Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Planet Stories January 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
THE WOMAN-STEALERS OF THRAYX
By FOX B. HOLDEN
"And that is why you will take us to Earth, Lieutenant,"barked the Ihelian warrior. "We do not want your arms oryour men. What we must ask for is—ten thousand women."
Mason was nervous. It was the nervousness of cold apprehension, notsimply that which had become indigenous to his high-strung make-up. Hewas, in his way, afraid; afraid that he'd again come up with a wronganswer.
He'd brought the tiny Scout too close to the Rim. Facing the factssquarely, he knew, even as he fingered the stud that would wrench themout of their R-curve, that he'd not just come too close. He'd overshotentirely. Pardonable, perhaps, from the view-point of the corps ofscientists safely ensconced in their ponderous Mark VII Explorer somefifteen light-days behind. But not according to the g-n manual.According to it, he'd placed the Scout and her small crew in a"situation of avoidable risk," and it would make a doubtful recordlook that much worse.
The next time he'd out-argue Cain with his rank if he had to. Cain wasbig enough to grab things with his brawny fists and twist them intowhatever shape he wanted when the things were tangible, solid,resisting. But R-Space was something else again. Nobody knew what itdid beyond the Rim.
He materialized the Scout into E-Space, listened for trouble from hercomputers, but they chuckled softly on, keeping track of where theywere, where they'd been, and how they'd get home.
It was as though nothing had happened. But Lieutenant Lansing Masonwas still nervous, his slender fingers steady enough, but as cold asthe alien dark outside the ship they controlled.
"You look a little shot again, skipper!" Cain said, grinning like aMartian desert cat. "What's the matter, Space goblins got you again?"
A retort started at Mason's taut lips, but his third officer wasalready speaking.
"Here's a dope sheet from the comps, if anybody's interested inknowing just where outside the Rim we are," she said. "I make it justa shade inside the outermost fringes of the Large Magellanic Cloud."Sergeant Judith Kent's voice had its almost habitually preoccupiedtone, as though the words she said were hardly more than incidental toa host of more important thoughts running swiftly behind her wide-set,deep gray eyes. They were serious eyes, and in their way matched thesolemn set of her small features and the crisp, military cut of herblack hair and severe uniform.
"Our little boss-man knows where we are, all right!" Cain said.
Mason gave Cain's six-feet-two a quick glance, wondering as he alwayswondered why the big redhead's shoulders always seemed too broad forthe Warrant Officer's stripes on them. "Sergeant Kent's right," hesaid. "Here's her comp-sheet. You can look for yourself. Fringe,Magellanic. And look at that while you can—" he jabbed a forefingerat the main scanner, its screen studded with unfamiliarly closeconstellations—"because we're on our way back. Set up a return on thecomps, will you, Sergeant?" For all his tenseness his voice was low,and the words it formed were even and swift.