of teddy bears in the space suits. Bill could see tears of bitterness
inside Pete’s plastic helmet.
“Fellows,” the coach said, “what did we come seven hundred miles across
the Moon to do?”
“To play ball,” someone answered, “—and win.”
“All right, then. What do you say we start doing it? Pete, I’m going to
send you to left field where you used to play. Dan, in left field, will
take your place at shortstop.”
The Rocketeers retired the side without further scoring. Then as though
to prove that the pep talk had helped, the team came up with three big
runs of their own!
Pitching with all his skill, Bill was able to set down the Comets in
order. It was now the top half of the ninth inning, the last chance for
Plato to win the game. They were still behind 5-3, and the two-run lead
seemed as big as the Milky Way to Bill.
Dan started it off by walloping a double down the right field line. Pete
followed with a single that bounced high over the right shortfielder’s
head. The fielder behind him took the ball and threw quickly to his
catcher to keep Dan from scoring off third. But then the Rocketeers’
luck seemed to have run out as the next two players struck out.
“It’s all up to you, Bill,” the coach told his pitcher as Bill selected
his favorite bat.
“I’ll be swinging, coach,” Bill said determinedly.
He looked toward the stands as he walked to the plate. Skippy was waving
encouragement again.
“This one is for you, Skippy,” Bill murmured, stepping up to the plate.
Carl tried to make him swing on two bad pitches.
“Careful,” Bill warned himself. “There are two outs—only one more left
to us in the whole game!”
The next ball was just the one Bill wanted. He swung with all his might.
He saw the ball rise and lose itself in the white dust of starlight
overhead. And then he was off!
Loping past second, he saw the left fielder still bounding like a rabbit
after the ball. The coach slowed him up on third base.
“Take it easy, Bill,” he said with a happy grin. “That ball is on the
dark side of the Moon by now!”
Bill could see the Plato rooters waving their arms wildly in glee, and
his radio picked up their loud cheers. As he crossed the plate with the
leading run, he waved to Skippy who was almost out of his wheel chair in
his excitement over his big brother’s tingling homer.
The score: Plato 6, Copernicus 5. The game was far from over, though.
The Comets still had their last turn at bat.
Bill got the first player to raise a high infield pop-up. In the Moon’s
light gravity it seemed as if the ball would never come down. But it
finally did, and Dan took it for the first out.
Bill walked the next Comet, to put one on and with one out. The
following batter forced the runner at second, making it two out and
giving Bill a much more confident feeling.
But then up to the plate walked Jack Brenna!
Bill swallowed hard and began to sweat inside his space suit. He failed
to get the ball over the plate on the first two pitches. Jack swung on
the next pitch and sent a hard foul ball behind third base.
“Must be careful,” Bill thought. “A homer with the man on base will win
the game for the Comets.”
Bill came though with a fast ball. Jack met it squarely and as the ball
towered high over the infield, Jack felt all quivery and weak. He turned
his head regretfully and saw the ball rising high and far against the
midnight black of space. He saw little Pete Irby galloping away from the
diamond as fast as he could go.
“Get it, Pete!” Bill pleaded under his breath. “Please get it!”
Everybody in the stands was on his feet. This was the play that would
decide the game—and the championship.
Pete finally made a last second leap that brought him twenty feet off
the ground. Bill could hardly see ball and glove meet. But they did meet
and Pete had done the impossible!
They had won!
The Rocketeers whirled the coach and Bill easily up on their shoulders,
because of the light Lunar weight. Then they began parading happily
around the diamond to celebrate their very first championship. When Pete
had made the long trip in from the outfield, he too was carried around
on his teammates’ shoulders.
“That was a swell catch, Pete!” Bill called out to the little fellow.
“You sure saved the day for us!”
“You know what, Bill?” Pete said, grinning. “If I’d missed that ball I
would have kept on running—yep, right into space! I was determined to
make that trip to Earth one way or another!”
