The Potter of Firsk and Other Stories Read Free

the steering jets.
    They were both better and worse than he had expected. The linings were split and broken, and fragments had wedged across the throat of the tube. The electron filaments were destroyed but the backplates of telex crystal were still whole.
    The tubes themselves were sound, neither belled, warped nor cracked, and apparently the field coils were not burnt out. Holderlin surmised that a small charge of vanzitrol had been exploded in each.
    He could not recall seeing any spare linings aboard, but to make sure he ransacked the ship—to no avail. However, the Naval Regulation Lining Oven and a supply of flux was in its place as provided by Article 80 of the Astronautic Code, a law from the early days of space-flight, when durable linings were unknown.
    Then every ship carried dozens of spares—yet often as not these would burn out or split in the heat and pressure, and the ship would be forced to land on a convenient planet and mold another supply. Now Holderlin’s concern was to find a bed of clean clay.
    The ground at his feet was covered by the black dust. Perhaps, if he dug, he might find clay.
    As he stood by the jets, Holderlin heard a heavy shuffling tread through the forest. He ran back to the entrance port, knowing that on strange planets prudence and agility are better safeguards than a needle-beam and steel armor.
    The creature of the footsteps passed close beside the ship, a thin shambling being fifteen feet high, vaguely manlike, with a spider’s gaunt construction. The arms and legs were skin and bone, the skin was greenish-black, the face peculiarly long and vacant.
    It had a fierce shock of reddish hair at the back of its head, the eyes were bulging milky orbs, the ears were wide and extended. It passed the
Perseus
with hardly a glance and showed neither awe nor interest.
    “Hey!” cried Holderlin, jumping to the ground. “
Come here
!”
    The thing paused a moment to regard him dully through the red light, then slowly shambled off in its original direction, stirring up black clouds of dust. It disappeared through the feathery black jungle.
    Holderlin returned to the problem of repairing the tubes. He must find clay enough to mold four new linings—three or four hundred pounds. He brought a spade from the ship and dug into the surface.
    He worked half an hour and turned up nothing but hot black humus. And the deeper he dug, the thicker and tougher grew the roots of the fungus trees. He gave up in disgust.
    As he climbed, sweating and dusty, from his hole, a little breeze raced along the top of the jungle stirring the fronds, and in the black fog which floated down, Holderlin discovered the origin of the black powder at his feet—spawn.
    He must find clay, clean yellow clay, the nearer the better. He did not fancy carrying this clay on his shoulder any great distance. He looked to where the lifeboat dangled by its nose from the bow of the
Perseus
.
    He saw that the shackle, with the entire weight of the lifeboat hanging on it, was locked. Holderlin scratched his head. He would have to balance the boat on the gravity units, releasing the shackle from all strain, to remove it.
    But when he finally poised the boat in mid-air and climbed out on the nose, he discovered that his shift of position had weighted the bow and that if he unscrewed the shackle, the boat very likely would nose down and throw him to the ground.
    Cursing both shackle and lifeboat, Holderlin let the boat hang against the hull as before and made his way to the ground. He entered the ship and outfitted himself with a sack, a light spade, a canteen of water and spare charges for his respirator.
    “Aboard the
Perseus
! Aboard the
Perseus
! Respond,
Perseus
!”
    Holderlin chuckled grimly and sat down beside the speaker.
    “Aboard the
Perseus
!” came the call again. “This is Captain Creed speaking. If you are alive and listening, respond immediately. You have bested us fair and square, and we hold no grudge. But no matter