Ole Doc Methuselah by L. Ron Hubbard

starlight.
    â€œBlanchard!”
    Despite
himself he whirled, missile weapon at ready. He froze. Halfway between the
landing tower and himself a man came running.
    â€œBlanchard!”
    He
knew that voice. He now saw the man. It was Ole Doc! His clothing was charred,
his left arm was held up by a belt. But it was Ole Doc. And behind him swarmed
a dark cloud of people.
    With
a hasty shot, Blanchard made his pursuer dodge. In an instant Blanchard had
gained the port. Cursing, he brought it to and then raced into the control
section. Somewhere a door clanged.
    Throwing
the gun down, Blanchard grabbed for the panel where the starting levers and
throttles stood waiting. One set was marked “Chemical” for departure and
landing on a port. The other set was marked “Atomic.” It was the second that he
thrust full ahead to “start.” In about ten seconds there would be the
beginning of the fission.
    â€œBlanchard!”
    About
the ship the mob swung, many of them passing by the tubes.
    Mayor
Zoran yelled to some of the men to force the ports of the ship and two Centauri
men launched their heavy bulks into the task. Somebody in the crowd yelled to
keep clear of the tubes and there was an immediate swing to give them berth.
Several pocket torches appeared and turned ship and field into blazing
daylight. People gaped up at the golden ship or yelled encouragement to the two
Centauri men who were still working at the spaceport. A little boy managed to
climb up to the top of the vessel and with great initiative went to work with a
slingshot handle prying up the emergency entrance hatch. People noticed him and
howled encouragement at him. His father bellowed at him for a moment trying to
get him to come down and then, realizing he had a hero on his hands, began to
point and tell people it was his son. The boy vanished into the ship and there
was an immediate scream from several women who had just realized that Blanchard
might be in there, still alive, after killing Ole Doc.
    At
this the Centauri men renewed their efforts and bent several iron bars into
pretzels working on the door. Suddenly it gave way, but not through their
efforts. The little boy had opened it from inside, but when a horde would have
bounded through it, the child barred their way with a shrill yell of protest. A
moment later the effort withdrew hastily.
    But
it was not the boy who had turned them. Charred and battered and breathing hard
after great exertion, Ole Doc filled the spaceport. He was holding a small
blaster in his right hand and smoke idled up from its muzzle. He became
conscious of it and thrust it into his holster.
    The
startled silence suddenly burst. From three thousand throats volleyed a
spontaneous cheer, a cheer which beat in great waves against the ship, almost
rocking it. The enthusiasm fled out from the field and smote against the
surrounding hills to come back redoubled and meet the new, louder bursts which
sprang up amid tossed hats.
    Ole
Doc was trying to say something, but each attempt was battered back and drowned
in the tumult. Finally, when he had for the fifth time raised his hand for
silence, they let him speak.
    â€œI
want to tell Mayor Zoran . . .”
    There
were new cheers for Mayor Zoran and he came forward.
    â€œTell
your people,” said Ole Doc, “that their money is safe.”
    There
was bedlam in answer to this.
    â€œYou
had better,” said Ole Doc when he could again speak, “drain your water
systems, all the reservoirs. I . . . well . . . Just drain them and don’t drink
any more water until you do.”
    They
cheered this, for they would have cheered anything.
    When
he could talk, Ole Doc called for Hippocrates. But no Hippocrates answered.
People went off eagerly looking for the doctor’s slave but there was no instant
result.
    Finally
Ole Doc thanked them and put the little boy outside and, despite many yells for
reappearance, kept the spaceport firmly