"Argon," said Bud, "'A.'"
"114.76. Indium. 150.43--"
"Samarium. 'Sa.' Next?"
"Iodine."
"'I.'"
The message was finished. Bud handed it to Captain Algase. Mallory's
curiosity was at fever pitch. He had not been able to piece the letters
together as he went along; he had gained but a smattering here and
there. He waited. The skipper read slowly, breaking the message up into
coherent sentences.
"'Kreuther power behind revolution. Heavy forces now threatening New
Fresno--'"
"Kreuther, huh?" growled Bud. "I thought so."
"'Hasten assistance. Lane warns--'" The captain stopped, stared a
moment, glanced swiftly at Mallory. There was a tight note in his
voice. "'Lane warns Lady Alice, cabal spy, now in _Libra_--'"
"Lady Alice!" blurted Mallory. The warmth of the control turret
suddenly weighed down upon him; his brow felt hot, oppressed, as if
some gigantic hand had descended upon his temples.
"'Captain saith,'" continued Algase, "'intensify protection of new
secret ray.'" He crumpled the paper. "And that is all, gentlemen.
Mallory--"
"Yes, sir?"
"Our fears were justified. There _is_ a spy on the _Libra_. We must
take no chances. You will arrest Lady Alice Charwell, place her under
lock and key for the duration of the voyage."
Bud Chandler muttered, "Where does Marlowe get that Old English stuff?
'Saith!' Why didn't he say, 'Says'?"
"Because," Mallory answered mechanically, "there is no 'ys' combination
in the elemental vocabulary. He had to say it that way." The
recollection of his unpleasant duty flooded back on him; with it came
protest. "But it can't be true, Captain! There must be some mistake.
Surely Lady Alice wouldn't be--"
"On the contrary, Daniel," Algase's voice was unusually gentle, "she
would be. Once her family owned all of Io. It is more than likely that
she should want to see the globe freed of Board control; regain her
lost property. She could well be in league with Kreuther to overthrow
the present government. According to this, she _is_."
"Yes, sir," acknowledged Dan dully. He was thinking of Captain Smith's
warning. Of the book Lady Alice had been reading, the book on military
tactics. "Shall I make the--the arrest now, sir?"
"Yes, Lieutenant."
"Very good, sir!" He turned and left the room. His jaw was white and
rigid; a dull hurt was behind his eyes....
* * * * *
A strained assemblage awaited his return to the mess hall. As he
entered the room all conversation ended abruptly; an almost audible
silence fell upon the group of passengers. Lemming half rose from his
seat, opened his mouth as though to say something, closed it again, his
lips a white slit against the green pallor of his cheeks. Lady Alice's
eyes were tense, expectant. Captain Smith moved forward to meet him.
The ex-space officer's heavy frame was poised and ready; there was a
note of subdued eagerness in his voice. He said stridently, "Well,
Lieutenant--?"
Dan Mallory's patience with the older man was quite exhausted. He said
curtly, but in a voice that did not reach the ears of the others,
"Captain, I must remind you that you have no authority whatsoever on
this ship! I appreciate your willingness to help, but--" Angrily. "For
God's sake, man, stop acting like the hero of a Twenty-second century
dime novel! Stop fingering your needle-gun, and--"
Smith looked embarrassed. His heavy shoulders sagged, and swift
contrition swept over Mallory as the one-time officer said, "I--I'm
sorry, Lieutenant."
Lemming had found words at last. He asked, shakily, "The--the message,
Lieutenant? Was it--?"
He had to arrest Lady Alice, thought Dan Mallory. But he didn't have
to humiliate her. To brand her eternally as a traitor in the eyes of
her associates. And he still held doggedly to the hope that somehow,
somewhere, had been made a dreadful mistake. He said, "The message was
a routine transmission, Mr. Lemming. Of no great importance. Now, will
you all be kind enough to disband, quietly?"
No one moved. Mallory, glancing at the faces about him, felt again
that conviction that an interwoven webbing of intrigue entangled these
passengers. He said, firmly, "That is not a request, but a command! You
will all retire to the observation deck at once!"
The little group stirred. Mallory sought the side of Lady Alice, said,
"I've been wanting to show you the ship, Lady Alice. Wouldn't you like
to see it now?"
