THE PLANETARY PIRATE

INTRODUCTION, by Vella Munn

No one knows when Homer Flint wrote The Planetary Pirate. The only mention of it in his surviving letters is dated Feb. 11, 1921, in which he wrote to the Paget Agencies to remind them to return several of his short stories which they could not successfully negotiate. Among these he lists The Interplanetary Pirate—a slightly different title from the one we know.

Since Homer wrote a flurry of science fiction stories between 1918 and 1919—The Lord of Death, The Queen of Life, The Planeteer, The Man in the Moon—it’s likely that he also wrote The Planetary Pirate during this period.

The narrator of the story speaks of 1950 as the distant past. Life exists on most planets now, he says, and travel between the planets is made possible by “sky-cars” (sky-cars also figure prominently in The Lord of Death and The Queen of Life). Each planet has its own distinct political and social makeup. All of them are also members of the Interplanetary Federation, except Earth. The Federation deems Earth too primitive for inclusion—and therein lies the story.

The process by which an author develops a plot and a setting is always mysterious, but we do know Homer was influenced by H.G. Well’s War of the Worlds, and that he was a fan of Jules Verne. It’s also possible he was aware of inventor Robert Hutching Goddard’s 1914 patents for multi-stage and liquid-fuel rockets. Goddard’s A Method of Reaching Extreme Altitudes, published in 1919, is a classic text of twentieth century rocket science, and Goddard himself launched the first liquid-fuel rocket just two years after Homer’s death.

Regardless, The Planetary Pirate, though it was never published, is another glimpse into the genius of a man with many stories to tell and many worlds to conquer.

Chapter I

The Arrival

It is asking a good deal from a man of my years, to tell about a thing that happened as far back as 1950. However, it is as vivid in my brain as though it were only yesterday; the reason for which will be soon appreciated.

Herron and I were seated in his laboratory at the time, and it so happened, we were discussing the question of the habitability of other worlds. Please don’t laugh! Remember, that was in 1950. It will amuse you to consider that argument between Herron, who was perhaps the most prominent instructor of wireless telephony on the Pacific Coast at the time, and me, an unimportant student of his.

“Earth is the only habitable planet,” I was saying, very positively, in the cock-sure manner of the young fellow who knows a little and thinks he knows it all. Herron lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

“What’re your reasons, Jimmie?”

“They are the reasons or some very eminent scientists,” said I. “Consider the eight planets: Mercury (to begin with the one nearest the sun), Venus, Earth and Mars: all comparatively small and near to the sun; then Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune, all comparatively large, and far away. Obviously Mercury and Neptune are out of question as possibly human abodes; the one must be too hot, the other too cold, by far. Of the remaining six, only Earth has the right conditions!”

“Ah. So you assume that unless the planetary conditions are just right, there can be no human life?”

“Certainly not.”

“But consider this fact: Here on Earth we have a certain set of planetary conditions, which has, as we know, produced human life. At the same time, however, and under the same set of conditions, nature has produced a most amazing variety of life—all unlike the human species! Compare the mosquito and the elephant—the rhinoceros and the centipede. All the product of the very same set of conditions that produced man!”

“What of it?”

“Just this: If a single set of conditions can produce such utterly unlike creations as men and spiders, why cannot a wide variety of conditions produce like results?”

“By which you mean—”

“That even though the conditions on—say—Venus, are different from ours, the human race may have been evolved there just the same. You forget how adaptable the human is: the only form of life that is at home both in the polar regions and in the tropics. Just consider the matter of temperature, alone. The temperature of the human body averages 98.60; but if it rises more than eight or ten degrees, or drops below ninety-two, it means a lily in your hand. Nevertheless—the average temperature of the atmosphere the year around the world over, is only a little over sixty degrees!”

I was baffled, but not silenced.

“Yes, but think of the matter of the day’s length—long as the year, on Venus! Only ten hours long, on Jupiter: Again—the gravitational attractions are not like ours. Moreover, the atmospheric constituents are known to be very different. And finally, the other planets vary so hopelessly in their distances from the solar heat and light; not to mention the matter of seasons, which is dependent upon polar inclination. These things are insuperable objections!”

“Insuperable? As for the length of the day—no astronomer is positive as to Venus’ rotation period. Simple arithmetical computation would indicate, as a matter of proportion, that she has a period nearly the same as our own. Regarding Jupiter’s extra short day, you must take into consideration the extreme depth of his atmosphere, which must give him a very long dawn and twilight—much longer than ours. Touching the question of atmospheric constituency, I must remind you that the spectroscope is still in its infancy. The authorities are continually contradicting each other. Who knows what the green line in Saturn’s spectrum indicates? Perhaps, an element that compensates for the distance from the sun. Incidentally—don’t forget that, if there is no oxygen free in the air, humans know how to make it for their own use! As for the seasons—what is there to prevent human beings to these other planets, from raising their vegetables under hot-house conditions where the seasons can be made to order? Anyway, consider our own century plant—it’s independent of seasons. Insuperable?”

It was just then that Ioka, Herron’s Japanese man-of-all-work, ran in from the lawn. He was too excited to talk English. He jabbered away in his own tongue, until we ran outside and stared up at the sky, to see what had aroused him.

It was a white, drum-shaped affair, approaching rather slowly. The size was difficult to determine; but its outline resembled nothing so much as the squat, cylindrical gun-turret of a battle-ship. Only there were no visible openings of any sort. It possessed neither wings, propeller, nor any other salient means of propulsion. It moved without sound.

Presently it was near enough for us to estimate that its diameter was at least forty or fifty yards; its height, at least seven or eight. In short, an enormous snare-drum, laid flat.

Down it settled, as softly as a balloon, but much more accurately guided, it would seem; for it landed squarely in the center of Herron’s lawn. But no sign of a control could be seen. Herron and I ran nearer.