_PAPER TREASURE FOR MARS_
Hugh Davone and Link Malloy sat at the wall desk of the space ship
compartment poring over their albums of interplanetary postage stamps.
The atom-powered _Princess of Mars_, cargo and passenger liner, was only
a few hours out on its Earth-to-Mars run.
“It makes me nervous thinking of the thousands of dollars’ worth of
stamps we’re carrying in the wall safe,” Link said. “I don’t think I’m
going to enjoy this trip.”
“Take it easy, Link,” Hugh replied, with a lighthearted grin. “There are
Space Guardsmen aboard ship to protect us.”
The fellows were on their annual vacation from the Space Cadet Corps.
Since cadets in training could ride any space ship free, the two were
escorting a valuable shipment of Mr. Davone’s interplanetary stamps to
another dealer opening up shop in Mars City.
“I’m worrying about that white-haired old character your dad said asked
suspicious questions at his shop the other day,” Link said. “Seems funny
that he is making the trip to Mars the same time we are.”
“Probably only a coincidence,” Hugh answered. “There’s only one flight a
month to Mars, you know.”
“There are unscrupulous dealers who would give anything to lay their
hands on our shipment,” Link went on. “This deal means an awful lot to
your dad’s stamp business, Hugh. If we should bungle the job, he
certainly would lose a lot.”
“Sure he would,” Hugh agreed, then he added, “but we aren’t going to
bungle it.”
This seemed to satisfy Link and a smile of confidence deepened the
corners of his broad, friendly mouth.
Hugh picked up a stamp with his tongs. “I came across this duplicate
from the Venus pictorial issue. It’s the six-dollar blue of the Valley
of Mists. Have you got it?”
Link leaned over. “No! What have you been doing, Hugh, holding out on
me? How about some of my 2027 Lunar commems in trade?”
They worked out an exchange. The Lunar stamps were curious specimens,
imperforate and circular. They depicted the Lunar hemisphere which faces
Earth. The single-stamp issue had been distributed on the fiftieth
anniversary of man’s first landing on the moon and was much in demand.
Suddenly there was a knock on the outer door of the compartment.
Hugh got up and went to the door. As he walked, his magnetic-sole shoes
rasped against the metallic floor like a knife being honed. He opened
the door.
A man with the face and build of a leprechaun looked at Hugh. His pale
but alert blue eyes peered steadily into Hugh’s. Hugh also began to
wonder why this customer at Davone’s Philatelic Shop should be making
the voyage to Mars with them.
“Yes, sir?” Hugh asked.
“May I come in?” the man asked. “My name is Oscar Benasco.”
Hugh hesitated, thinking about the valuable cargo, then he replied
reluctantly, “Yes.”
“Your father certainly has a fine shop, Hugh Davone,” the elderly man
said brightly as he entered. “However, I was disappointed to find out
that he had packed up some of his choicest space items and was selling
them to Mr. Elfs, a dealer on Mars.”
“You know quite a lot, Mr. Benasco,” Link remarked coolly.
“Yes, I pride myself on my shrewdness,” Mr. Benasco replied in a modest
manner. His roving eyes came to rest on the boys’ albums. “I see you two
have collections of your own.”
“Nothing very valuable,” Hugh replied. “But we enjoy our stamps just the
same.”
“Ah, yes,” Benasco said. His eyes brightened with eagerness and he
placed the tips of his outspread fingers together. “Speaking of valuable
items—those you are taking to Mars—no doubt you keep them in your
compartment safe. I wonder if you might show them to me?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Benasco,” Hugh said, “but I promised my dad I wouldn’t
take the stamps out to show anyone until they were safely in the hands
of Mr. Elfs on Mars.”
Benasco looked completely crestfallen. His rounded shoulders slumped and
the most pained expression covered his face. “Surely just a look—” he
pleaded.
“If you are going to Mars, as you must be,” Hugh went on, “you’ll be
able to see them all in Mr. Elfs’s shop, and you can talk to him about
any stamps you might want to buy.”
