by Jerry
The scene shifted from place to place as the Martian operating the televisor changed the direction of the scanner. Hughes groaned in despair as he caught an upward glimpse of the rows and rows of gleaming Martian ships against the night sky. How many times he had stood on a high Manhattan roof to study the stars in the quiet night. And now the scintillating pin-points were almost blotted out by the ranks of fighting ships.
A brilliant flash momentarily hid the sky. A lucky hit by a Martian cruiser had wiped out an entire squadron of Earth’s valiant defenders.
But Hughes ignored the disaster, his mind whirling with bewilderment over something he’d glimpsed just before that brilliant flash. He waited anxiously for another upwards view.
The television scanner dropped for a close view of the wreckage on Manhattan. From end to end, the buildings lay in tumbled heaps of brick and steel, and still the remaining defense batteries spit forth their reply to the Martians.
Then the scene turned upwards again, to the swarms of vessels passing and repassing overhead. Hughes strained his eyes desperately. He had to be sure before he made his decision. His eyes flashed over the screen. Yes . . . there it was again . . .
“Ankeen!” Hughes’ voice was hoarse with despair, “Turn it off. Yon were right. There’s no use fighting against such odds.”
As the room was lighted again, the Martian leaped eagerly to his desk, trembling with exultation at his victory. Quickly he scrawled a few words on a sheet of paper and thrust it at the Earthman.
Hughes read it, nodded slowly, and said, “If I sign this, you must send me back to Earth at once to organize reconstruction.”
Ankeen hastily nodded agreement and Hughes signed the paper. It was a declaration of complete and unconditional surrender.
Shoulders drooping, Hughes rose and strode to a window to stare out at the night sky over Mars, while Ankeen, chortling gleefully, called his underlings and issued orders to inform the fighting ships of the surrender.
From the window, Hughes asked irrelevantly, “Ankeen, did you ever study astronomy?”
“Astronomy!” snorted the Martian, looking up from a mass of papers, “Why should a practical man like me read about stars? I don’t need to know space navigation. I never leave Mars. Why’d you ask?” he demanded, eyeing Hughes with keen suspicion.
“Oh, no special reason. Just that the stars are so clear here on Mars because of the thin atmosphere. Saturn and Jupiter are visible now. And that beautiful blue planet there! That’s Earth, my home!”
Ankeen stared at him in surprise, then shouted disgustedly. “Bah! What silly sentiment! Come along, my dear poet, I’ll arrange to send you back to your beautiful blue planet, so you can spend all your time star-gazing. Astronomy! Hah!”
TWO days later, Ankeen sat in his headquarters, impatiently waiting for a communication from his fleet commander. At Ankeen’s order, the Martian fleet had withdrawn from Earth and had returned to its bases on Earth’s moon for repairs and refueling. On Luna also was the remainder of Earth’s fleet, surrendered under the terms of the armistice. Meanwhile his spies on Earth reported that the Earthmen were abandoning their defenses, as promised by Marshal Hughes.
All this news made Ankeen swell with satisfaction. So far his plans were working out perfectly. One more step remained, one small step.
As soon as preparations were completed, Ankeen gloated, his fleet would attack Earth again—and undefended Earth now—and without warning; would completely destroy all factories, industries and cities, just as he had smashed the nations on Venus and Jupiter’s moons after they had surrendered.
That would remove forever the last obstacle to Mars’ domination of the solar system. Then indeed would Ankeen be supreme in the universe and never would another planet grow strong enough to challenge Mars!
His happy musings were interrupted by the buzz of the televisor. That would be his fleet commander reporting that all was ready for the attack on Earth.
It was his fleet commander, but one look at the man’s panic-stricken face sent a pulse of terror through Ankeen.
“General!” the fleet commander gasped. “We have been tricked! The Earthmen are attacking us!”
“What!” screamed Ankeen shrilly. “With what ships? Why are you not fighting back?”
