STRANGER FROM SPACE-1
680 Words
STRANGER FROM SPACE
BY HANNES BOK
from
Planet Stories March 1943
She prayed that a God would come from the skies and carry her away to bright adventures. But when he came in a metal globe, she knew only disappointment—for his godliness was oddly strange!
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IT WAS TWILIGHT ON Venus—the rusty red that the eyes notice when their closed lids are raised to light. Against the glow, fantastically twisted trees spread claws of spiky leaves, and a group of clay huts thrust up sharp edges of shadow, like the abandoned toy blocks of a gigantic child. There was no sign of clear sky and stars—the heavens were roofed by a perpetual ceiling of dust-clouds.
A light glimmered in one of the huts. Feminine voices rippled across the clearing and into the jungle. There was laughter, then someone’s faint and wistful sigh. One of the voices mourned, in the twittering Venusian speech, “How I envy you, Koroby! I wish I were being married tonight, like you!”
Koroby stared defiantly at the laughing faces of her bridesmaids. She shrugged hopelessly. “I don’t care,” she said slowly. “It will be nice to have Yasak for a husband—yes. And perhaps I do love him. I don’t know.” She tightened her lips as she reflected on it.
She left them, moving gracefully to the door. Venus-girls were generally of truly elfin proportions, so delicately slim that they seemed incapable of the slightest exertion. But Koroby’s body was—compared to her friends’—voluptuous.
She rested against the door-frame, watching the red of the afterglow deepen to purple. “I want romance,” she said, so softly that the girls had to strain forward to hear her. “I wish that there were other worlds than this—and that someone would drop out of the skies and claim me ... and take me away from here, away from all this—this monotony!”
She turned back to her friends, went to them, one of her hands, patting the head of the kneeling one. She eyed herself in the mirror.
“Well—heigh-ho! There don’t seem to be any other worlds, and nobody is going to steal me away from Yasak, so I might as well get on with my preparations. The men with the litter will be here soon to carry me to the Stone City.”
She ran slim hands down her sides, smoothing the blue sarong; she fondled her dark braids. “Trossa, how about some flowers at my ears—or do you think that it would look a little too much—?” Her eyes sought the mirror, and her lips parted in an irreprehensible smile. She trilled softly to herself, “Yes, I am beautiful tonight—the loveliest woman Yasak will ever see!” And then, regretfully, sullenly, “But oh, if only He would come ... the man of my dreams!”
There was a rap at the doorway; they turned. One of the litter-bearers loomed darker than the gloomy sky. “Are you ready?” he asked.
Koroby twirled before the mirror, criticizing her appearance. “Yes, ready,” she said.
“Ready!” the girls cried. Then there was a little silence.
“Shall we go now?” Koroby asked, and the litter-carrier nodded. Koroby kissed the girls, one after another. “Here, Shonka—you can have this bracelet you’ve always liked. And this is for you, Lolla. And here, Trossa—and you, Shia. Goodbye, darlings, goodbye—come and see me whenever you can!”
“Goodbye, Koroby!”
“Goodbye! Goodbye!” They crowded around her, embracing, babbling farewells, shreds of advice. Trossa began to cry. Finally Koroby broke away from them, went to the door. She took a last look at the interior of the little hut, dim in the lamplight—at the hard bed of laced gnau-hide strips, the crude but beautifully-carved charts and chests. Then she turned and stepped out into the night.
“This way,” the litter-carrier announced, touching the girl’s arm. They stumbled over the rutted clearing toward the twinkling sparks that were the lights of the other litter-bearers, colored sparks as befitted a wedding-conveyance. The winking lights were enclosed in shells of colored glass for another reason—the danger of their firing the papery jungle verdure.
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