Space Hounds of IPC
(A Tale of the Inter-Plantary Corporation)

By Edward E. Smith


CHAPTER 1
The IPV "Arcturus" Sets Out for Mars—

A narrow football of steel, the Inter-Planetary Vessel Arcturus stood upright
in her berth
in the dock like an egg in its cup. A hundred feet across and a hundred and
seventy feet
deep was that gigantic bowl, its walls supported by the structural steel and
concrete of
the dock and lined with hard-packed bumper-layers of hemp and fiber. High into
the air
extended the upper half of the ship of space—a sullen gray expanse of fifty-
inch
hardened steel armor, curving smoothly upward to a needle prow. Countless
hundreds
of fine vertical scratches marred every inch of her surface, and here and
there the
stubborn metal was grooved and scored to a depth of inches—each scratch and
score
the record of an attempt of some wandering cosmic body to argue the right-of-
way with
the stupendous mass of that man-made cruiser of the void.
     A burly young man made his way through the throng about the entrance,
nodded
unconcernedly to the gatekeeper, and joined the stream of passengers flowing
through
the triple doors of the double air-lock and down a corridor to the center of
the vessel.
However, instead of entering one of the elevators which were whisking the
passengers
up to their staterooms in the upper half of the enormous football, he in some
way
caused an opening to appear in an apparently blank steel wall and stepped
through it
into the control room.
     "Hi, Breck!" the burly one called, as he strode up to the instrument-desk
of the
chief pilot and tossed his bag carelessly into a corner. "Behold your computer
in the
flesh! What's all this howl and fuss about poor computation?"
     "Ho, Steve!" The chief pilot smiled as he shook hands cordially. "Glad to
see you
again—but don't try to kid the old man. I'm simple enough to believe almost
anything,
but some things just aren't being done. We have been yelling, and yelling
loud, for
trained computers ever since they started riding us about every one-centimeter
change
in acceleration, but I know that you're no more an I-P computer than I am a
Digger
Indian. They don't shoot sparrows with coast-defense guns!"
     "Thanks for the compliment, Breck, but I'm your computer for this trip,
anyway.
Newton, the good old egg, knows what you fellows are up against and is going
to do
something about it, if he has to lick all the rest of the directors to do it.
He knew that I
was loose for a couple of weeks and asked me to come along this trip to see
what I
could see. I'm to check the observatory data—they don't know I'm aboard—take
the
peaks and valleys off your acceleration curve, if possible, and report to
Newton just
what I find out and what I think should be done about it. How early am I?"
While the
newcomer was talking, he had stripped the covers from a precise scale model of
the
solar system and from a large and complicated calculating machine and had set
to work
without a wasted motion or instant—scaling off upon the model the positions of
the
various check-stations and setting up long and involved integrals and
equations upon
the calculator.
     The older man studied the broad back of the younger, bent over his
computations, and a tender, almost fatherly smile came over his careworn face
as he
replied:
     "Early? You? Just like you always were — minus fifteen seconds on zero.
The
final dope is due right now." He plugged the automatic recorder and speaker
into a
circuit marked "Observatory", waited until a tiny light above the plug flashed
green, and
spoke.
     "IPV Arcturus; Breckenridge, Chief Pilot; trip number forty three twenty
nine.
Ready for final supplementary route and flight data, Tellus to Mars."
     "Meteoric swarms still too numerous for safe travel along the scheduled
route,"
came promptly from the speaker. "You must stay further away from the plane of
the
ecliptic. The ether will be clear for you along route E2-P6-W4I-K3-Ri9-S7-Mi4.
You will
hold a constant acceleration of 981.27 centimeters between initial and final
check
stations. Your take-off will be practically unobstructed, but you will have to
use the
utmost caution in landing upon Mars, as in order to avoid a weightless detour
and a loss
of thirty one minutes you must pass very close to both the Martian satellites.
To do so
safely you must pass the last meteorological station, Mi4, on schedule time
plus or
minus five seconds, at scheduled velocity plus or minus ten meters, with
exactly the
given negative acceleration of 981.27 centimeters, and exactly upon the pilot
ray Mi4
will have set for you."
     "All x." Breckenridge studied his triplex chronometer intently, then
unplugged and
glanced around the control room, in various parts of which half a dozen
assistants were
loafing at their stations.
     "Control and power check-out — Hipe!" he barked. "Driving converters and
projectors!"
     The first assistant scanned his meters narrowly as he swung a multi-point
switch
in a flashing arc. "Converter efficiency 100, projector reactivity 100; on
each of numbers
one to forty-five inclusive. All x."
     "Dirigible projectors!"
     Two more gleaming switches leaped from point to point. "Converter
efficiency
100, projector reactivity 100, dirigibility 100, on each of numbers one to
thirty-two,
inclusive, of upper band; and on each of numbers one to thirty-two, inclusive,
of lower
band. All x."
     "Gyroscopes!"
     "35,000. Drivers in equilibrium at ten degrees plus. All x."
     "Upper lights and lookout plates!"
     The second assistant was galvanized into activity, and upon a screen
before him
there appeared a view as though he were looking directly upward from the prow
of the
great vessel. The air above them was full of aircraft of all shapes and sizes,
and
occasionally the image of one of that flying horde flared into violet splendor
upon the
screen as it was caught in the mighty, roving beam of one of the twelve ultra-
light
projectors under test.
     "Upper lights and lookout plates—all x," the second assistant reported,
and other
assistants came to attention as the check-out went on.
     "Lower lights and lookout plates!"
     "All x," was the report, after each of the twelve ultralights of the
stern had swung
around in its supporting brackets, illuminating every recess of the dark
depths of the
bottom well of the berth and throwing the picture upon another screen in
brilliant violet
relief.
     "Lateral and vertical detectors!"
     "Laterals XP27io—all x. Verticals AJ429O—all x."
     "Receptors!"
     "15,270 kilofranks—all x."
     "Accumulators!"
     "700,000 kilofrank-hours—all x."
     Having thus checked and tested every function of his department,
Breckenridge
plugged into "Captain," and when the green light went on:
     "Chief pilot check-out—all x," he reported briefly.
     "All x," acknowledged the speaker, and the chief pilot unplugged. Fifteen
minutes
remained, during which time one department head after another would report to
the
captain of the liner that everything in his charge was ready for the
stupendous flight.
     "All x, Steve?" Breckenridge turned to the computer. "How do you check
acceleration and power with the observatory?"
     "Not so good, old bean," the younger man frowned in thought. "They figure
like
astronomers, not navigators. They've made no allowances for anything, not even
the
reversal—and I figure four thousandths for that and for minor detours. Then
there's
check-station error . . ."
     "Check-station errors! Why, they're always right— that's what they're
for!"
     "Don't fool yourself—they've got troubles of their own, the same as
anybody else.
In fact, from a study of the charts of the last few weeks, I'm pretty sure
that E 2 is at
least four thousand kilometers this side of where he thinks he is, that W4i is
ten or
twelve thousand beyond his station, and that they've both got a lateral
displacement
that's simply fierce. I'm going to check up, and argue with them about it as
we pass.
Then there's another thing—they figure to only two places, and we've got to
have the
third place almost solid if we expect to get a smooth curve. A hundredth of a
centimeter
of acceleration means a lot on a long trip when they're holding us as close as
they are.
We'll ride this trip on 981.286 centimeters—with our scheduled mass that means
thirty
six point oh four seven kilofranks plus equilibrium power. All set to go," the
computer
stated, as he changed, by fractions of seconds of arc, the course-plotters of
the
automatic integrating goniometer.
     "You're the doctor—but I'm glad it's you that'll have to explain to the
observatory,"
and Breckenridge set his exceedingly delicate excess power potentiometer
exactly upon
the indicated figure. "Well, we've got a few minutes left for a chin-chin
before we lift her
off."
     "What's all this commotion about? Dish out the low-down."
     "Well, it's like this, Steve. We pilots are having one sweet time—we're
being
growled at on every trip. The management squawks if we're thirty seconds plus
or
minus at the terminal, and the passenger department squalls if we change
acceleration
five centimeters total enroute—claims it upsets the dainty customers and loses
business
for the road. They're tightening up on us all the time. A couple of years ago,
you
remember, it didn't make any difference what we did with the acceleration as
long as we
checked in somewhere near zero time—we used to spin 'em dizzy when we reversed
at
the halfway station—but that kind of stuff doesn't go any more. We've got to
hold the
acceleration constant and close to normal, got to hold our schedule on zero,
plus or
minus ten seconds, and yet we've got to make any detours they tell us to, such
as this
seven-million kilometer thing they handed us just now. To make things worse,
we've got
to take orders at every check-station, and yet we get the blame for everything
that
happens as a consequence of obeying those orders! Of course, I know as well as
you
do that it's rotten technique to change acceleration at every check-station;
but we've told
'em over and over that we can't do any better until they put a real computer
on every
ship and tell the check-stations to report meteorites and other obstructions
to us and
then to let us alone. So you'd better recommend us some computers!"
     "You're getting rotten computation, that's a sure thing, and I don't
blame you
pilots for yelling, but I don't believe that you've got the right answer. I
can't help but think
that the astronomers are laying down on the job. They're so sure that you
pilots are to
blame that it hasn't occurred to them to check up on themselves very
carefully.
However, we'll know pretty quick, and then we'll take steps."
     "I hope so—but say, Steve, I'm worried about using that much plus
equilibrium
power. Remember we've got to hit Mi4 absolutely all x, or plenty heads will
drop."
     "I'll say they will: I know just how the passengers will howl if we hold
them
weightless for half an hour, waiting for those two moons to get out of the
way, and I
know just what the manager will do if we check in thirty-one minutes plus.
Wow! He'll
swell up and bust, sure. But don't worry, Breck—if we don't check in all x,
anybody can
have my head that wants it, and I'm taking full responsibility, you know."
     "You're welcome to it." Breckenridge shrugged and turned the conversation
into a
lighter vein. "Speaking of weightlessness, it's funny how many weight-fiends
there are in
the world, isn't it? You'd think the passengers would enjoy a little
weightlessness
occasionally—especially the fat ones—but they don't. But say, while I think of
it, how
come you were here and loose to make this check-up? I thought you were out
with the
other two of the Big Three, solving all the mysteries of the Universe ?"
     "Had to stay in this last trip—been doing some work on the ether, force-
field
theory, and other stuff that I had to go to Mars and Venus to get. Just got
back last
week. As for solving mysteries, laugh while you can, old hyena. You and a lot
of other
dim bulbs who think that Roeser's Rays are the last word—that there's nothing
left to
discover—are going to get jarred loose from your hinges one of these days.
When I
came in nine months ago they were hot on the trail of something big, and I'll
bet they
bring it in . . ."
     Out upon the dock an insistent siren blared a crescendo and diminuendo
blast of
sound, and two minutes remained. In every stateroom and in every lounge and
saloon
speakers sounded a warning:
     "For a short time, while we are pulling clear of the gravitational field
of the Earth,
walking will be somewhat difficult, as everything on board will apparently
increase in
weight by about one-fifth of its present amount. Please remain seated, or move
about
with caution. In about an hour weight will gradually return to normal. We
start in one
minute."
     "Hipe!" barked the chief pilot as a flaring purple light sprang into
being upon his
board, and the assistants came to attention at their stations. "Seconds! Four!
Three!
Two! One! LIFT!" He touched a button and a set of plunger switches drove home,
releasing into the forty-five enormous driving projectors the equilibrium
power—the
fifteen-thousand-and-odd kilofranks of energy that exactly counterbalanced the
pull of
gravity upon the mass of the cruiser. Simultaneously there was added from the
potentiometer, already set to the exact figure given by the computer, the
plus-
equilibrium power — which would not be changed throughout the journey if the
ideal
acceleration curve were to be registered upon the recorders—and the immense
mass of
the cruiser of the void wafted vertically upward at a low and constant
velocity. The
bellowing, shrieking siren had cleared the air magically of the swarm of
aircraft in her
path, and quietly, calmly, majestically, the Arcturus floated upward.
     Sixty seconds after the initial lift Breckenridge actuated the system of
magnetic
relays which would gradually cut in the precisely-measured "starting power,"
which it
would be necessary to employ for sixty-nine minutes—for, without the
acceleration
given by this additional power, they would lose many precious hours of time in
covering
merely the few thousands of miles during which Earth's attraction would
operate
powerfully against their progress.
     Faster and faster the great cruiser shot upward as more and more of the
starting
power was released, and heavier and heavier the passengers felt themselves
become.
Soon the full calculated power was on and the acceleration became constant.
Weight
no longer increased, but remained constant at a value of plus twenty three and
six-
tenths percent. For a few moments there had been uneasy stomachs among the
passengers—perhaps a few of the first-trippers had been made ill—but it was
not much
worse than riding in a highspeed elevator, particularly since there was no
change from
positive to negative acceleration such as is experienced in express elevators.
     The computer, his calculations complete, watched the pilot with interest,
for,
accustomed as he was to traversing the depths of space, there was a never-
failing thrill
to his scientific mind in the delicacy and precision of the work which
Breckenridge was
doing—work which could be done only by a man having had long training in the
profession and possessed of almost instantaneous nervous reactions and of the
highest
degree of manual dexterity and control. Under his right and left hands were
the double-
series potentiometers actuating the variable-speed drives of -the flight-angle
directors in
the hour and declination ranges; before his eyes was the finely-marked
micrometer
screen upon which the goniometer threw its needle-point of light; powerful
optical
systems of prisms and lenses revealed to his sight the director-angles, down
to
fractional seconds of arc. It was the task of the chief pilot to hold the
screened image of
the cross hairs of the two directors in such position relative to the ever-
moving point of
light as to hold the mighty vessel , precisely upon its course, in spite of
the complex
system of forces acting upon it.
     For almost an hour Breckenridge sat motionless, his eyes flashing from,
micrometer screen to signal panel, his sensitive fingers moving the
potentiometers
through minute arcs because of what he saw upon the screen and in response to
the
flashing, multicolored lights and tinkling signals of his board. Finally, far
from Earth, the
moon's attraction and other perturbing forces comparatively slight, the
signals no longer
sounded and the point of light ceased its irregular motion, becoming almost
stationary.
The chief pilot brought both cross-hairs directly upon the brilliant point
which for some
time they had been approaching more and more nearly, adjusted the photo-cells
and
amplifiers which would hold them immovably upon it, and at the calculated
second of
time cut out the starting power by means of another set of automatically-timed
relays.
When only the regular driving power was left, and the acceleration had been
checked
and found to be exactly the designated value of 981.286 centimeters, he stood
up,
stretched, and heaved a profound sigh of relief.
     "Well, Steve, that's over with—we're on our way. I'm always glad when
this part
of it is done."
     "It's a ticklish job, no fooling—even for an expert," the mathematician
agreed. "No
wonder the astronomers think you birds are the ones who are gumming up their
dope.
Well, it's about time to plug in on E2. Here's where the fireworks start!" He
closed the
connections which transferred the central portion of the upper lookout screen
to a small
micrometer screen at Breckenridge's desk and plugged it into the first check-
station.
Instantly a point of red light, surrounded by a vivid orange circle, appeared
upon the
screen, low down and to the left of center, and the timing galvanometer showed
a wide
negative deflection.
     "Hashed again!" growled Breckenridge. "I must be losing my grip, I guess.
I put
everything I had on that sight, and missed it ten divisions. I think I'll turn
in my
badge—I've cocked our perfect curve already, before we got to the first check-
station!"
His hands moved toward the controls, to correct their course and acceleration.
     "As you were—hold everything! Lay off those controls!" snapped the
computer.
"There's something screwy, just as I thought—and it isn't you, either. I'm no
pilot, of
course, but I do know good compensation when I see it, and if you weren't
compensating that point I never saw it done. Besides, with your skill and my
figures I
know damn well that we aren't off more than a tenth of one division. He's
cuckoo! Don't
call him — let him start it, and refer him to me."
     "All x—I'll be only too glad to pass the buck. But I still think, Steve,
that you're
playing with dynamite. Who ever heard of an astronomer being wrong?"
     "You'd be surprised," grinned the physicist. "Since this fuss has just
started,
nobody's tried to find out whether they were wrong or not . . ."
     "IPV Arc turns, attention!" came from the speaker curtly.
     "IPV Arcturus, Breckenridge," acknowledged the chief pilot.
     "You have been on my ray almost a minute. Why are you not correcting
course
and acceleration?"
     "Doctor Stevens is computing us and has full control of course and
acceleration,"
replied Breckenridge. "He will answer you."
     "I am changing neither course nor acceleration because you are not in
position,"
declared Stevens, crisply. "Please give me your present supposed location, and
your
latest precision goniometer bearings on the sun, the moon, Mars, Venus, and
your
Tellurian reference limb, with exact time of observations, gyroscope zero-
planes, and
goniometer factors!"
     "Correct at once or I shall report you to the Observatory," E2 answered
loftily,
paying no attention to the demand for proof of position.
     "Be sure you do that, guy—and while you're at it report that your station
hasn't
taken a precision bearing in a month. Report that you've been muddling along
on loop
bearings, and that you don't know where you are, within seven thousand
kilometers.
And speaking of reporting—I know already that a lot of you astronomical
guessers have
only the faintest possible idea of where you really are, plus, minus, or
lateral; and if you
don't get yourselves straightened out before we get to W4i I'm going to make a
report
on my own account that will jar some of you birds loose from your upper
teeth!" He
unplugged with a vicious jerk, and turned to the pilot with a grin.
     "Guess that'll hold 'im for a while, won't it, old egg?"
     "He'll report us, sure," remonstrated Breckenridge. The older man was
plainly ill
at ease at this open defiance of the supposedly infallible check-stations.
     "Not that baby," returned the computer confidently. "I'll bet you a small
farm
against a plugged nickel that right now he's working his goniometer so hard
that its
pivots are getting hot. He'll sneak back into position as soon as he can
calculate his
results, and pretend he's always been there."
     "The others will be all right, then, probably, by the time we get to them
?"
     "Gosh, no—you're unusually dumb today, Breck. He won't tell anybody
anything—he doesn't want to be the only goat, does he?"
     "Oh, I see. How could you dope this out, with only the recorder charts ?"
     "Because I know the kind of stuff you pilots are—and those humps are
altogether
too big to be accounted for by anything I know about you. Another thing—the
next
station, P6, I think is keeping himself all x. If so, when you corrected for
E2, which was
wrong, it'd throw you all off on P6, which was right, and so on—a bad hump at
almost
every check-station. See?"
     True to prediction, the pilot ray of P6 came in almost upon the exact
center of the
micrometer screen, and Breckenridge smiled in relief as he began really to
enjoy the
trip.
     "How do we check on chronometers ?" asked P6 when Stevens had been
introduced. "By my time you seem to be about two and a half seconds minus?"
     "All x—two point four I figure it—we're riding on 981.286 centimeters, to
allow for
the reversal and for minor detours. 'Bye."
     "All this may have been coincidence, Breck, but we'll find out pretty
quick now,"
the computer remarked when the flying vessel was nearing the third check-
station.
"Unless I'm all out of control we'll check in almost fourteen seconds plus on
W4i, and we
may not even find him on the center block of the screen."
     When he plugged in W4i was on the block, but was in the extreme upper
right
corner. They checked in thirteen and eight-tenths seconds late, and a fiery
dialogue
ensued when the computer questioned the accuracy of the location of the
station and
refused point-blank to correct his course.
     "Well, Breck, old onion, that tears it," Stevens declared as he
unplugged. "No use
going any further on these lousy reference points. I'm going to report to
Newton—he'll
rock the observatory on its foundations!" He plugged into the telegraph room.
"Have you
got a free high-power wave? . . . Please put me on Newton, in the main
office."
     Moving lights flashed and flickered for an instant upon the communicator
screen,
settling down into a white glow which soon resolved itself into the likeness
of a keen-
eyed, gray-haired man, seated at his desk in the remote office of the Inter-
Planetary
Corporation. Newton smiled as he recognized the likeness of Stevens upon his
own
screen, and greeted him cordially.
     "Have you started your investigation, Doctor Stevens ?"
     "Started it? I've finished it!" and Stevens tersely reported what he had
learned,
concluding: "So you see, you don't need special computers on these ships any
more
than a hen needs teeth. You've got all the computers you need, in the
observatories—all you've got to do is make them work at their trade."
     "The piloting was all x, then?"
     "Absolutely—our curve so far is exactly flat ever since we cut off the
starting
power. Of course, all the pilots can't be as good as Breckenridge, but give
them good
computation and good check points and you shouldn't get any humps higher than
about
half a centimeter."
     "They'll get both, from now on," the director assured him. "Thanks. If
your work
for the trip is done, you might show my little girl, Nadia, around the
Arcturus. She's
never been out before, and will be interested. Would you mind?"
     "Glad to, Mr. Newton—I'll be a regular uncle to her."
     "Thanks again. Operator, I'll speak to Captain King, please."
     "Pipe down that guff, you unlicked cub, or I'll crown you with a proof-
bar!" the
chief pilot growled, as soon as Stevens had unplugged.
     "You and who else?" retorted the computer, cheerfully. "Pipe down
yourself, guy
— if you weren't so dumb and didn't have such a complex you'd know that you're
the
crack pilot of the outfit and wouldn't care who else knew it." Stevens
carefully covered
and put away the calculating machine and other apparatus he had been using,
and
turned again to the pilot.
     "I didn't know Newton had any kids, especially little ones? Of course I
don't know
him very well, since I've never been around the office much, but the old tiger
goes over
big with me."
     "Hm-m. Think you'll enjoy playing nursemaid all the rest of the trip?"
Breckenridge asked caustically, but with an enigmatic smile.
     "Think so? I know so!" replied Stevens, positively. "I always did like
kids, and
they like me—we fall for each other like ten thousand bricks falling down a
well. Why, a
kid—any kid—and I team up just like grace and poise . . . What's gnawing on
you
anyway, to make you turn Cheshire cat all of a sudden ? By the looks of that
grin I'd say
you'd swallowed a canary of mine some way or other; but darned if I know that
I've lost
any," and he stared at his friend suspiciously.
     "To borrow your own phrase, Steve, 'You'd be surprised,' " and
Breckenridge,
though making no effort to conceal his amusement, would say no more.
     In a few minutes the door opened, and through it there stepped a grizzled
four-
striper. Almost hidden behind his massive form there was a girl, who ran up to
Breckenridge and seized both his hands, her eyes sparkling.
     "Hi, Breckie, you old darling! I knew that if we both kept after him long
enough
Dad would let me ride with you sometime. Isn't this gorgeous?"
     Stevens was glad indeed that the girl's enthusiastic greeting of the
pilot was
giving him time to recover from his shock, for Director Newton's "little girl,
Nadia" was
not precisely what he had led himself to expect. Little she might be,
particularly when
compared with the giant frame of Captain King, or with Steve's own five-feet-
eleven of
stature and the hundred and ninety pounds of rawhide and whalebone that was
his
body, but child she certainly was not. Her thick, fair hair, cut in the square
bob that was
the mode of the moment, indicated that Nature had intended her to be a creamy
blonde,
but as she turned to be introduced to him Stevens received another surprise—
for she
was one of those rare, but exceedingly attractive beings, a natural blonde
with brown
eyes and black eyebrows. Sun and wind had tanned her satin skin to a smooth
and
even shade of brown, and every movement of her lithe and supple body bespoke
to the
discerning mind a rigidly-trained physique.
     "Doctor Stevens, you haven't met Miss Newton, I hear," the captain
introduced
them informally. "All the officers who are not actually tied down at their
posts are
anxious to do the honors of the vessel, but as I have received direct orders
from the
owners I am turning her over to you—you are to show her around."
     "Thanks, Captain, I won't mutiny a bit against such an order as that. I'm
mighty
glad to know you, Miss Newton."
     "I've heard a lot about you, Doctor. Dad and Breckie here are always
talking
about the Big Three—what you have done and what you are going to do. I want to
meet
Doctor Brandon and Doctor Westfall, too," and her hand met his in a firm and
friendly
clasp. She turned to the captain, and Stevens, noticing that the pilot, with a
quizzical
expression, was about to say something, silenced him with a fierce aside.
     "Clam it, ape, or I'll climb up you like a squirrel!" he hissed, and the
grinning
Breckenridge nodded assent to this demand for silence concerning children and
nursemaids.
     "Since you've never been out, Miss Newton, you'll want to see the whole
works,"
Stevens addressed the girl. "Where do you want to begin? Shall we start at the
top and
work down?"
     "All x," she agreed, and fell into step behind him. She was dressed in
dove-gray
from head to foot—toque, blouse, breeches, heavy stockings, and shoes were of
the
one shade of smooth, lustrous silk; and as they strolled together down the
passage-way
the effortless ease and perfect poise of her carriage called aloud to every
hard-schooled
fiber of his own being.
     "We're a lot alike, you and I—do you know it?" he asked, abruptly and
unconventionally.
     "Yes, I've felt it, too," she replied frankly, and studied him without
affectation. "It
has just come to me what it is. We're both trained down fine. You're an
athlete of some
kind, and I'm sure you're a star—I ought to recognize you, but I'm ashamed to
say I
don't. What do you do?"
     "Swim."
     "Oh, of course—Stevens, the great Olympic high and fancy diver! I'd never
have
connected our own Doctor Stevens, the eminent mathematical physicist, with the
King
of the Springboard. Say, ever since I quit being afraid of the water I've had
a yen to do
that two-and-a-half thing of yours, but I've never seen anybody that knew it
well enough
to teach it to me, and I've almost broken my back forty times trying to learn
it alone!"
     "I've got you, now, too—American and British Women's golf champion.
Shake!"
and the two shook hands vigorously, in mutual congratulation. "Tell you what—
I'll give
you some pointers on diving, and you can show me how to make a golf ball
behave.
Next to Norman Brandon I've got the most vicious hook in captivity—and Norm
can't
help himself. He's left-handed, you know, and, being a southpaw, he's
naturally wild. He
slices all his woods and hooks all his irons. I'm consistent, anyway—I hook
everything,
even my putts."
     "It's a bargain! What do you shoot?"
     "Pretty dubby. Usually in the middle eighties—none of us play much, being
out in
space most of the time, you know—sometimes, when my hook is going particularly
well,
I go up into the nineties."
     "We'll lick that hook," she promised, as they entered an elevator and
were borne
upward, toward the prow of the great interplanetary cruiser._CHAPTER 2
— But Does Not Arrive

All out—we climb the rest of the way on foot," Stevens told his companion, as
the
elevator stopped at the uppermost passenger floor. They walked across the
small
circular hall and the guard on duty came to attention and saluted as they
approached
him.
     "I have orders to pass you and Miss Newton, sir. Do you know all the
combinations?"
     "I know this good old tub better than the men that built her—I helped
calculate
her," Stevens replied, as he stepped up to an apparently blank wall of steel
and deftly
manipulated an almost invisible dial set flush with its surface. "This is to
keep the
passengers where they belong," he explained, as a section of the wall swung
backward
in a short arc and slid smoothly aside. "We will now proceed to see what makes
her
tick."
     Ladder after ladder of steel they climbed, and bulkhead after bulkhead
opened at
Stevens' knowing touch. At each floor the mathematician explained to the girl
the
operation of the machinery there automatically at work—devices for heating and
cooling, devices for circulating, maintaining, and purifying the air and the
water—in
short, all the complex mechanism necessary for the comfort and convenience of
the
human cargo of the liner.
     Soon they entered the conical top compartment, a room scarcely fifteen
feet in
diameter, tapering sharply upward to a hollow point some twenty feet above
them. The
true shape of the room, however, was not immediately apparent, because of the
enormous latticed beams and girders which braced the walls in every direction.
The air
glowed with the violet light of the twelve great ultra-light projectors, like
searchlights with
three-foot lenses, which lined the wall. The floor beneath their feet was not
a level steel
platform, but seemed to be composed of many lenticular sections of dull blue
alloy.
     "We are standing upon the upper lookout lenses, aren't we ?" asked the
girl. "Is
that perfectly all x ?"
     "Sure. They're so hard that nothing can scratch them, and of course
Roeser's
Rays go right through our bodies, or any ordinary substance, like a bullet
through a hole
in a Swiss cheese. Even those lenses wouldn't refract 'em if they weren't
solid fields of
force."
     As he spoke one of the ultra-lights flashed around in a short, quick arc,
and the
girl saw that instead of the fierce glare she had expected, it emitted only a
soft violet
light. Nevertheless she dodged involuntarily and Stevens touched her arm
reassuringly.
     "All x, Miss Newton—they're harmless like mice. They hardly ever have to
swing
past the vertical, and even if one shines right through you you can look it
right in the eye
as long as you want to—it can't hurt you a bit."
     "No ultra-violet at all?"
     "None whatever. Just a color—one of the many remaining crudities of our
ultra-
light vision. A lot of good men are studying this thing of direct vision,
though, and it won't
be long until we'll have a system that will really work."
     "I think it's all perfectly wonderful!" she breathed. "Just think of
traveling in
comfort through empty space, and of actually seeing through seamless steel
walls,
without even a sign of a window! How can such things be possible ?"
     "I'll have to go pretty well back," he warned, "and any adequate
explanation is
bound to be fairly deep wading in spots. How technical can you stand it ?"
     "I can go down with you middling deep—I took a lot of general science,
and
physics through advanced mechanics. Of course I didn't get into any such
highly
specialized stuff as sub-electronics or Roeser's Rays, but if you start
drowning me I'll
stop you."
     "Fine—with that to go on you can get the idea all x. Let's sit down on
this girder.
Roeser didn't do it all, by any means, even though he got popular credit for
it—he
merely helped the Martians do it. The whole thing started, of course, when the
first
space-rocket hit the moon. It was intensified when Roeser—working up, or
rather down,
from radar—so perfected his system that signals were exchanged with Mars;
signals
that neither side could develop into intelligible communication.
     "The rocketeers made bigger and better rockets until they finally built
one that
could land people safely upon Mars. Roeser, who was a mighty keen bird, was
one of
the first voyagers, and he didn't come back. He stayed there, living in a
space-suit for
five years, and got a brand-new education. Martian science always was hot, you
know,
but they were impractical. They were desperately hard up for water and air,
and while
they had a lot of wonderful ideas and theories, they couldn't overcome the
practical
technical and technological difficulties in the way of making their ideas
work. Now
putting other peoples' ideas to work was Roeser's long suit—don't think that
I'm belittling
Roeser at all, either, for he was a brave and far-sighted man, was no mean
scientist,
and was certainly one of the best organizers and synchronizers the world has
ever
known—and since Martian and Tellurian science complemented each other, so that
one
filled in the gaps of the other, it wasn't long until fleets of space-
freighters were bringing
in air and water from Venus, which had plenty of both to spare.
     "Having done all he could for the Martians and having learned most of the
stuff
he wanted to know, Roeser came back to Tellus and organized Inter-Planetary,
with
scientists and engineers on all three planets, and%set to work to improve the
whole
system, for the vessels they used then were dangerous — regular mankillers, in
fact. At
about this same time Roeser and the Inter-Planetary Corporation, with their
really
effective atomic bombs, had a big part in the unification of the world into
one nation, so
that wars could no longer interfere with progress.
     "With this introduction I can get down to fundamentals. Molecules are
particles of
the first order, and vibrations of the first order include sound, light, heat,
electricity,
radio, and so on. Second order, atoms—extremely short vibrations, such as hard
X-
rays. Third order, electrons, protons, and so on, with their accompanying
Millikan, or
Cosmic Rays. Fourth order, sub-electrons and sub-protons. These, in the
material
aspect, are supposed to be the particles of the fourth order, and in the
energy aspect
they are known as Roeser's Rays. That is, these fourth-order rays and
particles seem to
partake of the nature of both energy and matter. Following me?"
     "Right behind you," she assured him. She had been listening intently, her
wide-
spaced brown eyes fastened upon his face.
     "Since these Roeser's Rays, or particles or rays of the fourth order,
seem to be
both matter and energy, and since the rays can be converted into what is
supposed to
be the particles, they have been thought to be the things from which both
electrons and
protons were built. Therefore, everybody except Norman Brandon has supposed
them
the ultimate units of creation, so that it would be useless to try to go any
further . . ."
     "Why, we were taught that they are the ultimate units!" she protested.
     "I know you were—but we really don't know anything, except what we have
learned empirically, even about our driving forces. What is called the fourth-
order
particle is absolutely unknown, since nobody has been able to detect it, to
say nothing
of determining its velocity or other properties. It has been assumed to have
the velocity
of light only because that hypothesis does not conflict with observational
data. I'm going
to give you the generally-accepted idea, since we have nothing definite to
offer in its
place, but I warn you that that idea is very probably wrong. There's a lot of
deep stuff
down there that hasn't been dug up yet. In fact, Brandon thinks that the
product of
conversion isn't what we think it is, at all—that the actual fundamental unit
and the
primary mechanism of the transformation lie somewhere below the fourth order,
and
possibly even below the level of the ether—but we haven't been able to find a
point of
attack yet that will let us get in anywhere. However, I'm getting 'way ahead
of our
subject. To get back to it, energy can be converted into something that acts
like matter
through Roeser's Rays, and that is the empirical fact underlying the drive of
our space-
ships, as well as that of almost all other vehicles on all three planets.
Power is
generated by the great waterfalls of Tellus and Venus — water's mighty scarce
on Mars,
of course, so most of our plants there use atomics—and is transmitted on tight
beams
by means of powerful fields of force to the receptors, wherever they may be.
The
individual transmitting fields and receptors are simply matched-frequency
units, each
matching the electrical characteristics of some particular and unique beam of
force. This
beam is composed of Roeser's Rays, in their energy aspect. It took a long time
to work
out this tight-beam transmission of power, but it was fairly simple after they
got it."
     He took out a voluminous notebook, at the sight of which Nadia smiled.
     "A computer might forget to dress, but you'd never catch one without a
full
magazine pencil and a lot of blank paper," he grinned in reply and went on,
writing as he
talked.
     "For any given frequency, , and phase angle, theta, you integrate,
between
limits zero and pi over two, sine theta d. . ."
     "Hold it — I'm sinking!" Nadia exclaimed. "I don't integrate at all
unless it is
absolutely necessary. As long as you stick to general science I'm right on
your heels,
but please lay off of integrations and all that—most especially lay off of
those terrible
electrical integrals. I always did think that they were the most poisonous
kind known. I
want only a general idea—that's all that I can understand, anyway."
     "Sure. I forgot—guess I was getting in deeper than is necessary,
especially since
this whole thing of beam transmission is pretty crude yet and is bound to
change a lot
before long. There is so much loss that when we get more than a few hundred
million
kilometers away from a power-plant we lose reception entirely. But to get
going again,
the receptors receive the beam and from them the power is sent to the
accumulators,
where it is stored. These accumulators are an outgrowth of the storage
battery. The
theory of the accumulator is . . ."
     "Lay off of the theory, please!" the listener interrupted. "I understand
perfectly
without it. Energy is stored in the accumulators—you put it in and take it
out. That's all
that is necessary."
     "I'd like to give you some of the theory—but, after all, it wouldn't add
much to
your understanding of the working of things, and it might mix you up, as some
of it is
pretty deep stuff. Then, too, it would take a lot of time, and the rest of
your friends would
squawk if I kept you here indefinitely. From the accumulators, then, the power
is fed to
the converters, each of which is backed by a projector. The converters simply
change
the aspect of the rays, from the energy aspect to the material aspect. As soon
as this is
done, the highly-charged particles — or whatever they are — thus formed are
repelled
by the terrific stationary force maintained in the projector backing the
converter. Each
particle departs with a velocity supposed to be that of light, and the recoil
upon the
projector drives the vessel, or car, or whatever it is attached to. Still with
me?"
     "Struggling a little, but my nose is still above the surface. These
particles, being
so infinitesimally small that they cannot even be detected, go right through
any
substance without any effect—they are not even harmful."
     "Exactly. Now we are in position to go ahead with the lights, detectors,
and so on.
The energy aspect of the rays you can best understand as simply a vibration in
the
ether— an extremely short one. While not rigidly scientific, that is close
enough for you
and me. Nobody knows what the stuff really is, and it cannot be explained nor
demonstrated by any model or concept in three-dimensional space. Its physical-
mathematical interpretation, the only way in which it can be grasped at all,
requires
sixteen co-ordinates in four dimensions, and I don't suppose you'd care to go
into that?"
     "I'll say I wouldn't!" she exclaimed, feelingly.
     "Well, anyway, by the use of suitable fields of force it can be used as a
carrier
wave. Most of this stuff of the fields of force—how to carry the modulation up
and down
through all the frequency changes necessary—was figured out by the Martians
ages
ago. Used as a pure carrier wave, with a sender and a receiver at each end, it
isn't so
bad— that's why our communicator and radio systems work as well as they do.
They
are pretty good, really, but the ultralight vision system is something else
again. Sending
the heterodyned wave through steel is easy, but breaking it up, so as to view
an object
and return the impulses, was an awful job and one that isn't half done yet. We
see
things, after a fashion and at a distance of a few kilometers, by sending an
almost
parallel wave from a twin-projector to disintegrate and double back the
viewing wave.
That's the way the lookout plates and lenses work, all over the ship— from the
master-
screens in the control room to the plates of the staterooms and lifeboats and
the
viewing-areas of the promenades. But the whole system is a make-shift, and . .
."
     "Just a minute!" exclaimed the girl. "I and everybody else have been
thinking that
everything is absolutely perfect; and yet every single thing you have talked
about, you
have ended up by describing as 'unknown', 'rudimentary', 'temporary', or a
'makeshift'.
You speak as though the entire system were a poor thing that will have to do
until
something better has been found, and that nobody knows anything about
anything! How
do you get that way?"
     "By working with Brandon and Westfall. Those birds have got real brains
and
they're on the track of something that will, in all probability, be as far
ahead of Roeser's
Rays as Our present system is ahead of the science of the seventeenth
century."
     "Really ?" she looked at him in astonishment. "Tell me about it."
     "Can't be done," he refused. "I don't know much about it—even they didn't
know
any too much about some of it when I had to come in. And what little I do know
I can't
tell, because it isn't mine."
     "But you're working with them, aren't you?"
     "Yes, in the sense that a small boy helps his father run a lathe—they're
the
brains."
     Nadia, disbelieving completely his disclaimer but secretly pleased by his
attitude,
replied:
     "You would say something like that, of course . . . where do we go from
here?"
     "Down the lining of the hull, outside the passengers' quarters, to the
upper
dirigible projectors," and he led the way down a series of steep steel
stairways, through
bulkheads and partitions of steel. "One thing I forgot to tell you about—the
detectors.
They're an outgrowth of radar—reflection, you know. Whenever one spots
anything it
swings a light on it—that's what happened when that light swung toward us, up
there in
the prow—and automatic calculating machines compute and announce direction,
distance, relative course, and so on."
     "Are there any of those lifeboats, that I have been hearing so much
about, near
here?"
     "Lots of 'em—here's one right here." He opened an insulated door, snapped
on a
light, and waved his hand. "You can't see much of it from here, but it's a
complete
spaceship in itself, capable of maintaining a dozen or fifteen persons during
a two-
weeks' cruise in space."
     "Why isn't it a good idea to retain them? Accidents are still possible,
are they
not?"
     "Of course, and there is no question of doing away with them entirely.
Modern
ships, however, have only enough of them to take care of the largest number of
persons
ever to be carried by the vessel."
     "Has the Arcturus more than she needs ?"
     "I'll say she has, and more of everything else, except room for pay-
load."
     "I've heard them talking about junking her. I think it's a shame."
     "So do I, in a way—you see, I helped design her and her sister-ship, the
Sirius,
which Brandon and Westfall are using as a floating laboratory. But times
change, and
the inefficient must go. She's a good old tub, but she was built when
everybody was
afraid of space, and we had to put every safety factor into her that we could
think of. As
a result, she is four times as heavy as she should be, and that takes a lot of
extra
power. Her skin is too thick. She has too many batteries of accumulators, too
many life-
boats, too many bulkheads and airbreaks, too many and too much of everything.
She is
so built that if she should break up out in space, nobody would die if they
lived through
the shock—there are so many bulkheads, airbreaks, and lifeboats that no matter
how
many pieces she broke up into, the survivors would find themselves in
something able
to navigate. That excessive construction is no longer necessary. Modern ships
carry ten
times the pay-load on one-quarter of the power that this old battle-wagon
uses. Even
though she's only four years old, she's a relic of the days when we used to
slam through
on the ecliptic route, right through all the meteoric stuff that is always
there—trusting to
heavy armor to ward off anything too small for the observers and detectors to
locate.
Now, with the observatories and check-stations out in space, fairly light
armor is
sufficient, as we route ourselves well away from the ecliptic and so miss all
the heavy
stuff. So, bad as I hate to see her go there, the old heap is bound for the
junk-yard."
     A few more flights brought them to the upper band of dirigible
projectors, which
encircled the hull outside the passengers' quarters, some sixty feet below the
prow.
They were heavy, search-light-like affairs mounted upon massive universal
bearings,
free to turn in any direction, each having its converter nestling inside its
prodigious field
of force. Stevens explained that these projectors were used in turning the
vessel and in
dodging meteorites when necessary, and .they went on through another almost
invisible
door into a hall and took an elevator down to the main corridor.
     "Well, you've seen it, Miss Newton," Stevens said regretfully, as he led
her
toward the captain's office. "The lower half is full of heavy stuff—
accumulators,
machinery, driving projectors, and such junk, so that the center of gravity is
below the
center of action of the driving projectors. That makes stable flight possible.
It's all more
or less like what we've just seen, and I don't suppose you want to miss the
dance—anyway, a lot of people want to dance with you."
     "Wouldn't you just as soon show me the lower half as dance?"
     "Rather, lots!"
     "So would I. I can dance any time, and I want to see everything. Let's
go!"
     Down they went, past battery after battery of accumulators ; climbing
over and
around the ever-increasing numbers of huge steel girders and braces; through
mazes of
heavily insulated wiring and conduits; past mass after mass of automatic
machinery
which Stevens explained to his eager listener. They inspected one of the great
driving
projectors, which, built rigidly parallel to the axis of the ship and held
immovably in place
by enormous trusses of steel, revealed neither to the eye nor to the ear any
sign of the
terrific force it was exerting. Still lower they went, until the girl had been
shown
everything, even down to the bottom ultra-lights and stern braces.
     "Tired?" Stevens asked, as the inspection was completed.
     "Not very, it's been quite a climb, but I've had a wonderful time;"
     "So have I," he declared, positively. "I know what— we'll stop off in one
of these
stern lifeboats and make us a cup of coffee before we climb back. With me ?"
     " 'Way ahead of you!" Nadia accepted the invitation enthusiastically, and
they
made their way to the nearest of the miniature space-cruisers. Here, although
no
emergency had been encountered in all the four years of the vessel's life,
they found
everything in readiness, and the two soon had prepared and eaten a hearty
luncheon.
     "Well, I can't think of any more excuses for monopolizing you, Miss
Newton, so I
suppose I'll have to take you back. Believe me, I've enjoyed this more than
you can
realize—I've . . ."
     He broke off and listened, every nerve taut. "What was that ?" he
exclaimed.
     "What was what? I didn't hear anything?"
     "Something wrong somewhere! I felt a vibration, and anything that'd make
this
hunk of steel even quiver must have given us one God-awful nudge. There's
another!"
     The girl, painfully tense, felt only a barely perceptible tremor, but the
computer,
knowing far better than she the inconceivable strength and mass of that
enormous
structure of solidly braced hardened alloy, sprang into action. Leaping to the
small
dirigible look-out plate, he turned on the power and swung it upward.
     "Great suffering snakes!" he ejaculated, then stood mute, for the plate
revealed a
terrible sight. The entire nose of the gigantic craft had been sheared off in
two immense
slices as though clipped off by a gigantic sword, and even as they stared,
fascinated, at
the sight, the severed slices were drifting slowly away. Swinging the view
along the
plane of cleavage, Stevens made out a relatively tiny ball of metal, only
fifty feet or so in
diameter, at a distance of perhaps a mile. From this ball there shot a
blinding plane of
light, and the Arcturus fell apart at the midsection, the lower half
separating clean from
the upper portion, which held the passengers. Leaving the upper half intact,
the attacker
began slicing the lower, driving half into thin, disk-shaped sections. As that
incandescent plane of destruction made its first flashing cut through the body
of the
Arcturus, accompanied by an additional pyrotechnic display of severed and
short-
circuited high-tension leads, Stevens and Nadia suddenly found themselves
floating
weightless in the air of the room. Still gripping the controls of the lookout
plate, Stevens
caught the white-faced girl with one hand, drew her down beside him, and held
her
motionless while his keen mind flashed over all the possibilities of the
situation and
planned his course of action.
     "They're apparently slicing us pretty evenly, and by the looks of things
one cut is
coming right about here," he explained rapidly, as he found a flashlight and
drew his
companion through the door and along a narrow passage. Soon he opened another
door and led her into a tiny compartment so low that they could not stand
upright—a
mere cubicle of steel. Carefully closing the door, he fingered dials upon each
of the
walls of the cell, then folded himself up into a comfortable position,
instructed Nadia to
do the same, and snapped off the light.
     "Please leave it on," the shaken girl asked. "It's so ghastly!"
     "We'd better save it, Nadia," he advised, pressing her arm reassuringly.
"It's the
only light we've got, and we may need it worse later on—its life is limited,
you know."
     "Later on? Do you think we'll need anything— later on?"
     "Sure! Snap out of it, ace! Of course they may get us, but this little
tertiary air-
break is a mighty small target for them to hit. And if they miss us, as I
think they will,
there's a larger room opening off each wall of this one—at least one of which
will
certainly be left intact. From any one of those rooms we can reach a life-
boat. Of
course, it's a little too much to expect that any one of the lifeboats will be
left whole, but
they're bulkheaded, too, you know, so that we can be sure of finding something
able to
navigate—providing we can make our get-away. I'm mighty glad we're aboard the
old
Arcturus right now, with all her safety-devices, instead of on one of the
modern liners.
We'd be sunk right."
     "I felt sunk enough for a minute—I'm feeling better now, though, since
you are
taking it so calmly."
     "Sure—why not? A guy's not dead until his heart stops beating, you know—
our
turn'll come next, when they let up a little."
     "But suppose they change the width of their slices, and hit this cubby,
small as it
is?"
     "It'd be just too bad," he shrugged. "In that case, we'd never know what
hit us, so
it's no good worrying about it. But say, we might do something at that, if
they didn't hit
us square. I can move fairly fast, and might be able to get a door open before
the loss of
pressure seals it. We'll light the flash . . . here, you hold it, so that I
can have both hands
free. Put both arms around me, just under the arms, and stick to me like a
porous
plaster, because if I have to move at all I'll have to jump like chain
lightning. Shine the
beam right over there, so it'll reflect and light up all the dials at once.
There . . . hold on
tight! Here they come!"
     As he spoke, a jarring shudder shook one side of their hiding-place,
then, a
moment later, the phenomenon was repeated, but with much less force, upon the
other
side. Stevens sighed with relief, took the light, and extinguished it.
     "Missed us clean!" he exulted. "Now, if they don't find us, we're all
set."
     "How can they possibly find us? I seem to be always worried about the
wrong
things, but I should think that their finding us would be the least of our
troubles."
     "Don't judge their vision system by ours—they've got everything,
apparently.
However, their apparatus may not be delicate enough to spot us in a space this
small
when their projectors flash through it, as they probably will. Then, too,
there's a couple
of other big items in our favor— nobody else is in the entire lower half,
since all this
machinery down here is either automatic or else controlled from up above, so
they won't
be expecting to see anybody when they get down this far; and we aren't at all
conspicuous.
     We're both dressed in gray—your clothes in particular are almost exactly
the
color of this armor-plate—so altogether we stand a good chance of being
missed."
     "What shall we do now?"
     "Nothing whatever—wish we could sleep for a couple of hours, but of
course
there's no hope of that. Stretch out here, like that—you can't rest folded up
like an
accordion— and I'll lie down diagonally across the room. There's just room for
me that
way. That's one advantage of weightlessness—you can lie down standing on your
head,
and go to sleep and like it. But I forgot—you've never been weightless before,
have you
? Does that continuous-fall sensation make you sick?"
     "Not so much, now, except that I feel awfully weird inside. I was
horribly dizzy
and nauseated at first, but it's going away."
     "That's good—it makes lots of people pretty sick. In fact, some folks get
awfully
sick and can't seem to get used to it at all. It's the canals in the inner ear
that do most of
it, you know. However, if you're as well as that already, you'll be a regular
spacehound
in half an hour. I've been weightless for weeks at a stretch, out in the
Sirius, and now
I've got so I really like it. Here, we'd better keep in touch." He found her
hand and
tucked it under his arm. "Stabilize our positions more, besides keeping us
from getting
too lonesome, here in the dark," he concluded, in a matter-of-fact voice.
     "Thanks for saying 'us' — but you would, wouldn't you?" and a wave of
admiration went through her for the real and chivalrous manhood of the man
with whom
she had been forced by circumstances to cast her lot. "How long must we stay
here?"
     "As long as the air lasts, and I'd like to stay here longer than that. We
don't want
to move around any more than we absolutely have to until their rays are off of
us, and
we have no way of knowing how long that'll be. Also, we'd better keep still. I
don't know
what kind of an audio system they've got, but there's no use taking
unnecessary
chances."
     "All x—I'm an oyster's little sister," and for many minutes the two
remained
motionless and silent. Now and then Nadia twitched and started at some vague
real or
imaginary sound—now and then her fingers tightened upon his biceps—and he
pressed
her hand with his arm in reassurance and understanding. Once a wall of their
cell
resounded under the impact of a fierce blow and Stevens instantly threw his
arm around
the girl, twisting himself between her and the threatened wall, ready for any
emergency.
But nothing more happened, the door remained closed, the cell stayed bottle-
tight, and
time wore slowly on. All too soon the unmistakable symptoms of breathing an
unfit
atmosphere made themselves apparent and Stevens, after testing each of the
doors,
drew the girl into a larger room, where they breathed deeply of the fresh,
cool air.
     "How did you know that this room was whole ?" asked Nadia. "We might have
stepped out into space, mightn't we?"
     "No; if this room had lost its tightness the door wouldn't have opened.
They won't
open if there's a difference of one kilogram pressure on the two sides. That's
how I
knew that the room we were in at first was cut in two— the door into that air-
break
wouldn't move."
     "What comes next?"
     "I don't know exactly what to do—we'd better hold a little council of
war. They
may have gone . . ." Stevens broke off as the structure began to move, and
they settled
down upon what had been one of the side-walls. Greater and greater became the
acceleration, until their apparent weight was almost as much as it would have
been
upon the Earth, at which point it became constant. ". . . but they haven't,"
he continued
the interrupted sentence. "This seems to be a capture and seizure, as well as
an attack,
so we'll have to take the risk of looking at them. Besides, it's getting cold
in here. One or
two of the adjoining cells have apparently been ruptured and we're radiating
our heat
out into space, so we'll have to get into a lifeboat or freeze. I'll go pick
out the best one.
Wonder if I'd better take you with me, or hide you and come back after you ?"
     "Don't worry about that—I'm coming with you," Nadia declared, positively.
     "Just as well, probably," he assented, and they set out. A thorough
exploration of
all the tight connecting cells revealed that not a lifeboat within their reach
remained
intact, but that habitable and navigable portions of three such craft were
available.
Selecting the most completely equipped of these, they took up their residence
therein
by entering it and closing the massive insulating door. Stevens disconnected
all the
lights save one, and so shielded that one before turning it on that it merely
lightened the
utter darkness into a semi-permeable gloom. He then stepped up to the lookout
plate,
and with his hand upon the control, pondered long the possible consequences of
what
he wished to do.
     "What harm would it do to take just a little peek?"
     "I don't know—that's the dickens of it. Maybe none, and then again, maybe
a lot.
You see, we don't know who or what we are up against. The only thing we know
is that
they've got us beat a hundred ways, and we've got to act accordingly. We've
got to
chance it sometime, though, if we ever get away, so we might as well do it
now. I'll put it
on very short range first, and see what we can see. By the small number of
cells we've
got here I'm afraid they've split us up lengthwise, too—so that instead of
having a whole
slice of the old watermelon to live in, we've got only about a sixth of one—
shaped about
like a piece of restaurant pie. One thing I can do, though. I'll turn on the
communicator
receiver and put it on full coverage—maybe we can hear something useful."
     Putting a little power upon the visiray plate, he moved the point of
projection a
short distance from their hiding-place, so that the plate showed a view of the
wreckage.
The upper half of the vessel was still intact, the lower half a jumble of
sharply-cut
fragments. From each of the larger pieces a brilliant ray of tangible force
stretched
outward.
     Suddenly their receiver sounded behind them, as the high-powered
transmitter in
the telegraph room tried to notify headquarters of their plight.
     "Arcturus attacked and cut up being taken tow . . ."
     Rapidly as the message was uttered the transmitter died with a rattle in
the
middle of a word, and Nadia looked at Stevens with foreboding in her eyes.
     "They've got something, that's one thing sure, to be able to neutralize
our
communicator beams that way," he admitted. "Not so good—we'll have to play
this dose
to our vests, girl!"
     "Are you just trying to cheer me up, or do you really think we have a
chance?"
she demanded. "I want to know just where we stand."
     "I'm coming clean with you, no kidding. If we can get away", we'll be all
x,
because I'll bet a farm that by this time Brandon's got everything those birds
have, and
maybe more. They beat us to it, that's all. I'm kind of afraid, though, that
getting away
isn't going to be quite as simple as shooting fish down a well."
     Far ahead of them a port opened, a lifeboat shot out at its full power,
and again
their receiver tried to burst into sound, but it was a vain attempt. The sound
died before
one complete word could be uttered, and the lifeboat, its power completely
neutralized
by the rays of the tiny craft of the enemy, floated gently back toward the
mass of its
parent and accompanied it in its headlong flight. Several more lifeboats made
the
attempt, as the courageous officers of the Arcturus, some of whom had
apparently
succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the captors, launched the little shells
from various
ports; but as each boat issued its power was neutralized and it found itself
dragged
helplessly along in the grip of one of those mysterious, brilliant rays of
force. At least
one hidden officer must have been watching the fruitless efforts, for the next
lifeboat to
issue made no attempt, either to talk or to flee, but from it there flamed out
into space a
concentrated beam of destruction—the terrible ray of annihilation, against
which no
known substance could endure for a moment; the ray which had definitely
outlawed
war. But even that frightful weapon was useless— it spent its force harmlessly
upon an
impalpable, invisible barrier, a hundred yards from its source, and the bold
lifeboat
disappeared in one blinding explosion of incandescence as the captor showed
its real
power in retaliation. Stevens, jaw hard-set, leaped away from the screen, then
brought
himself up so quickly that he skated across the smooth steel floor. Shutting
off the
lookout plate, he led the half-fainting girl across the room to a comfortable
seat and sat
down beside her—raging, but thoughtful. Nadia soon recovered.
     "Why are you acting so contrary to your nature—is it because of me?" she
demanded. "A dozen times I've seen you start to do something and then change
your
mind. I will not be a load on you nor hinder you in anything you want to do."
     "I told your father I'd look after you, and I'm going to do it," he
replied, indirectly. "I
would do it anyway, of •course—even if you are ten or twelve years older than
I thought
you were."
     "Yes, Dad never has realized that I'm more than eight years old. I see—
you were
going out there and be slaughtered?" He flushed, but made no reply. "In that
case I'm
glad I'm here—that would have been silly. I think we'd better hold that
council of war you
mentioned a while ago, don't you?"
     "All x. I need a smoke—do you indulge?"
     "No, thanks. I tried it a few times at school, but never liked it."
     He searched his pockets, bringing to light an unopened package and a
battered
remnant which proved to contain one delapidated cigarette. He studied it
thoughtfully.
"I'll smoke this wreck," he decided, "while it's still smokable. We'll save
the rest of
them—I'm afraid it'll be a long time between smokes. Well, let's confer!"
     "This will have to be a one-sided conference, since I don't imagine that
any of my
ideas will prove particularly helpful. You talk and I'll listen."
     "You can't tell what ideas may be useful—chip in any time you feel the
urge.
Here's the dope as I see it. They're highly intelligent creatures and are in
all probability
neither Martians nor Venerians, since if any of them had any such stuff as
that some of
us would have known about it, and besides, I don't believe they would have
used it in
just that way. Mercury is not habitable, at least for organic beings; and we
have never
seen any sign of any other kind of inhabitants who could work with metals and
rays.
They're probably from Jupiter, although possibly from further away. I say
Jupiter
because I would think, from the small size of the ship, that it may be still
in the
experimental stage, so that they probably didn't come from any further away
than
Jupiter. Then, too, if they'd been very numerous, somebody would have sighted
one
before. I'd give my left leg and four fingers for one good look at the inside
of that ship."
     "Why didn't you take it, then ? You never even looked toward it, after
that one
first glimpse."
     "I'll say I didn't—the reason being that they may have automatic
detectors, and
as I have suggested before, our system "of vision is so crude that its use
could be
detected with a clothesline or a basket full of scrap iron. But to resume.
Their aim is to
capture, not destroy, since they haven't killed anybody except the one crew
that
attacked them. Apparently they want to study us or something. However, they
don't
intend that any of us shall get away, nor even send out a word of what has
happened to
us. Therefore it looks as though our best bet is to hide now, and try to sneak
away on
them after a while—direct methods won't work. Right?"
     "You sound lucid. Is there any possibility of getting back, though, if we
got
anywhere near Jupiter? It's so far away!"
     "It's a long stretch, no fooling, from Jupiter to any of the planets
where we have
power-plants—particularly now, when Mars and Tellus are subtending an angle of
something more then ninety degrees at the sun, and Venus is between the two,
while
Jupiter is clear across the sun from all three of them. Even when Jupiter is
in mean
opposition to Mars, it is still some five hundred and fifty million kilometers
away, so you
can form some idea as to how far it is from our nearest plant now. No, if we
expect to
get back under our own power, we've got to break away pretty quick—these
lifeboats
have very little accumulator capacity, and the receptors are useless above
about three
hundred million kilometers . . ."
     "But it'll take us a long time to go that far, won't it ?" "Not very. Our
own ships,
using only the acceleration of gravity, and both plus and minus at that, make
the better
than four hundred million kilometers of the long route to Mars in five days.
These birds
are using almost that much acceleration, and I don't see how they do it. They
must have
a tractor ray. Brandon claimed that such a thing was theoretically possible,
but Westfall
and I couldn't see it. We ragged him about it a lot—and he was right. I
thought of course
they'd drift with us, but they are using power steadily. They've got some
system!"
     "Suppose they could be using intra-atomic energy ?" "Could be." The man
frowned in concentration. "Piles as we know them can't be that small and
portable,
because of the shielding necessary . . . but Brandon and Westfall have been
doing a lot
of arguing . . . anyway, I don't see that it makes any difference to us. We'll
just have to
admit that they've got a better power system than we have—as of now. Well,
maybe
we've given them time enough to get over being suspicious; let's see if we can
sneak
away from them."
     By short and infrequent applications of power to the dirigible projectors
of the life-
boat, Stevens slowly shifted the position of the fragment which bore their
craft until it
was well clear of the other components of the mass of wreckage. He then
exerted a
very small retarding force, so that their bit would lag behind the procession,
as though it
had accidentally been separated. But the crew of the captor were alert, and no
sooner
did a clear space show itself between them and the mass than a ray picked them
up
and herded them back into place. Stevens then nudged other pieces so that they
fell
out, only to see them also rounded up. For hour after hour he kept trying—
doing nothing
sufficiently energetic to create any suspicion, but attempting everything he
could think of
that offered any chance of escape from the clutches of their captors.
Immovable at the
plate, his hands upon the controls, he performed every insidious maneuver his
agile
brain could devise, but he could not succeed in separating their vehicle from
its fellows.
Finally, after a last attempt which was foiled as easily as its predecessors,
he shut off
his controls and turned to his companion with a grin.
     "I didn't think I could get away with it—they're keen, that gang—but I
had to keep
at it as long as it would have done us any good."
     "Wouldn't it do us any good now ?"
     "Not a bit—we're going so fast that we couldn't stop —we're out of even
radio
range of our closest power-plant. We'll have to put off any more attempts
until they slow
us down. Then, fairly close to at least one of the moons of Jupiter, we'll
have our best
chance—so good, in fact, that I really think we can make it."
     "But what good would that do us, if we couldn't get back?" Dire
foreboding
showed in her glorious eyes.
     "Lots of things not tried yet, girl, and we'll try 'em all. First, we get
away. Second,
we try to get in touch with Norman Brandon. . . . ."
     "How ? No known radio will carry half that far."
     "No, but I think that an as yet unknown radio may be able to—and there is
a bare
possibility that I'll be able to communicate."
     "Oh, wonderful — that lifts a frightful load off my mind," she breathed.
     "But just a minute — I said I'd come clean with you, and I will. The odds
are all
against us, no matter what we do. If that unknown radio won't work — and it
probably
won't—there are several other things we can try, but they're all pretty slim
chances.
Even if we get away, it'll probably be about the same thing as though you were
to be
marooned on a desert island without any tools, and with your rescue depending
upon
your ability to build a high-powered radio station with which to call to a
mainland for
help. However, if we don't try to get away, our only alternative is letting
them know we're
here, and joining our friends in captivity."
     "And then what?"
     "Your guess is as good as mine. Imprisonment and restraint, certain;
death,
possible; return to Earth, almost certainly impossible—life as guests, highly
improbable."
     "I'm with you, Steve, all the way."
     "Well, it's 'way past sleep-time1—we've both been awake better than fifty
hours.
I'm all in and you look like a spent force. We'll get us a bite of supper and
turn in."
     An appetizing supper was prepared from the abundant stores and each ate a
heartier meal than either would have believed possible. Stevens considered his
unopened package of cigarettes, then regretfully put it back into his pocket
still
unopened and turned to Nadia.
     "You might as well sleep here, and I'll go in there. If anything scares
you, yell.
Good-night, little fellow."
     "Wait a minute, Steve." Nadia flushed, and her brown eyes and black
eyebrows,
in comparison with her golden-blonde hair, lent her face a quizzical, elfin
expression
that far belied her feelings as she stared straight into his eyes. "I've never
even been
away from the Earth before, and with all this happening, I'm simply scared to
death. I've
been trying to hide it, but I couldn't stand it alone, and we're going to be
together too
long and too close for senseless conventions to affect us. There's two bunks
over there,
close together—why don't you sleep in one of them ?"
     He returned her steadfast gaze for a moment in silence.
     "All x with me," he answered, keeping out of his voice all signs of the
tenderness
he felt for her, and of his very real admiration for her straightforward
conduct in a
terrifying situation. "You trust me, then?"
     "Trust you! Don't be silly—I know you! I know you, and I know Brandon and
Westfall—I know what you've done, and exactly the kind of men you are. Trust
you?
Don't be a sap!"
     "Thanks, Nadia," and promises were made and received in a clasp from
which
Nadia's right hand, strong as it was, emerged slightly damaged.
     "By the way, what is your first name, fellow-traveler ?" she asked in
lighter vein.
"Nobody, not even Dad or Breckie, ever seems to call you anything but 'Steve'
when
they talk about you." She was amazed at the effect of her innocent question,-
for
Stevens flushed to his hair and spluttered.
     "It's Percy!" he snorted. "Percival Van Schravendyck Stevens. Wouldn't
that tear
it?"
     "Why, I think Percival's a real nice name!"
     "Silence!" he hissed in burlesque style. "Young woman, I have revealed to
you a
secret known to but few living creatures. On your very life, keep it
inviolate!"
     "Oh, very well, if you insist. Good-night. . . . . Steve!" and she gave
him a radiant
and honest smile; the first smile he had seen since the moment of the
attack._CHAPTER 3
Castaways Upon Ganymede

