To remain on Mars meant death from agonizing
space-sickness, but Earth-surgery lay
days of flight away. And there was only
a surface rocket in which to escape--with
a traitorous Ganymedean for its pilot.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Fall 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Listen, Rat!" Roberds said, "what _I_ say goes around here. It doesn't
happen to be any of your business. I'm still in possession of my wits,
and I know Peterson can't handle that ship. Furthermore Gladney will
be in it too, right along side of that sick girl in there! And Rat,
get this: _I'm_ going to pilot that ship. Understand? Consulate or
no Consulate, job or no job, I'm wheeling that crate to Earth because
this is an emergency. And the emergency happens to be bigger than my
position, to me at any rate." His tone dropped to a deadly softness.
"Now will you kindly remove your stinking carcass from this office?"
Unheeding, Rat swung his eyes around in the gloom and discovered the
woman, a nurse in uniform. He blinked at her and she returned the look,
wavering. She bit her lip and determination flowed back. She met the
stare of his boring, off-colored eyes. Rat grinned suddenly. Nurse Gray
almost smiled back, stopped before the others could see it.
"Won't go!" The Centaurian resumed his fight. "You not go, lose job,
black-listed. Never get another. Look at me. I know." He retreated
a precious step to escape a rolled up fist. "Little ship carry four
nice. Rip out lockers and bunks. Swing hammocks. Put fuel in water
tanks. Live on concentrates. Earth hospital fix bellyache afterwards,
allright. I pilot ship. Yes?"
"No!" Roberds screamed.
Almost in answer, a moan issued from a small side room. The men in the
office froze as Nurse Gray ran across the room. She disappeared through
the narrow door.
"Peterson," the field manager ordered, "come over here and help me
throw this rat out...." He went for Rat. Peterson swung up out of his
chair with balled fist. The outlander backed rapidly.
"No need, no need, no need!" he said quickly. "I go." Still backing, he
blindly kicked at the door and stepped into the night.
* * * * *
When the door slammed shut Roberds locked it. Peterson slumped in the
chair.
"Do you mean that, Chief? About taking the ship yourself?"
"True enough." Roberds cast an anxious glance at the partly closed
door, lowered his voice. "It'll cost me my job, but that girl in there
has to be taken to a hospital quickly! And it's her luck to be landed
on a planet that doesn't boast even one! So it's Earth ... or she
dies. I'd feel a lot better too if we could get Gladney to a hospital,
I'm not too confident of that patching job." He pulled a pipe from a
jacket pocket. "So, might as well kill two birds with one stone ... and
that wasn't meant to be funny!"
Peterson said nothing, sat watching the door.
"Rat has the right idea," Roberds continued, "but I had already thought
of it. About the bunks and lockers. Greaseball has been out there all
night tearing them out. We just _might_ be able to hop by dawn ... and
hell of a long, grinding hop it will be!"
The nurse came out of the door.
"How is she?" Roberds asked.
"Sleeping," Gray whispered. "But sinking...."
"We can take off at dawn, I think." He filled the pipe and didn't look
at her. "You'll have to spend most of the trip in a hammock."
"I can take it." Suddenly she smiled, wanly. "I was with the Fleet. How
long will it take?"
"Eight days, in _that_ ship."
Roberds lit his pipe, and carefully hid his emotions. He knew Peterson
was harboring the same thoughts. Eight days in space, in a small ship
meant for two, and built for planetary surface flights. Eight days in
that untrustworthy crate, hurtling to save the lives of that girl and
Gladney.
"Who was that ... man? The one you put out?" Gray asked.
"We call him Rat," Roberds said.
She didn't ask why. She said: "Why couldn't he pilot the ship, I mean?
What is his record?"
Peterson opened his mouth.
"Shut up, Peterson!" the Chief snapped. "We don't talk about his record
around here, Miss Gray. It's not a pretty thing to tell."
"Stow it, Chief," said Peterson. "Miss Gray is no pantywaist." He
turned to the nurse. "Ever hear of the Sansan massacre?"