. 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 aman, clumped down the ladder from the bridge to defeat the enchantmentof 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 wasbeing a sly leprechaun, if one can imagine a double-chinned,three-hundred pound leprechaun. He came over and dug his fingers intoMr. Wordsley's shoulder. A wracking pain in the trapezius muscle.

  "The ertholaters are plugged," he said gently. "The vi-lines are givingout a horrible stink."

  "I'll attend to it right away," Mr. Wordsley said, wincing a little ashe wriggled free.

  "Tch, tch," DeCastros said, "can anyone really be so asthenic as youseem, Mr. Wordsley?"

  "No, sir," Mr. Wordsley said, uncertain of his meaning.

  The captain winked. "Yet there was that ruffled shirt that I found inthe laundromat last week. It was not my shirt. There are only the two ofus aboard, Mr. Wordsley."

  "It was my shirt," Mr. Wordsley said, turning crimson. "I bought it onVega Four. I--I didn't know--that is, they wear them like that on VegaFour."

  "Yes, they do," DeCastros said. "Well, well, perhaps you are only apoet, 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 oursecrets. Naturally."

  "_I_ haven't," Mr. Wordsley said desperately.

  "No? Then you certainly will not mind that I am recommending an Ab Testfor you when we get home."

  Mr. Wordsley's heart stopped beating for several seconds. He searchedCaptain DeCastros' face for a sign that he might be fooling. He was not.He looked too pleasant. Mr. Wordsley had always managed to pass theAberrations Test by the skin of his teeth, but he was sure that, likemost spiritual geniuses, he was sensitively balanced, and that the powerand seniority of a man like DeCastros must influence the Board ofExamination.

  "You might be decommed. Or even committed to an institution. We wouldn'twant _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 voyagesblighted with your moon-calfing, day-dreaming and letting theertholaters stink up the bridge. Besides--" Captain DeCastros patted hisshoulder almost affectionately. "--besides, I can't stand you, Mr.Wordsley."

  Mr. Wordsley nodded. He went over to the screen that was like a windowof 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 ofhis 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. Wordsleyout of the way and examined the screen intently.

  "You fool," he said at last, "that's a planet. It is Avis Solis."

  * * * * *

  Now the name of Avis Solis tingled in Mr. Wordsley's unreliable memory,but it would not advance to be recognized. What planet so bright, andyet so remote from any star by angular measurement?

  "Turn it off," DeCastros ordered.

  Mr. Wordsley turned on him in a sudden fury. "It's mine," he cried. "Ifound it! Go back to your bridge." Then, aghast at what he had said, heclapped his hand over his mouth.

  "Dear me," said Captain DeCastros silkily. Suddenly he seemed to goquite berserk. He snatched a pile-bar from its rack and swung it at thescreen. The outer panel shattered. The screen went dead.

  Mr. Wordsley grabbed at the bar and got hold of it at the expense of abroken finger. They strained and tugged. The slippery cadmium finallyeluded both of them, bounded over the railing into the pit, struck anomplate far below and was witheringly consumed in a flash of blueflame.

  Then they were down and rolling over and over, clawing and gouging,until Captain DeCastros inevitably emerged upon top.

  Mr. Wordsley's eyes protruded from that unbearable weight, and he wishedthat there was no such thing as artificial gravity. He struggled vainly.A bit of broken glass crunched beneath his writhing heel. He went limpand began to sob. It was not a very manly thing to do, but Mr. Wordsleywas exercising his poetic license.

  "Now then," said DeCastros, jouncing up and down a bit. "I trust thatyou have come to understand who is master of this ship, Mr. Wordsley?"

  His addressee continued to weep silently.

  After awhile it occurred to Captain DeCastros that what he was doing wasexpressly forbidden in the Rules of the Way, Section 90-G, and might, infact, get him into a peck of trouble. So he got up, helped Mr. Wordsleyto his feet, and began to brush him off.

  In a kindly voice he said, "You must have heard of Avis Solis."

  "I don't seem to remember it," Mr. Wordsley said.

  "It's a solitaire. One of those planets which depend upon dark, dwarf,satellite suns for heat, you know. It is almost always in eclipse, andI, for one, have always been glad of it."

  "Why is that?" said Mr. Wordsley, not really caring. His chest wasgiving him considerable pain.

  "Because it holds the darkest of memories for me. I lost a brother onAvis Solis. Perhaps you have heard of him. Malmsworth DeCastros. He wasquite famous for certain geological discoveries on Titan at one time."

  "I don't think so."

  "You need not be sorry. The wretch was a murderer and a bad sport aswell. I need not append that my brother and I were as unlike as nightand day--though there is no night and day proper upon Avis Solis, ofcourse. I imagine you would like to hear the story. Then you willundoubtedly understand how it is that I was so upset a moment ago by thesight of Avis Solis, and forgive me."

  Mr. Wordsley nodded. A birdlike, snake-charmed nod.

  * * * * *

  "Avis Solis is a planet absolutely unique, at least in this galaxy. Inaddition to being a solitaire, its surface is almost solidly covered toa depth of several meters with light-gathering layers of crystal whichgive it the brilliant, astral glow that you saw just now. Its satellitesuns contribute hardly any light at all. It contains ample oxygen in itsatmosphere, but hardly any water, and so is practically barren. Anill-advised mineralogical expedition brought us to Avis Solis."

  "Us?" Mr. Wordsley said.

  "There were six of us, five men and a woman. A woman fine and loyal andbeautiful, with the body of a consummate goddess and the face of atolerant angel. I was astrological surveyor and party chief."

  "I didn't know that you were once a survey
or."

  "It was seventeen years ago, and none of your business besides."

  "What happened then?"

  "Briefly, we were prospecting for ragnite, which was in demand at thetime. We had already given up hopes of finding one gram of that mineral,but decided to make a last foray before blasting off. My brother,Malmsworth, stayed at our base camp. Poor Jenny--that was hername--remained behind to care for Malmsworth's lame ankle."

  Captain DeCastros was lost for several minutes in a bleak and desolatevalley of introspection wherein Mr. Wordsley dared not intrude. Therewas a certain grandeur about his great, dark visage, his falciform noseand meaty jowls as he stood there. Mr. Wordsley began to fidget andclear his throat.

  DeCastros glared at him. "They