by Eando Binder
He meant candy of course. Jon smiled at the eager child-like native and went through his pockets. The natives of Venus were simple, backward people, in a low stage of civilization, comparable to jungle natives on Earth. With the coming of Earthmen, they had been as friendly as dogs, and soon learned to beg for sweetmeats. Jon held out a chocolate-tablet, always carried during space trips, and watched the Venusian gulp it down in happy relish.
Jon had a sudden thought. “Look,” he enunciated slowly. “You know anything about what has happened here? Where men who live here?
The native shrugged, but then pointed out to sea. “Boat—men—lost.” The Venusians had been unable to master the finer points of Earth language and used only key words.
“What?” Jon was startled. “You mean the men left, in a rocket lifeboat? But why?”
“I’ll tell ya why,” grated a voice behind Jon.
Jon Jarl whirled to face a half-dozen grim men. The leader, with a harsh curl to his lip, pointed a ray-gun straight for the patrolman’s heart. “Drop your ray-gun John Law.”
Jon Jarl weighed his chances. Drawing, he might get three or four of them, in lightning shots. But the others would get him. Slowly, he dropped his gun to the deck.
“Outlaws?” he guessed. “You came in from space, took over this place, and sent the scientists off in a lifeboat, knowing they had one chance in a hundred to reach safety.”
“Smart, ain’t ya?” the leader rasped. “But you guessed it. We’re gonna make this floating island our base of operations. A moving hideout. We can raid the other big centers in our rocketship, and then come back here. The Patrol will never locate us, as we move around. You only spotted us because we didn’t have time to get away from the spot where it was anchored before.”
A clever scheme, thought Jon. Using the floating artificial island, they might well carry out a long series of raids on Earthmen colonies, all the while laughing at the Patrol.
A new voice sounded. “Canny? Canny?” It was the Venusian, now begging from the outlaw leader.
The outlaw’s answer was a vicious kick that sent the Venusian flying off the deck to the water. “That’ll teach ya to come beggin’ from me, ya brainless fish-face!”
Jon Jarl tensed, but held himself back.
“Now,” said, the outlaw, facing Jon. “Ever hear of walkin’ the plank? The old-time pirates on Earth used to pull that. We ain’t got a plank, so we’ll just tie your hands and kick ya off.”
His hands tied behind him, a brutal kick sent Jon hurtling down to the waves. Helpless, wave after wave washed over him, and he knew it was the end. It seemed like a dream when a pair of strong arms grabbed him and pulled his head above water. Then a pair of webbed feet propelled them both through the water at a speed no Earth swimmer could match.
It was the Venusian native.
“Them bad—you good,” was his short but concise explanation.
A moment later Jon saw where he was being taken—a floating network of seaweed, through which a network of tunnels had been created. The natives lived inside the tunnels, safe from fierce storms.
The Venusian babbled out in his own tongue, and a swarm of his fellows came forth, armed with long dried tentacles of some marine monster they had killed. Jon was untied, then swiftly borne back into the water by the natives. They did not answer his questions, only repeated the words, “Them bad—you good!”
On the crest of a high wave, they all hurtled aboard the floating platform.
The fight was brief and furious. The outlaws opened fire with their ray-guns and downed several natives. But they fired no second round. The long tentacle-whips snaked out with uncanny accuracy and wrapped around the outlaws’ necks. A quick jerk—a sickening snap—
Jon tried to stop them, but it was all over in seconds. The outlaws lay dead. One by one the natives tumbled the bodies into the ocean, and they were gone.
Before stepping into his rocketship, Jon said to his new friends, “You stay and guard this place. I will find the scientists and bring them back. And here’s something to keep you busy—”
He handed them a whole box of chocolate.
SATELLITE PRISON
It’s lonely driving through space in a one-man rocketship. There’s nothing to see through the ports except the star-sprinkled black void. Nothing to hear except the thrumming of the rockets. Monotony sets in like a heavy shroud.
So it was with Lt. Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol on his routine run from Earth to Mars. But halfway between the two planets there was a slight break in the monotony as Prison Satellite hove into view. Jon Jarl always marveled when he saw this small artificial world, for it was made completely of metal and had been towed out into space and set up in its own independent orbit.
