PART III

Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Greg Weeks, David Garcia

and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at

http://www.pgdp.net

_Beginning a thrilling New Serial of Interplanetary Life and Travel by

Edward E. Smith, Ph.D._

_Author of "Skylark of Space" and "Skylark Three"_

Spacehounds of IPC

_A good many of us, who are now certain beyond a doubt that space

travel will forever remain in the realm of the impossible, probably

would, if a rocket that were shot to the moon, for instance, did

arrive, and perhaps return to give proof of its safe arrival on our

satellite, accept the phenomenon in a perfectly blase, twentieth

century manner. Dr. Smith, that phenomenal writer of classic

scientific fiction, seems to have become so thoroughly convinced of

the advent of interplanetary travel that it is difficult for the

reader to feel, after finishing "Spacehounds of IPC," that travel

in the great spaces is not already an established fact. Dr. Smith,

as a professional chemist, is kept fairly busy. As a writer, he is

satisfied with nothing less than perfection. For that reason, a

masterpiece from his pen has become almost an annual event. We know

you will like "Spacehounds" even better than the "Skylark" series._

Illustrated by WESSO

CHAPTER I

The IPV _Arcturus_ Sets Out for Mars

A narrow football of steel, the Interplanetary Vessel _Arcturus_ stood

upright in her berth in the dock like an egg in its cup. A hundred feet

across and a hundred and seventy feet deep was that gigantic bowl, its

walls supported by the structural steel and concrete of the dock and

lined with hard-packed bumper-layers of hemp and fibre. High into the

air extended the upper half of the ship of space--a sullen gray expanse

of fifty-inch hardened steel armor, curving smoothly upward to a needle

prow. Countless hundred of fine vertical scratches marred every inch

of her surface, and here and there the stubborn metal was grooved and

scored to a depth of inches--each scratch and score the record of an

attempt of some wandering cosmic body to argue the right-of-way with

the stupendous mass of that man-made cruiser of the void.

A burly young man made his way through the throng about the entrance,

nodded unconcernedly to the gatekeeper, and joined the stream of

passengers flowing through the triple doors of the double air-lock

and down a corridor to the center of the vessel. However, instead of

entering one of the elevators which were whisking the passengers up to

their staterooms in the upper half of the enormous football, he in some

way caused an opening to appear in an apparently blank steel wall and

stepped through it into the control room.

"Hi, Breck!" the burly one called, as he strode up to the instrument-desk

of the chief pilot and tossed his bag carelessly into a corner. "Behold

your computer in the flesh! What's all this howl and fuss about poor

computation?"

"Hello, Steve!" The chief pilot smiled as he shook hands cordially.

"Glad to see you again--but don't try to kid the old man. I'm simple

enough to believe almost anything, but some things just aren't being

done. We have been yelling, and yelling hard, for trained computers

ever since they started riding us about every one centimeter change in

acceleration, but I know that you're no more an I-P computer than I am

a Digger Indian. They don't shoot sparrows with coast-defense guns!"

[Illustration]

"Thanks for the compliment, Breck, but I'm your computer for this trip,

anyway. Newton, the good old egg, knows what you fellows are up against

and is going to do something about it, if he has to lick all the rest of

the directors to do it. He knew that I was loose for a couple of weeks

and asked me to come along this trip to see what I could see. I'm to

check the observatory data--they don't know I'm aboard--take the peaks

and valleys off your acceleration curve, if possible, and report to

Newton just what I find out and what I think should be done about it.

How early am I?" While the newcomer was talking, he had stripped the

covers from a precise scale model of the solar system and from a large

and complicated calculating machine and had set to work without a wasted

motion or instant--scaling off upon the model the positions of the

various check-stations and setting up long and involved integrals and

equations upon the calculator.

The older man studied the broad back of the younger, bent over his

computations, and a tender, almost fatherly smile came over his careworn

face as he replied:

"Early? You? Just like you always were--plus fifteen seconds on the

deadline. The final dope is due right now." He plugged the automatic

recorder and speaker into a circuit marked "Observatory," waited until

a tiny light above the plug flashed green, and spoke.

"IPV _Arcturus_; Breckenridge, Chief Pilot; trip number forty-three

twenty-nine. Ready for final supplementary route and flight data, Tellus

to Mars."

"Meteoric swarms still too numerous for safe travel along the scheduled

route," came promptly from the speaker. "You must stay further away from

the plane of the ecliptic. The ether will be clear for you along route

E2-P6-W41-K3-R19-S7-M14. You will hold a constant acceleration of 981.27

centimeters between initial and final check stations. Your take-off

will be practically unobstructed, but you will have to use the utmost

caution in landing upon Mars, because in order to avoid a weightless

detour and a loss of thirty-one minutes, you must pass very close

to both the Martian satellites. To do so safely you must pass the

last meteorological station, M14, on schedule time plus or minus five

seconds, at scheduled velocity plus or minus ten meters, with exactly

the given negative acceleration of 981.27 centimeters, and exactly upon

the pilot ray M14 will have set for you."

"All x." Breckenridge studied his triplex chronometer intently, then

unplugged and glanced around the control room, in various parts of which

half a dozen assistants were loafing at their stations.

"Control and power check-out--Hipe!" he barked. "Driving converters and

projectors!"

The first assistant scanned his meters narrowly as he swung a

multi-point switch in a flashing arc. "Converter efficiency 100,

projector reactivity 100; on each of numbers one to forty-five

inclusive. All x."

"Dirigible projectors!"

* * * * *

Two more gleaming switches leaped from point to point. "Converter

efficiency 100, projector reactivity 100, dirigibility 100, on each of

numbers one to thirty-two, inclusive, of upper band; and numbers one to

thirty-two, inclusive, of lower band. All x."

"Gyroscopes!"

"35,000. Drivers in equilibrium at ten degrees plus. All x."

"Upper lights and lookout plates!"

The second assistant was galvanized into activity, and upon a screen

before him there appeared a view as though he were looking directly

upward from the prow of the great vessel. The air above them was full of

aircraft of all shapes and sizes, and occasionally the image of one of

that flying horde flared into violet splendor upon the screen as it was

caught in the mighty, roving beam of one of the twelve ultra-light

projectors under test.

"Upper lights and lookout plates--all x," the second assistant reported,

and other assistants came to attention as the check-out went on.

"Lower lights and lookout plates!"

"All x," was the report, after each of the twelve ultra-lights of the

stern had swung around in its supporting brackets, illuminating every

recess of the dark depths of the bottom well of the berth and throwing

the picture upon another screen in lurid violet relief.

"Lateral and vertical detectors!"

"Laterals XP2710--all x. Verticals AJ4290--all x."

"Receptors!"

"15,270 kilofranks--all x."

"Accumulators!"

"700,000 kilofrank-hours--all x."

Having thus checked and tested every function of his department,

Breckenridge plugged into "Captain," and when the green light went on:

"Chief pilot check-out--all x," he reported briefly.

"All x," acknowledged the speaker, and the chief pilot unplugged.

Fifteen minutes remained, during which time one department head after

another would report to the captain of the liner that everything in his

charge was ready for the stupendous flight.

"All x, Steve?" Breckenridge turned to the computer. "How do you check

acceleration and power with the observatory?"

"Not so good, old bean," the younger man frowned in thought. "They

figure like astronomers, not navigators. They've made no allowances for

anything, not even the reversal--and I figure four thousands for that

and for minor detours. Then there's check station errors...."

"Check-station errors! Why, they're always right--that's what they're

for!"

"Don't fool yourself--they've got troubles of their own, the same as

anybody else. In fact, from a study of the charts of the last few weeks,

I'm pretty sure that E2 is at least four thousand kilometers this side

of where he thinks he is, that W41 is ten or twelve thousand beyond his

station, and that they've both got a lateral displacement that's simply

fierce. I'm going to check up, and argue with them about it as we pass.

Then there's another thing--they figure to only two places, and we've

got to have the third place almost solid if we expect to get a smooth

curve. A hundredth of a centimeter of acceleration means a lot on a long

trip when they're holding us as close as they are doing now. We'll ride

this trip on 981.286 centimeters--with our scheduled mass, that means

thirty six points of four seven kilofranks _plus_ equilibrium power. All

set to go," the computer stated, as he changed, by fractions of arc, the

course-plotters of the automatic integrating goniometer.

"You're the doctor--but I'm glad it's you that'll have to explain to the

observatory," and Breckenridge set his exceedingly delicate excess power

potentiometer exactly upon the indicated figure. "Well, we've got a few

minutes left for a chin-chin before we lift her off."

"What's all this commotion about? Dish out the low-down."

"Well, it's like this, Steve. We pilots are having one sweet

time--we're being growled at on every trip. The management squawks if

we're thirty seconds plus or minus at the terminals, and the passenger

department squalls if we change acceleration five centimeters total en

route--claims it upsets the dainty customers and loses business for

the road. They're tightening up on us all the time. A couple of years

ago, you remember, it didn't make any difference what we did with the

acceleration as long as we checked in somewhere near zero time--we used

to spin 'em dizzy when we reversed at the half-way station--but that

kind of stuff doesn't go any more. We've got to hold the acceleration

constant and close to normal, got to hold our schedule on zero, _plus_

or _minus_ ten seconds, and yet we've got to make any detours they

tell us to, such as this seven-million kilometer thing they handed

us just now. To make things worse, we've got to take orders at every

check-station, and yet _we_ get the blame for everything that happens

as a consequence of obeying those orders! Of course, I know as well

as you do that it's rotten technique to change acceleration at every

check-station; but we've told 'em over and over that we can't do any

better until they put a real computer on every ship and tell the

check-stations to report meteorites and other obstructions to us and

then to let us alone. So you'd better recommend us some computers!"

"You're getting rotten computation, that's a sure thing, and I don't

blame you pilots for yelling, but I don't believe that you've got the

right answer. I can't help but think that the astronomers are lying down

on the job. They are so sure that you pilots are to blame that it hasn't

occurred to them to check up on themselves very carefully. However,

we'll know pretty quick, and then we'll take steps."

"I hope so--but say, Steve, I'm worried about using that much plus

equilibrium power. Remember, we've got to hit M14 in absolutely good

shape, or plenty heads will drop."

"I'll say they will. I know just how the passengers will howl if we

hold them weightless for half an hour, waiting for those two moons to get

out of the way, and I know just what the manager will do if we check in

minus thirty-one minutes. Wow! He'll swell up and bust, sure. But don't

worry, Breck--if we don't check in all right, anybody can have my head

that wants it, and I'm taking full responsibility, you know."

"You're welcome to it." Breckenridge shrugged and turned the

conversation into a lighter vein. "Speaking of weightlessness,

it's funny how many weight-fiends there are in the world, isn't

it? You'd think the passengers would enjoy a little weightlessness

occasionally--especially the fat ones--but they don't. But say, while

I think of it, how come you were here and loose to make this check-up?

I thought you were out with the other two of the Big Three, solving

all the mysteries of the Universe?"

"Had to stay in this last trip--been doing some work on the ether,

force-field theory, and other advanced stuff that I had to go to Mars

and Venus to get. Just got back last week. As for solving mysteries,

laugh while you can, old hyena. You and a lot of other dim bulbs think

that Roeser's Rays are the last word--that there's nothing left to

discover--are going to get jarred loose from your hinges one of these

days. When I came in nine months ago they were hot on the trail of

something big, and I'll bet they bring it in...."

Out upon the dock an insistent siren blared a crescendo and diminuendo

blast of sound, and two minutes remained. In every stateroom and in

every lounge and saloon speakers sounded a warning:

"For a short time, while we are pulling clear of the gravitational field

of the Earth, walking will be somewhat difficult, as everything on board

will apparently increase in weight by about one-fifth of its present

amount. Please remain seated, or move about with caution. In about an

hour weight will gradually return to normal. We start in one minute."

"Hipe!" barked the chief pilot as a flaring purple light sprang into

being upon his board, and the assistants came to attention at their

stations. "Seconds! Four! Three! Two! One! LIFT!" He touched a

button and a set of plunger switches drove home, releasing into the

forty-five enormous driving projectors the equilibrium power--the

fifteen-thousand-and-odd kilofranks of energy that exactly

counterbalanced the pull of gravity upon the mass of the cruiser.

Simultaneously there was added from the potentiometer, already set

to the exact figure given by the computer, the _plus_-equilibrium

power--which would not be changed throughout the journey if the ideal

acceleration curve were to be registered upon the recorders--and the

immense mass of the cruiser of the void wafted vertically upward at a

low and constant velocity. The bellowing, shrieking siren had cleared

the air magically of the swarm of aircraft in her path, and quietly,

calmly, majestically, the _Arcturus_ floated upward.

* * * * *

Breckenridge, sixty seconds after the initial lift, actuated the system

of magnetic relays which would gradually cut in the precisely measured

"starting power," which it would be necessary to employ for sixty-nine

minutes--for, without the acceleration given by this additional power,

they would lose many precious hours of time in covering merely the

few thousands of miles during which Earth's attraction would operate

powerfully against their progress.

Faster and faster the great cruiser shot upward as more and more of the

starting power was released, and heavier and heavier the passengers

felt themselves become. Soon the full calculated power was on and the

acceleration became constant. Weight no longer increased, but remained

constant at a value of plus twenty three and six-tenths percent. For a

few moments there had been uneasy stomachs among the passengers--perhaps

a few of the first-trippers had been made ill--but it was not much worse

than riding in a high-speed elevator, particularly since there was no

change from positive to negative acceleration such as is experienced in

express elevators.

The computer, his calculations complete, watched the pilot with

interest, for, accustomed as he was to traversing the depths of space,

there was a never-failing thrill to his scientific mind in the delicacy

and precision of the work which Breckenridge was doing--work which could

be done only by a man who had had long training in the profession and

who was possessed of instantaneous nervous reaction and of the highest

degree of manual dexterity and control. Under his right and left hands

were the double-series potentiometers actuating the variable-speed

drives of the flight-angle directors in the hour and declination ranges;

before his eyes was the finely marked micrometer screen upon which the

guiding goniometer threw its needle-point of light; powerful optical

systems of prisms and lenses revealed to his sight the director-angles,

down to fractional seconds of arc. It was the task of the chief pilot

to hold the screened image of the cross-hairs of the two directors in

such position relative to the ever-moving point of light as to hold the

mighty vessel precisely upon its course, in spite of the complex system

of forces acting upon it.

For almost an hour Breckenridge sat motionless, his eyes flashing from

micrometer screen to signal panel, his sensitive fingers moving the

potentiometers through minute arcs because of what he saw upon the

screen and in instantaneous response to the flashing, multi-colored

lights and tinkling signals of his board. Finally, far from earth, the

moon's attraction and other perturbing forces comparatively slight, the

signals no longer sounded and the point of light ceased its irregular

motion, becoming almost stationary. The chief pilot brought both

cross-hairs directly upon the brilliant point, which for some time they

had been approaching more and more nearly, adjusted the photo-cells

and amplifiers which would hold them immovably upon it, and at the

calculated second of time, cut out the starting power by means of

another set of automatically timed relays. When only the regular driving

power was left, and the acceleration had been checked and found to be

exactly the designated value of 981.286 centimeters, he stood up and

heaved a profound sigh of relief.

"Well, Steve, that's over with--we're on our way. I'm always glad when

this part of it is done."

"It's a ticklish job, no fooling--even for an expert," the mathematician

agreed. "No wonder the astronomers think you birds are the ones who are

gumming up their dope. Well, it's about time to plug in on E2. Here's

where the fireworks start!" He closed the connections which transferred

the central portion of the upper lookout screen to a small micrometer

screen at Breckenridge's desk and plugged it into the first

check-station. Instantly a point of red light, surrounded by a vivid

orange circle, appeared upon the screen, low down and to the left of

center, and the timing galvanometer showed a wide positive deflection.

"Hashed again!" growled Breckenridge. "I must be losing my grip,

I guess. I put everything I had on that sight, and missed it ten

divisions. I think I'll turn in my badge--I've cocked our perfect curve

already, before we got to the first check-station!" His hands moved

toward the controls, to correct their course and acceleration.

"As you were--hold everything! Lay off those controls!" snapped the

computer. "There's something screwy, just as I thought--and it isn't

you, either. I'm no pilot, of course, but I do know good compensation

when I see it, and if you weren't compensating that point I never saw it

done. Besides, with your skill and my figures I know darn well that we

aren't off more than a tenth of one division. He's cuckoo! Don't call

him--let him start it, and refer him to me."

"All x--I'll be only too glad to pass the buck. But I still think,

Steve, that you're playing with dynamite. Who ever heard of an

astronomer being wrong?"

"You'd be surprised," grinned the physicist, "Since this fuss has

just started, nobody has tried to find out whether they were wrong

or not...."

"IPV _Arcturus_, attention!" came from the speaker curtly.

"IPV _Arcturus_, Breckenridge," from the chief pilot.

"You have been on my ray almost a minute. Why are you not correcting

course and acceleration?"

"Doctor Stevens is computing us and has full control of course and

acceleration," replied Breckenridge. "He will answer you."

"I am changing neither course nor acceleration because you are not

in position," declared Stevens, crisply, "Please give me your present

supposed location, and your latest precision goniometer bearings on the

sun, the moon, Mars, Venus, and your Tellurian reference limb, with

exact time of observations, gyroscope zero-planes, and goniometer

factors!"

"Correct at once or I shall report you to the Observatory," E2 answered

loftily, paying no attention to the demand for proof of position.

"Be sure you do that, guy--and while you're at it report that your

station hasn't taken a precision bearing in a month. Report that you've

been muddling along on radio loop bearings, and that you don't know

where you are, within seven thousand kilometers. And speaking of

reporting--I know already that a lot of you astronomical guessers

have only the faintest possible idea of where you really are, _plus_,

_minus_, or lateral; and if you don't get yourselves straightened out

before we get to W41, I'm going to make a report on my own account that

will jar some of you birds loose from your upper teeth!" He unplugged

with a vicious jerk, and turned to the pilot with a grin.

"Guess that'll hold him for a while, won't it?"

"He'll report us, sure," remonstrated Breckenridge. The older man was

plainly ill at ease at this open defiance of the supposedly infallible

check-stations.

"Not that baby," returned the computer confidently. "I'll bet you a

small farm against a plugged nickel that right now he's working his

goniometer so hard that it's pivots are getting hot. He'll sneak back

into position as soon as he can calculate his results, and pretend he's

always been there."

"The others will be all right, then, probably, by the time we get to

them?"

"Gosh, no--you're unusually dumb today, Breck. He won't tell anybody

anything--he doesn't want to be the only goat, does he?"

"Oh, I see. How could you dope this out, with only the recorder charts?"

"Because I know the kind of stuff you pilots are--and those humps are

altogether too big to be accounted for by anything I know about you.

Another thing--the next station, P6, I think is keeping himself all x.

If so, when you corrected for E2, which was wrong, it'd throw you all

off on P6, which was right, and so on--a bad hump at almost every

check-station. See?"

* * * * *

True to prediction, the pilot ray of P6 came in almost upon the exact

center of the micrometer screen, and Breckenridge smiled in relief as he

began really to enjoy the trip.

"How do we check on chronometers?" asked P6 when Stevens had been

introduced. "By my time you seem to be about two and a half seconds

_plus_?"

"All x--two points four seconds plus--we're riding on 981.286

centimeters, to allow for the reversal and for minor detours. Bye."

"All this may have been coincidence, Breck, but we'll find out pretty

quick now," the computer remarked when the flying vessel was nearing

the third check-station. "Unless I'm all out of control we'll check in

almost fourteen seconds minus on W41, and we may not even find him on

the center block of the screen."

When he plugged in W41 was on the block, but was in the extreme upper

right corner. They checked in thirteen and eight-tenths seconds minus on

the station, and a fiery dialogue ensued when the computer questioned

the accuracy of the location of the station and refused point-blank to

correct his course.

"Well, Breck, old onion, that tears it," Stevens declared as he

unplugged. "No use going any further on these bum reference points.

I'm going to report to Newton--he'll rock the Observatory on its

foundations!" He plugged into the telegraph room. "Have you got a free

high-power wave?... Please put me on Newton, in the main office."

Moving lights flashed and flickered for an instant upon the communicator

screen, settling down into a white glow which soon resolved itself into

the likeness of a keen-eyed, gray-haired man, seated at his desk in the

remote office of the Interplanetary Corporation. Newton smiled as he

recognized the likeness of Stevens upon his own screen, and greeted him

cordially.

"Have you started your investigation, Doctor Stevens?"

"Started it? I've finished it!" and Stevens tersely reported what he

had learned, concluding: "So you see, you don't need special computers

on these ships any more than a hen needs teeth. You've got all the

computers you need, in the observatories--all you've got to do is make

them work at their trade."

"The piloting was all x, then?"

"Absolutely--our curve so far is exactly flat ever since we cut

off the starting power. Of course, all the pilots can't be as good as

Breckenridge, but give them good computation and good check points and

you shouldn't get any humps higher than about half a centimeter."

"They'll get both, from now on," the director assured him. "Thanks. If

your work for the trip is done, you might show my little girl, Nadia,

around the _Arcturus_. She's never been out before, and will be

interested. Would you mind?"

"Glad to, Mr. Newton--I'll be a regular uncle to her."

"Thanks again, Operator, I'll speak to Captain King, please."

"Pipe down that guff, you unlicked cub, or I'll crown you with a

proof-bar!" the chief pilot growled, as soon as Stevens had unplugged.

"You and who else?" retorted the computer, cheerfully. "Pipe down

yourself, guy--if you weren't so darn dumb and didn't have such a

complex, you'd know that you're the crack pilot of the outfit and

wouldn't care who else knew it." Stevens carefully covered and put away

the calculating machine and other apparatus he had been using and turned

again to the pilot.

"I didn't know Newton had any kids, especially little ones, or I'd have

got acquainted with them long ago. Of course I don't know him very well,

since I never was around the office much, but the old tiger goes over

big with me."

"Hm--m. Think you'll enjoy playing nursemaid all the rest of the trip?"

Breckenridge asked caustically, but with an enigmatic smile.

"Think so? I _know_ so!" replied Stevens, positively. "I always did

like kids, and they always did like me--we fall for each other like ten

thousand bricks falling down a well. Why, a kid--_any_ kid--and I team

up just like grace and poise.... What's gnawing on you anyway, to make

you turn Cheshire cat all of a sudden? By the looks of that grin I'd

say you had swallowed a canary of mine some way or other; but darned if

I know that I've lost any," and he stared at his friend suspiciously.

"To borrow your own phrase, Steve, 'You'd be surprised,'" and

Breckenridge, though making no effort to conceal his amusement, would

say no more.

In a few minutes the door opened, and through it there stepped a

grizzled four-striper. Almost hidden behind his massive form there was

a girl, who ran up to Breckenridge and seized both his hands, her eyes

sparkling.

"Hi, Breckie, you old darling! I knew that if we both kept after

him long enough Dad would let me ride with you sometime. Isn't this

_gorgeous_?"

Stevens was glad indeed that the girl's enthusiastic greeting of the

pilot was giving him time to recover from his shock, for Director

Newton's "little girl, Nadia" was not precisely what he had led himself

to expect. Little she might be, particularly when compared with the

giant frame of Captain King, or with Steve's own five-feet-eleven of

stature and the hundred and ninety pounds of rawhide and whalebone that

was his body, but child she certainly was not. Her thick, fair hair,

cut in the square bob that was the mode of the moment, indicated that

Nature had intended her to be a creamy blonde, but as she turned to be

introduced to him, Stevens received another surprise--for she was one

of those rare, but exceedingly attractive beings, a natural blonde with

brown eyes and black eyebrows. Sun and wind had tanned her satin skin

to a smooth and even shade of brown, and every movement of her lithe and

supple body bespoke to the discerning mind a rigidly-trained physique.

"Doctor Stevens, you haven't met Miss Newton, I hear," the captain

introduced them informally. "All the officers who are not actually tied

down at their posts are anxious to do the honors of the vessel, but as

I have received direct orders from the owners, I am turning her over to

you--you are to show her around."

"Thanks, Captain, I won't mutiny a bit against such an order. I'm mighty

glad to know you, Miss Newton."

"I've heard a lot about you, Doctor. Dad and Breckie here are always

talking about the Big Three--what you have done and what you are going

to do. I want to meet Doctor Brandon and Doctor Westfall, too," and her

hand met his in a firm and friendly clasp. She turned to the captain,

and Stevens, noticing that the pilot, with a quizzical expression, was

about to say something, silenced him with a fierce aside.

"Clam it, ape, or I'll climb up you like a squirrel!" he hissed, and the

grinning Breckenridge nodded assent to this demand for silence

concerning children and nursemaids.

"Since you've never been out, Miss Newton, you'll want to see the whole

works," Stevens addressed the girl. "Where do you want to begin? Shall

we start at the top and work down?"

"All right with me," she agreed, and fell into step beside him. She was

dressed in dove-gray from head to foot--toque, blouse, breeches, heavy

stockings, and shoes were of the one shade of smooth, lustrous silk; and

as they strolled together down the passage-way, the effortless ease and

perfect poise of her carriage called aloud to every hard-schooled fibre

of his own highly-trained being.

"We're a lot alike you and I--do you know it?" he asked, abruptly and

unconventionally.

"Yes, I've felt it, too," she replied frankly, and studied him without

affectation. "It has just come to me what it is. We're both in fine

condition and in hard training. You're an athlete of some kind, and I'm

sure you're a star--I ought to recognize you, but I'm ashamed to say I

don't. What do you do?"

"Swim."

"Oh, of course--Stevens, the great Olympic high and fancy diver! I would

_never_ have connected our own Doctor Stevens, the eminent mathematical

physicist, with the King of the Springboard. Say, ever since I quit

being afraid of the water I've had a yen to do that two-and-a-half twist

of yours, but I never met anybody who knew it well enough to teach it

to me, and I've almost broken my back forty times trying to learn it

alone!"

"I've got you, now, too--American and British Womens' golf champion.

Shake!" and the two shook hands vigorously, in mutual congratulation.

"Tell you what--I'll give you some pointers on diving, and you can show

me how to make a golf ball behave. Next to Norman Brandon, I've got

the most vicious hook in captivity--and Norm can't help himself. He's

left-handed, you know, and, being a southpaw, he's naturally wild. He

slices all his woods and hooks all his irons. I'm consistent, anyway--I

hook everything, even my putts."

"It's a bargain! What do you shoot?"

"Pretty dubby. Usually in the middle eighties--none of us play much,

being out in space most of the time, you know--sometimes, when my hook

is going particularly well, I go up into the nineties."

"We'll lick that hook," she promised, as they entered an elevator and

were borne upward, toward the prow of the great interplanetary cruiser.

CHAPTER II

----But Does Not Arrive

"All out--we climb the rest of the way on foot," Stevens told his

companion, as the elevator stopped at the uppermost passenger floor.

They walked across the small circular hall and the guard on duty came

to attention and saluted as they approached him.

"I have orders to pass you and Miss Newton, sir. Do you know all the

combinations?"

"I know this good old tub better than the men that built her--I helped

calculate her," Stevens replied, as he stepped up to an apparently blank

wall of steel and deftly manipulated an almost invisible dial set flush

with its surface. "This is to keep the passengers where they belong," he

explained, as a section of the wall swung backward in a short arc and

slid smoothly aside. "We will now proceed to see what makes it tick."

Ladder after ladder of steel they climbed, and bulkhead after bulkhead

opened at Stevens's knowing touch. At each floor the mathematician

explained to the girl the operation of the machinery there automatically

at work--devices for heating and cooling, devices for circulating,

maintaining, and purifying the air and the water--in short, all the

complex mechanism necessary for the comfort and convenience of the human

cargo of the liner.

Soon they entered the conical top compartment, a room scarcely fifteen

feet in diameter, tapering sharply upward to a hollow point some

twenty feet above them. The true shape of the room, however, was not

immediately apparent, because of the enormous latticed beams and

girders which braced the walls in every direction. The air glowed

with the violet light of the twelve great ultra-light projectors, like

searchlights with three-foot lenses, which lined the wall. The floor

beneath their feet was not a level steel platform, but seemed to be

composed of many lenticular sections of dull blue alloy.

"We are standing upon the upper lookout lenses, aren't we?" asked the

girl. "Is that perfectly all right?"

"Sure. They're so hard that nothing can scratch them, and of course

Roeser's Rays go right through our bodies, or any ordinary substance,

like a bullet through a hole in a Swiss cheese. Even those lenses

wouldn't deflect them if they weren't solid fields of force."

As he spoke, one of the ultra-lights flashed around in a short, quick

arc, and the girl saw that instead of the fierce glare she had expected,

it emitted only a soft violet light. Nevertheless she dodged

involuntarily and Stevens touched her arm reassuringly.

