"A gabby zombie?" sniffed the Old Man. "I'll finish your trick for you.
Go get some rest." Still glowering, he plumped himself into the seat
vacated by Chandler, cut in the intercommunications board, audioed the
radio turret. "Is that you, Sparks? Wake up, you lazy scut! Any news
from the Earth? Or Mars Central?"
The radioman's voice clacked metallically, "No, sir. I can't get
through to any station. The rebel forces at New Fresno are still
jamming the ether with static interference on all wave bands."
"Well, keep trying. Let me know if you get through. Well?" The skipper
glanced back over his shoulder. "Well, I thought you two were tired?
What are you waiting for? Want to stand another trick apiece?"
"No, sir!" said both men hastily. "We're leaving, sir!" They fled.
"Ain't he a whipper, though?" asked Chandler affectionately. "He growls
like a terrier pup, but he's got no more bite than a cup custard.
'Scuse me!" A gigantic yawn split his grin in two. "Must have been
something I et!"
"The hell of it is," said Mallory ruefully, "now I'm off duty, I'm not
a bit tired. I wasn't tired at all, really. Just had hardening of the
panties from squatting in that seat so long. Got a cigarette?"
Chandler tossed him a package. "And don't swipe the coupon, either.
Six thousand more and I get an electronic microscope. Well, you can do
what you like. I'm going bye-bye and try to forget the waffles that
bucket-seat has pressed into my hip pockets. 'Night, pal!"
His footsteps rang sharp little echoes on the metal flooring, echoes
that hollowed as he disappeared down a corridor leading to the sleeping
quarters and Mallory turned toward the observation deck.
* * * * *
The tall First Mate leaned against the heavy quartzite pane staring
into the depths of space through which the _Libra_ scudded. The sight
was no novelty to him, but as ever it wakened in his heart a sense of
awe, a feeling of weird instability, a sort of pride in Man that he,
of all the many, strange life-forms experimenting nature had devised,
should so far be the only one whose imagination was so great, whose
curiosity was so strong, that he had found a way to fling himself at
blinding speed across the broad, unfathomable reaches of the void.
It was disheartening to realize that even though he had attained the
stars, Man had not yet sloughed off the instincts and habits of the
ape from which he sprang. Man's genius had blazed a path across the
spaceways, Man's bravery had established new colonies from scorching
Mercury to frozen Uranus. SSP lightships bridged the chasms between and
beyond; even now the concentrated rays of faraway Sol were steaming the
rimy crust off Pluto that Earth's miners might extract the valuable
ores revealed by the spectroscope. But with the growth of the colonies,
Man's ever latent cupidity had come into play. This past half century,
thought Dan Mallory with a sort of savage anger, had been nothing but
one long, bloody era of warfare between the forces of law and the
outlawry of the greedy.
Now there was this uprising on the first satellite of Jupiter; Io. A
charming little world. A pleasant Earth-like orb, spinning quietly
about its gigantic parent. Up to this time, its natives had never been
troublesome. Squat, muscular creatures, more or less anthropoid, except
for the fact that their complexions had a pale, greenish cast and their
eyes were double-lidded like those of snakes. They had an intelligence
of .63 on the Solar Constant scale. Within a century or so the control
board meant to award them autonomy; toward this end educators had been
working ever since Io had been removed from the British Imperial
Protectorate in 2221.
Trouble had sprung, both literally and figuratively, like a bolt from
the blue. A cosmic _blitzkrieg_. One moment there had been peace and
sweet content on Io; the next came a frantic, garbled message about "a
rebel army ... natives ... led by...." The rest had been drowned in
an ear-drum blasting burst of electronic static that had rendered all
further communication impossible.
"Kreuther!" said Mallory thoughtfully. The affair sounded like one
of Kreuther's moves. That power-mad genius, exiled from Earth after
the thwarted Lunar Campaign of 2234, was accustomed to strike in just
this fashion. He alone, of all avowed SSP enemies, had the persuasive
ability to win to his cause a horde of normally contented Ionians, the
wealth with which to set into motion war's red machinery, the genius
with which to disrupt interplanetary communications.
"But if it is Kreuther," thought Mallory consolingly, "this time he's
bitten off more than he can chew. That new weapon--" He wondered,
briefly, which officer, sailor, passenger, had been entrusted with the
secret of the new ray gun's construction. Then he cast the thought from
his mind. It was none of his business. It were better he didn't know.
It was at that stage of his reverie that a sudden byplay of movement
captured his attention. In an instant he had cupped his cigarette into
his palm, stepped into a dark patch of shadow. A figure had glided
from the passageway that led to the sleeping quarters, was now peering
uncertainly into the observation deck. It was David Wilmot, one of the
six passengers aboard the _Libra_.
