Prisoners
: Gold In The SkyWherever they were planning to take them, the captors took great pains
to make sure that their two prisoners did not escape before they were
underway. Greg and Johnny were strapped down securely into accelleration
cots. Two burly guards were assigned to them, and the guards were taking
their job seriously. One of the two was watching them at all times, and
both men held their stunners on ready.
Meanwhile,
began a systematic looting of the orbit-ship they had disabled. Earlier
they had merely searched the cabins and compartments. Now a steady
stream of pressure-suited men crossed through the airlocks into the
crippled vessel, marched back with packing cases full of tape records,
microfilm spools, stored computer data ... anything that might
conceivably contain information. The control cabin was literally torn
apart. Every storage hold was ransacked.
A team of six men was dispatched to the asteroid surface, searching for
any sign of mining or prospecting activity. They came back an hour
later, long-faced and empty handed. Doc took their reports, his scowl
growing deeper and deeper.
Finally the last of the searchers reported in. "Doc, we'd scraped it
clean, and there's nothing there. Not one thing that we didn't check
before."
"There's got to be something there," Doc said.
"You tell me where else to look, and I'll do it."
Doc shook his head ominously. "Tawney's not going to like it," he said.
"There's no other place it could be...."
"Well, at least we have this pair," the other said, jerking a thumb at
Greg and Johnny. "They'll know."
Doc looked at them darkly. "Yes, and they'll tell, too, or I don't know
Tawney."
Greg watched it all happening, heard the noises, saw the packing-cases
come through the cabin, and still he could not quite believe it. He
caught Johnny's eye, then turned away, suddenly sick. Johnny shook his
head. "Take it easy, boy."
"He didn't even have a chance," Greg said.
"I know that. He must have known it too."
"But why? What was he thinking of?"
"Maybe he thought he could make it. Maybe he thought it was the only
chance...."
There was no other answer that Greg could see, and the ache in his chest
was deeper.
There was no way to bring Tom back now. However things had been between
them, they could never be changed now. But he knew that as long as he
was still breathing, somebody somehow was going to answer for that last
desperate run of the Scavenger....
* * * * *
It had been an excellent idea, Tom Hunter thought to himself, and it had
worked perfectly, exactly as he had planned it ... so far. But now, as
he clung to his precarious perch, he wondered if it had not worked out a
little too well. The first flush of excitement that he had felt when he
saw the Scavenger blow apart in space had begun to die down now; on
its heels came the unpleasant truth, the realization that only the easy
part lay behind him so far. The hard part was yet to come, and if that
were to fail....
He realized, suddenly, that he was afraid. He was well enough concealed
at the moment, clinging tightly against the outside hull of the Ranger
ship, hidden behind the open airlock door. But soon the airlock would be
pulled closed, and then the real test would come.
Carefully, he ran through the plan again in his mind. He was certain now
that his reasoning was right. There had been two dozen men on the raider
ship; there had been no question, even from the start, that they would
succeed in boarding the orbit-ship and taking its occupants prisoners.
The Jupiter Equilateral ship had not appeared there by coincidence. They
had come looking for something that they had not found.
And the only source of information left was Roger Hunter's sons. The
three of them together might have held the ship for hours, or even
days ... but with engines and radios smashed, there had been no hope
of contacting Mars for help. Ultimately, they would have been taken.
As he had crouched in the dark storage hold in the orbit-ship, Tom had
realized this. He had also realized that, once captured, they would
never have been freed and allowed to return to Mars.
If the three of them were taken, they were finished. But what if only
two were taken? He had pushed it aside as a foolish idea, at first. The
boarding party would never rest until they had accounted for all three.
They wouldn't dare go back to their headquarters leaving one live man
behind to tell the story....
Unless they thought the third man was dead. If they were sure of
that ... certain of it ... they would not hesitate to take the
remaining two away. And if, by chance, the third man wasn't as dead as
they thought he was, and could find a way to follow them home, there
might still be a chance to free the other two.
It was then that he thought of the Scavenger, and knew that he had
found a way.
In the cabin of the little scout ship he had worked swiftly, fearful
that at any minute one of the marauders might come aboard to search it.
Tom was no rocket pilot, but he did know that the count-down was
automatic, and that every ship could run on an autopilot, as a drone,
following a prescribed course until it ran out of fuel. Even the
shell-evasion mechanism could be set on automatic....
Quickly he set the autopilot, plotted a simple high school math course
for the ship, a course the Ranger ship would be certain to see, and to
fire upon. He set the count-down clock to give himself plenty of time
for the next step.
Both the airlock to the Scavenger and to the orbit-ship worked on
electric motors. The Scavenger was grappled to the orbit-ship's hull
by magnetic cables. Tom dug into the ship's repair locker, found the
wires and fuses that he needed, and swiftly started to work.
It was an ingenious device. The inner airlock door in the orbit-ship was
triggered to a fuse. He had left it ajar; the moment it was closed, by
anyone intending to board the Scavenger, the fuse would burn, a
circuit would open, and the little ship's autopilot would go on active.