“We did not expect attack and our ships were all in the repair sheds. The crews were outside the ships, resting. We are being destroyed on the ground before we can man the guns. Oh, now they are blasting the buildings here and—”
The screen lighted with a blinding glare, then faded into darkness. On the moon, the televisor had just been blown to bits, together with an entire Martian space-ship base.
Before Ankeen could choke down his fury, the screen lighted under a new signal. Marshal Hughes appeared, seated at the controls of a battle cruiser.
Ankeen’s lidless eyes bulged in uncontrollable rage as he shrieked curses at tire Earthman.
“You broke your word!” he howled finally. “You tricked me into believing you would surrender! Forever will your deceit be remembered by Mars and I will destroy Earth utterly for your swindle!”
“Shut up,” snapped Hughes coldly. “I keep my word when it is honestly obtained, but you got me to sign that surrender under false pretenses, and you know it. The entire world will know it, and I knew it when I signed it!”
The Martian stared dumbly, strangled by disappointment and fury.
“That was a good job of acting you did two days ago,” said Hughes, smiling. “You had me convinced by telling me part of the truth. It was true that Earth’s fleet was mostly destroyed, but you didn’t tell me that your fleet was also almost all smashed, too. You didn’t tell me you feared another battle might finish what was left of your fleet, and so you decided to try trickery.
“Nor did you tell me you intended to destroy Earth’s industries and cities after we surrendered. But I remembered what you did to Venus and Jupiter and I knew you’d do the same to Earth.”
HUGHES paused, smiled contemptuously at the speechless Martian, and went on calmly.
“I still had an ace up my sleeve, Ankeen, which I wouldn’t have used if you’d been honest. Forty new, modern battle rockets were my ace, built secretly and just finished. We caught your men completely by surprise, and so now, my dear Ankeen, I must ask you to surrender!”
The Martian gurgled and gasped, curses and oaths pouring from his rage-distorted mouth.
“Shall I tell you how I knew you were tricking me, my dear Ankeen?” Hughes went on, mimicking the mocking tone Ankeen had once used, “how I knew that the ‘television’ views of your fleet attacking Earth were just motion pictures?”
Hughes grinned as he continued, “A beautiful work of art, my dear Ankeen. Very accurate models of Earth’s cities, those were.
“But you missed one point, Ankeen! When I saw the sky on that screen, I could see the planets. If the scene were really on Earth, at this time of year, I should have seen a red planet—Mars. Instead I saw a blue planet—Earth! And so I knew without doubt that those scenes had occurred on Mars!
“Why should a practical man like you read about the stars, Ankeen? I guess you can answer that question yourself now!”
THE FATE OF ASTEROID 13
William P. McGivern
When Philip Trent, Federation agent, went to Asteroid 13 to investigate a rumor, he nosed into plenty trouble!
PHILIP TRENT, Federation agent, peered closely at the large photographic visi-screen erected before the controls of his trimly efficient space patrol ship.
Asteroid 13 was coming into mooring range.
Trent, alone in the small space craft, threw a lever and the repulsion rockets set up their rhythmic racket, decelerating the light-like velocity of the ship to mooring speed.
Asteroid 13, member of a tiny group off Venus, was due for its annual Federation check-up.
Trent picked up a televised report marked, ASTEROID 13 and glanced at it. Nothing very unusual. Abounded in Pelysium, the metal
essential to all space craft construction; owned outright by a Venusian combine; and—last notation—mining foreman killed last week. Details vague. Something to check on.
Trent tossed the report to one side and set the automatic mooring apparatus. He looked more like a scientist or a chart keeper than a member of the toughest and most efficient law enforcement body the universe had ever known—the Federation Police. He was of average height, with pleasant features and thick brown hair. He never seemed to be in much of a hurry and because of this some people had made the unfortunate mistake of assuming he couldn’t move fast. Because he was slow moving and slow speaking he attracted little attention. However men usually gave a second glance to his heavy, sloping shoulders and women usually noticed his deep, imperturbable brown eyes.
13 was visible now, an oblong asteroid, a hundred miles or so in diameter. Trent sighted the tiny mooring tower and set his controls . . .
