Scavengers in Space

by Alan Edward Nourse

  Quite suddenly, the lights went out.

  The men stopped. Sound stopped. The corridor was pitch black. Tom fired wildly down the corridor, heard shouts and oaths from the men, but he could see nothing; then, ahead, a flicker of light as a head lamp went on. The men from the airlock were close, moving in on him, and from behind he saw light bouncing off the corridor walls.

  He jerked open the hatch to a storage hold, ducked inside, and slammed the hatch behind him. He pressed against the wall, panting. Silence, blackness, a close, stuffy smell. . . .

  He waited.

  Footsteps clanged by, muffled voices came to him faintly. Tom felt his way deeper into the compartment and ducked behind some storage crates. Here concealment was possible; they would find him, but only after a search. Meanwhile, he could wait and hide, perhaps catch them from the rear.

  The hopelessness of the situation struck him like a black wave. Three determined men could hold off the raiders for a while, but not for long. The raiders would succeed by weight of numbers, if for no other reason. An orbit ship was simply not built for fighting. There were no good strategic points from which to defend it.

  Ultimately, the Jupiter Equilateral ship would take them and the very best they could do was make the capture a little more difficult for the raiders. In the long run, it wouldn’t make any difference, they would still be captured.

  An idea flickered in Tom’s mind.

  It was a chance ... a long chance . . . but it was something. If they were going to be captured in spite of anything they could do, even a long chance was worth trying.

  He waited in the darkness and tried to think it through. It was a wild idea, an utterly impossible idea, he had never heard of it being tried before, but any chance was better than none. He remembered what Johnny had said in the control cabin. The ranger ship would have homing shells. An attempt to make a run with the Scavenger might be disastrous.

  He thought about it, trying to reason it out. The Jupiter Equilateral men obviously wanted them alive. A single shell could have split the orbit ship open at the seams, but the Ranger was taking the more dangerous choice of boarding them. That could only mean that at least one of them was to be taken alive.

  But why?

  Because they knew something that Jupiter Equilateral didn’t know, or Jupiter Equilateral thought they did.

  The answer stared him in the face. Jupiter Equilateral had found out about Roger Hunter’s bonanza. They had killed him in order to get it, but they had killed him too soon. They had searched the orbit ship and the asteroid for the big strike they knew was there.

  But they hadn’t found it.

  And now they did not dare to kill Roger Hunter’s sons, because he might have told them where the bonanza was.

  Tom grinned fiercely in the darkness. It was the answer, nothing else made sense. It meant that the men on the Ranger would have orders to pick up the three of them and bring them back to the Ranger’s orbit ship as quickly as possible. If they had the secret, they must be taken alive.

  But Jupiter Equilateral would not dare let any one of them break away. If one of them got back to Mars, the whole U.N. patrol would be out in the belt.

  The plan began to take shape.

  Tom heard the storage room hatch swing open, saw head lamps flash across the piles of crates. There was a rumble of voices; he caught a few words.

  “. . . burned out the main switch completely. Take a month to repair it.”

  “Can’t see anything with these lamps.”

  “He must have come in here, or the next one.”

  Tom could see the head lamps, but he held his fire. He might miss, and they would have him. He waited as they conferred, flashing the beams around the hold, then moved out into the corridor, leaving the hatchway open.

  Tom continued to wait, motionless, for five minutes. The plan was clear in his mind, but he had to let Greg know. He fingered the control of his helmet radio. The boarding party would have a snooper, but if he was quick, they wouldn’t have time to nail him. He buzzed an attention code. “Greg? Can you hear me?”

  Silence. He buzzed again, and waited. What was wrong? Had they already broken through to the control cabin and taken Greg? He buzzed again. “Greg! Sound off if you can hear me.”

  More silence. Then a click. “Tom?”

  “Here. Are you all right?”

  “So far. You?”

  “They got past me, but they didn’t hit me. How’s Johnny?”

  “I don’t know,” Greg said. “I think he’s been hurt. You’d better get off, they’ll have snoopers.”