Upon awakening, the man's first care was to instruct the girl in the operation
of the
projectors, so that she could keep the heavily-armored edge of their small
section,
which she had promptly christened The Forlorn Hope, between them and the
grinding,
clashing mass of wreckage, and thus protect the relatively frail inner
portions of their
craft from damage.
     "Keep an eye on things for a while, Nadia," he instructed, as soon as she
could
handle the controls, "and don't use any more power than is absolutely
necessary. We'll
need it all, and besides, they can probably detect anything we can use.
There's
probably enough leakage from the ruptured accumulator cells to mask quite a
little
emission, but don't use much. I'm going to see what I can do about making this
whole
wedge navigable."
     "Why not just launch what's left of this lifeboat? It's space-worthy,
isn't it ?"
     "Yes, but it's too small. Two or three of the big dirigible projectors of
the lower
band are on the rim of this piece-of-pie-shaped section we're riding, I think.
If so, and if
enough batteries of accumulators are left intact to give them anywhere nearly
full power,
we can get an acceleration that will make a lifeboat look sick. Those main
dirigibles, you
know, are able to swing the whole mass of the Arcturus, and what they'll do to
this one
chunk of it—we've got only a few thousand tons of mass in this piece—will be
something pretty. Also, having the metal may save us months of time in mining
it."
     He found the projectors, repaired or cut out the damaged accumulator
cells, and
reconnected them through the controls of the lifeboat. He moved into the
"engine-room"
the airtanks, stores, and equipment from all the other fragments which, by
means of a
space-suit, he could reach without too much difficulty. He helped himself to
banks of
accumulator cells from the enormous driving batteries of the ill-fated
Arcturus, bolting
them down and connecting them solidly until almost every compartment of their
craft
was one mass of stored-up energy.
     Days fled like hours, so furiously busy were they in preparing their
peculiar
vessel for a cruise of indefinite duration. Stevens cut himself short on sleep
and
snatched his meals in passing; and Nadia, when not busy at her own tasks of
observing, housekeeping, and doing what little piloting was required, was
rapidly
learning to wield effectively the spanner and pliers of the mechanic and
electrician.
     "I'm afraid our time is getting short, Steve," she announced after making
an
observation. "It looks as though we're getting there—wherever it is we're
going."
     "Well, I've got only two more jobs to do, but they're the hardest of the
lot. Is it
Jupiter, or can't you tell yet?"
     "It looks more like Jupiter than any of the satellites, I think. Here's
the observation
you told me to take."
     "Looks like Jupiter," he agreed, after he had rapidly checked her
figures. "We'll
pass very close to one of those two satellites—probably Ganymede—which is fine
for
our scheme. All four of the major satellites have water and atmosphere, but
Ganymede,
being largest, is best for our purposes. We've got a couple of days yet—just
about time
to finish up. Let's get going—you know what to do."
     "Steve, I'm afraid of it. It's too dangerous—isn't there some other way?"
     "None that I can see. The close watch they're keeping on every bit of
this junk
makes it our only chance for a getaway. I'm pretty sure I can do it—but if I
should
happen to get nipped, just use enough power to let them know you're here, and
you
won't be any worse off than if I hadn't tried to pull off this stunt."
     He donned a space-suit, filled a looped belt with tools, picked up a
portable
power-drill, and stepped into the tiny airlock. Nadia deftly guided their
segment against
one of the larger fragments and held it there with a gentle, steady pressure,
while
Stevens, a light cable paying out behind him, clambered carefully over the
wreckage,
brought his drill into play, and disappeared inside the huge wedge. In less
than an hour
he returned without mishap and reported to the glowing girl.
     "Just like shooting fish down a well! Most of the accumulator cells were
tight, and
installing the relays wasn't a bad job at all. Believe me, girl, there'll be
junk filling all the
space between here and Saturn when we touch them off!"
     "Wonderful, Steve!" Nadia exclaimed. "It won't be so bad seeing you go
into the
others, now that you have this one all rigged up."
     Around and around the mass of wreckage they crept, and in each of the
larger
sections Stevens connected up the enormous fixed or dirigible projectors to
whatever
accumulator cells were available through sensitive relays, all of which he
could close by
means of one radio impulse. The long and dangerous task done, he stood at the
lookout
plate, studying the huge disk which had been the upper portion of the lower
half of the
Arcturus, frowning in thought. Nadia reached over his shoulder and switched
off the
plate.
     "Nix on that second job, big fellow!" she declared. "They aren't really
necessary,
and you're altogether too apt to be killed trying to get them. It's too
ghastly — I won't
stand for your trying it, so that ends it."
     "We ought to have them, really," he protested. "With those special tools,
cutting
torches, and all that stuff, we'd be sitting pretty. We'll lose weeks of time
by not having
them."
     "We'll just have to lose it, then. You can't get 'em, any more than a
baby can get
the moon, so stop crying about it," she went over the familiar argument for
the twentieth
time. "That stuff up there is all grinding together like cakes of ice in a
floe; the particular
section you want is in plain sight of whoever is on watch; and those tools and
things are
altogether too heavy to handle. You're a husky brute, I know, but even you
couldn't
begin to handle them, even if you had good going. I couldn't help you very
much, even if
you'd let me try; and the fact that you so positively refuse to let me come
along shows
how dangerous you know the attempt is bound to be. You'd probably never even
get up
there alive, to say nothing of getting back here. No, Steve, that's out like a
light."
     "I sure wish they'd left us weightless for a while, sometime, if only for
an hour or
two," he mourned.
     "But they didn't!" she retorted, practically. "So we're just out of luck
to that extent.
Our time is about up, too. It's time you worked us back to the tail end of
this
procession—or rather, the head end, since we're traveling 'down' now."
     Stevens took the controls and slowly worked along the outer edge of the
mass,
down toward its extremity. Nadia put one hand upon his shoulder and he glanced
around.
     "Thanks, Steve. We have a perfectly wonderful chance as it is, and we've
gone
so far with our scheme together that it would be a crying shame not to be able
to go
through with it. I'd hate like sin to have to surrender to them now, and
that's all I could
do if anything should become of you. Besides . . . . ." her voice died away
into silence.
     "Sure, you're right," he hastily replied, dodging the implication of that
unfinished
sentence. "I couldn't figure out anything that looked particularly feasible,
anyway—that's
why I didn't try it. We'll pass it up."
     Soon they arrived at their objective and maintained a position well in
the van, but
not sufficiently far ahead of the rest to call forth a restraining ray from
their captors.
Already strongly affected by the gravitational pull of the mass of the
satellite, many of
the smaller portions of the wreck, not directly held by the tractors, began to
separate
from the main mass. As each bit left its place another beam leaped out, until
it became
apparent that no more were available, and Stevens strapped the girl and
himself down
before two lookout plates.
     "Now for it, Nadia!" he exclaimed, and simultaneously threw on the power
of his
own projectors and sent out the radio impulse which closed the relays he had
so
carefully set. They were thrown savagely against the restraining straps and
held there
by an enormous weight as the gigantic dirigible projectors shot their fragment
of the
wreck away from the comparatively slight force which had been acting upon it,
but they
braced themselves and strained their muscles in order to watch what was
happening.
As the relays in the various fragments closed, the massed power of the
accumulators
was shorted dead across the converters and projectors instead of being fed
into them
gradually through ( the controls of the pilot, with a result comparable to
that of the
explosion of an ammunition dump. Most of the masses, whose projectors were fed
by
comparatively few accumulator cells, darted away entire with a stupendous
acceleration. A few of them, however, received the unimpeded flow of complete
batteries. Those projectors tore loose from even their massive supports and
crashed
through anything opposing them like huge, armor-piercing projectiles. It was a
spectacle
to stagger the imagination, and Stevens grinned as he turned to the girl, who
was
staring in wide-eyed amazement.
     "Well, ace, I think they're busy enough now so that it'll be safe to take
that long-
wanted look at their controls," and he flashed the twin beams of his lookout
light out
beyond the upper half of the Arcturus — only to see them stop abruptly in mid-
space.
Even the extremely short carrier-wave of Roeser's Rays could not go through
the
invisible barrier thrown out by the tiny, but powerful globe of space.
     "No penetration?" Nadia asked.
     "Flattened 'em out cold. 'However,' as the fox once remarked about the
grapes,
'I'll bet they're sour, anyway.' We'll have some stuff of our own, one of
these days. I sure
hope the fireworks we started back there keep those birds amused until we get
out of
sight, because if I use much more power on these projectors we may not have
juice
enough left to stop with."
     "You're using enough now to suit me—I'm so heavy I can hardly lift a
finger!"
     "You'd better lift 'em, ace'! You've got to watch what's going on back
there while I
navigate us around this moon."
     "All x, chief . . . They've got their hands full, apparently. Those rays
are shooting
around all over the sky. It looks as though they were trying to capture four
or five things
at once with each one."
     "Good! Tell me when the moon cuts them off."
     At the awful acceleration they were using, which constantly increased the
terrific
velocity with which they had been traveling when they made good their escape,
it was
not long until they had placed the satellite between them and the enemy; then
Stevens
cut down and reversed his power. Such was their speed, however, that a long
detour
was necessary in order to reduce it to a safe landing rate. As soon as this
could be
done Stevens headed for the morning zone and dropped the Hope rapidly toward
the
surface of that new, strange world. Details could not be distinguished at
first because of
an all-enshrouding layer of cloud, but the rising sun dispelled the mist, and
when they
had descended to within a few thousand feet of the surface their vision was
unobstructed. Immediately below them the terrain was mountainous and heavily
wooded; while far to the east the rays of a small, pale sun glinted upon a
vast body of
water. No signs of habitation were visible as far as the eye could reach.
     "Now to pick out a location for our power-plant. We must have a waterfall
for
power, a good place to hide our ship from observation, and I'd like to have a
little seam
of coal. We can use wood if we have to, but I think we can find some coal.
This is all
sedimentary rock—it looks a lot like the country along the North Fork of the
Flathead, in
Montana. There are a lot of coal outcrops, usually, in such topography as this
is."
     "We want to hide in a hurry, though, don't we ?"
     "Not particularly, I don't think. If they had missed us at all they would
have had us
long ago, and with all the damage we did with those projectors they won't be
surprised
at one piece being missing—I imagine they lost a good many."
     "But they'll know that somebody caused all that disturbance. Won't they
hunt for
us?"
     "Maybe, and maybe not—no telling what they'll do. However, by the time
they
can land and get checked up and ready to hunt for us, we'll be a mighty small
needle,
well hidden in a good big haystack."
     For several hours they roamed over that mountainous region at high
velocity,
seeking the best possible location, and finally they found one that was almost
ideal—a
narrow canyon overhung with heavy trees, opening into a wide, deep gorge upon
a level
with its floor. A mighty waterfall cascaded into the gorge just above the
canyon, and
here and there could be seen black outcrops which Stevens, after a close
scrutiny,
declared to be coal. He deftly guided their cumbersome wedge of steel into the
retreat,
allowed it to settle gently to the ground, and shut off the power.
     "Well, little fellow-conspirator against the peace and dignity of the
Jovians, we're
here. We got away clean, and as long as we don't use any high-tension stuff or
anything
else that they can trace, I think we're as safe as money in a bank."
     "I suppose that I ought to be scared to death, Steve, but I'm not—I'm
just too
thrilled for words," Nadia answered, and the eager sparkle in her eyes bore
out her
words. "Can we go out now ? How about air ? Shall we wear suits or go out as
we are ?
Have you got a weapon of any kind ? Hurry up—let's do something!"
     "Pipe down, ace! Remember that we don't know any more about anything
around
here than a pig does about Sunday, and conduct yourself accordingly. Take it
easy. I'm
surprised at the gravity here. This is certainly Ganymede, and it has a
diameter of only
about fifty-seven hundred kilometers. If I remember correctly, Damoiseau
estimated its
mass at about three one-hundredths that of the Earth, which would make its
surface
gravity about one-sixth. However, it is actually almost a half, as you see by
this spring-
balance here. Therefore it is quite a little more massive than has been '. . .
"
     "What of it ? Let's go places and do things!"
     "Calm yourself, Ginger, you've got lots of time—we'll be here for quite a
while, I'm
afraid. We can't go out until we analyze the air—we're lucky there's as much
as there is.
I'm not quite the world's foremost chemist, but fortunately an air-analysis
isn't much of a
job with the apparatus we carry."
     While Nadia controlled her impatience as best she could, Stevens
manipulated
the bulbs and pipettes of the gas apparatus.
     "Pressure, fifty-two centimeters—more than I dared hope for—and analysis
all x,
I believe. Oxygen concentration a little high, but not much."
     "We won't have to wear the space-suits, then?"
     "Not unless I missed something in the analysis. The pressure corresponds
to our
own at a height of about three thousand meters, which we can get used to
without too
much trouble. Good thing, too. I brought along all the air I could get hold
of, but as I told
you back there, if we had to depend on it altogether, we might be out of luck.
I'm going
to pump some of our air back into a cylinder to equalize our pressure—don't
want to
waste any of it until we're sure the outside air suits us without treatment."
     When the pressure inside had been gradually reduced to that outside and
they
had become accustomed to breathing the rarefied medium, Stevens opened the
airlock
and for some time cautiously sniffed the atmosphere of the satellite. He could
detect
nothing harmful or unusual in it—it was apparently the same as Earthly air—and
he
became jubilant.
     "All x, Nadia—luck is perched right on our banner. Freedom, air, water,
power,
and coal! Now as you suggested, we'll go places and do things!"
     "Suppose it's safe?" Her first eagerness to explore their surroundings,
had
abated noticeably. "You aren't armed, are you?"
     "No, and I don't believe that there was a gun of any kind aboard the
Arcturus.
That kind of thing went out quite a while ago, you know. We'll take a look,
anyway—
we've got to find out about that coal before we decide to settle down here.
Remember
this half-gravity stuff, and control your leg-muscles accordingly."
     Leaping lightly to the ground, they saw that the severed section of
fifty-inch armor
which was the rim of their conveyance almost blocked the entrance to the
narrow
canyon which they had selected for their retreat. Upon one side that wall of
steel
actually touched the almost perpendicular wall of rock; upon the other side
there was
left only a narrow passage. They stepped through it, so that they could see
the waterfall
and the gorge, and stopped, silent. The sun, now fairly high, was in no sense
the
familiar orb of day, but was a pale, insipid thing, only one-fifth the
diameter of the sun to
which they were accustomed, and which could almost be studied with the
unshielded
eye. From their feet a grassy meadow a. few hundred feet wide sloped gently
down to
the river, from whose farther bank a precipice sprang sheer upward for perhaps
a
thousand feet—merging into towering hills whose rugged grandeur was
reminiscent of
the topography of the moon. At their backs the wall of the gorge was steep,
but not
precipitous, and was covered with shrubs and trees—some of which leaned out
over the
little canyon, completely screening it, and among whose branches birds could
now and
then be seen flitting about. In that direction no mountains were visible,
indicating that
upon their side of the river there was an upland plateau or bench. To their
right the river,
the gorge, and the strip of meadow extended for a mile or more, then curved
away and
were lost to sight. To their left, almost too close for comfort, was the
stupendous
cataract, towering above them to a terror-inspiring height. Nadia studied it
with awe,
which changed to puzzled wonder.
     "What's the matter with it, Steve? It looks like a picture in slow
motion, like the
kind they take of your dives— or am I seeing things?"
    "No, it's really slow, compared to what we're used to. Remember that one-
half
gravity stuff!"
     "Oh, that's right, but it certainly does look funny. It gives me the
creeps."
     "You'll get used to it pretty quick—just as you'll get used to all the
rest of the
things having only half their normal weight and falling only half as fast as
they ought to
when you drop them. Well, I don't see anything that looks dangerous yet—let's
go up
toward the falls a few meters and prospect that outcrop."
     With a few brisk strokes of an improvised shovel he cleared the outcrop
of
detritus and broke off several samples of the black substance, with which they
went
back to the Forlorn Hope.
     "All x—it's real coal," Stevens announced after a series of tests. "I've
seen better,
but on the other hand, there's lots worse. It'll make good gas, and a kind of
a coke. Not
so hot, but it'll do. Now we'd better get organized, partner, for a long
campaign."
     "Go ahead and organize—I'm only the cheap help in this enterprise."
     "Cheap help! You're apt to be the life of the party. Can you make and
shoot a
bow and arrow ?"
     "I'll say I can—I've belonged to an archery club for five years."
     "What'd I tell you? You're a life saver! Here's the dope—we've got to
save our
own supplies as much as possible until we know exactly what we're up against,
and to
do that we've got to live off the country. I'll fake up something to knock
over some of
those birds and small game, then we can make real bow-strings and feathered
arrows
and I'll forge some steel arrowheads while you're making yourself a real bow.
We'd
better make me about a hundred-pound war bow, too . . ."
     "A hundred!" interrupted Nadia. "That's a lot of bow, big boy—think you
can bend
it ?"
     "You'd be surprised," he grinned. "I'm not quite like Robin Hood—I've
been
known to miss a finger-thick wand at a hundred paces—but I'm not exactly a
beginner."
     "Oh, of course—I should have known by your language that you're an
archer,
otherwise you'd never have used such an old-fashioned word as 'pounds'. I
shoot a
thirty-five pound bow ordinarily, but for game I should have the heaviest one
I can hold
accurately—about a forty-five, probably."
     "All x. And as soon as I can I'll make us a couple of suits of fairly
heavy steel
armor, so that we'll have real protection if we should need it. You see; we
don't know
what we are apt to run up against out here. Then, with that much done, it'll
be up to you
to provide, since I'll have to work tooth and nail at the forges. You'll have
to bring home
the bacon, do the cooking and so on, and see what you can find along the line
of edible
roots, grains, fruits, and what-not. Sort of reverse the Indian idea—you be
the hunter
and I'll keep the home fires burning. Can do?"
     "What it takes to do that, I've got," Nadia assured him, her eyes
sparkling. "Have
you your job planned out as well and as fittingly as you have mine ?"
     "And then some. We've got just two methods of getting away from here—one
is
to get in touch with Brandon, so that he'll come after us; the other is to
recharge our
accumulators and try to make it under our own power. Either course will need
power,
and lots of it . . ."
     "I never thought of going back in the Hope. Suppose we could ?"
     "About as doubtful as the radio—I think that I could build a pair of
matched-
frequency auto-dirigible transmitter and receptor units, such as are necessary
for space-
ships fed by stationary power-plants, but after I got them built they'd take
us less than
half way there. Then we'd have only what power we can carry, and I hate even
to think
of what probably would happen to us. We'd certainly have to drift for months
before we
could get close enough to any of our plants to radio for help, and we'd be
taking awful
chances. You see, we'd have to take a very peculiar orbit, and if we should
miss
connections passing the inner planets, what the sun would do to us at the
closest point
and where what's left of us would go on the backswing would be just too bad!
Besides, if
we can get hold of the Sirius, they'll come loaded for bear, and we may be
able to do
something about the rest of the folks out here."
     "Oh!" breathed the girl. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could! I thought
of course
they'd all be . . ." her voice died away.
     "Not necessarily—there's always a chance. That's why I'm trying the
ultra-radio
first. However, either course will take lots of power, so the first thing I've
got to do is to
build a power plant. I'm going to run a penstock up those falls, and put in a
turbine,
driving a high-tension alternator. Then, while I'm trying to build the ultra-
radio, I'll be
charging our accumulators, so that no time will be lost in case the radio
fails. If it does
fail—and remember I'm not counting on its working—of course I'll tackle the
transmission and receptor units before we start out to drift it."
     "You say it easy, Steve, but how can you build all those things, with
nothing to
work with ?"
     "It's going to be a real job—I'll not try to kid you into thinking it'll
be either easy or
quick. Here's the way everything will go. Before I can even lay the first
length of the
penstock, I've got to have the pipe—to make which I've got to have flat steel—
to get
which I'll have to cut some of the partitions out of this ship of ours—to do
which I'll have
to have a cutting torch — to make which I'll have to forge nozzles out of
block metal and
to run which I'll have to have gas—to get which I'll have to mine coal and
build a gas-
plant—to do which . . ."
     "Good heavens, Steve, are you going back to the Stone Age? I never
thought of
half those things. Why, it's impossible !"
     "Not quite, guy. Things could be a lot worse—that's why I brought along
the
whole Forlorn Hope, instead of just the lifeboat. As it is we've got several
thousand tons
of spare steel and lots of copper. We've got ordinary tools and a few light
motors,
blowers, and such stuff. That gives me a great big start — I won't have to
mine the ores
and smelt the metals, as would have been necessary otherwise. However, it'll
be plenty
bad. I'll have to start out in a pretty crude fashion, and for some of the
stuff I'll need I'll
have to make, not only the machine that makes the part I want, but also the
machine
that makes the machine that makes the machine that makes it—and so on, just
how far
down the line I haven't dared to think."
     "You must be a regular jack-of-all-trades, to think you can get away with
such a
program as that?"
     "I am; nothing else but. You see, while most of my school training was in
advanced physics and mathematics, I worked my way through by computing and
designing, and I've done a lot of truck-horse labor of various kinds, besides.
I can
calculate and design almost anything, and I can make a pretty good stab at
translating a
design into fabricated material. I wouldn't wonder if Brandon's ultra-radio
would stop me,
since nobody had even started to build one when I saw him last—but I helped
compute
it, know the forces involved as well as he did at that time, and it so happens
that I know
more about the design of coils and fields of force than I do about anything
else. So I
may be able to work it out eventually. It isn't going to be not knowing how
that will hold
me up—it'll be the lack of something that I can't build."
     "And that's where you will go back and back and back, as you said about
building
the penstock ?"
     "Back and back is right, if I can find all the necessary raw materials—
that's what's
probably going to put a lot of monkey-wrenches into the machinery." And
Stevens went
to work upon a weapon of offense, fashioning a crude, but powerful bow from a
strip of
spring steel strung with heavy wire.
     "How about arrows ? Shall I go see if I can hit a bird with a rock, for
feathers, and
see if I can find something to make arrows out of?"
     "Not yet—anyway, I'd bet on the birds! I'm going to use pieces of this
light brace-
rod off the accumulator cells for arrows. They won't fly true, of course, but
with their
mass I can give them enough projectile force to kill any small animal they
hit, no matter
how they hit it."
     After many misses, he finally bagged a small animal, something like a
rabbit and
something like a kangaroo, and a couple of round-bodied, plump birds, almost
as large
as domestic hens. These they dressed, with considerable distaste and a
noticeable lack
of skill.
     "We'll get used to it pretty quick, Diana—also more expert," he said when
the
task was done. "We now have raw material for bowstrings and clothes, as well
as food."
     "The word 'raw' being heavily accented," Nadia declared, with a grimace.
"But
how do we know that they're good to eat?"
     "We'll have to eat 'em and see," he grinned. "I don't imagine that any
flesh is
really poisonous, and we'll have to arrive at the ones we like best by a
process of trial
and error. Well, here's your job—I'll get busy on mine. Don't go more than a
few
hundred meters away and yell if you get into a jam."
     "There's a couple of questions I want to ask you. What makes it so warm
here,
when the sun's so far away and Jupiter isn't supposed to be radiating any heat
? And
how about time? It's twelve hours by my watch since sunrise this morning, and
it's still
shining."
     "As for heat, I've been wondering about that. It must 1 be due to
internal heat,
because even though Jupiter may be warm, or even hot, it certainly isn't
radiating much,
since it has a temperature of minus two hundred at the visible surface, which,
of course,
is the top of the atmosphere. Our heat here is probably caused by
radioactivity — that's
the most modern dope, I believe. As for time, it looks as though our days were
something better than thirty hours long, instead of twenty-four. Of course
I'll keep the
chronometer going on I-P time, since we'll probably need it in working out
observations;
but we might as well let our watches run down and work, eat, and sleep by the
sun—not
much sense in trying to keep Tellurian time here, as I see it. Check?"
     "All x. I'll have supper ready for you at sunset. 'Bye!"
     A few evenings later, when Stevens came in after his long day's work, he
was
surprised to see Nadia dressed in a suit of brown coveralls and high-laced
moccasins.
     "How do I look?" she asked, pirouetting gayly.
     "Neat, but not gaudy," he approved. "That's good moleskin—smooth, soft,
and
tough. Where'd you make the raise? I didn't know we had anything like that on
board.
What did you do for thread ? You look like a million dollars —you sure did a
good job of
fitting."
     "I had to have something—what with all the thorns and brush, there was
almost
more of me exposed than covered, and I was getting scratched up something
fierce. So
I ripped up one of the space-suits, and found out that there's enough cloth,
fur, and
leather in one of them to make six ordinary suits, and thread by the
kilometer. I was
awfully glad to see all that thread—I had an idea that I'd have to unravel my
stockings or
something, but I didn't. Your clothes are getting pretty tacky, too, and
you're getting all
burned with those hot coals and things. I'm going to build you a suit of
leather for your
blacksmithing activities."
     "Fine business, ace! Then we can save what's left of our civilized
clothes for the
return trip. What do we eat?"
     "The eternal question of the hungry laboring man! I've got a roasted
bongo, a
fried filamaloo bird, and a boiled warple for the meat dishes. For vegetables,
mashed
hikoderms and pimola greens. Neocorn bread."
     "Translate that, please, into terms of food."
     "Translate it yourself, after you eat it. I changed the system on you
today. I've
named all the things, so it'll be easier to keep track of those we like and
the ones we
don't."
     With appetites sharp-set by long hours -of hard labor they ate heartily;
then, in
the deepening twilight, they sat and talked in comradely fashion while Stevens
smoked
one precious cigarette.
     It was not long until Nadia had her work well in hand. Game was
plentiful, and
the fertile valley and the neighboring upland yielded peculiar, but savory
vegetable
foods in variety and abundance; so that soon she was able to spend some time
with
Stevens, helping him as much as she could. Thus she came to realize the true
magnitude of the task he faced and the real seriousness of their position.
     As Stevens had admitted before the work was started, he had known that he
had
set himself a gigantic task, but he had not permitted himself to follow, step
by step, the
difficulties that he knew awaited him. Now, as the days stretched into weeks
and on into
months he was forced to take every laborious step, and it was borne in upon
him just
how nearly impossible that Herculean labor was to prove—just how dependent any
given Earthly activity is upon a vast number of others. Here he was alone—
everything
he needed must be fabricated by his own hands, from its original sources. He
had
known that progress would be slow and he had been prepared for that; but he
had not
pictured, even to himself, half of the maddening setbacks which occurred time
after time
because of the crudity of the tools and equipment he was forced to use. All
too often a
machine or part, the product of many hours of grueling labor, would fail
because of the
lack of some insignificant thing—some item so common as to be taken for
granted in all
Terrestrial shops, but impossible of fabrication with the means at his
disposal. At such
times he would set his grim jaw a trifle harder, go back one step farther
toward the
Stone Age, and begin all over again—to find the necessary raw material or a
possible
substitute, and then to build the apparatus and machinery necessary to produce
the part
he required. Thus the heart-breaking task progressed, and Nadia watched her
co-
laborer become leaner and harder and more desperate day by day, unable in any
way
to lighten his fearful load.
     In the brief period of rest following a noonday meal, Stevens lay flat
upon the
warm, fragrant grass beside the Forlorn Hope; but it was evident to Nadia that
he was
not resting. His burned and blistered hands were locked savagely behind his
head, his
eyes were closed too tightly, and every tense line of his body was eloquent of
a strain
even more mental than physical. She studied him for minutes, her fine eyes
clouded,
then sat down beside him and put her hand upon his shoulder.
     "I want to talk to you a minute, Steve," she said gently.
     "All x, little fellow—but it might be just as well if you didn't touch
me. You see, I'm
getting so that I can't trust myself."
     "That's exactly what I want to talk to you about." A fiery blush burned
through her
deep tan; but her low, clear voice did not falter and her eyes held his
unflinchingly. ".I
know you better than you know yourself, as I've said before. You are killing
yourself, but
it isn't the work, frightfully hard and disheartening as it is, that is doing
it—it's your
anxiety for me and the uncertainty of everything. You haven't been able to
rest because
you have been raging and fuming so at unavoidable conditions—you have been
fighting
facts. And it's all so useless, Steve, between you and me —everything would
check out
on zero if we'd just come out into the open."
     The man's gaunt frame seemed to stiffen even more rigidly.
     "You've said altogether too much or else only half enough, Nadia. You
know, of
course, that I've loved you ever since I got really to know you. You know that
I love you
and you know how I love you—with the real love that a man can feel for only
one
woman and only once in his life; and you know exactly what we're up against.
Now that
does tear it—wide open!" he finished bitterly.
     "No, it doesn't, at all," she replied, steadily. "Of course I know that
you love me,
and I glory in it; and since you don't seem to realize that I love you in
exactly the same
way, I'll tell you so. Love you! Good heavens, Steve, I never dreamed that
such a man
as you are really existed! But you're fighting too many things at once, and
they're killing
you. And they're mostly imaginary, at that. Can't you see that there's no need
of
uncertainty between you and me? That there is no need of you driving yourself
to
desperation on my account? Whatever must be is all x with me, Steve. If you
can build
everything you need, all well and good. We'll be engaged until then, and our
love will be
open and sweet. If worst comes to worst, so that we can neither communicate
with
Brandon and Westfall nor leave here under our own power—even that is nothing
to kill
ourselves about. And yes, I do know exactly what we are facing. I have been
prepared
for it ever since I first saw what a perfectly impossible thing you are
attempting. You are
trying to go from almost the Age of Bronze clear up to year-after-next in a
month or two.
Not one man in a million could have done as much in his lifetime as you have
done in
the last few weeks, and I do not see how even you, with what little you have
to work
with, can possibly build such things as power-plants, transmitters, and ultra-
radio
stations. But what of it ? For the day that it becomes clear that we are to
remain here
indefinitely; that day we will marry each other here, before God. Look around
at this
beautiful country. Could there be a finer world upon which to found a new
race? When
we decided to cut loose from the Arcturus I told you that I was with you all
the way, and
now I'll repeat it, with a lot more meaning. No matter what it's like, Steve,
no matter
where it leads to, I'm with you—to—the—end— of—the—road. Here or upon Earth or
anywhere in the Universe, Steve, I am yours, just as you are mine—for life and
for
eternity."
     While she was speaking the grim, strained lines upon Stevens' face had
disappeared, and as she fell silent he straightened up and gently, tenderly,
reverently
he took her lithe body into his arms. Their lips met and held in a long,
clinging caress.
     "You're right, sweetheart—everything will check out on zero, to nineteen
decimals." He was a man transfigured. "I've been fighting windmills and I've
been
scared sick—but how was I to think that a wonder-girl like you could ever love
a guy like
me ? You certainly are the gamest little partner a man ever had. You're the
world's
straightest shooter, ace—you're a square brick if there ever was one. Your
sheer nerve
in being willing to go the whole route makes me love you more than ever, if
such a thing
can be possible, and it certainly puts a new face on the whole cock-eyed
Universe for
me. However, I don't believe it will come to that. After what you've just
said, I sure will
lick that job, regardless of how many different factories it takes to" make
one
armature—I'll show that mess of scrap-iron what kind of trees make shingles!"
     The girl still in his arms, he rose to his feet and released her slowly,
reluctantly,
unwilling ever to let her go. Then he shook himself, as though an overwhelming
burden
had been lifted from his shoulders, and laughed happily.
     "See this cigarette ?" he went on lightly. "The Last of the Mohicans. I'm
going to
smoke it in honor of our engagement." He drew the fragrant smoke deep into his
lungs
and frowned at her in mock seriousness.
     "This would be a nice world to live on, of course, but the jobs here are
too darn
steady. It also seems to be somewhat lacking in modern conveniences, such as
steel-
mills and machine tools. Then, too, it is just a trifle too far from the Royal
and Ancient for
you really to enjoy living here permanently, and besides, I can't get my
favorite brand of
cigarettes around here. Therefore, after due deliberation, I don't believe
we'll take the
place—we'll go back to Tellus. Kiss me just once more, ace, and I'll make that
job think
a cyclone has struck it right on the center of impact. Like Samuel Weller, or
whoever it
was, I'm clear full of Vigor, wim, and witality'!"
     The specified kiss and several others duly delivered he strode blithely
away, and
the little canyon resounded with the blows of his heavy sledge as he attacked
with
renewed spirit the great forging, white-hot from his soak-pit, which was to
become the
shaft of his turbo-alternator. Nadia watched him for a moment, her very heart
in her
eyes, then picked up her spanner and went after more steel, breathing a long
and
tremulous, but supremely happy sigh._CHAPTER 4
Ganymedean Life

Slow, hard, and disheartening as the work had been at first, Stevens had never
slackened his pace, and after a time, as his facilities increased, the
exasperating
setbacks decreased in number and severity and his progress became faster and
faster.
Large as the Forlorn Hope was, space was soon at a premium, for their
peculiarly-
shaped craft became a veritable factory, housing a variety of machinery and
equipment
unknown in any single Earthly industrial plant. Nothing was ornamental—
everything
was stripped to its barest fundamental necessities—but every working part
functioned
with a smooth precision to delight the senses of any good mechanic.
     In a cavern under the falls was the great turbine, to be full-fed by the
crude but
tight penstock which clung to the wall of the gorge, angling up to the brink
of that
stupendous cataract. Bedded down upon solid rock there was a high-tension
alternator
capable of absorbing the entire output of the mighty turbine. This turbo-
alternator was
connected to a set of converters from which the energy would flow along three
great
copper cables—the receptors of the lifeboats being altogether too small to
carry the
load—to the now completely exhausted accumulators of the Forlorn Hope. All
high-
tension apparatus was shielded and grounded, so that no stray impulses could
reveal to
the possible detectors of the Jovians the presence of this foreign power
plant. Housings,
frames, spiders, every stationary part, were rough, crude, and massive; but
bearings,
shafts, armatures, all moving parts, were of a polished and finished accuracy
and
balance that promised months and years of trouble-free operation. Everything
ready for
the test, Stevens took off his frayed and torn leather coveralls and
moccasins—he never
walked down—and climbed nimbly up the penstock. Opening the head-gate, he
poised
sharply upon its extremity and took off in a perfect swan-dive; floating
unconcernedly
downward toward that boiling maelstrom two hundred feet below. He struck the
water
with a sharp, smooth "slup!" and raced ashore, seizing his suit as he ran
toward the
turbo-alternator. It was running smoothly, and, knowing that everything was
tight at the
receiving end, he lingered about the power plant until he was assured that
nothing
would go wrong and that his home-distilled lubricating oil and grease would
keep those
massive bearings cool.
     Hunger assailed him, and glancing at the sun he noted that it was well
past
dinner-time.
     "Wow!" he exclaimed aloud. "The boss just loves to wait meals—she'll burn
me
up for this!"
     He ran lightly toward "home", eager to tell his sweetheart that the long-
awaited
moment had arrived—that power was now flowing into their accumulators.
     "Hi, Diana of the silver bow!" he called. "How come you no blow the
dinner bell?
Power's on—come give it a look!"
     There was no answer to his hail, and Stevens paused in shocked amazement.
He knew that never of her own volition would she be out so late—Nadia was
gone! A
rapid tour of inspection quickly confirmed that which he already knew only too
well.
Forgotten was his hunger, forgotten the power plant, forgotten everything
except the
fact that his Nadia, the buoyant spirit in whom centered his Universe, was
lost or . . . he
could not complete the thought, even to himself.
     Swiftly he came to a decision and threw off his suit, revealing the body
of a
Hercules—a body ready for any demand he could put upon it. Always in hard
training,
months of grinding physical labor and of heavy eating had built him up to a
point at
which he would scarcely have recognized himself, could he have glanced into a
mirror.
Mighty but pliable muscles writhed and swelled under his clear skin as he
darted here
and there, selecting equipment for what lay ahead of him. He donned the
heavily
armored space-suit which they had prepared months before, while they were
still
suspicious of possible attack. It was covered with heavy steel at every point,
and the
lenses of the helmet, already of unbreakable glass, had been re-enforced with
thick
steel bars. Tanks and valves supplied air at normal pressure, so that his
powerful body
could function at full efficiency, not handicapped by the lighter atmosphere
of
Ganymede. The sleeves terminated in steel-protected rubber wristlets which
left his
hands free, yet sheltered from attack—wristlets tight enough to maintain the
difference
in pressure, yet not tight enough to cut off the circulation. He took up his
mighty war-
bow and the full quiver of heavy arrows—full-feathered and pointed with
savagely
barbed, tearing heads of forged steel—and slipped into their sheaths the long
and
heavy razor-sharp sword and the double-edged dirk, which, he had made and
ground
long since for he knew not what emergency and whose bell-shaped hilts of steel
further
protected his hands and wrists. Thus equipped, he had approximately his normal
Earthly weight; a fact which would operate to his advantage, rather than
otherwise, in
case of possible combat. With one last look around the Forlorn Hope, whose
every
fitting shrieked aloud to him of the beloved mistress who was gone, he filled
a container
with water and cooked food and opened the door.

                        *   *   *   *   *

"It won't be long now, now it won't be long," Nadia caroled happily, buckling
on her pack
straps and taking up bow and arrows for her daily hunt. "I never thought that
he could
do it, but what it takes to do things he's got lots of", she continued to
improvise the song
as she left the Hope, with its multitudinous devices whose very variety was a
never-
failing delight to her; showing as it did the sheer ability of the man whose
brain and
hands had almost finished a next-to-impossible task.
     Through the canyon and up a well-worn trail she climbed, and soon came
out
upon the sparsely timbered bench that was her hunting grounds. Upon this day,
however, she was full of happy anticipation and her mind was everywhere except
upon
her work. She was thinking of Stevens, of their love, of the power which he
might turn
on that very day, and of the possible rescue for which she had hitherto
scarcely dared to
hope. Thus it was that she walked miles beyond her usual limits without having
loosed
an arrow, and she was surprised when she glanced up at the sun to see that
half the
morning was gone and that she was almost to the foothills, beyond which rose a
towering range of mountains.
     "Snap out of it, girl!" she reprimanded herself. "Go on wool-gathering
like this and
your man'll go hungry— and he'll break you right off at the ankles!" She
became again
the huntress, and soon saw an animal browsing steadily along the base of a
hill. It was
a six-legged, deer-like creature, much larger than anything she had as yet
seen. But it
was meat and her time was short, therefore she crept within range and loosed
an arrow
with the full power of her hunting bow. Unfamiliar as she was with the anatomy
of the
peculiar creature, the arrow did not kill. The "hex-aped", as she instantly
named it, sped
away and she leaped after it. She, like her companion, had developed amazingly
in
musculature, and few indeed were the denizens of Ganymede who could equal her
speed .upon that small globe, with its feeble gravitational force.
     Up the foothills it darted. Beyond the hills and deep into a valley
between two
towering peaks the chase continued before Nadia's third arrow brought the
animal
down. Bending over the game, she became conscious of a strange but wonderfully
sweet perfume and glanced up, to see something which she certainly had not
noticed
when the hexaped had fallen. It was an enormous flower, at least a foot in
diameter and
indescribably beautiful in its crimson and golden splendor. Almost level with
her head
the gorgeous blossom waved upon its heavy stem; based by a massive cluster of
enormous, smooth, dark green leaves. Entranced by this unexpected and
marvelous
floral display, Nadia breathed deeply of the inviting fragrance — and
collapsed
senseless upon the ground. Thereupon the weird plant moved over toward her,
and the
thick leaves began to enfold her knees. This carnivorous thing, however, did
not like the
heavy cloth of her suit and turned to the hexaped. It thrust several of its
leaves into the
wounds upon the carcass and fed, while two other leaves rasped together,
sending out
a piercing call.
     In answer to the sound the underbrush crackled, and through it and upon
the
scene there crashed a vegetable-animal nightmare—the parent of the relatively
tiny
thing whose perfume had disabled the girl.
     Its huge and gorgeous blossom was supported by a long, flexible, writhing
stem,
and its base was composed of many and highly specialized leaves. There were
saws
and spears and mighty, but sinuous tendrils; there were slender shoots which
seemed
to possess some sense of perception; there was the massive tractor base
composed of
extensible leaves which by their contraction and expansion propelled the mass
along
the ground. Parent and child fell upon the hexaped, and soon bones and hair
were all
that remained. The slender shoots then wandered about the unconscious girl in
her
strange covering, and as a couple of powerful tendrils coiled about her and
raised her
into the air over the monstrous base of the thing its rudimentary brain could
almost be
perceived working as it sluggishly realized that, now full fed, it should
carry this other
victim along, to feed its other offspring when they should return to its side.