Minutes later he was standing on the flaky soil of Asteroid 13. At the base of the mooring tower a half dozen chrome-alloy buildings had been erected. Trent noticed, with slight surprise, another space ship, a tiny single seater, set in a ground catapult. He noticed one other thing. A heavy wire fence had been erected around the mooring tower, the ground catapult and the small cluster of chromealloy buildings. It isolated a tiny section of the asteroid, making an exclusive island of it.
He heard a sound then from the space ship on the ground. He turned as a man climbed from the small air lock door and advanced toward him.
“My name is Hawkett,” the man said, “Fred Hawkett. In charge of 13. We ain’t partial to trespassers I might tell you. So whatever you got on your mind get it off quick.”
Trent’s jaw tightened slightly.
“You’re talking to the Federation now, friend,” he said softly, “so talk a little less loudly. I’m here for a check-up. So make up your mind to be accommodating.” Hawkett smiled insolently.
“Sure I’ll fix you up. Why didn’t you just say who you were?”
“Okay, forget it,” Trent said. “First, what about the mining foreman who was killed here? I want the facts on that and a few other things.”
His eyes roved about the tiny fenced-in enclosure speculatively. The set-up puzzled him. Through the fence he could see some of the open surface of the asteroid. As far as the eye could reach, mining equipment was visible, the presence of the worked-out shafts marked by the huge metal lids that clamped over them.
Trent rubbed his jaw and looked at Hawkett more closely. The man was a huge, barrel-chested specimen with dark, heavy features. His eyes were peculiar. Arrogant and yet—at the same time—there was wariness and uneasiness in his expression.
“What about the foreman?” Trent asked. Hawkett shrugged.
“Cave in. He was going buggy anyway so it’s just as well. Maybe he wandered into a dangerous tunnel on purpose. Who knows?”
“That’s a lie, Fred Hawkett,” a voice said behind them.
HAWKETT wheeled at the sound, his face going white with rage. Trent turned and saw a tall dark-haired girl standing close to the outside of the fence, a scornful expression curling her red lips. She wore rough, frayed breeches, knee high boots and white shirt open at the neck; but even these simple clothes could not completely conceal the lovely femininity of her slender form.
“I told you to keep away from here,” Hawkett said harshly, “now clear out.” He advanced toward her, his heavy shoulders hunched angrily. “You hear me? Get out!”
The girl’s chin rose slightly.
“Not as long as you intend to lie about my father. His death was no accident. He was deliberately killed because he was trying to save the workers and the women and children who had come here to work because they trusted him.”
Hawkett’s fist closed over an electric gun jammed in his belt.
“Do you get back to the mines,” he grated, “or do I burn a hole through your arm?”
The girl’s mouth went white at the corners but her eyes swung scornfully to Philip Trent.
“I’ll go,” she said bitterly, “but I didn’t know the Federation had sold out to Big Bill Murdock too.”
“Just a minute,” Trent said mildly. “I want to talk to you. Hawkett, take your hand off your gun.”
“She’s nothin’ but a dirty little liar,” Hawkett blazed. His hand remained on his gun. “You’re mixin’ in something big, buddy,” he said harshly, “and it ain’t healthy for you.”
“I said take your hand off that gun,” Trent repeated, but there was something else in his voice now.
Hawkett heard it but he didn’t connect it with Trent’s sloping heavy shoulders and battered fists. His lips smiled.
“So what?” he said tensely.
Trent shrugged and walked toward Hawkett. There was something in his calm unhurried approach that caused Hawkett to lick his lips suddenly. When Trent was within four feet of him, Hawkett jerked his hand from the gun and lunged forward, his ham-like fist lashing out at Trent’s jaw.
The blow landed high on Trent’s cheek. Trent shook his head and stepped inside Hawkett’s arms, his fists driving with wicked rhythm into Hawkett’s body. Hawkett doubled slightly and Trent stepped back. His heavy sloping shoulders snapped around behind a right cross that flicked out like a lightning bolt and landed like a baseball bat against the side of Hawkett’s jaw.