  “All right, listen,” Tom said. “How does it look to you?”

  “Bad. We’re outnumbered, they’ll be through to here any minute.”

  “All right, I’ve got an idea. It’s risky, but it might let us pull something out of this mess. I’ll need some time, though.”

  “How much?”

  “Ten, fifteen minutes.”

  There was an edge to Greg’s voice. “What are you planning?”

  “I can’t tell you, they’re listening in. But if it works. . . .”

  “Look, don’t do anything rash.”

  “I can’t hear you,” Tom said. “Try to hold them for fifteen minutes, and don’t worry. Take care of yourself.”

  He snapped off the speaker and moved to the hatchway. The corridor was empty, and pitch black. He started down toward the airlock, then stopped short at the sound of voices and the flicker of head lamps up ahead. He crouched back, but the lights were not moving. Guards at the lock, making certain that nobody tried to board their own ship. Tom grinned to himself. They weren’t missing any bets, he thought.

  Except one. There was one bet they wouldn’t even think of.

  He backtracked to the storage hold, crossed through it, and out into the far corridor. He followed the gentle curve of the deck a quarter of the way around the ship. Twice along the way he stumbled in the darkness, but saw no sign of the raiders. At last he reached the far side, and the corridor leading to #4 airlock. Again he could see the lamps of the guards around the bend; they were stationed directly inside their own lock.

  Inching forward, he peered into blackness. Each step made a muffled clang on the deck plates. He edged his boots along as quietly as possible, reaching along the wall with his hand until he felt the lip of a hatchway.

  The lights and voices seemed nearer now. In the dim reflected light he saw the sign on the door of the hatchway:

  #2 Airlock

  BE SURE PRESSURE GAUGE

  IS AT ZERO BEFORE OPENING HATCH

  He checked the gauge, silently spun the wheel. There was a ping as the seals broke. He pulled the hatch open just enough to squeeze into the lock, then closed it behind him. He switched on the pumps, waiting impatiently until the red “All Clear” signal flashed on. Then he opened the outside lock.

  Just beyond, he could see the sleek silvery lines of the Scavenger with its airlock hanging open.

  He hesitated for a moment. Once he started, there would be no chance to turn back. His plan might work, but it was a desperate chance, with incredible risks.

  But he knew it was their only chance.

  Tom took a deep breath and jumped across the gap to the open lock of the Scavenger.

  Chapter Six

  The Last Run Of The Scavenger

  To Greg Hunter the siege of the orbit ship had been a nerve-wracking game of listening and waiting for something to happen.

  In the darkness of the control cabin he stretched his fingers, cramped from gripping the heavy Markheim stunner, and checked the corridor outside again. There was no sound in the darkness there, no sign of movement. Somewhere far below he heard metal banging on metal minutes before he thought he had heard the sharp ripping sound of a stunner , blast overhead, but he wasn’t sure. Wherever the fighting was going on, it was not here.

  He shook his head as his uneasiness mounted. Why hadn’t Johnny come back? Why was there no sign of the marauders in the con
trol cabin corridor? This should have been the first place they would head for, if they planned to take the ship, but there had been nothing but silence and darkness.

  Unless they were after something entirely different. . . .

  He checked his stunner for the tenth time, tightened down the beam. He knew his position was good. The control cabin was the main compartment on the middle level of the ship. All corridors converged on two main control room corridors, front and rear. Greg had laboriously barricaded the rear entrance until nothing smaller than a bulldozer could push through. Anyone heading for the control cabin would have to come by the front corridor.

  And that, Greg thought grimly, might be a very costly operation.

  All the same, he wished that Johnny hadn’t left. The big miner had made his way to the control cabin just a few minutes after the boarding party had landed, his left ,arm hanging uselessly at his side, right hand gripping his stunner. “Winged me,” he had said angrily. “The two on scooters came in the lock just behind me and jumped me. I stopped one of them, but the other broke away and headed this way.”

  “He didn’t come in here,” Greg said.

