“Something’s wrong, Grag!” Otho hissed. “N’rala just showed up. She was a prisoner in the Comet, Joan said, so she must have escaped. She warned Quorn about something, I think. We’d better stop this and find the chief!”
“All right. You pretend to slip out of my grip and I’ll chase you out of the pavilion.”
OTHO pretended to break from the Strong Man’s grasp and fled through the crowd, out of the pavilion. Grag plunged after him. Planet Police who had been called tried to stop him, but he brushed them aside and tore on after Otho. The whole circus was in uproar. Outside, under the light of hurtling Deimos and Phobos, Grag found Otho looking tensely around.
“No sign of the chief,” the android groaned. “We’ll find Simon.”
They rushed to the freak-show pavilion. All the freaks had disappeared, but the Thinking Machine stood neglected in a corner. From inside the fake machine, the Brain spoke swiftly.
“Grag — Otho — something’s happened! Quorn came running in and gave orders to the freaks to board his cruiser at once. They didn’t wait to pick me up. Quorn seemed excited.”
At that moment came a roar of rockets. Through the door of the pavilion they saw Quorn’s big Rissman cruiser flash starward.
“Quorn’s blasted off!” Otho cried. “What in hell’s name has happened? Where’s the chief?”
“Maybe at the Comet with Joan and Ezra,” Simon Wright suggested. “We’d better head there at once. Take me out of this silly device. I think Quorn’s finished with the circus now, and our disguises aren’t going to be any more good to us.”
Grag lifted Simon Wright’s square, transparent brain-case from the cylinder disguise. The three Futuremen hastily departed from the clamor at the circus, heading out of Korak toward the drylands northward. They found the Comet in the prearranged location, gleaming like a silvery dream ship in the light of the moons. Ezra Gurney and Joan came running to meet them. The girl had a bruise on her temple.
“The Futuremen — thank the space gods!” Ezra panted. “We were just starting for the Circus. N’rala escaped from us. By now, that wildcat musta warned Quorn that Cap’n Future was searchin’ his ship for the space stones.”
“Smoking comets!” swore Otho. “Was the chief searching Quorn’s cruiser? Then the chief’s been discovered and captured. The Rissman just took off into space!”
For a heart-beat, there was silence among the five comrades.
“That’s bad,” Ezra mumbled at last. “Cap’n Future right in Quorn’s hands — and Future had the fifth space stone on him.”
“Who cares about the space stones?” Otho cried. “It’s the chief himself I’m worried about. Quorn will enjoy killing him. He hates all us Futuremen like poison, for some reason.”
“I ought to quit the Patrol,” Joan said huskily. “N’rala pretended to be in agony from the Venusian nerve-stunning trick Future used to make her unconscious. I loosened her bonds to help her. She struck me down suddenly and escaped from the Comet while Ezra was standing watch outside.”
Simon Wright’s cold, rasping voice cut in sharply.
“We’re wasting time. We must follow Quorn and his outfit to free Curtis. Where would they be going?”
“I know that,” Ezra Gurney cried eagerly. “Future said the last two space stones are on the Pleasure Planet, owned by that fat crook, Bubas Uum. That’s where Quorn’d head, all right.”
“The Pleasure Planet — the gambling asteroid that’s outside System Law?” Simon repeated. It’s not far around the asteroid zone from here. If we lay a course straight toward it in the Comet, we should overtake Quorn’s cruiser before he reaches there.”
“Sure we can!” Grag cried. “Who ever heard of any Rissman cruiser that could travel as fast as the Comet?”
“What’re we waiting for, then?” Otho yapped. “Let’s get going!”
THE Comet flashed skyward from the moonlit Martian plain. Curving sharply across the brooding section of old Korak, she arced skyward. A trail of rocket-fire streamed behind as the cyclotrons roared to their full capacity.
Grag held the controls. They picked up speed, flying out into the star-blazing black vault toward the great belt of asteroids that circles between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter. Otho had removed his Ultra-acrobat disguise. He relieved Grag at the controls while the robot discarded his own make-up.
“Glad to get that cursed artificial flesh off,” grunted Grag as he finally stood, massive and metallic as ever. “Give me a good metal skin that doesn’t bruise or cut at every little accident.”
