But I shall tell my stories in my own way; after all, they are my stories. And I shall tell the stories that appeal to me most. The universe has had enough and too much of dry history; these shall be adventurous tales to make the blood of a young man who reads them run a trifle faster--and perhaps the blood of the old man who writes them. This, the first, shall be the story of the star L-472. You know it to-day as Ibit, port-o'-call for interplanetary ships, and source of ocrite for the universe, but to me it will always be L-472, the world of terrible tentacles. * * * * * My story begins nearly a hundred years ago--reckoned in terms of Earth time, which is proper, since I am a native of Earth--when I was a young man. I was sub-commander, at the time, of the _Kalid_, one of the early ships of the Special Patrol. We had been called to Zenia on special orders, and Commander Jamison, after an absence of some two hours, returned to the _Kalid_ with his face shining, one of his rare smiles telling me in advance that he had news--and good news. He hurried me up to the deserted navigating room and waved me to a seat. "Hanson," he said. "I'm glad to be the first to congratulate you. You are now Commander John Hanson, of the Special Patrol Ship _Kalid_!" "Sir." I gasped, "do you mean--" His smile broadened. From the breast pocket of the trim blue and silver uniform of our Service he drew a long, crackling paper. "Your commission," he said. "I'm taking over the _Borelis_." It was my turn to extend congratulations then; the _Borelis_ was the newest and greatest ship of the Service. We shook hands, that ancient gesture of good-fellowship on Earth. But, as our hands unclasped, Jamison's face grew suddenly grave. "I have more than this news for you, however," he said slowly. "You are to have a chance to earn your comet hardly." * * * * * I smiled broadly at the mention of the comet, the silver insignia, worn over the heart, that would mark my future rank as commander, replacing the four-rayed star of a sub-commander which I wore now on my tunic. "Tell me more, sir," I said confidently. "You have heard of the Special Patrol Ship _Filanus_?" asked my late commander gravely. "Reported lost in space," I replied promptly. "And the _Dorlos_?" "Why--yes; she was at Base here at our last call," I said, searching his face anxiously. "Peter Wilson was Second Officer on her--one of my best friends. Why do you ask about her, sir?" "The _Dorlos_ is missing also," said Commander Jamison solemnly. "Both of these ships were sent upon a particular mission. Neither of them has returned. It is concluded that some common fate has overtaken them. The _Kalid_, under your command, is commissioned to investigate these disappearances.