The Judas Valley

: The Judas Valley

Why did everybody step off the ship in this strange valley

and promptly drop dead? How could a well-equipped corps of

tough spacemen become a field of rotting skeletons in this

quiet world of peace and contentment? It was a mystery Peter

and Sherri had to solve. If they could live long enough!





Peter Wayne took the letter out of the machine, broke the seal, and

examined it cur ously. It was an official communication from the

Interstellar Exploration Service. It read:



FROM: Lieutenant General Martin Scarborough, I.E.S.

TO: Captain Peter Wayne, Preliminary Survey Corps



Report immediately to this office for assignment to I.E.S. Lord

Nelson. Full briefing will be held at 2200 hours, 14 April 2103.



By order of the Fleet Commandant.



It was short, brief, and to the point. And it gave no information

whatsoever. Peter Wayne shrugged resignedly, put the letter down on his

bed, walked over to the phone, and dialed a number.



A moment later, a girl's face appeared--blonde-haired, with high

cheekbones, deep blue-green eyes, and an expression of the lips that

intriguingly combined desirability and crisp military bearing.



"Lieutenant James speaking," she said formally. Then, as Wayne's image

appeared on her screen, she grinned. "Hi, Pete. What's up?"



"Listen, Sherri," Wayne said quickly. "I'm going to have to cancel that

date we had for tomorrow night. I just got my orders."



The girl laughed. "I was just going to call you, I got a fac-sheet

too. Looks as though we won't see each other for a while, Pete."



"What ship are you getting?"



"The Lord Nelson."



It was Wayne's turn to laugh. "It looks as though we will be seeing

each other. That's my ship too. We can keep our date in the briefing

room."



Her face brightened. "Good! I'll see you there, then," she said. "I've

got to get my gear packed."



"Okay," Wayne said. "Let's be on time, you know how General Scarborough

is."



She smiled. "Don't worry, Peter. I'll be there. So long for now."



"Bye, Sherri." He cut the connection, watched the girl's face melt away

into a rainbow-colored diamond of light, and turned away. There were a

lot of things to do before he would be ready to leave Earth for an

interstellar tour of duty.



He wondered briefly as he started to pack just what was going on. There

was usually much more notice on any big jump of this order. Something

special was up, he thought, as he dragged his duffle-bag out of the

closet.



* * * * *



He was at the briefing room at 2158 on the nose. The Interstellar

Exploration Service didn't much go for tardiness, but they didn't pay

extra if you got there a half-hour early. Captain Peter Wayne made it a

point of being at any appointment two minutes early--no more, no less.



The room was starting to fill up, with men and women Wayne knew well,

had worked with on other expeditions, had lived with since he'd joined

the IES. They looked just as puzzled as he probably did, he saw; they

knew they were being called in on something big, and in the IES big

meant big.



At precisely 2200, Lieutenant General Scarborough emerged from the inner

office, strode briskly up the aisle of the briefing room, and took his

customary stance on the platform in front. His face looked stern, and he

held his hands clasped behind his back. His royal blue uniform was neat

and trim. Over his head, the second hand of the big clock whirled

endlessly. In the silence of the briefing room, it seemed to be ticking

much too loudly.



The general nodded curtly and said, "Some of you are probably wondering

why the order to report here wasn't more specific. There are two reasons

for that. In the first place, we have reason to believe that we have

found a substantial deposit of double-nucleus beryllium."



There was a murmur of sound in the briefing room. Wayne felt his heart

starting to pound; D-N beryllium was big. So big that a whole fleet of

IES ships did nothing but search the galaxy for it, full time.



"Naturally," the general continued, "we don't want any of this

information to leak out, just in case it should prove false. The

prospect of enough D-N beryllium to make fusion power really cheap could

cause a panic if we didn't handle it properly. The Economics Board has

warned us that we'll have to proceed carefully if there actually is a

big deposit on this planet."



Captain Wayne stared uneasily at Sherri James, who frowned and chewed

her lip. To his left, a short, stubby private named Manetti murmured

worriedly, "That means trouble. D-N beryllium always means trouble.

There's a catch somewhere."



General Scarborough, on the platform, said, "There's a second reason for

secrecy. I think it can better be explained by a man who has the

evidence first-hand."



He paused and looked around the room. "Four weeks ago, the Scout Ship

Mavis came back from Fomalhaut V." There was a dead silence in the

briefing room.



"Lieutenant Jervis, will you tell the crew exactly what happened on

Fomalhaut V?"



* * * * *



Lieutenant Jervis stepped forward and took his place on the platform. He

was small and wiry, with a hawk nose and piercingly intense eyes. He

cleared his throat and smiled a little sheepishly.



"I've told this story so many times that it doesn't even sound real to

me any more. I've told it to the Supreme Senate Space Committee, to half

the top brass in the IES, and to a Board of Physicians from the Medical

Department.



"As well as I can remember it, it goes something like this."



Laughter rippled through the room.



"We orbited around Fomalhaut V for a Scouting Survey," Jervis said. "The

planet is hot and rocky, but it has a breathable atmosphere. The

detectors showed various kinds of metals in the crust, some of them in

commercially feasible concentration. But the crust is so mountainous and

rocky that there aren't very many places to land a ship.



"Then we picked up the double-nucleus beryllium deposit on our

detectors. Nearby, there was a small, fairly level valley, so we brought

the ship down for a closer check. We wanted to make absolutely positive

that it was double-nucleus beryllium before we made our report."



He paused, as if arranging the story he wanted to tell in his mind, and

went on. "The D-N beryllium deposit lies at the top of a fairly low

mountain about five miles from the valley. We triangulated it first, and

then we decided we ought to send up a party to get samples of the ore if

it were at all possible.



"I was chosen to go, along with another member of the crew, a man named

Lee Bellows. We left the ship at about five in the morning, and spent

most of the day climbing up to the spot where we had detected the

beryllium. We couldn't get a sample; the main deposit is located several

feet beneath the surface of the mountaintop, and the mountain is too

rough and rocky to climb without special equipment. We got less than

halfway before we had to stop."



Wayne felt Sherri nudge him, and turned to nod. He knew what she was

thinking. This was where he came in; it was a job that called for a

specialist, a trained mountaineer--such as Captain Peter Wayne. He

frowned and turned his attention back to the man on the platform.



* * * * *



"We made all the readings we could," Jervis continued. "Then we headed

back to our temporary base."



His face looked troubled. "When we got back, every man at the base was

dead."



Silence in the room. Complete, utter, deafening silence.



"There were only nine of us in the ship," Jervis said. He was obviously

still greatly affected by whatever had taken place on Fomalhaut V. "With

seven of us dead, that left only Bellows and myself. We couldn't find

out what had killed them. They were lying scattered over the valley

floor for several yards around the ship. They looked as though they had

suddenly dropped dead at whatever they were doing."



