by Ray Cummings
XXXV
"In with you!" ordered Grantline. "Get your helmets on! How many? Six.Enough--get back there, Williams--you were last. The lock won't holdany more."
I was one of the six who jammed into the manual exit lock. We wentthrough it; in a moment we were outside. It was less than threeminutes since the prowling brigand had been seen.
Grantline touched me just as we emerged. "Don't wait for orders? Gethim."
"That fellow with the torch--"
"Yes. I'm with you."
We went out with a rush. We had already discarded our shoe and beltweights. I leaped, regardless of my companions.
The scurrying Martians had disappeared. Through my visor bull's-eye Icould see only the Earthlit rocky surface of the ledge. Beside mestretched the dark wall of our building.
I bounded toward the front. The brigand with the torch had been at thefront corner. I could not see him from here; he had been crouchingjust around the angle.
I had a tiny bullet projector, the best weapon for short rangeoutdoors. I was aware of Grantline close behind me.
It took only a few of my giant leaps. I handed at the corner,recovered my balance and whirled around to the front.
The Martian was here, a giant misshapen lump as he crouched. His torchwas a little stab of blue in the deep shadow enveloping him. Intentupon his work, he did not see me. Perhaps he thought his fellow menhad broken our exits by now.
I landed like a leopard upon his back and fired, my weapon muzzleramming him. His torch fell hissing with a silent rain of blue fireupon the rocks.
As my grip upon him made audiphone contact, his agonized screamrattled the diaphragms of my ear grids with horrible, deafeningintensity.
He lay writhing under me; then was still. His scream choked intosilence. His suit deflated within my encircling grip. He was dead: myleaden, steel-tipped pellet had punctured the double surface of hisErentz fabric; penetrated his chest.
Grantline had leaped, landing beside me. "Dead?"
"Yes."
I climbed from the inert body. The torch had hissed itself out.Grantline swung to our building corner, and I leaned down with him toexamine it. The torch had fused and scarred the wall, burned almostthrough. A pressure rift had opened. We could see it, a curving gashin the metal wall-plate like a crack in a glass window pane.
I went cold. This was serious damage. The rarefied Erentz air wouldseep out. It was leaking now: we could see the magnetic radiance of itall up the length of the ten foot crack. The leak would change thepressure of the Erentz system, constantly lower it, demanding steadyrenewal. The Erentz motors would overheat; some might go bad from thestrain.
Grantline stood gripping me. "Damn bad."
"Yes. Can't we repair it, Johnny?"
"No. Would have to take that whole plaster section out, shut off theErentz plant and exhaust the interior air of all this bulkhead. Day'sjob--maybe more."
And the crack would get worse, I knew. It would gradually spread andwiden. The Erentz circulation would fail. All our power would bedrained struggling to maintain it. This brigand who had unwittinglycommitted suicide by his daring act had accomplished more than he hadperhaps realized. I could envisage our weapons, useless from the lackof power. The air in our buildings turned fetid and frigid; ourselvesforced to the helmets. A rush out to abandon the camp and escape. Thebuilding exploding, scattering into a litter on the ledge like achild's broken toy. The treasure abandoned, with the brigands comingup and loading it on their ship.
Our defeat. In a few hours now--or minutes. This crack could slowlywiden, or it could break suddenly at any time. Disaster, come now soabruptly upon us at the very start of the brigand attack....
Grantline's voice in my audiphone broke my despairing thoughts.
"Bad. Come on, Gregg. Nothing to do here."
We were aware that our other four men had run along the building'sother side. They emerged now--with the running brigands in front ofthem, rushing out toward the stairs on the ledge. Three giant Martianfigures in flight, with our four men chasing.
A brigand fell to the rocks by the brink of the ledge. The othersreached the descending staircase, tumbled down it with reckless leaps.
Our men turned back. Before we could join them, the enemy ship down inthe valley sent up a cautious searchbeam which located its returningmen. Then the beam swung up to the ledge, landing upon us.
We stood confused, blinded by the brilliant glare. Grantline stumbledagainst me.
"Run, Gregg! They'll be firing at us."
We dashed away. Our companions joined us, rushing back for the port. Isaw it open, reinforcements coming out to help us--half a dozenfigures carrying a ten foot insulated shield. They could barely get itthrough the port.
The Martian searchray vanished. Then almost instantly the electronicray came with its deadly stab. Missed us at first, as we ran for theshield, carrying it back to the port, hiding behind it.
The ray stabbed once or twice more.
Whether Miko's instruments showed him how badly damaged our front wallwas, we never knew. But I think that he realized. His searchbeam clungto it, and his zed-ray pried into our interiors.
The brigand ship was active now. We were desperate; we used ourtelescope freely for observation. Miko's ore carts and miningapparatus were unloaded on the rocks. The rail sections were beingcarried a mile out, nearly to the center of the valley. A subsidiarycamp was being established there, only a mile from the base of ourcliff, but still far beyond reach of our weapons. We could see thebrigand lights down there.
Then the ore chute sections were brought over. We could see Miko's mencarrying some of the giant projectors, mounting them in the newposition. Power tanks and cables. Light flare catapults--smallmechanical cannons for throwing illuminating bombs.