Her look of pleased surprise burned him. She said, "Why, Lieutenant,
how nice! I would enjoy it."
They moved in a direction opposite that of the rest of the passengers.
Even so, they did not escape unnoticed. From the corner of his eye Dan
Mallory caught the glitter of Dr. Bonetti's spectacles, realized that
the dumpy man was watching them shrewdly. And for a moment his eye met
that of Captain Garland Smith; the old officer's head was nodding in
mused speculation. He, too, had guessed Mallory's concealed purpose.
Only the girl herself seemed unaware that this was not merely a
pleasantry. Her shoulder brushed that of Mallory as they pressed
through a narrow doorway; the soft, feminine warmth of her heaped
reproach on the young lieutenant, as did her words.
"Lieutenant, I see you can take advice as well as give it. I had no
idea, last night, when I suggested that you reveal the man beneath the
uniform more often, that you would actually--"
They were alone now. And Mallory turned to face her, his voice
purposely hard and impersonal.
"If you please, Lady Alice! It is my painful duty to inform you that
you are under arrest!"
"Under ar--!" Her gasp ended in a burst of light laughter. She brought
her hand to her forehead in mock salute. "Aye, Lieutenant! Brig, ho!
But if I'm not too inquisitive, what charges are preferred against
me? Murder? Of course, I _do_ kill time most horribly, but these long
trips--or could it be theft? I'm sure I've stolen nothing. Unless you
mean--" She paused in sudden confusion; her eyes lifted to his; there
was something written there, something breathtaking. Mallory had to
hold tight.
"The charge," he said tersely, "is--treason! That message was from
Lunar III, Lady Alice. It bore a warning from the commander of the
Intelligence Division there, advising us that you had been discovered
to be a member of Igor Kreuther's organization!"
* * * * *
The light died from the girl's eyes, the smile on her lips turned to
ice. Her slim body stiffened, straightened. And for an instant Dan
Mallory saw, with swift prescience, that this girl was not all charm
and allure; that beneath her tempting softness there was a core,
steel-strong, of strength and daring.
"Treason! Treason, you--you blind fool!" she spat. "You dare accuse
_me_, Lady Alice Charwell, Grand Duchess of Io, Lady of the Rocket and
Globe, Maid of the Golden Crest, of--of treason! Sir! My family ruled
Io when that dominion was first discovered. For almost three hundred
years the Charwell crest has--"
"Please, Lady Alice!" pleaded Mallory. "I know how you feel about
it. To your mind, your actions were not treasonable. But Io is no
longer yours; it is under the guardianship of the Control Board. And
you mustn't talk this way. I will be called to testify against you;
anything you say will be convicting evidence--" He touched her shoulder
as though the warmth of his hand might melt its icy stiffness.
She shrugged herself loose disdainfully.
"I think we can dispense with the amenities, Lieutenant. The smile on
the lips ... the gracious invitation to 'see the ship' ... the friendly
hand of comfort...." There was scorn, anger, pain in her eyes. "It is
my right to demand the privilege of communicating with my accusers, is
it not? Those on Earth who--?"
"I'm sorry. No audio transmission is possible because of the
blanket-static. The message came through in a code."
"I see. I must wait, then, until we reach New Fresno. Never mind,
Lieutenant Mallory. You have said enough. I presume you are placing me
under guard? Where--in my own quarters? Very well. If you will be kind
enough to escort me there!" She laughed brittlely. "But, of course, you
will. You couldn't let a traitor out of your sight, could you?"
In throbbing, bitter silence they moved down the corridors to Lady
Alice's stateroom. There she spoke for the last time.
"The message that accused me, Lieutenant. Might I be permitted to hear
the damning evidence? What did it say?"
There was no harm, thought Mallory miserably, in telling her that. The
words were like acid, etched into his brain. He repeated them. She
listened intently, frowned--and then a new, curious look stole into her
eyes. She said, "But--"
"Yes?" said Mallory. "Yes?"
The look faded. She laughed scornfully.
"Hoping to hear more 'convicting evidence,' Lieutenant? I'm so sorry to
disappoint you. Now, will you lock the door after me, please?"
