Death stalked the _Libra_. The
Io-plunging space liner freighted a
secret weapon, and the rebel Kreuther
had vowed it should not arrive.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The ship's clock bonged drowsily three times. Bud Chandler, the junior
watch, glared at it languidly. "Thus," he yawned, "endeth the lobster
patrol. Three bells, my fine bucko--and the soft, warm hay for you.
Or--" There was a hopeful note in his voice. "Or would you like to
finish out my trick for me? I'll stand double for _you_ some night."
Dan Mallory said, "Comets to you, sailor!" And he rose, stretching
the kinks out of weary muscles. His collar was open at the throat,
his back ached from five solid hours in the bucket-shaped control
chair. His eyes were strained. That was from peering alternately at
glowing panels, through a _perilens_ plate into the murky, blue-black
space before the void-hurtling _Libra_, and back to the panels again.
"There's a little thing called sleep which I'm going to grab some of.
As soon as Norton shows up. Where the pink Cepheids--?"
"Tell you what. Finish my trick tonight, Dan, and I'll double for you
_twice_. That's fair enough, isn't it?"
"Fair enough," said Mallory, "but not sufficiently enticing. Like an
albino on a desert planetoid. Ah, here's our hero now! Welcome, Sir
Relief! Dump it into the basket and let poppa go seek the arms of
Morpheus."
"Who's she?" growled Rick Norton, Third Mate. His eyes were puffy; he
squinted and glared at the bright lights of the control turret. "Hell's
howling acres, I'm tired! I just about got to sleep when--Oh, well. Log
in order?"
"Directly." Mallory shot a curious glance at Norton. "Just got to
sleep? How come? What were you doing up so late?"
"It wasn't official business," answered the junior officer curtly,
"so it's none of yours. Let's have your log sheet." He slumped into
the control chair, squinted through the _perilens_ and made a few
tiny course corrections. Across the room, Bud Chandler's shoulders
shrugged a reply to Dan's swift lift of the eyebrows. The Second Mate's
lips formed a word. "Sore-head!" Mallory nodded. Norton _was_ a surly
son-of-a-spacewrangler.
But that wasn't any skin off his nose. He went to the chart table.
Footsteps clattered up the Jacob's ladder, the door flew open and the
Old Man stomped onto the bridge. He snapped, "'Zuwere!" and glowered
over Mallory's shoulder, shrewd, space-faded eyes reading sense into
the senior lieutenant's neat, precise columns. He jabbed a horny finger
at one line of figures. "Sure o' that, Mallory? Velocity that high?"
Mallory said respectfully, "Yes, sir. All figures have been checked
and double checked. We're point oh-oh-one on course. Forced speed,
point thirty-nine above normal."
"Checked and double checked," said Captain Algase, "is good enough most
of the time. But this trip is special. And vitally important. Forty
thousand innocent lives depend on our reaching Io damn soon! Remember
that, Mallory. All of you remember that."
The stern lines of his face eased a trifle. "It's been a hard shuttle,
I know. A brutal, punishing trip. And we've all been under a terrific
strain. But our difficulties are nothing compared to those of the
garrison and the honest colonists of New Fresno. They're looking to us
for aid, and we're bringing them aid.
"That is, someone aboard this ship is. I honestly don't know who that
person is. No one knows except the man himself, the commander of the
SSP Intelligence Department on Earth, and maybe someone at New Fresno.
But he _is_ on board, either an officer, sailor or passenger, and he
_is_ carrying to Io the plans for the new ray weapon recently perfected
by the SSP Ordnance Bureau.
"Those plans will enable our New Fresno garrison to subdue this
mysterious uprising on Io. That's why the _Libra_ is traveling at
forced speed. That's why we must redouble every normal precaution to
insure our reaching the Io colony. That's why, too, we must keep our
eyes open; watch even each other. What's the matter with you, Norton?"
* * * * *
Norton had started suddenly. Now he muttered, red-faced, "Sorry, sir.
Sudden light in the visiplate. It looked like a meteoride."
"There's nothing there now," said the skipper.
But Chandler repeated, "Watch each other, Captain? I don't get it.
We're all pledged and trusted members of the Solar Space Patrol, aren't
we? We all live by the SSP motto. I don't see--" He fingered his breast
insignia, that tiny, golden rocket emblazoned with the words, _Order
out of Chaos_. "I don't see why we should--"
"Because," explained the skipper grimly, "wherever there's an uprising
there are converts to the new cause, traitors to the old. Where there
are plans, there are spies to steal them. That's not a warning from
H.Q.; that's plain, old-fashioned horse-sense. I fought through the
Rollie Rebellion, you know. After the Grantland massacre I discovered
that one of my own messmates was in the pay of the Mercurians.
"I won't say for sure that there is a spy aboard the _Libra_. But if
there is, we must give him no opportunity to learn anything. Weary or
not, we must remain on the alert at all times. But I needn't say any
more. Finished, Mallory?"
"Yes, sir. Log in order, sir."
"Very good. You may retire. Chandler, you seem to be fagged."