by Earl
“But we have to admit, Tom,” said Joyce carefully, “that we have absolutely no shred of evidence or proof. The beam we saw in space is invisible here on Mars, smoked glasses or not. Then there is the almost impossible conception of a beam pushing germs through space for a distance of 95,000,000 miles. You know, I can hardly blame them for calling us nursery truants.” Tom banged a fist against the wall.
“That isn’t what counts at all. I don’t care how many names they call us. I don’t care how impossible the thing sounds. But, for the sake of humanity, they should at least have listened to us and done something about it. With the whole future of civilization at stake, they should at least have given our idea a fair trial, instead of saying so blandly that sooner or later the plague would be stopped. I doubt that it ever will be stopped! I have a vague suspicion that the Jovians, or whatever they are, are super-scientists. That germ of theirs—why, it hasn’t even been isolated yet!”
The two Martians were silent, bowed down with despair. They had done all they could—brought Tom before the government officials. Beyond that their power did not carry.
Suddenly Tom ceased his walk. All eyes were turned to him.
He whirled to face them. “By God!—if they won’t save themselves, we’ll make the attempt!”
“What do you mean?” spluttered Joyce.
“There’s a space-ship in the hangar, isn’t there? We can learn to run it and take a dash out to that asteroid and look for evidence ourselves!”
“But Richardson will never let us use it,” cried Joyce. “He’s the most hard-headed man this side of the Pearly Gate!”
Tom’s face fell as he thought of Richardson whose imagination and geniality were infinitesimally small. He was really a stumbling block.
“Come on, Joyce,” he said tersely. “We’re going to tackle him, tough as he is. Gool and Nork, you stay here. No use getting you in trouble.”
Richardson, looking over written reports in the main offices of the Mars Mining Company, greeted them without evincing pleasure at the intrusion.
“Mr. Richardson,” began Tom, “we would like the use of the space-ship out in the hangar.”
The superintendent jerked his head up.
“Did I hear you right? Use the spaceship? What prank of yours is this?”
“I’m serious,” answered Tom, and his face was grim and pale.
“Tom, I hope nothing is the matter . . . Joyce, has Tom here gone . . .?”
“No, Mr. Richardson,” burst in Tom harshly, “I’m perfectly sane. Let me explain. I want the ship to go to the asteroids, to be perfectly honest with you, for reasons I know it would be useless to present. I am asking this favor of you on the strength of my uncle’s trust in leaving me here on Mars.”
“Your uncle, young man, told me to keep an eye on you and Joyce before he left. I’ve kept out of your way for these two years and let you do pretty much as you pleased, but now I put my thumb down. You must be perfectly sane, although your request smacks of imbecility, but you can never, under any circumstances, have the space-ship, for what queer prank of yours, I can’t imagine . . . say, good Lord, youngster! don’t tell me this has some connection with that scandalous trip you made to Sivid to see some government officials without my permission, to babble about alien rays and plague germs in space . . .”
Tom went white with rage, while Joyce reddened and clenched his fists.
“Yes, it has. And I repeat my request!”
Tom’s voice was icy. Joyce saw that he was reaching the end of his pacific endurance of ridicule.
“Tom, leave the room instantly! I shall tend to you later and your uncle is going to hear about this. Why, you don’t even know how to run a space-ship! As to why you should be addling your brain about the plague when it doesn’t affect you directly . . . I can’t imagine. Good Lord, youngster, must you envision alien invaders when a simple pestilence strikes on the other side of Mars? Earth has had plague upon plague and no one attributed them to fantastic Jovians or whatever you thought they were. Now go and try to get some sense. . . .”
RICHARDSON’S voice ended in a gasp.
He found himself looking down a barrel of cold steel. He followed the hand to the shoulder and then to the face.
He turned white in fear at the blaze in those blue eyes of fierce determination.
