Pirates Of Space

: Triplanetary

Apparently motionless to her passengers and crew, the Interplanetary

liner Hyperion bored serenely onward through space at normal

acceleration. In the railed-off sanctum in one corner of the control

room a bell tinkled, a smothered whirr was heard, and Captain Bradley

frowned as he studied the brief message upon the tape of the recorder--a

message flashed to his desk from the operator's panel. He beckoned, and

the seco
d officer, whose watch it now was, read aloud:



"Reports of scout patrols still negative."



"Still negative." The officer scowled in thought. "They've already

searched beyond the widest possible location of the wreckage, too. Two

unexplained disappearances inside a month--first the Dione, then the

Rhea--and not a plate nor a lifeboat recovered. Looks bad, sir. One

might be an accident; two might possibly be a coincidence...." His voice

died away. What might that coincidence mean?



"But at three it would get to be a habit," the captain finished the

thought. "And whatever happened, happened quick. Neither of them had

time to say a word--their location recorders simply went dead. But of

course they didn't have our detector screens nor our armament. According

to the observatories we're in clear ether, but I wouldn't trust them

from Tellus to Luna. You have given the new orders, of course?"



"Yes, sir. Detectors full out, all three courses of defensive screen on

the trips, projectors manned, suits on the hooks. Every object detected

in the outer space to be investigated immediately--if vessels, they are

to be warned to stay beyond extreme range. Anything entering the fourth

zone is to be rayed."



"Right--we are going through!"



"But no known type of vessel could have made away with them without

detection," the second officer argued. "I wonder if there isn't

something in those wild rumors we've been hearing lately?"






Now, systematically and precisely, the great Cone of

Battle was coming into being; a formation developed during

the Jovian Wars while the forces of the Three Planets were

fighting in space.]



"Bah! Of course not!" snorted the captain. "Pirates in ships faster than

light--fifth order rays--nullification of gravity--mass without

inertia--ridiculous! Proved impossible, over and over again. No, sir, if

pirates are operating in space--and it looks very much like it--they

won't get far against a good big battery full of kilowatt-hours behind

three courses of heavy screen, and a good solid set of multiplex rays.

Properly used, they're good enough for anybody. Pirates, Neptunians,

angels, or devils--in ships or on sunbeams--if they tackle the

Hyperion we'll burn them out of the ether!"



Leaving the captain's desk, the watch officer resumed his tour of duty.

The six great lookout plates into which the alert observers peered were

blank, their far-flung ultra-sensitive detector screens encountering no

obstacle--the ether was empty for thousands upon thousands of

kilometers. The signal lamps upon the pilot's panel were dark, its

warning bells were silent. A brilliant point of white in the center of

the pilot's closely ruled micrometer grating, exactly upon the

cross-hairs of his directors, showed that the immense vessel was

precisely upon the calculated course, as laid down by the automatic

integrating course-plotters. Everything was quiet and in order.



"All's well, sir," he reported briefly to Captain Bradley--but all was

not well.



* * * * *



Danger--more serious far in that it was not external--was even then, all

unsuspected, gnawing at the great ship's vitals. In a locked and

shielded compartment, deep down in the interior of the liner, was the

great air purifier. Now a man leaned against the primary duct--the aorta

through which flowed the stream of pure air supplying the entire vessel.

This man, grotesque in full panoply of space armor, leaned against the

duct, and as he leaned a drill bit deeper and deeper into the steel wall

of the pipe. Soon it broke through, and the slight rush of air was

stopped by the insertion of a tightly fitting rubber tube. The tube

terminated in a heavy rubber balloon, which surrounded a frail glass

bulb. The man stood tense, one hand holding before his silica-and-steel

helmeted head a large pocket chronometer, the other lightly grasping the

balloon. A sneering grin was upon his face as he awaited the exact

second of action--the carefully pre-determined instant when his right

hand, closing, would shatter the fragile flask and force its contents

into the primary air stream of the Hyperion!