"All x, Miss Newton--they're as harmless as mice. They hardly ever have

to swing past the vertical, and even if one shines right through you you

can look it right in the eye as long as you want to--it can't hurt you

a bit."

"No ultra-violet at all?"

"None whatever. Just a color--one of the many remaining crudities of our

ultra-light vision. A lot of good men are studying this thing of direct

vision, though, and it won't be long before we have a system that will

really work."

"I think it's all perfectly wonderful!" she breathed. "Just think of

traveling in comfort through empty space, and of actually seeing through

seamless steel walls, without even a sign of a window! How can such

things be possible?"

"I'll have to go pretty well back," he warned, "and any adequate

explanation is bound to be fairly deep wading in spots. How technical

can you stand it?"

"I can go down with you middling deep--I took a lot of general science,

and physics through advanced mechanics. Of course, I didn't get into any

such highly specialized stuff as sub-electronics or Roeser's Rays, but

if you start drowning me, I'll yell."

"That's fine--you can get the idea all x, with that to go on. Let's sit

down here on this girder. Roeser didn't do it all, by any means, even

though he got credit for it--he merely helped the Martians do it. The

whole thing started, of course, when Goddard shot his first rocket to

the moon, and was intensified when Roeser so perfected his short waves

that signals were exchanged with Mars--signals that neither side could

make any sense out of. Goddard's pupils and followers made bigger and

better rockets, and finally got one that could land safely upon Mars.

Roeser, who was a mighty keen bird, was one of the first voyagers, and

he didn't come back--he stayed there, living in a space-suit for three

or four years, and got a brand-new education. Martian science always

was hot, you know, but they were impractical. They were desperately

hard up for water and air, and while they had a lot of wonderful

ideas and theories, they couldn't overcome the practical technical

difficulties in the way of making their ideas work. Now putting other

peoples' ideas to work was Roeser's long suit--don't think that I'm

belittling Roeser at all, either, for he was a brave and far-sighted

man, was no mean scientist, and was certainly one of the best organizers

and synchronizers the world has ever known--and since Martian and

Tellurian science complemented each other, so that one filled in the

gaps of the other, it wasn't long until fleets of space-freighters were

bringing in air and water from Venus, which had more of both than she

needed or wanted.

"Having done all he could for the Martians and having learned most of

the stuff he wanted to know, Roeser came back to Tellus and organized

Interplanetary, with scientists and engineers on all three planets,

and set to work to improve the whole system, for the vessels they used

then were dangerous--regular mankillers, in fact. At about this same

time Roeser and the Interplanetary Corporation had a big part in the

unification of the world into one nation, so that wars could no longer

interfere with progress."

* * * * *

"With this introduction I can get down to fundamentals. Molecules are

particles of the first order, and vibrations of the first order include

sound, light, heat, electricity, radio, and so on. Second order,

atoms--extremely short vibrations, such as hard X-rays. Third order,

electrons and protons, with their accompanying Millikan, or cosmic,

rays. Fourth order, sub-electrons and sub-protons. These, in the

material aspect, are supposed to be the particles of the fourth order,

and in the energy aspect they are known as Roeser's Rays. That is, these

fourth-order rays and particles seem to partake of the nature of both

energy and matter. Following me?"

"Right behind you," she assured him. She had been listening intently,

her wide-spaced brown eyes fastened upon his face.

"Since these Roeser's Rays, or particles or rays of the fourth order,

seem to be both matter and energy, and since the rays can be converted

into what is supposed to be the particles, they have been thought to be

the things from which both electrons and protons were built. Therefore,

everybody except Norman Brandon has supposed them the ultimate units of

creation, so that it would be useless to try to go any further...."

"Why, we were taught that they _are_ the ultimate units!" she protested.

"I know you were--but we really don't know anything, except what we

have learned empirically, even about our driving forces. What is called

the fourth-order particle is absolutely unknown, since nobody has been

able to detect it, to say nothing of determining its velocity or other

properties. It has been assumed to have the velocity of light only

because that hypothesis does not conflict with observational data. I'm

going to give you the generally accepted idea, since we have nothing

definite to offer in its place, but I warn you that that idea is very

probably wrong. There's a lot of deep stuff down there hasn't been dug

up yet. In fact, Brandon thinks that the product of conversion isn't

what we think it is, at all--that the actual fundamental unit and the

primary mechanism of the transformation lie somewhere below the fourth

order, and possibly even below the level of the ether--but we haven't

been able to find a point of attack yet that will let us get in

anywhere. However, I'm getting 'way ahead of our subject. To get back to

it, energy can be converted into something that acts like matter through

Roeser's Rays, and that is the empirical fact underlying the drive of

our space-ships, as well as that of almost all other vehicles on all

three planets. Power is generated by the great waterfalls of Tellus and

Venus--water's mighty scarce on Mars, of course, so most of our plants

there use fuel--and is transmitted on light beams, by means of powerful

fields of force to the receptors, wherever they may be. The individual

transmitting fields and receptors are really simply matched-frequency

units, each matching the electrical characteristics of some particular

and unique beam of force. This beam is composed of Roeser's Rays, in

their energy aspect. It took a long time to work out this tight-beam

transmission of power, but it was fairly simple after they got it."

He took out a voluminous notebook, at the sight of which Nadia smiled.

"A computer might forget to dress, but you'd never catch one without a

full magazine pencil and a lot of blank paper," he grinned in reply and

went on, writing as he talked.

"For any given frequency, _f_, and phase angle, _theta_, you integrate,

between limits zero and _pi_ divided by two, sine theta d...."

"Hold it--I'm sinking!" Nadia exclaimed. "I don't integrate at all

unless it is absolutely necessary. As long as you stick to general

science, I'm right on your heels, but please lay off of integrations

and all that--most especially stay away from those terrible electrical

integrations. I always did think that they were the most poisonous kind

known. I want only a general idea--that's all that I can understand,

anyway."

"Sure, I forgot--guess I was getting in deeper than is necessary,

especially since this whole thing of beam transmission is pretty crude

yet and is bound to change a lot before long. There is so much loss

that when we get more than a few hundred million kilometers away from

a power-plant we lose reception entirely. But to get going again,

the receptors receive the beam and from them the power is sent to the

accumulators, where it is stored. These accumulators are an outgrowth

of the storage battery. The theory of the accumulator is...."

"Lay off the theory, please!" the listener interrupted. "I understand

perfectly without it. Energy is stored in the accumulators--you put it

in and take it out. That's all that is necessary."

* * * * *

"I'd like to give you some of the theory--but, after all, it wouldn't

add much to your understanding of the working of things, and it might

mix you up, as some of it is pretty deep stuff. Then, too, it would

take a lot of time, and the rest of your friends would squawk if I

kept you here indefinitely. From the accumulators, then, the power

is fed to the converters, each of which is backed by a projector.

The converters simply change the aspect of the rays, from the

energy aspect to the material aspect. As soon as this is done, the

highly-charged particles--or whatever they are--thus formed are

repelled by the terrific stationary force maintained in the projector

backing the converter. Each particle departs with a velocity supposed

to be that of light, and the recoil upon the projector drives the

vessel, or car, or whatever it is attached to. Still with me?"

"Struggling a little, but my nose is still above the surface. These

particles, being so infinitesimally small that they cannot even be

detected, go right through any substance without any effect--they are

not even harmful."

"Exactly. Now we are in position to go ahead with the lights, detectors,

and so on. The energy aspect of the rays you can best understand as

simply a vibration in the ether--an extremely high frequency one.

While not rigidly scientific, that is close enough for you and me.

Nobody knows what the stuff really is, and it cannot be explained or

demonstrated by any model or concept in three-dimensional space. Its

physical-mathematical interpretation, the only way in which it can be

grasped at all, requires sixteen coordinates in four dimensions, and

I don't suppose you'd care to go into that."

"I'll say I wouldn't!" she exclaimed, feelingly.

"Well, anyway, by the use of suitable fields of force it can be used

as a carrier wave. Most of this stuff of the fields of force--how to

carry the modulation up and down through all the frequency changes

necessary--was figured out by the Martians ages ago. Used as a pure

carrier wave, with a sender and a receiver at each end, it isn't so

bad--that's why our communicator and radio systems work as well as they

do. They are pretty good, really, but the ultra-light vision system

is something else again. Sending the heterodyned wave through steel

is easy, but breaking it up, so as to view an object and return the

impulses, was an awful job and one that isn't half done yet. We see

things, after a fashion and at a distance of a few kilometers, by

sending an almost parallel wave from a twin-projector to disintegrate

and double back the viewing wave. That's the way the lookout plates and

lenses work, all over the ship--from the master-screens in the control

room to the plates of the staterooms and lifeboats and the viewing-areas

of the promenades. But the whole system is a rotten makeshift, and...."

"Just a minute!" exclaimed the girl. "I and everybody else have been

thinking that everything is absolutely perfect; and yet every single

thing you have talked about, you have ended up by describing as

'unknown,' 'rudimentary,' 'temporary,' or a 'makeshift.' You speak as

though the entire system were a poor thing that will have to do until

something better has been found, and that nobody knows anything about

anything! How do you get that way?"

"By working with Brandon and Westfall. Those birds have got real brains

and they're on the track of something that will, in all probability, be

as far ahead of Roeser's Rays as our present system is ahead of the

science of the seventeenth century."

"Really?" she looked at him in astonishment. "Tell me about it."

"Can't be done," he refused. "I don't know much about it--even they

didn't know any too much about some of it when I had to come in. And

what little I do know I can't tell, because it isn't mine."

"But you're working with them, aren't you?"

"Yes, in the sense that a small boy helps his father build a house.

They're the brains--I simply do some figuring that they don't want to

waste time doing."

Nadia, having no belief whatever in his modest disclaimer, but in secret

greatly pleased by his attitude, replied:

"Of course you couldn't say anything about an unfinished project--I

shouldn't have asked. Where do we go from here?"

"Down the lining of the hull, outside the passengers' quarters to the

upper dirigible projectors," and he led the way down a series of steep

steel stairways, through bulkheads and partitions of steel. "One thing

I forgot to tell you about--the detectors. They're worked on the same

principle as the lights, and are just about as efficient. Instead, of

light, though, they send out cones of electromagnetic waves, which set

up induced currents in any conductor encountered beyond our own shell.

Since all dangerous meteorites have been shown to contain conducting

material, that is enough to locate them, for radio finders automatically

determine the direction, distance, and magnitude of the disturbance, and

swing a light on it. That was what happened when that light swung toward

us, back there in the prow."

"Are there any of those life-boats, that I've heard discussed so much

lately, near here?" asked the girl.

"Lots of 'em--here's one right here," and at the next landing he opened

a vacuum-insulated steel door, snapped on a light, and waved his hand.

"You can't see much of it from here, but it's a complete space-ship

in itself, capable of maintaining a dozen or fifteen persons during

a two-weeks' cruise in space."

"Why isn't it a good idea to retain them? Accidents are still possible,

are they not?"

"Of course, and there is no question of doing away with them entirely.

Modern ships, however, have only enough of them to take care of the

largest number of persons ever to be carried by the vessel."

"Has the _Arcturus_ more than she needs?"

"I'll say she has, and more of everything else, except room for

pay-load."

"I've heard them talking about junking her. I think it's a shame."

"So do I, in a way--you see, I helped design her and her sister-ship,

the _Sirius_, which Brandon and Westfall are using as a floating

laboratory. But times change, and the inefficient must go. She's a good

old tub, but she was built when everybody was afraid of space, and we

had to put every safety factor into her that we could think of. As a

result, she is four times as heavy as she should be, and that takes a

lot of extra power. Her skin is too thick. She has too many batteries of

accumulators, too many life-boats, too many bulkheads and air-breaks,

too many and too much of everything. She is so built that if she should

break up out in space, nobody would die if they lived through the

shock--there are so many bulkheads, air-breaks, and life-boats that

no matter how many pieces she broke up into, the survivors would find

themselves in something able to navigate. That excessive construction

is no longer necessary. Modern ships carry ten times the pay-load on

one-quarter of the power that this old battle-wagon uses. Even though

she's only four years old, she's a relic of the days when we used to

slam through on the ecliptic route, right through all the meteoric

stuff that is always there--trusting to heavy armor to ward off

anything too small for the observers and detectors to locate. Now, with

the observatories and check-stations out in space, fairly light armor

is sufficient, as we route ourselves well away from the ecliptic and so

miss all the heavy stuff. So, badly as I hate to see her go there, the

old tub is bound for the junk-yard."

* * * * *

A few more flights of stairs brought them to the upper band of dirigible

projectors, which encircled the hull outside the passengers' quarters,

some sixty feet below the prow. They were heavy, search-light-like

affairs mounted upon massive universal bearings, free to turn in any

direction, and each having its converter nestling inside its prodigious

field of force. Stevens explained that these projectors were used in

turning the vessel and in dodging meteorites when necessary, and they

went on through another almost invisible door into a hall and took an

elevator down to the main corridor.

"Well, you've seen it, Miss Newton," Stevens said regretfully, as he

led her toward the captain's office. "The lower half is full of heavy

stuff--accumulators, machinery, driving projectors, and such junk, so

that the center of gravity is below the center of action of the driving

projectors. That makes stable flight possible. It's all more or less

like what we've just seen, and I don't suppose you want to miss the

dance--anyway, a lot of people want to dance with you."

"Wouldn't you just as soon show me through the lower half as dance?"

"Rather, lots!"

"So would I. I can dance any time, and I want to see everything.

Let's go!"

Down they went, past battery after battery of accumulators; climbing

over and around the ever-increasing number of huge steel girders and

bracers; through mazes of heavily insulated wiring and conduits; past

mass after mass of automatic machinery which Stevens explained to his

eager listener. They inspected one of the great driving projectors,

which, built rigidly parallel to the axis of the ship and held immovably

in place by enormous trusses of steel, revealed neither to the eye nor

to the ear any sign of the terrific force it was exerting. Still lower

they went, until the girl had been shown everything, even down to the

bottom ultra-lights and stern braces.

"Tired?" Stevens asked, as the inspection was completed.

"Not very. It's been quite a climb, but I've had a wonderful time."

"So have I," he declared, positively. "I know what--we'll crawl up into

one of these stern lifeboats and make us a cup of coffee before we climb

back. With me?"

"'Way ahead of you!" Nadia accepted the invitation enthusiastically,

and they made their way to the nearest of the miniature space-cruisers.

Here, although no emergency had been encountered in all the four years

of the vessel's life, they found everything in readiness, and the two

soon had prepared and eaten a hearty luncheon.

"Well, I can't think of any more excuses for monopolizing you, Miss

Newton, so I suppose I'll have to take you back. Believe me, I've

enjoyed this more than you can realize--I've...."

He broke off and listened, every nerve taut. "What was that?" he

exclaimed.

"What was what? I didn't hear anything?"

"Something screwy somewhere! I felt a vibration, and anything that'd

make this mountain of steel even quiver must have given us one

gosh-awful nudge. There's another!"

The girl, painfully tense, felt only a barely perceptible tremor, but

the computer, knowing far better than she the inconceivable strength and

mass of that enormous structure of solidly braced hardened steel, sprang

into action. Leaping to the small dirigible look-out plate, he turned on

the power and swung it upward.

* * * * *

"Great suffering snakes!" he ejaculated, then stood mute, for the

plate revealed a terrible sight. The entire nose of the gigantic craft

had been sheared off in two immense slices as though clipped off by a

gigantic sword, and even as they stared, fascinated, at the sight, the

severed slices were drifting slowly away. Swinging the view along the

plane of cleavage, Stevens made out a relatively tiny ball of metal,

only fifty feet or so in diameter, at a distance of perhaps a mile.

From this ball there shot a blinding plane of light, and the _Arcturus_

fell apart at the midsection, the lower half separating clean from

the upper portion, which held the passengers. Leaving the upper half

intact, the attacker began slicing the lower, driving half into thin,

disk-shaped sections. As that incandescent plane of destruction made

its first flashing cut through the body of the _Arcturus_, accompanied

by an additional pyrotechnic display of severed and short-circuited

high-tension leads, Stevens and Nadia suddenly found themselves floating

weightless in the air of the room. Still gripping the controls of the

look-out plate, Stevens caught the white-faced girl with one hand, drew

her down beside him, and held her motionless while his keen mind flashed

over all the possibilities of the situation and planned his course

of action.

"They're apparently slicing us pretty evenly, and by the looks of

things, one cut is coming right about here," he explained rapidly, as

he found a flashlight and drew his companion through the door and along

a narrow passage. Soon he opened another door and led her into a tiny

compartment so low that they could not stand upright--a mere cubicle of

steel. Carefully closing the door, he fingered dials upon each of the

walls of the cell, then folded himself up into a comfortable position,

instructed Nadia to do the same, and snapped off the light.

"Please leave it on," the shaken girl asked. "It's so ghastly!"

"We'd better save it, Nadia," he advised, pressing her arm reassuringly,

"it's the only light we've got, and we may need it worse later on--its

life is limited, you know."

"Later on? Do you think we'll need anything--later on?"

"Sure! Of course they may get us, Nadia, but this little tertiary

air-break is a mighty small target for them to hit. And if they miss us,

as I think they will, there's a larger room opening off each wall of

this one--at least one of which will certainly be left intact. From any

one of those rooms we can reach a life-boat. Of course, it's a little

too much to expect that any one of the life-boats will be left whole,

but they're bulkheaded, too, you know, so that we can be sure of finding

something able to navigate--providing we can make our get-away. Believe

me, ace, I'm sure glad we're aboard the old _Arcturus_ right now, with

all her safety-devices, instead of on one of the modern liners. We'd be

sunk right."

"I felt sunk enough for a minute--I'm feeling better now, though, since

you are taking it so calmly."

"Sure--why not? A man's not dead until his heart stops beating, you

know--our turn'll come next, when they let up a little."

"But suppose they change the width of their slices, and hit this cubby,

small as it is?"

"It'd be just too bad," he shrugged. "In that case, we'd never know

what hit us, so it's no good worrying about it. But say, we might do

something at that, if they didn't hit us square. I can move fairly fast,

and might be able to get a door open before the loss of pressure seals

it. We'll light the flash ... here, you hold it, so that I can have both

hands free. Put both arms around me, just under the arms, and stick to

me like a porous plaster, because if I have to move at all, I'll have

to jump like chain lightning. Shine the beam right over there, so it'll

reflect and light up all the dials at once. There ... hold on tight!

Here they come!"

As he spoke, a jarring shudder shook one side of their hiding-place,

then, a moment later, the phenomenon was repeated, but with much less

force, upon the other side. Stevens sighed with relief, took the light,

and extinguished it.

"Missed us clean!" he exulted. "Now, if they don't find us, we're all

set."

"How can they possibly find us? I seem to be always worried about the

wrong things, but I should think that their finding us would be the

least of our troubles."

"Don't judge their vision system by ours--they've got everything,

apparently. However, their apparatus may not be delicate enough to spot

us in a space this small when their projectors flash through it, as they

probably will. Then, too, there's a couple of other big items in our

favor--nobody else is in the entire lower half, since all this machinery

down here is either automatic or else controlled from up above, so they

won't be expecting to see anybody when they get down this far; and we

aren't at all conspicuous. We're both dressed in gray--your clothes in

particular are almost exactly the color of this armor-plate--so

altogether we stand a good chance of being missed."

"What shall we do now?"

"Nothing whatever--wish we could sleep for a couple of hours, but of

course there's no hope of that. Stretch out here, like that--you can't

rest folded up like an accordion--and I'll lie down diagonally across

the room. There's just room for me that way. That's one advantage of

weightlessness--you can lie down standing on your head, and go to sleep

and like it. But I forgot--you've never been weightless before, have

you? Does it make you sick?"

"Not so much, now, except that I feel awfully weird inside. I was

horribly dizzy and nauseated at first, but it's going away."

* * * * *

"That's good--it makes lots of people pretty sick. In fact, some folks

get awfully sick and can't seem to get used to it at all. It's the

canals in the inner ear that do most of it, you know. However, if you're

as well as that already, you'll be a regular spacehound in half an hour.

I've been weightless for weeks at a stretch, out in the _Sirius_, and

now I've got so I really like it. Here, we'd better keep in touch."

He found her hand and tucked it under his arm. "Stabilize our positions

more, besides keeping us from getting too lonesome, here in the dark,"

he concluded, in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Thanks for saying 'us'--but you would, wouldn't you?" and a wave of

admiration went through her for the real and chivalrous manhood of the

man with whom she had been forced by circumstances to cast her lot.

"How long must we stay here?"

"As long as the air lasts, and I'd like to stay here longer than that.

We don't want to move around any more than we absolutely have to until

their rays are off of us, and we have no way of knowing how long that

will be. Also, we'd better keep still. I don't know what kind of an

audio system they've got, but there's no use taking unnecessary

chances."

"All x--I'm an oyster's little sister," and for many minutes the

two remained motionless and silent. Now and then Nadia twitched and

started at some vague real or imaginary sound--now and then her fingers

tightened upon his biceps--and he pressed her hand with his great arm in

reassurance and understanding. Once a wall of their cell resounded under

the impact of a fierce blow and Stevens instantly threw his arm around

the girl, twisting himself between her and the threatened wall, ready

for any emergency. But nothing more happened; the door remained closed,

the cell stayed bottle-tight, and time wore slowly on. All too soon the

unmistakable symptoms of breathing an unfit atmosphere made themselves

apparent and Stevens, after testing each of the doors, drew the girl

into a larger room, where they breathed deeply of the fresh, cool air.

"How did you know that this room was whole?" asked Nadia. "We might have

stepped out into space, mightn't we?"

"No; if this room had lost its tightness, the door wouldn't have opened.

They won't open if there's a difference of one kilogram pressure on the

two sides. That's how I knew that the room we were in at first was cut

in two--the door into that air-break wouldn't move."

"What comes next?"

"I don't know exactly what to do--we'd better hold a little council of

war. They may have gone..." Stevens broke off as the structure began

to move, and they settled down upon what had been one of the side-walls.

Greater and greater became the acceleration, until their apparent weight

was almost as much as it would have been upon the Earth, at which point

it became constant. "... but they haven't," he continued the interrupted

sentence. "This seems to be a capture and seizure, as well as an attack,

so we'll have to take the risk of looking at them. Besides, it's getting

cold in here. One or two of the adjoining cells have apparently been

ruptured and we're radiating our heat out into space, so we'll have to

get into a life-boat or freeze. I'll go pick out the best one. Wonder

if I'd better take you with me, or hide you and come back after you?"

"Don't worry about that--I'm coming with you," Nadia declared, positively.

"Just as well, probably," he assented, and they set out. A thorough

exploration of all the tight connecting cells revealed that not a

lifeboat within their reach remained intact, but that habitable and

navigable portions of three such craft were available. Selecting the

most completely equipped of these, they took up their residence therein

by entering it and closing the massive insulating door. Stevens

disconnected all the lights save one, and so shielded that one before

turning it on that it merely lightened the utter darkness into a

semi-permeable gloom. He then stepped up to the lookout plate, and with

his hand upon the control, pondered long the possible consequences of

what he wished to do.

"What harm would it do to take just a little peek?"

"I don't know--that's the dickens of it. Maybe none, and then again,

maybe a lot. You see, we don't know who or what we are up against. The

only thing we know is that they've got us beat a hundred ways, and we've

got to act accordingly. We've got to chance it sometime, though, if we

can ever get away, so we might as well do it now. I'll put it on very

short range first, and see what we can see. By the small number of cells

we've got here I'm afraid they've split us up lengthwise, too--so that

instead of having a whole slice of the old watermelon to live in, we've

got only about a sixth of one--shaped about like a piece of restaurant

pie. One thing I can do, though. I'll turn on the communicator receiver

and put it on full coverage--maybe we can hear something useful."

Putting a little power upon the visiray plate, he moved the point of

projection a short distance from their hiding-place, so that the plate

showed a view of the wreckage. The upper half of the vessel was still

intact, the lower half a jumble of sharply-cut fragments. From each of

the larger pieces a brilliant ray of tangible force stretched outward.

Suddenly their receiver sounded behind them, as the high-powered

transmitter in the telegraph room tried to notify headquarters of

their plight.

"_Arcturus_ attacked and cut up being taken tow...."

Rapidly as the message was uttered the transmitter died with a rattle

in the middle of a word, and Nadia looked at Stevens with foreboding in

her eyes.

"They've got something, that's one thing sure, to be able to neutralize

our communicator beams that way," he admitted. "Not so good--we'll have

to play this close to our vests, girl!"

"Are you just trying to cheer me up, or do you really think we have a

chance?" she demanded. "I want to know just where we stand."

"I'm coming clean with you, no kidding. If we can get away, we'll be all

x, because I'll bet a farm that by this time Brandon's got everything

those birds have, and maybe more. They beat us to it, that's all. I'm

kind of afraid, though, that getting away isn't going to be quite as

simple as shooting fish down a well."

* * * * *

Far ahead of them a port opened, a lifeboat shot out at its full power,

and again their receiver tried to burst into sound, but it was a vain

attempt. The sound died before one complete word could be uttered, and

the lifeboat, its power completely neutralized by the rays of the tiny

craft of the enemy, floated gently back toward the mass of its parent

and accompanied it in its headlong flight. Several more lifeboats made

the attempt, as the courageous officers of the _Arcturus_, some of

whom had apparently succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the captors,

launched the little shells from various ports; but as each boat issued,

its power was neutralized and it found itself dragged helplessly along

in the grip of one of those mysterious, brilliant rays of force. At

least one hidden officer must have been watching the fruitless efforts,

for the next lifeboat to issue made no attempt, either to talk or to

flee, but from it there flamed out into space a concentrated beam of

destruction--the terrible ray of annihilation, against which no known

substance could endure for a moment; the ray which had definitely

outlawed war. But even that frightful weapon was useless--it spent

its force harmlessly upon an impalpable, invisible barrier, a hundred

yards from its source, and the bold lifeboat disappeared in one blinding

explosion of incandescence as the captor showed its real power in

retaliation. Stevens, jaw hard-set, leaped from the screen, then brought

himself up so quickly that he skated across the smooth steel floor.

Shutting off the lookout plate, he led the half-fainting girl across

the room to a comfortable seat and sat down beside her--raging, but

thoughtful. Nadia soon recovered.

"Why are you acting so contrary to your nature--is it because of _me_?"

she demanded. "A dozen times I've seen you start to do something and

then change your mind. I _will not_ be a load on you nor hinder you in

anything you want to do."

"I told your father I'd look after you, and I'm going to do it," he

replied, indirectly. "I would do it anyway, of course--even if you are

ten or twelve years older than I thought you were."

"Yes, Dad never has realized that I'm more than eight years old. I

see--you were going out there and be slaughtered?" He flushed, but made

no reply. "In that case I'm glad I'm here--that would have been silly.

I think we'd better hold that council of war you mentioned a while ago,

don't you?"

"I need a smoke--do you indulge?"

"No thanks. I tried it a few times at school, but never liked it."

He searched his pockets, bringing to light an unopened package and a

tattered remnant which proved to contain one dilapidated cigarette.

He studied it thoughtfully. "I'll smoke this wreck," he decided, "while

it's still smokable. We'll save the rest of them--I'm afraid it'll be

a long time between smokes. Well, let's confer!"

"This will have to be a one-sided conference. I don't imagine that any

of my ideas will prove particularly helpful. You talk and I'll listen.

"You can't tell what ideas may be useful--chip in any time you feel the

urge. Here's the dope, as I see it. They're highly intelligent creatures

and are in all probability neither Martians nor Venerians. If any of

them had any such stuff as that, some of us would have known about it

and, besides, I don't believe they would have used it in just that way.

Mercury is not habitable, at least for organic beings; and we have never

seen any sign of any other kind of inhabitants who could work with

metals and rays. They're probably from Jupiter, although possibly from

further away. I say Jupiter, because I would think, judging from the

small size of the ship, that it may still be in the experimental stage,

so that they probably didn't come from any further away than Jupiter.

Then, too, if they were very numerous, somebody would have sighted one

before. I'd give my left leg and four fingers for one good look at the

inside of that ship."

"Why didn't you take it, then? You never even looked toward it, after

that one first glimpse."

"I'll say I didn't--the reason being that they may have automatic

detectors, and as I have suggested before, our system of vision is so

crude that its use could be detected with a clothesline or a basket

full of scrap iron. But to resume: Their aim is to capture, not destroy,

since they haven't killed anybody except the one crew that attacked

them. Apparently they want to study us or something. However, they don't

intend that any of us shall get away, nor even send out a word of what

has happened to us. Therefore it looks as though our best bet is to hide

now, and try to sneak away on them after a while--direct methods won't

work. Right?"