Eek, Grag’s moon-puppet, had been badly baffled by the disguise of his master. Now it clambered joyfully to Grag’s shoulder. Hour followed hour as the Comet flew deeper into space.
They were threading their way now between the tumbling planetoids and swarming meteors that make the zone the wilderness of space. As they arrowed toward the Pleasure Planet, Otho swept space with the electroscopes, seeking to locate Quorn’s ship ahead. Finally he uttered a cry.
“Something floating ahead, but it’s not a ship. It’s a body! We’d better stop and check. Maybe the chief managed to get Quorn.”
Grag stopped the Comet. With a grappling beam, Otho skillfully fished the frozen, floating body into the airlock.
“Good Lord!” Ezra Gurney shouted in unbelieving, gasping horror. “It’s Cap’n Future’s body!”
“The chief,” Otho whispered, staring. “The chief — dead!” Curt Newton’s empty gray eyes stared up at them. The planeteer still wore his drab synthesilk zipper-suit. Upon his finger was still his unique emblem-ring. But in his breast was a gaping, charred wound.
“He’s dead,” the Brain said dully.
“Master can’t be dead!” Grag bellowed. “We can bring him back to life some way, Simon!”
“Nothing can bring back a man whose cells have been frozen in space, even if he didn’t have that terrible wound. Quorn killed him and tossed his body into space.”
Joan Randall’s face was agonized. She seemed unable to speak. Old Ezra Gurney’s faded eyes were wild.
“I still can’t believe it,” he choked. “Cap’n Future, the greatest planeteer of them all. He went through more dangers than any other man —”
They were silent, for there was nothing to say. The glamorous career of the most audacious figure in System history was over. Their minds were unable wholly to understand that fact. It was Simon who roused them.
“There is something for us still to do,” he rasped somberly. “Quorn killed Curtis. We shall take vengeance on Quorn such as the System has never seen before.”
“I’ll tear him atom from atom!” Otho raged.
Grag sat still stunned.
“Master can’t be dead,” he muttered.
SIMON WRIGHT’S lens-eyes were looking at the inert face of the man in the air-lock. The voice of the Brain grew thin and cold.
“Before we start on the vengeance trail, there is something we must do. We cannot let Curtis’ body drift endlessly in space.”
“Give him space funeral, like the old space pirates did, on one of these asteroids,” Otho suggested hoarsely.
“Aye, space funeral for Cap’n Future would be best,” Ezra said.
“I agree,” the Brain replied. “Run the Comet up to that little planetoid yonder, Grag.”
The hurtling world was only a few miles in diameter, a harsh, barren, airless rock. In space suits, the Futuremen, Ezra and Joan emerged from the Comet and laid the dead, frozen form on a rocky crag. In the starlight, Captain Future’s rigid face seemed to be looking up at them. Otho gently took the emblem-ring from his finger.
“So it ends,” Simon whispered. “The boy we reared on the Moon, the man who brought law to the System — It all ends here.”
They returned to the Comet and cast loose from the planetoid. Grag turned to Otho, who stood at the breech of the ship’s proton gun.
“Now,” rumbled the great robot.
Otho unloosed a proton beam of terrific intens
ity that struck the planetoid on which the dead man lay. The rock began blazing up in dazzling brilliance. Consuming itself and the dead man on it, the mighty funeral-pyre of space was like a new little sun.
“They’ll see merely a new star on all the worlds,” the Brain said broodingly. “They won’t know it’s the passing of their champion. Head toward the Pleasure Planet, Grag. There’s nothing left now but vengeance.”
Chapter 14: In the Meteor Swarm
SLOWLY Captain Future came back to consciousness. His head was throbbing with pain, for he had been knocked unconscious at the circus. Now he felt he was tied to a metal stanchion of some kind. From the steady drone of rocket tubes, he knew he was on a space ship. Curt Newton was an expert on interplanetary craft. He could tell one make from another by the sound of their rockets. The deliberate pounding of a Cruh-Cholo was far different from the staccato rattle of a fast Kalber, or the continuous shriek of a Tark. He recognized the drumming drone that was characteristic of a Rissman cruiser. At once, remembrance came to him. He had entered Ul Quorn’s Rissman cruiser, had been searching in the Number One cyclotron for the space stones, when —
“Knocked out and captured, like a green space boy!” Captain Future groaned disgustedly. “How the devil did they do it without my hearing them come up behind me?”