* * * * *



Far above, in the main saloon, the regular evening dance was in full

swing. The ship's orchestra crashed into silence, there was a patter of

applause and Clio Marsden, radiant belle of the voyage, led her partner

out into the promenade and up to one of the observation plates.



"Oh, we can't see the earth any more!" she exclaimed. "Which way do you

turn this, Mr. Costigan?"



"Like this," and Conway Costigan, burly young first officer of the

liner, turned the dials. "There--this plate is looking back, or down, at

Tellus; this other one is looking ahead."



Earth was a brilliantly shining crescent far beneath the flying vessel.

Above her, ruddy Mars and silvery Jupiter blazed in splendor ineffable

against a background of utterly indescribable blackness--a background

thickly besprinkled with dimensionless points of dazzling brilliance

which were the stars.



"Oh, isn't it wonderful!" breathed the girl, awed. "Of course, I suppose

that it's old stuff to you, but I--a ground-gripper, you know, and I

could look at it forever, I think. That's why I want to come out here

after every dance. You know, I ..."



Her voice broke off suddenly, with a queer, rasping catch, as she seized

his arm in a frantic clutch and as quickly went limp. He stared at her

sharply, and understood instantly the message written in her eyes--eyes

now enlarged, staring hard, brilliant, and full of soul-searing terror

as she slumped down, helpless but for his support. In the act of

exhaling as he was, lungs almost entirely empty, yet he held his breath

until he had seized the microscope from his belt and had snapped the

lever to "emergency."



"Control room!" he gasped then, and every speaker throughout the great

cruiser of the void blared out the warning as he forced his already

evacuated lungs to absolute emptiness. "Vee-Two Gas! Get tight!"



Writhing and twisting in his fierce struggle to keep his lungs from

gulping in a draft of that noxious atmosphere, and with the unconscious

form of the girl draped limply over his left arm, Costigan leaped toward

the portal of the rearest lifeboat. Orchestra instruments crashed to the

floor and dancing couples fell and sprawled inertly while the tortured

First Officer swung the door of the lifeboat open and dashed across the

tiny room to the air-valves. Throwing them wide open, he put his mouth

to the orifice and let his laboring lungs gasp their eager fill of the

cold blast roaring from the tanks. Then, air-hunger partially assuaged,

he again held his breath, broke open the emergency locker, donned one of

the space-suits always kept there, and opened its valves wide in order

to flush out of his uniform any lingering trace of the lethal gas.



He then leaped back to his companion. Shutting off the air, he released

a stream of pure oxygen, held her face in it, and made shift to force

some of it into her lungs by compressing and releasing her chest against

his own body. Soon she drew a spasmodic breath, choking and coughing,

and he again changed the gaseous stream to one of pure air, speaking

urgently as she showed signs of returning consciousness. Now, it was

Clio Marsden's life.



"Stand up!" he snapped. "Hang onto this brace and keep your face in this

air-stream until I get a suit around you! Got me?"



She nodded weakly, and, assured that she could now hold herself at the

valve, it was the work of only a minute to encase her in one of the

protective coverings. Then, as she sat upon a bench, recovering her

strength, he flipped on the lifeboat's visiphone projector and shot its

invisible beam up into the control room, where he saw space-armored

figures furiously busy at the panels.



"Dirty work at the cross-roads!" he blazed to his captain, man to

man--formality disregarded, as it so often was in the Triplanetary

service. "There's skulduggery afoot somewhere in our primary air! Maybe

that's the way they got those other two ships--pirates! Might have been

a timed bomb--don't see how anybody could have stowed away down there

through the inspections, and nobody but Franklin can neutralize the

shield of the air-room--but I'm going to look around, anyway. Then I'll

join you fellows up there."