                        *   *   *   *   *

Barely outside the door of the Forlorn Hope Stevens whirled about with a
bitter
imprecation. He had already lost time needlessly—with a lookout plate he could
cover
more ground in ten minutes than he could cover afoot in a week. He flipped on
the
power and shot the violet beam out over the plateau to the district where he
knew Nadia
was wont to hunt. Not finding her there, he swung the beam in an ever widening
circle
around that district. Finally he saw a few freshly broken twigs, and scanned
the scene
with care. He soon found the trail of fresh blood which marked the path of the
flight of
the hexaped, and with the peculiar maneuverability of the device he was using
it was
not long until he was studying the scene where the encounter had taken place.
He
gasped when he saw the bones and perceived three of Nadia's arrows, but soon
saw
that the skeleton was not human and was reassured. Casting about in every
direction,
he found Nadia's bow, and saw a peculiar, freshly trampled path leading from
the kill,
past the bow, and down the valley. He could not understand the spoor, but it
was easily
followed, and he shot the beam along it at headlong speed until he came up
with the
monstrous creature that was making it—until he saw what burden that organism
was
carrying.
     He leaped to the controls of the lifeboat, then dropped his hand. While
the stream
of power now flowing was ample to operate the lookout plates, yet it would be
many
hours before the accumulator cells would be in condition to drive the craft
even that
short distance.
     "It'll take an hour to get there—here's hoping I can check in on time",
he
muttered, as he took careful note of the location and direction of the
creature's trail and
set off at a fast jog-trot.
     The carnivorous flower's first warning that all was not well was received
when
Stevens' steel-shod feet landed squarely upon its base and one sweeping cut of
his
sword lopped off the malignant blossom and severed the two tendrils that still
held the
unconscious Nadia. With a quick heave of his shoulder he tossed her lightly
backward
into the smooth-beaten track the creature had made and tried to leap away—but
the
instant he had consumed in rescuing the girl had been enough for the thing to
seize
him, and he found himself battling for his very life. No soft-leaved infant
this, but a full-
grown monster, well equipped with mighty weapons of offense and defense. Well
it was
for the struggling man that he was encased in armor steel as those saw-edged,
hard-
spiked leaves drove against him with crushing force; well it was for him that
he had his
own independent air supply, so that that deadly perfume eddied ineffective
about his
helmeted head! Hard and fiercely driven as those terrible thorns were, they
could do no
more than dent his heavy armor. His powerful left arm, driving the double-
razor-edged
dirk in short, resistless arcs, managed to keep the snaky tendrils from
coiling about his
right arm, which was wielding the heavy, trenchant sword. Every time that
mighty blade
descended it cleaved its length through snapping spikes and impotently
grinding leaves;
but more than once a nailing tendril coiled about his neck armor and held his
helmet
immovable as though in a vise, while those frightful, grinding saws sought to
rip their
way through the glass to the living creature inside the peculiar metal
housing. Dirk and
saber and magnificent physique finally triumphed, but it was not until leaf
had been
literally severed from every other leaf that the outlandish organism gave up
the ghost.
     Nadia had been tossed out into pure air, beyond the zone of the
stupefying
perfume, and she recovered her senses in time to see the finish of the battle.
Stevens,
assured that his foe was hors de combat, turned toward the spot where he had
thrown
Nadia's body. He saw that she was unharmed, and sprang toward her in relief.
He was
surprised beyond measure, however, to see her run away at a pace he could not
hope
to equal, encumbered as he was; motioning frantically at him the while to keep
away
from her. He stopped, astounded, and started to unscrew his helmet, whereupon
she
dashed back toward him, signaling him emphatically to leave his armor exactly
as it
was. He stood still and stared at her, an exasperated question large upon his
face, until
she made clear to him that he was to follow her at a safe distance, then she
set off at a
rapid walk. She led him back to where the hexaped had fallen, where she
retrieved her
bow and arrows; then, keeping a sharp lookout upon all sides, she went on to a
small
stream of water. She made the dumbfounded man go out into the middle of the
creek
and lie down and roll over in the water, approaching him and sniffing
cautiously between
immersions. She made him continue the bathing until she could detect not even
the
slightest trace of the sweet, but noxious fragrance of that peculiarly
terrible form of
Ganymedean life. Only then did she allow him to remove his helmet, so that she
could
give him the greeting for which they both had longed, and tell him what it was
all about.
     "So that's it!" he exclaimed, still holding her tightly in his iron
embrace. "Great
balls of fire! I thought maybe you were still a little cuckoo. Anaesthetic
perfume, huh?
Hot stuff, I'd say—no wonder you bit—I would, too. It's lucky for us I was
air-tight—we'd
both be fee . . . "
     "Clam it!" she interrupted him sharply. "Forget it— don't ever even think
of it!"
     "All x, ace. It's out like the well-known light. What to do? It's getting
darker than a
hat, and we're a long ways from home. Don't know whether I could find my way
back in
the dark or not; and just between you and me, I'm not particularly keen on
night travel in
these parts after what's just happened. Are you?"
     "Anything else but," she assured him, fervently. I'd lots rather stay
hungry until
tomorrow."
     "No need of that—I've brought along enough supper for both of us. I'm
hungry as
a wolf, too, now that I have time to think of it. We'll eat and den up
somewhere—or
climb a tree. Those wampuses probably can't climb trees!"
     "There's a nice little cave back there about a hundred meters. We'll
pretend it's
the Ritz," and they soon had a merry fire blazing in front of the retreat.
There they ate of
the provisions Stevens had brought. Then, while the man rolled up boulders
before the
narrow entrance of the cave, Nadia gathered leaves and made a soft bed upon
its
warm, dry floor.
     "Good night, lover," and the girl, untroubled and secure now that Stevens
was at
her side, was almost instantly asleep; but the man was not sleepy. He thought
of the
power plant, even now sending its terrific stream of energy into his
accumulators. He
thought of the ultra-radio—where could he get all the materials needed? He
thought of
his friends, wondering whether or not they would receive his message. He
thought of
Breckenridge and the other human beings who had been aboard the Arcturus,
wondering poignantly as to their fate. He thought of Newton and of his own
people, who
had certainly given them up for dead long since.
     But above all he thought of the beautiful, steel-true companion lying
there asleep
at his mailed feet, and he gazed down at her, his heart in his eyes. The
firelight shone
through the chinks Between the boulders, casting a flickering ruddy light
throughout the
little cavern. Nadia lay there, her head pillowed upon one strong, brown
little hand. Her
lips were red and sweetly curved, her cheek was smooth and firm as so much
brown
velvet. She was literally aglow with sheer beauty and with perfect health; and
the man
reflected, as he studied her hungrily, that this wild life certainly had
agreed with
her—she was becoming more surpassingly beautiful with every passing day.
     "You little trump—you wonderful, lovely, square little brick!" he
breathed silently,
and bent over to touch her cheek lightly with his lips. Slight as the caress
was, it
disturbed her, and even in her sleep her subconscious mind sent out an
exploring hand,
to touch her Steve and thus be reassured. He pressed her hand and she settled
back
comfortably, with a long, deep breath; and he stretched his ironclad length
beside her
and closed his eyes, firmly resolved not to waste a minute of this wonderful
night in
sleep.
     When he opened them an instant later it was broad daylight, the boulders
had
been rolled away, the fragrance of roasting meat permeated the atmosphere, and
Nadia
was making a deafening clamor, beating his steel breastplate lustily with the
flat of his
huge saber.
     "Daylight in the swamp, you sleeper!" she exclaimed. "Roll out or roll
up! Come
and get it, before I throw it away!"
     "I must've been kind of tired," he said sheepishly, when he saw that she
had shot
a bird and had cooked breakfast for them both while he had been buried in
oblivion.
     "Peculiar, too, isn't it?" Nadia asked, pointedly. "You only did about
ten day's
work yesterday in ten minutes, swinging this frightful snickersnee of yours.
Why, you
played with it ~as though it were a knitting-needle, and when I wanted to wake
you up
with it, I could hardly lift it."
     "Thought you didn't want that subject ever mentioned?" he tried to steer
the talk
away from his prowess with the broad-sword.
     "That was yesterday," airily. "Besides, I don't mind talking about you—
it's thinking
about us being—you know
     —that I can't stand."
     "All x, ace. I get you—right. Let's eat."
     Breakfast over, they started down the valley, Stevens carrying his helmet
under
his arm. Hardly had they started, however, than Nadia's keen eyes saw a
movement
through the trees, and she stopped and pointed. Stevens looked once, then hand
in
hand they dashed back to their cave.
     "We'll pile up some of the boulders and you lie low," he instructed her
as he
screwed on his helmet. She snapped open his face-plate.
     "But what about you ? Aren't you coming in, too ?" she demanded.
     "Can't—they'd surround us and starve us out. I'm safe in this armor—thank
Heaven we made it as solid as we did —and I'll fight 'em in the open. I'll
show 'em what
the bear did to the buckwheat!"
     "All x, I guess, but I wish I had my armor, too," she mourned as he
snapped shut
his plate and walled her into the cave with the same great rocks he had used
the night
before. Then, Nadia safe from attack, he drew his quiver of war-arrows into
position
over his shoulder, placed one at the ready in his bow, and turned to face the
horde of
things rushing up the valley toward him. Wild animals he had supposed them,
but as he
stood firm and raised his weapon shrill whistles sounded in the throng, and he
gasped
as he realized that those frightful creatures must be intelligent beings, for
not only did
they signal to each other, but he saw that they were armed with bows and
arrows,
spears, and slings!
     Six-limbed creatures they were, of a purplish-red color, with huge,
tricornigerous
heads and with staring, green, phosphorescent eyes. Two of the six limbs were
always
legs, two always arms; the intermediate two, due to a mid-section jointing of
the six-foot-
long, almost cylindrical body, could be used at will as either legs or arms.
Now, out of
range, as they supposed, they halted and gathered about one who was apparently
their
leader; some standing erect and waving four hands while shaking their horns
savagely
in Stevens' direction, others trotting around on four legs, busily gathering
stones of
suitable size for their vicious slings.
     Too far away to use their own weapons and facing only one small four-
limbed
creature, they considered their game already in the bag, but they had no
comprehension of Earthly muscles, nor any understanding of the power and range
of a
hundred-pound bow driving a steel-headed war arrow. Thus, while they were
arguing
Stevens took the offensive, and a cruelly barbed steel war-head tore
completely through
the body of their leader and mortally wounded the creature next beyond him.
Though
surprised, they were not to be frightened off, but with wild, shrill screams
rushed to the
attack. Stevens had no ammunition to waste, and every, time that mighty bow
twanged
a yard-long arrow transfixed at least one of the red horde—and a body through
which
had torn one of those ghastly, hand-forged arrow-heads was of very little use
thereafter.
Accurately-sped arrows splintered harmlessly against the re-enforced windows
of his
helmet and against the steel guards protecting his hands. He was almost
deafened by
the din as the stone missiles of the slingers rebounded from his reverberating
shell of
steel, but he fired carefully, steadily, and powerfully until his last arrow
had been loosed.
Then, the wicked dirk in his left hand and the long and heavy saber weaving a
circular
path of brilliance in the sun, he stepped forward a couple of paces to meet
the
attackers. For a few moments nothing could stand before that fiercely driven
blade —
severed heads, limbs, and fragments of torsos literally filled the air, but
sheer weight of
numbers bore him down. As he fell he saw the white shaft of one of Nadia's
hunting-
arrows flash past his helmet and bury itself to the nock in the body of one of
the horde
above him. Nadia knew that her arrows could not harm her lover, and through a
chink
between two boulders she was shooting into the thickest of the mob, speeding
her light
arrows with the full power of her bow.
     Though down, the savages soon discovered that Stevens was not out. In
such
close quarters he could not use his sword, but the fourteen-inch blade of the
dirk,
needle-pointed as it was and with two razor-sharp, serrated cutting edges, was
itself no
mean weapon, and time after time he drove it deep, taking life at every
thrust. Four
more red monsters threw themselves upon the prostrate man, but, not
sufficiently
versed in armor to seek out its joints, their fierce short spear-thrusts did
no damage.
Presently four more corpses lay still and Stevens, with his to them incredible
Earthly
strength, was once more upon his feet in spite of their utmost efforts to
pinion his mighty
limbs, and was again swinging his devastating weapon. Half their force lying
upon the
field, wiped out by a small, but invincible and apparently invulnerable being,
the
remainder broke and ran, pursued by Stevens to the point where the red
monsters had
first halted. He recovered his arrows and returned to the cave, opening his
face-plate as
he came.
     "All x, sweetheart?" he asked, rolling away the boulders. "Didn't get
anything
through to you, did they ?"
     "No, they didn't even realize that I was taking part in the battle, I
guess. Did they
hurt you while they had you down ? I was scared to death for a minute."
     "No, the old armor held. One of them must've gnawed on my ankle some,
between the greave and the heel-plate, but he couldn't quite get through. 'Sa
darn small
opening there, too—must've bent my foot 'way round to get in at all. Have to
tighten that
joint up a little, I guess. I'll bet I've got a black and blue spot there the
size of my hand—
maybe it's only the size of yours, though."
     "You won't die of that, probably. Heavens, Steve, that cleaver of yours
is a
frightful thing in action! Suppose it's safe for us to go home?"
     "Absolutely—right now's the best chance we'll ever have, and something
tells me
that we'd better make it snappy. They'll be back, and next time they won't be
so easy to
take."
     "All x, then—hold me, Steve, I can't stand the sight of that, let alone
wade
through it. I'm going to faint or something, sure."
     "As you were!" he snapped. "You aren't going to pass out now that it's
all over!
It's a pretty ghastly mess, I know, but shut your eyes and I'll carry you out
of sight."
     "Aren't we out of sight of that place yet?" she demanded after a time.
     "Have been for quite a while," he confessed, "but you're sitting pretty,
aren't you
? And you aren't very heavy —not here on Ganymede, anyway!"
     "Put me down!" she commanded. "After that crack I won't play with you any
more
at all—I'll pick up my marbles and go home!"
     He released her and they hurried back toward their waterfall, keeping
wary eyes
sharp-set for danger in any form, animal or vegetable. On the way back across
the
foothills Stevens shot another hexaped, and upon the plateau above the river
Nadia
bagged several birds and small animals; but it was not until they were
actually in their
own little canyon that their rapid pace slackened and their vigilance relaxed.
     "After this, ace, we hunt together and we go back to wearing armor while
we're
hunting. It scared me out of a year's growth when you checked up missing."
     "We sure do, Steve," she concurred emphatically. "I'm not going to get
more than
a meter away from you from now on. What do you suppose those horrible things
are ?"
     "Which?"
     "Both."
     "Those flowers aren't like anything Tellus ever saw, so we have no basis
of
comparison. They may be a development of a kind of flycatcher, or they may be
a link
between the animal and the vegetable kingdom. However, we don't intend to
study 'em,
so let's forget 'em. Those animals were undoubtedly intelligent beings; they
probably are
a race of savages of this satellite."
     "Then the really civilized races are probably . . ."
     "Not necessarily — there may well be different types, each struggling
toward
civilization. There certainly are on Venus, and there once were on Mars."
     "Why haven't we seen anything like that before, in all these months ?
Things
have been so calm and peaceful that we thought we had the whole world to
ourselves,
as far as danger or men were concerned."
     "We never saw them before because we never went where they lived—you were
a long ways from your usual stamping-grounds, you know. That animal-vegetable
flower
is probably a high-altitude organism, living in the mountains and never coming
as low as
we are down here. As for the savages—whatever they are—they probably never
come
within five kilometers of the falls. Many primitive peoples think that
waterfalls are
inhabited by demons, and maybe these folks are afflicted the same way."
     "We don't know much about our new world yet, do we?"
     "We sure don't—and I'm not particularly keen on finding out much more
about it
until we get, organized for trouble, either. Well, here we are—just like
getting back home
to see the Hope, isn't it?"
     "It if home, and will be until we get one of our own on Earth," and after
Stevens
had read his meters, learning with satisfaction that the full current was
still flowing into
the accumulators, he began to cut up the meat.
     "Now that you've got the power-plant running at last, what next?" asked
Nadia,
piling the cuts in the freezer.
     "Brandon's ultra-radio comes next, but it's got more angles to it than a
cubist's
picture of a set of prisms; so many that I don't know where to begin. There,
that job's
done— let's sit down and I'll talk at you a while. Maybe between us we can
figure out
where to start. I've got everything to build it lined up except for the tube,
but that's got
me stopped cold. You see, fields of force are all right in most places, but
I've got to have
one tube, and it's got to have the hardest possible vacuum. That means a
mercury-
vapor super-pump. Mercury is absolutely the only thing that will do the trick
and mercury
is one thing that is conspicuous by its absence in these parts. So are
tungsten for
filaments, tantalum for plates, and platinum for leads; and I haven't found
anything that I
can use as a getter, either — a metal, you know, to flash inside the tube to
clean up the
last traces of atmosphere in it."
     "I didn't suppose that such a simple thing as a radio tube could hold you
up, after
the perfectly unbelievable things that you have done already—but I see now how
it
could. Of course the tubes in our receiver over there are too small ?"
     "Yes, they are only receiver and communicator tubes, and I need a high-
power
transmitting tube—a fifty-kilowatter, at least. I'd give my left leg to the
knee joint for one
of those big water-cooled, sixty-kilowatt ten-nineteens right now—it'd save us
a lot of
grief."
     "Maybe you could break up those tubes and use the plates and so on?"
     "I thought of that, but it won't work—there isn't half enough metal in
the lot, and
the filaments in particular are so tiny that I couldn't possibly work them
over into a big
one. Then, too, we haven't got many spare tubes, and if I smash the ones we're
using I
put our communicators out of business for good, so that we can't yell for help
if we have
to drift home—and I still don't get any mercury."
     "Do you mean to tell me there's no mercury on this whole planet?"
     "Not exactly; but I do mean that I haven't been able to find any, and
that it's
probably darned scarce. And since all the other metals I want worst are also
very dense
and of high atomic weight, they're probably mighty scarce here, too. Why ?
Because
we're on a satellite, and no matter what hypothesis you accept for the origin
of satellites,
you come to the same conclusion—that heavy metals are either absent or most
awfully
scarce and buried deep down toward the center. There are lots of heavy metals
in
Jupiter somewhere, but we probably couldn't find them. Jupiter's atmosphere is
one
mass of fog, and we couldn't see, since we haven't got an infra-red
transformer. I could
build one, in time, but it'd take quite a while—and we couldn't work on
Jupiter, anyway,
because of its gravity and probably because of its atmosphere. And even if we
could
work there, we don't want to spend the rest of our lives prospecting for
mercury."
Stevens fell silent, brow wrinkled in thought.
     "You mean, dear, that we're . . ." Nadia broke off, the sentence
unfinished.
     "Gosh, no! There's lots of things not tried yet, and we can always set
out to drift
it. I was thinking only of building the tube. And I'm trying to think . . .
say, Nadia, what do
you know about Cantrell's Comet ?"
     "Not a thing, except that I remember reading in the newspapers that it
was
peculiar for something or other. But what has Cantrell's Comet got to do with
the high
cost of living—or with radio tubes? Have you gone nuts all of a sudden?"
     "You'd be surprised!" Stevens grinned at her puzzled expression.
"Cantrell's
Comet is one of Jupiter's comet family, and is peculiar in being the most
massive one
known to science. It was hardly known until after they built that thousand-
foot reflector
on the Moon, where the seeing is always perfect, but it has been studied a lot
since
then. Its nucleus is small, but extremely heavy—it seems to have an average
density of
somewhere around sixteen. There's platinum and everything else that's heavy
there,
girl. They ought to be there in such quantity that even such a volunteer
chemist as I am
could find them."
     "Heavens, Steve!" A look of alarm flashed over Nadia's face, then
disappeared
as rapidly as it had come into being. "But of course comets aren't really
dangerous."
     "Sure not. A comet's tail, which so many people are afraid of as being
poison
gas, is almost a perfect vacuum, even at its thickest, and we'd have to wear
space-suits
anyway. And speaking of vacuum . . . whoopee! We don't need mercury any more
than
a goldfish needs a gas-mask. When we get Mr. Tube done, we'll take him out
into
space, leaving his mouth open, and very shortly he'll be as empty as a bobby-
soxer's
skull. Then we'll seal him up, flash him out, come back here, and start
spilling our
troubles into Brandon's shell-like ear!"
     "Wonderful! You do get an idea occasionally, don't you? But how do we get
out
there? Where is this Can-Cell's Comet?"
     ''I don't know, exactly—there's one rub. Another is that I haven't even
started the
transmitter and receptor units. But we've got some field-generators here On
board that I
can use, so it won't be so bad. And our comet is in this part of the Solar
System
somewhere fairly close. Wish we had an Ephemeris, a couple of I-P solar
charts, and a
real telescope."
     "You can't do much without an Ephemeris, I shouldn't think. It's a good
thing you
kept the chronometers going. You know the I-P time, day, and dates, anyway."
     "I'll have to do without some things, that's all," and the man stared
absently at the
steel wall. "I remember something about its orbit, since it is one thing that
all I-P vessels
have to steer clear of. Think I can figure it close enough so that we'll be
able to find it in
our little telescope, or even on our plate, since we'll be out of atmosphere.
And it might
not be a bad idea for us to get away, anyway. I'm afraid of those folks on
that space-
ship, whoever they were, and they must live around here somewhere. Cantrell's
Comet
swings about fifty million kilometers outside Jupiter's orbit at aphelion—
close enough for
us to reach, and yet probably too far for them to find us easily. By the time
we get back
here, they probably will have quit looking for us, if they look at all. Then
too, I expect
these savages to follow us up. What say, little ace—do we try it or do we stay
here ?"
     "You know best, Steve. As I said before, I'm with you from now on, in
whatever
you think best to do. I know that you think it best to go out there.
Therefore, so do I."
     "Well," he said, finally, "I'd better get busy, then— there's a lot to do
before we
can start. The radio doesn't come next, after all — the transmitter and
receptor units
come ahead of it. They won't mean wasted labor, in any event, since we'll have
to have
them in case the radio fails. You'd better lay in a lot of supplies while I'm
working on that
stuff, but don't go out of sight, and yell like fury if you see anything. We'd
both better
wear full armor every time we go out-of-doors—unless I'm all out of control we
aren't
done with those savages yet. Even though they may be afraid of the demons of
the
falls, I think they'll have at least one more try at us."
     While Nadia brought in meat and vegetables and stored them away, Stevens
attacked the problem of constructing the pair of tight-beam, auto-dirigible
transmitter
and receptor units which would connect his great turbo-alternator to the
accumulators of
their craft, wherever it might be in space. From the force-field generators of
the Forlorn
Hope he selected the two most suitable for his purpose, tuned them to the
exact
frequency he required, and around them built a complex system of condensers
and
coils.
     Day after day passed. Their larder was full, the receptor was finished,
and the
beam transmitter was almost ready to attach to the turbo-alternator before the
calm was
broken.
     "Steve!" Nadia shrieked. Glancing idly into the communicator plate, she
had been
perfunctorily surveying the surrounding territory. "They're coming! Thousands
of them!
They're all over the bench up there, and just simply pouring down the hills
and up the
valley!"
     "Wish they'd waited a few hours longer—we'd've been gone. However, we're
just
about ready for them," he commented grimly, as he stared over her shoulder
into the
communicator plate. "We'll make a lot of those Indians wish that they had
stayed at
home with their papooses."
     "Have you got all those rays and things fixed up ?"
     "Not as many as I'd like to have. You see, I don't know the composition
of the I-P
ray, since it is outlawed to everybody except the police. Of course I could
have found
out from Brandon, but never paid any attention to it. I've got some nice
ultra-violet,
though, and a short-wave oscillatory that'll cook an elephant to a cinder in
about eight
seconds. We'll keep 'em amused, no fooling! Glad we had time to cover our open
sides,
and it looks as though that meteorite armor we put over the projectors may be
mighty
useful, too."
     On and on the savages came, massed in formations showing some signs of
rude
discipline. This time there was neither shrieking nor yelling; the weird
creatures
advanced silently and methodically. Here and there were massed groups of
hundreds,
dragging behind them engines which Stevens studied with interest.
     "Hm . . . m . . . m. Catapults," he mused. "You were right, girl of my
dreams —
armor and bows and arrows wouldn't help us much right now. They're going to
throw
rocks at us that'll have both mass and momentum. With those things they can
cave in
our side-armor, and might even dent our roof. When one of those projectiles
hits, we
want to be where it ain't, that's all."
     Stevens cast off the heavily-insulated plug connecting the power plant
leads to
his now almost fully charged accumulators, strapped himself and Nadia into
place at the
controls, and waited, staring into the plate. Catapult after catapult was
dragged to the lip
of the little canyon, until six of them bore upon the target. The huge
stranded springs of
hair, fibre, and sinew were wound up to the limit, and enormous masses of rock
were
toilsomely rolled upon the platforms. Each "gunner" seized his trip, and as
the leader
shrieked his signal the six ponderous masses of metalliferous rock heaved into
the air
as one. But they did not strike their objective, for as the signal was given,
'Stevens shot
power into his projectors. The Forlorn Hope leaped out of the canyon and high
into the
air over the open meadow, just as the six great projectiles crashed into the
ground upon
the spot which, an instant before, she had occupied.
     Rudimentary discipline forgotten, the horde rushed down into the canyon
and the
valley, in full clamor of their barbaric urges. Horns and arms tossed
fiercely, savage
noises rent the air, and arrows splintered harmlessly upon steel plate as the
mystified
and maddened warriors upon the plain below gave vent to their outraged
feelings.
     "Look, Nadia! A whole gang of them are smelling around that power plug.
Pretty
soon somebody's going to touch a hot spot, and when he does we'll cut loose on
the
rest of them."
     The huge insulating plug, housing the ends of the three great cables
leading to
the converters of the turbo-alternator, lay innocently upon the ground, its
three yawning
holes invitingly open to savage arms. The chief, who had been inspecting the
power-
plant, walked along the triplex lead and joined his followers at its terminus.
Pointing with
his horns he jabbered orders, and three red monsters, one at each cable, bent
to lift the
plug, while the leader himself thrust an arm into each of the three contact
holes. There
was a flash of searing flame and the reeking smoke of burning flesh—those
three arms
had taken the terrific no-load voltage of the three-phase converter system,
and the full
power of the alternator had been shorted directly to ground through the
comparatively
small resistance of his body.
     Stevens had poised the Forlorn Hope edgewise in mid-air, so that the
gleaming,
heavily armored parabolic reflectors of his projectors, mounted upon the
leading edge of
the fortress, covered the scene below. As the charred corpse of the savage
chieftain
dropped to the ground, it seemed to the six-limbed creatures that the demons
of the
falls had indeed been annoyed beyond endurance by their intrusion; for, as if
in
response to the flash of fire from the power plug, that structure so
peculiarly and so
stolidly hanging in the air came plunging down toward them. From it there
reached
down twin fans of death and destruction: one flaming an almost invisibly
incandescent
violet which tore at the eyes and excruciatingly disintegrated brain and
nervous tissues;
the other dully glowing an equally invisible red, at the touch of which body
temperature
soared to lethal heights and foliage burst cracklingly into spontaneous flame.
     In their massed hundreds the savages dropped where they stood, life rived
away
by the torturing ultra-violet, burned away by the blast of pure heat, or
consumed by the
conflagrations that raged instantly wherever that wide-sweeping fan
encountered
combustible material. In the face of power supernatural they lost all thought
of attack or
of conquest, and sought only and madly to escape. Weapons were thrown away,
the
catapults were abandoned, and, every man for himself, the mob fled in wildest
disorder,
each striving to put as much distance as possible between himself and that
place of
dread mystery, the waterfall.
     "Well, I guess that'll hold 'em for a while," Stevens dropped their craft
back into
its original quarters in the canyon. "Whether they ever believed before that
this falls was
inhabited by devils or not, they think so now. I'll bet that it'll be six
hundred Jovian years
before any of them ever come within a hundred kilometers of it again. I'm glad
of it, too,
because they'll let our power plant alone now. Well, let's get going—we've got
to make
things hum for a while!"
     "Why all the rush ? You just said that we have scared them away for
good."
     "The savages, yes, but not those others. We've just turned loose enough
radiation to affect detectors all over the system, and it's up to us to get
this beam
projector set up, get away from here, and get our power shut off before they
can trace
us. Snap it up, ace!"
     The transmitter unit was installed at the converters, the cable was torn
out; and
having broken the last material link between it and Ganymede, Stevens hurled
the
Forlorn Hope out into space, using the highest acceleration Nadia could
endure. Hour
after hour the massive wedge of steel bored outward, away from Jupiter; hour
after hour
Stevens' anxious eyes scanned his instruments; hour after hour hope mounted
and
relief took the place of anxiety as the screens remained blank throughout
every inquiring
thrust into the empty ether._CHAPTER 5
Cantrell's Comet

Far out in space, Jupiter a tiny moon and its satellites mere pin-points of
light, Stevens
turned to his companion with a grin.
     "Well, Nadia, my ex-groundgripper, here's where we turn spacehounds
again.
Hope you like it better this time, because I'm afraid that we'll have to stay
weightless 'for
quite a while." He slowly throttled down the mighty flow of power, and watched
the
conflicting emotions play over Nadia's face in her purely personal battle
against the
sickening sensations caused by the decrease in their acceleration.
     "I'm sorry, sweetheart." His grin disappeared. "Wish I could take it for
you, but. .
."
     "But there are times when we've got to fight, our own battles and bury
our own
dead," she interrupted, gamely. "Cut off the rest of that power! I'm not going
to be sick—
I won't be a—what do you spacehounds call us poor earth-bound dubs who can't
stand
weightlessness—weight-fiends, isn't it?"
     "Yes; but you aren't . . ."
     "I know I'm not, and I'm not going to be one, either! I'm all x, Steve—
it's not so
bad now, really. I held myself together that time, anyway, and I feel lots
better now.
Have you found Cantrell's Comet yet ? And why so sure all of a sudden that
they can't
find us ? That power beam still connects us to Ganymede, doesn't it ? Maybe
they can
trace it."
     "At-a-girl, ace!" he cheered. "I'll tell the world you're no weight-
fiend—you're a
spacehound right. Most first-trippers, at this stage of the game, wouldn't be
caring a
whoop whether school kept or not, and here you're taking an interest in all
kinds of
things already. You'll do, girl of my heart—no fooling!"
     "Maybe,1 and maybe you're trying to kid somebody," she returned, eying
him
intently. "Or maybe you just don't want to answer those questions I asked you
a minute
ago."
     "No, that's straight data, right on zero clear across the panel," he
assured her.
"And as for your questions, they're easy. No, I haven't looked for the comet
yet,
because we'll have to drift for a couple of days before we'll be anywhere near
where I
think it is. No, they can't trace us, because there is now nothing to trace,
unless they
can detect the slight power we are using in our lights and so on—which
possibility is
vanishingly small. Potentially, our beam still exists, but since we are
drawing no power,
it has no actual present existence. See?"
     "Uh-uh," she dissented. "I can't say that I .can quite understand how a
beam can
exist potentially and yet not be there actually enough to trace. Why, a thing
has to be
actual or not exist at all—you can't possibly have something that is nothing.
It doesn't
make sense. But lay off of those integrations of yours, please," as Stevens
began to
draw a diagram. "You know that your brand of math is over my head like a
circus tent,
so we'll let it lay. I'll take your word for it, Steve—if you're satisfied,
it's all x with me."
     "I think I can straighten you out a little, by analogy. Here's a rough
sketch of a
cylinder, with its shade and shadow. You've had descriptive geometry, of
course, and so
know that a shadow, being simply a projection of a material object upon a
plane, is a
two-dimensional thing—or rather, a two-dimensional concept. Now take the
shade,
which is, of course, this entire figure here, between the cylinder casting the
shadow and
the plane of projection. You simply imagine that there is a point source of
light at your
point of projection: it isn't really there. The shade, then, of which I am
drawing a picture,
has only a potential existence. You know exactly where it is, you can draw it,
you can
define it, compute it, and work with it — but still it doesn't exist; there is
absolutely
nothing to differentiate it from any other volume of air, and it cannot be
detected by any
physical or mechanical means. If, however, you place a light at the point of
projection,
the shade becomes actual and can be detected optically. By a sufficient
stretch of the
imagination you might compare our beam to that shade. When we turn our power
on the
beam is actual; it is a stream of tangible force, and as such can be detected
electrically.
When our switches here are open, however, it exists only potentially. There is
no motion
in the ether, nothing whatever to indicate that a beam ever had actually
existed there.
With me?"
     "Floundering pretty badly, but I see it after a fashion. You physicists
are peculiar
freaks—where we ordinary mortals see actual, solid, heavy objects, you see
only empty
space with a few electrons and things floating around in it; and yet where we
see only
empty space, you can see things 'potentially' that may never exist at all.
You'll be the
death of me yet, Steve! But I'm wasting a lot of time. What do we do now ?"
     "We get busy on the big tube. You might warm up the annealing oven and
melt
me that pot of glass, while I get busy on the filament supports, plate
brackets, and so
on." Both fell to work with a will, and hours passed rapidly and almost
silently, so intent
was each upon his own tasks.
     "All x, Steve," Nadia broke the long silence. "The pyrometer's on the
red, and the
oven's hot," and the man left his bench. Taking up a long paddle and an even
longer
blow-pipe, he skimmed the melt to a dazzlingly bright surface and deftly
formed a
bubble.
     "I just love to talk at you when you've got your mouth full of a
blowpipe." Nadia
eyed him impishly and tucked her feet beneath her, poised weightless as she
was. "I've
got you foul now—I can say anything I want to, and you can't talk back,
because your
bubble will lose its shape if you do. Oh, isn't that a beauty! I never saw you
blow
anything that big before," and she fell silent, watching intently.
     Slowly there was being drawn from the pot a huge, tapering bulb of hot,
glistening glass, its cross-section at the molten surface varying as Stevens
changed the
rate of draw or the volume of air blown through the pipe. Soon that section
narrowed
sharply. The glass-blower waved his hand and Nadia severed the form neatly
with a
glowing wire, just above the fluid surface of the glass remaining in the pot.
Pendant from
the blowpipe the bulb was placed over the hot-bench, where Stevens, now
begoggled,
begloved, and armed with a welding torch, proceeded to embellish it with
sundry necks,
side-tubes, supports and other attachments of peculiar pattern. Finally the
partially-
assembled tube was placed in the annealing oven, where it would remain at a
high and
constant temperature until its filaments, grids, and plates had been
installed. Eventually,
in that same oven, it would be allowed to cool slowly and uniformly over a
period of
days.
     Thus were performed many other tasks which are ordinarily done either by
automatic machinery or by highly-skilled specialists in labor—for these two,
thrown upon
their own resources, had long since learned how much specialization may be
represented by the most commonplace article. Whenever they needed a thing they
did
not have—which happened every day—they had either to make it or else, failing
in that,
to go back and build something that would enable them to manufacture the
required
item. Such setbacks had become so numerous as to be expected as part of the
day's
work; they no longer caused exasperation or annoyance. For two days the jacks-
of-all-
trades worked at many lines and with many materials before Stevens called a
halt.
     "All x, Nadia, it's time for us to lay off of the tinkering and turn into
astronomers.
We've been out for fifty I-P hours, and we'd better begin looking around for
our heap of
scrap metal," and, the girl at the communicator plate and Stevens at their one
small
telescope, they began to search the black, star-jeweled heavens for Cantrell's
Comet.
     "According to my figures, it ought to be about four hours right
ascension, and
something like plus twenty degrees declination. My figures aren't accurate,
though,
since I'm working purely from memory, so we'd better cover everything from
Aldebaran
to the Pleides."
     "But the directions will change as we go along, won't they?"
     "Not unless we pass it, because we're heading pretty nearly straight at
it, I think."
     "I don't see anything interesting thereabouts except stars. Will it have
much tail ?"
     "Very little—it's close to aphelion, you know, and a comet doesn't have
much of a
tail so far away from the sun. Hope it's got some of its tail left, though, or
we may miss it
entirely."
     Hours passed, during which the two observers peered intently into their
instruments, then Stevens straightened up and stretched.
     "Looks bad, ace—we should have spotted it before this. Time to eat, too.
You'd
better . . ."
     "Oh, look here, quick!" Nadia interrupted. "Here's something! Yes, it is
a comet,
and quite close—it's got a little bit of a dim tail."
     Stevens leaped to the communicator plate and, blonde head pressed close
to
brown, the two wayfarers studied the, faint image of the wanderer of the void.
     "That's it, I just know it is!" Nadia declared. "Steve, as a computer,
you're a
blinding flash and a deafening report !"
     "Yeah—missed it only about half a million kilometers or so," he replied,
grinning,
"and I'd fire a whole flock of I-P check stations for being four thousand off.
However, I
could have done worse—I could easily have forgotten all the data on it,
instead of only
half of it." He applied a normal negative acceleration, and Nadia heaved a
profound sigh
of relief as her weight returned to her and her body again became manageable
by the
ordinary automatic and involuntary muscles.
     "Guess I am a kind of a weight-fiend at that, Steve— this is much
better!" she
exclaimed.
     "Nobody denies that weight is more convenient at times; but you're a
spacehound just the same—you'll like it after a while," he prophesied.
     Stevens took careful observations upon the celestial body, altered his
course
sharply, then, after a measured time interval again made careful readings.
     "That's it, all x," he announced, after completing his calculations, and
reduced
their negative acceleration by a third. "There—we'll be just about traveling
with it when
we get there," he said. "Now, little K. P. of my bosom, our supper's been on
plus time for
hours. What say we shake it up?"
     "I check you to nineteen decimals," and the two were soon attacking the
savory
Ganymedean goulash which Nadia had put in the cooker many hours before.
     "Should we both go to sleep, Steve, or should one of us watch it?"
     "Sleep, by all means. There's no meteoric stuff out here, and we won't
arrive
before ten o'clock tomorrow, I-P time," and, tired out by the events of the
long day, man
and maid sought their beds and plunged into dreamless slumber.
     While they slept the Forlorn Hope drove on through the void at a terrific
but
constantly decreasing velocity and far off to one side, plunging along a line
making a
sharp angle with their own course, there loomed larger and larger the masses
which
made up the nucleus of Cantrell's Comet.
     Upon awakening, Stevens' first thought was for the comet, and he observed
it
carefully before he aroused Nadia, who hurried into the control room. Looming
large in
the shortened range of the plate their objective hurtled onward in its eternal
course, its
enormous velocity betrayed only by the rapidity with which it sped past the
incredibly
brilliant background of infinitely distant stars. Apparently it was a wild
jumble of separate
fragments; a conglomerate, heterogenous aggregation of rough and jagged masses
varying in size from grains of sand up to enormous chunks which upon Earth
would
have weighed millions of tons. Pervading the whole nucleus a slow, indefinite
movement
was perceptible —a vague writhing and creeping of individual components
working and
slipping past and around each other as they all rushed forward in obedience to
the
immutable cosmic law of gravitation.
     "Oh, isn't that wonderful!" Nadia breathed. "Think of actually going to
visit a
comet! It sort of scares me, Steve—it's so creepy and crawly looking. We're
awfully
close, aren't we ?"
     "Not so very. We'd probably have lots of time to eat breakfast. But just
to be on
the safe side, maybe I'd better camp here at the board, and you bring me over
something to eat."
     "All x, Chief!" and Stevens ate, one eye upon the screen, watching
closely the
ever-increasing bulk of the comet.
     For many minutes he swung the Forlorn Hope in a wide curve, approaching
the
masses of metal ever and ever more nearly, then turned to the girl.
     "Hold everything, Nadia—power's going off in a minute!" He shut off the
beam;
then, noting that they were traveling a trifle faster than the comet, he
applied a small
voltage to one dirigible projector. Darting the beam here and there, he so
corrected their
flight that they were precisely stationary in relation to the comet. He then
opened his
switches, and the Forlorn Hope hurtled on. Apparently motionless, it was now a
part of
Cantrell's Comet, traveling in a stupendous, elongated ellipse about the
Master of our
Solar System, the sun.
     "There, ace, who said anything about weight-fiends ? I was watching you,
and
you never turned a hair that time."
     "Why, that's right—I never even thought about it—I was so busy studying
that
thing out there! Suppose I've got used to it already?"
     "Sure—you're one of us now. I knew you would be. Well, let's go places
and do
things! You'd better put on a suit, too, so you can stand in the air-lock and
handle the
line."
     They donned the heavily-insulated, heated suits, and Stevens snapped into
their
sockets the locking plugs of the drag line.
     "Hear me?" he asked. "Sound-disks all x?"
     "All x."
     "On the radio—all x?"
     "All x."
     "I tested your tanks and heaters—they're all x. But you'll have to test .
. ."
     "I know the ritual by heart, Steve. It's been in every show in the
country for the
last year, but I didn't know you had to go through it every time you went out-
of-doors!
Valves, number one all x, two all x, three all x . . ."
     "Quit it!" he snapped. "You aren't testing those valves! That check-up is
no joke,
guy. These suits are complicated affairs, and some parts are apt to get out of
order. You
see, a thing to give you fresh air at normal pressure and to keep you warm in
absolute
space can't be either simple or foolproof. They've worked on them for years,
but they're
pretty crude yet. They're tricky, and if one goes sour on you out in space
it's just too
bad—you're lucky to get back alive. A lot of men are out there somewhere yet
because
of sloppy check-ups."
     " 'Scuse it, please—I'll be good," and the careful checking and testing
of every
vital part of the space-suits went on.
     Satisfied at last that the armor was spaceworthy, Stevens picked up the
coils of
drag-line, built of a non-metallic fiber which could retain its flexibility
and strength in the
bitter cold of outer space, and led the girl into the air-lock.
     "Heavens, Steve! It's perfectly stupendous, and grinding around worse
than the
wreckage of the Arcturus was when I wouldn't let you climb up it—why, I
thought comets
were little, and hardly massive at all!" exclaimed the girl.
     "This is little, compared to any regular planet or satellite, or even the
asteroids.
There's only a few cubic kilometers of material there, and, as I said before,
it's a
decidedly unusual comet. You know the game ?"
     "I've got it—and believe me, I'll yank you back here a lot faster than
you can jump
over there if any one of those lumps starts to fall on you! Is this drag line
long enough ?"
     "Yes, I've got a hundred meters here, and it's only fifty meters over
there to
where I'm going. So-long," and with a light thrust of his feet he .dove head-
foremost
across the intervening space, a heavy pike held out ahead of him. Straight as
a bullet
he floated toward his objective, a jagged chunk many yards in diameter, taking
the
shock of his landing by sliding along the pike-handle as its head struck the
mass.
     Then, bracing his feet against one lump, he pushed against its neighbor,
and
under that steady pressure the enormous masses moved apart and kept on moving,
grinding among their fellows. Over and around them Stevens sprang, always
watching
his line of retreat as well as that of his advance, until his exploring pike
struck a lump of
apparently solid metal. Hooking the fragment toward him, he thrust savagely
with his
weapon and was reassured—that object was not only metal, but it was metal so
hard
that his pike-head of space-tempered alloy had not made an impression upon its
surface. Turning on his helmet light, he swung his heavy hammer repeatedly,
but could
not break off even a small fragment.
     "Found something, Steve?" Nadia's voice came clearly in his ears.
     "I'll say I have! A hunk of solid, non-magnetic metal about the size of
an office
desk. I can't break off any of it, so guess we'll have to grab the whole
chunk."
     He hitched the end of his cable around the nugget, made sure that the
loops
would not slip, and then, as Nadia tightened the line, he shoved mightily.
     "All x, Nadia, she's coming! Pull in my drag line as I sail over there,
and I'll help
you land her."
     Inside the Forlorn Hope the mass of metal was urged into the shop, where
Stevens clamped it immovably to the steel floor before he took off his space-
suit.
     "Why, it's getting covered with snow, and the whole room is getting
positively
cold!" Nadia exclaimed.
     "Sure. Anything that comes in from space is cold, even if it's been out
only a few
minutes, and that hunk of stuff has been out for nobody knows how many million
years.
It didn't get much heat from the sun except at perihelion, you know, so it's
probably
somewhere around minus two hundred and sixty degrees now. I'll have to throw a
heater on it for half an hour before we can touch it. And since this is more
or less new
stuff to you, I'll caution you—don't try to touch anything that has just come
in. That
hammer or pike would freeze your hand instantly, even though they've been out
only a
little while. Before you touch anything, blow on it, like this, see ? If your
breath freezes
solid on it, like that, don't touch it—it's cold."
     Under the infra-beams of the heater the mass of metal was brought to room
temperature and Stevens attacked it with his machine tools. Bit by bit the
stubborn
material was torn from the lump. Through heavy goggles he watched the
incandescent
mass in a refractory crucible, in the heart of the induction furnace.
     "What do you think you've got—what you want?"
     "I don't know. It wasn't iron—it wouldn't hold a magnet. It's royal metal
of some
kind. Base metals mostly melt at around fifteen hundred, and that crucible is
still dry as
a bone at better than seventeen."
     "How are you going to separate out the tantalum and the others you want
from
the ones that you don't want ?"
     "I'm afraid that I'm not going to, very well," replied Stevens, with a
wry grimace.
"What I don't know about metallurgy would fill a library, and I'm probably the
world's
worst chemist. However, by a series of successive liquations I hope to
separate out
fractions that I can use. Platinum melts somewhere around seventeen fifty,
tantalum
about twenty-eight hundred, and tungsten not until 'way up around thirty-three
or four
hundred—and that, by the way, means lots of grief. Of course each fraction
will
probably be an alloy of one kind or another, but I think maybe I'll be able to
make them
do."
     "But mayn't that whole chunk be a pure metal ?"
     "It's conceivable, but not probable. There, she's beginning to separate
at just
below eighteen hundred! Platinum group coming out now, I think—platinum,
rhodium,
iridium, and that gang, you know. While I'm doing this you might be getting
those five
coils into exact resonance, if you want to."
     "Sure I want to," and Nadia made her way across to the short-wave
oscillator and
set to work.
     After an hour or so, bent over her delicate task, she began to twitch
uneasily,
then shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
     "What's the idea of staring at me so?" she broke out suddenly. "How do
you
expect me to tune these things up if you . . ." She stopped abruptly, mouth
open in
amazement as she turned toward Stevens. He had not been even looking at her,
but
had turned a surprised face from his own task at the sound of her voice.
"Excuse it,
please, Steve. I don't know what's the matter with me—getting jumpy, I guess."
     "I wish that was it, but I'm guessing it isn't." Face suddenly grim and
hard,
Stevens leaped to the communicator plate and shot the beam out into space.
     "You're a fine-tuned instrument yourself, ace, and I'll bet you've
detected
something . . . I thought so! There's the answer—the guy that was looking at
you!"
     Plainly there was revealed upon the plate a small, spherical space-ship,
very like
the one that had attacked and destroyed the Arcturus. After Nadia had taken
one glance
at it Stevens shut off the power and leaped out into the shop. He closed all
the bulkhead
doors and airbreak openings, then closed and secured the massive insulating
door of
the lifeboat in which they had made their headquarters. Then, after they had
again put
on the space-suits they had taken off such a short time before, he
extinguished all the
lights and hooded the communicator screen before he ventured again to glance
out into
the void.
     "If I had a brain in my head, instead of the pint of bean soup I've got
up there,
we'd have worn these when they cut up the Arcturus, and saved us a lot of
mental wear
and tear," he remarked. "They were right there in the lockers all the time,
and I knew it."
     "Well, we got away, anyway. You can't be blamed for that—you couldn't be
expected to think of everything at once. I think you did wonderfully well as
it was—we
didn't have much time, you know."
     "No, but I should have thought of anything as obvious as that, anyway.
Wonder
how they found us? Whether they detected us, or came out to this comet after
metal,
same as we did, and found us accidentally? However, it works out to the same
endpoint—they're apparently out to get us. I'm afraid this is going to be a
whole lot like a
rabbit righting back at a man with a gun; but we'll sure try to nibble us off
a lunch while
they're getting a square meal . . . here they come!"
     The enemy sphere launched its flaming plane of force, and the Forlorn
Hope
shuddered in every plate and member as its apex was severed cleanly under the
impact. Instantly Stevens hurled his only weapons. Flaming ultraviolet and
dully glowing
infra-red, the twin beams lashed out; but their utmost force was of slight
moment to the
enormous power driving the enemy screens. Two circular spots of cherry red in
space
were the only results of Stevens' attack, and the next fierce cut sheared away
the two
projectors and, incidentally, a full half of the fifty-inch armor of the
leading edge.
     "Then we're checking out now?" Nadia asked quietly, as the man's hands
dropped from his useless controls. "I'm sorrier than I can say, lover. Oh,
sweetheart,
how I want to live with you! But at least, I'm glad that I can go out with
you," and her
glorious eyes were shining with unshed tears as she pressed as close to his
side as the
cumbersome suits would permit.
     "Don't throw in the towel yet. Perhaps they want to capture us alive,
like they did
before; and if so, we may be able to hide out on them somewhere and pull off
another
escape. Things don't look any too bright, perhaps, but I don't quit until my
number is
actually called."
     He hooked a hand under her belt as the shocks came closer, and stood
tense
and ready. The lancing plane cut through one end of their control room, and
Stevens
leaped with his companion toward the new-made opening; while the air shrieked
outward into space and their suits bulged suddenly with the abrupt increase in
pressure
differential. While they were in midflight the frightful blade of destruction
cleaved its way
through the control board and through the spot upon which they had been
standing a
moment before. As they passed the severed edge, en route into open space.
Stevens
seized a projecting brace and clung there, every nerve taut.
     "Something funny here, Nadia," he said after a minute of strained
waiting. "They
should have made one more cut, to make us absolutely blind and helpless. As it
is
they've clipped off all our projectors, so we can't move, but I think we've
got the whole
control compartment of number two lifeboat untouched. If so, we can look
around,
anyway. Let's go!"
     Floating effortlessly from fragment to fragment, they made their way
toward the
as yet undamaged section of their cruiser. They found an airlock in working
order, and
were soon in the second lifeboat, where Stevens hastily turned on a
communicator and
peered out into space.
     "There they are! There's another stranger out there, too. They're
fighting with her,
now—that's probably why they didn't polish us off." Steel-braced, clumsy
helmets
touching, the two Terrestrials stared spell-bound into the plate; watching
while the
insensately vicious intelligences within the sphere brought its every force to
bear upon
another and larger sphere which was now so close as to be plainly visible.
Like a
gigantic drop of quicksilver this second globe appeared—its smooth and highly-
polished
surface one enormous spherical mirror. Watching tensely, they saw flash out
that
frightful plane of seething energy, with the effects of which they were all
too familiar, and
saw it strike full upon the dazzling ball.
     "This is awful, ace!" Stevens groaned. "They haven't got ray-screens,
either, and
without them they don't stand a chance. No possible substance can stand up
under that
beam. When they get done and turn back to us, we'll have to dive back there
where we
were."
     But that brilliant mirror was not as vulnerable as Stevens had supposed.
The
plane of force struck and clung, but could not penetrate it. Broken up into
myriads of
scintillating crystals of light, intersecting, multi-colored rays, and
cascading flares of
sparkling energy, the beam was reflected, thrown back, hurled away on all
sides into
space in coruscating, blinding torrents. And neither was the monster globe
inoffensive.
The straining watchers saw a port open suddenly, emit a flame-erupting
something, and
close as rapidly as it had opened. That something was a projectile, its
propelling rockets
fiercely aflame; as smoothly brilliant as its mother-ship and seemingly as
impervious to
the lethal beams of the common foe. Detected almost instantly as it was, it
received the
full power of the savage attack. The hitherto irresistible plane of force beat
upon it; ultra-
violet, infra-red, and heat rays enveloped it; there were hurled against it
all the forces
known to the monstrously scientific minds dwelling within that fiendishly
destructive
sphere. Finally, only a scant few hundreds of yards from its goal, the
protective mirror
was punctured and the freight of high explosive let go, with a silent, but
nevertheless
terrific, detonation. But now another torpedo was on its way, and another, and
another;
boring on ruthlessly toward the smaller sphere. Fighting simultaneously three
torpedoes
and the giant globe, the enemy began dodging, darting hither and thither with
a
stupendous acceleration; but the tiny pursuers could not be shaken off. At
every dodge
and turn steering rockets burst into furious activity and the projectiles
rushed ever
nearer. Knowing that she had at last encountered a superior force, the sphere
turned in
mad flight; but, prodigious as was her acceleration, the torpedoes were faster
and all
three of them struck her at once. There ensued an explosion veritably space-
wracking
in its intensity; a flash of incandescent brilliance that seemed to fill all
space, subsiding
into a vast volume of tenuous gas which, feebly glowing, flowed about and
attached
itself to Cantrell's Comet. And in the space where had been the enemy sphere
there
was nothing.
     A slow-creeping pale blue rod of tangible force reached out from the
great
sphere, touched the wreckage of the Forlorn Hope, and pulled; gently but with
enormous power.
     "Tractor beams again!" exclaimed Stevens, still at the plate.
"Everybody's got 'em
but us, it seems."
     "And we can't fight a bit any more, can we ?"
     "Not a chance—bows and arrows wouldn't do us much good. However, we may
not need 'em. Since they fought that other crew, and haven't blown us up, they
aren't
active enemies of ours, and may be friendly. I haven't any idea who or what
they are,
since even our communicator ray can't get through that mirror, but it looks as
though
our best bet is to act peaceable and see if we can't talk to them in some way.
Right?"
     "Right." They stepped out into the airlock, from which they saw that the
great
sphere had halted only a few yards from them, and that an indistinct figure
stood in an
open door, waving to them an unmistakable invitation to enter the strange
vessel.
     "Shall we, Steve?"
     "Might as well. They've got us foul, and can take us if they want us.
Anyway, we'll
need at least a week to fix us up any kind of driving power, so we can't run —
and we
probably couldn't get away from those folks if we had all our power. They
haven't blown
us up, and they could have done it easily enough. Besides, they act friendly,
so we'd
better meet them half way. Dive!"
     Floating toward the open doorway, they were met by another rod of force,
brought gently into the airlock, and supported upright beside the being who
had invited
them to visit him. Apparently an empty space-suit stood there; a peculiarly-
fitted suit of
some partially transparent, flexible, glass-like material; towering fully a
foot over the
head of the tall Terrestrial. Closer inspection, however, revealed that there
was
something inside that suit — a shadowy, weirdly-transparent being, staring at
them with
large, black eyes. The door clanged shut behind them, they heard the faint
hiss of
inrushing air, and the inner door opened; but their enveloping suits remained
stretched
almost as tightly as ever. They felt the floor lurch beneath their feet, and a
little weight
was granted them as the space-ship got under way. Stevens waved his arms
vigorously
at the stranger, pointing backward toward where he supposed their own craft to
be. The
latter waved an arm reassuringly, pressed a contact, and a section of the wall
suddenly
became transparent. Through it Stevens saw with satisfaction that the Forlorn
Hope
was not being abandoned; in the grip of powerful, tractor beams, every
fragment of the
wreckage was following close behind them in their flight through space.
     Stevens and Nadia followed their guide along a corridor, through several
doors,
and into a large room, which at first glance seemed empty, but in which
several of the
peculiarly transparent people of the craft were lying about upon cushions.
They were
undoubtedly human—but what humans! Tall and reedy they were, with enormous
barrel
chests, topped by heads which, though really large, appeared insignificant
because of
the prodigious chests and because of the huge, sail-like, flapping ears. Their
skins were
a peculiarly, lividly pale blue, absolutely devoid of hair; and their lidless
eyes, without a
sign of iris, were chillingly horrible in their stark contrast of enormous,
glaring black pupil
and ghastly transparent blue eyeball. As the two Terrestrials entered the
room, the
beings struggled to their feet and hurried laboriously away. Soon one of them
returned,
dressed in an insulating suit, and carrying three sets of head harnesses,
connected by
multiplex cables to a large box which he placed upon the floor. He handed the
headsets
to the first officer, who in turn placed two of them at the feet of the
Terrestrials,
indicating to them that they were to follow his example in placing them upon
their heads,
outside the helmets. They did so, and even through the almost perfect
insulation and in
spite of the powerful heaters of their suits they felt a touch of frightful
cold. The stranger
turned a dial, and the two wanderers from Earth were instantly in full mental
communication with Barkovis, the commander of a space-ship of Titan, the sixth
satellite of Saturn!
     "Well, I'll be . . . say, what is this, anyway?" Steve exclaimed
involuntarily, and
Nadia smiled as Barkovis answered with a thought clearer than any spoken words
could
have been.
     "It is a thought-exchanger. I do not know its fundamental mechanism,
since we
did not invent it and since I have had little time to study it. The apparatus,
practically as
you see it here, was discovered but a short time ago, in a small, rocket-
propelled space-
ship which we found some distance outside of the orbit of Jupiter. Its source
of power
had been destroyed by the cold of outer space, but re-powering it was, of
course, a
small matter. The crew of the vessel were all dead. They were, however, of
human
stock, and of a type adapted for life upon a satellite. I deduce, from your
compact
structure, your enormous atmospheric pressure, and your to us unbelievably
high body
temperature, that you must be planet-dwellers. I suppose that you are natives
of Jupiter
?"
     "Not quite." Stevens had in a measure recovered from his stunned
surprise. "We
are from Tellus, the third planet," and he revealed rapidly the events leading
up to their
present situation, concluding: "The people in the other sphere were, we
believe, natives
of Jupiter or of one of the satellites. We know nothing of them, since we
could not look
through their screens. You rescued us from them; do you not know them?"
     "No. Our visirays also were stopped by their screens of force—screens
entirely
foreign to our science. This is the first time that any vessel from our
Saturnian system
has ever succeeded in reaching the neighborhood of Jupiter. We came in peace,
but
they attacked us at sight and we were obliged to destroy them. Now we must
hurry back
to Titan, for two reasons. First, because we are already at the extreme limit
of our power
range, and Jupiter is getting further and further away from Saturn. Second,
because our
mirrors, which we had thought perfect reflectors of all frequencies possible
of
generation, are not perfect. Enough of those forces came through the mirrors
to
volatilize half our crew, and in a few minutes more none of us would have been
left
alive. Why, in some places our very atmosphere became almost hot enough to
melt
water! If another of those vessels should attack us, in all probability we
should all be
lost. Therefore we are leaving, as rapidly as is possible."
     "You are taking the pieces of our ship along—we do not want to encumber
you."
    "It is no encumbrance, since we have ample supplies of power. In fact, we
are
now employing the highest acceleration we Titanians can endure for any length
of time."
     Stevens pondered long, forgetting that his thoughts were plain as print
to the
Titanian commander. Thank Heaven these strangers had sense enough to be
friendly—
all intelligent races should be friends, for mutual advancement. But it was a
mighty long
stretch to Saturn and this acceleration wasn't so much—how long would it take
to get
there? Could they get back? Wouldn't they save time by casting themselves
adrift,
making the repairs most urgently needed, and going back to Ganymede under
their own
power —but would they have enough power left in the wreck to get even that
far? And
how about the big tube? He was interrupted by an insistent thought from
Barkovis.
     "You will save time, Stevens, by coming with us to Titan. There we shall
aid you
in repairing your vessel and in completing your transmitting tube, in which we
shall be
deeply interested. Our power plants shall supply you with energy for your
return journey
until you are dose enough to Jupiter to recover your own beam. You are tired.
I would
suggest that you rest—that you sleep long and peacefully."
     "You seem to be handling the Forlorn Hop? without any trouble—the pieces
aren't grinding at all. We'd better live there, hadn't we?"
     "Yes, that would be best, for all of us. You could not live a minute here
without
your suits; and, efficiently insulated as those suits are, yet your
incandescent body
temperature makes our rooms unbearably hot—so hot that any of us must wear a
space-suit while in the same room with you, to avoid being burned to death."
     The "incandescently hot" Terrestrials were wafted into the open airlock
of their
lifeboat upon a wand of force, and soon had prepared a long overdue supper,
over
which Stevens cast his infectious, boyish grin at Nadia.
     "Sweetheart, you are undoubtedly a 'warm number', and you have often
remarked that I 'burn you up'. Nevertheless I think that we were both
considerably
surprised to discover that we are both hot enough actually to consume persons
unfortunate enough to be confined in the same room with us!"
     "You're funny, Steve—like a crutch," she rebuked him, but smiled back
sunnily,
an elusive dimple playing in one lovely brown cheek. "Looking right through
anybody is
too ghastly for words, but I think they're perfectly all x, anyway, in spite
of their being so
hideous and so cold-blooded, so there!"_CHAPTER 6
A Frigid Civilization