Peter Wayne made use of his extra few inches of height to glance around

the briefing room. He saw row on row of tense faces--faces that

reflected the same emotions he was feeling. Space exploration was

something still new and mostly unknown, and even the experienced men of

IES still knew fear occasionally. The galaxy was a big place; unknown

terrors lurked on planets unimaginably distant. Every now and then,

something like this would come up--something to give you pause, before

you ventured into space again.



"We couldn't find out what had killed them," Jervis said again. "They

were lying scattered every which way, with no clues at all." The small

man's fingers were trembling from relived fright. "Bellows and I were

pretty scared, I'll have to admit. We couldn't find a sign of what had

killed the men--they'd just--just died."



There was a quiver in his voice. It was obvious he could never take the

story lightly, no matter how many times he had to tell it.



Wayne heard Private Manetti mutter, "There's always a price for D-N

beryllium."



"The Scout Ship hadn't been molested," Jervis went on. "I went inside

and checked it over. It was untouched, undisturbed in every way. I

checked the control panel, the cabins, everything. All unbothered. The

ship was empty and dead. And--outside--



"When I came out, Bellows was dead too." He took a deep breath. "I'm

afraid I panicked then. I locked myself inside the ship, set the

autocontrols, and headed back to Earth at top velocity. I set the ship

in an orbit around the moon and notified headquarters. I was quarantined

immediately, of course, to make sure I wasn't carrying anything. The

medics checked me over carefully. I wasn't and am not now carrying any

virus or bacteria unknown to Terrestrial medicine.



"Since I'm the only one who knows exactly where this valley is, the

general has asked me to guide the Lord Nelson to the exact spot.

Actually, it could be found eventually with the D-N beryllium as a

guide. But the Mavis was in orbit around Fomalhaut V for two weeks

before we found the D-N beryllium deposit, and the Service feels that we

shouldn't waste any time."



The lieutenant sat down, and General Scarborough resumed his place on

the platform.



* * * * *



"That's the situation," Scarborough said bluntly. "You know the setup,

now--and I think some of you see how your specialities are going to fit

into the operation. As Lieutenant Jervis pointed out, we don't know what

killed the crew of the Mavis; therefore, we are going to take every

possible precaution. As far as we know, there are no inimical life forms

on Fomalhaut V--but it's possible that there are things we don't know

about, such as airborne viruses that kill in a very short time. If so,

then Lieutenant Jervis is immune to the virus and is not a transmitter

or carrier of it.



"However, to guard against such a possibility, no one will leave the

Lord Nelson, once it has landed, without wearing a spacesuit. The air

is breathable, but we're taking no chances. Also, no one will go out

alone; scouting parties will always be in pairs, with wide open

communication with the ship. And at no time will more than ten percent

of the ship's company be outside at any one time."



Wayne made a rough mental computation. The Lord Nelson holds sixty.

That means no more than six out at any single time. They really must be

worried.



"Aside from those orders, which were decided on by the Service Command,

you'll be under the direct orders of Colonel Nels Petersen. Colonel

Petersen."



Petersen was a tall, hard-faced man with a touch of gray at his temples.

He stepped forward and stared intently at the assembled crew.



* * * * *



"Our job is to make the preliminary preparations for getting D-N

beryllium out of the crust of Fomalhaut V. We're supposed to stay alive

while we do it. Therefore, our secondary job is to find out what it was

that killed the scouting expedition of the Mavis. There are sixty of

us going aboard the Lord Nelson tomorrow, and I'd like to have sixty

aboard when we come back. Got that?"



He leaned forward, stretched upward on his toes, and smiled

mechanically. "Fine. Now, you all know your jobs, but we're going to

have to work together as a team. We're going to have to correlate our

work so that we'll know what we're doing. So don't think we won't have

anything to do during the two weeks it will take us to get to Fomalhaut

V. We're going to work it as though it were a shakedown cruise. If

anyone doesn't work out, he'll be replaced, even if we have to turn

around and come back to Earth. On a planet which has wiped out a whole

scouting expedition, we can't afford to have any slip-ups. And that

means we can't afford to have anyone aboard who doesn't know what he's

doing or doesn't care. Is that clear?"



It was.



"All right," said the colonel. "Let's go out and get acquainted with the

Lord Nelson."



* * * * *



The briefing session broke up well past midnight, and the group that

shortly would become the crew of the Lord Nelson filtered out of the

building and into the cool spring air. Each man had a fairly good idea

of his job and each man knew the dangers involved. No one had backed

out.



"What d'ye think of it, Pete?" Sherri James asked, as they left

together. "Sounds pretty mean."



"I wish we knew what the answers were beforehand," Wayne said. He

glanced down at Sherri. The moon was full, and its rays glinted brightly

off her golden hair. "It's a risky deal, as Petersen said. Nine men go

out, and eight die--of what? Just dead, that's all."



"It's the way the game goes," Sherri said. "You knew that when you

joined the corps." They turned down the main road of the IES compound

and headed for the snack bar.



Wayne nodded. "I know, kid. It's a job, and it has to be done. But

nobody likes to walk into an empty planet like that knowing that eight

of the last nine guys who did didn't come back."



He put his arm around her and they entered the snack bar that way. Most

of the other crew-members were there already; Wayne sensed the

heightening tenseness on their faces.



"Two nuclear fizzes," he said to the pfc at the bar. "With all the

trimmings."



"What's the matter, Captain?" said a balding, potbellied major a few

stools down, who was nursing a beer. "How come the soft drinks tonight,

Wayne?"



Peter grinned. "I'm in training, Major Osborne. Gotta kill the evil

green horde from Rigel Seven, and I don't dare drink anything stronger

than sarsaparilla."



"How about the amazon, then?" Osborne said, gesturing at Sherri. "Her

too?"



"Me too," Sherri said.



Osborne stared at his beer. "You two must be in Scarborough's new

project, then." He squinted at Peter, who nodded almost imperceptibly.



"You'll need luck," Osborne said.



"No we won't," Wayne said. "Not luck. We'll need more than just luck to

pull us through."



The nuclear fizzes arrived. He began to sip it quietly. A few more

members of the crew entered the snack bar. Their faces were drawn

tensely.



He guzzled the drink and looked up at Sherri, who was sucking down the

last of the soda. "Let's get going, Lieutenant James. The noncoms are

coming, and we don't want them to make nasty remarks about us."



* * * * *



The Lord Nelson blasted off the next evening, after a frenzied day of

hurried preparations. The crew of sixty filed solemnly aboard, Colonel

Petersen last, and the great hatch swung closed.



There was the usual routine loudspeaker-business while everyone quickly

and efficiently strapped into his acceleration cradle, and then the ship

leaped skyward. It climbed rapidly, broke free of Earth's grasp, and,

out past the moon, abruptly winked out of normal space into overdrive.

It would spend the next two weeks in hyperspace, short-cutting across

the galaxy to Fomalhaut V.



It was a busy two weeks for everyone involved. Captain Peter Wayne, as a

central part of the team, spent much of his time planning his attack.