Now we could see that along the walls of the craft were innumerable slits; mere scratches in the white, perhaps an eighth of an inch wide and a couple of feet long. Doubtless they were backed with glass. I should say there were thousands of these.

There came a slight jar and a gentle thud, as the great turret touched the earth. Ensued a pause, during which nothing happened; not a sound, save our excited breathing. Then, we fairly jumped as a loud slam resounded from the top of the craft, as though some sort of a trap-door had been thrown open.

Next moment a figure appeared on the edge, high above our heads. It was the first time that anyone on Earth had ever set eyes on a citizen of another planet. He was indisputably similar to any other human. Yet, there was a difference, a difference as subtle yet as real as the difference between a Frenchman and a Turk. His face was that of an aesthetic, his complexion, pallid; but his build was of the type called burly. He was clothed somewhat like an Arab. But we were far more interested in his expression, particularly that of his eyes, which were exceedingly large and set very deep in the head. He seemed profoundly intelligent; whenever his glance rested, there seemed absolute and perfect comprehension of all that he saw.

He stood there without moving for some two or three minutes, gravely and silently regarding Herron and me. Then, he smiled. It was kindly, friendly, optimistic—all three. Instantly we smiled in return.

He turned and beckoned to someone. Unseen hands thrust a very ordinary-looking ladder over the edge of the craft. In a remarkably agile manner for a man of his apparent years, the newcomer stepped to the earth.

Said Herron:

“How do you do, sir?”

The man shook his head and smiled. Herron repeated the salutation, rather helplessly. The other smiled again, and uttered two syllables, repeated:

“Kah-lott. Kah-lott.”

I am something of a linguist. I felt sure that this word, or words, could not belong to any language on Earth. I said as much to Herron. “Ah. And so Earth is the only habitable planet, Jimmie?”

As he spoke, Herron drew a scratch-pad and pencil from his pocket and smilingly handed them to the newcomer, much as to invite him to explain himself. The distinguished old man grasped pencil and paper as though they were familiar to him, and swiftly sketched a diagram of the solar system; a central dot to indicate the sun, and eight concentric circles to denote the planetary orbits. On the third of these orbits—third from the sun, that is—he placed a dot, and then pointed to the ground beneath his feet. Next, on the sixth orbit he placed a second dot, and pointed to himself.

“They’re from Saturn!” I exclaimed.

Immediately Herron invited him to enter the laboratory. The newcomer hesitated, eyeing the two of us very intently. At length he seemed satisfied; he went close to one of the slits and said something unintelligible to us in a low tone. Then he smiled acquiescence.

Herron’s scientific apparatus was of great interest to him. He examined the intricate mechanisms with much enthusiasm and perfect understanding, coupled with a most peculiar air of delicacy. “By George!” said Herron, mortified. “It’s just as though he were handling some museum relics! And I call this dump, up to date!”

Once the stranger pointed out a highly refined detector of which Herron was justly proud; then, called attention to the Saturn dot on the diagram. Evidently he wanted to know whether Herron had “heard” Saturn. A look of mild disappointment came into the newcomer’s eyes as Herron regretfully shook his head.

He located a blackboard and chalk, which likewise seemed familiar to him. With remarkable speed and understanding he found out that we used the decimal system of numbering—his own system, it seemed, was octimal. Then, using this system and a large-sized globe, he quickly made us understand that he wanted to know the population. Herron wrote it for him. Then, he wanted to know something else, which we were a long time in understanding. He kept drawing large circles, to denote that population; in the center of the circles, he would place dots. Presently it dawned upon me.

“He wants to know, where is our principal city!”

So we pointed out Washington on the globe. He smiled understandingly and approvingly; then indicated that he must be going. We judged he would naturally be in a hurry to get in touch with the most important people on our planet. But it was disappointing that he should be so little interested in us. It gave Herron a good deal of satisfaction to be able to call Washington at once by phone, and to tell the Secretary of State the news. Fortunately the secretary knew my scientist friend.

“Tell him to come right along, Herron! The president will drop everything, of course, to talk to him.”

Inside of two minutes the Saturnian was aboard his craft, and in full flight towards the east.

Chapter II

The Insult

By the time the craft from Saturn had reached Washington, the news had been broadcasted over all the world. Herron and I were but two out of hundreds of thousands who immediately made all haste towards the capital of our country. And when the strangers finally hovered over the White House, it was some time before the air could be cleared sufficiently to permit a landing on the lawn, directly in front of the portico.

But the Saturnians were in no hurry. First the elderly man whom Herron and I had seen, wanted to learn how to speak English! In vain did the secretary of state try to point out the obstacles. The newcomer merely smiled that paternal smile of his, and proceeded to bring forth a large book or portfolio, filled with thousands of carefully drawn sketches. These ranged from pictures of common objects to illustrations of scientific principles; from portraits showing every conceivable human emotion to charts on which to plot progress of various sorts. The newcomer went straight to work, with the aid of the secretary, and proceeded to learn the American equivalent for each and every one of these illustrated ideas.

His memory was staggering, his understanding, profound. Inside of forty-eight hours he had gained a vocabulary as extensive as that of a fifth-grade school-boy; and he announced himself ready for an audience with the president.

True, from time to time they had to resort to sign-talk. True, the Saturnian’s pronunciation was strange—a sort of Swedish accent, with a tendency to lisp. But the intelligence of the two men overcame all obstacles. Why belittle that feat by reporting it verbatim? Let it be told with the dignity the occasion deserved.

One thing only the president did not fully realize: That the Saturnian (his name was Chalter) had cunningly devised his book of sketches so that the American answers to his questions told him, very exactly, the mental and moral development and limitations of the country.

“We are inexpressibly honored by this visit,” the president was able to make clear. “We shall be happy to serve you to the limit of our ability.”

Chalter replied, if not in so many words, at least to the effect that the privilege and pleasure was all his and his companions. He then plunged directly into the purpose of his mission.

