Mystery of the Third Mine

by Robert Lowndes

  There was silence for a moment, then the other voice took over. “Abend, we’re on routine inspection of all closed asteroids. Don’t mind if we come down and look around, do you?”

  “No need for that,” Glen replied. “I’ve already been over my claim, and Clay’s too. Everything’s in order, so you can save yourself work.”

  Another silence, then Webster said, “We’d prefer to satisfy ourselves, even if it isn’t absolutely necessary, Mr. Abend. Just for our own records.”

  “Nope. Sorry, gentlemen, but this is private property, and I like my privacy. You can inspect when I’m not here, but so long as I am here there’s no need for it You know the laws. You can’t interfere unless a miner calls on you for help or is under attack.” “I know the laws,” Webster replied, “but I don’t know that you are who you claim to be. In case you didn’t know, the guard has the right to require identification of anyone staying on a closed asteroid. If you are Glen Abend, then I congratulate you on your escape. But something tells me that you're a person by the name of Gideon.”

  “And what constitutes satisfactory proof that I’m Abend, by your standards?”

  "We want to see you and your ship, fellow. Stand by, because were coming down.”

  “All right, Webster,” Glen said, “you can land on this asteroid, but keep away from my claim. If you step on it, I’ll consider it an attack.”

  “Consider it what you like, Mr. Gideon! I don’t propose to bandy words with you any longer. Were here to do a job, and we're going to do it I advise you not to resist.” There was a clicking sound as Webster cut communication.

  The four ships circled the little asteroid, spaced out so that one passed over the general area of the Clay-Abend claims about every hour. It was not a very wide orbit. The ships were quite close to the surface, but they drifted very slowly. One was nearing now,

  Peter was standing in a deep shadow just within the mine entrance. He was looking up at the ship and could see the exit-port open, see suited figures standing in it.

  One by one they stepped off the ship into space. For a moment they were standing as if an invisible platform extended from the ports. Then they started to move down toward the surface, as a tiny spurt of fire issued from their candles.

  The Gideon party, they still called themselves that, was here in force, twenty-five in all. Glen had been elected commander in chief. The rest of the defenders had been divided into four units under the leadership of Ben Black, Tom Honoye, Alan Clay, and Barbara Abend. Peter wasn't sure whether he was glad that Laura was in Barbara’s unit, or sorry that she wasn’t in his own.

  The Clay unit had drawn the first defense assignment. They came out of the mine now, keeping in the shadows, to go to the positions already chosen and set up their longmen. Peter had counted an even dozen of the suited figures, still drifting down.

  Glen’s voice came to him now. “We outnumber them two to one, fellows, but we're not going to show our strength yet. One unit should be able to handle this attack. They didn’t bring longmen with them, and the ship will be out of range by the time they land.

  “You know the orders. Don’t expose yourselves. Don’t change position without consulting me, or on order. Keep your communicators open and report in rotation when I call. Reports will be within one-minute periods, once the shooting starts. There isn’t too much time to get to you if your air unit is destroyed.”

  “Which unit will reinforce?” Peter wanted to know.

  “For the time being we won’t consider reinforcements. I want them to think that you are our entire command. We’ll change strategy later if we have to. All right. Al, get the first report.”

  “One.” That was Clay himself.

  “Two,” said Peter.

  “Three.” That would be Bette Demark, a husky blonde, who rarely joined in conversation. Her claim was also under protection.

  “Four.” Frank Guamieri. Ama had voided his contract with Belt Insurance after his mine was lost.

  “Five.” Heitor Vasques. Pilferers had cleaned out his mine after he'd withdrawn membership from Ama.

  "Six.” Mish Karkannian, another client of Belt Insurance.

  It was very still then, and the suited figures were dim, menacing shapes in the dim light. There were faces behind the helmets of these shapes, Peter remembered—faces of men who could laugh and cry out in pain as he could. It was nothing like the faked fight on that asteroid where they met Ogden. This would be no put-up job. Peter could almost hear the breathing of the others in his communicator. There was a tightness in his stomach. Glen had stressed it, but all knew that this would only be the first assault. They could beat it back, but after that. . .?

