Patrol and now with your Section Three.
He wouldn't get himself into any jam.”
“He has,” said Joan Randall flatly. “And
if you'll stop being comforting I have all
the data ready to show you—what there is
of it.”
SHE led the way toward the low buildings
of Patrol headquarters. The four followed
her, the tall red-haired man whom the
System called Captain Future and his three
companions, his lifelong friends, the three
who were closer to him even than this girl
and the missing Ezra Gurney—Grag, the
metal giant, Otho, the lithe keen-eyed
android, and Simon Wright, who had once
been a human scientist but who for half a
lifetime now had been divorced from
human form.
It was the latter who spoke to Joan. His
voice was metallic and expressionless,
issuing from the artificial resonator set in
one side of his “body”. That “body” was a
hovering square metal case that contained
all that was human of Simon Wright—his
brilliant deathless brain.
“You say,” said Simon, “that Ezra is
gone. Where precisely did he go ?”
Joan glanced at Simon, who was
watching her intently with his lens-like
eyes as he glided silently along on the pale
traction beams that were his equivalent of
limbs.
“If I knew where I wouldn’t hide it from
you,” she said with an undertone of
irritation.
In the next breath she said contritely,
“I'm sorry. Waiting here has got me down.
There’s something about Europa—it's so
old and cruel and somehow patient...”
Otho said wryly, “You need a double
hooker of something strong and cheering.”
His green slightly-tilted eyes were
compassionate beneath their habitual irony.
Grag, the towering manlike giant who
bore in his metal frame the strength of an
army and an artificial intelligence equal to
the human, rumbled a question in his deep
booming voice. But Curt Newton only
vaguely heard him. His gaze had followed
Joan's out into the alien night.
This was not his first visit to Europa.
And he was surprised to find that Joan had
put into words exactly what he had always
felt about the silent moon, the old old
moon that was scarred so deep by time.
Here, on one side, were the modern
glare and thunder of the spaceport, busy
with freighters and one or two sleek liners.
Beyond the spaceport was Europolis, a
glow of light behind a barren ridge. But on
the other side, before him and behind him,
was a sadness of ancient rock and distant
hills, of brooding forest hung with shadow,
of great plains empty in the red glow of
Jupiter, dusty wastes where no herds had
grazed and no armies fought for a hundred
thousand years.
The woods and plains were scattered
with the time-gnawed bones of cities, dead
and forsaken even before the last
descendants of their builders had sunk into
final barbarism. A thin old wind wandered
aimlessly among the ruins, whimpering as
though it remembered other days and wept.
Newton could not suppress a slight
shiver. The death of any great culture is a
mournful thing and the culture that had
built the shining cities of Europa was the
greatest ever known—the proud Old
Empire that once had held two galaxies.
To Curt Newton, who had followed the
shadow of that glory far back toward its
source, the very stones of these ruins spoke
of cosmic tragedy, of the agelong night
that succeeded the blazing highest noon of
human splendor.
The functional gleaming Patrol building
brought his mind back to the present. Joan
took them into a small office. From a
locked file she drew a neat folder of papers
and placed it on the desk.
“Ezra and I,” she said, “were called into
this case some time ago. The Planet Police
had been handling it as a routine matter
until some peculiar angles turned up that
required the attention of Section Three.
“People had been disappearing. Not
only people from Earth but other planets as