Man and Woman
A pale orange ray reached out of the cone-shaped projector, and touched
Barclay's foot. Involuntarily a cry rang from him. It felt like nothing
describable, it seemed a red-hot vise was clamping on it, crushing
every bone and tendon, while a dozen rats with white-hot teeth gnawed
at it. It lasted but an instant, then the orange ray snapped out.
"The stimulator," said the bland Jennings, "affects only the nerves
leading to the brain, stimulating them instead of paralyzing the nerves
leading from the brain as does the paralyzing ray. It affects all the
nerves, so the sensations are mixed, a feeling of fire, of crushing
pressure, of breaking bones, itching, everything is stimulated.
"Very interesting," Jennings nodded to himself. "Very effective," he
smiled.
A muffled vibration from the beryllium metal flooring announced the
approach of some massive man, and presently Belasco's ghastly mask of a
face appeared.
"Ah, entertaining him? Does he know what that apparatus is all about?"
"Certainly. He probably aided in its construction. They wouldn't send a
man who knew nothing about it to test it would they?" snapped Jennings.
"You do, do you not, Captain?"
"No," lied Barclay immediately. "It was secret stuff; they told me how
to work it, rigged it with that gimmick, and sent me out. I couldn't
even turn the gimmick off."
"There. You see he knows. Any man who didn't wouldn't be so explicit in
what he didn't know, but would tell all he did," said Jennings, turning
back to Belasco. "In the meantime, let's get that apparatus installed.
You will show us how, Captain?"
"No, I can't, anyway," snapped the Patrol Captain.
Belasco's ham-like hand took the cone of the stimulator projector and
a broad grin appeared on his face. "No?" The ray touched Barclay's
foot. For a moment he stood it grimly, but as the ray deepened in
color, as more power came on, he groaned aloud, sweat started from
his forehead--and yet the ray was not actually harming him! Belasco
grinned wider, and increased the power. This was not pain that was
caused in a natural manner, it was pain that was actually a harmless
nerve stimulation! There was no destroying fire to deaden the nerves,
and lessen the agony, no grinding vise crushed them. They were merely
stimulated.
In thirty seconds Barclay was willing to tell them what he knew.
Belasco kept it up for a full minute. "More," he promised, "if we don't
like your behavior. Will you need anything we won't have on the ship?"
* * * * *
The pain left the instant the ray snapped off, and Barclay sat up
dazedly, leaning back against his hands. His legs were powerless, a
pencil beam shone on them, paralyzing him from the waist down. "Yes,"
he said faintly, "if you've got the regular stock-supplies."
"And more, Captain," Jennings assured him, "we always sail well
equipped, as I like to do experimental work."
"All right. You, and your ray-engineer," said Barclay, "will have
to help. And you'll need some extra heavy conductor cables. To be
effective you've got to turn every horsepower of your generator into
the Twins. Twin beams. And don't put fuses in the lines--" He talked
rapidly, explaining the apparatus, how it projected a beam that would
carry a current of electricity across empty space, explained that if
the beams carrying their millions of horsepower encountered a rib in
the ship, a surge might develop that would blow out a fuse, without
reason but with disastrous results in battle, for several minutes would
be needed to make replacements.
Belasco hung in the background as they worked at plans and drawings and
calculations, his paralyzer and stimulator projectors ever ready. A
fixed projector had been arranged that kept Barclay helplessly pinned
in his seat, his legs powerless.
The ship rang with the clangor of repair workers at work on the damage
done by the X-531.
In some four hours Barclay had finished the plans. Then he was promptly
removed, and put in the brig, stout chains fastening him to the metal
wall. The room, about thirty feet long by fifteen wide, was ordinarily
used by the Patrol as an auxiliary storeroom, but the stores had been
removed in preparation for the expected prisoners of the _Mira_. One
tiny porthole opened on space, to give a view of star-studded heavens.
A row of bright lights down the roof offered illumination. The door was
a single slab of solid steel three inches thick, sliding vertically
against the ship's normal acceleration, and held in place, when locked,
by the series of tremendous magnets all about it. Once settled in
place, nothing short of a disintegration ray could move it. To move the
door in any way, to fuse it, would generate a terrific current in it,
and automatically give the alarm, as well as stun anyone standing on
the metal plates of the brig.
Fifteen feet from the floor was the roof, and five feet below the roof
was a little platform on which a guard could sit to watch a number of
prisoners.
Belasco kicked Barclay in, and left with a growl. He would have
preferred to kill the Special-Captain then, but Jennings pointed out
that the projectors might not work after all.
He was securely chained, and the men left, locking the door
magnetically. Barclay disposed himself on the hard bunk, stoically,
smiled resignedly, with a flash of humor in his eyes. He went
peacefully to sleep.
He woke, hours later, to the clang of the great metal door as it was
shot upward in its slides. A small wiry man, clad in the green uniform
of the pirate ship, entered and stepped to one side of the door, a sly
grin of pleasure on his face. There was a portable stimulator set in
his hand, which he set on the floor, retaining the projector cone and
control mechanism in his left hand, and a paralyzer in his right. A
moment later there was a heavy trampling on the metal floor, groans
and low voices, a sharp command to "step along" in Belasco's harsh
voice, and a string of men entered the room, clad in civilian clothes.
There were tall ones and short ones and thin and fat, but they were all
marched in and fastened by chains to the bunks.
