Space Lawyer

by Mike Jurist

  His plan of action was exceedingly simple. To return and obey the Commission's orders would have been silly. By this time, he rightly surmised, Kenton must have commandeered the fastest ships in the System. He himself would have done the same had he been on the ground. But what was the sense in filing legally on a comet with an orbit of over two thousand years? Whatever was of value on it would have to be taken out in a mighty short time—actually, on its swing around the sun and back again—at the most—as far as Saturn. No one had ever ventured beyond that ringed planet; and mighty few had been daring enough to go that far. The last outpost stations of the System were on the planets of Jupiter.

  And even in that swing, the time for actual exploitation was limited. The last cometary swerve around the sun would bring it so close to the central fires as to make it a fiery hell, impossible to work. The best time was now—at least when he got out there—when the comet would be somewhere between Saturn and Jupiter. A wolfish grin showed his stained teeth. Yes, that Commission directive was an unexpected blessing. While the others were twiddling their thumbs for two weeks, and then taking another week or so to race to the oncoming comet, he would have already stripped it; or at least taken off the cream.

  The Commission? He snapped his fingers contemptuously. Those dodoes would have nothing on him, Jericho Foote. The space outlaws who had served him before would serve him again. He wouldn't even appear in the picture. True, they had failed on that highjacking of the thermatite asteroid. But that hadn't been their fault. His face darkened, and his hand went to the ragged scar across it. Kerry Dale! Simeon Kenton! Someday he'd get even with them both.

  Then had come the frantic search messages winging across space. They restored his good humor. So Sally Kenton was lost! "I hope they never find her," he snarled to himself. The next batch of messages threw him into a momentary fear, though. Kerry Dale was on the way to Ganymede, was he? He remembered their meeting outside Wilson's office. That meant he had figured out the same thing about the comet that he, Foote had. Foote hated Dale, but had also a healthy respect for his resourcefulness and ingenuity. But a moment's reflection restored his aplomb. "Bah! I started twelve hours ahead of him, and this boat is much faster than that old tub of his. My—hem—men will be on the comet and off long before he could ever reach it. Besides, he'll have to obey the order and turn back. He has no—hum—men to take the blame for him. Hee! Hee!"

  When the Space Patrol inquiry came through, he was most self-possessed. Seen anything of the Flash or Miss Kenton? Of course not. How could he? He had started from Megalon many hours before either of them; and his cruiser, if he did say so himself, was pretty speedy. Where was he, Jericho Foote, beading?

  He drew himself as erect as he was constitutionally able. To Ganymede. Business. His papers were in order. Why did the Space Control see fit to question such a—ahem—respectable citizen as himself?

  The Patrol officer was immediately apologetic. Sorry, it was lust routine. Did he by any chance have any ideas about what had happened to the missing couple?

  Foote smiled craftily. "Well," he said, after due thought, "perhaps—they might have eloped—you know how stubborn old Kenton can be. Or maybe—hmm, yes—young Dale might have kidnapped the girl. After all, she's heiress to millions."

  The Patrol officer was flabbergasted. He did not dare report this conversation to his home base. But the Intersystem outfit had sent a reporter on the Patrol ship. "Wow!" he exclaimed under his breath. "That baby's really looking for trouble. One memento from Old Fireball's cane wasn't enough for him."

  He couldn't send an open message to his office. The Patrol officer wouldn't have permitted it. But he packed the explosive information into a code which, on the face of it, seemed merely a routine report. Within an hour the newscasters were spreading Foote's remarks all over the System.

  This time, both servants and doctors became truly alarmed over Simeon's condition. He seemed on the verge of a stroke. Perhaps he would have bad one, had not a message relayed from Planets opportunely arrived at the Megalon office of the Space Patrol. One look at it and the Chief of Staff got hurriedly into his official car and flew directly to the Kenton estate.

  There be found the old man gasping for breath and purple in color. Two doctors were working on him with restoratives. He barged in, speaking rapidly: "Your daughter has been found, Mr. Kenton."

  Old Simeon started up. "Safe?"

  "Safe and sound."

