by Eando Binder
Even then, Bruce barely kept from shouting aloud. Dora and Dr. Kent stood crouched in the shadow. Though more haggard, they seemed none the worse for whatever experience they had gone through. The spy, still warning against making a sound, grasped Bruce’s arm and led him down winding stairs, the girl and her father following.
Bruce realized they were traversing the dome by an entirely different route than when entering. The way led through deserted kitchens and repair shops, dimly lighted. At last the spy halted before an airlock seal.
“Go through,” he whispered to all three. “It’s the Jovian night. The guards won’t be watching your ship. I have no suit for you, but you can breathe the Jovian air for those few seconds without harm. Get away as fast as you can in the ship, before general alarm. In free space, radio Ganymede immediately and send a message through the Earth Space Patrol, exposing this base. That’s all. Good luck.”
Bruce wanted to thank the man and shake his hand, but the spy hurriedly shoved him into the airlock chamber. Dora and Dr. Kent followed and a moment later the outer door swung open as Bruce jerked over its controlling lever. A blast of noisome, tainted Jovian air, cold as ice, billowed over them.
“Don’t breathe deeply,” warned Bruce, leaping out. The three sped for their ship, a little black shape barely revealed under the dim light of three moons behind the misty sky.
All seemed well, and Bruce exulted—until suddenly an airlock opened a quarter-circle away in the blue dome they had just quitted. And the Earth spy leaped out, shouting like a madman.
What was the fool doing? Trying to insure their escape by attracting attention to himself? It seemed the only explanation, and Bruce grasped the arms of Dora and her father, propelling them along faster over the spongy ground.
A hundred feet to go…
Bruce faintly heard the spy’s shout, in disconnected words: “Bruce…wait…tricked…two…danger…”
Bruce shoved the other two ahead, waiting for the spy to come up. Somehow, at the last moment, their escape had been detected. The spy had been tricked, exposed. Was it too late for them all to get away?
It seemed so, in the following minute of horror.
A brilliant searchlight beam flicked on suddenly from one of the dome’s outside guard stations. Three Martian guards centered it on the spy’s flying figure. The hoarse, weird chatter of an auto-proton gun sounded, kicking up dust around the spy. A second later the doomed man threw up his hands and dove on his face, the right side of his body torn away. He was gone.
Gasping, choking in the miasmal Jovian air, Bruce stumbled after Dora and Dr. Kent. The searchlight and gun turned, and proton charges began to kick viciously around Bruce.
Fifty feet to go. Only a miracle could save him…
Bruce didn’t believe in miracles, but one seemed in progress. Weaving and ducking, he somehow survived the hail of shots from a gun manned by the renowned Martian gunners. It was almost a screaming joke. It was an impossible dream. It couldn’t be—and yet it was.
Gaining the lock of his ship, already opened by his two companions, Bruce leaped in. As he swung the hatch shut, a hail of proton-charges drummed against the metal.
“Hurry,” Dr. Kent’s voice sounded coughingly, as he cleared his lungs of Jovian gases. “They’ll use their antiaircraft guns.”
Dora stood pale-faced at her father’s side, her blue eyes wide with strain.
Bruce sobered instantly, turned on his engine and revved it to the limit for a leaping take-off, with all underjets wide open. The ship took off sluggishly, however, against Jupiter’s mighty gravity. Before they had risen a hundred feet, the throaty whoosh of a proton-blast crackled past their nose. Because of the premature alarm, they would have to run a gauntlet of guns. Bruce groaned. Their chances of getting through were close to zero.
But he settled down to tapping the rocket keys in an intricate pattern, determined to play out the slim chance. The ship slewed from side to side in a weaving, rolling, dancing course that only a class-A pilot had ever mastered. Sweating, Bruce heard the sinister blasts of the proton guns all around their darting ship.
One glance below froze his heart. The blue dome and the two nearest had broken out in a spangle of searchlight beams. Dull red flashes limned a dozen gun-pits in action. The Martian defenses, designed to hold off a horde of the enemy, were blasting away at their lone ship.
No chance at all, Bruce told himself in a strange calm, waiting for the shot with their number on it. When it came, their lives would be snuffed out instantaneously.
