By Edmond Hamilton
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Additional resources for Fugitives of the Stars
And the long, long day dragged on. Noon. The invisible orange-yellow sun stained the clouds with streaks of gold and bloody crimsons and unexpected mauves. Heat filtered like a physical substance through the cloud-layers, filling the space between land and sky so that even the wind that blew, and blew and never stopped blowing across the flat plain could not cool it. The looped windings of a river seemed like molten brass running from some huge crucible, and the spiny trees beside it were the color of dun flame.
She started to open her mouth, and he said again, in a certain tone, “Sit down, Meeva. " Meeva shut her mouth and sat down. The two men assisted her, making a great show of her preciousness, Meeva thanked them graciously and then said to Fife, “Do as you will. " She folded her arms and retired from the argument, looking lofty. Horne felt easier. " "I know, I know,” said Fife. He looked impatiently around the circle. " "Yes,” said the gargoyle. " "All right. " Fife looked up at Horne, and then from him to Ewan and the girl, and his eyes were bright, cruel and utterly without mercy.
You lousy, yellow-bellied—” He reached out suddenly and grasped the control levers. Their cone streaked toward the hovering flier. The flier darted out of reach with mocking ease, and he heard sound of Ardric's laughter. "Try again, Horne,” he said. A kind of blindness came upon Horne, so that he could see only the small cone with its glittering canopy and nothing else in the world. He hunched over the controls and tried again. The little cone skipped and darted and whirled as swiftly as a sunbeam and he pursued it, tantalizingly just too slow, maddeningly burdened with the extra size and armament of his craft.
Fugitives of the Stars by Edmond Hamilton