by Jerry
He reached a hand to her and she took it, crawled out of the ship. She stepped onto the ramp and for an instant Trent was between her and the officers. He felt her brush against him, felt something touch his belt and then his gun was ripped from his side.
“Keep those guns down,” Gail snapped. Her small hand held Trent’s gun, pointed unwaveringly at the trio of dumbfounded officers.
The officers were caught with their guns lowered. Trent stepped forward swiftly and relieved them of them.
“Of course,” he said meaningly “you take your orders from Mr. Trent now, don’t you?”
The commander shrugged helplessly.
“Of course,” he said gravely.
Trent laid his hand on Gail’s shoulder for an instant.
“Very neat,” he said. He handed her another gun and kept two for himself.
“You got a space transport here?” he asked the commander.
The commander nodded.
“What you are doing is very foolish,” he said, “you cannot beat Murdock. He will send fighter craft after and shoot you down in space.”
“He’ll have to shoot down the Federation fleet if he does,” Trent said quietly. “The Federation is going to chase Murdock right out of the solar system. You fellows who’ve strung along with him are going to be in a nice tight spot inside of forty-eight hours. Now cut the talk. Lead me to that space transport.”
“Mr. Murdock will follow,” the commander said calmly. “You cannot escape. He is a terrible man to cross. He will find you wherever you hide.”
“We aren’t going to hide,” Trent snapped. “You can tell Mr. Murdock we’ll be on Asteroid 13. And tell him I said I’ve got a date with him that’s going to be kept.” He shoved the gun into the commander’s belly. “Move,” he barked.
ASTEROID 13 flashed suddenly into the photographic visi-screen of the mighty space transport ship. Gail closed her eyes and murmured a prayer.
“It’s still together,” Trent said. “We’ll be mooring in five minutes.”
For the past two hours, as the transport had flashed through space carrying them to Asteroid 13, they had scarcely spoken a dozen words. One thought had been uppermost in their minds. And now their unspoken question had been answered by the visi-screen. They were not, as yet, too late.
Trent set the transport down on the ground of the fenced enclosure for the mooring tower would not accommodate a craft of its size. Gail opened the airlock door and she and Trent climbed out of the ship.
The miners were thronged three deep about the wire fence and they broke into wild, delirious cries of welcome as they recognized Trent and Gail.
Trent crossed to the door of the fence and burned the lock off with a blast from his electric gun.
“Where’s Hawkett?” he said to the first miner, “and where’re the guards?”
“They left ’bout a half hour ago,” the miner said. “Deserted us just like rats they be. Knew 13 was about ready to go and they wasn’t takin’ no chances.”
Trent heard an ominous rumbling beneath his feet. The flaky soil of 13 was quivering and shaking like dry leaves in a breeze.
“All right,” he ordered. “Everyone into the transport. Don’t delay for anything. 13 won’t be here much longer. The internal pressure has quadrupled since I was here fourteen hours ago.”
For ten minutes the families of Asteroid 13 filed into the transport, their faces mirroring their gratitude and happiness. At last the long line had filed into the interior of the ship.
“All aboard,” yelled Trent.
“Trent!” Gail cried. “Look.”
She was pointing into space, toward Venus.
Trent followed the direction of her hand and saw two tiny specks moving toward 13.
“Murdock’s fighters,” he muttered. “They’ll blast the transport out of space. With their speed and atomic cannons we wouldn’t have a chance.” He stared at the onrushing specks for an instant, then wheeled to Gail. “Get in,” he ordered, “there’s just one chance.”
HE followed her into the ship, ran to the control boards, set the controls on dead center for Earth. Then he released the one minute rocket charges.
“In one minute,” he yelled to the miners, “the transport takes off. The controls are set for Earth. Happy landings.”
Then he stepped to the airlock door and jumped to the ground.
“Trent,” Gail cried. “What are you going to do?”
“I can hold Murdock up here for a while. Give the transport a chance to get away. They won’t see it leave, for the transport is leaving on the opposite side of 13. Maybe if they get me they won’t bother about the transport.” He looked up at Gail’s anxious face and winked his good eye. “Don’t worry, honey. I might have fallen in love with you if I’d seen much more of you.”
