_Farian jade was the most precious
jewel in history--and the most deadly!_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Infinity Science Fiction, November 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Will Archer idly poked one of the array of keys which studded the
wings of his control chair. The pattern of stars which sprayed into a
twelve-foot black bowl from a knobbed projector above his head winked
out and was promptly replaced by the rounding, yellow-green bulk of
Vega VII, less than two diameters away.
He was not sorry that its image was receding steadily. Faria, as
it was called in the Vega system, was about the size of Earth and
its atmosphere was tolerable to humans--there the resemblance all
but ended. For its weather was insufferably hot, its topography
fantastically tortuous, and its life-forms, both animal and
vegetable--and yes, mineral!--were of a general aspect that only a
biologist could gaze on with fondness.
In order to do so, a whole group of kindred scientists had come all the
way from far Earth six months before, and had chartered a ship at the
interstellar base on Vega IX.
They had also required an experienced and reliable "local" crew. The
pay had been good, and Will Archer was looking forward to spending most
of it quickly and freely on Vega IX.
He released the key and the screen automatically reoriented itself to
primary position--on course. The stars showing before him were actually
almost directly above his head, allowing for "yaw" due to offset
angular acceleration.
Eighty hours to reversal. A hundred more of "descent" to Vega IX. Will
Archer shrugged. Eight days between him and the fanciest fleshpots in
the system. With a little more squirt--say about one-point-six G, which
anybody but a cardiac case could easily stand--they could cut the trip
in half, and sit down with juice to spare. But the freak-chasers loved
comfort, and with all those specimens to drool over, they'd probably
just as soon start for Sol III on chem-drive! Well, they or their
sponsors were footing the bill, so--
The concave screen suddenly flickered to fifth position, showing a 120°
range of the firmament, rotated 90° clockwise, to the pilot's left. At
the same time, a buzzer started droning, and a yellow light blinked on
the gauge panel to his right.
Toward one side of the screen, the great disc of Vega, selectively
dimmed in projection, glowed like a blue-white moon. Near the center,
a twelve-inch ring of light appeared and began to move slowly to the
right. Whatever the ring indicated was too small and too distant
to see, but to the unaided judgment its motion bore a disturbing
resemblance to a collision course.
Evidently the detector-system thought otherwise, or a red light would
be flashing instead of a yellow one, an all-quarters alarm-bell would
be sounding instead of a buzzer, and the controls would have operated
automatically to deflect the ship by a safe margin--or to the limit of
its occupants' capacity to absorb shock. Fortunately, such instances
were vanishingly rare: space is incredibly roomy.
Beneath the yellow blinker, a set of clicking meters recorded the
flight components of the foreign object. Its direction cosines were
changing slowly in a characteristically orbital manner; the object was
probably a ship approaching the planet, although its velocity was a bit
high for this proximity. But that was another pilot's worry.
The ring was moving faster now, approaching the edge of the field.
Just as it touched, it disappeared, and the screen flashed to first
position. The ring reappeared at far left, shifted to the right with
gathering speed. It swung past the center with a rush, slowed down
again, and reached the far edge as the screen reoriented to third
position. Very slowly now, the ring moved out from the left side of the
field.
The nearest distance of the respective courses had been about 45 miles;
of the ships themselves, about 70. The ring drifted on toward the
center of the screen and seemed to hover there.
Will Archer looked back at the meters and shook his head. Too fast by
far. And the negative acceleration was only a fraction of a G--_wait a
minute!_ He stared at the meter in question. Its reading was positive!
* * * * *
That meant the other ship, or whatever it might be, was approaching
the planet in something resembling a free fall. A crash was not
inevitable--there was plenty of time to apply sufficient lateral thrust
to insure a miss--but _why_? Time and fuel would be wasted before a
landing would become possible.
The meters stopped clicking, the buzzer became silent, and the ring
disappeared from the screen, which changed back to first position. The
object had passed beyond accurate range.
Will Archer frowned and pressed a key to his left. After a moment, the
face of the radio operator appeared on a small video plate: "Yes?"
"Any calls from outside in the last few minutes?"