Beneath its skin of metal lay the corridors and cells of the prison. There were only two entrances to this giant space penitentiary, both guarded. Even if a prisoner did happen to escape there was no place he could go without an oxy-helmet and spaceship. It was the most perfect prison of all time. In the century of its existence, there had been not one successful prison break. Prisoners brought there were all lifers, sentenced never to see Earth or any other planet again.
Jon Jarl was almost sorry as he passed by the prison and it began to recede behind him. It had at least occupied his thoughts for a moment. But suddenly, the cut-in switch of his space radio clicked and a voice spoke.
“Calling Space Patrol ship! This is Warden Krandell, of Prison Satellite! There has just been an attempted jailbreak! Come at once to North Lock!”
A jailbreak! Stunned at the unexpected news, Jon hastened to answer into his mike. “Lt Jon Jarl answering! Will come at once!”
Ten minutes later, after reversing his rockets, Jon slid his ship down into the yawning North Lock, which closed behind him like two huge alligator jaws of steel. The lock chamber was a huge space into which air was pumped automatically as soon as a ship landed. Then the inner doors, leading into the prison proper, would open. Jon stepped out and was greeted by the grave warden.
Jon spoke first. “How can anyone escape? I thought it was impossible.”
“They haven’t actually escaped yet,” returned Warden Krandell. “But three desperate killers have seized control of the South Lock. They have one Electric Pistol between them, but its charge will last long enough to hold off the guards for hours.”
“How did it happen?” Jon asked.
“Brains Cardigan was clever,” admitted the warden, as they took the elevator toward the South Lock. “He and his two pals pretended sickness and were taken to Sick Bay for examination. Sick Bay is near the South Lock. They waited till the doctor left and then jumped the guard, who thought they were ill and thus didn’t expect them to leap into action. They took his Electro-Gun, killed him, and made a dash for South Lock. They burned down two more guards on the way.”
They stepped from the elevator, and the warden pointed to a heavy door shut tight. “There’s the only door into the South Lock. Brains Cardigan and his two men are in there, holding it against all guards. My men tried to storm the place, but when five were wounded at the first sally, I knew it was no use.”
Jon smiled grimly. “But what good does it do them to hold the South Lock? They can’t leave. To really escape they have to have a spaceship.”
“That’s the worst of it,” groaned Krandell. “You see, a supply ship came in an hour before with food supplies from Earth. There was only one guard there at the time Brains Cardigan took over the Lock. So now the ship is in their hands.”
Jon was puzzled. “Why haven’t they flown away?”
“It isn’t as easy as that. The ships which bring supplies here have a special time lock on the door. After unloading, the time lock is set for the time of departure. No force on the universe can open that door before the time lock releases. Brains Cardigan has to wait another hour before the time lock will open and he can use the ship. If we don’t capture him within an hour, he’ll get away.”
“I c
ould let him fly out,” mused Jon Jarl, “and then run him down out in space with my Patrol Ship.”
“No good.” The warden shook his head emphatically. “That supply ship has you out-gunned. That ship could fight it out with a battle cruiser. No, Lieutenant, we have to get Cardigan before the time lock opens.”
A grim silence followed, and then Jon Jarl drew his two pistols and barked orders. “You two guards—stand on either side of the door. Cover me with gunfire. I’m going in.”
At the patrolman’s signal, the warden pulled the lever which opened the lock door. The two guards tensed, and their weapons spat cover-up electro-bolts inward. Like a streak, the space policeman darted through the door, throwing himself flat.
Jon’s strategy was simple. He hoped to lie flat on his stomach, and with both pistols going, pick off the criminals before they got him. But almost instantly he saw it was useless. Cardigan and his two men lurked behind the supply ship in the huge lock chamber. Safely protected, the killer could shoot at Jon at his leisure.
“Yahhhhhhhh,” Brains Cardigan mocked. “So they brung in a Space Cop, eh? Well, sonny boy, come and get it.”
But Jon Jarl was not that fearless—or foolish. Guns blazing to disconcert the aim of the crooks, he wriggled back through the door ingloriously and heaved a sigh of relief as it banged shut before him.