His job would be the actual climbing of the mountain where the

double-nucleus beryllium was located. It wasn't going to be an easy job;

the terrain was rough, the wind, according to Jervis, whipped ragingly

through the hills, and the jagged peaks thrust into the air like the

teeth of some mythical dragon.



Study of the three-dimensional aerial photographs taken from the Mavis

showed that the best route was probably up through one end of the

valley, through a narrow pass that led around the mountain, and up the

west slope, which appeared to offer better handholds and was less

perpendicular than the other sides of the mountain.



This time, the expedition would have the equipment to make the climb.

There were ropes, picks, and crampons, and sets of metamagnetic boots

and grapples. With metamagnetic boots, Wayne thought, they'd be able to

walk up the side of the mountain almost as easily as if it were flat.



He studied the thick, heavy soles of the boots for a moment, then set to

work polishing. Wayne liked to keep his boots mirror-bright; it wasn't

required, but it was a habit of his nonetheless.



He set to work vigorously. Everyone aboard the ship was working that

way. Sherri James, who was in charge of the Correlation Section, had

noticed the same thing the day before. Her job was to co-ordinate all

the information from various members of the expedition, run them through

the computers, and record them. She had been busy since blastoff,

testing the computers, checking and rechecking them, being overly

efficient.



"I know why we're doing it," she said. "It keeps our mind off the end of

the trip. When we spend the whole day working out complicated circuits

for the computers, or polishing mountain boots, or cleaning the jet

tubes, it's just so we don't have to think about Fomalhaut V. It helps

to concentrate on details."



Wayne nodded and said nothing. Sherri was right. There was one thought

in everyone's mind: what was the deadly secret of the valley?



There was another thought, after that:



Will we find it out in time?



* * * * *



After two weeks of flight through the vast blackness of interstellar

space, the Lord Nelson came out of overdrive and set itself in an

orbit around Fomalhaut V. Lieutenant Jervis, the sole survivor of the

ill-fated Mavis, located the small valley between the giant crags that

covered the planet, and the huge spherical bulk of the spaceship settled

gently to the floor of the valley.



They were gathered in the central room of the ship ten minutes after the

all-clear rang through the corridors, informing everyone that the

landing had been safely accomplished. From the portholes they could see

the white bones of the Mavis's crew lying on the reddish sand of the

valley bottom.



"There they are," Jervis said quietly. "Just bones. Those were my

shipmates."



Wayne saw Sherri repress a shudder. Little heaps of bones lay here and

there on the sand, shining brightly in the hot sun. That was the crew of

the Mavis--or what was left of them.



Colonel Petersen entered the room and confronted the crew. "We're here,"

he said. "You know the schedule from now on. No one's to leave the ship

until we've made a check outside, and after that--assuming it's OK to go

out--no more than six are to leave the ship at any one time."



He pointed to a row of metal magnetic tabs clinging to the wall nearest

the corridor that led to the airlock. "When you go out, take one of

those tabs and touch it on your suit. There are exactly six tabs. If

none are there, don't go out. It's as simple as that."



Four men in spacesuits entered the room, followed by two others. The

leader of the group saluted. "We're ready, sir," he said.



"Go out and get a look at the bodies," the colonel told the men, who

were Medical Corpsmen. "You know the procedure. Air and sand samples

too, of course."



The leader saluted again, turned, and left. Wayne watched the six

spacesuited figures step one at a time to the wall, withdraw one of the

metal tabs, and affix it to the outer skin of his suit. Then they went

outside.



Captain Wayne and Sherri James stood by one of the portholes and

watched the six medics as they bent over the corpses outside. "I don't

get it, I just don't understand," Wayne said quietly.



* * * * *



"What don't you get?" Sherri asked.



"Those skeletons. Those men have only been dead for two months, and

they've been reduced to nothing but bones already. Even the fabric of

their clothing is gone. Why? There must be something here that causes

human flesh to deteriorate much faster than normal."



"It does look pretty gruesome," Sherri agreed. "I'm glad we've been

ordered to keep our spacesuits on. I wouldn't want to be exposed to

anything that might be out there."



"I wonder--" Wayne muttered.



"What? What's the matter?"



Wayne pointed to one figure lying on the sand. "See that? What's that

over his head?"



"Why--it's a space helmet!"



"Yeah," said Wayne. "The question is: was he wearing just the helmet, or

the whole suit? If he was wearing the whole suit, we're not going to be

as well protected as we thought, even with our fancy suits."



Fifteen minutes passed slowly before the medics returned, and five

minutes more before they had passed through the decontamination chambers

and were allowed into the ship proper. A ring of tense faces surrounded

them as they made their report.



* * * * *



The leader, a tall, bespectacled doctor named Stevelman, was the

spokesman. He shrugged when Colonel Petersen put forth the question

whose answer everyone waited for.



"I don't know," the medic replied. "I don't know what killed them.

There's dry bones out there, but no sign of anything that might have

done it. It's pretty hard to make a quick diagnosis on a skeleton,

Colonel."



"What about the one skeleton with the bubble helmet?" Peter Wayne asked.

"Did you see any sign of a full suit on him?"



Stevelman shook his head. "Not a sign, sir."



Colonel Petersen turned and glanced at Lieutenant Jervis. "Do you

remember what the circumstances were, Lieutenant?"



Jervis shrugged. "I don't recall it very clearly, sir. I honestly

couldn't tell you whether they were wearing suits or bubble-helmets or

anything. I was too upset at the time to make careful observations."



"I understand," Petersen said.



But the medic had a different theory. He pointed at Jervis and said,

"That's a point I've meant to make, Lieutenant. You're a trained space

scout. Your psychological records show that you're not the sort of man

given to panic or to become confused."



"Are you implying that there's something improper about my statement,

Dr. Stevelman?"



The medic held up a hand. "Nothing of the sort, Lieutenant. But since

you're not the sort to panic, even in such a crisis as the complete

destruction of the entire crew of your scout ship, you must have been

ill--partly delirious from fever. Not delirious enough to cause

hallucinations, but just enough to impair your judgment."



Jervis nodded. "That is possible," he said.



"Good," said Stevelman. "I have two tentative hypotheses, then." He

turned to the colonel. "Should I state them now, Colonel Petersen?"



"There's to be no secrecy aboard this ship, Doctor. I want every man and

woman on the ship to know all the facts at all times."



"Very well," the medic said. "I'd suggest the deaths were caused by some

unknown virus--or, perhaps, by some virulent poison that occurred

occasionally, a poisonous smog of some kind that had settled in the

valley for a time and then dissipated."



Wayne frowned and shook his head. Both hypotheses made sense.



"Do you have any suggestions, Doctor?" Petersen said.



"Since we don't have any direct information about why those men died,

Colonel, I can't make any definite statements. But I can offer one bit

of advice to everyone: wear your suits and be alert."



* * * * *



During the week that followed, several groups went out without suffering

any ill effects. A short service was held for the eight of the Mavis

and then the skeletons were buried in the valley.



