"Head for the bushes!" he cried.
The assurance in Trevino's voice, I knew, was faked. Like him, I realized the desperate odds which confronted us. The mottled ship was high above. We had plenty of time to scurry for cover before it dropped lower. Trevino and McMillian arranged us to the best advantage, and we waited for the initiative of the outlaws of Moruta. The ship descended several hundred meters away. Our retreat into the bushes had been carefully watched. Several men left the craft and came slowly, uncertainly, toward our position.
"Stop where you are!" snapped Trevino from his place of concealment.
"Come out with the metal!" shouted one of the pirates in a high-pitched voice. "And get out of there—or get riddled!"
Trevino's reply was a blue spurt from the muzzle of his pistol. The distance was much too far for accurate firing, but the charge went dangerously close. The outlaws immediately turned tail and ran for their craft. We waited for their next act, knowing that the battle had only just commenced.
The spaceship shot skyward, circling our wide clump of bushes. The survivors of the Pride of Trinidad tensed themselves for a destructive bombardment from above. It did not come. Captain Trevino was plainly surprised. He was aware that the outlaw ship carried instant death if they chose to use it.
The craft hovered some 200 meters above us. Cruising slowly in a circle, it suddenly dropped four objects well outside our improvised stronghold. The projectiles were shaped like torpedoes. The explosions which were expected never came. The projectiles stood straight up from the ground, their front ends embedded deeply. It was all a strange procedure. Trevino was nonplussed.
"They probably contain explosives," ventured McMillian, answering the question he knew stood out in the captain's mind.
"I'm not so sure of that," said Trevino.
Meanwhile, I’d been doing some rapid thinking. Anxiously, I watched the ship above us, keeping myself partially screened from view of any sniper who might be looking down. I turned to the captain, a wild plan outlined in my mind.
"Let me go out there," I offered. "I can—"
"Not on your life!" he exclaimed, placing a restraining hand upon my arm. "It's death to go out there!"
"It's death to remain," I assured him earnestly.
"But not certain," he maintained. "For some reason or another, they're holding off from us. We have an advantage of some kind, but I’ll be damned if I know what it is."
"Look!" cried McMillian.
He pointed to three of the four projectiles which were visible from where we lay. They were glowing strangely with intense light. A jagged beam of electricity leaped out from the airship. Instantly iridescent shafts of light spread from the nearest projectile to the ones on either side of it. The shafts made a flashing display, crooked, forked and darting.
"Energy barrier!" exclaimed Trevino. "We're surrounded by a fence of it."
"Penned in—like rats in a trap!" I said.
"What will they do now?" Donovan asked Trevino, his pistol held tightly near his face.
"Hard to tell. Probably pick us off one by one at their leisure.”
“Comforting,” the first mate replied, deadpan.
“They seem to be going to a lot of unnecessary trouble for no reason at all." Three sharp blasts of sound issued from the outlaw ship. A pause, and then followed three more. I watched Trevino to see what action, if any, he would take. He seemed undecided. I began to grow uneasy.
"Not a chance of breaking through that screen of electricity," said McMillian. "They got us right where they want to keep us."
"But why?"
McMillian shook his head. "If it was just the platinum, they could destroy every one of us, then come in here and take it."
Part III
Weird figures suddenly burst through the walls of flaming death. They were outlaws attired in strange accoutrements. As they came closer, we watched as the electrical discharges of the barrier danced across their special suits, the pirates not missing a step as they moved closer to us.
"Resistor suits of some kind," muttered Trevino, whose face wore a hopeless expression. "They walked right through that barrier!"
McMillian aimed his pistol and fired at one of the slowly advancing figures. His outfit glowed faintly, but the outlaw continued his approach.
"There goes our last chance," I cried. "We might just as well give up."
Trevino was thinking fast. It was unlike him to give up without a fight. But what was he to do when his weapons had been shorn of their force, leaving him utterly helpless before the superior strength of the brigands?
