The Star Guardsman - Public Domain

À propos du Star Guardsman.

The Martian Proctor's parchment-like face was blank as he examined Lynn's pass-card impassively.

"Since when are Internationals given explanations?" Mark Lynn's dark green eyes glowed. "I've been given none."

"In the Council Hall, humility's essential." The tall Martian drew himself erect, arrogantly.

"See that you observe it, then." Lynn barked laconically and turning entered the tube, while the violet-eyed Planetarian gasped in incredulity.

When the door of the tube in which he'd been transported opened silently, Mark Lynn found himself before a blank, polished wall of Beryloy, but as he stepped before it, the wall slid aside to reveal an austere room of dura-plon whose walls were buckled in places, as if they'd endured tremendous pressure; part of the room was marked off by beryloy cables, where a bas-relief of man's progress had crumbled to the floor and had not been removed as yet. The ceiling seemed uneven, the polished expanse of floor was asymmetrical.

Across an enormous desk, now covered by a plotting chart, a figure dressed in the purple uniform of a scientist, with the golden cord of the Psychologists, gazed at him placidly out of level hazel eyes.

The short-cropped hair that escaped the confines of the tight, silver kepis, was golden-brown, unruly, and the oval face freckle-sprinkled had the serious expression of a precocious child.

Mark regarded the girl gravely, startled at her youth, although being accustomed to female scientists her sex did not surprise him. He remained silent, as the etiquette of 2,022 demanded when before the ruling class.

"You've made a characteristic beginning, Spacer Lynn," the girl observed coldly and gestured toward a visi-screen at her side. "Was it necessary to leave the Proctor frothing?"

"At the moment, yes!" Mark replied evenly. "Martian arrogance annoys me, scientist."

The girl frowned slightly. "I'm Doctor Fortun," she stated after a pause. "The Council has decided to honor you with a mission. It is a problem particularly suited to your ... er ... talents; your record shows a rare agility of mind impossible to find among Civicans."

"That's because controls one, six and fifteen failed to affect me," Mark said smiling, unconsciously displaying magnificent teeth, dazzling against the background of his space-tanned features.

"Because you're a ..." the girl began irritably and then checked herself. "No matter, Spacer Lynn."

"Why not finish it?" Mark sat down, stretching long, sinewy legs until he sprawled relaxed and loose-jointed, so that it seemed even his magnificent muscles would never be able to lift the great body. "Atavistic, is the word." He grinned engagingly and hooded his eyes slightly as he appraised Doctor Fortun with undisguised admiration.