Murph, Forsyth, and Jamison heard the
alien voice warn them. And to each it sounded
familiar—a sweetheart, a son, a hated enemy!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
January 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
In a dwindling spiral they circled the planet, and Murph's cold blueeyes studied the radarscreen. Things looked good: no sign of cities,social denizens or humanoids. He was scribbling notes on his desk whenthe all-wave above him started crackling.
He watched the green line sweep back and forth along the dial, finallycentering on the wave length which was broadcasting. As it focused, thespeaker sputtered in.
"... in accordance with Interstellar Code," it sounded like arecording, "... we repeat. Landings and colonizing efforts have beenpreviously attempted upon this planet. They are not welcome and havenot been successful. Change course and seek other areas. This warningis being broadcast upon wavelengths available to you and in languagetranslatable by you in accordance with Interstellar Code...." Murphyswitched it off and looked at his crew of two.
"Well?"
Forsyth grinned at him. "The hell with them! We've heard that fromevery race in the solar system—one way or another. I say we land."
Jamison shrugged. "Put 'er down anywhere. Makes no difference to me."His scarred lips tightened.
"Okay," Murph switched the set back on. The same record was playing,monotonously.
"Load up with combat equipment, boys. We're going in."
The deadly silver needle tightened the spiral course around the planet,and above Murph the speaker crackled again and went dead.
"Guess they got tired of playing that record," he muttered.
Another crackling and the mechanism blared again.
"... we see you intend disregarding our warning. In accordance withInterstellar Code, it is only fair to warn you...." It clicked offabruptly as Murph jabbed at the switch. No use listening to thisoutworld nonsense—he'd heard it all before and lived through it.
"Where's the rest of the fleet?" He threw the question out generally.
"Nine hours behind," Jamison said. "We blast in. They follow us." Thethree men were silent as they scanned the radar screen. They whinedabove a land mass and Murph juggled the controls and the ship swoopedupward, then settled slowly, riding on the jets. While they waited forthe ground around them to cool, the men climbed into combat gear. Theradar scanned the military hemisphere available and Murph casuallyflipped the radio switch again.
"... have disregarded our warning," the voice said, insistently. "Inaccordance with the Interstellar Code, we can not now be furtherresponsible...." It croaked into silence as Murph slammed the switchclosed again.
"Nuts!" he said, buckling a belt around his waist.
"Yeah," said Jamison. "The hell with them—whoever they are."
"Well," said Forsyth—he was the navigator, "now, I'm not so sure...."
"Get dressed," Murph was in command, and he showed it. "We are goingout."
... There was an oddity about the voice, Murph thought, as he dressed.The voice reminded him of his sweetheart, Sitra, back in Philly onearth: husky, throaty—and with the soft, vibrant purr of a happykitten.
... It reminded Forsyth of his son's tones, during the family farewellfor this expedition. A twinge of concern tautened his body as heremembered: one never knew when—or if—crews returned from these grimexpansion campaigns of humanity.
... Jamison had another impression. He