IV

It was not until just before he himself quitted the mother ship that

Larry Wolfe learned of Ann's illness. Climbing above his pride, he had

gone to her cabin to say good-bye.

Doctor Van Doren, ship's surgeon, met him at the door. "You must not

excite her," he said, in a low tone. "Say good-bye if you like, but--"

"_Doctor!_" Larry seized his arm. "I--I hadn't heard Ann was sick. What

is it?"

"I don't know. Just a complete physical collapse. She's too tired to

eat, even. Ever since last night."

Larry was pushing past him into the cabin. He went down on his knees

beside the girl's bed and his hand closed on her cold fingers. "Ann!"

he choked. "They didn't tell me...."

Ann wouldn't meet his eyes. "I asked them not to. I'm all right, Larry.

Just tired."

A cold blade stabbed at Larry's heart. "Why wouldn't you let me know?"

he asked.

Ann's eyes seemed fixed on a rivet in the ceiling. "Because I didn't

want to worry you. And--I didn't want to fight with you again."

"As if I'd so much as raise my voice, with you sick," Larry groaned.

Then his eyes fastened on a ruby-colored heart lying on the girl's

breast. "What's that?" he asked, half in alarm. "I've never seen it

before; it looks--like it's alive, Ann!"

The girl's fingers toyed with it. "It was a gift," she murmured

absently.

"Carlyle!" Larry could not restrain the angry syllables. "I don't like

it, Ann! It's like a serpent's eye, or something. It looks so alive--"

Ann's eyes at last met his, and they were cold as space. "We won't

argue about it," she said wearily.

Larry got up, striving against the hot resentment searing his heart.

"You know I'm leaving now?"

"Yes. Good luck, Larry."

"Thanks!" Larry snorted, and strode from the room.

* * * * *

Larry's was the last scout to be dropped from the _Friar Bacon_. The

mother ship was now piloted by Carlyle, who swung it back to the first

salvage ship they had dropped.

For hours it was a matter of cruising this way and that, searching the

sky for traces of wreckage. Bits of flotsam were everywhere, but large

fragments were scarce indeed. Larry's heart was leaden, but he buried

himself in the work and succeeded in half-forgetting his worries.

Lanky Jeff Adams was at the controls of the cramped little vessel when

the first dark splinter was sighted in the void. Braced against the

lurch and roll of the ship, Larry scrutinized the wrecked ship as they

neared it. So unbelievable was the sight he saw that for an instant

after he lowered the glasses it did not penetrate his reflexes. His

fingers were tracing the vessel's name into the log when suddenly he

stared at what he had written: "11:46 A. M. sighted derelict _Astral_.

Good condition...."

Larry Wolfe dropped the glasses and let out a yell. Jeff leaped as

though he had been stung, his magnificent red beak of a nose growing

redder with the excitement. Abe Miller, stocky, beetle-browed helper,

stared at the officer.

"What's amatter, Chief?" he jerked.

Dumbly, Larry pointed. "That's--the _Astral_!" he gasped. "Two hundred

million dollars--in gold--!"

Abe and Jeff were stunned; then they crowded the port to stare at the

ancient craft dead ahead. The scout had drawn near enough now that the

name of the transport was plainly visible in letters running from stem

half-way to stern. Weakly, Jeff let himself back into his seat and

muttered:

"Two--hundred--million ... in Martian gold! And we get ten percent for

findin' 'er. Ten percent of two hundred million, divided three ways--"

Larry laughed and poked playfully at his big nose. "Don't count your

shekels before you hear them jingle," he counseled. "The _Astral_ may

have been gutted by pirates. Give her the gun, mister; we're finding

out!"

The little space-craft slewed and rocked to a stop beside the giant

transport. Shock struck the three men dumb with their first glimpse

close up. Faces crowded the ports, staring out at them. Larry fancied

he saw movement among the watchers on the bridge. To all appearances

the _Astral_ might have been a vessel in mid-flight.

They cruised slowly up the side, not ten feet from the ghostly faces

that watched them with staring eyes. Foot by foot they proceeded.

Rounding the front of the craft, they could see into the bridge. Two

men were working over charts and a man in blue-and-gray uniform was at

the controls. Another, a pencil over his ear, stood reading a gauge

high on the wall.

