In Roger's Planetoid

: Triplanetary

In the hall Clio glanced around her wildly, her bosom heaving, eyes

darting here and there, seeking even the narrowest avenue of escape.

Before she could act, however, her body was clamped inflexibly, as

though in a vise, and she struggled, motionless.



"It is useless to attempt to escape, or to do anything except what Roger

wishes," the guide informed her somberly, snapping off the instrument in

her hand nd thus restoring to the thoroughly cowed girl her freedom of

motion.



"His lightest wish is law," she continued as they walked down a long

corridor. "The sooner you realize that you must do exactly as he

pleases, in all things, the easier your life will be."



"But I wouldn't want to keep on living!" Clio declared, with a flash

of spirit. "And I can always die, you know."



"You will find that you cannot," the passionless creature returned,

monotonously. "If you do not yield, you will long and pray for death,

but you will not die unless Roger wills it. I was like you once. I also

struggled, and I became what I am now--whatever it is. Here is your

apartment. You will stay here until Roger gives further orders

concerning you."



The living automaton opened a door and stood silent and impassive, while

Clio, staring at her in unutterable horror, shrank past her and into the

sumptuously furnished suite. The door closed soundlessly and utter

silence descended as a pall. Not an ordinary silence, but the

indescribable perfection of the absolute, complete absence of all sound.

In that silence Clio stood motionless. Tense and rigid, hopeless,

despairing, she stood there in that magnificent room, fighting an almost

overwhelming impulse to scream. Suddenly she heard the cold voice of

Roger, speaking from the empty air.



"You are over-wrought, Miss Marsden. You can be of no use to yourself or

to me in that condition. I command you to rest; and, to insure that

rest, you may pull that cord, which will establish about this room an

ether wall: a wall cutting off even this my voice...."



The voice ceased as she pulled the cord savagely and threw herself upon

a divan in a torrent of gasping, strangling, but rebellious sobs. Then

again came a voice, but not to her ears. Deep within her, pervading

every bone and muscle, it made itself felt rather than heard.



"Clio?" it asked. "Don't talk yet...."



"Conway!" she gasped in relief, every fiber of her being thrilled into

new hope at the deep, well-remembered voice of Conway Costigan.



"Keep still!" he snapped. "Don't act so happy! He may have a spy-ray on

you. He can't hear me, but he may be able to hear you. When he was

talking to you you must have noticed a sort of rough, sandpapery feeling

under that necklace I gave you? Since he's got an ether-wall around you

the beads are dead now. If you feel anything like that under the

wrist-watch, breathe deeply, twice. If you don't feel anything there,

it's safe for you to talk, as loud as you please.



"I don't feel a thing, Conway!" she rejoiced. Tears forgotten, she was

her old, buoyant self again. "So that wall is real, after all? I only

about half believed it."



"Don't trust it too much, because he can cut it off from the outside any

time he wants to. Remember what I told you: that necklace will warn you

of any spy-ray in the ether, and the watch will detect anything below

the level of the ether. It's dead now, of course, since our three phones

are direct-connected; I'm in touch with Bradley, too. Don't be too

scared; we've got a lot better chance that I thought we had."



"What? You don't mean it!"



"Absolutely. I'm beginning to think that maybe we've got something he

doesn't know exists--our ultra-wave. Of course I wasn't surprised when

his searchers failed to find our instruments, but it never occurred to

me that I might have a clear field to use them in! I can't quite believe

it yet, but I haven't been able to find any indication that he can even

detect the bands we are using. I'm going to look around over there with

my spy-ray ... I'm looking at you now--feel it?"



"Yes, the watch feels that way, now."



"Fine! Not a sign of interference over here, either. I can't find a

trace of ultra-wave--anything below ether-level, you know--anywhere in

the whole place. He's got so much stuff that we've never heard of that I

supposed of course he'd have ultra-wave, too; but if he hasn't, that

gives us the edge. Well, Bradley and I've got a lot of work to do....

Wait a minute, I just had a thought. I'll be back in about a second."



