by Earl
“We tried to run for the ship,” Captain Harvey resumed, “but we lost consciousness. That’s all we knew until we woke up here a few hours ago.” He smiled wryly. “It’s hard to believe that days have passed!”
“The whole thing is a mystery!” grumbled Director Beatty. “Where did that gas come from? Shelton, we’ve got to know!”
Shelton faced the group, his features thoughtful. “I’ve come to certain conclusions already,” he stated, without preamble. “The strange gas did not come from the general atmosphere. I’ve checked that with the Space Scientist.” He gave the facts briefly, disregarding their surprise. “Therefore, it may be that the gas came from the cave. Formed by volcanic action, perhaps, within Iapetus. Puffed out of the cave as a natural vent.”
“That’s logical,” mused the Director.
But Shelton suddenly whirled on Captain Harvey.
“When you were coining out of your coma, Captain, you said, ‘gas—choking—damn them!’ Why those last two words?”
THE captain started. “Did I?” he began lamely, then drew a breath and went on firmly. “It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw figures lurking in the cave’s shadow! None of the others saw figures. I’ve asked them. I was nearest the cave mouth, calling to Benning to step down from his dangerous perch. The cold struck at that moment, and I thought I saw some forms in the cave.” He set his lips grimly.
“That would mean,” Shelton spoke incisively, “that some person or persons, in the cave, shot that gas out!” The assembled men were dumbfounded at the implications of that.
Traft’s big fists had involuntarily doubled. “It could be private interests working!” he half roared. “Maybe they want the beryllium ore for themselves, and are willing to go any lengths short of murder. If somebody has invented a gas that produces suspended animation, they had something as useful for their purpose as a death gas!” He ground his teeth in sudden rage. “Dirty dogs—using a horrible means like that to hog the beryllium ore!”
“Ridiculous!” spat out Director Beatty, glaring at the impulsive pilot, “We can’t jump to conclusions like that! It must be a natural phenomenon. Private interests wouldn’t dare go to such lengths.” He directed his glare at Captain Harvey. “With all due respect, Captain, I think you have an overactive imagination!”
“Maybe so,” retorted the bluff captain easily. “But my men and I are going right back up there, as soon as we can, and find out!” The spirit of daring shone in his eyes and his men unhesitantly nodded their willingness.
Shelton’s eyes suddenly took fire. He faced the director.
“I think ETBI should send up an expedition, and I’ll lead it! Iapetus is next on our list anyway, for field tests toward bio-conditioning. In fact, we can combine expeditions—use the ETBI-14. That’s a big enough ship for Captain Harvey and his men, and all their surveying paraphernalia.” Director Beatty thought that over, his bearded face dubious. Shelton had led such routine expeditions to ten other worlds, but only after navy outposts had been established. This was different. “Hate to risk a valuable man like you up there, Shelton”—
“Risk?” scoffed the young scientist. “There’s a Navy outpost on Rhea.”
“I’ll sanction it,” agreed the director finally, arising. The ETBI-14 can be outfitted and ready in a week. I’ll have to snip a little red tape to have the expeditions combined, as you suggest, but I think it’s a good idea.”
He had turned to leave when Myra Benning touched him on the arm.
“I’m going along!” She wasn’t asking him; she was stating a fact.
“W-what!” The director opened his mouth to remonstrate, but the girl said:
“No one saw my brother die on Iapetus. There’s a chance he’s still alive—in a state of suspended animation! I’m going along!”
“This is—er—highly irregular,” Director Beatty growled, “But I’ll arrange it.” He wilted before the girl’s fixed determination.
SHELTON stared at her in surprise. It had never occurred to him that she was possessed of so much will. And courage.
A week later the expedition ship had been fully stocked and fueled, its huge engine tuned and tested for its long flight. Dawn was just breaking redly as Captain Harvey and his men, fully recovered, trooped into the lock.
The hulking form of Traft followed Myra Benning up the gangplank. The girl was in mannish attire. Shelton watched her half in surprise, as though it had suddenly come to his attention that she was a woman. She was obviously that, in man’s clothing.