"What was it?" the shaken girl asked. "I think that I remember your

saying 'Vee-Two gas.' That's forbidden! Anyway, I owe you my life,

Conway, and I'll never forget it--never. Thanks--but the others--how

about all the rest of us?"



"It was Vee-Two, and it is forbidden," Costigan replied grimly, eyes

fast upon the flashing plate, whose point of projection was now deep in

the bowels of the vessel. "The penalty for using it or having it is

death on sight. Gangsters and pirates use it, since they have nothing to

lose, being on the death list already. As for your life, I haven't saved

it yet--you may wish I'd let it ride before we get done. The others are

too far gone for oxygen--couldn't have brought even you around a few

seconds later, quick as I got to you. But there's a sure antidote--we

all carry it in a lock-box in our armor--and we all know how to use it,

because crooks all use Vee-Two and so we're always expecting it. But

since the air will be pure again in half an hour we'll be able to revive

the others easily enough if we can get by with whatever is going to

happen next. There's the bird that did it, right in the air-room! It's

the chief engineer's suit, but that isn't Franklin that's in it. Some

passenger--disguised--slugged the chief--took his suit and

projectors--hole in duct--p-s-s-t! All washed out! Maybe that's all he

was scheduled to do to us in this performance, but he'll do nothing else

in this life!"



"Don't go down there!" protested the girl. "His armor is so much

better than that emergency suit you are wearing, and he's got Mr.

Franklin's Lewiston, besides!"



"Don't be an idiot!" he snapped. "We can't have a live pirate

aboard--we're going to be altogether too busy with outsiders directly.

Don't worry, I'm not going to give him a break. I'm taking a Standish

and I'll rub him out like a blot. Stay right here until I come back

after you," he commanded, and the heavy, vacuum insulated door of the

lifeboat clanged shut behind him as he leaped out into the promenade.



Straight across the saloon he made his way, paying no attention to the

inert forms scattered here and there. Going up to a blank wall, he

manipulated an almost invisible dial set flush with its surface, swung a

heavy door aside, and lifted out the Standish--a fearsome weapon. Squat,

huge, and heavy, it resembled somewhat an overgrown machine rifle, but

one possessing a thick, short telescope, with several opaque condensing

lenses and parabolic reflectors. Laboring under the weight of the thing,

he strode along corridors and clambered heavily down short stairways.

Finally he came to the purifier room, and grinned savagely as he saw the

greenish haze of light obscuring the door and walls--the shield was

still in place; the pirate was still inside, still flooding with the

terrible Vee-Two the Hyperion's primary air.



He set his peculiar weapon down, unfolded its three massive legs,

crouched down behind it and threw in a switch. Dull red beams of

frightful intensity shot from the reflectors and sparks, almost of

lightning proportions, leaped from the shielding screen under their

impact. Roaring and snapping, the conflict went on for seconds; then,

under the superior force of the Standish, the greenish radiance gave

way. Behind it the metal of the door ran the gamut of color--red,

yellow, blinding whiter--then literally exploded; molten, vaporized,

burned away. Through the aperture thus made Costigan could plainly see

the pirate in the space-armor of the chief engineer--an armor which was

proof against rifle fire and which could reflect and neutralize for some

little time even the terrific beam Costigan was employing. Nor was the

pirate unarmed--a vicious flare of incandescence leaped from his

Lewiston, to spend its force in spitting, crackling pyrotechnics against

the ether-wall of the squat and monstrous Standish. But Costigan's

infernal machine did not rely only upon vibratory destruction. At almost

the first flash of the pirate's weapon the officer touched a trigger;

there was a double report, ear-shattering in that narrowly confined

space; and the pirate's body literally flew into mist as a half-kilogram

shell tore through his armor and exploded. Costigan shut off his beam,

and, with not the slightest softening of one hard lineament, stared

around the air-room; making sure that no serious damage had been done to

the vital machinery of the air-purifier--the very lungs of the great

space-ship.



