Avon Science Fiction Reader 2 Read online

  The schemes of this fatal

  beauty challenged the

  very stars themselves!

  The ambitions of a perfidious woman and the frenzied superstitions of an unearthly people combined to make a menace more dreadful than any the Interstellar Patrol had previously faced. For the sacrifices this lust queen demanded were at first confined only to the savages of that distant world—but later they would include the leaders of all the star-wide civilization! In this unusual story, Sewell Peaslee Wright tells of a conspiracy of the far future that will leave you breathless as THE PRIESTESS OF THE FLAME dares to attempt the satisfaction of forbidden desires.

  In this outstanding new number of the AVON SCIENCE-FICTION READER, you will also enjoy:

  THE SUPERPERFECT BRIDE by Bob Olsen-Just as Frankenstein created a monster, and Pygmalion created Galatea, so too this new master of super-surgery tried to create a perfect woman, matchless in beauty and peerless in love. The results were more than even he expected!

  WHEN THE FLAME FLOWERS BLOSSOMED by Leslie F Stone—On a world of planets, where the ruling race was a nation of tree-men, the advent of the strange red flowers was an unparalleled emergency, capped only by the coming of the first real man.

  Other exceptional science-fiction novelettes and short stories

  by Donald Wandrei, Ray Cummings, Miles J. Breuer, Robert W. Lowndes, etc.

  D.A.W.

  AVON

  SCIENCE-FICTION

  READER

  No. 2

  Edited By

  DONALD A. WOLLHEIM

  Stories By

  SEWELL PEASLEE WRIGHT

  RAY CUMMINGS

  DONALD WANDREI

  JOHN MICHEL

  BOB OLSEN

  CLARK ASHTON SMITH

  LESLIE F. STONE

  ROBERT W. LOWNDES

  MILES J. BREUER

  LORD BUNSANT

  AVON NOVELS, INC,

  Madison Ave., New York 22, N.Y.

  CONTENTS AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  PRIESTESS OF THE FLAME by Sewell Peaske Wright ………………………. 3

  Copyright, 1932, by The Clayton Magazines, Inc.; reprinted by consent of the author with arrangement through Ackerman Fantasy Agency.

  THE WHISPERERS by Donald Wandrei……………………………………………….26

  Copyright, 1935, by Street & Smith Publications, Inc., for Astounding Stories, May 1935.

  WHEN HALF-WORLDS MEET by John Michel……………………………………39

  Copyright. 1941, by Aihing Publications. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  THE SUPERPERFECT BRIDE by Bob Olsen……………………………………….. 53

  Copyright, 1929, by E.P. reprinted through arrangement with Ackerman Fantasy Agency.

  VULTHOOM by Clark Ashton Smith………………………………………………………70

  Copyright, 1935, by the Popular Fiction Publishing Company; copyright, 1948, by Clark Ashton Smith. By permission of Arkham House.

  THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED NOTHING by Ray Cummings …………. 89

  Copyright, 1921, by The Frank A. Munsey Co. By permission of the author.

  HIGHWAY by Robert W, Lowndes …………………………………………………….. 95

  Reprinted by special permission of Columbia Publications, Inc., and the author.

  WHEN THE FLAME FLOWERS BLOSSOMED by Leslie F. Stone……..105

  Copyright, 1935, by the Popular Fiction Publishing Company for ‘‘Weird Tales”

  THE BOOK OF WORLDS by Miles J.. Breuer M.D. ……………………………… 115

  Copyright, 1929, by Amazing Stories. Reprinted by permission of J. Lloyd McMaster for the heirs of Dr. Miles J. Breuer.

  THE REBUFF by Lord Dunsany……………………………………………………………… 124

  Copyright, 1948, by Lord Dunsany for “The Fourth Book of Jorkens”. By permission of Arkham House.

  AVON SClENCE-FICTION READER NO. 2

  COPYRIGHT, 1951, BY AVON NOVELS, INC,

  PRINTED IN U.S.A.