“I knew it was no use doing that,” croaked the warden. “That’s how my men got wounded. Can you think of anything else?”
Jon Jarl slowly shook his head. The time lock on the ship would open in less than an hour. Brains Cardigan and his men would run the ship out—to freedom. It was as simple as that.
“Did you call Space Patrol Headquarters?” he asked.
The warden nodded. “Yes, but they can’t get a battle cruiser here in less than three hours. Yours was the only Space Patrol ship within range.”
“How about letting the air out of the lock room?”
“No good. There’s an emergency control inside which pumps air in as soon as the pressure falls. It’s made that way to protect the crews of visiting ships from the danger of decompression. Nobody suspected it would someday help jailbreakers as well.”
It all added up in favor of the criminals. Jon Jarl hated to admit it, but it looked like a stalemate. In less than an hour, the desperadoes would be free in space, unless…
Jon Jarl spoke rapidly to the warden, and a light of hope slowly sprang into the listening man’s eyes. It was a desperate plan, but it might work.
* * * *
Brains Cardigan looked at the time lock of the ship. “Only fifteen more minutes, guys, and th’ door opens. Then we scoot. For th’ first time in history, a jailbreak is gonna be pulled out of Prison Satellite. Boy, we—”
One of the men interrupted, as a tumult sounded from below them—from the prison proper. Shouts and shots.
“Hey, sounds like some more guys tried a break.”
The noise continued for some minutes and then a grey streak dashed into the door of the South Lock. Cardigan took aim, but then paused as the grey figure wildly waved its arms.
“Don’t shoot!” the newcomer yelled. “It s me—I’m a prisoner, too! Five of us tried another break while all the excitement was going on. Four of ’em got rayed down, but I got through!”
“Den four of us gets away,” crowed Cardigan. “But hey, how do we know dis guy—?” There was suspicion in his voice, but at that moment the time lock clicked loudly, and the ship’s airlock door swung open. With a yell of triumph, the prisoners all dashed into the ship, including the newcomer.
“There’s only one trouble,” growled Cardigan, as the rocket engine came to life. “None of us ever run a spaceship dis big.”
The newcomer interrupted, seating himself at the controls. “Lemme handle it, Cardigan. I was a pilot once. I’ll fly this crate for parts unknown.”
The rocketship zoomed out of the outer doors—operated by automatic photo-electric relays—and shot away from Prison Satellite. Within were three cheering criminals, wildly elated at having succeeded in a sensational escape.
* * * *
Those cheers ended, abruptly, an hour later, as two battle cruisers of the Space Patrol loomed out of the void and brought big guns to bear on them.
“We was tricked!” yelled Cardigan. “Dis pilot ran us straight for th’ Patrol ships. He’s no prisoner! He’s—”
Jon Jarl grinned as he held the electro-pistol he had slipped from Cardigan’s belt moments before. “Lt. Jon Jarl of the Space Patrol,” he said. “First time I ever wore a prison suit. It scratches, you know?”
Jon waited till the stream of invective from the three criminals ran itself out, then added, “You had a nice joyride in space. But you’ll be back in your nice, cozy cells in an hour.”
THE DICTATOR OF SPACE
It was certainly the weirdest message that had ever come to Lieutenant Jon Jarl from headquarters.
“Lt. Jarl,” barked headquarters, “Check on Asteroid X-456. One Zan Kastorex claims he will blow it to bits at precisely 12 noon, Solar Time. He also claims he can blow up any planet in the solar system by remote control, and he has demanded that he be set up as dictator of the nine planets—or else he will blow every planet to shreds!”
“But sir,” protested Jon Jarl into his microphone. “He sounds like a crackpot to me.”
“Crackpot or not, go and watch Asteroid X-456. If Kastorex’s threat is sheer bluff, land on his own asteroid, X-457, and arrest him for disturbing the peace. That is all.”
Lt. Jon Jarl wheeled his ship around in space and set off at high velocity for the asteroids between Mars and Jupiter. Some hours later, he came to the first of the thousands of tiny planetoids and began tracing them on his map. Finally he was able to identify Asteroid X-456 and rocket close to it.