Before Hawkett stopped rolling, Trent turned to the girl, his features relaxing again into their usual pleasantness.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he said. “What’s wrong here?”
The girl glanced humbly at Hawkett’s recumbent figure.
“I’m sorry about what I said. I—I was upset.”
“Forget it,” Trent said. He wanted to sound more gracious but words weren’t his business. “What’s up? And what’s your name?”
“Gail O’Neil,” the girl answered, reserved again. “I’ll forget the apology as you wish. But you must help us. There are over two hundred miners held prisoner on this asteroid.”
“Prisoner?” Trent echoed.
“YES,” Gail answered, “can’t you see? The ship, the tower and the televise equipment is fenced off from the rest of the asteroid. One guard—Hawkins—remains here. When it starts he’ll save himself with the space ship in the catapult.”
“When what starts?” Trent asked.
“I forgot,” Gail said quickly, “you couldn’t know. For the past six weeks internal pressure has been building up inside Asteroid 13. 13 has a gaseous core and each ounce of ore removed from the crust weakens it. In other words 13 is ready to explode. My father knew this and was killed because of it. Big Bill Murdock refuses to remove the miners and their families until the last ounce of Pelyisium is removed. The men are forced to keep up production because they know they can’t leave until the ore is mined. But 13 won’t last that long. The two hundred lives don’t bother Murdock—it’s just his precious ore.”
“If what you say is true,” Trent said slowly, “I’ll order immediate evacuation. But how do you know so definitely that 13 will explode?”
“By the increasing internal pressure. Please let me inside,” Gail begged, “and I can show you what I mean.”
Trent looked at the door in the fence and then stepped to Hawkett’s inert form, fished through his pocket until he found a ring of keys. In ten seconds more the girl was leading him quickly into the chromealloy office. She stopped before a switchboard covered with tiny rheostats and switches.
“Each switch controls a shaft lid,” she explained. “Now watch that lid to the right of the mooring tower.” With one hand she engaged the switch.
Trent watched the lid rise an inch—two—and then with breathtaking abruptness it snapped all the way open and a gusher of flame and steam shot a hundred yards into the air with a blinding flash.
Quickly Gail disengaged the switch and the lid closed ponderously against the pressure of steam and gas.
“That’s an indication,” Gail said, “of the tremendous
pressure building up beneath the thin crust of 13.”
Trent nodded.
“Get the miners together,” he told the girl. “With all their possessions. I’m heading to Venus to see Mr. Murdock. I’ll have a transport back here as soon as possible.”
“Oh that’s wonderful,” Gail breathed. “I’ll—we’ll never be able to thank you as we should.”
“It’s just a job,” Trent said curtly. And then wished he hadn’t.
Gail’s chin rose in the air.
“I won’t forget that again. It’s not the human lives, of course. Just the job.”
Trent started to explain, but suddenly he tensed as the hissing roar of rocket exhausts blasted the silence. He dashed from the office just in time to see a pin point of light disappearing into the void.
“Hawkett,” he said bitterly, “on his way to warn Murdock.
“Quick,” he snapped to Gail, “get the miners and their families together. Tell ’em not to take another ounce of ore from the crust. We’ll be back with a transport to pick ’em up as soon as we can.”
“We?” Gail said.
“Yeah,” Trent said, “you’ll have to put up with me for the next few hours. I need you to tell me everything you know about Murdock and this set-up while we’re arcing toward Venus. Snap it up.”
Gail wasted no time. She returned in less than five minutes, having changed into a soft leather space shirt and trousers. With her was a horde of ragged, but happy, miners—women and children. They cheered enthusiastically when they sighted Trent and poured through the door in the fence to offer him encouragements. Trent looked about at the roughly honest faces of the workers and the wistfully hopeful faces of the women and children. A tight line of muscle bunched at his jaw.
“We’ll make it soon as we possibly can,” he said quietly.
“Murdock’s got a pretty tough gang,” one of the miners said doubtfully.
