Across the Zodiac: The Story of a Wrecked RecordGreg, Percy
Science
Across the Zodiac: The Story of a Wrecked Record
Greg, Percy
Science fiction
At this moment a somewhat remarkable personage came to the front of
the group which had gathered some few yards before me. He wore a long
frock of emerald green and trousers of the same colour, gathered in at
the waist by a belt of a red metal. On earth I should have taken him
for a hale and vigorous gentleman of some fifty years; he was two
inches short of five feet, but well proportioned as a man of middle
size. Gentleman I say emphatically; for something of dignity, gravity,
and calm good-breeding, was conspicuous in his manner, as authority
unmixed with menace was evident in his tone. He called, somewhat
peremptorily as I thought, to the man who was still aiming his weapon
at my head, then waived back those behind him, and presently advanced
towards me, looking me straight in the eyes with a steadiness and
intensity of gaze far exceeding, both in expressiveness and in effect,
the most fixed stare of the most successful mesmerists I have known. I
doubt whether I should have had the power to resist his will had I
thought it wise to do so. But I was perfectly aware that, however
successful in repelling the first tumultuous attack, prolonged
self-defence was hopeless.
I must, probably at the next move, certainly in a few minutes, succumb
to the enemies around me. I could not conciliate those whose malignity
I could not comprehend. I had done them no injury, and they could
hardly be maddened by fear, since my size and strength did not seem to
overawe them save at close quarters, and of my weapons they were
certainly less afraid than I of theirs. My only chance must lie in
finding favour with an individual protector. When, therefore, the
new-comer fearlessly laid his hand on an arm which could have killed
him at a blow, and rather by gesture than by force released my
captives, policy as well as instinct dictated submission. I allowed
him to disarm and make me in some sense his prisoner without a show of
resistance. He took me by the left hand, first placing my fingers upon
his own wrist and then grasping mine, and led me quietly through the
crowd, which gave way before him reluctantly and not without angry
murmurs, but with a certain awe as before one superior either in power
or rank.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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