No one was there to see the take-off except Director Beatty and a drome official. Newspaper and opti-view men had not been informed. It had been thought best to keep the whole matter a secret, since the news, distorted by rumor, might easily place an unnecessary stigma on Iapetus’ future.
“This is purely a scientific expedition, not a snooping for trouble!” Director Beatty warned Shelton in formal tones. But his voice became more intimate as he said, “Good luck, lad!” He took Shelton’s hand in a warm clasp and gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry about me, Director!” Shelton said cheerfully, “There’s no danger up there except a mysterious gas from which we can easily protect ourselves.”
He leaped lightly to the lock’s threshold and pulled at the heavy portal plate, “If there should happen to be anything—subversive,” bawled the director just before the plate banged shut, “call the navy outpost—”
With a thunderous crescendo of its drive tubes, the great ship ETBI-14 taxied a thousand yards down the runway of Tellus Space Port and then roared for the clouds as its under tubes thrust against gravity.
Strapped securely in one of the two seats of the pilot’s cupola, Shelton relaxed his muscles against the inertia. No use fighting it, as Earth-lubbers usually did, to ache later. Beside him sat brawny Mark Traft, watching the panel dials with a careful, yet casual eye that spoke of his assured skill, “Nice boat,” he said feelingly. “Handles like oiled silk.”
Shelton craned his neck toward the side port. The ground slanted away, tipping at a crazy angle, with the skyscrapers of mighty Manhattan hanging breathlessly from a steep cliff. So it seemed from the interior of the departing ship, as the rhythmic thump of the rockets pushed Earth away.
The ship bored its way through shimmering cloudpacks that seemed to split asunder as the clear shiny stratosphere was reached. Earth was now a huge, cotton-filled bowl back of them. Shelton blinked, waiting for the queer optical illusion to change. It did, suddenly, and the half-Earth became a tremendous concave shell. With it came that startling, hollow sensation that the world they had left was dropping into a bottomless pit, while they hung motionless.
The ship tore through the thinning, darkening stratosphere till the stars peeped out, one by one, gradually peppering the whole firmament. The Sun, to the side, blossomed out in unhindered glory, halo and corona plainly visible. Traft reached over with his huge paw to adjust the Venetian-type shades, cutting off most of its fierce, blinding glare.
WHIPPED along by its tempestuous drive jets, the ship hurtled through the last fringes of atmosphere into the universal midnight of space. Here the way was clear and the suddenly muted rocket blasts revved into its high-power plane, piling on speed. Cross-hairs over the chart on the pi lot board followed the red line of their plotted course.
They were on their way to Saturn. “Nice, smooth take-off, Mark!” commended Shelton admiringly. “You’ve got that real ‘feel’ for ships. You certainly didn’t miss your calling!”
“Thanks, Rod!” The giant pilot was plainly happy when sitting at the controls of a ship. His good-natured face shone. “Sure glad we’re together again, old boy! It’s like old times!”
“Fate kept us apart too long,” agreed Shelton. “And brought us-together on a pretty strange twist. How long do you estimate the trip?”
“About eight days.”
Shelton looked surprised. “I figured seven myself. Why the extra day?
”
“We’re taking a high jump over the asteroid belt, following the safest liner route.” Traft reluctantly added, as he saw Shelton’s raised eyebrows. “Orders from Director Beatty. You see—”
“Yes. I see,” snapped Shelton. “Valuable life aboard—mine!” He scowled heavily. “I wish they’d stop treating me like a gold cup. Why didn’t they send half the Navy along, as convoy, while they were at it?” He kicked disgustedly at the wall as he made for below.
Traft grinned. Rodney Shelton didn’t realize his own importance. The pilot had heard much, from the lips of Director Beatty. The man being groomed to take over ETBI some day, when Beatty was retired, could not be lightly risked to the dangers of space. Earth’s program of colonial hegemony was too vital to stand the loss of one of its key men. Traft had made secret promises to stick with Shelton every minute of the day and night.