They ran a check on the double-nucleus beryllium toward the end of the

week, after it had been fairly safely established that no apparent harm

was going to come to them. Wayne and Sherri were both in the crew that

went outside to set up the detector.



"You man the detector plate," said Major MacDougal, who was in charge of

the group, turning to Wayne.



He put his hand on the plate and waited for the guide coordinates to be

set. MacDougal fumbled at the base of the detector for a moment, and the

machine began picking up eloptic radiations.



Wayne now looked down at the detector plate. "Here we are," he said.

"The dial's oscillating between four and eight, all right. The stuff's

here."



MacDougal whistled gently. "It's really sending, isn't it!" He pointed

toward the mountaintop. "From up there, too. It's going to be a nice

climb. Okay, pack the detector up and let's get back inside."



They entered the airlock and passed on into the ship.



"The D-N beryllium up there, sir," Major MacDougal said. "It's going to

be a devil of a job to get up to find the stuff."



"That's what Captain Wayne's here for," Petersen said. "Captain, what

do you think? Can you get up here?"



"It would have been easier to bring along a helicopter," Wayne said

wryly. "Pity the things don't fit into spaceships. But I think I can get

up there. I'd like to try surveying the lay of the land, first. I want

to know all the possible routes before I start climbing."



"Good idea," Petersen said. "I'll send you out with three men to do some

preliminary exploring. Boggs! Manetti! MacPherson! Suit up and get with

it!"



* * * * *



Wayne strode toward the spacesuit locker, took out his suit, and donned

it. Instead of the normal space boots, he put on the special

metamagnetic boots for mountain climbing. The little reactors in the

back of the calf activated the thick metal sole of each boot so that it

would cling tightly to the metallic rock of the mountain. Unlike

ordinary magnetism, the metamagnetic field acted on all metals, even

when they were in combination with other elements.



His team of three stood before him in the airlock room. He knew all

three of them fairly well from Earthside; they were capable,

level-headed men, and at least one--Boggs--had already been out in the

valley surveying once, and so knew the area pretty well.



He pulled on the boots and looked up. "We're not going to climb the

mountain this time, men. We'll just take a look around it to decide

which is the best way."



"You have any ideas, sir?" Sergeant Boggs asked.



"From looking at the photographs, I'd guess that the western approach is

the best. But I may be wrong. Little details are hard to see from five

hundred miles up, even with the best of instruments, and there may be

things in our way that will make the west slope impassible. If so, we'll

try the southern side. It looks pretty steep, but it also seems rough

enough to offer plenty of handholds."



"Too bad we couldn't have had that helicopter you were talking about,"

said Boggs.



Wayne grinned. "With these winds? They'd smash us against the side of

the mountain before we'd get up fifty feet. You ought to know,

Sergeant--you've been out in them once already."



"They're not so bad down in this valley, sir," Boggs said. "The only

time you really notice them is when you climb the escarpment at the

northern end. They get pretty rough up there."



Wayne nodded. "You can see what kind of a job we'll have. Even with

metamagnetic boots and grapples, we'll still have to use the old

standbys." He looked at the men. "Okay; we're all ready. Let's go."



They unhooked four of the six tabs from the wall and donned them. Then

they moved on into the airlock and closed the inner door. The air was

pumped out, just as though the ship were in space or on a planet with a

poisonous atmosphere. As far as anyone knew, the atmosphere of Fomalhaut

V actually was poisonous. Some of the tension had relaxed after a week

spent in safety, but there was always the first expedition to consider;

no one took chances.



When all the air had been removed, a bleeder valve allowed the outer air

to come into the chamber. Then the outer door opened, and the four men

went down the ladder to the valley floor.



* * * * *



Wayne led the way across the sand in silence. The four men made their

way toward the slope on the western side of the valley. Overhead, the

bright globe of Fomalhaut shed its orange light over the rugged

landscape.



When they reached the beginning of the slope, Wayne stopped and looked

upwards. "Doesn't look easy," he grunted. "Damned rough hill, matter of

fact. MacPherson, do you think you could make it to the top?"



Corporal MacPherson was a small, wiry man who had the reputation of

being a first-rank mountaineer. He had been a member of the eighteenth

Mount Everest Party, and had been the second of that party to reach the

summit of the towering peak.



"Sure I can, sir," he said confidently. "Shall I take the rope?"



"Go ahead. You and Manetti get the rope to the top, and Sergeant Boggs

and I will follow up."



"Righto, sir."



Corporal MacPherson reached his gloved hands forward and contracted his

fingers. The tiny microswitches in his gloves actuated the relays, and

his hands clung to the rock. Then he put his boots against the wall and

began to move up the steep escarpment.



Private Manetti followed after him. The two men were lashed together by

the light plastisteel cable. The sergeant held the end of the cable in

his hands, waiting for the coil to be paid out.



Wayne watched the two men climb, while a chill wind whipped down out of

the mountains and raised the sand in the valley. It was less than eighty

feet to the precipice edge above, but it was almost perpendicular, and

as they climbed, the buffeting winds began to press against their bodies

with ever-increasing force.



They reached the top and secured the rope, and then they peered over the

edge and signalled that Wayne and the sergeant should start up.



"We're coming," Wayne shouted, and returned the signal. It was at that

instant that he felt something slam against the sole of his heavy

metamagnetic boot. It was as though something had kicked him savagely on

the sole of his right foot.



He winced sharply at the impact. Then, somewhat puzzled he looked down

at the boot. He felt something move under the sand. He tried to step

back, and almost tripped. It was as though his right foot were stuck

firmly to the sand!



He pushed himself back, and with a tremendous heave managed to pull

himself free. He braced his body against the cliff, lifted his foot, and

looked at it.



Hanging from his boot sole was one of the ugliest monstrosities he had

ever seen, unusually grotesque.



* * * * *



It was about the size and shape of a regulation football, and was

covered with a wrinkled, reddish hide. At one end was a bright red gash

of a mouth studded with greenish, gnashing teeth. From the other end of

the creature's body protruded a long, needle-like projection which had

imbedded itself in the metal sole of Wayne's boot.



"Good God! If I'd been wearing ordinary boots, that thing would have

stuck clear into my foot!"



He hefted the weighted pick with one hand and swung, catching the

monster with the point. It sank in and ripped through the creature,

spilling red-orange blood over the sand. Shuddering a little, Wayne put

his other foot on the dead thing and pulled his right boot free of the

needle beak.



He started to say something, but he had a sudden premonition that made

him look up in time. Sergeant Boggs put both hands against the

Captain's shoulder and pushed.



"What the hell?" Wayne asked in surprise as he felt the shove. He almost

fell to the sand, but he had had just enough warning to allow him to

keep his balance. He put out a foot and staggered wildly.



A sudden strange noise caused him to turn and look back. Five needles

were jabbing viciously up out of the sand in the spot where he would

have fallen.



