by M. C. Pease
Marcinformed her. "He's a tough ex-pilot who got bounced off Space Patroland turned outlaw. He seems to hold a grudge against the whole humanrace. If it's one of the others--it may be a lot worse."
"I don't see why outlaws are allowed to exist at all," she said.
Marc sighed, shook his head. "A lot of people have felt that way over alot of pirates over a lot of eras. But somehow they keep turning up."
A few minutes later the space-scarred pirate ship had made a rockylanding in the middle of the small spaceport and John Mantor, piratechief, drove up to the comptroller's office in a cloud of dust. He wastall and dirty and thin and tough. "Which one of you is thecomptroller?" he demanded, as he faced Marc Polder and Lee Treynor.
"I am," Marc said, not rising from behind the desk.
"Then you're the guy responsible for any trouble here," Mantor said. "SoI'm going to tell you how to avoid trouble." His brutally scarred facetwisted into a grin.
"There's a lot of loot around here. I'm not going to ask you where itis. My boys can take care of that matter. But there's also the Navywarehouse. Maybe we won't know what some of the stuff in there is for,so you're going to tell us."
Mantor leaned across the desk, his eyes as hard and cold as chips ofduratite. "And if you won't, there's going to be trouble and you'll beit--you and your friend here."
Marc sat impassively, meeting the hard-eyed gaze. "That warehouse isgovernment property," he said. "So far, there's only piracy against you.But if you raid that building you're going to be the personal problem ofthe Navy. If I were you I'd leave it alone."
"You let me worry about that," said Mantor.
"Besides," Marc went on, "I don't see what good the stuff in thatwarehouse can be to you. There's little of cash value in there. And Idoubt if you can use any of the parts on your ship."
"That could be," Mantor replied. "But on the other hand, maybe we canfind a market for certain items." He smiled coldly. Watching, Lee knewhe referred to Venus. She sat perfectly still, praying for him not tonotice her.
Mantor spread his hands on the desk, a look of hatred and ferocity onhis face. "What I want to know is--are you or are you not going tocooperate? And I want to know fast."
"Don't get me wrong," Marc said softly. "I'm not telling you what to door what not to do. But that warehouse is the thing I'm here to protect.And if I were to agree to help you, the Navy would be after me, too. SoI've got to say to hell with you."
John Mantor rocked back on his heels, hooking his thumbs in his belt. Aslow smile spread over his face. "Okay," he said. "I think I get whatyou mean. So I guess we got to work you over. And we'll do it wherethere aren't any outside witnesses."
Marc grinned back at him.
Lee was puzzled. It took her a moment to realize that the grins sealed acontract between the two men. Marc would cooperate if he were beaten upenough first to satisfy a later investigation--but not too severely forhis own comfort!
Lee found it difficult to hide her contempt. She stared at her hands,clenched in her lap, and waited for Mantor to leave.
The looting and destruction were well under way an hour later when acouple of Mantor's men joined their chief, who stood with a somewhatbruised Marc Polder and an unharmed but furious Lee Treynor. Betweenthem they carried a small, obviously heavy box.
"You know what this stuff is, boss?" one of the men asked. "They got ahundred or a hundred-fifty boxes like this in there." He nodded at theNavy warehouse.
They set the box down and Mantor flung back its lid. It was filled withsmall grey pellets. Mantor picked up a handful and stood fingering them.
"Looks like rocket fuel," he said. "Only I've never seen any this color.And it's too heavy, also." He turned to the comptroller. "_You_ tell mewhat it is."
Marc shrugged. "I don't know. It's a Navy secret."
Mantor's eyes glinted. Without warning his fist flew out, sent thecomptroller sprawling in the dust where he lay stunned. Lee's hands flewto her mouth barely in time to suppress a cry.
After a few moments Marc rolled over slowly and pushed himself painfullyto a sitting position. He looked up at Mantor who stood watching himcoldly, his fist flexing.
