QUEST OF THIG
By BASIL WELLS
Thig of Ortha was the vanguard of the conquering
"HORDE." He had blasted across trackless space
to subdue a defenseless world—only to meet on
Earth emotions that were more deadly than weapons.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Thig carefully smoothed the dark sand and seaweed of the lonely beachover the metal lid of the flexible ringed tunnel that linked the grubbyship from another planet with the upper air. He looked out across theheaving waters of the Sound toward Connecticut. He stared appraisinglyaround at the luxuriant green growth of foliage further inland; andstarted toward the little stretch of trees and brush, walking carefullybecause of the lesser gravitation.
Thig was shorter than the average Earthman—although on Ortha hewas well above the average in height—but his body was thick andpowerfully muscled. His skull was well-shaped and large; his featureswere regular, perhaps a trifle oversize, and his hair and eyes werea curiously matching blend of reddish brown. Oddest of all, he woreno garments, other than the necessary belt and straps to support hisrod-like weapon of white metal and his pouches for food and specimens.
The Orthan entered the narrow strip of trees and crossed to thelittle-used highway on the other side. Here he patiently sat down towait for an Earthman or an Earthwoman to pass. His task now was tobring a native, intact if possible, back to the carefully buried spacecruiser where his two fellows and himself would drain the creature'smentality of all its knowledge. In this way they could learn whether aplanet was suited for colonization by later swarms of Orthans.
Already they had charted over a hundred celestial bodies but of themall only three had proven worthy of consideration. This latest planet,however, 72-P-3 on the chart, appeared to be an ideal world in everyrespect. Sunlight, plenty of water and a dense atmospheric envelopemade of 72-P-3 a paradise among planets.
The explorer from another world crouched into the concealment of aleafy shrub. A creature was approaching. Its squat body was coveredwith baggy strips of bluish cloth and it carried a jointed rod of metaland wood in its paw. It walked upright as did the men of Ortha.
Thig's cold eyes opened a trifle wider as he stared into the thing'sstupid face. It was as though he was looking into a bit of polishedmetal at the reflection of himself!
The Earthman was opposite now and he must waste no more precioustime. The mighty muscles of the Orthan sent him hurtling across theintervening space in two prodigious bounds, and his hands clampedacross the mouth and neck of the stranger....
Lewis Terry was going fishing. For a week the typewriter mill that hadground out a thousand assorted yarns of the untamed West and the frigiddesolation of the Northwoods had been silent. Lewis wondered if he wasgoing stale. He had sat every day for eight hours in front of thatshiny-buttoned bane of the typist, but there were no results. Feeblyhe had punched a key two days ago and a $ sign had appeared. He hadn'tdared touch the machine since.
For Mr. Terry, that hard-hitting writer of two-gun action, had neverbeen further west of Long Island than Elizabeth, and he had promisedhis wife, Ellen, that he would take the three children and herself ona trailer tour of the West that very summer. Since that pr