Wandrei Amazing Tales Volume 126

1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-3-98744-719-8
Verlag: OTB eBook publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 109 Seiten

Reihe: Classics To Go

Embark on a journey of discovery and adventure with Amazing Tales Volume 126, an anthology that unveils the mysteries of the cosmos and the human spirit. Each story within this collection explores themes of exploration, courage, and the unknown, drawing readers into unforgettable worlds. In Raiders of the Universes by Donald Wandrei, travel to the thirty-fourth century with Phobar, a resolute astronomer, as he encounters a cosmic anomaly-new stars appearing in reverse motion. His groundbreaking discovery unravels a stellar conquest that will leave you pondering the vastness of space. Transitioning from the stars to the cosmos, The Stroller by Margaret St. Clair takes readers on a celestial voyage aboard the S., where uncharted adventures await in the infinite expanse above. Next, in Prison Planet by Bob Tucker, experience a gripping escape on Mars. Roberds, plagued by space-sickness and betrayal, must outwit a Ganymedean to commandeer a rocket and secure Earth's future. Meanwhile, in Round-Up Time by Chester Cohen, the bustling streets of Manhattan become a whirlwind of chaos and humor when the enigmatic Queerpants arrives, turning a Fourth of July into an extraordinary tale of city life. Dive into Out of the Sea by Leigh Brackett, where Webb Fallon finds himself amidst the aftermath of a forgotten earthquake, a lost love, and a mysterious swimmer. Set on Santa Monica Beach, this story blends intrigue, romance, and suspense in a captivating coastal setting. In The Jet Jockeys by R. W. Stockheker, soar through the skies with daring pilots navigating the challenges and thrills of high-speed flight, capturing the excitement of aerial adventure. Finally, The Ring Bonanza by Otto Binder takes you to Saturn's rings, where Homer Timkin seeks legendary treasures. Amidst cosmic dangers, his quest is filled with hope and the lure of discovery. This anthology, Amazing Tales Volume 126, promises to captivate readers with its brilliant tapestry of stories, e...

Autoren/Hrsg.

Wandrei, Donald A.

Leseproben

The Stroller

Margaret St. Clair

All sorts of things come in on a space freighter. Even in the old days grocers were always finding twenty-foot pythons curled cozily inside bunches of bananas from South America; and what sort of undesired stowaways do you suppose you get when you have a cargo of tongarus from south Venus, agatized Fyella corymbs from the district around Aphrodition, hand-painted lumigraphs on goor fiber made in Marsport prefecture, and golden rhnx jewelry from the canal centers?

George Saunders, supercargo of the S.S. Trito, gave his wife a warm kiss on the cheek.

"For Pete's sake," he hissed into her ear, "act like you're glad to see me, can't you? The Old Man's watching us."

Marta Saunders hesitated a moment and then threw her plump body into her husband's arms.

"Oooh, Georgie!" she squealed. "You sweet old thing! It's so wonderful to see you again!"

"That's enough," George rumbled warningly. He was swaying a little from the impact. "Don't want to overdo it. Let's get out of here."

They started over to the parking area of the spaceport, where their 'copter was.

"What's the matter?" Marta demanded as soon as they were out of earshot of the ship. "What do you care what the captain thinks about us?"

"Listen, Marta, the old fool's been riding me ever since we left Aphrodition. Says I'm the most incompetent supercargo he's ever had. Just before we docked today, he said he thought he'd take it up with the union. If he does, you know what'll happen. Pynx said the last time that if he got one more complaint about me he'd take the case to the executive board. I'd lose my license, sure."

"Oh." Marta seemed unwillingly impressed. She got an atomizer out of her handcase and began spraying quick-drying cosmi-lac over the skin of her face and neck. "But what happened?" she asked an instant later when the cosmetic had set. "Why's he so down on you?"

For a moment the fine-etched lines of irritation and petulance faded from George Saunders' face, to be replaced by an expression of honest perplexity.

"Marta, I—wait, here's the 'copter. I'll tell you about it after we get in. And for the love of heaven, don't drop any pop bottles out of the window the way you did the last time I was in port. Having the air police after us would be the last straw, as far as my nerves are concerned."

He slid into the driver's seat. Marta got two bottles of pop out of the refrigerator, shoved straws into their necks, pulled a shelf out of the paneling to hold one bottle at a convenient level under George's nose, and began drinking out of the other herself.

"Well?" she asked after a couple of swallows.

George drank from his bottle before replying.

"It's the darnedest thing. I remember beginning to load number two and three holds at Aphrodition, and I remember telling the longshore leaderman to have the hatch covers put on again when the holds were filled, but there're six or eight hours in there during the loading I don't remember a single thing about. They're totally gone.

"Well, the way the ship handled at the take-off from Aphrodition, the Old Man thought there must be something wrong, and when we were out in space he went in for a look. Wow! I can see, sort of, why he's sore. Those holds look like somebody'd stirred the things in 'em up with a big stick. About a third of the cargo's ruined. The tongarus have leaked all over those blasted lumigraphs, and—Well, the insurance company is going to raise blue murder, and the owners won't like it one little bit."