He forced his eyes open. He was tied to a stanchion in one corner of a small, bare, metal cabin. One small porthole window gave a limited view of the star-jeweled vault of space.
“Heading through the asteroid zone,” Curt muttered, observing the positions of stars. “Straight for the Pleasure Planet. I might’ve known.”
As the door opened, Curt stiffened in his bonds. Ul Quorn and N’rala entered, followed by the cup-eared Hearer and the Chameleon Man. Quorn’s handsome red face was composed, but there was a gleam of exultation in his eyes. He greeted Curt with ironical courtesy.
“Feeling better, Captain Future? I’ve been unable to look in until now. Had to lay a course through the asteroid zone.”
“How did you knock me out so efficiently?” Curt asked coolly. “Just as a matter of scientific interest, I’d like to know.”
“I’m glad to tell you,” Quorn said. “My Plutonian dwarfs are experts in the use of the Plutonian sound-spear, the boomerang that’s attracted by sound. It always hits its mark, even around corners. Also just as a matter of scientific interest, Future, why wasn’t I able to kill you in the circus? I turned the life disintegrator force on you several times when you weren’t looking. It hadn’t the slightest effect on you.”
Curt smiled. “That was easy. I realized from my examination of Lester’s body that a certain chemical paint would be proof against the life-disintegrator force. I painted myself, under the swamp man make-up. Otho didn’t need any, for the force wouldn’t affect synthetic flesh.”
“You are a brilliant scientist, Future!” Quorn exclaimed.
“And now that the exchange of compliments is over, what next?” Curt asked calmly.
“First, the space stone you got at Deimos from Rok Olor,” said the mixed-breed almost pleasantly. “You beat me to it nicely there, Future, but I know you have that stone on you right now.”
CURT wished he didn’t have the space stone in his belt, for a search by the Hearer soon discovered it. Ul Quorn’s eyes were bright as he took the brilliant stone and stared at it.
“Five,” he muttered. “Five parts of Thuro Thuun’s secret. Only two more —”
“Two more space stones, yes,” Curt remarked calmly. “Unless I am wrong, there is only one more part. The seventh space stone isn’t part of the formula, but it is the crux of Thuro Thuun’s secret, nevertheless. Am I right?”
Quorn looked startled.
“You’ve guessed Thuro Thuun’s secret? You’re the only man beside myself who’s ever done so!”
N’rala had watched with smoldering eyes. Now she cried impatiently:
“Why don’t you kill him at once?”
“Soon, my dear,” Quorn soothed ironically. “I want to be sure that this space stone isn’t a clever fake of Future’s. Also, I want him to know just who I am, before he dies.”
“I know well enough who you are, Quorn,” Curt said contemptuously. “You’re a renegade scientist who’s willing to bring disaster to whole worlds.”
“My name is not Quorn at all,” said the mixed-breed quietly. “Does that surprise you? It’s a fact. My mother’s name was Quorn, but my Earthman father’s name was Victor Corvo.”
“Corvo?” Captain Future stiffened with amazement. “You don’t mean that your father —”
“Was Victor Corvo,” Quorn repeated softly. “He was killed by your robot, android and Brain on the Moon years ago, when you and I were infants. Do you understand now why I hate you and your Futuremen so deeply, my dear Captain Future?”
“So that’s why Simon, Grag and Otho thought there was something familiar about you,” Curt Newton muttered. Then the tanned face of the captive wizard of science hardened.
“Your father deserved to die, Quorn. He murdered my own parents to steal their scientific secrets. He was a ruthless criminal.”
“Despite that, he was my father,” Ul Quorn replied. “We Martians carry feuds from generation to generation. I’ve waited a long time to settle this account with you and your Futuremen.” Quorn turned to the Chameleon Man. “Watch him while I check this space stone with the others. If it’s the real stone, we’ll delay no longer the pleasant task of ridding the system of Captain Future.”