“We on Saturn, Mr. President, are barely representative of the three great planets.” (He had previously told the newspapers that Jupiter and Uranus were likewise inhabited, but not Neptune.) “Our civilization may be a trifle more advanced than that of Jupiter, but it does not equal that of Uranus. It really is an accident that the first sky-car should have come from our world. The other two planets know as much as we do about the principle of the sky-boat, but they have had to synthesize certain elements which we already possessed.

“The really important factor of the situation, Mr. President, is that we three planets have been able to exchange experiences, thanks to the development of ether wave communication many centuries ago, until today Saturn and Jupiter and Uranus are perfectly well acquainted with the scientific, sociological and other discoveries which each has made. We are all richer thereby.

“Conceivably Earth likewise would be better off if she could participate in our collective wisdom.”

“I understand,” commented the president, enthusiastically. “Do you intend to invite us into some sort of an alliance?”

“That was our purpose in making this visit. We anticipated that you likewise would be able to add to the sum total of our knowledge.” Chalter hesitated before going on, and took special care in expressing his next thought:

“We on Saturn have a special and specific reason for coming to you. We are in need.”

“In need! A huge world like yours, in need?”

“Yes. In fact, our very size is the cause of our need. You must understand that our planet has a very low specific gravity. Although the outer crust is obviously composed of rigid rock (otherwise our planet would not retain a spherical form under its swift daily rotation) yet our interior is gaseous. We have nearly all the chemical elements, but we lack these which you would call atomically heavy.”

“Ah; radium, and so forth!”

“Precisely, Mr. President. And Saturn is today suffering from a peculiar malady, incurable without some such element. Our physicians could work out the remedy, but could not produce it. It was in hopes that your planet, which we know to be comparatively dense, would have isolated these elements, that our expedition was conceived and undertaken.”

“I am exceedingly glad to say,” cried the president, “that your hopes were not in vain! We have already isolated three or four of the radioactive elements!”

Chalter’s delight was almost holy. His great eyes glowed, and his voice trembled slightly with emotion, as he said:

“I can only hope, Mr. President, that it will be possible for me to take some of the precious substance home with me. I greatly fear, however, that it cannot be!”

“What is there to prevent, my honored sir?”

Chalter paused for a full minute, during which he searched the president’s face in that super-intelligent, omniscient way of his. In the end he sighed, and spoke wearily:

“To begin with, may I ask what is the political condition of your planet at present?”

“Our political condition? Rather complex, sir. Perhaps you had best ask questions.”

“First—you, Mr. President, are the head of this country?”

“Yes.”

“Is it the most important country on the globe?”

“In many respects—yes.”

“I presume, then, that you are the director-in-chief of the entire planet?”

The president gasped.

“By no means!”

“Then, who is your director-in-chief?”

“There is no such person.”

Chalter sighed again. He said:

“I took it for granted that your planet was highly organized. Is it possible that your political development has not yet reached the international stage?”

“I am sorry to say, Mr. Chalter, that every attempt to form a world-wide union of the various nationalities has failed, to date.”

“Why?”

“I fear that mankind, on our planet, has not advanced quite far enough to allow the necessary adjustments,” admitted the president, frankly, and with inward chagrin. “We are too selfish, too near the beast, as yet.”

“I am afraid this was what I expected you to say.” Chalter was plainly grieved. “That is what I meant when I said, I feared it would not be possible for me to take back any radium with me. Let me explain. Since your planet lacks an international governmental organization, it necessarily lacks the spirit which would be essential to an alliance of still larger dimensions. It will be useless to ask your world to join us until your nations have reached an amicable adjustment of their affairs with each other.”

The president drew a sharp breath.

“You mean that you cannot—do not—”

“Precisely, Mr. President. We cannot invite your planet to join the Interplanetary Federation.”

“You do not mean to be insulting, sir!”

“Not at all. Neither do we look upon your people as wayward children. We appreciate your development, distinguished as it is by the isolation of radium. But it is all too clear that Earth’s development has been woefully one-sided. The advancement that produced the radium cannot be universal with you; it must be confined to just a few members of your race, or you would be further along, politically. A civilization which advances a part of the race at the expense of the remainder, Mr. President, is surely as yet in its infancy!”

Chalter rose to his feet, as though the subject were closed. As for the president, never before had he felt so belittled. Had the stranger made some remark derogatory to the president as a man, or as a native of his country, the chief executive would have known how to deal with the insult. But Chalter had slurred the entire human race on Earth, and the president only by implication.

“The radium—you shall have all that we can spare, Mr. Chalter!”

“At what price?”

The question caught the president off his guard. He hesitated. His impulse was to make an outright gift of the substance. But he was essentially a practical man—the head of a business-like nation. It would require a prodigious sum to buy all the spare radium. And—to make a present of it, to this man who had insulted everybody on Earth?

“Suppose we strike a bargain, Mr. Chalter. Let us exchange the radium for some of the scientific data which you possess.”

“I see. What data?”

“The secret of your sky-car!”

Chalter indulged in an ironic smile. He shook his head, slowly, finally, irrevocably. He stepped to the door, bowed, and said:

“No, Mr. President. I cannot let Earth have that secret.”

“Why not?”

“For the same reason that your government prohibits the sale of firearms to minors, and whiskey to Indians.”

Again he bowed, and left the room.

Chapter III

On to Venus

None of Chalter’s companions had shown themselves. He explained that it was a matter of adapting themselves to Earth’s atmosphere. He himself, having previously ascertained the chemical make-up of our air, had prepared an atmosphere of that character within a special chamber of the sky-car; and there he had lived, accustoming himself to what he was about to experience, during the long journey to Earth. He now announced that he was about to synthesize another sort of atmosphere, identical with what he would find on Venus; and without any more than a simple good-bye he climbed his ladder into the drum-shaped craft and disappeared. It was all over with that quickly.

