by Earl
The Martian’s jaws worked spasmodically. “My government will uphold me . . . they’ll believe me when I say you framed me with this tube and pliers you stole . . . they’ll laugh at you . . .”
“Pruma,” Harrington cut in on the ravings of the overseer, “The word of an S.I.S. agent is always accepted as truth, as well by the M.M. as the U.S.R. You stand accused of attempted murder . . . perhaps of actual murder . . . if Harvey Wood is dead.”
“No . . . no!” This had been wrung out of the Martian involuntarily. “That is . . . I don’t know anything about your man Harvey Wood.”
“You lie, Pruma; Harvey Wood is alive here in Kranto. Listen to me, I will bargain with you. If you will lead me to that man and if he is alive, I will turn over to you this tube and pliers. What I shall learn from Wood may get you in trouble, but at least you won’t have the accusation of attempted murder of an S.I.S. man against you.”
The Martian overseer had again gained control of himself. He thought the proposition over the while Harrington toyed with the tube and pliers. He was in trouble already. His government would stand for many shady things, but . . . this was an S.I.S. man. That unbalanced the scale.
“Agreed, Kruno Harrington.” He stretched out an eager hand for the evidence of his crime.
“No, no, Kruno Pruma, first you lead me to Harvey Wood.”
With an almost inaudible grunt, the Martian stepped to the door, Harrington close behind. They walked through corridors and passageways till Harrington had his sense of direction completely disturbed. He looked with suspicion at the Martian. Was he leading him purposely in circles? He rested one hand on the butt of his pistol.
Finally Pruma stopped at a door, spoke softly the combination into the voice-operated lock, and stepped in as Harrington motioned that he should precede. A man seated on a couch in an attitude of dejection, looked up. His face changed from disinterest to joy as he saw an earthman with the Martian.
Pruma turned to his enemy. “There is your Harvey Wood. Give me my property that I have bought at this price.” Harrington handed over the two implements, thought better of it and pulled back his hand. But the overseer caught at the tube, snatched it away, and . . . Harrington found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol. The pliers had dropped to the floor.
As they stood thus for a moment, strained, on guard, the Martian slowly backed to the door, his pistol pointed straight for Harrington’s head. With a sardonic grin, he spoke. “Pick up that pliers, Harrington, and throw them at my feet. Then throw your gun at my feet also.”
With a shrug of resignation, Harrington complied. The overseer carefully stooped, picked up the objects the while he kept his wary eyes on the earthman, and then spoke rapidly with his head near the lock of the door. Harrington could not catch the combination. As the door swung open in obedience to the voice of the Martian, he backed out. “So now, Kruno Harrington, you will taste to the full my hospitality.”
As the door automaticaly slid back in its groove, Harrington shouted enraged, “You are fooling with atomic power when you tamper with the S.I.S.”
CHAPTER V
The Snare
l “S.I.S.?” echoed Harvey Wood who had silently witnessed the whole drama. “Are you one of them?”
“Yes . . . Richard Harrington of the Service. You are Harvey Wood of Station No. 7?”
The other nodded. “What’s this all about?”
Harrington looked all about the room before he answered. “It looks as if we’re two birds in a gilded cage.” He turned to the mineralogist. “How long have you been here?”
“All eternity, it seems. Actually seven days.”
“Then you came here to Kranto after you spotted a claim in the Riphaean Mountains?”
“Yes,” Wood nodded eagerly, “I’ll tell you why I’m here. That claim I discovered is the best find in years. Pruma is an unscrupulous, grasping, damned Ginzie, and Soderstrom is . . .” Wood stopped and looked at his companion.
“Go on, you are speaking to an S.I.S. agent. I can demand your statement.”
“Well . . . I’m convinced Soderstrom is in with Pruma. It’s a combine. Soderstrom gives away the claims, gets a handsome price, and Pruma gets the high commission that the M.M. gives its overseers for new claims.”
“What proof have you of what you say?”