I, Percival van Schravendyck Stevens!" Nadia strode purposefully into Stevens'
room
and seized him by the shoulder. "Are you going to sleep all the way to Saturn?
You
answered me when I pounded on the partition with a hammer, but I don't believe
that
you woke up at all. Get up, you—breakfast will be all spoiled directly!"
     "Huh?" Stevens opened one sluggish eye; then, as the full force of the
insult
penetrated his consciousness, he came wide awake. "Lay off those names, ace,
or
you'll find yourself walking back home!" he threatened.
     "All x by me!" she retorted. "I might as well go home if you're going to
sleep all
the time!" and she widened her expressive eyes at him impishly as she danced
blithely
back into the control room. As she went out she slammed his door with a
resounding
clang, and Stevens pried himself out of his bunk one joint at a time, dressed,
and made
himself presentable.
     "Gosh!" he yawned mightily as he joined the girl at breakfast. "I don't
know when
I've had such a gorgeous sleep. How do you get by on so little ?"
     "I don't. I sleep a lot, but I do it every night, instead of working for
four days and
nights on end and then trying to make up all those four nights' sleep at once.
I'm going
to break you of that, too, Steve, if it's the last thing I ever do."
     "There might be certain advantages in it, at that," he conceded, "but
sometimes
you've got to work when it's got to be done, instead of just between sleeps.
However, I'll
try to do better. Certainly is a wonderful relief to get out of that mess,
isn't it ?"
     "I'll say it is! But I wish that those folks were more like people.
They're nice, I
think, really, but they're so . . . so . . . well, so darn-awfully ghastly
that it simply gives
me the blue shivers just to look at one of them!"
     "They're pretty gruesome, no fooling," he agreed, "but you get used to
things like
that. I just about threw a fit the first time I ever saw a Martian, and the
Venerians are
even worse in some ways—they're so clammy and dead-looking —but now I've got
real
friends on both planets. One thing, though, gives me the pip. I read a story a
while
ago—that latest best-seller thing of Thornton's, named 'Interstellar Slush' or
some such
tr . . . "
     " 'Cleophora—An Interstellar Romance,' " she corrected him. "I thought it
was
wonderful!"
     "I didn't. It's fundamentally unsound. Look at our nearest neighbors, who
probably came from the same original stock we did. A Tellurian can admire,
respect, or
like a Venerian, yes. But for loving one of them—Phooie!" and he held his nose
in a
pantomime of disgust. "Beauty is purely relative, you know. For instance, I
think that you
are the most perfectly beautiful thing I ever saw; but no Venerian would. He'd
think you
were something his cat had caught and dragged in by mistake. Any Martian that
hadn't
seen many of us would have to go rest his eyes after taking one good look at
you.
Considering what love means, it doesn't stand to reason that any Tellurian
woman could
possibly fall in love with any man not of her own breed. Any writer is cuckoo
who
indulges in inter-planetary love affairs and mad passions. They simply don't
exist. They
can't exist—they're against all human instincts."
     "Inter-planetary—in this solar system—yes. But the Dacrovos were just
like us,
only nicer."
     "That's what gives me the pip. If our own cousins of the same solar
system are
so repulsive to us, how would we be affected by entirely alien forms of
intelligence ?"
     "Maybe you're right, of course—but you may be wrong, too," she insisted.
"The
Universe is big enough so that people like the Dacrovos may possibly exist in
it
somewhere. Maybe the Big Three will discover a means of interstellar travel—
then I'll
get to see them myself, perhaps."
     "Yes, and if we do, and if you ever see any such people, I'll bet that
the sight of
them will make your hair curl right up into a ball, too! But about Barkovis—
remember
how diplomatic the thoughts were that he sent us ? He described our structure
as being
'compact', but I got the undertone of his real thoughts, as well—didn't you ?"
     "Yes, now that you mention it, I did. He really thought that we were
white-hot,
under-sized, over-powered, warty, hairy, hideously opaque and generally
repulsive little
monstrosities—thoroughly unpleasant and distasteful. But he was friendly, just
the
same. Heavens, Steve! Do you suppose that he read our real thoughts, too?"
     "Sure he did; but he is intelligent enough to make allowances, the same
as we
are doing. He isn't any more insulted than we are. He knows that such feelings
are
ingrained and cannot be changed."
     Breakfast over, they experienced a new sensation. For the first time in
months
they had nothing to do! Used as they were to being surrounded by pressing
tasks, they
enjoyed their holiday immensely for a. few hours. Sitting idly at the
communicator plate
they scanned the sparkling heavens with keen interest. Beneath them Jupiter
was a
brilliant crescent not far from the sun, which had already grown perceptibly
smaller and
less bright. Above them and to their right Saturn shone refulgently, his
spectacular rings
plainly visible. All about them were the glories of the firmament, which never
fail to awe
the most seasoned observer. But idleness soon became irksome to those two
active
spirits, and Stevens prowled restlessly about their narrow quarters.
     "I'm going to go to work, before I go dippy," he soon declared. "They've
got lots of
power, and we can rig up a transmitter unit to send it over here to our
receptor. Then I
can start welding the old Hope together without waiting until we get to Titan
to start it.
Think I'll signal Barkovis to come over, and see what he thinks about it."
     The Titanian commander approved the idea, and the transmitting field was
quickly installed. Nadia insisted that she, too, needed to work, and that she
was
altogether too good a mechanic to waste; therefore the two again labored
mightily
together, day after day. But the girl limited rigidly their hours of work to
those of the
working day; and evening after evening Barkovis visited with them for hours.
Dressed in
his heavy space-suit and supported by a tractor beam well out of range of the
to him
terrific heat radiated by the bodies of the Terrestrials, he floated along
unconcernedly;
while over the multiplex cable of the thought-exchanger he conversed with the
man and
woman seated just inside the open outer door of their air-lock. The Titanian's
appetite
for information was insatiable—particularly did he relish everything
pertaining to the
Earth and to the other inner planets, forever barred to him and to his kind.
In return
Stevens and Nadia came gradually to know the story of the humanity of Titan.
     "I am glad beyond measure to have known you," Barkovis mused one night.
"Your existence proves that there is truth in mythology, as some of us have
always
believed. Your visit to Titan will create a furore in scientific circles, for
you are
impossibility incarnate—personifications of the preposterous. In you wildest
fancy has
become commonplace. According to many of our scientists it is utterly
impossible for
you to exist. Yet you say, and it must be, that there are millions upon
millions of similar
beings. Think of it! Venerians, Tellurians, Martians, the satellite dwellers
of the lost
space-ship, and us—so similar mentally, yet physically how different!"
     "But where does the mythology come in ?" thought Nadia.
     "We have unthinkably ancient legends which say that once Titan was
extremely
hot, and that our remote ancestors were beings of fire, in whose veins ran
molten water
instead of blood. Since our recorded history goes back some tens of thousands
of
Saturnian years, and since in that long period there has been no measurable
change in
us, few of us have believed in the legends at all. They have been thought the
surviving
figments of a barbarous, prehistoric worship of the sun. However, such a
condition is
not in conflict with the known facts of cosmogony, and since there actually
exists such a
humanity as yours—a humanity whose bodily tissues actually are composed
largely of
molten water—those ancient legends must indeed have been based upon truth.
What
an evolution! Century after century of slowly decreasing temperature—one
continuous
struggle to adapt the physique to a constantly changing environment. First
they must
have tried to maintain their high temperature by covering and heating their
cities. Then,
as vegetation died, they must have bred into their plants the ability to use
as sap purely
chemical liquids, such as our present natural fluids—which also may have been
partly
synthetic then—instead of the molten water to which they had been accustomed.
They
must have modified similarly the outer atmosphere; must have made it more
reactive, to
compensate for the lowered temperature at which metabolism must take place. As
Titan
grew colder and colder they probably dug their cities deeper and ever deeper;
until
humanity came finally to realize that it must itself change completely or
perish utterly.
     "Then we may picture them as aiding evolution in changing their body
chemistry.
For thousands and thousands of years there must have gone on the gradual
adaptation
of blood stream and tissue to more and more volatile liquids, and to lower and
still lower
temperatures. This must have continued until Titan arrived at the condition
which has
now obtained for ages—a condition of thermal equilibrium with space upon one
hand
and upon the other the sun, which changes appreciably only in millions upon
millions of
years. In equilibrium at last—with our bodily and atmospheric temperatures
finally
constant at their present values, which seem as low to you as yours appear
high to us.
Truly, an evolution astounding to contemplate!"
     "But how about power?" asked Stevens. "You said that you don't have
atomic
energy, and it doesn't stand to reason that there could be very much power—
atomic or
otherwise—generated upon a satellite so old and so cold."
     "You are right. For ages there has been but little power produced upon
Titan.
Many cycles ago, however, our scientists had developed rocket driven space-
ships, with
which they explored our neighboring satellites, and even Saturn itself. It is
from power
plants upon Saturn that we draw our energy. Their construction was difficult
in the
extreme, since the pioneers had to work in braces because of the enormous
force of
gravity. Then, too, they had to be protected from the overwhelming pressure
and
poisonous qualities of the air, and insulated from a temperature far above the
melting
point of water. In such awful heat, of course our customary building material,
water,
could not be employed . . ."
     "But all our instruments have indicated that Saturn is cold!" Stevens
interrupted.
     "Its surface temperature, as read from afar, would be low," conceded
Barkovis,
"but the actual surface of the planet is extremely hot, and is highly
volcanic. Practically
none of its heat is radiated because of the great density and depth of its
atmosphere,
which extends for many hundreds of your kilometers. It required many thousands
of
lives and many years of time to build and install those automatic power
plants, but once
they were in operation we were assured of power for many tens of thousands of
years
to come."
     "Our system of power transmission is more or less like yours, but we
haven't
anything like your range. Suppose you'd be willing to teach me the computation
of your
fields ?"
     "Yes, we shall be glad to give you the formulae. Being an older race, it
is perhaps
natural that we should have developed certain refinements as yet unknown to
you. But I
am, I perceive, detaining you from your time of rest—goodbye," and Barkovis
was
wafted back toward his mirrored globe.
     "What do you make of this chemical solution blood of theirs, Steve?"
asked
Nadia, watching the placidly floating form of the Titanian captain.
     "Not much. I may have mentioned before that there are one or two, or
perhaps
even three men who are better chemists than I am. I gathered that it is
something like a
polyhydric alcohol and something like a substituted hydrocarbon, and yet
different from
either in that it contains fluorin in loose combination. I think it is
something that our
Tellurian chemists haven't got yet; but they've got so many organic compounds
now that
they may have synthesized it, at that. You see, Titan's atmosphere isn't
nearly as dense
as ours, but what there is of it is pure dynamite. Ours is a little oxygen,
mixed with a lot
of inert ingredients. Theirs is oxygen, heavily laced with fluorin. It's
reactive, no fooling !
However, something pretty violent must be necessary to carry on body reactions
at
such a temperature as theirs."
     "Probably; but I know even less about that kind of thing than you do. As
a
chemist I'm an awfully good actress. Funny, isn't it, the way he thinks
'water' when he
means ice, and always thinks of our real water as being molten?"
     "Reasonable enough when you think about it. Temperature differences are
logarithmic, you know, not arithmetic— the effective difference between his
body
temperature and ours is perhaps even greater than that between ours and that
of
melted iron. We never think of iron as being a liquid, you know."
     "That's right, too. Well, good night, Steve dear."
     " 'Bye, little queen of space—see you at breakfast," and the Forlorn Hope
became dark and silent.
     Day after day the brilliant sphere flew toward distant Saturn, with the
wreckage of
the Forlorn Hope in tow. Piece by piece that wreckage was brought together and
held in
place by the Titanian tractors; and slowly but steadily, under Stevens'
terrific welding
projector, the stubborn steel flowed together, once more to become a seamless,
space-
worthy structure. And Nadia, the electrician, followed close behind the
welder. Wielding
torch, pliers, and spanner with practiced hand, she repaired or cut out of
circuit the
damaged accumulator cells and reunited the ends of each severed power lead.
Understanding Nadia's work thoroughly, the Titanians were not particularly
interested in
it, but whenever Stevens made his way along an outside seam he had a large and
thrillingly horrified gallery. Everyone who could possibly secure permission
to leave the
sphere did so, each upon his own pencil of force, and went over to watch the
welder.
They did not come close to him-—to venture within fifty feet of that slow
moving spot of
scintillating brilliance, even in a space-suit, meant death—but, poised around
him in
space, they watched with shuddering, incredulous amazement the monstrous human
being in whose veins ran molten water instead of blood, whose body was already
so
fiercely hot that it could exist unharmed while working, practically without
protection,
upon liquefied metal!
     Finally the welding was done. The insulating space was evacuated and held
its
vacuum—outer and inner shells were bottle-tight. The two mechanics heaved deep
sighs of relief as they discarded their cumbersome armor and began to repair
what few
of their machine tools had been damaged by the slashing plane of force which
had so
neatly sliced the Forlorn Hope into sections.
     "Say, big fellow, you're the guy that slings the ink, ain't you ?" Nadia
extinguished
her torch and swaggered up to Stevens, hands on hips, her walk an exaggerated
roll.
"Write me out a long walk. This job's all played out, so I think I'll get me a
good job on
Titan. I said gimme my time, you big stiff!"
     "You didn't say nothing!" growled Stevens in his deepest bass, playing up
to her
lead as he always did. "Bounce back, cub, you've struck a rubber fence! You
signed on
for the duration and you'll stick—see?"
     Arm in arm they went over to the nearest communicator plate. Flipping the
switch, Stevens turned the dial and Titan shone upon the screen; so close that
it no
longer resembled a moon, but was a world toward which they were falling with
an
immense velocity.
     "Not close enough to make out much detail yet—let's take another look at
Saturn," and Stevens projected the visiray beam out toward the mighty planet.
It was
now an enormous full moon, almost a hundred times the size of Luna. Its
visible surface
was an expanse of what they knew to be billowing cloud, shining brilliantly
white in the
pale sunlight, broken only by a dark equatorial band.
     "Those rings were such a gorgeous spectacle a little while ago!" Nadia
mourned.
"It's a shame that Titan has to be right in their plane, isn't it ? Think of
living this close •
to one of the most wonderful sights in the Solar System, and never being able
to see it.
Think they know what they're missing, Steve?"
     "We'll have to ask Barkovis and see," Stevens replied. He swung the
communicator beam back toward Titan, and Nadia shuddered.
     "Oh, it's hideous!" she exclaimed. "I thought that it would improve as we
got
closer, but the plainer we can see it the worse it gets. Just to think of
human beings,
even such cold-blooded ones as those over there, living upon such a horrible
moon and
liking it, gives me the blue shivers!"
     "It's pretty bleak, no fooling." he admitted, and peered through the
eyepiece of
the visiray telescope, studying minutely the forbidding surface of the
satellite they were
so rapidly approaching.
     Larger and larger it loomed, a cratered, jagged globe of desolation
indescribable;
of sheer, bitter cold incarnate and palpable; of stark, sharp contrasts.
Gigantic craters,
in whose yawning depths no spark of warmth had been generated for countless
cycles
of time, were surrounded by vast plains eroded to the dead level of a windless
sea.
Every lofty object cast a sharply-outlined shadow of impenetrable blackness,
beside
which the weak light of the sun became a dazzling glare. The ground was either
a
brilliant white or an intense black, unrelieved by half-tones.
     "I can't hand it much, either, Nadia, but it's all in the way you've been
brought up,
you know. This is home to them, and just to look at Tellus would give them the
pip. Ha!
Here's something you'll like, even if it does look so cold that it makes me
feel like
hugging a couple of heater coils. It's Barkovis' city, the one we're heading
for, I think. It's
close enough now so that we can get it on the plate," and he set the
communicator
beam upon the metropolis of Titan.
     "Why, I don't see a thing, Steve—where and what is it?" They were
dropping
vertically downward toward the center of a vast plain of white, featureless
and desolate;
and Nadia stared in disappointment.
     "You'll see directly—it's too good to spoil by telling you what to look
for or wh . . ."
     "Oh, there it is!" she cried. "It is beautiful, Steve, but how
frightfully, utterly cold!"
     A flash of prismatic color had caught the girl's eye, and, one
transparent structure
thus revealed to her sight, there had burst into view a city of crystal. Low
buildings of
hexagonal shape, arranged in irregularly variant hexagonal patterns, extended
mile
upon mile. From the roofs of the structures lacy spires soared heavenward;
inter-
connected by long, slim cantilever bridges whose prodigious spans seemed out
of all
proportion to the gossamer delicacy of their construction. Buildings, spires,
and bridges
formed fantastic geometrical designs, at which Nadia exclaimed in delight.
     "I've just realized what that reminds me of — it's snowflakes!"
     "Sure—I knew it was something familiar. Snowflakes —no two are ever
exactly
alike, and yet every one is symmetrical and hexagonal. We're going to land on
the
public square—see the crowds ? Let's put on our suits and go out."
     The Forlorn Hope lay in a hexagonal park, and near it the Titanian globe
had also
come to rest. All about the little plot towered the glittering buildings of
crystal, and in its
center played a fountain; a series of clear and sparkling cascades of liquid
jewels.
Under foot there spread a thick, soft carpet of whitely brilliant vegetation.
Throngs of the
grotesque citizens of Titania were massed to greet the spaceships ; throngs
clustering
close about the globular vessel, but maintaining a respectful distance from
the fiercely
radiant Terrestrial wedge. All were shouting greetings and congratulations—
shouts
which Stevens found as intelligible as his own native tongue.
     "Why, I can understand every word they say, Steve!" Nadia exclaimed, in
surprise. "How come, do you suppose ?"
     "I can too. Don't know — must be from using that thought telephone of
theirs so
much, I guess. Here comes Barkovis—I'll ask him."
     The Titanian commander had been in earnest conversation with a group of
fellow-creatures and was now walking toward the Terrestrials, carrying the
multiple
head-sets. Placing them upon the white sward, he backed away, motioning the
two
visitors to pick them up.
     "It may not be necessary, Barkovis," Stevens said, slowly and clearly.
"We do not
know why, but we can understand what your people are saying, and it may be
that you
can now understand us."
     "Oh, yes, I can understand your English perfectly. A surprising
development, but
perhaps, after all, one that should have been expected, from the very nature
of the
device we have been using. I wanted to tell you that I have just received
grave news,
which makes it impossible for us to help you immediately, as I promised. While
we were
gone, one of our two power-plants upon Saturn failed. In consequence, Titan's
power
was cut to a minimum, since maintaining our beam at that great distance
required a
large fraction of the output of the other plant. Because of this lack, the
Sedlor walls were
weakened to such a point that in spite of the Guardian's assurances, I think
trouble
inevitable. At all events it is of the utmost importance that we begin
repairing the
damaged unit, for that is to be a task indeed."
     "Yes, it will take time," agreed Stevens, remembering what the Titanian
captain
had told him concerning the construction of those plants—generators which had
been in
continuous and automatic operation for thousands of Saturnian years.
     "It will take more than time—it will take lives," replied Barkovis,
gravely. "Scores,
perhaps hundreds, of us will never again breathe the clear, pure air of Titan.
In spite of
all precaution and all possible bracing and insulation, man after man after
man will be
crushed by his own weight, volatilized by the awful heat, poisoned by the foul
atmosphere, or will burst into unthinkable flames at the touch of some flying
spark from
the inconceivably hot metals with which we shall have to work. A horrible
fate, but we
shall not lack for volunteers."
     "Sure not; and of course you yourself would go. And I never thought of
the effect
a spark would have on you— your tissues would probably be wildly inflammable.
But
say, I just had a thought. Just how hot is the air at those plants and just
what is the
actual pressure?"
     "According to the records, the temperature is some forty of your
Centigrade
degrees above the melting-point of water, and the pressure is not far short of
two of
your meters of mercury. I find it almost impossible to think of mercury as a
liquid,
however."
     "You would, since you use it as a metal, for wires in coils and so on.
But plus
forty, while pretty warm, isn't impossible, by any means; and we could stand
double our
air-pressure for quite a while. Both my partner and I are pretty fair
mechanics and we've
got quite a line of machine tools, such as you could not possibly have here.
We'll give it
a whirl, since we owe you something already. Lead us to it, ace—but wait a
minute! We
can't see through the fog, so couldn't find the plants, and probably your
wiring diagrams
would explode if I touched them."
     "I never thought of your helping us," mused Barkovis. "The idea of any
living
being existing in that inferno has always been unthinkable, but the
difficulties you
mention are slight. We have already built in our vessel communicators similar
to yours,
and radio sets. With these we can guide you and explain the plants to you as
you work,
and our tractor beams will be of assistance to you in moving heavy objects,
even at
such distances from the surface as we Titanians shall have to maintain. If you
will set
out a flask of your atmosphere we will analyze it, for the thought has come to
me that
perhaps, being planet-dwellers yourselves, the air of Saturn might not be as
poisonous
to you as it is to us."
     "That's a thought, too," and, the news broadcast, it was not long until
the two
ships leaped into the air, to the accompaniment of the cheers and plaudits of
a watching
multitude.
     In a wide curve they sped toward Saturn. Passing so close to the enormous
rings
that the individual meteoric ••fragments could almost be seen with the unaided
eye, they
flashed on and on, slowing down long before they approached the upper surface
of the
envelope of cloud. The spherical space-ship stopped and Stevens, staring into
his
useless screen, drove the Forlorn Hope downward mile after mile, solely under
Barkovis' direction, changing course and power from time to time as the
Titanian's voice
came from the speaker at his elbow. Slower and slower became the descent,
until
finally, almost upon the broad, flat roof of the power-plant, Stevens saw it
in his plate.
Breathing deeply in relief, he dropped quickly down upon a flat pavement,
neutralized
his controls, and turned to Nadia.
     "So far, so good. We will now go out, check its functions, and ascertain
why it
does not function any more. Remember that gravity is about double normal here,
and
conduct yourself accordingly."
     "But it's supposed to be only about nine-tenths," she objected.
     "That's at the outer surface of the atmosphere," he replied. "And it's
some
atmosphere—not like the thin layer we've got on Tellus."
     They went into the airlock, and Stevens admitted air until their suits
began to
collapse. Then, face-plate valves cracked, he sniffed cautiously, finally
opening his
helmet wide. Nadia followed suit, and the man laughed as she wrinkled her nose
in
disgust as two faint, but unmistakable odors smote her olfactory nerves.
     "I never cared particularly for hydrogen sulphide and sulphur dioxide,
either," he
assured her, "but they aren't strong enough to hurt us in the short time we'll
be here.
Those Titanian chemists know their stuff, no fooling."
     He opened the outer valves slowly, then opened the door and they stepped
down
upon the smooth, solid floor, which Stevens examined carefully.
     "I thought so, from his story. Solid platinum! This whole plant is built
of platinum,
iridium, and noble alloys— the only substances known that will literally last
forever.
Believe me, ace of my bosom, I don't wonder that it cost them lives to build
it—with their
constitutions, I don't see how they ever got it built at all."
     Before them rose an immense truncated cone of metal, upon the top of
which
was situated the power plant. Twelve massive pillars supported a domed roof,
but
permitted the air to circulate freely throughout the one great room which
housed the
machinery. They climbed a flight of stairs, passed between two pillars, and
stared about
them. There was no noise, no motion — there was nothing that could move.
Twelve
enormous masses of metallic checkerwork, covered with wide cooling fins,
almost filled
the vast hall. From the center of each mass great leads extended out into a
clear space
in the middle of the room, there uniting in mid-air to form one enormous bus-
bar. This
bar, thicker than a man's body, had originally curved upward to the base of an
immense
parabolic structure of latticed bars. Now, however, it was broken in midspan
and the two
ends bent toward the floor. Above their heads, a jagged hole gaped in the
heavy metal
of the roof, and a similar hole had been torn in the floor. The bar had been
broken and
these holes had been made by some heavy body, probably a meteorite, falling
with
terrific velocity.
     "This is it, all x," Stevens spoke to distant Barkovis. "Sure there's
nothing on this
beam ? If it should be hot and I should bridge it, it'd be just too bad."
     "We have made sure that nothing is connected to it," the Titanian assured
him.
"Do you think you can do anything ?"
     "Absolutely. We've got jacks that'll bend heavier stuff than that, and
after we get it
straightened the welding will be easy, but I'll have to have some metal. Shall
I cut a
piece off the pavement outside ?"
     "That will not be necessary. You will find ample stores of spare metal
piled at the
base of each pillar."
     "All x. Now we'll get the jack, Nadia," and they went back to their
vessel, finding
that upon Saturn, their combined strength was barely sufficient to drag the
heavy tool
along the floor.
     "Stand aside, please. We will place it for you," a calm voice sounded in
their ears,
and a tractor beam picked the massive jack lightly from the floor, and as
lightly lifted it to
its place beneath the broken bus-bar and held it there while Stevens piled
blocks and
plates of platinum beneath its base.
     "Well, here's where I peel down as far as the law allows. This is going
to be real
work, girl—no fooling. It'd help a lot if this outfit were sending out a few
thousand kilo-
franks instead of standing idle."
     "How would that help ?"
     "It's a heat-engine, you know——works by absorbing heat. The cold air
sinks—I
imagine it pretty nearly blows a gale down the side of this cone when it's
working—and
hot air rushes in to take its place. I could use a little cool breeze right
now," and
Stevens, stripped to the waist, bent to the lever of the powerful hydraulic
jack. Beads of
sweat gathered upon his broad back, uniting to form tiny rivulets, and the
girl became
highly concerned.
     "It was a horrible job, and I'm glad it's done," she declared. "But say,
Steve, that
thing looks as little like a power-plant as anything I can imagine. How does
it work? You
said that it worked on heat, but I don't quite see how. But don't draw
diagrams and
please don't integrate!"
     "No ordinary plant such as we use could run for centuries without
attention," he
replied. "This is a highly advanced heat-engine — something like a
thermocouple, you
know. This whole thing is simply the hot end, connected to the cold end on
Titan by a
beam instead of wires. When it's working this metal must cool off something
fierce.
That's what the checker-work and fins are for—so that it can absorb the
maximum
amount of heat from the current of hot, moist air I spoke about. It's a sweet
system—we'll have to rig up one between Tellus and the moon. Or even between
the
Equator and the Arctic Circle there'd be enough thermal differential to give
us a million
kilofranks. We haven't got the all x signal yet, but it's working—look at it
sweat as it
cools down!"
     "I'll say it's sweating—the water is simply streaming off it!" In their
plate they saw
that moisture was already beginning to condense upon the heat-absorber;
moisture
running down the fins in streams and creeping over the dull metal floor in
sluggish
sheets; moisture which, turning into ice in the colder interior of the
checkerwork, again
became fluid at the inrush of hot, wet Saturnian air.
     "There's the signal—all x, Barkovis? By the way it's condensing water, it
seems
to be functioning again."
     "Perfect!" came the Titanian's enthusiastic reply. "You two planet-
dwellers have
done more in three short hours than the entire force of Titan could have
accomplished
in months. You have earned, and shall receive, the highest. . ."
     "As you were, ace!" Stevens interrupted, embarrassed. "This job was just
like
shooting fish down a well, for us. Since you saved our lives, we owe you a lot
yet. We're
coming out—straight up!"
     The Forlorn Hope shot upward, through mile after mile of steaming fog,
until at
last she broke through into the light, dear outer atmosphere. Stevens located
the
Titanian space-ship, and, the two vessels once more hurtling together through
the ether
toward Titan, he turned to his companion.
     "Take the controls, will you, Nadia? Think I'll finish up the tube. I
brought along a
piece of platinum from the power plant, and something that I think is
tantalum, from
Barkovis' description of it. With those and the fractions we melted out, I
think I can make
everything we'll need."
     Now that he had comparatively pure metal with which to work, drawing the
leads
and filaments was relatively a simple task. Working over the hot-bench with
torch and
welding projector, he made short work of running the leads through the glass
of the
great tube and of sealing them in place. The plates and grids presented more
serious
problems; but they were solved and, long before Titan was reached, the tube
was out in
space, supported by a Titanian tractor beam between the two vessels. Stevens
came
into the shop, holding a modified McLeod gauge which he had just taken from
the
interior of the tube. When it had come to equilibrium he read it carefully and
yelled.
     "Eureka, little fellow! She's down to where I can't read it, even on this
big
gauge—so hard that it won't need flashing—harder than any vacuum I ever got on
Tellus, even with a Rodebush-Michalek super-pump!"
     "But how about occluded and adsorbed gas in the filaments and so on when
they
heat up?" demanded Nadia, practically.
     "All gone, ace. I out-gassed 'em plenty out there— seven times, almost to
fusion.
There isn't enough gas left in the whole thing to make a deep breath for a
microbe."
     He took up his welding projector and a beam carried him back to the tube.
There,
in the practically absolute vacuum of space, the last openings in the glass
were sealed,
and man and great transmitting tube were wafted lightly back into the
Terrestrial cruiser.
     Hour after hour mirrored Titanian sphere and crudely fashioned
Terrestrial wedge
bored serenely on through space, and it was not until Titan loomed large
beneath them
that the calm was broken by an insistent call from Titan to the sphere.
     "Barkodar, attention! Barkodar, attention!" screamed from the speakers,
and they
heard Barkovis acknowledge the call.
     "The Sedlor have broken through and are marching upon Titania. The order
has
gone out for immediate mobilization of every unit."
     "There's that word 'Sedlor' again—what are they, anyway, Steve?" demanded
Nadia.
     "I don't know. I was going to ask him when he sprung it on us first, but
he was
pretty busy then and I haven't thought of it since. Something pretty serious,
though —
they've jumped their acceleration almost to Tellurian gravity, and none of
them can live
through much of that."
     "Tellurians?" came the voice of Barkovis from the speaker. "We have just.
. ."
     "All x—we were on your wave and heard it," interrupted Stevens. "We're
with
you. What are those Sedlor, anyway? Maybe we can help you dope out something."
     "Perhaps—but whatever you do, do not use your heat-projector. That would
start
a conflagration raging over the whole country, and we shall have enough to do
without
fighting fire. But it may be that you have other weapons, of which we are
ignorant, and I
can use a little time in explanation before we arrive. The Sedlor are a form
of life,
something like your . . ." he paused, searching through his scanty store of
Earthly
knowledge, then went on, doubtfully, "perhaps something like your insects.
They
developed a sort of intelligence, and because of their fecundity adapted
themselves to
their environment as readily as did man; and for ages they threatened man's
supremacy
upon Titan. They devoured vegetation, crops, animals, and mankind. After a
world-wide
campaign, however, they were finally exterminated, save in the neighborhood of
one
great volcanic crater, which they so honeycombed that it is impregnable. All
around that
district we have erected barriers of force, maintained by a corps of men known
as
'Guardians of the Sedlor'. These barriers extend so far into the ground and so
high into
the air that the Sedlor can neither burrow beneath them nor fly over them.
They were
being advanced as rapidly as possible, and in a few more years the insects
would have
been destroyed completely—but now they are again at large. They have probably
developed an armor or a natural resistance greater than the Guardians thought
possible, so that when the walls were weakened, they came through in their
millions,
underground and undetected. They are now attacking our nearest city—the one
you
know, and which you have called Titania."
     "What do you use—those high-explosive bombs?"
     "The bombs were developed principally for use against them, but proved
worse
than useless, for we found that when a Sedlor was blown to pieces, each piece
forthwith
developed into a new, complete creature. Our most efficient weapons are our
heat
rays—not yours, please remember—and poison gas. I must prepare our arms."
     "Would our heat-ray actually set them afire, Steve?" Nadia asked, as the
plate
went blank.
     "I'll say it would. I'll show you what heat means to them—showing you
will be
plainer than any amount of explanation," and he shot the visiray beam down
toward the
city of Titania. Into a low-lying building it went, and Nadia saw a Titanian
foundry in full
operation. Men clad in asbestos armor were charging, tending, and tapping
great
electric furnaces and crucibles, shrinking back and turning their armored
heads away as
the hissing, smoking melt crackled into the molds from their long-handled
ladles. Nadia
studied the foundry for a moment; interested, but unimpressed.
     "Of course it's hot there—foundries always are hot," she argued.
     "Yes, but you haven't got the idea yet." Stevens turned again to the
controls,
following the sphere toward what was evidently a line of battle. "That stuff
that they are
melting and casting, and that is so hot, is not metal, but ice! Remember that
the vital
fluid of all life here, animal and vegetable, corresponding to our water, is
probably more
inflammable than gasoline. If they can't work on ice-water without wearing
suits of five-
ply asbestos, what would a real heat-ray do to them? It'd be about like our
taking a dive
into the sun!"
     "Ice!" she exclaimed. "Oh, of course—but you couldn't really believe a
thing like
that without seeing it, could you ? Oh, Steve—how utterly horrible!"
     The Barkodar had dropped down into a line of sister ships, and had gone
into
action in midair against a veritable swarm of foes. Winged centipedes they
were—centipedes fully six feet long, hurling themselves along the ground and
through
the air in furious hordes. From the flying globes emanated pale beams of
force, at the
touch of which the Sedlor disappeared in puffs of vapor. Upon the ground huge
tractors
and trucks, manned by masked soldiery, mounted mighty reflectors projecting
the same
lethal beam. From globes and tanks there sounded a drumming roar, and small
capsules broke in thousands among the foe; emitting a red cloud of gas in
which the
centipedes shriveled and died. But for each one that was destroyed two came up
from
holes in the ground, and the battle-line fell back toward Titania, back toward
a long line
of derrick-like structures which were sinking force-rods into the ground in
furious haste.
     Stevens flashed on his ultra-violet projector and swung it into the
thickest ranks
of the enemy. In the beam many of the monsters died, but the Terrestrial ray
was
impotent compared with the weapons of the Titanians, and Stevens, snapping off
the
beam with a bitter imprecation, shot the visiray out toward the bare, black
cone of the
extinct volcano and studied it with care.
     "Barkovis, I've got a thought!" he snapped into the microphone. "Their
stronghold
is in that mountain, and there's millions of them in there yet, coming out
along their
tunnels. They've got all the vegetation eaten away for miles, so there's
nothing much left
there to spread a fire if I go to work on that hill, and I'll probably melt
enough water to
put out most of the fires I start. Detail me a couple of ships to drop your
fire-foam bombs
on any little blazes that may spread, and I'll give them so much to worry
about at home
that they'll forget all about Titania."
     The Forlorn Hope darted toward the crater, followed closely by two of the
dazzling globes. They circled the mountain until Stevens found a favorable
point of
attack—a stupendous vertical cliff of mingled rock and crystal, upon the base
of which
he trained his terrific infra-red projector.
     "I'm going to draw a lot of power," he warned the Titanians then. "I'm
giving this
gun everything she'll take."
     He drove the massive switches in, and as that dull red beam struck the
cliff's
base there was made evident the awful effect of a concentrated beam of real
and pure
heat upon such an utterly frigid world. Vast columns of fire roared aloft,
helping Stevens,
melting and destroying the very ground as the bodies of the Sedlor in that
gigantic ant-
heap burst into flames. Clouds of superheated steam roared upward, condensing
into a
hot rain which descended in destructive torrents upon the fastnesses of the
centipedes.
As the raging beam ate deeper and deeper into the base of the cliff the
mountain itself
began to disintegrate; block after gigantic block breaking off and crashing
down into the
flaming, boiling, seething cauldron which was the apex of that ravening beam.
     Hour after hour Stevens drove his intolerable weapon into the great
mountain,
teeming with Sedlorean life; and hour after hour a group of Titanian spheres
stood by,
deluging the surrounding plain with a flood of heavy fumes, through which the
holocaust
could not spread for lack of oxygen. Not until the mountain was gone—not until
in its
stead there lay a furiously-boiling lake, its flaming surface hundreds of feet
below the
level of the plain—did Stevens open his power circuits and point the deformed
prow of
the Forlorn Hope toward Titania._CHAPTER 7
The Return to Ganymede

