[Illustration]
Interplanetary commerce, if and when it begins, will be fraught with
all of the dangers that accompany pioneering expeditions. There will
be the terrible climatic conditions on other worlds to be faced,
strange beasts and plants; and perhaps desperate and greedy men.
That was the case when every new land was opened on earth and it may
be expected to be true when we conquer the solar planets.
Mr. Jones understands these things well. His vivid imagination, his
sense of a good story and his knowledge of what may be expected upon
other worlds combine to make this a novel and exciting yarn. And, as
is always desired, it comes to a smashing finish with a surprising
ending.
His scientific weapons are quite novel, but so realistically does he
portray them, that they strike one as being quite possible and
likely to be used at some future time.
* * * * *
I stood looking from the space ship into the dense fog banks which
rolled about us. We were descending through the dense cloud blanket of
Venus. How near we actually were to the ground I did not know. Nothing
but an unbroken white haze spread mistily, everywhere I looked.
With jarring suddenness, a terrific shudder throbbed the length of the
_C-49_, rattling the loose articles on the desk nearby. The dictatyper,
with which I had lately been composing a letter, crashed violently to
the floor. I reeled unsteadily to the door. It was nearly flung open in
my face.
"Hantel!"
Captain Cragley steadied himself on the threshold of my room. The
captain and I had become intimate friends during the trip from the
earth. In his eyes I saw concern.
"What's wrong?" I queried.
"Don't know yet! Come--get out of there, man! We may have to use the
emergency cylinder!"
I followed Cragley. The crew, numbering seven, were gathered in the
observation chamber. Most of the passengers were there too.
The _C-49_ carried twelve passengers, all men, to the Deliphon
settlement of Venus. In the earlier days of space travel, few women
dared the trip across space.
Several of the crew worked feverishly at the controls above the
instrument board.
"What's our altitude?" demanded Cragley.
"Fifteen thousand feet!" was the prompt reply. "Our drop is better than
a hundred feet a second!"
Worried wrinkles creased the kindly old face of Captain Cragley. He
debated the issue not one moment.
"Into the emergency cylinder--everybody!"
Herding the passengers ahead of them, Cragley's men entered a
compartment shaped like a long tube, ending in a nose point. When we
were buckled into a spiral of seats threading the cylinder, Cragley
pulled the release lever. Instantly, the cylinder shot free of the
doomed _C-49_. For a moment we dropped at a swifter pace than the
abandoned ship. After that, our speed of descent was noticeably
decreased.
Peering at the proximity detector, Cragley announced that we were quite
safe from a collision. The _C-49_ was far below us and dropping fast.
"No danger now," he assured the passengers. "We'll come down like a
feather. Then all we have to do is radio Deliphon to send out a ship for
us."
Cragley was equal to the situation. In this year of 2342, when the days
of pioneer space flying were commencing to fade into history, it
required capable men to cope with interplanetary flight. If Cragley
brought his crew and passengers safely through this adversity and also
salvaged the valuable cargo of the _C-49_, it was another feather in his
cap.
Quentin, second to Cragley in command, labored over the sending
apparatus. Quentin looked up at his superior officer with an uneasy
expression. The captain was quick to sense trouble.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't like the looks of this," was Quentin's reply. "The sender
refuses to function properly. I can do nothing with it."
Cragley's face bore a troubled look. He stepped to the side of his
subordinate for a hasty inspection of the radio sender.
"The receiver plate doesn't light up, either," said Quentin. "Looks to
me as though someone has been tampering with this."
In their spiral of seats, the passengers looked silently and gravely
upon the cylinder base where Cragley and his staff were gathered over
the apparatus. A dull glow of cloudy light coming in through the
transparent interstices of the descending cylinder softened and
counteracted the glow of the radium lights. An intangible feeling of
depression hung in the air.
"Elevation, five hundred feet!" announced one of the crew from his
position at the altitude dial.
"Make a landing," ordered Cragley. "We can't be very far from where the
_C-49_ fell. If there's enough of the ship left, we may be able to
discover the cause of this accident."
Down through the lush vegetation, the cylinder felt its way, dropping
very slowly. Finally it came to rest on a knoll.
"How far are we from the ship?" queried the captain.
"About seventeen hundred feet south of it, I'd say."
"We'll go outside and get organized. We've got to get that platinum
shipment off the _C-49_ and get into communication with headquarters at
Deliphon somehow. The proximity detector tells us we're over two
hundred miles from there."
