by Henry Hasse
The other three men had come down off their bunks and stood there watching. One of them, Mark noticed, was a Martian.
"Now. Why are you here?"
"You seemed to be the sort of men I wanted to join up with."
"I said why?"
Mark wondered if this man would believe him. He didn't think so. Nevertheless, he'd already made up his story so he drew a long breath and told it:
"I was with Tri-Planet News Service working out of Chicago. I happened to uncover a huge spacer contract graft. I got the names of the higher ups, photostatic copies of incriminating documents—everything. But the men involved happened to be too high up; my story was squashed before it ever reached the wires. I would have been, too, permanently, but I escaped to Mar—"
Janus was laughing at him behind that red beard. Mark was sure of it. He shrugged and didn't attempt to go on with the fabrication. It had been a good try, anyway.
Janus said dryly: "Now tell me the real story. Or shall I tell you? You received one of the typical BINWI offers. You're running away to cool off, or maybe to keep your invention out of their hands. Is it this—ah—camera?" Janus glanced at the compact box lying there.
"That's right," Mark admitted, marvelling at this man. "They made me several offers but I wouldn't come through. The last one was 'typical', all right—backed up by some of their hired thugs."
"Why didn't you tell me this in the first place?"
"I wasn't sure how you felt about the BINWI." Mark was still wary.
"The same as you do, although I've never had any contact with them personally. My special peeve is the Tri-Planet Council, and the BINWI is a subsidiary. Bureau for the Investigation of New and Worthy Inventions. A laugh, ain't it?"
Mark didn't think so. "That bureau," he said, "is an octopus preying on the inventive genius of three planets! Their spies are everywhere, moving unseen, biding their time. You know the new anti-grav deflectors the Patrollers are using? A man named Anton Kramer worked that out. He had it near perfection when he suddenly disappeared. A month later the deflectors came on the market." Mark's voice was bitter. "There've been dozens of other cases. The BINWI usually gets what it wants, even if it means murder."
Janus nodded. "There's a man aboard who'll agree with you on that! Professor Brownell. Perhaps you shall meet him—later." He turned his gaze to the four crew members. "All right, men, how about Mark Travers? Do we accept him as one of us? A vote is in order."
"How do we know he's not a BINWI spy himself?" asked a small man with piercing black eyes. "He seems to know a lot about 'em!"
"I'm convinced he's not, Ferris. We covered Brownell's trail too well for that. Let's have the vote."
The "ayes" were unanimous and suddenly these men were friendly, smiling, as they stepped forward to shake Mark's hand. They were good handshakes, firm and calloused. Only Ferris' was reluctant.
"There's one thing more," Janus said quietly. "We'll need your picture for our—shall we say—rogue's gallery? I insist on that. Perhaps I can take it now—with your camera." He reached to the black box on his desk, lifted it carelessly up.
Mark found himself staring full into the stub-nosed lenses. Sudden sweat broke on his brow. His gaze lifted and met Janus' gray eyes, straight and steady upon him.
"Wait!"
"What? Not camera shy, are you?" Janus' fingers seemed to fumble, but his gaze never left Mark's face.
"The lens isn't set! It—it's special, you know." Mark stepped forward. His limbs seemed wooden. He took the box from Janus' hands, and pretending to adjust the lens, his thumb found the hidden stud and released it. The hum of the inner coils descended the scale again, became audible for a split second but only to Mark's ears; then they were dead.
He let out a slow breath, handed the box back. "Okay now. Shoot."
Janus waved it away. "Oh, well, it can wait. We'll get it later." He came around the desk, thrust out his hand. "Welcome aboard, Travers! You're one of us."
Mark suddenly knew that Janus knew his secret ... but somehow he wasn't worried. He wondered if any of the others had noticed the by-play; moreover, he wondered what being "one of them" meant....
He was soon to know. At that moment a voice sliced through the radio.
"Callisto calling! Earth-Station Six on Callisto! We have had you in our beam for the past twenty minutes. You are out of bounds and you display no insignia. As this is a violation of the Space-Code, you will go into a drift immediately and await the Patrollers who will escort you to Callisto for investigation! Refusal to obey constitutes outlawry against the Federation, and the Patrol will act accordingly!"
