The Greatest Works of E. E. Smith. E. E. Smith

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СКАЧАТЬ over eight hundred miles an hour!

      Through countless thousands of years wind and wave have planed and scoured the planet Trenco to a geometrically perfect oblate spheroid. It has no elevations and no depressions. Nothing fixed in an Earthly sense grows or exists upon its surface; no structure has ever been built there able to stay in one place through one whole day of the cataclysmic meteorological phenomena which constitute the natural Trenconian environment.

      There live upon Trenco two types of vegetation, each type having innumerable sub-divisions. One type sprouts in the mud of morning; flourishes flatly, by dint of deeply sent and powerful roots, during the wind and the heat of the day; comes to full fruit in later afternoon; and at sunset dies and is swept away by the flood. The other type is free-floating. Some of its genera are remotely like footballs, others resemble tumbleweeds, still others thistledowns, hundreds of others have not their remotest counterparts upon Earth. Essentially, however, they are alike in habits of life. They can sink in the “water” of Trenco; then can burrow in its mud, from which they derive part of their sustenance; they can emerge therefrom into the sunlight; they can, undamaged float in or roll along before the ever-present Trenconian wind; and they can enwrap, entangle, or otherwise seize and hold anything with which they come in contact which by any chance may prove edible.

      Animal life, too, while abundant and diverse, is characterized by three qualities. From lowest to very highest it is amphibious, it is streamlined, and it is omnivorous. Life upon Trenco is hard, and any form of life to evolve there must of stern necessity be willing, yes, even anxious, to eat literally anything available. And for that reason all surviving forms of life, vegetable and animal, have a voracity and a fecundity almost unknown anywhere else in the galaxy.

      Thionite, the noxious drug referred to earlier in this narrative, is the sole reason for Trenco’s galactic importance. As chlorophyll is to Earthly vegetation, so is thionite to that of Trenco. Trenco is the only planet thus far known upon which this substance occurs, nor have our scientists even yet been able either to analyze or to synthesize it. Thionite is capable of affecting only those races who breathe oxygen and possess warm blood, red with hæmoglobin. However, the planets peopled by such races are legion, and very shortly after the drug’s discovery hordes of addicts, smugglers, peddlers, and out-and-out pirates were rushing toward the new Bonanza. Thousands of these adventurers died, either from each other’s ray-guns or under an avalanche of hungry Trenconian life; but, thionite being what it is, thousands more kept coming. Also came the Patrol, to curb the evil traffic at its source by beaming down ruthlessly any being attempting to gather any Trenconian vegetation.

      Thus between the Patrol and the drug syndicate there rages a bitterly continuous battle to the death. Arrayed against both factions is the massed life of the noisome planet, omnivorous as it is, eternally ravenous, and of an individual power and ferocity and a collective aggregate of numbers by no means to be despised. And eternally raging against all these contending parries are the wind, the lightning, the rain, the flood, and the hellish vibratory output of Trenco’s enormous, malignant, blue-white sun.

      This, then, was the planet upon which Kinnison had to land in order to repair his crippled Bergenholm—and in the end how well it was to be that such was the case!

      “Kinnison of Tellus, greetings. Tregonsee of Rigel IV calling from Trenco space-port. Have you ever landed on this planet before?”

      “No, but what . . . .”

      “Skip that for a time; it is most important that you land here quickly and safely. Where are you in relation to this planet?”

      “Your apparent diameter is a shade under six degrees. We are near the plane of your ecliptic and almost in the plane of your terminator, on the morning side.”

      “That is well, you have ample time. Place your ship between Trenco and the sun. Enter the atmosphere exactly fifteen G-P minutes from the present moment, at twenty degrees after meridian, as nearly as possible on the ecliptic, which is also our equator. Go inert as you enter atmosphere, for a free landing upon this planet is impossible. Synchronize with our rotation, which is twenty-six point two G-P hours. Descend vertically until the atmospheric pressure is seven hundred millimeters of mercury, which will be at an altitude of approximately one thousand meters. Since you rely largely upon that sense called sight, allow me to caution you now not to trust it. When your external pressure is seven hundred millimeters of mercury your altitude will be one thousand meters, whether you believe it or not. Stop at that pressure and inform me of the fact, meanwhile holding yourself as nearly stationary as you can. Check so far?”

      “QX—but do you mean to tell me that we can’t locate each other at a thousand meters?” Kinnison’s amazed thought escaped him. “What kind of . . . .”

      “I can locate you, but you cannot locate me,” came the dry reply. “Everyone knows that Trenco is peculiar, but no one who has never been here can realize even dimly how peculiar it really is. Detectors and spy-rays are useless, electro-magnetics are practically paralyzed, and optical apparatus is distinctly unreliable. You cannot trust your vision here—do not believe anything you see. It used to require days to land a ship at this port, but with our Lenses and my ‘sense of perception,’ as you call it, it will be a matter of minutes.”

      Kinnison flashed his ship to the designated position.

      “Cut the Berg, Thorndyke, we’re all done with it. We’ve got to build up an inert velocity to match the rotation, and land inert.”

      “Thanks be to all the gods of space for that.” The engineer heaved a sigh of relief. “I’ve been expecting it to blow its top for the last hour, and I don’t know whether we’d ever have got it meshed in again or not.”

      “QX on location and orbit,” Kinnison reported to the as yet invisible space-port a few minutes later. “Now, what about that Lensman? What happened?”

      “The usual thing,” came the emotionless response. “It happens to altogether too many Lensmen who can see, in spite of everything we can tell them. He insisted upon going out after his zwilniks in a ground-car, and of course we had to let him go. He became confused, lost control, let something—possibly a zwilnik’s bomb—get under his leading edge, and the wind and the trencos did the rest. He was Lageston of Mercator V—a good man, too. What is your pressure now?”

      “Five hundred millimeters.”

      “Slow down. Now, if you cannot conquer the tendency to believe your eyes, you had better shut off your visiplates and watch only the pressure gauge.”

      “Being warned, I can disbelieve my eyes, I think,” and for a minute or so communication ceased.

      At a startled oath from vanBuskirk, Kinnison glanced into the plate and it needed all his nerve to keep from wrenching savagely at the controls. For the whole planet was tipping, lurching, spinning; gyrating madly in a frenzy of impossible motions; and even as the Patrolmen stared a huge mass of something shot directly toward the ship!

      “Sheer off, Kim!” yelled the Valerian.

      “Hold it, Bus,” cautioned the Lensman. “That’s what we’ve got to expect, you know—I passed all the stuff along as I got it. Everything, that is, except that a ‘zwilnik’ is anything or anybody that comes after thionite, and that a ‘trenco’ is anything, animal or vegetable, that lives on the planet. QX, Tregonsee—seven hundred, and I’m holding steady—I hope!”

      “Steady enough, but you are too far away for our landing beam to grasp you. Apply a little drive . . . . Shift course to your left and down . . . . more left . . . . up a trifle . . . that’s it . . . . slow down. . . . QX.”

      There СКАЧАТЬ