Must you go back to Ganymede?" Barkovis asked, slowly and thoughtfully. He was
sitting upon a crystal bench beside the fountain, talking with Stevens, who,
dressed in
his bulging space-suit, stood near an airlock of the Forlorn Hope. "It seems a
shame
that you should face again those unknown, monstrous creatures who so
inexcusably
attacked us both without provocation." "I'm not so keen on it myself, but I
can't see any
other way out of it," the Terrestrial replied. "We left a lot of our equipment
there, you
know; and even if I should build duplicates here, it wouldn't do us any good.
These ten-
nineteens are the most powerful transmitting tubes known when we left Tellus,
but even
their fields, dense as they are, can't hold an ultra-beam together much
farther than
about six astronomical units. So you see we can't possibly reach our friends
from here
with this tube; and your system of beam transmission won't hold anything
together even
that far, and won't work on any wave shorter than Roeser's Rays. We may run
into
some more of those little spheres, though, and I don't like the prospect. I
wonder if we
couldn't plate a layer of that mirror of yours onto the Hope, and carry along
a few of
those bombs ? By the way, what is that explosive—or is it something beyond
Tellurian
chemistry?"
     "Its structure should be clear to you, although you probably could not
prepare it
upon Tellus because of your high temperature. It is nothing but nitrogen—
twenty-six
atoms of nitrogen combined to form one molecule of what you would call—N-
twenty
six?"
     "Wow!" Stevens whistled. "Crystalline, pentavalent nitrogen—no wonder
it's
violent!"
     "We could, of course, cover your vessel with the mirror, but I am afraid
that it
would prove of little value. The plates are so hot that it would soon
volatilize."
     "Not necessarily," argued Stevens. "We could live in number one life-
boat, and
shut off the heat everywhere else. The life-boats are insulated from the
structure proper,
and the inner and outer walls of the structure are insulated from each other.
With only
the headquarters lifeboat warm, the outer wall could be held pretty close to
zero
absolute."
     "That is true. The bombs, of course, are controlled by radio, and
therefore may
be attached to the outer wall of your vessel. We shall be glad to do these
small things
for you."
     The heaters of the Forlorn Hope were shut off, and as soon as the outer
shell
had cooled to Titanian temperature a corps of mechanics set to work. A machine
very
like a concrete mixer was rolled up beside the steel vessel, and into its
capacious maw
were dumped boxes and barrels of dry ingredients and many cans of sparkling
liquid.
The resultant paste was pumped upon the steel plating in a sluggish, viscid
stream,
which spread out into a thick and uniform coating beneath the flying rollers
of the skilled
Titanian workmen. As it hardened, the paste smoothed magically into the
perfect mirror
which covered the space-vessels of the satellite; and a full dozen of the
mirrored
explosive bombs of this strange people were hung in the racks already
provided.
     "Once again I must caution you concerning those torpedoes," Barkovis
warned
Stevens. "If you use them all, very well, but do not try to take even one of
them into any
region where it is very hot, for it will explode arid demolish your vessel. If
you do not use
them, destroy them before you descend into the hot atmosphere of Ganymede. The
mirror will volatilize harmlessly at the temperature of melting mercury, but
the torpedoes
must be destroyed. Once more, Tellurians, we thank you for what you have done,
and
wish you well."
     "Thanks a lot for your help—we still owe you something," replied Stevens.
"If
either of your power-plants go sour on you again, or if you need any more
built, be sure
to let us know—you can come close enough to the inner planets now on your own
beam
to talk to us on the ultra-communicator. We'll be glad to help you any way we
can—and
we may call on you for help again. Goodbye, Barkovis—good-by, all Titania!"
     He made his way through the bitterly cold shop into the control-room of
their
lifeboat, and while he was divesting himself of his heavy suit Nadia lifted
the Forlorn
Hope into the blue-green sky of Titan, accompanied by an escort of the
mirrored globes.
Well clear of the atmosphere of the satellite, the Terrestrial cruiser shot
forward at
normal acceleration, while the Titanian vessels halted and wove a pattern of
blue and
golden rays in salute to the departing guests.
     "Well, girl-friend, we're off—on a long trek, too, 's what I mean."
     "Said Wun Long Hop, the Chinese pee-lo," Nadia agreed. "Sure everything's
all
x, big boy?"
     "To nineteen decimals," he declared. "You couldn't squeeze another frank
into
our accumulators with a proof-bar, and since they're sending us all the power
we want
to draw, we won't need to touch our batteries or tap our own beam until we're
almost to
Jupiter. To cap the climax, what it takes to make big medicine on those
spherical friends
of ours, we've got. We're not sitting on top of the world, ace —we're perched
on the
exact apex of the entire universe!"
     "How long is it going to take ?"
     "Don't know. Haven't figured it yet, but it'll be beau-coup days," and
the two
wanderers from far-distant Earth settled down to the routine of a long and
uneventful
journey.
     They gave Saturn and his spectacular rings a wide berth and sped on, with
ever-
increasing velocity. Past the outer satellites, on and on, the good ship
Forlorn Hope flew
into the black-and-brilliant depths of interplanetary space. Saturn was an
ever-
diminishing disk beneath them: above them were Jupiter's thin crescent,
growing ever
larger and more bright, and the Monarch of the Solar System, remaining almost
stationary day after day, increasing steadily in apparent diameter and in
brilliance.
     Although the voyage from Titan to Ganymede was long, it was not
monotonous,
for there was much work to be done in the designing and fabrication of the
various units
which were to comprise the ultra-radio transmitting station. In the various
compartments
of the Forlorn Hope there were sundry small motors, blowers, coils,
condensers, force-
field generators, and other items which Stevens could use with little or no
alteration; but
for the most part he had to build everything himself. Thus it was that time
passed
quickly; so quickly that Jupiter loomed large and the Saturnian beam of power
began to
attenuate almost before the Terrestrials realized that their journey was
drawing to an
end.
     "Our beam's falling apart fast," Stevens read his meters carefully, then
swung his
communicator beam toward Jupiter. "We aren't getting quite enough power to
hold our
acceleration at normal—think I'll cut now, while we're still drawing enough to
let the
Titanians know we're off their beam. We've got lots of power of our own now;
and we're
getting pretty close to enemy territory, so that they may locate that heavy
beam. Have
you found Ganymede yet?"
     "Yes, it will be on the other side of Jupiter by the time we get there.
Shall I detour,
or put on a little more negative and wait for it to come around to this side
?"
     "Better wait, I think. The further away we stay from Jupiter and the
major
satellites, the better."
     "All x—it's on. Suppose we'd better start standing watches, in case some
of them
show up?"
     "No use," he dissented. "I've been afraid to put out our electro-magnetic
detectors, as they could surely trace them in use. Without them, we couldn't
spot an
enemy ship even if we were looking right at it, except by accident; since they
won't be
lighted up and it's awfully hard to see anything out here, anyway. We probably
won't
know that they're within a million kilometers until they put a beam on us.
Barkovis says
that this mirror will reflect any beam they can use, and I've already got a
set of photo-
cells in circuit to ring an alarm at the first flash off of our mirror
plating. I'd like to get in
the first licks myself, but I haven't been able to dope out any way of doing
it. So you
might as well sleep in your own room, as usual, and I'll camp here right under
the panel
until we get to Ganymede. There's a couple of little things I just thought of,
though, that
may help some; and I'm going to do 'em right now."
     Putting on his space-suit, he picked up a power drill and went out into
the bitter
cold of the outer structure. There he attacked the inner wall of their vessel,
and the
carefully-established inter-wall vacuum disappeared in a screaming hiss of air
as the
tempered point bit through plate after plate.
     "What's the idea, Steve?" Nadia asked, when he had re-entered the control
room. "Now you'll have all that pumping to do over again."
     "Protection for the mirrors," he explained. "You see, they aren't perfect
reflectors.
There's a little absorption, so that some stuff comes through. Not much, of
course; but
enough to kill some of those Titanians and almost enough to ruin their ship
got through
in about ten minutes, and only one enemy was dealing it out. We can stand more
than
they could, of course, but the mirror itself won't stand much more heat than
it was
absorbing then. But with air in those spaces instead of vacuum, and with the
whole
mass of the Hope except this one lifeboat as cold as it is, I figure that
there'll be enough
conduction and convection through them to keep the outer wall and the mirror
cold—cool enough, at least, to hold the mirror on for an hour. If only one
ship tackles us
it won't be bad—but I figure that if there's only one, we're lucky."
     Stevens' fears were only too well grounded, for during the "evening" of
the
following day, while he was carefully scanning the heavens for some sign of
enemy
craft, the alarm bell over his head burst into its brazen clamor. Instantly he
shot out the
detectors and ultra-lights and saw not one, but six of the deadly globes—
almost upon
them, at point-blank range! One was already playing a beam of force upon the
Forlorn
Hope, and the other five went into action immediately upon feeling the
detector
impulses and perceiving that the weapon of their sister ship had encountered
an
unusual resistance in the material of that peculiarly mirrored wedge. As those
terrific
forces struck her the Terrestrial cruiser became a vast pyrotechnic set-piece,
a dazzling
fountain of coruscant brilliance: for the mirror held. The enemy beams shot
back upon
themselves and rebounded in all directions, in the same spectacular exhibition
of
frenzied incandescence which had marked the resistance of the Titanian sphere
to a
similar attack.
     But Stevens was not idle. In the instant of launching his detectors, as
fast as he
could work the trips, four of the frightful nitrogen bombs of Titan—all that
he could
handle at once—shot out into space, their rocket-tubes flaring viciously. The
enemy
detectors of course located the flying torpedoes immediately, but,
contemptuous of
material projectiles, the spheres made no attempt to dodge, but merely lashed
out upon
them with their ravening rays. So close was the range that they had no time to
avoid the
radio-directed bombs after discovering that their beams were useless against
the
unknown protective covering of those mirrored shells. There were four
practically
simultaneous detonations—silent, but terrific explosions as the pent-up
internal energy
of solid pentavalent nitrogen was instantaneously released—and the four
insensately
murderous spheres disappeared into jagged fragments of wreckage, flying wildly
away
from the centers of explosion. One great mass of riven and twisted metal was
blown
directly upon the fifth globe, and Nadia stared in horrified fascination at
the silent crash
as the entire side of the ship crumpled inward like a shell of cardboard under
the awful
impact. That vessel was probably out of action, but Stevens was taking no
chances. As
soon as he had clamped a tractor rod upon the sixth and last of the enemy
fleet he
drove a torpedo through the gaping wall and into the interior of the helpless
war-vessel.
There he exploded it, and the awful charge, detonated in that confined space,
literally
tore the globular space-ship to bits.
     "We'll show these jaspers what kind of trees make shingles!" he gritted
between
clenched teeth; and his eyes, hard now as gray iron, fairly emitted sparks as
he
launched four torpedoes upon the sole remaining globe of the squadron of the
void.
"I've had a lot of curiosity to know just what kind of unnatural monstrosities
can possibly
have such fiendish dispositions as they've got—but beasts, men, or devils,
they'll find
they've grabbed something this time they can't let go of," and fierce blasts
of energy
ripped from the exhausts as he drove his missiles, at their highest possible
acceleration,
toward the captive sphere so savagely struggling at the extremity of his
tractor beam.
     But that one remaining vessel was to prove no such easy victim as had its
sister
ships. Being six to one, and supposedly invincible, the squadron had been
overconfident and had attacked carelessly, -with only its crippling slicing
beams instead
of its more deadly weapons of total destruction ; and so fierce and hard had
been
Stevens' counter-attack that five of its numbers had been destroyed before
they realized
what powerful armament was mounted by that apparently crude, helpless, and
innocuous wedge. The sixth, however, was fully warned, and every resource at
the
command of its hellish crew was now being directed against the Forlorn Hope.
     Sheets, cones, and gigantic rods of force flashed and crackled. Space was
filled
with silent, devastating tongues of flame. The Forlorn Hope was dragged about
erratically as the sphere tried to dodge those hurtling torpedoes; tried to
break away
from the hawser of energy anchoring her so solidly to her opponent. But the
linkage
held, and closer and closer Stevens drove the fourfold menace of his frightful
dirigible
bombs. Pressor beams beat upon them in vain. Hard driven as those pushers were
they
could find no footing, but were reflected at obtuse angles by that untouchable
mirror and
their utmost force scarcely impeded the progress of the rocket-propelled
missiles.
Comparatively small as the projectiles were, however, they soon felt the
effects of the
prodigious beams of heat enveloping them, and torpedo after torpedo exploded
harmlessly in space as their mirrors warmed .up and volatilized. But for each
bomb that
was lost Stevens launched another, and each one came closer to its objective
than had
its predecessor.
     Made desperate by the failure of his every beam, the enemy commander
thought
to use material projectiles himself—weapons abandoned long since by his race
as
antiquated and inefficient, but a few of which were still carried "by the
older types of
vessels. One such shell was found and launched—but in the instant of its
launching
Stevens' foremost bomb struck its mark and exploded. So close were the other
three
bombs that they also let go at the shock; and the warlike sphere, hemmed in by
four
centers of explosion, flew apart—literally pulverized. Its projectile, so
barely discharged,
did not explode—it was loaded with material which could be detonated only by
the
warhead upon impact or by a radio signal. It was, however, deflected markedly
from its
course by the force of the blast, so that instead of striking the Forlorn Hope
in direct
central impact, its head merely touched the apex of the mirror-plated wedge.
That touch
was enough. There was another appalling concussion, another blinding glare,
and the
entire front quarter of the Terrestrial vessel had gone to join the shattered
globes.
     Between the point of explosion and the lifeboats there had been many
channels
of insulation, many bulkheads, many airbreaks, and compartment after
compartment of
accumulator cells. These had borne the brunt of the explosion, so that the
control room
was unharmed, and Stevens swung his communicator rapidly through the damaged
portions of the vessel.
     "How badly are we hurt, Steve—can we make it to Ganymede ?" Nadia was
staring over his shoulder into the plate, studying with him the pictures of
destruction
there portrayed as he flashed the projector from compartment to compartment.
     "We're hurt—no fooling—but it might have been a lot worse," he replied,
as he
completed the survey. "We've lost about all of our accumulators, but we can
land on our
own beam, and landing power is all we want, I think. You see, we're drifting
straight for
where Ganymede will be, and we'd better cut out every bit of power we're
using, even
the heaters, until we get there. This lifeboat will hold heat for quite a
while, and I'd rather
get pretty cold than meet any more of that gang. I figured eight hours just
before they
met us, and we were just about drifting then. Say seven hours blind."
     "But can't they detect us anyway? They may have sent out a call, you
know."
     "If we aren't using any power for anything, their electromagnetics are
the only
things we'll register on, and they're mighty short-range finders. Even if they
should get
that close to us, they'll probably think we're meteoric, since we'll be dead
to their other
instruments. Luckily we've got lots of air, so the chemical purifiers can
handle it without
power. I'll shut off everything and we'll drift it. Couldn't do much of
anything,
anyway—even our shop out there won't hold air. But we can have light. We've
got
acetylene emergency lamps, you know, and we don't need to economize on
oxygen."
     "Perhaps we'd better run in the dark. Remember what you told me about
their
possible visirays, and that you've got only two bombs left."
     "All x; that'd be better, at that. If I forget it, remind me to blow up
those two before
we hit the atmosphere of Ganymede, will you?" He opened all the power
switches, and,
every source of ethereal vibrations cut off, the Forlorn Hope drifted slowly
on, now
appearing forlorn indeed.
     Seven hours dragged past; seven age-long hours during which the two sat
tense,
expecting they knew not what, talking only at intervals and in subdued tones.
Stevens
then snapped on the communicator beam just long enough to take an observation
upon
Ganymede. Several such brief glimpses were taken; then, after a warning word
to his
companion, he sent out and exploded the nitrogen bombs. He then threw on the
power,
and the vessel leaped toward the satellite under full acceleration. Close to
the
atmosphere it slanted downward in a screaming, fifteen-hundred-mile dive; and
soon
the mangled wedge dropped down into the little canyon which for so long had
been
"home".
     "Well, colonel, home again!" Stevens exulted as he neutralized the
controls.
"There's the falls, our power plant, the catapults, V everything. Now, unless
something
interrupts us again, we'll run up our radio tower and give Brandon the long
yell."
     "How much more have you got to do before you can start sending?"
     "Not an awful lot. Everything's built—all I've got to do is assemble it.
I should be
able to do it easily in a week. Hope nothing else happens—if I drag you into
any more
such messes as those we've just been getting out of by the skin of our teeth
I'll begin to
wish that we had started out at first to drift it back to Tellus in the Hope.
Let's see how
much time, we've got. We should start shooting one day after an eclipse, so
that we'll
have five days to send. You see, we don't want to point our beam too close to
Jupiter or
to any of the large satellites, because the enemy might live there and might
intercept it,
and that'd be just too bad for us. We had an eclipse yesterday—so one week
from
today, at sunrise, I start shooting."
     "But Earth's an evening star now; you can't see it in the morning."
     "I'm not going to aim at Tellus. I'm shooting at Brandon, and he's never
there for
more than a week or two at a stretch. They're prowling around out in space
somewhere
almost all the time."
     "Then how can you possibly hope to hit them ?" , "It may be quite a job
of
hunting, but not as bad as you might think. They probably aren't much, if any,
outside
the orbit of Mars, and they usually stay within a couple of million kilometers
or so of the
Ecliptic, so we'll start at the sun and shoot our beam in a spiral to cover
that field. We
ought to be able to hit them inside of twelve hours, but if we don't, we'll
widen our spiral
and keep on trying until we do hit them."
     "Heavens, Steve! Are you planning on telegraphing steadily for days at a
time?"
     "Sure, but not by hand, of course—I'll have an automatic sender and
automatic
pointers."
     Stevens had at his command a very complete machine-shop, he had an ample
supply of power, and all that remained for him to do was to assemble the parts
which he
had built during the long journey from Titan to Ganymede. Therefore at sunrise
of the
designated day he was ready, and, with Nadia hanging breathless over his
shoulder he
closed the switch, a toothed wheel engaged a delicate interrupter, and a light
sounder
began its strident chatter.
     "Ganymede point oh four seven ganymede point oh four seven ganymede point
oh four seven . . ." endlessly the message was poured out into the ether,
carried by a
tight beam of ultra-vibrations and driven by forces sufficient to propel it
well beyond the
opposite limits of the orbit of Mars.
     "What does it say? I can't read code."
     Stevens translated the brief message, but Nadia remained unimpressed.
     "But it doesn't say anything!" she protested. "It isn't addressed to
anybody, it isn't
signed—it doesn't tell anybody anything about anything."
     "It's all there, ace. You see, since the beam is moving sidewise very
rapidly at
that range and we're shooting at a small target, the message has to be very
short or
they won't get it all while the beam's on 'em—it isn't as though we were
broadcasting. It
doesn't need any address, because nobody but the Sirius can receive it—except
possibly the Jovians. They'll know who's sending it without any signature. It
tells them
that Ganymede wants to receive a message on the ultra-band centering on forty-
seven
thousandths. Isn't that enough ?"
     "Maybe. But suppose some of them live right here on Ganymede—you'll be
shooting right through the ground all night—or suppose that even if they don't
live here,
that they can find our beam some way? Or suppose that Brandon hasn't got his
machine built yet, or suppose that it isn't turned on when our beam passes
them, or
suppose they're asleep or something then ? It looks like there's a lot of
things that might
happen."
     "Not so many, ace—your first objection is the only one that hasn't got
more holes
in it than a sieve, so I'll take it first. Since our beam is only a meter in
diameter here and
doesn't spread much in the first few million kilometers, the chance of direct
reception by
the enemy, even if they do live here on Ganymede, is infinitesimally small.
But I don't
believe that they live here—at least, they certainly didn't land on this
satellite. As you
suggest, however, it is conceivable that they may have detector screens
delicate
enough to locate our beam at a distance; but since in all probability that
means a
distance of hundreds of thousands of kilometers, I think it highly improbable.
We've got
to take the same risk anyway, no matter what we do, whenever we start to use
any kind
of driving power, so there's no use worrying about it.
     As for your last two objections, I know Brandon and I know Westfall.
Brandon will
have receivers built that will take in any wave possible of propagation, and
Westfall, the
cautious old egg, will have them running twenty four hours a day, with
automatic
recorders, finders, and everything else that Brandon can invent—and believe
me,
sweetheart, that's a lot of stuff!"
     "It's wonderful, the way you three men are," replied Nadia thoughtfully,
reading
between the lines of Stevens' utterance. "They knew that you were on the
Arcturus, of
course—and they knew that if you were alive you'd manage in some way to get in
touch
with them. And you, away out here after all this time, are superbly confident
that they
are expecting a call from you. That, I think, is one of the finest things I
ever heard of."
     "They're two of the world's best—absolutely." Nadia looked at him,
surprised, for
he had not seen anything complimentary to himself in her remark. "Wait until
you meet
them. They're men, Nadia—real men. And speaking of meeting them—please try to
keep on loving me after you meet Norm Brandon, will you?"
     "Don't be a simp!" Her brown eyes met his steadily. "You didn't mean
that—you
didn't even say it, did you?"
     "Back it comes, sweetheart! But knowing myself and knowing those two . .
."
     "Clam it! If Norman Brandon or Quincy Westfall had been here instead of
you, or
both of them together, we'd have been here from now on—we wouldn't even have
got
away from the Jovians!"
     "Now it's your turn to back water, guy!"
     "Well, maybe, a little—if both of them were here they ought to equal you
in some
things. Brandon says himself that he and Westfall together make one scientist—
Dad
says he says so."
     "You don't want to believe everything you hear. Neither of them will
admit that he
knows anything or can do anything—that's the way they are."
     "Dad has told me a lot about them—how they've always been together ever
since
their undergraduate days. How they studied together all over the world, even
after
they'd been given all the degrees loose. How they even went to the other
planets to
study—to Mars, where they had to live in space-suits all the time, and to
Venus, where
they had to take ultra-violet treatments every day to keep alive. How they
learned
everything that everybody else knew and then went out into space to find out
things that
nobody else ever dreamed of. How you came to join them, and what you three
have
done since. They're fine, of course—but they aren't you," she concluded
passionately.
     "No, thank Heaven! I know you love me, Nadia, just as I love you—you know
I
never doubted it. But you'll like them, really; nobody could help it. They're
a wonderful
team. Brandon's a big brute, you know—fully five centimeters taller than I am,
and he
weighs close to a hundred kilograms—and no lard, either. He's a wild,
impetuous
lobster, always jumping at conclusions and working out theories that seem
absolutely
ridiculous, but they're usually sound, even though impractical. Westfall's the
practical
member— he makes Norm pipe down, pins him down to facts, and makes it possible
to
put his hunches and wild flashes of genius into workable form. Quince is a . .
."
     "Now you pipe down! I've heard you rave so much about those two—I'd lots
rather rave about you, and with more reason. I wish that sounder would start
sounding."
     "Our first message hasn't gone half way yet. It takes about forty minutes
for the
impulse to get to where I think they are, so that even if they got the first
one and
answered it instantly, it'd be eighty minutes before we'd get it. I sort of
expect an answer
late tonight, but I won't be disappointed if it takes a week to locate them."
     "I will!" declared the girl, and indeed, very little work was done that
day by either
of the castaways.
     Slowly the day wore on, and the receiving sounder remained silent. Supper
was
eaten as the sun dropped low and disappeared, but they felt no desire to
sleep. Instead,
they went out in front of the steel wall, where Stevens built a small
campfire. Leaning
back against the wall of their vessel they fell into companionable silence,
which was
suddenly broken by Stevens.
     "Nadia, I just had a thought. I'll bet four dollars I've wasted a lot of
time. They'll
certainly have automatic relays on Tellus, to save me the trouble of hunting
for them,
but like an idiot I never thought of it until just this minute, in spite of
the speech I made
you about them. I'm going to change those directors right now."
     "That's quite a job, isn't it?"
     "No, only a few minutes."
     "Do it in the morning; you've done enough for one day—maybe you've hit
them
already, anyway."
     They again became silent, watching Jupiter, an enormous crescent moon
almost
seven degrees in apparent diameter.
     "Steve, I simply can't get used to such a prodigious moon! Look at the
stripes,
and look at that perfectly incredible . . ."
     A gong sounded and they both jumped to their feet and raced madly into
the
Hope. The ultra-receiver had come to life and the sounder was chattering
insanely—someone was sending with terrific speed, but with perfect definition
and
spacing.
     "That's Brandon's fist—I'd know his style anywhere," Stevens shouted, as
he
seized notebook and pencil.
     "Tell me what it says, quick, Steve!" Nadia implored.
     "Can't talk—read it!" Stevens snapped. His hand was flying over the
paper,
racing to keep up with the screaming sounder.
     ". . . ymede all x stevens ganymede all x stevens ganymede all x placing
and will
keep sirius on plane between you and tellus circle fifteen forty north going
tellus first
send full data spreading beam to cover circle fifteen forty quince suggests
possibility
this message intercepted and translated personally I think such translation
impossible
and that he is wilder than a hawk but just in case they should be
supernaturally
intelligent . . ."
     Stevens stopped abruptly and stared at the vociferous sounder.
     "Don't stop to listen—keep on writing!" commanded Nadia.
     "Can't," replied the puzzled mathematician. "It doesn't make sense. It
sounds
intelligent—it's made up of real symbols of some kind or other, but they don't
mean a
thing to me."
     "Oh, I see—he's sending mush on purpose. Read the last phrase!"
     "Oh, sure—'mush' is right," and with no perceptible break the signals
again
became intelligible.
     ". . . if they can translate that they are better scholars than we are
signing off until
hear from you brandon."
    The sounder died abruptly into silence and Nadia sobbed convulsively as
she
threw herself into Stevens' arms. The long strain over, the terrible
uncertainty at last
dispelled, they were both incoherent for a minute—Nadia glorifying the
exploits of her
lover, Stevens crediting the girl herself and his two fellow-scientists with
whatever
success had been achieved. A measure of self-control regained, Stevens cut off
his
automatic sender, changed the adjustments of his directors and cut in his
manually-
operated sending key.
     "What waves are you using, anyway?" asked Nadia, curiously. "They must be
even more penetrating than Roeser's Rays, to have such a range, and Roeser's
Rays
go right through a planet without even slowing up."
     "They're of the same order as Roeser's—that is, they're sub-electronic
waves of
the fourth order—but they're very much shorter, and hence more penetrating. In
fact,
they're the shortest waves yet known, so short that Roeser never even
suspected their
existence."
     "Suppose there's a Jovian space-ship out there somewhere that intercepts
our
beams. Couldn't they locate us from it?"
     "Maybe, and maybe not—we'll just have to take a chance on that. That goes
right
back to what we were talking about this morning. They might be anywhere, so
the
chance of hitting one is very small. It isn't like hitting the Sirius, because
we knew within
pretty narrow limits where to look for her and she had receivers tuned to this
exact
frequency. Even at that we had to hunt for her for half a day before we hit
her. We're
probably safe, but even if they should have located us, we'll probably be able
to hide
somewhere until the Sirius gets here. Well, the quicker I get busy sending the
dope, the
sooner they can get started."
     "Tell them to be sure and bring me all my clothes they can find, a gallon
of
perfume, a barrel of powder, and a carload of Delray's Fantasia chocolates—
I've been a
savage so long that I want to wallow in luxury for a while."
     "I'll do that—and I want some real cigarettes!"
     Stevens first sent a terse, but complete account of everything that had
happened
to the Arcturus, and a brief summary of what he and Nadia had done since the
cutting
up of the IPV. The narrative finished, he launched into a prolonged and
detailed
scientific discussion of the enemy and their offensive and defensive weapons.
He dwelt
precisely and at length upon the functioning of everything he had seen. Though
during
the long months of their isolation he had been too busy to do any actual work
upon the
weapons of the supposed Jovians, yet his keen mind had evolved many
mathematical
and physical deductions, hypotheses, and theories, and each of these he sent
out to the
Sirius in full, concluding:
     "There's all the dope I can give you. Figure it out, and don't come at
all until you
can come loaded for bear; they're bad medicine. Call us occasionally, to keep
us
informed as to when to expect you, but don't call too often. We don't want
them locating
you, and if they should locate us through your ray or ours, it would be just
too bad. So-
long. Stevens and Newton."
     Nadia had insisted upon staying up and had been brewing pot after pot of
her
substitute for coffee while he sat at the key; and it was almost daylight when
he finally
shut off the power and arose, his right arm practically paralyzed from the
unaccustomed
strain of hours of telegraphing.
     "Well, sweetheart, that's that!" he exclaimed in relief. "Brandon and
Westfall are
on the job. Nothing to do now but wait, and study up on our own account on
those
Jovians' rays. This has been one long day for us, though, little ace of my
heart, and I
suggest that we sleep for about a week!"
CHAPTER 8
Callisto to the Rescue

All humanity of Callisto, the fourth major satellite of Jupiter, had for many
years been
waging a desperate and apparently hopeless defense against invading hordes of
six-
limbed beings. Every city and town had long since been reduced to level fields
of lava
by the rays of the invaders. Every building and every trace of human
civilization had
long since disappeared from the surface of the satellite. Far below the
surface lay the
city of Zbardk, the largest of the few remaining strongholds of the human
race. At one
portal of the city a torpedo-shaped, stubby-winged rocket plane rested in the
carriage of
a catapult. Near it the captain addressed briefly the six men normally
composing his
crew.
     "Men, you already know that our cruise today is not an ordinary patrol.
We are to
go to One, there to destroy a base of the hexans. We have perhaps one chance
in ten
thousand of returning. Therefore I am taking only one man—barely enough to
operate
the plane. Volunteers step one pace forward."
     The six stepped forward as one man, and a smile came over the worn face
of
their leader as he watched them draw lots for the privilege of accompanying
him to
probable death. The two men entered the body of the torpedo, sealed the
openings, and
waited.
     "Free exits?" snapped the Captain of the Portal, and twelve keen-eyed
observers
minutely studied screens and instrument panels connected to the powerful
automatic
lookout stations beneath the rims of the widely separated volcanic craters
from which
their craft could issue into Callisto's somber night.
     "No hexan radiation can be detected from Exit Eight," came the report.
The
Captain of the Portal raised an arm in warning, threw in the guides, and the
two
passengers were hurled violently backward, deep into their cushioned seats, as
the
catapult shot their plane down the runway. As the catapult's force was spent
automatic
trips upon the undercarriage actuated the propelling rockets and mile after
mile, with
rapidly mounting velocity, the plane sped through the tube. As the exit was
approached
the tunnel described a long vertical curve, so that when the opening into the
shaft of the
crater was reached and the undercarriage was automatically detached the vessel
was
projected almost vertically upward. Such was its velocity and so powerful was
the liquid
propellant of its rocket motors that the eye could not follow the flight of
the warship as it
tore through the thin layer of the atmosphere and hurled itself out into the
depths of
space.
     "Did we get away ?" asked the captain, hands upon his controls and eyes
upon
his moving chart of space.
     "I believe so, sir," answered the other officer, at the screens of the
six periscopic
devices which covered the full sphere of vision. "No reports from the rim, and
all
screens blank."
     "Good!" Once more a vessel had issued from the jealously secret city of
Zbardk
without betraying its existence to the hated and feared hexans.
     For a time the terrific rocket motors continued the deafening roar of
their
continuous explosions, then, the desired velocity having been attained, they
were cut
out and for hours the good ship Bzarvk hurtled on through the void at an
enormous but
constant speed toward the distant world of One, which it was destined never to
reach.
     "Captain Czuv! Hexan radiation, coordinates twenty two, fourteen, area
six!"
cried the observer, and the commander swung his own telescopic finder into the
indicated region. His hands played over course and distance plotters for a
brief minute,
and he stared at his results in astonishment.
     "I never heard of a hexan traveling that way before," he frowned.
"Constant
negative acceleration and in a straight line. He must think that we have been
cleared
out of the ether. Almost parallel to us and not much faster—even at this long
range it is
an easy kill unless he starts dodging, as usual."
     As he spoke he snapped a switch and from a port under the starboard wing
there
shot out into space a small package of concentrated destruction—a rocket-
propelled,
radio controlled torpedo. The rockets of the tiny missile were flaming, but
that flame was
visible only from the rear and no radio beam was upon it. Czuv had given it
precisely the
direction and acceleration necessary to make it meet the hexan sphere in
central impact
provided that sphere maintained its course and acceleration unchanged.
     "Shall I direct the torpedo in case the hexan shifts?" asked the officer.
     "I think not. They can, of course, detect any wave at almost any
distance, and at
the first sign of radio activity they would locate and destroy the bomb. They
also, in all
probability, would destroy us. I would not hesitate to attack them on that
account alone,
but we must remember that we are upon a more important mission than attacking
one
hexan ship. We are far out of range of their electro-magnetic detectors, and
our torpedo
will have such a velocity that they will have no time to protect themselves
against it after
detection. Unless they shift in the next few seconds they are lost.
     This is the most perfect shot I ever had at one of them, but one shot is
all I dare
risk—we must not betray ourselves."
     Course, lookout, and rank forgotten, the little crew of two stared into
the narrow
field of vision, set at its maximum magnification. The instruments showed that
the
enemy vessel was staying upon its original course. Very soon the torpedo came
within
range of the detectors of the hexans. But as Captain Czuv had foretold, the
detection
was a fraction of a second too late, rapidly as their screens responded, and
the two men
of Zbardk uttered together a short, fierce cry of joy as a brilliant flash of
light announced
the annihilation of the hexan vessel.
     "But hold!" The observer stared into his screen. "Upon that same line,
but now at
constant velocity, there is still a very faint radiation, of a pattern I have
never seen
before."
     "I think . . . I believe . . ." the captain was studying the pattern,
puzzled. "It must
be low-frequency, low-tension electricity, which is never used, so far as I
know. It may
be some new engine of destruction, which the hexan was towing at such a
distance that
the explosion of our torpedo did not destroy it. Since there are no signs of
hexan activity
and since it will not take much fuel, we shall investigate that radiation."
     Tail and port-side rockets burst into roaring activity and soon the plane
was
cautiously approaching the mass of wreckage, which had been the IPV Arcturus.
     "Human beings, although of some foreign species!" exclaimed the captain,
as his
vision-ray swept through the undamaged upper portion of the great liner and
came to
rest upon Captain King at his desk.
     Although the upper ultra-lights of the Terrestrial vessel had been cut
away by the
hexan plane of force, jury lights had been rigged, and the two commanders were
soon
trying to communicate with each other. Intelligible conversation was of course
impossible, but King soon realized that the visitors were not enemies. At
their
pantomimed suggestion he put on a space-suit and wafted himself over to the
airlock of
the Callistonian warplane. Inside the central compartment, the strangers
placed over his
helmet a heavily wired harness, and he found himself instantly in full mental
communication with the Callistonian commander. For several minutes they stood
silent,
exchanging thoughts with a rapidity impossible in any language; then, dressed
in space-
suits, both leaped lightly across the narrow gap into the still open outer
lock of the
Terrestrial liner. King watched Czuv narrowly after the pressure began to
collapse his
suit, but the stranger made no sign of distress. He had been right in his
assurance that
the extra pressure would scarcely inconvenience him. King tore off his helmet,
issued a
brief order, and soon every speaker in the Arcturus announced:
     "All passengers and all members of the crew except lookouts on duty will
assemble immediately in Saloon Three to discuss a possible immediate rescue."
     The subject being one of paramount interest, it was a matter of minutes
until the
full complement of two hundred men and women were in the main saloon, clinging
to
hastily rigged hand lines, closely packed before the raised platform upon
which were
King and Czuv, wired together with the peculiar Callistonian harnesses. To
most of the
passengers, familiar with the humanity of three planets, the appearance of the
stranger
brought no surprise; but many of them stared in undisguised amazement at his
childish
body, his pale, almost colorless skin, his small, weak legs and arms, and his
massive
head.
     "Ladies and gentlemen!" Captain King opened the meeting. "I introduce to
you
Captain Czuv, of the scout cruiser Bzarvk, of the only human race now living
upon the
fourth large satellite of Jupiter, which satellite we know as Callisto. I am
avoiding their
own names as much as possible, because they are almost unpronounceable in
English
or Interplanetarian. This device that you see connecting us is a Callistonian
thought
transformer, by means of which any two intelligent beings can converse without
language. Our situation is peculiar, and in order that you may understand
fully what lies
ahead of us, the captain will now speak to you, through me— that is, what
follows will
be spoken by Captain Czuv, of the Bzarvk, but he will be using my vocal
organs.
     "Friends from distant Tellus," King's voice went on, almost without a
break, "I
greet you. I am glad, for your sake as well as our own, that our vessel was
able to
destroy the hexan ship holding you captive, and whose crew would have killed
you all
as soon as they had landed your vessel and had read your minds. I regret
bitterly that
we can do so little for you, for only the representatives of a human
civilization being
exterminated by a race of highly intelligent monsters can fully realize how
desirable it is
for all the various races of humanity to assist and support each other. In
order that you
may understand the situation it is necessary that I delve at some length into
ancient
history, but we have ample time. In about . . ." he broke off, realizing that
the two races
had no thought in common in the measure of time.
     "One-half time of rotation of Great Planet upon axis ?" flashed from
Czuv's brain,
and "About five hours," King's mind flashed back.
     "It will be about five hours before any steps can be taken, so that I
feel justified in
using a brief period in explanation. In the evolution of the various forms of
life upon
Callisto, two genera developed intelligence far ahead of all others." One
genus was the
human, as you and I; the other the hexan. This creature, happily unknown to
you of the
planets nearer our common sun, is the product of an entirely different
evolution. It is a
six-limbed animal, with a brain equal to our own—one perhaps in some ways
superior to
our own. They have nothing in common with humanity, however; they have few of
our
traits and fewer of our mental processes. Even we who have fought them so long
can
scarcely comprehend the chambers of horror that are their minds. Even were I
able to
paint a sufficiently vivid picture with words, you of Earth could not begin to
understand
their utter ruthlessness and inhumanity, even among themselves. You would
believe
that I was lying, or that my viewpoint was warped. I can say only that I hope
most
sincerely that none of you will ever get better acquainted with them.
     "Ages ago, then, the human and the hexan developed upon all four of the
major
satellites of the Great Planet, which you know as Jupiter, and upon the north
polar
region of Jupiter itself. By what means the two races came into being upon
worlds so
widely separated in space we know not—we only know it to be the fact. Human
life,
however, could not long endure upon Jupiter. The various human races, after
many
attempts to meet conditions of life there by variations in type, fell before
the hexans;
who, although very small in size upon the planet, thrived there amazingly.
Upon the
three outer satellites humanity triumphed, and many hundreds of cycles ago the
hexans
of those satellites were wiped out, save for an occasional tribe of savages of
low
intelligence who lived in various undesirable portions of the three worlds.
For ages then
there was peace upon Callisto. Here is the picture at that time—upon Jupiter
the
hexans; upon lo hexans and humans, waging a ceaseless and relentless war of
mutual
extermination; upon the three outer satellites humanity in undisturbed and
unthreatened
peace. Five worlds, each ignorant of life upon any other.
     "As I have said, the hexans of Jupiter were, and are, diabolically
intelligent.
Driven probably by their desire to see what lay beyond their atmosphere of
eternal
cloud, to the penetration of which their eyesight was attuned, they first
perfected the
space-ship; and effected a safe landing, first upon the barren, airless
moonlet nearest
them, and then upon fruitful lo. There they made common cause with the hexans
against the humans, and in a space of time Ionian humanity ceased to exist.
Much
traffic and interbreeding followed between the hexans of Jupiter and those of
lo,
resulting in time in a race intermediate in size between the parent stocks and
equally at
home in the widely variant air pressures and gravities of planet and
satellite. Soon their
astronomical instruments revealed the cities of Europa to their gaze, and as
soon as
they discovered that the civilization of Europa was human they destroyed it
utterly, with
the insatiable blood lust that is their heritage.
     "In the meantime the human civilizations of Ganymede and Callisto had
also
developed instruments of power. Observing the cities upon the other
satellites, many
scientists studied intensively the problem of space navigation, and finally
there was
some commerce between the two outer satellites at favorable times. Finally,
vessels
were also sent to lo and to Europa, but none of them returned. Knowing then
what to
expect, Ganymede and Callisto joined forces and prepared for war. But our
science, so
long attuned to the arts of peace, had fallen behind lamentably in the
devising of more
and ever more deadly instruments of destruction. Ganymede fell, and in her
fall we read
our own doom. Abandoning our cities, we built anew underground. Profiting from
lessons learned full bloodily upon Ganymede, we resolved to prolong the
existence of
the human race as long as possible.
     "The hexans were, and are, masters of the physical sciences. They command
the spectrum in a way undreamed of. Their detectors reveal etheric
disturbances at
unbelievable distances, and they have at their beck and call forces of
staggering
magnitude. Therefore in our cities is no electricity save that which is wired,
shielded,
and grounded; no broadcast radio; no source whatever of etheric disturbances
save
light—and our walls are fields of force which we believe to be impenetrable to
any
searching frequency capable of being generated. Now I am able to picture to
you the
present.
     "We are the last representatives of the human race in the Jovian
planetary
system. Our every trace upon the surface has been obliterated. We are hiding
in our
holes in the ground, coming out at night by stealth so that our burrows shall
not be
revealed to the hexans. We are fighting for time in which our scientists may
learn the
secrets of power— and fearing, each new day, that the enemy may have so
perfected
their systems of rays that they can detect 'us and destroy us, even in our
underground
and heavily shielded retreats, by means of forces even more incomprehensible
than
those they are now employing.
     "Therefore, friends, you see how little we are able to do for you—we, a
race
fighting for our very existence and doomed to extinction save for a miracle.
We cannot
take you to Callisto, for it is besieged by the hexans and the driving forces
of your
lifeboats, practically broadcast as they are, would be detected and we should
all be
destroyed long before we could reach safety. Captain King and I have pondered
long,
and have been able to see only one course of action. We are drifting at
constant
velocity, using no power, and with all save the most vitally necessary
machinery at rest.
Thus only may we hope to avoid detection during the next two hours. Our
present
course will take us very close to Europa, which the hexans believe to be, like
Ganymede, entirely devoid of civilized life. Its original humanity was totally
destroyed,
and all its civilized hexans are finding shelter from our torpedoes upon
Jupiter until we
of Callisto shall likewise have been annihilated. The temperature of Europa
will suit you.
Its atmosphere, while less dense than that to which you are accustomed, will
adequately support your life. If we are not detected in the course of the next
few hours
we can probably land upon Europa in safety, since its neighborhood is guarded
but
loosely. In fact, we have a city there, as yet unsuspected by the hexans, in
which our
scientists shall continue to labor after Callisto's civilization shall have
disappeared. We
think that it will be safe to use your power for the short time necessary to
effect a
landing. We shall land in a cavern, in a crater already in communication with
our city. In
that cavern, instructed and aided by some of us, you will build a rocket
vessel—no rays
can be used because of the hexans—in which you will be able to travel to a
region close
enough to your Earth so that you can call for help. You will not be able to
carry enough
fuel to land there—in fact, nearly all the journey will have to be made
without power,
traveling freely in a highly elongated orbit around the sun—but if you escape
the hexans
you should be able to reach home safely, in time. It is for the consideration
of this plan
that this meeting has been called."
     "Just one question," Breckenridge spoke. "The hexans are intelligent. Why
are
they leaving Europa and Ganymede so unguarded that human beings can move back
there and that we can land there, all undetected?"
     "I will answer that question myself," replied King. "Captain Czuv did not
quite do
justice to his own people. It is true that they are being conquered, but for
every human
life that is taken a thousand hexans die, and for every human ship that is
lost twenty
hexan vessels are annihilated in return. While the hexans are masters of rays,
the
humans are equally masters of rockets and explosives. They can hit a perfect
score
upon any target in free space whose course and acceleration can be determined,
at any
range up to five thousand kilometers. Ray screens are effective only against
rays, and
the hexans cannot destroy anything that they cannot see before it strikes
them. So it is
that all the vessels of the hexans except those necessary to protect their own
strongholds are being concentrated against Callisto. They cannot spare vessels
to
guard uselessly the abandoned satellites. Because of the enormously high
gravity of
Jupiter the hexans there are safe from human attack save for comparatively
ineffectual
long-range bombardment, but lo is being attacked constantly and it is probable
that in a
few more years lo also will be an abandoned world. Some of you may have
received the
impression that the hexans are to triumph immediately, but such an idea is
wrong. The
humans can, and will, hold out for a hundred years or more unless the enemy
perfects a
destructive ray of the type referred to. Even then, I think that our human
cousins will
hold out a long time. They are able men, fighters all, and their underground
cities are
beautifully protected."
     There was little argument. Most of the auditors could understand that the
suggested course was the best one possible. The remainder were so stunned by
the
unbelievable events of the attack that they had no initiative, but were
willing to follow
wherever the more valiant spirits led. It was decided that no attempt should
be made to
salvage any portion of the Arc turns, since any such attempt would be fraught
with
danger and since the wreckage would be of little value. The new vessel was to
be
rocket driven, and was to be built of Callistonian alloys. Personal belongings
were
moved into lifeboats, doors were closed, and there ensued a painful period of
waiting
and of suspense.
     The stated hour was reached without event—no hexan scout had come close
enough to them to detect the low-tension radiation of the vital machinery of
the Arcturus,
cut as it was to the irreducible minimum and quite effectively grounded as it
was by the
enormous mass of her shielding armor. At a signal from Captain Czuv the pilot
of each
lifeboat shot his tiny craft out into space and took his allotted place in the
formation
following closely behind the Bzarvk, flying toward Europa, now so large in the
field of
vision that she resembled more a world than a moon. Captain King, in the
Callistonian
vessel, transmitted to Breckenridge the route and flight data given him by the
navigator
of the winged craft. The chief pilot, flying "point", in turn relayed more
detailed
instructions to the less experienced pilots of the other lifeboats.
     Soon the surface of Europa lay beneath them; a rugged, cratered, and torn
topography of mighty ranges of volcanic mountains. Most of the craters were
cold and
lifeless, but here and there a plume of smoke and steam betrayed the presence
of vast,
quiescent forces. Straight down one of those gigantic lifeless shafts the
fleet of space
craft dropped —straight down a full two miles before the landing signal was
given. At
the bottom of the shaft a section of the rocky wall swung aside, revealing the
yawning
black mouth of a horizontal tunnel. At intervals upon its roof there winked
into being
almost invisible points of light. Along that line of lights the lifeboats felt
their way, coming
finally into a huge cavern, against one sheer metal wall of which they parked
in an
orderly row. Roll was called, and the Terrestrials walked, as well as they
could in the
feeble gravity of the satellite, across the vast chamber and into a conveyance
somewhat
resembling a railway coach, which darted away as soon as the doors were shut.
For
hundreds of miles that strange tunnel extended, and as the car shot along door
after
door of natural rock opened before it, and closed as soon as it had sped
through. In
spite of the high velocity of the vehicle it required almost two hours to
complete the
journey. Finally, however, it slowed to a halt and the Terrestrial visitors
disembarked at
a portal of the Europan city of the Callistonians.
     "Attention!" barked Captain King. "The name of this city, as nearly as I
can come
to it in English, is 'WRUSZK'. 'Roosk' comes fairly close to it, and is easier
to pronounce.
We must finish our trip in small cars, holding ten persons each. We shall
assemble
again in the building in which we have been assigned quarters. The driver of
each car
will lead his passengers to the council room in which we shall meet."
     "Oh, what's the use — this is horrible, horrible — we might as well die!"
a
nervous woman shrieked, and fainted.
     "Such a feeling is, perhaps, natural," King went on, after the woman had
been
revived and quiet had been restored, "but please control it as much as
possible. We are
alive and well, and will be able to return to Tellus eventually. Please
remember that
these people are putting themselves to much trouble and inconvenience to help
us,
desperate as their own situation is, and conduct yourselves accordingly."
     The rebuke had its effect, and with no further protest the company
boarded the
small cars, which shot through an opening in the wall and into a street of
that strange
subterranean city. Breckenridge, in the last car to leave the portal, studied
his
surroundings with interest as his conveyance darted through the gateway. More
or less
a fatalist by nature and an adventurer, of course, since no other type existed
among the
older spacehounds of the IPC, he was intensely interested in every new phase
of their
experience, but was no whit dismayed or frightened.
     He found himself seated in a narrow canoe of metal immediately behind the
pilot,
who sat at a small control panel in the bow. Propelled by electromagnetic
fields above a
single rail upon lightly-touching and noiseless wheels, the Terrestrial pilot
saw with keen
appreciation the manner in which switch after switch ahead of them obeyed the
impulses sent ahead from the speeding car. The streets were narrow and filled
with
monorails; pedestrians pursued their courses upon walks attached to the walls
of the
buildings, far above the level of the streets. The walls were themselves
peculiar, rising
as they did stark, unbroken, window-less expanses of metal, merging into and
supporting a massive roof of the same silvery metal. Walls and roof alike
reflected a
soft, yet intense, white light. Soon a sliding switch ahead of them shot in
and
simultaneously an opening appeared in the blank metal wall of a building.
Through the
opening the street-car flew, and as the pilot slowed the canoe to a halt the
door slid
smoothly shut behind them. Parking the car beside a row of its fellows, the
Callistonian
driver indicated that the Terrestrials were to follow him and led the way into
a large hall.
There the others from the Arcturus were assembled, facing Captain King, who
was
standing upon a table.
     "Fellow travelers," King addressed them, "our course of action has been
decided.
There are two hundred three of us. There will be twenty sections of ten
persons, each
section being in charge of one of the officers of the Arcturus. Doctor
Penfield, our
surgeon, a man whose intelligence, fairness and integrity are unquestioned,
will be in
supreme command. His power and authority will be absolute, limited only by the
Callistonian Council. He will work in harmony with the engineer who is to
direct the
entire project of building the new vessel. Each of you will be expected to do
whatever he
can—the work you will be asked to do will be well within your power, and you
will each
have ample leisure for recreation, study, and amusement, of all of which you
will find
unsuspected stores in this underground community. You will each be registered
and
studied by physicians, surgeons, and psychologists; and each of you will have
prescribed for him the exact diet that is necessary for his best development.
You will
find this diet somewhat monotonous compared to our normal fare of natural
products,
since it is wholly synthetic; but that is one of the minor drawbacks that must
be endured.
Chief Pilot Breckenridge and I will not be with you. In some small and partial
recompense for what they are doing for us all, he and I are going with Captain
Czuv to
Callisto, there to see whether or not we can aid them in any way in the fight
against the
hexans. One last word—Doctor Penfield's rulings will be the products of his
own well-
ordered mind after consultation and agreement with the Council of this city,
and will be
for the best good of all. I do not anticipate any refusal to cooperate with
him. If,
however, such refusal should occur, please remember that he is a despot with
absolute
power, and that anyone obstructing the program by refusing to follow his
suggestions
will spend the rest of his time here in confinement and will go back to Tellus
in irons, if
at all. In case Chief Pilot Breckenridge and I should not see you again we bid
you
goodbye and wish you a safe voyage —but we expect to go back with you."
     Brief farewells were said and captain and pilot accompanied Czuv to one
of the
little street-cars. Out of the building it dashed and down the crowded but
noiseless
thoroughfare to the portal. Signal lights flashed briefly there and they did
not stop, but
tore on through the portal and on into the tunnel, with ever increasing speed.
     "Don't have to transfer to a big car, then?" asked Breckenridge.
     "No," King made answer. "Small cars can travel these tubes as well as the
large
ones, and on much less power. In the city the wheels touch the rails lightly,
not for
support, but to make contacts through which traffic signals are sent and
received. In the
tunnels the wheels do not touch at all, as signaling is unnecessary—the
tunnels being
used infrequently and by but one vehicle at a time. No trolleys, tracks, or
wires are
visible, you notice. Everything is hidden from any possible visiray of the
hexans."
     "How about their power?"
     "I don't understand it very well—hardly at all, in fact."
     "It is quite simple." To the surprise of both Terrestrials, Czuv was
speaking
English, but with a strong and very peculiar accent; slighting all the vowels
and
accenting heavily the consonant sounds. "The car no longer requires my
attention, so I
am now free to converse. You are surprised at my knowing your language ? You
will
speak mine after a few more applications of the thought exchanger. I am
speaking with
a vile accent, of course, but that is merely because my vocal organs are not
accustomed to making vowel sounds. Our power is obtained by the combustion of
gases in highly efficient turbines. It is transmitted and used as direct
current, our
generators and motors being so constructed that they can produce no etheric
disturbances capable of penetrating the shielding walls of our city. The city
was built
close to deposits of coal, oil, and gas of sufficient amount to support our
life for
thousands of years; for from these deposits come power, food, clothing, and
all the
other necessities and luxuries of our lives. Strong fans draw air from various
extinct
craters, force it through ventilating ducts into every room and recess of the
city, and
exhaust it into the shaft of a quiescent volcano, in whose gaseous outflow any
trace of
our activities is of course imperceptible. For obvious reasons no rockets nor
combustion
motors are used in the city proper."
     Thus Captain Czuv explained to the Terrestrials his own mode of life, and
received from them in turn full information concerning Earthly life, activity,
and science.
Long they talked, and it was almost time to slow down for the journey's end
when the
Callistonian brought the conversation back to their immediate concerns.
     "My lieutenant and I were upon a mission of some importance, but it is
more
important to take you to Callisto, for there may be many things in which you
can help us.
Not in atomic energy, as we do not have any elements above bismuth. Nor in
rays—we
know all the vibrations you have mentioned, and several others. The enemy,
however,
is supreme in that field, and until our scientists have succeeded in
developing ray-
screens, such as are used by the hexans, it would be suicidal to use rays at
all. Such
screens necessitate the projection of pure, yet dirigible, forces—you do not
have them
upon your planet?"
     "No, and so far as I know such screens are also unknown upon Mars and
Venus,
with whose inhabitants we are friendly."
     "The inhabitants of all the planets should be friendly; the solar system
should be
linked together in intercourse for common advancement. But that is not to be.
The
hexans will eventually triumph here, and a Jovian system peopled by hexans
will have
no intercourse with any human civilization save that of internecine war. We of
Callisto
have only one hope—or is it really a hope? In the South Polar country of
Jupiter there
dwells a race of beings implacably hostile to the hexans. They seem to invade
the
country of the hexans frequently, even though they are apparently repulsed
,each time.
Our emissaries to the South Polar country, however, have never returned—those
beings, whatever they are, if not actively inimical, certainly are not
friendly toward us."
     "You know nothing of their nature?"
     "Nothing, since our electrical instruments are not sufficiently sensitive
to give us
more than a general idea of what is transpiring there, and in that eternal fog
vision is
practically useless. We know, however, that they are far advanced in science,
and we
are thankful indeed that none of their frightful flying fortresses have been
launched
against us. They apparently are not interested in the satellites, and it is no
doubt due to
their unintentional assistance that we have survived as long as we have."
     In the cavern at last, the three men boarded the Callistonian space-plane
and
were shot up the crater's shaft. The voyage to Callisto was uneventful, even
uninteresting save at its termination. The Bzarvk, coated every inch as it was
with a dull,
dead black, completely absorptive outer coating, entered the thin layer of
Callisto's
atmosphere in darkest night, with all rockets dead, with not a light showing,
and with no
apparatus of any kind functioning. Utterly invisible and undetectable she dove
downward, and not until she was well below the crater's rim did the forward
rockets
burst into furious life. Then the Terrestrials understood another reason for
the immense
depth of those shafts other than that of protection from the detectors of the
enemy— all
that distance was necessary to overcome the velocity of their free fall
without employing
a negative acceleration greater than the frail Callistonian bodies could
endure. From the
cavern at the foot of the shaft a regulation tunnel extended to the
Callistonian city of
Zbardk. Portal and city were very like Wruszk, upon distant Europa, and soon
the
Terrestrial captain and pilot were in conference with the Council of Callisto.