Wilmot's thin face was pinched with nervousness; he coughed, a thin
little hacking sound in the muted quiet, then put the back of his hand
to his mouth. Dan stood motionless, his dark uniform blending perfectly
with the drapes that concealed him. As he waited, watching, the door
at the far end of the deck opened, a short, plump man in night-robe
entered. Wilmot sprang forward eagerly. His whisper carried to Dan's
keen ears. "Have you got them, Doctor?"
"Quiet, you fool!" Dr. Bonetti's forehead creased angrily; his
eyeglasses reflected a subdued light owlishly. He fumbled in his
pocket, passed something white to the other man. "Here! But not a word,
about this, mind you!"
"I know. I know." Wilmot seized the papers avidly, turned and fled down
the corridor whence he had emerged. The doctor stared after him for a
moment, shook his head regretfully, then disappeared. The door closed
behind him softly.
"_That's why, too, we must keep our eyes open--._"
The skipper's words echoed in Dan Mallory's memory as he stepped from
his hiding place, brow furrowed. What the devil was going on here?
Could Bonetti have been the bearer of the secret plans; could Wilmot
have been the spy? Had he just witnessed the sell-out of a traitor?
But before he could get his jumbled thoughts into order, a voice
addressed him from behind, gravely, quietly.
"Rather confusing, eh, Lieutenant?"
Dan whirled to look into the face of Garland Smith, another of the
_Libra's_ passengers. He said, half pettishly, "You, Captain? What are
_you_ doing up at this time of night?"
* * * * *
The one-time officer of the SSP, now on the retired list, shot a swift
glance at the glittering panorama visible through the quartzite plates.
"Night, Lieutenant? Night and day are nothing but quirks of speech out
here, sleep a matter of habit. When you have lifted gravs as many years
as _I_ have--" He sighed. "I was restless. And perhaps it is just as
well. I witnessed the same thing you did. And strange things are going
on aboard the _Libra_."
Mallory said cautiously, "Perhaps you're too apprehensive, Captain.
Just because two passengers are sleepless like yourself, meet in the
observation chamber--"
"They're not the only two who are still awake. The whole slumbering
ship stirs with movement, my boy. A moment or so before you arrived I
saw Albert Lemming stealing down the No. 2 corridor--and 'stealing' is
the only word that describes his progress. Before that, Mrs. Wilmot had
a secret rendezvous with some one in the smoking room; I don't know who
her companion was. And Lady Alice has not been in her cabin all night."
The older man's eyes sought Mallory's, his gaze was piercing.
"My boy, I realize that I no longer rank you. But not so long ago, I
was your senior. Once a Patrolman, always a Patrolman, you know. I feel
we are in the midst of an intrigue too weighty for one man to solve.
Perhaps the experience of an old officer may help. Tell me, is it true
what I have heard? That someone aboard this vessel is carrying to the
New Fresno garrison the secret of Earth's new ray weapon? If so, the
mysterious actions we've witnessed may be espionage, agents of the
Kreuther forces--"
Mallory said respectfully, "I'm very sorry, sir. I am not permitted
to say anything. But I would suggest that in the morning you speak to
Captain Algase. I'm sure he'll welcome your offer of assistance." His
face clouded. Slowly he said, "Lady Alice. Where did you see her last?"
"In the reading room."
Mallory saluted, turned and went to the ship's library. As he walked he
found himself hoping, why, he did not try to explain to himself, that
he would find the room empty. But it was not. A single lamp was lighted
inside. As Mallory pressed open the door, shadows danced on the farther
wall; the wavering, unidimensional symbol of an upright figure spun
and made swift, jabbing motions, dropped. There was a sound of paper
rustling, the rough scrape of calfskin on buckram. Then he was in the
room, and Lady Alice was seated beside the refectory table, ostensibly
reading a book. She glanced up with a little movement of surprise.
"Why, Lieutenant, what a pleasant surprise!"
Mallory stifled the impulse to say, "Pleasant?" He stared at the girl
curiously, reminding himself for the hundredth time since she had come
aboard this ship, six days ago, that as man and woman they had no
common meeting ground, they lived on planes inordinately diverse. He
was Dan Mallory, a Lieutenant of the Solar Space Patrol, a respectable,
if underpaid, watchdog of law and order in man's widening circle of
influence. Moreover, he was a _young_ lieutenant. It would be years
before he earned a major brevet, became an acceptable social figure.
Even if a miracle were to happen, if he were to be selected into the
envied corps of Lensmen, he would only be a super-cop. While she....
She was Lady Alice Charwell, possessor of a name and title respected
for more than eight hundred years. Of course the title was now one
of courtesy only; there was no Duchy of Io since the cession of that
satellite to the World Council. But once her father had been manor lord
of the entire globe; in the _Almanach de Gotha_ her family name and
crest still figured prominently.
All of which had little to do with the fact that her eyes were blue as
the morning mists of Venus, that her limbs were white and straight and
supple, softly feminine despite the mannish slack and shirt ensemble
she affected, that her hair was a seine of sunlight gold that snared
Dan Mallory's heart and quickened his breath.
