by Anthology
"And in the office it's spies everywhere," Von Zorn said excitedly. "Try to keep secrets with gossip columnists and fan mag writers searching like vultures, and slickers from the other companies trying to scoop us. A Turkish bath is the only place I feel safe…Tony, we're set. The ship's almost ready. The special shields are done, and the equipment's being put in right on our own lot, the abandoned Thunder Men set near the Rim. But we've got to keep it quiet for awhile longer."
Quade's lanky, hard-muscled figure stirred uneasily. His lean, tanned face was impassive as he studied the remarkable form of his employer. Quade was trying not to laugh.
Von Zorn resembled two eggs, the smaller atop the larger, with strange, limp appendages sprouting in the form of arms and legs. He was as peculiar a life-form as Quade had ever filmed. No one would have guessed that inside that bristle-thatched head was one of the shrewdest executive brains of the System. Von Zorn dominated his whole gigantic plant, from the highest-paid star to the lowliest grip.
"Keep it quiet awhile longer," Von Zorn repeated. "Scientists, reporters, everybody in the Universe will want to go along the minute they find out that we're tackling the comet. We have to refuse 'em, and that makes bad publicity."
Von Zorn lived in terms of box-office receipts and publicity.
"When we do break the news, it's on the eve of the take-off," he continued. "No time for anybody to get their feelings hurt. See? Besides, this is a moving picture venture, Tony. You're going to get the pix of a lifetime. Sensational background for our super-epic of cosmic adventure —"
"Yeah. I know.Call of the Comet . Starring so-and-so. Produced by so-and-so. And maybe a tiny, buried screen credit for Quade, cameraman."
"No, I'm making you associate producer for this one," cried Von Zorn, on the spur of the moment. "Maybe director, too. Who knows? Your name in lights —"
A door opened somewhere, and a draught of cool air surged in.
"Mr. Von Zorn," a voice called. "Mr. Von Zorn!"
"Well?" Von Zorn yelled back, grateful for the interruption.
"There's a lady outside to see you. Says her name's Gerry Carlyle. That's what she says, honest."
Quade looked at Von Zorn. Von Zorn looked at Quade.
"Tell her I'm out," the film magnate yelped. "I'm speaking to nobody. I'm under a doctor's care. I'm a sick man!"
"She says if you ain't out in five minutes, she's comin' in," the attendant said apologetically. .
"She wouldn't dare," Von Zorn sputtered.
Quade suddenly intervened. "Don't kid yourself, Chief. That dame'll charge in here the way she walks into a pack of wild animals. We'd better take a shower and talk to her. Mr. Von Zorn's office in fifteen minutes," he said to the attendant.
"But get this straight, Chief," he said when they were comparatively alone again. "That rocket in skirts isn't going to join any expedition I'm running."
Gerry and Strike were waiting as Von Zorn and Quade, freshly groomed and still smelling faintly of sour-grass, entered. Von Zorn strutted around his vast desk and eyed Gerry across its glassy expanse as one might scout an enemy across a battlefield.
"Ah, Strike," he said. "Met you before, I think. Guess every-one knows everyone else except maybe you and Quade. Tony Quade, Strike."
As the two men advanced warily to shake hands, they looked each other over very carefully. They were well matched physically, though Quade was perhaps a bit taller. Despite himself, Strike couldn't help liking what he saw before him.
Gerry started the ball rolling. "You owe me a debt of gratitude, Mr. Von Zorn, for that affair of the energy-eaters. It's probably bad taste to mention it, but I'm desperate to get to Almussen's Comet while it's still possible to do so."
Von Zorn's simian face beamed at her proposal.
"Yes, indeed," he said. "We haven't always seen eye to eye in the past, Miss Carlyle, but bygones can be bygones. If you, Strike and a few of your men want to go along, it could be arranged."
Gerry rocked on her heels, jolted with amazement. This was too easy.
"You mean we can make a bargain?" she gasped.
"I mean I can make a bargain," Von Zorn amended shrewdly.
"Chief," Quade said urgently. "Remember what I told you."
Nobody paid him the slightest attention.
"All right," Gerry grudged. "You're calling the turn."