The men weren't startled. If anything they were amused. The one named Dethman simply straightened away from the radio and his hard, square face broke into a grin.
"Think of it, men, we're being outlawed! Now ain't that one for the books?"
The face of Ral Kaarj, the Martian, was blank and leathery. His heavy-lidded eyes blinked once or twice, but only his incongruously high-pitched voice revealed his emotions.
"Tri-Planet Federation!" he shrilled. "Out of bounds! By the red tails of all the Oogs on Venus, ain't anyone supposed to venture beyond the asteroids?"
"Not without sanction of those gray-beards in the Council," Janus said, "and the Earth Corporations who are the real power. You know how they try to squelch men like us, free-footers who won't play ball with 'em." He flicked open the communicator to Brownell in the control room. "How about it, Prof? Get that message?"
"Yes," Mark heard a voice reply. "All right, we'll go into a drift. Let the Patrollers come, we'll give 'em a show!"
"Right! Need any help?"
"No, but keep the communicator open. And take a look in the V-panel if you want." Brownell actually seemed pleased!
Janus clicked on the visipanel, turned the magnifying dials. Callisto was seen in the swimming blackness of space with the huge bulk of Jupiter as a backdrop. Under Janus' sure fingers the scene expanded, came nearer.
Minutes passed; then they saw six Patrollers speeding out to meet them. Brownell had cut rockets and they were in a drift now, waiting.
Waiting for what, Mark wondered. These Patrollers were speedy ships and deadly, equipped with atomo-bombs, dis-rays and magnetic beams! He shifted nervously.
The Patrollers came very near. Then they broke formation, arraying themselves three on each side of the outlaw ship. Magnetic beams, pale green and swirling, reached out to touch the hull. They fastened there tenaciously. In this manner they began the route back to Callisto.
Even Janus seemed a little worried now. He turned to the communicator.
"How about it, Professor? Those beams are powerful? Think you can slip out?"
"Wait and see; I promised a show, didn't I? Tell you what, though, better break out the acceleration harness!"
These were suits within suits, double layers of tough plasticoid. Mark stepped into his, opened the pressure valve that forced air between the two thicknesses. The outer one ballooned, giving a grotesque, roly-poly appearance. He bounced hard against the wall to test it.
"Better open them full," Janus advised.
They were ready. They stood against the far wall and watched the screen across the room. Callisto was looming. They'd soon be within its gravity.
Ferris, standing beside Mark, said in a low voice: "What kind of a news-man are you, Travers? Y'oughta be getting pictures of this. Make swell release stuff when you get back to Earth." His tone was mocking.
Mark felt a growing dislike of this man. He suppressed a retort, said curtly instead: "Too late now." He had placed his "camera" safely in an inside pocket.
The Patrollers' magnetic beams still towed them along at terrific speed, setting up a slight vibration in the walls.
Suddenly there was a new kind of vibration. Mark didn't know what it was. Certainly not rocket tubes.
"Get set!" Janus warned.
Someone muttered: "If he slips out
of six magnetic beams—" but that was all. A fierce surge came beneath their feet, and Callisto seemed to leap at them. Within seconds a ghastly nausea gripped their insides. The ballooning suits were pressed so flat against the wall it became impossible to breathe! Their hearts pumped sluggishly, and a gray veil began to form before their eyes....
These were men so accustomed to hardships that space-acceleration meant nothing, but now they were experiencing something new in acceleration. They felt as if their entrails were being compressed into atoms!
Mark could barely see the screen now. The way Callisto was rushing at them he felt sure the planet was going to blank them out. He tried to shut his eyes, but even his eyelids wouldn't move! Then Callisto slipped off the screen, and Mark knew they must have made a sharp parabola. Two of the Patrollers were glimpsed far behind, reaching out futilely with dis-rays.