The comptroller licked his lips and looked around at the several men whostood watching, their faces impassive. "Okay," he said in anone-too-steady voice. "I'll tell you. You'd find out anyway from thefiles."
"Cut the alibis and give," Mantor growled.
"Keep your shirt on." Marc's voice indicated he was regaining control ofhimself. "It's H.D.T.--Hyper-Degenerate-Thorium--the stuff thedestroyers use to get extra push."
Mantor roared his glee. "Pack it aboard, boys--_all_ of it! And put itwhere it will be handy, just in case."
This was it, Lee thought as she stood by, watching--the final bitterpill. Mantor had as much as told them he was working for Venus. And theH.D.T. was all Venus needed to be ready for war--a war that might wellblast civilization from the Solar System. Strange that so much shoulddepend upon one man; tragic that the one man was a weakling.
With an effort Lee forced herself to be fair. It might have done no goodto lie, she conceded. But anyone with even a normal amount of simplecourage would have tried.
It was about two hours later when the siren went off again like abanshee wailing to a low-hanging moon. Men came running from alldirections, shouting questions at the tops of their voices.
A midget auto came skidding down the pirate ship's ramp, its driverstanding on the accelerator. The car knifed through the swirling crowd,barely missing several people, and skidded to a dusty stop directly infront of Mantor.
"_Radar signal!_" the driver yelled. "The search receiver picked up asignal that sounds like a destroyer's radar. It suddenly came in strong.Probably sneaked up on us from behind that damn moon. It's coming infast and braking hard!"
There was a mad scramble as the looters raced for their ship.Heavy-handed horseplay was forgotten. They knew they were helplessagainst a Navy destroyer. Their only hope lay in a fast getaway. Secondscould easily spell the difference between safety and defeat.
In less than ten minutes the ship's locks were sealed and they firedoff. As the flames roared out and the huge ship lifted swiftly it wasobvious that they were throwing on all the fuel their jets could take.
Marc Polder had faded back into the crowd at the first sound of thesiren. As he stood watching the blastoff Lee joined him, hands in herpockets, looking more than ever like a boy.
"Maybe my idea of asking for help wasn't so far-fetched," she saidquietly. "Maybe the patrol might have been here in time. Maybe youwouldn't have had to tell them about the H.D.T."
"Maybe," Marc answered without turning his eyes from the dwindling pointof reddish light high in the dark sky.
"And just by way of keeping the record straight," the girl went on in avoice that began to rasp, "you know as well as I do that the files don'tlist any H.D.T. It's under a code name."
"Maybe," Marc replied in a noncommittal tone.
The point of light in the sky suddenly turned blue. Lee was staring atit too, now. And she knew also what the change of color meant. Mantorhad started to use the new fuel!
* * * * *
Suddenly there was a blinding flash. Lee cried out and staggered back,covering her eyes. Marc, who had closed his eyes when the color changecame, took hold of the girl's arm.
"I told you what would happen if they used the stuff," he said gently."It's too hot for their jet chambers. It melts the walls. A lot of gaspiles up in the tubes. The pressure pushes the fire back. And when itgets shoved back into the recoil chamber and you lose the protectivelayers of cold gas there--well, then you've got to look for your shipwith an ionization gauge!
"I told you all that long ago. The trouble is, you're too idealistic,Lee. That's not the same as _having ideals_. I admire ideals--I mighteven confess to a few of my own. But _you_ don't stop to figure out justwhat your ideals are--exactly what you're fighting for.
"You come to a crisis like this on
e and you forget about the _big_ goal.All you see is this one problem. And by giving them yes-or-noanswers--good or bad, brave or cowardly--to the problem of themoment--you may miss a simple solution to the big one.
"You've got to keep a cool head and never forget for even a momentexactly what it is you want to accomplish." His voice was gentle, and itheld no rebuke.
"All right," said Lee unhappily, "you win. You needn't bother to rub inthe salt. I was going to chase you through all the inquiry courts forthis. Instead,