  He wondered if Laura was sure now. .. . But there couldn't be any doubt in her mind any longer. He wished he'd had a chance to talk to her again.

  Someone was whispering. He could hear the words in his ears. “ ‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 7 will fear no evil. .

  Chapter 15 Battle

  Glen Abend’s voice was saying, “I've just received a last chance to admit the guard peacefully; offer "I was refused. Take it easy now, and don't open up J until you see someone. Remember—the flash of the pellet can spot you as well as the enemy.”

  Peter lay flat beside his longman, peering out into the dim glow of light. The suited figures were a little too far away, as yet, for good shooting, and they'd scattered once they landed. They'd approach in a wide circle.

  Abend said, "They're moving in slowly, but they're standing up. That’s a break for you. You ought to be able to make at least one hit before they realize that they're in range. Once they drop flat on the surface, it'll be harder to spot them. Conserve ammunition, but don't hesitate to fire in unison once you have a target."

  Both the shortgun and the longman were singleshot weapons. The spring had to be pulled back for each pellet, since the recoil was not strong enough to kick it back by itself. There was no danger of jamming, however. These beryllium-bronze springs were virtually unbreakable, as well as having long-life elasticity. Shortguns carried a dozen pellets to the round; longmen, three dozen.

  Silence again. This was nothing like the films of Earth warfare Peter had seen, with their continuous roar of explosions and shouting. The defenders were in two lines, in a semicircle some distance in front of the mine entrance. Four were in front and two in the gaps behind, each one either in a small crevasse or in the shadow of a rock. They could move a short distance in any direction without exposing themselves.

  If they started jumping, they could go right over us, Peter thought. But they wouldn't; a suited figure in the air was helpless, and a perfect target. Longmen could be swiveled and aimed in any direction. He wondered why they'd all landed in front, rather than one or two dropping behind the mine, to come up from another direction. It argued for poor strategy, but then Webster apparently had no idea that Abend was prepared to defend the mine. He looked around briefly. Glen wasn't visible.

  A flare up ahead showed a suited figure. Peter aimed a little in front of it and shot. The second flare revealed it bent down and moving to the right. As Peter charged his gun, two more flares burst—one directly against the man's leg. Peter saw the gloved hand lifting to trigger a shortgun.

  There was another burst of light right on the gun itself, then a brilliant flash that seemed to envelop the man's hand and arm. Peter's heart jumped into his mouth, as Glen's voice sounded. “You've got him. That pellet hit his gun and touched off all the ammunition at once. Must have blown the poor fellow's hand off!"

  Another flash revealed the figure tumbled to the ground, its suit deflated. The man was clearly unconscious from shock, and the lack of pressure would be bursting capillaries all over his body. If his helmet weren't cracked or his air unit damaged, he could still breathe. But he'd bleed to death quickly.

  Now the attackers knew that Abend wasn't alone here. Those shots had followed too quickly to have come from a single gun.

  Peter saw a
spot of light to either side of him. That big flash must have revealed some of their own positions. There was a burst in front of the rock near him. He fired at a figure off to one side and saw the man's helmet light up as a crack split along it. Another one out.

  “Report!”

  He heard his father say, “One," and called out, “Two." There was silence, then Numbers Four, Five, and Six answered. Number Three must have been hit.

  “Six, go to Three,” came Glen's orders. “Four, cover your right. Five, move up along your gully."

  Peter wondered how badly Bette Demark had been hit as he fired again. The figures were not such good targets now. They were getting into shadows and cracks. Who were the two casualties on the other side? He hoped that neither was Webster himself. There was no sign that anyone was trying to aid the fallen ones.

  His musings stopped as he saw a figure slowly coming out of a gully. Peter fired and missed, but two other shots hit die figure's back as it lay flat, shattering the man's air unit.

