There was a crowd in space suits out on the field as he came down, and he frowned. They couldn't know of his plunge into Jupiter? He didn't want any talk of it now—he was still ashamed of the ignorance and vanity that had led him to tackle it. And reports going back to the other planets might make him something of a hero—but they'd also make him the laughingstock of anyone who guessed the whole story.
He set down a bit bumpily, and glanced at the clock. It was ten-thirty in the forenoon, Sunday. The trip from Mars to Io had taken ninety-nine and a half hours, and he was now only ninety-two and a half behind schedule, in spite of the tube cleaning.
He came out to find a crowd of spacemen waiting, all of them bearing the insignia of rocket freighters. One of them came over and touched helmets with Jerry, since there was no air here to carry sound.
"Dead Man's Orbit? We figured it had to be when we caught your flare in the telescope. Couldn't come from that direction any other way. Congratulations, kid—always wondered when some of these guys would realize modern ships ain't like the old ones. How was it?"
There was none of the amusement he'd expected when he saw who they were. He shook his head, making scratching sounds against the other's helmet. "Rugged. My engineer and I thought we were dead. If I hadn't been such a fool—"
The other laughed lazily, and there was amusement in his voice now. "Sure. Takes a fool to do it the first time or so." Then his voice sobered. "But you got out alive—and in this business, that's what counts."
They'd retreated to a little building beside the field, and moved in through the air lock. The other men threw off their helmets, inside, and began clustering around Jerry and Tod, shaking their hands.
Tod grinned at his confusion. "Every rocket man who ever lived was a crazy fool, lad," he said. "Ain't it so, boys?"
The chorus of agreeing yells was unanimous. Then the leader sobered.
"We came out to give you a hand. Figured you'd need a good going over after all that. You never know what strains get set up in a ship. It'll take a few hours— not much, though—but it'll be a blamed sight safer. And we'll load you up while we're at it."
He brushed off Jerry's thanks and began giving directions. Men began streaming out toward the Last Hope. One of them motioned Jerry and Tod out toward a waiting tractor, and they followed him. To
Jerry's surprise, the inside of the little machine was airtight, and they could remove their helmets.
The driver headed the machine toward the domed city that stood a mile away. "This is a spaceman's world, kid; we do half the shipping for the moons. That and mining is what keeps us going. And when anybody comes here with a new trick up his sleeve about handling a ship, he's in. Of course, on the other moons, you'll find a bunch of farmers. They'll expect you to get up and give speeches. You like speeches?"
Jerry grunted in disgust, and the man laughed.
"Yeah, we figured as much. We'll hold back the word on you till you're bound back for the inner planets, then. What do you think of our moon?"
Jerry didn't think too much of it, either good or bad. It was at least two hundred degrees below zero, without a breath of air, and as harsh as the asteroids he had known as a boy. But he liked what he'd seen of the people, just as he'd always liked the rough-and-ready miners.
He stared at the tiny dome that represented a quarter of the population of Io. It was a smaller version of the one at Luna Center, except that here the entire outer wall was filled with growing things which must provide them with their food. Luna Center depended on Earth for most of its goods, but the lonians must grow all their own.
He signed in at the local office of the Commission, and tried to check up on his progress, as compared to the other racers. It was impossible to be sure from the scattered reports that had come over the tight-beam interplanet radio. At a wild guess, Mars was well ahead of him, and only Ganymede was behind. It didn't look good.
At the Commissioner's insistence, he let them serve him a meal at the local restaurant, and was surprised to find that the food was as good as any he had tasted. But in spite of his guide's assurances that he'd be notified in plenty of time, he was unable to concentrate on the food. He wanted to get back to the ship.
Tod had already gone back, to supervise the final checkup.
Finally, he climbed back into the little tractor, and they began the return journey, this time by another route that took them past one of the mines. It was covered with a little dome of its own, and a few men were busy loading ore onto one of the tractors, but there was nothing else to see.
The ship was a beehive of activity, and there was nothing he could do. He'd only get in the way of these men. They knew ships, and they were being thorough about things.
It was three-thirty p.m. when it was finished, and they pronounced the Last Hope fit as a fiddle. The men weren't waiting for his thanks, but were already getting into their tractors and heading back toward the dome. He waved at them, and they waved back. Then the Last Hope lifted for Europa.
Tod was familiar with the second colony out from Jupiter, but it was all new to Jerry. He found the people there more like Earth than anywhere else. The planet was covered with what looked like ice, but was actually frozen air and water in separate layers. Instead of domes, they had dug deep into the surface, and their chief resource seemed to be the atmosphere. They heated it to provide oxygen for their living quarters, and mined it in great slabs for shipment to the other moons.
In their underground gardens, in tanks of water and chemicals which they imported from Io, they grew what looked like enough food to feed a dozen worlds. Much of it went to Callisto and Ganymede, though some of it was shipped back as far as the asteroids.
There was no trouble there. The Commission representative met them at their little field, signed their papers, and wished them good speed, while their tanks were refilled with their special fuel. It took only a few minutes, since little fuel had been used.
