"Yes—there was an explosion," Trevino replied, a bit reluctant to voice the admission. "It occurred somewhere in engineering . . . near the drive motor assembly. That's why the ship started falling. Its weight was left partly free against the gravity of Moruta. We had to leave so quickly there was no time for inspection."
“What about the jump drive assembly?” I asked, knowing full well the ramifications if we were engulfed by the leaking toxic materials incased in the sealed module.
“It was fine before we got into the pod,” the captain said as he slid his hands down the sides of the fallen cruiser, then looked to a computer on his wrist. “No harmful radiation detected.” Releasing the exterior door with a pop of the manual controls, he peered in before signaling everyone to follow.
One by one, we descended into the wrecked Pride of Trinidad. In that part of the ship which lay lowest below water level, tiny streams of dirty water trickled between wrenched plates, forming pools of water which rose slowly about us. Trevino and his men inspected the radium repellors. They whispered strangely among themselves. A steely glint shone resolutely in Captain Trevino's eyes.
Peering into several open computer panels, the captain was furious. "A number of fail-safes have been cut," he stated fiercely. "The Pride of Trinidad was deliberately wrecked by someone on board."
Heavy silence followed his words. One of the crew returned from the vault room. He announced to the captain that the Pride of Trinidad's shipment of platinum was as intact as they had left it. Captain Trevino turned the matter over in his mind. He was an astute man. Having smelled out a conspiracy, he was already planning the best way he knew to thwart it. The platinum itself presented an obvious motive. Finally, he spoke.
"You passengers are to go up into the observation room and wait for us. Under no condition are you to leave the room and wander about the ship."
Captain Trevino's orders were obeyed to the letter.
* * * * *
In the observation chamber, Conrad asked my opinion of the discovery Captain Trevino had made. "What's up, anyway?"
I shook my head. Conrad was plainly nervous. Other passengers who had accompanied us shared his apprehension. A full half hour had passed and still Trevino and his men made no appearance. Outside, myriads of life flew, crawled and swam about the damaged craft.
Abruptly, Trevino and his three men emerged from the lower levels of the Pride of Trinidad. They presented quite a spectacle, bedraggled with grime and dirty water. In their arms they carried numerous small boxes. Though small, each box was extremely heavy, loaded with a fortune in platinum bars.
"We'll return to the escape pod," said Trevino. "There's work to be done."
Once more we trudged back through the swamp and jungle, following the trail we had made. Several times, huge shadowy forms flapped on the wind overhead, but there was no attack. Once back at the escape pod, Captain Trevino ordered every man out into the open. He drew their attention.
"We have a situation here, people," he said slowly, his eyes darting from face to face. "I want the person, or persons who wrecked the Pride of Trinidad, and I want them right now!”
The captain snapped out the final words. Surprise, terror and alarm registered among the passengers, but Trevino evidently saw no admission of guilt.
"The person responsible for our present condition owns this!" exclaimed Trevino suddenly. From behind his back where he had been concealing it, he drew forth a square box studded with knobs and dials. "I know which one of you owns this. It was found hidden in his stateroom by one of my men."
Again he watched for a betraying face. At the time, I doubted Trevino's statement that he knew who owned the box. If he knew, I asked myself, why didn’t he come right out and make an accusation with whatever evidence he held? Evidently that was not his way.
"We've also uncovered his two accomplices," continued the captain in cool, level tones. "We’ve got proof which points definitely to them both."
He paused. No one spoke. The silence of death had descended upon the entire group. For a moment my scalp prickled from the high tension of nerves which hung over this episode. Trevino's burning eyes made every one of us a criminal.
"The penalty for this offense is—death!" Trevino hurled out the final word with dramatic suddenness.
There was a stealthy movement among those who stood near the escape pod.
"Drop it!" snapped McMillian as he drew his pistol faster than I’ve ever seen a man. "Or so help me, it’ll be the last mistake you ever make.”
One of the passengers, Decir by name, dropped a lethal-looking pistol and raised his three hands.