“Then that’s your final answer?” Mr. Benasco asked, his disappointment
giving way to annoyance.
“I’m afraid it must be,” Hugh told him. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve disappointed me sorely, young man,” Mr. Benasco retorted. “Good
day to you.”
He turned briskly and clattered out the door. As he left, Hugh caught
sight of the handle of an old type miniature rocket pistol protruding
from his coat pocket.
“Did you see that pistol?” Link asked, in surprise. “It’s a wonder he
didn’t hold us up for the stamps right here and now! But I guess he was
afraid to risk it.”
“For a moment I almost felt sorry for him and was about to give in,”
Hugh admitted. “Now I’m glad I didn’t.”
In the days that followed, Hugh and Link saw little of Mr. Benasco
except in the dining room.
One morning, near the end of the flight, Hugh and Link were standing in
front of their compartment port looking out. The orange-red globe of
Mars was so dominant that it seemed to press back the surrounding stars
and nebulae to near obscurity.
“Only a few more days and our shipment will be safely in the hands of
Mr. Elfs in Mars City,” Hugh said. “Then Mr. Benasco will be Mr. Elfs’s
worry.”
“That will be just dandy as far as I’m concerned,” Link replied
earnestly.
By this year of 2031, space mail service had increased to such
proportions that it had opened up a brand new field of stamp
specialization for the philatelist. It was for this reason that Mr. Elfs
was attempting a stamp hobby business in Mars City. Mr. Davone’s
portfolios of both low and high values was to provide him with the bulk
of his opening merchandise.
Even the most remote colonies of the Solar System, including the
farthest on Triton, Neptune, had their own postage by now. The lone
Triton bi-color, picturing Valhalla Peak, tallest mountain yet
discovered in the System, was one of the most wanted by collectors.
Suddenly the chimes for lunch were heard over the compartment intercom.
Entering the dining room, Hugh and Link saw Benasco in his usual place
at the end of the table near the door. They took their seats and Link
smiled at his plate. “Cubed beef, Hugh.”
Hugh grinned. “You can’t say they don’t aim to please on the _Princess
of Mars_.”
But the fellows did not get to finish their cubed roast, nor did anyone
else at the table.
A shock hit the ship like an unheralded thunderbolt. Hugh had the crazy
feeling of being in a nightmare. After the deafening report, he felt his
lap belt snap, and then he was hoisted out of his chair as though in the
vortex of a whirlwind. The table tore loose from the floor fittings.
Hugh bounced into a coffee urn and it nearly stunned him. Groans of
distress from those around him filled his ears.
“What has happened?” Hugh thought dazedly.
The ship’s disaster siren pealed along the corridors of the _Princess of
Mars_. Medical men with stretchers came running and officers snapped out
brisk orders. Hugh groped anxiously through the melee for Link. He
struggled over twisted chair tubing and found his friend helping those
who were hurt.
“We’ve got work to do,” Link told him.
Hugh rolled up his sleeves. He was still giddy. “I’m ready,” he said.
It was reported later that there were no fatalities, but there were
enough injured persons to keep the infirmary staff busy for awhile.
Hugh and Link, working side by side with the medical men, had not seen
anything of Benasco since the accident. The ship’s engineers revealed
that a meteorite had caused the disaster. It had struck fairly close to
the compartment occupied by Hugh and Link. Hugh shuddered to think what
it would have been like to have been tossed about in their room like a
pea in a whistle. Such would have been his and Link’s fate had the
strike occurred half an hour earlier.
The cadets had not yet had the opportunity to check their quarters for
damage. When the physician in charge finally freed them with thanks for
their help, Hugh thought about the stamps for the first time since the
unnerving incident.
“Link,” he said urgently, “we’ve got to get back and check on those
stamps! This has been a perfect set up for Benasco and his scheme!”
“Right behind you,” Link said as they hurried from the infirmary.
Along the way, the two found warped walls and doors that had been flung
open. Luckily all the occupants in the worst-hit area had been in the
dining room at the terrible moment, or there surely would have been
fatalities.