They reached Callisto at three a.m., Monday. Like Io, it was a mining world, and airless. The dome was larger, though, and there were more people. Jerry got a few glimpses of the domes beyond as he rode in to see the Commission agent. Most of the colony here was clustered within fifty miles of the major mine, where great supplies of uranium came forth to furnish the whole Solar System.
With a diameter of only 3,200 miles, die little planet should have had very little of the heavy elements, but this freak deposit seemed to be bottomless. They had been mining it for a hundred years, and it looked as rich as ever.
Jerry was getting sick of the moons with their short
jumps, where there was no chance to make up time. He heaved a sigh of relief as they took off. "Next stop Ganymede, and then back toward the sun!" he announced.
Tod nodded glumly. "Next stop trouble. Ganymede won't like us. After Earth got done dumping prisoners there, Mars started taking over."
Jerry could see nothing that could be done there, but he worried about it. They'd gone too long without bad luck, and it was time the jinx hit them again.
Delay on Ganymede
n anymede lay between the orbits of Europa and Cal-listo, and was about the same size as the latter
]
moon. As Tod MacLane had said, it had once been used as a prison colony by Venus, Earth and Mars, before the moons were colonized generally. Most of the prisoners, though, had come from the heavily populated Earth. Even though there was no longer any such practice, it was only natural that a good deal of resentment should exist there for the mother world of the human race.
Mars had probably made full use of that. There were rumors that the governor of Ganymede was actually chosen on Mars, and that the last election had been only a joke. But there was no proof of that. It was another airless world, but a thriving one.
Strange plants that could grow without air and in the bitter cold had been found there. They were totally unlike any normal form of vegetation found on Eardi or Mars, and seemed to depend on the radioactivity of the miner
als around for their growth. But odd as they were, they were still protoplasm. They had yielded a whole host of new drugs, as well as a good deal of information on the whole nature of life.
That and large deposits of pure beryllium had made the little moon fairly rich. It boasted an enclosed landing field, like the Moon, and the domed city behind the field was the largest one in the Solar System. It held almost fifty thousand people, and there were other domes almost as big.
Jerry landed cautiously, and surveyed the group on the field with considerable misgiving. They seemed to be cheering him, but he doubted the sincerity of their cheers.
Tod was openly suspicious. Like most spacemen, he believed that all the people on Ganymede were crooks, and that they made a practice of stealing the claims on all the good asteroids. Since they were the nearest fully-authorized claim office, it would have been easy enough for them.
Jerry had no use for such beliefs. The children of criminals usually turned out to be normal people, he knew. His doubts were nothing but superstition, and he knew it, but he couldn't quiet them. There'd been trouble on the Moon and trouble on Mars. It seemed unbelievable that there should be nothing but good luck around Jupiter.
He didn't like the looks on the faces. They were filled with the same enmity he had found on Mars, but this was snarling and nasty, rather than gruff and rude. That might have had something to do with the attitude of spacemen, of course. But Jerry found himself heartily disliking the narrow-eyed suspicion in their glances.
Yet everything seemed to be as it should. He found his fuel waiting for him, and there were men enough about to load it along with the supplies he'd need, for the long hop to the inner planets. They moved forward briskly, and began work without a wasted motion.
A tractor-taxi was standing near, but the driver shook his head, motioning toward the gate leading out onto the surface, then jerking a thumb backward. Jerry looked around and found a gaudily painted tri-mobile like those used on Earth. The driver opened the door.
"Tractors go outside. We use this in the city," he explained. "The Commission office, I suppose?"
Jerry climbed in with a nod, wondering. On the outer planets, most of the workers were descended from poor people who had been shipped out to open up the planets, and the men who had first come to Ganymede against their wishes had been even poorer. But the driver's tones, like those of the others he had seen, had all been those of educated men. Either the planet was filled with college graduates, or else the men serving him were a long way from the simple laborers and drivers they seemed.
But still everything seemed to go well. The Commission agent barely glanced at his papers before putting the official scroll on it.
"You're fortunate," he said. "The radio hasn't been working for days—terrific solar static. We just got official word that you were an acceptable replacement for your brother. Incidentally, Mars sends word that he's recovering nicely."
Jerry went out feeling more kindly toward Ganymede. Even the occasional grim-faced Martian on the street didn't disturb him.
He found Tod scowling and scratching his head. The work was going along at a rapid rate, and there had obviously been no trouble. Apparently, that was what had been bothering the engineer. He'd expected delays, and he couldn't understand why there were none.
The field official came up, smiling. "The work will be done in ten minutes, Captain Blaine. We've instructions to open the dome whenever you're ready."
"Thanks. I appreciate—"
The howl of a siren cut off Jerry's words. Tod's beady eyes snapped wider open, and the engineer straightened, with a look that told Jerry he'd been expecting something.
The boy jerked his eyes toward the trimobile that came screaming into the landing dome. It flipped about sharply, turning on one front wheel, and headed toward him, the siren still disturbing the air.
