Kingpin Planet. John Russell Fearn
did so they fell back quickly, as though realizing they had in some way perhaps committed an indiscretion. Big-eyed and wondering, they stood waiting—crowding out through the airlock into the brilliantly sunny spaces outside.
“Friends,” Abna said deliberately, pointing to himself and then the others. “We come as friends. Can you understand me?”
Apparently not, from the blank looks that greeted him. And, typically childlike, one or two of the little people giggled to themselves, either at the heavy timbre of Abna’s voice, or else his enormous height.
“Kids!” the Amazon sighed regretfully. “I think we ought to be on our way, Abna. We’re not school teachers.”
“We haven’t finished yet,” Abna responded. “Just because our experiences up to now have brought us into contact with highly developed civilizations, it’s no reason for ignoring one that’s exactly the opposite.… Anyway, the language difficulty is no problem. Viona, switch on the Educator.”
Viona reached out a slim hand and obliged. The eyes of the little people immediately turned to one of the countless machines ranged against the wall—and in particular to one that resembled a gigantic helmet with a chair fixed beneath it.
“Exchange information?” the Amazon questioned. “Force our language upon them?”
“Exactly.” Abna nodded briefly; then suddenly he lunged out and caught one of the little men by the arm. It was simple to force him, obviously not a little frightened, to the chair beneath the instrument. Clamps dropped in place and prevented him from escaping.
“No harm intended,” Abna smiled at him, and though he knew his words were unintelligible, they seemed nevertheless to have an effect, for the little man relaxed and waited.
“Right,” Abna nodded, and again Viona reached to the control panel and applied the power. There was no sound save a faint humming, but all the time it persisted the quartet knew that every detail of their own basic language was being engraved indelibly on the little man’s brain—a fact quite obvious from the astounded expression on his face. He was no longer frightened, but bewildered.
Abna signaled, and the hum of power ceased. The little man sat limply in his chair, not unconscious but with all the fight and energy knocked out of him.
“You are not hurt, my friend?” Abna asked quietly; and the big blue eyes turned to him.
“No—not hurt.” The words were used awkwardly, and plainly for the first time. “I am wondering what miracle it is that enables you to do this to me—to transfer your language into my brain without the need of learning.”
“That is but one of the many miracles of which we are capable, my friend. As you will have gathered, we are from another world, and we come peacefully to exchange information with you.”
The little man nodded slowly and then looked at his gaping colleagues. Men and women alike were watching in dazed silence.
“From what world do you come?” the little man asked.
“Far away, my friend—many light-years. It is not important. Your world attracted us, so we came to it. We would like to know more about it.”
“There is not much to tell. This planet is called Tuca, and we are the descendants of the Asronians, a race of great scientists who unfortunately were a trifle too brilliant for their own good.”
Abna frowned with sudden interest. Holding out his hand, he helped the little man from his chair to a standing position, and seemingly conscious that he alone had been singled out for the great moment, the little man stood erect and proud.
“My name is Doxa,” he said, and inclined his head of thick woolly black hair in a slight obeisance.
“Abna, the Golden Amazon, Viona, and Mexone,” Abna said, indicating his own quartet. “Now we understand each other better. It would seem there is a good deal more you can tell me, Doxa—if you will.”
“It will be a pleasure, wondrous stranger—but first I would make a request. Might others of my fellows, men and women, undergo the marvelous language experience that they, too, might converse? My own particular friends?”
Abna smiled an acknowledgement, thereupon Doxa reverted to his own language and singled out half a dozen men and women from the assembly. Each in turn underwent the rigors of the Educator and emerged wide-eyed and knowledgeable.
“That’s all?” Abna asked, looking at the three men and three women; then at Doxa.
“That is enough,” Doxa said ambiguously. “Were I to include any more they would know as much as I do, and that would not be sensible. My friends and I, having now the power to converse with you, have also the control of our fellows.”
Abna nodded slowly. “Because you have the knowledge? I understand.”
“We have needed something like this,” Doxa said slowly. “Something that would give to one of us—or a picked body of us—a little extra knowledge, thereby making it right that we should be rulers. Up to now nobody has ruled, and the outcome has been something approaching chaos.”
“Which you can remedy?” the Amazon inquired.
“Exactly. But come with me, friends, and consider yourselves entirely welcome. Your machine will be perfectly safe.”
Although Abna was reasonably sure of the fact, he did not neglect to leave the controls completely locked: then he watched as the crowd of little men and women filed out through the airlock.
“Any idea what we’re getting into?” the Amazon asked.
“Not the slightest—but if we can’t deal with an army of pygmies if they get tough, we must be slipping. Let’s go.”
With that Abna followed the crowd through the glare of the magnesium sunlight. He took one fleeting glimpse of it sailing, at the zenith in the cobalt sky. Then he began to follow the chattering, laughing crowd across the metallic plain in the direction of the crudely built buildings. Almost in the center of them stood a massive, tall needle of silver with a ledge near its top. Perhaps it was an observation post, some kind of totem pole, or even a pagan god. It was difficult to say.
“I think you’re right about this stuff being silver,” Viona said, coming up. “It’s incredible, but true.”
“Might take that pillar away with us against a rainy day,” Abna chuckled; then he caught the Amazon’s cold, disapproving glance.
“For a man many times a multimillionaire that’s a crazy remark,” she commented. “That exhilaration radiation must be working overtime on you.”
“It is,” Abna admitted. “I see no particular reason to resist it, either. I feel most remarkably cheerful, and it’s obvious that these child-people feel likewise. If this planet were not so far from Earth it would make an excellent health resort.”
The Amazon closed the distance between herself and Abna and then she lowered her voice a little.
“Did you make anything of Doxa’s remark that these people—and himself—are descendants of the Asronians?”
“I made nothing of it at all. Maybe we will later.”
And Abna did not attempt to concentrate any further. Nor for that matter did the Amazon. The curious exhilaration that the planet produced made anything concentrative too much effort. It was so much easier to succumb and let things be.
Finally, somewhat dazzled by the brilliance of the metal plain, the party reached the outermost of the odd-looking buildings, and here Doxa called a halt. He shouted a few words to the crowd, with the result that they all dispersed quickly to different buildings—then, with his six colleagues on either side of him, he faced the travelers.
“I would suggest that we dine and confer at the same time,” he said. “This is my home, to which you are fully welcome.”
His choice of words