Dismounting the Standish, he lugged it back up to the main saloon,

replaced it in its safe and again set the combination lock. Thence to

the lifeboat, where Clio cried out in relief as she saw that he was

unhurt.



"Oh, Conway, I've been so afraid something would happen to you!" she

exclaimed, as he led her rapidly upward toward the control room. "Of

course you...." she paused.



"Sure," he replied, laconically. "Nothing to it. How do you feel--about

back to normal?"



"All right, I think, except for being scared to death and just about out

of control. I don't suppose that I'll be good for anything, but whatever

I can do, count me in on."



"Fine--you may be needed, at that. Everybody's out, apparently, except

those who, like me, had a warning and could hold their breath until they

got to their suits."



"But how did you know what it was? You can't see it, nor smell it, nor

anything."



"You inhaled a second before I did, and I saw your eyes. I've been in it

before--and when you see a man get a jolt of that stuff just once, you

never forget it. The engineers down below got it first, of course--it

must have wiped them out. Then we got it in the saloon. Your passing out

warned me, and luckily I had enough breath left to give the word. Quite

a few of the fellows up above should have had time to get away--we'll

see 'em all in the control room."



"I suppose that was why you revived me--in payment for so kindly warning

you of the gas attack?" The girl laughed; shaky, but game.



"Something like that, probably," he answered, lightly. "Here we are--now

we'll soon find out what's going to happen next."



In the control room they saw at least a dozen armored figures; not now

rushing about, but seated at their instruments, tense and ready.

Fortunate it was that Costigan--veteran of space as he was, though young

in years--had been down in the saloon; fortunate that he had been

familiar with that horrible outlawed gas; fortunate that he had had the

presence of mind enough and sheer physical stamina enough to send his

warning without allowing one paralyzing trace to enter his own lungs.

Captain Bradley, the men on watch, and several other officers in their

quarters or in the wardrooms--space-hardened veterans all--had obeyed

instantly and without question the amplifiers' gasped command to "get

tight." Exhaling or inhaling, their air-passages had snapped as that

dread "Vee-Two" was heard, and they had literally jumped into their

armored suits of space--flushing them out with volume after volume of

unquestionable air; holding their breath to the last possible second,

until their straining lungs could endure no more.



Costigan waved the girl to a vacant bench, cautiously changed into his

own armor from the emergency suit he had been wearing, and approached

the captain.



"Anything in sight, sir?" he asked, saluting. "They should have started

something before this."



"They've started, but we can't locate them. We tried to send out a

general sector alarm, but that had hardly started when they blanketed

our wave. Look at that!"



Following the captain's eyes, Costigan stared at the high powered set of

the ship's operator. Upon the plate, instead of a moving, living,

three-dimensional picture, there was a flashing glare of blinding white

light; from the speaker, instead of intelligible speech, was issuing a

roaring, crackling stream of noise.



"It's impossible!" Bradley burst out, violently. "There's not a gram of

metal inside the fourth zone--within a hundred thousand kilometers--and

yet they must be close to send such a wave as that. But the Second

thinks not--what do you think, Costigan?" The bluff commander,

reactionary and of the old school as was his breed, was

furious--baffled, raging inwardly to come to grips with the invisible

and undetectable foe. Face to face with the inexplicable, however, he

listened to the younger men with unusual tolerance.



"It's not only possible; it's quite evident that they've got something

we haven't." Costigan's voice was bitter. "But why shouldn't they have?

Service ships never get anything until it's been experimented with for

years, but pirates and such always get the new stuff as soon as it's

discovered. The only good thing I can see is that we got part of a

message away, and the scouts can trace that interference out there. But

the pirates know that, too--it won't be long now," he concluded, grimly.



He spoke truly. Before another word was spoken the outer screen flared

white under a beam of terrific power, and simultaneously there appeared

upon one of the lookout plates a vivid picture of the pirate vessel--a

huge, black globe of steel, now emitting flaring offensive beams of

force. Her invisibility lost, now that she had gone into action, she lay

revealed in the middle of the first zone--at point-blank range.