"Gwog Kalach!" thundered Trevino, pointing a condemning finger at another of the spaceship's passengers. "Let's end this deception! Step out there with Decir! Give up your weapons!"
With the attitude of a fatalist, the wide-girthed Gwog Kalach lumbered forward, allowing First Mate McMillian to disarm him.
"And now for the owner of this little box," said Trevino, a cryptic promise in his tones. "This device incited an electric explosion of static in the radium repellors. The reason, I suppose, was prompted by plans on the shipment of platinum. So will the owner of this ingenious little invention step up—or do I have to call his name?"
No one moved.
"Just as I thought. Conrad, you have the nerve to bluff this thing out to the end!"
The face of Nathaniel Conrad grew pale. He appeared stunned. Those nearest him stepped back in surprise. Decir and Gwog Kalach were the only ones who did not seem taken aback by the revelation.
"But I've never seen that thing before," Conrad protested. "Why, I—"
"Not a chance in hell of wiggling your way out of this, Conrad! We've got all the proof we need. Perhaps you’ll kindly explain how you intended on making a getaway with the platinum?"
"I'm innocent!" exclaimed Conrad heatedly, then looked at the two aliens. "And I don't know these men!"
"This thing was found hidden in your room, Conrad,” the captain said, withdrawing a pocket communicator from his pocket. “It’s coded to the same frequency as the ones found in the staterooms of your accomplices.”
Nathaniel Conrad fell silent. The evidence was indeed overwhelming. Trevino turned to the other culprits.
"Have either of you protests to make?"
"We know when we're caught," growled Gwog Kalach, shooting a swift glance at Conrad.
"You were taking orders from this man?" the captain inquired, pointing at Conrad.
Both Decir and Gwog Kalach replied in the affirmative with nods, adding further proof against Conrad.
"Known him very long?"
"Don't know him at all," replied Gwog Kalach. "Only that he's the boss."
"We've been taking orders from him since we left Third Earth," supplemented Decir. "He had us kill the radio transmitter on the ship a little while before he set off the explosion."
"And how did you expect to get away with the platinum?"
"He's the only one of us who knows," replied Decir, shrugging his three shoulders and nodding his head at Conrad.
"Conrad, I suppose there'll be another ship along pretty soon—some of your friends from Raballa, no doubt. Now I see it all. Well, they won't find us. We won't be here."
"I've no idea that . . ."
"Pretty thorough, weren't you?" snapped Trevino. "But you miscalculated! You thought there wouldn't be much left of the Pride. Too careless, Conrad. You three men are sentenced to death."
"A trial!" screamed Conrad. "We're entitled to a trial!"
"Not under intergalactic laws, you’re not. We’re outside Unified space, my friends. Intergalactic law is very specific about acts of mutiny and piracy.”
Part II
Forbidding retribution hung over the condemned men. Trevino promised swift justice, for he was the law. He would deal out the penalty according to the code governing interplanetary laws.
"We have to get out of this area in a hurry," he informed McMillian. "You can bet yo
ur last coin there'll be a ship around pretty soon to pick up the platinum and these three men. If there's a battle, we haven't a chance in our present condition!"
"Where'll we go?" asked McMillian. "Somewhere to hide?"
"We'll head for Raballa. It's a long, hard trek, but it's our only chance. Get things ready to leave. Pack everything we'll want to take with us. Just before we start out, we'll get this execution over with."
“I’m not comfortable with this, Skipper.”
“You’re going to have to learn to be, Donovan, if you ever want to sit in my chair.”
Without further hesitation, McMillian immediately apprised the crew and passengers of the Pride of Trinidad of Captain Trevino's intentions. He stated the fact that outlaws were expected shortly, telling of what they would do to luckless passengers who fell into their hands. A second expedition was sent to the Pride of Trinidad for food stores and various articles that were deemed necessary to carry along on the march.