And yet, a minute later, the tiny ship was still weaving its way up into the blessed darkness. Miracle number two was in progress. How could there be two miracles, one after the other? Bruce didn’t know; he only hugged to himself the exultant knowledge that they were saved.
The searchlight beams faded behind them, lost in the thick mists. Sporadic shots burst widely by. At night, the enemy’s infra-mist sights were useless. The three Earth people had come through, against all the vaunted gunnery of the famed Martian military.
Bruce drove his little ship like an arrow through the Jovian air blanket. Not even pursuit ships could find them now, lost in the vast, dark atmosphere.
Bruce turned.
“Well, we made it.” He felt almost silly saying it. They had defied certain death, not once, but three times. They had lived through a daring, miraculous saga of escape. They carried with them vital information of interplanetary importance. All he could say, in a dry, uninspired voice, was, “Well, we made it.”
Dr. Kent and Dora seemed equally at a loss to say anything appropriate to the occasion. Suddenly the scientist stumbled to a wall bunk, sank down groaning. His body doubled up. Dora staggered to another bunk, drew the curtains.
The same symptoms seized Bruce a second later. The bends! Going from the thin Martian air of the dome through the high-pressure Jovian air, and finally into the Earth-pressure air of the ship had played the usual havoc in their bloodstreams. Sometimes death resulted, at the least, agony.
Before the worst of the spell had come, Bruce dragged himself to the wall medicine chest, swallowed a metabolic-pill, and brought the same to the others. It eased their internal pains somewhat, but it was not till three hours later they faced one another again, weak and spent.
Bruce had stuck to his pilot board, bleary-eyed, watching his instruments and making sure they were working away from Jupiter’s treacherous pull. In open space, he set a course for Earth at two gravities acceleration. In a week, they would arrive.
Chapter 6
Dr. Kent had little to tell of the three days he and Dora had been separated from Bruce within the blue dome.
“High Commander Ru Molo was about to use physical torture on Dora before my eyes, when the chance for escape came.” He waved a hand. “But let’s not talk about that. It’s behind us and best forgotten. Let’s look ahead…”
“Yes, let’s look ahead.” Bruce turned his eyes on Dora. Her face looked strange with strain. But once on Earth, with a chance to rest, he told himself, she would be the truly lovely sweet-faced girl who…”
“Dora,” he murmured eagerly, reaching his hand for hers, “on Earth, we—you and I—”
The girl drew her hand away before he could take it. She looked at him queerly. “Jay, don’t—don’t touch me,” she said in a low, unnatural voice. “You mustn’t. I…” She stopped.
Bruce was startled.
“But, Dora—that’s an odd thing to say. Surely…” He floundered, wondering why she was suddenly so cold to him. He thought of their one kiss before the reprieve. She had returned it eagerly, passionately. From that moment on he had had no doubt of her feelings. Now…
It burst like a bombshell in Bruce’s brain. “You mean…John Gorson?”
The girl, nervously watching him, nodded quickly, as though in relief at his understanding. “Yes, John Gorson. You understand?”
“I see.” Bruce felt suddenly sick. “You mean that now, being free from the
Martians, you have to live up to your bargain with him? But it isn’t fair, Dora, neither to yourself nor to me. The bargain doesn’t hold after what happened. Gorson’s money can be paid off…”
The girl shook her head firmly. “That wasn’t the bargain…paying off the money, in money…”
Bruce was speechless with dismay. Hot anger burned in his veins at the monstrous agreement. But beneath it, he looked with new respect at the girl for her high-minded attitude.
A voice from the radio, which Dr. Kent had turned on, interrupted:
“…situation more tense than ever. Martian warships, now patrolling all the trans-Asteroid space lanes, have stopped and interned a dozen Earth and Venus freighters. High Lord Kilku’s ultimatum to the Trojan Asteroid Federation has not been answered. He demands that they clear their docks of all Earth and Venus shipping, and take care of Mercury and Mars freightage.
“This latest move of High Lord Kilku of Mars is interpreted by some as deliberate war-provoking. If the independent Trojan Federation refuses, Mars will undoubtedly attack.