A minute or so later the great white turret took leave of the earth, to the intense disappointment of a crowd numbering many millions. What an abrupt and unsatisfying end to that momentous visit! Of all in the throng, only a few were busy; and among them were Herron and I.

It was partly his idea, partly mine. In the forty-eight hours that Chalter was preparing for his talk with the president, we two had worked feverishly on a certain peculiar apparatus. This device, which was housed in two long black cases, we got permission to stand on end against the side of the turret; one case diametrically opposite the other. There they remained until the craft rose from the earth; and when the cases toppled to the ground, Herron and I were there to catch them. Unnoticed in the excitement we carried them to our airplane and thence to the laboratory in California. And the first thing Herron did was to telephone to two men—Dr. Crawford, the astronomer, and Boy Flagg Milner, the steel magnate. When these two arrived we held a consultation which, it will be seen, proved one of the most important in the history of Earth.

Meanwhile the Saturian sky-ship proceeded by the most direct path towards Venus. No one knows just what transpired within the craft during that trip, of course; but it is entirely practicable, today, to tell exactly what Chalter found when he reached Venus.

She had long ago been called “Earth’s sister planet.” The resemblance is indeed striking. She is only slightly smaller; her gravitation is practically the same. The chief difference is in her comparative nearness to the sun; a factor which is neutralized by the nature of her atmosphere, the upper strata of which is composed of volcanic dust, that reflects so much of the solar heat and light, the climatic conditions are very similar to ours. The length of the day is nearly the same. And because her density is like that of Earth, Chalter was justified in hoping that he would find there the radium which he had to refuse from the president.

But their political development is considerably ahead of ours. They achieved international harmony long ago. In fact, their history contains very little conflict and bloodshed. Curious that this should be so, but there happens to be an exceedingly good reason for it.

Everybody on Venus is contented. Yet there is nothing wonderful about it, when you consider how their affairs are managed. It is the simplest system imaginable, and the fairest. Each year every person on the planet must undergo a mental and physical examination. At the end of this examination, the results are collected and tabulated, and an average is struck. All persons who fall below that average go into one class, all who rank higher, into another. The first class then become the slaves or the others, and remain so, until a succeeding examination changes things. The one who ranks highest in that examination becomes the chief ruler for the ensuing year. It is absolutely fair and absolutely exact. Nobody is dissatisfied with it. The Venusians are all perfectly content.

Thus Chalter found them. He expressed himself as immensely pleased. Their scientific progress was not quite so great as that of Earth however, they had isolated certain radioactive elements. Chalter freely invited them to enter the proposed Interplanetary Federation, and they gladly accepted, making him an outright gift of the substance Saturn needed. In return, he presented them with the secret of his sky-car.

He did not mention the fact that Saturn’s political development had resulted in a perfect democracy; whereas that of Venus was a perfected aristocracy. Why quibble over mere forms? The main thing, as Chalter wisely concluded, was that the people should be happy. If they were all contented, the system must be a good one. If they were dissatisfied, something was wrong. But on Earth, he had found some of us discontented with the order of things. We were not yet ready for his plan.

From Venus the great sky-car turned right around and started back towards the outer part of the solar system, from which it had come. By the time it had return to our Earth’s orbit, we were a good many million miles away from the point where Chalter had taken leave of us. On he shot through space, and in due course fetched up at Mars.

As well all know now, Mars is a very aged world. His air is almost gone, and were it not for the high content of carbonic acid gas, his surface would be untenable. But it was not always thus. Ages ago, when the earth was peopled with Silurians, Mars had an atmosphere and a population alike as dense as ours today. But gradually he lost his protecting air blanket, so gradually that the people, drifting more and more towards the equatorial regions, scarcely realized their danger. It was not until the population began to die off from overcrowding in these only warm districts, that at last a few awoke. These few organized a strong militant party that seized control of government, forced all hands to work, and—in the very nick of time—saved the human race on Mars from destruction.

That is why, when Chalter arrived, he found them living in glassed-in cities, religiously guarding their hoarded air. That is why, too, the Martians have retained their military organization to this very day; every citizen is an officer or a private in that great army whose sole concern is the conservation of the Air. The fate of all depends upon discipline; one careless private, and thousands might perish of cold and asphyxiation. So the army remains; and because every man and woman and child thoroughly realizes the prime importance of it all, they are thoroughly satisfied with what we would consider autocracy. Each is only too glad to be alive at all, to think one thought against the prevailing order; the only order that will work under Martian conditions.

As in Venus, Chalter declared that the Federation would welcome such a member as Mars. Was everybody contented? Very good; that alone was proof that the Martians would make good citizens of the proposed solarian republic. He gave them the principle of his turret, and in return received formulae for the extraction of oxygen direct from granite.

Turning his back again on the sun, Chalter continued his journeys. To Jupiter was, of course, a long trip; but it served to give the explorer a chance to accustom himself to the extra dense type of atmosphere which he knew he was to encounter. Even had he not been able to manage this with his air-chamber apparatus, the Jovians would have arranged for his comfort; they knew he was coming, of course, and in turn had rigged up special chambers with the air-pressure at a point that Chalter would be able to stand; had trained several people to this pressure. In fact, they had been working on sky-cars of their own in the meantime, and sent one out a few million miles to escort him through the maze of Jovien moons.

