"Introducing Larkspur O'Day...."
In exactly three days, one hour and forty-five minutes Solar Constant
time, the _Liberty_ dropped to a perfect landing in a cradle on the
rocketdrome of Sun City, seat of the Venusian planetary government.
As Warren had foretold, their arrival was unchallenged by any ship
of the SSP fleet. Sole occupants of the rocketdrome's cradles were
lumbering freighters and sleek merchantmen emblazoned with the emblem
of Earth's merchant marine.
But if their arrival was unchallenged it was not unexpected. A host of
ebony-skinned Venusians gathered about their ship instantly. As soon as
their party emerged from the lock, a delegation moved forward to greet
them. With but a few words of preamble they were whisked away to the
Venusian Council Hall. There, serving as spokesman for the group, Gary
Lane launched earnestly upon an explanation of the mission which had
brought them hither.
It was a strikingly different group of beings whom Gary now spoke to
than those to whom he had addressed his plea on Earth three short days
ago. The Venusians were human. Upon his conquest of space, man had
discovered--somewhat to his surprise and more than a little to the
chagrin of the ethnologists who had predicted otherwise--that nowhere
(in the solar galaxy at least) had risen to planetary supremacy any
race of creatures other than that represented by _Homo sapiens_.
But where on Earth of the Twenty-third century white, or Caucasian,
man was the acknowledged cultural leader of his planet, here on Venus
the situation was reversed. The planetary overlords were dark-skinned
men of magnificent figure and intellect. The planet embraced only a
minority of the white and yellow-skinned races. And these, when found,
were for the most part centuries deeper in barbarism and savagery than
were the negroid rulers of the planet.
To the bafflement of science, laboratory research had proven beyond
the shadow of a doubt that these Venusians bore a fundamental kinship
with the dark-skinned races of Earth. Blood plasma, hair structure, and
other physiological phenomena proved Earth's dark children were more
nearly related to the Venusians than to their own terrestrial brethren.
All this Gary Lane had known in advance. So it was with no surprise he
addressed himself to the Venusian court. He did, however, despite the
intensity of his purpose, in some dim recess of his mind find time to
marvel that the racial characteristics of the colored men, sometimes
mildly amusing at home, were here lifted and dignified by universal
usage to a station of high importance.
The great vaulted Council chamber, with its curving spires and gaudily
tinted walls; the bright colored raiment, the elaborate equipage and
formality with which the Venusians embellished their pomp, on Earth
might have exacted derision. Here they seemed the normal, the true and
graceful and cultured thing.
* * * * *
And if there was a certain childlike love of color and circumstances in
the Venusian heart, it was no juvenile attention the Venusian overlords
turned upon Lane's words. They listened carefully and thoughtfully to
what he had to say, then conferred briefly amongst themselves. Finally
their Chief Councillor turned to him.
"Your story is fantastic, but there is a certain ominous ring of truth
in its telling. Still we do not quite understand. Why have you come to
Venus? What would you have of us?"
"One of the four things," answered Gary, "requisite to our escaping our
own solar galaxy that we may seek the cause which threatens to bring
about our doom. We need from you--_fuel_. Sufficient stores of precious
_neurotrope_, which only your planet produces. It is the only fuel with
great enough power in small enough quantity to serve our purposes."
"And how much," asked the Venusian spokesman, "of this fuel would you
need?"
"A minimum of five thousand tons."
"Five thousand tons!"
The noblemen murmured amongst themselves restlessly. Their leader bent
a shrewd, hard glance upon Gary.
"That is much fuel, Earthman."
"We have far to go," replied Gary. "From here to Mars ... from Mars to
Jupiter ... then outward, beyond this universe itself. Five thousand
tons of _neurotrope_ is barely enough for our needs."
"It is _also_ enough," reminded the other, "to fuel the whole of your
Earth fleet for a trip to Venus."
"Yes," acknowledged Gary, "I suppose that's true. But this is a
relatively short trip, whereas--" Then he stopped suddenly, the
implication of the other's words striking him. "But surely you can't
think--!"
"Our relationship with your planet," said the Chief Councillor slowly,
"has not always been ... pleasant. We have small reason to place great
faith in your words and promises; none whatsoever to turn over to you
a supply of the only important military weapon we possess. Unless, of
course--"
Gary grasped the straw eagerly. "Yes?"
"Unless you would be willing to show your good faith by disclosing to
us, in return, an Earthly secret vital to our defense."
"But," faltered Gary, "I know no such secret."
"I think you do. You came here in a spacecraft. It contains the secret
we want. The knowledge of the hypatomic motor which drives it."
Gary's heart sank. He turned to Hugh Warren.
"Tell them, Hugh, what you told us on the trip here."
Warren did so. The councillors were courteous but unmoved. Their chief
merely shrugged as he made reply.
"The situation is even worse than I thought. Earth's government is so
jealous of its military secrets that it does not entrust them even to
the Patrolmen who fight in its cause. No, gentlemen, I am afraid--"
* * * * *
It was the girl, Nora Powell, who interrupted him.
"But, Excellency," she cried, springing forward, "you can't _do_ this!
You can't risk the very existence of a dozen worlds for the sake of a
selfish principle. You can't turn us away like this. Don't you realize
what these men have dared already? Disgrace and death at the hands
of their compatriots, unless our mission succeeds. We are exiles,
fugitives from Earth, fighting alone and single-handed to protect Earth
and all Sol's other children from--"
The councillor said, "Yes, we have heard the news by ultrawave radio of
your--er--melodramatic escape from Earth. Surely, my dear young lady,
you do not think we are taken in by such a ruse? It is an exquisitely
imaginative tale. But we find it scarcely credible that five learnéd
scientists and a crew of Solar Patrolmen should 'steal' a ship against
the will of Earth's government.