There was a brief pause, then the soundless, but clear voice went on:



"Good hunting! That woman that gave you the blue willies isn't

alive--she's full of the prettiest machinery and communicators you ever

saw!"



"Oh, Conway!" and the girl's voice broke in an engulfing wave of

thanksgiving and relief. "It was so unutterably horrible, thinking of

what must have happened to her and to others like her!"



"He's running a colossal bluff, I think. He's good, all right, but he

lacks quite a lot of being omnipotent. But don't get too cocky, either.

Plenty has happened to plenty of women here, and men too--and plenty may

happen to us unless we put out a few jets. Keep a stiff upper lip, and

if you want us, yell. 'Bye!"



The silent voice ceased, the watch upon Clio's wrist again became an

unobtrusive timepiece, and Costigan, in his solitary cell far below her

tower room, turned his peculiarly goggled eyes toward other scenes. In

his pockets his hands manipulated tiny controls, and through the lenses

of those goggles Costigan's keen and highly-trained eyes studied every

concealed detail of mechanism of the great globe, the while he planned

what must be done. Finally, he took off the goggles and spoke in a low

voice to Bradley, confined in another windowless room across the hall.



"I think I've got dope enough, Captain. I've found out where he put our

armor and guns, and I've located all the main leads, controls, and

generators. There are no ether-walls around us here, but every door is

shielded, and there are guards outside our doors--one to each of us.

They're robots, not men. That makes it harder, since they're undoubtedly

connected direct to Roger's desk, and will give an alarm at the first

hint of abnormal performance. We can't do a thing until he leaves his

desk. See that black panel, a little below the cord-switch to the right

of your door? That's the conduit cover. When I give you the word, tear

that off and you'll see one red wire in the cable. It feeds the

shield-generator of your door. Break that wire and join me out in the

hall. Sorry I had only one of these ultra-wave spies, but once we're

together it won't be so bad. Here's what I thought we could do," and he

went over in detail the only course of action which his surveys had

shown to be possible.



"There, he's left his desk!" Costigan exclaimed after the conversation

had continued for almost an hour. "Now as soon as we find out where he's

going, we'll start something ... he's going to see Clio, the swine! This

changes things, Bradley!" His hard voice was a curse.



"Somewhat!" blazed the captain. "I know how you two have been getting on

all during the cruise. I'm with you, but what can we do?"



"We'll do something," Costigan declared grimly. "If he makes a pass at

her I'll get him if I have to blow this whole sphere out of space, with

us in it!"



"Don't do that, Conway." Clio's low voice, trembling but determined, was

felt by both men and both gasped audibly: they had forgotten that there

were three instruments in the circuit. "If there's a chance for you to

get away and do anything about fighting him, don't mind me. Maybe he

only wants to talk about the ransom, anyway."



"He wouldn't talk ransom to you--he's going to talk something else

entirely," Costigan gritted; then his voice changed suddenly. "But say,

maybe it's just as well this way. They didn't find our specials when

they searched us, you know, and we're going to do plenty of damage right

soon now. Roger probably isn't a fast worker--more the cat-and-mouse

type, I'd say--and after we get started he'll have something on his mind

besides you. Think you can stall him off and keep him interested for

about fifteen minutes?"



"I'm sure I can--I'll do anything to help us, or you, get away from

this horrible...." Her voice ceased as Roger broke the ether-wall of her

apartment and walked toward the divan upon which she crouched in

wide-eyed, helpless, trembling terror.



"Get ready, Bradley!" Costigan directed tersely. "He's left Clio's

ether-wall off, so that any abnormal signals would be relayed to him

from his desk--he knows that there's no chance of anyone disturbing him

in that room. But I'm holding my beam on that switch--it's as good a

conductor as metal--so that the wall is on, full strength. No matter

what we do now, he can't get a warning. I'll have to hold the beam

exactly on the switch, though, so you'll have to do the dirty work. Tear

out that red wire and kill those two guards. You know how to kill a

robot, don't you?"



"Yes--break his eye-lenses and his eardrums and he'll stop whatever he's

doing and send out distress calls.... Got 'em both. Now what?"



