by H. B. Fyfe
them out into the void.
Again, he watched the other vessel appear ahead of his torpedoes, thistime on both screens. Before the gap narrowed, he had a betteropportunity to see the defenses of the cruiser in action.
A whitish cloud of gas was expelled from his target's hull, bearing amyriad of small objects which promptly acquired a life of their own.Both screens were filled with flashing, diverging trails of flame.Then--nothing.
"They're heading at us!" called Donna. "Hang on!"
Phillips had already pulled the switches to bring up a new pair oftorpedoes. Hearing the urgency in Donna's tone, he leaped toward a rackof spacesuits and grabbed.
* * * * *
The next instant, he was pinned forcibly against the rack byacceleration, as Donna made the ship dodge aside. From one side, heheard a screech of grating metal. The fresh missiles must have jammedhalfway out of the storage compartment.
It gave him a weird feeling of unreality; as he hung there helplessly,to see one of the screens on the bulkhead pick up something moving,gleaming, metallic.
"Donna!" he shouted hoarsely. "Let up!"
"I don't dare," she gasped over the intercom. "I lost them, but theywere starting after us!"
"Let up!" repeated Phillips. "They're dead ahead of that wild shot ofours. Let me get to the controls!"
He dropped abruptly to the deck as the acceleration vanished. One leapcarried him to the radio controls.
The metallic gleam had swelled into a huge spaceship. The cruiser wasangling slightly away from the point from which he seemed to be viewingit. How soon, he wondered, would they detect the presence of historpedo? Or would they neglect this direction, being intent upon thedestruction of those who were attempting to frustrate their mad dash forMars?
Phillips stood before the screen, clenching his fists. There was, afterall, nothing for him to do but watch. The gleaming hull expanded with aswelling rush. Details of construction, hitherto invisible, leaped outat him. A crack finally appeared as a section began to slide back.
This time, however, there was no blinding flare of small rockets. Theblacking out of the screen coincided with Donna's scream. "_It hit!_"
In the silence that followed, he thought he heard a sob.
"Oh, Phillips," she said, recovering, "we did it. They're--"
"Hang on," said Phillips. "I'll climb into a spacesuit and comeforward."
He switched off the intercom and dragged a suit from the rack. It tookhim a good fifteen minutes to get the helmet screwed on properly and tocheck everything else. He realized that he was very tired.
He opened the exit hatch, seized the top of the ladder in his gauntletsas the air exploded out of the turret, and climbed back to the maindeck.
Clumping forward through the airless corridor, he stopped to look intothe compartment where he had left Brecken. He quickly slid the door shutagain.
He found that Donna had sealed off the corridor just short of thecontrol room by closing a double emergency door that must have beendesigned to form an airlock in just such a situation. He hammered uponit, and she slid it open from the control desk.
It closed again behind him, and he entered the control room through theusual door. The girl helped him to remove the suit and motioned himtoward the screen.
* * * * *
Phillips regarded the scene without enthusiasm. The sight of the deadman had reminded him of what the compartments of that other vessel mustlook like by now. Its parts were beginning to scatter slowly.
He looked at Donna, and found her regarding him soberly. "What will theydo with us now?" she asked.
She looked exhausted. He extended an arm, and she leaned against him."You heard what Varret said," he told her.
"Yes, but will he keep his word? They might be ... ashamed of us, nowthat it's done. Even if they're not, I can't bear the thought of goingback to Earth and having them stare at me!"
Phillips nodded. He remembered the morbid curiosity during his owntrial, the crowds who had watched him with a kind of shrinkinghorror--and he had actually been responsible for saving a spaceship andits crew, had they cared to look on that side of the affair.
But he had killed. That was no longer the action of a normal humanbeing, according to popular thinking.
"I guess you and I are the only ones who will understand one anotherfrom now on," he shrugged.
Donna smiled faintly, just as the signal sounded on the communicationscreen.
It was Varret, looking pale and strained. He listened to Phillips'account, including the deaths of Truesdale and Brecken, and apologizedfor his appearance. He had, he informed them, been unpleasantly ill whenhe had seen the explosion. "It was a terrible thing," Varret continuedsadly, "but necessary. They were beyond reasoning with, and a deadlymenace."
He pulled himself together and tried to hide his agitation by remindingthem of his promise. He suggested that they consider their requestswhile his ship attempted to tow them in to Deimos.
Phillips glanced speculatively at Donna. They would be two outcasts,however much their deed might be respected abstractly, however muchofficial expressions of gratitude were employed to gloss over the fact.He might as well take one chance more. "We have already decided," hesaid boldly. "I hear you are building a new space station on Deimos."
The old man nodded, surprised.
"We will ask for a deed to that moon, and a contract to operate thebeacon and radio relay station," Phillips stated flatly.
Varret blinked, then smiled slightly in a sort of understandingadmiration.
"Reasonable and astute," he murmured after a moment's hesitation. "Ithink I appreciate the motive. Perhaps, if that ship can be repaired andremodeled, we can include it so that you may make short visits to Mars."
He warned them to watch for the emergency crew he would send to theiraid, and switched off.
Phillips then dared finally to turn and look inquiringly at Donna. Hersmile was relaxed for the first time since they had met. "Nicebargaining," she said, and Phillips felt like the king of somethinglarger than a tiny Martian satellite.
Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from _Future combined with Science Fiction Stories_ September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.