"You sound lucid. Is there any possibility of getting back, though, if

we got anywhere near Jupiter? It's so far away!"

"It's a long stretch from Jupiter to any of the planets where we have

power-plants, all right--particularly now, when Mars and Tellus are

subtending an angle of something more than ninety degrees at the sun,

and Venus is between the two, while Jupiter is clear across the sun from

all three of them. Even when Jupiter is in mean opposition to Mars, it

is still some five hundred and fifty million kilometers away, so you

can form some idea as to how far it is from our nearest planet now.

No, if we expect to get back under our own power, we've got to break away

pretty quick--these lifeboats have very little accumulator capacity, and

the receptors are useless above about three hundred million

kilometers...."

"But it'll take us a long time to go that far, won't it?"

"Not very. Our own ships, using only the acceleration of gravity, and

both plus and minus at that, make the better than four hundred million

kilometers of the long route to Mars in five days. These birds are using

almost that much acceleration, and I don't see how they do it. They must

have a tractor ray. Brandon claimed that such a thing was theoretically

possible, but Westfall and I couldn't see it. We ragged him about it a

lot--and he was right. I thought, of course, they'd drift with us, but

they are using power steadily. They've got _some_ system!"

"Suppose they could be using intra-atomic energy? We were taught that it

was impossible, but you've shattered a lot of my knowledge today."

"I wouldn't want to say definitely that it is absolutely impossible,

but the deeper we go into that line, the more unlikely intra-atomic

energy power-plants become. No, they've got a real power-transmission

system--one that can hold a tight beam together a lot farther than

anything we have been able to develop, that's all. Well, we've given

them quite a lot of time to get over any suspicion of us, let's see

if we can sneak away from them."

* * * * *

By short and infrequent applications of power to the dirigible

projectors of the life-boat, Stevens slowly shifted the position of

the fragment which bore their craft until it was well clear of the

other components of the mass of wreckage. He then exerted a very small

retarding force, so that their bit would lag behind the procession, as

though it had accidently been separated. But the crew of the captor was

alert, and no sooner did a clear space show itself between them and the

mass than a ray picked them up and herded them back into place. Stevens

then nudged other pieces so that they fell out, only to see them also

rounded up. Hour after hour he kept trying--doing nothing sufficiently

energetic to create any suspicion, but attempting everything he could

think of that offered any chance of escape from the clutches of their

captors. Immovable at the plate, his hands upon the controls, he

performed every insidious maneuver his agile brain could devise, but

he could not succeed in separating their vehicle from its fellows.

Finally, after a last attempt, which was foiled as easily as were its

predecessors, he shut off his controls and turned to his companion

with a grin.

"I didn't think I could get away with it--they're keen, that gang--but

I had to keep at it as long as it would have done us any good."

"Wouldn't it do us any good now?"

"Not a bit--we're going so fast that we couldn't stop--we're out of even

radio range of our closest power-plant. We'll have to put off any more

attempts until they slow us down. They're fairly close to at least one

of the moons of Jupiter, we'll have our best chance--so good, in fact,

that I really think we can make it."

"But what good would that do us, if we couldn't get back?" Dire

foreboding showed in her glorious eyes.

"Lots of things not tried yet, girl, and we'll try them all. First, we

get away. Second, we try to get in touch with Norman Brandon...."

"How? No known radio will carry half that far."

"No, but I think that a radio as yet unknown may be able to--and there

is a bare possibility that I'll be able to communicate."

"Oh wonderful--that lifts a frightful load off my mind," she breathed.

"But just a minute--I said I'd come clean with you, and I will. The odds

are all against us, no matter what we do. If that unknown radio won't

work--and it probably won't--there are several other things we can try,

but they're all pretty slim chances. Even if we get away, it'll probably

be about the same thing as though you were to be marooned on a desert

island without any tools, and with your rescue depending upon your

ability to build a high-powered radio station with which to call to

a mainland for help. However, if we don't try to get away, our only

alternative is letting them know we're here, and joining our friends

in captivity."

"And then what?"

"You know as much as I do. Imprisonment and restraint, certain; death,

possible; return to Earth, almost certainly impossible--life as guests,

highly improbable."

"I'm with you, Steve, all the way."

"Well, it's time to spring off--we've both been awake better than fifty

hours. Personally, I'm all in, and you're so near dead that you're a

physical wreck. We'll get us a bite of supper and turn in."

An appetizing supper was prepared from the abundant stores and each

ate a heartier meal than either would have believed possible. Stevens

considered his unopened package of cigarettes, then regretfully put it

back into his pocket still unopened and turned to Nadia.

"Well, little fellow, it's time to shove off, and then some. You might

as well sleep here, and I'll go in there. If anything scares you, yell.

Good-night, old trapper!"

"Wait a minute, Steve." Nadia flushed, and her brown eyes and black

eyebrows, in comparison with her golden-blond hair, lent her face a

quizzical, elfin expression that far belied her feelings as she stared

straight into his eyes. "I've never even been away from the Earth

before, and with all this happening I'm simply scared to death. I've

been trying to hide it, but I couldn't stand it alone, and we're going

to be together too long and too close for senseless conventions to

affect us. There's two bunks over there--why don't you sleep in one

of them?"

He returned her steadfast gaze for a moment in silence.

"All x with me, Nadia," he answered, keeping out of his voice all

signs of the tenderness he felt for her, and of his very real admiration

for her straightforward conduct in a terrifying situation. "You trust

me, then?"

"_Trust_ you! Don't be silly--I know you! I know you, and I know Brandon

and Westfall--I know what you've done, and exactly the kind of men you

are. _Trust_ you!"

"Thanks, old golf-shootist," and promises were made and received

in a clasp from which Nadia's right hand, strong as it was, emerged

slightly damaged.

"By the way, what is your first name, fellow-traveller?" she asked in

lighter vein. "Nobody, not even Dad or Breckie, ever seems to call you

anything but 'Steve' when they talk about you." She was amazed at the

effect of her innocent question, for Stevens flushed to his hair and

spluttered.

"It's _Percy_!" He finally, snorted. "Percival Van Schravendyck Stevens.

Wouldn't that tear it?"

"Why, I think Percival's a real nice name!"

"Silence!" he hissed in burlesque style. "Young woman, I have revealed

to you a secret known to but few living creatures. On your life, keep

it inviolate!"

"Oh, very well, if you insist. Good-night--Steve!" and she gave him a

radiant and honest smile: the first smile he had seen since the moment

of the attack.

CHAPTER III

Castaways Upon Ganymede

Upon awakening, the man's first care was to instruct the girl in the

operation of the projectors, so that she could keep the heavily-armored

edge of their small section, which she had promptly christened "The

Forlorn Hope," between them and the grinding, clashing mass of wreckage,

and thus, if it should become necessary, protect the relatively frail

inner portions of their craft from damage.

"Keep an eye on things for a while, Nadia," he instructed, as soon as

she could handle the controls, "and don't use any more power than is

absolutely necessary. We'll need it all, and besides, they can probably

detect anything we can use. There's probably enough leakage from the

ruptured accumulator cells to mask quite a little emission, but don't

use much. I'm going to see what I can do about making this whole wedge

navigable."

"Why not just launch what's left of this lifeboat? It's space-worthy,

isn't it?"

"Yes, but it's too small. Two or three of the big dirigible projectors

of the lower band are on the rim of this piece-of-pie-shaped section

we're riding, I think. If so, and if enough batteries of accumulators

are left intact to give them anywhere nearly full power, we can get an

acceleration that will make a lifeboat look sick. Those main dirigibles,

you know, are able to swing the whole mass of the _Arcturus_, and what

they'll do to this one chunk of it--we've got only a few thousand tons

of mass in this piece--will be something pretty. Also, having the metal

may save us months of time in mining it."

He found the projectors, repaired or cut out the damaged accumulator

cells, and reconnected them through the controls of the lifeboat.

He moved into the "engine-room" the airtanks, stores, and equipment

from all the other fragments which, by means of a space-suit, he could

reach without too much difficulty. From the battery rooms of those

fragments--open shelves, after being sliced open by the shearing ray--he

helped himself to banks of accumulator cells from the enormous driving

batteries of the ill-fated _Arcturus_, bolting them down and connecting

them solidly until almost every compartment of their craft was one mass

of stored-up energy.

Days fled like hours, so furiously busy were they in preparing their

peculiar vessel for a cruise of indefinite duration. Stevens cut himself

short on sleep and snatched his meals in passing; and Nadia, when not

busy at her own tasks of observing, housekeeping, and doing what little

piloting was required, was rapidly learning to wield most effectively

the spanner and pliers of the mechanic and electrician.

"I'm afraid our time is getting short, Steve," she announced, after

making an observation. "It looks as though we're getting wherever it

is we're going."

"Well, I've got only two more jobs to do, but they're the hardest of the

lot. It is Jupiter, or can you tell yet?"

"Jupiter or one of its satellites, I think, from the point where they

reversed their power. Here's the observation you told me to take."

"Looks like Jupiter," he agreed, after he had rapidly checked her

figures. "We'll pass very close to one of those two satellites--probably

Ganymede--which is fine for our scheme. All four of the major satellites

have water and atmosphere, but Ganymede, being largest, is best for our

purposes. We've got a couple of days yet--just about time to finish up.

Let's get going--you know what to do."

"Steve, I'm afraid of it. It's too dangerous--isn't there some other

way?"

"None that I can see. The close watch they're keeping on every bit of

this junk makes it our only chance for a get-away. I'm pretty sure I

can do it--but if I should happen to get nipped, just use enough power

to let them know you're here, and you won't be any worse off than if

I hadn't tried to pull off this stunt."

He donned a space-suit, filled a looped belt with tools, picked up a

portable power-drill, and stepped into the tiny air-lock. Nadia deftly

guided their segment against one of the larger fragments and held it

there with a gentle, steady pressure, while Stevens, a light cable

paying out behind him, clambered carefully over the wreckage, brought

his drill into play, and disappeared inside the huge wedge. In less than

an hour he returned without mishap and reported to the glowing girl.

"Just like shooting fish down a well! Most of the accumulator cells were

tight, and installing the relays wasn't a bad job at all. Believe me,

girl, there'll be junk filling all the space between here and Saturn

when we touch them off!"

"Wonderful, Steve!" Nadia exclaimed. "It won't be so bad seeing you go

into the others, now that you have this one all rigged up."

* * * * *

Around and around the mass of wreckage they crept, and in each of the

larger sections Stevens connected up the enormous fixed or dirigible

projectors to whatever accumulator cells were available through

sensitive relays, all of which he could close by means of one radio

impulse. The long and dangerous task done, he stood at the lookout

plate, studying the huge disk which had been the upper portion of the

lower half of the _Arcturus_ and frowning in thought. Nadia reached over

his shoulder and switched off the plate.

"Nix on that second job, big fellow!" she declared. "They aren't really

necessary, and you're altogether too apt to be killed trying to get

them. It's too ghastly--I won't stand for your trying it, so that

ends it."

"We ought to have them, really," he protested. "With those special

tools, cutting torches, and all the stuff, we'd be sitting pretty.

We'll lose weeks of time by not having them."

"We'll just have to lose it, then. You can't get 'em, any more than

a baby can get the moon, so stop crying about it," she went over the

familiar argument for the twentieth time. "That stuff up there is all

grinding together like cakes of ice in a floe; the particular section

you want is in plain sight of whoever is on watch; and those tools and

things are altogether too heavy to handle. You're a husky brute, I know,

but even you couldn't begin to handle them, even if you had good going.

I couldn't help you very much, even if you'd let me try; and the fact

that you so positively refuse to let me come along shows how dangerous

you know the attempt is bound to be. You'd probably never even get up

there alive, to say nothing of getting back here. No, Steve, that's out

like a light."

"I sure wish they'd left us weightless for a while, sometime, if only

for an hour or two," he mourned.

"But they didn't!" she retorted, practically. "So we're just out of luck

to that extent. Our time is about up, too. It's time you worked us back

to the tail end of this procession--or rather, the head end, since we're

traveling 'down' now."

Stevens took the controls and slowly worked along the outer edge of the

mass, down toward its extremity. Nadia put one hand upon his shoulder

and he glanced around.

"Thanks, Steve. We have a perfectly wonderful chance as it is, and we've

gone so far with our scheme together that it would be a crying shame not

to be able to go through with it. I'd hate like sin to have to surrender

to them now, and that's all I could do if anything should become of you.

Besides..." her voice died away into silence.

"Sure, you're right," he hastily replied, dodging the implication of

that unfinished sentence. "I couldn't figure out anything that looked

particularly feasible anyway--that's why I didn't try it. We'll pass

it up."

Soon they arrived at their objective and maintained a position well in

the van, but not sufficiently far ahead of the rest to call forth a

restraining ray from their captors. Already strongly affected by the

gravitational pull of the mass of the satellite, many of the smaller

portions of the wreck, not directly held by the tractors, began to

separate from the main mass. As each bit left its place another beam

leaped out, until it became apparent that no more were available, and

Stevens strapped the girl and himself down before two lookout plates.

"Now for it, Nadia!" he exclaimed, and simultaneously threw on the power

of his own projectors and sent out the radio impulse which closed the

relays he had so carefully set. They were thrown against the restraining

straps savagely and held there by an enormous weight as the gigantic

dirigible projectors shot their fragment of the wreck away from the

comparatively slight force which had been acting upon it, but they

braced themselves and strained their muscles in order to watch what

was happening. As the relays in the various fragments closed, the

massed power of the accumulators was shorted dead across the converters

and projectors instead of being fed into them gradually through the

controls of the pilot, with a result comparable to that of the explosion

of an ammunition dump. Most of the masses, whose projectors were fed

by comparatively few accumulator cells, darted away entirely with a

stupendous acceleration. A few of them, however, received the unimpeded

flow of complete batteries. Those projectors tore loose from even

their massive supports and crashed through anything opposing them like

a huge, armor-piercing projectile. It was a spectacle to stagger the

imagination, and Stevens grinned as he turned to the girl, who was

staring in wide-eyed amazement.

"Well, ace, I think they're busy enough now so that it'll be safe

to take that long-wanted look at their controls," and he flashed

the twin beams of his lookout light out beyond the upper half of the

_Arcturus_--only to see them stop abruptly in mid-space. Even the

extremely short carrier-wave of Roeser's Rays could not go through the

invisible barrier thrown out by the tiny, but powerful globe of space.

"No penetration?" Nadia asked.

"Flattened them out cold. 'However,' as the fox once remarked about the

grapes, 'I'll bet they're sour, anyway.' We'll have some stuff of our

own, one of these days. I sure hope the fireworks we started back there

keep those birds amused until we get out of sight, because if I use much

more power on these projectors we may not have juice enough left to stop

with."

"You're using enough now to suit me--I'm so heavy I can hardly lift

a finger!"

"You'd better lift 'em! You must watch what's going on back there while

I navigate around this moon."

"All x, chief.... They've got their hands full, apparently. Those rays

are shooting around all over the sky. It looks as though they were

trying to capture four or five things at once with each one."

"Good! Tell me when the moon cuts them off."

* * * * *

At the awful acceleration they were using, which constantly increased

the terrific velocity with which they had been traveling when they made

good their escape, it was not long until they had placed the satellite

between them and the enemy; then Stevens cut down and reversed his

power. Such was their speed, however, that a long detour was necessary

in order to reduce it to a safe landing rate. As soon as this could be

done, Stevens headed for the morning zone and dropped the "Hope" rapidly

toward the surface of that new, strange world. Details could not be

distinguished at first because of an all-enshrouding layer of cloud, but

the rising sun dispelled the mist, and when they had descended to within

a few thousand feet of the surface, their vision was unobstructed.

Immediately below them the terrain was mountainous and heavily wooded;

while far to the east the rays of a small, pale sun glinted upon a vast

body of water. No signs of habitation were visible as far as the eye

could reach.

"Now to pick out a location for our power-plant. We must have a

waterfall for power, a good place to hide our ship from observation, and

I'd like to have a little seam of coal. We can use wood if we have to,

but I think we can find some coal. This is all sedimentary rock--it

looks a lot like the country along the North Fork of the Flathead, in

Montana. There are a lot of coal outcrops, usually, in such topography

as this is."

"We want to hide in a hurry, though, don't we?"

"Not particularly, I think. If they had missed us at all, they would

have had us long ago, and with all the damage we did with those

projectors they won't be surprised at one piece being missing--I imagine

they lost a good many."

"But they'll know that somebody caused all that disturbance. Won't they

hunt for us?"

"Maybe, and maybe not--no telling what they'll do. However, by the time

they can land and get checked up and ready to hunt for us, we'll be a

mighty small needle, well hidden in a good big haystack."

For several hours they roamed over the mountainous region at high

velocity, seeking the best possible location, and finally they found

one that was almost ideal--a narrow canyon overhung with heavy trees,

opening into a wide, deep gorge upon a level with its floor. A mighty

waterfall cascaded into the gorge just above the canyon, and here

and there could be seen black outcrops which Stevens, after a close

scrutiny, declared to be coal. He deftly guided their cumbersome wedge

of steel into the retreat, allowed it to settle gently to the ground,

and shut off the power.

"Well, little fellow-conspirator against the peace and dignity of the

Jovians, I don't know just where we are, but wherever it is, we're here.

We got away clean, and as long as we don't use any high-tension stuff or

anything else that they can trace, I think we're as safe as money in a

bank."

"I suppose that I ought to be scared to death, Steve, but I'm not--I'm

just too thrilled for words," Nadia answered, and the eager sparkle in

her eyes bore out her words. "Can we go out now? How about air? Shall we

wear suits or go out as we are? Have you got a weapon of any kind? Hurry

up--let's do something!"

"Pipe down, ace! Remember that we don't know any more about anything

around here than a pig does about Sunday, and conduct yourself

accordingly. Take it easy. I'm surprised at the gravity here. This is

certainly Ganymede, and it has a diameter of only about fifty seven

hundred kilometers. If I remember correctly, Damoiseau estimated its

mass at about three one-hundredths that of the Earth, which would make

its surface gravity about one-sixth. However, it is actually almost a

half, as you see by this spring-balance here. Therefore it is quite a

little more massive than has been...."

"What of it? Let's go places and do things!"

"Calm yourself, Ginger, you've got lots of time--we'll be here for quite

a while, I'm afraid. We can't go out until we analyze the air--we're

sure lucky there's as much as there is. I'm not exactly the world's

foremost chemist, but fortunately an air-analysis isn't much of a job

with the apparatus we carry."

While Nadia controlled her impatience as best she could, Stevens

manipulated the bulbs and pipettes of the gas apparatus.

"Pressure, fifty-two centimeters--more than I dared hope for--and

analysis all x, I believe. Oxygen concentration a little high, but

not much."

"We won't have to wear the space-suits, then?"

"Not unless I missed something in the analysis. The pressure corresponds

to our own at a height of about three thousand meters, which we can get

used to without too much trouble. Good thing, too. I brought along all

the air I could get hold of, but as I told you back there, if we had to

depend on it altogether, we might be out of luck. I'm going to pump some

of our air back into a cylinder to equalize our pressure--don't want

to waste any of it until we're sure the outside air suits us without

treatment."

* * * * *

When the pressure inside had been gradually reduced to that outside and

they had become accustomed to breathing the rarefied medium, Stevens

opened the airlock and the outside doors, and for some time cautiously

sniffed the atmosphere of the satellite. He could detect nothing harmful

or unusual in it--it was apparently the same as earthly air--and he

became jubilant.

"All x, Nadia--luck is perched right on our banner. Freedom, air, water,

power, and coal! Now as you suggested, we'll go places and do things!"

"Suppose it's safe?" Her first eagerness to explore their surroundings

had abated noticeably. "You aren't armed, are you?"

"No, and I don't believe that there was a gun of any kind aboard the

_Arcturus_. That kind of thing went out quite a while ago, you know.

We'll take a look, anyway--we've got to find out about that coal before

we decide to settle down here. Remember this half-gravity stuff, and

control your leg-muscles accordingly."

Leaping lightly to the ground, they saw that the severed section of

fifty-inch armor, which was the rim of their conveyance, almost blocked

the entrance to the narrow canyon which they had selected for their

retreat. Upon one side that wall of steel actually touched the almost

perpendicular wall or rock; upon the other side there was left only a

narrow passage. They stepped through it, so that they could see the

waterfall and the gorge, and stopped silent. The sun, now fairly high,

was in no sense the familiar orb of day, but was a pale, insipid thing,

only one-fifth the diameter of the sun to which they were accustomed,

and which could almost be studied with the unshielded eye. From their

feet a grassy meadow a few hundred feet wide sloped gently down to the

river, from whose farther bank a precipice sprang upward for perhaps

a thousand feet--merging into towering hills whose rugged grandeur was

reminiscent of the topography of the moon. At their backs the wall of

the gorge was steep, but not precipitous, and was covered with shrubs

and trees--some of which leaned out over the little canyon, completely

screening it, and among whose branches birds could now and then be seen

flitting about. In that direction no mountains were visible, indicating

that upon their side of the river there was an upland plateau or bench.

To their right the river, the gorge, and the strip of meadow extended

for a mile or more, then curved away and were lost to sight. To their

left, almost too close for comfort, was the stupendous cataract,

towering above them to a terror-inspiring height. Nadia studied it

with awe, which changed to puzzled wonder.

"What's the matter with it, Steve? It looks like a picture in slow

motion, like the kind they take of your dives--or am I seeing things?"

"No, it's really slow, compared to what we're used to. Remember that

one-half gravity stuff!"

"Oh, that's right, but it certainly does look funny. It gives me the

creeps."

"You'll get used to it pretty quick--just as you'll get used to all the

rest of the things having only half their earthly weight and falling

only half as fast as they ought to when you drop them. Well, I don't see

anything that looks dangerous yet--let's go up toward the falls a few

meters and prospect that outcrop."

With a few brisk strokes of an improvised shovel he cleared the outcrop

of detritus and broke off several samples of the black substance, with

which they went back to the "Forlorn Hope."

"It's real coal," Stevens announced after a series of tests. "I've seen

better, but on the other hand, there's lots worse. It'll make good gas,

and a kind of a coke. Not so hot, but it'll do. Now we'd better get

organized old partner, for a long campaign."

"Go ahead and organize--I'm only the cheap help in this enterprise."

"Cheap help! You're apt to be the life of the party. Can you make and

shoot a bow and arrow?"

"I'll say I can--I've belonged to an archery club for five years."

"What did I tell you? You're a life saver! Here's the dope--we've got

to save our own supplies as much as possible until we know exactly what

we're up against, and to do that, we've got to live off the country.

I'll fake up something to knock over some of those birds and small game,

then we can make real bow-strings and feathered arrows and I'll forge

some steel arrow-heads while you're making yourself a real bow. We'd

better make me about a hundred-pound war bow, too...."

"A _hundred_!" interrupted Nadia. "That's a lot of bow, big boy--think

you can bend it?"

"You'd be surprised," he grinned. "I'm not quite like Robin Hood--I've

been known to miss a finger-thick wand at a hundred paces--but I'm not

exactly a beginner."

"Oh, of course--I should have known by your language that you're an

archer, otherwise you'd never have used such an old-fashioned word as

'pounds.' I shoot a thirty-five-pound bow ordinarily, but for game I

should have the heaviest one I can hold accurately--about a forty-five,

probably."

"All x. And as soon as I can I'll make us a couple of suits of fairly

heavy steel armor, so that we'll have real protection if we should need

it. You see, we don't know what we are apt to run up against out here.

Then, with that much done, it'll be up to you to provide, since I'll

have to work tooth and nail at the forges. You'll have to bring home the

bacon, do the cooking and so on, and see what you can find along the

line of edible roots, grains, fruits, and what-not. Sort of reverse the

Indian idea--you be the hunter and I'll keep the home fires burning.

Can do?"

"What it takes to do that, I've got," Nadia assured him, her eyes

sparkling. "Have you your job planned out as well and as fittingly as

you have mine?"

"And then some. We've got just two methods of getting away from

here--one is to get in touch with Brandon, so that he'll come after us;

the other is to recharge our accumulators and try to make it under our

own power. Either course will need power and lots of it...."

"I never thought of going back in the 'Hope.' Suppose we could?"

"About as doubtful as the radio--I think that I could build a pair of

matched-frequency auto-dirigible transmitter and receptor units, such as

are necessary for space-ships fed by stationary power-plants, but after

I got them built, they'd take us less than half way there. Then we'd

have only what power we can carry, and I hate even to think of what

probably would happen to us. We'd certainly have to drift for months

before we could get close enough to any of our plants to radio for help,

and we'd be taking awful chances. You see, we'd have to take a very

peculiar orbit, and if we should miss connections passing the inner

planets, what the sun would do to us at the closest point and where

what's left of us would go on the back-swing, would be just too bad!

Besides, if we can get hold of the _Sirius_, they'll come loaded for

bear, and we may be able to do something about the rest of the folks

out here."

* * * * *

"Oh!" breathed the girl. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could!

I thought, of course, they'd all be...." her voice died away.

"Not necessarily--there's always a chance. That's why I'm trying the

ultra-radio first. However, either course will take lots of power,

so the first thing I've got to do is to build a power plant. I'm

going to run a penstock up those falls, and put in a turbine, driving

a high-tension alternator. Then, while I'm trying to build the

ultra-radio, I'll be charging our accumulators, so that no time will

be lost in case the radio fails. If it does fail--and remember I'm not

counting on its working--of course I'll tackle the transmission and

receptor units before we start out to drift it."

"You say it easy, Steve, but how can you build all those things, with

nothing to work with?"

"It's going to be a real job--I'm not try to kid you into thinking it'll

be either easy or quick. Here's the way everything will go. Before I can

even lay the first length of the penstock, I've got to have the pipe--to

make which I've got to have flat steel--to get which I'll have to cut

some of the partitions out of this ship of ours--to do which I'll have

to have a cutting torch--to make which I'll have to forge nozzles out of

block metal and to run which I'll have to have gas--to get which I'll

have to mine coal and build a gas-plant--to do which...."

"Good heavens, Steve, are you going back to the Stone Age? I never

thought of half those things. Why, it's impossible!"

"Not quite, guy. Things could be a lot worse--that's why I brought along

the whole 'Forlorn Hope,' instead of just the lifeboat. As it is, we've

got several thousand tons of spare steel and lots of copper. We've got

ordinary tools and a few light motors, blowers, and such stuff. That

gives me a great big start--I won't have to mine the ores and smelt the

metals, as would have been necessary otherwise. However, it'll be plenty

bad. I'll have to start out in a pretty crude fashion, and for some of

the stuff I'll need I'll have to make, not only the machine that makes

the part I want, but also the machine that makes the machine that

makes the machine that makes it--and so on, just how far down the line,

I haven't dared to think."

"You must be a regular jack-of-all-trades, to think you can get away

with such a program as that?"

"I am--nothing else but. You see, while most of my school training

was in advanced physics and mathematics, I worked my way through by

computing and designing, and I've done a lot of truck-horse labor of

various kinds besides. I can calculate and design almost anything, and

I can make a pretty good stab at translating a design into fabricated

material. I wouldn't wonder if Brandon's ultra-radio would stop me,

since nobody had even started to build one when I saw him last--but I

helped compute it, know the forces involved as well as he did at that

time, and it so happens that I know more about the design of coils and

fields of force than I do about anything else. So I may be able to work

it out eventually. It isn't going to be not knowing how that will hold

me up--it'll be the lack of something that I can't build."

"And that's where you will go back and back and back, as you said about

building the penstock?"

"Back and back is right, if I can find all the necessary raw

materials--that's what's probably going to put a lot of monkey-wrenches

into the machinery." And Stevens went to work upon a weapon of offense,

fashioning a crude, but powerful bow from a strip of spring steel strung

with heavy wire.

"How about arrows? Shall I go see if I can hit a bird with a rock, for

feathers, and see if I can find something to make arrows out of?"

"Not yet--anyway, I'd bet on the birds! I'm going to use pieces of this

light brace-rod off the accumulator cells for arrows. They won't fly

true, of course, but with their mass I can give them enough projectile

force to kill any small animal they hit, no matter how they hit it."

After many misses, he finally bagged a small animal, something like

a rabbit and something like a kangaroo, and a couple of round-bodied,

plump birds, almost as large as domestic hens. These they dressed,

with considerable distaste and a noticeable lack of skill.

"We'll get used to it pretty quick, Diana--also more expert," he said

when the task was done. "We now have raw material for bow-strings and

clothes, as well as food."

"The word 'raw' being heavily accented," Nadia declared, with a grimace.

"But how do we know that they're good to eat?"

