THE RAIDERS OF SATURN'S RING
By RAYMOND Z. GALLUN
Only one man could save Titan's Earth colony
from the merciless legions of the furred
Callistans. But between Ron Leiccsen and his
goal lay Saturn's whirling, deadly Rings.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Everywhere in Leiccsenland the farms were burning. Silvery Callistanships, slim arrows of destruction, flew above the countrysidemethodically. Splendid grain and hay crops were blazing. Barns anddwellings, too.
The thin, clear air trailed streamers of blue smoke, that blurred theringed globe of monster Saturn, visible at the horizon, above thecraggy surrounding hills.
The Earth-Colony here on Titan, largest of Saturn's satellites, seemeddoomed. The invaders were firing everything they could reach.
Angry farmers were gathered in front of the Community Bank inLeiccsendale. Old Arne Reynaud, who kept a great orchard andflower-garden beyond the village outskirts, stood on the concrete stepsof the bank building, and shouted to the assembled group of bitterfaces.
"Twenty-three Earth-years, Terrestrials have been here inLeiccsenland!" he shrilled grimly. "Ain't nobody gonna drive us outnow! Not even these damned Callistans from their moon back Jupiter-way!Titan, so far from the sun, was a frozen world when we came. Its waterwas ice. Even its air lay in frozen snowdrifts in the awful cold!We slaved and starved and spent almost every cent we had, gettingstarted here! Setting up Bart Mallory's atomic sun-ray towers, to makethe climate warm! Cultivating the soil, that hadn't had any life in itfor a billion years, since Saturn cooled too much to radiate any heatto Titan! Bringing in seeds and cattle and hogs! Even bumble-bees topollinate the flowers! Ain't no dirty, fuzzy Callistan devils gonnatake Titan away from us now! We made us a little heaven, here, with thesweat of our brows! And we're gonna keep it! Ain't no—"
Arne Reynaud got this far in his speech, his shrill, scratchy old voicevibrant with mingled grief and wild determination. But just then asecond voice, from the rear of the little crowd, cut in like a whettedknife-blade, keen and caustic and condemning:
"Shut up, Reynaud! That Iron-Made language of yours is completely outof place, now! It only makes things worse! So, for God's sake, shut up!Stop talking like a damned fool!"
The words fairly snapped and snarled with bitterness. No Callistanheat-bomb, dropped into the center of the little gathering itself,could have produced more emotional startlement. Two hundred pairs ofhaggard eyes turned as one toward the man who had broken a spell.Surprise was too great to allow anger to awaken, yet. There was onlywonder as to who this rude traitor could be.
He stood there at the edge of the side-walk, with half his gaunt weightleaned against a maple sapling. But his eyes glowed tensely, under abroad-brimmed colonial hat, denying the indolence of his posture. Acrooked smile showed white teeth, and traced a line of derision inone narrow, bronzed cheek. Youth and strength and sadness and brokendreams, were in the curve of his brow and lips. But above all, therewas realism—the will to do the best, most reasonable thing, in theface of heart-breaking defeat.
A girl, as forceful as himself—in her own pert way—was the one whoanswered him. "You!" she stormed. "You—Ron Leiccsen—nephew of theman who explored this world,