runaway
By WILLIAM MORRISON
Heroism is merely daring and ingenuity—atthe age of ten—experience can come later!
Illustrated by ASHMAN
A thin speck appeared in thevisor plate and grew with sinisterand terrifying speed. Bursts offlame began to play around therocketing spaceship, the explosionshurtling it from side to sideas it twisted and turned in a franticeffort to escape. RogueRogan, his vicious lips compressed,his glittering evil eyesnarrowed, heart pounding, knewthat this was it.
This was the day of retribution,he had so long feared....
"Plato!"
Plato leaped to hisfeet and slid the bookunder the pillow. Then he seizeda textbook at random, andopened it wide. His eyes fastenedthemselves to the print, seizingupon the meaningless words asif they would save him from aretribution that Rogue Roganhad never had to fear.
The dorm master frownedfrom the doorway. "Plato, didn'tyou hear the Assembly bell?"
"Assembly?" Plato's eyeslooked up in mild astonishment."No, sir, I didn't hear any bell.I was so absorbed in my studying,sir—" He shut the book andplaced it back with the others."I'm sorry, sir. I'm willing to acceptmy punishment."
The dorm master studied thelittle martyr's expression. "You'dbetter be, Plato. Now live up toyour name and show some intelligence.Run along to Assembly."
Plato ran, but he also winced.How he had suffered from thatmiserable name of his! Even beforehe had known that the originalPlato had been a philosopher,even before he had been capableof understanding what a philosopherwas, he had been able to seethe amused expression in the eyesof those who heard his name, andhad hated them for it. "Show alittle intelligence, Plato." Whycouldn't they have given him aname like the others? There wereso many ordinary, commonplace,manly names from which theymight have chosen. Jim, Jack,George, Tom, Bill—anythingwould have been better thanPlato. And infinitely better thanwhat he was sometimes called byhis equals—"Plato, the dopyphilosopher."
He slipped into his seat in theAssembly quietly, so as notto interrupt the droning of theprincipal. So they thought hisname was funny, did they? Letthem laugh at him. He was onlyten now, but some day he wouldreally act like a man. Some dayit would be he himself, and not afictional hero like Comets Carter,who would be adventuring onstrange planets of unknown suns,tracking down the Rogans andthe other criminals who soughtrefuge in the wide reaches ofgalactic space.
Some day—and then thethought burst on him like a novaexploding in his brain.
Why not now?
Why not indeed? He wassmart; he could take care of himself.Even his masters admittedthat, when they weren't carpingat him for his daydreaming. Takethat model of a spaceship theyhad brought to school one day,with a retired astrogator to explainto the pupils how the thingwas run, and how it avoided straymeteors. He had sat down at thecontrols, and even the astrogatorhad been surprised at how confidentlyhe took over the role ofpilot, how he got the idea at once.
He could do as well in reallife. He was sure of it. Give hima really worthwhile problem towork on, instead of these sillyquestions about square roots andwho discovered the third satelliteof Mars, and he'd show them.
"Thus," dec