Several figures rushed from the bushes. They were panic-stricken passengers. In alarm, despite the warning cry the captain hurled at them, they rushed straight past the advancing figures with their resistor suits. Frightened, bewildered, and hemmed in by the play of electricity all around them, they ran directly into the path of the impenetrable barrier. Crackling discharges enfolded three of them before the fourth became startled out of his madness, retreating from the flashing death.
One of the pirates turned and regarded the frightened man for a moment. Raising his pistol, he fired, and the passenger from the ill-fated Pride of Trinidad joined his companions who had futilely rushed the barricade.
A voice from the spaceship of the outlaws suddenly gave out an order. It came from a speaker and was many times amplified.
"Crew and passengers of the Pride of Trinidad—come out in the open. Bring the platinum with you. Keep away from the electric fence unless you wish to die. Come out—or we shall come in and hunt you down, one by one, and take what we want."
The figures inside the fence had stopped at sound of the voice and were waiting for us to comply with the order from the spaceship. More of the pirates in their resistors were advancing through the barrier, which crackled noisily. The powerful voltage danced and played upon the suits, disappearing into the ground. Trevino paused, undecided. Lines of broken resolve creased his face. Previously, he had remained strong and stubborn in the face of overwhelming adversity when chances were slim. There now remained not even the slimmest of chances, and stubborn courage yielded to reason.
"I guess the game’s up, McMillian." He turned to regard his under officer in speculation.
McMillian waited for his captain's orders. Again came the voice, in its strident tones, from the outlaw craft. It was tinged with impatience.
"Show yourselves inside of one minute, or else be executed at once! Unless—"
"Not so fast!" cried a new voice from the speaker, breaking in upon the first voice.
Then came sounds of scuffling. To our ears came imprecations and curses.
"Don't go out there!" warned the second voice in laboring gasps. "Stay—"
With a sudden snap, the speaker was cut off. Nothing more was heard. For a moment, the lightning bolts comprising the electric fence winked out—then reappeared. A few seconds later they disappeared once more, returning shortly to flicker in a peculiar manner. It was evident that some sort of a struggle was taking place inside the outlaw ship. The electric display crackled and sputtered louder than ever. With a sudden, explosive thunder clap, the four terminal posts blew to pieces.
The suited figures turned in alarm back toward their craft. One of them, hovering close to our haven of retreat, did not follow his comrades. Instead, he drew forth from a long side pocket a black object. At first glance, it seemed shaped like a pistol. But it was much longer and was proportioned differently.
He waited patiently until several more of the brigands had returned to the ship. Raising the black weapon, he aimed carefully at his fellow outlaws. The man's strange actions amazed me. He was turning upon his own comrades. Rounds were fired with practiced precision, and several of the thugs fell backward off the deck of the outlaw craft. Trevino, beside me, was speechless in surprise at the rapid succession of events. The outlaw's strange weapon which emitted no flash had us all wondering. Later, we would discover that it was a classified rifle, a new
instrument still in the experimental stage.
"Who is he?" asked Trevino, putting words to everyone’s thoughts.
"Can't be the fellow we heard over the speaker," observed McMillian. "This man came through the electric fence with the first ones."
"Somebody over there is pulling for us," Trevino insisted, "and the man with the black gun must be a friend, too."
A flash darted out from the ship, hitting the figure operating his mystifying weapon. His outfit glowed brilliantly. But the man remained unaffected, continuing to manipulate the knob of his weapon. Something must have gone wrong with it, for the outlaw who had so suddenly turned against his friends tinkered with it a moment, then threw it from himself in disgust. Meanwhile, the ragtag group of pirates had amassed inside their dilapidated craft.
* * * * *
With a loud crackling, the speaker's volume was thrown on again. An alarmed voice vibrated in our ears. Above the words came a rattling and banging—also the muffled sound of shouting men.
"Isaac! Come to the control room! I'm locked in! They're bustin' down the door! Bring that gun of yours! Hurry, lad!"
The outlaw in front of us looked upon his broken weapon on the ground, hesitated a moment, then picked it back up. Seizing it in cudgel fashion, he made for the ship.