Even as he struggled for breath, Mark wanted to laugh; but the desire left him suddenly as the tremendous bulk of Jupiter loomed. If they escaped that gravity—
And they did. They came close, but their parabola tightened, then they were pulling away. Speed remained constant as Jupiter faded. Mark could breathe again but he ached through every inch of his body. He could only think wearily.
This, he thought—this meant they must have accelerated to the sixth, seventh or even eighth magnitude!
II
Phillias Brownell was a tough little character. He still breathed with difficulty as Janus unstrapped him from the pneumatic seat, and his face was ashen; but he hoisted himself up to his full stature of five feet five and his gray hair bristled. He went to work over the control console, jabbing hard at gleaming buttons and adjusting the complex set-up. By now Jupiter was fast fading in the darkness behind them.
"All right," he announced finally, "we're on robot control. We can rest easy for a while." He sneered in the direction of Jupiter. "We showed 'em some speed, eh? So they want my Frequency Tuner, do they? Let them come and get it! The dolts, the moronic interfering meddlers!"
Janus plainly showed his relief, as he winked at Mark, who said, "That was some chance you took. Suppose it hadn't worked?"
"But it did work! That was the final test, and it was necessary. I had to know how it would react against the beams."
Mark ventured a question. "Frequency Tuner? Is that what gave you the acceleration? I knew it wasn't rocket power!"
Brownell turned piercing black eyes upon him. "Eh? Janus, who is this?"
Janus vouched for Mark, explained his presence aboard. He added: "The Bureau's after an invention of his, too. A camera."
The Professor was startled. "Did you say a camera? Since when do they—"
"Ah, but Mark's is a very special camera." Janus smiled maddeningly, but in the next instant was clapping a friendly hand on Mark's shoulder. "Don't worry, Travers, your secret's safe with us. We don't ask questions. You've a right to know our destination, though; come on, I'll show you."
They repaired to the chart room, where Janus indicated a moving red line on a glass-encased chart of the solar system. Other lines were being traced, too, at various angles to their trajectory.
"The red line is our present trajectory. The others are the orbits of the planets. See, there's Jupiter behind us; notice how close we came."
Mark nodded. Already in his mind's eye he was extending their present parabola. Distances between these outer planets were vast beyond imagining! Saturn was just in sight, but at their present speed they would probably cross its orbit far in advance of the planet. Then came Uranus, and next Neptune. The space between Neptune and Pluto was vaster than all.
Mark felt just a little staggered. There was no known record of men having come this far! Not beyond Jupiter, in fact.
He turned to Janus. "How far do we go?"
"All the way."
"Pluto?"
"Beyond."
Mark thought that over. "There's no planet in our system beyond Pluto!"
"But there is. Planet X. An eccentricity in the orbit of Pluto indicates there must be a planet beyond. For years astronomers have known this, but no telescope has been able to pick it out."
Mark grinned weakly. "So that's where we're headed. I guess you know it'd be awfully easy to overshoot a mark like that!"
"Not with the Frequency Tuner. I understand very little of it, but the Professor assures me it's a directional finder as well as a power unit."
"Sure, sure. And assuming we locate Planet X and manage to land—what do you expect to find there?"
Janus' eyes were flecked with dancing lights. "What do we hope to find? George Ketrik! And if you know the man at all, you know that means adventure and riches."
Ketrik! Mark's mind went back. He began piecing together things he had heard, fragments and rumors. The man Ketrik and his amazing exploits had become almost a legend!
"But I have heard," Mark voiced slowly, "that Ketrik died! Plunged into the sun while trying to negotiate a landing on Vulcan."
"You don't really believe that? Sure, every few years you hear those stories, but Ketrik always shows up again." Janus sighed. "You know, I've almost come to believe that he's not human. Where other men go—men like us—they find that Ketrik has been there first. I've personally made two fortunes, and lost them, in following his trail!"
Mark was skeptical. "But even he wouldn't dare try for Planet X! He hasn't the speed that we have. It would take him—"
"Ketrik would dare anything! Why, six months ago I heard that he was planning this venture; that's why we're here. We five men pooled our savings to finance Brownell's Frequency Tuner and build this spacer, in secret, of course. Sure—it would take Ketrik maybe three months to reach Planet X in some dilapidated little rocket-powered craft. We'll make it in three days—but I'll wager he's already there!"