Instantly the powerful weapons of the Hyperion were brought to bear,

and in the blast of full-driven beams the stranger's screens flamed

incandescent. Heavy guns, under the recoil of whose fierce salvos, the

frame of the giant globe trembled and shuddered, shot out their tons of

high-explosive shell. But the pirate commander had known accurately the

strength of the liner, and knew that her armament was impotent against

the forces at his command. His screens were invulnerable, the giant

shells were exploded harmlessly in mid-space, miles from their

objective. And suddenly a frightened pencil of flame stabbed brilliantly

from the black hulk of the enemy. Through the empty ether it tore,

through the mighty defensive screens, through the tough metal of the

outer and inner walls. Every ether-defence of the Hyperion vanished,

and her acceleration dropped to a quarter of its normal value.



"Right through the battery room!" Bradley groaned. "We're on the

emergency drive now. Our rays are done for, and we can't seem to put a

shell anywhere near her with our guns!"



But ineffective as the guns were, they were silenced forever as a

frightful beam of destruction stabbed relentlessly through the control

room, whiffing out of existence the pilot, gunnery, and lookout panels

and the men before them. The air rushed into space, and the suits of the

three survivors bulged out into drumhead tightness as the pressure in

the room decreased.



Costigan pushed the captain lightly toward a wall, then seized the girl

and leaped in the same direction.



"Let's get out of here, quick!" he cried, the miniature radio

instruments of the helmets automatically taking up the duty of

transmitting speech as the sound disks refused to function. "They can't

see us--our ether wall is still up and their spy-sprays can't get

through it from the outside, you know. They're working from blue-prints,

and they'll probably take your desk next," and even as they bounded

toward the door, now become the outer seal of an airlock, the

annihilating ray tore through the space which they had just quitted in

their flight.



Through the airlock, down through several levels of passengers' quarters

they hurried, and into a lifeboat, whose one doorway commanded the full

length of the third lounge--an ideal spot, either for defense or for

escape outward by means of the miniature cruiser. As they entered their

retreat they felt their weight begin to increase. More and more force

was applied to the helpless liner, until it was moving at normal

acceleration.



"What do you make of that, Costigan?" asked the captain. "Tractor

beams?"



"Apparently. They've got something, all right. They're taking us

somewhere, fast. I'll go get a couple of Standishes, and another suit of

armor--we'd better dig in," and soon the small room became a veritable

fortress, housing as it did, those two formidable engines of

destruction. Then the first officer made another and longer trip,

returning with a complete suit of triplanetary space armor, exactly like

those worn by the two men, but considerably smaller.



"Just as an added factor of safety, you'd better put this on,

Clio--those emergency suits aren't good for much in a battle. I don't

suppose that you ever fired a Standish, did you?"



"No, but I can soon learn how to do it," she replied, pluckily.



"Two is all that can work here at once, but you should know how to take

hold in case one of us goes out. And while you're changing suits you'd

better put on some stuff I've got here--Service special phones and

detectors. Stick this little disk onto your chest with this bit of tape;

low down, out of sight. Just under your wishbone is the best place. Take

off your wrist-watch and wear this one continuously--never take it off

for a second. Put on these pearls, and wear them all the time, too. Take

this capsule and hide it against your skin, some place where it can't be

found except by the most rigid search. Swallow it in an emergency--it

goes down easily and works just as well inside as outside. It is the

most important thing of all--you can get along with it alone if you lose

everything else, but without that capsule the whole system's shot to

pieces. With that outfit, if we should get separated, you can talk to

us--we're both wearing 'em, although somewhat different forms. You don't

need to talk loud--just a mutter will be enough. They're handy little

outfits, almost impossible to find, and capable of a lot of things."



