DuQuesne tightened
the control of the attractors, which had never been entirely released from
their prisoner, thus again pinning the Fenachrone helplessly against the wall.
"Just to be sure
you don't try to start something," he explained coldly. "You have
done well so far, but I'll run things myself from now on, so that you can't
steer us into a trap. Now tell me exactly how to go about getting one of your
vessels. After we get it, I'll see about letting you go."
"Fools, you are
too late! You would have been too late, even had you killed me out there in
space and had fled at your utmost acceleration. Did you but know it, you are as
dead, even now—our patrol is upon you!
"DuQuesne
whirled, snarling, and his automatic and that of Loring were leaping out when
an awful acceleration threw them flat upon the floor, a magnetic force snatched
away their weapons and a heat-beam reduced them to two small piles of gray ash.
(Skylark Three, Chapter 13)
Among the times when I most feel old
is when I think about the movies I used to watch on Saturday afternoon television
as a kid. Among the cheesy Westerns and (now embarrassingly racist) Tarzan
features, as often as not those innocent days’ fare would include a silent
movie or two. My own daughters were at first incredulous when I told them this,
but just think about it. In the late 1950s, the last days of the Silent Era was
were not more than 20 years ago. It would be like watching Independence Day or Jerry
Maguire today – not so remarkable. Top Gun and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
were further in the future than Fritz Lang’s Metropolis or Charlie
Chaplin’s City Lights were in the past to that young Bobby Prokop
watching poor Nell being tied to railroad tracks by the mustachioed villain,
with an onrushing train in the distance and our dashing hero nowhere in sight.
Another bit of standard fare in those
simpler times was the serial. Every week we’d be treated to our heroes ending
up in some improbable fix with no apparent way to escape. A common “cheat” was
to actually show their catastrophic demise, such as the airplane they’re in crashing
into a mountainside in the last seconds of one episode, only for the next
episode to reveal them safely bailing out just before the fiery explosion.
Which is exactly how Smith handles his
villain, “Blackie” DuQuesne, near the end of Skylark Three. Anxious to
wrap up the story (which was apparently approaching the word limit dictated by
his publishers) and nowhere close to resolving the many and intricate plot
threads surrounding DuQuesne’s epic space voyage, Smith simply kills him off in
four short sentences. Done. In fact, it happens so fast that I can easily
imagine someone skimming the October 1930 issue of Amazing Stories and missing his demise altogether.
(This, by the way, would by no means be
the last time Smith would use such a plot device. The endings to Galactic
Patrol, Gray Lensman, and Second Stage Lensmen all end with
the “bad guys” all-too-abruptly being defeated… only to reappear in the next
novel with ever greater powers and more threatening than ever.)
But just like in those old time serials, we
learn in the opening pages of Skylark of Valeron that DuQuesne and
Loring were not killed at all, no matter what was printed in the preceding
novel. Smith spends no less than four full chapters of Skylark of Valeron in
rewinding the reel and showing the reader what really happened during those
four deceptive sentences quoted above, before proceeding with the story.
Suffice to say for our purposes here that Duquesne remains alive and a potent
threat to the safety, and indeed the lives, of Seaton and company.
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