Free The Map of the Sky by Félix J. Palma Page B

“Could one of your goats do that?”
    The captain gave Shepard a black look and told him to shut up.
    “What do you suppose that thing is, Peters?” asked one of the other sailors, a man called Carson.
    The Indian remained silent for a few moments before replying, contemplatingwhether his companions were ready for the revelation he was about to share with them.
    “A devil,” he said in a grave voice. “And it came from the stars.”
    Inevitably, his words caused a great stir among the men. The captain raised his hand to quiet them down, then desisted. Did he have a better theory, one that might put his men’s minds at rest?
    “All right,” he said at last, trying to keep control of the situation. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Whatever this thing is, it may still be in the vicinity. We’ll go and see. Doctor Walker, you and Foster take Mr. Reynolds back to the ship, dress his wound, and when he’s recovered, remind him to stop and think before touching anything. Even a child knows that.”
    The doctor nodded. He helped the sobbing Reynolds to his feet, while MacReady continued giving orders.
    “It’s best if we split up into pairs; that way we can cover the whole area around the machine. Peters and Shepard, you take one of the sleds and go south. Carson and Ringwald, you take the other sled and go north. Griffin and Allan, you go east, and you, Wallace, come with me. If you don’t find anything within a two-mile radius, come back here. This will be the meeting place. Any questions?”
    “I have a question, Captain,” said Carson. “What if we find the . . . demon?”
    “If you find it and it behaves in a threatening way, don’t hesitate to use your musket, Carson. And then finish it off.”
    Everyone nodded.
    “Good,” said the captain, taking a deep breath. “Now let’s get going. Let’s find that thing!”

IV
    C RADLING HIS BANDAGED HAND, R EYNOLDS WATCHED from the deck of the Annawan as the reddish-purple hues of dusk bled onto the ice fields, giving him the impression he was on the surface of the planet Mars. However hard he looked, he was incapable of seeing where the frozen ocean ended and the land began, for the snow had wiped away all trace of its union like a skillful tailor’s invisible seam. Reynolds only knew that MacReady had prohibited them from walking around the outside of the ship as well as on the port side. Although it did not look like it, the ice there was much thinner, scarcely eight inches thick, and could easily break under their weight, since what they would in fact be walking on was the waterway, now layered with ice, that had brought them there. Consequently, he had ordered those sailors who were in the habit of emptying their bowels overboard to do so over the port side, with the result that enjoying the majestic frozen landscape from that part of the ship was not advisable.
    Looking away from the frozen desert, Reynolds tilted his head up toward the handful of stars that were out and contemplated them with the habitual reverence he reserved for the Creator’s majestic handiwork. If what Peters said was true, the machine that had fallen from the sky and landed on the ice must have come from up there. In fact, it was not such a crazy idea, he told himself; no more so than believing that the center of the Earth was inhabited, as he did. Although it might be more precise to say that he wanted to believe it, for the only path he had discovered that could lead to immortality was to become the last great conqueror ofthe last great undiscovered territory. But now another completely unexpected vista had opened before his eyes, one that contained an infinitely bolder promise of eternal glory. How many planets in the firmament were inhabited? And how much glory would go to the person who succeeded in conquering them?
    Reynolds was so absorbed in these thoughts that he nearly leaned on the metal handrail. He stopped himself just in time and gazed at it in disbelief for a