Every schoolboy knows what Jupiter is like. Remarkable though it may seem, it all becomes clear as day when once we consider the extreme density of the air. That atmosphere is like a very thin sort of fluid. One can put a pair of small wings on one’s arms, and fly more easily than any bird on the earth. And it is this fact which accounts for the easy-going dispositions of the Jovians. Life is, to use old-time slang, pretty soft for them. Tropics and arctics are equally livable, thanks to that air, and nature is extremely generous. If a man doesn’t like a given spot, all he has to do is to fly to another. That is why Jupiter is so evenly populated. That, also, the reason why his people are so easily satisfied. There never has been such a thing as a frontier; consequently, there never has been any opportunity for a restless element, because there was no place for such people to take refuge in; and as a result, they had to stay at home and be content with what they had. After millions of generations of that sort of thing, the Jovians today are the most agreeable people in the whole solar system. They don’t know what it is to have hard feelings about anything. Of course, their progress has been very slow, due to the well-known fact that discontent is the mother of ambition. On the other hand, the planet is extremely large—a hundred and twenty times the surface of Earth—the population proportionately great; and because of their friendliness and ease of communication, each fresh discovery had been freely and immediately shared by all. Hence, for all Jupiter’s comparative youth, he is more advanced than Earth. He never had an international problem. He never had nations. The density of the air has always made it impossible to conceive of such a thing as a border. His people have always been one people. And as Chalter had already told the smaller planets, Jupiter was a charter member of the Federation.

From the giant world to Uranus was a long run, but the first humans to traverse interplanetary space could not think of returning to Saturn without visiting the remaining inhabited globe. (Neptune and Mercury, it will be remembered, were known to have no peoples.) And as in the case of Jupiter, Chalter found the Uranians prepared for his arrival.

These, the most highly developed people in the entire solarian family, were living in a most extraordinary state. At first sight, one would think them to be little better than savages. But the truth is, Uranus has long ago passed through all the stages of evolution and has now gone back to nature—not in despair, but deliberately; because the people have decided that civilization is not worthwhile. Civilization taught them to abide by the common welfare; and having done that for them, they have no further use for civilization. They progressed through all the stages of political development, evolved a perfect democracy in which every man achieved complete freedom for self-expression in accord with the common good; and having done that, proceeded to make an Eden of their world. Chalter found it unnecessary arrange any language whatever; they were able to read his mind, also to throw their own thoughts at will. Physically they were splendid savages; mentally, giants who could revert to civilization any time they chose. But to this day they disdain civilization as we on Earth disdain cannibalism.

It was while Chalter visited the Uranians that an announcement was broadcasted to all the planets in the Federation. It was in code, not intended for the peoples of Earth. But the astute minds of certain men in the American secret service, in time decoded the message. It ran:

“The Martian-Venusian Sky-Liner Corporation is pleased to announce the inauguration of regular freight and passenger service between these two planets. The equipment consists of six fine space-ships. Time of transit will vary, of course, according to the distance which happens to separate the planets; the average voyage will last three months. Sailings approximately twice a month (Earth’s time) in each direction.

“Rates on application. Reservations six months in advance. Special attention to shipments of scientific instruments and precious elements.”

Herron and I, together with the astronomer, Dr. Crawford, and the millionaire steel magnate, Roy Milner, were just completing the work on our secret scheme when this announcement was made public. We read it in silence, then looked at each other and smiled, grimly.

“This is our opportunity, gentlemen,” said Roy Milner.

Chapter IV

The Captain Kidd

Boiled down to a mere word or two, we four conspirators had stolen the secret of Chalter’s sky-car. The two box-like devices had been, respectively, a self-contained motion-picture apparatus which could operate without attention until its reels of prepared film were exhausted, and a super-X-ray outfit complete with battery; the one opposite the other, gave us an X-ray photograph of the workings of the turret. Of course, it goes without saying that we could not understand all that we saw; and even what we did comprehend, we were not able to duplicate exactly. What we did learn was the basic principle of the complicated apparatus by which Chalter had been able to transform or convert gravitational currents into the opposite type of electro-magnetic energy. For reasons which will shortly become clear, it is best that I should not divulge the nature of Chalter’s mechanisms, much less those which we were able to improvise.

Suffice it to say that, thanks to Roy Milner’s long purse, the Captain Kidd was duly constructed. A great deal of the expense was due solely to keeping the matter a dead secret; even then, we had to use harsh measures in the case of one assistant whom we caught just as he was about to give us away. But the results justified the most extreme means. The Captain Kidd was a long, black, cigar-shaped craft, rakish of lines and designed for extreme speed and power; whereas most sky-craft were constructed with an eye to comfort. And when she was completed, we not only had Earth’s first space-ship, but we had a crew of a hundred and twenty young men, whom we had proven to be intelligent, loyal and trustworthy—men who understood what we were up to, and who swore that they would see us through.

As for the Martian-Venusian Sky-liner Corporation’s fleet—the Astradon was typical of the six. She was a tetrahedron (four-faced pyramid) of what was then considered immense dimensions. She measured two thousand feet along either of her six equal edges, and she was fitted out as splendidly as an old-time ocean steamer. She had first and second cabin appointments, and carried one thousand. There was even a plunge among the items of her luxurious equipment. (It goes without saying that the six triangular faces of the craft were thoroughly proofed against collision with meteors. Larger particles were dodged, or else turned aside by magnetic counter-currents. Travel in space would be impossible otherwise.) And of course she was in constant communication with “land.”

On the trip in which we are interested, the Astradon was carrying, among a full complement of passengers, a delegation of scientists from Venus to Mars. This delegation included a highly learned astronomer and physicist, named Jormin; probably the finest mind on the planet. The ship had left Venus three weeks before and had just crossed Earth’s orbit; Mars was about twenty days distant. Following the Venusian custom, the passengers observed a 26-hour day until midway between the planets, after which they reverted to the Martians’ 25-hour day. So, although of course there is neither day nor night in mid-space, they called it three o’clock in the afternoon when the hold-up took place.

No one had the slightest inkling of what was about to happen. The navigators were off their guard, relying upon the numerous automatic instruments to apprise them of any uncharted wanderer in the heavens. In fact, it was one of these apparatuses that detected the approach of the Captain Kidd. An officer jumped to the nearest periscope; and next moment every person in the ship was startled to hear him shout, through the loud-speaking magnaphones:

“Strange craft on the starboard bow!”

