Corridor of the Suns

Edmond Hamilton Corridor of the Suns

Was it man’s destiny to bridge the awesome depths between the galaxies? Evers was hunted as a criminal for daring to dream he could find a Corridor of the Suns.

CHAPTER I

If the shadow trailing him was danger, Vance Evers wanted to know it now. He stood, the hand in his pocket clutching the sweaty hilt of his gun, and peered back along the street.

It was night, but the unpaved street was not dark. There was no artificial illumination, for Valloa was too backward and barbaric a world for that. But the jungles of that world are rich in crystalline outcrops, and the squat and oddly-architectured houses and shops and taverns were all built of shimmering crystal blocks, a fairy-like glass town flashing back the radiance of the River of Stars in the sky.

Evers felt desperately uncertain. There were many Valloan men and women in the street back there, going about their own affairs. Yet he could not shake off the conviction that one of them was following him. He felt suddenly too tired and numb to cope with another danger now — too crushed down by the weight of the past weeks, by the weight of the most perilous secret in the galaxy.

“Too far,” thought Evers. “The dark between the galaxies, the dark that universes drown in, and oh God, to go all that way and come back to this—”

A chime of intolerable sweetness sounded across the shimmering town. The men of Valloa make many things of crystal, and the music of their bells is famous. But the rising, tinkling chorus of carillons only clawed at Evers’ taut nerves.

He stood, backed against a glassy wall, his dishevelled blond hair and weary, copper-tanned face making him a stand-out among the white-skinned, flame-haired Valloans. He looked back for minutes, while the bells talked in sweet and complex chimings above his head.

Nothing. Yet he was still sure that someone had followed him almost from the time he had come into the town.

He had to go on. There was nothing else he could do. Out in their ship, which they had landed with such secrecy in the jungle, his two comrades were waiting — Straw hurt, and Lindeman near a physical breakdown. And he, Evers, was their one hope now.

He went on abruptly, down the dusty street between the fairy crystal houses, with the singing of the bells all about him and the great belt of light lying like a sword across the black sky. Valloa was a fringe world, on the very rim of the galaxy, and because of that its people forever saw the galaxy edge-on. and called it the River of Stars. And also because it was a fringe world, it had only lately been touched by galactic civilization, and its hunters and thieves and crystal-miners had not much altered their ancient ways. Only a brassy neon glare of limited extent far ahead of Evers proclaimed the whereabouts of the Galactic Federation spaceport and offices and schools.

Evers went that way. He knew very well how risky it was, but there was a man he knew, a man named Garrow who was in the scientific mission that had been sent to this fringe world. If he could find Garrow without letting himself be caught, he might be able to pass on the explosive secret that they three had brought back from the shores of infinity.

He had had to argue that out with Lindeman. before he left the Phoenix. Lindeman, his face drawn and yellow with fatigue so that he looked like a starved marmoset, had been against it.

“We know that the Galactic Control all over the galaxy will be on the lookout for us,” he had said. “And Schuyler’s agents.”

“Which means,” Evers had pointed out, “that we’ve got to get word up to the top brass at Earth, before we dare come out in the open. Garrow can do it, if I can contact him.”

And so he had left them in the ship in the jungle, and had trudged into the crystal town, and that big “if” was coming up fast now.

Again, Evers looked back uneasily. There were fewer people in the street now, as he approached the edge of the Valloan town and the limits of the Federation area. The only near one was a Valloan girl with hair like a torch, sauntering along with her hips wiggling in her skin-tight silken pants, pure provocation to all male eyes that might be watching. He could see no one else within a block, and he decided that he was starting at shadows.

He went beyond the last crystal house, and the glaring lighted buildings and starport of the compound rose up ahead of him. And over the crystal chiming, a harsh voice spoke suddenly behind him.

“Just a minute, mister — do I know you?”

It was an Earthman’s voice, and it had Galactic Control in every timbre of it. Evers swung around frantically, his fist balled.

The GC patrolman who had spoken from the deep doorway was too fast for him. He leaped back, and his energy-gun was in his hand as he finished the movement.

“Thought so,” he said with satisfaction. “Know every Earthman on Valloa. We’ll just have a look at your ident—”

His voice trailed off. He looked at Evers’ coppery, sweating face, illumined by the soft radiance of the River of Stars. And the patrolman suddenly stiffened.

“Just hold still, mister,” he said, his voice now low and even. “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

The gun in his hand still covered Evers. The patrolman fished a little plastic gadget out of his pocket, with the other hand. He touched it, and a pinpoint of light shone from it. He stared into it, holding it up so that his view would also include Evers.

Evers knew very well what it was. A micro-film file with its own magnifier. Every GC patrolman carried one, and in it would be—

“Vance Evers!” The patrolman spoke the name with excitement that had a touch of awe in it. His gun came up a trifle higher. “So you’re one of the—” He broke off, then asked swiftly, “Where are the others?”

“The others?” said Evers. He felt a fierce rage and disappointment, and he knew that he was going to do a fool thing. He knew he would try to jump the patrolman and he knew he would fail.

“Eric Lindeman, John Straw,” rapped the patrolman. “Don’t try to dummy up. Evers. It’s all in the micro- bulletin with your pictures. Wanted for violation of Galactic Council directives and—”

Evers saw something move behind the man. It was a small hand, flat and edge-on, that flashed up and struck the back of the patrolman’s neck.

The GC man’s eyes suddenly widened and filmed. His mouth opened ludicrously, and he toppled swiftly forward, stunned.

Evers looked over his fallen form at the red-haired Valloan girl. She had come up behind the patrolman quite silently on her bare feet. He gawked at her, and her green eyes flashed at him impatiently.

“Do you want to be taken?” she demanded. Her hand grabbed his wrist. “All right, come on then.”

Evers was tugged along by her, around the corner and then in a half-run down a narrow alley between the close-clustered crystal houses, before he found his voice.

“Why the devil would you—”

She turned swiftly and faced him. “I hate police. Earthman. It’s reason enough. But if you’d rather I hadn’t interfered, all right!”