With his attention less occupied by the ship, the big pilot took down his camera from its wall clamp and made the lens adjustment that would give the best space views. Pictures of Earth as a receding globe were always fascinating, and always different, no matter how many times he took them.
Routine settled over the ship. There was much time for cards, chess and idle talk. Somehow, their destination wasn’t mentioned much, except casually. Yet there was a tension that grew hourly.
Shelton could understand why. To all except himself, the arrival at Iapetus would be a personal matter. To Captain Harvey and his men it was the desire to solve, if possible, the mystery of their recent adventure. Big Traft clenched his fists at times, unconsciously, and Shelton knew he was thinking of possible battle, if Captain Harvey’s “figures” turned out to be real, Myra Benning’s eyes showed she was thinking of her brother—and hoping.
SHELTON himself felt the surge of adventure’s pulse in his veins, stirring his red blood, promising excitement, in one shape or another. Questions buzzed in his mind. Had the mysterious gas come from the cave? Had it been produced artificially? If so, had it been meant to discourage further survey of beryllium ore? And was it non-lethal for that reason, to avoid bringing down the full wrath of authority?
Two days later, Earth standard time, the ETBI-14 passed over the asteroid belt. Myriad new stars twinkled out of the backdrop of space, winking as the irregularly shaped little bodies rotated in the sunlight. Had they passed closer, they would have seen the bright magnesium beacons lighting the clearest lanes directly through the gnarled group. But they were far above the zone and soon the little planetoids faded into the obscurity of space.
After ample warning bells had clanged through the ship, rocket power was started up again, this time with an off-thrust that would slant them back from the peak of their flight to the Solar System’s level. Most ships, except those on express schedules, adopted this route for the added safety factor, though at the cost of time, distance and fuel.
And now, with a direct course set for far Saturn, impatience began to grow on them all. Iapetus, moon of mystery, occupied their thoughts. And more and more the monotonous routine aboard the unpowered, coasting ship palled. There was not much to do in space but eat, sleep and watch the clock.
CHAPTER VI
Attack in the Void
ON the fourth day, something happened to break that routine. Shelton was in the main cabin at the time, dozing in a lounge chair. Most of the men were playing cards, murmuring in low tones. Myra Benning sat stiffly, gazing out into the star-spattered void.
“Look!” The girl cried out abruptly, startled.
“What?” Shelton’s eyes snapped open, staring at Myra, as were the others.
“Out there!” She pointed out of the port. “Something black—and huge!” They all scrambled for the port, shading their eyes from the cabin light’s glare, peering out. There was something out there, black and large, that blotted out the stars in that direction.
“A meteor!” somebody yelled. “Warn the pilot!”
“It’s not a meteor!” snapped Shelton. “It’s oval-shaped, symmetrical.
And it’s paralleling our course, which meteors don’t do. It’s a ship!”
“Without a light and painted jetblack!” breathed another of the men. “A pirate ship!”
Myra Benning drew in her breath sharply. There were tales told of piracy that made the blood run cold.
Shelton was already on his way to the pilot’s cupola, pulling himself up the companionway by sheer muscular effort in the gravityless ship. He burst into the room to find Captain Harvey staring out anxiously. Traft was signaling the engine room to stand by for emergency.
“Pirate?” Shelton demanded.
“Might be,” the captain said nervously. “Anything can happen out here, beyond the asteroids.”
“Looks mighty suspicious,” agreed the Big pilot tensely. “It came up so suddenly I didn’t even see its rocket blasts.”
“Signal it!” ordered Captain Harvey. “They usually make their demands by radio. It might be trying to contact us already!”
“Aye, sir!” Traft punched at the radio stud.
The black shape, looming nearer, was evidently angling in so that its prey could not escape. Its entire surface was a uniform, dull, unglazed black that barely reflected the light of the distant sun. No ports were visible; not a single beam of light relieved the utter blankness of hull. No ship like that had ever been reported before. Shelter’s pulses were throbbing.
“Ahoy!” Traft bellowed into his microphone, on the all-wave circuit. “What ship? Veer off immediately or state your purpose!”