Then the meaning of it all came home to them.

The port side of the ship was ripped open from stem to stern.

Something--no doubt a jagged meteor fragment--had sliced and torn its

way through the shell of the speeding transport. The occupants of

the open side had exploded like deep-sea fish drawn to the surface.

These in the space-tight, unharmed cabins opposite had been frozen

instantly by the outrush of pent-up air. And there they had stood in

the attitudes in which Death had found them, staring out as they forged

through the meteor-swarm, hoping they would not be hit.

In the silence they tied up to the derelict, their magnet-plates

clinging like suction cups. Donning space suits and carrying kits of

tools, they leaped through the rent into the dead ship.

A vague twilight dwelt in the interior. Larry led the way to the

bridge. The frozen lock was cut out by means of a torch. With set jaws

he went inside.

"Better load 'em out quick, boys. If the sunlight starts to thaw

'em there'll be a hell of a mess. Throw 'em clear of the ship. It's

tough--but it's a sky-man's end, and we may all meet the same some day."

While Abe and Jeff carried the corpses away, he found the log and

traced back to the vessel's start. There he located the cargo list. Two

hundred million was correct, as the refining company had stated when

the ship was lost.

Their next job was to cut into the hold. The sight of two hundred

million dollars in gold bullion took their breath away. Jeff sat down

and began laying the ponderous bars into three piles, muttering:

"One for me, one for you, and one for Abe. One for--"

Larry laughed, "Get to work, you half-baked lout. We've got to lug all

these out to where they'll make quick loading. _Friar Bacon_ should

loom up in about four hours. I'll set the flares--"

And then they all went stiff, hands reaching for energy-pistols.

Through the ship's floor came the thud-thud-thud of walking men!

* * * * *

Larry sprang into the hall. Three whirled at his advance. He snapped on

his transmitter, the instrument operating through the metal floor like

a telegraph.

"Get the hell out of here!" he barked. "You're fifty thousand miles out

of your territory. Is this how Haggard keeps a bargain?"

The foremost pirate said not a word, but suddenly the pistol in his

hand flared redly. Larry flung himself aside, blasted away with his own

weapon. The wall of the corridor dissolved beneath his shoulder.

A scream rang through his helmet, chopped off clean as the pirate's

space suit was blown open. Jeff and Abe were yelling for Larry to get

out of their way and give them a clear shot. Larry's answer was to duck

into the hole blasted in the wall by the energy bolt.

He got the second pirate in his sights and saw him crumple under a wave

of atom-dissolving force. A mere fringe of the charge scored the helmet

of the last man. Screaming shrilly, air rushed from his suit. His body

blew up like a balloon in a decompression-bell, until he filled the

bulging suit. Then there was a ghastly moment of seeing blood spurt

through the hole in the helmet. And after that he was only a sickening

smatter of glass and blood and powdered bone.

The swiftness with which it was all over left the three salvage men

weak. Larry forced himself down the hall. There might be more of them.

But a glance outside showed only one _Martian_ scout tied up. As a

precaution, he turned his force weapon on the little ship until the

hammering and searing energy shocks melted its magnet plates and hurled

it away.

Hastily, then, he turned to Jeff and Abe.

"Pile aboard," he cracked out. "We're dropping this until we contact

Carlyle. Haggard will be back looking for his scout. We want more than

hand guns to use when he returns. This is war!"

V

They sighted the _Friar Bacon_ well toward the front of the line of

scouts. Only one ship lay in its carrier. The mother ship hove to while

the tiny craft nuzzled into the waiting pocket.

Carlyle was waiting at the air-lock when they sprang out. Larry's words

crackled with tension.

"We've raised the _Astral_, sir! Afraid Haggard's going to know about

it in a few hours, too. One of his scouts jumped us and we killed the

men. Better let us go back with Murphy's ship while you round up the

rest of the fleet. This is going to mean trouble!"

Carlyle's eyes glowed, and his features seemed to shine with inner

energy.

"Great work!" he breathed. "I'll drop off Murphy directly. Mark the way

out there with flares. We'll get the rest of the boys and be there in

three hours. If we're lucky we can unload the _Astral_ and be out of

the territory without crossing his path."