"Well, first off, this is a movie expedition. The idea is to take pictures. After we have our background shots for later double-exposures, it's okay to mess around. I don't think there's any organic life on the comet. But if there is, you're the woman who can catch what's there. You bring back two of each life-form you find there. One goes to Nine Planets, and the other to the London Zoo. But if you bring back only one specimen, it belongs to Nine Planets.
"It's for my own protection," Von Zorn went on. "Your exhibits have got the public down on my synthetic movie monsters. If there are any real ones to be had, I'm using them inCall of the Comet . That's how I'm going to overcome public prejudice —"
"Chief!" Quade broke in.
"I agree," Gerry said. Her eyes had taken on a keen glint. "Tommy, myself and six of my best men. We'll have our equipment ready within twenty-four hours."
Quade's mouth was a single hard line. "Chief, I want to talk to you," he began menacingly.
Von Zorn hesitated. When he glimpsed Tony's narrowed eyes, he nodded.
"All right. Will you excuse us, Miss Carlyle?"
The woman smiled brilliantly and left, with Strike. As the door shut, Quade turned blazing eyes on his employer.
"I quit," he stormed. "You can't double-cross me like that."
"Now, now." Von Zorn raised placating hands. "Don't jump to conclusions Tony. I have your best interests at heart. You know that."
"Yeah? I told you once that dame slides in, I step out."
"But why? You want to film this picture. It's the biggest break you've ever bad. Your name as associate producer? No, I'll make it producer. Tony, I'll let you in on something. I've planned this all along — to get Gerry Carlyle interested."
"What?" Quade demanded in horror.
"Sure. Figure it out. Think of the publicity when Gerry Carlyle goes on a Nine Planets expedition to the comet. Our picture will be the box office sock of the century. It'll break all records for that one reason alone. And you'll have the credit."
"I see," Quade said slowly. He rubbed his lean jaw and eyed Von Zorn. "Maybe… Well, we'll see. I still don't trust you. You'd cut your grandmother's throat for the publicity. But I'm not going to stay here on the Moon and let Gerry Carlyle take over my job."
"I'd hate to put somebody else in your place," Von Zorn murmured gently.
"I get it. Okay, it's a deal. But I can tell you this right now. That Carlyle dame is out to doublecross me. I can smell it."
"Afraid of a woman?" Von Zorn taunted.
Quade smiled unpleasantly. "Afraid? Nope. I'm going to show Catch-'em-Alive Carlyle just what doublecrossing really means."
He went out. Von Zorn looked after his ace man and blinked. His simian face twisted into a wry grin.
"Lord help Gerry Carlyle!" he whispered under his breath.
Chapter XXI.
Oil and Water
As the hours dragged past, it became apparent that Gerry and Quade were mixing like oil and water. The chief bone of contention lay in the preparations for the voyage. Despite the huge size of the supership, every available inch would be utilized for equipment.
What sort of equipment?
Gerry had her own ideas. As an explorer of some experience, she knew the vital necessity of preparing for every contingency. Gas-guns, complicated snares and traps, special lures, weapons, protective devices, a hundred and one other gadgets were rushed from the woman's London headquarters through space to Hollywood on the Moon. Meanwhile, Quade grimly superintended the installation of special cameras, complicated lighting facilities, ranging from hydrocarbon to ultraviolet, cases of various lenses, telescopic, microscopic
, spectroscopic, electroscopic…
"Hell," snapped Quade to Gerry as they stood in the ship's port, violently arguing. "The business is to film whatever's on Almussen's Comet. What's the use of all this junk of yours? Do you think we'll find dinosaurs?"
"We might," Gerry said maliciously. "And if we do, you'd look swell trying to down one with a camera. It doesn't pay to take chances in my business. You'll learn."
"Oh, I'll learn, will I?" Quade breathed hoarsely. "Listen, young lady, I was canning films from Venus to Pluto before you crawled out of your cradle."
This was a lie, but Gerry chose to take it seriously. Her blue eyes widened innocently.
"You must tell me all about it sometime," she pleaded. "Later, though. Right now I'm going to throw away that overgrown toy so I can find some room to get my hypnotic lure into the ship."
She nodded distastefully toward Quade's bloated three-dimensional camera.
"Hypnotic lure," said Quade bitterly, eyeing an over-sized gadget composed chiefly of revolving mirrors and varicolored light tubes.
