by Earl
Jon went down.
But as Jon lay on the floor, stunned, memory flooded back! The second blow on his head cancelled his amnesia! Jon knew his name now, his job, why he had come to Iapetus . . . a gasp tore from his lips. The invisible comet! Due in one hour! But first, what about the criminals?
His mind working with its former lightning speed, Jon played ’possum till the thugs turned their back on him. Then he leaped at them. A quick and powerful judo hold flung one man bodily against the other, and they both went down, out cold.
“Good work!” yelled the officer. “For a space tramp, you sure used your head!”
“I’m no space tramp. I’m a Space Patrolman like yourself! And there’s an invisible comet plugging down on Iapetus. I’ll need the atomic bomb!”
“What? Why you crazy, loco space hobo—”
Jon saw that there was no use trying to explain to the officer. It all sounded too crazy!
But time was slipping by, and doom was approaching. Jon dashed by his fellow officer, taking the atomic bomb with him!
Outside he leaped into the officer’s small spaceship and rocketed away from Iapetus.
Jon could not see the invisible comet, but his sensitive radar unit picked it up. He hurled down the atomic bomb. It struck squarely, and a tremendous explosion rocked space, deflecting its course. Iapetus was saved. But Jon and his borrowed ship were again hurled down to the hard surface.
A tattered figure again staggered into the office of the Space Patrolman. If anything, Jon looked more like a space tramp than before.
The angry officer clapped him behind bars. He wouldn’t let Jon speak a word of explanation. Jon realized his story would not be believed until a confirming message came through from Earth.
“Oh well,” he said with a grin, flopping back on the bunk, “at least I can catch up on my sleep now.”
WANDERERS OF SPACE
It was while Lieutenant Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol was patrolling past the moon that he suddenly glimpsed the strange ship. Two things immediately told him that it was an unusual event. First, though motivated by normal rocket power, the ship was far huger than any spaceship known in the solar system. In fact, it was no less than a mile long!
Secondly, the ship was coming in from the direction of the star Proxima Centauri, and at a blazing speed, which meant it must have been traveling in the wide open spaces between suns.
“In other words,” Jon muttered to himself, stunned, “it’s not just an interplanetary ship—it’s an interstellar ship from another star. Are they explorers, visitors, or raiders?”
The ship shot by so fast that Jon lost sight of it before he could spin his own ship and pursue. He tried radio contact, but space static ruined that. Piling on speed, and heading in the same direction, Jon sped after the alien ship, but it was not until close to Earth that he finally caught up with it.
The unknown ship was already spiraling down for a landing. It chose the great empty reaches of the Sahara Desert because there was plenty of land for settling. Jon followed closely, but cautiously, and landed his small ship behind a sand dune. He then approached on foot.
Huddling behind a sand dune, Jon saw an amazing sight unfold in the next hour. Without delay, huge doors opened in the giant ship, and its passengers swarmed out, thousands of them. Soon there was a rumble of machinery as other things were unloaded. A huge pile of boxes and crates of all shapes and sizes grew on the desert sand.
Jon gasped. “Sizzling comets!” he breathed. “Why, it’s exactly as if they planned to stay here, on Earth! The whole thing looks like a group of homesteaders ready to settle down for good!”
Jon debated for a moment. Should he go back to his ship and radio headquarters? Or should he approach these mysterious settlers and find out all about them? It might be dangerous, in case they were savage and hostile beings . . .
Jon shrugged. Consumed with curiosity, he unanimously voted with himself to make contact with the aliens.
As he walked closer over the hot sands, Jon wondered what kind of creatures they would be. The heat haze had obscured his vision, and he could not tell as yet. They seemed to be upright creatures on two legs. But many races on other planets had two legs—plus four arms, or two heads, or tails. What strange sort of monster would these turn out to be?
Jon stopped short, as if his breath had been knocked out. They were human beings.
“I don’t get it!” Jon muttered. “A ship comes all the way from another star, trillions of miles from Earth, and the people who step out are exactly like Earth people. Did evolution produce two races of biological specimens exactly alike, on two different worlds?”
