by Jerry
“You!” Norton called to one of them, the least wretched of the lot. “Any more of you here?”
The man could only shake his head in dumb misery.
“Never mind them,” the Murian said. “Let’s get to Jetto. Blast it! I didn’t think he’d bring a ‘Duro’ house with him.”
“Duro house?” Norton asked.
“Yes. Impervious to anything but molecular dissolution. That’s why your weapon has no effect on it. And since we’re in the comparative shelter of this place, let’s plan our course.”
“Right!” Conners said. “What do you think we ought to do?”
“First take a look at the situation from the other end of this building.”
The Murian started at a trot for the far end, the rest following close at his heels. He peered cautiously through one of the windows. Norton stood at his shoulder and followed his example. The wide stretch of ground before them was alive with men, some in the varied dress of the attackers, others in the outlandish dress of the Murians, and all engaged in a struggle to the death.
When a man was struck by the lightning bolt that was shot from one of the blast pistols, he became on the instant, a charred hulk, crisply stiff and black as pitch. The Murians simply disappeared when they came within range of the sound blast.
Not all of the Murians had reached the safety of the Duro house. Norton asked that as they pressed their noses against the window pane.
“It wasn’t meant to house all of us,” the Murian explained. “See. It’s only about sixty feet high and about the same in diameter. He’s probably got his personal guard and all of his council in the building with him. “Norton!” he suddenly yelled.
“Huh?” Norton stepped away from the other and looked at him as if he thought the other had gone mad.
“Look! A Duro freighter! If we can reach it, I’ve got a terrific idea.”
Norton looked in the direction of the Murian’s pointing finger. An immense space ship stood in solitary grandeur where once there had been some twenty of the other ships. It was quite the largest plane Norton had ever seen. He imagined it was capable of holding a thousand men.
“Okay, pal,” Norton said as he opened the door. “Let’s go!”
And once again the mad race began, this time for the freighter which was to be the solution of their whole problem. As though the men in the Duro house realized what their intention was, a terrific barrage was laid down in front of them. Since they had to pass the Duro house before they could reach the freighter, they had to get past the zone of fire. The Murian who was in the lead threw up his hand and brought them to a halt.
“No use,” he panted. “They’ve got us.”
And then a horde of screaming men cascaded down from the hillside behind the pear-shaped house. At their head was the roly-poly Colonel West. It was as if they had gone mad. They spilled around the house, running at full speed and firing their guns into every sight opening they could see. It was a mad thing they were doing. And an utterly hopeless thing. For those within simply blazed away at them in security.
THE toll the Murians took was frightful. But it did what was the only thing that permitted Norton and his friends to continue. It kept those within busy fighting off the new danger. So it was that Norton and the rest reached the Duro freighter in a less hazardous manner than they thought.
The Murian made straight for the hatchway leading to the pilot’s cabin in the nose of the ship. Norton had time only to observe that the inside of the ship was as large as a good sized battleship, and that it was deserted. Then the Murian was running full speed down a long runway in the center. About a third of the way down he turned down a corridor and stopped before a door.
“If only the automatic motor is in operation,” he muttered as he pressed at a button in the wall next to the elevator door.
It was. The door opened from the center in two sections. And confronting them was one of the largest elevators Norton had ever seen. Low expressions of amazement fell from the lips of the soldiers who crowded on after Norton and his friends.
The Murian pressed at another button, the outside doors swung closed and almost immediately they were at the topmost level. The doors came open and they found themselves in an elaborate cabin, empty of humans.
The Murian wasn’t interested in what he saw there. His gaze was riveted on another door. He walked to this one, slowly. And Norton saw his lips press tight against each other as he punched at the button beside the door. When the door opened, Norton was sure that the other muttered some sort of prayer of thankfulness. Because what he said was:
“One chance in a thousand that they didn’t think to close this door. Now we really have the chance to win.”
But he didn’t go through it. Instead, he turned and went over to the wide pilot’s seat. Whirling it around, he addressed the rest of them, saying: “Well, men. We come to the time for a most important decision to be made. And it’s all up to you.”
They looked at him, puzzled by his manner.
“You see, it boils down to a question of choice. This ship carries a smaller one, a fighter ship, the fastest thing in the universe. Above us, as you know, are six such planes. You have the choice of sending me aloft in an attempt to destroy these planes. If I succeed, then all is well, for then I can destroy the Duro house and all who are within it. But if I fail, then Jetto or whoever has observed us, will communicate the news to those who survive. There are weapons on those destroyer craft which will disintegrate this freighter.
“The alternative is this. Man the weapons on the topside; fight off whoever attacks from above, while some man the stern guns against those in the house. It might be a slow death one way and a fast one the other. But death in any eventuality. If I succeed, then all is saved. I leave it to you.”
For a moment there was utter silence while the men looked at each other. Nothing was said. Yet somehow they saw in each other’s eyes, the same answer.