“Proof? . . . plenty. I made the last of three claims that were stolen by the Martians . . . not stolen either, given away . . . I should say. There was not a Martian around in all the time I picked up samples of ore and yet, when the application was sent in, the Council informed us there was a Martian claim ahead of ours by three hours!” Harvey Wood was storming mad. “And this last claim . . . I picked up samples in which I could see the metals sticking out . . . it was magnificent! Then I saw my air supply was low; I have an idea . . . I knew I could never make Station No. 7, so I hurried here to Kranto. My oxygen just gave out as I got in the last seal. I pressed the button . . . you know, the one that brings the attendant . . . and then fainted from lack of air; I hadn’t strength enough to unscrew my helmet. I woke up in this room. I know just what happened. Pruma was called when I was discovered. He took one of my samples, assayed it, saw it was the thing, probably called Soderstrom to find out who I was and then carried me unconscious to this blasted prison.”
Harvey Wood was a tall, frank-featured man with a nervous temperament. He spoke fluently and logically. He turned to his companion. “Beg pardon, Mr. Harrington, for my uncouth way of welcoming you.”
“Quite all right, Mr. Wood. My business here on the moon is vitally bound up in anything you can say. The U.S.R. wants to know why Station No. 7 is afflicted with claim-jumping, and I’m here to find out.”
“Pm certainly glad to hear they finally got the S.I.S. on the trail. Any help I can give you, Mr. Harrington, is yours for the asking, although it looks as if right now we’re helpless.” Wood waved a lax hand about the small prison.
“No worry about that,” exclaimed Harrington. “There are a few points I want cleared up. First of all, how are claim applications filed at the station?”
“The mineralogist brings in his samples, turns them over to the assayer, and either writes the location down on a piece of paper to give to Soderstrom, or enters it in the books himself, depending on how busy the overseer is at the time.”
“Who entered your last claim in the books?”
“Soderstrom.”
“All you did was write the location down on paper?”
“Yes, I wrote it down and immediately left. Soderstrom, cheat and traitor that he is for all of his geniality, simply radioed the location to Pruma and then entered our application several hours later. That’s the way I have it figured out.”
“What makes you so positive that Soderstrom is guilty?”
“The laws of chance might explain one claim being found by two different people within hours of each other, but they can’t explain three of them within such a short period of time.”
“Outside of that you have no absolute proof of his implication?”
“Well . . . no, to tell the truth.”
“That alone is insufficient. Laws of chance won’t stand in court. We’ve got to get a confession out of Soderstrom. But we’re going at this thing wrong end to. First of all we’ve got to win our liberty. Mr. Wood, what do you think is the next step that Pruma will take?” Harrington had ideas of his own but be recognized in Wood a keen mind. His ideas might be gold mines, just as his life work was discovering them, or similar mines.
“Here’s my opinion about the whole thing, Mr. Harrington. Pruma is a heartless fiend of a Martian, and it would suit his purposes to give me to the vacuum, but I imagine Soderstrom had acted as a check to his highhanded ideas. The latter probably shows Pruma a more diplomatic way every time he wants to jump in over his head. The second day I was here, I got a visit from my overseer.”
Harrington betrayed no emotion, but this statement started a new train of thought. “He seemed s
orry that I was confined and assured me that he would smooth over Pruma’s fit of what he called ‘distemper’ at my exploring so near to Kranto. Then he became confidential. He said, ‘Harvey, you give me the location of your new claim. I’ll scoot back to the station and file our application. In the meantime I’ll work for your release. I’ll threaten Pruma with the wrath of the U.S.R. and he’ll let you go, never fear.
“Well, Mr. Harrington, I saw through that little plot like you see through your helmet visor. No sooner would Soderstrom get the location, he would give it to Pruma, get my release, and then file our claim, but . . . hours after Pruma had his in.
“I became stubborn. I told Soderstrom I would enter that claim myself when I got back to Station No. 7, and that neither he nor anyone else would hear about it before that was done. Then he changed. He became angry. Trying to tell your own overseer what to do? Man, I’m your master. I command you give to me that location!’ I laughed right in his face. ‘Go and command a flower to grow right out on the sands of the Mare Nubium,’ I said. He saw it was useless and he left.