"You out of your head, Boggs?" he started to ask--but before the last

word was out of his mouth, the sergeant charged in madly and tried to

push him over again. He was fighting like a man gone berserk--which he

was.



Wayne grabbed him by the wrist and flipped him desperately aside. The

sergeant fell, sprawled out for a moment on the sand, then bounced to

his feet again. His eyes were alight with a strange, terrifying flame.



Silently, he leaped for Wayne. The captain slammed his fist forward,

sending it crashing into Boggs's midsection. The sergeant came back with

a jab to the stomach that pushed Wayne backward. Again the deadly

needles flicked up from the ground, but they did not strike home.



Wayne gasped for breath and reached out for Boggs. Boggs leaped on him,

trying to push Wayne down where the beaks could get to him. Wayne

sidestepped, threw Boggs off balance, and clubbed down hard with his

fist.



Boggs wandered dizzily for a second before Wayne's other fist came

blasting in, knocking the breath out of him. A third blow, and the

sergeant collapsed on the sand.



Wayne paused and caught his breath. The sergeant remained unconscious.

Wayne shook his head uncertainly, wondering what had come over the

mild-mannered Boggs. A chilling thought struck him: was this what

happened to the crew of the Mavis?



* * * * *



He looked up the cliff, where the other two men were still peering over

the edge.



"MacPherson! Manetti! Come down! We're going back to the ship!"



He heaved the unconscious body of Sergeant Boggs over his shoulder like

a potato-sack, and waited for the two men to come down. They drew near.



"Boggs must have gone out of his head," Wayne said. "He jumped me like

a madman."



They had nothing to say, so he turned and began to trudge back to the

Lord Nelson, trying to assemble the facts in his mind. They followed

alongside.



What was behind the attack? After seeing the monster, why had Boggs

attempted to push his superior officer over into the sand? There were

other little beasts under that sand; why would Boggs want one of

them--there seemed to be dozens--to jab him with its needle of a beak?



And what were the beastly little animals, anyway?



There were no answers. But the answers would have to come, soon.



He tossed Boggs into the airlock and waited for the others to catch up.

They climbed up the ladder and said nothing as the airlock went through

its cycle and the antibacterial spray covered them.



* * * * *



Colonel Petersen looked at him across the desk and put the palms of his

hands together. "Then, as I understand it, Captain, Sergeant Boggs tried

to push you over into the sand when this--ah--monster jabbed you in

the foot?"



"That's right, sir," Wayne said. He felt uncomfortable. This wasn't a

formal court-martial; it was simply an inquiry into the sergeant's

actions. Charges would be preferred later, if there were any to be

preferred.



Sergeant Boggs stood stolidly on the far side of the room. A livid

bruise along his jaw testified to the struggle that had taken place. One

eye was puffed, and his expression was an unhappy one. Near him,

MacPherson and Private Manetti stood stiffly at attention.



The colonel looked at Boggs. "What's your side of the story, Sergeant?"



The non-com's face didn't change. "Sir, the captain's statement isn't

true."



"What's that?" Wayne asked angrily.



"Quiet, Captain," Petersen said. "Go ahead, Boggs."



The sergeant licked his bruised lips. "I was about to start up the rope

when, for no reason at all, he struck me in the stomach. Then he hit me

again a few more times, and I passed out."



"Did he say anything when he did this?" the Colonel asked.



"No, sir."



Wayne frowned. What was the sergeant trying to do? What the devil was he

up to?



"Corporal MacPherson," the colonel said, "Did you witness the fight?"



"Yes, sir," the small man said, stepping a pace forward.



"Describe it."



"Well, sir, we were up on top of the cliff, and we called--or rather,

I called for the captain and the sergeant to come on up. Sergeant

Boggs took a hold of the rope and then the captain hit him in the belly,

sir. He hit him twice more and the sergeant fell down. Then the captain

told us to come down, which we did, sir. That was all." He gestured with

his hands to indicate he had no more to say.



Wayne could hardly believe his ears. Making an effort, he managed to

restrain himself.



"Private Manetti, do you have anything to add to that?" the colonel

asked.



"No, sir. It happened just like that, sir. We both seen the entire

thing. That's the way it happened. The captain hauled off and let him

have it."



The colonel swivelled around and let his cold eyes rest on Wayne.

"Captain, you have stated that Sergeant Boggs did not talk to either of

these two men after you struck him. That eliminates any collusion."



"Yes, sir," Wayne said stonily.



"I talked to both men separately, and they tell substantially the same

story. The records of all three of these men are excellent. The sergeant

claims he never saw any monster of the type you describe, and the group

I sent out to check says that there is no body of any alien animal

anywhere near the spot. How do you explain the discrepancies between

your story and theirs?"



* * * * *



Wayne glared angrily at the three men. "They're lying, sir," he said

evenly. "I don't know why they're doing it. The whole thing took place

exactly as I told you."



"I find that very difficult to believe, Captain."



"Is that a formal accusation, sir?"



Petersen shrugged and rubbed his hands against his iron-grey temples.

"Captain," he said finally, "you have a very fine record. You have never

before been known to strike an enlisted man for any cause whatever. I

hold that in your favor."



"Thank you, sir."



"On the other hand, the evidence here definitely indicates that your

story is not quite true. Now, we know that Lieutenant Jervis acted

peculiarly after the crew of the Mavis met its mysterious end, and the

Medical Corps thinks that whatever is causing the deaths could also

cause mental confusion. Therefore, I am remanding you to the custody of

the Medical Corps for observation. You'll be kept in close confinement

until this thing is cleared up."



Wayne frowned bitterly. "Yes, sir," he said.



* * * * *



Peter Wayne sat in his cell in the hospital sector and stared at the

wall in confusion. What in blazes was going on? What possible motive

would three enlisted men have to frame him in this way? It didn't make

any sense.



Was it possible that he really had gone off his rocker? Had he

imagined the little beast under the sand?



He lifted his foot and looked again at the sole. There it was: a little

pit about an eighth of an inch deep.



The colonel had explained it away easily enough, saying that he might

possibly have stepped on a sharp rock. Wayne shook his head. He knew he

wasn't nuts. But what the hell was going on?



There were no answers. But he knew that the eventual answer, when it

came, would have something to do with the mystery of the Mavis's eight

corpses.



It was late that afternoon when Sherri James came storming into the

hospital sector. She was wearing a spacesuit, and she was brandishing a

pass countersigned by Colonel Petersen himself. She was determined to

enter.



"The medics didn't want to let me in," she explained. "But I told them

I'd wear a spacesuit if it would make them any happier."



"Sherri! What the devil are you doing here?"



"I just wanted to check on you," she said. Her voice sounded oddly

distorted coming over the speaker in the helmet. "You're supposed to

have blown your wig or something. Did you?"



"No. Of course not."



"I didn't think so." She unscrewed her helmet quickly. "Listen, Peter,

there's something funny going on aboard this ship."



"I've known that a long time," he said.



