by Earl
“So far, so good!” Shelton murmured to Traft. “The call should come to Lorg at any moment now that his world is being attacked. It takes radio waves just ten hours to come from Torm. Our fleet there attacked just ten hours ago.”
Their own radio, kept open, got the call from the bombing fleet suddenly that the attack on Torm had begun.
“Now he must know!” Shelton said tensely. Into the microphone he whispered: “Fleet, attention! Move slowly in view of Iapetus. At the moment their black ships rise, to go to Torm, the warp will be gone. Blast down then, at top maneuvering speed!”
THE fleet moved slowly ahead, till half of Iapetus hung as a huge moonlike object over their horizon. Then they stopped, awaiting the crucial moment.
“It should be soon now!” Shelton said hoarsely.
“It had better be!” grunted Traft. “Lorg has already dragged Neptune’s moon out of its orbit, given it a velocity of a hundred miles a second toward Tor!”
Fifteen minutes passed. A half hour.
Still no sign of alien ships rising! Through telescopes they could be seen as huge black blots resting on the white surface of Iapetus.
When would they rise? Shelton began to wonder if his great plan had failed. Was Lorg so heartless, so intent on his goal, that he would not send the help his people must now be clamoring for? Or had he somehow been warned of the Earth coup? Or had he thought of possible attack at Torm and left half the fleet there on the last trip?
Shelton realized that the success of his coup lay in the lap of Destiny. Which way had the wheel of Fortune turned—for or against Earth? Rodney Shelton’s mind was Crucified by doubts and agonized torment, more so than during any of the tumultuous events preceding. He did not know that his fingers were squeezing Traft’s shoulder until the big pilot winced.
Shelton started. His eyes strained forward. A ship moving across his vision, ahead! Ready to put his lips to the microphone, for the advance signal, he suddenly drew back with violent curse.
The ship had not risen from Iapetus. It had drifted from Neptune’s shadow. And on its sides were two big white crosses—the ship of the Space Scientist!
He was on hand again, watching this episode of the mighty struggle between two great civilizations. A mind divorced from all former attachments, living its own mad, independent existence, unconcerned over the turn of events. No doubt, were the Earth forces decimated, the whole empire of man exposed to alien conquest, he would laugh coldly and put the zero symbol representing humanity in his formula of the cosmos!
Enraged at his own analysis, Shelton shook with the temptation to order the Space Scientist’s ship fired upon, destroyed. He had refused to warn the Empire, weeks back, when it would have meant much. He was a traitor to humanity, wasn’t he?
But Shelton conquered his blind anger. Such an act would instantly warn Lorg, disrupt the whole coup, precarious as it was already.
Fuming inwardly, Shelton saw the Space Scientist’s ship glide back into the shadow of Neptune, waiting for what would happen.
Shelton himself concentrated again on a sharp watch toward Iapetus. In the name of heaven, would the black ships never rise? How much longer could he stand the nerve-shattering wait?
And then—it happened!
Shelton’s whole body jerked violently. Black ships rooming up from Iapetus, a long line of them, fully half of the total alien forces. They were streaming off toward outer space, to save their home world from the savage bombing of the Earth fleet, or extract revenge, at least. Lorg had tumbled into the trap! The warp was lifted! Iapetus was a free-floating body now, vulnerable to attack.
Twisting his rheostat to full power Shelton shouted into the microphone: “Down at Iapetus! Full acceleration! Land near cave mouth! Blast away!”
THE entire fleet leaped forward, like greyhounds unleashed. The ETBI-14, under Trait’s skilled, sure touch, led the van. Down they sped toward Iapetus, at reckless accelerations, courting disaster on landing. But Shelton had stressed the necessity of speed, before Lorg should know of the attack and once again threw around Iapetus his impregnable warp.
With action started, a deadly calm settled over Shelton. Half the distance covered—three-quarters. Would they make it? Was Lorg even now reaching his hands to whatever controls threw on the warp? Would all these thousands of magnificent ships smash into a terrible, invisible barrier, to rebound as shattered, broken debris, spattered with human blood?