“They both know I’m dangerous; that I suspect too much; and the only reason I can figure out for my being alive and kicking today is that I have locked in my mind the location of the best find of many years. If you ask me, I think Pruma has sent out half his mineralogists to the Riphaean Mountains to try to spot that little claim. Failing in that, as he will, he will try to work it out of me; but now you’re in the picture, I haven’t quite figured out what he will do next.”
Harrington was ruminative for a while. Much that Wood had told him dove-tailed into his own speculations. Suspicions were turning to assurances.
“Mr. Wood, I think I know what they will do next.” He hesitated a moment before he spoke. Then his voice was cold and chilling. “Pruma is going to give us both to the vacuum. He knows I’m on to his game; Soderstrom is undecided as to how much I suspect; they both know that you are dangerous . . . so they are going to . . .”
“Yes, I know . . . going to put both of us out into the vacuum with a low supply of oxygen, or a split seam in our suits, and claim accidental death. They will plead and magnify the dangers of life on the moon to a government of ruthlessness on one hand . . .”
“And a government with hands tied behind its back, on the other hand,” finished up the S.I.S. man vehemently. He saw now why Wilson had been so indefinite . . . so discouraging. This Moon Mine affair was a bottomless pit of intrigue of the M.M. Harrington was not pitted against Pruma alone and his dupe; he had to face the might and ruthlessness of the M.M. itself.
“Damned Ginzies!” murmured the man whose arm bore a blue star.
There was silence for a while, then ‘There is one thing I have left unsaid,” Harrington spoke almost to himself, while Wood raised his head and peered at his calm face. “We men of the S.I.S. have a motto . . . ‘Right makes Might.’ It is adopted from an ancient proverb of pre-interplanetary times. Wood, you heard what I said to Pruma when he left . . . ‘You are fooling with atomic power when you tamper with the ‘S.I.S.’ Maybe even his aborigine mind will absorb the fact that the loss of one man of the Service means the start of a relentless, irresistible investigation by his fellows . . . and I defy the M.M. to stop them once that happens.”
Harvey Wood had heard of the S.I.S. . . . as who hadn’t? . . . but knew little of their spirit. He digested this statement of his companion and shook his head as he thought of the consequences of this affair of claimjumping to those guilty of the crime.
Harrington looked at the Martian overseer blankly as he returned an hour later after the imprisonment. With a bow Pruma handed Harrington his pistol, and Wood a leathern knapsack, his samples of the new claim.
“Kruno Harrington, I must beg your humble pardon for thus putting you to some restraint, but you see, I felt that you should realize that I resented the accusations you cast . . . and your manner of investigating. Accept this as the foolish action of an easily-angered Martian. I have nothing against you . . . and nothing to fear from you. As for this man Harvey Wood, he may have certain prejudices, but I am sure upon careful investigation, they will turn out to be incorrect. You are free to go . . . with my regards.”
Harrington could see the ill-grace of the Martian in his very manner and voice. He was playing a part. This called for caution. He should be called for his highhanded actions, for attempted murder, for unlawful imprisonment . . . but then . . . Wilson had said to use diplomacy.
“I am glad to see you have chosen the best course, Kruno Pruma. You have won my good will. But . . . the S.I.S. always demands retribution for wrongs . . . life on the moon is dangerous . . . especially for . . . you, Sul Minto Pruma!”
Both Pruma and Harrington had pistols in their belts. The Martian had his back to the closed door, his eyes took in the lithe, easy grace of the earthman. Pruma was no fool; he knew Harrington was thrice as fast as he was; could draw that gun in the wink of an eye; could even leap at him should he try to draw his gun. Harrington had threatened him; could he carry out the threat?
The Martian’s eyes shifted to the other earthman, then back to the S.I.S. agent. Deliberately he turned his back and voiced the combination.
“Come, Wood, let’s get back to Station No. 7,” said Harrington tersely as he followed the Martian closely through the door.
At the door of the first air lock, Pruma bowed low as he stood beside the entrance.