“I’ve fooled around too long, Richardson!” crackled Tom, pointing his pistol firmly at the superintendent. “Little as you know about me, you know that I can shoot and shoot well. And if you don’t obey orders, I’ll shoot you as I would anybody else that stood in the way of my present will. I see my duty clear and you nor anybody else can stop me now!”
“Tom . . . put that pistol away . . . your uncle . . .”
“Leave my uncle out of it!” ejaculated Tom savagely. “And listen to me! Connect up with your desk phone there to the right place and tell them to load up the space-ship with full fuel capacity and five extra cans—also two months provisions and water and oxygen. Then tell James Ortman to warm up the engines and prepare for take-off within three hours. For your own information, I’m going to stand here for those three hours with this pistol pointed at your heart till the ship is ready. Get going!”
Richardson, pale and shaky, carried out instructions, able to start the program by means of his phone that connected with every part of the big mining camp. Tom kept a wary eye on him and talked to the trembling Joyce without turning his head, telling him to instruct Gool and Nork to get ready and load their personal belongings into the space-ship.
One interruption nearly disrupted the plan. One of the office force walked in suddenly. Tom quickly thrust the pistol out of view behind his left hip, but he turned ominous eyes on Richardson. The latter, fearing for his life, dismissed the fellow immediately, who left with puzzled eyes bent on the strained positions of the two men. But fortunately nothing came of this.
Fifteen minutes before the three hours were up, Joyce dashed in to announce that all was ready. Tom made Richardson accompany them to the hangar, walking a little in back with his hand around the little pistol in his pocket. His uncompromising threat of death if the superintendent made a false move thoroughly cowed the latter, who valued his life far above the theft of a space-ship.
Gool and Nork stood beside the ship in agitation. The rocket motors, under the hand of pilot Ortman, were slowly blasting forth—“idling”. Tom thought of something on the spur of the moment.
“Quick, Joyce!—you and the brothers get a dozen or so of keg-bombs—they’re just around the comer in the small brick building.”
This done, Tom motioned all into the ship, hurrying as already several of the people thereabouts had stopped, wondering what the space-ship was being used for. Tom, the last one in, released the grip on his pistol with a sigh of relief as he banged shut the seal.
“Get her away from Mars!” he shouted at the pilot.
Gripping the rails tightly, they felt a sudden surge forward as the rockets burst forth in deafening volume. Outside the small windows set in the floor, they saw the surface of Mars rapidly dwindle and shrink to cup shape. Then the light died from around them and the blackness of space came into being. Mars became a disk, then a ball.
Pilot Ortman cut acceleration and turned to Tom.
“What’s our destination?”
He, of course, knew nothing whatever of the events that had led up to this leave-taking. Somewhat mystified at receiving the abrupt orders from the superintendent to prepare for a space trip, he bothered himself little about the matter. He eyed the extra cans of fuel with wonder.
“We’re going to an asteroid on the other side of Mars,” said Tom.
Then seeing the incredulity in the pilot’s face, he frankly and boldly told the whole story, motive and all. Ortman, as it proved, was a philosophic, unemotional person quite willing to pilot the ship to Hell and back, given the orders. Tom saw they would have no trouble with him.
At Ortman’s suggestion, they all fell to check
ing the ship’s stores before severing connections with Mars altogether. The two Martians lost much of their agitation once they were safely away from the planet, and together with Joyce, proceeded to pass around the usual banter and funpoking.
Ortman, with the ship still shooting away from Mars at constant velocity, plotted a course to the asteroid, a laborious process that took several hours. Between him and Tom, they worked out a sleep and watch program for the two weeks it would take to get there.
Then once again the rockets boomed forth, powered by the famous Hydro-hex, the secret compound that had made space-travel a possibility. It was a fine powder, immensely powerful, exploded with a spark.
“One thing I want to know,” asked Joyce as routine matters had been straightened out. “What in common sense was the purpose of bringing the keg-bombs?”
Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Inspiration or insanity, whichever you want to call it.”