"With the whole populace kow-towing at his feet, most likely." It was Driscoll who spoke as he entered the room, followed by the other men. "Sure, I'll back the luck of Ketrik every time!"
Dethman shook his head. "Planet X is probably uninhabitable. But I'll bet my last pair of socks Ketrik's located a cave of diamonds, or maybe a platinum vein. Toss him in a Venusian sink-hole, he'd come up wreathed in swamp pearls!"
"He's that sort," Janus agreed. "It was platinum on Mars, cinnabar on Mercury, plumes on Venus. By the way, I got in on the plumes—made a fortune. And the other time I saw Ketrik—"
"I recall the time he showed up at the Venusian Prison Swamp," Driscoll put in. "One day he wasn't there, the next day he was—just like that. Inside a week he had organized a group of us for a getaway attempt. Hundreds of others had tried it and failed. Well, he led us safely across two hundred miles of swamp, supposed to be impassable. Know what was on the other side? A spaceship, all waiting and ready. He just wanted to prove it could be done, I guess."
"I only saw him once," Kaarj shrilled eagerly. "That was on Deimos. He had discovered the secret shrine of the Deimian ancients. He came out of that shrine decked from head to foot with blazing jewels—but the Deimians were waiting for him. They're a blood-thirsty tribe, and they were plenty angry...."
"I never heard this story before," Janus said. "What happened?"
"I stayed a safe distance away in my spaceship, watching and this is what happened. Ketrik made them a speech! I swear it! He climbed up on a block of stone in full range of their weapons—and do you know what his speech consisted of? The entire first chapter of the 'Advanced Principles of Space Navigation'. He quoted it most violently. Those Deimians didn't understand a word of it, but I swear to you, when Ketrik had finished they weren't angry any more! They cheered him! He walked calmly over to his space-cruiser and blasted away, jewels and all!"
"I came across him once on Mercury," Dethman contributed. "The barbarians from the dark side were warring on the race inhabiting the twilight strip. Well, if it hadn't been for Ketrik, the whole colony would've been wiped out. They almost made a superman out of him, wanted him to marry a tho
usand wives to make sure he'd leave plenty of his descendants there. And by Jupiter, he almost did! When I left he was still there, married to ten wives—or was it twelve?"
Mark was enjoying all this. He looked to Ferris, who seemed to be the only one without a story to tell. Ferris lit a venomous Venusian cigar, and sneered:
"I don't hold with all this hero-worship, and I don't believe more'n a tenth of it. Don't think we'll find Ketrik out here either. I've sunk a year's takin's from my placer on Mars into this venture—"
"And afraid you won't get it back, is that it?" Driscoll snapped. "Why, that placer you're yapping about was Ketrik's in the first place, and you know it! Sure, you'd rather hide out some place and manufacture more Frequency Tuners."
"We'll do that, too, once we make a strike," Janus said thoughtfully. "We'll equip a whole fleet with 'em, and really exploit the outer planets. That should give that addle-brained Earth Council something to really think about!"
On the third day they crossed the orbit of Pluto. Mark was in the control room with Janus and the Professor. The latter pointed to a thin thread of liquid helium in the directional-finder, surging slightly off center.
"Pluto's the nearest body now. It must be heavy, to drag us that way." He gave a touch to the Tuner's impellator, and the helium line came back to center as their acceleration increased.
The Sun had long since been a pinpoint of light. The darkness ahead was no different from the darkness behind, but the men felt infinitely more alone. Behind were the known planets. Ahead was X—the unknown. It might be days more, or merely hours. No one slept now.
It was only hours later when the Finder began acting erratically again. Brownell, who seemed indefatigable, took over the controls from Janus. But he didn't try to adjust direction now.
"It's Planet X," he said. "Has to be! We'll let the Finder take us right there!" He switched on the visipanel and adjusted the lens to fullest power.
"It must be a dark planet," Mark pointed out. "Certainly the Sun's light doesn't reach it. How do you hope to see it in the panel?"