“Kruno Harrington is a wise man. He will find out that Pruma, although hasty at times, is incapable of doing anything to merit the wrath of the S.I.S.”
Harrington, with seeming indifference, watched the tall form of the Martian overseer disappear around the corner of the corridor.
Once in the first air lock chamber, Harrington pulled down two of the Martian suits. “Can’t take a chance on these suits,” he said as he pointed to the two suits of earth make hanging by the door.
Two distorted and queer figures traversed the distance between Kranto and Station No. 7, their sharply outlined shadows trailing behind them. With a sigh of relief, they took off the misfitted suits in the air lock of the latter station. Harrington placed a restraining hand on Wood’s arm as he was about to step forward toward the door.
“We were mistaken, Wood, about Pruma’s intentions. He didn’t tamper with those suits of ours. If he had, he would have removed all the Martian suits, so that we’d be forced to take the two meant for us. He’s decided to outwit us, he and Soderstrom. They think I’m stumped for lack of evidence. Well . . . I am.”
Wood looked surprised. “Soderstrom can’t explain away all these things to my satisfaction, Harrington.”
“Of course he can’t to you or to me; but to a court he can. You see, there must be either absolute evidence against the man, or there must be a confession. We haven’t got the former . . .” The S.I.S. man paused and then resumed. “Wood, are the duties of an overseer complicated? Do they take special training or ability?”
“Nothing of the sort, Mr. Harrington. It’s just a matter of being invested with authority to run the station. Why, I could step right into his boots today and carry on the work.”
“That’s just what I wanted to know,” Harrington exclaimed. He drew closer to the mineralogist. “Listen carefully to me. We are going to get a confession out of Soderstrom. Don’t ask me how; I’ll attend to that. Then because I don’t believe he is really criminally-minded, but just a dupe of the overseer of Kranto, I’m going to offer him his written confession to destroy, after he has written out an official resignation. In other words, he will leave the moon honorably, even though he has proved a traitor; but . . . you will be in his place.
“You see, my chief back on earth told me that I was to rectify the matter of claim-jumping, but with diplomacy, because of the strained relationship between the two worlds. So in this way I will accomplish my purpose. I will be getting the source of the trouble out of the position in which he has sold claims, and I will be filling his place with a man I know can
be trusted.”
“Thank you for your unmerited praise, but are you sure I will be chosen to take his place?” Wood looked dubious about it.
“Yes, you will . . . Mr. Wood, because when I get back to earth, I’m going to recommend you and without boasting, I can say that the recommendation of one of the S.I.S. carries weight in the Bureau of Employment.” The eyes of Harvey Wood sparkled. To be head of Station No. 7 was all he could hope and wish for to satisfy him until such time as he should tire of life on the moon.
In a low voice Harrington then explained carefully how they were going to present themselves to the overseer, and what part each was to play. Wood nodded understandingly as he finished.
CHAPTER VI
Trickery
l Overseer Soderstrom jumped up and warmly shook hands with both of the men. “Why . . . Harrington . . . you amaze me . . . so you actually found Mr. Wood . . . this is indeed a surprise. Where was he? How did it all come about?”
Harrington looked full at the genial overseer as he answered.
“I can’t claim much credit myself. I turned to good account some damning evidence I had that Overseer Pruma was bent on ending my career, bargained for information about Wood, and got it. Then with Pruma’s pardons for his actions ringing in my ears, we left Kranto. Mr. Wood, here, seemed to have a few suspicions that you were connected with his retention at Kranto, but I convinced him that you are above reproach, Mr. Soderstrom.”
Soderstrom’s face had momentarily changed color at the suspicions of Harvey Wood, but again cleared on hearing that Harrington had himself cleared his name of implication.
“And now I think Mr. Wood had better file application for the best find of many a year.” Harrington nodded to the mineralogist as he spoke. It was done in a few moments.
It was still early morning, so Harrington and Wood betook themselves to welcome beds. Soderstrom paced up and down in his office, frowns and looks of fear chasing each other across his face.