                        *   *   *   *   *

     Months of Earthly time dragged slowly past, months during which King and
Breckenridge studied intensively the offensive and defensive systems of
Callisto without
finding any particular in which they could improve them to any considerable
degree.
Captain Czuv and his warplane still survived, and it was while the
Callistonian
commander was visiting his Terrestrial guests that King voiced the discontent
that had
long affected both men.
     "We're both tired of doing nothing, Czuv. We have been of little real
benefit, and
we have decided that your ideas of us are all wrong. We are convinced that our
personal horse-power can be of vastly more use to you than our brain-power,
which
doesn't amount to much. Your whole present policy is one of hiding and
sniping. I think
that I know why, but I want to be sure. Your vessels carry lots of fuel—why
can the
hexans outrun you?"
     "They can stand enormously higher accelerations than we can. The very
strongest of us loses consciousness at an acceleration of twenty-five meters
per second
per second, no matter how he is braced, and that is only a little greater than
the normal
gravity of our enemies upon Jupiter. Their vessels at highest power develop an
acceleration of thirty-five meters, and the hexans themselves can stand much
more
than even that high figure."
     "I thought so. Assume that you traveled in a bath at forty-five. Would it
disable
you permanently, or would you recover as soon as it was lowered?"
     "We would recover promptly, unless the exposure had been unduly
prolonged.
Why?"
     "Because I can stand an acceleration of fifty-four meters for two hours,
and
Breckenridge here tests fifty-two. I can navigate anything, and Breckenridge
can
observe as well as any of your own men. Build a plane to accelerate at forty-
five meters
and we will blow those hexans out of the ether. You will have to revive and do
the
shooting, however—your gunnery is entirely beyond us."
     "That is an idea of promise, and one that had not occurred to any of us,"
Czuv
replied, and work was begun at once upon the new flyer.
     When the super-plane was ready for its maiden voyage its crew of three
studied
it as it lay in the catapult at the portal. Dead black as were all the
warplanes, its body
was twice as large as that of the ordinary vessel, its wings were even more
stubby, and
its accommodations had been cut to a minimum to make room for the enormous
stores
of fuel necessary to drive the greatly increased battery of rocket motors and
for the
extra supply of torpedoes carried. Waving to the group of soldiers and
citizens gathered
to witness the take-off of the new dreadnaught of space the three men entered
the
cramped operating compartment, strapped themselves into their seats, and were
shot
away. As usual the driving rockets were cut off well below the rim of the
shaft, and the
vessel rose in a long and graceful curve, invisible in the night. Such was its
initial
velocity and so slight was the force of gravity of the satellite that they
were many
hundreds of miles from the exit before they began to descend, and Breckenridge
studied his screens narrowly for signs of hexan activity.
     "Do you want to try one of your long-range shots when we find one of them
?" the
pilot asked Czuv.
     "No, it would be useless. Between deflection by air-currents and the
dodging of
the enemy vessels our effective range is shortened to a few kilometers, and
their beams
are deadly at that distance. No, our best course is to follow the original
plan—to lure
them out into space at uniform acceleration, where we can destroy them
easily."
     "Right," and Breckenridge turned to King, who was frowning at his
controls. "How
does she work on a dead stick, Chief?"
     "Maneuverability about minus ten at this speed and in this air. She'd
have to
have at least fifteen hundred kilometers an hour to be responsive out here.
See
anything yet ?"
     "Not yet . . . wait a minute! Yes, there's one now— P-I2 on area five.
Give us all
the Xio and W27 you can, without using power—we want to edge over close enough
so
that she can't help but see us when we start the rockets."
     "Be sure and stay well out of range. I'm giving her all she'll take, but
she won't
take much. With these wings she has the gliding angle of a kitchen sink."
     "All x—I'm watching the range, close. Wish we had instruments like these
on the
IPV's. We'll have to install some when we get back. All x! Give her the gun—
level and
dead ahead!"
     Half the battery of rockets burst into their stuttering, explosive roar
of power and
the vessel darted away in headlong flight.
     "He sees us and is after us—turn her straight up!"
     A searing, coruscating finger of flame leaped toward them, but their
calculations
had been sound—the hexan was harmless at that extreme range. King, under the
pilot's
direction, kept the plane at a safe distance from the sphere while the
satellite grew
smaller and smaller behind them and Czuv lapsed quietly into unconsciousness.
     "He's been out for quite a while. Far enough?" asked King.
     "All x now, I guess—don't believe they can see the flash from here. Cut!"
     The rockets died abruptly and a blast from the side ports threw the plane
out of
the beam—and once out of it, beyond range of the electromagnetic detectors as
they
were, their coating of absolute black rendered the craft safe from
observation. One
dirigible rocket remained in action, its exhaust hidden from the enemy by the
bulk of the
vessel, and Captain Czuv soon recovered his senses.
     "Wonderful, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, as he manipulated the delicate
controls of
his gunnery panel. "This is the first time in history that a Callistonian
vessel has escaped
from a hexan by speed alone."
     An instantaneously extinguished flare of incandescence marked the passing
of
the hexan sphere into nothingness, and the cruiser shot back toward Callisto
in search
of more prey. It was all too plentiful, and twenty times the drama was
reenacted before
approaching day made it necessary for Czuv to take the controls and dive the
vessel
into the wester-most landing-shaft of Zbardk. A rousing and enthusiastic
welcome
awaited them, and joy spread rapidly when their success became known.
     "Now we know what to do, and we had better do it immediately, before they
get
our system figured out and increase their own power," King reported to the
Council.
     "You might send a couple of ships to Europa and bring back as many of the
Tellurian officers as want to come and can be spared from the work there. They
all test
above forty-five meters, and they can learn this stuff in short order. While
they're coming
your engineers can be building more ships like this one."
     The new vessel did not make another voyage until nine sister ships were
ready
and manned, each with two Terrestrial officers and one Callistonian gunner.
All ten took
to the ether at once, and the hexan fleet melted away like frost-crystals
before a
summer sun. A few weeks of carnage and destruction and not a hexan was within
range
of the detectors of Callisto—they were gone!
     "This is the first time in years that Callisto's air has been free of the
hexans,"
Czuv said, thoughtfully. "With your help we have reduced their strength to a
fraction of
what it was, but they have not given up. They will return, with a higher
acceleration than
even you Terrestrials, powerful as you are, can stand."
     "Certainly they will, but you will be no worse off than you were before—
you can
return to your own highly effective tactics."
     "We are infinitely better off for your help. You have given us a new
lease of life . .
."
     He broke off as a flaring light sprang into being upon the portal board
and the
observer of Exit One made his report—there was a hexan vessel in the air,
location 425
over VJ-42.
     "There's one left! Let us get him! No, he's ours!" Confused shouts arose
from the
bull-pen; but the original super-plane was at the top of the call-board and
accordingly
King, Breckenridge, and Czuv embarked upon an expedition more hazardous far
than
they had supposed—an expedition whose every feature was relayed to those in
the
portal by the automatic lookouts upon the rims and which was ended before a
single
supporting Callistonian plane could be manned and .launched.
     For the enemy vessel was not the last of the low-powered hexan vessels,
as
everyone had supposed—it was the first of the high-powered craft, arriving
long before
its appearance was expected. Before its terrific acceleration and savage
onslaught the
super-plane might as well have been stationary and unarmed. After his long
dive
downward King could not even leave the atmosphere—the hexan was upon them
within
a few seconds, even though the stupendous battery of rockets, full driven, had
roared
almost instantly into desperate action. Bomb after bomb Breckenridge hurled,
with full
radio control, fighting with every resource at his command, but in vain. The
frightful
torpedoes were annihilated in mid-flight; and nose, tail-assembly, and wings
were
sheared neatly from the warplane by a sizzling plane of force. Side rockets
and torpedo
tubes were likewise sliced away and the helpless body of the Callistonian
cruiser, falling
like a plummet, was caught and held by a tractor ray. Captor and captive
settled toward
the ground.
     "This is a signal honor," observed Captain Czuv when he had revived. "It
has
been many, many cycles since they have taken Callistonians captive. They kill
us at
every opportunity. Is it your custom to destroy yourselves in a situation such
as this ?"
     "It is not. While we live there is hope."
     "Nor ours. Unless they have made enormous strides in psychological
mechanisms they cannot tear from our minds any secrets we really wish to keep.
That
is useless," he went on, as King lifted a hand-weapon. "You will have no
opportunity
whatever to use it," and he was right.
     A searing beam of energy drove them out of the vessel, then
electromagnetic
waves burned every metallic object out of their possession. Burning rays
herded them
into the hexan sphere and into a small room, whose door clanged shut behind
them.
     "Ah, two are humans of a strange breed!" a snarling voice barked from the
wall,
in the Callistonian language. "Our deductions were accurate, as usual—it is to
the
humans of Planet Three, whose bodies are a trifle less puny than those of the
humanity
of the satellites, that we owe our recent reverses. However, those reverses
were merely
temporary—humanity, no matter what its breed, shall very shortly disappear
from the
satellites. Now, you scum of the Solar System, you shall be permitted to
witness an
entrancing spectacle on the way to our headquarters, where all your knowledge
is to be
taken from you before you die, lingeringly and horribly. There is a strange
space-vessel
nearing us, probably searching for the one we took and which you dogs of
Callisto must
have been fortunate enough to take from us before we could study and kill its
human
cargo. Watch its destruction and cringe—and know, in your suffering, that the
more you
suffer, the greater shall be our enjoyment."
     "I believe that," King acknowledged. As all three prisoners stared at the
wall-
screen, upon which was pictured a huge football of scarred gray steel, Czuv
was
amazed to see the faces of Breckenridge and King light up with fierce smiles
of
pleasure and anticipation.
     "You dissemble well," remarked the Callistonian. "That will rob them of
much
pleasure."
     "They'll get robbed of more than that," King returned. "This is too good
to keep,
and since they cannot understand English, I'll tell you something. I told you
about
Stevens. He apparently wasn't killed, as we thought. He must have escaped, and
there
is the result. That ship there is far from innocent—her being so far out of
range of any of
our power-plants proves that. That vessel is the Sirius—the research
laboratory of the
IPC—the Inter-Planetary Corporation! It carries the greatest scientific minds
of three of
the inner planets, and it is loaded with pure poison or it wouldn't be here.
Oh, you
hexans, what you have got coming to you!"
CHAPTER 9
The "Sirius" Takes a Hand

The inter-planetary vessel Sirius loafed along at normal acceleration just
outside the
orbit of Mars and a million miles north of the ecliptic plane. In the control
room, which
had been transformed into a bewilderingly complete laboratory, Norman Brandon
strode
up and down, waving his arms, his unruly black hair on end, addressing
savagely his
friend and fellow-scientist, who sat unmoved and at ease.
     "For Cat's sake, Quince, let's get busy! They're outside somewhere, since
the
police have scoured every cubic kilometer within range of the power plants
without
finding a trace of them. We've got the power question licked right now—with
these fields
we can draw sixty thousand kilo-franks from cosmic radiation, which is lots
more than
we'll ever need. We haven't drawn a frank from a plant in a month, and we've
had to cut
our field strength down to a whisper to keep from burning out our
accumulators. We can
hunt as far as Neptune easy—we can go to Alpha Centauri if we want to. This
thing of
piffling and monkeying around here's pulling my cork, and for the ten thousand
four
hundred and sixty seventh time I say LET'S PROWL, and PROWL NOW! In fact, I'm
getting so sick of sticking around doing nothing that I'm going out anyway, if
I have to go
alone in a lifeboat!"
     Impetuous and violent as Brandon had always been, never before had he
gone
to such lengths as to suggest a disruption of the partnership; and Westfall,
knowing that
Brandon in his most violent moments never threatened idly, thought long before
he
replied.
     "You will not go alone, of course. If you insist upon going without
further
preparation I will go too, no matter how foolish I think such a course to be.
We have
power, it is true, but in all other respects we are in no condition to meet an
opponent
having command of such resources as must certainly be possessed by those who
attacked the Arcturus. Our detectors are inefficient, our system of vision is
crude, to say
the least, and many other things are still in the experimental stage. We have
not the
slightest idea whom or what we may encounter. It is all too probable that we
would
simply be throwing away uselessly the lives of more good men. It is also
foolish from a
general viewpoint, for as you already know, we and our assistants happen to be
in
better position to study these things than is any one else at the present
time. However, I
will compromise with you. We can learn much in a month if you will really try,
instead of
wasting time in fuming around the ship and indulging in these idiotic
tantrums. If you will
buckle down and really study the problems confronting us for thirty days, we
will set out
at the end of that time, ready or not."
     "All x. I hate to do it, but we've been together too long to bust it up
now," and
Brandon turned toward his bench. Scarcely had he reached it when a series of
dots and
dashes roared from an amplifier. Both men leaped for the receiver which had so
unexpectedly burst into sound, reaching it just as it relapsed into silence,
and from the
tape of the recorder they read the brief message.
     ". . . h four seven ganymede point oh four seve . . ."
     "That's Steve!" yelled Brandon. "Nobody else could build an ultra-sender!
Direction ?"
     "No need of calculating distance or direction. Ganymede is the third
major
satellite of Jupiter."
     "Sure. Of course, Quince—never thought of that. Dope enough—point oh four
seven."
     As Stevens had told Nadia, the message was completely informing to those
for
whom it was intended, and soon Brandon's answer was flying toward that distant
satellite. He then started to call the offices of the Inter-Planetary
Corporation, but was
restrained by his conservative friend.
     "It would be better to wait a while, Norman. In a few hours we will know
what to
tell them."
     At high acceleration the Sirius drove toward the Jupiter-Earth-North
plane, and
Brandon calculated from his own bearings and from the current "Ephemeris" the
time at
which Stevens' reply should be received. Two minutes before that time he was
pacing
up and down in front of the ultra-receiver, and fifteen seconds after it he
snapped:
     "Come on, Perce, get busy! Shake a leg!"
     "Oh, come, Norman; give him a few minutes leeway, at least," said
Westfall, with
amused tolerance. "Even if your calculations are that accurate—which of course
they
are," he added hastily at a stormy glance from hot black eyes, "since we
received that
message direct, instead of through one of our relay stations, Stevens probably
has been
throwing it around for hours, or perhaps days, looking for us, and the shock
of hearing
from us at last might well have put him out of control for a minute or two."
     The carrier wave hissed into the receiver, forestalling Brandon's fiery
reply,
followed closely by the code signals they had been expecting. As soon as the
story had
been told, and while Brandon was absorbed in the scientific addenda of
Stevens,
Westfall thoughtfully called Newton.
     "Nadia is alive, free, safe, well, and happy," he shot out without
preliminary or
greeting, as soon as the now lined features of the director showed upon the
communicator screen, and the careworn countenance smoothed magically into the
keen
face of the fighting Newton of old as Westfall recounted rapidly the tale of
the
castaways.
     "They apparently have not suffered in any way," he concluded. "All that
Stevens
wants is some cigarettes, and your daughter's needs, while somewhat more
numerous
than his, seem to be only clothes, powder, perfume, and candy. Therefore we
need not
worry about them. The fate of the others is still unknown, but there seems to
be a slight
possibility that some of them may yet be rescued. You may release as much or
as little
of this story as may seem desirable. Stevens is still sending data of a highly
technical
nature. We shall arrive there at 21:32 next Tuesday."
     In due time the message from Ganymede ended and Brandon, with many pages
of his notebook crammed with figures and equations, snapped off the power of
the
receiver and turned to his bench. Gone was the storming, impetuous rebel; his
body
was ruled solely by the precise and insatiable brain of the research
scientist.
     "He's a honey, that kid Perce! When I see him I'm going to kiss him on
both
cheeks. He's got enough dope on 'em to hang 'em higher'n Franklin's kite, and
we'll nail
those jaspers to the cross or I'm a polyp! He's crazier'n a loon in most of
his hunches,
but he's filled four of our biggest gaps. There is such a thing as a ray-
screen, you kill-
joy, and there are also lifting or tractor rays—two things I've been trying to
dope out and
that you've been giving me the Bronx cheer on. The Titanians have had a
tractor ray for
ages—he sent me complete dope on it—and the Jovians 've got 'em both. We'll
have
'em in three days, and it ought to be fairly simple to dope out the opposite
of a tractor,
too—a pusher or pressor beam. Say, round up the gang, will you, while I'm
licking some
of this stuff into shape for you to tear apart? Where're Venus and Mars? Um .
..m...
m. Tell Alcantro and Fedanzo to come over here pronto—give 'em a special if
necessary. We'll pick up Dol Kenor and Pyraz Amonar on the way—no, get them to
Tellus, too. Then we'll get action quicker. Those four're all I want—get
anybody else you
want to come along."
     His hands playing over the keys of an enormous calculating machine,
Brandon
was instantly immersed in a profound mathematico-physical problem; deaf and
blind to
everything about him. Westfall, knowing well that far-reaching results would
follow
Brandon's characteristic attack, sat down at the controls of the communicator.
He first
called Mars, the home planet of Alcantro and Fedanzo, the foremost force-field
experts
of three planets; and was assured in no uncertain terms that those rulers of
rays were
ready and anxious to follow wherever Brandon and Westfall might lead. Thence
to
Venus, where Dol Kenor, the electrical wizard, and Pyraz Amonar, the master of
mechanism, also readily agreed to accompany the expedition. He then called the
General-in-Chief of the Inter-Planetary Police, requesting a detail of two
hundred picked
men for the hazardous venture. These most important calls out of the way, he
was busy
for over an hour giving long-distance instructions so that everything would be
in
readiness for the servicing of the immense space-cruiser the following Tuesday
night.
     Having guarded against everything his cautious and far-seeing mind could
envisage, he went over to Brandon's desk and sat down, smoking contemplatively
until
the idea had been roughed out in mathematical terms.
     "Here's the rough draft of the ray screen, Quince. We generate a blanket
frequency, impressed upon the ultra carrier wave. That's old stuff, of course.
Here's the
novelty, in equation 59. With two fields of force, set up from data 27 to 43,
it will be
possible actually to project a pure force of such a nature that it will react
to
deheterodyne the blanketing frequency at any predetermined distance. That, of
course,
sets up a barrier against any frequency of the blanketed band. Incidentally,
an extension
of the same idea will enable us to see anywhere we want to look—calculate a
retransmitting field."
     "One thing at a time, please. That screen may be possible, but those
fields will
never generate it. Look at datum 31, in which your assumptions are unsound. In
order
to make any solution at all possible you have assumed cosine squared theta
negligible.
Mathematically, it is of course vanishingly small compared to the first power
of the
cosine, but fields of that type must be exact, and your neglect of the square
is
indefensible. Since you cannot integrate with the squared term in place, your
whole
solution fails."
     "Not necessarily. We'll go back to 29, and put in sine squared theta
minus one
equal to z sub four. That gives us a coverse sine in 30, and then we integrate
. . ."
     Thus the argument raged, and all the assistants whose work was not too
pressing gathered around unobtrusively, for it was from just such fierce
discussions as
this that the ultra-radio and other epoch-making discoveries had come into
being. Yard
after yard of calculator paper was filled with equations and computations.
Weirdly
shaped curves were drawn, with arguments at every point—arguments hot and
violent
from Brandon, from Westfall cold and precise, backed by lightning calculations
and with
facts and diagrams culled from the many abstruse works of reference which by
this time
literally covered the bench and overflowed upon the floor.
     It was in this work that the strikingly different temperaments and
abilities of the
two scientists were revealed. Brandon never stood still, but walked around
jerkily,
chewing savagely the stem of an ancient and reeking pipe, gesticulating
vigorously, the
while his keen and agile mind was finding a way over, around, or through the
apparently
insuperable obstacles which beset their path; by means of mathematical and
physical
improvisations which no one not inspired by sheer genius could have evolved.
Westfall,
seated quietly at the calculator, mercilessly shredded Brandon's theories to
ribbons,
pointing out their many flaws with his cold, incisive reasoning and with rapid
calculations
of the many factors involved. Then Brandon would find a remedy for each
weakness in
turn and, when Westfall could no longer find a single flaw in the structure,
they would
toss the completed problem upon a table and attack the next one with unabated
zeal.
Brandon, in his light remark that the two made one real scientist, had far
understated
the case— those two brains, each so powerful and each so perfectly
complementing the
other, comprised the master-scientist who was to revolutionize science
completely in a
few short years.
     To such good purpose did they labor that the calculations were
practically
finished by the time they reached the Earth. There the ship was serviced with
a celerity
that spoke volumes for the importance of her mission—even the Aldebaran, the
dazzingly gold-plated queen of the fleet, waited unattended and disregarded on
plus
time while the entire force of the Inter-Planetary Corporation concentrated
upon the
battle-scarred old hulk of the Sirius. Brandon was surprised when he saw the
two
companies of police, but characteristically accepted without question the
wisdom of any
decision of his friend, and cordially greeted Inspector-General Crowninshield,
only a
year or so older than himself, but already in charge of a Division.
     "Keen-looking bunch, Crown. Lot of different outfits— volunteers for
special duty
from the whole Tellurian force ?"
     "Yes. Everybody wanted to go, and there threatened to be trouble over the
selection, so we picked the highest ratings from the whole Service. If there
ever was
such a thing as a picked force, we shall have it with us."
     "What d'you mean, 'us'? You ain't going, are you?"
     "Try to keep me from it! The names of all five of us I-G's were put in a
hat, and I
was lucky."
     "Well, you may come in handy at that," Brandon conceded. "And here's the
big
boss himself. Hi, Chief!"
     "Ho, Brandon! Ho, Westfall!" Newton, Chairman of the Board of Directors
of the
IPC, shook hands with the two scientists. "Your Martians and Venerians are in
Lounge
Fifteen. I suppose that you have a lot of things to thrash out, so you may as
well get at
it. Everything is being attended to—I'll take charge now."
     "You going along, too?" asked Brandon.
     "Going along too? I'm running this cruise!" Newton declared. "I may take
advice
from you on some things and from Crowninshield on others, but I am in charge—
so go
ahead with your own jobs!"
     "All x—it's a relief, at that," and Brandon and Westfall went to join
their fellow-
scientists in the designated room of the space-cruiser.
     What a contrast was there as the representatives of three worlds met! All
six men
were of the same original stock or of a similar evolution—science has not,
even yet,
decided the question definitely. Their minds were very much alike, but their
respective
environments had so variantly developed their bodily structures that to
outward seeming
they had but little in common.
     Through countless thousands of generations the Martians had become
acclimated to a planet having little air, less water, and characterized by
abrupt
transitions from searing heat to bitter cold, from blinding light to almost
impenetrable
darkness. Eight feet tall and correspondingly massive, they could barely stand
against
the gravitational force of the Earth, almost three times as great as that of
their native
planet, but the two Martian scientists struggled to their feet as the
Terrestrials entered.
     "As you were, fellows—lie down again and take it easy," Brandon suggested
in
the common Interplanetarian tongue. "We'll be away from here pretty quick,
then we'll
ease off."
     "We greet our friends standing as long as we can stand," and, towering a
full two
feet above Brandon's own six-feet-two, Alcantro and Fedanzo in turn engulfed
his
comparatively tiny hand in a thick-shelled paw and lifted briefly the inner
lids of
quadruply-shielded eyes. For the Martian skin is not like ours. It is of
incredible
thickness; dry, pliable, rubbery, and utterly without sensation: heavily lined
with fat and
filled throughout its volume with tiny air-cells which make it an almost
perfect non-
conductor of heat and which prevents absolutely the evaporation of the
precious
moisture of the body. For the same reasons their huge and cat-like eyes are
never
exposed, but look through sealed, clear windows of membrane, over which may be
drawn at will one or all of four pairs of lids—lids transparent, insensible,
non-freezeable,
air-spaced insulators. Even the air they exhale carries from their bodies a
minimum of
the all-important heat and moisture, for the passages of their nostrils do not
lead directly
to the lungs, as do ours. They are merely the intakes for a tortuous system of
tubes
comprising a veritable heat-exchanger, so that the air finally expelled is in
almost
perfect equilibrium with the incoming supply in temperature and in moisture
content. A
grayish tan in color, naked and hairless—though now, out of deference to
Terrestrial
conventions, wearing light robes of silk— indifferent alike to any extreme of
heat or cold,
light or darkness: such were the two forbidding beings who arose to greet
their
Terrestrial friends, then again reclined.
     "I suppose that you have been given to drink?" West-fall made sure that
they had
been tendered the highest hospitality of Mars.
     "We have drunk full deeply, thanks; and it was not really necessary, for
we drank
scarcely three weeks since."
     Brandon and Westfall turned then and greeted the two Venerians, as
different
from the Martians as they were from the Terrestrials. Of Earthly stature,
form, and
strength, yet each was encased in a space-suit stretched like a drumhead, and
would
live therein or in the special Venerian rooms of the vessel as long as the
journey should
endure. For the atmosphere of Venus is more than twice as dense as ours, is
practically
saturated with water-vapor, carries an extremely high concentration of carbon
dioxide,
and in their suits and rooms is held at a temperature of one hundred and ten
degrees
Fahrenheit, The lenses of their helmets were of heavy, yellowish-red
composition,
protecting their dead-white skins and red eyes from all actinic rays—for the
Venerian
lives upon the bottom of an everlasting sea of fog and his thin epidermis,
utterly without
pigmentation, burns and blisters as frightfully at the least exposure to
actinic light as
does ours at the touch of a red-hot iron.
     Out in space at last, cruising with the acceleration set at a point
bearable for the
Martians, Westfall called the meeting to order and outlined the situation
facing them.
Brandon then handed around folders of papers, upon which the Venerians turned
the
invisible infra-red beams of the illuminators upon their helmets, thus
flooding them with
the "light" to which their retinas were most responsive.
     "Here's the data," Brandon began. "Sheet I, the equations and
fundamentals of
our new cosmic-radiation drive, which renders us independent of power plants."
     "Theoretical or actual?" Pyraz Amonar asked. "We have known that you have
been studying the problem, but have heard nothing of its solution."
     "Actual," Brandon assured him. "We have been using it for a month, and
have
just about all the kinks ironed out. You four are the first, outside our own
crew, to hear of
it."
     "Congratulations!" Dol Kenor and the two Martians exclaimed as one, and
Kenor
went on: "An accomplishment indeed, to have concluded a research which has
baffled
the best minds for so long."
     "'Concluded' is good," Brandon replied. "They all helped—especially you
four. But
to go on, the rest of the sheets contain the material sent in by Stevens, and
various
deductions and other work based upon that material. Particular emphasis has
been
placed upon the forces employed by the Jovians, as we shall call them until we
find out
who or what they really are. We will discuss these forces later. For each such
force we
have already calculated a screen, and we have also calculated various other
forces of
our own, with which we hope to arm ourselves before we reach Ganymede. The
problems facing us are complex, since there are some nine thousand force-bands
of the
order in which we are working, each differing from all the others as much as
torque
differs from tension, or as much as red differs from green. Therefore we have
appealed
to you for help, knowing that we could do but little alone. Alcantro and
Fedanzo will
supervise the construction of the generators of the various fields from these
calculations. Dol Kenor will correlate power and electricity to and with the
fields. Westfall
and I will help work out the theoretical difficulties as they arise. Pyraz
Amonar, who can
devise and build a machine to perform any conceivable mechanical task, will
help us all
in the many mechanical difficulties we shall certainly encounter. Discussion
of any point
is now in order."
     Step by step and equation after equation the calculations and plans were
gone
over, until every detail was clear in each mind. Then the men bent to their
tasks; behind
them not only the extraordinarily complete facilities of that gigantic
workshop which was
the Sirius, but also the full power of the detachment of police—the very cream
of the
young manhood of the planet. Week after toilsome week the unremitting labor
went on,
and little by little the massive cruiser of the void became endowed with an
offensive and
defensive armament incredible. An armament conceived in the fertile and daring
brain
of a sheer genius, guided only by the knowledge that such things were already
in
existence somewhere; reduced to working theory by a precise, mathematical
logician;
translated into fields of force by the greatest known experts; powered by the
indefatigable efforts of an electrical wizard; made possible by the artful
mechanical
devices of the greatest inventor that three worlds had ever known! Thus it was
that they
approached Ganymede ready, with blanketing screens full out save for one
narrow
working band, and with a keen-eyed observer at every plate. When even the
hyper-
critical Westfall was convinced that their preparations were as complete as
they could
be made with the information at hand, Brandon directed a beam upon the distant
satellite and tapped off a brief message:
     "stevens ganymede will arrive in about ten hours direct carrier beam
toward sun
we can detect it and will follow it to wherever you are sirius."
     "ipv sirius," came the reply, "everything here all x glad to see you
thanks newton
and stevens."
     Brandon, at the controls, scanning his screens narrowly, dropped the
vessel
down to within a mile or two of the point of origin of Stevens' carrier beam
without
incident; then spoke to Westfall, at his side, with a grin.
     "Nice layout the kid's got down there, Quince. 'S too bad—don't look like
we're
going to get any action for our money a-tall. 'Sa damn shame, too—what's the
use of
wasting it, now that we've got it all made?"
     "We are not done yet," cautioned Westfall, and even as he spoke an alarm
bell
burst into strident clamor—one of their far-flung detector screens was telling
the world
that it had encountered a dangerous frequency. The new ultralights flared
instantly
along the line automatically laid down by the detector, and upon the closely-
ruled
micrometer screen of Brandon's desk there glowed in natural color the image of
a
globular space-ship, approaching them with terrific speed.
     "Men all stationed, of course, Crown?"
     "Stationed and ready." Crowninshield, phones at his ears and microphone
at his
lips, was staring intently into his own plate.
     "Kinda think I'll do most of it from here, but you can't always tell. If
they get inside
my guard you all know what to do."
     "All x."
     Expecting another such hollow victory as the other hexan vessel had won
over
the defenseless Arcturus the small stranger flashed nearer and nearer that
huge and
featureless football. Within range, she launched her flaming plane of energy,
but this
time that Jovian sheet of force did not encounter unprotected and non-
resisting steel.
Upon the outer ray-screen, flaming white into incandescent defense, the
furious bolt
spent itself, and in the instant of the launching of that searing blade of
flame Brandon
had gone into action. Switch after switch drove home, and one after another
those
frightful fields of force, those products of the mightiest minds of three
planets, were
hurled out against the tiny Jovian sphere. Driven as they were by the millions
upon
millions of horse-power stored in the accumulators of the Sirius they formed a
coruscating spherical shell of intolerable energy all around the enemy vessel;
but even
their prodigious force was held at bay by the powerful defensive screens of
the smaller
space-ship. But attack the Jovian could not, every resource at her command
being
necessary to fend off the terrific counter-attack of her intended prey, and
she turned in
flight. Small and agile as she was, the enormous mass of the Sirius precluded
any
possibility of maneuvering with the Jovian, but Brandon had no intention of
maneuvering. Rapid as the motions of the stranger were and frantic as was her
dodging, the terrific forces of the tractor beams of the Inter-Planetary
vessel held her in
an unbreakable grip, and although she dragged the massive Sirius hither and
thither,
she could not escape.
     "Hm . . .m . . . m," mused Brandon. "We seem to be getting nowhere fast.
How
much power we using, Mac, and how much've we got coming in?"
     "Output, eighty five thousand kilofranks," replied Mac-Donald, the first
assistant.
"Intake forty nine thousand."
     "Not so good—can't hold out forever at that rate. Shove out the receptor
screens
to the limit and drive 'em. They figure a top of sixty thousand, but we ought
to pick up a
little extra from that blaze out there. Drive 'em wide open or up to sixty
five, whichever
comes first. Can't seem to crush his screens, so guess we'll have to try
something else,"
and a thoughtful expression came over his face as he slowly extended his hand
toward
another switch, with a questioning glance at Westfall.
     "Better not do that yet, Norman. Use that only as a last resort, after
everything
else has failed."
     "Yeah—I'm scared to death of trying it, and it ain't necessary yet. He
must have
an open slit somewhere to work through, same as we've got. I'll feel around
for it a
while."
     "Is there any way of heterodyning the new visiray upon the exploring
frequency?"
     "Hm . . . m . . . Never thought of that—it'd be nice, too . . . Can do, I
think. Watch
'em, Quince, and yell if they start anything."
     He abandoned his desk and established the necessary connections between
the
visiray apparatus and the controls of his board. There was a fierce violet-
white glare
from the plate as he closed the switch, and he leaped back with his hands over
his
eyes, temporarily blinded.
     "Wow, that's hot stuff!" he exclaimed. "It works, all x, to the queen's
taste," as he
donned his heavy ray-goggles and resumed his place.
     After making certain that the visiray was precisely synchronized and
phased with
the searching frequency, he built up the power of that beam until it was using
twenty
thousand kilofranks. Then, by delicately manipulating the variable condensers
and
inductances of, his sensitive shunting relay circuits, he slowly shifted that
frightful rod of
energy from frequency to frequency, staring into the brilliant blank-ness of
his
micrometer screen as he did so. After a few minutes of search the screen
darkened
somewhat, revealing the image of the Jovian globe. Brandon instantly shifted
into that
one channel the entire power of his attack; steadying the controls to bring
the sphere of
the Jovians into the sharpest possible focus, knowing that he had found the
open slit
and that through it there was pouring upon the enemy the full power of his
terrible
weapon.
     In the fraction of a. second before the Jovians could detect the attack
and close
the slit he saw a portion of the wall of their vessel flare into white heat
and literally
explode outward in puffs and gouts of flaming, molten metal and of
incandescent gases.
But the thrust, savage as it was, had not been fatal and the enemy countered
instantly.
Now that the crushing force of the full-coverage attack was lessened for a
moment,
through another slit there poured a beam of energy equal to the Terrestrials'
own—a
beam of such intense power that the outer screen of the Sinus flared from red
through
the spectrum, to and beyond the violet and went black in less than a second,
and the
inner screen had almost gone down before Brandon's lightning hands could
restore the
complete coverage that so effectively blanketed the forces of the enemy.
     "Well, we're back to the status quo," announced Brandon, calmly. " 'Sa
good gag
they didn't have time to locate our working slit—if they'd pushed that stuff
through our
open channel we'd've got frizzled a bit. As it was we got the edge on that
exchange—take it from your Uncle Dudley, Quince, that bird knows that he's
been
nudged!"
     Again he searched the entire band for an opening, but could find none.
The
enemy had apparently retired into a tightly-closed shell of energy. The small
vessel no
longer struggled, nor even moved, but was merely resisting passively.
     "Not an open channel, not even one for him to work through—he can't
wiggle.
Well, that won't get him anything. We're so much bigger than he is that we can
outlast
him and will get him sometime, since he's bound to run out of power before we
do. I
don't believe that he can receive anything, sealed up as he is, and he can't
have
accumulators enough more efficient than ours to make up the difference, can
he,
Quince?"
     "It is quite possible. For instance, it was known long ago that the
synthesis of any
unstable isotope of very high atomic number gives an almost perfect
accumulator."
     "Boloney!" Brandon snorted. "And the required shielding weighs so much
that the
full power of the perfect accumulator can't lift it off the ground."
     "We could postulate, I think, a form of intelligent life which would not
require as
much shielding as we do."
     "Yeah?" The big physicist almost sneered. "You can postulate that the
second
satellite of the fourth planet of Aldebaran is made of green cheese, too, but
you'd have a
hell of a time proving it. Moreover, you can't postulate an unshielded
radiation from an
unstable isotope that our gadgets here wouldn't tell us about, nor any kind of
a force
screen that can stop neutrons. Or can you?"
     "Not off-hand. However, you are the very last man to deny the possibility
of
either. But to return to the subject in hand: whatever the power system of the
Jovians
may be, what can we do about it?"
     "Don't know yet." Brandon's passion evaporated in an instant. "I do know,
though, that we ain't half as ready for trouble as I thought we were. There's
a dozen
things I want to do that I can't because we ain't got the stuff. Don't say 'I
told you so',
either—I know you did! You're the champion ground-and-lofty thinker of the
century.
Alcantro!"
     "Here!"
     "Round up the gang, will you, and figure me out a screen and a set of
meters that
will indicate an open band ? We lose too much time feeling around, the way it
is, and
we're too apt to take one on the chin while we're doing it. Ought to make it
so it'll shoot a
jolt into the opening, too, while you're at it."
     "We shall begin at once," and the massive Martian stepped over to the
calculating machine.
     "Well, Quince, we can't do much to him this way—he's crawled into a hole
and
pulled the hole in after him. Damnation, I wish we had more stuff!"
     "After all, we have everything whose necessity and practicability could
have been
foreseen in the light of the information we had at hand. We can, of course,
now go
further."
     "You chirped it! But we can't let things go on this way or we'll get our
fingers
burned. About time to try the grand slam, don't you think?"
     "I am afraid so."
     "Put everything on the center of the band?"
     "That would probably be best."
     "He can't control, so we'll push him down close to the ground before we
go to
work on him—so we won't have so far to fall if anything gives way. Here's
hoping
nothing does!"
     The Sirius almost against the flaming screens of the Jovian and both
vessels
very close to the surface of the satellite, Brandon tested the power leads
briefly,
adjusted dials and coils, then touched the button which actuated the relays —
relays
which in turn drove home the gigantic switches that launched a fearsome and as
yet
untried weapon. Instantly released, the full seven hundred thousand kilo-
franks of their
stupendous batteries of accumulators drove into the middle frequency of the
attacking
band, and Brandon's heart was in his mouth as he stared into the plate to see
what
would happen. He saw! Everything in the Sirius held fast. Under the impact of
the
inconceivable plane of force the screens of the enemy vessel flared instantly
into an
even more intense incandescence and in that same fleeting instant went down.
All
defenses vanished as the metal sphere fell apart into two halves as would an
apple
under the full blow of a broad-axe.
     Brandon quickly shut off his power and stared in relief into the central
compartment of the globular ship of space, now laid open, and saw there
figures, one or
two of which were moving weakly. As he looked, one of these feebly attempted
to raise
a peculiar, tubular something toward a helplessly-fettered body. Even as
Brandon
snatched away the threatening weapon with a beam of force he recognized the
captive.
     "Great Cat, there's Breckenridge!" he gasped, and directed a lifting beam
upon
the bound and unconscious prisoner. Rapidly but carefully he was brought
through the
double airlock and into the control room, where his shackles were cut away and
where
he soon revived under vigorous and skillful treatment.
     "Any more of you in there ? Did I hit any of you with that beam ?"
demanded
Brandon, intensely, as soon as Breckenridge showed signs of understanding.
     "King's in there somewhere, and there's a Callistonian human being that
you
musn't kill," the chief pilot replied, weakly and with great effort in every
word. "Don't
believe that you hit anybody direct, but the shock was pretty bad," and,
having delivered
his message, he lay back, exhausted.
     "All x. Crown, gimme a squad . . ."
     "Not on your life!" barked the general. "This is my job and I'll do it
myself. Your
job is fighting the Sirius— stay with it!"
     "Not in seven thousand years—I'm in on this, too," Brandon protested, but
was
decisively overruled by Newton.
     "You belong right here at this board, since no one else can handle it the
way you
can. Stay here!" he commanded.
     "All x," grudgingly assented the physicist, and held the Sirius upright,
with her
needle-sharp stern buried a few feet deep in the ground.
     He watched the wreckage jealously while Crowninshield and forty armored
men
issued from the service door in the lower ultra-light compartment and advanced
upon
the two halves of the enemy vessel. As no hostile demonstrations ensued,
scaling
ladders were quickly placed and with weapons at the alert the police boarded
the
hemisphere. There they manacled the still helpless beings visible, and, after
laying
down a fog of stupefying gas, vanished into compartments beyond the metal
partitions.
After a short time they reappeared and climbed down the scaling ladders,
carrying
several inert forms, and Brandon spoke into his transmitter.
     "King all x, Crowninshield ?"
     "I think so. Not being in the control room he was not as badly shocked by
the
passage of the beam as were Breckenridge and those you saw. The things in the
other
rooms were about ready to fight, so we gave them a little whiff of tritylamin,
but Captain
King will be as good as ever in a few minutes."
     "Fine business!" The police entered the Sirius, the service doors clanged
shut,
and Brandon turned to Westfall.
     "While they're coming up guess I'll pick up Perce and Miss Newton. We'd
better
get 'em aboard and beat it, while we're all in one piece!"
     But even before he could send out the exploring beam of his communicator
the
voice of Stevens came from the receiver.
     "Hi, Brandon and Westfall! We've watched the whole show. Congratulations,
fellows! Welcome to Ganymede! You are in our valley—we're upstream from you
about
three hundred meters; just below the falls, on the meadow side."
     "All x," Brandon acknowledged. "We saw you. Come on out where we can pick
you up. We've got to get away from here—fast!"
     "We'll carry off the pieces of that ship, too, Quince— we may be able to
get a lot
of pointers from it," and Brandon swung mighty tractor beams upon the severed
halves
of the Jovian vessel, then extended a couple of smaller rays to meet the two
little figures
racing across the smooth green meadow toward the Sirius._CHAPTER 10
Among Friends at Last

The time for the landing of the Sirius was drawing near, and the castaways
upon
Ganymede had donned their only suits of Earthly clothing, instead of the
makeshifts of
moleskin, canvas, and leather they had been wearing so long. Thorns and
underbrush
had pierced and torn their once natty outing costumes, and sparks and flying
drops of
molten metal from Stevens' first crude forges had burned in them many gaping
holes.
     "I did the best I could with them, Steve, but they look pretty crumby,"
Nadia
wrinkled her nose as she studied the anything but invisible seams, darns, and
staring
patches everywhere so evident, both in her own apparel of gray silk and in the
heavy
whipcord clothing of her companion.
     "You did a great job, considering what you had to work with," he
reassured her.
"Besides, who cares about a few patches ? I feel a lot more civilized in my
own clothes,
don't you?"
     "Well . . . yes," she admitted. "They're silk, anyway, even if they don't
look like
much, and I'm just reveling in the feel of them next to me after the horrible,
rough,
scratchy things I've been wearing. See anything yet ?"
     "Not yet." Stevens had been scanning the heavens with a pair of
binoculars.
"That doesn't mean much, though, as they'll be just about in the sun and
they'll be
coming like a scared dog. Might as well put away these glasses—we probably
won't be
able to see them until they're right on top of us."
     "What shall we take with us ?"
     "Don't know—nothing, probably, since they must have a campaign already
mapped out. I'd like to salvage a lot of this junk, but I'm afraid we won't be
able to. I'm
going to take my bow and arrows, though, aren't you?"
     "Absolutely! That's one thing that's better than anything I ever had on
Earth. This
bow of mine is perfect."
     "There they are! Three rousing cheers! Say, but that old hulk looks good
to me!"
     "Doesn't she, though!" cried Nadia, vibrant with excitement. "You know,
Steve,
I've hardly dared really to believe it until this very minute. Oh look! What's
that?"
     The Sirius had stopped in midair and they could see, far in the distance,
the tiny
sphere of the Jovians, rushing to the attack.
     "Oh, how horrible!" cried the girl, her voice breaking. "I'm afraid,
Steve . . ."
     "You needn't be, ace. I've told you they won't go off half-cocked as long
as
Westfall is on the job. They're ready for anything, or they wouldn't be here—
but I wish
that they had that Titanian mirror and a couple of those bombs, just the
same!"
     In a moment more the Jovian plane of force was launched, the powerful
ray-
screens flared into white-hot, sparkling defense, and the battle was on. Held
spellbound
as the castaways were by that spectacular duel, yet Stevens' trained mind
warned him
of the perils of their position.
     "Grab your bow and we'll beat it!" and he rapidly led her away from the
steel
structures to an open hillside, well away from any projection, tree, or sharp
point of rock.
"If that keeps up very long we're going to see some real fireworks, and the
chances are
that our plant here will be a total loss. Everything is grounded, of course,
but ordinary
grounds won't amount to much in what's coming."
     "What are you talking about?" demanded Nadia.
     "Look!" he replied, pointing, and as he spoke a terrific bolt of
lightning launched
itself from the incandescent screen of the Jovian vessel upon their slender
ultra-radio
tower, which subsided instantly into a confused mass of molten and twisted
metal.
     As the power of the beams was increased and as the combatants drew nearer
and nearer the ground the lightning display grew ever more violent. Well below
the
canyon as the warring vessels were, the power-plant and penstock did not
suffer and
only a few discharges struck the Forlorn Hope —discharges which were carried
easily
to ground by the enormous thickness of her armor — but every prominent object
for
hundreds of yards below the Hope was literally blasted out of existence. Radio
tower,
directors, and fittings ; trees, shrubs, sharp points of rock—all were struck
again and
again; fused, destroyed, utterly obliterated by the inconceivable energy being
dissipated
by those impregnable screens of force. Even almost flat upon the ground as the
spectators were, each individual hair upon their heads strove fiercely to
stand erect, so
heavily charged was the very air. Stevens' arm was blue for days, such was
Nadia's grip
upon it, and she herself could scarcely breathe in that mighty arm's
constriction—but
each was conscious only of that incredibly violent struggle, of that duel to
the death
being waged there before their eyes with those frightful weapons, hitherto
unknown to
man. They saw the Sirius triumphant, and Stevens led the dancing girl back
into their
dwelling of steel.
     "Danger's all over now. Radio's gone, but we should fret about that. It
has done
its stuff—we can use the communicators. And now, sweetheart, I'm going to kiss
you—
for the first time in seven lifetimes." His voice was unsteady as he swept
both arms
around her and pressed her close. "I'm shaking like a leaf. It was the only
possible way
out, of course, but good Lord, how hard it has been not even to touch your
hand for the
last six months!"
     "I know, lover mine." Nadia clung to him and returned his caresses with a
fierce
intensity. "It's been just as hard for me, but we couldn't have stood it at
all any other
way— thank Heaven we won't have to fight ourselves much longer!"
     Locked in each others' arms they watched the scene until Stevens thought
it time
to send his message. Then, running hand in hand toward the huge space-cruiser,
they
were snatched apart and drawn up toward the double airlocks of the main
entrance.
Pressure gradually brought up to normal, they were ushered into the control
room,
where Nadia glanced around quickly and almost took her father off his feet by
her
tempestuous rush into his arms.
     "Oh, Daddy darling—you old dear! I just knew you'd come along! I haven't
seen
you for a million years!" she exclaimed, rapturously. "And Bill, too—
wonderful!" as she
fervently embraced a young man wearing the uniform of a lieutenant of Inter-
Planetary
Police. "Ouch, Bill—you're breaking all my ribs!"
     "Well, you cracked three of mine. Maybe you don't know how husky you are,
but
you've got a squeeze like a boa constrictor!" He held her off at arms' length
and studied
her with admiration. "Gee, it's fine to see you again, sis. You're looking
great, too—I
think I'll bring my girl out here to live. You always were a knockout, but now
you're the
dizziest thing I ever saw!"
     He made his way through the group surrounding Stevens, while Nadia and
her
father talked earnestly.
     "I'm Bill Newton. Thanks," he said, simply, holding out his hand, which
was taken
in a bone-crushing grip.
     "Bring him over here, Bill!" Nadia called before Stevens could find a
reply.
     "I don't know how to say anything, Stevens," the officer continued, in
embarrassment, as the two men turned to obey the summons. "She's a good kid,
and
we think a lot of her. We'd about given her up. We . . . She . . . Oh, hell,
what's the use?
You know what I mean. You're there, Stevens, like a . . ."
     "Clam it, ace!" Stevens interrupted. "I get you to nineteen decimals. And
you
don't half know just what a good kid she really is. She's the reason we're
here—we were
down pretty close to bed-rock for a while, and she stood up when I wilted.
She's got
everything. She . . ."
     "Clam it yourself, Steve! Don't believe a word of it, Dad and Bill.
Wilt!" Nadia's
voice dripped scorn. "Why, he di . . ."
     "Please!" Newton's voice was somewhat husky as he silenced the clamor of
the
three young people, all talking at once. "I will not embarrass you further by
trying to say
something that no words can express. You told me that you would take care of
her, and
I learn that you have done so."
     "I did what I could, but most of the credit belongs to her, no matter
what she
says," Stevens insisted. "Anyway, sir, here she is; alive, well, and . . .
unharmed," and
his eyes bore unflinchingly the piercing gaze of the older man, who was
reassured and
pleased by what he read therein. "One thing I want to say right now, though,
that may
make you feel like canceling the welcome. I loved Nadia even before the
Arcturus was
attacked, and since then, coming to know her as I have, the feeling hasn't
lessened
any."
    "Nadia has already told me all about you two, and the welcome stands. If
you
could take care of her as well as you have done since you left the Arcturus, I
have no
doubt of your ability to take care of her for life. We have been examining the
work you
have done here, son, and the more I saw of it the more amazed I became that
you
could have succeeded as you did. We are deeply indebted . . . Just a minute!
There's
my call—I'm wanted in Fifteen. I'll see you again directly."
     "Hi, Norm!" Stevens further relieved the surcharged atmosphere. "As soon
as
you and Quince can leave those controls come over and see us, will you?"
     "All x—coming up!" sounded Brandon's deep and pleasant bass, and the two
rescuers, who had tactfully avoided the family reunion, came over and greeted
the third
of their triumvirate.
     "Ho, Perce—you look fit." Brandon ran an expert hand over Stevens' arm
and
shoulder. "Looks like he might last a round or two, don't he, Quince ?"
     "You are looking fine, Steve. Neither of you appear any the worse for
your
experiences. So this is Nadia ? We have heard of you, Miss Stevens."
     "I believe that, knowing Dad. Thanks, both of you, for digging us out.
I've heard
about you two, too, and I'm going to kiss you, whether you like it or not,"
and she did so,
fervently.
     Westfall, the silent and reserved, was taken aback, but Brandon met her
more
than half-way.
     "All x, Nadia—payment in full received and hereby acknowledged," he
laughed,
as he allowed her feet to return to the floor. "Even if it was some stout lads
from Mars
and Venus that did all the work we'll take the reward— especially since
Alcantro and
Fedanzo couldn't feel even such a high-voltage salute as that one was, and I
can't
picture you kissing a Venerian even if you could get to him. Whenever you get
lost
again be sure to let us know, now that you've got our address. If I know Perce
at all,
you've heard of us 'til you're sick of it and us—'sa weakness of his, talking
too much."
     "Why, it's no such th . . ." began Nadia, but broke off as an aide came
up and
saluted smartly.
     "Pardon me, but General Crowninshield requests that Doctor Brandon,
Doctor
Westfall, and Doctor Stevens join the council in Lounge Fifteen as soon as is
convenient." He saluted again and turned away.
     "Yeah, 'sright, folks—we've got to take a lot of steps, fast—see you
later," and
Brandon, taking each of the other two by an arm, marched them away toward the
designated assembly room.
    There, already seated at a long table, were Czuv, King, and Breckenridge>
all
fully recovered, engaged in earnest conversation with Newton and
Crowninshield.
Alcantro and Fedanzo, the Martian scientists, were listening intently, as were
the two
Venerians, Dol Kenor and Pyraz Amonar. The eyes of the three newcomers,
however,
did not linger upon the group at the table, but were irresistibly drawn to one
corner of
the room, where six creatures lay in the heaviest manacles afforded by the
stores of the
Inter-Planetary Police. Not only were they manacled, but each was facing a
ray-
projector, held by a soldier whose expression showed plainly that he would
rather press
the lethal contact than not.
     "Oh!—those the things we're fighting ?" Brandon stopped at the threshold
and
stared intently at the captive hexans. Goggling green eyes glaring venemously,
they
were lying quiet, but tense; mighty muscles ready to burst into berserk
activity should
the attention of a guard waver for a single instant.
     But little more than half as large as the savage creatures with whom
Stevens had
fought in the mountain glade upon Ganymede, the hexans resembled those
aborigines
only as civilized men might resemble gigantic primordial savages of our own
Earth.
Brandon's gaze went from short, powerful legs up a round, red body to the
enormous,
freakish double pair of shoulders, with its peculiar universal jointing. From
the double
shoulders sprang four limbs, the front pair of which were undoubtedly arms,
terminating
in large, but fairly normal, hands. The intermediate limbs were longer than
the legs and
were much more powerful than the arms, and ended in members that were very
evidently feet and hands combined. What in a human being would be the back of
the
hand was the sole of the foot—when walking upon that foot the long and
dexterous
thumb and fingers were curled up, out of the way and protected from injury, in
the palm
of the hand. From the monstrous shoulders there rose a rather long and very
flexible,
yet massive and columnar neck, supporting a head neither human nor bestial—a
head
utterly unknown to Terrestrial history or experience. The massive cranium
bespoke a
highly-developed and intelligent brain, as did the three large and expressive,
peculiarly
triangular eyes. The three sensitive ears were very long, erect, and sharply
pointed.
Each was set immediately above an eye, one upon each side of the head and one
in
front. Each ear was independently and instantly movable, in any direction, to
catch the
faintest sound. The head, like the body and limbs, was entirely devoid of
hair. The
horns, so prominent in the savages Stevens had seen, were in this highly
intelligent
race but vestigial—three small, sharp, black protuberances only an inch in
length, one
surmounting each ear, outlining the lofty forehead. The nose occupied almost
the whole
middle of the face and was not really a nose—it developed into a small and
active
proboscis. The chin was receding almost to the point of disappearance, so that
the
mouth, with its multiple rows of small, sharp, gleaming-white teeth, was
almost hidden
under the face instead of being a part of it. Such were the hexans, at whom
the Big
Three stared in undisguised amazement.
     "Attention, please!" Newton called the meeting to order. "We have learned
that all
the passengers of the Arcturus, and all the crew save three, are alive and
safe for the
time being. Most of them are upon the satellite Europa. However, I understand
that we
are not yet sufficiently well armed to withstand an attack in force, such as
will certainly
develop when we move to rescue them. This seems to be a war of applied
physics—Doctor Brandon, as spokesman for the scientific forces of the
expedition, what
are your suggestions?"
     "Anticipating an attack in response to signals probably sent out by the
enemy, I
headed directly south immediately. We are now well south of the ecliptic, and
are
traveling at considerably more than full Martian acceleration. Before making
any
suggestions, I should like to hear from Captain Czuv, who is more familiar
than are we
with the common enemy. Are they apt to follow us, can they detect us if we
should drift
at constant velocity, and can we search the brains of the prisoners with his
Callistonian
thought-exchanger, if he should build one with our help ?"
     "If they are close enough to us to overtake us without too much lost time
they will
certainly attack us," Czuv answered at a nod from Newton. "Ordinarily they
would
pursue us to the limits of the Solar System if necessary, but since they have
suffered
reverses of late and cannot spare any vessels they will probably not pursue us
far. Yes,
they can detect us, even without the driving rays, since this vessel uses much
low-
tension, low-frequency electricity in its automatic machinery, lights and so
on. No; our
thought-transformer cannot take thoughts by force, and the hexans will
exchange no
ideas with us. They are implacable and deadly foes of all humanity,
irrespective of
planet or race. Mercy is to them unknown—they neither give nor take quarter."
     "I can bear him out in that," Crowninshield interposed grimly. "The first
one to
recover snapped our ordinary handcuffs like so much thread and literally tore
four men
to pieces before the rest of us could ray him. Will you need me longer,
Director
Newton?"
     "I think not, General. Captain Czuv, you have made no headway with them?"
     "None whatever, as I foretold. They understand me thoroughly, since two
of them
speak my own tongue, but nothing that they have said can even be repeated
here. I
knew from the first that all such attempts would be fruitless, but I have
tried—and failed.
I suggest what I suggested at first—put them to death, here and now as they
lie there,
for most assuredly they will in some way contrive to take toll of lives of
your own
humanity if you allow them to live."
     "You may be right, but neither the General nor myself can give the order
for their
death, since Inter-Planetary law does not countenance such summary action.
However,
the guards are fully warned of the peril, and will ray every prisoner at the
first sign of
unruliness. General Crowninshield, you may remove the prisoners and deal with
them in
accordance with . . ."
     Pandemonium reigned. At Crowninshield's signal for the guards to leave
the
room with their captives, all six had strained furiously at their bonds and
three of them
had broken free in a flash, throwing themselves upon the guards with
unthinkable
ferocity. Stevens, seeing a ray-projector in a hand of one of the prisoners,
hurled his
heavy chair instantly and with terrific force. The projector flew into the
air, shattered and
useless, while the hexan was knocked into a corner by the momentum of the
massive
projectile and lay there, stunned and broken. Brandon, likewise reacting
instantaneously, had bent over and seized a leg of the table, bracing his knee
against
the corner. With a mighty lunge of his powerful body he wrenched out the
support and
with a continuation of the same motion he brought the jagged oak head of his
terrible
club down full upon the crown of the second hexan, who had already torn one
guard
apart and was leaping toward Czuv, his hereditary foe. In mid-flight he was
dashed to
the floor, his head a shapeless, pulpy mass, and Brandon, bludgeon again
aloft, strode
deeper into the fray. For a brief moment searing lethal beams probed here and
there,
chains clanked and snapped, once more that ponderous and irresistible oaken
mace fell
like the hammer of Thor, again spattering brains and blood abroad as it
descended —
then again came silence. The six erstwhile prisoners lay dead, but they had
taken five of
the guards with them—literally dismembered, hideously torn limb from limb by
the
superhuman, incredible physical strength and utter ferocity of the hexans.
     By common consent the meeting was adjourned to another room, for the
business in hand could not be postponed.
     "Captain Czuv was right—we Tellurians could not believe in the existence
of
such a race without the evidence of our own senses," Newton re-opened the
meeting.
"From this time on we take no prisoners. Doctor Brandon, you may resume."
     "The detectors and lookouts will give ample warning of any attack, and
Doctor
Westfall has suggested that we should have all possible facts at hand before
we try to
decide upon a course of action. We should like to hear the full reports of
Captain King,
Captain Czuv, Chief Pilot Breckenridge, and Doctor Stevens."
     The four men told their stories tersely and rapidly, while the others
listened in
deep attention. As the last speaker sat down Newton again turned to Brandon,
who
silently jerked his head at Westfall, knowing his own inadequacy in such a
situation—realizing that here was needed Westfall!s cold and methodical
thinking.
     "Director Newton and gentlemen," Westfall spoke calmly and precisely. "We
have
much to do before we will be able to meet the hexans upon equal terms. We have
many
new fields of force and rays to develop, of whose nature and necessity Doctor
Brandon
is already aware. Then, too, we must recalculate our visirays so that we can
operate at
greater range and efficiency. We must also examine the hexan space-ship which
we are
towing, to do which it will be desirable to drift at constant velocity for a
time. In it we may
find instruments or devices as yet unknown to us. It also occurs to me that
since this is
an Inter-Planetary Police problem of the first magnitude we should at once get
in touch
with Police Headquarters, so that the Peace Fleet can be armed as we ourselves
are, or
shall be, armed; for a large and highly efficient fleet will be necessary to
do that which
must be done. It is, of course, a foregone conclusion that Inter-Planetary
humanity .will
support the humanity of Callisto against the hexans.
     "It is also self-evident that we must stay here and rescue the Tellurians
now upon
Europa and Callisto, but we are not yet in position to decide just how that
rescue is to
be accomplished. Four courses are apparently open to us. First, to attempt it
as soon as
we shall have strengthened our armament as much as is now possible. That would
invite a massed attack, and in my opinion would be foolish— probably suicidal.
Second,
to stand by at a distance until the rocket-ship is launched, then to escort it
back to the
Earth. Third, to aid the Callistonians as much as possible while awaiting the
completion
of the rocket-vessel. Fourth, and perhaps the most feasible and quickest, it
may be
possible for the Callistonian rocket-ships to bring our fellow-Tellurians, a
few at a time,
to us here out in space, since they are apparently able to come and go at
will. However,
I would recommend that we make no plans for the rescue as yet—there is little
use in
attempting to deal with an ever-changing situation until we are ready to act
forthwith. I
suggest that we strengthen our offensive and defensive armament first, then
secure
information as to the exact status of affairs, both upon Callisto and upon
Europa. Then,
ready to act, we will do at once whatever seems called for by the situation
then
obtaining."
     "The program as outlined seems eminently sensible— are there any comments
or suggestions ?" None being offered, Director Newton adjourned the meeting
and each
man attacked his particular problem.
     True to Czuv's prediction the hexans did not deem it worth while to
pursue the
Terrestrial vessel, so obviously and so earnestly fleeing from them, and
shortly the
acceleration was cut off, to render possible a thorough study of the two
halves of the
spherical warship of the enemy. Scientists donned space-suits and studied
every
feature of the strange vessel, while mechanics dismantled and transferred to
the Sinus
every device and instrument of interest. One or two novel and useful
applications of
rays and forces were found, their visirays and communicators in particular
being of a
high degree of efficiency; but upon the whole the science of the hexans was
found to be
inferior to that now known to the scientists of Inter-Planetary's flying
laboratory. Brandon
studied the hexan power-system most carefully, and, everything in readiness
and after a
long talk with Westfall, he called a general conference in the control-room.
     "Gentlemen, we have done about everything we can do for the time being.
By
combining the best features of the visirays and communicators of the hexans
with our
own newly-perfected devices we now have a really excellent system of
communication.
Our friends from Mars and Venus have so altered and enlarged our force-
controls that
our offensive and defensive fields, rays, and screens leave little to be
desired. In power
we are far ahead of the enemy. They apparently know nothing of the
possibilities of
cosmic radiation, but depend upon tight-beam transmission from their own
power-
plants—which transmission they have perfected to a point far beyond anything
reached
by us of the three planets. They do not use accumulators, and therefore their
dissipation
is limited to their maximum reception, which is about seventy thousand
kilofranks. Since
we can dissipate ten times that amount of energy we could withstand for a
short time
the simultaneous attacks of ten of their vessels. Eleven or more of them,
however,
would be able to crush our defensive screens—and Captain Czuv has seen as many
as
a hundred of their space-ships in one formation. Furthermore, since they have
several
times our maximum acceleration they could concentrate quickly upon any desired
point.
We could not escape them by flight if they really set out to overtake us,
which they
certainly will do if we again venture into their territory. Therefore it is
clear that we
cannot subject ourselves to any attack in force and it follows that we cannot
do much of
anything until the police fleet of some five hundred vessels can be re-armed
and can
join us near Callisto. This will require several months at best. As you
already know, it
has been decided that we should not return to any of the minor planets, as to
do so
might invite a hexan attack upon our as yet unprepared police fleet. We are
now
heading for Uranus, in the hope that such a course will distract the attention
of the
hexans from Tellus, even though they probably already know that we are
Tellurians.
Our new communicator will reach any member of the Jovian system from this
point. It
has been decided that it is safe to use it, since it employs an almost
absolutely tight
beam of very small diameter, and since we know that that one hexan vessel, at
least,
had no apparatus sufficiently sensitive to detect a beam of that nature. We
will therefore
now get in touch with the Callistonians and with our own people."
     Brandon seated himself before the communicator screen, and while the
others
packed themselves closely around his stool he snapped on the visiray and
turned the
dials which directed that invisible, immensely complex beam through space. The
screen
was apparently in itself a coign of vantage, flying through space with the
velocity of light,
and the watchers gasped involuntarily and drew themselves together as with
that
unthinkable speed they flashed down toward the surface of Callisto. So
realistic was the
impression that they themselves were hurtling through the void that they could
scarcely
reason themselves into believing their positive knowledge that the impending
collision
was not an actual happening! Reducing the velocity of the projection abruptly
as it
approached the satellite, Brandon flashed it down into a crater indicated by
Czuv, and
along a tunnel to the city of Zbardk, where the Callistonian captain held a
long
conversation with the Council of the nation. Frowning in thought, he turned to
Newton
and spoke seriously and slowly.
     "Immediately after the loss of our super-plane, with the supposed death
of King,
Breckenridge, and myself, the other Tellurian officers were returned to
Europa> since
even they could be of no assistance to us Callistonians in our struggle
against the new,
high-acceleration vessels of the hexans. The present situation is much more
serious
than I would have believed possible. The last vessel going to visit Wruszk,
our city upon
Europa, was caught and destroyed by the hexans, and for many weeks no ship nor
message has come from there to Callisto. In spite of the fact that the hexan
fleet is
smaller than ever before they are guarding Europa very closely. It is feared
that they
may have found and destroyed our city there — an expedition is even now about
to set
out in a desperate attempt to learn the fate of our fellows."
     "Suppose the rays of the lifeboats were detected in landing?" asked
Brandon.
"That might have given them a clue."
     "Possibly; but it is equally possible that our own men became careless in
the
operation of one of our own vessels. Having been unmolested so long, they
might have
relaxed their vigilance. We may never know."
     "Tell 'em to cancel the expedition—we'll shoot the visiray over there
right now
and find out all about it. We'll let 'em know pretty quick. Also you might
tell 'em that
you've got complete plans and specifications for all the weapons that the
hexans have,
and a couple besides, and that the quicker they shoot a ship out here after
you the
sooner they can get to building some stuff to blow those hexans clear out of
space!"
     It was the work of only a few moments to drive the visiray projection to
Europa,
where Czuv, to the great relief of all, found that the hexans had not yet
discovered
either Wruszk or the Terrestrial workings. All Europan humanity, fully aware
of the
hexan investment, was exerting every possible precaution against discovery by
the
enemy. This information was duly flashed to the Council of Callisto, and the
projection
was then hurled across the intervening reaches of space and into the cavern in
which
was being built the enormous rocket-ship in which the Terrestrial refugees
were to
attempt the long voyage back to their own distant planet.
     It took some little time to convince Doctor Penfield that there had been
projected
into the empty air of his little sanctum an absolutely invisible and
impalpable structure of
pure force capable of receiving and transmitting voice and vision. Once
convinced of the
reality of the phenomenon, however, the speaker beside Brandon's communicator
screen fairly rattled under the fervor of his greeting, so great was his
pleasure at the
arrival of the expedition of relief and in knowing that King and Breckenridge,
whom they
had of course given up for dead, were aboard the Inter-Planetary vessel.
     Penfield reported that the work upon the great rocket-ship was
progressing
satisfactorily, although of course slowly, since it was so much larger than
any vessel
there-to-fore constructed by the Callistonians. Newton in turn informed the
autocrat of
the stranded Terrestrials as to the status quo of the rescuing party.
     "Of course, because of the hexan blockade, you cannot take us off until
they
have been wiped out, which will be several months at best." The surgeon said,
slowly,
and a shadow came over his face as he spoke. "Well, what can't be cured . . ."
     "Trouble with the personnel?" King broke in sharply.
     "Personnel, yes; but not trouble in the sense you mean —we have had none
of
that. It is only that there are four more of us now than there were . . ."
     "Huh? How come?" demanded Brandon, in astonishment.
     "Four babies have been born to us here so far, and several more are
coming.
They are the ones I'm worried about. Most normal adults can stand it here
without any
serious effects, but this thin atmosphere and weak gravity are certain to
result in
abnormal development of children. However, there may be another way out of it.
Are
you using normal acceleration, or have you Martians aboard?"
     "Both," replied Brandon. "We are carrying two inhabitants of Mars, but
Alcantro
and Fedanzo are not ordinary Martians. They have been in constant training
ever since
we left Tellus, and now they can stand as high an acceleration as a weak
Tellurian.
We're riding at normal."
     "Good! As you already know, there has been no communication of late
between
here and Callisto. It had already been decided, however, that one more voyage
must be
risked, in order to bring back material which is most urgently needed. Since
the vessel
will leave here light and is large enough to carry about thirty passengers on
a short trip
with some crowding, the Council will probably approve of having it carry some
of our
passengers out to the Sirius—especially now, since a vessel must visit you
anyway, to
get Captain Czuv and the specifications of the new armament. All these things
can be
done with one vessel in one trip."
     "That sounds fine!" boomed King. "It will give me a chance to get back
there
where I belong, too. Who-all are you sending out ?"
     "The seven couples who either have babies already or who will have them
in the
next few months; and our unattached women, a few of whom aren't standing the
gaff
any too well. You won't be in the red very deeply on the deal, either—while
two or three
of the passengers I am sending you will certainly be unwelcome, anybody could
use,
anywhere, such men as Commander Sanderson and Lieut. . . ."
     "Sanderson!" interrupted King. "Why, he wasn't— when did he get married?"
     "The day after we arrived here," replied the surgeon. "His fiancee was
aboard the
Arcturus, and when they found out how long we would have to be here, they very
sensibly decided not to wait."
     "Were there any others got married there ?" demanded Nadia, who, standing
between Stevens and her father, had been an interested listener.
     "Plenty of them! Fourteen of our young women passengers have married here
upon Europa. A few married fellow-passengers, but most of them picked out
officers of
the Arcturus. You'll find your staff made up pretty largely of Benedicts now,
King! We've
been here a year, you know, and time will tell! Young Commander Sanderson's a
fine
baby—he'll be a credit to the IPC some day, if we can get him aboard the
Sirius, where
he can get a good start. We could give our babies normal air pressure here by
building
special rooms, but we cannot give them the normal acceleration necessary to
develop
their muscles properly."
     "Well, we'd better snap over to Callisto and take this up with the
Council,"
Brandon put in. "I don't imagine that there will be any objections, so you
might as well
get your ship gassed up and loaded—we'll be back here with the all x in about
a minute
and a half."
     With Brandon at the controls and with Czuv at the communicator plate the
projection flashed toward distant Callisto and the group melted away, each man
going
about his interrupted task.
     "Daddy, take us somewhere—I want to talk to you," Nadia spoke to her
father,
and the director led her and Stevens to his own room.
     "All x, daughter; out with it!" and he bent upon her a quizzical glance,
under
which a fiery blush burned from her throat to her forehead.
     "Dad, I've been thinking a lot since you rescued us, and what we've just
heard
has given me the nerve to say it. Steve, of course, wouldn't dare suggest such
a thing
until we're safely back on Earth, so I will." Her deep brown eyes held his
steadily. "All
those girls got married—why, some of them have babies already—and Steve and I
have
waited for each other so long, daddy! And wane of them love each other the way
we do,
do they, Steve ?"
     "I don't see how they could, sir; and that goes straight across the
panel," and he
bore unflinchingly the piercing gaze of the older man as^ his right arm
encircled the girl
and held her close.
     "Well, why not?" A sudden smile transformed Newton's stern visage. "There
are
three chaplains with the police —a Methodist minister, a Catholic priest, and
a Jewish
rabbi. Also we have on board two full-fledged I-P captains, either of whom is
authorized
to tie matrimonial knots. The means are not lacking—but just how sure are you
of
yourselves ?" and all levity disappeared as he studied the two young faces.
     "Yes, you are sure," he continued after a moment, "just as her mother and
I
were—and are. It is a drawback that she cannot be here with you, but it may be
a long
time before we can return to Tellus, and you have indeed waited long. But, on
the other
hand, I do not know quite what to think of having a bride aboard a war-vessel
. . ."
     "Oh thanks, Daddy, you're just a perfectly wonderful old darling!" Nadia
exclaimed, as she threw her arms rapturously around his neck. "And this isn't
a warship
at all— you know perfectly well that it's a research laboratory, and that as
soon as the
Navy gets here you won't let it fight a bit more, because such scientists
can't be allowed
to risk themselves! And also, you're forgetting that whole flock of women and
babies
that are coming out here just as fast as they can get themselves ready. So get
going,
daddy old dear, and let's do things! Steve's a Quaker and we're Presbyterians,
so none
of the chaplains will do at all. Besides, I promised Captain King ages ago
that he could
marry me, so go get him and we'll do it now. Bill can be my bridesmaid, you'll
give me
away, and Steve can have the other two of his Big Three for best men. I'm off
to hunt up
the flimsiest, fussiest white dress I can find in my trunks. Let's go!"
     "Mr. Newton." Stevens spoke thoughtfully as Nadia darted away. "You said
something about her mother. I didn't want to say anything to raise false hopes
while she
was here, but I've got an idea. Let's meet in Brandon's room instead of here.
We can
send code to Tellus easily enough on our ultra-wave, and we may be able to
fake up
something on vision."
     A few minutes later the Big Three were in Brandon's private study;
staring intently
into a screen upon which played flickering, flashing lights, while the black-
haired
physicist manipulated micrometer dials in infinitesimal arcs.
     "Once more, Mac," Brandon directed. "Pretty near had 'em that time. We're
stretching this projector about six hundred percent, but we've got to make
this
connection. Can't you coax just a few more amps out of those secondaries?"
     "I can not!" The voice of the first assistant snapped from the speaker.
"I'm
overloading now so badly that my plates are getting hot—if I hold this voltage
much
longer the whole secondary bank is going out. All x—you're on zero!"
     "All x!'" Flashing and waning, the lights upon the screen formed
fleeting, shifting,
nebulous images of a relay station upon distant Earth; but the utmost power of
the
transmitting fields could neither steady the image nor hold it.
     "Back off, Mac," Brandon instructed. " 'Fraid we can't hold 'em direct—no
use
blowing a bank of tubes. We'll try relaying through Mars—we can hold 'em
there, I think.
It'll mush up reception some, but it'll probably be better than direct, at
that. Point oh five
three six . . . all x—shoot!"
     Brandon's relay station upon Mars was finally raised and held, and a
corps of
keenly-interested engineers there made short work of the Earth-Mars linkage.
Soon the
screen glowed with the picture of the transmitter-room of the Terrestrial
station, and
while the three men were waiting for Mrs. Newton to be called to her own
television set
the door behind them opened. Nadia and her escorts entered the room—but
Stevens'
eyes saw only the entrancing vision of loveliness that was his bride. Dressed
in a
clinging white gown of shimmering silk, her hair a golden blonde corona,
sweetly curved
lips slightly parted and wide eyes eloquent, she paused momentarily as Stevens
came
to his feet and stared at her, his very heart in his eyes.
     "You never saw me in a dress before—do you like me, Steve?"
     "Like you!" Gray eyes and brown, deep with wonder and with love, met and
held
as, unheeding the presence of their friends, they went into each other's arms
in a
coalescence as inevitable and as final as Fate itself.
     "Hi, Nadia old dear!" and "Daughter, from what I can see of my son-in-
law, I
believe that he may do," came together from the speaker. Nadia tore herself
from
Stevens' embrace, to see upon the lambent screen the happily smiling faces of
her
mother and sister.
     "Mother! Claire! Wonderful! Oh, you three wonderworkers !" She addressed
simultaneously the distant Terrestrials and the scientists at her side, while
broken
exclamations, punctuated by ominous, crackling snaps, came from the laboring
amplifier.
     "Sorry to interrupt," MacDonald's voice broke in, "but you'll have to
hurry it up.
Alcantro and Fedanzo are doing their best, but every plate in my secondary
bank's red
hot, and you could fry an egg on any one of my transformers. Even my primaries
are
running hot. She won't hold together five minutes longer!"
     Captain King opened his book, and in that small steel room, unadorned
save for
stack upon stack of book-cases, the brief but solemn ceremony joining two
young lives
was read—its solemnity only intensified by its unique accompaniment. For from
Brandon at the primary controls, through the power-room of the Sirius and the
relay-
station upon Mars, to the immense Inter-Planetary transmitter upon Earth, the
greatest
radio and television engineers of two planets were fighting overdriven
equipment, trying
to hold an almost impossible connection, in order that Nadia Newton's mother
and sister
might be present at her wedding, hundreds of millions of miles distant in
space!
     "I pronounce you man and wife. Whom God hath joined together let no man
put
asunder." The sacred old ritual ended and Captain King picked up the bride in
his great
arms as though she were a baby, kissed her vigorously, and set her down in
front of the
transmitter. In the midst of the joyous confusion that ensued, a tearing,
rattling crash
came from the speaker and the screen went blank.
     "Damnation!" lamented MacDonald from the power room. "I knew they'd blow!
There goes my whole secondary bank—eight perfectly good ten-nineteens all shot
to . .
."
     " 'Stoo bad, but it couldn't be helped—they went in a good cause,"
interrupted
Brandon. "I'll come down and help clean up the mess."
     Leaving the bridal party, he made his way rapidly to the power room,
where he
found MacDonald and the two Martians inspecting the smoking remains of what
had
been the secondary bank of their powerful ultra-transmitter. Spare parts in
abundance
were on hand, and it was not long until the damaged section was as good as
new.
     "Now to try her out," Brandon announced. "We want to give her a good
workout,
but there's no use trying the I-P stations any more—they're altogether too
hard to
handle at this range. Czuv said something about an unknown race of
monstrosities at
the south pole of Jupiter—let's try it on them for a while."
     He flung the field of force out into space, as responsive to his will as
a well-
trained horse, and guided it toward the southern limb of that gigantic world.
Down and
down the projection plunged, through mile after mile of reeking, steaming fog,
impenetrable to Earthly eyes. Finally it came to rest upon the surface,
hundreds of feet
deep in a lush, dank, tropical jungle, and Brandon plugged into the Venerian
room.
     "Kenor? We've got a lot of use for you, if you can come down here for a
while . . .
thanks a lot." He turned to the Martians. "Luckily, we've got a couple of
infra-red
transformers aboard, so we won't have to build one. You fellows might break
one out
and shunt it onto this circuit while Dol Kenor is hunting up something for us
to look at.
     "Hi, old Infra-Eyes!" he went on, as the Venerian scientist waddled into
the room
in his bulging space-suit. "We've got something here that's right down your
alley. Want
to see what you can see?"
     "Ah, a beautiful scene!" exclaimed Dol Kenor, after one glance into the
plate. "It
is indeed a relief, after all this coldness and glare, to see such a soft,
warm landscape
—even though I have never expected to behold quite such a violent bit of
jungle," and
under his guidance the projection flashed over hundreds of miles of territory.
To the
eyes of the Terrestrials the screen revealed only a blank, amorphous grayness,
through
which at times there shot lines and masses of vague and meaningless form; but
the
Venerian was very evidently seeing and enjoying many and diverse scenes.
     "There, I think, is what you wish to see first," he announced, as he
finally
steadied the controls, and Brandon cut in upon the shunting screen the infra-
red
transformer. This device, developed long before to render possible the use of
Terrestrial
eyes in the opaque atmosphere of Venus, stepped up the fog-piercing long waves
into
the frequencies of light capable of affecting the Earthly retina. Instantly
th6 dull gray
blank of the shunting screen became transformed into a clear and colorful
picture of the
great city of the Jovians of the South.
     "Great Cat!" Brandon exclaimed. " 'Flying fortresses' is right! They're
in war
formation, too, or I'm a polyp! We've got to watch this, Mac, all of it, and
watch it close—
it's apt to have a big bearing on what we'll have to do, before they get done.
Better we
rig up another set, and put a relay of observers on this job!"_CHAPTER 11
The Vorkcul-Hexan War