  "Where the devil—"

  The Patrol Chief looked significantly at the doctors and the crowding servants.

  "Clear out!" shouted Kenton. "All of you."

  One of the doctors protested. "You're allowing yourself to get excited again, Mr. Kenton. We can't be responsible—"

  "Who's asking you to?" yelled Simeon. "And how dare you call me excited! Out with you all!"

  When they were alone, the Patrol Chief handed him a message blank. "This has just come through from Planets," he exclaimed.

  Simeon grabbed it with a trembling hand. It said:

  Simeon Kenton,

  Megalon, Earth.

  Dear Dad:

  Terribly sorry, but couldn't have let you know earlier. The Iris [her flier] ran out of fuel and power. Oxygenation stopped. I blacked out. Luckily, Kerry Dale—remember him?—picked up my last call for help. Came back and found me. I'm all right. So is he. It may take time for my return to Earth. Please don't worry. Love.

  SALLY.

  "Thank God!" breathed Kenton fervently. Then he stared at the Chief. "But where—how—did this come from Planets? Can't one of your ships get hold of the Flash and take her off?"

  "It's a curious business," said the Chief. He frowned. "I don't understand it all myself." Privately, he was convinced that Foote's wild shot in the dark had been correct; that the pair were eloping. But he didn't dare say it outright to Sally's father.

  Aloud he said: "A cargo ship picked up this message while traveling from the Asteroid Belt. The captain says he was considerably out of the regular lane at the time because he wanted to investigate a small asteroid which he had been told might prove valuable. Anyway, he heard a signal, faint and far off. He replied. The signal identified itself as the Flash, Mr. Dale on board. Dale asked if he would relay a message for him to Planets. The captain said he would. Then this came through."

  "Ah!" Kenton exhaled slowly. "Then how do we know that—?" He stopped short.

  The Chief smiled. "That Miss Kenton was actually on board?" he finished the old man's uncompleted sentence. "Miss Kenton herself delivered the actual message. It's true the captain could not see her on the screen. But that, he explained, was because the Flash was evidently out of visual range. He swears however that it was her voice. He had heard your daughter on the telecasts."

  Old Simeon stared at the message again. It may take time for my return to Earth. What the devil did that mean?

  Couldn't Dale have transferred Sally to the cargo ship, or mentioned that he was taking her to Planets? And why wasn't he turning back now that he knew his mission was in vain? What was going on anyway?

  He swung on the waiting Patrol Chief. "Will you call up Planets at once and get them to send out a ship to take off my daughter?"

  The Chief's face was sober. "The Planets station has already acted on its own initiative. But they can't find the Flash. They can't even establish communication with her."

  Kenton stared. "But that's impossible!" he said violently. "Dale's got an old slow tub. Your ships are three times as fast. He's on the Ganymede lane; you've had three cruisers scouring that lane."

  "He's on it no longer," said the Chief slowly. "The Patrol boats have already searched the area thoroughly."

  There was a moment's silence. "You mean—he's deliberately swung off, and won't reply to calls?"

  The Chief found a most interesting object at the other end of the room to stare at. "It looks that way," he admitted finally. "Our cruisers have been given orders to swing out in wide circles." He looked squarely at t
he old man now. "But space is pretty big, Mr. Kenton, once you get off the lanes."

  For the first time old Simeon could see what the Chief was thinking; what Foote had been thinking; what the whole dad-blamed System by now must be thinking.

  He walked over to the screen, switched it on. Central Operator appeared. "Get me Clem Borden," he snapped, "and get him fast."

  "Borden?" interjected the Chief. "Isn't that the racer who won the Interplanetary Cup last year?"

  "The same," grunted Kenton.

  Then a youngish, wiry, space-tanned individual moved on the screen. "Oh, hello, Mr. Kenton. You want me?"

  "Clem," said Simeon, "it's now 3 P. M. I want your Deimos ready by 6 P. M., jam-packed with every drum of fuel and every ounce of food you can stow on board. We're taking off on a very long trip."

  The racer was astounded. "It's impossible, Mr. Kenton," he said firmly. "That's too short notice."