It was Conners who gave the answer:
“Take the fighter up. Just show us those guns you were talking about.” Five minutes later, the Murian stepped before the open door. Each of the men there had shaken him solemnly by the hand in farewell. Then Norton stepped forward.
“Y’know, my friend,” he said as he clasped the other’s hand. “I sort of envy you. Y’see, I too like to get in there and punch away as long as I’m able. And if the odds are against me, so what. I’d sure like to be up there with you, fella.”
THE other looked keenly into the lined and still bruised features, swept upward to the torn scalp, and peered deep within the smiling eyes of Norton. An answering smile came to his own eyes.
“There’s no reason why you can’t,” he said. “There’s a gunner’s seat in the cabin, you know.”
“You mean . . .”
“Come on, then. We’ve an appointment with destiny.”
Norton watched with fascinated glance as the Murian’s hands worked at the rather simple arrangement on the dashboard. It was far less complicated an affair than any he had ever seen. The markings were foreign to him, but he could almost guess what the symbols were. When the Murian pressed the first, home, a distinct humming sound was heard. The second started the slim, torpedo shape along the greased skidway on which it rested. The third was on a lever which the pilot did not use until they were through the hatchway, which the Murian had opened before they stepped into the ship.
While all this was going on, the Murian gave Norton his instructions: “We’ll have the element of surprise with us. For even if they spot us, it won’t occur to them that we are enemies, unless Jetto warns them. Of course we will also hear that warning.” His words sort of trailed off at the end.
“. . . Let’s hope that they’re too busy in the Duro house to notice us.” Norton looked through the glass in front of him and saw that they were in the air. The Murian was making altitude slowly. Norton guessed that by so doing he wouldn’t arouse the suspicions of the others.
“Do you remember how
you operated the gun aboard the other ship?” the Murian asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s a similar button down below the level where your right hand is. See it?”
“Yep.”
“Now I’m going to be too busy operating this ship to have time to fire the guns in my side,” the Murian said. “That button operates two guns simultaneously, one in the nose and the other slanted forward from the port-side. Keep your finger lax on the button and your eyes glued to the glass in front of you. When you see the crosswires in the center of the glass glow red, press the button in.”
Norton nodded his head in understanding. And did as he was told. He had thought the glass panel at the level of his eyes was a mirror. Now he saw that it didn’t send back the reflection of his face. Yet he couldn’t see through it.
A voice suddenly blared:
“ ‘Ware fighter ship coming in! Beware fighter . . .”
And the Murian went into action. The lever which had been only part of the way in was thrust in for its full length. Norton was shoved back hard against his seat, as the ship’s nose was pointed skyward. He threw a hurried glance through the glass of the cabin and saw that the black of outer space surrounded them. Then the ship’s nose pointed straight to earth and the Murian’s voice came to him in soft warning:
“Watch the glass! We’re going in!”
COLONEL CONNERS and Witson watched the small, streamlined ship take off. In each heart was a prayer for the success of their undertaking. They could see through the wide-curving glass of the cabin the whole panorama of the sky above them. The six destroyers still sailed above in lazy circles. Norton’s ship took a course which passed them by a good distance. Suddenly the two watchers went tense, pressed their faces close to the glass.
They had seen the six craft suddenly split up the formation they were in. And saw too that Norton’s ship had inexplicably disappeared from view. Witson guessed, correctly, what had happened.
“Those ships. They’ve been warned.”
Then, as though it came from nothingness, Norton’s ship plummeted earthward into their vision again. Its nose was pointed straight down as if it was going to plunge itself into the earth. At the last second and as though by a miracle, it straightened out and flew right in between two ships flying side by side. They saw a burst of flame shoot from the nose and side of Norton’s ship and one of the two ships became an incandescent ball. It fell in slow spirals toward the ground. But before it could land, there was terrific report, heard within the walls of the freighter and the destroyer craft disappeared into a thousand bits of flaming wreckage.
A tight grin of satisfaction spread Norton’s lips, as he watched the plane he had shot down, disintegrate. And a hundred screaming devils were let loose inside the cabin. The sister ship to the one they had shot down had caught them in their sights for the barest instant. They hadn’t been hit, but the flame had burst just before their nose and the concussion rocked the staunch little craft from stem to stem.
The Murian twisted desperately at the wheel with one hand while the other pushed at the speed lever. The ship stood on its end, literally and the larger destroyer swept by. The hair lines glowed red in that second and Norton pressed hard at the button. Once again there was that awesome sound of metal being torn asunder, of flame striking the combustibles which made up the other’s armament. He caught a momentary glimpse of the flaming coffin that was the other ship as it slid past them.
“Two,” Norton counted softly. “And four to go.”
