Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Amazing Stories January 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
BEFORE EGYPT
By E. K. JARVIS
_It was Mallison's strangest assignment. The weird little professor wanted to go to Egypt. That meant a trip back to Earth so far as Mallison was concerned. But the professor pointed to a distant star and Mallison wondered: "Who moved Egypt?"_
Jaws agape, the hideous serpent hung poised above her slim thigh.]
* * * * *
Mike Mallison and Nicko were in the office when the new clientsentered. A girl and an elderly man. The girl smiled at Mike. Then shelooked at Nicko and a sharp involuntary scream got past her lips.
"It's all right, lady," Mike said. "He won't hurt you. He neverinjures a client. Won't you sit down?"
Nicko wasn't offended. He was used to women reacting that way at firstsight of him. In fact, the hideous little Martian misfit had causedeven strong men to turn pale.
The elderly man was also staring but with more clinical interestthan horror. He turned his eyes on Mike and said, "I am ProfessorArnold Brandon. This is my daughter, Doree."
"I'm Mike Mallison." He indicated with a nod. "This is my assistant,Nicko."
Nicko grinned, thus baring his tusks and adding new hideousness to hisface. He waved his four arms and said, "I'm delighted to make youracquaintances. I hope your trip to Outer Port was not too tiring."
Nicko's tones were bell-like--his diction perfect. The girl gasped.The man blinked, then turned again to Mike. "I hope you received ourelectrogram."
"Yes, but it was a little vague. It merely said you would arrive atOuter Port as of this date."
"Quite. We wish to charter your ship for a cruise."
Mike considered. The _Space Queen_ was at liberty but he wasn't sureabout these two. Other than the fact that the man was old, the girlgray-eyed, slim, and damned pretty, he knew nothing about them. Theycertainly didn't look like big game hunters.
"For what destination?"
Professor Brandon hesitated. "Out toward Orion, sir."
"A man could cruise out toward Orion for the rest of his life andstill not arrive at a destination. Could you be more specific?"
"There is a planet out there I wish to visit but at this time I'drather discuss details other than its location."
"Such as--?"
"The cost is very important to us."
Doree Brandon spoke up. "My father holds the Chair of Ancient Culturesat Casa Blanca University, and educators, as you may know, are notvery well paid. We've been saving for this trip for a long time--"
* * * * *
She faltered, somewhat embarrassed and Mike asked, "In what segment ofOrion is this planet located?"
"The ninth, sir."
Mike leaned forward. "May I assume your trip is of a scientificnature?"
"You may, sir."
"Then I wonder if you are familiar with the Terran EducationalFoundation? I happened to have had contact with them some five yearsago."
"I'm quite familiar with the organization."
"Did it occur to you that they might assume some of the cost of yourtrip?"
"They refused. They make the absurd claim that this planet I spoke ofdoesn't exist."
"But you have proof to the contrary?"
"An ancient document," Doree Brandon cut in. "A papyrus scroll. Fathertranslated it."
"And the Foundation did not agree with his translation?"
"I did not submit the scroll. They know nothing about it."
"Father bought it from two men in Paris and worked three years on thetranslation." Doree looked at her father with great pride.
"My reasons for not submitting it were personal," Professor Brandonsaid, "and are not pertinent to this discussion."
"May I suggest," Mike said gently, "that a pair of crooks sold you acounterfeit--"
"You may not, sir!"
Doree reflected her father's indignation. "I'll have you know myfather is the foremost authority in his field!"
Mike raised a protective hand. "All right--all right. I'm sorry."
"Then perhaps you'll tell us the approximate cost of the cruise?"
"I can haul you to the ninth segment and back for around seventhousand but that won't leave much leeway for search."
Professor Brandon beamed. "We can just about manage it. And I assureyou very little search will be necessary."
"If you'll give me the planet's location I'll plot a course and giveyou an exact figure."
"It is not my intention to seem mysterious, but I'd prefer to give youthat data after blast-off."
* * * * *
Mike scowled and half-rose from his chair. Professor Brandon hastilydrew a pack of yellow bills from his pocket and laid it on the table."There are four thousand. I have the rest at the hotel. We shalldemonstrate complete faith in you by paying the seven thousand beforewe leave Outer Port."
With that he smiled and arose from his chair. "I guess that concludesour business at this time. We'll be at the hotel when you wish tocontact us. Come Doree." He herded the girl out quickly and closed thedoor.
Nicko chuckled. "Smart old codger. He had you pegged dead to rights."
Mike turned his scowl on Nicko and snapped, "For Christ's sake, speakTerran!"
Nicko had inadvertently used a Plutonian hill dialect he'd heard once,this being the hideous little Martian's amazing talent--an instinctivegrasp of all tongues. His lingual talents were a tremendous asset toMike but at times they drove him crazy because Nicko mightabsent-mindedly use several different tongues during a conversation;some of which he could not classify himself, having forgotten where heheard them.
"I said he had you pegged. He knew you were ready to turn him down sohe upped with the mool. He knew once you touched the yellow you'd behis pup."
"I'm not so damned sure about that--"
Mike Mallison was a big game guide--a life he loved. He was a man ofaction and asked nothing better than the perils of his calling; thestalking of the great Plutonian ice bears; crouching in a Venusianswamp waiting for the ten-ton lizards to blow slime a hundred feet inthe air and rise from their lava-hot beds; matching wits with thetelepathic Uranian rock wolves, the most elusive beast in theuniverse; setting his sights on a Martian jet-bat so some Terranmillionaire could have a new trophy for his game room.
"You're not sure," Nicko was saying in Ganymedian French, "but you'llstay glued to the mool."
Mike was busy thinking and didn't ask for a translation. After all, heneeded the money and if he didn't take it these two deluded characterswould no doubt find someone who would.
"Besides," Nicko said in Terran, "the female's a dream. The legs--thetorso--very nice to be in space with."
"Shut up! This is a business trip! Remember that. Exactly the same asthough we were hauling a couple of fat Terran bankers."
"Sure. But that kitty's got more in the bank than--"
"Get the hell out of here! Go over to the Exchange and see if our newpile came in on that ship."
* * * * *
Outer Port was a man-made satellite artificially oxygenated andgravitated. It was the largest of a group assembled during theexperimental period of the late twenty-first century. Later, methodsof shifting asteroids and small planets into desired orbits weredeveloped and the construction of space globes and platforms wasdis
continued.
At that time, the Interplanetary Guild of Space Guides purchased thesatellite and moored it on the perimeter of the System to serve as aheadquarters for their activities. They smashed a bottle of wine on itand christened it Outer Port after which every guide got drunk by wayof celebration.
It was a bleak establishment. With no solar supplement, it lay in theeternal twilight of far space, the artificial heat of its surfacerising against eternal cold thus causing a perpetual fogging of itsatmosphere mixture.
So when the _Space Queen_ blasted fifteen hours later, Doree Brandonbrightened perceptibly. Professor Brandon remained in