_By Sewell Peaslee Wright_
[Sidenote: In the course of his Special Patrol duties Commander John
Hanson resolves the unique and poignant mystery of "toma annerson."]
This is a story I never intended to tell. I would not even tell it now
if it were not for the Zenians.
Understand that I do not dislike the Zenians. One of the best officers
I ever had was a Zenian. His name was Eitel, and he served under me on
the old _Tamon_, my first command. But lately the Zenians have made
rather too much of the exploits of Ame Baove.
The history of the Universe gives him credit, and justly, for making
the first successful exploration in space. Baove's log of that trip is
a classic that every school-child knows.
But I have a number of friends who are natives of Zenia, and they fret
me with their boastings.
"Well, Hanson," they say, "your Special Patrol Service has done
wonderful work, largely under the officership of Earth-men. But after
all, you have to admit that it was a Zenian who first mastered space!"
Perhaps it is just fractiousness of an old man, but countless
repetitions of such statements, in one form or another, have irritated
me to the point of action--and before going further, let me say, for
the benefit of my Zenian friends, that if they care to dig deeply
enough into the archives, somewhere they will find a brief report of
these adventures recorded in the log of one of my old ships, the
_Ertak_, now scrapped and forgotten. Except, perhaps, by some few like
myself, who knew and loved her when she was one of the newest and
finest ships of the Service.
I commanded the _Ertak_ during practically her entire active life.
Those were the days when John Hanson was not an old man, writing of
brave deeds, but a youngster of half a century, or thereabouts, and
full of spirit. Sometimes, when memory brings back those old days, it
seems hard for me to believe that John Hanson, Commander of the
_Ertak_, and old John Hanson, retired, and a spinner of ancient yarns,
are one and the same--but I must get on to my story, for youth is
impatient, and from "old man" to "old fool" is a short leap for a
youthful mind.
* * * * *
The Special Patrol Service is not all high adventure. It was not so
even in the days of the _Ertak_. There was much routine patrolling, and
the _Ertak_ drew her full share of this type of duty. We hated it, of
course, but in that Service you do what you are told and say nothing.
We were on a routine patrol, with only one possible source of interest
in our orders. The wizened and sour-faced scientists the Universe
acclaims so highly had figured out that a certain planet, thus far
unvisited, would be passing close to the line of our patrol, and our
orders read, "if feasible," to inspect this body, and if inhabited,
which was doubted, to make contact.
There was a separate report, if I remember correctly, with a lot of
figures. This world was not large; smaller than Earth, as a matter of
fact, and its orbit brought it into conjunction with our system only
once in some immemorable period of time. I suppose that record is
stored away, too, if anybody is interested in it. It was largely
composed of guesses, and most of them were wrong. These white-coated
scientists do a lot of wild guessing, if the facts were known.
However, she did show up at about the place they had predicted.
Kincaide, my second officer, was on duty when the television disk first
picked her up, and he called me promptly.
"Strobus"--that was the name the scientists had given this planet we
were to look over--"Strobus is in view, sir, if you'd like to look her
over," he reported. "Not close enough yet to determine anything of
interest, however, even with maximum power."