"Thanks, Conway--I'll remember that, too," Clio replied, as she turned

toward the tiny locker to follow his instructions. "But won't the scouts

and patrols be catching us pretty quick? The operator sent a warning."



"Afraid the ether's empty, as far as we're concerned. They could

neutralize our detector screens, and the scouts' detectors are the same

as ours."



Captain Bradley had stood by in silent astonishment during this

conversation. His eyes had bulged slightly at Costigan's "we're both

wearing 'em," but he had held his peace and as the girl disappeared a

look of dawning comprehension came over his face.



"Oh, I see, sir," he said, respectfully--far more respectfully than he

had ever before addressed a mere first officer. "Meaning that we both

will be wearing them shortly, I assume. 'Service Specials'--but you

didn't specify exactly what Service, did you?"



"Now that you mention it, I don't believe that I did," Costigan grinned.



"That explains several things about you--particularly your recognition

of Vee-Two and your uncanny control and speed of reaction. But aren't

you...."



"No," Costigan interrupted, positively. "This situation is apt to get

altogether too serious to overlook any bets. If we get away, I'll take

them away from her and she'll never know that they aren't routine

equipment in the Triplanetary Service. As for you, I know that you can

and do keep your mouth shut. That's why I'm hanging this junk on you--I

had a lot of stuff in my kit, but I flashed it all with the Standish,

except what I brought in here for us three. Whether you think so or not,

we're in a real jam--our chance of getting away is mightly close to

zero. Now that I've gone this far, I might as well tell you that I don't

believe these birds are pirates at all, in the ordinary sense of the

word. And it may be possible that they're after me, but I don't think

so--we've covered up too...."



He broke off as the girl came back, now to all appearances a small

Triplanetary officer, and the three settled down to a long and eventless

wait. Hour after hour they flew through the ether, but finally there was

a lurching swing and an abrupt increase in their acceleration. After a

short consultation Captain Bradley turned on the visiray set and, with

the beam at its minimum power, peered cautiously downward, in the

direction opposite to that in which he knew the pirate vessel must be.

All three stared into the plate, seeing only an infinity of emptiness,

marked only by the infinitely remote and coldly brilliant stars. While

they stared into space a vast area of the heavens was blotted out and

they saw, faintly illuminated by a peculiar blue luminescence, a vast

ball--a sphere so large and so close that they seemed to be dropping

downward toward it as though it were a world! They came to a

stop--paused, weightless--a vast door slid smoothly aside--they were

drawn upward through an airlock and floated quietly in the air above a

small, but brightly-lighted and orderly city of metallic buildings!

Gently the Hyperion was lowered, to come to rest in the embracing arms

of a regulation landing cradle.



"Well, wherever it is, we're here," remarked Captain Bradley, grimly.



"And now the fireworks start," assented Costigan, with a questioning

glance at the girl.



"Don't mind me," she answered his unspoken question. "I don't believe in

surrendering, either."



"Right," and both men squatted down behind the ether-walls of their

terrific weapons; the girl prone behind them.



They had not long to wait. A group of human beings--men and to all

appearance Americans--appeared unarmed in the little lounge. As soon as

they were well inside the room, Bradley and Costigan released upon them

without compunction the full power of their frightful projectors. From

the reflectors, through the doorway, there tore a concentrated double

beam of pure destruction--but that beam did not reach its goal. Yards

from the men it met a screen of impenetrable density. Instantly the

gunners pressed their triggers and a stream of high-explosive shells

issued from the roaring weapons. But shells, also, were futile. They

struck the shield and vanished--vanished without exploding and without

leaving a trace to show that they had ever existed.



Costigan sprang to his feet, but before he could launch his intended

attack a vast tunnel appeared beside him--an annihilating ray had swept

through the entire width of the liner, cutting instantly a smooth

cylinder of emptiness. Air rushed in to fill the vacuum, and the three

visitors felt themselves seized by invisible forces and drawn into the

tunnel. Through it they floated, up to and over the buildings, finally

slanting downward toward the door of a great high-powered structure.