Reaching their compartment, Hugh and Link found that the door had been
forced open by the explosion.
Hugh hurried over to the wall safe. He felt a chill of dread race
through him. The vault door also was open and the chamber was empty.
“They’re gone!” Hugh said hoarsely. “All of Dad’s stamps are gone!”
Hugh slumped remorsefully on his cot, taut fingers combing through his
hair. “Dad wanted to have the stamps insured,” he said bitterly, “but I
was trying to save him money. The insurance fee was enormous, and on top
of that he would have had to pay the fare both to and from Mars for the
agents who would carry the shipment. How I wish they had done it now!”
“If Benasco has the stamps, we may still be able to recover them,” Link
said. “Let’s go see him.”
Hugh got up, his face set, his palm shaped into a fist. “If Benasco _is_
the one, I’ll personally—oh, never mind! Come on!”
They moved down corridor “E,” which was away from the center of the
damage. This was the hall where they knew Benasco’s room was located.
Scarcely anybody was in the section at present. Those who resided in the
nearby rooms were either helping out in the emergency, or they were idly
watching the beginning of repairs. The outside meteor bumper and the
inner buffer bulkheads had kept the destruction to a minimum. By
automatically sealing themselves off from the rest of the ship at the
moment of impact, the protective bulkheads had kept the ship from being
decompressed.
Hugh and Link found their suspect’s door closed. Hugh walked up to it
and tried the knob.
The door opened under Hugh’s push, but the compartment was vacant.
“He’s gone,” Link said.
“He must be somewhere close by,” Hugh returned impatiently. “We haven’t
passed him on the way, so he must be farther down the corridor.”
“Maybe he’s looking for a place to hide the portfolios until we land,”
Link suggested. “He knows we’ll suspect him of taking them.”
Hugh nodded. “Let’s go.”
As the two moved ahead down the quiet passageway, Link spoke in a tense
voice, “Do you think we’re right trying to tackle that little guy alone?
We’re each bigger than he is, but he’s got a pistol and we haven’t.”
“We’ll be careful,” Hugh promised.
There were a number of storerooms lining the corridor. The cadets
checked one after another. The rooms were shrouded in tomblike silence
and full of dark hiding places. But the search revealed no sign of
Benasco or the missing portfolios.
“He seems to have disappeared right into the air,” Link said
discouragingly. “Hugh, I hate to say it, but something tells me we
aren’t going to see either Benasco or those stamps again.”
They were approaching the door of an outer-ship repair room. Hugh knew
that a ladder in this room led directly up to the outside hull of the
ship.
“You’re probably thinking along the same lines that I am, Link,” Hugh
replied gravely. “It may be farfetched, but a person as shrewd as Mr.
Benasco makes out to be might have cooked up a pretty clever plan. He
may have had a portable transmitter hidden somewhere so that he could
contact another party outside the ship.”
“I get it!” Link said. “He might have radioed this crony in a space taxi
to meet him on the outer skin. Then they could both take off with the
loot and either land on Mars or on one of the moons!”
As Link spoke, Hugh was staring through the plastic window of the room.
A wall hid much of the interior from view. Suddenly he saw the very man
they were seeking cross the room and disappear beyond the corner of the
concealing wall.
Link caught a glimpse of him too. “Hey!” he burst out. “Wasn’t that
_him_?”
“It sure was,” Hugh replied, feeling better now. “He probably just
entered the room from another door along the next side corridor.”
Hugh gently turned the knob and the door swung open soundlessly. “We’ll
slip in softly,” he whispered. “Then we can try to take him by surprise
around the corner up ahead. We’ll have to watch our step because he’s
probably desperate and will have his pistol ready for use.”
“He deserves to get twenty years for a theft like this,” Link whispered
fiercely. “How did he ever expect to get away with it?”
“He _won’t_ get away with it,” Hugh whispered confidently. “Right now
he’s probably getting into a space suit so he can pop through the outer
hatch and join his confederate outside.”
