The Skylark of Valeron

by E. E. Smith

Not until the Chloran vessel was within Valeron's atmosphere did her commander deign again to notice his prisoner.

"As I told you when last I spoke to you, I am about to land you in one of your inhabited cities," the amœbus informed Siblin then. "Get in touch with your Bardyle at once and convey our instructions to him. You have the sample and you know what you are to do. No excuses for nonperformance will be accepted. If, however, you anticipate having any difficulty in convincing your fellow savages that we mean precisely what we say, I will take time now to destroy one or two more of your cities."

"It will not be necessary—my people will believe what I tell them," Siblin thought back. Then, deciding to make one more effort, hopeless although it probably would be, to reason with that highly intelligent but monstrously callous creature, he went on:

"I wish to repeat, however, that your demand is entirely beyond reason. That ore is rare, and in the time you have allowed us I really fear that it will be impossible for us to mine the required amount of it. And surely, even from your own point of view, it would be more logical to grant us a reasonable extension of time than to kill us without further hearing simply because we have failed to perform a task that was from the very first impossible. You must bear it in mind that a dead humanity cannot work your mines at all."

"We know exactly how abundant that ore is, and we know equally well your intelligence and your ability," the captain replied coldly—and mistakenly. "With the machinery we have left in the mine and by working every possible man at all times, you can have it ready for us. I am now setting out to explore the next planet, but I shall be at the mine at sunrise, twenty of your mornings from to-morrow. Ten thousand tons of that mineral must be ready for me to load or else your entire race shall that day cease to exist. It matters nothing to us whether you live or die, since we already have slaves enough. We shall permit you to keep on living if you obey our orders in every particular, otherwise we shall not so permit."

The vessel came easily to a landing. Siblin in his cage was picked up by the same invisible means, transported along corridors and through doorways, and was deposited, not ungently, upon the ground in the middle of a public square. When the raider had darted away he opened the door of his glass prison and made his way through the gathering crowd of the curious to the nearest visiphone station, where the mere mention of his name cleared all lines of communication for an instant audience with the Bardyle of Valeron.

"We are glad indeed to see you again, Klynor Siblin." The coördinator smiled in greeting. "The more especially since Quedrin Radnor, even now on the way back from Chlora, has just reported that his attempt to rescue you was entirely in vain. He was met by forces of such magnitude that only by employing a zone of force was he himself able to win clear. But you undoubtedly have tidings of urgent import—you may proceed."

Siblin told his story tersely and cogently, yet omitting nothing of importance. When he had finished his report the Bardyle said:

"Truly, a depraved evolution—a violent and unreasonable race indeed." He thought deeply for a few seconds, then went on: "The council extraordinary has been in session for some time. I am inviting you to join us here. Quedrin Radnor should arrive at about the same time as you do, and you both should be present to clear up any minor points which have not been covered in your visiphone report. I am instructing the transportation officer there to put at your disposal any special equipment necessary to enable you to get here as soon as possible."

The Bardyle was no laggard, nor was the transportation officer of the city in which Siblin found himself. Therefore when he came out of the visiphone station there was awaiting him a two-wheeled automatic conveyance bearing upon its windshield in letters of orange light the legend, "Reserved for Klynor Siblin." He stepped into the queer-looking, gyroscopically stabilized vehicle, pressed down "9-2-6-4-3-8"—the location number of the airport—upon the banked keys of a numbering machine, and touched a red button, whereupon the machine glided off of itself.