  Three of the twelve had been knocked out, but the story might be different once they came within good shortgun range. Then numbers, which meant greater fire-power, would count. Once a man's position was outlined, he would be peppered with pellets. One was almost certain to be effective.

  “Number Six reporting," came Karkannian's voice. “Three's all right. Just a little dizzy, and her communicator seems to be out. She wants to get back into the fight.”

  “Orders to Number Three are withdrawn," replied Abend. “We cannot co-ordinate with anyone who can't speak with us."

  The first flurry of action seemed to be over. An occasional flash indicated that someone was trying to spot an attacker or defender, but there were no follow-ups. That meant that all were temporarily in cover. Peter waited as the silence began to grow and build up again.

  Now the battle had returned to its first stage, the waiting game. Sooner or later someone would move, would become impatient or reckless and expose himself. The excitement was gone; this was a war of nerves. You waited and strained your eyes until everything began to look like a suited figure. After a while you fired, hoping that the flare would show something. Peter looked rapidly in various directions as these spotlight shots flashed, wondering if the attackers were creeping up on him.

  He snapped out of it as he heard Clay say, “One," and answered. He hadn’t heard the call to report. Guamieri, Vasques, and Karkannian all answered.

  “Unit One!” came Glen’s voice. “Cease fire. The enemy has asked for a truce, and is ready to evacuate.”

  Peter looked around and saw the distant figures all standing now. His eyes caught the fighting ship as it appeared over the horizon, drifting lazily. He heard Clay protest. “How do we know this isn’t a trick?”

  “They’re all standing in plain sight, as you can see”

  “They may just be waiting for us to stand up too. They could get several of us, if we weren’t ready to fire.”

  “Watch them. They re supposed to be putting their guns away. Don’t expose yourselves until I give the word.”

  It seemed to be straightforward enough, though. The others were all hanging their shortguns back on the suit hooks at their waists. They raised their gloved hands, palms up.

  “All right,” said Abend. “I told Webster we would stand up as soon as they’d done that.”

  Vasques laughed. “Some army, aren’t they? They sure cry easily.”

  “Don’t deceive yourself,” said Clay. “They came in here figuring this would be easy, and they’ve paid for overconfidence. You can bet they won't make that kind of mistake again. They’ll come in prepared.”

  “Prepared to wipe out the force they think we have,” Glen reminded. “Webster didn’t ask whether all of us were out here shooting, and I didn't volunteer any information.”

  ‘‘Why give them a chance like that?” Vasques objected. "They’re out to finish us off, aren’t they? Well, let’s open up on them as soon as they jump for their ship. It’ll serve them right.”

  “And we know they're coming back,” put in Karkannian.

  “No, as tempting as it may be, we can't do it It would cost us more than we gained,” decided Glen. “How come?” said Clay.

  “Such a move,” replied Glen, “would force them to make this a fight to the finish, here and now. That might be their plan, but it might not too. I don't want to push them into it, if they aren’t already determined.” The figures were now bending over, apparently adjusting their equipment.

  “Look at them, will you?” cried Vasques. “Standing out there, calm as you please, just waiting for us to shoot them! Abend, I tell you they’re out to finish us—a little while later, if not right now!”

  "I agree that Webster wants to get rid of us,” said Glen. “But I repeat—there's one thing we can't be sure of. The time might not be right for him to send the Miners’ Guard in to commit murder.

  “You've all had experience with him. Well, hasn't he been careful to make his every move look legal? Hasn’t he always had some reasonable-seeming justification?”

  Vasques thought for a moment before replying. “Yes ... in a way ... if you didn't know what kind of a crook he was.”

  “Exactly,” Glen insisted. “I've done a bit of investigation. I'm satisfied that a good part of the Miners' Guard consists of honest men who think they're upholding the law. Webster knows that too. He needed that attitude, and he still needs it.”