  "Nothing is impossible," yelled Simeon. "Look at your contract of charter. It says you're to be ready on demand. Well, I'm demanding right now."

  "But I thought you weren't starting until the Commission—"

  "Dingblast the Commission! Look, Clem, I'll take care of the fuel and the food. just you get the ship tuned up and ready."

  "But a crew can't be assembled—"

  "I'll be the crew. Don't you think I'm capable? Why, when was a young man—"

  A light dawned on the racer. He also had been listening to the newscasts. In fact, all other news had been crowded off the waves. "Okay, Mr. Kenton," he said suddenly. "I'll be ready. I sympathize—"

  "Blast your sympathy!" howled Kenton. "You just be ready on time!"

  The Chief protested. "Look here, Mr. Kenton. Don't you think you'd better leave this to the Patrol? After all—"

  "No," howled old Simeon. "It's my daughter, and that skittleskewed young Dale is cooking up something that’ll land 'em both in a dadscrambled mess. Your Patrol has foozled the job, ain’t they? Well, Simeon Kenton will find 'em or—"

  Looking at the tornado of human energy that was disrespectfully known as Old Fireball, the Chief was compelled to admit to himself that he damn well might.

  CHAPTER 12

  SPARKS was a beaten man. He kept staring at the empty visor screen and wailed miserably to himself. "They'll take my license away for this."

  Twice the Patrol signal had come in, and twice Kerry Dale had peremptorily refused to answer it.

  Each time Kerry merely asked: "Were you able to identify the Patrol ship?"

  "Not visually, if that's what you mean."

  "It's exactly what I mean."

  "But," protested Sparks with the feeling that he had done this before—and in vain, "they're out of visual range. And you know as well as I that it's a Patrol boat."

  "I know nothing of the sort," said Kerry with a straight face. "It may be a pirate decoy. You forget, Sparks," he added gravely, "that high jacking gang of Foote's. It's thought to be hiding out somewhere in the Belt."

  "Oh!" Sparks flung up his hands and confessed himself defeated. But he continued to mutter and complain to himself.

  Kerry went to see Sally. She was completely over her near-tragic experience; and she was, as Kerry was compelled to confess, more ravishingly beautiful than ever.

  "You're demoralizing my crew," he told her severely. "Instead of keeping their eyes on their jobs, they just gape and moon at you."

  "As though I were a two-headed calf," she dimpled. "They'll soon get over me."

  "But I won't."

  "That's what I like to hear."

  The young man groaned. "Will you be serious!" he exclaimed. "It was a crazy stunt coming after me."

  "It's crazier for you not to turn back," she retorted. "You'll lose any chance you may have had to file on the comet."

  "No. I'm going on."

  "You have some trick up your sleeve," she accused. "Maybe."

  "And you won't tell it to me?"

  "No," he said frankly. "A secret is a secret only as long as only one person knows it. But look, Sally, you should have let me put you on that cargo ship. Your father—"

  "He knows I'm safe. Or am I?"

  He deliberately mistook her meaning. "You may not be," he said. "I don't know what we're liable to run into. And remember, you told me Foote came out ahead of me. He's thoroughly unscrupulous. There may be—well—"

  Sally's eyes danced. "A fight? I'd love that. Things were much too quiet back on Earth. If you'll give me a ray gun—"

  He groaned and, like Sparks, confessed himself beaten.

  Had he dared land at Planets, he would have deposited her there willy-nilly. But then he would have had no excuse that he hadn't heard the Commission directive. And doubtless they'd detain him for investigation. As it was he had lost enough time by turning back to rescue Sally, and by swinging way out of his course into uncharted space to avoid being pursued by the Patrol. He hadn't told Jem or anyone else yet; but he was not going to land on Ganymede. The same situation would apply there. He was heading directly for the comet.

  The Flash moved steadily on. Day after day. Space was empty, hollow. The sun receded to a small pale disk; Earth had long since vanished to the naked eye. Not a ship was seen; not even a vagrant asteroid. All signals had ceased. Even the powerful Patrol sets couldn't send this far. Jupiter, with its great red spot, loomed to the left and began to recede.