"It is more likely--_much_ more likely--that your world, in order to
gain a sufficient supply of our vital fuel, has planned this little
drama."
"Why," burst out Flick Muldoon indignantly, "that's nonsense! Begging
your pardon, Excellency, but that idea's as crazy as hell! We did this
on our own hook in order to--"
But Gary stopped him before the irate cameraman's outspoken indignation
should only worsen their plight. He asked quietly, "That is your final
and considered decision?"
The councillor nodded for himself and his associates.
"It is. When you return to Earth you may tell your government we of
Venus are not fools. And now, farewell."
He nodded to a retinue of guards. Short minutes later the dejected
little group was being led back toward the spaceport.
For the most part they were silent, each lost in the overwhelming
sadness of his own thoughts. Only one spoke, and he in a mutter. That
one was Flick Muldoon.
"Not fools, eh? I wonder if he'd like to make book on that...."
* * * * *
"So," said Hugh Warren, "that seems to be that. What do we do now,
Gary? Give up?"
Gary said, "I don't know _what_ to do, Hugh."
"I am afraid," sighed Dr. Anjers, "our mission is a failure. Perhaps it
were best we go back to Earth and throw ourselves on the clemency of
the World Council."
"You maybe," said the skipper of the _Liberty_ ruefully, "but not me.
I'm in it too deep. Well, Gary, better make up your mind."
"We go on," decided Lane suddenly. "That's all we _can_ do. Swallow
this failure and go on to Mars. Perhaps there our plea will meet with
more success."
"But," demurred Dr. Bryant, "if we lack sufficient fuel--"
"We must find some substitute," said Gary. But even as he said it,
he knew he was guilty of wishful thinking. There was no substitute
for _neurotrope_. There were many fuels capable of adaptation to the
explosion chamber of hypatomic motors, but none compact enough and
powerful enough to make possible the long, sustained flight which lay
before them.
Warren said, "You're the doctor," and turned to the control studs,
setting the stops for the next leg of their journey, that which must
carry them 200,000,000 miles through space to the crimson, arid comet
of Mars.
As he depressed the proper button, lights flashed and relays clicked.
Small bells jangled in the bowels of the ship, setting unseen engineers
and crewmen to the fulfillment of their tasks.
Skipper Warren smiled drearily, "Well, at any rate," he said, "we have
the satisfaction of knowing that fuel or no fuel, we have under us the
smoothest little ship in space. Mile for mile it will give us more
speed per pound of fuel than any other ship--"
He stopped suddenly, lurching and grasping for support, startled into
silence as the deck beneath him bucked and quivered violently. Someone
shouted. Nora screamed a little scream of dismay. Only by grasping an
upright of the control turret did Gary Lane keep himself from tumbling
bruisingly across the room. Flick Muldoon, victim of an unexpectedly
violent threepoint landing, glared up irately from the floor.
"Smoothest little ship in space, eh? It's sure acting like it now."
But Captain Hugh Warren's face had suddenly drained of color. Now his
hands smashed open the ship's intercommunicating system, and he bawled,
"_We're caught in an enemy tractor beam! All hands at battle stations!
Stand by to repel boarders!_"
But overlapping his command came that of a second voice, one crisp and
cool and pleasantly amused,
"I shouldn't if I were you, Captain. You see, we're already alongside,
with our guns trained on you. It would be wiser to bow to the
inevitable."
"But what ... who...?" gasped Dr. Bryant.
Hugh Warren turned from his controls with a shrug of resignation, and
in a voice of gathering despair, "Troubles," he said, "never come
singly. Now it's pirates."
* * * * *
Minutes later he was proven correct. There came the grating clamor
of spacecraft in embrace, the hiss of opening airlocks, and into the
_Liberty_ strode a band of Earthmen, bulger-clad and armed to the teeth.
With the swift efficiency of long practice, these men dispersed
throughout the ship to accomplish their marauding aims. Only their
leader and a lieutenant refrained from piratical activity. These came
to the bridge of the _Liberty_, and there with an ease and calmness
Gary Lane found amazing under the circumstances, addressed themselves
to the skipper of the invaded vessel.
"Greetings, Captain. No hard feelings, I hope? If you'll just toss
your sidearms over into the corner--There, that's better. No reason
we shouldn't enjoy a pleasant little chat until my men have completed
their mission."
"Mission?" grated Warren savagely. "What mission? Damn your rascally
hide, we're no merchantman. This is a cruiser of the Solar Space
Patrol."
The corsair chieftain chuckled pleasantly.
"Why, yes, Captain. So we noticed. That's our mission. I thought it
would be a good joke to stop you--just to see if we could, you know.
And as a matter of proof, in case anyone should ever contest our claim,
I've asked my men to remove the insignia from the uniforms of each of
your crew. Sorry to seem impolite, Captain, but if you wouldn't mind
tossing me your epaulettes ... just as a little souvenir, you know--"
Hugh Warren's face, which had been apoplectic with rage, now froze in
slack-jawed wonder.
"J-joke!" he stammered. "Just to see if you could? Souvenir! There's
only one pirate in space crazy enough to do a thing like this. You must
be--"
The marauder smiled amiably. "Well, now," he drawled, "that's right
flattering of you, Captain. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is
O'Day. Larkspur O'Day."