The Man From Siykul
By RICHARD WILSON
The Siykulans demanded pay for Myra and Steve's
freedom. The price was small—merely the losing
of their sanity in the spider's ray-trap.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Myra Horn awoke from her nap on the couch in the control room andlooked at her husband. He was hunched over the Simplimatic 50-Buttoncontrol board of their sleek Skypiercer space-launch, peering throughthe vision shield with a grim intensity.
Myra turned her involuntary smile into a wifely frown at his muscularback.
"Steve!" she said sharply. "Will you stop chasing that meteor? Aren'tyou ever going to grow up?"
Steve Horn glanced at her over his shoulder.
"Hush, dear," he grinned. "Papa's in the money."
Myra sat up and smoothed her satin-leather jumper. She looked again atthe meteor they were pursuing. "What a funny color!" she exclaimed.
"The Primary Color," said Steve. "It's a flying goldmine. I think we'regaining on it."
"What are you going to do when you catch up with it?"
"Lasso it," replied her husband. "In half an hour," he pausedimpressively, "—we'll be Horns of plenty."
Myra made a face at his back. "Bless your heart, darling," she said."If there were another man closer than Jupiter I'd divorce you."
"I'm captain here," said Steve Horn, "with power of life, death anddivorce. You'll do no such thing. Grab the keyboard while I trip up ourquarry."
Myra slipped into his seat while Steve jumped to a boxlike affair thatjutted from the floor on a pedestal. It was one of the "accessoriesoptional at slight additional cost" which Myra had insisted they coulddo without—a Netaction wireless-grapple capable of exerting a magneticpull on objects up to half a mile distant.
Myra fell into the spirit of the chase. She accelerated their littlecraft until they were within snaring distance of the meteor.
"Take it easy," advised Steve. "Don't get too close. You might dent it."
He flicked over a switch on the wireless grapple.
"Got it!" he cried triumphantly a moment later.
"How do you know?" demanded Myra. "You can't see any more than Ican—and I don't notice any difference."
"Try decelerating," Steve suggested.
Myra cut the motor. There was a silence they hadn't experienced sincethe start of their trip to Jupiter, more than two weeks before. It wasbroken almost immediately by a series of less-deep, sonorous staccatobursts from the Retarderockets in the nose of the ship.
"You're right, Steve. There is a definite forward drag not caused bymomentum."
"'Course, I'm right."
"But, Steve," said Myra abruptly, "that can't be gold. Since when hasgold been attracted by a magnet?"
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again and looked disgusted.
"Oh, well," Myra said after a moment, "don't let go. Maybe we can sellit to a Jovian museum as a rare curio. Probably worth millions!"
"Probably iron pyrite. Probably worth less than twenty bucks. Pfah!"Steve snorted impatiently. "We'll throw it back. We haven't got time tolug museum pieces around the solar system, however scholarly we may be."
"Okay!" Myra pouted prettily.
Steve flicked the grappler indicator to "off." Nothing happened. Theretarding rockets continued to blast vainly away. The gold coloredmeteor sped before them; their ship followed i