"Open my door--the shield switch is to the right."



Costigan's door flew open and the Triplanetary captain leaped into the

room.



"Now for our armor!" he cried.



"Not yet!" snapped Costigan. He was standing rigid, goggled eyes staring

immovably at a spot upon the ceiling. "I can't move a millimeter until

you've closed Clio's ether-wall switch. If I take this ray off it for a

second we're sunk. Five floors up, straight ahead down a

corridor--fourth door on right. When you're at the switch you'll feel my

ray on your watch. Snap it up!"



"Right!" and the captain leaped away at a pace to be equaled by few men

of half his years.



Soon he was back, and after Costigan had tested the ether-wall of the

"bridal suite" to make sure that no warning signal from his desk or his

servants could reach Roger within it, the two officers hurried away

toward the room in which their discarded space-armor had been stored.



"Too bad they don't wear uniforms," panted Bradley, short of breath from

the many flights of stairs. "Might have helped some as disguise."



"I doubt it--with so many robots around, they've probably got signals

that we couldn't understand, anyway. If we meet anybody it'll mean a

battle. Hold it!" Peering through walls with his spy-ray, Costigan had

seen two men approaching, blocking an intersecting corridor into which

they must turn. "Two of 'em, a man and a robot--the robot's on your

side. We'll wait here, right at the corner--when they round it, take

'em!" And Costigan put away his goggles in readiness for strife.



All unsuspecting, the two pirates came into view, and as they appeared

the two officers struck. Costigan, on the inside, drove a short, hard

right low into the human pirate's abdomen. The fiercely driven fist sank

to the wrist into the soft tissues and the stricken man collapsed. But

even as the blow landed, Costigan had seen that there was a third enemy,

following close behind the two he had been watching, a pirate who was

even then training a ray projector upon him. Reacting automatically,

Costigan swung his unconscious opponent around in front of him, so that

it was into that insensible body that the vicious ray tore, and not into

his own. Crouching down into the smallest possible compass, he

straightened his powerful body with the lashing force of a mighty steel

spring, hurling the corpse straight at the flaming mouth of the

projector. The weapon crashed to the floor and dead pirate and living

went down in a heap. Upon that heap Costigan hurled himself, feeling for

the enemy's throat. But the pirate had wriggled clear, and countered

with a gouging thrust that would have torn out the eyes of a slower man,

following it up instantly with a savage kick for the groin. No automaton

this, geared and set to perform certain fixed duties with mechanical

precision, but a lithe, strong man in hard training, fighting with every

foul trick known to his murderous ilk.



But Costigan was no tyro in the art of dirty fighting. Few indeed are

the maiming tricks of foul combat unknown to even the rank and file of

the highly efficient Secret Service of the Triplanetary League; and

Costigan, a Sector Chief of that unknown organization, knew them all.

Not for pleasure, sportsmanship, nor million-dollar purses do those

secret agents use Nature's weapons. They come to grips only when it

cannot possibly be avoided, but when they are forced to fight in that

fashion they go into it with but one grim purpose--to kill, and to kill

in the shortest possible space of time. Thus it was that Costigan's

opening soon came. The pirate launched a particularly vicious kick, the

dreaded "coup de sabot," which Costigan avoided by a lightning shift. It

was a slight shift, barely enough to make the kicker miss, and two

powerful hands closed upon that flying foot in midair like the sprung

jaws of a bear-trap. Closed and twisted viciously, in the same fleeting

instant. There was a shriek, smothered as a heavy boot crashed to its

carefully pre-determined mark: the pirate was out, definitely and

permanently.



The struggle had lasted scarcely ten seconds, coming to its close just

as Bradley finished blinding and deafening the robot. Costigan picked up

the projector, again donned his spy-ray goggles, and the two hurried on.



"Nice work, Chief--it must be a gift to rough-house the way you do,"

Bradley exclaimed. "That's why you took the live one?"



"Practice helps some, too! I've been in brawls before, and I'm a lot

younger and maybe some faster than you are," Costigan explained briefly,

penetrant gaze rigidly to the fore as they ran along one corridor after

another.



