The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 01

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The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 01 Page 175

by Anthology


  We were, however, well equipped with explosives. Grantline had brought a large supply for his mining operations, and much of it was still unused. We had, also, an ample stock of oxygen fuses, and a variety of oxygen light flares in small, fragile glass globes.

  It was to use these explosives against the brigands that Snap and I were working out our scheme with the gravity plates. The brigand ship would come with giant projectors and some thirty men. If we could hold out against them for a time, the fact that the Planetara was missing would bring us help from Earth.

  Another day. A tenseness was upon all of us, despite the absorption of our feverish activities. To conserve power, the camp was almost dark, we lived in dim, chill rooms, with just a few weak spots of light outside to mark the watchmen on their rounds. We did not use the telescope, but there was scarcely an hour when one or the other of the men was not sitting on a cross-piece up in the dome of the little instrument room, casting a tense, searching gaze through his glasses into the black, starry firmament. A ship might appear at any time now--a rescue ship from Earth, or the brigands from Mars.

  Anita and Venza through these days could aid us very little save by their cheering words. They moved about the rooms, trying to inspire us; so that all the men, when they might have been humanly sullen and cursing their fate, were turned to grim activity, or grim laughter, making a joke of the coming siege. The morale of the camp now was perfect. An improvement indeed over the inactivity of their former peaceful weeks!

  Grantline mentioned it to me. "Well put up a good fight, Haljan. These fellows from Mars will know they've had a task before they ever sail off with the treasure."

  I had many moments alone with Anita. I need not mention them. It seemed that our love was crossed by the stars, with an adverse fate dooming it. And Snap and Venza must have felt the same. Among the men, we were always quietly, grimly active. But alone.... I came upon Snap once with his arms around the little Venus girl. I heard him say:

  "Accursed luck! That you and I should find each other too late, Venza. We could have a lot of fun in Greater New York together."

  "Snap, we will!"

  As I turned away, I murmured, "And pray God, so will Anita and I."

  The girls slept together in a small room of the main building. Often during the time of sleep, when the camp was stilled except for the night watch, Snap and I would sit in the corridor near the girls' door, talking of that time when we would all be back on our blessed Earth.

  Our eight days of grace were passed. The brigand ship was due--now, tomorrow, or the next day.

  I recall, that night, my sleep was fitfully uneasy. Snap and I had a cubby together. We talked, and made futile plans. I went to sleep, but awakened after a few hours. Impending disaster lay heavily upon me. But there was nothing abnormal nor unusual in that!

  Snap was asleep. I was restless, but I did not have the heart to awaken him. He needed what little repose he could get. I dressed, left our cubby and wandered out into the corridor of the main building.

  It was cold in the corridor, and gloomy with the weak blue light. An interior watchman passed me.

  "All as usual, Haljan."

  "Nothing in sight?"

  "No. They're watching."

  I went through the connecting corridor to the adjacent building. In the instrument room several of the men were gathered, scanning the vault overhead.

  "Nothing, Haljan."

  I stayed with them awhile, then wandered away. An outside man met me near the admission lock chambers of the main building. The duty man here sat at his controls, raising the air pressure in the locks through which the outside watchman was coming. The relief sat here in his bloated suit, with his helmet on his knees. It was Wilks.

  "Nothing yet, Haljan. I'm going up to the peak of the crater to see if anything is in sight. I wish that damnable brigand ship would come and get it over with."

  Instinctively we all spoke in half whispers, the tenseness bearing in on us.

  The outside man was white and grim, but he grinned at Wilks. He tried the familiar jest: "Don't let the Earthlight get you!"

  Wilks went out through the ports--a process of no more than a minute. I wandered away again through the corridors.

  I suppose it was half an hour later that I chanced to be gazing through a corridor window. The lights along the rocky cliff were tiny blue spots. The head of the stairway leading down to the abyss of the crater floor was visible. The bloated figure of Wilks was just coming up. I watched him for a moment making his rounds. He did not stop to inspect the lights. That was routine. I thought it odd that he passed them.

  Another minute passed. The figure of Wilks went with slow bounds over toward the back of the ledge where the glassite shelter housed the treasure. It was all dark off there. Wilks went into the gloom, but before I lost sight of him, he came back. As though he had changed his mind, he headed for the foot of the staircase which led up the cliff to where, at the peak of the little crater, five hundred feet above us, the narrow observatory was perched. He climbed with easy bounds, the light on his helmet bobbing in the gloom.

  I stood watching. I could not tell why there seemed to be something queer about Wilks' actions. But I was struck with it, nevertheless. I watched him disappear over the summit.

  Another minute went by. Wilks did not reappear. I thought I could make out his light on the platform up there. Then abruptly a tiny white beam was waving from the observatory platform! It flashed once or twice, then was extinguished. And now I saw Wilks plainly, standing in the Earthlight, gazing down.

  Queer actions! Had the Earthlight touched him? Or was that a local signal call which he sent out? Why should Wilks be signaling? What was he doing with a hand helio? Our watchmen, I knew, had no reason to carry one.