THE STRANGE PLANETOID
SEVENTEEN Earth days later, Ortman announced that they were within a hundred thousand miles of the asteroid. Tom had arranged with him for deceleration to be applied at such time as to bring them to a drift in space at about that distance.
Using the mounted telescope, Tom bent his gaze on the asteroid.
“What do you see?” asked Gool eagerly. “Nothing much,” answered Tom. “Seems to be bare. But now is the time to use the smoked glasses. We ought to see the beam leading right to it.”
Joyce, already looking through them, shouted aloud.
“There it is! Ends right there!”
“Then there’s no mistake!” said Tom in a hushed voice. “We’ve struck something here. Ortman, bring the ship closer, and the rest of you keep watch at the ports. If an enemy ship spies us, they’ll probably end our career.”
ORTMAN caused a slow blasting to push the ship nearer, mile by mile, while the others strained their eyes for a possible lurking enemy. Tom, at the telescope, finally gave the command to cut velocity to zero. He turned a white, grimly-set face to his companions.
“Boys, proof number two! Take a look through the telescope!”
One after the other they examined the asteroid which now loomed as a small rock through the ports. Indistinct by reason of the distance and lack of strong light, yet plainly evident was a huge tripod of metal surmounted by a tubular affair that pointed in the direction of distant star-like Mars. At the base could be vaguely defined several elongated objects that seemed to be space-ships.
“I wonder,” said Joyce in awed tones, “what marvelous science they must have to train that thin beam on Mars and make it carry germ spores!”
“And how they manage to keep it centered in that one spot—the Pruntz Plateau,” added Gool in still more awed tones.
“It seems to me,” Joyce said, “that it would work better for them to merely sweep the beam over all Mar’s surface. They certainly would accomplish more that way.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” Tom returned quickly. “Look at it this way: if they spread the germs haphazardly about all over Mars, the whole race would quickly build resistance to it. You know—the vaccination principle. But if they attack suddenly and in concentrated force with the germ, the race has little chance to automatically anti-toxinate itself. They are very wise. They pour their hellish germs into the Martian atmosphere in one spot, like filling a jug by the neck. The concentrated blasts of germs that sweep out from the Pruntz Plateau quickly decimate populations en masse. Looking at the whole thing carefully, I doubt that complete extermination could result, because the air is so impregnated already that the Martians far away from the Pruntz Plateau are becoming immune.”
“Then what are these aliens wasting their time for that way?”
“Possibly they wish merely to cut down the population to a certain minimum and then attack to make victory that much surer. You know, man power is the greatest force in any kind of war or invasion.” Tom shortly after called a conference. “Well, now we know we were right. Mars is being attacked from the back by a dangerous enemy! Who they are, we don’t know. They may be Jovians and they may not—but that isn’t nearly as important as the appalling truth of disaster. The big item is: “What are we going to do about it?”
“Perhaps we ought to go back to Mars and enlist the aid of the government,” suggested Nork, “now that the evidence is so overwhelming that the plague comes from this asteroid.”
“Useless,” grunted Tom, face clouding. “They wouldn’t believe us once. They won’t a second time. After all, what proof have we? Yes, we are sure of ourselves. We’ve seen the beam, seen the projector, put two and two together and arrived at the true result; but will they see the point?”
“I think not,” commented Gool. “I know my people well enough to see how futile it would be for us, mere youngsters in age, to get recognition. The government has cranks of all sorts bother them, claiming to know all about the plague and its cure. To the government we would just be more cranks.”
TOM nodded. “I’m afraid that’s true.
However, we could go back and wait for my uncle to come. He’s due at the next opposition which will be in three months. With his influence—and I think I can convince him we’re not crazy—we might be able to avert the tragedy that is going to inevitably result from the plague.” Joyce growled. “Of all the queer things: here we are with knowledge of vital importance to two worlds, and we have to plot to save them from a terrible fate! I should think any sane government would at least give us a trial.”