The ship would blast away from its moorings, head out toward Mars....
And the fireworks would begin. All that he would have to worry about
then would be getting himself aboard the Ranger ship without being
detected.
Which was almost impossible. But he knew there was a way. There was one
place no one would think to look for him, if he could manage to keep out
of range of the viewscreen lenses ... the outer hull of the ship. If he
could clamp himself to the hull, somehow, and manage to cling there
during blastoff, he could follow Greg and Johnny right home.
He checked the fuse on the airlock once again to make certain it would
work. Then he waited, hidden behind the little scout ship's hull,
until the orbit-ship swung around into shadow. He checked his suit
dials ... oxygen for twenty-two hours, heater pack fully charged,
soda-ash only half saturated ... it would do. Above him he could see the
rear jets of the Ranger. He swung out onto the orbit-ship's hull, and
began crawling up toward the enemy ship.
It was slow going. Every pressure suit had magnetic boots and hand-pads
to enable crewmen to go outside and make repairs on the hull of a ship
in transit. Tom clung, and moved, and clung again, trying to reach the
protecting hull of the Ranger before the orbit-ship swung him around to
the sun-side again....
He couldn't move fast enough. He saw the line of sunlight coming around
the ship as it swung full into the sun. He froze, crouching motionless.
If somebody on the Ranger spotted him now, it was all over. He was
exposed like a lizard on a rock. He waited, hardly daring to breathe, as
the ship spun ponderously around, carrying him into shadow again.
And nothing happened. He started crawling upward again, reached up to
grab the mooring cable, and swung himself across to the hull of the
Ranger. The airlock hung open; he scuttled behind it, clinging to the
hull in its shadow just as Greg and Johnny were herded across by the
Jupiter Equilateral guards.
Then he waited. There was no sound, no sign of life. After a while the
Ranger's inner lock opened, and a group of men hurried across to the
orbit-ship. Probably a searching party, Tom thought. Soon the men came
back, then returned to the orbit-ship. After another minute, he felt the
vibration of the Scavenger's motors, and he knew that his snare had
been triggered.
He saw the little ship break free and streak out in its curving
trajectory. He saw the homing shells burst from the Ranger's tubes. The
Scavenger vanished from his range of vision, but moments later he saw
the sudden flare of light reflected against the hull of the orbit-ship,
and he knew his plan had worked, but the ordeal lay ahead.
And at the end of it, he might really be a dead man.
* * * * *
Hours later, the last group of looters left the orbit-ship, and the
airlock to the Ranger clanged shut. Tom heard the sucking sound of the
air-tight seals, then silence. The orbit-ship was empty, its insides
gutted, its engines no longer operable. The Ranger hung like a long
splinter of silver alongside her hull, poised and ready to move on.
He knew that the time had come. Very soon the blastoff and the
accelleration would begin. He had a few moments to find a position of
safety, no more.
Quickly, he began scrambling toward the rear of the Ranger's hull,
hugging the metal sides, moving sideways like a crab. Ahead, he knew,
the viewscreen lenses would be active; if one of them picked him up, it
would be quite a jolt to the men inside the ship ... but it would be the
end of his free ride.
But the major peril was the blastoff. Once the engines cut off, the ship
would be in free fall. Then he could cling easily to the hull, walk all
over it if he chose to, with the aid of his boots and hand-pads. But
unless he found a way to anchor himself firmly to the hull during
blastoff, he could be flung off like a pebble.
He heard a whirring sound, and saw the magnetic mooring cables jerk. The
ship was preparing for blastoff. Automatic motors were drawing the
cables and grappling plates into the hull. Moving quickly, Tom reached
the rear cable. Here was his anchor, something to hold him tight to the
hull! With one hand he loosened the web belt of his suit, looped it over
a corner of the grappling plate as it pulled in to the hull.
The plate pulled tight against the belt. Each plate fit into a shallow
excavation in the hull, fitting so tightly that the plates were all but
invisible when they were in place. Tom felt himself pulled in tightly as
the plate gripped the belt against the metal, and the whirring of the
motor stopped.
For an instant it looked like the answer. The belt was wedged
tight ... he couldn't possibly pull loose without ripping the nylon
webbing of the belt. But a moment later the motor started whirring again.
The plate pushed out from the hull a few inches, then started back, again
pulling in the belt....
A good idea that just wouldn't work. The automatic machinery on a
spaceship was built to perfection; nothing could be permitted to
half-work. Tom realized what was happening. Unless the plate fit
perfectly in its place, the cable motor could not shut off, and
presently an alarm signal would start flashing on the control panel.
He pulled the belt loose, reluctantly. He would have to count on his
boots and his hand-pads alone.
He searched the rear hull, looking for some break in the polished metal
that might serve as a toehold. To the rear the fins flared out,
supported by heavy struts. He made his way back, crouching close to the
hull, and straddled one of the struts. He jammed his magnetic boots down
against the hull, and wrapped his arms around the strut with all his
strength.
Clinging there, he waited.