He started to turn away then, but he wheeled back as Gail leaped to the ground beside him.
“I’m staying,” she said.
“Are you crazy?” he shouted. “Get back in that ship.”
She shook her head, “I’m staying with you.”
The huge ship was trembling.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he yelled.
“I know perfectly what I’m doing,” she answered.
The transport trembled like a live thing and then, with a hissing roar of power from its rocket exhausts, it blasted away into space, winging its way toward earth like a mighty silver arrow.
Trent groaned. Then he looked up at the approaching ships.
“If we get out of this,” he said grimly, “I’ll have something to say to you. But now,” he glanced at the ships gliding swiftly into 13’s atmosphere, “it looks as if we never will.”
The ships were within two hundred yards of the mooring tower when Gail said:
“Philip, listen to me.” Her voice was as excited as charged water. “The lids, the shaft lids, the fire, the gas. Won’t it work?”
Trent stared at her as if she had suddenly gone mad. He looked at the shaft lids, steam seeping from their gaskets, and then his eye swung back to the ominously settling ships.
“I get it,” he said. “It’s wild, hopeless, crazy, but it’s a chance.”
He charged into the chromealloy office then, dashed to the switchboard.
“You know ’em, honey,” he said, “you pull the trigger.”
Gail stepped to the board, peered over her shoulders at the ships and then swung back to the switchboard. Her eyes were bright with excitement and her cheeks flamed with hope. She waited for the space of two fast heartbeats and then threw two switches.
Trent was watching. Two shaft lids flew back, a hissing geyser of steam and flames screamed into the air completely enveloping the settling ships with a shroud of scorching flames. Trent knew that the Pelyisium alloy would not melt but it would heat. It would glow red transforming the interior of Murdock’s ships into inhuman infernos.
The ship veered suddenly to the right, dodging the flames.
“Right,” Trent called.
Gail threw four more switches. Four more mighty gushers of white flames shot into the bellies of the ships, cloaking them completely in live flame.
The ship was out of control! It sideslipped and crashed into the ground, breaking several lids with its weight. A mighty tongue of flame licked out about the ship, roaring hungrily at its metal sides in a savage holocaust of heat and fire.
ASTEROID 13 was trembling visibly and Trent could feel mighty smashing repercussions beneath his feet. The furniture in the office was bouncing and rattling as the tremendous sledge hammer blows slammed against the crust of 13.
“Trent,” Gail cried suddenly. “The other ship!”
Trent wheeled and saw that the other ship had landed. It had managed to swing away from the flames and settle into the fenced-in enclosure. The air lock door swung open violently and the huge figure of Big Bill Murdock stumbled out onto the ground. His grotesquely large head was seared a cruel red and his hair and eyebrows had been
singed to the skull. His mad, pain-crazed eyes glared wildly about until he saw Trent.
“You did it,” he screamed. “Killed my men, broke up my outfit, and now roasted me like a damned pig.” His black little eyes glittered with savage satisfaction. “I said I’d see you in hell and here we are.” His hand rose. The gun pointed straight at Trent. “You thought you could beat—” Trent charged him. The first pellet tore across his arm scorching his flesh, the next ripped through his hair. And then his shoulder slammed into Murdock’s wide stomach knocking the big man to the ground.
Murdock climbed to his feet. Trent moved in, his right swinging down like a cleaver. Murdock sprawled to the earth, bellowing with a with maniacal rage. He climbed back to his feet, his eyes gleaming insanely, Trent thought of the children the man had left to die on 13 and stepped in again, his right swinging like an axe. Murdock dropped again, crashing into the side of the chromealloy office.
Trent felt Gail tugging at his arm. He felt the ground beneath his feet heaving and undulating like an ocean swell.
Murdock crawled to his feet and his piggish eyes focused on the switchboard in the office. With one leap he was into the office, his huge fist closing over the master switch that operated all of the shaft lids.
