"True enough. If only those damnable clouds would act decently and
open up now."
Dr. Livingston and I were seated in the turret, bathed in the brilliant
sunlight. Zura at which we were rushing broadside, so to speak, was
now, even to the naked eye, a huge full-round disc, with the sunlight
gleaming turgid in its sullen, swirling cloud-masses of atmosphere.
By a queer mischance, we had had no break in the Zurian clouds since
leaving earth. At which side had we best approach? Our only purpose was
to land near some deposit of the Xalite.
But there was so much that we did not know. Were deposits of the
precious metal widespread over the little asteroid? Would it be found
only in a gaseous state, perhaps, so that we could not secure it? This
atmosphere--would we be able to breathe it; or would our air-masks be
necessary?
So much that we did not know, but there were many things about the
strange little world which already we had learned. Apparently it was of
a very great density. Dr. Livingston had calculated that back on earth.
Its gravity, despite its five hundred-mile diameter, was, he thought,
perhaps not much less than that of earth. And we knew now that it was
not presenting one side always to the sun, but was rotating on its
axis. A swift procession of days and nights, each some three or four
hours long.
It is far from my purpose to detail the trip of the _Planeteer_
from earth to Zura. All that has been written many times--with
embellishments--and space-flying today has lost its novelty. Ours was
a swift, uneventful passage, save that to us it was awe-inspiring
indeed. Alan Grant, the young outlaw-killer who had so unexpectedly
thrust himself upon us, had been a problem. His own case has now become
history; I need not detail that either, except to say that by my
experience with him, one may be a murderer and still inspire pity.
It is really horrible how quickly one may plunge downward in life.
Alan Grant was only a boy really. Jealous over a worthless woman, and
befuddled by alcoholite, in ten minutes he had changed himself from a
decent, self-respecting lad into a bloodstained, multiple killer. All
in ten minutes--with all the rest of his life to pay the penalty.
To Dr. Livingston he was a problem. There were none of us willing to
turn back to earth--even there at the start--just to deliver him to
the authorities. It may have been his pleading; and Dr. Livingston's
gentle, kindly nature. What would ultimately have been his fate,
back on earth, was something which, as events transpired, never had
to be decided. Certainly on the trip up to now, he had caused us no
trouble--an intelligent lad, seemingly eager to do his share of work.
We had told Carruthers and Duroh now about the Xalite. And Alan had
heard it also. His thin, boyish face had had a queer look, or at least
it seemed so to me.
The contamination of criminality! The thought had leaped into my mind,
though Heaven knows I said nothing. One crime so easily to lead to
another. But I flung away the thought. With a human excuse, Alan had
stained himself with blood. Somehow, knowing him through those days and
nights of that awing trip, I did not think he would want to repeat the
experience.
"You'll stay on watch?" Dr. Livingston said, now as we sat together in
the turret. "I'm tired, John. If those clouds break, call me at once."
"Yes," I agreed.
He went down to his room. Duroh and Carruthers were sleeping; and Alan
also. I was left alone in the turret. I drew the curtains to shroud the
sunlight. Bathed in starlight from the other side, I sat staring out
at Zura. Wild, sullen-looking little world. The sunlight shot into its
gray-black clouds with turgid orange and green light. We were so close
now that the huge cloudy ball was spread over much of the firmament,
with the white gleaming stars prismatic in the black abyss of space
around it. And with our still-rapid approach, the disc was almost
visibly enlarging.