Quorn left the cabin with N’rala and the Hearer. The Chameleon Man remained. Standing with a drawn atom pistol, he watched Curt with an alert, nervous gaze. Captain Future thrust aside his amazement at discovering that Ul Quorn was son of Victor Corvo, who had murdered his own father. That explained a lot of things, but it wasn’t important now. What was important was the necessity of getting out of his cell, and at once.
But how? He was tied to a stanchion in the corner of the cabin, by stout strips of Plutonian leather. He might be able to work himself loose, for he knew tricks with ropes and knots. But if he tried it, the Chameleon Man, only a few feet away, would stop him. Curt Newton attacked the problem with all the resources of his powerful mind, exactly as though he faced some puzzling problem of scientific research. His racing brain examined and rapidly discarded several possibilities.
THE Chameleon Man, the hollow-eyed blue Saturnian who could change color at will, watched Curt every moment. Now and then the sharp signals of the meteor alarm could be heard from the control room, followed by a blast of rocket tubes to avoid the meteors of the asteroidal wilderness. Each time the cruiser veered, the standing Chameleon Man lurched to one side or the other, thrown off-balance.
Curt noticed that. The fact that his legs were not tied to the stanchion gave Captain Future the opening he had been looking for. He waited, listening tensely for the meteor alarm. It buzzed three times, indicating meteors ahead and to the right. The cruiser veered sharply to the left. Curt groaned inwardly. Why couldn’t those meteors have been on the other side?
Then his fervent prayer was answered. The distant meteor alarm buzzed twice, warning of meteors to the left. Curt drew up his knees slightly. An instant later, as he had expected, the cruiser veered sharply to the right. The Chameleon Man was again thrown off-balance. He lurched a little to one side — toward Curt!
Captain Future’s legs suddenly shot out, caught the guard in the pit of the stomach. The Saturnian freak was hurled back, gasping for breath and unable to shout. His head struck the cabin wall so sharply that he fell unconscious. Instantly Curt was busy with the strips of Plutonian leather that held him to the stanchion. Shrinking his arm muscles and slipping his wrist temporarily out of joint proved painful. But Curt set his teeth and persisted until he had loosened one hand behind him.
The Chameleon Man began returning to consciousness. Curt worked frantically to release his other hand. The freak staggered dazedly to his feet, just as Future succeeded in freein
g himself. The Chameleon Man grabbed up his atom pistol and leveled it at Curt’s breast. Captain Future leaped in at the freak, diving under the weapon and against it to force it to fire upward. The Chameleon Man had been pressing the trigger. Curt’s lunge knocked his weapon back. The streak of force from the gun tore into the freak’s own breast. He crumpled, dead. Captain Future realized the peril of his predicament. He must get out of this ship, taking Quorn’s five space stones with him if possible. But escape was more important, to beat Quorn to the Pleasure Planet and the last two space stones. Overcoming Quorn and his crew of freaks was out of the question. Curt knew that too vast an issue depended on him to take such a mad risk. He must use some stratagem. But what? His eye fell on the dead Chameleon Man.
“That’s it!” he breathed.
Curt Newton still wore the belt which contained his emergency scientific kit and make-up case. He snatched out the case and began applying his art of disguise to the dead freak.
WAXITE pads changed the shape of the Chameleon man’s features. Artificial curly hair, stained red, went onto his skull. A smooth cream made his face tan instead of blue. Curt put his own zipper-suit on the dead freak, and slipped his emblem-ring on the finger of the corpse.
“Can get it back later, if my little plan succeeds,” he muttered. “Have to risk the ring, though, or everything may fall through.”
The transformation was uncanny. The dead Chameleon Man was now an exact duplicate of Captain Future himself. Curt tied the corpse to the stanchion. Then he went to work with the make-up on himself, staining his face blue, dyeing his hair, changing his features, donning the freak’s clothes. When he had finished, Curt was a double of the dead Chameleon Man. He had exchanged identities with the freak!
“It may work,” Curt whispered tensely. “It has to.”
The tread of feet outside told him of Quorn’s return. Curt thrust the freak’s atom pistol into his own belt. He looked up with assumed nervousness as Quorn, N’rala and the Hearer entered the cabin. Quorn saw the dead man tied to the stanchion. The mixed-breed turned stormily on Curt.
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