It wasn't a good position. The metal of the strut was polished and
slick, but it was better than trying to cling to the open hull. He
tensed now, not daring to relax for fear that the blastoff accelleration
would slam him when he was unprepared.
Deep in the ship, the engines began to rumble. He felt it rather
than heard it, a low-pitched vibration that grew stronger and stronger.
The Ranger would not need a great thrust to move away from the
orbit-ship ... but if they were in a hurry, they might start out at
nearly Mars-escape....
The jets flared, and something slammed him down against the fin strut.
The Ranger moved out, its engines roaring, accellerating hard. Tom felt
as though he had been hit by a ton of rock. The strut seemed to press in
against his chest; he could not breathe. His hands were sliding, and he
felt the pull on his boots. He tightened his grip desperately. This was
it. He had to hang on, had to hang on....
He saw his boot on the hull surface, sliding slowly, creeping back and
stretching his leg, suddenly it broke loose; he lurched to one side, and
the other boot began sliding. There was a terrible ache in his arms, as
though some malignant giant were tearing at him, trying to wrench him
loose as he fought for his hold.
There was one black instant when he knew he could not hold on another
second. He could see the blue flame of the jet streaming behind him, the
cold blackness of space beyond that. It had been a fool's idea, he
thought in despair, a million-to-one shot that he had taken, and
lost....
And then the pressure stopped. His boots clanged down on the hull, and
he almost lost his hand-grip. He stretched an arm, shook himself, took a
great painful breath, and then clung to the strut, almost sobbing,
hardly daring to move.
The ordeal was over. Somewhere, far ahead, an orbit-ship was waiting for
the Ranger to return. He would have to be ready for the braking thrust
and the side-maneuvering thrusts, but he would manage to hold on.
Crouching against the fin, he would be invisible to viewers on the
orbit-ship ... and who would be looking for a man clinging to the
outside of a scout-ship?
Tom sighed, and waited. Jupiter Equilateral would have its prisoners,
all right. He wished now that he had not discarded the stunner, but
those extra pounds might have made the difference between life and death
during the blastoff. And at least he was not completely unarmed. He
still had Dad's revolver at his side.
He smiled to himself. The pirates would have their prisoners,
indeed ... but they would have one factor to deal with that they
had not counted on.
* * * * *
For Greg it was a bitter, lonely trip.
After ten hours they saw the huge Jupiter Equilateral orbit-ship looming
up in the viewscreen like a minor planet. Skilfully Doc maneuvered the
ship into the launching rack. The guards unstrapped the prisoners, and
handed them pressure suits.
Moments later they were in a section in crews' quarters where they
stripped off their suits. This orbit-ship was much larger than Roger
Hunter's; the gravity was almost Mars-normal, and it was comforting just
to stretch and relax their cramped muscles.
As long as they didn't think of what was ahead.
Finally Johnny grinned and slapped Greg's shoulder. "Cheer up," he said.
"We'll be honored guests for a while, you can bet on that."
"For a while," Greg said bitterly.
Just then the hatchway opened. "Well, who do we have here?" a familiar
voice said. "Returning a call, you might say. And maybe this time you'll
be ready for a bit of bargaining."
They turned to see the heavy face and angry eyes of Merrill Tawney.
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Thursday, 26 March 2572, New Denver After Mass and breakfast, Odeon, Bain, and Blackfeather went to the dungeon. There was no question, Blackfeather thought, of her giving up her work as Cortin's historian, even though she'd joined Family ... Revenge
Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned, but the fury of a biochemist scorned is just as great --and much more fiendish. If the Syndicate is half as powerful as some people have claimed, they'll mur... Revolution
There seemed to be five of our captors, all of them as evil-looking men as I think I have ever seen. They rummaged about the room, evidently in search for weapons they thought I might have secreted. Then they ordered me to stand up, and without mo... Revolutionist And Eavesdropper
In Kem, where agriculture was almost the only occupation, and where the ox was helpful both in planting and threshing the grain, it was quite natural that he should be revered, or at least respected as a partner in the toil, and that a strong prej... Rewards
With the realization that Dejah Thoris was no longer within the throneroom came the belated recollection of the dark face that I had glimpsed peering from behind the draperies that backed the throne of Salensus Oll at the moment that I had first c... Robur The Conqueror
Robur, the Conqueror! This then was the likeness I had vaguely recalled. Some years before the portrait of this extraordinary man had been printed in all the American newspapers, under date of the thirteenth of June, the day after this persona... Rockingham To The Sharks
At one o'clock in the morning I arose, dressed hurriedly, drew on a pair of felt slippers, and put a revolver in my pocket. It was then time to put Edith Metford's proposal to the proof, and she would be waiting for me on deck to hear whether I ha... Roger Carries On
For gray Roger had not perished in the floods of Nevian energy which had destroyed his planetoid. While those terrific streamers of force emanating from the crimson obscurity surrounding the amphibians' space-ship were driving into his defensive s... Sailing Away
But the next morning Felix arose straight from his sleep resolved to carry out his plan. Without staying to think a moment, without further examination of the various sides of the problem, he started up the instant his eyes unclosed, fully determi...