"Come on!" roared Trevino exultantly. "Now's our chance!"
We found our numbers reduced to ten, but every one of us leaped forward at Trevino's order, ready to stake everything on the one desperate, fighting chance which had come so unexpectedly. We had nearly overtaken the man we’d heard addressed as Isaac when a crackling flame of lightning leaped out at us. A hissing roar smote our ear drums and we were temporarily dazzled by an intense light. The aim had been too high, and the electric charge had gone over our heads. The man in the control room had frustrated the attempt to electrocute us.
Several of the brigands jumped out of their ship to meet us. They still wore the resistor suits. A powerful gas of paralyzing effect was shot into our faces, and we became as immobile as statues. Isaac, too, was overcome. Instantly, we were deprived of our weapons. The man locked in the control room of the ship had been taken. Whoever these two men were who had championed our cause, their desperate efforts had failed, and now we were all in the same boat. The one who had addressed us over the speaker was led out of the ship and shoved into our group beside his fellow traitor, Isaac. The latter's protective suit was promptly torn off.
As the outlaws passed among us, searching for concealed weapons, I felt a cold object thrust cautiously into my hand. My heart thrilled to the contact of a pistol. I held my hand close to my side that none might see. The effects of the gas wore off quickly. The commander of the outlaws, his brutal face set in anger, strode up to the pair who had turned against him during the stress of combat. His dark eyes blazed, and he raised his clutching hands menacingly above the two. Isaac and his friend stared back, unabashed, a reckless glitter in their eyes, ready for what might happen next.
"I don't know who you are, but I've got suspicions!" snapped the outlaw. "You'll both die horribly—the kind of death we reserve for such as you!" He turned upon Trevino. "Where's the platinum?" he demanded. "Is it over there?" He pointed a thick finger to the clump of bushes from which we had lately emerged. "Or have you hidden it?"
"Go suck space,” snapped Trevino.
"When we find it, all tongues will be silenced," the commander remarked significantly. "If it's hidden, we'll find it just the same. We know how to make tongues wag."
It was a desperate situation. Trevino knew that the time of reckoning had come. The platinum lay in an open space among the bushes where we had taken our stand upon seeing the approach of the outlaw ship. I fondled the gun I held out of sight.
Leaving a large force of his men to guard us, the leader of the brigands took the balance of his men and headed for the spot where Captain Trevino had left the boxes of platinum.
"Well, Luther," observed Isaac, philosophically scratching his head, "we did the best we could."
"Which weren't quite enough, Isaac, my boy."
"Who are you two?" queried Trevino.
Each one looked at the other questioningly. For a moment neither spoke. Then through a rough, unkempt beard, Luther grinned at his companion. "Might as well tell them, Isaac.”
"We aren’t outlaws, that's for sure, though we might have made them believe so," said Isaac. "He's Luther Thompson, the best transport pilot in the fleet. I'm Isaac Roberts. We're Sector Command."
My mouth fell open in surprise. I nearly dropped the gun I had kept concealed in a fold of my clothing. Everyone knew of Sector Command. The order, established since the perfection of space flying, was comprised of men and women of a hundred races, pledged to keep the space lanes and colonies safe from the lawless.
"We'll be in the death unit when Horgav Olab and his men come back," cracked Luther, chuckling at his own grim joke. "Did you plant the platinum, or is it back there?"
"Back there," echoed Trevino dejectedly. "We hadn't a chance. I thought maybe we could make Raballa Colony with it before these outlaws got here."
"We followed the trail easily from the air," remarked Thompson. "First, we found the crashed ship and then the escape pod. After that, we just watched for the green campfire markers."
"Campfire markers?" questioned Trevino in excitement. "What do—"
"Guys, pipe down. Here comes Horgav Olab," interrupted Isaac.
The pirate commander and his men were emerging from the bushes with the little boxes stacked in their arms.
"Now we’re in for it,” exclaimed McMillian.
As the pirate captain moved in the direction of his ship, one of the outlaws guarding us stepped forward before Trevino, bringing up his pistol. An evil light shone in his eyes, the fanatical gleam of the confirmed killer. It was the man's intention to kill Trevino where he stood.