With the usual brief ceremony required in such proceedings, Conrad, Decir and Gwog Kalach were lined up before a shallow grave that had hastily been dug for them. Five of the crew stood at attention, pulse rifles half-raised. Trevino, in a crisp, steady voice, gave the orders. The three men, white of face, stared, fascinated at their executioners—into the face of death.
"Ready!"
The crewmen of the Pride of Trinidad tensed themselves. Conrad no longer protested with pleas of innocence. He faced his fate like a man.
"Aim!"
The rifles were raised. Five left eyes closed. Sights were drawn. The interval preceding the fatal word seemed endless. At the last moment, it was apparent that Conrad was unequal to the strain. He closed his eyes. His body swayed.
"Fire!"
Five blue streaks howled from the weapons. The three men stiffened and fell into the cavities dug for them. Their lives had been forfeited for their crimes. Dirt was shoveled upon them. No longer would flyers of the void fear them. But there were always other outlaws.
Captain Trevino, his crew of six, and nine passengers, set out in the direction of Raballa. The trip promised to be perilous and fraught with danger, as well as grueling and full of hardships. As I’d been to Moruta only once before, I knew little of the blue jungles. My time on the forest world had been spent in the colonies.
Our first day of marching took us through lush jungles and dismal swamps. The ground was fairly level. Occasionally we came to rough, rocky outcrops which protruded aboveground. These we invariably circled. Several times we found it necessary to ford rivers and skirt lakes. Our progress was snaillike, and nearly everyone had complained at one time or another in the last two hours. McMillian prophesied we would be on the march for fully twenty rotations of Moruta Prime unless we struck the comparatively clear country which Trevino was sure existed between us and Raballa Colony.
Fearsome beasts menaced us at all times. We were always on our guard, and any threats usually fell by well-trained pulse rifle fire before completing their charges among us.
Even so, we experienced many narrow escapes. Many of these monsters were larger than the prehistoric dinosaurs which once roamed the earth. They were difficult to kill, and it required the maximum firepower of our guns to bring them down.
Clothes torn, bodies bruised and scratched, we presented a sorry spectacle. Most of us felt the way we looked, but Trevino's unquenched determination spurred us on toward Raballa. He was anxious to put a good distance between us and the abandoned escape pod. He feared the interstellar pirates, the friends of the three who had been executed. Though Conrad had not admitted the claim, the captain was certain a shipload of the outlaws was scheduled to show up for the platinum and their comrades.
At night, a camp was set up. Trevino argued against lighting a campfire, asserting that it would prove a magnet to the wandering brigands he believed were in search of us. First Mate McMillian, employing smooth diplomacy, made it clear to his superior officer that a campfire promised to safeguard us from prowling beasts. McMillian cited the fact that it was a common sight for a night cruiser of Moruta to look down upon fully a dozen or more campfires of the glimn, the soft-furred bipedal rodents that called the forest planet of Moruta their home.
* * * * *
Guards were posted during the night. It was well. The fires held the nocturnal creatures at bay. Whenever one of them did muster enough courage to charge, it was revealed in the firelight and shot down. Several times I awoke to see a bellowing monster crash in death at the edge of our camp. Sleeping, we found, was a sporadic endeavor. The first night proved the worst.
Next morning, we plodded on again through the thick, blue jungle. The country became a bit hilly, yet no less wooded. In the valleys between, we often found swamps. While approaching one of these swamps, we noticed a gray mist hanging over the stagnant pools. One of the crewmen, plunging ahead of us to gauge the depth of the water and steer us clear of treacherous, clinging mud, became enveloped in the mist. Almost immediately his complexion turned black, and he fell, strangling in the throes of death. Another of the crew ran forward to drag back his comrade, but Captain Trevino warned him back.
"He's too far gone! There's nothing we can do for him."
"What is it?"
"A poisonous swamp gas. There's enough poison in one breath to kill twenty men!"
Instinctively, we recoiled from the milky haze.
"How are we going to cross that?" asked McMillian.
