Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Astounding Stories June 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
"Be still! The power of Liane is absolute here!"
Priestess of the Flame
By Sewell Peaslee Wright
I have been rather amused by the protests which have come to meregarding the "disparaging" comments I have made, in previous tales ofthe Special Patrol Service, regarding women. The rather surprisingthing about it is that the larger proportion of these have come frommen. Young men, of course.
Now, as a matter of fact, a careful search has failed to reveal to meany very uncomplimentary remarks. I have suggested, I believe, thatwomen have, in my experience, shown a sad lack of ability tounderstand mechanical contrivances. Perhaps I have pictured some fewof them as frivolous and shallow. If I have been unfair, I wish now tomake humble apology.
I am not, as some of my correspondents have indicated, a bitter oldman, who cannot remember his youth. I remember it very well indeed,else these tales would not be forthcoming. And women have their greatand proper place, even in a man's universe.
Some day, perhaps, the mood will seize me to write of my own loveaffair. That surprises you? You smile to think that old John Hanson,lately a commander of the Special Patrol Service, now retired, shouldhave had a love affair? Well, 'twas many years ago, before these eyeslost their fire, and before these brown, skinny hands wearied asquickly as they weary now....
But I have known many women—good women and bad; great women and womenof small souls; kindly women, and women fierce as wild bears arefierce. Divinity has dealt lavishly with women; has given them anemotional range far greater than man's. They can sink to depthsunknown to masculinity; they can rise to heights of love and sacrificebefore which man can only stand with reverently bowed head and marvel.
This is a story of a woman—one of those no man could know and notremember. I make no apologies for her; I pay her no homage. I recordonly a not inaccurate account of an adventure of my youth, in whichshe played a part; I leave to you the task of judging her.
We were some three days out from Base, as I recall it, on a missionwhich promised a welcome interlude in a monotonous sequence of routinepatrols. I was commander then of the Ertak, one of the crack shipsof the Service, and assisted by the finest group of officers, Ibelieve, that any man ever had under him.
I was standing a watch in the navigating room with Hendricks, myjunior officer, when Correy brought us the amazing news.
Correy was my first officer, a square-jawed fighting man if one everbreathed, a man of action, such as these effete times do not produce.His eyes were fairly blazing as he came into the room, and hisgenerous mouth was narrowed into a grim line.
"What's up, Mr. Correy?" I asked apprehensively. "Trouble aboard?"
"Plenty of it, sir!" he snapped. "A stowaway!"
"A stowaway?" I repeated wonderingly. A new experience, but hardlycause for Correy's obvious anger. "Well, send him below, and tell Miroto put him to