"We'll have to eat 'em and see," he grinned. "I don't imagine that any

flesh is really poisonous, and we'll have to arrive at the ones we like

best by a process of trial and error. Well, here's your job--I'll get

busy on mine. Don't go more than a few hundred meters away and yell if

you get into a jam."

"There's a couple of questions I want to ask you. What makes it so

warm here, when the sun's so far away and Jupiter isn't supposed to be

radiating any heat? And how about time? It's twelve hours by my watch

since sunrise this morning, and it's still shining."

"As for heat, I've been wondering about that. It must be due to internal

heat, because even though Jupiter may be warm, or even hot, it certainly

isn't radiating much, since it has a temperature of minus two hundred at

the visible surface, which, of course, is the top of the atmosphere. Our

heat here is probably caused by radioactivity--that's the most modern

dope, I believe. As for time, it looks as though our days were something

better than thirty hours long, instead of twenty-four. Of course I'll

keep the chronometer going on I-P time, since we'll probably need it in

working out observations; but we might as well let our watches run down

and work, eat, and sleep by the sun--not much sense in trying to keep

Tellurian time here, as I see it. Check?"

"All x. I'll have supper ready for you at sunset. 'Bye!"

A few evenings later, when Stevens came in after his long day's work,

he was surprised to see Nadia dressed in a suit of brown coveralls and

high-laced moccasins.

"How do I look?" she asked, pirouetting gayly.

"Neat, but not gaudy," he approved. "That's good mole-skin--smooth,

soft, and tough. Where'd you make the raise? I didn't know we had

anything like that on board. What did you do for thread? You look like

a million dollars--you sure did a good job of fitting."

"I had to have something--what with all the thorns and brush, there was

almost more of me exposed than covered, and I was getting scratched up

something fierce. So I ripped up one of the space-suits, and found out

that there's enough cloth, fur, and leather in one of them to make six

ordinary suits, and thread by the kilometer. I was awfully glad to see

all that thread--I had an idea that I'd have to unravel my stockings or

something, but I didn't. Your clothes are getting pretty tacky, too, and

you're getting all burned with those hot coals and things. I'm going to

build you a suit out of leather for your blacksmithing activities."

"Fine business, ace! Then we can save what's left of our civilized

clothes for the return trip. What do we eat?"

"The eternal question of the hungry laboring man! I've got a roasted

bongo, a fried filamaloo bird, and a boiled warple for the meat dishes.

For vegetables, mashed hikoderms and pimola greens. Neocorn bread."

"Translate that, please, into terms of food."

"Translate it yourself, after you eat it. I changed the system on you

today. I've named all the things, so it'll be easier to keep track of

those we like and the ones we don't."

With appetites sharp-set by long hours of hard labor they ate heartily;

then, in the deepening twilight, they sat and talked in comradely

fashion while Stevens smoked one precious cigarette.

* * * * *

It was not long until Nadia had her work well in hand. Game was

plentiful, and the fertile valley and the neighboring upland yielded

peculiar, but savory vegetable foods in variety and abundance; so that

soon she was able to spend some time with Stevens, helping him as much

as she could. Thus she came to realize the true magnitude of the task he

faced and the real seriousness of their position.

As Stevens had admitted before the work was started, he had known that

he had set himself a gigantic task, but he had not permitted himself to

follow, step by step, the difficulties that he knew awaited him. Now,

as the days stretched into weeks and on into months, he was forced to

take every laborious step, and it was borne in upon him just how nearly

impossible that Herculean labor was to prove--just how dependent any

given earthly activity is upon a vast number of others. Here he was

alone--everything he needed must be manufactured by his own hands, from

its original sources. He had known that progress would be slow and he

had been prepared for that; but he had not pictured, even to himself,

half of the maddening setbacks which occurred time after time because

of the crudity of the tools and equipment he was forced to use. All too

often a machine or part, the product of many hours of grueling labor,

would fail because of the lack of some insignificant thing--some item

so common as to be taken for granted in all terrestrial shops, but

impossible of fabrication with the means at his disposal. At such times

he would set his grim jaw a trifle harder, go back one step farther

toward the Stone Age, and begin all over again--to find the necessary

raw material or a possible substitute, and then to build the apparatus

and machinery necessary to produce the part he required. Thus the

heart-breaking task progressed, and Nadia watched her co-laborer become

leaner and harder and more desperate day by day, unable in any way to

lighten his fearful load.

In the brief period of rest following a noonday meal, Stevens lay prone

upon the warm, fragrant grass beside the "Forlorn Hope," but it was

evident to Nadia that he was not resting. His burned and blistered hands

were locked savagely behind his head, his eyes were closed too tightly,

and every tense line of his body was eloquent of a strain even more

mental than physical. She studied him for minutes, her fine eyes

clouded, then sat down beside him and put her hand upon his shoulder.

"I want to talk to you a minute, Steve," she said gently.

"All x, little fellow--but it might be just as well if you didn't touch

me. You see, I'm getting so rabid that I can't trust myself."

"That's exactly what I want to talk to you about." A fiery blush burned

through her deep tan, but her low, clear voice did not falter and her

eyes held his unflinchingly. "I know you better than you know yourself,

as I've said before. You are killing yourself, but it isn't the work,

frightfully hard and disheartening as it is, that is doing it--it's

your anxiety for me and the uncertainty of everything. You haven't been

able to rest because you have been raging and fuming so at unavoidable

conditions--you have been fighting _facts_. And it's all _so_ useless,

Steve, between you and me--everything would check out on zero if we'd

just come out into the open."

The man's gaunt frame seemed to stiffen even more rigidly.

"You've said altogether too much or else only half enough, Nadia. You

know, of course, that I've loved you ever since I got really to know

you--and that didn't take long. You know that I love you and you know

how I love you--with the real love that a man can feel for only one

woman and only once in his life; and you know exactly what we're up

against. Now that _does_ tear it--wide open!" he finished bitterly.

"No, it doesn't, at all," she replied, steadily. "Of course I know that

you love me, and I glory in it; and since you don't seem to realize

that I love you in exactly the same way, I'll tell you so. Love you!

Good heavens, Steve, I never dreamed that such a man as you are really

existed! But you're fighting too many things at once, and they're

killing you. And they're mostly imaginary, at that. Can't you see that

there's no need of uncertainty between you and me? That there is no need

of you driving yourself to desperation on my account? Whatever must be

is all x with me, Steve. If you can build everything you need, all well

and good. We'll be engaged until then, and our love will be open and

sweet. If worst comes to worst, so that we can neither communicate with

Brandon and Westfall nor leave here under our own power--even that is

nothing to kill ourselves about. And yes, I do know exactly what we

are facing. I have been prepared for it ever since I first saw what a

perfectly impossible thing you are attempting. You are trying to go from

almost the Age of Bronze clear up to year-after-next in a month or two.

Not one man in a million could have done as much in his lifetime as you

have done in the last few weeks, and I do not see how even you, with

what little you have to work with, can possibly build such things as

power-plants, transmitters, and ultra-radio stations. But what of

it? For the day that it becomes clear that we are to remain here

indefinitely; that day we will marry each other here, before God.

Look around at this beautiful country. Could there be a finer world

upon which to found a new race? When we decided to cut loose from the

_Arcturus_ I told you that I was with you all the way, and now I'll

repeat it, with a lot more meaning. No matter what it's like, Steve, no

matter where it leads to, I'm with you--_to--the--end--of--the--road_.

Here or upon Earth or anywhere in the Universe. I am yours for life and

for eternity."

* * * * *

While she was speaking, the grim, strained lines upon Stevens' face

had disappeared, and as she fell silent he straightened up and gently,

tenderly, reverently he took her lithe body into his arms.

"You're right, sweetheart--everything _will_ check out on zero, to

nineteen decimals." He was a man transfigured. "I've been fighting

windmills and I've been scared sick--but how was I to think that a

wonder-girl like you could ever love a mutt like me? You certainly are

the gamest little partner a man ever had. You're the world's straightest

shooter, ace--you're a square brick if there ever was one. Your sheer

nerve in being willing to go the whole route makes me love you more than

ever, if such a thing can be possible, and it certainly puts a new face

on the whole cock-eyed Universe for me. However, I don't believe it

will come to that. After what you've just said, I sure will lick that

job, regardless of how many different factories it takes to make one

armature--I'll show that mess of scrap-iron what kind of trees make

shingles!"

The girl still in his arms, he rose to his feet and released her slowly,

reluctantly, unwilling ever to let her go. Then he shook himself, as

though an overwhelming burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and

laughed happily.

"See this cigarette?" he went on lightly. "The Last of the Mohicans.

I'm going to smoke it in honor of our engagement." He drew the fragrant

smoke deep into his lungs and frowned at her in mock seriousness.

"This would be a nice world to live on, of course, but the jobs here

are too darn steady. It also seems to be somewhat lacking in modern

conveniences, such as steel-mills and machine tools. Then, too, it is

just a trifle too far from the Royal and Ancient for you really to enjoy

living here permanently, and besides, I can't get my favorite brand

of cigarettes around here. Therefore, after due deliberation, I don't

believe we'll take the place--we'll go back to Tellus. Kiss me just once

more ace, and I'll make that job think a cyclone has struck it right on

the center of impact. Like Samuel Weller, or whoever it was, I'm clear

full of 'wigor, wim, and witality'!"

The specified kiss and several others duly delivered he strode blithely

away, and the little canyon resounded with the blows of his heavy sledge

as he attacked with renewed spirit the great forging, white-hot from his

soak-pit, which was to become the shaft of his turbo-alternator. Nadia

watched him for a moment, her very heart in her eyes, then picked up her

spanner and went after more steel, breathing a long and tremulous, but

supremely happy sigh.

CHAPTER IV

Ganymedean Life

Slow, hard, and disheartening as the work had been at first, Stevens

had never slackened his pace, and after a time, as his facilities

increased, the exasperating setbacks decreased in number and severity

and his progress became faster and faster. Large as the "Forlorn Hope"

was, space was soon at a premium, for their peculiarly-shaped craft

became a veritable factory, housing a variety of machinery and

equipment unknown in any single earthly industrial plant. Nothing

was ornamental--everything was stripped to its barest fundamental

necessities--but every working part functioned with a smooth precision

to delight the senses of any good mechanic.

In a cavern under the falls was the great turbine, to be full-fed by the

crude but tight penstock which clung to the wall of the gorge, angling

up to the brink of that stupendous cataract. Bedded down upon solid

rock there was a high-tension alternator capable of absorbing the entire

output of the mighty turbine. This turbo-alternator was connected to

a set of converters from which the energy would flow along three great

copper cables--the receptors of the lifeboats being altogether too small

to carry the load--to the now completely exhausted accumulators of the

"Forlorn Hope." All high-tension apparatus was shielded and grounded,

so that no stray impulses could reveal to the possible detectors of

the Jovians the presence of this foreign power plant. Housings, frames,

spiders, all stationary parts were rough, crude and massive; but

bearings, shafts, armatures, all moving parts, were of a polished

and finished accuracy and balance that promised months and years of

trouble-free operation. Everything ready for the test, Stevens took off

his frayed and torn leather coveralls and moccasins and climbed nimbly

up the penstock. He never walked down. Opening the head-gate, he poised

sharply upon its extremity and took off in a perfect swan-dive; floating

unconcernedly down toward that boiling maelstrom two hundred feel below.

He struck the water with a sharp, smooth "slup!" and raced ashore,

seizing his suit as he ran toward the turbo-alternator. It was running

smoothly, and, knowing that everything was tight at the receiving end,

he lingered about the power plant until he was assured that nothing

would go wrong and that his home manufactured lubricating oil and grease

would keep those massive bearings cool.

Hunger assailed him, and glancing at the sun, he noted that it was well

past dinner-time.

"Wow!" he exclaimed aloud. "The boss just loves to wait meals--she'll

burn me up for this!"

He ran lightly toward "home," eager to tell his sweetheart that the

long awaited moment had arrived--that power was now flowing into their

accumulators.

"Hi, Diana of the silver bow!" he called. "How come you no blow the

dinner bell? Power's on--come give it a look!"

There was no answer to his hail, and Stevens paused in shocked

amazement. He knew that never of her own volition would she be out so

late--Nadia was gone! A rapid tour of inspection quickly confirmed that

which he already knew only too well. Forgotten was his hunger, forgotten

the power plant, forgotten everything except the fact that his Nadia,

the buoyant spirit in whom centered his Universe, was lost or ... he

could not complete the thought, even to himself.

Swiftly he came to a decision and threw off his suit, revealing the

body of a Hercules--a body ready for any demand he could put upon it.

Always in hard training, months of grinding physical labor and of heavy

eating had built him up to a point at which he would scarcely have

recognized himself, could he have glanced into a mirror. Mighty but

pliable muscles writhed and swelled under his clear skin as he darted

here and there, selecting equipment for what lay ahead of him. He donned

the heavily armored space-suit which they had prepared months before,

while they were still suspicious of possible attack. It was covered with

heavy steel at every point, and the lenses of the helmet, already of

unbreakable glass, had been re-enforced with thick steel bars. Tank and

valves supplied air at normal pressure, so that his powerful body could

function at full efficiency, not handicapped by the lighter atmosphere

of Ganymede. The sleeves terminated in steel-protected rubber wristlets

which left his hands free, yet sheltered from attack--wristlets tight

enough to maintain the difference in pressure, yet not tight enough

to cut off the circulation. He took up his mighty war-bow and the full

quiver of heavy arrows--full-feathered and pointed with savagely barbed,

tearing heads of forged steel--and slipped into their sheaths the long

and heavy razor-sharp sword and the double-edged dirk, which he had

made and ground long since for he knew not what emergency, and whose

bell-shaped hilts of steel further protected his hands and wrists.

Thus equipped, he had approximately his normal earthly weight; a fact

which would operate to his advantage, rather than otherwise, in case

of possible combat. With one last look around the "Forlorn Hope," whose

every fitting spoke to him of the beloved mistress who was gone, he

filled a container with water and cooked food and opened the door.

* * * * *

"It won't be long now; now it won't be long." Nadia caroled happily,

buckling on her pack straps and taking up bow and arrows for her daily

hunt. "I never thought that he could do it, but what it takes to do

things, he's got lots of," she continued to improvise the song as she

left the "Hope" with its multitudinous devices whose very variety was

a never-failing delight to her; showing as it did the sheer ability of

the man, whose brain and hands had almost finished a next-to-impossible

task.

Through the canyon and up a well-worn trail she climbed, and soon came

out upon the sparsely timbered bench that was her hunting grounds. Upon

this day, however, she was full of happy anticipation and her mind was

everywhere except upon her work. She was thinking of Stevens, of their

love, of the power which he might turn on that very day, and of the

possible rescue for which she had hitherto scarcely dared to hope.

Thus it was that she walked miles beyond her usual limits without

having loosed an arrow, and she was surprised when she glanced up at

the sun to see that half the morning was gone and that she was almost

to the foothills, beyond which rose a towering range of mountains.

"Snap out of it, girl!" she reprimanded herself. "Go on wool-gathering

like this and your man will go hungry--and he'll break you right off

at the ankles!" She became again the huntress, and soon saw an animal

browsing steadily along the base of a hill. It was a six-legged,

deer-like creature, much larger than anything she had as yet seen. But

it was meat and her time was short, therefore she crept within range

and loosed an arrow with the full power of her hunting bow. Unfamiliar

as she was with the anatomy of the peculiar creature, the arrow did

not kill. The "hexaped," as she instantly named it, sped away and she

leaped after it. She, like her companion, had developed amazingly in

musculature, and few indeed were the denizens of Ganymede, who could

equal her speed upon that small globe, with its feeble gravitational

force.

Up the foothills it darted. Beyond the hills and deep into a valley

between two towering peaks the chase continued before Nadia's third

arrow brought the animal down. Bending over the game, she became

conscious of a strange but wonderful sweet perfume and glanced up,

to see something which she certainly had not noticed when the hexaped

had fallen. It was an enormous flower, at least a foot in diameter and

indescribably beautiful in its crimson and golden splendor. Almost level

with her head the gorgeous blossom waved upon its heavy stem; based

by a massive cluster of enormous, smooth, dark green leaves. Entranced

by this unexpected and marvelous floral display, Nadia breathed deeply

of the inviting fragrance--and collapsed senseless upon the ground.

Thereupon the weird plant moved over toward her, and the thick leaves

began to enfold her knees. This carnivorous thing, however, did not like

the heavy cloth of her suit and turned to the hexaped. It thrust several

of its leaves into the wounds upon the carcass and fed, while two other

leaves rasped together, sending out a piercing call.

In answer to the sound the underbrush crackled, and through it and upon

the scene there crashed a vegetable-animal nightmare--the parent of the

relatively tiny thing whose perfume had disabled the girl.

Its huge and gorgeous blossom was supported by a long, flexible,

writhing stem, and its base was composed of many and highly specialized

leaves. There were saws and spears and mighty, but sinuous tendrils;

there were slender shoots which seemed to possess some sense of

perception; there was the massive tractor base composed of extensible

leaves which by their contraction and expansion propelled the mass along

the ground. Parent and child fell upon the hexaped and soon bones and

hair were all that remained The slender shoots then wandered about the

unconscious girl in her strange covering, and as a couple of powerful

tendrils coiled about her and raised her into the air over the monstrous

base of the thing, its rudimentary brain could almost be perceived

working as it sluggishly realized that, now full fed, it should carry

this other victim along, to feed its other offspring when they should

return to its side.

* * * * *

Barely outside the door of the "Forlorn Hope" Stevens whirled about

with a bitter imprecation. He had already lost time needlessly--with a

lookout plate he could cover more ground in ten minutes than he could

cover afoot in a week. He flipped on the power and shot the violet beam

out over the plateau to the district where he knew Nadia was wont to

hunt. Not finding her there, he swung the beam in an ever widening

circle around that district. Finally he saw a few freshly broken twigs,

and scanned the scene with care. He soon found the trail of fresh

blood which marked the path of the flight of the hexaped, and with the

peculiar maneuverability of the device he was using, it was not long

until he was studying the scene where the encounter had taken place.

He gasped when he saw the bones and perceived three of Nadia's arrows,

but soon saw that the skeleton was not human and was reassured. Casting

about in every direction, he found Nadia's bow, and saw a peculiar,

freshly trampled path leading from the kill, past the bow, down the

valley. He could not understand the spoor, but it was easily followed,

and he shot the beam along it at headlong speed until he came up with

the monstrous creature that was making it--until he saw what burden that

organism was carrying.

He leaped to the controls of the lifeboat, then dropped his hand. While

the stream of power now flowing was ample to operate the lookout plates,

yet it would be many hours before the accumulator cells would be in

condition to drive the craft even that short distance.

"It'll take over an hour to get there--here's hoping I can check in all

x," he muttered savagely, as he took careful note of the location and

direction of the creature's trail and set off at a fast jog-trot.

The carnivorous flower's first warning that all was not well was

received when Stevens' steel-shod feet landed squarely upon its base

and one sweeping cut of his sword lopped off the malignant blossom and

severed the two tendrils that still held the unconscious Nadia. With a

quick heave of his shoulder, he tossed her lightly backward into the

smooth-beaten track the creature had made and tried to leap away--but

the instant he had consumed in rescuing the girl had been enough for the

thing to seize him, and he found himself battling for his very life. No

soft-leaved infant this, but a full-grown monster, well equipped with

mighty weapons of offense and defense. Well it was for the struggling

man that he was encased in armor steel as those saw-edged, hard-spiked

leaves drove against him with crushing force; well it was for him that

he had his own independent air supply, so that that deadly perfume

eddied ineffective about his helmeted head! Hard and fiercely driven as

those terrible thorns were, they could do no more than dent his heavy

armor. His powerful left arm, driving the double-razor-edged dirk in

short, resistless arcs, managed to keep the snaky tendrils from coiling

about his right arm, which was wielding the heavy, trenchant sword.

Every time that mighty blade descended it cleaved its length through

snapping spikes and impotently grinding leaves; but more than once

a flailing tendril coiled about his neck armor and held his helmet

immovable as though in a vise, while those frightful, grinding saws

sought to rip their way through the glass to the living creature inside

the peculiar metal housing. Dirk and saber and magnificent physique

finally triumphed, but it was not until each leaf was literally severed

from every other leaf that the outlandish organism gave up the ghost.

* * * * *

Nadia had been tossed out into pure air, beyond the zone of the

stupefying perfume, and she recovered her senses in time to see the

finish of the battle. Stevens, assured that his foe was _hors du

combat_, turned toward the spot where he had thrown Nadia's body. He saw

that she was unharmed, and sprang toward her in relief. He was surprised

beyond measure, however, to see her run away at a pace he could not hope

to equal, encumbered as he was; motioning frantically at him the while

to keep away from her. He stopped, astounded, and started to unscrew his

helmet, whereupon she dashed back toward him, signaling him emphatically

to leave his armor exactly as it was. He stood still and stared at her,

an exasperated question large upon his face, until she made clear to

him that he was to follow her at a safe distance, then she set off at a

rapid walk. She led him back to where the hexaped had fallen, where she

retrieved her bow and arrows; then, keeping a sharp lookout upon all

sides, she went on to a small stream of water. She made the dumbfounded

man go out into the middle of the creek and lie down and roll over

in the water, approaching him sniffing cautiously between immersions.

She made him continue the bathing until she could detect not even the

slightest trace of the sweet, but noxious fragrance of that peculiarly

terrible form of Ganymedean life. Only then did she allow him to remove

his helmet, so that she could give him the greeting for which they both

had longed and tell him what it was all about.

"So that's it, ace!" he exclaimed, still holding her tightly in his iron

embrace. "Great balls of fire! I thought maybe you were still a little

cuckoo. Anaesthetic perfume, huh? Hot stuff, I'd say--no wonder you

bit--I would, too. It's lucky for us I was air-tight--we'd both be

fee...."

"Stop it!" she interrupted him sharply, "Forget it--don't ever even

think of it!"

"All x, ace. It's out like the well known light. What to do? It's

getting darker than a hat, and we're a long way from home. Don't know

whether I could find my way back in the dark or not; and just between

you and me, I'm not particularly keen on night travel in these parts

after what's just happened. Are you?"

"Anything else but," she assured him, fervently. "I'd lots rather stay

hungry until tomorrow."

"No need of that--I've brought along enough supper for both of us. I'm

hungry as a wolf, too, now that I have time to think of it. We'll eat

and den up somewhere--or climb a tree. Those wampuses probably can't

climb trees!"

"There's a nice little cave back there about a hundred meters. We'll

pretend it's the Ritz," and they soon had a merry fire blazing in front

of the retreat. There they ate of the provisions Stevens had brought.

Then, while the man rolled up boulders before the narrow entrance of

the cave, Nadia gathered leaves and made a soft bed upon its warm,

dry floor.

"Good night, lover," and the girl, untroubled and secure now that

Stevens was at her side, was almost instantly asleep; but the man was

not sleepy. He thought of the power plant, even now sending its terrific

stream of energy into his accumulators. He thought of the ultra

radio--where could he get all the materials needed? He thought of his

friends, wondering whether or not they would receive his message. He

thought of Breckenridge and the other human beings who had been aboard

the _Arcturus_, wondering poignantly as to their fate. He thought of

Newton and of his own people, who had certainly given them up for dead

long since.

But above all he thought of the beautiful, steel-true companion lying

there asleep at his mailed feet, and he gazed down at her, his heart in

his eyes. The firelight shone through the chinks between the boulders,

casting a flickering ruddy light throughout the little cavern. Nadia lay

there her head pillowed upon one strong, brown little hand. Her lips

were red and sweetly curved, her cheek was smooth and firm as so much

brown velvet. She was literally aglow with sheer beauty and with perfect

health; and the man reflected, as he studied her hungrily, that this

wild life certainly had agreed with her--she was becoming more

surpassingly beautiful with every passing day.

"You little trump--you wonderful, lovely, square little brick!" he

breathed silently, and bent over to touch her cheek lightly with his

lips. Slight as the caress was, it disturbed her, and even in her sleep

her subconscious mind sent out an exploring hand, to touch her Steve and

thus be reassured. He pressed her hand and she settled back comfortably,

with a long, deep breath; and he stretched his iron-clad length beside

her and closed his eyes, firmly resolved not to waste a minute of this

wonderful night in sleep.

When he opened them an instant later, it was broad daylight, the

boulders had been rolled away, the fragrance of roasting meat permeated

the atmosphere, and Nadia was making a deafening clamor, beating his

steel breastplate lustily with the flat of his huge saber.

"Daylight in the swamp, you sleeper!" she exclaimed. "Roll out or roll

up! Come and get it, before I throw it away!"

"I must have been kind of tired," he said sheepishly, when he saw that

she had shot a bird and had cooked breakfast for them both while he had

been buried in oblivion.

"Peculiar, too, isn't it?" Nadia asked, pointedly. "You only did

about ten days' work yesterday in ten minutes, swinging this frightful

snickersnee of yours. Why, you played with it as though it were a

knitting-needle, and when I wanted to wake you up with it, I could

hardly lift it."

"Thought you didn't want that subject even mentioned?" he tried to steer

the talk away from his prowess with the broadsword.

"That was yesterday," airily. "Besides, I don't mind talking about

you--it's thinking about us being ... you know ... that I can't stand."

"All x, ace. I get you right. Let's eat."

* * * * *

Breakfast over, they started down the valley, Stevens carrying his

helmet under his arm. Hardly had they started however, than Nadia's keen

eyes saw a movement through the trees, and, she stopped and pointed.

Stevens looked once, then hand in hand they dashed back to their cave.

"We'll pile up some of the boulders and you lie low," he instructed her

as he screwed on his helmet. She snapped open his face-plate.

"But what about you? Aren't you coming in, too?" she demanded.

"Can't--they'd surround us and starve us out. I'm safe in this

armor--thank Heaven we made it as solid as we did--and I'll fight 'em in

the open. I'll show 'em what the bear did to the buckwheat!"

"All right, I guess, but I wish I had my armor, too," she mourned as he

snapped shut his plate and walled her into the cave with the same great

rocks he had used the night before. Then, Nadia safe from attack, he

drew his quiver of war-arrows into position over his shoulder, placed

one at the ready on his bow-string and turned to face the horde of

things rushing up the valley toward him. Wild animals he had supposed

them, but as he stood firm and raised his weapon shrill whistles

sounded in the throng, and he gasped as he realized that those frightful

creatures must be intelligent beings, for not only did they signal

to each other, but he saw that they were armed with bows and arrows,

spears, and slings!

Six-limbed creatures they were, of a purplish-red color, with huge,

tricornigerous heads and with staring, green, phosphorescent eyes. Two

of the six limbs were always legs, two always arms; the intermediate

two, due to a mid-section jointing of the six-foot-long, almost

cylindrical body, could be used at will as either legs or arms. Now, out

of range, as they supposed, they halted and gathered about one who was

apparently their leader; some standing erect and waving four hands while

shaking their horns savagely in Stevens' direction, others trotting

around on four legs, busily gathering stones of suitable size for their

vicious slings.

Too far away to use their own weapons and facing only one small

four-limbed creature, they considered their game already in the bag, but

they had no comprehension of earthly muscles, nor any understanding of

the power and range of a hundred-pound bow driving a steel-headed war

arrow. Thus, while they were arguing, Stevens took the offensive, and

a cruelly barbed steel war-head tore completely through the body of

their leader and mortally wounded the creature next beyond him. Though

surprised, they were not to be frightened off, but with wild, shrill

screams rushed to the attack. Stevens had no ammunition to waste, and

every time that mighty bow twanged a yard-long arrow transfixed at least

one of the red horde--and a body through which had torn one of those

ghastly, hand-forged arrow-heads was of very little use thereafter.

Accurately-sped arrows splintered harmlessly against the re-enforced

windows of his helmet and against the steel guards protecting his hands.

He was almost deafened by the din as the stone missiles of the slingers

rebounded from his reverberating shell of steel, but he fired carefully,

steadily, and powerfully until his last arrow had been loosed. Then,

the wicked dirk in his left hand and the long and heavy saber weaving

a circular path of brilliance in the sun, he stepped forward a couple

of paces to meet the attackers. For a few moments nothing could stand

before that fiercely driven blade--severed heads, limbs, and fragments

of torsos literally filled the air, but sheer weight of numbers

bore him down. As he fell, he saw the white shaft of one of Nadia's

hunting-arrows flash past his helmet and bury itself to the flock in

the body of one of the horde above him. Nadia knew that her arrows could

not harm her lover, and through a chink between two boulders she was

shooting into the thickest of the mob speeding her light arrows with

the full power of her bow.

