Hunters Out of Space

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Andrew Wainwright and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  HUNTERS

  OUT OF

  SPACE

  By JOSEPH E. KELLEAM

  ILLUSTRATED by FINLAY

  CHAPTER 1

  In Kansas, spring usually falls on the day before summer. It had been sucha day, and now at midnight I was sitting at my desk. Both hands of theclock were pointing to the ceiling--and to the limitless stars beyond. Mywife and daughter had long been asleep. I had stayed up to write a fewletters but it was not a night for working. Although it was a bit chillyoutside, the moon was bright and a bird was singing a glad and plaintivesong about the summer that was coming and all the summers that had passedand all that would be. Adding, here and there, a bit of melody about allthe good things that happen to birds and men without their knowing why.

  Both hands of the clock were pointing upward. And I was half-asleep, andhalf-dreaming. Remembering all the friends I had--most of them scattered tothe four winds by now. And that best friend of all, Doctor Jack Odin! Iwondered where he was and how he had fared since he disappeared into thatdark cave in Texas.

  Suddenly I became aware of a flickering light above me. I looked up. I hadthought that the lights were winking, but they were not. The room was litby a reading lamp, and the ceiling was so shadowy that at first I could seenothing at all. Then I saw the light--or the ghost of a light--gleamingfaintly upon--or through--the ceiling. It was the faintest yellow, neithera bull's eye nor a splotch. Instead, it seemed to be a tiny whirlpool ofmovement--the faintest nebula in miniature with spirals of light swiftlycircling a central core. For a second I thought I could see through theroof, and the stars swarmed before me. It was as though I was at thevortex of a high whirlwind of dancing, shining specks of light. Then thatsensation was gone, and there were two faint coiling spirals of yellowlight upon the ceiling.

  The lights began to whisper.

  "We are Ato and Wolden," they said. "Remember us?"

  I remembered them from the notes that I had pieced together to tell thestory of my old friend, Doctor Jack Odin, and his adventure in the World ofOpal. It seemed impolite to tell them that we had never met. So I listened.

  "Wolden's work has succeeded," the whispering continued. "We have reducedtime and space to nothing. You see us as lights, or as we once put it, 'asflame-winged butterflies,' but we are neither. We are Ato and Wolden. Byadding ourselves to another dimension we are hardly recognizable to you.Actually, we are at our starting point billions of miles away! We aretraveling through space toward you at a speed which would make the speedof light look like a glow-worm crawling across the dark ground; and at thesame time, we are there in your room. Do you understand?"

  I didn't, but I have learned that a man can live quite comfortably bymerely keeping his mouth shut. So I kept still.

  * * * * *

  My little daughter had been playing in the room before she had unwillinglygone to bed. She had left a red rubber ball upon my desk.

  "Look at the ball," the voices whispered. "We will give you an idea of thetime-space in which we live."

  I looked. Suddenly the little ball twitched, vanished and reappeared. Igazed in wonder. It had been red. Now it was white. I picked it up and awhite powder rubbed off upon my fingertips.

  "See." The lights whispered. "We have turned it inside out--"

  The whispering continued.

  * * * * *

  "We are bringing you a gift. Our last gift, probably, because we are wearyof your world and the affairs of men. Pygmies! Now, stand back from yourdesk--"

  It was such a command that I fairly leaped out of my chair and drew awayfrom the desk. Still leaning upon it I stared in wonder at the shadow whichwas forming itself upon the cleared space by the side of my typewriter.At first it was merely a dark square. Then it was a shadowy cube, growingdenser all the time until it became a dim shape. The shape grew brighter.There was a tiny spitting sound, like two hot wires being touched together.There was a smell in the room, not unpleasant but not pleasant either--acompletely alien smell. A wave of cold air struck me, and passed by,leaving me shivering. Our furnace came on with a start.

  Then the lights were gone and I was looking in wonder at a leaden box,about a foot square. It had a hinged lid, and around the middle of it thefigure of a snake was excellently carved. It held its tail in its mouth,locking the box securely. Its eyes were two great moonstones that appearedto look up at me with half-blind amusement--winking at the wisdom they hadforgotten and the fear that I was feeling.

  I touched the box and drew my hand away in pain. It was colder than cold.Desolate, burning cold.

  It was two hours before the box became warm enough--or cool enough--totouch. Then, after several experiments I got the snake's mouth open and thelid swung upward on chilled hinges.

  Within it was a manuscript. As soon as I looked at it I recognized thehandwriting of my old friend, Doctor Jack Odin.

  Well, it was just as before. It was more of a series of notes and jottingsthan a story. It took months to piece it together. Several pages were badlyburned and spotted. It was hard work and slow work--

  And this is the tale that Jack Odin sent me--from Somewhere.