Several more guards, both living and mechanical, were encountered on the

way, but they were not permitted to offer any opposition. Costigan saw

them first. In the furious beam of the projector of the dead pirate they

were riven into nothingness, and the two officers sped on to the room

which Costigan had located from afar. The three suits of Triplanetary

space armor had been sealed into a cabinet whose doors Costigan

literally blew off with a blast of force, rather than consume time in

tracing the power leads.



"I feel like something now!" Costigan, once more encased in his own

armor, heaved a great sigh of relief. "Rough-and-tumble's all right with

one or two, but that generator room is full of grief, and we won't have

any too much stuff as it is. We've got to take Clio's suit along--we'll

carry it down to the door of the power room, drop it there, and pick it

up after we've wrecked the works."



Contemptuous now of possible guards, the armored pair strode toward the

room which housed the pulsating heart of the immense fortress of space.

Guards were encountered, and captains--officers who signaled frantically

to their chief, since he alone could unleash the frightful forces at his

command, and who profanely wondered at his unwonted silence--but the

enemy beams were impotent against the mighty ether-walls of that armor;

and the pirates, without armor in the security of their own planet as

they were, vanished utterly in the ravening beams of the twin Lewistons.

As they paused before the door of the power room, both men felt Clio's

voice raised in her first and last appeal, an appeal wrung from her

against her will by the extremity of her position.



"Conway! Hurry! Oh, hurry! I can't last much longer--good-bye, dear!" In

the horror-filled tones both men read clearly the girl's dire extremity.

Each saw plainly a happy, care-free young earth girl, upon her first

trip into space, locked inside an ether-wall with an over-brained,

under-conscienced human machine--a super-intelligent but lecherous and

unmoral mechanism of flesh and blood, acknowledging no authority, ruled

by nothing save his own scientific drivings and the almost equally

powerful urges of his desires and passions! She had fought with every

resource at her command. She had wept and pleaded, she had stormed and

raged, she had feigned submission and had played for time--and her

torment had not touched in the slightest degree the merciless and

gloating brain of the being who called himself Roger. Now his

tantalizing, ruthless cat-play was done, the horrible gray-brown face

was close to hers--she wailed her final despairing message to Costigan

and attacked that hideous face with the fury of a tigress.



Costigan bit off a bitter imprecation. "Hold him just a second longer,

sweetheart!" he cried, and the power room door vanished.



Through the great room the two Lewistons swept at full aperture and at

maximum power, two rapidly opening fans of death and destruction. Here

and there a guard, more rapid than his fellows, trained a futile

projector--a projector whose magazine exploded at the touch of that

frightful field of force, liberating instantaneously its thousands upon

thousands of kilowatt-hours of stored-up energy. Through the delicately

adjusted, complex mechanisms the destroying beams tore. At their touch

armatures burned out, high-tension leads volatilized in crashing,

high-voltage sparks, masses of metal smoked and burned in the path of

vast forces now seeking the easiest path to neutralization, delicate

instruments blew up, copper ran in streams like water. As the last

machine subsided into a semi-molten mass of metal the two wreckers, each

grasping a brace, felt themselves become weightless and knew that they

had accomplished the first part of their program.



Costigan leaped for the outer door. His the task to go to Clio's aid....

Bradley would follow more slowly, bringing the girl's armor and taking

care of any possible pursuit. As he sailed through the air he spoke.



"Coming, Clio! All right, girl?" Questioningly, half fearfully.



"All right, Conway." Her voice was almost unrecognizable, broken in

retching agony. "When everything went crazy he ... found out that the

ether-wall was up ... forgot all about me. He shut it off ... and seemed

to go crazy, too ... he is floundering around like a wild man now....

I'm trying to keep ... him from ... going down-stairs."



"Good girl--keep him busy one minute more--he's getting all the warnings

at once and wants to get back to his board. But what's the matter with

you? Did he ... hurt you, after all?"