Doors opened before them and closed behind them, until at last they

stood upright in a room which was evidently the office of a busy

executive. They faced a desk which, in addition to the usual equipment

of the business man, carried a bewilderingly complete switchboard and

instrument panel.



Seated impassively at the desk there was a gray man. Not only was he

dressed entirely in gray, but his heavy hair was gray, his eyes were

gray, and even his tanned skin seemed to give the impression of grayness

in disguise. His overwhelming personality radiated an aura of

grayness--not the gentle gray of the dove, but the resistless, driving

gray of the super-dreadnaught; the hard, inflexible, brittle gray of the

fracture of high-carbon steel.



"Captain Bradley, First Officer Costigan, Miss Marsden," the man spoke

quietly, but crisply. "I had not intended you two men to live so long.

That is a detail, however, which we will pass by for the moment. You may

remove your suits."



Neither officer moved, but both stared back at the speaker

unflinchingly.



"I am not accustomed to repeating instructions," the man at the desk

continued; voice still low and level, but instinct with deadly menace.

"You may choose between removing those suits and dying in them, here and

now."



Costigan moved over to Clio and slowly took off her armor. Then, after a

flashing exchange of glances and a muttered word, the two officers threw

off their suits simultaneously and fired at the same instant; Bradley

with his Lewiston, Costigan with a heavy automatic pistol whose bullets

were explosive shells of tremendous power. But the man in gray,

surrounded by an impenetrable wall of force, only smiled at the

fusillade, tolerantly and maddeningly. Costigan leaped fiercely, only to

be hurled backward as he struck that unyielding, invisible wall. A

vicious beam snapped him back into place, the weapons were snatched

away, and all three captives were held in their former positions.



"I permitted that, as a demonstration of futility," the gray man said,

his hard voice becoming harder, "but I will permit no more foolishness.

Now I will introduce myself. I am known as Roger. You probably have

heard nothing of me yet but you will--if you live. Whether or not you

two live depends solely upon yourselves. Being something of a student of

men, I fear that you will both die shortly. Able and resourceful as you

have just shown yourselves to be, you could be valuable to me, but you

probably will not--in which case you shall, of course, cease to exist.

That, however, in its proper time--you shall be of some slight service

to me in the process of being eliminated. In your case, Miss Marsden, I

find myself undecided between two courses of action; each highly

desirable, but unfortunately mutually exclusive. Your father will be

glad to ransom you at an exceedingly high figure, but, in spite of that

fact, I may decide to keep you for--well, let us say for certain

purposes."



"Yes?" Clio rose magnificently to the occasion. Fear forgotten, her

courageous spirit flashed from her clear, young eyes and emanated from

her slender, rounded young body, erect in defiance. "Since I am a

captive, you can of course do anything you please with me up to a



certain point--but no further, believe me!"



With no sign of having heard her outburst Roger pressed a button and a

tall, comely woman, appeared--a woman of indefinite age and of uncertain

nationality.



"Show Miss Marsden to her apartment," he directed, and as the two women

went out a man came in.



"The cargo is unloaded, sir," the newcomer reported. "The two men and

the five women indicated have been taken to the hospital," was the

report of the man.



"Very well, dispose of the others in the usual fashion." The minion went

out, and Roger continued, emotionlessly:



"Collectively, the other passengers may be worth a million or so, but it

would not be worth while to waste time upon them."



"What are you, anyway?" blazed Costigan, helpless but enraged beyond

caution. "I have heard of mad scientists who tried to destroy the earth,

and of equally mad geniuses who thought themselves Napoleons capable of

conquering even the Solar System. Whichever you are, you should know

that you can't get away with it."



"I am neither. I am, however, a scientist, and I direct many other

scientists. I am not mad. You have undoubtedly noticed several peculiar

features of this place?"