Shelton felt the weight of his responsibility in this daring, desperate attack. Yet in the back of his mind was the voice of assured hope.
And a minute later, his hopes were fulfilled. Retarding blasts thundering and splitting the thin air of Iapetus, the Navy ships plunged for the jagged surface, wheeling for a landing. The fleet had come as a wide-spread pancake, all arriving at almost the same time. It was the precision, trained skill, practiced formation flying of Earth’s finest pilots. Shelton’s heart leaped with admiration.
But then he cried aloud. Some few ships, lagging, burst into flying fragments against an unseen barrier and slithered off into space. The warp had been turned on again! But too late. By-far the majority of the Earth fleet was nestling down for landing, well within the barrier. Those deaths of a few brave men would not be in vain!
“Look out!” came Traft’s warning roar. “Bad landing!”
Shelton suddenly remembered their damaged undercarriage, gripped for his seat handles with sweaty fingers. So precipitous had their descent been that the under jets could not cushion the fall, though Traft blasted them valiantly.
The ETBI-14 landed with a jarring thump, rocking crazily as it rolled forward a few yards with hull scraping. Shelton’s body straps broke and he was flung against the wall. The big pilot, face lit with concern, quickly unstrapped himself and picked Shelton up like a baby.
“Hurt, Rod?” he cried anxiously. “Sorry I couldn’t—”
“Let me down!” snapped Shelton. “I’m all right.” But when he tried to stand, his left leg buckled under him. “Guess I’ve got a sprained ankle! And of all times—”
He broke off and hopped to the radio.
“Fleet, attention!” he barked. “Man your guns! Their ships will attack soon. Give ’em hell! We’ve got to hold them off while the underground city is stormed. Conditioned men, attention! Come to the ETBI-Fourteen immediately!”
CHAPTER XXI
Act of the Space Scientist
WITH all moves discussed to the last detail long before, the Earth forces swiftly organized themselves. The armed ships lay like silvery dots in all directions, bristling guns pointed upward, waiting for the enemy ships to appear.
Some of the ships lay half smashed from bad landings on treacherous Iapetus, but in these, the men were already in vac-suits. Here and there, unavoidably, two ships had smashed into one another, in the close landing maneuvers. Undoubtedly there were some deaths, ruined ships and guns, but on the whole, the casualties of that roaring, precipitous descent were slight.
From the special ships came the men who had been bio-conditioned to the Iapetus air and cold. They loped rapidly across the rocky terrain, congregating around the ETBI-14.
They were to invade the underground city, on an equal footing with the aliens, unencumbered by vac-suits. They would be a mobile force, swift to attack, much more effective in a long-drawn-out, hand-to-hand battle than unconditioned men in vac-suits. Shelton thanked the forevision that had prompted him to ask for the corps, as a hunch, weeks before when contacting Earth to first reveal the alien menace.
They were armed with rifles, bandoliers of ammunition. Certain groups dragged with them wheeled machine-guns, flame-throwers, and ponderous heat-beam guns. Earth had been unsparing in arming them with its best and most effective weapons.
Shelton tried to struggle into his vac-suit, but had to give up. He would not be able to Walk on his badly sprained ankle.
“Guess I can’t make it;” he groaned. “Mark, you and Hugh Benning lead the men. Smash at the aliens with
all you’ve got—force quick surrender!”
“And get Lorg!” Traft added grimly, fastening his visor.
“Keep in constant touch with me by radio,” Shelton admonished, “The biomen have several along. You can hook one on your belt.” His face lighted somberly. “We’ve got to win!” he declared earnestly. “We should now. The battle was half won when we got past the warp. Go to it!”
Traft and Benning stepped out of the lock, in their vac-suits. They conversed briefly with the bio-men, then set the lead toward the cave mouth, a quarter-mile off.
Alone in the ship with Myra, Shelton and the girl looked out from the pilot port at the familiar, though unworldly, landscape of Iapetus, dotted now with the waiting Earth forces. A hushed lull seemed to hang over the universe, as though it were watching this soon-to-be bid for mastery between two warring intelligences.
Shelton’s face clouded a little, watching Traft’s army march to attack.