Stepping back to another crewman who had a large duffle slung over his shoulder, Trevino produced a handful of breathing masks, then tossed one to Donovan. "Put this on," he ordered. "That stuff can't hurt you unless you breathe it."
“You sure about that?”
“No. But what choice do we have? That mist extends for kilometers in every direction we need to go.”
Testing his resolve, Trevino donned his mask and advanced into the mist. Looking back through the transparent facing of the helmet, he beckoned to us. We carried the dead body of the luckless man, who had saved us through his unfortunate discovery, to the top of the next hill where burial was made.
The second night, it was my turn to share guard duty with one of the crew while the others slept. The fires were plentifully fueled with dry branches and stalks. Fire material was piled in reserve. Elliot Finney, my companion watcher, went his rounds while I tended the fire, keeping the flames well supplied.
Protected by an embankment erected near a rocky ledge, the balance of our party slept. My eyes fell upon the little mound of boxes which contained the precious metal. Trevino and McMillian lay on each side of the platinum shipment. Not since we’d commenced the march had they let it out of their sight or reach.
"Bergmann!" It was Finney's voice. "Come here a moment!" Hastily I ran to his side. He was stooped over a mark on the ground far to one side of our camp, just within circle of the firelight. Mutely he pointed to a footprint—the footprint of a six-toed creature.
"Glimn," I breathed.
Finney nodded. "Fresh, too. Think we'd better wake Captain Trevino?" he asked. "These talking rats aren’t so bad when they're peaceful, but if they get going—they're devils!"
I stared back into the alarmed eyes of Finney and pondered the matter. I was about to voice an opinion, leaving it up to Finney to do as he pleased, when a startled cry rang out from the direction of the sleepers.
Instantly, everything was confusion and uproar. Sleek, tufted bodies prowling about our equipment flashed out of sight into the jungle. The whole camp came awake, exclamations and profanity mingling with the weird chirping cries of the glimn. Recovering from my surprise, I fired a shot at one of the rapidly disappearing animals, but the flickering firelight distorted my aim.
Then occurred the most amazing feature of the whole affair. A man, fully dressed, ran out of sight with the glimn, melting into the shadows of the surrounding jungle. Trevino ran up beside me and saw him too. He was out of sight before either of us had a chance to fire. At first, I had thoug
ht the man to be one of our group, but his flight with the meter-tall animals disproved the assumption.
"Wonder what the idea is?" Trevino spluttered.
"Our equipment," said McMillian, pointing to the food stores and other articles the glimn had hastily strewn about. "They came to steal!"
"But the man—!" I insisted.
"A renegade!"
Trevino shook his head. "It's strange," he said. "I don't know what to make of it."
* * * * *
An examination of our equipment proved we’d suffered few losses. Several boxes of synthetic food were gone, and one of the crew had lost his pistol. Aside from these thefts, nothing else appeared to be missing. Trevino tripled the guards, and the rest went back to sleep once more. Nothing else occurred during that night. I was unable to get the fleeing man out of my mind. There was something familiar about the figure as I’d seen it revealed in the glare of the firelight, just before the glimn disappeared in the jungle. The thefts of the food and pistol were logical enough in view of the fact that the glimn had stolen them, but, guided by the man, why had they neglected stealing the platinum? Evidently, they were unaware of its presence.
Murky morning suffused the perpetually clouded sky, and once more we pushed on toward our goal, distant Raballa—so near and yet so far. Much to the relief of everyone, we came out of the jungle into a comparatively open country. High lime-colored grasses grew about us, but the going was much easier than we had experienced while in the jungle. The land before us was a bit rolling and hilly. Leafy copses dotted the landscape as far as the eye could reach. In the open, the danger from lurking beasts was at a minimum. Our hopes rose higher. It was around noon when a ship from the south cruised into view above us. Trevino viewed it in consternation.
"Pirates! Now we're up against it!"
For a moment, pandemonium reigned among the frightened passengers. All had plans, each one trying to put his own into force at once. Out of the chaos, Captain Trevino gathered order.
Beta Sector- Anthology Page 10
