I stood on the turret balcony of the _Planetara_ with Captain Carter
and Dr. Frank, the ship surgeon, watching the arriving passengers. It
was close to the zero hour; the level of the stage was a turmoil of
confusion. The escalators, with the last of the freight aboard, were
folded back. But the stage was jammed with incoming passenger luggage,
the interplanetary customs and tax officials with their x-ray and
zed-ray paraphernalia and the passengers themselves, lined up for the
export inspection.
At this height, the city lights lay spread in a glare of blue and
yellow beneath us. The individual local planes came dropping like
birds to our stage. Thirty-eight passengers to Mars for this voyage,
but that accursed desire of every friend and relative to speed the
departing voyager brought a hundred or more extra people to crowd our
girders and add to everybody's troubles.
Carter was too absorbed in his duties to stay with us long. But here
in the turret Dr. Frank and I found ourselves at the moment with
nothing much to do but watch.
Dr. Frank was a thin, dark, rather smallish man of fifty, trim in his
blue and white uniform. I knew him well: we had made several flights
together. An American--I fancy of Jewish ancestry. A likable man, and
a skillful doctor and surgeon. He and I had always been good friends.
"Crowded," he said. "Johnson says thirty-eight. I hope they're
experienced travelers. This pressure sickness is a rotten
nuisance--keeps me dashing around all night assuring frightened women
they're not going to die. Last voyage, coming out of the Venus
atmosphere--"
He plunged into a lugubrious account of his troubles with space sick
voyagers. But I was in no mood to listen to him. My gaze was down on
the spider incline, up which, over the bend of the ship's sleek,
silvery body, the passengers and their friends were coming in little
groups. The upper deck was already jammed with them.
The _Planetara_, as flyers go, was not a large vessel. Cylindrical of
body, forty feet maximum beam, and two hundred and seventy-five feet
in length. The passenger superstructure--no more than a hundred feet
long--was set amidships. A narrow deck, metallically enclosed, and
with large bull's-eye windows, encircled the superstructure. Some of
the cabins opened directly onto the deck. Others had doors to the
interior corridors. There were half a dozen small but luxurious public
rooms.
The rest of the vessel was given to freight storage and the mechanism
and control compartments. Forward of the passenger structure the deck
level continued under the cylindrical dome roof to the bow. The
forward watch tower observatory was here, officers' cabins, Captain
Carter's navigating rooms and Dr. Frank's office. Similarly, under the
stern dome, was the stern watch tower and a series of power
compartments.
Above the superstructure a confusion of spider bridges, ladders and
balconies were laced like a metal network. The turret in which Dr.
Frank and I now stood was perched here. Fifty feet away, like a bird's
nest, Snap's instrument room stood clinging to the metal bridge. The
dome roof, with the glassite windows rolled back now, rose in a mound
peak to cover the highest middle portion of the vessel.
Below, in the main hull, blue lit metal corridors ran the entire
length of the ship. Freight storage compartments; gravity control
rooms; the air renewal system; heater and ventilators and pressure
mechanisms--all were located there. And the kitchens, stewards'
compartments, and the living quarters of the crew. We carried a crew
of sixteen, this voyage, exclusive of the navigating officers, the
purser, Snap Dean, and Dr. Frank.
The passengers coming aboard seemed a fair representation of what we
usually had for the outward voyage to Ferrok-Shahn. Most were Earth
people--and returning Martians. Dr. Frank pointed out one. A huge
Martian in a grey cloak. A seven foot fellow.
"His name is _Set_ Miko," Dr. Frank remarked. "Ever heard of him?"
"No," I said. "Should I?"
"Well--" The doctor suddenly checked himself, as though he were sorry
he had spoken.
"I never heard of him," I repeated slowly.
An awkward silence fell between us.
There were a few Venus passengers. I saw one of them presently coming
up the incline, and recognized her. A girl traveling alone. We had
brought her from Grebhar, last voyage but one. I remembered her. An
alluring sort of girl, as most of them are. Her name was Venza. She
spoke English well. A singer and dancer who had been imported to
Greater New York to fill some theatrical engagement. She'd made quite
a hit on the Great White Way.
She came up the incline with the carrier ahead of her. Gazing up, she
saw Dr. Frank and me at the turret window, smiled and waved her white
arm in greeting.
Dr. Frank laughed. "By the gods of the airways, there's Alta Venza!
You saw that look, Gregg? That was for me, not you."
"Reasonable enough," I retorted. "But I doubt it--the Venza is nothing
if not impartial."
I wondered what could be taking Venza now to Mars. I was glad to see
her. She was diverting. Educated. Well traveled. Spoke English with a
colloquial, theatrical manner more characteristic of Greater New York
than of Venus. And for all her light banter, I would rather put my
trust in her than any Venus girl I had ever met.
The hum of the departing siren was sounding. Friends and relatives of
the passengers were crowding the exit incline. The deck was clearing.
I had not seen George Prince come aboard. And then I thought I saw him
down on the landing stage, just arrived from a private tube car. A
small, slight figure. The customs men were around him. I could only
see his head and shoulders. Pale, girlishly handsome face; long, black
hair to the base of his neck. He was bare-headed, with the hood of his
traveling cloak pushed back.
I stared, and I saw that Dr. Frank was also gazing down. But neither
of us spoke.