Brand Haggard's sleek, black _Martian_ did not try to pass them, as
Carlyle had prophesied. For three weeks the ship was back there on the
starboard quarter, matching them move for move. It was on Larry Wolfe's
mind constantly while he stood on the bridge, doing little to ease the
tension of his nerves.
Strange, unpredictable currents suddenly developed about the ship,
and Larry knew that they were only a day or so from the sargasso.
Staring through the finder, he made out the diaphonous cloud he had
been searching for so long--the sargasso in which they hoped to find
millions of dollars in salvage prizes.
Magnetic currents, as yet unidentified by scientists, drew space
wreckage here from all over the solar system. Ruined space liners,
flotsam and jetsam of fifty years of interplanetary traffic, here
collected bit by bit. For the salvage crews who made lucky finds, there
was wealth; for those who made the tiniest of errors in their dangerous
work, there was death.
Larry Wolfe's thoughts were on the long-missing Astral as he stood his
watch that last night. The _Astral_, lost gold transport from Mars
to Earth, had been the dream of salvage men for twenty-five years.
Somewhere in the solar system it still drifted about. The chances were
good that it had been sucked into one of the many sargasso fields;
still better, that this newest field, largest of all, had caught it.
In Thaddeus Carlyle's rooms, Ann had been hearing the same story that
Larry was dreaming over even now. Carlyle's quiet, powerful words
painted romantic highlights over it. The girl found her heart beating
faster in anticipation of the days ahead.
"But in all this trackless wilderness of--of ether," she frowned, "how
can you hope to find anything at all? Let alone the _Astral_--"
Carlyle smiled, glanced out the port at the vague gray shadow into
which they were heading.
"If we worked with just the one ship, we wouldn't find much," he
admitted. "Actually, we use six. We drop the smaller salvage ships here
and there as we enter the sargasso. The three men in each craft cruise
about within a one-hundred-thousand-mile radius. After we've dropped
all the ships, we circle back to the spot where we left the first one
and wait for the flare signal from it. There's no radio transmission
out here, you know. The scout ships are pretty much on their own. When
they've located a prize, they tie up to it and go to work dismantling
the craft. If they haven't located anything after the first scouting
trip, we move them along to the front of the line. It's something like
playing leap-frog."
"I suppose your ships and Haggard's honor each other's finds?"
"Supposed to," said Carlyle grimly. His dark eyes flashed to the slim,
shark-like hull haunting their wake. His big, sturdy body seemed to
tighten. "Haggard's got the reputation of being a pirate. I'm not
looking for trouble, but if there is any--well, we can take care of
ourselves. I know a few tricks more than Brand Haggard, I think."
Looking at him, Ann knew a thrill of admiration. His attraction for
her had been growing with every hour they spent together. "You seem so
confident about it," she murmured.
"After twenty years of this sort of work you get your lines pretty well
in mind," Carlyle chuckled.
"Twenty years!" Ann's brow arched. "But you don't seem to be over
thirty--!"
"I'm a little older than that," the laughing answer came. "I began as a
galley-boy."
Silence fell for a moment, while Ann tried to figure his age from what
he had said. Then suddenly Thaddeus Carlyle was saying softly:
"You aren't wearing Captain Wolfe's ring any more. I couldn't help
noticing. Anything wrong between you two?"
"We--we decided it was best, during the trip, to forget our
engagement," the girl faltered, the color rising into her cheeks. She
knew he saw through her evasive answer. His eyes, so piercing and yet
gentle, seemed to know everything she thought.
* * * * *
Abruptly, Carlyle's fingers slipped about her hand. "Ann, if you and
Larry ever do break it off," he pleaded, "will you remember that
I--could love you very much?"
Ann was startled. Still more startled to feel the almost irresistible
link between them, drawing them together. "I'll remember, Thad," she
murmured.
Carlyle slipped something from his pocket. "And just to make sure
you don't forget," he said sternly, "you're going to wear this as a
reminder. I found it in a wrecked ship, a long time ago. Like it?" He
leaned forward to slip the thin silver chain about her neck.
Ann's eyes widened as she accepted the necklace. She held the tiny
crystal heart in her fingers as Carlyle snapped the tiny lock.
"I've never seen anything like it!" she breathed. "So crudely cut, and
yet every line so perfect. Thad, look! The color of it! There seems to
be just a suggestion of pink in the very heart of it--"
Thaddeus Carlyle let the gem fall into his palm, so that the crystal
contacted his silver ring. Ann gasped. The suggestion of pink was now a
glowing atom of scarlet, as though the heart held one drop of blood. It
throbbed and pulsed with life of its own. The heart grew warm against
Carlyle's palm--
Suddenly the girl fell back against the chair.
"I--I'm so tired, all of a sudden," she whispered. "Almost too
tired--to breathe. Take me--to my cabin--Thad. I think I want--to lie
down."
Carlyle swore under his breath. "Fool!" he muttered. "I've been wearing
you out with work, and excitement piled on that. You're going to bed,
young lady. The ship's surgeon is going to have a look at you, too."
"No, I'm all right," Ann murmured. "Just--tired."
But Thaddeus Carlyle's strong arms were under her, now, and even as he
carried her from the cabin she fell asleep. Looking down on her placid
features, so like death, he felt a stab of remorse.
Why did it have to be like this? he groaned. A life for a life--Carlyle
knew within himself that he was willing to die right now. He'd seen
enough of life and its disappointments. But always there was that
strain of cowardice in his soul--fear of growing old, of dying. He'd
courted death so long, hoping for a quick end on some battlefield, in
some remote part of interstellar space. But never did it come. Friar
Bacon had indeed cursed him with eternal life.
* * * * *
Six hours later, just as his shift was ending, Larry Wolfe spotted the
first loose cluster of drifted wreckage. This meant they had entered
the actual salvage field. He rang for Carlyle and the ship owner
responded immediately, ducking to enter the bridge.
Larry's clipped voice masked the jealousy he felt toward Carlyle.
"Flotsam off the starboard bow sir," he said mechanically.
Through powerful glasses, the other examined the wreckage. He lowered
the glasses hurriedly. Apparently it was merely the torn, gutted shell
of a barge, but--
"Rest of it may be near," he grunted. "We'll drop off Murphy, Stoller
and Cass. Seen anything of Haggard lately? Anything to worry about, I
mean?"
"Yes, sir. He's drawn closer ... much too close considering we should
be splitting apart now."
Carlyle pivoted and shot a glance back at the darkly looming _Martian_.
His brows drew into a solid bar across his angry eyes. "Half speed
astern, Captain," he clipped.