Kohonnes breathed out across his little
world and made the waters back up and the
stones crawl and the trees writhe abominably.
Why couldn't he distort men's souls also?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The spaceship was changing shape all around him. The curving wallssloped inward at crazy angles, and the glassine windows bulged likegiant bubbles. The floor was an unending series of little waves, andthe ceiling melted to drop liquid pellets.
"This is it!" exulted Grim Thorssen, slamming the levers of hiscontrol board, striving to slip his ship into the tug of the littleplanet looming through the starboard window. "Whatever kidnapped ourtrading vessels, whatever happened to the Fleet cruisers sent afterthem—here it is."
His tawny hair, long uncut, looped over his hard blue eyes as he staredat the instruments in front of him. Even the hard steeliscite cones androds were altering subtly, their shapes fading to reform in different,twisted patterns. Grim felt a quick stab of fear. Sudden pain changedhis grin to a spasmodic grimace of agony.
"Pirates I don't mind," he gasped, his body jerking suddenly as theforce that bent his spaceship reached inside his body. "I—I'd take onBlack Randolph as quick as down a cup of yassallel right now. Butthis thing—"
His head whipped back as spasms tore his chest. Laboring, sweatstanding out on his high forehead, he thought, 'Matter isn't matterhere—not as I know it. A ceiling starts crying steel tears and aheatlite floor develops a permanent.'
The force was tearing him apart with pain. It came like iron fingers inhis belly and across his ribs. It bent him over so that his face wentpurple.
No wonder the Trader Unions lost their big Caravans, packed to theirrivets as they were with priceless radium and korse-210 from Tanit andthe other planets of the suns Deneb and Achernar! The Council thoughtat first that it was Black Randolph looting, so the Unions Councilordered out the cruisers from the Interstellar Fleet to hunt him down.The cruisers, like the big Caravans, never came back.
Then they sent for Grim Thorssen.
The big Viking throwback was the spot trouble-tripper of the Fleet.He'd been decorated—and paid in credits—from Antares to Kruger-60for a brash bravery that ran close to the margins of foolhardiness.But what looked like recklessness in some men was planned daring withthe blond Nordic. He could think faster and shoot straighter than anyother three men in the Fleet. He had the highest I.Q. that the booksprovided for, and black spots on his chest from friendly duels with hisfellow officers using black disintegrater charges. He was smart andhe was crazy and his brother Commanders loved him. They said to eachother, "If anybody can do it, Grim will. He'll find out what grabs theCaravans and the cruisers."
Well, now he knew. Tortured and strained, bent in a thousand positionsin a matter of minutes, he was sobbing out the thought that he wishedhe hadn't. There wasn't anything you could do to a force that turnedyour ship into a fantastic nightmare and cut you in two with lancets ofagony.
The planet loomed in the forward window. A faint light hazed itsoutlines, as though a private sun of its own shone beyond it. Grim bithis lip until it bled, fighting the nausea and the throbbing in him. Hehad to land his ship. He had to find out what the force was, and whatit wanted. He had to fight the tough luck that had hounded the TraderUnions ever since old Jasper Jones had