Tommy Strike wandered along at this moment. He marched quickly to the angry pair.
"Hello," he said with forced geniality. "I was just going down to the Silver Space Suit for a bit. Come along, Gerry? Quade?"
"Can't," the movie man grunted. "Too busy. Things are getting in my hair."
He cast a baleful glance at Gerry, who smiled radiantly and nodded at Strike.
"Be right with you, Tommy. I'll clean up a bit."
She departed in search of lipstick.
Quade asked intently, when the woman had gone, "Do you really like being around poison ivy? For two cents I'd throw up this business and go fishing. The mariloca are running now."
"And you want to follow their example, eh?" Strike asked.
"It isn't as bad as all that. You just don't-er-understand Gerry."
"Oh, so that's it," said Quade. "I was wondering. Hell, why does she want to fill the ship with her mousetraps when we need most of the space for camera equipment? We don't know what conditions we'll find on the comet, and we've got to be prepared for every emergency. A cyanogen atmosphere needs special lenses and films."
"Sure," Strike placated. "You're right as far as that goes. But Gerry's right, too. She doesn't know what sort of life we may find on the comet, if any. And we've got to be prepared for anything. Bullets don't work on some creatures, and gas won't work on others. You can lure whiz-bangs with tobacco smoke, but it takes infra-red light to attract a Hyclops.
"I've seen the time when Gerry's forethought in taking along one little gadget, which we never expected to use, saved our lives and netted us big dough. Maybe you'll get the best picture in the world, Quade. But it won't mean anything if you're killed because we didn't bring the right weapon with us."
Quade nodded. "Maybe. I see your point. Well, as long as that cyclone in skirts stops riding me, I can take it. I'll try, anyway.
He strode away hastily as Gerry appeared, trim and dapper in jodhpurs and shimmering metalumen blouse. She looked ravishing.
"How can anyone so lovely have such a bad temper?" he murmured, steering Gerry toward a taxicab. "Some time you're going to die of spontaneous combustion."
"Oh, you've been talking to that animated camera," the woman remarked. "Well, can you blame me? You know how much good equipment means."
They were rolling along Lunar Boulevard when Gerry spoke again. "Well? Don't you agree?"
"More or less." Strike lit a cigarette by drawing deeply on it, so a speck of platinum black, embedded in the tobacco, was kindled into flame. "Less, if you want it. You're only seeing your side, Gerry. After all, Quade's job is to shoot a picture. Or the backgrounds, anyway. Put yourself in his place."
Gerry wrinkled her nose distastefully and said not another word till they were seated in the Dome Room of the Silver Space Suit. Then she finally relented and smiled at Strike.
"You win," she said. "I'll be good. If you'll dance with me."
The orchestra was just plunging into the opening chords of that latest smash hit, Swinging the Libration. Gerry and Strike accordingly rose and liberated in the current mode. Gerry sighed.
"What's the matter?"
"These jodhpurs," the woman said disconsolately. "Wish I had on a dress — organdy-blue."
By which it appears that Catch-'em-Alive Carlyle was somewhat feminine after all. . . .
Events marched ahead. Hollywood on the Moon raced against the comet's thundering drive as it swept in toward the Sun. Nine Planets' corps of scientists worked frantically. All the complicated machinery of the technical side of the movie industry swung into well-oiled cooperative movement. Bulletins were placed hourly on Quade's desk.
But then a new and dangerous factor entered the situation — time.
The comet would swing extremely close to the Sun. Unchecked solar radiation would be fatal to any life on the comet.
An insulated ship can exist for a short time on Mercury, and even narrow-beam radio communication is possible there. But Almussen's Comet would swing well within Mercury's orbit. At that distance, the Sun's tremendous radiations would instantly short-circuit a human brain coming into range. Not even the special armor would help. Moreover, the comet's mass might set up solar tides. If that happened, the strange intergalactic wanderer would be swallowed in colossal cataracts of solid flame.
Quade and Gerry had only a few weeks, therefore, to complete their preparations, make the voyage, and achieve their aims.