  The crew looked restless and muttered among themselves. Jem came to Kerry and cleared his throat. "I've been steering by your orders, Kerry, without asking no questions. But we're goin' away from Ganymede, an' we're passing Jupiter. The crew's getting mighty uneasy. No ship's ever gone this way before." He looked earnestly at his chief. "I think it's time," he said, "to let the crew in on what ye're doing. Otherwise ye're liable to have a first-class mutiny on your hands."

  Kerry grinned. "All right, Jem. I agree with you. It is time." He led the puzzled mate to the observation telescope. "You see that comet, Jem?"

  Jem stared. Comet X lay like a fiery tadpole across ten degrees of arc. Its head burned with a peculiar white iridescence; its tail was a flaming orange scimitar. "Yes," he said finally, "I been seeing it a long time. What about it?"

  "We're going there."

  Jem looked disgustedly at his boss. "And why, might I ask," he demanded, "are we going to a blooming comet? A handful o' dust, gas an' emptiness."

  Kerry explained what he had heard from the astronomer, Wilson.

  Jem whistled. "A solid head, hey! Elements not found in the System?" Then he scratched his head. "That's okay. But why're ye so all-fired afraid to meet anyone? Why were we skulkin' along back alleys, so to speak?"

  Then Kerry told him the rest of the story; of the leakage of the secret and the Commission's order bringing all starters back to scratch.

  "And ye're going ahead regardless?" exclaimed Jem.

  "Yes."

  Jem stared a moment; then his eye twinkled. "Aha! You've got some of your legal tricks up your sleeve."

  Kerry grinned in exchange. "Maybe I have. Now you can tell the boys what we're up to. You can promise them a cut on whatever we find."

  "They'll love that," crowed Jem.

  "Oh, by the way. Don't say anything about the Commission order."

  Jem winked broadly. "I won't."

  "Another thing. You'd better start breaking out our . . . er . . . rayguns and atomic weapons."

  The mate stopped short. "Oh, oh! You're thinking there may be life on the comet?"

  "No; vermin. I have reason to believe Jericho Foote got ahead of me. He won't have guts enough to come out here himself; but I have a hunch he's sending that bunch of outlaws he's got on the string."

  Jem chuckled, rubbed his hands. "I've been spoiling to meet tip with those birds. Don't ye worry, Kerry, our boys '11 take care of themselves." Then he stopped, rubbed his chin. "But how about Miss Sally?"

  "I don't know. It's been bothering me right along. Oh well, we'll have to take as few chances as possible."
>
  "Bah!" growled Jem to himself as he turned away. "She's a swell dame, but why the devil didn' she stay at home?"

  Sally didn't seem to worry. Her eyes sparkled, and she had the crew eating out of her hand. She had taken only an overnight bag with her; but through some magic known only to herself, she always managed to look freshly groomed and with a change of costume.

  The men were on their toes now, joking, thronging at every off-moment to the observation port to watch the fast-growing comet. The news that there might be a gang of outlaws ahead of them didn't bother them one bit. In fact, they remembered what the gang had done to Captain Ball; and they had a score to settle with cutthroats who were callous enough to set a crew helplessly adrift in space to almost certain death. They fastened their weapons grimly to their belts.

  Even Sally sported a raygun. When Kerry expostulated, she laughed gayly. "Oh, you don't know me, sir. I'm no helpless female. I've taken prizes for sharpshooting in the Megalon tournaments."

  "But this may be no tournament, Sally."

  She looked at him steadily. "I'm not afraid of danger, Kerry," she said. "If I had been, I wouldn't have taken that desperate trip after you."

  That was true, he thought. With her color heightened and her eyes sparkling, she looked like—what did that early composer of almost forgotten operas call them? Oh, yes, Valkyries.

  Comet X was now a glorious sight. It spread half across space; its tail glowing and coruscating with a million colors. Yet the stars shone steadily behind the glowing curtain, disclosing its near-vacuum of repelled infinitesimal particles.