The enemy searchlight constantly raked our vicinity. Occasionally thegiant electronic projector flung out its bolt as though warning us notto dare leave our buildings.
Half an hour went by. Our situation was even worse than Miko couldknow. The Erentz motors were running hot--our power draining, thecrack widening. When it would break, we could not tell; but the dangerwas like a sword over us.
An anxious thirty minutes for us, this second interlude. Grantlinecalled a meeting of all our little force, with every man having hissay. Inactivity was no longer a feasible policy. We recklessly usedour power to search the sky. Our rescue ship might be up there; but wecould not see it with our now disabled instruments. No signals came.We could not--or, at least, did not--receive them.
"They wouldn't signal," Grantline protested. "They'd know theMartians would be more likely to get the signal than us. Of what useto warn Miko?"
But he did not dare wait for a rescue ship that might or might not becoming! Miko was playing the waiting game now--making ready for aquick loading of the ore when we were forced to abandon our buildings.
The brigand ship suddenly moved its position! It rose up in a low flatarc, came forward and settled in the center of the valley where thecarts and rail sections were piled, and the outside projectors newlymounted on the rocks.
The brigands now began laying the rails from the ship toward the baseof our cliff. The chute would bring the ore down from the ledge, andthe carts would take it to the ship. The laying of the rails was doneunder cover of occasional stabs from the electronic projector.
And then we discovered that Miko had made still another move. Thebrigand rays, fired from the depth of the valley, could strike ourfront building, but could not reach all our ledge. And from the ship'snewer and nearer position this disadvantage to us was intensified.Then abruptly we realized that under cover of darkness bombs, anelectronic projector and searchray had been carried to the top of thecrater rim, diagonally across and only half a mile from us. Theirbeams shot down, raking all our vicinity from this new angle.
I was on the little flying platform which sallied out as a test toattack these isolated projectors. Snap and I, and one other volunteer,went. He and I held the shield;
Snap handled the controls.
Our exit port was on the lee side of the building from the hostilesearchbeam. We got out unobserved and sailed upward; but soon a lightfrom the ship caught us. And the projector bolts came up....
Our sortie only lasted a few minutes. To me, it was a confusion ofcrossing beams, with the stars overhead, the swaying little platformunder me, and the shield tingling in my hands when the blasts struckus. Moments of blurred terror....
The voice of the man beside me sounded in my ears: "Now, Haljan, givethem one!"
We were up over the peak of the rim with the hostile projectors underus. I gauged our movement, and dropped an explosive powder bomb.
It missed. It flared with a puff on the rocks, twenty feet from wherethe two projectors were mounted. I saw that two helmeted figures weredown there. They tried to swing their grids upward, but could not getthem vertical to reach us. The ship was firing at us, but it was faraway. And Grantline's searchbeam was going full power, clinging to theship to dazzle them.
Snap circled them. As we came back I dropped another bomb. Its silentpuff seemed littered with flying fragments of the two projectors andthe bodies of the men.
We swiftly flew back to our base.
It decided Grantline. For an hour past Snap and I had been urging ourplan to use the gravity platforms. To remain inactive was sure defeatnow. Even if our buildings did not explode--if we thought to huddle inthem, helmeted in the failing air--then Miko could readily ignore usand proceed with his loading of the treasure under our helpless gaze.He could do that now with safety--if we refused to accept thechallenge--for we could not fire through the windows and must go outto meet this threat.
To remain defensive would end inevitably in our defeat. We all knew itnow. The waiting game was Miko's--not ours.
The success of our attack upon the distant isolated projectors,heartened us. Yet it was a desperate offensive upon which we decided!
We prepared our little expedition at the larger of the exit ports.Miko's zed-ray was watching all our interior movements. We made abrave show of activity in our workshop with abandoned ore carts whichwere stored there. We got them out, started to recondition them.
It seemed to fool Miko. His zed-ray clung to the workshop, watchingus. And at the distant port we gathered the platforms, shields,helmets, bombs, and a few hand projectors.
There were six platforms--three of us upon each. It left four peopleto remain indoors.
I need not describe the emotion with which Snap and I listened toVenza and Anita pleading to be allowed to accompany us. They urged itupon Grantline, and we took no part. It was too important a decision.The treasure--the life or death of all these men--hung now upon thefate of our venture. Snap and I could not intrude our personalfeelings.
And the girls won. Both were undeniably more skillful at handling themidget platforms than any of us men. Two of the six platforms could beguided by them. That was a third of our little force! And of what useto go out and be defeated, leaving the girls here to meet death almostimmediately afterward?
We gathered at the port. A last minute change made Grantline order sixof his men to remain to guard the buildings. The instruments, theErentz system, all the appliances had to be attended.
It left four platforms, each with three men--Grantline at the controlsof one of them. And upon two of the others, Venza rode with Snap and Iwith Anita.
We crouched in the shadows outside the port. So small an army,sallying out to bomb this enemy vessel or be killed in the attempt!Only sixteen of us. And thirty or so brigands well armed.
I envisioned then this tiny Moon crater, the scene of this battle wewere waging. Struggling humans, desperately trying to kill!
Anita drew me down on the platform. "Ready, Gregg."
The others were rising. We lifted, moved slowly out and away from theprotective shadows of the building.