Mark awakened suddenly, aware that someone was shaking him. Intense
light almost blinded him as he opened his eyes, and he shut them
hurriedly. He lay for a few seconds enjoying the luxury of the berth
on which he had slept. It had been long since he'd felt the yielding
comfort of a coil-pad beneath his body, or cool Lynon sheets against
his flesh.
"Rouse yourself, sluggard!" The voice was mocking, familiar, rich with
golden overtones. "Get that deficient brain of yours to working, lower
order!"
"Aladdo! You Venusian demon--where have you been?" In his delight
Mark grabbed Aladdo's slender hands and almost crushed them. "I was
beginning to think I'd have to tear this ship apart to find you!"
"My hands!" Aladdo exclaimed in alarm and withdrew them. But there
was shining joy in his smile. Perched on the edge of the berth, the
tiny Venusian regarded the giant Earthman with laughing eyes, bluer
even than the azure wings that hung like a cloak. But it was a subtly
different Aladdo; glowing and clean until the exquisitely chiseled
face was like alabaster, the curling close-cropped hair blue-black and
gleaming.
Dressed in a soft gray tunic and tight white trousers, the wings were
vivid in contrast, almost iridescent. The tiny feet were encased in
bootlets of red Ocelandian fur, and a belt of platinum links circled
the narrow waist, holding a holster with a small short-range atom-blast.
Surprised, Mark flicked a forefinger at the weapon and looked
inquiringly at Aladdo. "They let you have this?"
"Yes," the Venusian nodded. "Remember, Bedrim was my father; I can
be most useful to them. Although my father's dead, there are still
followers on three planets, ready at a moment's notice to rally behind
a leader. I could be that leader--or at least appear to be. I am a
guest of honor on this cruiser--a prisoner, of course," Aladdo smiled
ironically, "but shown every courtesy. I even have my own private
quarters instead of sleeping here with the crew."
"But what is it all about, Aladdo?" Mark was exasperated as the
mystery grew. "What's the purpose behind all this? Ruthless criminals
salvaged from a Venusian Prison swamp, and now this super-cruiser built
to withstand anything! And who is that girl? I--" But the Venusian
interrupted him.
"No time now. You'll learn everything presently. Dress quickly and come
with me."
"I'm dressed," Mark answered, springing up. He zipped on light,
insulated shoes and followed Aladdo to the main cabin. The rest of
the men were already there, clustered about the starboard ports in an
excited group. The light in this room was blazing. Mark could feel the
gentle vibration of the atomomotors somewhere deep in the spaceship,
and again the question overwhelmed him: where were they going?
* * * * *
He was soon to learn. Recklessly he gazed out into space. Instantly he
pivoted away, as if a gigantic hand had spun him. He had looked almost
directly into the sun!
It was a sun vast beyond imagining, tongues of flame flickering slowly
out for thousands of miles. He knew it was only the thickness of the
Crystyte ports that saved the men's eyes. Slowly Mark's eyes became
accustomed to the fierce glare and by shading them obliquely he could
discern the object of the men's excitement--a dark little speck of a
planet sweeping in its orbit just beyond the sun's rim. It rapidly grew
larger as the spaceship moved inward on a long tangent.
"Mercury!" Mark exclaimed, staring.
"No, we crossed the orbit of Mercury two hours ago." It was Aladdo who
spoke beside him.
"Then, that must be ... but it's impossible!" Mark laughed a little
wildly. "How long since we left Venus?"
"Ten hours, Earthman. It is possible. That is the planet Vulcan."
"Unbelievable," Mark almost whispered. "Why, it takes the fastest
Patrol cruiser forty-eight hours to reach Mercury's orbit from Venus.
Lord! What sort of speed has this Spacer?"
But Aladdo didn't answer. A door had opened and Luhor stepped in.
"Vulcan," he said tonelessly. "As we approach, even the thickness of
these ports won't be enough. Put on these."
He handed the men pairs of Crystyte goggles, the lenses specially
processed.
"Does this mean we're actually going to attempt a landing on Vulcan?"
Mark asked the half-breed. "It's madness! It has never been done!"
"But it has been done." Luhor gazed at Mark frigidly. "You merely have
never heard of it."
"Who's at the controls?" Mark struggled to subdue the excitement in his
voice.
