Beginning a thrilling New Serial of Interplanetary Life and Travel byEdward E. Smith, Ph.D.
Author of "Skylark of Space" and "Skylark Three"
A good many of us, who are now certain beyond a doubt that space travel will forever remain in the realm of the impossible, probably would, if a rocket that were shot to the moon, for instance, did arrive, and perhaps return to give proof of its safe arrival on our satellite, accept the phenomenon in a perfectly blasé, twentieth century manner. Dr. Smith, that phenomenal writer of classic scientific fiction, seems to have become so thoroughly convinced of the advent of interplanetary travel that it is difficult for the reader to feel, after finishing "Spacehounds of IPC," that travel in the great spaces is not already an established fact. Dr. Smith, as a professional chemist, is kept fairly busy. As a writer, he is satisfied with nothing less than perfection. For that reason, a masterpiece from his pen has become almost an annual event. We know you will like "Spacehounds" even better than the "Skylark" series.
Illustrated by WESSO
A narrow football of steel, the Interplanetary Vessel Arcturus stoodupright in her berth in the dock like an egg in its cup. A hundred feetacross and a hundred and seventy feet deep was that gigantic bowl, itswalls supported by the structural steel and concrete of the dock andlined with hard-packed bumper-layers of hemp and fibre. High into theair extended the upper half of the ship of space—a sullen gray expanseof fifty-inch hardened steel armor, curving smoothly upward to a needleprow. Countless hundred of fine vertical scratches marred every inchof her surface, and here and there the stubborn metal was grooved andscored to a depth of inches—each scratch and score the record of anattempt of some wandering cosmic body to argue the right-of-way withthe stupendous mass of that man-made cruiser of the void.
A burly young man made his way through the throng about the entrance,nodded unconcernedly to the gatekeeper, and joined the stream ofpassengers flowing through the triple doors of the double air-lockand down a corridor to the center of the vessel. However, instead ofentering one of the elevators which were whisking the passengers up totheir staterooms in the upper half of the enormous football, he in someway caused an opening to appear in an apparently blank steel wall andstepped through it into the control room.
"Hi, Breck!" the burly one called, as he strode up to the instrument-deskof the chief pilot and tossed his bag carelessly into a corner. "Beholdyour computer in the flesh! What's all this howl and fuss about poorcomputation?"
"Hello, Steve!" The chief pilot smiled as he shook hands cordially."Glad to see you again—but don't try to kid the old man. I'm simpleenough to believe almost anything, but some things just aren't beingdone. We have been yelling, and yelling hard, for trained computersever since they started riding us about every one centimeter change inacceleration, but I know that you're no more an I-P computer than I ama Digger Indian. They don't shoot sparrows with coast-defense guns!"