Vampires of Space
By Sewell Peaslee Wright
Commander John Hanson recounts his harrowing adventure with
the Electites of space.
Sometimes, I know, I must seem a crotchety old man. "Old John Hanson,"
they call me, and roll their eyes as though to say, "Of course, you have
to forgive him on account of his age."
But the joke isn't always on me. Not infrequently I gain much amusement
observing these cocky youngsters who strut in the blue-and-silver
uniforms of the Service in which, until more or less recently, I bore
the rank of Commander.
There is young Clippen, for instance, a nice, clean youngster; third
officer, I believe, on the _Caliobre_, one of the newest ships of the
Special Patrol Service. He drops in to see me as often as he has leave
here at Base, to give me the latest news, and to coax a yarn, if he can,
of the old days. He is courteous, respectful ... and yet just a shade
condescending. The condescension of youth.
"Something new under the sun after all, sir," he commented the other
day. That, incidentally, is a saying of Earth, whence the larger part of
the Service's officer personnel has always been drawn. Something new
under the sun! The saying probably dates back to an age long before man
mastered space.
"Yes?" I leaned back more comfortably, happy, as always, to hear my
native Earth tongue, and to speak it. The Universal language has its
obvious advantages, but the speech of one's fathers wings thought
straightest to the mind. "What now?"
"Creatures of space!" announced Clippen importantly, in the fashion of
one who brings surprising news. "'Electites,' they call them. Beings who
live in space--things, anyway; I don't know that you could call them
beings."
* * * * *
"Hm-m." I looked past him, down a mighty corridor of dimming years.
Creatures that lived in space.... I smiled in my beard. "Creatures
perhaps twice the height of a man in their greatest dimension? In shape
like a crescent, with blunted horns somewhat straightened near the tips,
and drawn close together?" I spoke slowly, drawing from my store of
memories. "A pale red in color, intangible and yet--"
"You've heard, sir!" said Clippen disappointedly to me. "My news is
stale."
"Yes, I've heard," I nodded. "'Electites,' they call them, eh? That's
the work of our great scientific minds, I presume?"
"Er--yes. Undoubtedly." Clippen started to wander restlessly around the
room. He had a great respect for the laboratory men, with their white
coats and their wise, solemn airs, and he disliked exceedingly to have
me present my views regarding these much overrated gentlemen. I have
always been a man of action, and pottering over coils and glass vials
and pages of figures has always struck me as something not to be
included in a man's proper sphere of activity. "Well, I believe I'll be
shoving off, sir; just dropped in for a moment," Clippen continued.
"Thought perhaps you hadn't heard of the news; it seems to be causing a
great deal of discussion among the officers at Base."
"Something new under the sun, eh?" I chuckled.
"Why, yes. You'll agree to that, sir, surely?" I believe the lad was
slightly nettled by my chuckle. No one likes to bear stale news.
"I'll agree to that," I said, smiling broadly now. "'Tis easier than
debating the matter, and an old man can't hope to hold his own in
argument with you quick-witted youngsters."
"I've never...
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