Another danger that occurred to most speculative minds was luckily not apt to materialize. The small mass of the average comet could not upset the delicate balance of the Solar System. Almussen's Comet, though, had a solid core, massive enough to raise energy storms on the Sun's surface — and sufficient to deflect a large asteroid or even a small planet from its orbit, Jupiter was safe enough, and even Earth. But Mercury might succumb.
By a lucky chance, however, the comet would not pass sufficiently close to any of the inner planets to cause serious trouble.
Quade insisted that the ship be checked and triple-checked. He admitted frankly that he was apprehensive. If the vessel happened to be wrecked on the comet's surface, the inevitable result would be death when the Sun neared the smaller body.
Both Gerry Carlyle and Tony Quade had been in dangerous spots from Pluto to Mercury Hotside. But this was the most perilous voyage either had ever undertaken.
They did not underestimate the possibility of disaster. The electronic bombardment of the comet's coma might mean destruction at the very start of the quest. A special double hull had been constructed, which further increased the bulk of the unwieldy ship. But it had not been built for maneuverability, so that didn't matter.
Gerry was considerably irritated by Von Zorn's insistence on filming in detail all the preparations for the voyage. It seemed to her that the cameramen, at Quade's instigation, always took special pains to wait till her hair was mussed and her lipstick smeared.
Nevertheless, in spite of all the obstacles, the day of the takeoff at last arrived.
It was spectacular enough to satisfy even Von Zorn. Gerry, who was decidedly photogenic, was induced to pose for some pictures. Strike, Quade and the crew were included. But the human actors in the drama were dwarfed by the background, more impressive than any constructed set.
In the distance towered the ultra-modern pleasure and business buildings of Hollywood on the Moon — the Silver Space Suit, the studios, the great transparent globe of the sanitarium. Above everything else glowered the jagged ramp of the Great Rim that bounded the crater. Above, misty through the artificial atmosphere, glowed the stars. The Earth, naturally, was invisible. Only on the other side of the Moon could it be seen.
And in the foreground — the ship. Ovoid, squatty enormous, glistening under the arclights, it lay in the center of the field like a vast metallic jewel. And a jewel of science it was, with the best equipment that the resource of Von Zorn could provide. At the last moment there
had been a fanfare of publicity. A tremendous crowd was present to see the takeoff.
Gerry was bored, Quade irritated by the waste of time. But Tommy enjoyed all the fuss.
"Nice place," said Strike pleasantly. "I think I'd make a swell movie star."
"Doubling for a Venus glider?" Gerry inquired with heavy irony. "After all, I'm employing you, Captain Strike. A little cooperation —"
"Okay, buttercup," Tommy said jauntily, to Gerry's scarlet embarrassment, since Quade was within earshot. The latter said nothing, but his grin was most expressive as he continued on his way to the controls.
Chapter XXII.
Trapped — Alive!
A flare of rockets thundered up, music boomed out, and the Silver Space Suit quartet began to chant the Spaceman's Song. Anti-gravity screens quivered as energy pulsed through them from the powerful motors.
In the control room, Gerry was flung into Strike's arms as the ship lurched. Quade's fingers flickered rapidly over a score of buttons. His grin had vanished, his jaw jutted noticeably. There was sudden tension in his attitude.
The vessel swung heavily to the left, then to the right. Abruptly it bucked like a bronco. Then it regained an even keel, and slowly, heavily, it began to mount
"Whew," said Quade without relaxing. "What a crate. You can't maneuver the damn thing at all. If we'd been using old-style rockets, we'd have cracked up muy pronto."
"But we can reach the comet, can't we?" Gerry said worriedly.
"Yeah. We do have speed. But no maneuverability. It'll be plenty risky, piloting this jalopy through the asteroid belt."
Quade's lean face was grim as he studied the visiplate showing his course.
"We head out and intercept the comet in the major planet zone," Strike said. "That'll give us a certain amount of time before the comet gets too close to the Sun."
"I'm jamming on acceleration," Quade nodded. "But we can't meet the comet head on. We'd pass it — we couldn't decelerate swiftly enough. We've got to curve around, slanting through the coma, and that's the most dangerous part. To do that we had to sacrifice either protection or maneuverability, and we've plenty of protection. But not enough, maybe, if we slant through the coma instead of driving straight in. I don't know how much electronic bombardment the hull will stand." He shrugged wryly.