Dan Mallory made a last try. It would cost him his rocket if anyone
heard his words, but--
"Lady Alice," he pleaded, "I'm honestly sorry about this. I don't
believe you are guilty. If you'll trust me, tell me your side of the
story, I'll do everything in my power to--"
"You have done," said the girl tightly, "more than enough right now.
Guard me well, Lieutenant!" With a short, mocking laugh she slipped
through the door, Mallory waited a long minute, then turned the key in
the lock. Its grate was a taunting sneer. He returned to the bridge....
* * * * *
He couldn't help overhearing the end of that conversation. The runway
that fed the control turret was narrow and metal-walled; it formed a
perfect soundbox. Moreover, the door was ajar. The voice was Captain
Algase reached his ears perfectly as he approached the room.
"--don't want to have to remind you again, Norton, that it is highly
unethical for a space officer to become involved with a woman
passenger. Especially with a married woman."
And the surly voice of Third Mate Rick Norton saying, "Very well, sir!"
Then footsteps approaching the door, a figure confronting his squarely,
Norton flushing, snarling, "Getting an earful, Mallory?"
Dan was in no mood for bickering. He said, "Don't mind me, Norton. I've
known for months you were a skirt-chaser. I don't consider it any of my
business."
Norton's cheeks flamed. He said insultingly, "And I suppose you stand
behind your stripes as you say that?"
"Forget the stripes." Mallory looked at his fists. "I stand behind
these."
"Good!" Norton swung. He was a well-built man, a strong man. His blow
packed dynamite--but it needed a target to set off the percussion cap.
It found no target but a moving one. Mallory ducked, rolled with the
punch, came up inside the Third Mate's guard to land a short, jabbing
left to the midsection, a blasting right to the point of Norton's jaw.
Norton gasped and collapsed soggily. Arms behind him reached out to
support his falling weight; other lips behind Mallory whistled softly
as Bud Chandler, coming up to serve his trick, witnessed the swift,
decisive exchange of blows. And Captain Algase, releasing Norton's
inert form, glared at Mallory.
"Well! Well, Lieutenant, I think you know we have rules against
brawling?"
"Aye, sir!"
"But--" Captain Algase stroked his jaw speculatively, "In this
case--Chandler, get him below! It served him right. Maybe he'll spend
this rest period sleeping, instead of stirring up trouble amongst the
passengers. Dan, my boy--"
He led the way back into the turret, completed the log record for the
previous trick, handed it to Mallory, who had slipped into the control
bucket.
"Twenty-four more Earth hours and we'll be there," he said. "And,
believe me, I'll be glad when this trip ends. Trouble. Nothing but
trouble from beginning to end. Long tricks and short tempers. Norton
getting mixed up with that Wilmot dame--a damn' hussy if I ever saw
one, and her husband a neurotic wreck. Smith bothering the blistering
Hades out of me, wanting to 'help' catch spies and a thousand other--"
He glanced at Mallory, who had stiffened at the word. His glance was
sympathetic. "I'm sorry I had to ask you to arrest her, Daniel. But
it's experiences like that that make strong men out of space officers.
"You have to be hard in this business. Crime hides beneath strange
disguises. The sweetest smiles, the friendliest hand-shakes, the most
honeyed words, may conceal--"
"If you please, sir!" said Dan Mallory, white-lipped.
"I know, lad. I've seen the way you looked at her. But remember--forty
thousand innocent lives! Had she learned the secret of that new weapon,
our voyage might have been disastrous. From this distance she could
have made a flight to Io in one of the auxiliary safety rockets,
given the plans to Kreuther's forces. The very weapon we look to for
salvation would have been used against us. Io might have become a nest
of rebellion, instead of a peaceful member of the solar family. Now
that we've snared our spy, the messenger--whoever he is--will be safe."
On the visiplate it was a glowing red spark, but in the _perilens_
before him it was a gigantic orb dominating the heavens through which
the _Libra_ hurtled. Jupiter; monster of Sol's scattered brood, untamed
sphere of writhing gases and vague mystery, itself a pseudo-parent
emanating enough heat to make its far-flung satellites livable worlds.
Soon they would fling themselves, they aboard the _Libra_, halfway
around that gigantic orb, settle to the small body now wanly visible as
a silver crescent.