A big man in ornate official uniform jumped out of it in front of Jerry. "Who's the pilot of that ship?"
"I am," Jerry admitted. "How old are you?"
Jerry reached for his certificate from the Commission, and held it out. "Seventeen. But I've passed all the tests, and this gives me authority."
The man handed it back without glancing at it. He motioned to someone in the trimobile, and another uniformed figure came out. This one headed for the ship, and began climbing the ladder. Tod let out a cry, and Jerry started forward.
The big official held him back. "We're sealing the ship. According to the law here, no pilot can use this field, or land or remove a ship, unless he's of legal age."
"But this isn't local. This is Commission business— and they work under an interplanetary agreement. Ganymede belongs to the racing union!"
"I've got my orders." The official watched the other come back from the ship, and jerked a hand toward Tod. "Keep this man on the field, and away from the ship. You, young man, will come with me. If there's any clause permitting you to leave, Judge Condon can take care of such matters."
This time the trimobile seemed in no hurry, and the siren wasn't in use. Jerry tried to argue with the official on the way back, but the man wouldn't talk, and even refused to listen. The driver grinned back once, nastily.
They finally reached the courthouse, but there was a long line of men waiting to be tried ahead of Jerry, and no amount of argument would persuade them to put hirn ahead of the others. He noticed that the supposed prisoners were laughing and joking among themselves. As Jerry watched, one was being sentenced to six months in jail for stealing a trimobile. The man looked anything but worried about it, and he winked as a policeman led him away.
It wasn't hard to guess that the court had been deliberately filled with men who would be tried for offenses they had never committed and sentenced to terms they would never have to fill. It was a clever way to keep him waiting, and there was nothing he could do about it. With Tod confined to the field, he couldn't hope that the engineer could get to the Commission agent, either.
But it didn't make sense; they'd probably just passed the law when they found he was coming and learned his age. There were plenty of pilots who were under twenty-one.
They couldn't make it stick before the Commission-but they probably didn't mean to. Even if their own ship was ruled out of the race, they had nothing to lose, since it had no chance to win, according to the reports he had received before. They'd be content to see him kept from any chance of victory, and to make sure that Mars could win.
He stood up suddenly, shouting to the judge. "I demand to be removed from this court! As a citizen of Earth, operating under Earth laws, this court has no right to try me."
The judge rapped his gavel smartly to quiet Jerry, and then dropped it.
"Why not, young man?" Condon wanted to know.
"Because you operate on the Martian code, and by the charter that granted freedom to the planets, a case of mixed law can be tried only by an interplanet court, without the defendant's consent."
He felt safe in that, as there was no interplanet court on Ganymede. However, the fuss would be enough to bring his case to the attention of the Commission representative, if he was lucky.
Condon considered it, apparently wondering whether he could get away with a violation of such a charter ruling. It was an escape clause seldom invoked, since the interplanet courts sometimes took years to decide, but Jerry was within his rights.
"Very well, then," Condon decided. "Will you consent to be tried here?"
"On two conditions—that I receive immediate trial, and that I be granted all the privileges of a citizen of the Martian code while being tried!"
Condon nodded slowly. The prisoners stopped laughing and began to get up and file out. The police made no effort to stop them. The game was over, and the court no longer cared about keeping up a pretense.
Condon pulled out a thick book which contained the major laws of the Martian code. It was an honest code, too, Jerry knew. As a navigator-trainee, he'd had to study some of it, since his work would bring him to Mars or Ga
nymede where it was in force. In many ways, it was both simpler and fairer than the older Eardi code.
Jerry accepted it, knowing that his taking the book meant that he was willing to dispense with legal advice, and depend on it for his case. The judge propped another copy up on the bench before him.
"According to Ganymedan law," he began, "no pilot may enter or depart from a Ganymedan port unless he shall be of legal age and his ship shall be suitably registered to his authority. You have entered the port with your ship, the Last Hope. You admit that?"
"I do. It's suitably registered to my authority," Jerry answered.
"Quite so. But you also admit that you are not of legal age?"
"As I told the officer, I'm seventeen. I admit that."
"Good. What defense have you?"
Jerry shrugged faintly. "I knew of no such law, your honor. I came here without being warned of it, under authority of the Armstrong Classic Commission. By general agreement, local laws do not affect officers, crews, or ships in the Classic."
The judge frowned.
"Your claim of ignorance may be true, and this court will accept it, since no claim has been made to the contrary. You are therefore absolved from any sentence for entering. But that does not apply to your leaving, since you do know the law now. As for the freedom granted racing pilots, that is only a courtesy. Obviously, entering the race cannot give them the power to rob or to kill on any local port. In this case, I find that the law requires me to deny you the right to remove your ship without the arrival of a properly authorized pilot of legal age."
"But I am of legal age," Jerry stated flatly.
"You admitted you were not!"
Jerry shook his head. "I did not. I admitted that I was seventeen. But under the Martian code—page 1243, section II, according to the index—legal age is defined as sixteen years, based on the interplanet calendar. And the interplanet calendar uses an Earth year as its base."
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