Larry Wolfe saluted and turned back to the scout. He tried to summon

the fierce dislike he had for the salvage boss when he was away from

him, but it would not rise. Carlyle's personality was a strong one. Men

instinctively took orders from him and liked it, and women--Well, Ann

had certainly changed. Yet there was a shading of something sinister

under the man's smooth, forceful exterior. Larry could not isolate the

things about him he distrusted.

Once more they dropped away from the _Friar_. Murphy, Stoller and Cass

came booming along after them, jets belching and the whole, tiny craft

leaping like a released whippet in the effort to pace Larry.

It was an hour and a half before they saw the _Astral_ in their glasses

once more. In their path they had dropped red fluctuating flares to

guide the mother ship to the derelict. The scout sidled in beside the

space-barge. Magnets sent out invisible tentacles and hauled them

against the vessel with a stiff shock. Murphy's red head bobbed into

view as his own craft made landing.

Larry Wolfe snapped orders. Stoller and Cass tackled the job of cutting

away the ragged metal to provide more room for the loading of the

salvage ship. Jeff, Abe, and Murphy joined Larry in the back-breaking

toil of moving the gold.

And all the time they were conscious of the precious weapon that was

slipping from their fingers ... _time_! Minutes, seconds, fleeing from

them, while they wondered which ship would be first to return, the

_Friar Bacon_ with its glittering silver hull, or the black tiger-shark

of the void--the _Martian_.

Without warning there was a terrific crash against the side of the

derelict. The six sweating workmen were flung to their faces on the

floor. One of the scout ships was torn lose and went rolling away.

Larry ripped out his gun and crawled to the opening in the vessel's

shell. What he saw caused him to sigh with new relief.

"Meteor shower," he called to the others. "We took the biggest part of

it right then. You can hear the dust pattering against us now. Nothing

to worry about."

_Nothing to worry about--!_

But right then another impact came that up-tilted the barge and hurled

them from their feet, stunned. A shadow fell over the sunlight splashed

room and a long, black shape glided past, a mile or two away. The

_Martian_ was back and ready for war.

* * * * *

There was a second shot that sprawled them around. In the bow of the

attacking cruiser winked a malevolent green eye. At Larry's signal,

every man jammed the range setting on his pistol up to full. Even with

the guns taxed to their utmost, they would be pitiful answer to the

cannon aboard the other craft.

"Murphy!" Larry yelled. "Take your men up to the bridge where you can

keep your eye on 'em. Keep firing. Don't let 'em rest."

But there was no slowing down Brand Haggard. With the cunning of a

tiger, he swooped and curvetted about the _Astral_, never stopping long

enough to let one of those pistol shots burn deep. There was not an

instant when the derelict was still; constantly it rolled in a sea of

searing, churning ether, burned fiercely by force-charges. From time to

time a great hole was gashed through the barge.

Then there came a blasting concussion that piled Larry, Jeff, and Abe

in a corner like three rats in a box. Blood filtered down Larry's

neck where his space suit had gashed him. Light spilled into the ship

through the fore parts. With his heart hammering, he ran forward to the

bridge.

He found the hole where the bridge had been, but Murphy, Stoller and

Cass were gone. A hundred yards away the _Martian_ was maneuvering for

another shot.

Larry ran back to the others.

"They're gone," he bit out. "And we're slated for the same if we hold

out any longer. Let's grab the scout and head for the _Friar_. Maybe we

can get back here before Haggard guts this barge."

All three men seemed to sense the cessation of the _Astral's_ rolling

at the same instant. They glanced dumbly at each other. _What had

caused the pirate to stop its barrage?_

All at once, Jeff was pointing, yelling like a madman. Cheers broke

from the others' throats. With the swift grace of a bullet, the _Friar

Bacon_ was shooting across the sky in pursuit of Haggard's ship!

For a few minutes it was like watching a pair of clever fencers feint

and lunge. The speed of the ships went for little now. It was the

daring and skill of the man at the controls that spelled victory or

defeat.

But in the end it was the _Martian_ that drew off. A shot ripped away

most of a scout carrier and showed Brand Haggard, temporarily, at

least, that he was bucking a tougher, smarter man.

Carlyle did not chase him. Such a pursuit, zig-zagging on full

throttles through space, could easily last a week. He brought the big

cruiser alongside the wrecked _Astral_ and the survivors sprang aboard.