I
Higher and higher through the night mounted the small, trim space-launch. Far below the lights of St. Louis, capital of the Terrestrial League, shone as myriad stars and reflected gleams on the flat surfaces and soaring spires of the uppermost levels. From a great height the city resembled a rambling building of tremendous size, wherein little specks of surface-cars scampered over miniature traffic-ways and clouds of air and space-vehicles danced around and over the town like midges.
It was a fighting ship that was mounting upward, one of the many that sped through space in the days of 2675, when Earth and Mars were in the throes of that gigantic and regrettable conflict, the Interplanetary War. However, the disintegrating ray apparatus, a deadly weapon that enabled Terrestrial forces to compete on something like equal terms with the overwhelming numbers of the space-navies of Mars, had been removed from bow and stern. Most of the space inside the cigar-shaped hull was occupied by engines to insure highest maneuverability and speed, but in the center was a cushioned chamber large enough to allow its three occupants to ride in comfort.
They were in Terrestrial uniform, but did not look like the sternest of warriors. A year ago they had been students together at the International University in St. Louis, looking forward to graduation in 2675. But 2675 was here, and already they had participated in the bitter conflicts that marked the beginnings of the war. Even now, when the two worlds had drawn far apart in their orbits and the interplanetary passage was too far for war parties to travel, they were kept in intensive training and their school days seemed memories of a thousand years ago.
“This is a squadron-commander’s gig, at the very least,” chuckled Bull Mike Tishinev, former star athlete of his university, as he squared his colossal shoulders. “We’ll never have a softer trip, nor a freer one, so long as we’re in the service.”
“And, inasmuch as we are in the service, we’re apt to catch it for absence without leave, and also for using property of the Terrestrial government for private purposes,” suggested Neil Andresson, slim and handsome.
“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I had thought there would be danger,” assured Sukune, the little Japanese, his young Oriental face shining with a smile. “However, I had free run of the rocketport for my experimentation, and nobody thought anything of it when I checked the ship out. And we have all had two days’ liberty and won’t be missed. They won’t check the rocketport until the day after tomorrow, so we’ll have full forty-eight hours in space—first chance we’ve had to do such a thing without some officer on our necks, directing every move of our fingers.”
Into the stratosphere, with the speed steadily and carefully increasing, the ship made its way. The broad Mississippi lay across the terrain beneath them, shrunk to the apparent dimensions of a silver thread. St. Louis was now only a varicolored, light-flecked blotch lying across the river’s course, with the smaller dark areas of suburbs close at hand.
“What a lot of Martian culture could be spread by dropping two or three roving bombs down there!” observed Sukune.
“Where is Mars from here?” asked Neil. The Japanese spun the dial of the television, showing an orange disk blotched with gray-green.
“There you are—seat of Earth’s troubles,” he said.
“What’s that lump traveling along between us and Mars?” was Bull Mike’s question.
“That appears to be the asteroid that strayed from its path, the astronomers say,” replied Sukune. “It’s not more than a mile or so in diameter, and its distance has been computed to be about a hundred and twelve million miles from the sun. That puts it nearly twenty million miles beyond the Earth’s orbit, or halfway between us and Mars. However, science doesn’t know much more about the thing. It’s a bit too far away for exploration just now, especially since all ships are now built for war-service. It ought to come into opposition with us in the spring of 2676.”
He delivered this little lecture with the utmost fluency, and his companions, less versed in sky-lore than he, listened admiringly. Bull Mike grinned and patted the Japanese on the back.
“Never knew you to be stumped by anything yet,” he cried. “No wonder the ancients used to be afraid that your people would conquer the world!”
Returning to the television, the three young men looked curiously at the new phenomenon in the heavens. They knew, of course, about the asteroids—fragments of exploded planets revolving just inside the path of mighty Jupiter—but this one, so far from its fellows, presented a different problem.
Leaving the atmospheric envelope, the ship sailed beyond danger of overheating from friction. Like a comet it rose through empty space. A glance from one port showed Earth at quarter-full, a warm, gleaming crescent that clasped a round globe of shadowy blue. Beside and beyond, glowed the white incandescence of the sun, its light intensified by the soft blackness of space. Jewel-like stars were scattered in all directions.
“If Commander Raws could only see us now!” said Bull Mike, boyishly delighted by a sense of freedom.
“If he could, he’d order us all into confinement,” Sukune reminded him. “Eh, Neil?”
Before them hung the full moon. Toward this they laid their course and, after twelve hours’ flight, they slowed down to drift like a vagrant bit of thistledown above the silent, dead valleys and mountain ranges. Once they dropped down and rested on the ashy surface of the satellite. In a few moments they were able to appreciate the depressed spirits that afflicted the occasional explorers of the lunar wilderness.
For, despite the heavenly-aspiring peaks, the abysmal depths, the far-reaching plains, there was a certain sameness about the moon’s scenery. They could see no movement save the shadow of their own craft sliding along beneath them. No green of grass, no brilliant color of flowers showed. No creatures scampered, crept or flew. There was not so much as a heat-flurry in the atmosphere—for there was no atmosphere. Nothing but the glaring white of sun-drenched rock, the inky black of airless shade.