The city of the Vorkuls, was an immense seven-pointed star. At its center,
directly upon
the south pole of Jupiter, rose a tremendous shaft—its cross section likewise
a tapering
seven-pointed star—which housed the directing intelligences of the nation.
Radiating
from the seven cardinal points of the building were short lanes leading to
star-shaped
open plots, from which in turn branched out ways to other stellate areas; ways
reaching,
after many such steps, to the towering inner walls of the metropolis. The
outer walls, still
loftier and even more massive ramparts of sullen gray-green metal, formed a
seamless,
jointless barrier against an utterly indescribable foe; a barrier whose outer
faces
radiated constantly a searing, coruscating green emanation. Metal alone could
not long
have barred that voracious and implacably relentless enemy, but against that
lethal
green emanation even that ravening Jovian jungle could not prevail, but fell
back,
impotent. Writhing and crawling, loathsomely palpitant with an unspeakable
exuberance
of foul and repellant vigor possible only to such meteorological conditions as
obtained
there, it threw its most hideously prolific growths against that radiant wall
in vain.
     The short, zig-zag lanes, the ways, and the seven-pointed areas were
paved with
a greenish glass. This pavement was intended solely to prevent vegetable
growth and
carried no traffic whatever, since few indeed of the Vorkuls have ever been
earthbound
and all traffic was in the air. The principal purpose of the openings was to
separate and
thus to render accessible by air the mighty buildings which, level upon level,
towered
upward, with airships hovering at or anchored to doorways and entrances at
every level.
Buildings, entrances, everything visible—all replicated, reiterated, repeated
infinite
variations in the one theme, that of the septenate stelliform.
     Color ran riot; masses varied from immense blocks of awe inspiring
grandeur to
delicate tracery of sheerest gossamer ; lights flamed and flared in wide bands
and in
narrow, flashing pencils—but in all, through all, over all, and dominating all
was the
Seven-Pointed Star.
     In and almost filling the space, at least a mile in width, between the
inner and the
outer walls were huge, seven-sided structures—featureless, squat, forbidding
heptagons of dull green metal. Nothing living was to be seen in that space.
Its pavement
was of solid metal and immensely thick, and that metal, as well as that of the
walls, was
burned and blackened and seared as though by numberless exposures to
intolerable
flame. In a lower compartment of one of these enormous heptagons Vortel
Kromodeor,
First Projector Officer, rested before a gigantic and complex instrument
board. He was
at ease—his huge wings folded, his sinuous length coiled comfortably in slack
loops
about two horizontal bars. But at least one enormous, extensible eye was
always
pointed toward the board, always was at least one nimble and bat-like ear
cocked
attentively in the direction of the signal panel.
     A whistling, shrieking ululation rent the air and the officer's coils
tightened as he
reared a few feet of his length upright, shooting out half a dozen tentacular
arms to
various switches and controls upon his board, while throughout the great
heptagon
hundreds of other Vorkuls sprang to attention at their assigned posts of duty.
As the
howling wail came to a climax in a blast of sound Kromodeor threw over a
lever, as did
every other projector officer in every other heptagon, and there was made
plain to any
observer the reason for the burns and scars in the tortured space between the
lofty
inner and outer walls of Vorkulia. For these heptagons were the monstrous
flying
fortresses which Czuv had occasionally seen from afar, as they went upon some
unusual errand above the Jovian banks of mist, and which Brandon was soon to
see in
his visiray screen. The seared and disfigured metal of the pavement and walls
was
made so by the release of the furious blasts of energy necessary to raise
those untold
thousands of tons of mass against the attraction of Jupiter, more than two and
a half
times the gravity of our own world! Vast volumes of flaming energy shrieked
from the
ports. Wave upon wave, flooding the heptagons, it dashed back and forth upon
the
heavy metal between the walls. As more and more of the inconceivable power of
those
Titanic generators was unleashed, it boiled forth in a devastating flood
which, striking
the walls, rebounded and leaped vertically far above even those mighty
ramparts. Even
the enormous thickness of the highly conducting metal could not absorb all the
energy
of that intolerable blast, and immediately beneath the ports new seven-pointed
areas of
disfigurement appeared as those terrific flying fortresses were finally
wrenched from the
ground and hurled upward.
     High in the air, another signal wailed up and down a peculiar scale of
sound and
the mighty host of vessels formed smoothly into symmetrical groups of seven.
Each
group then moved with mathematical precision into its allotted position in a
complex
geometrical formation—a gigantic, seven-ribbed, duplex cone in space. The
flagship
flew at the apex of this stupendous formation; behind, and protected by, the
full power
of the other floating citadels of the forty nine groups of seven. Due north
the amazing
armada sped in rigorous alignment, flying along a predetermined meridian— due
north!
     At the end of his watch Kromodeor relinquished his board to the officer
relieving
him and shot into the air, propelled by the straightening of the powerful
coils of his
snake-like body and tail. Wings half spread, lateral and vertical ruddering
fins outthrust,
he soared across the room toward a low opening. Just before they struck the
wall upon
either side of the doorway the great wings snapped shut, the fins retracted,
and the long
and heavy body struck the floor of the passage without a jar. With a
wriggling,
serpentine motion he sped like a vibrant arrow along the hall and into a
wardroom.
There, after a brief glance around the room, he coiled up beside a fellow
officer who
with one eye was negligently reading a scroll held in three or four hands;
while with
another eye, poised upon its slender pedicle, he watched a moving picture upon
a
television screen.
     "Hello, Kromodeor," Wixill, Chief Power Officer greeted the newcomer in
the
wailing, hissing language of the Vorkuls. He tossed the scroll into the air,
where it
instantly rolled into a tight cylinder and shot into an opening in the wall of
the room.
"Glad to see you. Books and shows are all right on practice cruises, but I
can't seem to
work up much enthusiasm about such things now."
     Kromodeor elevated an eye and studied the screen, upon which, to the
accompaniment of whistling, shrieking sound, whirled and gyrated an
interlacing group
of serpentine forms.
     "A good show, Wixill," the projector officer replied, "but nothing to
hold the
attention of men engaged in what we are doing. Think of it! After twenty years
of
preparation—two long lifetimes—and for the first time in our history, we are
actually
going to war!"
     "I have thought of it at length. It is disgusting. Compelled to traffic
with an alien
form of life! Were it not to end in the extinction of those unspeakable
hexans, it would be
futile to the point of silliness. I cannot understand them at all. There is
ample room upon
this planet for all of us. Our races combined are not using one seven-
thousandth of its
surface. You would think that they would shun all strangers. Yet for ages have
they
attacked us, refusing to let us alone, until finally they forced us to prepare
means for
their destruction. They seem as senselessly savage as the jungle growths, and,
but for
their very evident intelligence, one would class them as such. You would think
that,
being intelligent, and being alien to us, they would not have anything to do
with us in
any way, peacefully or otherwise. However, their intrusions and depredations
are about
to end."
     "They certainly are. Vorkulia has endured much—too much—but I am glad
that
our forefathers did not decide to exterminate them sooner. If they had, we
could not
have been doing this now."
     "There speaks the rashness of youth, Kromodeor. It is a violation of all
our
instincts to have any commerce with outsiders, as you will learn as soon as
you see one
of them. Then, too, we will lose heavily. Since we have studied their
armaments so long,
and have subjected every phase of the situation to statistical analysis, it is
certain that
we are to succeed—but you also know at what cost."
     "Two sevenths of our force, with a probable error of one in seven,"
replied the
younger Vorkul. "And because that figure cannot be improved within the next
seven
years and because of the exceptional weakness of the hexans due to their
unexpectedly great losses upon Callisto, we are attacking at this time. Their
spherical
vessels are nothing, of course. It is in the reduction of the city that we
will lose men and
vessels. But at that, each of us has five chances in seven of returning, which
is good
enough odds—much better than we had in that last expedition into the jungle.
But by
the Mighty Seven, I shall make myself wrap around one hexan, for my brother's
sake,"
and his coils tightened unconsciously. "Hideous, repulsive monstrosities!
Creatures so
horrible should not be allowed to live—they should have been tossed over the
wall to
the jungle ages ago!" Kromodeor curled out an eye as he spoke, and
complacently
surveyed the writhing cylinder of sinuous, supple power that was his own body.
     "Better avoid contact work with them if possible," cautioned Wixill. "You
might not
be able to unwrap, and to touch one of them is almost unthinkable. Speaking of
wrapping, you know that they are putting on the finals of the contact work in
the star this
evening. Let's watch them."
     They slid to the floor and wriggled away in perfect "step"—undulating
along in
such nice synchronism that their adjacent sides, only a few inches apart,
formed two
waving, rigidly parallel lines. Deep in the lower part of the fortress they
entered a large
assembly room, provided with a raised platform in the center and having
hundreds of
short, upright posts in lieu of chairs; most of which were already taken by
spectators.
The two officers curled their tails comfortably around two of the vacant
pillars, elevated
their heads to a convenient level of sight, and directed each an eye or two
upon the
stage. This was of course heptagonal. Its sides, like those of the mighty
flying forts
themselves, were not straight, but angled inward sufficiently to make the
platform a
seven-pointed star. The edge was outlined by a low rail, and bulwark and floor
were
padded with thick layers of a hard, but smooth and yielding fabric.
     In this star-shaped ring two young Vorkuls were contending for the
championship
of the fleet in a contest that seemed to combine most of the features of
wrestling,
boxing, and bar-room brawling, with no holds barred. Four hands of each of the
creatures held heavy leather billies, and could be used only in striking with
those
weapons, the remaining hands being left free to employ as the owner saw fit.
Since the
sport was not intended to be lethal, however, the eyes and other highly
vulnerable parts
were protected by metal masks, and the wing ribs were similarly guarded by
leathern
shields. The guiding fins, being comparatively small and extremely tough,
required no
protection.
     "We're just in time," Kromodeor whistled. "The main bout is nicely on.
See
anyone from the flagship? I might stake a couple of korpels that Sintris will
paint the
symbol upon his wing."
     "Most of their men seem to be across the star," Wixill replied, and both
beings fell
silent, absorbed in the struggle going on in the ring.
     It was a contest well worth watching. Wing crashed against mighty wing
and the
lithe, hard bodies snapped and curled this way and that, almost faster than
the eye
could follow, in quest of advantageous holds. Above the shrieking wails of the
crowd
could be heard the smacks and thuds of the eight flying clubs as they struck
against the
leather shields or against tough and scaly hides. For minutes the conflict
raged, with no
advantage apparent. Now the fighters were flat upon the floor of the star, now
dozens of
feet in the air above it, as one or the other sought to gain a height from
which to plunge
downward upon his opponent; but both stayed upon or over the star—to leave its
boundaries was to lose disgracefully.
     Then, high in air, the visiting warrior thought that he saw an opening
and
grappled. Wings crashed in fierce blows, hands gripped and furiously wrenched.
Two
powerful bodies, tapering smoothly down to equally powerful tails, corkscrewed
around
each other viciously, winding up into something resembling tightly-twisted
lamp cord;
and the two Vorkuls, each helpless, fell to the mat with a crash. Fast as was
Zerexi, the
gladiator from the flagship, Sintris was the merest trifle faster. Like the
straightening of a
twisted spring of tempered steel that long body uncoiled as they struck the
floor, and up
under those shielding wings—an infinitesimal fraction of a second slow in
interposing—that lithe tail sped. Two lightning loops flashed around the neck
of the
visitor and tightened inexorably. Desperately the victim fought to break that
terrible
strangle hold, but every maneuver was countered as soon as it was begun.
Beating
wings, under whose frightful blows the very air quivered, were met and parried
by wings
equally capable. Hands and clubs were of no avail against that corded cable of
sinew,
and Sintris, his head retracted between his wings and his own hands re-
enforcing that
impregnable covering over his head and neck, threw all his power into his
tail—tightening, with terrific, rippling surges, that already throttling band
about the throat
of his opponent. Only one result was possible. Soon Zerexi lay quiet, and a
violet beam
of light flared from a torch at the ringside, bathing both contenders. At the
flash the
winner disengaged himself from the loser, and stood by until the latter had
recovered
the use of his paralyzed muscles. The two combatants then touched wing tips in
salute
and flew away together, over the heads of the crowd; plunging into a doorway
and
disappearing as the two officers uncoiled from their "seats" and wriggled out
into the
corridor.
     "Fine piece of contact work," said Wixill, thoughtfully. "I'm glad that
Sintris won,
but I did not expect him to win so easily. Zerexi shouldn't have gone into a
knot so early
against such a fast man."
     "Oh, I don't know," argued Kromodeor. "His big mistake was in that second
body
check. If he had blocked the sixth arm with his fifth, taken out .the fourth
and second
with his third, and then gone in with . . ." and so, quite like two Earthly
experts after a
good boxing match, the friends argued the fine points of the contest long
after they had
reached their quarters.
     Day after day the vast duplex cone of Vorkulian fortresses sped toward
the north
pole of the great planet, with a high and constant velocity. Day after day the
complex
geometrical figure in space remained unchanged; no unit deviating measurably
from its
precise place in the formation. Over rapacious jungles, over geysers spouting
hot water,
over sullenly steaming rivers and seas, over boiling lakes of mud, and high
over gigantic
volcanoes in uninterrupted eruptions of cataclysmic violence the Vorkulian
phalanx
flew—, straight north. The equatorial regions, considerably hotter then the
poles, were
traversed with practically no change in scenery—it was a world of steaming
fog, of
jungle, of hot water, of boiling, spurting mud, and of volcanoes. Not of such
mild and
sporadic volcanic outbreaks as we of green Terra know, but of gigantic
primordial
volcanoes, in terrifyingly continuous performances of frightful intensity. Due
north the
Vorkulian spearhead was hurled, far into the northern hemisphere before the
rigorous
geometrical alignment was altered.
     "All captains, attention!" Finally, in a high latitude, the flagship sent
out final
instructions. "The hexans have detected us, and our long range observers
report that
they are coming to meet us in force. We will now go into the whirl, and
proceed with the
maneuvers exactly as they have been planned. Whirl!"
     At the command each vessel began to pursue a tortuous spiral path. Each
group
of seven circled slowly about its own axis, as though each structure were
attached
rigidly to a radius rod, and at the same time spiraled around the line of
advance in such
fashion that the whole gigantic cone, wide open maw to the fore, seemed to be
boring
its way through the air.
     "Lucky again!" Kromodeor, in the wardroom, turned to Wixill as the two
prepared
to take their respective watches. "It looks as though the first action would
come while
we're on duty. I've got just one favor to ask—if you have to economize on
power, let
Number One alone, will you?"
     "No fear of that," Wixill hissed, with the Vorkulian equivalent of a
chuckle. "We
have abundance of power for all of you projector officers. But don't waste any
of it, or I'll
cut you down five ratings!"
     "You're welcome. When I shine old Number One on any hexan work, one flash
is
all we'll take. See you at supper," and, leaving his superior at the door of
the power
room, Kromodeor wriggled away to his station upon the parallel horizontal bars
before
his panel.
     Making sure that his tail coils were so firmly clamped that no possible
lurch or
shock could throw him out of position, he set an eye toward each of his
sighting
screens, even though he knew that it would be long before those comparatively
short
range instruments would show anything except friendly vessels. Then, ready for
any
emergency, he scanned his one "live" screen—the one upon which were being
flashed
the pictures and reports secured by the high-powered instruments of the
observers.
     With the terrific acceleration employed by the hexan spheres, it was not
long until
the leading squadron of fighting globes neared the Vorkulian war-cone. This
advance
guard was composed of the new, high-acceleration vessels. Their crews, with
the innate
blood-lust and savagery of their breed, had not even entertained the thought
of
accommodating their swifter pace to that of the main body of the fleet. These
vast, slow-
moving structures were no more to be feared than those similar ones whose
visits they
had been repulsing for twenty long Jovian years—by the time the slower spheres
could
arrive upon the scene there would be nothing left for them to do. Therefore,
few in
number as were the vessels of the vanguard, they rushed to the attack. In one
blinding
salvo they launched their supposedly irresistible planes of force — dazzling,
scintillating
planes under whose fierce power the studying, questing, scouting fortresses
previously
encountered had fled back southward; cut, beaten, and crippled. These
spiraling
monsters, however, did not pause or waver in their stolidly ordered motion. As
the
hexan planes of force flashed out the dull green metal walls broke into a
sparkling green
radiance, against which the Titanic bolts spent themselves in vain. Then there
leaped
out from the weird brilliance of the walls of the fortresses great shafts of
pale green
luminescence—tractor ray after gigantic tractor ray, which seized upon the
hexan
spheres and drew them ruthlessly into the yawning open end of that gigantic
cone.
     Then, in each group of seven, similar great streamers of energy reached
out from
fortress to fortress, until each group was welded into one mighty unit by
twenty-one
such bands of force. The unit formed, a ray from each of its seven component
structures seized upon a designated sphere, and under the combined power of
those
seven tractors the luckless globe was literally snapped into the center of
mass of the
Vorkulian unit. There seven dully gleaming red pressor rays leaped upon it,
backed by
all the power of seven gigantic fortresses, held rigidly in formation by the
unimaginable
mass of the structures and by their twenty-one prodigious tractor beams. Under
that
awful impact the screens and walls of the hexan spheres were exactly as
effective as so
many structures of the most tenuous vapor. The red glare of the vortex of
those beams
was lightened momentarily by a flash of brighter color, and through the foggy
atmosphere there may have flamed briefly a drop or two of metal that was only
liquefied. The red and green beams snapped out, the peculiar radiance died
from the
metal walls, and the gigantic duplex cone of the Vorkuls bored serenely
northward—as
little marked or affected by the episode as is a darting swift who, having
snapped up a
chance insect in full flight, darts on.
     "Great Cat!" Far off in space, Brandon turned from his visiray screen and
wiped
his brow. "Czuv certainly chirped it, Perce, when he called those things
flying fortresses.
But who, what, why, and how? We didn't see any apparatus that looked capable
of
generating or handling those beams—and of course when they got started their
screens
cut us off. Wish we could have made some sense out of their language—like to
know a
few of their ideas— find out whether we can't get on terms with them some way
or
other. Funny-looking wampuses, but they've got real brains. If they have it in
mind to
take us on next, old son, it'll be just . . . too . . . bad!"
     "And then some," agreed Stevens. "They've got something—no fooling. It
looks
like the hexans are going to get theirs, good and plenty, pretty soon—and then
what? I'd
give my left lung and four front teeth for one look at their controls in
action."
     "You and me both—'sfunny, the way those green ray-screens stick to the
walls,
instead of being spherical, as you'd expect . . . should think they'd have to
radiate from
a center, and so be spherical," Brandon cogitated. "However, we've got nothing
corkscrewy enough to go through 'em, so we'll have to stand by. We'll stay
inside
whenever possible, look on from outside when we must, but all the time picking
up
whatever information we can. In the meantime, now that we've got our
passengers, old
Doctor Westfall prescribes something that he says is good for what ails us.
Distance—lots of distance, straight out from the sun—and I wouldn't wonder if
we'd
better take his prescription."
     The two Terrestrial observers relapsed into silence, staring into their
visiray
plates, searching throughout the enormous volume of one of those great
fortresses in
another attempt to solve the mystery of the generation and propagation of the
incredible
manifestations of energy which they had just witnessed. Scarcely had the
search
begun, however, when the visirays were again cut off sharply—the rapidly-
advancing
main fleet of the hexans had arrived and the scintillant Vorkulian screens
were again in
place.
     True to hexan nature, training and tradition the fleet, hundreds strong,
rushed
savagely to the attack. Above, below, and around the far-flung cone the
furious globes
dashed, attacking every Vorkulian craft viciously with every resource at their
command;
with every weapon known to their diabolically destructive race. Planes of
force stabbed
and slashed, concentrated beams of annihilation flared fiercely through the
reeking
atmosphere, gigantic aerial bombs and torpedoes were hurled with full radio
control
against the unwelcome visitors—with no effect. Bound together in groups of
seven by
the mighty bands of force, the Vorkulian units sailed calmly northward,
spiraling along
with not the slightest change in formation or velocity. The frightful planes
and beams of
immeasurable power simply spent themselves harmlessly against those
sparklingly
radiant green walls—seemingly as absorbent to energy as a sponge is to water,
since
the eye could not detect any change in the appearance of the screens under
even the
fiercest blasts of the hexan projectors. Bombs, torpedoes, and all material
projectiles
were equally futile—they exploded harmlessly in the air far from their
objectives, or
disappeared at the touch of one of those dark, dull-red pressors. And swiftly,
but calmly
and methodically as at a Vorkulian practice drill, the heptagons were
destroying the
hexan fleet. Seven mighty tractors would lash out, seize an attacking sphere,
and snap
it into the center of mass of the unit of seven. There would be a brief flash
of dull red, a
still briefer flare of incandescence, and the impalpable magnets would leap
out to seize
another of the doomed globes. It was only a matter of moments until not a
hexan vessel
remained; and the Vorkulian juggernaut spiraled onward, now at full
acceleration,
toward the hexan stronghold dimly visible far ahead of them—a vast city built
around
Jupiter's northern pole.
     At the controls of his projector, Kromodeor spun a dial with a many-
fingered,
flexible hand and spoke.
     "Wixill, I am being watched again — I can feel very plainly that strange
intelligence watching everything I do. Have the tracers located him?"
     "No, they haven't been able to synchronize with his wave yet. Either he
is using a
most minute pencil or, what is more probable, he is on a frequency which we do
not
ordinarily use. However, I agree with you that it is not a malignant
intelligence. All of us
have felt it, and none of us senses enmity. Therefore it is not a hexan—it may
be one of
those strange creatures of the satellites, who are, of course, perfectly
harmless."
     "Harmless, but unpleasant," returned Kromodeor. "When we get back I'm
going
to find his beam myself and send a discharge along it that will end his spying
upon me. I
do not . . ."
     A wailing signal interrupted the conversation, and every Vorkul in the
vast fleet
coiled even more tightly about his bars, for the real battle was about to
begin. The city of
the hexans lay before them, all her gigantic forces mustered to repel the
first real
invasion of her long and warlike history. Mile after mile it extended, an
orderly labyrinth
of spherical buildings arranged in vast interlocking series of concentric
circles—a city of
such size that only a small part of it was visible, even to the infra-red
vision of the
Vorkulians. Apparently the city was unprotected, having not even a wall.
Outward from
the low, rounded houses of the city's edge there reached a wide and verdant
plain,
which was separated from the jungle by a narrow moat of shimmering liquid— a
liquid of
such dire potency that across it even those frightful growths could neither
leap nor
creep.
     But as the Vorkulian phalanx approached—now shooting forward and upward
with maximum acceleration, screaming bolts of energy naming out for miles
behind
each heptagon as the full power of its generators was unleashed— it was made
clear
that the homeland of the hexans was far from unprotected. The verdant plain
disappeared in a blast of radiance, revealing a transparent surface, through
which could
be seen masses of machinery filling level below level, deep into the ground as
far as the
eye could reach; and from the bright liquid of the girdling moat there shot
vertically
upward a coruscantly refulgent band of intense yellow luminescence. These were
the
hexan defenses, heretofore invulnerable and invincible. Against them any
ordinary war-
craft, equipped with ordinary weapons of offense, would have been as pitifully
impotent
as a naked baby attacking a battleship. But now those defenses were being
challenged
by no ordinary craft; it had taken the mightiest intellects of Vorkulia two
long lifetimes to
evolve the awful engine of destruction which was hurling itself forward and
upward with
an already terrific and constantly increasing speed.
     Onward and upward flashed the gigantic duplex cone, its entire whirling
mass
laced and latticed together into one mammoth unit by green tractor beams and
red
pressors. These tension and compression members, of unheard-of power, made of
the
whole fleet of three hundred forty three fortresses a single stupendous
structure—a
structure with all the strength and symmetry of a cantilever truss! Straight
through that
wall of yellow vibrations the vast truss drove, green walls flaming blue
defiance as the
absorbers overloaded: its doubly-braced tip rearing upward, into and beyond
the
vertical, as it shot through that searing yellow wall. Simultaneously from
each heptagon
there flamed downward a green shaft of radiance, so that the whole immense
circle of
the cone's mouth was one solid tractor beam, fastening upon and holding in an
unbreakable grip mile upon mile of the hexan earthworks.
     Practically irresistible force and supposedly immovable object! Every
loose article
in every heptagon had long since been stored in its individual shock-proof
compartment,
and now every Vorkul coiled his entire body in fierce clasp about mighty
horizontal bars:
for the entire kinetic energy of the untold millions of tons of mass
comprising the cone,
at the terrific measure of its highest possible velocity, was to be hurled
upon those
unbreakable linkages of force which bound the trussed aggregation of Vorkulian
fortresses to the deeply-buried intrenchments of the hexans. The gigantic
composite
tractor beam snapped on and held. Inconceivably powerful as that beam was, it
stretched a trifle under the incomprehensible momentum of those prodigious
masses of
metal, almost halted in their terrific flight. But the war-cone was not quite
halted; the
calculations of the Vorkulian scientists had been accurate. No possible
artificial
structure, and but few natural ones — in practice maneuvers entire mountains
had been
lifted and hurled for miles through the air—could have withstood the
incredible violence
of that lunging, twisting, upheaving impact. Lifted bodily by that impalpable
hawser of
force and cruelly wrenched and twisted by its enormous couple of angular
momentum,
the hexan works came up out of the ground as a waterpipe comes up in the teeth
of a
power shovel. The ground trembled and rocked and boulders, fragments of
concrete
masonry, and masses of metal flew in all directions as that city-encircling
conduit of
diabolical machinery was torn from its bed.
     A portion of that conduit fully thirty miles in length was in the air, a
twisted,
flaming inferno of wrecked generators, exploding ammunition, and broken and
short-
circuited high-tension leads before the hexans could themselves cut it and
thus save the
remainder of their fortifications. With resounding crashes the structure
parted at the
weakened points, the furious upheaval stopped, and, the tractor beams shut
off, the
shattered, smoking, erupting mass of wreckage fell in clashing, grinding ruin
upon the
city.
     The enormous duplex cone of the Vorkuls did not attempt to repeat the
maneuver but divided into two single cones, one of which darted toward each
point of
rupture. There, upon the broken and unprotected ends of the hexan cordon their
points
of attack lay: theirs the task to eat along that annular fortress, no matter
what the
opposition might bring to bear —to channel in its place a furrow of
devastation until the
two cones, their work complete, should meet at the opposite edge of the city.
Then what
was left of the cones would separate into individual heptagons, which would so
systematically blast every hexan thing into nothingness as to make certain
that never
again would they resume their insensate attacks upon the Vorkuls. Having
counted the
cost and being grimly ready to pay it, the implacable attackers hurled
themselves upon
their objectives.
     Here were no feeble spheres of space, commanding only the limited
energies
transmitted to their small receptors through the ether. Instead there were all
the
offensive and defensive weapons developed by hundreds of generations of
warrior-
scientists; wielding all the incalculable power capable of being produced by
the massed
generators of a mighty nation. But for the breach opened in the circle by the
irresistible
surprise attack, they would have been invulnerable and, hampered as they were
by the
defenseless ends of what should have been an endless ring, the hexans took
heavy toll.
     The heptagons, massive and solidly braced as they were, and anchored by
tractor beams as well, shuddered and trembled throughout their mighty frames
under
the impact of fiercely-driven pressors. Sullenly radiant green wall-screens
flared brighter
and brighter as the Vorkulian absorbers and dissipators, mighty as they were,
continued
more and more to overload; for there were being directed against them beams
from the
entire remaining circumference of the stronghold. Every deadly frequency and
emanation known to the fiendish hexan intellect, backed by the full power of
the city,
was poured out against the invaders in sizzling, shrieking bars, bands, and
planes of
frenzied incandescence. Nor was vibratory destruction alone. Armor-piercing
projectiles
of enormous size and weight were hurled—diamond-hard, drill-headed projectiles
which
clung and bored upon impact. High-explosive shells, canisters of gas, and the
frightful
aerial bombs and radio-dirigible torpedoes of highly scientific war—all were
thrown with
lavish hand, as fast as the projectors could be served. But thrust for thrust,
ray for ray,
projectile for massive projectile, the Brobdingnagian creations of the Vorkuls
gave back
to the hexans.
     The material lining of the ghastly moat was the only substance capable of
resisting the action of its contents, and now, that lining destroyed by the
uprooting of the
fortress, that corrosive, brilliantly mobile liquid cascaded down into the
trough and
added its hellish contribution to the furious scene. For whatever that
devouring fluid
touched flared into yellow flame, gave off clouds of lurid, strangling vapor,
and
disappeared. But through yellow haze, through blasting frequencies, through
clouds of
poisonous gas, through rain of metal and through storm of explosive the two
cones
ground implacably onward, their every offensive weapon centered upon the fast-
receding exposed ends of the hexan fortress. Their bombs and torpedoes ripped
and
tore into the structure beneath the invulnerable shield and exploded,
demolishing and
hurling aside like straws walls, projectors, men, and vast mountains of earth.
Their
terrible rays bored in, softening, fusing, volatilizing metal, short-
circuiting connections,
destroying life far ahead of the point of attack; and, drawn along by the
relentlessly
creeping composite tractor beam, there progressed around the circumference of
the
hexan city two veritable Saturnalia of destruction—uninterrupted, cataclysmic
detonations of sound and sizzling, shrieking, multi-colored displays of
pyrotechnic
incandescence combining to form a spectacle of violence incredible.
     But the heptagons could not absorb nor radiate indefinitely those
torrents of
energy, and soon one greenishly incandescent screen went down. Giant shells
pierced
the green metal walls, giant beams of force fused and consumed them. Faster
and
faster the huge heptagon became a shapeless, flowing mass, its metal dripping
away in
flaming gouts of brilliance; then it disappeared utterly in one terrific blast
as some
probing enemy ray reached a vital part. The cone did not pause nor waver. Many
of its
component units would go down, but it would go on—on and on until every hexan
trace
had disappeared or until the last Vorkulian heptagon had been annihilated.
     In one of the lowermost heptagons, one bearing the full brunt of the
hexan
armament, Kromodeor reared upright as his projector controls went dead beneath
his
hands. Finding his communicator screens likewise lifeless, he slipped to the
floor and
wriggled to the room of the Chief Power Officer, where he found Wixill idly
fingering his
controls.
     "Are we out?" asked Kromodeor, tersely.
     "All done," the Chief Power Officer calmly replied. "We have power left,
but we
cannot use it, as they have crushed our screens and are fusing our outer
walls. Two out
of seven chances, and we drew one of them. We are still working on the infra
band,
over across on the Second's board, but we won't last long . . ."
     As he spoke the mighty fabric lurched under them, and only their quick
and
powerful tails, darting in lightning loops about the bars, saved them from
being battered
to death against the walls as the heptagon was hurled end over end by a
stupendous
force. With a splintering crash it came to rest upon the ground.
     "I wonder how that happened ? They should have rayed us out or exploded
us,"
Kromodeor pondered. The Vorkuls, with their inhumanly powerful, sinuous
bodies, were
scarcely affected by the shock of that frightful fall.
     "They must have had a whole battery of pressors on us when our greens
went
out—they threw us half-way across the city, almost into the gate we made
first," Wixill
replied, studying the situation of the vessel in the one small screen still in
action. "We
aren't hurt very badly—only a few holes that they are starting to weld
already. When the
absorber and dissipator crews get them cooled down enough so that we can use
power
again, we'll go back."
     But they were not to resume their place in the attack. Through the holes
in the
still-glowing walls hexan soldiery were leaping in steady streams, fighting
with the
utmost savagery of their bloodthirsty natures, urged on by the desperation
born of the
knowledge of imminent defeat and total destruction. Hand-weapons roared,
flashed,
and sparkled; heavy bars crashed and thudded against crunching bones; mighty
bodies
and tails whipped crushingly about six-limbed forms which wrenched and tore
with
monstrously powerful hands and claws. Fiercely and valiantly the Vorkuls
fought, but
they were outnumbered by hundreds and only one outcome was possible.
     Kromodeor was one of the last to go down. Weapons long since exhausted,
he
unwrapped his deadly coils from about a dead hexan and darted toward a store-
room,
only to be cut off by a horde of enemies. Throwing himself down a vertical
shaft, he flew
toward a tiny projector-locker in the lowermost part of one of the great
star's points, the
hexans in hot pursuit. He wrenched the door open, and even while searing
planes of
force were riddling his body he trained the frightful weapon he had sought. He
pressed
the contact, and a burst of intolerable flame swept the entire passage clear
of life.
Weakly he struggled to go out into the aisle, but his muscles refused to do
the bidding of
his will and he lay there, twitching feebly.
     In the power room of the heptagon a hexan officer turned fiercely to
another, who
was offering advice.
     "Vorkuls? Bah!" he snarled, viciously. "Our race is finished. Die we
must, but we
shall take with us the one enemy who above all others needs destruction!" and
he
hurled the captured Vorkulian fortress into the air.
     As the heptagon lurched upward the massive door of a lower projector
locker
clanged shut and Kromodeor collapsed in a corner, his consciousness blotted
out.