  “If we shoot his men down now, we’ll be uniting them all against us. If we deal fairly, we may profit by some difference of opinion. Webster’s power isn’t absolute.”

  "So what do you look for, Glen?” asked Clay.

  "I think he’ll offer some sort of compromise.” "Compromise!” Clay snorted. “There’s nothing to compromise; he’s in the wrong, and we all know it. Why even consider making a deal with him? We didn’t come here to make compromises. We could have made them back on Ceres—let him take our claims and pretend we liked it!”

  "We’ve already made a deal,” Abend replied patiently. “We’ve accepted a truce—nothing more. I don’t expect to gain anything from this but time. That’s no loss. I have a feeling that time may be on our side. No matter how you look at it, we’ve nothing to lose by talking, so long as we’re ready to fight when it's necessary.”

  “Shall we stay in position here?” Peter wanted to know.

  "Yes. I wouldn’t put it past them to try something if we turn our backs. Stay where you are and let them count you, until they're off the asteroid.”

  There was a bit of banter among the defenders, but Peter had no heart for joining in. He could see little point in dragging this out, but Glen might have something in mind. Perhaps he was waiting for news from Kreuder. Peter watched the attackers, expecting to see them go over toward their fallen comrades. No such move was made. They'd finished whatever adjustments they had to make on their suits now. The first man jumped straight up and the others followed, one after another. After a few moments, he saw the wink of candles as they started to head for the oncoming ship.

  The lack of any apparent concern for the injured left him with a sick feeling. One man had been beyond help, but the other two might have been rescued. “I guess you re on your own when you work for Ama,” he thought. He didn't realize that he'd said it aloud until Clay answered, “Looks that way, partner. Seems to fit into their pattern, and it doesn’t set well with Glen’s argument about them."

  Peter started to shuffle toward the man who'd been hit first. There was no need for concealment. If the guard didn't know already how many had been opposing them, they could count Unit One from the sky easily enough. He turned on his suit light.

  Karkannian was saying, “This one's done for/’ and Peter realized that Mish was talking about the man up ahead, He came up to the figure in its deflated suit and stared down at the bloated face.

  “Well, I guess he won’t act in any more stage fights." said Clay. “Pretty good actor too. He sure convinced me.” Peter saw now
that he was looking on the remains of Dave Ogden.

  He'd never liked the man. He knew that it hadn't been long since Ogden was trying to kill him and his friends. But somehow, looking at this figure, Peter found that his anger and hatred had gone. He might have been looking at the victim of an accident—the kind that all miners knew might be their fate at any time. It didn't make much difference who had fired that lucky shot. In a way, Ogden had really killed himself.

  And the others? Were they of Ogden's stripe, or were they men who believed they were doing their duty?

  Clay was saying, "My father came to Mars, and I was born there. I lived there most of my life. People were born and they died, and some died worse than this. But I never saw a man killed this way until I came out to the Belt.

  "They taught me when I was a youngster that men didn't have to die this way, that they shouldn't. But they warned me not to let myself think that it couldn't happen again. They said the worst thing was getting so that you took it for granted, looked on it as a natural thing and accepted it."

  “We aren't looking at it that way, Dad,” said Peter.

  Clay sighed. “I wonder. You heard the reaction when someone suggested that we shoot those guards down when they were helpless. I wonder if killing a man isn't so unnatural that a person has to convince himself it's perfectly normal under the circumstances. Then he has to be ready to do it again and again in order to keep himself convinced."

  "Well, is it better to let yourself be killed?”

  Clay chuckled grimly. “The wisest men in human history have been arguing that since languages were Invented, I guess. You and I have both given our answers and we're here to answer some more. If we'd made the other decision, we couldn't argue our case. Nope, I'll stand by it, but don’t like it.”

  Peter turned away, and was starting back toward the mine when he felt a heavy blow against his leg and saw a flash. It was as if someone had given him a violent shove; he felt himself tipping over, and heard exclamations. Peter tried to gain his balance, but he felt dizzy and somewhat faint.