"That's right," nodded the skipper. "Attacked and smashed to
smithereens. Not a man left alive. Yes."
"But that's impossible!" I cried. "Only last month the S.S.P. announced
that a peace pact had been signed with the Thagwar of Themis. The
natives of that satellite agreed to join the Solar Union--"
"Them Themisites," growled the Old Man, "keep their pledges about as
good as them Japanese you read about in the hist'ry books. The little
yellow squirts the United Nations had to wipe out a couple hundred
years ago. This makes the sixth time the Thagwar has signed a peace
pact. And it's the sixth time he's broke it. So--"
"So," I said, "we're elected, eh?"
"That's the ticket."
Lanse Biggs' jaw tightened. He said stiffly, "I'm afraid this is one
time I shall not be able to obey orders, sir. I--I can't go with you!"
My heart did a flipflop. I understood, and heartily sympathized with
Biggs. He wanted to be on Earth right now. Because--well, like a
professional grape-farmer, he had raisins of his own.
But I knew what his outright refusal meant. The IPC is a hardboiled
corporation. When it issues an order, it expects obedience--or else.
If Lanse refused to make this expedition, he would not only lose his
rating and his chance to go up for Master's papers--an examination he
was planning to take in the very near future--he might also lose his
job!
Furthermore--and if this sounds selfish, pardon my sullen accent!--I
hated to think of making a truly dangerous trip without Lieutenant
Biggs on the bridge. That brilliant wingding has pulled so many bunnies
out of the derby, saving our individual and collective necks with such
monotonous regularity, that we'd be utterly lost without his assistance.
But I said nothing. After all, this was a question Biggs must decide
for himself.
As it turned out, though, it was not I, nor the Old Man, nor Lancelot,
who solved the problem. It was Mrs. Biggs. In a calm, decisive voice
she said, "But, Lanse, dear--such commotion! Of course you will go!"
"What!" blurted Lanse. "And leave you? Never!"
"Stuff," sniffed Diane, "and nonsense! Stop talking like a cheap play.
What earthly good are you doing here? Not a bit! But out _there_, men
have died ... betrayed by a race of scoundrels. Brave men. Spacemen
like yourself. Your duty is plain. You must go. You have no choice."
"B-but--" protested Lanse.
"But," interrupted Diane, "nothing! Now, I'm tired. You boys run along
and clean up this little job. I'll be here at home, waiting for you."
Biggs asked apprehensively, "And--and you'll be all right while we're
gone? You're sure--"
"Certainly I'll be all right," declared Diane. "Now, lift gravs,
sailors! And--good luck!"
* * * * *
So we went. It was one hell of a job collecting the _Saturn's_ crew.
Some of them were miles away, several of them were--well, let's be
charitable and say, "unshipshape"--and _all_ of them were madder than
an alizarin dye at having their leaves cancelled.
But none of them were foolhardy enough to refuse the order. So, to make
a long story less so, several hours later the _Saturn_ roared from its
mooring cradle, all jets blasting. And we were off to Themis.
Well, the planet Saturn is approximately nine hundred million miles
from the Sun, and (since it was currently on our side of that central
beacon) about 800,000,000 from Earth. In the good old days B.B.--Before
Biggs--that would have meant a voyage of weeks. But since our ship was
equipped with Lancelot's invention, the V-I (or "velocity-intensifier")
unit, which enables spacecraft to attain speeds limited only by the
critical velocity of light, we could expect to reach our destination in
a trifle more than ten hours.
To forestall cracks from Earthlubber mathematicians who point out
that 186,000 x 60 x 60 would give us a cruising speed of almost seven
hundred million _m.p.h._, let me explain that you have to let the
hypatomics warm for about five hours before you can cut in the V-I
unit. Then the unit has to be switched off at least an hour before you
reach your objective so you can decelerate without breaking every bone
in your head.
Thus we had a ten hour trip ahead of us. So, as the _Saturn_ jogged
along outward into space, I sat back and tried to remember everything
I'd ever heard about Themis.
It wasn't much. I knew that in 1905, Pickering, the discoverer of
Phoebe, had first spotted Saturn's tenth satellite. He had named this
tiny body Themis, after the goddess of Law and Order. Which, in view of
later events, was a huge and mirthless horselaugh.
Then something queer happened. Themis--disappeared! Yeah, that's right.
It got lost! Can you imagine "losing" a cosmic body about 300 miles
in diameter? Well, that's exactly what the astronomers of the Bloody
Twentieth Century did.
According to their record books, they hunted for it time and time
again, but never relocated it. Finally they decided astronomer
Pickering must have been sopping up too much _spiritus frumenti_ the
night he discovered the satellite, and they expunged its name from the
records.
Which was, of course, a terrific boner ... because it was there all
the time! It was rediscovered in 1983 by the staff observers of the
Goddard Memorial Telescope located in Copernicus Crater on Luna. And
in 2031 A.D. it was visited, charted, and claimed in the name of
the Interplanetary Union by the Space Patrol rocket _Orestes_ on a
settlement investigation flight. Only nobody went to live there.
* * * * *
For one thing, it was too small pickings to bother with. During the
Space Rush of 2030-80, everybody who could beg, borrow or steal a ride
on a ship was hightailing it to the more important planets. Venus,
Mars, Mercury, the asteroids. Later, the Jovian satellites became
popular. Slowly the frontiers pushed farther and farther out from Sol.
Until now adventurers were willing to take a squint at any body in
space which boasted soil, air, and a modicum of gravity.
So at last, after long years of ignoring them, Earthmen were trying to
become palsy-walsy with the Themisites. Oh, yes, Themis had natives.
Humanoid aboriginals, not terribly unlike Earth's own children, except
that they had four legs instead of two.
But our side wasn't getting anywhere, and in a rush! As the Old Man
had said, six times a Patrol party had landed on Themis, and six times
signed a peace pact with the ruler, or Thagwar, of that globe. But each
time the pact had been ignored by the Themisites as soon as a party of
colonists attempted to land. The defenseless cruise-ships had been set
upon, destroyed, their cargoes stolen, and their passengers brutally
slaughtered!
So now here we were, blithely barging in where sensible angels might
justifiably hesitate to tread. It didn't make sense. I asked the
skipper about it.
"Look, Cap," I demanded, "maybe I'm sort of slow on the intake, but
how come _we_ draw this assignment? Since the Themisites seem to want
trouble, how come the Space Patrol doesn't go busting out there with
rotors primed and a couple battalions to occupy the world?"
"On account," explained Hanson impatiently, "Themis is populated by
a race with an intelligence quotient of more than .7 on the Solar
Constant scale, Sparks. And also because the race has a recognized
form of government.
"Accordin' to interplanetary law, colonization of civilized bodies can
only be carried out with the permission of the native inhabitants,
and aggressive occupation is forbidden when those inhabitants possess
humanoid intelligence."
"Meaning," I asked, "what? We aren't allowed to grab Themis unless the
Themisites let us?"
"Meanin'," snorted the Old Man, "that if you was the only inhabitant of
Themis, the S.S.P. wouldn't have nothin' to worry about. But the hell
with that. I didn't come here to bandage words with you. I come up to
ask you if you happened to notice the funny way Lanse is actin'."