Public-domain ebook
The Brides of Ool
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Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #63475.
The opening · free to read
"Wonder where he's been all this time. No report from him in weeks. Permission granted. And tell him to report up here at once. The Old Men will want to hear about this. I wouldn't want to be in his boots."
"If I'd been gone this long I wouldn't have bothered to come back," the Watcher said.
"They'd have found him sooner or later. He couldn't stay up forever," the captain said. "Better get those signals out." And the young Watcher went back to his post, shaking his head over anyone foolish enough to anger the Old Men, while the captain put through a call to Committee headquarters.
Between the frequent tests and long periods of questioning, Ool was also wondering where he had been. Two weeks gone out of his life without the slightest glimmer of a memory about them. Two weeks of floating in space. Had Loris been dead all the time? Or had she died while he lay unconscious? Had he--could he have killed her without knowing it?
Furiously Ool tried to assemble his thoughts, to force his tired brain back over all that had happened, trying to find some explanation.
He could remember perfectly except for the last two weeks. The Invasion--which had threatened to wipe out Civilization. When, in the last desperate moments, the untested Gilkite rays had been used, and like an invisible screen, had held off the foe. How he alone had stood for hours at the machines, after Gilk, the froglike Martian inventor had run from the scene, howling with terror.
The crowds claiming him as the hero of the hour, screaming for the sight of him. Then the meeting with Loris--Loris of the silver hair, the long slim body which gleamed like pearl, the husky voice.
It had been a struggle to get the Old Men to grant them permission to mate, for Loris was a Venusian and not at all the proper sort of mate for a Warrior. But with the success of Gilkite, there might be no more need for Warriors--so permission was granted. And now Loris was dead.
Once more Ool was summoned before the committee.
"The committee agrees," said the Oldest Man, "that you could not have been responsible for the death of your mate."
"The Gilkite--" Ool began.
"Only Gilk knows positively what to expect from it, and he cannot be found. However, our scientists have given you every known test. And believe me, Captain, if there were the slightest suspicion in the minds of any one of them, the order would have been given for your immediate destruction. We would take no chances on your being a carrier of death rays."
"And Loris?"
"You will remember that the committee opposed this mating. Although Loris' ancestors--like those of all of us--were Terrans, the generations had adapted themselves to life on Venus. We do not know what changes have taken place; how they will be affected by situations which are normal to us."
Ool stood silent. In his own mind, that did not answer the question of what had happened to Loris, or what had gone on during the two weeks.
"Unfortunately," the Oldest Man went on smoothly, as if answering his thoughts, "we have no way of telling what did happen. There was a flaw in the communications system of your ship. Shortly after you took off the Security Screen went blank."
The prisoner felt the blood slowly rising in his face. The screen had gone blank, but it had been no accident.
"Probably, but it will be worth it." He grinned at her appreciatively. Loris was wearing a robe of misty green, through which her body gleamed as though she stood in the midst of a soft cloud. Ool shook his head.
"Good thing I turned it off when I did. If some old Security Watcher could see you now, his hardened arteries would probably break into a million pieces."
Loris laughed huskily and stretched her arms above her head. The green mist settled slowly around her ankles. He could remember his vague surprise that the pearly-hued flesh was not cold as she came into his arms, but warm, quite warm--
Was he imagining it, or was there a twinkle in the eye of the Oldest Man?
"The Old Men," he was saying drily, "are not too old to have memories. The destruction of a Security Check could be considered a major crime but, since there is no war, the committee is willing to take into consideration your excellent record as Commander of the Patrol--and the circumstances. It is regrettable that we cannot tell what did happen to your mate, but the committee agrees that you are not to blame. You are free to go, Captain."
Ool walked out into the sunlight. He was free but Loris was dead.
He soon found that he was not alone in his grief. Messages poured in. With the familiarity they always feel toward their heroes, the people had made his loss their own. And when he met Tanya, the exotic Martian dancer, they shared his happiness.
There was no attempt this time to disconnect the Security Screen, so the Watchers were able to tell exactly what happened. The two merely fell asleep. Ool--as he must have done before--slept for several days, as if he had been drugged, then awoke to find himself a widower for the second time. Nothing had happened, but Tanya was dead.
The examination to which Ool was submitted now was even more thorough than the one he had undergone earlier. The results were the same. Once more he was found innocent.
But if the committee absolved him, many of the people did not. Black looks were thrown at him, people began to edge away from him in the streets.
Ool did not blame them. To him, it was as simple as it was to them. Two women had mated with him; two women were dead. The fault was his.
There were plenty of places where they didn't care who you were or what you had done as long as you had the price of a drink. Ool found them all. In them gathered the outcasts of half a dozen planets--thieves, murderers, saboteurs--and in the midst of them, Captain Ool, the pride of the Interplanetary Patrol, tried to drink himself into oblivion.
He was well on his way one night sitting alone at his table when a girl came to the door and looked in, as if searching for someone. Not the sort of girl you'd expect to find in a place like this; she was clean and healthy. Her short golden curls gleamed through the blue haze, and her firm-muscled young body in its short tunic was the focus of many bleary eyes as she threaded her way between the tables.
"Ool, I've been looking for you," she cried. He looked at her hazily.
"You don't want me," he spoke carefully, managing not to slur his words. "I'm Ool, the lady killer. I'll get you if you don't watch out." He giggled and tipped up the bottle. It was empty so he waved the waiter over.
"My capac--capacity's increasing," he told the girl. "At first I couldn't finish one bottle. Now I can almost finish two."
"Ool, listen--" she caught at his arm.
He brushed her aside and reached for the bottle in the waiter's hand.
The girl beckoned the waiter aside, whispered to him. He shook his head, then nodded as she slipped something into his hand. They came to the table.
"You'd better go with the lady," the waiter advised, but Ool ignored him and took another drink. The waiter lifted him to his feet. Through the thickening fog Ool saw the man's fist go back.
Then came the oblivion he wanted.
He awoke in what seemed to be a laboratory. It seemed familiar. So did the voices he heard, both talking at once. They broke off as he moved.
"Ryyn, he's coming to," the girl's voice cried.
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