Captain Harvey reached over to pull the handle, sounding the alarm below to strap in for suddenly applied power. If worst came to worst, they must be ready to run for it before the strange ship, if it were a pirate, had a commanding position with its guns.
“If they don’t veer off, we will!” he said tightly. “Traft—”
“Wait!” interposed Shelton. “Let’s not be scared off so easily. I don’t see a gun on them.”
Captain Harvey’s head jerked up.
“Dr. Shelton,” he said firmly, “as navigation captain, I have full command while in space. My flight orders are to be obeyed without interference!”
SHELTON flushed slightly, but nodded. He realized there could not be two captains during an emergency.
“Traft,” continued the captain, “try once more, and if they don’t answer, we veer off.”
The big pilot, bawling louder than before, repeated his call. No answer came.
“Blast them!” Traft growled. “Who do they think they are, not answering? For two plugged Martian nickels, I’d ram them!” He coughed suddenly, and his voice was thick as he said jerkily: “Something’s happened! I feel cold—numb—”
Everybody aboard the ship had the same sensation. Something gripped their nerves with an icy clasp, as though they had suddenly plunged into a frigid pool. Yet it was only internally that they felt it; the surrounding temperature had not changed.
Shelton gasped. What terrible force was probing into their vitals with congealing fingers?
He had no time to conjecture. He felt his senses swim. His legs crumpled weakly under him, and he knew that had there been normal gravity, he would have crashed to the floor. As it was he slowly swayed, feeling all the strength go out of him. A crushing weight seemed to smash into his chest, knocking his breath out. Feebly, he tried to fight off the invisible incubus. He was choking, gasping, fighting for breath.
“Traft—veer—” Captain Harvey was leaning crazily against the bulkhead, Tike a sagging, stuffed dummy.
Traft’s eyes were popping out as his lungs strained against a deadly paralysis. With a herculean effort, half growling and half strangling, he raised hands that were numb and seemed non-existent. Every muscle quivered against an intolerable lethargy. He punched at the power keyboard with owe big paw and with the other grabbed the belt around Shelton’s middle.
His numbed fingers bent clumsily at the knuckles as he touched the drive-tube studs. He pressed
them over by the sheer smashing impact of his hand. Instantaneously the offside rockets fumed sulfurously, throwing the ship off its arrowlike plunge through space.
Traft’s body jerked against the straps of his seat. Shelton would have catapulted against the wall except for the big pilot’s death grip on his belt. Captain Harvey merely flattened against the bulkhead as the line of motion was away from him.
The strange force gripping them eased suddenly, and Traft let out his breath in. a sobbing hiss of relief. Bus only for a moment was there respite. Shelton, diving for the second pilot seat, barely had time to fling the strap around him before the terrific numbness again seized him. Coincident with their motion, the attacking ship had also swung sideward, keeping close.
“Oh no you don’t!” Traft snorted savagely. “I’ll show you a thing or two about maneuvering!”
He applied both hands, rapidly going limp again, to the keyboard, and their ship darted ahead. The next second it braked. Captain Harvey came flying forward, with a wild cry. Shelton was barely able to stick out a hand and grab the captain’s arm, pulling him between his knees. He fervently hoped all those below had heeded the warning bell and strapped in when. Traft had begun his game of tag with the enemy.
THE big pilot sloughed the ship around madly, with volcanic blasts from all angles in succession. They flew up, then down, then back, to the ship creaked throughout its length. But the mysterious black marauder followed relentlessly, duplicating every maneuver with maddening ease.
The numbing force began to bathe them with unvarying intensity. Shelton felt himself sinking into oblivion, with a hopeless feeling. Yet he saw that big, powerful, indomitable Traft had not given up.
Putting into play every ounce of his splendid vitality and strength, Traft continued punching desperately at the keyboard. He tried a straightaway dash, at triple acceleration. The amazing craft of Stygian gloom followed, crawling up on them as though to show its superiority. Expertly it maneuvered closer than before, and the paralyzing force grew stronger—stronger.