“We’ll go together,” he screamed. A white foam coated his lips. “Releasing all of the lids together will blow 13 to the ends of space.”
His hands tense and Trent leaped—toward Gail. His good arm circled her waist, jerking her toward Murdock’s space ship. He could hear Murdock laughing wildly behind him and he could hear the rumbling thunder of the ground as it rose and fell, like a mighty animal threshing in death throes.
He hurled Gail into the ship, leaped in after her. The airlock door slammed. Then a tremendous roaring detonation sounded and Trent had one panoramic port hole view of a thousand tongues of flame screaming into the air, before a mighty force seized the ship and hurled it into space.
When he righted the ship and set the controls toward Earth, he peered out the port hole. By that time it was all over. Asteroid 13 had disappeared with the eruption that had destroyed it.
Trent looked into Gail’s deep eyes and his arm slipped around her shoulders.
“That’s all,” he said quietly. “It’s all through.”
“All through?” Gail repeated. “Everything?”
Trent looked down at her and smiled.
“No,” he said, “there’s one thing that’s just started.”
He bent down then and kissed her.
THE DEVIL’S ASTEROID
Manly Wade Wellman
The Rock Bred Evolution in Reverse
IT was not very large, as asteroids go, but about it clung a silvery mist of atmosphere. Deeper flashes through the mist betokened water, and green patches hinted of rich vegetation. The space-patroller circled the little world knowledgeably, like a wasp buzzing around an apple. In the control room, by the forward ports, the Martian skipper addressed his Terrestrial companion.
“I wissh you joy of yourr new home,” he purred. Like many Martians, he was braced upright on his lower tentacles by hoops and buckles around his bladdery body, so that he had roughly a human form, over which lay a strange loose armor of light plates. In the breathing hole of his petal-tufted skull was lodged an artificial voice-box that achieved words. “I rregrret . . .”
Fitzhugh Parr glowered back. He was tall, even for a man of Earth, and his long-jawed young face darkened with wrath. “Regret nothing,” he snapped. “You’re jolly glad to drop me on this little hell.”
“Hell?” repeated the Martian reproachfully. “But it iss a ssplendid miniaturre worrld—nineteen of yourr miless in diameterr, with arrtificial grravity centerr to hold airr and waterr; ssown, too, with Terresstrrial plantss. And companionss of yourr own rrace.”
“There’s a catch,” rejoined Parr. “Something you Martian swine think is a heap big joke. I can see that, captain.”
The tufted head wagged. “Underr trreaty between Marrs and Earrth, judgess of one planet cannot ssentence to death crriminalss frrom the otherr, not even forr murrderr . . .”
“It wasn’t for murder!” exploded Parr. “I struck in self-defense!”
“I cannot arrgue the point. Yourr victim wass a high official perrhapss inssolent, but you Earrth folk forrget how eassy ourr crraniumss crrack underr yourr blowss. Anyway, you do not die—you arre exiled. Prreparre to dissembarrk.”
Behind them three Martian space-hands, sprawling like squids near the control-board, made flutelike comments to each other. The tentacle of each twiddled an electro-automatic pistol.
“Rremove tunic and bootss,” directed the skipper. “You will not need them. Quickly, ssirr!”
Parr glared at the levelled weapons of the space-hands, then shucked his upper garment and kicked off his boots. He stood up straight and lean-muscled, in a pair of duck shorts. His fists clenched at his sides.
“Now we grround,” the skipper continued, and even as he spoke there came the shock of the landfall. The inner panel opened, then the outer hatch. Sunlight beat into the chamber. “Goodbye,” said the skipper formally. “You have thirrty ssecondss, Earrth time, to walk clearr of our blasstss beforre we take off. Marrch.”
Parr strode out upon dark, rich soil. He sensed behind him the silent quiver of Martian laughter, and felt a new ecstasy of hate for his late guards, their race, and the red planet that spawned them. Not until he heard the rumble and swish of the ship’s departure did he take note of the little world that was now his prison home.