Meanwhile, Jon’s approaching figure had been seen. A body of men waited grimly for him with drawn ray guns, as if uncertain whether he was friend or foe. Jon raised his arm in a peace gesture. The men relaxed.
But suddenly cries and gasps came from all their throats as they caught a full glimpse of Jon. They pointed in utter astonishment at him, as if not believing their eyes.
Jon grinned. “Just as much a shock to them, finding me to be a human being! They undoubtedly expected to see some monstrosity. I think with my telepathy-translator on, I should be able to talk to them.”
The ingenious telepathy-translator instantly translates any thoughts or words into any alien language, and vice versa. “Greetings!” said Jon. “You are visitors from Proxima Centauri?”
“Yes,” nodded one man, stepping forward. He was blonde and tall. “But—but how can you people of this planet be so much like us?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Jon grinned. “I guess it’s got us both stumped. Must be just that evolution worked the same on both our worlds, producing similar life forms. But the big question is—what are you doing on our world?”
The man hesitated, glancing worriedly at his companions. But then he squared his shoulders and faced Jon, half defiantly, half pleadingly. “We have come to live on your world!” he said. His face went sad and grim. “Our home world, a planet revolving around Proxima Centauri, just exploded! All the rest of our people died, millions of them. It was horrible! Only a few thousand of us had enough warning of the coming disaster to escape in this ship. We came to your sun and planets because they are the closest to us. And we picked Earth because it looks so much like our . . . our home world.”
Jon was instantly sympathetic, seeing the deep horror in their eyes. They had seen their whole world burst into extinction behind them. They had been wandering through space for a long time, seeking a new home, not knowing if they would ever find one. And now . . .
The man’s face was pitifully eager. “Can we stay on your world—please? All we ask is this desert to live in. Our science can transform the hot sands into a cool oasis. We won’t bother your people. We just want this little spot to live in. Can we . . . stay?”
Jon wanted to say yes. He wanted to shout it, and welcome these homeless wanderers of space. But he knew it would not be that easy. It was not for him to decide. The matter would have to be presented to the Earth Federation Government for their official sanction.
Jon went back to his ship and radioed headquarters. Within an hour a rocketship landed and a grim-faced man stepped out. He appeared to be the official sent by the Federation, but Jon wondered why he wore such a cold expression. Jon soon found out as the official spoke in a harsh voice.
“The Earth Federation is sorry, but it cannot allow any unauthorized people from another star to settle here on Earth. The visitors from Proxima Centauri must leave immediately!” .
Jon was stunned at the heartless brutality of it. “But they have no other place to go!” he burst out. “I gave you their story, how their home world was destroyed. Are you going to send them off packing, into space again? To their death?”
The official shrugged. “I am only carrying out the Earth Federation’s commands. If the visitors do not leave, our warships will come here and open fire on them!”
Jon choked and turn
ed away, seeing argument was useless. The wanderers gave up silently, in the face of such hostility, and began packing all the material back into their ship with hopeless faces. Jon was bitter against his own government for its unkind decision. “Where will you go?” he asked.
A man shrugged. “Out into space again. Fate has been cruel to us before, like this. We did not originate on Proxima Centauri, you know. Ancient records of our people indicate that we came from some other star and planet, and that world too was destroyed. The records are vague, but the land sank beneath the sea and . . .”
“What?” Jon yelled suddenly. “The land sank? This may be utterly mad, but let me see those records. Hurry!”
In the ship, a small library of books had been saved and brought along. Jon looked through ancient parchment records and gave yelp of joy. He raced up to the official and yelled. “These people are staying! Not only have they the perfect right to stay on Earth, but they would have the right, if they wished, to send you and me away!”
The official stared dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”
“I mean they have a prior claim to Earth,” Jon snapped back. “The ancestors of these people lived on Earth itself, 25,000 years ago! A great catastrophe drove them away from Earth and they migrated to Proxima Centauri. And now a great catastrophe has driven them back to their home world, without their even knowing it!”
