THE SHADOW-GODS
By VASELEOS GARSON
Curt watched them, screaming as they fled before the
shadow-things—the tortured humans of Earth. He
watched them die, crushed and seared by the spreading
blue flower, and he cursed himself. With all his
knowledge and strength he could not save his people.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Around them, space—implacable but generous, impalpable but tangible—shot through with a thousand far off suns.
Looming at starboard, blacking out a section of space, the dark starside of the Moon. Then hundreds of flickering fireflies moving out of the darkness, blinking on by ones ... twos ... threes ... as they passed the black moon's rim.
Curt Wing relaxing, his dark head nodding softly, his dark eyes widening as he stared into the teleplate. He stared into the plate, and his lips, for so many hours a thin gray line, pursed into an almost inaudible whistle.
Without turning his head, he said to the lean rangy blond lieutenant beside him.
"That did it, Packer. It flushed them from cover. Curiosity did it."