It took but a few minutes for the boy to run back to the cave and fetch
back the space suit. Slowly Rawson climbed into it.
He turned to Durk. "I'm going into the quicksand. Perhaps I'll be able
to find something--something--" He sighed. "If I don't return, well,
it's up to you."
He leaped far forward, felt his feet sink into the clutching quicksand.
The muck enfolded him like cold, slimy snake coils twisting around and
crushing him.
As he sank below the surface, he heard the bursting air bubbles above
him like sibilant whispers of death. The dread, crushing quicksand drew
around like crushing giant hands.
This time Rawson had no heat ray gun to help him escape!
His lips twisted helplessly under the pressure of the sand and the
water. It was like being buried alive in cement that had not yet
hardened.
His feet struck something solid. The hull. Using his feet as leverage
he forced himself forward against the grasping ooze, until he came to
one of the ports. It was open and the quicksand had oozed in.
* * * * *
Rawson managed to grasp the railing by sheer muscle and forced himself
inside. The shifting, liquefied sand covered the entire top deck.
But the door to the lower hatches and the control decks had sealed
automatically. He turned the lever and pushed the door of the hatch
inwards.
The pressure of the sand hurled him inside like water shot from a
nozzle.
He raced for the farther door--raced to beat the moving quicksand that
oozed forward like some giant amoeba.
Rawson won by a second. He opened the door and dived inward. Quickly
he closed the door and sealed it as he felt the pressure of the muck
against it. The metal locks would hold.
He stripped off the space suit and hurried to the rocket deck.
Everything was in order. A member of the crew had automatically cut off
the disintegrator motors at the call "Abandon Ship!"
Rawson set the speed at idle. He turned the rocket levers. For a moment
the ship trembled as the exhaust gases fought against the pressure of
the quicksand in the tubes.
The rockets thundered in full power. Rawson waited. The heat of those
exhaust gases was tremendous--made ten times so by their compression in
the ooze.
Heat! That was it!
But would the rockets be powerful enough to change the composition of
the quicksand?
He felt the heat of the compressed gases through the floor of the
hull, and their motion through the muck was accompanied by a loud
glub--glub--glub--Sounds like the choking of a primeval monster.
This sound gradually died out, and the heat became intense. Rawson
removed his shirt and wiped the perspiration from his eyes. The sweat
dripped down his arms and made little wet spots on the floor. He began
shifting from foot to foot as the heat became uncomfortable on the
soles of his feet.
There was no way to see what was going on outside the space ship. All
the ports were blocked by the muck.
Presently he touched the dials. The indicator moved from "idle" to
"take-off." He gunned the rockets.
The ship lurched forward, groaned, and wallowed deeper into the ooze.
It was no go.
Rawson returned the power to idle and waited patiently. Perhaps it
could still be done.
Perhaps--but more likely not!
Rawson was not ready to despair. He waited with the courage of his
conviction that a way could be found through science.
He waited for three hours, and then he touched the controls again. He
set the dials to depress the nose, pulled the lever for the reverse.
Then he punched the needle for full power. He geared in the traction.
The space ship leaped backward with a jerk, found firm footing, and
crawled with accelerated power. It surged swifter and swifter like an
unleashed Neptune cyclone.
And as he felt the motion of the vessel beneath his feet, Rawson looked
up and saw the light stream through the muck that covered the port
windows.
He had broken free!
By instinct he guided the vessel all alone to a new landing. He had
to be navigator, engineer, pilot, and do the many tedious things that
require many hands and brains to control a ship.
* * * * *
Several days later they were near Saturn and Rawson had just received
congratulations on bringing in the serum in time to save thousands of
lives. He sat at his desk, his skeleton frame hunched like an ostrich,
when a young cyclone burst into his cabin.
"Captain, sir," young Seymour cried, bounding forward. "I overheard--"
Rawson snapped to his feet. "Mr. Seymour, Attention! Please leave and
enter like a gentleman."
Meekly the cabin boy walked out, closed the door. A rap sounded.
"Come in." And as the lad entered Rawson said with a smile, "That's
better."
"Yes, sir. I came to report I overheard the crew talking."
"Durk?"
"Yes, sir. Underofficer Durk says you're voted the best darn space
commander that ever flew the stars. And that he'll lick the denims off
anybody that says different."