"I think Boggs and those other two are trying to frame you," she said,

her voice low. "Do you know of anyone aboard named Masters?"



"Masters?" Wayne repeated. "Not that I know of--why?"



"Well, I overheard Boggs talking to one of the other men. I didn't hear

very clearly, but it sounded as though he said: 'We've got to get Moore

out and turn him over to Masters.' Bill Moore is one of my

computermen--tall, skinny fellow."



Wayne nodded, frowning. "Yeah, but who is Masters? This is the queerest

thing I ever heard of."



Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside.



"Better put your helmet on," Wayne advised. "Whoever's coming might not

like to see you this way."



Quickly, she slipped the helmet back on. "I don't know what's going on,"

she said. "But I intend to find out."



* * * * *



One of the medics entered the cell without knocking and came up to

Sherri. "You'll have to go now, Lieutenant," he said. "We're going to

perform some tests on the captain now."



Sherri bristled. "Tests? What kind of tests?"



"Nothing very serious," the medic said. "Just a routine checkup to

clarify some points we're interested in."



"All right," Sherri said. "You won't find anything the matter with

him." She left.



"Come with me, Captain," said the medic politely. He unlocked the cell

door and, equally politely, drew a needle-beam pistol. "Don't try

anything, please, sir. I have my orders."



Silently, Wayne followed the medic into the lab. Several other medics

were standing around watching him, with Stevelman, the head man, in the

back.



"Over this way, Captain," Stevelman called.



There was a box sitting on a table in the middle of the room. It was

full of sand.



"Give me your hand, please, Captain," the medic said tonelessly.



In a sudden flash of insight, Wayne realized what was in the box. He

thought fast but moved slowly. He held out his hand, but just as the

medic took it, he twisted suddenly away.



His hand flashed out and grasped the other's wrist in a steely grip. The

medic's fingers tightened on the needle-beam, and managed to pull the

trigger. A bright beam flared briefly against the lab's plastalloy

floor, doing nothing but scorching it slightly. Wayne's other hand

balled into a fist and came up hard against the medic's jaw.



He grabbed the needle-beam pistol from the collapsing man's limp hand

and had the other three men covered before the slugged medic had

finished sagging to the floor.



"All of you! Raise your hands!"



They paid no attention to him. Instead of standing where they were, they

began to move toward him. Wayne swore and, with a quick flip of his

thumb, turned the beam down to low power and pulled the trigger three

times in quick succession.



The three men fell as though they'd been pole-axed, knocked out by the

low-power beam.



"The whole ship's gone crazy," he murmured softly, looking at the three

men slumped together on the lab floor. "Stark, staring, raving nuts."



He took one step and someone jumped him from behind. The needle-beam

pistol spun from his hand and slithered across the floor as Wayne fell

under the impact of the heavy body. Apparently the whole Medical Corps

was out to knock him down today.



He twisted rapidly as an arm encircled his neck, and rammed an elbow

into the newcomer's midsection. Then he jerked his head back, smashing

the back of his skull into his opponent's nose.



The hold around his neck weakened, and Wayne tore himself loose from the

other's grasp. He jumped to his feet, but the other man was a long way

from being unconscious. A stinging right smashed into Wayne's mouth, and

he felt the taste of blood. Hastily he wiped the trickle away with the

back of his hand.



With his nose pouring blood, Wayne's antagonist charged in. His eyes

burned with the strange flame that had been gleaming in Boggs's face out

on the desert in the valley. He ploughed into Wayne's stomach with a

savage blow that rocked Wayne back.



He grunted and drove back with a flurry of blows. The other aimed a wild

blow at Wayne's head; Wayne seized the wrist as the arm flew past his

ear, and twisted, hard. The medic flipped through the air and came to

rest against the wall with a brief crunching impact. He moaned and then

lapsed into silence.



* * * * *



Quickly, Wayne grabbed the gun off the floor and planted his back to the

wall, looking around for new antagonists. But there was evidently no one

left who cared to tangle with him, and the four medics strewn out on

the floor didn't seem to have much fight left in them.



Wayne crossed the room in a couple of strides and bolted the door. Then

he walked over to the box of sand. If it contained what he suspected--



He stepped over to the lab bench and picked out a long steel support rod

from the equipment drawer. He placed the rod gently against the sand,

and pushed downward, hard. There was a tinny scream, and a six-inch

needle shot up instantly through the surface.



"Just what I thought," Wayne murmured. "Can you talk, you nasty little

brute?" He prodded into the sand--more viciously this time. There was a

flurry of sand, and the football-shaped thing came to the surface,

clashing its teeth and screaming shrilly.



Wayne cursed. Then he turned the needle gun back up to full power and

calmly burned the thing to a crisp. An odor of singed flesh drifted up

from the ashes on the sand.



* * * * *



He stooped and fumbled in Stevelman's pocket, pulling out a ring of

keys.



"They better be the right ones," he told the unconscious medic.

Holstering the needle gun, he walked over to the medical stores cabinet,

hoping that the things he needed would be inside. He knew exactly what

he was facing now, and what he would have to do.



He checked over the labels, peering through the neatly-arranged racks

for the substance he was searching for.



Finally he picked a large plastine container filled with a white,

crystalline powder. Then he selected a couple of bottles filled with a

clear, faintly yellow liquid, and took a hypodermic gun from the rack.

He relocked the cabinet.



Suddenly a knock sounded. He stiffened, sucked in his breath, and turned

to face the door.



"Who's there?" he asked cautiously, trying to counterfeit Stevelman's

voice.



"Harrenburg," said a rumbling voice. "I'm on guard duty. Heard some

noise coming from in there a while back, and thought I'd look in.

Everything all right, Dr. Stevelman? I mean--"



"Everything's fine, Harrenburg," Wayne said, imitating the medic's thin,

dry voice. "We're running some tests on Captain Wayne. They're pretty

complicated affairs, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't interrupt

again."



"Sure, sir," the guard said. "Just a routine check, sir. Colonel

Petersen's orders. Sorry if I've caused any trouble, sir."



"That's all right," Wayne said. "Just go away and let us continue, will

you?"



There was the sound of the guard's footsteps retreating down the

corridor. Wayne counted to ten and turned back to the things he had

taken from the cabinet.



The bottles of liquid and the hypo gun went into his belt pouch. He

tucked the big bottle of white powder under his left arm and cautiously

unbolted and opened the door. There was no sign of anyone in the

corridor. Good, he thought. It was a lucky thing Harrenburg had

blundered along just then, and not two minutes later.



He stepped outside the Medic Section and locked the door behind him with

the key he'd taken from Stevelman. After turning the needle gun back to

low power again in order to keep from killing anyone, he started on

tiptoe toward the stairway that led into the bowels of the ship.



After about ten paces, he saw a shadow on the stairway, and cowered in a

dark recess while two crewmen passed, talking volubly. Once they were

gone, he came out and continued on his way.