Now the air all around them fairly crackled as the flame bursts from the other four ships struck closer and closer to home. The pilots of those ships had evidently decided that in single plane combat Norton’s friend was far the superior. Then better to sacrifice one or two and get him by ganging up on him. The odds were all in their favor.
A weird and thrilling chase began then. For the Murian was quick to get their intentions. He was also quick to realize that in that case he stood little chance of escaping. So he put the throttle all the way in and let them chase him all over the sky.
First they sped high into outer space, then they dipped downward in a weaving serpentine pace toward the earth. And all the while the Murian watched in grim fascination through the glass before him, to see that they did not outguess him.
“I think they’ve got us,” he said after a few moments. “The engines can only manufacture enough fuel for a limited time. That’s why the freighter carried this plane. And the ones chasing us are larger, have greater capacities.”
“You mean this is the end?” Norton asked.
“Could very well be.”
“Then the hell with them! Let’s go in and knock off as many as we can, before we go out!”
“No!” the Murian said softly. “We have a chance. A slim one. If your friends only catch on to what I’m going to do?”
Norton gave the other a puzzled look.
“Might as well shove over,” the Murian suggested. “There won’t be any need of the guns now.”
“You see,” the Murian went on when Norton moved close to him. “This is a faster ship than the others. I’m going to level it off about a hundred yards above the ground. And I’m going to fly back and forth above the freighter.”
“I get it!” Norton said excitedly. “If they’ve got anyone manning the topside guns in the freighter, the ships coming in behind us will be easy marks.”
“If they’ve got anyone manning those guns,” the Murian reminded him softly.
CONNERS and Witson watched the enthralling drama taking place above them. They broke into spontaneous cries of delight when they saw the second ship burst into flames. Then their delighted cries changed to ones of horror and warning when they saw the flight of four come down on them from above. It seemed the most miraculous sort of maneuvering, the way the smaller ship evaded the clumsy approaches of the others.
Suddenly the smaller ship did the narrowest inside loop Conners had ever seen and streaked, almost at tree-top level toward them. In the smallest perceptible time the ship with Norton and the Murian passed overhead. And close behind, the four pursuing ships streaked after them.
Again a loop, this one an outside loop, and the pursued and the pursuers passed overhead. And once again.
“What the hell’s that fool tryin’ to do?” Witson grunted.
“Don’t know,” the Colonel said worriedly. “But there must be a reason other than one of escape. I’d say their plane was way beyond the others’ speed.”
Once again the chase passed above and at such a low altitude, that Witson exclaimed:
“Dammit! What’s he trying to do, ram this thing?”
“H’m,” Conners said in a speculative tone. “They’re flying so low that it seems like I could reach out and . . . holy smoke! Witson! I know why they’re doing that!”
“Huh?”
“Don’t you remember? The Murian told us about the guns on the upper deck and to use them in a pinch. That’s why he’s flying so low! And directly over our heads. He wants us to knock the others out of the sky.”
The other looked at him blank-eyed. But Conners wasn’t speculating any more. His thought spurred him into action. Whirling from the window, he made at full speed for the top deck, where the rest of the crew had gone. Norton had suggested that they man the guns up there just in case he and the Murian didn’t succeed in their attempt to destroy the other ships.
Among the twenty odd men were some who had belonged to a crack antiaircraft outfit. And the last thing the Murian had done was to explain the mechanics of operating the guns.
“You men!” Conners shouted as he raced down the stretch of metal cat-walk toward them. “Man those guns! Quick!”
Their faces betrayed the wonder they felt at his excitement. But they leaped to the guns in automatic obedience.
The entire roof of the freighter was made of some material which had the property of glass in that it could be seen through. The long muzzles of the gun
s protruded through the ports set in the material. They could see the planes in the distance start on another lap of the chase. It would be a matter of seconds, then they would be overhead and past.
“The lead one’s ours,” Conners warned. “Get the others.”
Like automatons the men moved to adjust the sights and set the automatic calculators. The whole thing took a few seconds. Just long enough so that they were through by the time the first ship went by. Then the others followed. And twin flashes of flame leaped from the muzzles of the guns.
And then there was only a single plane following the other.
The Murian spun the ship about. And Norton saw what had happened. An involuntary cheer came to his lips. But when he returned his glance to the Murian, he saw that the other’s face bore a look of intense worry.
“Something wrong?” he asked quickly-
“Fuel’s about run dry,” the Murian said quietly.
“You mean . . . this is the pay-off?”
The Murian was silent. In his eyes, however, was that which told Norton that the man had come to some momentous decision.
“You’re not afraid to die, are you?” the Murian asked.
Norton looked through the glass and saw that the other plane was coming toward them at blinding speed.
“No,” he answered shortly.
“Then make your peace,” the Murian suggested. “What I’m going to do . . . well, it will be suicidal.”
Norton nodded gravely.
“Hang on then,” the other said. And pressed the speed lever all the way in.