"Why, the Commander, naturally--assisted by myself." Luhor's vast chest
arched with pride. "Observe closely, Earthman, and you will be treated
to as masterly a feat of navigation as you're likely ever to see
again!" His purple orbs roved over the men, clean-dressed, and rested,
the haunted look beginning to fade from their eyes. He nodded approval,
as he turned and left.
"A base at Vulcan!" Mark was repeating inwardly. And a cold fear at
this growing mystery grew apace within him.
It was not only a masterly feat of navigation--it was incredible as the
hurtling spaceship continued along its tangent, until Vulcan, slightly
smaller than Mercury, came swinging around to bisect their trajectory.
Very neatly, their speed was manipulated to allow the planet to come
between them and the sun; then the great Spacer began to pursue a
direct course. Mark noticed that Vulcan kept one side eternally
sunwards. Swiftly the spaceship approached the dark, outward side.
Actually it was not "dark" but it could be called so in comparison with
the molten sunward side.
Mark realized the almost insurmountable difficulty of keeping the
Spacer on a trajectory, with the sun's tremendous gravitational pull so
dangerously near; the slightest deviation now would send them hurtling
past Vulcan and into that naming hecotomb. He knew, as well, that there
could be no atmosphere on Vulcan to help them brake.
* * * * *
But even as these thoughts were racing through his mind, Vulcan came
rushing up at them with the fury of a miniature hell running rampant.
Its surface was lividly aglow, with the flaming curve of the sun as a
backdrop blotting out the horizon. Suddenly they were leveling over its
surface, at a speed that to Mark spelled disaster. He saw the fore-jets
flaming over a wide terrain of what might have been lava or pumice, but
that didn't seem to check their reckless speed at all. Directly ahead
black mountain ranges sheered upward as if to disembowel the ship on
jagged summits. Mark merely closed his eyes, awaiting the crash that
seemed inevitable. No ship he knew could ever brake in time at that
suicidal speed.
A terrific force jarred him to the floor. A profound nausea made him
retch. Then Luhor was touching his shoulder, and Mark opened his eyes.
"All out, we're home!" the half-breed grinned. "You're lucky that the
synchronized magnetic fields minimize deceleration, Earthman." Doors
were opening, voices were drifting into the ship. The vibration of the
atomomotors had ceased.
White-faced and shaken, the men debarked into a wide corridor hewn out
of solid rock, into which the ship had berthed. Glancing back, Mark saw
metal doors of titanic proportions now hermetically closed; ahead were
similar doors. Then he heard the deep, far-away throbbing of generators
and he knew that he was in an air-lock built on a gigantic scale. A few
seconds later the inner doors slid open.
As they walked forward Luhor turned to Mark with a proud smile. "You
won't find _that_ type of navigation in the 'Advanced Principles,' eh,
Earthman?"
"No, indeed not," Mark admitted. "But I still don't understand that
braking process!"
Luhor pointed to colossal sets of coils, in niches along each side of
the vast corridor. "Synchronized magnetic degravitation fields; they
arrest mass and speed synchronously, finally stopping the spacer in a
graduating net of force. Similar coils to these exist for a mile along
the gorge back there, through which we came. Even so it is a very
delicate and precise process."
They stepped into a grotto so vast as to dwarf anything Mark had ever
imagined. It extended for miles, sheltering an entire little city! Mark
saw rows of stone dwellings, stream-lined, ultra-modern. From larger
buildings came the sounds of blast furnaces and an occasional flash of
ruddy glow. Groups of workmen hurried past, glanced curiously at the
new arrivals but didn't stop to fraternize. And then Mark saw Carston.
Ernest Carston! One of the very highest men among the Tri-Planetary
Prison Bureau officials! The surprise stopped Mark Denning in his
tracks, but fortunately, thanks to his training, he managed to keep his
face impassive as they recognized each other simultaneously. Carston
flashed him a quick look that seemed to say, "Later!"
Then the newcomers were marching in silence to a spacious building,
where they were assigned rooms. The furnishings were simple, but
comfortable, and Luhor led them to the rear of the building where the
dining-room was located.
They ate with the famished eagerness of men who had long subsisted on
compressed synthetic rations. Then they were issued cigarettes. To the
men who had been doomed on Venus only a few hours previously, it was
like awakening in heaven from a nightmare in hell.
Through Mark's mind ran an ancient saying: "Eat, drink and be merry,
for tomorrow...."