Though down, the savages soon discovered that Stevens was not out. In

such close quarters he could not use his sword, but the fourteen-inch

blade of the dirk, needle-pointed as it was and with two razor-sharp,

serrated cutting edges, was itself no mean weapon, and time after time

he drove it deep, taking life at every thrust. Four more red monsters

threw themselves upon the prostrate man, but not sufficiently versed in

armor to seek out its joints, their fierce short spear thrusts did no

damage. Presently four more corpses lay still and Stevens, with his,

to them incredible, earthly strength, was once more upon his feet in

spite of their utmost efforts to pinion his mighty limbs, and was again

swinging his devastating weapon. Half their force lying upon the field,

wiped out by a small, but invincible and apparently invulnerable being,

the remainder broke and ran, pursued by Stevens to the point where the

red monsters had first halted. He recovered his arrows and returned to

the cave, opening his face-plate as he came.

"All x, sweetheart?" he asked, rolling away the boulders. "Didn't get

anything through to you, did they?"

"No, they didn't even realize that I was taking part in the battle, I

guess. Did they hurt you while they had you down? I was scared to death

for a minute."

"No, the old armor held. One of them must have gnawed on my ankle

some, between the greave and the heel-plate, but he couldn't quite get

through. 'Sa darn small opening there, too--must have bent my foot

'way around to get in at all. Have to tighten that joint up a little,

I guess. I'll bet I've got a black spot and blue spot there the size of

my hand--maybe it's only the size of yours, though."

"You won't die of that, probably. Heavens, Steve, that cleaver of yours

is a frightful thing in action! Suppose it's safe for us to go home?"

"Absolutely--right now is the best chance we'll ever have, and something

tells me that we'd better make it snappy. They'll be back, and next time

they won't be so easy to take."

"All x, then--hold me, Steve, I can't stand the sight of that---let

alone wade through it. I'm going to faint or something, sure."

"As you were!" he snapped. "You aren't going to pass out now that it's

all over! It's a pretty ghastly mess, I know, but shut your eyes and

I'll carry you out of sight."

"Aren't we out of sight of that place yet?" she demanded after a time.

"I have been for quite a while," he confessed, "but you're sitting

pretty, aren't you? And you aren't very heavy--not here on Ganymede,

anyway!"

* * * * *

"Put me down!" she commanded. "After that crack I won't play with you

any more at all--I'll pick up my marbles and go home!"

He released her and they hurried hack toward their waterfall, keeping

wary eyes sharp-set for danger in any form, animal or vegetable. On the

way back across the foothills Stevens shot another hexaped, and upon the

plateau above the river Nadia bagged several birds and small animals,

but it was not until they were actually in their own little canyon that

their rapid pace slackened and their vigilance relaxed.

"After this, ace, we hunt together and we go back to wearing armor while

we're hunting. It scared me out of a year's growth when you checked

up missing."

"We sure do, Steve," she concurred emphatically. "I'm not going to get

more than a meter away from you from now on. What do you suppose those

horrible things are?"

"Which?"

"Both."

"Those flowers aren't like anything Tellus ever saw, so we have no basis

of comparison. They may be a development of a flycatching plant, or they

may be a link between the animal and the vegetable kingdom. However,

we don't intend to study 'em, so let's forget 'em. Those animals were

undoubtedly intelligent beings; they probably are a race of savages of

this satellite."

"Then the really civilized races are probably...."

"Not necessarily--there may well be different types, each struggling

toward civilization. They certainly are on Venus, and they once were on

Mars."

"Why haven't we seen anything like that before, in all these months?

Things have been so calm and peaceful that we thought we had the whole

world to ourselves, as far as danger or men were concerned."

"We never saw them before because we never went where they lived--you

were a long ways from your usual stamping-grounds, you know. That

animal-vegetable flower is probably a high-altitude organism, living

in the mountains and never coming as low as we are down here. As for

the savages--whatever they are--they probably never come within five

kilometers of the falls. Many primitive peoples think that waterfalls

are inhabited by demons, and maybe these folks are afflicted the same

way."

"We don't know much about our new world yet, do we?"

"We sure don't--and I'm not particularly keen on finding out much more

about it until we get organized for trouble, either. Well, here we

are--just like getting back home to see the 'Hope,' isn't it?"

"It _is_ home, and will be until we get one of our own on earth," and

after Stevens had read his meters, learning with satisfaction that the

full current was still flowing into the accumulators, he began to cut

up the meat.

"Now that you've got the power-plant running at last, what next?" asked

Nadia, piling the cuts in the freezer.

"Brandon's ultra-radio comes next, but it's got more angles to it than

a cubist's picture of a set of prisms; so many that I don't know where

to begin. There, that job's done--let's sit down and I'll talk at you

awhile. Maybe between us we can figure out where to start. I've got

everything to build it lined up except for the tube, but that's got me

stopped cold. You see, fields of force are all right in most places, but

I've got to have one tube, and it's got to have the hardest possible

vacuum. That means a mercury-vapor super pump. Mercury is absolutely

the only thing that will do the trick and the mercury is one thing

that is conspicuous by its absence in these parts. So are tungsten for

filaments, tantalum for plates, and platinum for leads; and I haven't

found anything that I can use as a getter, either--a metal, you know, to

flash inside the tube to clean up the last traces of atmosphere in it."

"I didn't suppose that such a simple thing as a radio tube could hold

you up, after the perfectly unbelievable things that you have done

already--but I see now how it could. Of course, the tubes in our

receiver over there are too small?"

"Yes, they are only receiver and communicator tubes, and I need a

high-power transmitting tube--a fifty-kilowatter, at least. I'd give

my left leg to the knee joint for one of those big water-cooled,

sixty-kilowatt ten-nineteens right now--it would save us a lot of

grief."

"Maybe you could break up those tubes and use the plates and so on?"

"I thought of that, but it won't work--there isn't half enough metal

in the lot, and the filaments in particular are so tiny that I couldn't

possibly work them over into a big one. Then, too, we haven't got

many spare tubes, and if I smash the ones we're using, I put our

communicators out of business for good, so that we can't yell for help

if we have to drift home--and I still don't get any mercury."

"Do you mean to tell me there's no mercury on this whole planet?"

"Not exactly; but I do mean that I haven't been able to find any, and

that it's probably darned scarce. And since all the other metals I want

worst are also very dense and of high atomic weight, they're probably

mighty scarce here, too. Why? Because we're on a satellite, and no

matter what hypothesis you accept for the origin of satellites, you come

to the same conclusion--that heavy metals are either absent or most

awfully scarce and buried deep down toward the center. There are lots of

heavy metals in Jupiter somewhere, but we probably couldn't find them.

Jupiter's atmosphere is one mass of fog, and we couldn't see, since we

haven't got an infra-red transformer. I could build one, in time, but

it would take quite a while--and we couldn't work on Jupiter, anyway,

because of its gravity and probably because of its atmosphere. And even

if we could work there, we don't want to spend the rest of our lives

prospecting for mercury." Stevens fell silent, brow wrinkled in thought.

"You mean, dear, that we're..." Nadia broke off, the sentence

unfinished.

"Gosh, no! There's lots of things not tried yet, and we can always set

out to drift it. I was thinking only of building the tube. And I'm

trying to think ... say, Nadia, what do you know about Cantrell's

Comet?"

"Not a thing, except that I remember reading in the newspapers that it

was peculiar for something or other. But what has Cantrell's Comet got

to do with the high cost of living--or with radio tubes? Have you gone

cuckoo all of a sudden?"

"You'll be surprised!" Stevens grinned at her puzzled expression.

"Cantrell's Comet is one of Jupiter's comet family and is peculiar in

being the most massive one known to science. It was hardly known until

after they built those thousand-foot reflectors on the Moon, where the

seeing is always perfect, but it has been studied a lot since then.

Its nucleus is small, but extremely heavy--it seems to have an average

density of somewhere around sixteen. There's platinum and everything

else that's heavy there, girl! They ought to be there in such quantity

that even such a volunteer chemist as I am could find them!"

* * * * *

"Heavens, Steve!" A look of alarm flashed over Nadia's face, then

disappeared as rapidly as it had come into being. "But of course, comets

aren't really dangerous."

"Sure not. A comet's tail, which so many people are afraid of as being

poison gas, is almost a perfect vacuum, even at its thickest, and we'd

have to wear space-suits anyway. And speaking of vacuum ... whoopee!

We don't need mercury any more than a goldfish needs a gas-mask. When

we get Mr. Tube done, we'll take him out into space, leaving his mouth

open, and very shortly he'll be as empty as a flapper's skull. Then

we'll seal him up, flash him out, come back here, and start spilling

our troubles into Brandon's shell-like ear!"

"Wonderful, Steve! You do get an idea occasionally, don't you? But how

do we get out there? Where is this Cantrell's Comet?"

"I don't know, exactly--there's one rub. Another is that I haven't

even started the transmitter and receptor units. But we've got some

field-generators here on board that I can use, so it won't be so bad.

And our comet is in this part of the solar system somewhere fairly

close. Wish we had an Ephemeris, a couple of I-P solar charts, and

a real telescope."

"You can't do much without an Ephemeris, I should think. It's a good

thing you kept the chronometers going. You know the I-P time, day, and

dates, anyway."

"I'll have to do without some things, that's all," and the man stared

absently at the steel wall. "I remember something about its orbit, since

it is one thing that all I-P vessels have to steer clear of. Think I can

figure it close enough so that we'll be able to find it in our little

telescope, or even on our plate, since we'll be out of this atmosphere.

And it might not be a bad idea for us to get away, anyway. I'm afraid of

those folks on that space-ship, whoever they were, and they must live

around here somewhere. Cantrell's Comet swings about fifty million

kilometers outside Jupiter's orbit at aphelion--close enough for us to

reach, and yet probably too far for them to find us easily. By the time

we get back here, they probably will have quit looking for us, if they

look at all. Then too, I expect these savages to follow us up. What say,

little ace--do we try it or do we stay here?"

"You know best, Steve. As I said before, I'm with you from now on, in

whatever you think best to do. I know that you think it best to go out

there. Therefore, so do I."

"Well," he said, finally, "I'd better get busy, then--there's a lot to

do before we can start. The radio doesn't come next, after all--the

transmitter and receptor units come ahead of it. They won't mean

wasted labor, in any event, since we'll have to have them in case the

radio fails. You'd better lay in a lot of supplies while I'm working

on that stuff, but don't go out of sight, and yell like fury if

you see anything. We'd both better wear full armor every time we go

out-of-doors--unless I'm all out of control we aren't done with those

savages yet. Even though they may be afraid of the demons of the falls,

I think they'll have at least one more try at us."

While Nadia brought in meat and vegetables and stored them away,

Stevens attacked the problem of constructing the pair of tight-beam,

auto-dirigible transmitter and receptor units which would connect his

great turbo-alternator to the accumulators of their craft, wherever it

might be in space. From the force-field generators of the "Forlorn Hope"

he selected the two most suitable for his purpose, tuned them to the

exact frequency he required, and around them built a complex system of

condensers and coils.

Day after day passed. Their larder was full, the receptor was finished,

and the beam transmitter was almost ready to attach to the

turbo-alternator before the calm was broken.

"Steve!" Nadia shrieked. Glancing idly into the communicator plate, she

had been perfunctorily surveying the surrounding territory. "They're

coming! Thousands of them! They're all over the bench up there, and just

simply pouring down the hills and up the valley!"

"Wish they'd waited a few hours longer--we'd have been gone. However,

we're just about ready for them," he commented grimly, as he stared over

her shoulder into the communicator plate. "We'll make a lot of those

Indians wish that they had stayed at home with their papooses."

"Have you got all those rays and things fixed up?"

"Not as many as I'd like to have. You see, I don't know the composition

of the I-P ray, since it is outlawed to everybody except the police.

Of course I could have found out from Brandon, but never paid any

attention to it. I've got some nice ultra-violet, though, and a short-wave

oscillatory that'll cook an elephant to a cinder in about eight seconds.

We'll keep them amused, no fooling! Glad we had time to cover our open

sides, and it looks as though that meteorite armor we put over the

projectors may be mighty useful, too."

On and on the savages came, massed in formations showing some signs of

rude discipline. This time there was neither shrieking nor yelling; the

weird creatures advanced silently and methodically. Here and there were

massed groups of hundreds, dragging behind them engines which Stevens

studied with interest.

"Hm ... m ... m. Catapults," he mused. "You were right, girl of my

dreams--armor and bows and arrows wouldn't help us much right now.

They're going to throw rocks at us that'll have both mass and momentum.

With those things they can cave in our side-armor, and might even dent

our roof. When one of those projectiles hits, we want to know where it

ain't, that's all."

Stevens cast off the heavily-insulated plug connecting the power plant

leads to his now almost fully charged accumulators, strapped himself and

Nadia into place at the controls, and waited, staring into the plate.

Catapult after catapult was dragged to the lip of the little canyon,

until six of them bore upon the target. The huge stranded springs of

hair, fiber, and sinew were wound up to the limit, and enormous masses

of rock were toilsomely rolled upon the platforms. Each "gunner" seized

his trip, and as the leader shrieked his signal the six ponderous masses

of metalliferous rock heaved into the air as one. But they did not

strike their objective, for as the signal was given, Stevens shot

power into his projectors. The "Forlorn Hope" leaped out of the canyon

and high into the air over the open meadow, just as the six great

projectiles crashed into the ground upon the spot which, an instant

before, she had occupied.

* * * * *

Rudimentary discipline forgotten, the horde rushed down into the canyon

and the valley, in full clamor of their barbaric urgings. Horns and

arms tossed fiercely, savage noises rent the air, and arrows splintered

harmlessly upon steel plate as the mystified and maddened warriors upon

the plain below gave vent to their outraged feelings.

"Look, Nadia! A whole gang of them are smelling around that power plug.

Pretty soon somebody's going to touch a hot spot, and when he does,

we'll cut loose on the rest of them."

The huge insulating plug, housing the ends of the three great cables

leading to the converters of the turbo-alternator, lay innocently upon

the ground, its three yawning holes invitingly open to savage arms. The

chief, who had been inspecting the power-plant, walked along the triplex

lead and joined his followers at its terminus. Pointing with his horns,

he jabbered orders and three red monsters, one at each cable, bent to

lift the plug, while the leader himself thrust an arm into each of the

three contact holes. There was a flash of searing flame and the reeking

smoke of burning flesh--those three arms had taken the terrific no-load

voltage of the three-phase converter system, and the full power of the

alternator had been shorted directly to ground through the comparatively

small resistance of his body.

Stevens had poised the "Forlorn Hope" edgewise in mid-air, so that

the gleaming, heavily armored parabolic reflectors of his projectors,

mounted upon the leading edge of the fortress, covered the scene below.

As the charred corpse of the savage chieftain dropped to the ground,

it seemed to the six-limbed creatures that the demons of the falls had

indeed been annoyed beyond endurance by their intrusion; for, as if in

response to the flash of fire from the power plug, that structure so

peculiarly and so stolidly hanging in the air came plunging down toward

them. From it there reached down twin fans of death and destruction: one

flaming and almost invisibly incandescent violet which tore at the eyes

and excruciatingly disintegrated brain and nervous tissues; the other

dully glowing an equally invisible red, at the touch of which body

temperature soared to lethal heights and foliage burst cracklingly into

spontaneous flame.

In their massed hundreds, the savages dropped where they stood, life

rived away by the torturing ultra-violet, burned away by the blast

of pure heat, or consumed by the conflagrations that raged instantly

wherever that wide-sweeping fan encountered combustible material.

In the face of power supernatural they lost all thought of attack or of

conquest, and sought only and madly to escape. Weapons were thrown away,

the catapults were abandoned, and, every man for himself, the mob fled

in wildest disorder, each striving to put as much distance as possible

between himself and that place of dread mystery, the waterfall.

"Well, I guess that'll hold 'em for a while," Stevens dropped their

craft back into its original quarters in the canyon. "Whether they ever

believed before that this falls was inhabited by devils or not, they

think so now. I'll bet that it will be six hundred Jovian years before

any of them ever come within a hundred kilometers of it again. I'm glad

of it, too, because they'll let our power plant alone now. Well, let's

get going--we've got to make things hum for a while!"

"Why all the rush? You just said that we have scared them away for

good."

"The savages, yes, but not those others. We've just turned loose enough

radiation to affect detectors all over the system, and it's up to us to

get this beam projector set up, get away from here, and get our power

shut off before they can trace us. Snap it up, ace!"

The transmitter unit was installed at the converters, the cable was torn

out, and, having broken the last material link between it and Ganymede,

Stevens hurled the "Forlorn Hope" out into space, using the highest

acceleration Nadia could endure. Hour after hour the massive wedge of

steel bored outward, away from Jupiter; hour after hour Stevens' anxious

eyes scanned his instruments; hour after hour hope mounted and relief

took the place of anxiety as the screens remained blank throughout every

inquiring thrust into the empty ether. But they knew they would have to

keep sharp vigilance.

* * * * *

_Continuing a Thrilling New Serial of Interplanetary Life and Travel

by Edward E. Smith, Ph.D._

_Author of "Skylark of Space," and "Skylark Three"_

PART II

Spacehounds of IPC

_One of the most fascinating mysteries of the heavens is the comet.

It goes through space, gets near enough to the earth to be seen,

and then goes off and disappears in celestial distance. Often it

has a hyperbolic orbit, which would make it impossible to come back.

Yet it may return--apparently contradicting the geometry of conic

sections. This only goes to prove once more that it is risky to say

anything is impossible--even that our hero of this story manages

beautifully, with the aid of Cantrell's Comet, to avoid complete

annihilation while stranded in interstellar space._

_Read "what went before" and then continue the second instalment._

What Went Before:

The Interplanetary Vessel Arcturus sets out for Mars, with

Breckenridge as chief pilot, carrying on board, besides its

regular crew and some passengers, the famous Dr. Stevens,

designer of space ships and computer. He checks computations

made by astronomers stationed in floating observatories, and

after he has located any trouble and suggests a plan for

minimizing the hazards of the trip from the earth to Mars,

he reports his findings and suggestions to Mr. Newton, chief

of the Interplanetary Corporation.

Stevens then takes Nadia, Mr. Newton's beautiful young daughter,

on a specially conducted sight-seeing tour of the Arcturus and

thoroughly explains to her all of the works of the vessel. Nadia

has herself had a good science education. While they are down at

the bottom of the ship--nearing the end of their tour--Stevens

feels a barely perceptible movement of the vessel from its course.

When he turns on the visiplate, he is horrified to find that a

mysterious ray of unparalleled power has neatly sliced the Arcturus

in several places.

Nadia and Stevens are completely separated from the rest of the

crew and passengers of the ship, so they get into a lifeboat,

which is equipped for a limited amount of space travel. Despite

the strict and apparently effective vigilance of the enemy

destroyer, Stevens and Nadia make their getaway in the lifeboat,

which they aptly call "Forlorn Hope," and finally make a safe

landing on Ganymede, where Stevens plans to build a power-plant

and a radio transmitter, to enable him to communicate with the

earth or with the IPV Sirius, which is used by Westfall and Brandon

(two of the world's best scientists) as a floating laboratory.

With the very scant apparatus and material available, Stevens

sets to work on his power plant. Just as they have it completed

and ready to start for Cantrell's Comet, where Stevens believes

he can obtain the necessary metal for his giant transmitting

tube, they experience a close call with carnivorous plants on the

satellite and later with savage inhabitants, which precipitates

their trip to the comet.

CHAPTER V

Cantrell's Comet

Far out in space, Jupiter, a tiny moon and its satellites mere

pin-points of light, Stevens turned to his companion with a grin.

"Well, Nadia, old golf-shootist, here's where we turn spacehounds again.

Hope you like it better this time, because I'm afraid that we'll have to

stay weightless for quite a while." He slowly throttled down the mighty

flow of power, and watched the conflicting emotions play over Nadia's

face in her purely personal battle against the sickening sensations

caused by the decrease in their acceleration.

"I'm sorry as the dickens, sweetheart," he went on, tenderly, and the

grin disappeared. "Wish I could take it for you, but...."

"But there are times when we've got to fight our own battles and bury

our own dead," she interrupted, gamely. "Cut off the rest of that power!

I'm _not_ going to be sick--I _won't_ be a--what do you spacehounds call

us poor earth-bound dubs who can't stand weightlessness--weight-fiends,

isn't it?"

"Yes; but you aren't...."

"I know I'm not, and I'm not going to be one, either! I'm all x,

Steve--it's not so bad now, really. I held myself together that time,

anyway, and I feel lots better now. Have you found Cantrell's Comet yet?

And why so sure all of a sudden that they can't find us? That power beam

still connects us to Ganymede, doesn't it? Maybe they can trace it."

"At-a-girl, ace!" he cheered. "I'll tell the world you're no

weight-fiend--you're a spacehound right. Most first-trippers, at this

stage of the game, wouldn't be caring a whoop whether school kept or

not, and here you're taking an interest in all kinds of things already.

You'll do, girl of my heart--no fooling!"

"Maybe, and maybe you're trying to kid somebody," she returned, eyeing

him intently. "Or maybe you just don't want to answer those questions

I asked you a minute ago."

[Illustration: _At the bottom of a shaft a section of the rocky wall

swung aside, revealing the yawning black mouth of a horizontal tunnel.

At intervals upon its roof there winked into being almost invisible

points of light. Along that line of lights the life-boats felt their

way, coming finally into a huge cavern...._]

"No, that's straight data, right on zero across the panel," he assured

her. "And as for your questions, they're easy. No, I haven't looked for

the comet yet, because we'll have to drift for a couple of days before

we'll be anywhere near where I think it is. No, they can't trace us,

because there is now nothing to trace, unless they can detect the

slight power we are using in our lights and so on--which possibility is

vanishingly small. Potentially, our beam still exists, but since we are

drawing no power, it has no actual present existence. See?"

"Uh-uh," she dissented. "I can't say that I can quite understand how

a beam can exist potentially and yet not be there actually enough to

trace. Why, a thing has to be actual or not exist at all--you can't

possibly have something that is nothing. It doesn't make sense. But

lay off those integrations of yours, please," as now armed with a

slate-pencil, Stevens began to draw a diagram upon a four-foot sheet of

smooth slate. "You know that your brand of math is over my head like a

circus tent, so we'll let it lie. I'll take your word for it. Steve--if

you're satisfied, it's all x with me."

"I think I can straighten you out a little, by analogy. Here's a rough

sketch of a cylinder, with shade and shadow. You've had descriptive

geometry, of course, and so know that a shadow, being simply a

projection of a material object upon a plane, is a two-dimensional

thing--or rather, a two-dimensional concept. Now take the shade, which

is, of course, this entire figure here, between the cylinder casting

the shadow and the plane of projection. You simply imagine that there

is a point source of light at your point of projection: it isn't really

there. The shade, then, of which I am drawing a picture, has only a

potential existence. You know exactly where it is, you can draw it, you

can define it, compute it, and work with it--but still it doesn't exist;

there is absolutely nothing to differentiate it from any other volume of

air, and it cannot be detected by any physical or mechanical means. If,

however, you place a light at the point of projection, the shade becomes

actual and can be detected optically. By a sufficient stretch of the

imagination, you might compare our beam to that shade. When we turn our

power on, the beam is actual; it is a stream of tangible force, and as

such can be detected electrically. When our switches here are open,

however, it exists only potentially. There is no motion in the ether,

nothing whatever to indicate that a beam had ever actually existed

there. With me?"

"Floundering pretty badly, but I see it after a fashion. You physicists

are peculiar freaks--where we ordinary mortals see actual, solid,

heavy objects, you see only empty space with a few electrons and things

floating around in it; and yet where we see only empty space, you can

see things 'potentially' that may never exist at all. You'll be the

death of me yet, Steve! But I'm wasting a lot of time. What do we do

now?"

"We get busy on the big tube. You might warm up the annealing oven and

melt me that pot of glass, while I get busy on the filament supports,

plate brackets, and so on." Both fell to work with a will, and hours

passed rapidly and almost silently, so intent was each upon his own

tasks.

"All x, Steve." Nadia broke the long silence. "The pyrometer's on the

red, and the oven's hot," and the man left his bench. Taking up a long

paddle and an even longer blowpipe, he skimmed the melt to a dazzlingly

bright surface and deftly formed a bubble.

"I just love to talk at you when you've got your mouth full of a

blowpipe." Nadia eyed him impishly and tucked her feet beneath her,

poised weightless as she was. "I've got you foul now--I can say anything

I want to, and you can't talk back, because your bubble will lose its

shape if you do. Oh, isn't that a beauty! I never saw you blow anything

that big before," and she fell silent, watching intently.

Slowly there was being drawn from the pot a huge, tapering bulb of hot,

glistening glass, its cross-section at the molten surface varying as

Stevens changed the rate of draw or the volume of air blown through the

pipe. Soon that section narrowed sharply. The glass-blower waved his

hand and Nadia severed the form neatly with a glowing wire, just above

the fluid surface of the glass remaining in the pot. Pendant from the

blowpipe, the bulb was placed over the hot-bench, where Stevens, now

begoggled, begloved, and armed with a welding torch, proceeded to fuse

into the still, almost plastic, glass sundry necks, side-tubes, supports

and other attachments of peculiar pattern. Finally the partially

assembled tube was placed in the annealing oven, where it would remain

at a high and constant temperature until its filaments, grids, and

plates had been installed. Eventually, in that same oven, it would be

allowed to cool slowly and uniformly over a period of days.

* * * * *

Thus were performed many other tasks which are ordinarily done either

by automatic machinery or by highly skilled specialists in labor--for

these two, thrown upon their own resources, had long since learned how

much specialization may be represented by the most commonplace article.

Whenever they needed a thing they did not have--which happened every

day--they had either to make it or else, failing in that, to go back and

build something that would enable them to manufacture the required item.

Such setbacks had become so numerous as to be expected as part of the

day's work; they no longer caused exasperation or annoyance. For two

days the two jacks-of-all-trades worked at many lines and with many

materials before Stevens called a halt.

"All x, Nadia. It's time for us to stop tinkering and turn into

astronomers. We've been out for fifty I-P hours, and we'd better begin

looking around for our heap of scrap metal," and, the girl at the

communicator plate and Stevens at their one small telescope, they began

to search the black, star-jeweled heavens for Cantrell's Comet.

"According to my figures, it ought to be about four hours right

ascension, and something like plus twenty degrees declination. My

figures aren't accurate, though, since I'm working purely from memory,

so we'd better cover everything from Aldebaran to the Pleiades."

"But the directions will change as we go along, won't they?"

"Not unless we pass it, because we're heading pretty nearly straight at

it, I think."

"I don't see anything interesting thereabouts except stars. Will it have

much tail?"

"Very little--it's close to aphelion, you know, and a comet doesn't have

much of a tail so far away from the sun. Hope it's got some of its tail

left, though, or we may miss it entirely."

Hours passed, during which the two observers peered intently into their

instruments, then Stevens left the telescope and went over to his slate.

"Looks bad, ace--we should have spotted it before this. Time to eat,

too. You'd better...."

"Oh, look here, quick!" Nadia interrupted. "Here's something! Yes, it

_is_ a comet, and quite close--it's got a little bit of a dim tail."

Stevens leaped to the communicator plate, and, blond head pressed close

to brown, the two wayfarers studied the faint image of the wanderer of

the void.

"That's it, I just _know_ it is!" Nadia declared. "Steve, as a computer,

you're a blinding flash and a deafening report!"

"Yeah--missed it only about half a million kilometers or so," he

replied, grinning, "and I'd fire a whole flock of I-P check stations

for being four thousand off. However, I could have done worse--I could

easily have forgotten all the data on it, instead of only half of it."

He applied a normal negative acceleration, and Nadia heaved a profound

sigh of relief as her weight returned to her and her body again became

manageable by the ordinary automatic and involuntary muscles.

"Guess I am a kind of a weight-fiend at that, Steve--this is much

better!" she exclaimed.

"Nobody denies that weight is more convenient at times; but you're a

spacehound just the same--you'll like it after a while," he prophesied.

Stevens took careful observations upon the celestial body, altered his

course sharply, then, after a measured time interval, again made careful

readings.

"That's it, all x," he announced, after completing his calculations, and

he reduced their negative acceleration by a third. "There--we'll be just

about traveling with it when we get there," he said. "Now, little K. P.

of my bosom, our supper's been on minus time for hours. What say we

shake it up?"

"I check you to nineteen decimals," and the two were soon attacking the

savory Ganymedean goulash which Nadia had put in the cooker many hours

before.

"Should we both go to sleep, Steve, or should one of us watch it?"

"Sleep, by all means. There's no meteoric stuff out here, and we won't

arrive before ten o'clock tomorrow, I-P time," and, tired out by the

events of the long day, man and maid sought their beds and plunged into

dreamless slumber.