"Oh, no; not that. But I'm sick--horribly sick. I'm falling.... I'm so

dizzy I can scarcely see ... my head is breaking up into little pieces

... I just know I'm going to die, Conway! Oh ... oh!"



"Oh, is that all!" In his sheer relief that they had been in time,

Costigan did not think of sympathizing with Clio's very real present

distress of mind and body. "I forgot that you're a

ground-gripper--that's just a little touch of space-sickness. It'll wear

off directly.... All right, I'm coming! Let go of him and get as far

away from him as you can!"



He was now in the street. Perhaps two hundred feet distant and a hundred

feet above him was the tower room in which were Clio and Roger. He

sprang directly toward its large window, and as he floated "upward" he

corrected his course and accelerated his pace by firing backward at

various angles with his heavy service pistol, uncaring that at the point

of impact of each of those shells a small blast of destruction erupted.

He missed the window a trifle, but that did not matter--his flaming

Lewiston opened a way for him, partly through the window, partly through

the wall. As he soared through the opening he trained projector and

pistol upon Roger, now almost to the door, noticing as he did so that

Clio was clinging convulsively to a lamp-bracket upon the wall. Door and

wall vanished in the Lewiston's terrific beam, but the pirate stood

unharmed. Neither ravening ray nor explosive shell could harm him--he

had snapped on the protective shield whose generator was always upon his

person.



But Roger, while not exactly a ground-gripper, did not know how to

handle himself without weight; whereas Costigan, given six walls against

which to push, was even more efficient in weightless combat than when

handicapped by the force of gravitation. Keeping his projector upon the

pirate, he seized the first club to hand--a long, slender pedestal of

metal--and launched himself past the pirate chief. With all the momentum

of his mass and velocity and all the power of his mighty right arm he

swung the bar at the pirate's head. That fiercely driven mass of metal

should have taken Roger's head from his shoulders, but it did not. That

shield of force was utterly rigid and impenetrable; the only effect of

the frightful blow was to set him spinning, end over end, like the

flying baton of an acrobatic drum-major. As the spinning form crashed

against the opposite wall of the room, Bradley floated in, carrying

Clio's armor. Without a word the captain loosened the helpless girl's

grip upon the bracket and encased her in the suit. Then, supporting her

at the window, he held his Lewiston upon the captive's head while

Costigan propelled him toward the opening. Both men knew that Roger's

shield of force must be threatened every instant--that if he were

allowed to release it he probably would bring to bear a hand-weapon even

superior to their own.



Braced against the wall, Costigan sighted along Roger's body toward the

most distant point of the lofty dome of the artificial planet and gave

him a gentle push. Then, each grasping Clio by an arm, the two officers

shoved mightily with their feet and the three armored forms darted away

toward their only hope of escape--an emergency boat which could be

launched through the shell of the great globe. To attempt to reach the

Hyperion and to escape in one of her lifeboats would have been

useless; they could not have forced the great gates of the main

air-locks and no other exits existed. As they sailed onward through the

air, Costigan keeping the slowly-floating form of Roger enveloped in his

beam, Clio began to recover.



"Suppose they get their gravity fixed?" she asked, apprehensively. "And

they're raying us and shooting at us!"



"They may have fixed it already. They undoubtedly have spare parts and

duplicate generators, but if they turn it on the fall will kill Roger

too, and he wouldn't like that. They'll have to get him down with an

airship, and they know that we'll get them as fast as they come up. They

can't hurt us with hand-weapons, and before they can bring up any heavy

stuff they'll be afraid to use it, because we'll be too close to their

shell.



"I wish we could have brought Roger along," he continued, savagely, to

Bradley. "But you were right, of course--it'd be altogether too much

like a rabbit capturing a wildcat. My Lewiston's about done right now,

and there can't be much left of yours--what he'd do to us would be a sin

and a shame."



Now at the great wall, the two men heaved mightily upon a lever, the

gate of the emergency port swung slowly open, and they entered the

miniature cruiser of the void. Costigan, familiar with the mechanism of

the craft from careful study from his prison cell, manipulated the

controls. Through gate after massive gate they went, until finally they

were out in open space, shooting toward distant Tellus at the maximum

acceleration of which their small craft was capable.



