STORM CLOUD ON DEKA
By Edward E. Smith, Ph.D.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astonishing Stories, June 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
CHAPTER ONE
From a Seed....
Tellurian Pharmaceuticals, Inc., was civilization's oldest and mostconservative drug house. "Hide-bound" was the term most frequentlyused, not only by its younger employees but also by its moreprogressive competitors. But, corporatively, Tellurian Pharmaceuticalsdid not care. Its board of directors, by an iron-clad, if unwrittenlaw, was limited to men of over three score years and ten.
Against the inertia of that ruling body the impetuosity of the youngergenerations was precisely as efficacious as the dashing of wavesagainst the foot of an adamantine cliff—and in very much the samefashion. Ocean waves do, in time, cut into even the hardest rock; and,every century or so, Tellurian Pharmaceutical, Inc., did take a forwardstep. However, "Rather than make a mistake, do nothing" was its creed.To that creed it adhered rigorously.
Thus, it did not establish branches upon other planets until a centuryor so of experiment had proved that no unforeseen factor would operateto lessen the prodigiously high standard of its products. Nor would itown or operate spaceships, as did other large firms. Its business wasthe manufacture of the universe's finest, most carefully standardizeddrugs and it would go into no sidelines whatever.
Even the location of its head office; directly under the guns of PrimeBase, bore out the same theme. Originally it had been in the middleof the city, miles away from the reservation; but as Prime Base hadexpanded, the city had moved aside. Tellurian Pharmaceuticals, however,would not give way. It stolidly refused to sell its holdings even tothe Galactic Patrol; it would not move until the patrol should condemnits property and compel it by law to vacate.
Into that massive gray building there strode a tall, lean, grayman; into an old-fashioned elevator, operated by a seventy-year-old"boy"; into a darkish, severe room whose rock-of-ages furniture hadbecome pricelessly antique. Without a word he handed a card to thereceptionist, a prim spinster of some fifty summers.
"Ezekiel R. Stonely, M.D., Sc.D., Consultant in Radiation," she readprecisely into a communicator. "By appointment."
"Let him come in, please."
Dr. Stonely entered the private office of a vice-president—a youngman, as T. P.'s executives went—a man scarcely sixty years of age.
"All ready," the consultant reported briefly. "Graves is here, yousaid?"
"Yes. He got in from Deka last night. How long will the demonstrationtake?"
"Seven hours to the point of maximum yield; twelve for the full lifecycle."
"Very good." The vice-president then spoke into the communicator."Please ask Mr. Graves to step in."
Graves, the manager of T. P.'s branch upon the planetDeka—planetographically speaking, Dekanore III—was a short, fat man;and he possessed, upon the surface at least, the fat man's proverbialgeniality and good nature.
"Mr. Graves—Dr. Stonely."
"Mighty glad to meet you, Doctor," Graves shook hands effusively."Splendid accomplishment. You've been working on it five years or more,I hear."
"Six years and two months," the scientist said precisely.
"I cannot accompany you, of course," the vice-president interposedbusily, "and you appreciate that the less of communica