  Priestess of the Flame

  by Sewell Peaslee Wright

  SACRIFICE TO THE LUST QUEEN OF THE FLAME RITE

  Superstition is one of the curses of our little planet’s development. It has probably done more to slow up the course of progress than any other mental state and it has been with us since the dawn of primeval progress. It goes without argument that in some future era, when worlds must live with worlds on the basis of peace and mutual trust, that an upflare of superstition on some panicky planet could prove to be a Serious thing, The Priestess of the Flame Rite that arose in the days of the Stellar Patrol of which S. P. Wright speaks knew what a dangerous weapon she had. So dangerous that it required the super-scientific efforts of a cosmic federation to combat it.

  I HAVE been rather amused by the protests which have come to me regarding the “disparaging” comments I have made, in previous tales of the Special Patrol Service, regarding women. The rather surprising thing; about it is that the larger proportion of these have come from men. Young men, of course.

  Now, as a matter of fact, a careful search has faded to reveal to me any very uncomplimentary remarks. I have suggested, I believe, that women have, in my experience, shown a sad lack of ability to understand mechanical contrivances. Perhaps I have pictured some few of them as frivolous and shallow. If I have been unfair, I wish now to make humble apology,

  I am not, as some of my correspondents have indicated, a bitter old man, who cannot remember his youth. I remember it very well indeed, else these tales would not be forthcoming. And women have their great and proper place, even in a man’s universe.

  Some day, perhaps, the mood will seize me to write of my own love affair. That surprises you? You smile to think that old John Hanson, lately a commander if the Special Patrol Service, now retired, should have had a love affair? Well, ’twas many years ago, before these eyes lost their fire, and before these brown, skinny hands wearied as quickly as they weary now… .

  But I have known many women -good women and bad; great women and women of small souls; kindly women, and women fierce as wild beasts are fierce. Divinity has dealt lavishly with women; has given them an emotional range far greater than man’s. They can sink to depths unknown to masculinity; they can rise to heights of love and sacrifice before which man can only stand with reverently bowed head and marvel.

  This is a story of a woman—one of those no man could know and not remember. I make no apologies for her; I pay her no homage. I record only a not inaccurate account of an adventure of my youth, in which she played a part; I leave to you the task of judging her.

  We were some three days out from Base, as I recall it, on a mission which promised a welcome interlude in a monotonous sequence of routine patrols. 1 was commander then of the Ertak, one of the crack ships of the Service, and assisted by the finest group of officers, I believe, that any man ever had under him.

  I was standing a watch in the navigating room with Hendricks, my junior officer, when Correy brought us the amazing news.

  Correy was my first officer, a square-jawed fighting man if one ever breathed, a man of action, such as these effete times do not produce. His eyes Were fairly blazing as he came into the room, and his generous mouth was narrowed into a grim line.

  “What’s up, Mr. Correy?” I asked apprehensively. “Trouble aboard?”

  “Plenty of it, sir!” he snapped. “A stowaway!”

  “A stowaway?” I repeated wonderingly. A new experience, but hardly cause for’ Correy’s obvious anger. “Well, send him below, and tell Miro to put him to work—the hardest work he can find. We’ll make him�
�”

  “Him?” blurted Correy. “If it were a him it wouldn’t be so bad, sir. But it’s a she!”

  To understand the full effect of the statement, you’d have to be steeped in the traditions of the Service. Women are seldom permitted on board a ship of the Service; despite their many admirable qualities, women play the very devil with discipline. And here were we, three days out from Base on a tour of duty which promised more than a little excitement, with a female stowaway on board!

  I felt my own mouth set grimly.

  “Where is she, Mr. Correy?” I asked quietly.

  “In my quarters, under guard. It was my watch below, as you know, sir. I entered my stateroom, figuring on catching forty winks, and there she was, seated in my big chair, smiling at me.