  “Well, it won’t be long before somebody does,” Johnny said. “It looks bad. Must be two dozen of them aboard. We can’t hope to hold out very long.”

  “We’ve got to,” Greg said. “If they get to us, we’re done for.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Johnny said thoughtfully. “Those boys had a perfect shot at me, but they used wide beams. Seems to me they’re being awful careful, for pirates.”

  “What for?”

  “I think they want us in good shape. Maybe Tom is right, maybe they couldn’t find your dad’s strike, and think we know where it is.”

  “Maybe so,” Greg admitted, “but this is piracy just the same, and that means they’ll never dare let us get back to Mars, any of us.” He turned to Johnny. “Can’t we do anything to even the odds a little?”

  “If we could manage to disable the Ranger ship, it might help.”

  “But they’ll be guarding it.”

  “True, but it’s worth a try. Can you hold the gate here?”

  “I can try.”

  “All right. I’ll be back.” Johnny had checked the power pack in his stunner and then vanished into the gloom of the corridor. Now, after fifteen minutes, there was no sign of him, nothing but darkness and oppressive, ominous silence.

  Greg waited. Suddenly, bitterly, he realized the hopelessness of their situation. Even if Johnny did manage to damage the Ranger ship, what difference would it make? The three of them had been fools to come out here, idiots to ignore Tawney’s warning. Hadn’t Tawney told them in so many words that there would be trouble? But they had come out anyway, just begging for it.

  Well, now they had what they’d begged for. Greg slammed his fist into his palm angrily. What had they expected? That the big company would step aside for them, with a fortune hanging in the balance? If they had even begun to think it through before they started. . . .

  But they hadn’t, and now it was too late. They were under attack. Johnny was off on a fool’s errand, gone too long for comfort, and Tom—Greg glanced at his watch. It had been ten minutes since Tom’s call. What had he meant? A plan, he said. A long chance.

  Greg checked the corridor again, listening for any sound. What Tom did was none of his business. He hadn’t wanted his brother to come along in the first place. If Tom got himself into a jam now, there was nothing he could do about it.

  But he couldn’t shake off the cold feeling in his chest when he thought about Tom. If something happened to him, then what? The cold feeling deepened into an ache.

  Once, long ago, he and Tom had been inseparable. He remembered those days with sudden vivid clearness. They had gone everywhere and done everything together. They’d actually been friends. But things had been different then. Dad had been working in the city then, and Mom had been alive, and things had been different.

  And then the sickness had come, and torn everything apart. A native Martian virus, the doctor had said, a neurotoxic virus like the old Earth-side polio, only worse. First it hit Mom, then Tom, striking without warning.

  He remembered the horrible, endless night he had waited at the infirmary with Dad, until the doctor came out and told them that Mom was gone, that there was only, a slender chance for Tom. He remembered Dad’s gray face that night. It was weeks before they were sure that Tom was going to live, months before he was back on his feet, pale and weak, a ghost of his twin brother. It had been everything for Tom in those days, everything for Tom. The sickness hadn’t even touched Greg. By the time Tom was well again, Greg was two years ahead in school, bigger than Tom, stronger than Tom, and somehow they weren’t friends any more.

  Until now, when something stronger than either of them drew them together again. Greg fought down the bitter memories, and wished suddenly that the cold ache in his chest would go away, that Tom would appear down the corridor.

  A sound jerked him out of his reverie. He tensed, gripping the stunner, peering into the darkness. Had he heard something? Or, was it his own foot scraping on the deck plate? He held his breath, listening, and the sound came again, louder.

  Someone was moving stealthily up the corridor.

  Greg waited, covered by the edge of the hatchway. It might be Johnny returning, or maybe even Tom, but there was no sign of recognition. Whoever it was was coming silently. . . .

  A beam of light flared from a head lamp, and he saw the blue crackle of a stunner. He jerked back as the beam bounced off the metal walls. Then he was firing point-blank down the corridor, his stunner on a tight beam, a deadly pencil of violent energy. He heard a muffled scream as a bulk loomed up in front of him and crashed to the deck at his feet.