Costigan cut the other two phones out of circuit and spoke, his

attention fixed upon some extremely distant point.



"Samms!" he called, sharply. "Costigan. We're out ... all right ... yes

... sure ... absolutely ... you tell 'em, Sammy; I've got company here."



Through the sound-disks of their helmets the girl and the captain had

heard Costigan's share of the conversation. Bradley stared at his

erstwhile first officer in amazement, and even Clio had often heard that

mighty, half-mythical name. Surely that bewildering young man must rank

high, to speak so familiarly to Virgil Samms, the all-powerful head of

the space-pervading Secret Service of the Triplanetary League!



"You've turned in a general call-out," Bradley stated, rather than

asked.



"Long ago--I've been in touch right along," Costigan answered. "Now that

they know what to look for and know that ether-wave detectors are

useless, they can find it. Every vessel in seven sectors, clear down to

the scout patrols, is concentrating on this point, and the call is out

for all battleships and cruisers afloat. There are enough operatives out

there with ultra-waves to locate that globe, and once they spot it

they'll point it out to all the other vessels."



"But how about the other prisoners?" asked the girl. "They'll all be

killed, won't they?"



"Hard telling," Costigan shrugged. "Depends on how things turn out. We

lack a lot of being safe ourselves yet, and it's my personal opinion

that there's going to be a real war."



"What's worrying me mostly is our own chance," Bradley assented. "They

will chase us, of course."



"Sure, and they'll have more speed than we have. Depends on how far away

the nearest Triplanetary vessels are. Anyway, we've done everything we

can do--it's in the laps of the gods now."



Silence fell, and Costigan cut in Clio's phone and came over to the seat

upon which she was reclining, white and stricken--worn out by the

horrible and terrifying ordeals of the last few hours. As he seated

himself beside her she blushed vividly, but her deep blue eyes met his

gray ones steadily.



"Clio, I ... we ... you ... that is," he flushed hotly and stopped. This

secret agent, whose clear, keen brain no physical danger could cloud;

who had proved over and over again that he was never at a loss in any

emergency, however desperate--this quick-witted officer floundered in

embarrassment like any schoolboy, but continued, doggedly: "I'm afraid

that I gave myself away back there, but...."



"We gave ourselves away, you mean," she filled in the pause. "I did my

share, but I won't hold you to it if you don't want--but I know that

you love me, Conway!"



"Love you!" The man groaned, his face lined and hard, his whole body

rigid. "That doesn't half tell it, Clio. You don't need to hold me--I'm

held for life. There never was a woman who meant anything to me before,

and there never will be another. You're the only woman that ever

existed. It isn't that. Can't you see that it's impossible?"



"Of course I can't--it isn't impossible, at all." She released her

finger shields, four hands met and tightly clasped; and her low voice

thrilled with feeling as she went on: "You love me and I love you. That

is all that matters."



"I wish it were," Costigan returned bitterly, "but you don't know what

you'd be letting yourself in for. It's who and what you are and who and

what I am that's eating me. You, Clio Marsden, Curtis Marsden's

daughter. Nineteen years old. You think you've been places and done

things. You haven't. You haven't seen or done anything--you don't know

what it's all about. And who am I to love a girl like you? A homeless

space-flea who hasn't been on any planet three weeks in three years. A

hard-boiled egg. A trouble-shooter and a brawler by instinct and

training. A sp...." He bit off the word and went on quickly: "Why, you

don't know me at all, and there's a lot of me that you never will

know--that I can't let you know! You'd better lay off me, girl, while

you can. It'll be best for you, believe me."



"But I can't Conway, and neither can you," the girl answered softly, a

glorious light in her eyes. "It's too late for that. On the ship it was

just another of those things, but since then we've come really to know

each other, and we're sunk. The situation is out of control, and we both

know it--and neither of us would change it if we could, and you know

that, too. I don't know very much, I admit, but I do know what you

thought you'd have to keep from me, and I admire you all the more for

it. We all honor the Service, Conway dearest--it is only you men who

have made and are keeping the Three Planets fit places to live in--and I

know that Virgil Samms' chief lieutenant would have to be a man in four

thousand million...."