* * * * *
But the act was never consummated. A blank look overspread the outlaw's face. His face held that strange expression which is so characteristic of the electrocuted man. He tottered and fell face downward. Uttering a cry of agony, another of the brigands fell, seizing frantically at a shaft which protruded from his body, a shaft of crude hammered metal.
While we all stared in surprise at the fallen men, Isaac Roberts, quick to take stock of the situation, looked out over the high grass. "Glimn!" he cried. "That's one of their metal darts, Luther!"
Substantiating Isaac's discovery, there came a chorus of yells from all sides. Heads came into sight above the tall grass. Darts flew thick and fast, yet every one found its mark. The native creatures of Moruta brandished their weapons preparatory to rushing in upon us in overwhelming numbers.
The outlaws blazed away at the creatures, but the latter proved to be difficult targets at which to aim. The glimn were always on the move, running, hiding, reappearing to launch their deadly darts from another direction. Horgav Olab dropped his armful of the precious metal and screamed an order.
"Into the ship!"
It was then that I noticed the curious fact that none of the passengers or crew of the Pride of Trinidad had been hit. The remaining outlaws attempted to herd us into the ship. Their numbers rapidly diminished under the hail of darts cast at them so accurately by the glimn. Many of the clamoring glimn toppled over in death as the outlaws made a hit, but more came to take the places of those fallen.
"There he is—the renegade!" shouted McMillian.
Indeed, it was so. The glimn were led by the man who had broken into our camp on the previous night. Seizing a pistol from one of the fallen bandits, Luther hastily pointed it at the yelling rodents who were running full force in our direction, the rebel at their head.
"No. Luther, no!" cried Isaac. "They're friends!"
"It's Conrad!" shouted one of the passengers of the Pride of Trinidad. "Nathaniel Conrad!"
"Impossible!" exclaimed Trevino. "He's dead!"
"You're wrong, Trevino," said I, also recognizing the
man I’d spoken to so often on the Pride of Trinidad. "It’s him!"
I heard a noise behind me. I turned and looked. Olab and two of his surviving bandits were clambering aboard the spaceship. The horde of glimn was nearly upon us, their fangs bared and some with dangerous-looking weapons in hand. In trepidation, I moved backward.
Horgav Olab had gained the deck and was running in the direction of the air lock when Conrad saw him, and raised his pistol to fire.
From its concealment, I brought my gun into action. With hasty aim, I pulled the trigger, cursing myself for a wide miss. I was a bundle of nerves at that moment. Again I tried, this time drawing a fine bead. Nathaniel Conrad was clearly outlined beyond the sights of my pistol. A split second before I squeezed the trigger, Isaac Roberts seized my arm. The blue-white flash of energy shot harmlessly into the sky. Fiercely, I battled with the Unified Sector Command officer, raising my pistol to brain him. But then Thompson was upon me, and I went down under their combined weight. Something hit my head, and blackness engulfed me.
When I regained consciousness, I was aware of the babble of voices. My head throbbed and swam dizzily. A ring of furry glimn encircled me. I heard Nathaniel Conrad talking. Had he come back to life in some miraculous manner? I had seen him shot and buried. His words penetrated my dazed senses.
"When I saw that everything was stacked against me with no chances of proving my innocence, I surrendered myself to my fate, Captain Trevino. Of course, I was wearing protective armor under my clothes. None of the shots touched me. I played dead and was buried in the shallow grave. When you left, I dug myself out. I came pretty near smothering."
"We buried you alive!"
"You did, and I'm thankful I was alive—and still am."
"But the glimn?"
"Companions, of a sort," replied Conrad with a smirk. "I've been among them a great deal during my stint on Moruta. I know their language and some of their customs. You could say that they look up to me and obey my orders, and in return I provide them protection from thugs such as yourself. It’s a nice little arrangement. We've been following you. The other night, we broke into your camp and stole food and this pistol."
Beta Sector- Anthology Page 11