It took quite a while to get where he was going, since it involved

hiding and ducking two or three more times along the way, but he finally

reached the big compartment where the water repurifiers were. He climbed

up the ladder to the top of the reserve tank, opened the hatch, and

emptied the contents of the jar into the ship's water supply.



"That ought to do it," he said to himself. Smiling, he carefully smashed

the jar and dropped the fragments down the waste chute. He surveyed his

handiwork for a moment, then turned and headed back.



He hadn't been seen going down, and he didn't want to be seen going out.

If anyone even suspected that he had tampered with the water supply, all

they would have to do would be to run the water through the purifiers.

That would undo everything Wayne had been carefully preparing.



* * * * *



He made his way safely back up to the main deck and headed through the

quiet ship toward the airlock. He wasn't so lucky this time; a guard saw

him.



"Where you goin', Captain?" the guard demanded, starting to lift his

gun. "Seems to me you ought to be in the brig, and--"



Wayne made no reply. He brought his gun up in a rapid motion and beamed

the man down. The guard toppled, a hurt expression on his face.



Wayne raced to the airlock. He didn't bother with a spacesuit--not

now, when he knew that the air was perfectly harmless outside. He

opened the inner door, closed it, and opened the outer door.



Then, grinning gleefully, he pressed the button that would start the

pumping cycle. The outer door started to close automatically, and Wayne

just barely managed to get outside and onto the ladder before it clanged

shut. As soon as the great hatch had sealed itself, the pumps started

exhausting the air from the airlock. No one could open the doors until

the pumping cycle was over.



He climbed down the ladder and began walking over toward the western

wall. He would have to keep away from the ship for a while, and the

rocks were as good a place as any to hide out.



* * * * *



It was dark. Fomalhaut had set, leaving the moonless planet in utter

blackness, broken only by the cold gleam of the stars. The lights

streaming from the portholes of the Lord Nelson gave a small degree of

illumination to the valley.



The valley. It was spread out before him, calm and peaceful, rippling

dunes of sand curling out toward the mountains. The valley, he knew, was

a betrayer--calm and quiet above, alive with an army of hideous vermin a

few feet below its surface.



He started to walk, and moistened his lips. He knew he was going to get

awfully thirsty in the next few hours, but there was not the slightest

help for it. There hadn't been any way to carry water from the ship.



"I can wait," he told himself. He stared back at the circular bulk of

the Lord Nelson behind him, and his fingers trembled a little. He had

known, when he joined the Corps, that space was full of traps like this

one--but this was the first time he had actually experienced anything

like this. It was foul.



Something slammed into his boot sole, and this time Wayne knew what it

was.



"Persistent, aren't you!" He jerked his foot up. This monster hadn't

stuck as the other one had, but he saw the tip of the needle-beak

thrashing around wildly in the loose sand. Wayne thumbed the gun up to

full power, and there was a piercing shriek as the gun burned into the

sand. There was a sharp shrill sound, and the odor of something burning.

He spat.



The little beasts must be all over the floor of the valley! Scurrying

frantically, like blood-red giant crabs, sidling up and down beneath the

valley, searching upward for things to strike at. How they must hate his

metamagnetic boots, he thought!



He kept on walking, expecting to feel the impact of another thrust

momentarily, but he was not molested again. They must be getting wise,

he thought. They know they can't get through my boots, and so they're

leaving me alone. That way they don't call attention to themselves.



A new, more chilling question struck him:



Just how smart are they?



He had made it to the wall and was climbing up the treacherous slope

when the airlock door opened, and someone stood outlined in the bright

circle of light that cut into the inky blackness. An amplified voice

filled the valley and ricocheted back off the walls of the mountains,

casting eerie echoes down on the lone man on the desert.



"CAPTAIN WAYNE! THIS IS COLONEL PETERSEN SPEAKING. DON'T YOU REALIZE

THAT YOU'RE A SICK MAN? YOU MAY DIE OUT THERE. COME BACK. THAT'S AN

ORDER, CAPTAIN. REPEAT: COME BACK. THAT'S AN ORDER!"



"I'm afraid an order from you just doesn't hold much weight for me right

now, Colonel," Wayne said quietly, to himself. Silently he went on

climbing the escarpment, digging into the rough rock.



He kept on climbing until he found the niche for which he had been

heading. He dragged himself in and sat down, as comfortably as possible.

He began to wait.



* * * * *



Dawn came in less than three hours, as Fomalhaut burst up over the

horizon and exploded in radiance over the valley. With dawn came a

patrol of men, slinking surreptitiously across the valley, probably with

orders to bring him in. Wayne was ensconced comfortably in his little

rock niche, hidden from the men in the valley below, but with a perfect

view of everything that went on. The wind whistled around the cliffs,

ceaselessly moaning a tuneless song. He felt like standing up and

shouting wildly, "Here I am! Here I am!" but he repressed the perverse

urge.



The patrol group stood in a small clump in the valley below, seemingly

waiting for something. Moments passed, and then it became apparent what

that something was. Hollingwood, the metallurgist, appeared, dragging

with him the detector. They were going to look for Captain Wayne with

it, just as they had searched out the double-nucleus beryllium.



Wayne frowned. It was a possibility he hadn't thought about. They could

easily detect the metal in his boots! And he didn't dare take them off;

he'd never make it back across that hellish stretch of sand without

them. He glanced uneasily at his watch. How much longer do I have to

keep evading them? he wondered. It was a wearing task.



It looked as though it would be much too long.



The muzzle of the detector began to swing back and forth slowly and

precisely, covering the valley inch by inch. He heard their whispered

consultations drifting up from below, though he couldn't make out what

they were saying.



* * * * *



They finished with the valley, evidently concluding he wasn't there, and

started searching the walls. Wayne decided it was time to get out while

the getting was good. He crawled slowly out of the niche and wriggled

along the escarpment, heading south, keeping low so the men in the

valley wouldn't see him.



Unfortunately, he couldn't see them either. He kept moving, hoping they

wouldn't spot him with the detector. He wished he had the metamagnetic

hand grapples with him. For one thing, the sharp rock outcroppings

sliced his hands like so much meat. For another, he could have dropped

the grapples somewhere as a decoy.



Oh, well, you can't think of everything, Wayne told himself. He

glanced at his watch. How long was it going to take?



He heard the scrape of boot leather on a rock somewhere ahead of him. He

glanced up sharply, seeing nothing, and scowled. They had spotted him.



They were laying a trap.



Cautiously, he climbed over a huge boulder, making no sound. There was

one man standing behind it, waiting, apparently, for Wayne to step

around into view. He peered down, trying to see who it was. It seemed to

be Hollingwood, the dignified, austere metallurgist.



Wayne smiled grimly, picked up a heavy rock, and dropped it straight

down, square on the man's helmet. The plexalloy rang like a bell through

the clear early-morning air, and the man dropped to his knees, dazed by

the shock.