Jon showed the records as proof, to the official—who suddenly drew a ray gun, snarling. “They’re going—or else!” he rasped.
Utterly amazed for a moment, Jon recovered and drew his own ray gun swiftly. At the same time, he kicked sand up with his toe, spoiling the other man’s aim as he shot. Then Jon clipped him on the chin and disarmed him.
“Now talk!” Jon snapped. “You’re no government official, but an imposter! I should have known. Why were you so anxious to drive these people away?”
The man was crestfallen and defeated. “Because I just discovered a big cache of space pirate’s loot here in the desert, and I wanted to cash in on it myself, instead of turning it in to the government. If these people stayed, I knew a bunch of government people would soon be here, so I tried to trick them into leaving!”
Soon after, the real government ship arrived, and the officials welcomed the wanderers to stay on Earth.
Jon grinned wryly, showing the ancient records. “You know, it’s we who should be asking them if we can stay! Their ancestors lived on Earth ages ago, for this is the record of—the sinking of Atlantis!”
THE OLD WEST LIVES AGAIN
“Hello, pardner!” said a hearty voice. “You’re a stranger around these parts, aren’t you? Just call me Buckaroo Bill. I own all the rangeland around here, clear up to the Pekos Hills, and my brand is the Double Circle T!”
“I’m Lieutenant Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol,” returned the tall young man in green and gold uniform. “Just landed in my rocketship.”
“Pleased to meet you,” greeted Buckaroo Bill. “Say, if you’re looking for entertainment, don’t miss the big rodeo tomorrow. We’ll have all the events—horse racing, bulldozing, roping, and six-gun target shooting.”
The westerner, wearing a holster, suddenly drew his gun swiftly and shot at a clump of cactus. A long sinuous form thrashed in its death agony. “Blast them rattlers, got to watch for them. One bite and you’re dead!”
Was Jon Jarl, Space Patrolman of the year 2261 A.D., back in the Great West of the nineteenth century on Earth? Had he somehow been transported back through time itself, to that long gone era of cattle ranches and rustlers and badmen?
But it was not Earth at all. It was Umbriel, moon of the planet Uranus! And here on Umbriel, in the year 2261, history had strangely re-created the Old West of Earth.
Umbriel was composed of endless reaches of rangeland—hot deserts, and towering mountain ranges, almost exactly like the West of Earth. And Earthmen, coming here to settle only fifty years before, had begun the same rough, tough frontier life, raising beef, prospecting for precious ores, and large-scale farming.
Jon started from a reverie. For a moment he, too, had almost felt as if he had been whisked back into time to the Great West. But he now noticed the differences. Buckaroo Bill’s horse, for instance, had six legs! It was a native animal of Umbriel, tamed by the Earthmen as a mount. Also the herd of nearby native cattle had three horns. They were the well-known Three Horn breed, whose beef was prized on every table of every planet in the solar system. Also the rattler that had just been shot was a snake with two heads, one at each end of its body. No, it was not quite the Old West!
“I’m not here on pleasure,” Jon answered his new friend. “I’m on business—grim business. I hear you have an outlaw or badman here who has been rustling cattle and robbing banks.”
Buckaroo Bill’s face became serious. “You mean Desert Dan. Blast that ornery varmint! He just rustled one of my herds last week. Old Sheriff Doone can’t seem to nab that polecat. Are you going to try?”
Jon nodded. “We Space Patrol are sent as trouble-shooters to any and all worlds where criminals operate. Headquarters sent me to run down Desert Dan, dead or alive. Has he been around here lately?”
Jon broke off and whirled as the sound of shots broke the quiet air. “Look!” yelled Buckaroo Bill, pointing off in the distance. “There’s Desert Dan and his gang right now, stampeding my herd!”
Jon dashed to his small rocketship, parked nearby, and roared toward the herd. As he drew close, he saw four men riding their six-legged steeds, yelling and shooting their guns among the cattle, in an obvious attempt to stampede them away. Their leader was a huge, powerful outlaw with a red beard—Desert Dan himself!
