Читать книгу The Science Fiction Anthology онлайн

128 страница из 776

It was the second day of the fourth week that the sentry on duty called out that the boat was returning. We hastened down to the river to welcome them back, and I for one felt very much relieved.

But as the boat approached, I felt my fears returning, for there was only one man visible: Tipene.

The Zenian, bedraggled and weary, had lost or discarded the protective suit he had worn, and his lean, dark face was haggard.

“We leave immediately, Commander Hanson,” he said as he disembarked. “Please give the necessary orders.”

“But the others, sir? Where are Inverness and Brady?”

“Dead,” said Tipene. “The Aranians got them. I barely escaped myself.”

“And who are the Aranians?” I asked.

“The creatures which control this world. The spider creatures. Aranians, they call themselves. Do we leave at once, as I ordered?”

I thought quickly. I didn’t like Tipene, and never had, and I fancied even less the high-handed attitude he was taking.

“I would suggest, sir, that you first give us an account of what has happened,” I said shortly. “If there is anything we can do for the other two, perhaps—”