“And the question that looms all through the System is—what will the Earth-Venus Coalition do? Let the little Trojan Federation crunch under the Martian juggernaut, like the Asteroid Republic? Or will the Coalition draw the line, fight?
“High Lord Kilku is lashing his tail, baring his teeth. What will happen? No one knows.
“And what will Jupiter do, mighty awakened Jupiter? On that may depend the future of present-day civilization.”
Bruce snapped on his transmitter. “There may be war before we reach Earth,” he muttered. “The sooner we get our news of the secret Martian base to Earth sources, the better. I think I can work through a call from here to Ganymede, if not Earth.”
Brace sent out an SOS-RC, requesting a return call, but no acknowledged contact came. Baffled, anxious, he looked up finally.
“No contact anywhere.”
“Little wonder,” Dr. Kent observed, “with all the present excitement over the interplanetary situation.” He pursed his lips. “I have an idea. Try 45.5 meters, John Gorson’s private wavelength. There’s just a chance we can contact him, though he’s on Mars itself.”
Bruce tried it, with little hope, but an hour later Gorson’s obese face ghosted into the tele-plate, and his thick voice greeted them.
“Here, let me talk to him.” Dr. Kent sat before the microphone. Briefly, he gave the details of the episode on Jupiter and the existence of the unsuspected Martian war base.
An hour later again, after radio waves had hurtled back and forth across space, they saw John Gorson’s facial image express thunderstruck surprise. He made no comment even on seeing Dr. Kent alive again, or about Dora.
“A Martian war base on Jupiter, you say,” he gasped. “That’s important, vital news. I’ll report it to the Earth Consul here. He’ll get it through to Earth. I’ll call you back within two hours.”
Bruce almost warmed to the man, despite his personal feelings. After all, he was a fellow Earthman, as much involved as any of them in the coming events.
Gorson made the return call. “Reported the matter. News going to Earth. Won’t say more, in case other ears are listening. Au revoir!”
And not till then did Bruce feel anything near true relief.
Now, regardless of what happened, they had done their part. The ship hurtled on toward Earth. Bruce didn’t speak much to the silent, reserved Dora. The contact with John Gorson had been a sharp reminder of what came between them. Dr. Kent was preoccupied for long hours with an air of waiting.
They were all waiting tensely. What drama of interplanetary history was coming to a climax?
One day the word came from their radio, the word they had been waiting and dreading to hear…
WAR!
They gathered around in a hushed silence. The announcer’s voice was a hoarse croak:
“War has begun.
“An hour ago, the Trojan Federation rejected High Lord Kilku’s outrageous ultimatum. Two units of the Martian Asteroid Patrol promptly attacked. One unit of the Earth Colonial Navy joined with the defenders—and the spark had been lit.
“Mars officially declared war on Earth at 5:13 A.M. Earth reciprocated at 5:14. Venus declared war on Mars at 5:21. Mercury declared war on Venus one minute later.
“And so, ladies and gentlemen, the zero hour has struck. Four great worlds have come to grips. Only destiny can say what will result.
“Jupiter has made no official move yet, is strictly neutral.
“Battle reports are coming in rapidly. Mercury and Mars have launched their lightning thrusts, as feared, in three sectors. One, out beyond the Asteroids, where part of the Martian fleet has already attacked Earth’s settlements on Callisto. Earth Colonial units and the Venus Major Legion are defending. Two, along the cometary sun routes, Mercurian destroyers are sinking dozens of Earth freight ships into the sun. Third, and perhaps most important, the mighty Imperial Martian Navy is winging Earthward. It is a formidable fleet, capable of dealing a staggering blow, unless the Earth Navy can turn it aside.
“Flash! Jupiter has just officially warned Earth that no Earth war vessels en route to Callisto must come within one radius of Jupiter’s surface—the regular neutral zone. Is it simply a stern reminder of Jupiter’s present neutrality? Or is it the first step in a Jovian policy swinging in favor of Mars?
“We will now resume, temporarily, our musical program…”
For a long moment there was silence in the cabin of the little ship.