Excitement ran high, instantly. Usually the voyage was marked only by the passing of another liner or so, generally at great distances. Never before had the genial commander of the Astradon heard such an announcement. A strange craft! He rushed, with his passengers and crew, to take a look at the newcomer.

Painted on the curved side of our craft was the unmistakable representation of the black flag—against a white squared background it stood out clear and distinct, skull, cross-bones and all. But there was not a single person aboard the liner who understood what it meant:

“She’s signaling, sir,” said the wireless man, at the captain’s elbow. “Shall I answer?”

“Certainly!”

Meanwhile, in the pilot room of the Captain Kidd, Commander Milner, Captain Herron, Dr. Crawford and myself were watching closely for any signs of offensive. He had assumed our victims would be peaceable, but could not take chances. Using the code which we knew to be universal among members of the Federation, we made it brief and snappy:

“Heave to, and come about!”

“What do you mean?” came the puzzled reply.

“We mean that if you do not obey our orders, you will be punctured with an armor-piercing projectile!”

“Punctured! Great Scott—we’d all die like rats in one second!”

“Exactly. We think you will have sense enough to do as you are told.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“Hold your course and speed just as they are. Steady, now. We are going to board you.”

More wondering than apprehensive, the Astradon’s people watched as we drew carefully alongside, until presently a door in our hull registered with the chief entrance-vestibule of the liner. Not a dozen feet separated us. We opened our air-lock, shoved out a plank. Then, with Milner at the head, forty of our men marched into the Astradon’s vestibule; and when that was opened, straight on into the ship itself.

They were a formidable crew. Clad in space-proof armor, helmeted and knap-sacked, each was armed with a short, two-handed weapon not unlike an old-fashioned “sawed-off” shotgun, only it was designed to discharge a very destructive sort of Jamison-rays. They did not remove their helmets, but made known their demands by signs. Milner had a domineering way about him which was evident despite the armor. To silence all protest and prevent any resistance before it might arise, Milner deliberately disintegrated one or two items of the ship’s furniture, just to show what the Jamison-rays would do.

Meanwhile, back in the Captain Kidd, Herron and I supplemented Milner’s gestures with the Federation code.

“He wants certain of your passengers. It will be suicide to resist him.” At this juncture Milner produced a slip of paper which he had brought with him. “There are fourteen names. They are all aboard your ship. Produce them!”

In silence the captain read the slip. It was the work of a student of the universal language, and not very well done. But the captain understood.

“What! You don’t expect me to give up these—”

“We expect you to use your good sense.”

The commander took another look at the forceful figure of the silent invaders and his ominous crew. Then he glanced at his crew, and his passengers. Evidently they all felt the same as he did. He said:

“Very well.”

Within three or four minutes an odd group was collected in front of the pirate. Most prominent among them was Jormin, the great Venusian scientist.

“This is an outrage!” cried he. “How dare you! I—I—”

He stared at the formidable armor-clad men and their dreadful weapons, and choked back what he might have intended to say.

We had provided a glass-enclosed cage, into which the fourteen men were herded, seven at a time. The cage was slid across the gangplank; our captives were taken aboard. And without further ado Milner and his men returned whence they had come. The gang-plank was drawn in. I gave the order to proceed; liner and buccaneer separated. On we went our respective ways. It was all over as quietly as that.

Scarcely had the news of the hold-up been flashed into space, then the Federation officials received a message from the president of the United States. It ran about as follows:

“The commander of the privateer is operating without the knowledge or sanction of any terrestrial government. His operations are outside the jurisdiction of Earth; but the American government is prepared to offer a reward of one million dollars for his apprehension.”

This message gave the other planets a good deal of amusement, which served to tone down the indignation and resentment which the abduction had aroused. Just like those terrestrials, everybody said, to offer a money reward!

And in the meantime, aboard the Captain Kidd, we four conspirators faced our captives frankly. We laid our proposition squarely before them. With facts, figures and carefully checked calculations we brushed aside all objections.

“What do you think of it, gentlemen?” asked Milner.

Their reply can best be judged from what we did next.

Chapter V

The Don Quixote of the Sky

In the nine days which followed the abduction of the scientists from the Astradon, the Captain Kidd waylaid two others ships: the Planeteur, bound towards Venus from Mars, and the Sky-Camel, outward-bound. From the former we took all their surplus food, water and oxygen, leaving them just enough to complete the voyage. From the latter, we took something of considerably more value.

It was a shipment of radium. I will not state the exact amount in terms of weights and measures, nor try to give any idea as to its value. Suffice it to say that there was not enough wealth on the whole of Earth to purchase a tenth of that shipment, at the prices which then prevailed on our planet. But it chanced to be plentiful on Venus, just as iron happens to be abundant here—a comparatively rare mineral on Venus. Anyway, the real value of the element lay in the use to which it was put.

These exploits were the direct cause of the formation of the Interplanetary Police Patrol—familiarly known today as the I.P.P. Chief Walnomark, a Martian, was a scientific genius without an atom of sentiment in his makeup. He swore, when he took office, that he would catch the Captain Kidd and its pirate crew before his three-year term was up.

It is interesting to note how the various planets reacted to the news of these robberies. As has been said, Earth offered a million-dollar reward for the capture of the privateer. Mars and Venus both resented the outrage very much, particularly the smaller planet, whose peoples were fighting so hard against an unfavorable nature. But Saturn, the home of Chalter, adopted a kindly, paternal attitude towards the culprits, much as to say that we would just have to be punished, of course, but that it was going to hurt papa as much as anyone. As for Jupiter, the good-natured, he was inclined to forgive us with scarcely more than a warning not to let it happen again. Uranus, the abode of those who had learned to scorn civilization, let out a yell of delight at the sheer nerve of what we were doing; and said that while they couldn’t understand our purpose, they admired us for our spirit. They fairly apologized for having to back up the I.P.P. in its campaign to capture us.