* * * * *
Dan Mallory punched a control-key savagely, felt the _Libra_ shake
itself into a slightly changed curve, turned to his superior.
"I'm not so sure of that, sir. Oh, I'm not trying to defend Lady Alice.
Earth's Intelligence officers don't make mistakes--not mistakes of
that magnitude, anyway. But there are other passengers I don't trust.
Lemming. Wilmot. Dr. Bonetti. Why are they aboard the _Libra_? Why were
they so excited when they heard we'd received a message from Lunar III?
Suppose one of them is also a spy?"
"Or suppose," said the skipper, "one of them bears the secret of the
new ray weapon. Wouldn't that one naturally be excited?"
"But the others?" Mallory inquired.
"I don't know. You may have something there, Daniel. I'm still taking
no chances. I've put Aiken on guard at Lady Alice's door. If anyone
tries to liberate her--What _is_ it, Sparks?"
He snapped the query at the intercommunications box which was
spluttering and growling. The radioman's tone was weary. "It's Mr.
Wilmot again, sir. He insists on talking to you."
"Tell Mr. Wilmot I will see him at midday mess."
Sparks was stubborn about it.
"But he insists his message is important, sir. He demands to see you at
once. Says--"
"_Demands!_" The skipper's jowls reddened. "Please tell Mr. Wilmot
passengers do not _demand_ favors of spaceship officers. I will see him
at mess. That is all!" And he cut the communications board; turned to
Mallory angrily. "That's why I didn't put you on report for slugging
Norton. Wilmot's mad as a hornet and I don't blame him. Norton catting
around after his wife--"
Chandler appeared, grinning. He said to Mallory, "What a sock, pal,
what a sock! If that guy counts sheep in his sleep, he's going to wake
up allergic to mutton. Wish I had done it. He's a grouchy son-of-a--
What's biting you?"
Mallory said, "That's just it, damn it! I don't quite know. It just
came upon me like a flash that someone said something funny ...
something that didn't ring true ... but I can't remember what it was.
If I could--"
"See, Skipper? It's got him, too. We're all going to be candidates for
the straitjacket squad when we finish this trip."
Algase smiled sourly. "Well, don't lift gravs for the next twenty-four
hours, that's all I ask. See you later, boys." He turned to leave; was
interrupted by the buzz of the intercommunications box. "What, again!
Yes, Sparks--what is it this time? If it's Wilmot again, tell him to go
beat his brains out with a rusty bar! I'll see him at--"
Sparks' voice was harsh with excitement.
"It is Wilmot, sir! But I can't tell him anything. He's dead, sir!
Murdered!"
* * * * *
Chandler said, "Murdered? Mi-god!" Captain Algase said a more effective
and less printable thing which ended in, "Come on!" And he and Chandler
pounded down the runway, their footsteps ringing on the Jacob's-ladder,
disappearing in the distance.
Dan Mallory, his thoughts chaotic, sat chained to his bucket seat by
the obligation of guiding the spaceship through the treacherous void.
His fingers played over the control keys automatically; slowly the
chaos left his brain and cold, clear, reasoning thought took its place.
Wilmot dead. Why? The first thought that suggested itself was Norton.
Motive--jealousy. The desire to get Susan Wilmot's husband out of the
way so--
But that was illogical. Norton was a skirt-chaser and a quixotic fool,
but he wasn't a criminal. Murder was not in his line. Why else, then?
Because Wilmot had been the bearer of the formula? Had he been slain
by a spy? And if so, by whom? Lady Alice was in her cabin, or at
least--with a swift constriction of the throat--Dan hoped she was. He
pressed the intercommunications button hurriedly; Sparks' face appeared
before him on the visiplate. "Get me the M-13 plate, Sparks! The one in
the stateroom passageway!"
The scene shifted. Aiken, a space gob, looked up as the audio before
him glowed into life, touched his forelock respectfully. "Lieutenant
Mallory?"
"The prisoner is in her stateroom?"
"Aye, sir."
"She hasn't been out?"
"Not for a moment, sir." The sailor added, "Might I ask the lootenant
what the h--I mean, what's going on?"
"Plenty!" snapped Dan. "That's all, sailor. Carry on!"
The glow faded. Mallory shook his head. No dice on that hunch. Then
what else--?
