The Flame Breathers
By RAY CUMMINGS
Vulcan was a doom-world. One expedition had
mysteriously disappeared, and now another was
following in its path—searching for the unknown
menace that stalked Vulcan's shadowed gorges.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories March 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I write this narrative, not with the idea of contributing any additional scientific data to the discovery of Vulcan, but to put upon the record the real facts of our truly-amazing space voyage.
The newscasters have hailed me as a modern Columbus. Surely I would not want to appear ungracious, unappreciative of all the applause that has been heaped upon me. But I do not deserve it. I did my job for my employers. The Society sent me to make a landing upon Vulcan—if the little planet existed. I found that it does exist; it was exactly where I was told it ought to be. I carried out my instructions, returned and made my report. There is no great heroism in that.
So I am writing the facts of what happened. Just a bald, factual account, without the imaginative trimmings. The real hero of the discovery of Vulcan was young Jan Holden. He did his job—did it well—and he did something just a little extra.
I'm Bob Grant, which of course you have guessed by now. Peter Torrence—the third member of our party—is in the Federal Prison up the Hudson. I had to turn him in.