  He fired again. Another crash, a shout, and the sound of footsteps, retreating. He waited, his heart pounding, but there was nothing more.

  The first attempt on the control cabin had failed.

  Five minutes later the second attempt began. This time there was no warning sound. A sudden, ear-splitting crash, a groan of tortured metal, and the barricaded hatchway glowed dull red. Another crash followed. The edge of the hatch split open, pouring acrid Murexide fumes into the cabin. A third explosion breached the door six inches; Greg could see head lamps in the corridor beyond.

  He fired through the crack, pressing down the stud until the stunner scorched his hand. Then he heard boots clanging up the other corridor. He pressed back against the wall, waited until the sounds were near, then threw open the hatch. For an instant he made a perfect target, but the raiders did not fire. The stunner buzzed in his hand, and once again the footfalls retreated.

  They were being careful!

  Silence then, and blackness. Minutes passed . . . five, ten . . . Greg checked the time again. It was over twenty minutes since Tom had talked to him. What had happened? Whatever Tom had planned must have misfired, or something would have happened by now. For a moment he considered leaving his post and starting down the dark corridor to search, but to search where? There was nothing to do but wait and hope for a miracle.

  Suddenly the lights blazed on in the control cabin and the corridor outside. An attention signal buzzed in Greg’s earphones. “All right, Hunter, it’s all over,” a voice grated. “You’ve got five minutes to get down to #3 lock. If you make us come and get you, you’ll get hurt.”

  “I’ll chance it,” Greg snapped back. “Come on up.”

  “We’re through fooling,” the voice said. “You’d better get down here. And bring your brother with you.”

  “Sure,” Greg said. “Start holding your breath.”

  The contact broke for a moment, then clicked on again. This time it was another voice. “We’ve got Johnny Coombs down here,” it said. “You want him to stay alive, you start moving. Without your stunner.”

  Greg chewed his lip. They could be bluffing, but they might not be. “I want to see Johnny,” he said.

  On
the control panel a view screen flickered to life. “Take a look,” the voice said in his earphones.

  They had Johnny, all right. A burly guard was holding his good arm behind his back. Greg could see the speaker wires jerked loose from his helmet.

  “It’s up to you,” the voice said. “You’ve got three minutes. If you’re not down here by then, this helmet comes off and your friend goes out the lock. It’s quick that way, but it’s not very pleasant.”

  Johnny was shaking his head violently. The guard wrenched at his arm, and the miner’s face twisted in pain. “Two minutes,” the voice said.

  “Okay,” Greg said. “I’m coming down.”

  “Drop the stunner right there.”

  He dropped the weapon onto the deck. Three steps out into the corridor, and two guards were there to meet him, stunners raised. They marched him up the ramp to the outer level corridor and around to #3 lock.

  They were waiting there with Johnny. A moment later the guards herded them through the lock and into the hold of the Ranger ship, stripped off their suits, and searched them.

  A big man with a heavy face and coarse black hair came into the cabin. He looked at Johnny and Greg and grunted. “You must be Hunter,” he said to Greg. “Where’s the other one?”

  “What other one?” Greg said.

  “Your brother. Where is he?”

  “How would I know?”

  The man’s face darkened. “You’d be smart to watch your tongue,” he said. “We know there were three of you, we want the other one.”

  “I told you I don’t know where he is,” Greg said.

  The man turned to a guard. “What about it?”

  “Don’t know, Doc. Nobody’s reported him.”

  “Then take a crew and search the ship. We were due back hours ago. He’s in there somewhere.”

  “Sure, Doc.” The guard disappeared through the lock. The man called Doc motioned Greg and Johnny through into the main cabin.

  The Ranger was large and luxurious, with modern instru- merits, a large colloid computer, and a view screen that picked up 210 degrees in a single panel. The screen was on. Greg could see the silvery curve of the orbit ship alongside, with a gaping hole torn through into the main storage hold. Below, the bright side of the asteroid was visible. He could see the pockmarked hull of the Scavenger clinging to its rack just below them.