At first view it wasn’t really bad. At second, it wasn’t really strange. The sky, by virtue of an Earth-type atmosphere, shone blue with wispy clouds, and around the small plain on which he stood sprouted clumps and thickets of green tropical trees. Heathery ferns, with white and yellow edges to their leaves, grew under his bare feet. The sun, hovering at zenith, gave a July warmth to the air. The narrow horizon was very near, of course, but the variety of thickets and the broken nature of the land beyond kept it from seeming too different from the skyline of Earth. Parr decided that he might learn to endure, even to enjoy. Meanwhile, what about the other Terrestrials exiled here? And, as Parr wondered, he heard their sudden, excited voices.
Threats and oaths rent the balmy air. Through the turmoil resounded solid blows. Parr broke into a run, shoved through some broad-leafed bushes, and found himself in the midst of the excitement.
A DOZEN men, with scraggly beards and skimpy rags of clothing, were setting upon an unclassifiable creature that snarled and fought back. It was erect and coarsely hairy—Parr saw that much before the enigma gave up the unequal fight and ran clumsily away into a mass of bright-flowered scrub. Execrations and a volley of sticks and stones speeded its flight.
Then the mob was aware of Parr. Every man—they were all male Terrestrials—turned toward him, with something like respect. One of them, tall and thin, spoke diffidently:
“You just arrived?”
“I was just booted out, ten minutes ago,” Parr informed him. “Why?”
“Because you’re our new chief,” responded the thin man, bowing. “The latest comer always commands here.”
Parr must have goggled, for the thin one smiled through tawny stubble. “The latest comer is always highest and wisest,” he elaborated. “He is healthiest. Best. The longer you stay on this asteroid, the lower you fall.”
Parr thought he was being joked with, and scowled. But his informant smiled the broader. “My name’s Sadau—here under sentence for theft of Martian government property.”
“I’m Fitzhugh Parr. They said I was a murderer. It’s a lie.”
One or two chuckled at that, and the one who called himself Sadau said: “We all feel unjustly condemned. Meet the others—Jeffords, Wain, Haldocott . . .” Each man, as named, bowed to Parr. The final introduction was of a sallow, frowning lump of a fellow called Shanklin.
“I was boss until you came,” volunteered this last man. “Now you take over.”
He waved toward a little cluster of grass huts, half hidden among ferny palms. “This is our capital city. You get the largest house—until somebody new shows up. Then you step down, like me.”
He spoke with ill grace. Parr did not reply at once, but studied these folk who were putting themselves under his rule. They would not have been handsome even if shaved and dressed properly. Indeed, two or three had the coarse, low-browed look of profound degenerates. Back into Parr’s mind came the words of Sadau: “The longer you stay—the lower you fall.”
“Gentlemen,” said Parr at last, “before I accept command or other office, give me information. Just now you were acting violently. You, Sadau, started explaining. Go ahead.”
Sadau shrugged a lean freckled shoulder, and with a jerk of his head directed his companions to retire toward the huts. They obeyed, with one or two backward glances. Left alone with Parr, Sadau looked up with a wise, friendly expression.
“I won’t waste time trying to be scientific or convincing. I’ll give you facts—we older exiles know them only too well. This asteroid seems a sort of Eden to you, I daresay.”
“I told the Martians that I knew there was a catch somewhere.”
“Your instinct’s sound. The catch is this: Living creatures—Terrestrials anyway—degenerate here. They go backward in evolution, become . . .” Sadau broke off a moment, for his lips had begun to quiver. “They become beasts,” he finished.
“What?” growled Parr. “You mean that men turn into apes?”
“Yes. And the apes turn into lower creatures. Those become lower creatures still.” Sadau’s eyes were earnest and doleful. “The process may run back and down to the worm, for all we can judge. We try not to think too much about it.”
“This is a joke of some kind,” protested Parr, but Sadau was not smiling.
“Martian joke, perhaps. The treaty keeps them from killing us—and this is their alternative punishment. It makes death trivial by comparison—You don’t believe. It’s hard. But you see that some of us, oldest in point of exile, are sliding back into bestiality. And you saw us drive away, as our custom is, a man who had definitely become a beast.”