The Flame Breathers
By RAY CUMMINGS
Vulcan was a doom-world. One expedition had
mysteriously disappeared, and now another was
following in its path—searching for the unknown
menace that stalked Vulcan's shadowed gorges.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories March 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I write this narrative, not with the idea of contributing anyadditional scientific data to the discovery of Vulcan, but to put uponthe record the real facts of our truly-amazing space voyage.
The newscasters have hailed me as a modern Columbus. Surely I would notwant to appear ungracious, unappreciative of all the applause thathas been heaped upon me. But I do not deserve it. I did my job for myemployers. The Society sent me to make a landing upon Vulcan—if thelittle planet existed. I found that it does exist; it was exactly whereI was told it ought to be. I carried out my instructions, returned andmade my report. There is no great heroism in that.
So I am writing the facts of what happened. Just a bald, factualaccount, without the imaginative trimmings. The real hero of thediscovery of Vulcan was young Jan Holden. He did his job—did itwell—and he did something just a little extra.
I'm Bob Grant, which of course you have guessed by now. PeterTorrence—the third member of our party—is in the Federal Prison upthe Hudson. I had to turn him in.
We were given one of the smaller types of the Bentley—T-44—an alumitecylindrical hull, double-shelled, with the Erentz pressure-currentcirculating in it. It was a modern, well-equipped little spaceship.In its thirty-foot length of double-decked interior we three wereentirely comfortable.... The voyage, past the orbit of Venus andthen Mercury as we headed directly for the Sun—using the Sun's fullattraction—was amazingly swift and devoid of incident beyond normalspace-flight routine. Much of our time was spent in the little forwardcontrol turrent—the "green-house," where below, above and to the sidesthe great glittering abyss of the firmament is spread out in all itsamazing glory.
Vulcan, if it existed, would be almost directly behind the Sun now.We had no possible chance of sighting it, we knew, even when, headinginward, we cut the orbit of Mercury. Torrence, almost from the start ofthe trip, figured we should follow into the attraction of Mercury whichwas then far to one side.
"From that angle we'll see Vulcan just that much sooner," he argued.
"They told me to head straight in, to twenty-nine million miles," Isaid. "And that's what I'm doing—obeying orders."
I held our plotted course. Torrence never ceased grumbling about it,and I must admit there was a lot of sense in his argument. He is a bigfellow—burly, heavy-set and about my own height, which is six feetone. He had close-clipped hair and a square, heavy face. He's justturned thirty, I understand. That's five years older than I—and I wasin charge. Perhaps that irked him. He is unquestionably a headstrongfellow; self-confident. But he obeyed orders, though with grumbling.And as a mechanical technician—no one could do better. He knew thetechnical workings of the little ship inside out.
"We follow orders?" young Jan Holden said. "And when we reachtwenty-nine million miles from the Sun—then we're on our own?"
"Yes," I agreed.
"Then, when we head off to round the Sun, if Vulcan is where they thinkit is we ought to sight it in a few days?"
"I cert