* * * * *



Knowing he had just a moment to finish the job, Wayne pushed off against

the side of the rock and plummeted down, landing neatly on the

metallurgist's shoulders. The man reeled and fell flat. Wayne spun him

over and delivered a hard punch to the solar plexus. "Sorry, Dave," he

said softly. The metallurgist gasped and curled up in a tight ball.

Wayne stood up. It was brutal, but it was the only place you could hit a

man wearing a space helmet.



One down, Wayne thought. Fifty-eight to go. He was alone against the

crew--and, for all he knew, against all fifty-nine of them.



Hollingwood groaned and stretched. Wayne bent and, for good measure,

took off the man's helmet and tapped him none too gently on the skull.



There was the sound of footsteps, the harsh chitch-chitch of feet

against the rock. "He's up that way," he heard a deep voice boom.



That meant the others had heard the rock hitting Hollingwood's plexalloy

helmet. They were coming toward him.



Wayne sprang back defensively and glanced around. He hoped there were

only five of them, that the rule of six was still being maintained.

Otherwise things could become really complicated, as they hunted him

relentlessly through the twisted gulleys.



He hated to have to knock out too many of the men; it just meant more

trouble later. Still, there was no help for it, if he wanted there to be

any later. He thought of the bleached bones of the crew of the Mavis,

and shuddered.



It was something of an advantage not to be wearing a helmet. Even with

the best of acoustical systems, hearing inside a helmet tended to be

distorted and dimmed. The men couldn't hear him as well as he could hear

them. And since they couldn't hear themselves too well, they made a

little more noise than he did.



A space boot came into view around a big rock, and Wayne aimed his

needle-beam at the spot where the man's head would appear.



When the head came around the rock, Wayne fired. The man dropped

instantly. Sorry, friend, Wayne apologized mentally. Two down.

Fifty-seven to go. The odds were still pretty heavy.



He knew he had to move quickly now; the others had seen the man drop,

and by now they should have a pretty good idea exactly where Wayne was.



He picked up a rock and lobbed it over a nearby boulder, then started

moving cat-like in the other direction. He climbed up onto another

boulder and watched two men move away from him. They were stepping

warily, their beam guns in their hands. Wayne wiped away a bead of

perspiration, aimed carefully, and squeezed the firing stud twice.



Four down. Fifty-five to go.



* * * * *



A moment later, something hissed near his ear. Without waiting, he spun

and rolled off the boulder, landing cat-like on his feet. Another

crewman was standing on top of a nearby boulder. Wayne began to sweat;

this pursuit seemed to be indefinitely prolonged, and it was beginning

to look unlikely that he could avoid them forever.



He had dropped his pistol during the fall; it was wedged between a

couple of rocks several feet away.



He heard someone call: "I got him. He fell off the rock. We'll take him

back down below."



Then another voice--ominously. "He won't mind. He'll be glad we did it

for him--afterwards."



"I'll go get him," said the first voice. The man stepped around the side

of the boulder--just in time to have a hard-pitched rock come thunking

into his midsection.



"Oof!" he grunted, took a couple of steps backwards, and collapsed.



Five down. Fifty-four to go. It could go on forever this way.



"What's the matter?" asked the man who had replied to the first one with

those chilling words.



"Nothing," said Wayne, in a fair imitation of the prostrate crewman's

voice. "He's heavy. Come help me."



Then he reached down and picked up the fallen man's beam gun. He took

careful aim.



When the sixth man stepped around the rock, he fired. The beam went

wide of the mark, slowing the other down, and Wayne charged forward. He

pounded two swift punches into the amazed crewman, who responded with a

woozy, wild blow. Wayne ducked and let the fist glide past his ear, then

came in hard with a solid body-blow and let the man sag to the ground.

He took a deep breath.



Six down and only fifty-three to go.



* * * * *



He crawled back to the edge of the precipice and peered down into the

valley. There was no one to be seen. It was obvious that Colonel

Petersen was still enforcing the six-man rule.



As he watched, he saw the airlock door open. A spacesuited figure

scrambled down the ladder and sprinted across the deadly sand of the

valley floor.



It was Sherri! Wayne held his breath, expecting at any moment that one

of the little monsters beneath the sand would sink its vicious needle

upward into Sherri's foot. But her stride never faltered.



As she neared the precipice, another figure appeared at the airlock door

and took aim with a gun.



Wayne thumbed his own needle-beam pistol up to full and fired hastily

at the distant figure. At that distance, even the full beam would only

stun. The figure collapsed backwards into the airlock, and Wayne grinned

in satisfaction.



Seven down. Fifty-two to go.



He kept an eye on the airlock door and a finger on his firing stud,

waiting to see if anyone else would come out. No one else did.



As soon as Sherri was safely up to the top of the precipice, Wayne ran

to meet her.



"Sherri! What the devil did you come out here for?"



"I had to see you," she said, panting for breath. "If you'll come back

to the ship before they beam you down, we can prove to Colonel Petersen

that you're all right. We can show them that the Masters--"



She realized suddenly what she said and uttered a little gasp. She had

her pistol out before the surprised Wayne could move.



He stared coldly at the pistol, thinking bitterly that this was a hell

of a way for it all to finish. "So they got you too," he said. "That

little display at the airlock was a phony. You were sent out here to

lure me back into the ship. Just another Judas."



She nodded slowly. "That's right," she said. "We all have to go to the

Masters. It is--it--is--is--"



Her eyes glazed, and she swayed on her feet. The pistol wavered and

swung in a feeble spiral, no longer pointed at Wayne. Gently, he took it

from her nerveless fingers and caught her supple body as she fell.



He wiped his forehead dry. Up above, the sun was climbing toward the top

of the sky, and its beams raked the planet below, pouring down heat.



* * * * *



He glanced at his wristwatch while waiting for his nerves to stop

tingling. Sherri must have been the last one--the drug must have taken

effect at last, and not a moment too soon. He decided to wait another

half hour before he tried to get into the spaceship, just the same.



The huge globe of the Lord Nelson stood forlornly in the center of the

valley. The airlock door stayed open; no one tried to close it.



Wayne's mouth was growing dry; his tongue felt like sandpaper.

Nevertheless, he forced himself to sit quietly, watching the ship

closely for the full half hour, before he picked up Sherri, tied his

rope around her waist, and lowered her to the valley floor. Then he

wandered around the rocks, collecting the six unconscious men, and did

the same for them.



He carried them all, one by one, across the sand, burning a path before

him with the needle beam.



Long before he had finished his task, the sand was churning loathsomely

with the needles of hundreds and thousands of the monstrous little

beasts. They were trying frantically to bring down the being that was so

effectively thwarting their plans, jabbing viciously with their upthrust

beaks. The expanse of sand that was the valley looked like a pincushion,

with the writhing needles ploughing through the ground one after

another. Wayne kept the orifice of his beam pistol hot as he cut his way

back and forth from the base of the cliff to the ship.



When he had dumped the seven unconscious ones all inside the airlock, he

closed the outer door and opened the inner one. There was not a sound

from within.



Fifty-ni