The thought came so suddenly, so breathtakingly, that it literally
lifted him out of his chair. There was but one possible answer! The
reverse of his former theory. Wilmot was neither the bearer of the
precious secret nor a spy. He was the "innocent bystander"; the
traditional victim who, from time immemorial, has always been the one
to get bopped. Somehow the nervous, jittery little man had learned
_who_ the spy was. He had attempted to communicate his knowledge to
Captain Algase; the petulance of his own nature had rendered this
impossible. And the spy, knowing that Wilmot had learned his secret,
had--
Again he pressed the button. This time Sparks said, "Lieutenant
Mallory? Have you seen Mr. Lemming? The captain wants to question him,
but he can't be found anywhere--"
"Never mind that!" rapped Mallory. "Sparks, I want to know this. How
was Wilmot killed?"
"Rayed, sir. Needled."
"I thought as much. And who was the first to find him?"
"Dr. Bonetti, sir. He's being held under suspicion. He confesses to
having supplied Wilmot with drugs, sir. _Teklin-root_, sir. (That would
be, thought Mallory swiftly, the package surreptitiously exchanged in
the observation room.) But he claims he didn't kill Wilmot--"
"Quick, man! Was Captain Smith anywhere around the radio turret when
this happened?"
"Why--why, he _had_ been, sir. But he left before Mr. Wilmot did--"
Captain Algase's face appeared in the visiplate beside that of Sparks.
"Daniel, my boy, keep your eye peeled for Lemming. He's disappeared.
Susan Wilmot has told us he isn't a jewel merchant at all; he's a jewel
thief! Fleeing Earth to gain settler's amnesty on Io. Wilmot knew his
secret, tried to blackmail him. Lemming threatened--"
"You're after the wrong man!" screamed Dan Mallory. "Captain, I see it
all, now! The whole story. These other things have confused us. Sparks,
swiftly--get me that M-13 plate again!"
* * * * *
The scene spun, changed dizzily. Once again Mallory was gazing down
the corridor where Aiken had stood guard. But Aiken no longer stood
before Lady Alice Charwell's door. He lay there, limp, still forever. A
smoking hole charred his broad chest, crimson stirred sluggishly from
the needle-ray's telltale trail. The door of the stateroom was open.
A hoarse bellow told Dan that the captain was seeing the same scene.
"_She_ did it! She killed him and escaped!"
"No!" roared Mallory. "_Smith_ did it! The man we should have suspected
all the time; the man who _admitted_ his guilt, but I was too blind to
see it. Kreuther's spy. The renegade space officer--Captain, did you
feel that?"
His space-trained senses had felt the swift, tiny moment of jarring
repercussion that meant only one thing--that from one of the escape
ports a life-skiff, an auxiliary safety rocket, had slipped from its
base on the _Libra_, taken off into space!
"He's escaping! He's kidnaped her and taken off in a life-skiff. Bud!
Take over! I'm lifting gravs!"
And for the first time in his career as an officer of the SSP,
Lieutenant Daniel Mallory violated, deliberately, a rule of the Space
Patrol handbook. He rammed the _Libra's_ controls into the robot hands
of the Iron Mike, and abandoned his post in mid-flight!
* * * * *
It was not that he considered himself more capable than his captain or
the second mate. His move was dominated by only one thing, the urgent
need for haste. Safety rockets are, as everyone knows, blindingly fast.
Much faster than the heavier, sturdier, cruising vessels that bear them
like so many unfledged wallabies in a pouch. Give Smith a flying start
and he would never be apprehended. And _he_, Dan Mallory, was much
nearer a life-skiff port than the other officers up in the loft of the
radio turret.
Slipping, skidding, stumbling in his haste, he raced to the nearest
port, flung open the control-bar, threw himself into the small,
tear-shaped vehicle lying there. There were regulations demanding that
air, food, water supplies be ascertained before flight in one of these
was attempted. But there was no time for such nonsense now. Each second
seemed an hour as Mallory warmed the hypatomic motors of the skiff,
rammed the button that opened the _Libra's_ outer shell, struck another
that catapulted the safety-rocket away from its parent craft.