“Why did I have to get a sprained ankle?” he muttered. “Now I have to wait up here, like a lame duck. It’s ironic, isn’t it, Miss Benning?”
“Yes, Dr. Shelton.”
They looked at each other strangely, finding it a little ridiculous that after all they had been through together, they were still so formal. In the swift tumble of events, they had carried through, without change, a reserved attitude to one another. Shelton smiled a little, and opened his lips to speak, but at that moment the radio blared forth.
“Traft calling! Cold beams pouring from the cave! Here’s where they get a taste of hot lead. The battle’s on, Rod!”
THE first line of bio-men had fallen to the ground, writhing in the grip of concentrated cold forces. The second line promptly began pouring rifle-fire into the cave mouth. In a moment, the chatter of machine-guns and the hiss of the flame-throwers joined the battle sounds.
Then, over the horizon, came the black ships of the enemy, in seemingly countless numbers. Like buzzards, they swooped over the Earth ships, pouring down their numbing cold force.
The Navy guns began popping viciously, in a steadily increasing roar. The larger dreadnaughts hurled their thunderous big shells into the melee. Black ships faltered, peppered with jagged holes, and fell to the surface to split open like eggshells. Their plastic hulls, though diamond-hard, could not withstand the battering of Earth’s most powerful guns.
But they kept coming in endless numbers, spraying down their cold force with enough effect to prohibit accurate gunfire. Here and there an Earth ship’s gunfire ceased entirely, as its crew was thrown completely into suspended animation. If the aliens ever won, with their strange weapon, all the Earthmen would be prisoners, in a state of suspended animation. And later slaves!
But Shelton was sure the enemy could not win. It might have been different in space, where the gravity-ships could outmaneuver the rocket-propelled ships. But on solid ground, with the Earth forces like a grim, impregnable fortress, all the advantage was with Earth. The alien ships were raining down; broken, useless. It should be just a question of time before they would no longer be superior in numbers, and completely ineffective.
At the cave mouth, Traft had routed the large force of aliens there. Already he was leaping into the cave, leading his men on. In the light gravity, the men easily lifted bulky machine-guns and heat-projectors. The bio-army disappeared from sight, invading the underground world.
A half-hour later, Traft’s voice came cheerily, via radio.
“Overlooking the city now!” he reported. “Aliens swarming up the slope, armed with long sharp things. Benning says plastic swords and spears, as good as steel. There’ll be hand-to-hand fighting now. They have us outnumbered plenty, but we’re reducing the proportion with bullets, flame and heat. Sort of a”—he sounded as if he were a little nauseated—“slaughter. But they have courage, coming through it all like demons. Hand-to-hand fighting started now—”
“You and Benning keep out of it!” warned Shelton. “One slit in your vac-suits and you’re out of the picture. Just stay back and give orders. That’s your part!”
“Right, Rod!” Traft answered, reluctantly. Half under his breath he added, “Anyway, I’ll get some nice snaps.”
And so the battle raged on, above and below ground, with the Earth forces rapidly gaining the upper hand. After an hour, above ground, Shelton could see that the black ships were not coming in such tremendous numbers any more. They began to fall away from the massed stand of Earth ships, and retreated to the fringes, where the Navy gunners continued to pick them off one by one.
“It’s practically all over!” Shelton breathed joyfully. “Lorg should be surrendering any minute now—”
“Look!”
MYRA was pointing upward. A ship had dropped directly over them, hovering. And then Shelton saw the two large white crosses on its sides. The Space Scientist’s ship!
None of the Navy gunners had fired, for they had seen it was not an enemy ship. It lowered and landed, just beyond the ETBI-14.
“Wonder what he wants here?” Shelton growled. “A front seat at the big show? I’m going to give him a piece of my mind!”
He turned to Micro-wave Nine and barked into the microphone: “Attention, Space Scientist!”
The Space Scientist’s masked head appeared on Shelton’s opti-screen, but said nothing, though his air of coldness could be fairly felt.