While they slept, the "Forlorn Hope" drove on through the void at a

terrific but constantly decreasing velocity; and far off to one side,

plunging along a line making a sharp angle with their own course, there

loomed larger and larger the masses which made up the nucleus of

Cantrell's Comet.

Upon awakening, Stevens' first thought was for the comet, and he

observed it carefully before he aroused Nadia, who hurried into the

control room. Looming large in the shortened range of the plate, their

objective hurtled onward in its eternal course, its enormous velocity

betrayed only by the rapidity with which it sped past the incredibly

brilliant background of infinitely distant stars. Apparently it was

a wild jumble of separate fragments; a conglomerate, heterogeneous

aggregation of rough and jagged masses varying in size from grains of

sand up to enormous chunks, which upon Earth would have weighed millions

of tons. Pervading the whole nucleus, a slow, indefinite movement was

perceptible--a vague writhing and creeping of individual components

working and slipping past and around each other as they all rushed

forward in obedience to the immutable cosmic law of gravitation.

"Oh, isn't that wonderful!" Nadia breathed. "Think of actually going to

visit a comet! It sort of scares me, Steve--it's so creepy and crawly

looking. We're awfully close, aren't we?"

"Not so very. We'd probably have lots of time to eat breakfast. But just

to be on the safe side, maybe I'd better camp here at the board, and you

bring me over something to eat."

"All x, Chief!" and Stevens ate, one eye upon the screen, watching

closely the ever-increasing bulk of the comet.

* * * * *

For many minutes he swung the _Forlorn Hope_ in a wide curve approaching

the mountain of metal ever and ever more nearly, then turned to the girl.

"Hold everything, Nadia--power's going off in a minute!" He shut off the

beam; then, noting that they were traveling a trifle faster than the

comet, he applied a small voltage to one dirigible projector. Darting

the beam here and there, he so corrected their flight that they were

precisely stationary in relation to the comet. He then opened his

switches, and the _Forlorn Hope_ hurtled on. Apparently motionless, it

was now a part of Cantrell's Comet, traveling in a stupendous, elongated

ellipse about the Master of our Solar System, the Sun.

"There, ace, who said anything about weight-fiends? I was watching you,

and you never turned a hair that time."

"Why, that's right--I never even thought about it--I was so busy

studying that thing out there! I suppose I've got used to it already?"

"Sure--you're one of us now. I knew you would be. Well, let's go places

and do things! You'd better put on a suit, too, so you can stand in the

air-lock and handle the line."

They donned the heavily insulated, heated suits, and Stevens snapped the

locking plugs of the drag line into their sockets upon the helmets.

"Hear me?" he asked. "Sound-disks all x?"

"All x."

"On the radio--all x?"

"All x."

"I tested your tanks and heaters--they're all x. But you'll have to

test...."

"I know the ritual by heart, Steve. It's been in every show in the

country for the last year, but I didn't know you had to go through it

every time you went out-of-doors! Halves, number one all x, two all x,

three all x...."

"Quit it!" he snapped. "You aren't testing those valves! That check-up

is no joke, guy. These suits are complicated affairs, and some parts

are apt to get out of order. You see, a thing to give you fresh air at

normal pressure and to keep you warm in absolute space can't be either

simple or fool-proof. They've worked on them for years, but they're

pretty crude yet. They're tricky, and if one goes sour on you, out in

space, it's just too bad--you're lucky to get back alive. A lot of men

are still out there somewhere because of the sloppy check-ups."

"'Scuse it, please--I'll be good," and the careful checking and testing

of every vital part of the space-suits went on.

Satisfied at last that the armor was spaceworthy, Stevens picked up the

coils of drag-line, built of a non-metallic fiber which could retain its

flexibility and strength in the bitter cold of outer space, and led the

girl into the air-lock.

"Heavens, Steve! It's perfectly stupendous, and grinding around worse

than the wreckage of the _Arcturus_ was when I wouldn't let you climb

up it--why, I thought comets were _little_, and hardly massive at all!"

exclaimed the girl.

"This is little, compared to any regular planet or satellite or even to

the asteroids. There's only a few cubic kilometers of matter there, and,

as I said before, it's a decidedly unusual comet. You know the game?"

"I've got it--and believe me, I'll yank you back here a lot faster than

you can jump over there if any one of those lumps starts to fall on you!

Is this drag line long enough?"

"Yes, I've got a hundred meters here, and it's only fifty meters over

there to where I'm going. So long," and with a light thrust of his feet,

he dove head foremost across the intervening space, a heavy pike held

out ahead of him. Straight as a bullet he floated toward his objective,

a jagged chunk many yards in diameter, taking the shock of his landing

by sliding along the pike-handle as its head struck the mass.

Then, bracing his feet against one lump, he pushed against its neighbor,

and under that steady pressure the enormous masses moved apart and kept

on moving, grinding among their fellows. Over and around them Stevens

sprang, always watching his line of retreat as well as that of his

advance, until his exploring pike struck a lump of apparently solid

metal. Hooking the fragment toward him, he thrust savagely with his

weapon and was reassured--that object was not only metal, but it was

metal so hard that his pike-head of space-tempered alloy steel did not

make an impression upon its surface. Turning on his helmet light he

swung his heavy hammer repeatedly but could not break off even a small

fragment.

"Found something, Steve?" Nadia's voice came clearly in his ears.

"I'll say I have! A hunk of solid, non-magnetic metal about the size of

an office desk. I can't break off any of it, so I guess we'll have to

grab the whole chunk."

He hitched the end of his cable around the nugget, made sure that the

loops would not slip, and then, as Nadia tightened the line, he shoved

mightily.

"All x, Nadia, she's coming! Pull in my drag line as I said over there,

and I'll help you land her."

Inside the _Forlorn Hope_ the mass of metal was urged into the shop,

where Stevens clamped it immovably to the steel floor, before he took

off his space-suit.

"Why, it's getting covered with snow, and the whole room is getting

positively _cold_!" Nadia exclaimed.

"Sure. Anything that comes in from space is cold, even if it's been out

only a few minutes, and that hunk of stuff has been out for nobody knows

how many million years. It didn't get much heat from the sun except

at perihelion, you know, so it's probably somewhere around minus two

hundred and sixty degrees now. I'll have to throw a heater on it for

half an hour before we can touch it. And since this is more or less new

stuff to you, I'll caution you--don't try to touch anything that has

just come in. That hammer or pike would freeze your hand instantly, even

though they've been out only a little while. Before you touch anything,

blow on it, like this, see? If your breath freezes solid on it, like

that, don't touch it--it's cold."

* * * * *

Under the infra-beams of the heater, the mass of the metal was brought

to room temperature and Stevens attacked it with his machine tools.

Bit by bit the stubborn material was torn from the lump. Through heavy

goggles he watched the incandescent mass in a refractory crucible, in

the heart of the induction furnace.

"What do you think you've got--what you want?"

"I don't know. It wasn't iron--it wouldn't hold a magnet. It's royal

metal of some kind, I think. Base metals mostly melt at around fifteen

hundred, and that crucible is still dry as a bone at better than

seventeen."

"How are you going to separate out the tantalum and the others you want

from the ones that you don't want?"

"I'm afraid that I'm not going to, very well," replied Stevens, with a

wry grimace. "What I don't know about metallurgy would fill a library,

and I'm probably the world's worst chemist. However, by a series of

successive liquations, I hope to separate out fractions that I can

use. Platinum melts somewhere around seventeen-fifty, tantalum about

twenty-nine hundred, and tungsten not until 'way up around thirty-three,

or four hundred--and that, by the way, means lots of grief. Of course,

each fraction will probably be an alloy of one kind or another, but

I think maybe I'll be able to make them do."

"But mayn't that whole chunk be a pure metal?"

"It's conceivable, but not probable. There, she's beginning to separate

at just below eighteen hundred! Platinum group coming out now, I

think--platinum, rhodium, iridium, and that gang, you know. While I'm

doing this, you might be getting those five coils into exact resonance,

if you want to."

"Sure I want to," and Nadia made her way across to the short-wave

oscillator and set to work.

After an hour or so, bent over her delicate task, she began to twitch

uneasily, then shrugged her shoulders impatiently.

"What's the idea of staring at me so?" she broke out suddenly. "How do

you expect me to tune these things up if you...." She stopped abruptly,

mouth open in amazement, as she turned toward Stevens. He had not been

looking at her, but he turned a surprised face from his own task at the

sound of her voice. "Excuse me, please, Steve. I don't know what's the

matter with me--must be getting jumpy, I guess."

"I wish that was all, but it isn't!" Face suddenly grim and hard,

Stevens leaped to the communicator plate and shot the beam out into

space. "There's an answer, but that isn't it. You're a fine-tuned

instrument yourself, ace, and you've detected something.... I thought

so! There's the answer--the guy that was looking at you!"

Plainly there was revealed upon the plate a small, spherical space-ship,

very like the one that had attacked and destroyed the _Arcturus_. After

Nadia had taken one glance at it, Stevens shut off the power and leaped

out into the shop. He closed all the bulkhead doors and air-break

openings, then closed and secured the massive insulating door of the

lifeboat in which they had made their headquarters. Then, after they

had again put on the space-suits they had taken off such a short time

before, he extinguished all the lights and hooded the communicator

screen before he ventured again to glance out into the void.

"If I had a brain in my head, instead of the pint of bean soup I've got

up there, we'd have worn these when they cut up the _Arcturus_, and

saved us a lot of mental wear and tear," he remarked. "They were right

there in the lockers all the time, and I knew it!"

"Well, we got away, anyway. You couldn't be expected to think of

everything at once. We didn't have much time, you know."

"No, but I should have thought of anything as obvious as that, anyway.

Wonder how they found us? Did they detect us, or did they come out

to this comet after metal, same as we did, and find us accidentally?

However, it all works out the same--they're apparently out to get us.

I'm afraid this is going to be a whole lot like a rabbit fighting back

at a man with a gun; but we'll sure try to nibble us off a lunch while

they're getting a square meal ... here they come!"

The enemy sphere launched its flaming plane of force, and the _Forlorn

Hope_ shuddered in every plate and member as its apex was severed

cleanly under the impact. Instantly Stevens hurled his only weapons.

Flaming ultra-violet and dully glowing infra-red, the twin beams lashed

out; but their utmost force was of slight moment to the enormous power

driving the enemy screens. Two circular spots of cherry red in space

were the only results of Stevens' attack, and the next fierce cut

sheared away the two projectors and, incidentally, a full half of the

fifty-inch armor of the leading edge.

"Then we're checking out now?" Nadia asked quietly, as the man's hands

dropped from his useless controls. "I'm sorrier than I can say, lover.

But at least, I'm glad that I can go out with you," and her glorious

eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Maybe, but snap out of it, girl--our hearts are still beating! We're

not dead yet, and maybe we won't be. Perhaps they want to capture us

alive, as they did before; if so, we may be able to hide out on them

somewhere and pull off another escape. Things don't look very bright, I

know, but we're not checking out until our numbers are actually run up!"

He hooked a hand under her belt as the shocks came closer, and stood

tense and ready. The lancing plane cut through one end of their control

room, and Stevens leaped with his companion toward the new-made opening;

while the air shrieked outward into space and their suits bulged

suddenly with the abrupt increase in pressure differential. While they

were in midflight, the frightful blade of destruction cleaved its way

through the control board and through the spot upon which they had been

standing a moment before. As they passed the severed edge, en route into

open spare, Stevens seized a metal brace and clung there, every nerve

taut.

"Something funny here, Nadia," he said after a little, in a low tone.

"They should have made one more cut, to make us absolutely blind and

helpless. As it is, they've clipped off all our projectors, so we can't

move, but I think we've got the whole control compartment of number two

lifeboat untouched. If so, we can look around, anyway. Let's go!"

Floating without effort from fragment to fragment, they made their way

toward the section of their cruiser as yet undamaged. They found an

airlock in working order, and were soon in the second lifeboat, where

Stevens hastily turned on a communicator and peered out into space.

"There they are! There's another stranger out there, too. They're

fighting with her, now--that's probably why they didn't polish us off."

Steel-braced, clumsy helmets touching, the two Terrestrials stared

spell-bound into the plate; watching while the insensately vicious

intelligences within the sphere brought its every force to bear upon

another and larger sphere which was now so close as to be plainly

visible. Like a gigantic drop of quicksilver this second globe

appeared--its smooth and highly-polished surface one enormous, perfect,

spherical mirror. Watching tensely, they saw flash out that frightful

plane of seething energy, with the effects of which they were all too

familiar, and saw it strike full upon the dazzling ball.

"This is awful, ace!" Stevens groaned. "They haven't got ray-screens,

either, and without them they don't stand a chance. No possible

substance can stand up under that beam. When they get done and turn back

to us, we'll have to dive back to where we were."

* * * * *

But that brilliant mirror was not as vulnerable as Stevens had supposed.

The plane of force struck and clung, but could not penetrate it. Broken

up into myriads of scintillating crystals of light, intersecting,

multi-colored rays, and cascading flares of sparkling energy, the beam

was reflected, thrown back, hurled away on all sides into space in

coruscating, blinding torrents. And neither was the monster globe

inoffensive. The straining watchers saw a port open suddenly, emit a

flame-erupting something, and close as rapidly as it had opened. That

something was a projectile, its propelling rockets fiercely aflame; as

smoothly brilliant as its mother-ship and seemingly as impervious to the

lethal beams of the common foe. Detected almost instantly as it was, it

received the full power of the savage attack. The hitherto irresistible

plane of force beat upon it; ultra-violet, infra-red, and heat rays

enveloped it; there were hurled against it all the forces known to the

scientific minds within that fiendishly destructive sphere.

Finally, only a scant few hundreds of yards from its goal, the

protective mirror was punctured and the freight of high explosive let

go, with a silent, but nevertheless terrific, detonation. But now

another torpedo was on its way, and another, and another; boring on

ruthlessly toward the smaller sphere. Fighting simultaneously three

torpedos and the giant globe, the enemy began dodging, darting hither

and thither with a stupendous acceleration; but the tiny pursuers could

not be shaken off. At every dodge and turn, steering rockets burst into

furious activity and the projectiles rushed ever nearer. Knowing that

she had at last encountered a superior force, the sphere turned in

mad flight; but, prodigious as was her acceleration, the torpedoes

were faster and all three of them struck her at once. There ensued

an explosion veritably space-racking in its intensity; a flash of

incandescent brilliance that seemed to fill all space, subsiding into

a vast volume of tenuous gas which, feebly glowing, flowed about and

attached itself to Cantrell's Comet. And in the space where had been

the enemy sphere, there was nothing.

A slow-creeping pale blue rod of tangible force reached out from the

great sphere, touched the wreckage of the _Forlorn Hope_, and pulled;

gently, but with enormous power.

"Tractor beams again!" exclaimed Stevens, still at the plate.

"Everybody's got 'em but us, it seems."

"And we can't fight a bit any more, can we?"

"Not a chance--bows and arrows wouldn't do us much good. However, we may

not need 'em. Since they fought that other crew, and haven't blown us

up, they aren't active enemies of ours, and may be friendly. I haven't

any idea who or what they are, since even our communicator ray can't get

through that mirror, but it looks as though our best bet is to act

peaceable and see if we can't talk to them in some way. Right?"

"Right." They stepped out into the airlock, from which they saw that

the great sphere had halted only a few yards from them, and that an

indistinct figure stood in an open door, waving to them an unmistakable

invitation to enter the strange vessel.

"Shall we, Steve?"

"Might as well. They've got us foul, and can take us if they want us.

Anyway, we'll need at least a week to fix us up any kind of driving

power, so we can't run--and we probably couldn't get away from those

folks if we had all our power. They haven't blown us up, and they could

have done it easily enough. Besides, they act friendly, so we'd better

meet them half way. Dive!"

Floating toward the open doorway, they were met by another rod of force,

brought gently into the airlock, and supported upright beside the being

who had invited them to visit him. Apparently an empty space-suit stood

there; a peculiarly-fitted suit of some partially transparent, flexible,

glass-like material; towering fully a foot over the head of the tall

Terrestrial. Closer inspection, however, revealed that there was

something inside that suit--a shadowy, weirdly-transparent being,

staring at them with large, black eyes. The door clanged shut behind

them; they heard the faint hiss of inrushing air, and the inner door

opened; but their enveloping suits remained stretched almost as tightly

as ever. They felt the floor lurch beneath their feet, and a little

weight was granted them as the space-ship got under way. Stevens waved

his arms vigorously at the stranger, pointing backward toward where he

supposed their own craft to be. The latter waved an arm reassuringly,

pressed a contact, and a section of the wall suddenly became

transparent. Through it Stevens saw with satisfaction that the _Forlorn

Hope_ was not being abandoned; in the grip of powerful tractor beams,

every fragment of the wreckage was following close behind them in their

flight through space.

* * * * *

Stevens and Nadia followed their guide along a corridor, through several

doors, and into a large room, which at first glance seemed empty, but

in which several of the peculiarly transparent people of the craft were

lying about upon cushions. They were undoubtedly human--but what humans!

Tall and reedy they were, with enormous barrel chests, topped by heads

which, though really large, appeared insignificant because of the

prodigious chests and because of the huge, sail-like, flapping ears.

Their skins were a strikingly, livid, pale blue, absolutely devoid of

hair; and their lidless eyes, without a sign of iris, were chillingly

horrible in their stark contrast of enormous, glaring black pupil and

ghastly, transparent blue eyeball.

As the two Terrestrials entered the room, the beings struggled to their

feet and hurried laboriously away. Soon one of them returned, dressed in

an insulating suit, and carrying three sets of head harnesses, connected

by multiplex cables to a large box which he placed upon the floor.

He handed the headsets to the first officer, who in turn placed two of

them at the feet of the Terrestrials, indicating to them that they were

to follow his example in placing them upon their heads, outside the

helmets. They did so, and even through the almost perfect insulation,

and in spite of the powerful heaters of their suits, they felt a touch

of frightful cold. The stranger turned a dial, and the two wanderers

from Earth were instantly in full mental communication with Barkovis,

the commander of a space-ship of Titan, the sixth satellite of Saturn!

"Well, I'll be ... say, what is this, anyway?" Steve exclaimed

involuntarily, and Nadia smiled as Barkovis answered with a thought,

clearer than any spoken words.

"It is a thought-exchanger. I do not know its fundamental mechanism,

since we did not invent it and since I have had little time to study

it. The apparatus, practically as you see it here, was discovered but a

short time ago, in a small, rocket-propelled space-ship which we found

some distance outside of the orbit of Jupiter. Its source of power had

been destroyed by the cold of outer space, but re-powering it was, of

course, a small matter. The crew of the vessel were all dead. They

were, however, of human stock, and of a type adapted for life upon

a satellite. I deduce, from your compact structure, your enormous

atmospheric pressure, and your, to us, unbelievably high body

temperature, that you must be planet-dwellers. I suppose that you

are natives of Jupiter?"

"Not quite." Stevens had in a measure recovered from his stunned

surprise. "We are from Tellus, the third planet," and he revealed

rapidly the events leading up to their present situation, concluding:

"The people in the other sphere were, we believe, natives of Jupiter or

of one of the satellites. We know nothing of them, since we could not

look through their screens. You rescued us from them; do you not know

them?"

"No. Our visirays also were stopped by their screens of force--screens

entirely foreign to our science. This is the first time that any

vessel from our Saturnian system has ever succeeded in reaching the

neighborhood of Jupiter. We came in peace, but they attacked us at sight

and we were obliged to destroy them. Now we must hurry back to Titan,

for two reasons. First, because we are already at the extreme limit

of our power range and Jupiter is getting further and further away

from Saturn. Second because our mirrors, which we had thought perfect

reflectors of all frequencies possible of generation, are not perfect.

Enough of those forces came through the mirrors to volatilize half our

crew, and in a few minutes more none of us would have been left alive.

Why, in some places our very atmosphere became almost hot enough to melt

water! If another of those vessels should attack us, in all probability

we should all be lost. Therefore we are leaving as rapidly as is

possible."

"You are taking the pieces of our ship along--we do not want to encumber

you."

"It is no encumbrance, since we have ample supplies of power. In fact,

we are now employing the highest acceleration we Titanians can endure

for any length of time."

Stevens pondered long, forgetting that his thoughts were plain as print

to the Titanian commander. Thank Heaven these strangers had sense enough

to be friendly--all intelligent races should be friends, for mutual

advancement. But it was a mighty long stretch to Saturn and this

acceleration wasn't so much. How long would it take to get there? Could

they get back? Wouldn't they save time by casting themselves adrift,

making the repairs most urgently needed, and going back to Ganymede

under their own power? But would they have enough power left in the

wreck to get even that far? And how about the big tube? He was

interrupted by an insistent thought from Barkovis.

"You will save time, Stevens, by coming with us to Titan. There we shall

aid you in repairing your vessel and in completing your transmitting

tube, in which we shall be deeply interested. Our power plants shall

supply you with energy for your return journey until you are close

enough to Jupiter to recover your own beam. You are tired. I would

suggest that you rest--that you sleep long and peacefully."

"You seem to be handling the _Forlorn Hope_ without any trouble--the

pieces aren't grinding at all. We'd better live there, hadn't we?"

"Yes that would be best, for all of us. You could not live a minute here

without your suits; and, efficiently insulated as those suits are, yet

your incandescent body temperature makes our rooms unbearably hot--so

hot that any of us must wear a space-suit while in the same room with

you, to avoid being burned to death."

"The incandescently hot" Terrestrials were wafted into the open airlock

of their lifeboat upon a wand of force, and soon had prepared a long

overdue supper, over which Stevens cast his infectious, boyish grin at

Nadia.

"Sweetheart, you are undoubtedly a 'warm number,' and you have often

remarked that I 'burn you up.' Nevertheless I think that we were both

considerably surprised to discover that we are both hot enough actually

to consume persons unfortunate enough to be confined in the same room

with us!"

"You're funny, Steve--like a crutch," she rebuked him, but smiled back,

an elusive dimple playing in one lovely brown cheek. "Looking right

through anybody is too ghastly for words, but I think they're perfectly

all x, anyway, in spite of their being so hideous and so cold-blooded!"

CHAPTER VI

A Frigid Civilization

"Hi, Percival Van Schravendyck Stevens!" Nadia strode purposely into

Stevens' room and seized him by the shoulder. "Are you going to sleep

all the way to Saturn? You answered me when I pounded on the partition

with a hammer, but I don't believe that you woke up at all. Get up,

you--breakfast will be all spoiled directly!"

"Huh?" Stevens opened one sluggish eye; then, as the full force of the

insult penetrated his consciousness, he came wide awake. "Lay off those

names, ace, or you'll find yourself walking back home!" he threatened.

"All x by me!" she retorted. "I might as well go home if you're going

to sleep _all_ the time!" and she widened her expressive eyes at him

impishly as she danced blithely back into the control room. As she went

out she slammed his door with a resounding clang, and Stevens pried

himself out of his bunk one joint at a time, dressed, and made himself

presentable.

"Gosh!" he yawned mightily as he joined the girl at breakfast. "I don't

know when I've had such a gorgeous sleep. How do you get by on so

little?"

"I don't. I sleep a lot, but I do it every night, instead of working for

four days and nights on end and then trying to make up all those four

nights' sleep at once. I'm going to break you of that, too, Steve, if

it's the last thing I ever do."

"There might be certain advantages in it, at that," he conceded, "but

sometimes you've got to do work when it's got to be done, instead of

just between sleeps. However, I'll try to do better. Certainly it is

a wonderful relief to get out of that mess, isn't it?"

"I'll say it is! But I wish that those folks were more like people.

They're nice, I think, really, but they're so ... so ... well, so

ghastly that it simply gives me the blue shivers just to look at one

of them!"

"They're pretty gruesome, no fooling," he agreed, "but you get used to

things like that. I just about threw a fit the first time I ever saw

a Martian, and the Venerians are even worse in some ways--they're so

clammy and dead-looking--but now I've got real friends on both planets.

One thing, though, gives me the pip. I read a story a while ago--the

latest best-seller thing of Thornton's named 'Interstellar Slush' or

some such tr...."

"Cleophora--An Interstellar Romance," she corrected him. "I thought it

was wonderful!"

"I didn't. It's fundamentally unsound. Look at our nearest neighbors,

who probably came from the same original stock we did. A Tellurian

can admire, respect, or like a Venerian, yes. But for _loving_ one of

them--wow! Beauty is purely relative, you know. For instance, I think

that you are the most perfectly beautiful thing I ever saw; but no

Venerian would think so. Far from it. Any Martian that hadn't seen many

of us would have to go rest his eyes after taking one good look at

you. Considering what love means, it doesn't stand to reason that any

Tellurian woman could possibly fall in love with any man not of her own

breed. Any writer is wrong who indulges in interplanetary love affairs

and mad passions. They simply don't exist. They _can't_ exist--they're

against all human instincts."

"Interplanetary--in this solar system--yes. But the Dacrovos were just

like us, only nicer."

"That's what gives me the pip. If our own cousins of the same solar

system are so repulsive to us, how would we be affected by entirely

alien forms of intelligence?"

"May be you're right, of course--but you may be wrong, too," she

insisted. "The Universe is big enough, so that people like the Dacrovos

may possibly exist in it somewhere. May be the Big Three will discover a

means of interstellar travel--then I'll get to see them myself, perhaps."

"Yes, and _if_ we do, and _if_ you ever see any such people, I'll bet

that the sight of them will make your hair curl right up into a ball,

too! But about Barkovis--remember how diplomatic the thoughts were that

he sent us? He described our structure as being 'compact,' but I got the

undertone of his real thoughts, as well. Didn't you?"

"Yes, now that you mention it, I did. He really thought that we were

white-hot, under-sized, overpowered, warty, hairy, hideously opaque and

generally repulsive little monstrosities--thoroughly unpleasant and

distasteful. But he was friendly, just the same. Heavens, Steve! Do you

suppose that he read our real thoughts, too?"

"Sure he did; but he is intelligent enough to make allowances, the same

as we are doing. He isn't any more insulted than we are. He knows that

such feelings are ingrained and cannot be changed."

* * * * *

Breakfast over, they experienced a new sensation. For the first time in

months they had nothing to do! Used as they were to being surrounded by

pressing tasks, they enjoyed their holiday immensely for a few hours.

Sitting idly at the communicator plate, they scanned the sparkling

heavens with keen interest. Beneath them Jupiter was a brilliant

crescent not far from the sun in appearance, which latter had already

grown perceptibly smaller and less bright. Above them, and to their

right, Saturn shone refulgently, his spectacular rings plainly visible.

All about them were the glories of the firmament, which never fail to

awe the most seasoned observer. But idleness soon became irksome to

those two active spirits, and Stevens prowled restlessly about their

narrow quarters.

"I'm going to go to work before I go dippy," he soon declared. "They've

got lots of power, and we can rig up a transmitter unit to send it over

here to our receptor. Then I can start welding the old _Hope_ together

without waiting until we get to Titan to start it. Think I'll signal

Barkovis to come over, and see what he thinks about it."

The Titanian commander approved the idea, and the transmitting field was

quickly installed. Nadia insisted that she, too, needed to work, and

that she was altogether too good a mechanic to waste; therefore the two

again labored mightily together, day after day. But the girl limited

rigidly their hours of work to those of the working day; and evening

after evening Barkovis visited with them for hours. Dressed in his heavy

space-suit and supported by a tractor beam well out of range of what

seemed to him terrific heat radiated by the bodies of the Terrestrials,

he floated along unconcernedly; while over the multiplex cable of the

thought-exchanger he conversed with the man and woman seated just inside

the open outer door of their air-lock. The Titanian's appetite for

information was insatiable--particularly did he relish everything

pertaining to the earth and to the other inner planets, forever barred

to him and to his kind. In return Stevens and Nadia came gradually to

know the story of the humanity of Titan.

"I am glad beyond measure to have known you," Barkovis mused, one night.

"Your existence proves that there is truth in mythology, as some of

us have always believed. Your visit to Titan will create a furor in

scientific circles, for you are impossibility incarnate--personifications

of the preposterous. In you, wildest fancy had become commonplace.

According to many of our scientists, it is utterly impossible for you

to exist. Yet you say, and it must be, that there are millions upon

millions of similar beings. Think of it! Venerians, Tellurians,

Martians, the satellite dwellers of the lost space-ship, and us--so

similar mentally, yet physically how different!"

"But where does the mythology come in?" thought Nadia.

"We have unthinkably ancient legends which say that once Titan was

extremely hot, and that our remote ancestors were beings of fire, in

whose veins ran molten water instead of blood. Since our recorded

history goes back some tens of thousands of Saturnian years, and since

in that long period there has been no measurable change in us, few

of us have believed in the legends at all. They have been thought the

surviving figments of a barbarous, prehistoric worship of the sun.

