Voluminous waves hedged in the Ocstas, and their steady blaze cast a deep crimson, purple glare over the heavens that must have reached to Centur. We were ten miles away, our ship had a heavy coating of cinders and the sickening odor of sulphur suffocated. A scorching smoke devoured the air and hung like a pall over all nature, obscuring everything except the splendid, diabolical phenomenon, belching flame and lightning forking from the gigantic crested columns that shot upward hundreds of feet. It was a fearsome, stupendous spectacle.
Time seemed infinite, so absorbed had I been watching the magnificent Otega, that from a light touch I started as from a dream, mumbling gruffly.
“Awake, Virgillius, you are fascinated by the splendid Otega.”
A sudden dazzling flash illuminated the ship and I saw her. She laughed teasingly as I caught her hand and pressed it against my face.
“We are going to Centur,” she told me. “All lights have been extinguished. Thousands are on their way to view the volcano. Should it become known that I have returned the loyal people will forego that marvelous sight and accompany us back to Centur. The lava streams are rushing down the other side of the mountain into the sea. The flow will continue many days and there will be intermittent eruptions for months, then the Otega will be dormant, probably forever.”
“Much damage done?”
“Some,” she answered, “to the Potolilis. The Ocstas is the property of the Potolilis. They know the Otega and avoid it. There is much timber lost, but the Potolilis are a tribe of vast wealth. Centauri has ordered his ship brilliantly illuminated, so all may know he has not perished.”
Our ship had ceased its aimless floating and slanted straight for Centur. Far in the distance, speeding toward the Ocstas, were thousands of red globe lights traveling thickly together, resembling the Milky Way suddenly lowered to our sphere. We darted in a westerly direction avoiding the flying multitude, which gradually sailed past like a great stream of meteors, traveling in groups or long straggling lines, and all heavily laden with sightseers. One huge vessel, sailing apart from the others, edged us closely. She was gayly illuminated and decorated with the colors of Centauri. We did not clear her in time, and she spied our dark hulk and saluted. We flashed farther into the darkness, but the sound of gay music, wild singing, shouts and shrill laughter of the men and women aboard followed us.
“A private vessel, party of pleasure-loving young people out for a lark,” I suggested.
Alpha watched the vessel till it appeared but a pale stream of light against the sky.