The first patrol-boat of the Interplanetary Police was known officially as No. 1000. It is still in service, so it would not be good policy to divulge the nature of its mechanism. But it was extremely fast, and provided with the finest of weapons; also, capable of carrying provisions and other supplies sufficient to maintain its crew for years. It was a spherical craft, no less than three hundred yards in diameter, about the length of our slim, cigar- shaped Captain Kidd. Seemingly we were doomed.

But Captain Milner, after discussing the matter thoroughly with all on board, decided to make no attempt to get away from No. l000. Instead, as soon as the police ship was known to have left Mars, the Captain Kidd proceeded to mark time, remaining practically stationary in mid-space until Chief Walnomark had reached us. Rather, until he signaled us from a distance of about twenty miles.

“Captain Kidd, ahoy!” came Walnomark’s hail. “In the name of the Interplanetary Federation, I call upon you to surrender!”

Millner coolly replied:

“Suppose we refuse?”

The reply came back, cold as the ether itself.

“In that event, it will be my duty to destroy your ship, and you with it.”

Captain Milner raised a hand. It was a signal. Every man of us was at his post. We watched his hand.

“Sorry to say, Chief Walnomark, I must refuse!”

He dropped his hand. The powerful machinery of the Captain Kidd, all completely re-designed since the capture of the radium shipment, sprang into action. To state exactly how these mechanisms functioned would be to run the risk of putting dangerous information into the hands of misguided spirits. Enough to say that there spurted from the bows of our ship, a peculiar luminous discharge, like a glowing yellow fog. We always called it the “A-G Rays,” for want of a more accurate term. Its action was similar to the discharge from the head of a comet. It streamed all about the Captain Kidd, enveloping her from stem to stern.

Almost instantly came the broadside from the No. 1000. Had a single one of those armor-piercing shells struck our sides, I would not be telling this now. But the “A-G Rays” saved us. The instant a projectile touched the luminous fog, it was repelled; bounced off, so to speak. Nothing got through.

It took Walnomark nearly an hour to satisfy himself that we were invulnerable. At the end of that time he ceased firing and tried diplomacy. Milner, I regret to say, took advantage of the opportunity to kid (an old-time slang expression, meaning to twit or joke) the Martian unmercifully. Walnomark had no sense of humor; he became foolishly angry. However, in the end he vowed up and down that he would stick to us until his boat fell to pieces; we would not escape him. Milner replied that we would be delighted to have his company, and for him and his fellow-officers to help themselves to the sky.

From that time forth our craft was continually enveloped in the yellow stream, which we owed to the radium we had stolen, plus the combined knowledge of Jormin and the other Venusian scientists. We immediately proceeded with the rest of our plan; and true to his threat, Walnomark kept close upon our trail.

In space, speed is not hindered by air resistance, or by any other factor save the power of the apparatus and the skill of the pilot in avoiding collisions with meteors. Like the comet our craft now resembled, we moved at a terrific pace, which accounts for our accomplishing so much in so short a time.

Our first objective was Eros. As was well known in those days, Eros was one of the asteroids, or small planets; mere fragments of worlds, many hundreds altogether, scattered widely in the space between Jupiter and Mars. Eros was best known to Earth because it often approached quite near—nearer than any other heavenly body except the moon. It was a comparatively small asteroid; the largest of them all—Ceres—was less than five hundred miles in diameter.

The Captain Kidd drove straight towards the tiny planet. To understand the maneuver, you must conceive of the entire solar system being laid out flat, with the sun at the center and the various planets located on orbits more or less concentric. Lying comparatively close to the sun, Mercury, Venus, Earth and Mars; then a gap, occupied by the orbits of the asteroids; then, at a great distance, the year-circle of Jupiter, outside of which the orbits of the other three large globes. If you imagine yourself poised in space high above this system, looking down upon the north pole of Earth and the sun, these planets would all have a right-to-left motion in space as they make their yearly journeys around the sun—that is, a counter-clockwise motion. Such was the motion of Eros as we approached him.

But the Captain Kidd was moving clockwise. We were driving straight into the face of the asteroid!

Small wonder that Walnomark, in the pursuing police-ship, called out in alarm, wanting to know if we had lost our senses. Surely it looked as though the pirate craft would be smashed to bits.

But Walnomark did not dream our purpose. We approached until Eros was so near that, in another second of that frightful pace, the collision would certainly have taken place; then, Captain Milner gave the order to change direction. The privateer’s course was altered, almost infinitesimally. But it was enough. Instead of striking Eros, the Captain Kidd passed by, so close that a strong man could have tossed a stone from the one to the other. The speed was so great, no human eye could catch the slightest detail of the tiny world.

Seemingly a foolish thing, this. It was like Don Quixote tilting at the windmills. What could be our idea? the peoples of the world wondered, when the news was radioed to them.

But the Captain Kidd proceeded straight on in space, continuing clockwise, counter to the regular orbital motion of the asteroids. The next one we met was Pallas, a fairly good-sized heavenly pellet, some three hundred miles across. As in the case of Eros we charged squarely in its path, until the last second; then veered sharply to one side and passed un scathed. On we went to the next!

And thus it went for two years. Sometimes the Captain Kidd would veer far out, almost to Jupiter; at other times, into the space between Mars and Earth, in its search for fresh asteroids. The police-ship stayed by us all the time, occasionally remonstrating at our conduct, and assuring us that we were bound to be captured as soon as our supplies gave out. Which we knew full well. We hurried all the faster, to finish what we were doing before it was too late; something on the order of the Irishman who explained that he was rushing his job of painting his fence, before he ran out of paint. At times we encountered asteroids at the rate of one every twenty-four hours. And from Venus to Uranus the members of the human family continued to wonder and to speculate, whether we of the Captain Kidd were simply having a high old time of it out there in space, or whether we were merely crazy.