“Look here!” Shelton exploded. “You’re a traitor to your own race, a renegade! You knew of the aliens, but you wouldn’t lift a finger to help the world you were born on. Had you given the warning, much of this would not have happened—the disappearance of Iapetus and Pluto, men dying in battle!” Shelton choked with rage. “You’re going to pay for it! You thought you could come here, observe things as though it were all a gigantic play for your benefit, and then leave. But you’re not leaving! If you try to go, I’ll command the Navy gunners to fire. You’re going to be taken to Earth—and court-martialed!”
The Space Scientist appeared to show only studied indifference to the threat.
“Court-martialed, as a traitor!” yelled Shelton. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you,” came back the Space Scientist’s voice, with a half mocking note.
He raised his hands to fumble at his mask. As he removed it, Shelton was thunderstruck at the face revealed.
It was the scaled visage of an alien! The alien’s large, dark eyes peered at Shelton with faint amusement.
“I am Murv,” he announced. “A citizen of Torm, and an official just beneath Lorg in authority!”
“But the Space Scientist?” gasped Shelton. “Where is he? You have his ship!”
“I am the Space Scientist!” the alien stated calmly. “Or rather, I am the embodiment of the myth of the Space Scientist! You see, with the spreading of your race among the planets, It became imperative for us to learn as much about earthly things as possible. We learned your language from captured men. Then, twenty years ago, I was commissioned by Lorg to drift close to Earth, to pick up any and all information as to your plans and exploits. Knowing that I would eventually be sighted, my presence questioned, I devised the Space Scientist story. Your authorities finally came to accept me as a harmless, if eccentric, human who chose to live in space.”
So for twenty years an alien, masquerading as a human, had been spying on earthly activities! No wonder Lorg had known so much.
THE alien, Murv, went on.
“I took the precaution of having false rocket tubes added to my gravity ship. And when I knew human eyes were watching, a chemical giving off bright but cold phosphorescence was ejected, exactly as though I had a rocket engine. The two white crosses I adopted as my insignia, mainly because you humans regard that symbol with peculiar reverence. My mask, and the hinted story of a laboratory accident, is self-explanatory.”
These revelations dovetailed, but still in Shelton’s mind, there were inconsistencies.
“You warned me not to go to Iapetus,” Shelton mused. “I understand tha
t now. It was to avoid exposure of your underground city. But why did you keep up that pretense, when I contacted you? I was a prisoner, and for all you knew at the time, a permanent one.”
“I expected you later to act in the arbitration between Lorg and your authorities,” Murv informed. “My duties then would have been to hover near Earth and watch for any secret moves on Earth’s part. As the Space Scientist, I could do so with impunity. But branded as an alien by you, I would be hunted down, driven away.”
Then an amazing thought struck Shelton.
“But up there at Neptune’s moon, before the attack!” he cried. “You Baw us Earth forces waiting to attack Lorg! Why didn’t you inform Lorg?”
Shelton drew a sharp breath. Why, the whole coup could have been disrupted, all their careful plans whiffed to eternity!
“You had plenty of chance to warn Lorg,” he repeated, dumfounded, “and yet you didn’t!”
The swift thought was in Shelton’s mind: Could the alien be a renegade as he, Shelton, had accused him?
The Torm smiled strangely, sadly perhaps. “I did not want to warn Lorg! He is defeated. Better so!” He bowed his head for a moment.
Murv looked up, suppressing whatever feelings were his.
“Lorg went mad with power,” he explained. “He wanted to destroy and enslave all Earth people, take all the planets. His own idea, entirely. My people have good and bad elements, exactly as yours. We all wanted planets, and endorsed the building of the Great Machine for that purpose, but our reasonable element hoped to gain planets purely by arbitration, not by force. Lorg betrayed us!”
Momentarily, fierce anger illumined the speaker’s face before he went on:
“I kept waiting for Lorg to arbitrate, through you. But when, after the taking of Pluto, he made no such move, I knew he was planning bloody, complete conquests. I knew, too, that he would never succeed. Having observed earthly doings for twenty years I know of your spirit, courage, your indomitable will. Lorg might succeed in taking half the planets, but eventually the tide would turn. And then, I knew, there would be a bitter war of extermination, till either my race or yours was obliterated from the face of the Universe!”