                        *   *   *   *   *

     "Well, that certainly tears it! That's a . . . I . . ." Stevens' ready
vocabulary failed
him and he turned to Brandon, who was still staring narrow-eyed into the
plate,
watching the destruction of the hexan city.
     "They've got something, all x—you've got to hand it to 'em," Brandon
replied.
"Here we thought we knew something about forces and physical phenomena in
general—and those birds've forgotten more than we ever will know. Just one of
those
things could take the whole I-P fleet, armed as we are now, any morning before
breakfast, just for setting-up exercises. We've got to do something about it—
but what ?"
     "It's by me—you tell 'em. There may be an out somewhere, but I don't see
it,"
and Stevens' gloomy tone matched his words.
     Highly trained scientists both, they had been watching that which
transcended all
the science of the inner planets and knew themselves outclassed immeasurably.
     "Only one thing to do, as I see it," Brandon cogitated. "That's to keep
on going
straight out, the way we're headed now. We'd better call a council of war, to
dope out a
line of action."_CHAPTER 12
The Citadel in Space

For the first time in many days Brandon and Westfall sat at dinner in the main
dining
room of the Sirius. They were enjoying greatly the unaccustomed pleasure of a
leisurely, formal meal; but still their talk concerned the projection of pure
forces instead
of subjects more appropriate to the table; still their eyes paid more
attention to diagrams
drawn upon scraps of paper than to the diners about them.
     "But I tell you, Quince, you're full of little red ants, clear to the
neck!" Brandon
snorted, as Westfall waved one of his arguments aside. "You must have had help
to get
that far off—no one man could possibly be as wrong as you are. Why, those
fields
absolutely will . . ."
     "Hi, Quincy! Hi, Norman!" a merry voice interrupted. "Fighting, as usual,
I see!
What kind of knights are you, anyway, to rescue us poor damsels in distress,
and then
never even know that we're alive ?" A tall, willowy brunette had seen the two
physicists
as she entered the saloon, and came over to their table, a hand outstretched
to each in
cordial greeting.
    "Ho, Verna!" both men exclaimed, and came to their feet as they welcomed
the
smiling, graceful newcomer.
     "Sit down here, Verna—we have hardly started," West-fall invited, and
Brandon
looked at the girl in assumed surprise as she seated herself in the proffered
chair.
     "Well, Verna, it's like this . . ." he began.
     "That's enough!" she broke in. "That phrase always was your introduction
to one
of the world's greatest brainstorms. But I know that this is the first time
you have had
time even to eat like civilized beings, so I'll forgive you this once. Why all
the registering
of amazement, Norman ?"
     "I'm astonished that you aren't being monopolized by some husband or
other.
Surely the officers of the Arcturus weren't so dumb that they'd stand for your
still being
Verna Picketing, were they?"
     "Not dumb, Norman, no. Far from it—just the opposite, in fact. I'm still
working for
my M.R.S. degree, but I haven't succeeded in snaring it yet. You'd be
surprised at how
cagy those officers got after a few of them had been captured. But they are
just like any
other hunted game, I suppose — the antelopes that survive get pretty wild, you
know,"
she concluded, plaintively.
     "Well, that certainly is one tough break for a poor little girl," Brandon
sympathized. "I could cry a bucket of tears, just thinking about it. Quince,
our little Nell,
here, ain't been done right by. I'm bashful and you're a woman-hater, but
between us,
some way, we've simply got to take steps."
     "You might take longer steps than you think." Verna laughed, her regular,
white
teeth and vivid coloring emphasized by her olive skin and her startling hair,
black as
Brandon's own. "Perhaps I would like a scientist even better than an I-P
officer. The
more I think of it, the surer I am that Nadia Newton had the right idea. I
believe that I'll
catch a physicist, too—either of you would do quite nicely, I think," and she
studied the
two men carefully.
     Westfall, the methodical and precise, had never been able to defend
himself
against Verna Pickering's badinage, but Brandon's ready tongue took up the
challenge.
     "Verna, if you really decided to get any living man, he wouldn't stand a
chance in
the world," he declared. "If you've already made up your mind that I'm your
meat, I'll
come down like Davy Crockett's coon. But if either of us will do, that'll give
us each a
fifty-fifty chance to escape your toils. What say we play a game of freeze-out
to decide
it?"
     "Fine, Norman! When shall we play ?"
     "Oh, between Wednesday and Thursday, any week you say," and the two
fenced
on, banteringly but skillfully, with Westfall an appreciative and
unembarrassed listener.
     Dinner over, Brandon and Westfall went back to the control room, where
they
found Stevens already seated at one of the master screens.
     "All x, Perce?"
     "All x. The observers report no registrations during the last two
watches," and the
three fell into discussion. Long they talked, studying every angle of the
situation
confronting them; until suddenly a speaker rattled furiously and an enormous,
staring
eye filled both master plates. Brandon's hand flashed to a switch, but the
image
disappeared even before he could establish the full-coverage ray screen.
     "I'm on the upper band—take the lower!" he snapped, but Stevens'
projector was
already in action. Trained minds all, they knew that some intelligence had
traced them,
and all realized that it was of the utmost importance to know what and where
that
intelligence was. Stevens found the probing frequency in his range and they
flashed
their own beam along it, encountering finally one of the monstrous Vorkulian
fortresses,
far from Jupiter and almost directly between them and the planet! Its wall
screens were
in operation, and no frequency at their command could penetrate that
neutralizing
blanket of vibrations.
     "What kind of an eye was that—ever see anything like it, Perce?" Brandon
demanded.
     "I don't think so, though of course we got only an awfully short flash of
it. It didn't
look like the periscopic eyes that those flying snakes had—looked more like a
hexan
eye, don't you think? Couldn't very well be hexan, though, in that kind of a
ship."
     "Don't think so, either. Maybe it's a purely mechanical affair that they
use for
observing. Anyway, old sons, I don't like the looks of things at all. Quince,
you're the
brains of this outfit—shift the massive old intellect into high and tell us
what to do."
     Westfall, staring into the eyepiece of the filar micrometer, finished
measuring the
apparent size of the heptagon before he turned toward Stevens and Brandon.
     "It is hard to decide upon a course of action, since anything that we do
may prove
to be wrong," he said, slowly. "However, I do not see that this latest
development can
operate to change the plan we have already adopted; that of running away,
straight out
from the sun. We may have to increase our acceleration to the highest value
the women
and babies can stand. A series of observations of our pursuer will of course
be
necessary to decide that point. It would be useless to go to Titan, for they
would be
powerless to help us. We could not hold their mirror upon either the Sirius or
their
torpedoes against such forces as that fortress has at her command. Then, too,
we might
well be bringing down upon them an enemy who would destroy much of their world
before he could be stopped. Both Uranus and Neptune are approximately upon our
present course. Do the Titanians know anything of either of them, Steve?"
     "Not a thing," the computer replied. "They can't get nearly as far as
Uranus on
their power beam—it's all they can do to make Jupiter. They seem to think,
though, that
one or more of the satellites of Uranus or Neptune may be inhabited by beings
similar to
themselves, only perhaps even more so. But considering the difference between
what
we found on the Jovian satellites and on Titan, I'd say that anything might be
out
there—on Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, their satellites, or anywhere else."
     "Cancel Uranus, double that for Neptune and quadruple it for Pluto,"
Brandon
commanded. "Realize how far away they are?"
     "That's right, too," agreed Stevens. "Before we got there, with any
acceleration
we can use now, this whole mess will be cleaned up, one way or the other."
     Westfall completed the series of observations and calculated his results.
Then,
with a grave face, he went to consult the medical officers. The women,
children, and the
two Martian scientists were sent to the sick-bay and the acceleration was
raised slowly
to twenty meters per second per second, above which point the physicians
declared
they should not go unless it became absolutely necessary. Then the scientists
met
again—met without Alcantro and Fedanzo, who lay helpless upon narrow hospital
bunks, unable even to lift their massive arms.
     While Westfall made another series of precise measurements of the super-
dreadnaught of space so earnestly pursuing them, Brandon stumbled heavily
about the
room, hands jammed deep into pockets, eyes unseeing, emitting clouds of smoke
from
his villainously reeking pipe. The Venerians, lacking Brandon's physical
strength and by
nature quieter of disposition, sat motionless; keen minds hard at work.
Stevens sat at
the calculating machine, absently setting up and knocking down weird and
meaningless
integrals while he also concentrated upon the problem before them.
     "They are still gaining, but comparatively slowly," Westfall finally
reported. "They
seem to be . . ."
     "In that case we may be all x," Brandon interrupted, brandishing his pipe
vigorously. "We know that they're on a beam—apparently we're the only ones
hereabout having cosmic power. If we can keep away from 'em until their beam
attenuates, we can whittle 'em down to our size and then take 'em, no matter
how much
accumulator capacity they've got."
     "But can we keep away from them that long?" asked Dol Kenor, pointedly;
and
his fellow Venerian also had a question to propound:
     "Would it not be preferable to lead them in a wide circle, back to a
rendezvous
with the Space Fleet, which will probably be ready by the time of meeting?"
     "I am afraid that that would be useless," Westfall frowned in thought.
"Given
power, that fortress could destroy the entire Fleet almost as easily as she
could wipe
out the Sirius alone."
     "Kenor's right." Stevens spoke up from the calculator, "You're getting
too far
ahead of the situation. We aren't apt to keep ahead of them long enough to do
much
leading anywhere. The Titanians can hold a beam together from Saturn to
Jupiter—why
can't these snake folks ?"
     "Several reasons," Brandon argued stubbornly. "First place, look at the
mass of
that thing, and remember that the heavier the beam the harder it is to hold it
together.
Second, there's no evidence that they wander around much in space. If their
beams are
designed principally for travel upon Jupiter, why should they have any
extraordinary
range ? I say they can't hold that beam forever. We've got a good long lead,
and in spite
of their higher acceleration I think we'll be able to keep out of range of
their heavy stuff.
If so, we'll describe a circle—only one, a good deal bigger than the one
Amonar
suggested—and meet the fleet at a point where that enemy ship will be about
out of
power."
     Thus for hours the scientists argued, agreeing upon nothing, while the
Vorkulian
fortress crept ever closer. At the end of three days of the mad flight the
pursuing
spaceship was in plain sight, covering hundreds of divisions of the micrometer
screens.
But now the size of the images was increasing with extreme slowness, and the
scientists of the Sirius watched with strained attention the edges of those
glowing green
pictures. Finally, when the pictured edges were about to cease moving across
the
finely-ruled lines, Brandon cut down his own acceleration a trifle, and kept
on
decreasing it at such a rate that the heptagon still crept up, foot by foot.
     "Hey, what's the big idea?" Stevens demanded.
     "Coax 'em along. If we run away from 'em they'll probably reverse power
and go
back home, won't they? Their beam is falling apart fast, but they're still
getting so much
stuff along it that we couldn't do a thing to stop them. If they think that
we're losing
power even faster than they are, though, they'll keep after us until their
beam's so thin
that they'll just be able to stop on it. Then they'll reverse or else go onto
their
accumulators—reverse, probably, since they'll be a long ways from home by that
time.
We'll reverse, too, and keep just out of range. Then, when we both have
stopped and
are about to start back, their beam will be at its minimum and we'll go to
work on
'em—foot, horse, and marines. Nobody can run us as ragged as they've been
doing
without me doing my damndest to return the compliment. I've got a hunch. If it
works we
can take those birds and take 'em so they'll stay took. We might as well break
up— this
is going to be an ordinary job of piloting for a few days, I think. I'm going
up and work
with the Martians on that hunch. You fellows work out any ideas you want to.
Watch 'em
close, Mac. Keep kidding 'em along, but don't let 'em get close enough to
puncture us."
     Everything worked out practically as Brandon had foretold, and a few days
later,
their acceleration somewhat less than Terrestrial gravity, he called another
meeting in
the control room. He came in grinning from ear to ear, accompanied by the two
Martians, and seated himself at his complex power panel.
     "Now watch the professor closely, gentlemen," he invited. "He is going to
cut that
beam."
     "But you can't," protested Pyraz Amonar.
     "I know you can't, ordinarily, when a beam is tight and solid. But that
beam's as
loose as ashes right now. I told you I had a hunch, and Alcantro and Fedanzo
worked
out the right answer for me. If I can cut it, Quince, and if their screens go
down for a
minute, shoot your visiray into them and see what you can see."
     "All x. How much power are you going to draw ?"
     "Plenty—it figures a little better than four hundred thousand kilofranks.
I'll draw it
all from the accumulators, so as not to disturb you fellows on the cosmic
intake. We
don't care if we do run the batteries down some, but I don't want to hold that
load on the
bus-bars very long. However, if my hunch is right I won't be on that beam five
minutes
before it's cut from Jupiter—and I'll bet you four dollars that you won't see
the original
crew in that fort when you get into it."
     He set upper and lower bands of dirigible projectors to apply a powerful
sidewise
thrust, and the Sirius darted off her course. Flashing a minute pencil behind
the huge
heptagon, Brandon manipulated his tuning circuits until a brilliant spot in
space showed
him that he was approaching resonance with the heptagon's power beam.
Micrometer
dials were then engaged and the delicate tuning continued until the meters
gave
evidence that the two beams were precisely synchronized and exactly opposite
in
phase. Four plunger switches closed, that tiny pilot ray became an enormous
rod of
force, and as those two gigantic beams met in exact opposition and neutralized
each
other a solid wall of blinding brilliance appeared in the empty ether behind
the Vorkulian
fortress. As that dazzling wall sprang into being the sparkling green
protection died from
the walls of the heptagon.
     "Go to it, Quince!" Brandon yelled, but the suggestion was entirely
superfluous.
Even before the wall-screen had died Westfall's beam was trying to get through
it, and
when the visiray revealed the interior of the heptagon the quiet and
methodical physicist
was shaken from his habitual calm.
     "Why, they aren't the winged monsters at all—they're hexans!" he
exclaimed.
     "Sure they are." Brandon did not even turn his heavily-goggled eyes from
the
blazing blankness of his own screen. "That was my hunch. Those snakes went
about
things in a business-like fashion. They didn't strike me as being folks who
would pull off
such a wild stunt as trying to chase us clear out of the solar system, but a
gang of
hexans would do just that. Some of them must have captured that ship and,
already
having it in their cock-eyed brains that we were back of what happened on
Callisto, they
decided to bump us off if it was the last thing they ever did. That's what I'd
do myself, if I
were a hexan. Now I'll tell you what's happening back at the home power plant
of that
ship and what's going to happen next. I'm kicking up a horrible row out there
with my
interference, and a lot of instruments at the other end of that beam must be
cutting up
all kinds of didoes, right now. They'll check up on that ship with the
expedition, by radio
and whatnot, and when they find out that it's clear out here—chop! Didn't get
to see
much, did you?"
     "No, they must have switched over to their accumulators almost
instantly."
     "Yeah, but if they've got accumulator capacity enough to hold off our
entire
cosmic intake and get back to Jupiter besides, I'm a polyp! We're going to
take that
ship, fellows, and learn a lot of stuff we never dreamed of before. Ha! There
goes his
beam—pay me the four, Quince."
     The dazzling wall of incandescence had blinked out without warning, and
Brandon's beam bored on through space, unimpeded. He shut it off and turned to
his
fellows with a grin—a grin which disappeared instantly as a thought struck him
and he
leaped back to his board.
     "Sound the high-acceleration warning quick, Perce!" he snapped, and drove
in
switch after switch.
     "Cosmic intake's gone down to zero!" exclaimed Mac-Donald, as the Sirius
leaped away.
     "Had to cut it—they might shoot a jolt through that band. Just thought of
something. Maybe unnecessary, but no harm done if . . . it's necessary, all x—
we're
taking a sweet kissing right now. You see, even though we're at pretty long
range,
they've got some horrible projectors, and they were evidently mad enough to
waste
some power taking a good, solid flash at us—and if we hadn't been expecting
it, that
flash would have been a bountiful sufficiency, believe me—Great Cat! Look at
that
meter—and I've had to throw in number ten shunt! The outer screen is drawing
five
hundred and forty thousand!"
     They stared at the meter in amazement. It was incredible, even after they
had
seen those heptagons in action, that at such extreme range any offensive beam
could
be driven with such unthinkable power—power requiring for its neutralization
almost the
full output of the prodigious batteries of accumulators carried by the Sirius!
Yet for five,
ten, fifteen, twenty minutes that beam drove furiously against their straining
screens,
and even Brandon's face grew tense and hard as that frightful attack
continued. At the
end of twenty two minutes, however, the pointer of the meter snapped back to
the pin
and every man there breathed an explosive sigh of relief — the almost
unbearable
bombardment was over; the screen was drawing only its maintenance load.
     "Wow!" Brandon shouted. "I thought they were going to hang to us until we
cracked, even if it meant that they'd have to freeze to death out here
themselves!"
     "It would have meant that, too, don't you think ?" asked Stevens.
     "I imagine so—don't see how they could possibly have enough power left to
get
back to Jupiter if they shine that thing on us much longer. Of course, the
more power
they waste on us the quicker we can take them; but I don't want much more of
that
beam, I'll tell the world—I just about had heart failure before they cut off!"
     The massive heptagon was now drifting back toward Jupiter at constant
velocity.
The hexans were apparently hoarding jealously their remaining power, for their
wall
screens did not flash on at the touch of the visiray. Through unresisting
metal the
probing Terrestrial beams sped, and the scientists studied minutely every
detail of the
Vorkulian
     armament; while the regular observers began to make a detailed
photographic
survey of every room and compartment of the great fortress. Much of the
instrumentation and machinery was familiar, but some of it was so strange that
study
was useless—days of personal inspection and experiment, perhaps complete
dismantling, would be necessary to reveal the secrets hidden within those
peculiar
mechanisms.
     "They're trying to save all the power they can—think I'll make them spend
some
more," Brandon remarked, and directed against the heptagon a heavy destructive
beam. "We don't want them to get back to Jupiter until after we've boarded
them and
found out everything we want to know. Come here, Quince—what do you make of
this
?"
     Both men stared at the heptagon, frankly puzzled; for the screens of the
strange
vessel did not radiate, nor did the material of the walls yield under the
terrible force of
the beam. The destructive ray simply struck that dull green surface and
vanished—disappeared without a trace, as a tiny stream of water disappears
into a
partially-soaked sponge.
     "Do you know what you are doing?" asked Westfall, after a few minutes'
thought.
"I believe that you are charging their accumulators at the rate of," he
glanced at a meter,
"exactly thirty one thousand five hundred kilofranks."
     "Great Cat!" Brandon's hand flashed to a switch and the beam expired.
"But they
can't just simply grab it and store it, Quince—it's impossible!"
     "The word 'impossible' in that connection, coming from you, has a queer
sound,"
Westfall said, pointedly, and Brandon actually blushed.
     "That's right, too—we have got pretty much the same idea in our cosmic
intake
fields, but we didn't carry things as far as they have done. Huh! They're
flashing us
again . . . but those thin little beams don't mean anything. They're just
trying to make us
feed them some more, I guess. But we've got to hold them back some way—wonder
if
they can absorb a tractor field?"
     The hexans had lashed out a few times with their lighter weapons, but,
finding
the Sirius unresponsive, had soon shut them off and were stolidly plunging
along toward
Jupiter. Brandon flung out a tractor rod and threw the mass of his cruiser
upon it as it
locked into those sullen green walls. But. as soon as the enemy felt its drag
their
screens flared white, and the massive Terrestrial space-ship quivered in every
member
as that terrific cable of force was snapped.
     "They apparently cannot store up the energy of a tractor," commented
Westfall,
"but you will observe that they have no difficulty in radiating when they care
to."
     "Yeah, those two ideas didn't pan out so heavy. There's lots of things
not tried
yet, though. Our next best bet is to get around in front of him and push back.
If they can
wiggle away from more than fifty percent of a pressor, they're really good."
     The pilot maneuvered the Sirius into line, directly between Jupiter and
the
pentagon; and as the driving projectors went into action Brandon drove a
mighty
pressor field along their axis, squarely into the center of mass of the
Vorkulian fortress.
For a moment it held solidly, then, as the screens of the enemy went into
action, it
rebounded and glanced off in sparkling, cascading torrents. But the hexans,
with all
their twisting and turning, could not present to that prodigious beam of force
any angle
sufficiently obtuse to rob it of half its power, and the driving projectors of
the pentagon
again burst into activity as the backward-pushing mass of the Sirius made
itself felt. In a
short time, however, the wall-screens were again cut off—apparently more power
was
required to drive them than they were able to deflect.
     Although even the enormous tonnage of the Terrestrial cruiser was
insignificant
in comparison with the veritable mountain of metal to which she was opposed,
so that
the fiercest thrust of her driving projectors did not greatly affect the
monster's progress;
yet Brandon and his cohorts were well content.
     "It's a long trip back to where they came from, and since they wanted to
drift all
the way, I think they'll be out of power before they get there," Brandon
summed up the
situation. "We aren't losing any power, either, since we are using only a part
of our
cosmic intake."
     In a few hours the struggle had settled down to a routine matter—the
Sirius being
pushed backward steadily against the full drive of her every projector,
contesting
stubbornly every mile of space traversed. Assured that the regular pilots and
lookouts
were fully capable of handling the vessel, the scientists were about to resume
their
interrupted tasks when one of the photographers called them over to look at
something
he had discovered in one of the lowermost and smallest compartments of the
heptagon.
They crowded around the screens, and saw pictured there the winged, snake-like
form
of one of the original crew of the Vorkulian vessel!
     "Dead?" Brandon asked.
     "Not yet," replied the photographer. "He is twitching a little once in a
while, but
you see he's pretty badly cut up."
     "I see he is . . . he must have a lot of vitality to have lasted this
long—maybe he'll
live through it yet. Hold him on the plate, and get his exact measurements."
He turned to
the communicator. "Doctor von Steiffel? Can you come down to the control room
a
minute ? We may want you to operate upon one of these South Jovians after
while."
     "Himmel! Es ist der . . ." The great surgeon, bearded and massive, stared
into the
plate, and in his surprise started to speak in his native German. He paused,
his long,
powerful fingers tracing the likeness of the Vorkul upon the plate, then went
on: "I would
like very much to operate, but, not understanding our intentions, he would of
course
struggle. And when that body struggles — schrecklichkeit!" and he waved his
arms in a
pantomime of wholesale destruction.
     "I thought of that—that's why I am talking to you now instead of when we
get to
him, two or three days from now. We'll give you his exact measurements, and a
crew of
mechanics will, under your direction, sink holes in the steel floor and
install steel bands
heavy enough to hold him rigid, from tail-fins to wing-tips. We'll hold him
there until we
can make him understand that we're friends. It is of the utmost importance to
save that
creature's life if possible; because we do not want one of their fortresses
launched
against us— and in any event, it will not do us any harm to have a friend in
the City of
the South."
     "Right. I will also have prepared some kind of a space-suit in which he
can be
brought from his vessel to ours," and the surgeon took the measurements and
went to
see that the "operating table" and suit were made ready for Kromodeor, the
sorely
wounded Vorkul.
     It was not long until the projectors of the heptagon went out and she lay
inert in
space, power completely exhausted. Knowing that the screens of the enemy would
absorb any ordinary ray, the scientists had calculated the most condensed beam
they
could possibly project, a beam which, their figures showed, should be able to
puncture
those screens by sheer mass action — puncture them practically
instantaneously,
before the absorbers could react. To that end they had arranged their circuits
to hurl
seven hundred sixty five thousand kilofranks—the entire power of their massed
accumulators and their highest possible cosmic intake—in one tiny bar of
superlative
density, less than one meter in diameter! Everything ready, Brandon shot in
the
prodigious switches that launched that bolt—a bolt so vehement, so
inconceivably
intense that it seemed fairly to blast the very ether out of existence as it
tore its way
along its carefully predetermined line. The intention was to destroy all the
control panels
of the absorber screens; parts so vital that without them the great vessel
would be
helpless, and yet items which the Terrestrials could reconstruct quite readily
from their
photographs and drawings.
     As that irresistible bolt touched the Vorkulian wall-screen the spot of
contact
flared instantaneously through the spectrum and into the black beyond the
violet as that
screen overloaded locally. Fast as it responded and highly conductive though
it was, it
could not handle that frightfully concentrated load. In the same fleeting
instant of time
every molecule of substance in that beam's path flashed into tenuous vapor —
no
conceivable material could resist or impede that stabbing stiletto of energy—
and the
main control panel of the Vorkulian wall-screen system vanished. Time after
time, as
rapidly as he could sight his beam and operate his switches, Brandon drove his
needle
of annihilation through the fortress, destroying the secondary controls. Then,
the walls
unresisting, he cut in the vastly larger, but infinitely less powerful, I-P
ray, and with it
systematically riddled the immense heptagon. Out through the gaping holes in
the outer
walls rushed the dense atmosphere of Jupiter, and the hexans in their massed
hundreds died.
     The Sirius was brought up beside the heptagon, so that her main air-lock
was
against one of the yawning holes in the green metal wall of the enemy. There
she was
anchored by tractor beams, and the two hundred picked men of the I-P police,
in full
space equipment, prepared to board the gigantic fortress of the void. Brandon
sat tense
at his controls, ready to send his beam ahead of the troopers against any
hexans that
might survive in some as yet unpunctured compartment. General Crowninshield
sat
beside the physicist at an auxiliary board, phones at ears and four infra-red
visiray
plates banked in front of him; ready through light or darkness to direct and
oversee the
attack, no matter where it might lead or how widely separated the platoons
might
become before the citadel was taken.
     The space-line men—the engineers of weightless combat —led the van,
protected by the projectors of their fellows. Theirs the task to set up ways
of rope, along
which the others could advance. Power drills bit savagely into metal, making
holes to
receive the expanding eyebolts; grappling hooks seized fast every protuberance
and
corner; and at intervals were strung beam-fed lanterns, illuminating
brilliantly the line of
march. Through compartments and down corridors they went, bridging the many
gaps
in the metal through which Brandon's beams had blasted their way; guided by
Crowninshield along the shortest feasible path toward the little projector
room in which
Kromodeor, the wounded Vorkul, lay. There were so many chambers and
compartments in the heptagon that it had of course been impossible to puncture
them
all, and in some of the tight rooms were groups of hexans, anxious to do
battle. But the
general's eye led his men, and if such a room lay before them Brandon's
frightful beam
entered it first—and where that beam entered, life departed.
     But the hexans were really intelligent, as has been said. They had had
time to
prepare for what they knew awaited them, and they were rendered utterly
desperate by
the knowledge that, no matter what might happen, their course was run. Their
power
was gone, and even if the present enemy should be driven off, they would float
idly in
space until they died of cold; or, more probably, hurtling toward Jupiter as
they were,
they would plunge to certain death upon its surface as soon as they came
within its
powerful gravitational field. Therefore some fifty of the creatures, who had
had space
experience in their spherical vessels, had spent the preceding days in
manufacturing
space equipment. Let the weight-fiends plan upon detonating magazines of
explosives,
upon laying mines calculated to destroy the invaders, even the vessel itself
and all
within it. Let them plan upon any other such idle schemes, which were certain
to be
foreseen and guarded against by the space-hardened veterans who undoubtedly
manned that all-powerful and vengeful football of scarred gray metal. Space-
fighters
were they, and as space-fighters would they die; taking with them to their own
inevitable
death a full quota of the enemy.
     Thus it came about that the head of the column of police had scarcely
passed a
certain door when in the room behind it there began to assemble the half-
hundred
space-hounds of the hexans. When the vanguard had approached that room
Crowninshield had inspected it thoroughly with his infra-red beams. He had
found it
punctured and airless, devoid of life or of lethal devices, and had passed on.
But now
the space-suited warriors of the horde, guided in their hiding by their own
visirays, were
massing there. When the center of the I-P column reached that door it burst
open.
There boiled out into the corridor, into the very midst of the police, fifty
demoniacal
hexans, fighting with berserk fury, ruled by but one impulse—to kill.
     Hand-weapons flashed viciously, tearing at steel armor and at bulging
space-
suits. Space-hooks bit and tore. Pikes and lances were driven with the full
power of
brawny arms. Here and there could be seen trooper and hexan, locked together
in
fierce embrace far from any hand-line — six limbs against four, all ten plied
with
abandon in mortal, hand-to-hand, foot-to-foot combat.
     "Give way!" yelled Crowninshield into the ears of his men. "Epstein,
back!
LeFevre, advance! Get out of block ten—give us a chance to use a beam!"
     As the police fell back out of the designated section of the corridor
Brandon's
beam tore through it, filling it from floor to ceiling with a volume of
intolerable energy. In
that energy walls, doorway, and space-lines, as well as most of the hexans,
vanished
utterly. But the beam could not be used again. Every surviving enemy had
hurled
himself frantically into the thickest ranks of the police and the battle raged
fiercer than
ever. It did not last long. The ends of the column had already closed in. The
police filled
the corridor and overflowed into the yawning chasm cut by the annihilating
ray.
Outnumbered, surrounded upon all sides, above, and below by the Terrestrials,
the
hexans fought with mad desperation to the last man—and to the last man died.
And
even though in lieu of their own highly efficient space-armor they had fought
in weak,
crude, and hastily improvised space-suits which were pitifully inferior to the
ray-
resistant, heavy steel armor of the I-P forces, nevertheless the enormous
strength and
utter savagery of the hexans had taken toll; and when the advance was resumed
it was
with extra lookouts scanning the entire neighborhood of the line of march.
     Since the troops had entered the fortress as close to their goal as
possible, it was
not long until the leading platoon reached the door behind which Kromodeor
lay. Tools
and cylinders of air were brought up, and the engineers quickly fitted
pressure
bulkheads across the corridor. There was a screaming hiss from the valves, the
atmosphere in that walled-off space became dense, and mechanics attacked with
their
power drills the door of the projector room. It opened, and four husky
orderlies rapidly
but gently encased the long body of the Vorkul in the space-suit built
especially to
receive it. As that monstrous form in its weirdly bulging envelope was guided
through
the air-locks into the Sirius, Crowninshield barked orders into his
transmitter and the
police reformed. They would now systematically scour the fortress, to wipe out
any
hexans that might still be in hiding; to discover and destroy any possible
traps or infernal
machines which the enemy might have planted for their undoing.
     Assured that the real danger to the Sirius was over and that his presence
was no
longer necessary, Brandon turned his controls over to an assistant and went up
to the
Venerian rooms, where von Steiffel and his staff were to operate upon the
Vorkul.
There, in the dense, hot air, but little different now from the atmosphere of
Jupiter,
Kromodeor lay; bolted down to the solid steel of the floor by means of padded
steel
straps. So heavy were the bands that he could not possibly break even one of
them; so
closely were they spaced that he could scarcely have moved a muscle had he
tried. But
he did not try—so near death was he that his mighty muscles did not even
quiver at the
trenchant bite of the surgeon's tools. Von Steiffel and his aides,
meticulously covered
with sterile gowns, hoods, and gloves, worked in most rigidly aseptic style;
deftly and
rapidly closing the ghastly wounds inflicted by the weapons of the hexans.
     "Hi, Brandon," the surgeon grunted as he straightened up, the work
completed. "I
did not use much antiseptic on him. Because of possible differences in blood
chemistry
and in ignorance of his native bacteria, I depended almost wholly upon asepsis
and his
natural resistance. It is a good thing that we did not have to use an
anaesthetic. He is in
bad shape, but if we can feed him successfully, he may pull through."
     "Feed him ? I never thought of that. What d'you suppose he eats ?"
     "I have an idea that it is something highly concentrated, from his
anatomy. I shall
try giving him sugar, milk chocolate, something of the kind. First I shall try
maple syrup.
Being a liquid it is easily administered, and its penetrating odor also may be
a help."
     A can of the liquid was brought in and to the amazement of the
Terrestrials the
long, delicate antennae of the Vorkul began to twitch as soon as the can was
opened.
Motioning hastily for silence, von Steiffel filled a bowl and placed it upon
the floor
beneath Kromodeor's grotesque nose. The twitching increased, until finally one
dull,
glazed eye brightened somewhat and curled slowly out upon its slender pedicle,
toward
the dish. His mouth opened sluggishly and a long, red tongue reached out, but
as his
perceptions quickened he became conscious of the strangers near him. The mouth
snapped shut, the eye retracted, and heaving, rippling surges traversed that
powerful
body as he struggled madly against the unbreakable shackles of steel binding
him to
the floor.
     "Ach, kindlein!" The surgeon bent anxiously over that grotesque but
frightened
head; soothing, polysyllabic German crooning from his bearded lips.
     "Here, let's try this—I'm good on it," Stevens suggested, bringing up the
Callistonian thought exchanger. All three men donned headsets, and sent wave
after
wave of friendly and soothing thoughts toward that frantic and terrified
brain.
     "He's got his brain shut up like a clam!" Brandon snorted. "Open up, guy—
we
ain't going to hurt you! We're the best friends you've got on Earth, if you
only knew it!"
     "Himmel, und he iss himself killing!" moaned von Steiffel.
     "One more chance that might work," and Brandon stepped over to the
communicator, demanding that Verna Pickering be brought at once. She came in
as
soon as the air-locks would permit, and the physicist welcomed her eagerly.
     "This fellow's fighting so he's tearing himself to pieces. We can't make
him
receive a thought, and von Steiffel's afraid to use an anaesthetic. Now it's
barely
possible that he may understand hexan. I thought you wasted time learning any
of it, but
maybe you didn't—see if you can make him understand that we're friends."
     The girl flinched and shrank back involuntarily but forced herself to
approach that
awful head. Bending over, she repeated over and over one harsh, barking
syllable. The
effect of that word was magical. Instantly Kromodeor ceased struggling, an eye
curled
out, and that long, supple tongue flashed down and into the syrup. Not until
the last
sticky trace had been licked from the bowl did his attention wander from the
food. Then
the eye, sparkling brightly now, was raised toward the girl. Simultaneously
four other
eyes arose, one directed at each of the men and the other surveying his bonds
and the
room in which he was. Then the Vorkul spoke, but his whistling, hissing manner
of
speech so garbled the barking sounds of the hexan words he was attempting to
utter
that Verna's slight knowledge of the language was of no use. She therefore put
on one
of the headsets, motioning the men to do the same, and approached Kromodeor
with
the other, repeating the hexan word of friendly import. This time the Vorkul's
brain was
not sealed against the visitors and thoughts began to flow.
     "You've used those things a lot," Brandon turned to Stevens in a quick
aside.
"Can you hide your thoughts ?"
     "Sure—why?"
     "All I can think of is that power system of theirs, and he'd know what we
were
going to do, sure. And I'd better be getting at it anyway. So you can wipe
that off your
mind with a clear conscience—the rest of us will get everything they've got
there. Your
job's to get everything you can out of this bird's brain. All x?"
     "All x."
     "Why, you didn't put yours on!" Verna exclaimed.
     "No, I don't think I'll have time. If I get started talking to him now,
I'd be here from
now on, and I've got a lot of work to do. Steve can talk to him for me — see
you later,"
and Brandon was gone.
     He went directly to the Vorkulian fortress, bare now of hexan life and
devoid of
hexan snares and traps. There he and his fellows labored day after day
learning every
secret of every item of armament and equipment aboard the heptagon.
     "Did you finish up today, Norm?" asked Stevens one evening. "Kromodeor's
coming to life fast. He's able to wiggle around a little now, and is insisting
that we take
off the one chain we keep on him and let him use a plate, to call his people."
     "All done. Guess I'll go in and talk to him—you all say he's such an egg.
With this
stuff off my mind I can hide it well enough. By the way, what does he eat ?"
as the two
friends set out for the Venetian rooms.
     "Anything that's sweet, apparently, with enough milk to furnish protein.
Won't eat
meat or vegetables at all—von Steiffel says they haven't got much of a
digestive tract,
and I know that they haven't got any teeth. He's already eaten most all the
syrup we had
on board, all of the milk chocolate, and a lot of sugar. But none of us can
get any kind of
a raise out of him at all—not even Nadia, when she fed him a whole box of
chocolates."
     "No, I mean what does he eat when he's home ?"
     "It seems to be a sort of syrup, made from the juices of jungle plants,
which they
drag in on automatic conveyors and process on automatic machinery. But he's a
funny
mutt —hard to get. Some of his thoughts are lucid enough, but others we can't
make out
at all—they are so foreign to all human nature that they simply do not
register as
thoughts at all. One funny thing, he isn't the least bit curious about
anything. He doesn't
want to examine anything, doesn't ask us any questions, and won't tell us
anything
about anything, so that all we know about him we found out purely by accident.
For
instance, they like games and sports, and seem to have families. They also
have love,
liking, and respect for others of their own race—but they seem to have no
emotions
whatever for outsiders. They're utterly inhuman—I can't describe it—you'll
have to get it
for yourself."
     "Did you find out about the Callistonians who went to see them ?" ,
"Negatively,
yes. They never arrived. They probably couldn't see in the fog, and must have
missed
the city. If they tried to land in that jungle, it was simply just too bad."
     "That would account for everything. So they're strictly neutral, eh?
Well, I'll tell
him 'hi', anyway." Now in the sick-room, Brandon picked up the headset and
sent out a
wave of cheery greeting.
     To his amazement the mind of the Vorkul was utterly unresponsive to his
thoughts. Not disdainful, not inimical; not appreciative, nor friendly—simply
indifferent to
a degree unknown and incomprehensible to any human mind. He sent Brandon only
one message, which came clear and coldly emotionless.
     "I do not want to talk to you. Tell the hairy doctor that I am now strong
enough to
be allowed to go to the communicator screen. That is all." The Vorkul's mind
again
became an oblivious maze of unintelligible thoughts. Not deliberately were
Kromodeor's
thoughts hidden; he was constitutionally unable to interest himself in the
thoughts or
things of any alien intelligence.
     "All x, pal." A puzzled, thoughtful look came over Brandon's face as he
called von
Steiffel. "A queer duck, if there ever was one. However, their ships will
never bother us,
that's one good thing; and I think we've got about everything of theirs that
we want,
anyway."
     The surgeon, after a careful examination of his patient, unlocked the
heavy collar
with which he had been restraining the over-anxious Vorkul, and supported him
lightly at
the communicator panel. As surely as though he had used those controls for
years
Kromodeor shot the visiray beam out into space. One hand upon each of the
several
dials and one eye upon each meter, it was a matter only of seconds for him to
get in
touch with Vorkulia. To the Terrestrials the screen was a gray and foggy
blank; but the
manifest excitement shrieking and whistling from the speaker in response to
Kromodeor's signals made it plain that his message was being received with
enthusiasm.
     "They are coming," the Vorkul thought, and lay back, exhausted.
     "Just as well that they're coming out here, at that," Brandon commented.
"We
couldn't begin to handle that structure anywhere near Jupiter—in fact, we
wouldn't want
to get very close ourselves, with passengers aboard."
     Such was the power of the Vorkulian vessels that in less than twenty
hours
another heptagon slowed to a halt beside the Sirius and two of its crew were
wafted
aboard.
     They were ushered into the Venerian room, where they talked briefly with
their
wounded fellow before they dressed him in a space-suit, which they filled with
air to
their own pressure. Then all three were lifted lightly into the air, and
without a word or a
sign were borne through the air-locks of the vessel, and into an opening in
the wall of
the rescuing heptagon. A green tractor beam reached out, seizing the derelict,
and both
structures darted away at such a pace that in a few minutes they had
disappeared in the
black depths of space.
     "Well—that, as I may have remarked before, is indisputably and
conclusively
that." Brandon broke the surprised, almost stunned, silence that followed the
unceremonious departure of the visitors. "I don't know whether to feel
relieved at the
knowledge that they won't bother us, or whether to get mad because they won't
have
anything to do with us."
     He sent the "All x" signal to the pilot, and the Sirius, once more at the
acceleration of Terrestrial gravity, again bored on through space._CHAPTER 13
Spacehounds Triumphant

Now that the Hexan threat that had so long oppressed the humanity of the Sinus
was
lifted the vessel was filled with relief and rejoicing as the pilot laid his
course for Europa.
Lounges and saloons resounded with noise as police, passengers, and such of
the crew
as were at liberty made merry. The control room, in which were grouped the
leaders of
the expedition and the scientists, was orderly enough, but a noticeable
undertone of
gladness had replaced the tense and somber air it had known so long.
     "Hi, men!" Nadia Stevens and Verna Pickering, arms around each other's
waists,
entered the room and saluted the group gaily before they became a part of it.
     " 'Smatter, girls—tired of dancing already ?" asked Brandon.
     "Oh, no—we could dance from now on," Verna assured him. "But you see,
Nadia
hadn't seen that husband of hers for fifteen minutes, and was getting
lonesome. Being
afraid of all you men, she wanted me to come along for moral support. The real
reason I
came, though," and she narrowed her expressive eyes and lowered her voice
mysteriously, "is that you two physicists are here. I want to study my chosen
victims a
little longer before I decide over which of you to cast the spell of my fatal
charm."
     "But you can't do that," he objected, vigorously. "Quince and I are going
to settle
that ourselves some day— by shooting dice, or maybe each other, or . . ." he
broke off,
listening to an animated conversation going on behind them.
     ". . . just simply outrageous!" Nadia was exclaiming. "Here we saved his
life, and
I fed him a lot of my candy, and we went to all the trouble of bringing their
ship back
here almost to Jupiter for them, and then they simply dashed off without a
word of
thanks or anything! And he always acted as though he never wanted to see or
hear of
any of us again, ever! Why, they don't think straight—as Norman would say it,
they're
full of little red ants! Why, they aren't even human!"
     "Sure not." Brandon turned to the flushed speaker. "They couldn't be,
hardly, with
their makeup. But is it absolutely necessary that all intelligent beings
should possess
such an emotion as gratitude ? Such a being without it does seem funny to us,
but I
can't see that its lack necessarily implies anything particularly important.
Keep still a
minute," he went on, as Nadia tried to interrupt him, "and listen to some real
wisdom.
Quince, you tell 'em."
     "They are, of course, very highly developed and extremely intelligent;
but it
should not be surprising that intelligence should manifest itself in ways
quite baffling to
us human beings, whose minds work so differently. They are, however . . .
well,
peculiar."
     "I won't keep still!" Nadia burst out, at the first opportunity. "I don't
want to talk
about those hideous things any more, anyway. Come on, Steve, let's go up and
dance!"
     Crowninshield turned to Verna, with the obvious intention of leading her
away,
but Brandon interposed.
     "Sorry, Crown, but this lady is conducting a highly important
psychological
research, so your purely social claims will have to wait until after the
scientific work is
done."
     "Why narrow the field of investigation?" laughed the girl. "I'd rather
widen it,
myself—I might prefer a general, even to a physicist!"
     They went up to the main saloon and joined the melee there, and after one
dance with Verna—all he could claim in that crowd of men—Crowninshield turned
to
Brandon.
     "You two seem to know Miss Pickering extraordinarily well. Would I be
stepping
on your toes if I give her a play ?"
     "Clear ether as far as we're concerned." Brandon shrugged his shoulders.
"She's
been kicking around under foot ever since she was knee high to a duck—we gave
her
her first lessons on a slide-rule."
     "Don't be dumb, Norman. That woman's a knockout— a riot—a regular tri-
planet
call-out!"
     "Oh, she's all x, as far as that goes. She's a good little egg, too—not
half as
dumb as she acts—and she's one of the squarest little aces that ever waved a
plume;
but as for playing her—too much like our kid sister."
     "Good—me for her!" and they made their way back down to the control room.
     Stevens, after his one dance with Nadia, had already returned. Brandon
and
Crowninshield found him seated at the calculating machine, continuing a
problem which
already filled several pages of his notebook.
     " 'Smarter, Steve ? So glad to see a calculator and some paper that you
can't let
'em alone?"
     "Not exactly—just had a thought a day or so ago. Been computing the orbit
of the
wreckage of the Arcturus around Jupiter. Think we should salvage it—the upper
half, at
least. It was left intact, you know."
     "Hm . . . m . . . m. That'd be nice, all x. Dope enough ?"
     "Got the direction solid, from my own observations, but the velocity's a
pretty
rough approximation. But after allowing for my probable error it figures an
ellipse of low
eccentricity between the orbits of Io and Europa. Its period is short—about
two days."
     "Ain't it wonderful to have a brain?" Brandon addressed the room at
large. "The
kid's clever. Nobody else would've thought of it, except maybe Westfall. Let's
see your
figures. Urn . . . m . . . m. According to that, we're within an hour of it,
right now." He
turned to the pilot and sketched rapidly.
     "Get on this line here, please, and decelerate, so that the stuff'll
catch up with us,
and pass the word to the lookouts. Stevens and I'll take the bow plates.
     " 'Sa good idea you had, egg," he went on to Stevens, as they took their
places
at main and auxiliary ultra-banks. "Lot of plunder in that ship. Instruments,
boats, and
equipment worth millions, besides most of the junk of the passengers —
clothes, trunks,
trinkets, and what-not. You're there, bucko!"
     "Thanks, Chief." They fell silent, watching the instruments carefully,
from time to
time making computations from the readings of the acceleration and flight
meters.
     "There she is!" An alarm bell had finally sounded, the ultra-lights had
flared out
into space, and upon both screens there shone out images of the closely
clustered
wreckage of the Arcturus. But both men were more interested just then in the
mathematics of the recovery than in the vessel itself.
     "Missed it eight minutes of time and eleven divisions on the scale,"
reported
Stevens. "Not so good."
     "Not so bad, either—I've seen lots worse." Thus lightly was dismissed a
mathematical feat which, a few years earlier, before the days of I-P
computers, would
have been deemed worthy of publication in Philosophical Magazine.
     Director Newton was called in, and it was decided that the many smaller
fragments of the vessel were not worth saving; that its upper half was all
that they
should attempt to tow the enormous distance back to Tellus. The pace of the
Sirius was
adjusted to that of the floating masses, and tractor beams were clamped upon
the
undamaged portion of the derelict and upon the two slices from the nose of the
craft. A
couple of the larger fragments of wreckage were also taken, to furnish metal
for the
repairs which would be necessary. Acceleration was brought slowly up to
normal, and
the battle scarred cruiser of the void, with her heavy burden of inert metal,
resumed her
interrupted voyage toward Europa; the satellite upon which the passengers and
crew of
the ill-fated Arcturus had been so long immured. On she bored through the
ether,
detector screens full out and greenly scintillant Vorkulian wall-screens
outlining her
football shape in weird and ghastly light; unafraid now of any possible
surviving space-
craft of the hexans.
     But if the hexans detected her they made no sign. Perhaps their fleet had
been
destroyed utterly; perhaps it had been impressed upon even their fierce minds
that
those sparkling green screens were not to be molested with impunity. The
satellite was
reached without event, and down into the crater landing shaft the two enormous
masses
of metal dropped.
     Callisto's foremost citizens were on hand to welcome the Terrestrial
rescuers,
and revelry reigned supreme in that deeply buried Europan community. All
humanity
celebrated. The Callistonians rejoiced because they were now freed from the
age-old
oppression of the hexan hordes; because they could once more extend their
civilization
over the Jovian satellites and live again their normal lives upon the surfaces
of those
small worlds. The Terrestrials were almost equally enthusiastic in the reunion
that
marked the end of the long imprisonment of the refugees.
     As soon as the hull of the Arcturus had been warmed sufficiently to
permit
inspection its original passengers were allowed to visit it briefly, to
examine and to
reclaim their belongings. Of course some damage had been done by the cold of
interplanetary space, but in general everything was as they had left it.
Stevens and
Nadia were among the first permitted aboard. They went first to the control
room, where
Stevens found his bag still lying behind Breckenridge's desk, where he had
thrown it
when he first boarded the vessel. Then they made their way up to Nadia's
stateroom,
which they found in meticulous order and spotless in its cleanliness—there is
neither
dust nor dirt in space, Nadia glanced about the formal little room and laughed
up at her
husband.
     "Funny, isn't it, sweetheart, how little we know what to expect? Just
think how
surprised I would have been, when I left this room, if I had been told that I
would have a
husband before I got back to it!"
     Breckenridge's first thought was for his precious triplex automatic
chronometer,
which he found, of course, " 'way off"—six and three-tenths seconds fast.
Having
corrected the timepiece from that of the Sirius, he began to examine the other
delicate
instruments of his department—and he was easy to find from that time on.
     Overcrowded as the Sirius already was, it was decided that the original
complement of the Arcturus should occupy their former quarters aboard her
during the
return trip. To this end corps of mechanics set to work upon the salvaged
hulk. Heavy
metal work was no novelty to the Callistonian engineers and mechanics, and the
Sirius
also was well equipped with metal-working machines and men. Thus the prow was
welded; armored insulating air-breaks were built along the stern, which was
the plane of
hexan cleavage; electrical connections were restored; and lastly, a set of the
great
Vorkulian wall-screen generators, absorbers, and dissipators was installed,
with
sufficient accumulator capacity for their operation. Director Newton studied
this
installation in silence for some time, then went in search of Brandon.
     "I hadn't considered the possibility of being attacked again between here
and
Tellus, but there's always the chance," he admitted. "If you think that there
is any
danger, we will crowd them all into the Sirius. It will not be at all
comfortable, but it will
be better than having any more of us killed."
     "With that outfit they'll be as safe as we will," the scientist assured
him. "They can
stand as much grief as we can. We'll do the fighting for the whole outfit from
here, and
anything we meet will have to take us before they can touch them. So they'd
better ride
it there, where they'll have passengers' accommodations and be comfortable. As
to
danger, I don't know what to expect. They may all be gone and they may not.
We're
going to expect trouble every meter of the way in, though, and be ready for
it."
     Everything ready and thoroughly tested, and a stream of power flowing
into the
Arcturus from the cosmic receptors of her sister ship, the passengers and
their new
possessions were moved into their former quarters. There was a brief ceremony
of
farewell, the doors of the airlocks were closed, the careful check-out was
gone through,
and the driving projectors of the Sirius lifted both great vessels up the
shaft, slowly and
easily. And after them, as long as they could be seen, stared the thousands of
Callistonians who thronged the great shaft's floor. Many of the spectators
were not,
strictly speaking, Callistonians at all. They were really Europans, born and
reared in that
hidden city which was to have been the last stronghold of Callisto's
civilization. In that
throng were hundreds who had never before seen the light of the sun nor any of
the
glories of the firmament, hundreds to whom that brief glimpse was a foretaste
of the free
and glorious life which was soon to be theirs.
     Up and up mounted that powerful tug-boat of space, with her heavy barge,
falling
smoothly upward at normal acceleration. Below her first Europa, then mighty
Jupiter,
became moons growing smaller and smaller. In their stateroom Nadia's supple
waist
writhed in the curve of Stevens' arm as she turned and looked up at him with
sparkling
eyes.
     "Well, big fellow, how does it feel to be out of a job? Or are you going
over there
every day on a tractor beam to work, as Norman suggested ?"
     "Not on your sweet young life!" he exclaimed. "Norm thought he was
kidding
somebody, but it registered zero. It gives me the pip to loaf around when
there's a lot of
work to do, but this is entirely different. Nothing's driving us now, and a
fellow's entitled
to at least one honeymoon during his life. And what a honeymoon this is going
to be,
little spacehound of my heart! Nothing to do but love you all the way from
here to Tellus!
Whoopee !"
     "Oh, there's a couple of other things to do," she reminded him gaily.
"You've got
to smoke a lot of good cigarettes, I must eat a lot of Delray's chocolates,
and we both
really should catch up on eating fancy cookery. Speaking of eating, isn't that
the second
call for dinner? It is!" and they went along the narrow hall toward the
elevator. To these
two the long journey was to seem all too short.
     Long though the voyage was, it was uneventful. The occupants of the two
vessels were in constant touch with each other by means of the communicators,
and
there was also much visiting back and forth in person. Stevens and Nadia came
often to
the Sirius, and were accompanied frequently by Verna Pickering, who claimed
anew her
ancient right of "kicking around under foot" wherever Brandon and Westfall
might
chance to be—and at such times General Crowninshield was practically certain
to
appear. And upon days when the beautiful brunette did not appear, the
commandant
generally found it necessary to inspect in person something in the Arcturus.
     Day after day passed, and even the new and ultra-powerful detector
screens of
the Sirius remained unresponsive and cold. Day after day the plates before the
doubled
lookouts and observers remained blank. Power flowed smoothly and unfailingly
into the
cosmic receptors, and the products of conversion were discharged with equal
smoothness and regularity from the forty five gigantic driving projectors. The
tractor
beam held its heavy burden easily and the generators functioned perfectly. And
finally a
planet began to loom up in the stern lookout plates.
     Verna, the irrepressible, was in the control room of the Sirius,
quarreling adroitly
with Brandon and deftly flirting with Crowninshield. Glancing into the control
screen she
saw the planet in its end block, then studied the instruments briefly.
     "We're heading for Mars!" she declared with conviction. "I thought it
looked that
way yesterday, but supposed it must be only apparent—a trick of piloting or
something
about the orbit. I thought of course you were taking us back home—but you
can't
possibly get to Tellus on any such course as this!"
     "Sure not," Brandon replied easily. "Certainly it's Mars. Isn't that
where the
Arcturus started out for? Who ever said we were going to Tellus ? Of course,
if any of
the passengers want to go right back, the IPC will undoubtedly furnish
transportation
gratis. But paste this in your hat, Verna, for future reference—when
spacehounds start
out to go anywhere they go there, even if they have to spend a year or so on
plus time
to do it!"
     Closer and closer they approached the red planet, swinging around in a
wide arc
in order to make their course coincide exactly with the pilot ray of check
station Mi4,
which was now precisely in its scheduled location in space. At the chief
pilot's desk in
the control room of the Arcturus, Breckenridge checked in with the station,
then
calculated rapidly the instant of their touching the specially-built bumper
platforms of
spring steel, hemp, and fiber which awaited them upon the Martian dock of the
Inter-
Planetary Corporation. Within range of the terminal, he plugged into it,
waited until the
tiny light flashed its green message of attention, and reported.
     "IPV Arcturus; Breckenridge, Chief Pilot; trip number forty three twenty
nine.
Checking in—four hundred forty six days, fifteen hours, eleven minutes, thirty
eight and
seven-tenths seconds plus!"

THE END