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Read Ebook: The Sword by Quattrocchi Frank Beecham Tom Illustrator
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Ebook has 157 lines and 7176 words, and 4 pages
Illustrator: Tom Beecham
THE SWORD
Illustrated by Tom Beecham
George Harrison noticed the flashing red light on the instrument panel as he turned onto the bridge to Balboa Island. Just over the bridge, he pulled the car to the curb and flipped the switch with violence. "Harrison," he muttered.
"How's the water, fella?" asked the voice of Bob Mills, his assistant.
There was a beautiful moon over the island. The surf lapped at the tiers of the picturesque bridge. Soft music was playing somewhere. There was a tinkle of young laughter on the light sea breeze.
Harrison was vacationing and he viewed the emergency contact from Intersolar Spaceport with annoyance.
"What do you want, Bob?"
"Sorry, George," Bob Mills said more seriously. "I guess you got to come back."
"Listen--" protested Harrison.
"Orders, George--orders from upstairs."
Harrison took a long look at the pleasant island street stretching out before him. Sea-corroded street lamps lit the short, island thoroughfare. People in light blue jeans, bronzed youths in skipper caps, deep-tanned girls in terry-cloth.
"What the hell is it?"
"Don't know, but it's big. Better hurry." He clicked off.
Harrison skidded the car into a squealing turn. Angrily, he raced over the bridge and onto the roaring highway. Thirty minutes later Intersolar Spaceport, Los Angeles, blazed ahead of him.
The main gate guards waved him in immediately and two cycle guards ran interference for him through the scores of video newsmen who lined the spaceport street.
Bob Mills met him at the entrance to the Administration building.
"Sorry, George, but--"
"Yeah. Oh, sure. Now what the hell is it all about?"
Mills handed him a sheaf of tele-transmittals. They bore heavy secret stamps. Harrison looked up quizzically.
"You saw the video boys," Mills said. "The wheels think there might be some hysteria."
"Any reason for it?"
Harrison whistled softly and scanned the reports frowning.
"They contacted us--"
"What?"
"Used Intersolar Convention code, eh," mused Harrison.
"Yes," said Mills. "But there's nothing like this thing known in the solar system, nothing even close to this fast. Besides that, there was a sighting several days ago that's being studied.
"One of the radio observatories claims to have received a new signal from one of the star clusters...."
The huge metal vessel settled to a perfect contact with its assigned strip. It hovered over the geometric center of the long runway and touched without raising a speck of dust.
Not a sound, not a puff of smoke issued from any part of it. Immediately it rose a few feet above the concrete and began to move toward the parking strip. It moved with the weightless ease of an ancient dirigible on a still day. It was easily the largest, strangest object ever seen before at the spaceport.
A team of searchlight men swivelled the large spot atop the tower and bathed the ship in orange light.
"What's that mean?" asked Mills paging his way through a book.
"'Halt propulsion equipment,' I think," said Harrison.
"It's a good thing the code makers were vague about that," smiled Mills. "It's a good thing they didn't say jets or rockets--'cause this thing hasn't got any."
That single word suddenly issued from the alien ship.
It might have been the voice of a frog. It was low, gutteral, entirely alien, entirely without either enthusiasm or trace of human emotion.
"Jesus!" muttered Mills.
Scores of video teams focused equipment on the gleaming alien.
"In English yet!" amazed Mills.
The voice had become ugly. There was nothing human about it save only the words, which were in flawless English.
"Your system has long been under surveillance by the Races of Wan. Your--progress has been noted."
There was almost a note of contempt, thought Harrison, in the last sentence.
"Your system is about to reach others. It therefore becomes a matter of urgency that the Races of Wan make contact.
"Your cultural grasp is as yet quite small. You reach four of your own system's planets. You have attempted--with little success--colonization. You anticipate further penetrations.
"You master the physical conditions of your system with difficulty. You are a victim of many of the natural laws--natural laws which you dimly perceive.
"What the hell--" began Mills.
"Because of this disparity your maturity as a race is much in doubt. There are many among the cultures of the stars who would consider your race deviant and deadly. There are a very few who would welcome you to the reaches of space.
"But most desire more information. Thus our visit. We have come to gather data that will determine your--disposition--
"Your race accepts the principle of extermination. You relentlessly seek and kill for commercial or political advantage. You live in mistrust and envy and threat. Yet, as earthlings, you have power. It is not great, but it contains a threat. We wish now to know the extent of that threat.
"Here is the test."
Suddenly an image resolved itself on the gleaming metal of the ship itself.
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