He forced his voice to calmness. He said, "Lady Alice, don't you think
it would be better if you were to go to bed? This--this staying up at
night--"
Her laughter was warm and delicious.
"But, Lieutenant! Surely there's no harm in my reading myself to sleep?"
"Not a bit," agreed Mallory. He bit his lip. "I might suggest, though,
that unless you're reading a book in the Lower Venusian language, it
would be easier to read if the book were right side up. And--" He
walked past her, swiftly, stared at the book which, hastily thrust back
into the bookcase, still jutted out beyond its fellows. "And you might
find more interesting reading matter than a tactical survey of Ionian
military resources."
The girl's face was scarlet. She came to her feet indignantly. "Really,
Lieutenant, you go too far! I don't see that it is any of your
business."
"Lady Alice," said Mallory pleadingly, "a state of war exists on Io.
Strange things are happening aboard the _Libra_, things the exact
nature of which I am not at liberty to explain. If you will try to
forget, for a moment, that I am a space officer--just think of me as a
man--will you allow me to make the suggestion that you do absolutely
nothing to lay your actions, your motives, open to any sort of
suspicion?
"I realize that as one who inherited a claim to the title, 'Duchess
of Io,' you are deeply interested in current affairs on that colony.
Others may read another meaning into your actions, though. At least one
person has already hinted that you--"
Lady Alice's breathing was swift. "Who?" she demanded. "Who is this
person?"
"I'm sorry. I can't say. But will you do as I suggest?"
There was a moment of silence. Then the girl shut the book on her lap,
laid it on the table, rose. "Very well, Lieutenant. I'm a rather poor
deceiver, aren't I? Nevertheless, I thank you for your well-meant
advice." She moved toward the doorway, grace and poise in her every
stride. And she turned there to smile back at him, her voice soft
and unamused. "Lieutenant," she said, "you should lay aside your
shoulder-straps more often. The man beneath is most--interesting."
Then she was gone, leaving behind her a red-faced, speechless, utterly
chaotic Dan Mallory.
* * * * *
At breakfast, Mallory presided at the head of the table. Bud Chandler,
arriving a few minutes late, stared at his comrade surprisedly.
"Why, Skipper!" he said, "What this trip is doing for your complexion!
You look thirty years younger. Where did you get them pretty pink
cheeks?"
Mallory growled, "Sit down, pal, and shut up. The Old Man's grabbing
forty, and he deserves 'em. He and Norton ran into a loft-bound vacuole
last night, had a hell of a time pulling out. Didn't you hear the
commotion?"
"All I heard," complained Bud, "was somebody in my room snoring. It
woke me up once, and what made me maddest was when I found out it was
me." He nodded to the assembled passengers, sat down and made wry faces
over his grapefruit juice.
Albert Lemming, the swarthy-skinned jewel merchant en route to his
company's headquarters in New Fresno, stared at the acting-Captain
curiously.
"A vacuole, Lieutenant? What's that?"
"A hole in space. Something like an air-pocket in the ether. They
aren't particularly dangerous, but the one we ran into was whirling in
the wrong direction; if Captain Algase hadn't pulled us out, we'd have
lost time on our trip to Io."
Mrs. Wilmot looked up. She was not, thought Mallory, a bad looking
dame--if you went for that sharp, peaked sort of beauty. But there was
a touch of cruelty to the cut of her lips, a pinched look about the
nostrils, he didn't go for. And her eyes were too close together. She
said, "That would be unfortunate, wouldn't it, Lieutenant? Losing time,
I mean?"
There was a touch of some subtler meaning behind her words; Mallory
couldn't decide just what it was. Maybe it was sarcasm, maybe it was
fear, maybe it was mockery. He said, "I think we all share the desire
to reach New Fresno as soon as possible, don't we?"
Her answer was unexpectedly sharp.
"I don't care if we never reach there. I'd rather die peacefully in
space than--"
"_Susan!_" Her husband's voice sheared the end of the sentence into
silence. Her eyes glared defiance at him for a moment, then she
returned to the business of eating. Lemming looked embarrassed. Dr.
Bonetti shook his head. Captain Smith coughed, suggested mildly,
"Captain Algase must be an excellent astronavigator, Lieutenant. I
didn't notice a single jarring motion. In _my_ day, escape from a
vacuole was a tedious, ship-wracking process. Of course--" His eyes
wandered about the table querulously, "Of course there are so many
new inventions nowadays. Improvements in all lines. Spacecraft,
air-modifiers, armament--"
Mallory rose suddenly. He was half angry with the ex-space officer.
Smith wasn't being very subtle in his effort to help matters. No doubt
the old duck meant well, but--
He said, "If you'll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I must go to the
bridge. Ready, Bud?"