One of the passengers spoke up with a suggestion. "Can't we go the rest
of the way in this? You can send back for what's left of the ship. I've
an important reason for arriving in Deliphon quickly. If--"
"Not a chance," cut in Cragley, both amused and annoyed. "The cylinder
wouldn't take us anywhere. All the cylinder is good for is an emergency
descent. It has no driving power."
* * * * *
Preparations were made for a trip to the wrecked space ship.
"Might I go with you and the men, Captain?" I ventured.
"Sure, Hantel, come along! I'll have to leave part of the crew here with
the passengers and the cylinder, so I'm glad to have a few volunteers."
"Count on me, then," another of the passengers spoke up.
I recognized him as Chris Brady. He was a man about my own age, possibly
younger, perhaps in his late twenties. Brady and I had become friends
during the trip, having spent many hours together. This was my second
trip to the clouded planet. Brady had made many trips to Venus, spending
considerable time among the colonies. I had learned much about the man
which had interested me.
Our party consisted of Cragley, Brady, three of the crew, four other
passengers and myself. Well armed, we set out through the yellow jungle
in search of the remains of the _C-49_. Quentin insisted that it was not
far away according to the proximity detector which was especially
attuned to the bulk and metal composition of the space ship.
Progress was difficult in spots, and we found it necessary to hack our
way through lush growths of vegetation, taking numerous detours around
interlaced verdure. We were out of sight of the cylinder almost
immediately.
One of the passengers who had volunteered to accompany us complained at
the prospects of becoming lost. Cragley calmed the man's anxiety with a
brief explanation of the directometer he carried. It was an elaborate
perfection of the old compass. On a square plate, our position was
always designated in relation to the _C-49_. By telescopic condensation
of the field, Cragley was capable of bringing Deliphon on the
instrument. It was well over two hundred miles beyond us.
"If Quentin doesn't have that televisor fixed by the time we get back,
we are in a jam."
"There's the ship!"
We looked where the pointing arm of Brady designated. The wrecked space
ship lay imbedded in the murky waters of a swamp, fully one-third of its
bulk out of sight. Above, the torn and tangled mass of vegetation bore
witness to the rapid descent of the craft. Mighty branches were torn
away from giant trees. The ship itself was enwrapped by interlaced
creepers which it had ripped loose from the upper foliage.
We waded through warm, stagnant water which teemed with marine life. We
were halfway to the side of the _C-49_ when a cry from behind startled
me into action. I turned and stared into the gaping jaws of a terrifying
serpent wriggling through the shallow water on many legs. Several
electric pistols flashed almost simultaneously. The loathesome monster
turned belly up, floating dead upon the surface of the swamp water.
From then on, we advanced more cautiously. Coming alongside the crushed
hull of the interplanetary liner, we made an inspection of its position.
The space ship lay nearly right side up, the decks slanting a bit
sharply to one side. Upon the outer deck of the _C-49_, Cragley
scratched his head and looked the situation over.
"Not so bad as I'd feared," was his comment. "Wouldn't be much else but
junk here if it hadn't been for the jungle breaking the fall." Cragley
pointed upward to the strong barrier of interlaced foliage. "I hope to
discover just why it was we fell."
"Wasn't there an explosion?" I inquired. "There was a great shock just
before you opened the door to my stateroom. For a moment I thought we'd
struck the planet."
"Yes--there was an explosion," Cragley replied, a bit reluctant to voice
the admission. "It occurred somewhere in the mechanism operating our
radium repellors. That's why the ship started falling. Its weight was
left partly free against the gravity of Venus. We had to leave so
quickly there was no time for inspection."
One by one, we descended into the wrecked _C-49_. In that part of the
ship which lay lowest below water level, tiny streams of dirty water
trickled between wrenched plates, forming pools of water which rose
slowly about us. Cragley and his men inspected the radium repellors.
They whispered strangely among themselves. A steely glint shone
resolutely in Captain Cragley's eyes.
"There's deviltry been done here," he stated fiercely. "The _C-49_ was
deliberately wrecked by someone on board!"
Heavy silence followed his words. One of the crew returned from the
vault room. He announced to the captain that the _C-49's_ shipment of
platinum was intact as they had left it. Captain Cragley turned the
matter over in his mind. He was an astute man. Having smelled out a
conspiracy, he was planning the best way he knew to thwart it. The
platinum itself presented an obvious motive. Finally he spoke.
"You passengers are to go up into the observation room and wait for us.
Under no condition are you to leave the room and wander about the ship."
Captain Cragley's orders were obeyed to the letter.
* * * * *
In the observation chamber, Brady asked my opinion of the discovery
Captain Cragley had made. "What's up, anyways?"