"Yes, particularly the artificial gravity, which has always been

considered impossible, and those screens. An ordinary ether-wall is

opaque in one direction, and doesn't bar matter--yours are transparent

both ways and something more than impenetrable to matter. How do you do

it?"



"You could not understand them if I explained them to you, and they are

merely two of our smaller developments. I have no serious designs upon

the earth nor upon the Solar System, nor have I any desire to rule over,

or to control the destinies of masses of futile and brainless men. I

have, however, certain ends of my own in view. To accomplish my plans I

require hundreds of millions in gold, other hundreds of millions in

platinum and noble metal, and some five kilograms of the bromide of

radium--all of which I shall take from the planets of this Solar System

before I leave it. I shall take them in spite of the puerile efforts of

the fleets of your Triplanetary League.



"This structure, floating in a planetary orbit, was designed by me and

built under my direction. It is protected from meteorites by certain

forces of my devising. It is undetectable and invisible--your detectors

do not touch it and light-waves are bent around it without loss or

distortion. I am discussing these points at such length so that you may

realize exactly your position. As I have intimated, you can be of

assistance to me if you will."



"Now just what could you offer any man to make him join your outfit?"

demanded Costigan, venomously.



"Many things." Roger's cold tone betrayed no emotion, no recognition of

Costigan's open and bitter contempt. "I have under me many men, bound to

me by many ties. Needs, wants, longings and desires differ from man to

man, and I can satisfy practically any of them. Personally, I take

delight in the society of young and beautiful women, and many men have

that same taste; but there are other urges which I have found quite

efficient. Greed, thirst for fame, longing for power, and so on,

including many qualities usually regarded as 'noble.' And what I

promise, I deliver. I demand only loyalty to me, and that only in

certain things and for a relatively short period. In all else, my men do

as they please. In conclusion, I can use you two conveniently, but I do

not need you. Therefore you may choose now between my service and--the

alternative."



"Exactly what is the alternative?"



"We will not go into that. Suffice it to say that it has to do with a

minor research, which is not progressing satisfactorily. It will result

in your extinction, and perhaps I should mention that that extinction

will not be particularly pleasant."



"I say NO, you...." Bradley roared. He intended to give an unexpurgated

classification, but was rudely interrupted.



"Hold on a minute!" snapped Costigan. "How about Miss Marsden?"



"She has nothing to do with this discussion," returned Roger, icily. "I

do not bargain--in fact, I believe that I shall keep her for a time. She

has it in mind to destroy herself, if I do not allow her to be ransomed,

but she will find that door closed to her until I permit it to open."



"In that case, I string along with the Chief--take what he started to

say about you and run it clear across the board for me!" barked

Costigan.



"Very well. That decision was to be expected from men of your type." The

gray man touched two buttons and two of his creatures entered the room.

"Put these men into separate cells on the second level," he ordered.

"Search them to the skin: all their weapons may not have been in their

armor. Seal the doors and mount special guards, tuned to me here."



Imprisoned they were, and carefully searched; but they bore no arms, and

nothing had been said or thought of communicators. Even if such

instruments could be concealed, Roger would detect their use instantly.

At least, so would have run his thought had the subject entered his

mind. But even Roger had no inkling of the possibility of Costigan's

"Service Special" phones, detectors and spy-ray--instruments of minute

size and of infinitesimal power, but yet instruments which, working as

they were, below the level of the ether, were effective at great

distances and caused no vibrations in the ether by which their use could

be detected. And what could be more innocent than the regulation,

personal equipment of every officer of space? The heavy goggles, the

wrist-watch and its supplementary pocket chronometer, the flash-lamp,

the automatic lighter, the sender, the money-belt?



All these items of equipment were examined with due care; but the

cleverest minds of Triplanetary's Secret Service had designated those

communicators to pass any ordinary search, however careful, and when

Costigan and Bradley were finally locked into the designated cells, they

still possessed their ultra-instruments.



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