Marion Zimmer Bradley - The Door Through Space

I've always wanted to write. But not until I discovered the old pulpscience-fantasy magazines, at the age of sixteen, did this generaldesire become a specific urge to write science-fantasy adventures.

I took a lot of detours on the way. I discovered s-f in its golden age:the age of Kuttner, C.L. Moore, Leigh Brackett, Ed Hamilton and JackVance. But while I was still collecting rejection slips for my earlyefforts, the fashion changed. Adventures on faraway worlds and strangedimensions went out of fashion, and the new look inscience-fictionemphasis on the sciencecame in.

So my first stories were straight science-fiction, and I'm not trying toput down that kind of story. It has its place. By and large, the kind ofscience-fiction which makes tomorrow's headlines as near as thismorning's coffee, has enlarged popular awareness of the modern,miraculous world of science we live in. It has helped generations ofyoung people feel at ease with a rapidly changing world.

But fashions change, old loves return, and now that Sputniks clutter upthe sky with new and unfamiliar moons, the readers of science-fictionare willing to wait for tomorrow to read tomorrow's headlines. Onceagain, I think, there is a place, a wish, a need and hunger for thewonder and color of the world way out. The world beyond the stars. Theworld we won't live to see. That is why I wrote THE DOOR THROUGHSPACE.

MARION ZIMMER BRADLEY

Beyond the spaceport gates, the men of the Kharsa were hunting down athief. I heard the shrill cries, the pad-padding of feet in strides justa little too long and loping to be human, raising echoes all down thedark and dusty streets leading up to the main square.

But the square itself lay empty in the crimson noon of Wolf. Overheadthe dim red ember of Phi Coronis, Wolf's old and dying sun, gave out apale and heatless light. The pair of Spaceforce guards at the gates,wearing the black leathers of the Terran Empire, shockers holstered attheir belts, were drowsing under the arched gateway where thestar-and-rocket emblem proclaimed the domain of Terra. One of them, asnub-nosed youngster only a few weeks out from Earth, cocked aninquisitive ear at the cries and scuffling feet, then jerked his head atme.

"Hey, Cargill, you can talk their lingo. What's going on out there?"

I stepped out past the gateway to listen. There was still no one to beseen in the square. It lay white and windswept, a barricade ofemptiness; to one side the spaceport and the white skyscraper of theTerran Headquarters, and at the other side, the clutter of lowbuildings, the street-shrine, the little spaceport cafe smelling ofcoffee and jaco, and the dark opening mouths of streets that rambleddown into the Kharsathe old town, the native quarter. But I was alonein the square with the shrill criescloser now, raising echoes from theenclosing wallsand the loping of many feet down one of the dirtystreets.

Then I saw him running, dodging, a hail of stones flying round his head;someone or something small and cloaked and agile. Behind him thestill-faceless mob howled and threw stones. I could not yet understandthe cries; but they were out for blood, and I knew it.

I said briefly, "Trouble coming," just before the mob spilled out intothe square. The fleeing dwarf stared about wildly for an instant, hishead jerking from side to side so rapidly that it was impossible to geteven a fleeting impression of his facehuman or nonhuman, familiar orbizarre. Then, like a pellet loosed from its sling, he made straight forthe gateway and safety.

And behind him the loping mob yelled and howled and came pouring overhalf the square. Just half. Then by that sudden intuition whichpermeates even the most crazed mob with some semblance of reason, theycame to a ragged halt, heads turning from side to side.

I stepped up on the lower step of the Headquarters building, and lookedthem over.

Most of them were chaks, the furred man-tall nonhumans of the Kharsa,and not the better class. Their fur was unkempt, their tails naked withfilth and disease. Their leather aprons hung in tatters. One or two inthe crowd were humans, the dregs of the Kharsa. But the star-and-rocketemblem blazoned across the spaceport gates sobered even the wildestblood-lust somewhat; they milled and shifted uneasily in their half ofthe square.

For a moment I did not see where their quarry had gone. Then I saw himcrouched, not four feet from me, in a patch of shadow. Simultaneouslythe mob saw him, huddled just beyond the gateway, and a howl offrustration and rage went ringing round the square. Someone threw astone. It zipped over my head, narrowly missing me, and landed at thefeet of the black-leathered guard. He jerked his head up and gesturedwith the shocker which had suddenly come unholstered.

The gesture should have been enough. On Wolf, Terran law has beenwritten in blood and fire and exploding atoms; and the line is drawnfirm and clear. The men of Spaceforce do not interfere in the old town,or in any of the native cities. But when violence steps over thethreshold, passing the blazon of the star and rocket, punishment isswift and terrible. The threat should have been enough.

Instead a howl of abuse went up from the crowd.

"Terranan!"

"Son of the Ape!"

The Spaceforce guards were shoulder to shoulder behind me now. Thesnub-nosed kid, looking slightly pale, called out. "Get inside thegates, Cargill! If I have to shoot"

The older man motioned him to silence. "Wait. Cargill," he called.

I nodded to show that I heard.

"You talk their lingo. Tell them to haul off! Damned if I want toshoot!"

I stepped down and walked into the open square, across the crumbledwhite stones, toward the ragged mob. Even with two armed Spaceforce menat my back, it made my skin crawl, but I flung up my empty hand in tokenof peace:

"Take your mob out of the square," I shouted in the jargon of theKharsa. "This territory is held in compact of peace! Settle yourquarrels elsewhere!"

There was a little stirring in the crowd. The shock of being addressedin their own tongue, instead of the Terran Standard which the Empire hasforced on Wolf, held them silent for a minute. I had learned that longago: that speaking in any of the languages of Wolf would give me aminute's advantage.

But only a minute. Then one of the mob yelled, "We'll go if you give'mto us! He's no right to Terran sanctuary!"

I walked over to the huddled dwarf, miserably trying to make himselfsmaller against the wall. I nudged him with my foot.

"Get up. Who are you?"

The hood fell away from his face as he twitched to his feet. He wastrembling violently. In the shadow of the hood I saw a furred face, aquivering velvety muzzle, and great soft golden eyes which heldintelligence and terror.