“I wouldn’t live here for all the money in St. Louis,” said Bull Mike. “As far as that goes, I couldn’t.”
“I don’t see why not,” argued Sukune. “Mars’ two moons are smaller and rockier than this, and haven’t any more air, water or natural comfort. Yet the Martians have built cities under glass domes; pumped in artificial air, and settled right down to keep house.”
“That’s because they’re crowded at home,” was Bull Mike’s rebuttal. “Well, there’s room enough on Earth for me just now. Plenty of girls to keep me company and wine to keep me healthy and excitement to keep me occupied.”
They gladly left the Moon behind and continued their journey. They passed the time by eating part of the provisions they had brought along, by observing the heavens and by working practise problems in astronautics and space-maneuvers. At last they idled, a little more than half a million miles from Earth—twenty hours by direct space flight at top speed.
Neil was at the television. Suddenly he started violently and gestured to his comrades.
“Look here!” he cried. “A ship!”
“A patrol scout from the army,” groaned Bull Mike. “Now we’re in for it.”
“That’s no army craft!” declared Sukune when he saw the image. “Look at the lines of its hull, see that emblem on the side—it’s an armed Martian scout!”
“You’re right,” said Neil. “It’s just about on top of us, too. Let’s shake on out of here.”
Sukune jumped to the control board and began to strike a combination of keys. As quickly as possible he turned the nose of their ship back toward Earth. A glance through a port showed the Martian already within sight of the naked eye.
From the enemy ship came a sudden streak of flame. Desperately Sukune rattled the keys on the board. The Terrestrial craft writhed to one side, barely escaping the explosion of a roving bomb.
“The ratty lizard!” yelled Bull Mike, clenching a mammoth fist. “He sees that we’re not armed for space-fighting!”
“What’s he doing here, with Mars so far out of travel-shot, anyway?” demanded Neil.
Nobody answered, for another bomb exploded at that moment, seemingly just outside. It was soundless in the vacuum of space, but the force of the detonation shook the ship like a leaf in a gust of wind.
“No chance for escape,” said Sukune. He tapped the combination for a halt and rose from his seat.
“Now he’ll think he hit us,” he told the others. “Let’s play dead.”
“Why?” asked Bull Mike.
“It’s our only hope. Another bomb will do the business if we try to run. But he’ll want to capture our ship. If he sees it idling, he’ll figure that we’re washed out. He’ll come on board, and then—”
“And then!” repeated the giant, grinning. “Then we’ll have a fair shake with him!”
Quickly the three threw themselves down in attitudes of unconsciousness. Neil flung himself on the sill of the port nearest the Martian, in such a position that he could keep a cautious lookout.
Closer and closer came the enemy. Slowing down, he almost scraped against their side. Peeping out, Neil could see a port directly opposite. A Martian face, swarthy and skeleton-lean, was looking into the interior.
What the fellow discovered evidently reassured him. He could be seen pulling on a heavy spacesuit over his scrawny limbs and clasping a helmet into place. Then a long jointed arm of metal extended from his ship to grapple and hold the supposedly disabled Terrestrial. A moment later a lock-panel opened and the Martian emerged to jump lightly across the few feet of intervening space.
They heard him working at their own entrance panel, evidently with some sort of ray apparatus. Soon he had negotiated the lock and entered. Fastening the panel behind him, he stepped over to where Bull Mike lay. He did not even trouble to draw his automatic pistol from its holster as he bent down to examine the silent form.
Easily, effortlessly, Bull Mike shot out his big hand and yanked the Martian’s feet out from under him.
Down crashed the Martian. His gloved hand fumbled with the butt of his pistol, but Sukune was there first and snatched the weapon away. Bull Mike sat up quickly, cradling the struggling enemy in his arms as though he were a baby.
“Got him!” snorted the big fellow. “Let’s appoint me as a committee of one to break him in two across my knee.”
“Wait a minute,” said Sukune, flinging out a restraining hand. “I want to question him first.”
“What about?” asked Bull Mike.
“Lots of things. About where he came from, for instance.”
“That’s an easy one. He came from Mars,” said Bull Mike. “Hi, you, lie still or I’ll do your legs in a braid!” This last to the prisoner.
“Not directly, he didn’t come from Mars,” said Neil. “He couldn’t travel that far. He must have a base somewhere near. Perhaps he’s a survivor from that bunch that was rubbed out on the Moon after they landed their big spaceship there last spring.”
“Thunder, that’s so,” admitted Bull Mike, as with no gentle hand he unfastened and plucked away the space helmet. The prisoner grimaced in impotent rage.
“You’re a heroic customer, attacking a defenseless ship!” scolded Bull Mike in very bad Martian. “What brought you here? Where’s your headquarters?”
They rose to their feet and allowed the prisoner to do likewise. He looked at each in turn, undaunted by the reversal of fortunes.
“I’ll tell you nothing,” he said shortly in their own language. “Kill me if you want to.”