Russ rose slowly, went to the wall cabinet and lifted out a box, the
mechanical shadow with its tiny space field surrounding the fleck of
steel that would lead them to the _Interplanetarian_. Carefully he
lifted the machine from its resting place and set it on the desk.
Bending over it, he watched the dials.
Suddenly he whistled. "Greg, they've moved! They aren't where we left
them!"
Greg sprang to his side and stared at the readings. "They're moving
farther away from us ... out into space. Where can they be going?"
Russ straightened, scowling, pulling at the pipe. "They probably found
another G-type star, and are heading for that. They must think it is old
Sol."
"That sounds like it," said Greg. "We spun all over the map to throw
Craven off and looped several times so he'd lose all sense of direction.
Naturally he would be lost."
"But he's evidently got something," Russ pointed out. "We left him
marooned ... dead center, out where he didn't have too much radiation
and couldn't get leverage on any single body. Yet he's moving--and
getting farther away all the time."
"He solved our gravitation concentration screen," said Greg. "He tricked
us into giving him power to build it."
The two men looked at one another for a long minute.
"Well," said Russ, "that's that. Craven and Chambers and Stutsman. The
three villains. All lost in space. Heading for the wrong star.
Hopelessly lost. Maybe they'll never find their way back."
He stopped and relit his pipe. An aching silence fell in the room.
"Poetic justice," said Russ. "Hail and farewell."
Greg rubbed his fist indecisively along the desk. "I can't do it, Russ.
We took them out there. We marooned them. We have to get them back or I
couldn't sleep nights."
Russ laughed quietly, watching the bleak face that stared at him. "I
knew that's what you'd say."
He knocked out the pipe, crushed a fleck of burning tobacco with his
boot. Pocketing the pipe, he walked to the control panel, sat down and
reached for the lever. The engines hummed louder and louder. The
_Invincible_ darted spaceward.
* * * * *
"It's too late now," said Chambers. "By the time we reach that planetary
system and charge our accumulators, Manning and Page will have
everything under control back in the Solar System. Even if we could
locate the star that was our Sun, we wouldn't have a chance to get there
in time."
"Too bad," Craven said, and wagged his head, looking like a solemn owl.
"Too bad. Dictator Stutsman won't have a chance to strut his stuff."
Stutsman started to say something and thought better of it. He leaned
back in his chair. From his belt hung a heat pistol.
Chambers eyed the pistol with ill-concealed disgust. "There's no point
in playing soldier. We aren't going to try to upset your mutiny. So far
your taking over the ship hasn't made any difference to us ... so why
should we fight you?"
"It isn't going to make any difference either," said Craven. "Because
there are just two things that will happen to us. We're either lost
forever, will never find our way back, will spend the rest of our days
wandering from star to star, or Manning will come out and take us by the
ear and lead us home again."
Chambers started, leaned forward and fastened his steely eyes on Craven.
"Do you really think he could find us?"
"I have no doubt of it," Craven replied. "I don't know how he does it,
but I'm convinced he can. Probably, however, he'll find that we are lost
and get rid of us that way."
"No," said Chambers, "you're wrong there. Manning wouldn't do that.
He'll come to get us."
"I don't know why he should," snapped Craven.
"Because he's that sort of man," declared Chambers.
"What you going to do when he does get out here?" demanded Stutsman.
"Fall on his neck and kiss him?"
Chambers smiled, stroked his mustache. "Why, no," he said. "I imagine
we'll fight. We'll give him everything we've got and he'll do the same.
It wouldn't seem natural if we didn't."
"You're damned right we will," growled Stutsman. "Because I'm running
this show. You seem to keep forgetting that. We have power enough, when
we get those accumulators filled, to wipe him out. And that is exactly
what I'm going to do."
"Fine," said Craven, mockingly, "just fine. There's just one thing you
forget. Manning is the only man who can lead us back to the Solar
System."
"Hell," stormed Stutsman, "that doesn't make any difference. I'll find
my way back there some way."
"You're afraid of Manning," Chambers challenged.
Stutsman's hand went down to the heat pistol's grip. His eyes glazed and
his face twisted itself into utter hatred. "I don't know why I keep on
letting you live. Craven is valuable to me. I can't kill him. But you
aren't. You aren't worth a damn to anyone."
* * * * *
Chambers matched his stare. Stutsman's hand dropped from the pistol and
he slouched to his feet, walked from the room.
Afraid of Manning! He laughed, a hollow, gurgling laugh. Afraid of
Manning!
But he was.
Within his brain hammered a single sentence. Words he had heard Manning
speak as he watched over the television set at Manning's mocking
invitation. Words that beat into his brain and seared his reason and
made his soul shrivel and grow small.
Manning talking to Scorio. Talking to him matter-of-factly, but grimly:
"_I promise you that we'll take care of Stutsman!_"
Manning had taken Scorio and his gangsters one by one and sent them to
far corners of the Solar System. One out to the dreaded Vulcan Fleet,
one to the Outpost, one to the Titan prison, and one to the hell-hole
on Vesta, while Scorio had gone to a little mountain set in a Venus
swamp. They hadn't a chance. They had been locked within a force shell
and shunted through millions of miles of space. No trial, no hearing ...
nothing. Just terrible, unrelenting judgment.
"_I promise you that we'll take care of Stutsman!_"
* * * * *
"Craven's only a few billion miles ahead now," said Gregory Manning.
"With our margin of speed, we should overhaul him in a few more hours.
He is still short on power, but he's remedying that rapidly. He's
getting nearer to that sun every minute. Running in toward it as he is,
he tends to sweep up outpouring radiations. That helps him collect a
whole lot more than he would under ordinary circumstances."
Russ, sitting before the controls, pipe clenched in his teeth, watching
the dials, nodded soberly.
"All I'm afraid of," he said, "is that he'll get too close to that sun
before we catch up with him. If he gets close enough so he can fill
those accumulators, he'll pack a bigger wallop than we do. It'll all be
in one bolt, of course, for his power isn't continuous like ours. He has
to collect it slowly. But when he's really loaded, he can give us aces
and still win. I'd hate to take everything he could pack into those
accumulators."