  And to whom could Wilks be signaling? To whom, across this Lunar desolation? The answer stabbed at me: to Miko's band!

  I waited less than a moment. No further light. Wilks was still up there!

  I went back to the lock entrance. Spare helmets and suits were here beside the keeper. He gazed at me inquiringly.

  "I'm going out, Franck. Just for a minute." It struck me that perhaps I was a meddlesome fool. Wilks, of all of Grantline's men, was, I knew, most in his commander's trust. The signal could have been some part of this night's ordinary routine, for all I knew.

  I was hastily donning an Erentz suit. I added, "Let me out. I just got the idea Wilks is acting strangely." I laughed. "Maybe the Earthlight has touched him."

  With my helmet on, I went through the locks. Once outside, with the outer panel closed behind me, I dropped the weights from my belt and shoes and extinguished my helmet light.

  Wilks was still up there. Apparently he had not moved. I bounded off across the ledge to the foot of the ascending stairs. Did Wilks see me coming? I could not tell. As I approached the stairs the platform was cut off from my line of vision.

  I mounted with bounding leaps. In my flexible gloved hand I carried my only weapon, a small projector with firing caps for use in this outside near-vacuum.

  I held the weapon behind me. I would talk to Wilks first. I went slowly up the last hundred feet. Was Wilks still up there? The summit was bathed in Earthlight. The little metal observatory platform came into view above my head.

  Wilks was not there. Then I saw him standing on the rocks nearby, motionless. But in a moment he saw me coming.

  I waved my left hand with a gesture of greeting. It seemed to me that he started, made as though to leap away, and then changed his mind. I sailed from the head of the staircase with a twenty foot leap and landed lightly beside him. I gripped his arm for audiphone contact.

  "Wilks!"

  Through my visor his face was visible. I saw him and he saw me. And I heard his voice:

  "You, Haljan. How nice!"

  It was not Wilks, but the brigand Coniston.

  XXIV

  The duty man at the exit locks stood at his window and watched me curiously. He saw me go up the spi
der stairs. He could see the figure he thought was Wilks, standing at the top. He saw me join Wilks, saw us locked together in combat.

  For a brief instant the duty man stood amazed. There were two fantastic figures, fighting at the very brink of the cliff. They were small, dwarfed by distance, alternately dim and bright as they swayed in and out of the shadows. The duty man could not tell one from the other. To him it was Haljan and Wilks, fighting to the death!

  The duty man sprang into action. An interior siren call was on the instrument panel near him. He rang it frantically.

  The men came rushing to him, Grantline among them.

  "What's this? Good God, Franck!"

  They had seen the silent, deadly combat up there on the cliff.

  Grantline stood stricken with amazement. "That's Wilks!"

  "And Haljan," the duty man gasped. "He went out--something wrong with Wilks' actions--"

  The interior of the camp was in a turmoil. The men, awakened from sleep, ran out into the corridors shouting questions.

  "An attack?"

  "Is it an attack?"

  "The brigands?"

  But it was Wilks and Haljan in a fight up there on the cliff. The men crowded at the bull's-eye windows.

  And over all the confusion the alarm siren, with no one thinking to shut it off, was screaming.

  Grantline, momentarily stricken, stood gazing. One of the figures broke away from the other, bounded up to the summit from the stair platform to which they had both fallen. The other followed. They locked together, swaying at the brink. For an instant it seemed that they would go over; then they surged back, momentarily out of sight.

  Grantline found his wits. "Stop them! I'll go out and stop them! What fools!"

  He was hastily donning one of the Erentz suits. "Cut off that siren!"

  Within a minute Grantline was ready. The duty man called from the window, "Still at it, the fools. By the infernal--they'll kill themselves!"

  "Franck, let me out."

  "I'll go with you, Commander." But the volunteer was not equipped. Grantline would not wait.

  The duty man turned to his panel. The volunteer shoved a weapon at Grantline.

  Grantline jammed on his helmet, took the weapon.

  He moved the few steps into the air chamber which was the first of the three pressure locks. Its interior door panel swung open for him. But the door did not close after him!

  Cursing the man's slowness, he waited a few seconds. Then he turned to the corridor. The duty man came running.

  Grantline took off his helmet. "What in hell--"

  "Broken! Dead!"

  "What!"

  "Smashed from outside," gasped the duty man. "Look there--my tubes--"

  The control tubes of the ports had flashed into a short circuit and burned out. The admission ports would not open!

  "And the pressure controls smashed! Broken from outside!"

  There was no way now of getting through the pressure locks. The doors, the entire pressure lock system, was dead. Had it been tampered with from outside?

  As if to answer Grantline's question there came a chorus of shouts from the men at the corridor windows.

  "Commander! By God--look!"

  A figure was outside, close to the building! Clothed in suit and helmet, it stood, bloated and gigantic. It had evidently been lurking at the port entrance, had ripped out the wires there.

  It moved past the windows, saw the staring faces of the men, and made off with giant bounds. Grantline reached the window in time to see it vanish around the building corner.

  It was a giant figure, larger than an Earth man. A Martian?

