Skylark 4 Skylark Duquesne by E.E. "Doc" Smith

Author:E.E. "Doc" Smith
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780425091487
Publisher: Berkley Pub Group (Mm)
Published: 1986-06-14T23:00:00+00:00

18 HUMANITY TRIUMPHANT, NOT INC

SINCE Seaton as Ky-El Mokak was not the least bit fussy, he accepted the first house that Prenk showed him. His honor offered also-with a more than somewhat suggestive expression-to send him a housekeeper, but Seaton declined the offer with thanks; explaining that that could wait until he got himself organized and could do a little looking around for himself.

Prenk gave Seaton a handful of currency and a ground car-one of Prenk’s own, this; a beautifully streamlined, beautifully kept little three-wheeled jewel of a ground-car-told him where the shopping-centers .were, and went back to City Hall.

Seaton bought a haircut and a shave, a couple of outfits of clothing, and some household supplies, which he took out to his new home and stowed away.

By that time it was the local equivalent of half-past three, and the shifts changed at four o’clock; wherefore he drove his spectacular little speedster six miles up-canyon to the uraninite mine that was the sole reason for the town’s existence. Since he did not want to be shot out of hand, he did not dare to be late or to do anything unusual, either during the five-mile train-ride along the main tunnel or during the skip-ride down to the eighty-four-hundred-foot level where he was to work.

Once in the stope itself, however, he stopped-exactly thirteen feet short of the stiffly erect young overseer-and stood still while his shift mates picked up their tools and started for the banging wall-the something-more-than-vertical face of the cavernous stope-to begin their day’s work.

The overseer-was a well-fed young man, and the second native Seaton had seen who looked more than half alive. His jacket, breeches and boots were as glossily black as his crash-helmet was glossily white. He was a very proud young man, and arrogant. His side-arm hung proudly at his hip. His bull-whip coiled arrogantly ready for instant use.

This wight stared haughtily at Seaton for a moment, and began to swell up like a pouter pigeon. Then, as Seaton made an unmistakable gesture at him, he went into smoothly violent action.

“Oh, you’re the wilder!” he snarled, and swung the heavy blacksnake with practiced ease.

But Seaton had known exactly what to expect and he was ready for it. He ducked and sidestepped with the speed and control of the trained gymnast that he was; he handled the short, thick club that had been in his sleeve as though it were the wand of the highly skilled prestidigitator that he was. Thus, in the instant that the end of the lash curled savagely around the hickory he swung it like a home-run hitter swings a bat-and caught the blacksnake’s heavy, shot-loaded butt on the fly in his right hand.

The minion went for his gun, of course, but Seaton’s right arm was already swinging around and back, and as gun cleared holster the bull-whip’s vicious tip snapped around both gun and hand with a pistol-sharp report. The trooper stared, for an instant stunned, at the blood spurting from his paralyzed right hand; and that instant was enough.

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