Dumbly frightened at the face of the unknown, Dusty was far more
frightened at being confined in the cabin of his schooner than he was
of the nameless horror he would have to face above. He left the cabin
in a hurry, and with mental desperation he turned deliberately to face
the danger in the hope of getting it over with. He figured there would
be less anguish if it came quickly.
The spacelock door was open wide and a man was standing there with a
fluted-barrelled thing in his hand. On the deck were droplets of copper
still hot enough to send up little wisps of smoke from the deck. The
stub end of the antenna was melted down in a blob. As Dusty looked from
Scyth Radnor to his ruined antenna and back again, Scyth leaned back in
the spacelock and dropped his weapon. Then he made a relaxed show of
sitting on the sill of the airlock with his feet dangling almost to the
tips of the waves. He looked relaxed and calm and the trace of a smile
was on his face; the kind of smile that would open into honest pleasure
if he were greeted with the same.
"I am sorry," he said. "I am Scyth Radnor of Marandis. Despite the
fact that I was forced to ruin your antenna, I do come on a peaceful
mission, Dusty Britton."
"Yeah--" mumbled Dusty stupidly. Barbara was leaning flat against the
mast, white-faced under her tan.
"Believe me, Dusty. I mean no harm. I did have to prevent you from
broadcasting that which would bring a bad impression of me to your
people."
Scyth reached up and pressed a button in the wall of the spacelock
above his head. The sill of the spacelock came out abruptly in an
extensible runway, carrying Scyth forward over the deck of the
Buccaneer. Scyth dropped to the deck and stood facing Dusty with a hand
extended.
"What do you want?" stammered Dusty. "And how come you talk our
language?"
Scyth pointed to the tiny case slung around his neck. "This is a
menslator," he explained. "When used in direct conversation with a man
of another tongue, it acts to translate for both parties their meaning.
It isn't perfect by any means, but it does help to make people of
different tongues understand one another." Scyth smiled and then said,
"For a quick and amusing explanation, observe this." Scyth clicked the
switch off and began to speak. His speech was utterly comprehensible to
Dusty and Barbara at first, but Scyth clicked the little switch after
he had said a few words. They heard Scyth like this:
"_Fa d snall id_, an expression meaning to consign to the region of
theological punishment, which when repeated through the menslator
becomes 'Go to hell!' See?"
Dusty nodded dumbly. Barbara relaxed slightly.
"Now," said Scyth, "I am from Marandis. Marandis is a planet only a few
thousand light-years from the Galactic Center, which makes it nearly
thirty thousand light-years from here. Marandis is the seat of the
Galactic Government. Look, Dusty, I came here to explain all this to
you. There is a lot to say, and there is a lot you must take on faith
until you know all of it. Let's relax. Will you come aboard my ship and
have a drink? It's comfortable there and--"
"No!" snapped Dusty.
"Why not?"
"Nobody, but nobody, is going to get me in any space ship," said Dusty
positively.
* * * * *
Scyth eyed Dusty queerly. His thoughts would have been obvious to
anybody but Dusty and Barbara. Scyth was trying to justify in his own
mind the attitude of a High Brass in The Space Patrol (_any_ space
patrol) who would not enter a spacecraft. Scyth finally decided that
Dusty's reticence was due to Dusty's suspicious nature. Dusty was
unarmed and he was not getting into a spacecraft capable of carrying
him across the galaxy, perhaps operated by other members of the crew.
There were no other members, but the ship was big enough to have many.
Scyth nodded to himself and smiled at Dusty.
"As you prefer. I only repeat that I mean no harm and I add that the
salon inside is pleasant. We can all have a--"
"We've got a drink," blurted Dusty. He turned on his heel and got the
quart from the seat by the helm. He stopped to get a third glass. He
poured.