However, such a condition is not in conflict with the known facts of

cosmogony, and since there actually exists such a humanity as yours--a

humanity whose bodily tissues actually _are_ composed largely of molten

water--those ancient legends must indeed have been based upon truth.

"What an evolution! Century after century of slowly decreasing

temperature--one continuous struggle to adapt the physique to a

constantly changing environment. First they must have tried to maintain

their high temperature by covering and heating their cities.--Then,

as vegetation died, they must have bred into their plants the ability

to use as sap purely chemical liquids, such as our present natural

fluids--which also may have been partly synthetic then--instead of the

molten water to which they had been accustomed. They must have modified

similarly the outer atmosphere; must have made it more reactive, to

compensate for the lowered temperature at which metabolism must take

place. As Titan grew colder and colder they probably dug their cities

deeper and ever deeper; until humanity came finally to realize that it

must itself change completely or perish utterly.

"Then we may picture them as aiding evolution in changing their body

chemistry. For thousands, and thousands of years there must have gone

on the gradual adaptation of blood stream and tissue to more and more

volatile liquids, and to lower and still lower temperatures. This must

have continued until Titan arrived at the condition which has now

obtained for ages--a condition of thermal equilibrium with space upon

one hand and upon the other the sun, which changes appreciably only in

millions upon millions of years. In equilibrium at last--with our bodily

and atmospheric temperatures finally constant at their present values,

which seem as low to you as yours appear high to us. Truly, an evolution

astounding to contemplate!"

"But how about power?" asked Stevens. "You seem to have all you want,

and yet it doesn't stand to reason that there could be very much

generated upon a satellite so old and so cold."

"You are right. For ages there has been but little power produced

upon Titan. Many cycles ago, however, our scientists had developed

rocket-driven space-ships, with which they explored our neighboring

satellites, and even Saturn itself. It is from power plants upon Saturn

that we draw energy. Their construction was difficult in the extreme,

since the pioneers had to work in braces because of the enormous force

of gravity. Then, too, they had to be protected from the overwhelming

pressure and poisonous qualities of the air, and insulated from a

temperature far above the melting point of water. In such awful heat,

of course, our customary building material, water, could not be

employed...."

"But all our instruments have indicated that Saturn is _cold_!" Stevens

interrupted.

"Its surface temperature, as read from afar, would be low," conceded

Barkovis, "but the actual surface of the planet is extremely hot, and

is highly volcanic. Practically none of its heat is radiated because of

the great density and depth of its atmosphere, which extends for many

hundreds of your kilometers. It required many thousands of lives and

many years of time to build and install those automatic power plants,

but once they were in operation, we were assured of power for many tens

of thousands of years to come."

"Our system of power transmission is more or less like yours, but we

haven't anything like your range. Suppose you'd be willing to teach me

the computation of your fields?"

"Yes, we shall be glad to give you the formulae. Being an older race, it

is perhaps natural that we should have developed certain refinements as

yet unknown to you. But I am, I perceived, detaining you from your time

of rest--goodbye," and Barkovis was wafted back toward his mirrored

globe.

"What do you make of this chemical solution blood of theirs, Steve?"

asked Nadia, watching the placidly floating form of the Titanian

captain.

"Not much. I may have mentioned before that there are one or two, or

perhaps even three men who are better chemists than I am. I gathered

that it is something like a polyhydric alcohol and something like a

substituted hydrocarbon, and yet different from either in that it

contains flourin in loose combination. I think it is something that our

Tellurian chemists haven't got yet; but they've got so many organic

compounds now that they may have synthesized it, at that. You see,

Titan's atmosphere isn't nearly as dense as ours, but what there is

of it is pure dynamite. Ours is a little oxygen, mixed with a lot of

inert ingredients. Theirs is oxygen, heavily laced with flourin. It's

_reactive_, no fooling! However, something pretty violent must be

necessary to carry on body reactions at such a temperature as theirs."

"Probably; but I know even less about that kind of thing than you do.

Funny, isn't it, the way he thinks 'water' when he means ice, and always

thinks of our real water as being molten?"

"Reasonable enough when you think about it. Temperature differences are

logarithmic, you know, not arithmetic--the effective difference between

his body temperature and ours is perhaps even greater than that between

ours and that of melted iron. We never think of iron as being a liquid,

you know."

"That's right, too. Well, good night, Steve dear."

"'Bye, little queen of space--see you at breakfast," and the _Forlorn

Hope_ became dark and silent.

* * * * *

Day after day the brilliant sphere flew toward distant Saturn, with the

wreckage of the _Forlorn Hope_ in tow. Piece by piece that wreckage was

brought together and held in place by the Titanian tractors; and slowly

but steadily, under Stevens' terrific welding projector, the stubborn

steel flowed together, once more to become a seamless, spaceworthy

structure. And Nadia, the electrician, followed close behind the welder.

Wielding torch, pliers and spanner with practised hand, she repaired or

cut out of circuit the damaged accumulator cells and reunited the ends

of each severed power lead. Understanding Nadia's work thoroughly, the

Titanians were not particularly interested in it; but whenever Stevens

made his way along an outside seam, he had a large and thrillingly

horrified gallery. Everyone who could possibly secure permission to

leave the sphere did so, each upon his own pencil of force, and went

over to watch the welder. They did not come close to him--to venture

within fifty feet of that slow moving spot of scintillating brilliance,

even in a space-suit, meant death--but, poised around him in space, they

watched with shuddering, incredulous amazement, the monstrous human

being in whose veins ran molten water instead of blood; whose body was

already so fiercely hot that it could exist unharmed while working

practically without protection, upon _liquefied_ metal!

Finally the welding was done. The insulating space was evacuated and

held its vacuum--outer and inner shells were bottle-tight. The two

mechanics heaved deep sighs of relief as they discarded their cumbersome

armor and began to repair what few of their machine tools had been

damaged by the slashing plane of force which had so neatly sliced the

_Forlorn Hope_ into sections.

"Say, big fellow, you're the guy that slings the ink, ain't you?" Nadia

extinguished her torch and swaggered up to Stevens, hands on hips, her

walk an exaggerated roll. "Write me out a long walk. This job's all

played out, so I think I'll get me a good job on Titan. I said give me

my time, you big stiff!"

"You didn't say nothing!" growled Stevens in his deepest bass, playing

up to her lead as he always did. "Bounce back, cub, you've struck a

rubber fence! You signed on for duration and you'll stick--see?"

Arm in arm they went over to the nearest communicator plate. Flipping

the switch, Stevens turned the dial and Titan shone upon the screen; so

close, that it no longer resembled a moon, but was a world toward which

they were falling with an immense velocity.

"Not close enough to make out much detail yet--let's take another

look at Saturn," and Stevens projected the visiray beam out toward the

mighty planet. It was now an enormous full moon, almost five degrees in

apparent diameter,[1] its visible surface an expanse of what they knew

to be billowing cloud, shining brilliantly white in the pale sunlight,

broken only by a dark equatorial band.

[Footnote 1: The moon subtends an angle of about one-half of a degree.]

"Those rings were _such_ a gorgeous spectacle a little while ago!" Nadia

mourned. "It's a shame that Titan has to be right in their plane, isn't

it? Think of living this close to one of the most wonderful sights in

the Solar System, and never being able to see it. Think they know what

they're missing, Steve?"

"We'll have to ask Barkovis," Stevens replied. He swung the communicator

beam back toward Titan, and Nadia shuddered.

"Oh, it's hideous!" she exclaimed. "I thought that it would improve as

we got closer, but the plainer we can see it, the worse it gets. Just to

think of human beings, even such cold-blooded ones as those over there,

living upon such a horrible moon and _liking_ it, gives me the blue

shivers!"

"It's pretty bleak, no fooling," he admitted, and peered through the

eyepiece of the visiray telescope, studying minutely the forbidding

surface of the satellite they were so rapidly approaching.

Larger and larger it loomed, a cratered, jagged globe of desolation

indescribable; of sheer, bitter cold incarnate and palpable; of stark,

sharp contrasts. Gigantic craters, in whose yawning depths no spark of

warmth had been generated for countless cycles of time, were surrounded

by vast plains eroded to the dead level of a windless sea. Every lofty

object cast a sharply outlined shade of impenetrable blackness, beside

which the weak light of the sun became a dazzling glare. The ground was

either a brilliant white or an intense black, unrelieved by half-tones.

"I can't hand it much, either, Nadia, but it's all in the way you've

been brought up, you know. This is home to them, and just to look at

Tellus would give them the pip. Ha! Here's something you'll like, even

if it does look so cold that it makes me feel like hugging a couple of

heater coils. It's Barkovis' city the one we're heading for, I think.

It's close enough now so that we can get it on the plate," and he set

the communicator beam upon the metropolis of Titan.

"Why, I don't see a thing, Steve--where and what is it?" They were

dropping vertically downward toward the center of a vast plain of white,

featureless and desolate; and Nadia stared in disappointment.

"You'll see directly--it's too good to spoil by telling you what to look

for or wh...."

"Oh, there it is!" she cried. "It _is_ beautiful, Steve, but how

frightfully, utterly cold!"

* * * * *

A flash of prismatic color had caught the girl's eye, and, one

transparent structure thus revealed to her sight, there had burst into

view a city of crystal. Low buildings of hexagonal shape, arranged

in irregularly variant hexagonal patterns, extended mile upon mile.

From the roofs of the structures lacy spires soared heavenward;

inter-connected by long, slim cantilever bridges whose prodigious

spans seemed out of all proportion to the gossamer delicacy of their

construction. Buildings, spires, and bridges formed fantastic

geometrical designs, at which Nadia exclaimed in delight.

"I've just thought of what that reminds me of--it's snowflakes!"

"Sure--I knew it was something familiar. Snowflakes--no two are ever

exactly alike, and yet every one is symmetrical and hexagonal. We're

going to land on the public square--see the crowds? Let's put on our

suits and go out."

The _Forlorn Hope_ lay in a hexagonal park, and near it the Titanian

globe had also come to rest. All about the little plot towered the

glittering buildings of crystal, and in its center played a fountain;

a series of clear and sparkling cascades of liquid jewels. Under foot

there spread a thick, soft carpet of whitely brilliant vegetation.

Throngs of the grotesque citizens of Titania were massed to greet the

space-ships; throngs clustering close about the globular vessel, but

maintaining a respectful distance from the fiercely radiant Terrestrial

wedge. All were shouting greetings and congratulations--shouts which

Stevens found as intelligible as his own native tongue.

"Why, I can understand every word they say, Steve!" Nadia exclaimed, in

surprise. "How come, do you suppose?"

"I can, too. Don't know--must be from using that thought telephone of

theirs so much, I guess. Here comes Barkovis--I'll ask him."

The Titanian commander had been in earnest conversation with a group of

fellow-creatures and was now walking toward the Terrestrials, carrying

the multiple headsets. Placing them upon the white sward, he backed

away, motioning the two visitors to pick them up.

"It may not be necessary, Barkovis," Stevens said, slowly and clearly.

"We do not know why, but we can understand what your people are saying,

and it may be that you can now understand us."

"Oh, yes, I can understand your English perfectly. A surprising

development, but perhaps, after all, one that should have been expected,

from the very nature of the device we have been using. I wanted to tell

you that I have just received grave news, which makes it impossible for

us to help you immediately, as I promised. While we were gone, one of

our two power-plants upon Saturn failed. In consequence, Titan's power

has been cut to a minimum, since maintaining our beam at that great

distance required a large fraction of the output of the other plant.

Because of this lack, the Sedlor walls were weakened to such a point

that in spite of the Guardian's assurances, I think trouble is

inevitable. At all events, it is of the utmost importance that we begin

repairing the damaged unit, for that is to be a task indeed."

"Yes, it will take time," agreed Stevens, remembering what the

Titanian captain had told him concerning the construction of those

plants--generators which had been in continuous and automatic operation

for thousands of Saturnian years.

"It will take more than time--it will take lives," replied Barkovis,

gravely. "Scores, perhaps hundreds, of us will never again breathe the

clear, pure air of Titan. In spite of all precaution and all possible

bracing and insulation, man after man after man will be crushed by

his own weight, volatilized by the awful heat, poisoned by the foul

atmosphere, or will burst into unthinkable flames at the touch of some

flying spark from the inconceivably hot metals with which we shall have

to work. A horrible fate, but we shall not lack for volunteers."

"Sure not; and of course you yourself would go. And I never thought of

the effect a spark would have on you--your tissues would probably be

wildly inflammable. But say, I just had a thought. Just how hot is the

air at those plants and just what is the actual pressure?"

"According to the records, the temperature is some forty of your

centigrade degrees above the melting-point of water, and the pressure

is not far short of two of your meters of mercury. I find it almost

impossible to think of mercury as a liquid, however."

"You find it impossible, since you use it as a metal, for wires in coils

and so on. But plus forty, while pretty warm, isn't impossible, by any

means; and we could stand double our air pressure for quite a while.

Both my partner and I are pretty fair mechanics and we've got quite a

line of machine tools, such as you could not possibly have here. We'll

give it a whirl, since we owe you something already. Lead us to it,

ace--but wait a minute! We can't see through the fog, so couldn't find

the plants, and probably your wiring diagrams would explode if I touched

them."

"I never thought of your helping us," mused Barkovis. "The idea of any

living being existing in that inferno has always been unthinkable, but

the difficulties you mention are slight. We have already built in our

vessel communicators similar to yours, and radio sets. With these we can

guide you and explain the plants to you as you work, and our tractor

beams will be of assistance to you in moving heavy objects, even at such

distances from the surface as we Titanians shall have to maintain. If

you will set out a flask of your atmosphere, we will analyze it, for the

thought has come to me that perhaps, being planet-dwellers yourselves,

the air of Saturn might not be as poisonous to you as it is to us."

"That's a thought, too," and, the news broadcast, it was not long until

the two ships leaped into the air, to the accompaniment of the cheers

and plaudits of a watching multitude.

* * * * *

In a wide curve they sped toward Saturn. Passing so close to the

enormous rings that the individual meteoric fragments could almost be

seen with the unaided eye, they flashed on and on, slowing down long

before they approached the upper surface of the envelope of cloud.

The spherical space-ship stopped and Stevens, staring into his useless

screen, drove the _Forlorn Hope_ downward mile after mile, solely under

Barkovis' direction, changing course and power from time to time as the

Titanian's voice came from the speaker at his elbow. Slower and slower

became the descent, until finally, almost upon the broad, flat roof

of the power-plant, Stevens saw it in his plate. Breathing deeply in

relief, he dropped quickly down upon a flat pavement, neutralized his

controls, and turned to Nadia.

"Well, old golf-shootist, we're here at last--now we'll go out and see

what's gone screwy with the works. Remember that gravity is about double

normal here, and conduct yourself accordingly."

"But it's supposed to be only about nine-tenths," she objected.

"That's at the outer surface of the atmosphere," he replied. "And it's

_some_ atmosphere--not like the thin layer we've got on Tellus."

They went into the airlock, and Stevens admitted air until their

suits began to collapse. Then, face-plate valves cracked, he sniffed

cautiously, finally opening his helmet wide. Nadia followed suit and

the man laughed as she wrinkled her nose in disgust as two faint, but

unmistakable odors smote her olfactory nerves.

"I never cared particularly for hydrogen sulphide and sulphur dioxide,

either," he assured her, "but they aren't strong enough to hurt us in

the short time we'll be here. Those Titanian chemists know their stuff,

though."

He opened the outer valves slowly, then opened the door and they stepped

down upon the smooth, solid floor, which Stevens examined carefully.

"I thought so, from his story. Solid platinum! This whole plant is

built of platinum, iridium, and noble alloys--the only substances known

that will literally last forever. Believe me, ace of my bosom, I don't

wonder that it cost them lives to build it--with their conditions, I

don't see how they ever got it built at all."

Before them rose an immense, flat-topped cone of metal, upon the top of

which was situated the power plant. Twelve massive pillars supported a

flat roof, but permitted the air to circulate freely throughout the one

great room which housed the machinery. They climbed a flight of stairs,

passed between two pillars, and stared about them. There was no noise,

no motion--there was nothing that _could_ move. Twelve enormous masses

of metallic checkerwork, covered with wide cooling fins, almost filled

the vast hall. From the center of each mass great leads extended out

into a clear space in the middle of the room, there uniting in mid-air

to form one enormous bus-bar. This bar, thicker than a man's body, had

originally curved upward to the base of an immense parabolic structure

of latticed bars. Now, however, it was broken in midspan and the two

ends bent toward the floor. Above their heads, a jagged hole gaped in

the heavy metal of the roof, and a similar hole had been torn in the

floor. The bar had been broken and these holes had been made by some

heavy body, probably a meteorite, falling with terrific velocity.

"This is it, all right," Stevens spoke to distant Barkovis. "Sure

there's nothing on this beam? If it should be hot and I should short

circuit or bridge it with my body, it would be just too bad."

"We have made sure that nothing is connected to it," the Titanian

assured him. "Do you think you can do anything?"

"Absolutely. We've got jacks that'll bend heavier stuff than that, and

after we get it straightened the welding will be easy, but I'll have

to have some metal. Shall I cut a piece off the pavement outside?"

"That will not be necessary. You will find ample stores of spare metal

piled at the base of each pillar."

"All x. Now we'll get the jack, Nadia," and they went back to their

vessel, finding that upon Saturn, their combined strength was barely

sufficient to drag the heavy tool along the floor.

"Stand aside, please. We will place it for you," a calm voice sounded in

their ears, and a pale blue tractor beam picked the massive jack lightly

from the floor, and as lightly lifted it to its place beneath the broken

bus-bar and held it there while Stevens piled blocks and plates of

platinum beneath its base.

"Well, here's where I peel down as far as the law allows. This is going

to be real work, girl--no fooling. It'd help a lot if this outfit were

sending out a few thousand kilo-franks instead of standing idle."

"How would that help?"

"It's a heat-engine, you know--works by absorbing heat. The cold air

sinks--I imagine it pretty nearly blows a gale down the side of this

cone when it's working--and hot air rushes in to take its place. I could

use a little cool breeze right now," and Stevens, stripped to the waist,

bent to the lever of the powerful hydraulic jack.

Beads of sweat gathered upon his broad back, uniting to form tiny

rivulets, and the girl became highly concerned about him.

"Let me help you, Steve--I'm pretty husky, too, you know."

"Sure you are, ace, but this is a job for a truck-horse, not a

tenderly-nurtured maiden of the upper classes. You can help, though, by

breaking out that welding outfit and getting it ready while I'm doing

this bending to prepare for the welding."

Under the urge of that mighty jack the ends of the broken bus-bar rose

into place, while far off in space the Titanians clustered about their

visiray screens, watching, in almost unbelieving amazement, the

supernatural being who labored in that reeking inferno of heat and

poisonous vapor--who labored almost naked and entirely unprotected,

refreshing himself from time to time with drafts of molten water!

"All x, Barkovis--that's high, I guess." Stevens flipped perspiration

from his hot forehead with a wet finger and straightened his weary back.

"Now you can put this jack away where we had it. Then you might trundle

me over enough of that spare metal to fill up this hole, and I'll put on

my suit and goggles and practice welding on this floor and the roof, to

get the feel of the metal before I tackle the bar."

The hole in the floor was filled with scrap and soon sparks were flying

wildly as the searing beam of Stevens' welding projector bit viciously

into the stubborn alloy of noble metals; fashioning a smooth, solid

floor where the yawning aperture had been. Then, lifted with his tools

and plates to the roof, the man repaired that hole also.

"Now I know enough about it to do a good job on the bar," he decided,

and brick after brick of alloy was fused into the crack, until only a

smoothly rounded bulge betrayed that a break had ever existed in that

mighty rod of metal.

"Give 'em the signal to draw power, and see if that's all that was the

matter," Stevens instructed, as he relaxed in the grateful coolness of

their control room. "Whew, that was a warm job, Nadia--and this air of

ours does smell good!"

* * * * *

"It was a horrible job, and I'm glad it's done," she declared. "But say,

Steve, that thing looks as little like a power-plant as anything I can

imagine. How does it work? You said that it worked on heat, but I don't

quite see how. But don't draw diagrams and _please_ don't integrate!"

"No ordinary plant such as we use could run for centuries

without attention," he replied. "This is a highly advanced

heat-engine--something like a thermo-couple, you know. This whole thing

is simply the hot end, connected to the cold end on Titan by a beam

instead of wires. When it's working, this metal must cool off something

fierce. That's what the checkerwork and fins are for--so that it can

absorb the maximum amount of heat from the current of hot, moist air

I spoke about. It's a sweet system--we'll have to rig up one between

Tellus and the moon. Or even between the Equator and the Arctic Circle

there'd be enough thermal differential to give us a million kilofranks.

We haven't got the all x signal yet, but it's working--look at it sweat

as it cools down!"

"I'll say it's sweating--the water is simply streaming off it!" In their

plate they saw that moisture was already beginning to condense upon the

heat-absorber: moisture running down the fins in streams and creeping

over the dull metal floor in sluggish sheets; moisture which, turning

into ice in the colder interior of the checkerwork, again became fluid

at the inrush of hot, wet Saturnian air.

"There's the signal--all x, Barkovis? By the way it's condensing water,

it seems to be functioning again."

"Perfect!" came the Titanian's enthusiastic reply, "You two

planet-dwellers have done more in three short hours than the entire

force of Titan could have accomplished in months. You have earned, and

shall receive, the highest...."

"As you were, ace!" Stevens interrupted, embarrassed. "This job was just

like shooting fish down a well, for us. Since you saved our lives, we

owe you a lot yet. We're coming out--straight up!"

The _Forlorn Hope_ shot upward, through mile after mile of steaming fog,

until at last she broke through into the light, clear outer atmosphere.

Stevens located the Titanian space-ship, and the two vessels once more

hurtling together through the ether toward Titan, he turned to his

companion.

"Take the controls, will you, Nadia? Think I'll finish up the tube. I

brought along a piece of platinum from the power plant, and something

that I think is tantalum from Barkovis' description of it. With those

and the fractions we melted out, I think I can make everything we'll

need."

Now that he had comparatively pure metal with which to work, drawing

the leads and filaments was relatively a simple task. Working over

the hot-bench with torch and welding projector, he made short work of

running the leads through the almost plastic glass of the great tube and

of sealing them in place. The plates and grids presented more serious

problems; but they were solved and, long before Titan was reached, the

tube was out in space, supported by a Titanian tractor beam between the

two vessels. Stevens came into the shop, holding a modified McLeod gauge

which he had just taken from the interior of the tube. When it had come

to equilibrium, he read it carefully and yelled.

"Eureka, little fellow! She's down to where I can't read it, even on

this big gauge--so hard that it won't need flashing--harder than any

vacuum I ever got on Tellus, even with a Rodebush-Michalek super-pump!"

"But how about occluded and absorbed gas in the filaments and so on when

they heat up?" demanded Nadia, practically.

"All gone, ace. I out-gassed 'em plenty out there--seven times, almost

to fusion. There isn't enough gas left in the whole thing to make a deep

breath for a microbe."

He took up his welding projector and a beam carried him back to the

tube. There, in the practically absolute vacuum of space, the last

openings in the glass were sealed, and man and great transmitting tube

were wafted lightly back into the Terrestrial cruiser.

Hour after hour mirrored Titanian sphere and crude-fashioned terrestrial

wedge bored serenely on through space, and it was not until Titan loomed

large beneath them that the calm was broken by an insistent call from

Titan to the sphere.

"Barkodar, attention! Barkodar, attention!" screamed from the speakers,

and they heard Barkovis acknowledge the call.

"The Sedlor have broken through and are marching upon Titania. The order

has gone out for immediate mobilization of every unit."

"There's that word 'Sedlor' again--what are they, anyway, Steve?"

demanded Nadia.

"I don't know. I was going to ask him when he sprung it on us first, but

he was pretty busy then and I haven't thought of it since. Something

pretty serious, though--they've jumped their acceleration almost to

Tellurian gravity, and none of them can live through much of that."

"Tellurians?" came the voice of Barkovis from the speaker. "We have

just...."

"All x--we were on your wave and heard it," interrupted Stevens. "We're

with you. What are those Sedlor, anyway? Maybe we can help you dope out

something."

"Perhaps--but whatever you do, do not use your heat-projector. That

would start a conflagration raging over the whole country, and we shall

have enough to do without fighting fire. But it may be that you have

other weapons, of which we are ignorant, and I can use a little time in

explanation before we arrive. The Sedlor are a form of life, something

like your..." he paused, searching through his scanty store of Earthly

knowledge, then went on, doubtfully, "perhaps some thing like your

insects. They developed a sort of intelligence, and because of their

fecundity, adapted themselves to their environment as readily as did

man; and for ages they threatened man's supremacy upon Titan. They

devoured vegetation, crops, animals, and mankind. After a world-wide

campaign, however, they were finally exterminated, save in the

neighborhood of one great volcanic crater, which they so honeycombed

that it is almost impregnable. All around that district we have erected

barriers of force, maintained by a corps of men known as 'Guardians of

the Sedlor.' These barriers extend so far into the ground and so high

into the air that the Sedlor can neither burrow beneath them nor fly

over them. They were being advanced as rapidly as possible, and in a

few more years the insects would have been destroyed completely--but

now they are again at large. They have probably developed an armor or

a natural resistance greater than the Guardians thought possible, so

that when the walls were weakened, they came through in their millions,

underground and undetected. They are now attacking our nearest city--the

one you know, and which you have called Titania."

"What do you use--those high-explosive bombs?"

"The bombs were developed principally for use against them, but proved

worse than useless, for we found that when a Sedlor was blown to pieces,

each piece forthwith developed into a new, complete creature. Our most

efficient weapons are our heat rays--not yours remember--and poison gas.

I must prepare our arms."

"Would our heat-ray actually set them afire, Steve?" Nadia asked, as the

plate went blank.

"I'll say it would. I'll show you what heat means to them--showing

you will be plainer than any amount of explanation," and he shot the

visiray beam down toward the city of Titania. Into a low-lying building

it went, and Nadia saw a Titanian foundry in full operation. Men clad

in asbestos armor were charging, tending, and tapping great electric

furnaces and crucibles; shrinking back and turning their armored heads

away as the hissing, smoking melt crackled into the molds from their

long-handled ladles. Nadia studied the foundry for a moment, interested,

but unimpressed.

"Of course it's hot there--foundries always _are_ hot," she argued.

"Yes, but you haven't got the idea yet." Stevens turned again to the

controls, following the sphere toward what was evidently a line of

battle. "That stuff that they are melting and casting and that is so

hot, is not metal, but _ice!_ Remember that the vital fluid of all life

here, animal and vegetable, corresponding to our water, is probably

more inflammable than gasoline. If they can't work on ice-water without

wearing suits of five-ply asbestos, what would a real heat-ray do to

them? It'd be about like our taking a dive into the sun!"

"_Ice_!" she exclaimed. "Oh of course--but you couldn't really believe

a thing like that without seeing it, could you? Oh, Steve--how utterly

horrible!"

* * * * *

The "Barkodar" had dropped down into a line of sister ships, and had

gone into action in midair against a veritable swarm of foes. Winged

centipedes they were--centipedes fully six feet long, hurling themselves

along the ground and through the air in furious hordes. From the flying

globes emanated pale beams of force, at the touch of which the Sedlor

disappeared in puffs of vapor. Upon the ground huge tractors and trucks,

manned by masked soldiery, mounted mighty reflectors projecting the same

lethal beam. From globes and tanks there sounded a drumming roar and

small capsules broke in thousands among the foe; emitting a red cloud of

gas in which the centipedes shriveled and died. But for each one that

was destroyed two came up from holes in the ground and the battle-line

fell back toward Titania, back toward a long line of derrick-like

structures which were sinking force-rods into the ground in furious

haste.

Stevens flashed on his ultra-violet projector and swung it into the

thickest ranks of the enemy. In the beam many of the monsters died,

but the Terrestrial ray was impotent compared with the weapons of the

Titanians, and Stevens, snapping off the beam with a bitter imprecation,

shot the visiray out toward the bare, black cone of the extinct volcano

and studied it with care.

"Barkovis, I've got a thought!" he snapped into the microphone. "Their

stronghold is in that mountain, and there's millions of them in there

yet, coming out along their tunnels. They've got all the vegetation

eaten away for miles, so there's nothing much left there to spread a

fire if I go to work on that hill, and, I'll probably melt enough water

to put out most of the fires I start. Detail me a couple of ships to

drop your fire-foam bombs on any little blazes that may spread, and I'll

give them so much to worry about at home, that they'll forget all about

Titania."