They had reached the corner on tiptoe. Hugh, in the lead, peered
carefully around the corner. He gaped in surprise at what he saw:
Benasco was seated on the floor like a child with a new scrapbook, and
he was chattering away ecstatically to himself!
“My, oh, my, what a splendid group!” he was saying. “There’s a _tete
beche_ pair of old 1989 Space Stations I’ve always wanted! And look at
this one—a full sheet of Europa triangles! Oscar Benasco will have the
most splendid collection of space stamps in all the Solar System!”
[Illustration: _Benasco was seated on the floor like a child with a new
scrapbook_]
Hugh came out of hiding, followed by Link. “The jig’s up, Mr. Benasco,”
Hugh said. “How about returning our property?”
The old man was so preoccupied that he did not notice Hugh and Link
immediately. “Dear, dear,” he purred, “what a beautiful set of Einstein
memorial surcharges! I wonder if young Davone will break up the set? I
have some of them.”
“He’s just a queer old guy,” Link remarked as the two of them strode up
to him.
“Oh, hello, boys,” Mr. Benasco greeted them casually. “I was hoping I’d
found a place where I wouldn’t be disturbed for awhile. I knew you’d
come by my room. I hope you don’t mind the liberty I’ve taken with your
stamps. But I did _ask_ to see them and you refused, you know?”
Hugh took from him the portfolio he was holding. “How many stamps have
you removed from here?” he demanded.
The man’s snowy brows went up in surprised indignation. “Removed?” he
shrilled, his face coloring. “I’ve never been accused of stealing in my
life, sir! I merely borrowed your collection to see if it has the items
I need. When the explosion blew open your safe, it was simply a
temptation I could not resist.”
“Those rare items you need cost money,” Hugh reminded him. “Lots of it.”
“Young man,” Mr. Benasco grunted, “you do not need to tell me of the
value of postage stamps. I’m well acquainted with Scott’s catalogue. I
have every intention of paying for my merchandise.” He pulled out such a
wad of bills that Link gasped. “You see, I _can_ pay.”
“What about that rocket pistol you’re carrying in your pocket, Mr.
Benasco?” Link asked suspiciously. “Do you always go around armed?”
“Oh, this?” the old man asked, taking out the rusted miniature model.
“This is nothing but an old relic of mine when I was a space hand myself
on a freighter. I carry it with me sometimes, because it gives me a
feeling of confidence.”
Hugh chuckled as a vast feeling of relief came over him. “You certainly
had us fooled, Mr. Benasco. We thought surely you were a stamp thief out
to steal our valuable stamps.”
“Perhaps my methods have puzzled you somewhat,” Mr. Benasco declared.
“But I had to see those rarities before you got rid of them. Somebody
might have bought them before I could. Perhaps Mr. Elfs would have held
them out for his own collection. You must sell them to me, young man! I
believe I should die if I could not get them! Stamps represent the only
pleasure that is left to me.”
“All right, Mr. Benasco, since it means so much to you,” Hugh agreed,
smiling. “Being a hobbyist myself, I know what a hold stamps can have on
a person. We’ll take the portfolios back to our compartment and discuss
the stamps you want. But if my father or Mr. Elfs complains about this,
you’ll have to share the blame.”
“Gladly, gladly,” was the willing reply. “Do you mind telling us why
you’re going to Mars, Mr. Benasco?” Link asked.
“I’ve got a son there working on a canal project. He invited me and my
stamp collection to come and stay as long as I liked, since I had lived
with my other son so long in the States. I thought it was nice of him.”
As Hugh and Link were leading the way out of the room, the portfolios
safely tucked under their arms, Hugh remarked in a whisper to his pal,
“Link, I’ll never prejudge another person as long as I live.”
Link stole a look back at Mr. Benasco who was clicking along behind and
smiling rapturously. “That calls for a mutual pledge, Hugh,” Link
replied soberly, with a shake of his head. “Let’s shake on it.”
And they did.
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)