“Joyce, only in story-books do things happen the way they should. Efficient, far-seeing, sagacious governments are a figment of imagination. Actually they are hide-bound, muddled bodies of narrowed perspective. If the aliens who attack thus quietly and unobtrusively, had suddenly descended from the clouds and begun bombing and shooting—yes, then the whole planet would be aroused. Only that sort of pressing, inescapable disaster can ever jolt a government to real action.”
James Ortman said little, but his eyes had begun to gleam strangely as the importance of this unprecedented voyage struck him full force.
“I guess the next thing to do is try to enlist the aid of some influential individuals. At least, we could try till your uncle finally arrived and helped us,” Nork expressed himself.
“The trouble is, though,” spoke up Joyce, “that space-ships are not built for warfare—that is, warfare in space itself. What chance would our ships have against aliens with a science that can project the germs in that beam? They probably have lethal weapons built into the ships somehow, something never done with the ships we have on our worlds!”
“That is true,” agreed Tom. “That’s why I’d like to do something here and now without delay. I brought those keg-bombs along but I can’t figure out a thing to do with them. They could wreck the place if one ever fell down there on the asteroid.”
Four worried faces looked at one another blankly. On their young shoulders rested the fate of two worlds. They were youthful and the weighty mental burden of the past three weeks had worn them down, along with the hardships of space-travel.
Tom’s eyes darted nervously from port to port constantly, dreading to see a black shape hurtling at them, bent on their annihilation.
They all turned as Ortman spoke.
“I’ve a suggestion to make—about those keg-bombs. You say if one of them landed on that asteroid, it would ruin their apparatus. I think we can do it!”
“Yes, yes—go on!” whispered Tom, eyes lighting up.
“At the back of the ship,” said Ortman, “is a garbage sompartment from which refuse is thrown. It is really a double airlock. Now if we back the ship toward the asteroid with a bomb in that compartment and leave the outer door open, when I suddenly shoot the back rockets, the bomb will naturally jail out and continue toward the asteroid!”
“Splendid!” shouted Tom with hope in his face.
Feverishly they went to work, loading two of the keg-bombs into the little lock at once. Ordinarily, the expl
osive was set off by spark when used in mining, but now they had to hope that the terrific shock of landing would detonate it.
The pilot, long skilled in handling spaceships, carried his part to perfection. Moving backwards, tail toward the asteroid, the ship sped toward it. The refuse lock, containing two of the Hydro-hex bombs, was open to the vacuum. After shouting a warning, Ortman applied the rear rockets.
“There they go!” screamed Joyce.
“Yes, but they looked a little out of line to me,” added Tom shaking his head. “I think we had better shovel all the bombs out and hope that one out of the bunch will strike. What are the chances, Ortman, do you imagine?”
“Can’t say, Tom. That asteroid is pretty small, with a small gravity. If the bomb sails by too fast and a little too far, it will keep on going and going forever, unless it strikes something else. I think the rocket blasts push them a little off, too, when they come out of the lock.”
“Then let’s get a little nearer,” commanded Tom.
“More risk,” warned Joyce.
“To hell with risk!” returned Tom savagely. “We can’t think of our own puny lives at a time like this. Think of Earth, torn by war—think of Mars, a dead or dying world . . .”
Gool and Nork had the next two bombs in their arms already when Tom called for the loading an hour later after the ship had crawled closer to the dark and shadowed asteroid. They had tears in their eyes, tears of thankfulness to Tom for being so willing to risk his life in the cause of a different people.
Six times Ortman maneuvered the ship to release the huge keg-bombs. A dozen of them, all they had along, shot at a terrific speed toward the asteroid.
“Now back to a hundred thousand miles!” ordered Tom. “We’ll hang around for fifteen hours. If there is no explosion in that time, we’ll know we’ve failed. In that case, we’ll have to go back to Mars and try our luck with my uncle.”