  * * * * *

  Up on the summit of the crater the two small figures were still fighting. All this turmoil had taken no more than a minute or two.

  A lurking Martian outside? The brigand, Miko? More than ever, Grantline was determined to get out. He shouted to his men to don some of the other suits, and called for some of the hand projectors.

  But he could not get out through these main admission ports. He could have forced the panels open perhaps; but with the pressure changing mechanism broken, it would merely let the air out of the corridor. A rush of air, probably uncontrollable. How serious the damage was, no one could tell as yet. It would perhaps take hours to repair it.

  Grantline was shouting, "Get those weapons! That's a Martian outside! The brigand leader, probably! Get into your suits, anyone who wants to go with me! We'll go by the manual emergency exit."

  But the prowling Martian had found it! Within a minute Grantline was there. It was a smaller two-lock gateway of manual control, so that the person going out could operate it himself. It was in a corridor at the other end of the main building. But Grantline was too late! The lever would not open the panels!

  Had someone gone out this way and broken the mechanisms after him? A traitor in the camp? Or had someone come in from outside? Or had the skulking Martian outside broken this lock as he had broken the other?

  The questions surged on Grantline. His men crowded around him. The news spread. The camp was a prison! No one could get out!

  And outside, the skulking Martian had disappeared. But Wilks and Haljan were still fighting. Grantline could see the two figures up on the observatory platform. They bounded apart, then together again. Crazily swaying, bouncing, striking the rail.

  They went together in a great leap off the platform onto the rocks, and rolled in a bright patch of Earthlight. First one on top, then the other.

  They rolled unheeding to the brink. Here, beyond the midway ledge which held the camp, it was a sheer drop of a thousand feet, on down to the crater floor.

  The figures were rolling; then one shook himself loose; rose up, seized the other and, with desperate strength, shoved him--

  The victorious figure drew back to safety. The other fell, hurtling down into the shadows past the camp level--down out of sight in the darkness of the crater floor.

  Snap, who was in the group near Grantline at the window gasped, "God! Was that Gregg who fell?"

  No one could say. No one answered. Outside, on the camp ledge, another helmeted figure now became visible. It was not far from the main building when Grantline first noticed it. It was running fast, bounding toward the spider staircase. It began mounting.

  And now still another figure became visible--the giant Martian again. He appeared from around the corner of the main Grantline building. He evidently saw the winner of the combat on the cliff, who now was standing in the Earthlight, gazing down. And he saw too, no doubt, the second figure mounting the stairs. He stood quite near the window through which Grantline and his men were gazing, with his back to the building, looking up to the summit. Then he ran with tremendous leaps toward the ascending staircase.

  Was it Haljan standing up there on the summit? Who was it climbing the stairs? And was the third figure Miko?

  Grantline's mind framed the questions. But his attention was torn from them, and torn even from the swift silent drama outside. The corridor was ringing with shouts.

  "We're imprisoned! Can't get out! Was Haljan killed? The brigands are outside!"

  And then an interior audiphone blared a calling for Grantline. Someone in the instrument room of the adjoining building was talking.

  "Commander, I tried the telescope to see who got killed--"

  But he did not say who got killed, for he had greater news.

  "Commander! The brigand ship!"

  Miko's reinforcements had come.

  XXV

  Not Wilks, but Coniston! His drawling, British voice:

  "You, Gregg Haljan! How nice!"

  His voice broke off as he jerked his arm from me. My hand with the projector came up, but with a sweeping blow he struck my wrist. The weapon dropped to the rocks.

  I fought instinctively, those first moments; my mind was whirling with the shock of surprise. This was not Wilks, but the brigand Coniston.

  It was an eerie combat. We swayed; shoving, kicking,
wrestling. His hold around my middle shut off the Erentz circulation; the warning buzz rang in my ears, to mingle with the rasp of his curses. I flung him off, and my Erentz motors recovered. He staggered away, but in a great leap came at me again.

  I was taller, heavier and far stronger than Coniston. But I found him crafty, and where I was awkward in handling my lightness, he seemed more skillfully agile.

  I became aware that we were on the twenty foot square grid of the observatory platform. It had a low metal railing. We surged against it. I caught a dizzying glimpse of the abyss. Then it receded as we bounced the other way. And then we fell to the grid. His helmet bashed against mine, striking as though butting with the side of his head to puncture my visor panel. His gloved fingers were clutching at my throat.

  As we regained our feet, I flung him off, and bounded like a diver, head first, into him. He went backward, but skillfully kept his feet under him, gripped me again and shoved me.

  I was tottering at the head of the staircase--falling. But I clutched at him. We fell some twenty or thirty feet to be next lower spider landing. The impact must have dazed us both. I recall my vague idea that we must have fallen down the cliff.... My air shut off--then it came again. The roaring in my ears was stilled; my head cleared, and I found that we were on the landing, fighting.

  He presently broke away from me, bounded to the summit with me after him. In the close confines of the suit I was bathed in sweat and gasping. I had no thought to increase the oxygen control. I could not find it; or it would not operate.

  I realized that I was fighting sluggishly, almost aimlessly. But so was Coniston!

 

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