George licked his thin lips.

"What I want to know," he burst out, "is what happened to me? I must have told the longshoremen to load the holds like that, but—When we were two days out of Venus, I asked Sparks (he's had a pre-medical course, and he's saving up the tuition for medical school) to look me over. He gave me all the tests, dozens of them, and finally told me there wasn't a thing wrong with me mentally or physically except that I needed more rest. Rest, bushwah! I've been sleeping ten hours a night, and I wake up tireder than when I went to bed."

Marta studied him.

"You do look sort of tired," she observed. "Maybe you need some vitor-ray treatments."

George ignored this comment.

"Of course, the Old Man's not such a bad guy," he said. "He never said anything about that time I missed the ship at Marsport."

"You mean that time you were so drunk on soma? One of the times."

George gave an irritated shrug.

"Never mind that," he snapped. "I mentioned it because I asked him to have dinner with us on Thursday, the day before we sail, and I want you to have a real old-fashioned home-cooked meal for him. Maybe I can soften him up. Have something nice for him. None of this complete meal stuff out of the freezer—have something good. Out of cans."

"You mean like my canned crab and mushroom casserole?"

"Um-hum. Have that. And what's that dessert you make with the canned peaches and the soma? pêche flambée, or something. He might like that."

George set the 'copter down neatly on the roof of their apartment house.

"Remember," he said, "I've got to make a good impression on him. Flatter him as much as you can, but use your head about it. And if you get any kind of a chance to tell him about how reliable I usually am, do it."

The days moved on toward Thursday. George continued to complain of fatigue, and on Tuesday night Marta woke up shrieking with a vague and horrible nightmare, but it was attributed to indigestion; after a dose of antiacid, she went back to sleep. On Wednesday she had her hallucination.

She was putting a bunch of old digests and tabloids away in the closet in the living room when she came across the jacket George had used four or five years ago when he went grotch hunting.

"George!" she called. "Oh, George! Can I throw your old gray jacket away? It's full of moth holes."

"What are you yelling at me for?" George asked irritably from behind her. He had been sitting in his study, which was only about five feet distant from the closet, drinking soma. "I'm right here."

Marta came out of the closet and stared at him. One hand went to her heart. The pallor of her heavy, sagging face showed through her thick face lacquer as a muddy gray.

"Wha—I saw you go into the kitchen!" she said. "You were wearing your brown suit. I was looking right at you, and you walked the length of the living room and went into the kitchen and closed the door behind you. That's why I yelled at you. You were wearing your brown suit. You've got the blue one on now. You were wearing your brown suit!"

"Shut up!" George said passionately. "Are you trying to drive me crazy? I've been sitting right here all the time. What do you mean, you saw me walk into the kitchen? You couldn't have. I've been sitting right here all the time."

"But I saw you! You were wearing your brown suit."

"You imagined it!" her husband shrieked at her. "It's your imagination. You shut up. What are you trying to do, get me so nervous the Old Man will think I'm ready for the loony bin? You imagined it!"

Marta looked at him. She had to lick her lips twice before she could answer.

"Yes. Yes, of course. That must be it. I imagined it."

George spent the rest of the day drinking soma and holding his hands up before his eyes to see if they had stopped shaking. Marta got a five-suit deck of cards out of the closet and played solitaire. None of her games came out, but she was too distraught to realize that she had left two of the cards inside their box.

Surprisingly, both George and Marta slept well. They awakened far more cheerful than they had been the night before. Even their pre-breakfast snapping at each other lacked its usual note of bitter sincerity. When Marta left the apartment and started out to do her shopping, she was humming under her breath.

The canned crab was easy enough to locate, but she had to go to three stores before she could find the peaches and the mushrooms. She ran them to earth at last in a little grocery on a side street. Just as she was leaving it, her eye caught the flash of a red label on a low shelf near the door and she triumphantly dug out two cans of tomato soup.

"See what I got!" she said, showing her prize to George when she got back home. "I guess I'm lucky or something. It's awfully hard to find."

"Gosh!" George shut off the video to give her his full attention. "That's wonderful. I happen to know the Old Man's crazy about it. His mother used to have it all the time. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if it makes him change his mind completely about going to the union. Marta, you're a smart girl."

Marta spent the rest of the day at the beauty shop, getting her hair re-garnished with galoons and her face set. She wanted to make the best possible impression on the captain. Around five-thirty she began getting dinner—it doesn't take long to open cans—and an hour or so later the Old Man (his name was Kauss) was chiming at the door.

Kauss was definitely stiff at first. He greeted Saunders with resentful formality and gave Marta the merest flash of a smile before his face grew hard again. When the fragrant steam from the tureen of tomato soup Marta was bringing in blew toward him, he relaxed somewhat, and the salad of canned string beans, onions, lettuce and mayonnaise softened him still more. By the time he had finished two big helpings of Marta's crab casserole, it began to look like the job was saved. He offered George a cigar and began telling him a long story about what the little Martian hostess at the Silver Weetarete had said to him.

Marta went out in the kitchen to fix the pêche...