  “Well, for a second I couldn’t speak. I just stared at her, and she kept smiling back at me. ‘What are you doing here?’ I managed to ask her, at last. ‘Do you know where you are?’ -

  “‘I’ll talk to your commanding officer,’ she told me, cool as you please. ‘Will you bring him, please!’

  “ ‘You’ll see him plenty soon enough,’ I snapped at her, getting over my surprise somewhat by that time. I called in a couple of men to keep her from getting into mischief, and reported to you. What are your orders, sir?”

  I hesitated a second, wondering. From Correy’s account, she must be a rather remarkable person.

  “Bring her up here, if you will, Mr. Correy. I’d like to see her before we put her In the brig.” The brig, I might explain, was a small room well forward, where members of the crew were confined for discipline.

  ‘“Right, sir!” It seemed to me that there was a peculiar twinkle in Correy’s eyes as he went out, and I wondered about it while we waited for him to return with the prisoner. ,

  “What an infernal nuisance, sir!” complained Hendricks, looking up from his glowing charts. “We’ll be the laughing-stock of the Service if, this leaks out!”

  “When it leaks out,” I corrected him glumly. I’d already thought of the unpleasant outcome he mentioned. “I’ll have to report it, of course, and the whole Service will know about it. We’ll just have to grin and make the most of it, I guess.” There was still another possibility which I didn’t mention: the silver-sleeves at Base would very likely call me on the carpet for permitting such a thing to happen., A commander was supposed to be responsible for everything that happened; no excuses available in the Service as it was in those days.

  I scowled forbiddingly as I heard Correy open the door; at least I could make her very sorry she had selected the Ertak for her adventure. I am afraid, however, that it was a startled, rather than a scowling face to which she lifted her eyes.

  “This is the stowaway, sir,” said Correy briskly, closing the door. He was watching my face, and I saw, now, the reason for the twinkle in his eye when I mentioned placing the stowaway in the brig.

  The woman was startlingly beautiful; one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and I have roamed the outer limits of space, and seen the women of many worlds. Hendricks, standing behind me, gasped audibly as his eyes fell upon her.

  The stowaway Was regally tall and exquisitely modeled. Her hair was the color of pale morning sunlight on Earth; her eyes an amazing blue, the equal of which I have never seen.

  She was beautiful, but not coldly so. Despite her imperious bearing, there was something seductive about the soft curves of her beautiful body; something to rouse the pulses of a man in the languor of her intensely blue eyes, and the full, sensuous lips, scarlet as a smear of fresh blood.

  “So this is the stowaway,” I said, trying to keep my voice coolly indifferent. “What is your name?”

  “I should prefer,” she replied, speaking the universal language with a sibilant accent that was very fascinating, “to speak with you privately.”

  “You will speak with me,” I informed her crisply, “in the presence of these officers. I repeat: what is your name?”

  She smiled faintly, her eyes compelling mine.

  “I am called Liane,” she said. “Chief Priestess of the Flame, Mother of Life, Giver of Death. I believe my name and position are not unknown to you, Commander Hanson?”

  Known to me? If Base was not in error—and for all their faults, the silver-sleeves are seldom wrong in matters of this sort—this woman was the reason for our present mission.

  “They are known to me,” I admitted. “They do not explain, however, your presence here.”

  “And yet they should,” protested Liane gently. “I was taken from my own people by those who had no right to command me. I was subjected to the indignity of questioning by many men. I have merely taken the simplest and quickest way of returning to my own people,”

  “You knew, then, our destination?”

  “I was informed of that by those who questioned me,” nodded Liane. “Then, since I had been assured I was an honored guest, and no prisoner, I secreted myself aboard the ship, hiding in a small room nearly filled with what I took to be spare parts. I had provisions, and a few personal belongings. When I felt sufficient time had elapsed to make a return improbable, I donned attire more fitting than the masculine workman’s guise in which I had secreted myself, and—I believe you are acquainted with the remaining facts.”