Then the dark of the womblike casing was gone, and he was blasting,
under his own power, through space illumined with the candle-gleams of
a trillion galactic motes. He set his range-finder and attractor--but
even as their needles found their objective, his searching eyes located
it. A tiny, silvery gleam against the tawny night ahead--a gleam from
the stern of which flared burst upon flaming burst of superheated light.
The rockets of Smith's skiff, hell-bent for Io!
Minutes _had_ been precious! Vitally so. Already the little craft was
countless thousands of miles before him. It was a wide margin that
separated him; and in that margin lay the difference between freedom
and peonage for forty thousand Earth-men, millions of Ionians, the
difference between life and death for the girl Smith had kidnaped, the
difference between victory and defeat for the Solar Patrolmen.
There was only one way to catch Smith. Recognizing the fact, Dan
Mallory bit his lip, set his jaw stubbornly. Acceleration! Acceleration
great enough to fling him across the yawning void, enable him to snare
his quarry in tensiles....
And he was not strapped! No safety corset to hold tight the straining
cords of his viscera, no yards of gauze padding to keep his wracked
body from literally flinging itself to shreds. No--
He glanced about him hurriedly. There were piles of cushions, soft,
plump, airy, scattered about the metallic cockpit. He jammed a dozen
of these behind him, under him, about him. There was an oxy-helmet in
its container beside him; he thrust this over his head. Its rubberoid
halter settled about his chest, his shoulders. At least his straining
eyes would not bulge from their sockets; by adjustment--if he could
raise a hand--he could compensate accelerative force with pressure.
He drew a deep breath. Then, recklessly, wrenched the dial of the motor
to full acceleration!
* * * * *
It was as though ten thousand fiery demons tore at his body with claws
of flame. A weight, massive, imponderable, kicked the breath out of
his lungs, forced it from his gaping mouth and flared nostrils into
the helmet he wore. He gulped and strangled, fighting to draw into
a shrunken chest a breach of fleeing life. One hand moved--or tried
to--to his throat in an instinctive gesture of distress. The hand
moved a half inch from his knee, flung itself back into his stomach
like a leaden weight.
The quick burst of nausea saved his life, because tortured ductless
glands released a stream of adrenalin into his churning blood-stream,
the miraculously adaptable body of Man rose once again above its normal
limitations. Air crept into his lungs, his heart's tumultuous pounding
no longer throbbed a threnody in his eardrums.
Still he could move with only the greatest of effort--but he could
move! And his eyes, no longer blinded by the red mist that had drowned
their sockets, saw the rocket-flares before him seem to literally stop
in mid-flight, race back toward him!
A great exultation seized him. He was hardly aware that bright blood
had burst from his nostrils, and that as he opened his lips to shout
hoarsely the corners of his mouth drooled red. The craft he pursued
whirled fiercely toward him; like flame-riding charioteers they
jockeyed across the cosmic wastes. Smith knew he was there. Must know.
But--Mallory's grin was the grimace of a gargoyle--he didn't have the
guts to duplicate the young lieutenant's mad burst of speed.
He was depending on other weapons. Even as Mallory experienced the
thought, a stabbing beam spat backward from the other rocket, a
coruscating ray of silver that bore sudden death.
But Mallory had anticipated the move; his slow hand had been straining
for seconds to forestall it. He pressed a lever--the ship slid into
a dive. Another and the terrible pressure lifted from his limbs, his
body felt suddenly light and buoyant, strength surged back to him with
singing sweetness.
Again that stabbing ray searched for him. But Dan Mallory was no
novice at the art of space warfare. He spun his craft into a cycloid
Laegland arc, the lethal ray spent itself on indestructible space, and
when Mallory came out of his maneuver he was within scant miles of his
objective.
Grinning savagely, his hand sought the button that would smash Smith's
ship into oblivion--then stayed! Lady Alice! He could not destroy her
with Smith. Because now he knew, certainly and surely, two things. One
of which was that she must be the bearer of the secret ray formula to
Io. In no other way could you account for the fact that Smith had dared
everything to kidnap her. She carried the secret, not in papers, but in
her mind.
Were she to die--and might the gods of space forbid that his hand
should destroy her loveliness!--Kreuther would still be the victor.
For with her would perish the final hope of the besieged New Fresno
garrison.