I shook my head. Brady was plainly nervous. Others of the passengers who
had accompanied us shared his apprehension. Fully a half hour had passed
and still Cragley and his men put in no appearance. Outside, myriads of
life flew, crawled and swam about the damaged craft.
Presently, Cragley and his three men emerged from the lower levels of
the _C-49_. They presented an uncouth spectacle bedraggled as they were
with grime and dirty water. In their arms they carried many small boxes.
Though small, each box was extremely heavy, being loaded with a fortune
in platinum bars.
"We'll return to the cylinder," said Cragley. "There's important work to
be done."
Once more we trudged back through the swamp and jungle, following the
trail we had made. Several times, huge shadowy forms flapped on the wing
overhead, but there was no attack. Back at the cylinder, Captain Cragley
ordered every man out into the open. He drew their attention.
"There's serious business here," he said slowly, his eyes darting from
face to face. "I want the man, or men who wrecked the _C-49_!"
The captain snapped out the final words. Surprise, terror and alarm
registered among the passengers, but Cragley evidently saw no admissions
of guilt.
"The man who is responsible for our present condition owns this!"
exclaimed Cragley suddenly. From behind him where he had been concealing
it, he drew forth a square box studded with knobs and dials. "I know
which one of you owns this. It was found hidden in his room by one of my
men."
Again Cragley watched for a betraying face. At the time, I doubted
Cragley's statement that he knew who owned the box. If he knew, I asked
myself, why was it he did not come right out and make an accusation with
whatever evidence he held? But that was not Cragley's way.
"We've also uncovered his two accomplices," continued the captain in
cool, level tones. "There is proof which points definitely to them."
He paused. No one spoke. The silence of death had descended upon the
entire group. For a moment my scalp prickled from the high tension of
nerves which hung over this episode. Cragley's burning eyes made every
man of us a criminal.
"The penalty for this offense is--death!" Cragley hurled out the final
word with dramatic suddenness.
There was a stealthy movement among those who stood near the cylinder.
"Drop it!" snapped Quentin. "Or I'll bore you!"
One of the passengers, Davy by name, dropped an electric pistol and
raised his hands.
"Raynor!" thundered Cragley, pointing a denunciatory finger at another
of the space ship's passengers. "Let's have an end to this shamming!
Step out there with Davy! Give up your weapons!"
With the attitude of a fatalist, Raynor stepped forward, allowing
Quentin to disarm him.
"And now for the owner of this little box," said Cragley, a cryptic
promise in his tones. "This radio-electrifier excited an electric
explosion of static in the radium repellors. The reason, I suppose, was
prompted by designs on the shipment of platinum. Will the owner of this
ingenious little invention step up--or do I have to call his name?"
No one moved.
"Just as I thought, Brady, you have the nerve to bluff this thing out to
the finish!"
The face of Chris Brady grew pale. He appeared stunned. Those nearest
him stepped back in surprise. Davy and Raynor were the only ones who did
not seem taken aback by the revelation.
"But I've never seen that thing before," Brady protested. "Why, I----"
"Not a chance of wiggling your way out of this, Brady! We've got the
goods on you sure enough! Will you kindly explain how you intended
making a getaway with the platinum?"
"I'm innocent!" exclaimed Brady heatedly. "I don't know these men!"
"This contrivance was found hidden in your room, Brady! Communications
between you and these men were also found!"
Chris Brady fell silent. The evidence was overwhelming. Cragley turned
to the other culprits.
"Have either of you protests to make?"
"We know when we're caught," growled Raynor, shooting a swift glance at
Brady. "You've got the goods on us. We're not squawking."
"You were taking orders from this man?" the captain inquired, pointing
at Brady.
Both Davy and Raynor replied in the affirmative, adding further proof
against Brady.
"Known him very long?"
"Don't know him at all," replied Raynor, "only that he's the boss."
"We've been taking orders from him since we left the earth,"
supplemented Davy. "He had us kill the radio equipment a little while
before he set off the explosion."
"And how did you expect to get away with the platinum?"
"He's the only one of us who knows," replied Davy, nodding his head at
Brady.
"Brady, I suppose there'll be another ship along pretty soon--some of
your friends from Deliphon. Now I see it all. Well, they won't find us,
that's all. We won't be here."
"I've no idea that...."
"Pretty thorough, weren't you?" snapped Cragley. "But you slipped up a
few notches! Thought there wouldn't be much left of the ship! Too
careless, Brady! You three men are sentenced to death!"
"A trial!" screamed Brady. "We're entitled to a trial!"
"Not under the new interplanetary laws! This is far worse than mutiny,
and you're on Venus now! You've had your trial!"