Jon set his lips and circled low over them, shooting down several electro-bolts that could paralyze a man without killing him. But there was a swirl of dust in the air over the outlaws and Jon missed.
Desert Dan wheeled his mount and fired futilely up at the buzzing rocketship. “So they sent a low-down Space Cop after us, eh?” he roared in a bull-like voice. “No use arguing with his big guns. Head for the hills, boys!”
The gang sped away. Jon followed, but was amazed at their speed. The six-legged steeds did over 100 miles an hour! And by the time Jon caught up, they had reached low hills with plenty of hiding places among huge boulders and thick trees. The outlaws melted from sight. Jon circled for a while and then gave up. The only way to follow them would be with a native horse, not a rocketship.
Later, Jon passed a signpost saying, Gulchville, and landed in the small town. It, too, was startlingly like a western town of long ago, with ramshackle huts and unpaved streets. Jon stepped into the sheriff’s office, introducing himself.
“I’m glad you’re here, son,” said the sheriff.
He was a tired old man with a wheezy voice and straggling beard. “That Desert Dan is a foxy hombre. Hope you nab him.”
“I’ll need a horse,” Jon said. “It’s the only way to trail them.”
“Use my horse, Comet,” said the sheriff, leading the way outside and pointing to a tethered Umbriel horse. “Gentle as a kitten, but fast as the wind, son.”
Jon mounted—and was promptly bucked off into the dirt.
“Did you say gentle?” grunted Jon.
The sheriff laughed. “Forgot to tell you, son. When you get on, hold their ears. Otherwise they buck you off. They’re not quite like Earth horses, see?”
Jon mounted successfully this time, but then stared blankly. “No bridle or reins! How do you drive the critter?”
“Just tell him to go,” the sheriff informed. “You see, they understand the spoken word! They can’t talk back, but they understand anything you say to them!”
“I’ll say they’re a bit different from Earth horses,” Jon agreed. “All right. Comet—giddap!”
The next thing Jon knew he was hanging onto the saddle horn for dear life and galloping out of town across the rangelands. Comet lived up to his name. Jon soon settled down. Reaching the spot where he had last seen the ou
tlaws, he picked up their trail.
The outlaws had cleverly circled through rocky hills, where hoofprints did not show. But Jon was prepared for that. He used his small ultra-violet projector from his belt. The rays could show up any faint trail on any surface.
Jon had only one worry. Night was due in another hour. If he did not overtake them in that time, they would escape. And with the head start they had on him, Jon knew he had little chance.
But to his surprise, he suddenly spied the bandits ahead. “What luck! They stopped for something. Wonder what it was?”
Jon peered from behind bushes. The outlaws were at work getting ready to hang a man with a rope and noose! Perplexed, Jon listened.
The victim, evidently a prospector, was saying in bitter tones “Just when I made the first big strike of my life, you come along to take it away!”
“Ain’t that too bad?” mocked Desert Dan. “But we’re aiming to take over your claim and string you up for the vultures.”
So that was it! The outlaws had stumbled on this old prospector who had just made some valuable find. They had greedily paused to jump the claim, giving Jon his chance to capture them.
Jon rode his steed calmly up to them, his hands hanging easily at his sides. They whirled, in surprise. “In the Old West,” Jon drawled, “it was considered sporting to always give a man a chance to outdraw you. You probably have that same code here. Whenever you’re ready, gents! Or else surrender! Take your choice!”
There was deathly silence then, between the Space Patrolman and the four outlaws. Then Desert Dan suddenly growled. “No Space Cop can bluff me—or outdraw me either!” The four bandits drew as one. Their four guns leaped into their hands. And then the four guns spun through the air and into the sand. They stared in utter disbelief at the calm smiling uniformed figure of Jon Jarl, holding two smoking ray guns.
Keeping an eye on the outlaws, Jon released the grateful prospector from his noose. Jon saw the huge nuggets of shining yellow metal lying all around. “I see your big strike was gold.”
