Read Ebook: Jekyll-Hyde Planet by Lewis Jack

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Ebook has 173 lines and 6898 words, and 4 pages

nly you couldn't tell what it was really like because we were too high. You wouldn't like it if you had to live there. It's cold, and rocky, and there's only six hours of daylight out of every twenty-six."

"I wouldn't like it then," the boy said. "I don't like the dark."

Claude got up and looked at his wife. "Shall we move along," he said.

They pushed ahead. Eagerly, yet slowly enough to absorb the world's endless beauty; stopping at the crest of each new hill; kneeling at the shores of crystal lakes to quench their thirst; and scooping up handfuls of rich, black soil in spots where the turf had become dislodged.

The sun of Centauri was almost at zenith when they approached the crest of the ridge that bounded the Marshall homestead.

Claude's pace, which had been quickening steadily for the final mile, burst into a jagged trot for the final hundred uphill yards. At the top of the hill he stopped, staring into the lush, green valley, ignoring his family who'd been unable to keep pace with his eagerness.

The homestead was all that the color photos had advertised--and more. It was all there. The flat, rich turf, the stream running through the center of the valley, and the grove of trees under which he'd build the prefab house.

He'd anticipated the moment so many times, it was hard to believe it had really arrived. But it was real--it was. Everything was exactly as he'd expected to find it ... except for one thing.

Always in his imagination, the land had been waiting for him to claim it. Him alone--and his wife and son.

But they weren't alone.... There were other people on the land. On his land!

And they were acting as if they lived there!

There were three of them--a man, a woman, and a boy of about nineteen. The woman appeared to be cooking a meal over a wood fire, while the man and boy were arranging a foundation pattern with part of the stack of building materials which had been ear-marked for the house.

For his house!

Joan and Billy drew up alongside him, and together they stared at the intruders.

"Who are they, Claude?" his wife said. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know, honey. Maybe they just stopped here to eat. That's what it must be."

"But the men. The way they're measuring.... As if they're going to build."

"We'll straighten it out, Joan.... Probably some mistake. I have our land title. That'll prove they've made a mistake. Come on. We'll talk to them."

The intruders stopped what they were doing as they approached, and the man--a huge, block-shouldered fellow in a leather jacket--pushed out a hand.

The man said: "Hello. My name's Whiting--Bruce Whiting."

Claude took the hand. "Claude Marshall," he said. "And this is my wife and my son."

The man who called himself Whiting nodded, and looked over at his wife. "We're fixing dinner," he said. "Why don't you and your family join us before you push on?"

Claude watched the man's face while he spoke. It was an open face. Guileless. With ruddy skin and mild, grey eyes that twinkled a bit at the corners.

Bruce Whiting smiled. "There must be some mistake. This land is ours. The boy and I are just fixing to start building."

Claude shook his head. "Not here you're not. Not on this land." He spoke quietly; trying to keep his voice pitched below the emotion that churned up inside him.

"What's wrong, Dad?" The man's son joined them.... He was a big strapping lad, with sandy hair and very bright skin.

"You think wrong, Mister," the youth said. "We double checked this location three times before we made camp.... Right?" He turned to the older man for confirmation.

Whiting nodded. "The boy's right. This land is ours. We've got a deed to prove it."

"So have I," Claude said frowning. "It's right here in the luggage.... Wait. I'll show you...." He bent over, unzipping the knapsack and rummaged around till he produced the manila envelope that held the title papers.

Bruce Whiting examined them carefully; first the neat rows of fine print, then the dozen glossy color-photos which had been taken on the property from strategic angles. He shook his head and turned to his son.

The boy left, returning within seconds with a similar manila envelope. Bruce Whiting opened it and pushed a handful of papers at Claude.

While his wife and son watched, Claude Marshall went through the papers methodically.... They were all there. All the measurements; looking like duplicates, backed up by photos that had apparently been developed from the same negatives.... He glanced at his wife.

"Something's wrong, Joan," he said. "Mr. Whiting has a claim on this land too. It's just like ours.... Exactly!"

"But I don't understand, Claude."

"It's not too hard to understand, Mrs. Marshall," Whiting said. "It just means that someone in Washington loused up the detail. They're always making mistakes like that.... I figure some clerk--"

"I don't want another tract," Claude said flatly. "I want this one."

"So do I, Mr. Marshall."

"But the land's mine!"

"That's up to you, of course. In the meantime, may I remind you that I hold possession?"

Claude Marshall bit his lip.

"Let's go Joan," he said.

"Where, Claude?"

"Back to the spaceport. We'll get a ruling on this."

"But it's getting dark. Can't we make camp someplace and go back tomorrow?"

"I'm hungry," Billy said.

"We can eat later, Son."

Bruce Whiting continued to regard them sullenly. Then abruptly, his face softened. "Wait," he said. "Don't go. Your wife's right, Mr. Marshall. You can't make the trip after dark. Why don't you and your family camp here for the night.... Alice has supper nearly ready and there's more than enough to go around...."

"We have our own rations," Claude said.

"Mr. Whiting's right," Joan said. "After all it isn't his fault--"

"Another thing," Bruce Whiting went on. "I'm expecting a half-trac out here tomorrow with some supplies. If you and your family wanted to, there's no reason why we couldn't all ride back with him.... Maybe we could get this thing straightened out then and still be friends."

Claude flicked a look toward the far-off hills that were haloed by the last rays of a strange sun. Within moments it would be dark. And a few yards away a woman threw another log on the fire and the pungent aroma of boiling coffee drifted across his nostrils.

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