“It’s five minutes to noon,” Jon mused. “I’ll hover out in space here and see what happens, if anything.”
Suddenly a harsh, imperious voice crackled from his open radio speaker. “Attention, Space Patrol ship! Zan Kastorex, dictator of the Nine Planets, speaking! I am on X-457, the next asteroid. Through my telescope, I watched your ship approach. Observe closely, for my Kastorex Ray will blow X-456 to bits. Then come to my asteroid, X-457, and we will arrange the surrender of the Nine Planets. I have spoken.”
The voice clicked off.
“Of all the blithering nincompoops,” Jon muttered to himself. “Thinks he can pull a ridiculous bluff like that.”
But Jon was startled, at noon sharp when, with a soundless puff, Asteroid X-456 disintegrated before his eyes. Millions of tons of rock had been blown apart! Pieces of the blasted worldlet hurtled toward him, and Jon hastily spun away.
“Good heavens!” Jon breathed. “He wasn’t bluffing. He really can blow worlds apart!”
Jon headed his ship for Asteroid X-457, the headquarters of the would-be dictator. It was a larger body, perhaps 200 miles in diameter. He soon saw a glassine dome below, and slanted down for a landing beside it.
Jon donned his spacesuit. Stepping out on the almost airless little world, he strode to the dome.
A guard opened the airlock doors for Jon and then ushered him into the presence of a tall, bony, resplendently uniformed man with intense burning eyes. On either side of him was a huge guard, also in uniform.
“I am Zan Kastorex,” announced the tall man. “You will now surrender.”
“I will not,” returned Jon Jarl evenly. “I’ve come here to arrest you.”
Kastorex smiled, devilishly. “Guards, disarm him.”
This was the moment to act. Jon whipped out his twin ray guns with flashing speed. He could easily knock the guns out of the hands of the slow-moving guards. Then he saw the peephole in the wall, and a third guard’s gun poking through. Slowly he lowered his weapons. Kastorex had him!
“I was prepared for your resistance,” Kastorex said with a grin. “As easily as I’ve captured you, and blown up X-456, so will I take over rule of this solar syste
m.”
“You’re still bluffing,” Jon said calmly. “You might have had a prepared atomic bomb buried on X-456, timed to go off at noon. All this poppycock about a Kastorex Ray—”
“You don’t believe yet?” Kastorex barked. “I’ll give you another demonstration. Follow me.”
The two guards, having taken Jon’s guns, now hustled him along, as they followed Kastorex into another room of the dome—a room filled with a giant machine that hummed and glowed with strange, powerful energies.
“Look through this telescope.” Kastorex ordered Jon. “Pick out any asteroid you want. I couldn’t have atomic bombs planted on all of them.”
Jon peered through the telescope and picked out another asteroid. It was Y-667 on Kastorex’s chart.
“Keep watching in the telescope,” ordered Kastorex, moving dials and controls on his giant machine. “You will see Y-667 also blow apart before your eyes—NOW!”
Jon heard the machine give out a shrill, high whine, and at the same instant, the asteroid smashed apart. Jon gasped. Kastorex wasn’t bluffing at all! He had some diabolical way of blowing up worlds from a distance.
“It took me 25 years to build this machine,” Kastorex boasted. “The ray which it shoots causes all iron atoms to explode into atomic energy through a chain reaction. And all worlds have iron in them. Thus, when the iron atoms blow up, the rest of that world goes with it.”
It was horrible—devilish—frightening.
Kastorex droned on. “Now do you see why Earth must surrender to me? Because if it doesn’t, I will simply aim my Kastorex Ray for Earth and blow it to shreds like these asteroids!”
“No—you fiend—you can’t—!” groaned Jon.
“But you can save Earth,” Kastorex chortled. “Sit down at my radio and tell Earth to surrender. You will repeat after me…”
At the point of a gun, Jon sat at the radio and spoke.
“Attention, Space Patrol Headquarters! Lt. Jon Jarl calling. Zan Kastorex is not bluffing. He blew apart two asteroids with his long-range ray. He gives Earth 24 hours to surrender. If Earth does not surrender in 24 hours, he will destroy it.”