At length our supplies gave out. We foresaw the event by a week. Milner tilted one more asteroid, then gave the order to go home. We reached Earth barely in time; another hour in the ether, and we would not have had enough power to check our descent to the terrestrial surface.

We landed where Chalter’s sky-car had first touched Earth—on the lawn outside Herron’s laboratory, within which the plans for the Captain Kidd had been perfected. Scarcely had we stepped out of our ship before a man in space-armor stepped hurriedly up to us. We knew who he was. We had seen the No. 1000 effect a landing a minute or so before us, a couple of hundred yards away. He threw back the helmet of his suit.

“Which of you is the commander of that ship?” demanded he, panting heavily because of the unaccustomed atmosphere.

“I am the commander,” said Roy Milner, smiling.

“I see,” not smiling. “I am Chief Walnomark of the Interplanetary Police. I arrest you, sir, for piracy in mid-space!”

Chapter VI

Brand New

Ever since Chalter’s visit to Earth, and that supreme insult which he handed us by refusing to invite Earth to become a member of the Federation—on the grounds that we were not sufficiently civilized—the peoples of our planet had been exceedingly active. Chalter had jolted us, severely. He had compared us with barbarians! It simply wouldn’t do, for the rest of the planets to look down upon Earth.

So the influential nations and organizations and individuals of the planet proceeded to get together, for the purpose of achieving world peace. In vain did the reactionary elements of the globe put the old obstacles in the way of international harmony. The progressive elements were bound together, now, in common cause: to purge the globe of that which branded it backward in the solar system. The first thing to be done was to abolish warfare. That called for the scrapping of all weapons, from mere hand rifles to bombing planes and warships. Next, a system of universal education had to be contrived and, if necessary, forced upon those unwilling to adopt it of their own free will. It was a prodigious undertaking.

Meanwhile the commander of the Captain Kidd was seemingly disgracing us with his outrageous behavior. Earth was relieved when he was captured; the million dollars was instantly paid to Chief Walnomark, who contemptuously turned the money over to the Venusians, who in turn proceeded to build a monument to Walnomark with the gold. And presently Milner came to trial.

It was short and anything but sweet. Milner offered no defense. Neither would he give any explanation of his conduct. He smilingly declared that he was perfectly willing to undergo his punishment, and that it should begin at once. He had his wish. He was sentenced to solitary imprisonment for life—banished to one of the tiny moons of Mars—a heavenly St. Helena; he did not have so much as a radio outfit, but simply enough supplies to last him until he was a hundred, if he were so unlucky as to live that long.

The rest of us received shorter sentences. Mine was for twenty years; in company with Herron, Dr. Crawford and one or two others, I was confined on our own moon.

As for the Venusian scientists whom we abducted from the Astradon, they behaved in a manner which the rest of humanity counted very queer. They refused utterly to talk. They would not say what had transpired during their “imprisonment” in the pirate ship. They went back to Venus under a cloud, as it were; everybody disapproved of them. Queerly enough, however, they did not seem to mind this attitude of the public one bit.

A year passed. Then, one night, the astronomers on Earth saw something remarkable. For a long time they had been watching the various asteroids which the Captain Kidd had encountered; had noted that the tiny planets had, one and all, been much upset by the ship. Running head-on towards the asteroids in that fashion, the powerful anti-gravitational rays of the privateer had acted exactly contrary to the orbital motion. It was like a magnetic brake; the Captain Kidd had pushed against the face of each of those worldlets, and had caused every one of them to lose velocity.

Now, it is the orbital velocity of a planet that keeps it in place—prevents it from succumbing to the powerful gravitation of the sun. As soon as that velocity was reduced by the onward charge of the Captain Kidd, the asteroid immediately began to fall towards the sun.

On that memorable night, one of those asteroids—the one known on the old star-catalogues as No. 362—collided with another, named Juno. The collision produced a great flare in the sky; fire, as the result of the force of the impact.

The very next night, another of the asteroids collided with the fiery mass which had once been the two errant worldlets. The night following, two more; and from then on, the flaring star was literally bombarded with asteroids, each fresh arrival causing the flames to leap higher. For months this continued. But meanwhile the significance of it all had dawned upon the solar system.

Somehow or other the exploits of the Captain Kidd had been so very accurately calculated that each asteroid, as it fell towards the sun, fell in exactly the right path and at precisely the correct speed, so that ultimately they all wound up at exactly the same spot!

That is why a police-boat, hurrying to Milner’s prison-moon, permitted him to make his now-famous speech into a radio-phone, for all the peoples in the solar system to hear.

“Now you understand, folks!” cried he, in the universal language. “Now you can see why I turned pirate—why I stole the Venusian radium—the Venusian scientists! I knew you would never consent to such a thing—at least, never would allow a terrestrial to do it. So I went ahead without the permission of the Federation.

“And why did I do this? Why, to show the rest of you planets that Earth is worthy of a place in your midst! To show you that we are not as primitive as you have thought us!

“I come bearing gifts! On behalf of the citizens of Earth, I take great pleasure in presenting the Interplanetary Federation with a brand-new planet!”

* * * *

And in the meantime a committee from the other globes was investigating the situation on Earth. Thanks to the efforts of the peace-loving element, the terrestrials had made wonderful progress. War was abolished—a true democracy had taken the place of the old order of things—people were thoroughly educated up to their responsibilities—a new era had dawned. The committee reported as much to the Federation.

Ten years from the day that he landed on Earth for the first time, Chalter arrived in his old sky-car. He was met by the Director-in-Chief of Earth.

“Congratulations,” said Chalter in the universal tongue. “Milner, by taking his punishment, proved that Earth was willing to abide by the law. I am happy to inform you that Terrestia is now a member of the Federation—from henceforth, Solisians, members one and all of the sun’s great family; of the collective human race!”