They could hardly believe that at last it had happened, the culmination, to a student of history, of ten years of interplanetary friction among the world powers.
War! War whose end no one could foresee.
Bruce felt queerly cold, paralyzed, as if someone had dealt him a stunning blow. The effect on Dr. Kent seemed more violent.
His eyes were glistening. “It’s come,” he said almost wildly. “At last.” His hand made a strange gesture, as if he were hailing the event gladly.
“Father, what are you saying?” Dora cried, grasping his arm. “It’s horrible that it’s come. The destruction…”
The little scientist gripped himself. “Yes, of course. But in a way, I’m glad. It was inevitable, anyway, and I keep thinking of what I went through at the hands of the Martians. Earth will win.” He said it calmly, dispassionately.
Bruce’s own spirit rebounded after the first icy shock.
“You’re right. We’re slow to pick a fight but hell on wheels when we get started. The Ginzies will find that out” His eyes glowed. “And then, too, the exposed war camp ought to swing Jupiter on our side, or at least keep her neutral. By now, the Jovians might be investigating.”
They waited to hear the sensational revelation over the broadcast news, but it failed to come. “There’s always delay in things of that sort,” commented Dr. Kent imperturbably. “It will come out in the next few days.”
Bruce had been decelerating for a day, nearing Earth. The Moon lay athwart their course and loomed rapidly into a huge, speckled globe. And then, as though fate had not yet played its last trick with them, the radio-bell tinkled and a grim harsh voice sounded from it when Bruce opened contact:
“Stand by. What cargo do you carry?”
Bruce peered out the side of his conning port at the sleek black ship that had sneaked out of the void. It paralleled their course with neat precision. The Moon’s pale beams glinted from gun-pits. Had the Martians audaciously begun waylaying shipping in Earth’s very backyard? But it wasn’t a Martian-looking ship. It was more Earthlike. The Earth Patrol perhaps?
“Announce yourself,” Bruce demanded tensely.
“With pleasure,” came back suavely. “The Black Ace. The Patrol has me booked as Space Enemy Number One.”
Bruce’s eyes widened with surprise. The Black Ace, most notorious pirate of the time, reputed to have more than a dozen fast, elusive ships preying on scattered shipping past the Moon. A clever scoundrel, wit
h a price on his head, but cunningly evading all Patrol dragnets for a decade.
Bruce felt relief, then. At least it wasn’t a Martian destroyer. Then he grinned a little. He and the Black Ace had met once before.
“We carry no cargo you’d care for,” Bruce grunted. His voice was ironic. “Do we look like a freighter?”
“No,” drawled the pirate leader’s voice. “But since the war started, Earth people have been streaming back from Mars. They come in small ships like yours, with all their movable wealth aboard. We’ve made some nice hauls already.”
Warning crept into his voice. “No SOS for your own good. I have guns, you know.”
Bruce shut off his all-wave circuit, which he had just snapped on. Naturally they’d detect the carrier-wave.
“Well, do we go?” he demanded, half in annoyance. “We came from Jupiter, not Mars, and you couldn’t scrape a dollar together from us.”
After a pause, the Black Ace spoke. “My navigator just checked your line of flight. It’s from Jupiter, all right. We’re plucking Mars refugees right now. You can go.”
Bruce moved his hand for the deceleration controls once again. Suddenly he stopped. An irritated anger swept through him.
“Black Ace,” he barked into his microphone, still open, “preying on Earth refugees from Mars is a low trick. They’re your own people, by race.” Bruce didn’t know why he was saying this, except that it outraged his sense of things. “Earth has enough troubles in this time of war without you…”
He stopped, aware he was playing the part of a fool, calling down a pirate beyond the pale of law and society. The sensible thing was to get away, and fast.
“But the war just makes it all the better,” returned the pirate blandly, chuckling. “With the Earth Patrol partly conscripted for the front lines, I’ll have a free hand. Let the damned fools fight it out. I’ll reap. Fm a pirate, a parasite on civilization and all that, but by the Rings of Saturn, your so-called civilization does more harm to itself in one war than all my pirating would for a hundred years. Don’t talk to me of what’s right and wrong. I have my own philosophy of life.”