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CHARLES CARR

SALAMANDER WAR

DIGIT BOOKS R616

BROWN, WATSON LIMITED, LONDON

First published by Ward Lock & Co. Ltd.

Digit Books are published by

Brown, Watson Ltd., Digit House, Harlesden Road,

London, N.W.10.

Printed in Great Britain by

The Redditch Indicator Co. Ltd., Easemore Road,

Redditch, Worcs.

"More!" he had cried eagerly. "More!"

Back there, on one of the hills of Earth, he had held his mother's hand tightly, watching one

bright spark after another climb the sky and burst into the coloured stars that enchanted him as

they floated lazily down. There were other fireworks, but it was the rockets that he loved and

for which he cried, "More! More!" till the show was ended and he was coaxed protesting,

away. Next day he had come back to search the ground and find the fallen cases, sad, empty

cylinders of cardboard, soaked by the dew, blackened and sour-smelling.

For him the attraction of such displays did not pall as he grew. When he was a college

student he had still watched them. Even after he had graduated and secured his first spaceship

appointment, he had gone to watch. There had been a girl with him. What was her name?

Molly - that was it. They had stood arm in arm, looking at the show organised as a celebration

for victory in World War III. It was not so long ago, though very far away.

Remembering this, Taylor, the assistant engineer, had for a while almost forgotten the

threatening present. He lay on his couch, a dark, slim, virile young man; in the dimness he

could just see the ceiling of his hut. Through one wide window stars showed in thick clusters

above the dark side of the planet; through another window he could just see the spaceship

Colonist, whose long voyage had ended here. It stood like a slim monument out there beyond

the village of huts that had been built by the hundred-odd members of its crew in the

reservation that had been allotted to them by those whom they had found in possession.

He lay quite still, summoning up that vision, seeing rockets that were not the power units of

spaceships with which his training had made him familiar, but things of fleeting beauty.

He was relaxed in body, but his mind was unquiet. On this planet, Bel, sleep was unknown.

But rest was still necessary, especially for the latest arrivals, and periods of repose had been

arranged by their Captain, Lyon. Taylor had found that during these periods he could induce a

dreamlike state that was sometimes comforting. This time, however, it seemed to have been a

mistake. He was moving among disturbing memories. It would have been better to have

forgotten.

But how could he forget that time with Molly? It had a special poignancy, because for him it

had been the last time. Before the next anniversary he had himself climbed the sky in a rocket

on the first stage of the journey that had ended here. And for Molly, as for all those on Earth,

all victory days were ended. There had been the final day of defeat, when the whole globe had

become a firework, a burnt-offering to the genius of destructive Man. Now it was a dead cinder

that circled the Sun, with sterile winds that blew aimlessly across its surface, driving the

mingled, uneasy dust.

He sighed and then filled his lungs with the unsatisfying air. Why must he think of these

things? To escape he tried to retrace the steps that his mind had taken. Was it the analogy

between rockets of different kinds, or that between the burnt scraps of cardboard and...?

But that was not how he came to pursue the train of thought. No, it was the light - the half-

light. Of course, that was it.

Back there on Earth there had always been a pause, a thrilling period of suspense when the

sky had dimmed, and yet it was still a little too light for fireworks. In that time of impatient

waiting, until the darkness deepened a further shade, one could still see faces clearly enough. In

a moment the fireworks would show to advantage.

That was it. The light here on Bel had just that same grey quality, but the balance was held;

it was perpetual. Here in the temperate belt of the planet it was always twilight. One could see

quite well out of doors; inside a building one needed artificial light to work by.

Bel was his home now, a planet chosen for colonisation because on a small part of of its

surface conditions approximated to those on dead Earth. Here Man, his animals and plants

could live. Elements existed in roughly the same proportions as on Earth. Gravity was so little

less that hardly any adaptation was needed.

But there were differences, of which the impossibility of sleeping was only one. Children

grew to be adults in the equivalent of three years of obsolete Earth time. In the narrow belt

occupied by the human race there was neither night nor day. On one side of them lay a

hemisphere of everlasting night, and the other a hemisphere of everlasting day - the cold side

and the hot.

No sleep, thought Taylor, and little joy in living. Laughter had died out already among the

grave Swiss pioneers whom the crew of Colonist had found on Bel. Their unresting minds had

extended and developed in mental power. The kindly contempt of the Swiss towards the

newcomers was imperfectly concealed and hard to bear. Taylor writhed at the thought that he

was treated almost as one of a band of savages, confined to a reservation far from Una, the

capital city.

To him it was a humiliation to be dependent for the air he breathed upon those brilliant and

unsmiling scientists and technicians. Their great system of oxygen plants had enriched the

atmosphere and made it breathable without distress, until recently.

Worst of all to him was the impotence of knowing so little of what happened beyond the

confines of the reservation. For the last two hundred hours it had been difficult to breathe.

That would not have been so bad if only he knew the reason.

He fought his fears, taking deep, regular breaths. It would be ridiculous to panic, for the

discomfort was not really bad except when physical exertion was necessary. The oxygen

content of the air was declining gradually; it could not fall suddenly. And there were masks and

cylinders that could be used if necessary.

And there was the personality of Lyon, the Captain. Surely he would not tamely allow

disaster to overtake his people.

Taylor's hopes and fears seesawed. Yes, he thought, but what could even Lyon do, if he did

not know the reason for the impoverished air? Lyon's powers, too, might have deteriorated.

For too long the man had been harnessed to an insufficient load.

But surely this emergency must have roused the Captain. Else why had he sent Kraft, the

Chief Scientist, to Una by the periodical liaison 'plane? Surely it was to find out what was the

cause of failure in the oxygen plants, and whether it was only a temporary breakdown or not.

Taylor heard an approaching scream in the sky. Looking up, he saw the trails of jets and a

flash of silver. The rays of the sun, which never touched the reservation, caught the wings of the

'plane at it's high altitude. So Kraft was coming back. He must be aboard the 'plane. Now they

would soon know their fate.

Charles Carr - Salamander War.pdf

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