Then finally two women came. The men had been reacting to their capture
in all ways, from the height of indignation to the depths of groveling
fear. The two women marched proudly in, looked over the room with a
swift glance, and marched over to the least-crowded corner, about
twenty feet from Barclay.
One was young, about twenty-two, the other, evidently her mother, about
forty-five. Both were tall, broad and heavily built. The daughter was
Junoesque, if not more. Her mass must have been easily 170 pounds, and
her mother was equally heavy.
And, bringing up the procession, came Belasco. He entered the doorway,
and stood waiting till everyone had been chained, his hideous face
distorted in what was supposed to be a smile of satisfaction.
Silently, a second figure appeared behind him--Jennings. Quick dark
eyes scanned the prisoners, and with a sudden narrowing stopped
on a tall, powerfully built civilian, his face a deep brown from
long exposure to Martian sunlight. But he was a terrestrial, his
smooth-fitting elastic shirt proclaimed his muscles were well
developed, not as a terrestrial becomes after months on Mars.
Jennings passed Belasco, and stepped nearer to the man. "Who," he
demanded, "are you?" still scrutinizing him closely.
"Jimmy Durante, terrestrial engineer, working on Mars. Just made a
trip to Jupiter for some special machinery when your murdering gang of
cut-throats killed off the crew of the ship, and took us. I hope you
get blood-poisoning."
* * * * *
Jennings' face had relaxed from its intense stare of concentration.
"No," he smiled, "you aren't Jimmy Durante, you're John Norcross, and
you're Special-Lieutenant John Norcross at that. You take the air.
We don't want you." He pulled out the red-butted pistol that hung on
his right side, aimed it deliberately at the center of the Patrol
Investigator's forehead and pushed the trigger button. A blinding flash
of white light sprang from it, a momentary odor of burned flesh, and
the light disappeared as Norcross dropped.
"Take that," said Jennings to another uniformed pirate, "and throw
it down the waste-chute." Jennings turned, and started back toward
Belasco. "I'm going up to the pilot-house. The Twins have been
finished, and while you were tying up our friends here, I tried it out
on the old _Mira_. Cut it in two nicely."
"Shall I finish off this thing now?" asked Belasco eagerly, looking
toward Barclay.
"Hmmm--no, I wouldn't yet. I...."
"I wouldn't either, Jennings," said Barclay, "I saw a piece of
apparatus back at H.Q. that might interest you. Shield for the
paralyzer ray, they claimed."
"That," said Jennings judicially, "is a lie. There isn't any. I can't
make one myself, and I made the apparatus, and have the only ray
apparatus."
"Of course you are also the best physicist in the system?" queried
Barclay mildly, but slightly ironically.
"Not the best," admitted Jennings, "but the only one who knows anything
about this apparatus, so you are a liar naturally. But we will want you
in about twelve hours to look over the ray apparatus, so you needn't
spring that joke about a paralyzer screen." Jennings turned and left.
Belasco looked disappointed a moment, then his eyes lighted as he
looked at the girl again.
Everyone had been looking at Barclay. Suddenly the elder woman gave a
little cry of surprise. "Why! It's Donnie Barclay. I didn't see you at
first. How did you get here?" Her voice was deep and powerful.
"Accidentally," replied Barclay with a wry smile, "and unintentionally.
They captured my little one-man ship, Mrs. Willman. I'm sorry to meet
you again."
Mrs. Willman smiled. "Apparently these pirates want ransom for us. I
think Dick will get it. You've recognized Pat haven't you. It's been
nearly seven years since you've seen her though." Mrs. Willman didn't
seem greatly perturbed.
"I did," nodded Barclay, "as soon as you came in."
"Shut up, you!" growled Belasco, looking at Don. There was a gleam of
anticipation in his eyes as he looked at Pat Willman. "And you, little
lady, are kinda heavy. But since a damn ---- of a Planetary Patrolman
rayed me, I haven't seen a woman. I think it's about time. Take off the
things you got on. I wanna see if I like you."
Pat Willman looked at him with unconcealed loathing. "No wonder," she
said simply. "And naturally not. And I advise you not to try it."
Belasco grinned down at her from his six-feet-eight, some thirteen
inches taller. "I think I will. I'd like it."
Mrs. Willman winked at Barclay, Barclay smiled grimly, and began to
weave his fingers into the chains that held him.
Belasco advanced. A grim glint came into the girl's eyes. Belasco's
huge paw reached out and grasped her light jacket. With a vicious jerk
he pulled it away, tearing the material. Pat Willman stood clad in a
light dress. "That," she said with cold anger, "is more than enough."
Belasco grinned, and reached out again. Pat Willman's hand moved like
a streak of light, the great wrist was caught in slim white fingers
that bit into the flesh, a terrific jerk pulled the giant toward her,
and the other hand came up. Belasco was turned around, thrown down, and
kicked, thoroughly pounded, then thrown away, gasping and roaring with
rage and pain. He was thrown at least fifteen feet across the room,
though the ship was moving under an acceleration of an Earth-gravity
now. He fell heavily.
He rose with a roar, and rushed back at her. Pat Willman watched him
coolly. Pat Willman, twenty-two Earth-years old, had lived practically
all her life on Jupiter, a neighbor of Don Barclay. She could move
about three times as rapidly as a terrestrial, and had the strength of
three terrestrials her own size. She was easily more than a match for
any terrestrial man, and she knew it.