"What makes you think that?" he demanded sharply.



"You told me so yourself, indirectly. Who else in the known Universe

could possibly call him 'Sammy'? You are hard, of course, but you must

be so--and I never did like soft men, anyway. And you brawl in a good

cause. You are very much a man, my Conway; a real, real man, and I

love you! Now, if they catch us, all right--we'll die together, at

least!" she finished, passionately.



"You're right, sweetheart, of course," he admitted. "I don't believe

that I could really let you let me go, even though I know you ought

to," and their hands locked together even more firmly than before. "If

we ever get out of this jam I'm going to kiss you, but this is no time

to be taking off your helmet. In fact, I'm taking too many chances with

you in keeping your finger shields off. Snap 'em on, Clio mine; the

pirates ought to be getting fairly close by this time."



Hands released and armor again tight, Costigan went over to join Bradley

at the control board.



"How're they coming, Captain?" he asked.



"Not so good. Quite a ways off yet. At least an hour, I'd say, before a

cruiser can get within range."



"I'll see if I can locate any of the pirates chasing up. If I do, it'll

be by accident; this little spy-ray isn't good for much except close

work. I'm afraid the first warning we'll have will be when they take

hold of us with a beam or spear us with a ray. Probably a beam, though;

this is one of their emergency lifeboats and they wouldn't want to

destroy it unless they have to. Also, I imagine that Roger wants us

alive pretty badly. He has unfinished business with all three of us, and

I can well believe that his 'not particularly pleasant extinction' will

be even less so after the way we rooked him."



"I want you to do me a favor, Conway." Clio's face was white with horror

at the thought of facing again that unspeakable creature of gray. "Give

me a gun or something, please. I don't want him to touch me again while

I'm alive."



"He won't," Costigan assured her, narrow of eye and grim of jaw. He was,

as she had said, hard. "But you don't want a gun. You might get nervous

and use it too soon. I'll take care of you at the last possible moment,

because if he gets hold of us we won't stand a chance of getting away

again."



For minutes there was silence, Costigan surveying the ether in all

directions with his ultra-wave device. Suddenly he laughed, deeply and

with real enjoyment, and the others stared at him in surprise.



"No, I'm not crazy," he told them. "This is really funny; it had never

occurred to me that all these pirate ships are invisible to any ether

wave as long as they're using power. I can see them, of course, with

this sub-ether spy, but they can't see us! I knew that they should have

overtaken us before this. I've finally found them. They've passed us,

and are now tacking around, waiting for us to cut off our power for a

minute so that they can see us! They're heading right into the

Fleet--they think they're safe, of course, but what a surprise they've

got coming to them!"



But it was not only the pirates who were to be surprised. Long before

the pirate ship had come within extreme visibility range of the

Triplanetary Fleet, it lost its invisibility and was starkly outlined

upon the lookout plates of the three fugitives. For a few seconds the

pirate craft seemed unchanged, then it began to glow redly, with a red

that seemed to become darker as it grew stronger. Then the sharp

outlines blurred, puffs of air burst outward, and the metal of the hull

became a viscous, fluid-like something, flowing away in a long, red

streamer into seemingly empty space. Costigan turned his ultra-gaze into

that space and saw that it was actually far from empty. There lay a vast

something, formless and indefinite even to his sub-ethereal vision; a

something into which the viscid stream of transformed metal plunged.

Plunged, and vanished.



Powerful interference blanketed his ultra-wave and howled throughout his

body; but in the hope that some part of his message might get through he

called Samms, and calmly and clearly he narrated everything that had

just happened. He continued his crisp report, neglecting not the

smallest detail, while their tiny craft was drawn inexorably toward a

redly impermeable veil; continued it until their lifeboat, still intact,

shot through that veil and he found himself unable to move. He was

conscious, he was breathing normally, his heart was beating; but not a

voluntary muscle would obey his will.