  “I am, I wall consider your case and. advise you later. Mr. Correy, will you conduct the stowaway-to my quarters and place her under guard? Return when you have attended to this matter, and ask Mr. Kincaid? to do likewise.”

  “To your quarters, you said, sit?” asked Correy, his eyes very serious, but not sufficiently so to entirely disguise the twinkle in their depths. “Not to the brig?”

  I could cheerfully have kicked him,

  “To my quarters,” I repeated severely, “and under guard.”

  “Right, sir,” said Correy.

  While we were awaiting Correy and Kincaide, I briefly considered the rather remarkable story which had been told me at Base.

  “Commander Hanson,” the Chief of Command, had said, “we’re turning over to you a very delicate mission. You’ve proved yourself adept at handling matters of this kind, and we have every confidence you’ll bring this one to a highly successful conclusion,”

  “Thank you, sir; we’ll do our best,” I had told him.

  “I know that; the assurance isn’t necessary, although I appreciate if. Briefly, here’s what we’re confronted with:

  “Lakos, as you know, is the principal source of temite for the universe. And without temite, modern space travel would be impossible; we would have to resort to earlier and infinitely more crude devices. You realize that, of course.

  “Now, for some time, those in charge of operations on Lakos have complained of a growing unrest, increasing insubordination on the part of the Lakonians, and an alarming decrease in production.

  “It has been extremely difficult-—indeed, impossible—to determine the reasons for this, for, as you are perhaps aware, the atmosphere of Lakos is permeated with certain mineral fumes which, while not directly harmful to those of other worlds, do serve to effectively block the passage of those rays of the sun which are essential to the health of beings like ourselves. Those in charge of operations there are supplied artificially with these rays, as you are in your ship, by means of emanations from ethon tubes, but they have to be transferred at frequent periods to other fields of activity. The constant shifting about produces a state of disorder which makes the necessary investigation impossible. Too, operations are carried on with an insufficient personnel, because it is extremely difficult to induce desirable types of volunteer for such disagreeable service.

  “We have, however, determined a few very important facts. This unrest has been caused by the activities of a secret organization or order known as the Worshipers of the Flame. That’s as close a translation as I can give you. It sounds harmless enough, but from what we gather, it is a sinister and rather terrible organization, with a fanatical belief amounting, at times, to a veritable f
renzy. These Lakonians are a physically powerful but mentally inadequate people, as perhaps you are aware.

  “The leader of this order or cult call it what you will—seems to be a. Woman: a very fascinating creature, infinitely superior to her people as a whole; what biologists call a ‘sport,’ I believe—a radical departure front the general racial trend.

  “This leader calls herself Liane, Chief Priestess of the Flame, Mother of Life, Giver of Death, and a few other high-sounding things. We have called her here to Base for questioning, and while she has been here some time, we have so far learned next to nothing from her. She is very intelligent, very alluring, very feminine—but reveals nothing she does not wish to reveal.

  “Our purpose in having her brought here was two-fold; first, to gain, what information we could from her, and if possible, prevail upon her to cease her activities; second, to deprive her cult of her leadership while you conducted your investigation.

  “Your orders, then, are simple: you will proceed at once to Lakos, and inquire into the activities of this order. Somehow, it must be crushed; the means I shall leave to you. You will have complete cooperation of those in charge of operations on Lakos; they are Zenians and natives of Earth, and you may depend upon them implicitly. Do not, however, place any faith in any Lakonians; the entire native populace may well be suspected of participation in the rites of this cult, and they are a treacherous and ruthless people at best. Have you any questions, Commander?”

  “None,” I had told him. “I have full authority to take any action I see fit?”

  “Yes, at your discretion. Of course,” he had added rather hastily, “you appreciate the importance of our supply of temite. Only Lakonians can gather it in commercial quantities, under the existing conditions on Lakos, and our reserve supply is not large. We naturally wish to increase production there, rather than endanger it. It’s a delicate mission, but I’m trusting you and your men to handle it for us. I know you will.”