Phantom Out of Time. Nelson S. Bond
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PHANTOM OUT OF TIME
NELSON S. BOND
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2020 by Wildside Press LLC.
Introduction copyright © 2020 by John Gregory Betancourt.
Originally published in Planet Stories, Fall 1943.
Published by Wildside Press LLC.
wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com
INTRODUCTION
Nelson Slade Bond (1908–2006) was an American author who wrote extensively for books, magazines, radio, television, and the stage.
The 1998 recipient of the Nebula Author Emeritus award for lifetime achievement, Bond was a pioneer in early science fiction and fantasy. His published fiction is mainly short stories, most of which appeared in pulp magazines in the 1930s and 1940s. Many were published in Blue Book magazine. He is noted for his “Lancelot Biggs” series of comic space opera stories (some of which were collected in Lancelot Biggs: Spaceman, which is available from Wildside Press) and for his “Meg the Priestess” tales, which introduced one of the first powerful female characters in science fiction.
Bond’s parents, Richard Slade Bond and Mary Bond, were from Nova Scotia, but moved to Scranton, Pennsylvania shortly before his birth in that city. The family later relocated to Philadelphia after World War I. In high school, Bond reviewed plays for The Philadelphia Inquirer. He worked for an insurance company during the Great Depression before enrolling in a college. He attended Marshall College in Huntington, West Virginia from 1932 to 1934. While at Marshall, he contributed to the Huntington Herald Advertiser and edited the college newspaper, The Parthenon. He met his future wife, Betty Gough Folsom, while at Marshall, and they married in 1934.
After graduating, Bond briefly worked for his father’s public relations agency. Shortly after joining, he was offered the position of public relations field director for the province of Nova Scotia. This involved meeting celebrities visiting the province and writing pieces about them that were placed in various periodicals.
He started selling fiction when he realised he could make more money by writing, sending works to newspapers, pulp magazines, and the more upmarket “slick” magazines (so-called because they were printed on clay-coated paper, instead of the much cheaper wood-pulp paper that named the “pulp” magazines.).
He started by writing sports stories but made his first significant sale with “Mr. Mergenthwerker’s Lobblies” (actually a fantasy story) which was published in Scribner’s Magazine in 1937. His first science fiction story was “Down the Dimensions” in the April 1937 issue of Astounding. He only wrote occasional non-fiction once he was established as an author of fiction. Bond wrote and sold more for Blue Book than the pulps, which was not only more prestigious but paid more for his work.
He also published articles on philately and served on the Board of Governors / Board of Directors of the British North America Philatelic Society.
I was fortunate enough to correspond with him briefly before his death, and he became one of the featured authors in Adventure Tales, my pulp fiction magazine. He was a terrific writer and remained mentally sharp when I communicated with him about his pulp work, suggesting which works to reprint.
—John Gregory Betancourt
Cabin John, Maryland.
CHAPTER I
Metal grated upon metal, a heavy gate at the far end of the corridor swung open, and footsteps stirred dull echoes down the quiet prison-block. Neil Hardesty turned beseeching eyes to his friend and leader.
“Dirk,” he begged, “for the last time…let us share this with you? Please!”
Vurrth, the hulking Venusian, nodded mutely, lending his support to Neil’s appeal. Shaughnessey, Vurrth’s earthly equal in size and strength, rumbled deep in his throat, “Yes, Dirk. We’re all in this together. Let’s take the punishment together…like men.”
Dirk Morris shook his head. His voice was firm; his gaze calm and steady.
“No. It’s better one of us should die, than all. We set ourselves a righteous task: to rid the System of a madman and a tyrant. We pledged ourselves to fight…to win…or to die. Our first leader has already given his life that worlds may someday again breathe the air of freedom. A dozen of our comrades have paid the price of rebellion. Edwards, Johnson, Vallery…our blood-brothers.
“Now it is my turn. But my passing does not mean we give up the fight. You, Hardesty, must take over the leadership of our little clan. When you have been freed, carry on! Find new recruits; rebuild our organization. Four against an empire is mighty odds, but if you four surrender, the liberty of all men is doomed for generations!”
Fred Meacher said hopefully, “That’s right. Someone must pick up the torch. Neil, if you’d rather not, I’ll bear the Message—”
“Never mind,” said Hardesty. “I’m ready to take it. Well, Dirk?”
The footsteps were drawing nearer. Swiftly, coolly, but deliberately, Dirk Morris placed his lips close to Neil’s ear, whispered a brief sentence. Hardesty started. His eyes first widened, then narrowed with incredulous surmise.
“Dirk!” he gasped. “But that’s…. You can’t mean—”
“Quiet!” warned Brian Shaughnessey. “Here they come! The skulking rats!” He spat contemptuously on the floor as a band of armed men halted before the cell in which the quartet was imprisoned.
The foremost guardsmen parted, and before the grille appeared a man tall and powerful, dark of eye and beetling of brow; a personage whose innate ruthlessness and cruelty could not be disguised even by the ornate finery he wore. This was Graed Garroway, “Black” Garroway, tyrant of Earth, emperor of the System, Overlord—by force of arms—of the entire Solar Union.
He smiled. But there was little mirth in his smile, and no sincerity.
“Well, Morris?” he demanded.
“Well?” repeated Dirk stonily.
“Your time passes swiftly. Have you decided to tell your secret?”
“I know one thing,” said Morris, “that is no secret. My time passes swiftly, yes. But so does yours. The days of your dictatorship are numbered, Garroway. Soon the cleansing flame of righteous rebellion will rise to sweep you and every evil