The _Forlorn Hope_ darted toward the crater, followed closely by two of

the dazzling globes. They circled the mountain until Stevens found a

favorable point of attack--a stupendous vertical cliff of mingled rock

and crystal, upon the base of which he trained his terrific infra-red

projector.

"I'm going to draw a lot of power," he warned the Titanians then. "I'm

giving this gun everything she'll take."

He drove the massive switches in, and as that dull red beam struck the

cliff's base there was made evident the awful effect of a concentrated

beam of real and pure heat upon such an utterly frigid world. Vast

columns of fire roared aloft, helping Stevens, melting and destroying

the very ground as the bodies of the Sedlor in that gigantic ant-heap

burst into flames. Clouds of superheated steam roared upward, condensing

into a hot rain which descended in destructive torrents upon the

fastnesses of the centipedes. As the raging beam ate deeper and deeper

into the base of the cliff, the mountain itself began to disintegrate;

block after gigantic block breaking off and crashing down into the

flaming, boiling, seething cauldron which was the apex of that ravening

beam.

Hour after hour Stevens drove his intolerable weapon into the great

mountain, teeming with Sedlorean life; and hour after hour a group of

Titanian spheres stood by, deluging the surrounding plain with a flood

of heavy fumes, through which the holocaust could not spread for lack of

oxygen. Not until the mountain was gone--not until in its stead there

lay a furiously boiling lake, its flaming surface hundreds of feet below

the level of the plain--did Stevens open his power circuits and point

the deformed prow of the _Forlorn Hope_ toward Titania.

CHAPTER VII

The Return to Ganymede

"Must you go back to Ganymede?" Barkovis asked, slowly and

thoughtfully. He was sitting upon a crystal bench beside the fountain,

talking with Stevens, who, dressed in his bulging space-suit, stood near

an airlock of the _Forlorn Hope_. "It seems a shame that you should face

again those unknown, monstrous creatures who so inexcusably attacked us

both without provocation."

"I'm not so keen on it myself, but I can't see any other way out of it,"

the Terrestrial replied. "We left a lot of our equipment there, you

know; and even if I should build duplicates here, it wouldn't do us any

good. These ten-nineteens are the most powerful transmitting tubes known

when we left Tellus, but even their fields, dense as they are, can't

hold an ultra-beam together much farther than about six astronomical

units. So you see we can't possibly reach our friends from here with

this tube; and your system of beam transmission won't hold anything

together even that far, and won't work on any wave shorter than Roeser's

Rays. We may run into some more of those little spheres, though, and I

don't like the prospect. I wonder if we couldn't plate a layer of that

mirror of yours upon the _Hope_ and carry along a few of those bombs? By

the way, what is that explosive--or is it something beyond Tellurian

chemistry?"

"Its structure should be clear to you, although you probably could not

prepare it upon Tellus because of your high temperature. It is nothing

but nitrogen--twenty-six atoms of nitrogen combined to form one molecule

of what you would call--N-twenty-six?"

"Wow!" Stevens whistled. "Crystalline, pentavalent nitrogen--no wonder

it's violent!"

"We could, of course, cover your vessel with the mirror, but I am afraid

that it would prove of little value. The plates are so hot that it would

soon volatilize."

"Not necessarily," argued Stevens. "We could live in number one

life-boat, and shut off the heat everywhere else. The life-boats are

insulated from the structure proper, and the inner and outer walls of

the structure are insulated from each other. With only the headquarters

lifeboat warm, the outer wall could be held pretty close to zero

absolute."

"That is true. The bombs, of course, are controlled by radio, and

therefore may be attached to the outer wall of your vessel. We shall be

glad to do these small things for you."

The heaters of the _Forlorn Hope_ were shut off, and as soon as the

outer shell had cooled to Titanian temperature, a corps of mechanics set

to work. A machine very like a concrete mixer was rolled up beside the

steel vessel, and into its capacious maw were dumped boxes and barrels

of dry ingredients and many cans of sparkling liquid. The resultant

paste was pumped upon the steel plating in a sluggish, viscid stream,

which spread out into a thick and uniform coating beneath the flying

rollers of the skilled Titanian workmen. As it hardened, the paste

smoothed magically into the perfect mirror which covered the

space-vessels of the satellite; and a full dozen of the mirror explosive

bombs of this strange people were hung in the racks already provided.

"Once again I must caution you concerning those torpedoes," Barkovis

warned Stevens. "If you use them all, very well, but do not try to take

even one of them into any region where it is very hot, for it will

explode and demolish your vessel. If you do not use them, destroy them

before you descend into the hot atmosphere of Ganymede. The mirror will

volatilize harmlessly at the temperature of melting mercury, but the

torpedoes must be destroyed. Once more, Tellurians, we thank you for

what you have done, and wish you well."

"Thanks a lot for _your_ help--we still owe you something," replied

Stevens. "If either of your power-plants go sour on you again, or if

you need any more built, be sure to let us know--you can come close

enough to the inner planets now on your own beam to talk to us on the

ultra-communicator. We'll be glad to help you any way we can--and we may

call on you for help again. Goodbye, Barkovis--goodbye, all Titania!"

He made his way through the bitterly cold shop into the control-room of

their lifeboat, and while he was divesting himself of his heavy suit,

Nadia lifted the _Forlorn Hope_ into the blue-green sky of Titan,

accompanied by an escort of the mirrored globes. Well clear of the

atmosphere of the satellite, the terrestrial cruiser shot forward at

normal acceleration, while the Titanian vessels halted and wove a

pattern of blue and golden rays in salute to the departing guests.

"Well, Nadia, we're off--on a long trek, too."

"Said Wun Long Hop, the Chinese pee-lo," Nadia agreed. "Sure

everything's all x, big boy?"

"To nineteen decimals," he declared. "You couldn't squeeze another frank

into our accumulators with a proof-bar, and since they're sending us all

the power we want to draw, we won't need to touch our batteries or tap

our own beam until we're almost to Jupiter. To cap the climax, what it

takes to make big medicine on those spherical friends of ours, we've

got. We're not sitting on top of the world, ace--we've perched exactly

at the apex of the entire universe!"

"How long is it going to take?"

"Don't know. Haven't figured it yet, but it'll be _beaucoup_ days," and

the two wanderers from far-distant Earth settled down to the routine of

a long and uneventful journey.

They gave Saturn and his spectacular rings a wide berth and sped on,

with ever-increasing velocity. Past the outer satellites, on and on,

the good ship _Forlorn Hope_ flew into the black-and-brilliant depths of

interplanetary space. Saturn was an ever-diminishing disk beneath them:

above them was Jupiter's thin crescent, growing ever larger and more

bright, and the Monarch of the Solar System, remaining almost stationary

day after day, increasing steadily in apparent diameter and in

brilliance.

* * * * *

Although the voyage from Titan to Ganymede was long, it was not

monotonous, for there was much work to be done in the designing and

fabrication of the various units which were to comprise the ultra-radio

transmitting station. In the various compartments of the _Forlorn Hope_

there were sundry small motors, blowers, coils, condensers, force-field

generators, and other items which Stevens could use with little or no

alteration; but for the most part he had to build everything himself.

Thus it was that time passed quickly; so quickly that Jupiter loomed

large and the Saturnian beam of power began to attenuate almost before

the Terrestrials realized that their journey was drawing to an end.

"Our beam's falling apart fast," Stevens read his meters carefully, then

swung his communicator beam toward Jupiter. "We aren't getting quite

enough power to hold our acceleration at normal--think I'll cut now,

while we're still drawing enough to let the Titanians know we're off

their beam. We've got lots of power of our own now; and we're getting

pretty close to enemy territory, so they may locate that heavy beam.

Have you found Ganymede yet?"

"Yes, it will be on the other side of Jupiter by the time we get there.

Shall I detour, or put on a little more negative and wait for it to come

around to this side?"

"Better wait, I think. The farther away we stay from Jupiter and the

major satellites, the better."

"All x--it's on. Suppose we'd better start standing watches, in case

some of them show up?"

"No use," he dissented. "I've been afraid to put out our

electromagnetic detectors, as they could surely trace them in use.

Without them, we couldn't spot an enemy ship even if we were looking

right at it, except by accident; since they won't be lighted up and

it's awfully hard to see anything out here, anyway. We probably won't

know they're within a million kilometers until they put a beam on us.

Barkovis says that this mirror will reflect any beam they can use, and

I've already got a set of photo-cells in circuit to ring an alarm at

the first flash off of our mirror plating. I'd like to get in the first

licks myself, but I haven't been able to dope out any way of doing it.

So you might as well sleep in your own room, as usual, and I'll camp

here right under the panel until we get to Ganymede. There's a couple

of little things I just thought of, though, that may help some; and

I'm going to do 'em right now."

Putting on his space-suit, he picked up a power drill and went out into

the bitter cold of the outer structure. There he attacked the inner

wall of their vessel, and the carefully established inter-wall vacuum

disappeared in a screaming hiss of air as the tempered point bit through

plate after plate.

"What's the idea, Steve?" Nadia asked, when he had re-entered the

control room. "Now you'll have all that pumping to do over again."

"Protection for the mirrors," he explained. "You see, they aren't

perfect reflectors. There's a little absorption, so that some stuff

comes through. Not much, of course; but enough to kill some of those

Titanians and almost enough to ruin their ship got through in about ten

minutes, and only one enemy was dealing it out. We can stand more than

they could, of course, but the mirror itself won't stand much more heat

than it was absorbing then. But with air in those spaces instead of

vacuum, and with the whole mass of the _Hope_, except this one lifeboat,

as cold as it is, I figure that there'll be enough conduction and

convection through them to keep the outer wall and the mirror cold--cool

enough, at least, to hold the mirror on for an hour. If only one ship

tackles us, it won't be bad--but I figure that if there's only one,

we're lucky."

* * * * *

Stevens' fears were only too well grounded, for during the "evening" of

the following day, while he was carefully scanning the heavens for some

sign of enemy craft, the alarm bell over his head burst into its brazen

clamor. Instantly he shot out the detectors and ultra-lights and saw not

one, but six of the deadly globes--almost upon them, at point-blank

range! One was already playing a beam of force upon the _Forlorn Hope_,

and the other five went into action immediately upon feeling the

detector impulses and perceiving that the weapon of their sister ship

had encountered an unusual resistance in the material of that peculiarly

mirrored wedge. As those terrific forces struck her, the terrestrial

cruiser became a vast pyrotechnic set piece, a dazzling fountain of

coruscant brilliance: for the mirror held. The enemy beams shot back

upon themselves and rebounded in all directions, in the same spectacular

exhibition of frenzied incandescence which had marked the resistance of

the Titanian sphere to a similar attack.

But Stevens was not idle. In the instant of launching his detectors,

as fast as he could work the trips, four of the frightful nitrogen

bombs of Titan--all that he could handle at once--shot out into space,

their rocket-tubes flaring viciously. The enemy detectors of course

located the flying torpedoes immediately, but, contemptuous of material

projectiles, the spheres made no attempt to dodge, but merely lashed out

upon them with their ravening rays. So close was the range that they

had no time to avoid the radio-directed bombs after discovering that

their beams were useless against the unknown protective covering of

those mirrored shells. There were four practically simultaneous

detonations--silent, but terrific explosions as the pent-up internal

energy of solid pentavalent nitrogen was instantaneously released--and

the four insensately murderous spheres disappeared into jagged fragments

of wreckage, flying wildly away from the centers of explosion. One great

mass of riven and twisted metal was blown directly upon the fifth globe,

and Nadia stared in horrified fascination at the silent crash as the

entire side of the ship crumpled inward like a shell of cardboard under

the awful impact. That vessel was probably out of action, but Stevens

was taking no chances. As soon as he had clamped a pale blue tractor rod

upon the sixth and last of the enemy fleet, he drove a torpedo through

the gaping wall and into the interior of the helpless war-vessel. There

he exploded it, and the awful charge, detonated in that confined space,

literally tore the globular space-ship to bits.

"We'll show these jaspers what kind of trees make shingles!" he gritted

between clenched teeth; and his eyes, hard now as gray iron, fairly

emitted sparks as he launched four torpedoes upon the sole remaining

globe of the squadron of the void. "I've had a lot of curiosity to know

just what kind of unnatural monstrosities can possibly have such

fiendish dispositions as they've got--but beasts, men or devils, they'll

find they've grabbed something this time they can't let go of," and

fierce blasts of energy ripped from the exhausts as he drove his

missiles, at their highest possible acceleration, toward the captive

sphere so savagely struggling at the extremity of his tractor beam.

But that one remaining vessel was to prove no such easy victim as had

its sister ships. Being six to one, and supposedly invincible, the

squadron had been overconfident and had attacked carelessly, with only

its crippling slicing beams instead of its more deadly weapons of total

destruction; and so fierce and hard had been Stevens' counter-attack

that five of its numbers had been destroyed before they realized what

powerful armament was mounted by that apparently crude, helpless,

and innocuous wedge. The sixth, however, was fully warned, and every

resource at the command of its hellish crew was now being directed

against the _Forlorn Hope_.

Sheets, cones, and gigantic rods of force flashed and crackled. Space

was filled with silent, devastating tongues of flame. The _Forlorn

Hope_ was dragged about erratically as the sphere tried to dodge those

hurtling torpedoes; tried to break away from the hawser of energy

anchoring her so solidly to her opponent. But the linkage held, and

closer and closer Stevens drove the fourfold menace of his frightful

dirigible bombs. Pressor beams beat upon them in vain. Hard driven as

those pushers were, they could find no footing, but were reflected at

many angles by that untouchable mirror and their utmost force scarcely

impeded the progress of the rocket-propelled missiles. Comparatively

small as the projectiles were, however, they soon felt the effects of

the prodigious beams of heat enveloping them, and torpedo after torpedo

exploded harmlessly in space as their mirrors warmed up and volatilized.

But for each bomb that was lost, Stevens launched another, and each one

came closer to its objective than had its predecessor.

Made desperate by the failure of his every beam, the enemy commander

thought to use material projectiles himself--weapons abandoned long

since by his race as antiquated and inefficient, but a few of which were

still carried by the older types of vessels. One such shell was found

and launched--but in the instant of its launching Stevens' foremost bomb

struck its mark and exploded. So close were the other three bombs, that

they also let go at the shock; and the warlike sphere, hemmed in by four

centers of explosions, flew apart--literally pulverized. Its projectile,

so barely discharged, did not explode--it was loaded with material which

could be detonated only by the warhead upon impact or by a radio signal.

It was, however, deflected markedly from its course by the force of the

blast, so that instead of striking the _Forlorn Hope_ in direct central

impact, its head merely touched the apex of the mirror-plated wedge.

That touch was enough. There was another appalling concussion, another

blinding glare, and the entire front quarter of the terrestrial vessel

had gone to join the shattered globes.

Between the point of explosion and the lifeboats there had been many

channels of insulation, many bulkheads, many air-breaks, and compartment

after compartment of accumulator cells. These had borne the brunt of the

explosion, so that the control room was unharmed, and Stevens swung his

communicator rapidly through the damaged portions of the vessels.

"How badly are we hurt, Steve--can we make it to Ganymede?"

Nadia was quietly staring over his shoulder into the plate, studying

with him the pictures of destruction there portrayed as he flashed the

projector from compartment to compartment.

"We're hurt--no fooling--but it might have been a lot worse," he

replied, as he completed the survey. "We've lost about all of our

accumulators, but we can land on our own beam, and landing power is all

we want, I think. You see, we're drifting straight for where Ganymede

will be, and we'd better cut out every bit of power we're using, even

the heaters, until we get there. This lifeboat will hold heat for quite

a while, and I'd rather get pretty cold than meet any more of that gang.

I figured eight hours just before they met us, and we were just about

drifting then. I think it is safe to say seven hours blind."

"But can't they detect us anyway? They may have sent out a call, you

know."

"If we aren't using any power for anything, their electromagnetics are

the only things we'll register on, and they're mighty short-range

finders. Even if they should get that close to us, they'll probably

think we're meteoric, since we'll be dead to their other instruments.

Luckily we've got lots of air, so the chemical purifiers can handle it

without power. I'll shut off everything and we'll drift it. Couldn't do

much of anything, anyway--even our shop out there won't hold air. But we

can have light. We've got acetylene emergency lamps, you know, and we

don't need to economize on oxygen."

"Perhaps we'd better run in the dark. Remember what you told me about

their possible visirays, and that you've got only two bombs left."

"All x; that would be better. If I forget it, remind me to blow up those

before we hit the atmosphere of Ganymede, will you?" He opened all the

power switches, and, every source of ethereal vibrations cut off, the

_Forlorn Hope_ drifted slowly on, now appearing forlorn indeed.

* * * * *

Seven hours dragged past: seven age-long hours during which the two sat

tense, expecting they knew not what, talking only at intervals and in

subdued tones. Stevens then snapped on the communicator beam just long

enough to take an observation upon Ganymede. Several such brief glimpses

were taken; then, after a warning word to his companion, he sent out and

exploded the nitrogen bombs. He then threw on the power, and the vessel

leaped toward the satellite under full acceleration. Close to the

atmosphere it slanted downward in a screaming, fifteen-hundred-mile

drive; and soon the mangled wedge dropped down into the little canyon,

which for so long had been "home."

"Well, colonel, home again!" Stevens exulted as he neutralized the

controls. "There's that falls, our power plant, the catapults, 'n'

everything. Now, unless something interrupts us again; we'll run up

our radio tower and give Brandon the long yell."

"How much more have you got to do before you can start sending?"

"Not an awful lot. Everything built--all I've got to do is assemble

it. I should be able to do it easily in a week. Hope nothing else

happens--if I drag you into any more such messes as those we've just

been getting out of by the skin of our teeth, I'll begin to wish that

we had started out at first to drift it back to Tellus in the _Hope_.

Let's see how much time we've got. We should start shooting one day

after an eclipse, so that we'll have five days to send. You see, we

don't want to point our beam too close to Jupiter or to any of the large

satellites, because the enemy might live there and might intercept it.

We had an eclipse yesterday--so one week from today, at sunrise, I

start shooting."

"But Earth's an evening star now; you can't see it in the morning."

"I'm not going to aim at Tellus. I'm shooting at Brandon, and he's never

there for more than a week or two at a stretch. They're prowling around

out in space somewhere almost all the time."

"Then how can you possibly hope to hit them?"

"It may be quite a job of hunting, but not as bad as you might think.

They probably aren't much, if any, outside the orbit of Mars, and

they usually stay within a couple of million kilometers or so of the

Ecliptic, so we'll start at the sun and shoot our beam in a spiral

to cover that field. We ought to be able to hit them inside of twelve

hours, but if we don't, we'll widen our spiral and keep on trying until

we do hit them."

"Heavens, Steve! Are you planning on telegraphing steadily for days at

a time?"

"Sure, but not by hand, of course--I'll have an automatic sender and

automatic pointers."

Stevens had at his command a very complete machine-shop, he had an ample

supply of power, and all that remained for him to do was to assemble the

parts which he had built during the long journey from Titan to Ganymede.

Therefore, at sunrise of the designated day, he was ready, and, with

Nadia hanging breathless over his shoulder, he closed the switch, a

toothed wheel engaged a delicate interrupter, and a light sounder began

its strident chatter.

"Ganymede point oh four seven ganymede point oh four seven ganymede

point oh four seven..." endlessly the message was poured out into the

ether, carried by a tight beam of ultra-vibrations and driven by forces

sufficient to propel it well beyond the opposite limits of the orbit

of Mars.

"What does it say? I can't read code."

Stevens translated the brief message, but Nadia remained unimpressed.

"But it doesn't say anything!" she protested. "It isn't addressed to

anybody, it isn't signed--it doesn't tell anybody anything about

anything."

"It's all there, ace. You see, since the beam is moving sidewise very

rapidly at that range and we're shooting at a small target, the message

has to be very short or they won't get it all while the beam's on

'em--it isn't as though we were broadcasting. It doesn't need any

address, because nobody but the _Sirius_ can receive it--except possibly

the Jovians. They'll know who's sending it without any signature. It

tells them that Ganymede wants to receive a message on the ultra-band

centering on forty-seven thousandths. Isn't that enough?"

"Maybe. But suppose some of them live right here on Ganymede--you'll

be shooting right through the ground all night--or suppose that even if

they don't live here, that they can find our beam some way? Or suppose

that Brandon hasn't got his machine built yet, or suppose that it isn't

turned on when our beam passes them, or suppose they're asleep then?

A lot of things might happen."

"Not so many, ace--your first objection is the only one that hasn't got

more holes in it than a sieve, so I'll take it first. Since our beam is

only a meter in diameter here and doesn't spread much in the first few

million kilometers, the chance of direct reception by the enemy, even

if they do live here on Ganymede, is infinitesimally small. But I don't

believe that they live here--at least, they certainly didn't land on

this satellite. As you suggest, however, it is conceivable that they may

have detector screens delicate enough to locate our beam at a distance;

but since in all probability that means a distance of hundreds of

thousands of kilometers, I think it highly improbable. We've got to take

the same risk anyway, no matter what we do, whenever we start to use any

kind of driving power, so there's no use worrying about it. As for your

last two objections, I know Brandon and I know Westfall. Brandon will

have receivers built that will take in any wave possible of propagation,

and Westfall, the cautious old egg, will have them running twenty-four

hours a day, with automatic recorders, finders, and everything else that

Brandon can invent--and believe me, sweetheart, that's a lot of stuff!"

"It's wonderful, the way you three men are," replied Nadia thoughtfully,

reading between the lines of Stevens' utterance. "They knew that you

were on the _Arcturus_, of course--and they knew that if you were alive

you'd manage in some way to get in touch with them. And you, away out

here after all this time, are superbly confident that they are expecting

a call from you. That, I think, is one of the finest things I ever heard

of."

"They're two of the world's best--absolutely." Nadia looked at him,

surprised, for he had not seen anything complimentary to himself in her

remark. "Wait until you meet them. They're men, Nadia--real men. And

speaking of meeting them--please try to keep on loving me after you meet

Norm Brandon, will you?"

"Don't be a simp!" her brown eyes met his steadily. "You didn't mean

that--you didn't even say it, did you?"

"Back it comes, sweetheart! But knowing myself and knowing those

two...."

"Stop it! If Norman Brandon or Quincy Westfall had been here instead

of you, or both of them together, we'd have been here from now on--we

wouldn't even have gotten away from the Jovians!"

* * * * *

"Now it's your turn to back water, guy!"

"Well, maybe, a little--if both of them were here, they ought to equal

you in some things. Brandon says himself that he and Westfall together

make one scientist--Dad says he says so."

"You don't want to believe everything you hear. Neither of them will

admit that he knows anything or can do anything--that's the way they

are."

"Dad has told me a lot about them--how they've always been together

ever since their undergraduate days. How they studied together all over

the world, even after they'd been given all the degrees loose. How

they even went to the other planets to study--to Mars, where they had

to live in space-suits all the time, and to Venus, where they had to

take ultra-violet treatments every day to keep alive. How they learned

everything that everybody else knew and then went out into space to find

out things that nobody else ever dreamed of. How you came to join them,

and what you three have done since. They're fine, of course--but they

aren't _you_," she concluded passionately.

"No, thank Heaven! I know you love me, Nadia, just as I love you--you

know I never doubted it. But you'll like them, really. They're a

wonderful team. Brandon's a big brute, you know--fully five centimeters

taller than I am, and he weighs close to a hundred kilograms--and no

lard, either. He's wild, impetuous, always jumping at conclusions and

working out theories that seem absolutely ridiculous, but they're

usually sound, even though impractical. Westfall's the practical

member--he makes Norm pipe down, pins him down to facts, and makes it

possible to put his hunches and wild flashes of genius into workable

form. Quince is a...."

"Now _you_ pipe down! I've heard you rave _so_ much about those two--I'd

lots rather rave about you, and with more reason. I wish that sounder

would start sounding."

"Our first message hasn't gone half way yet. It takes about forty

minutes for the impulse to get to where I think they are, so that even

if they got the first one and answered it instantly, it would be eighty

minutes before we'd get it. I sort of expect an answer late tonight, but

I won't be disappointed if it takes a week to locate them."

"I will!" declared the girl, and indeed, very little work was done that

day by either of the castaways.

Slowly the day wore on, and the receiving sounder remained silent.

Supper was eaten as the sun dropped low and disappeared, but they felt

no desire to sleep. Instead, they went out in front of the steel wall,

where Stevens built a small campfire. Leaning back against the wall of

their vessel, they fell into companionable silence, which was suddenly

broken by Stevens.

"Nadia, I just had a thought. I'll bet four dollars I've wasted a lot of

time. They'll certainly have automatic relays on Tellus, to save me the

trouble of hunting for them, but like an idiot I never thought of it

until just this minute, in spite of the speech I made you about them.

I'm going to change those directors right now."

"That's quite a job, isn't it?"

"No, only a few minutes."

"Do it in the morning; you've done enough for one day--maybe you've hit

them already, any way."

They again became silent, watching Jupiter, an enormous moon some seven

degrees in apparent diameter.

"Steve, I simply can't get used to such a prodigious moon! Look at the

stripes, and look at that perfectly incredible...."

A gong sounded and they both jumped to their feet and raced madly into

the _Hope_. The ultra-receiver had come to life and the sounder was

chattering insanely--someone was sending with terrific speed, but with

perfect definition and spacing.

"That's Brandon's fist--I'd know his style anywhere," Stevens shouted,

as he seized notebook and pencil.

"Tell me what it says, quick, Steve!" Nadia implored.

"Can't talk--read it!" Stevens snapped. His hand was flying over the

paper, racing to keep up with the screaming sounder.

"...ymede all x stevens ganymede all x stevens ganymede all x placing

and will keep sirius on plane between you and tellus circle fifteen

forty north going tellus first send full data spreading beam to

cover circle fifteen forty quince suggests possibility this message

intercepted and translated personally I think such translation

impossible and that he is wilder than a hawk but just in case they

should be supernaturally intelligent...."

Stevens stopped abruptly and stared at the vociferous sounder.

"Don't stop to listen--keep on writing!" commanded Nadia.

"Can't," replied the puzzled mathematician. "It doesn't make sense. It

sounds intelligent--it's made up of real symbols of some kind or other,

but they don't mean a thing to me."

"Oh, I see--he's sending mush on purpose. Read the last phrase!"

"Oh, sure--'mush' is right," and with no perceptible break the signals

again became intelligible.

"... if they can translate that they are better scholars than we are

signing off until hear from you brandon."

* * * * *

The sounder died abruptly into silence and Nadia sobbed convulsively

as she threw herself into Stevens' arms. The long strain over, the

terrible uncertainty at last dispelled, they were both incoherent for

a minute--Nadia glorifying the exploits of her lover, Stevens crediting

the girl herself and his two fellow-scientists with whatever success had

been achieved. A measure of self-control regained, Stevens cut off his

automatic sender, changed the adjustments of his directors and cut in

his manually operated sending key.

"What waves are you using, anyway?" asked Nadia, curiously. "They must

be even more penetrating than Roeser's Rays, to have such a range, and

Roeser's Rays go right through a planet without even slowing up."

"They're of the same order as Roeser's--that is, they're sub-electronic

waves of the fourth order--but they're very much shorter, and hence more

penetrating. In fact, they're the shortest waves yet known, so short

that Roeser never even suspected their existence."

"Suppose there's a Jovian space-ship out there somewhere that intercepts

our beams. Couldn't they locate us from it?"

"Maybe, and maybe not--we'll just have to take a chance on that. That

goes right back to what we were talking about this morning. They might

be anywhere, so the chance of hitting one is very small. It isn't like

hitting the _Sirius_, because we knew within pretty narrow limits where

to look for her, and even at that we had to hunt for her for half a day

before we hit her. We're probably safe, but even if they should have

located us, we'll probably be able to hide somewhere until the _Sirius_

gets here. Well, the quicker I get busy sending the dope, the sooner

they can get started."

"Tell them to be sure and bring me all my clothes they can find,

a gallon of perfume, a barrel of powder, and a carload of Delray's

Fantasie chocolates--I've been a savage so long that I want to wallow

in luxury for a while."

"I'll do that--and I want some real cigarettes!"

Stevens first sent a terse, but complete account of everything that had

happened to the _Arcturus_, and a brief summary of what he and Nadia

had done since the cutting up of the IPV. The narrative finished, he

launched into a prolonged and detailed scientific discussion of the

enemy and their offensive and defensive weapons. He dwelt precisely and

at length upon the functioning of everything he had seen. Though during

the long months of their isolation he had been too busy to do any actual

work upon the weapons of the supposed Jovians, yet his keen mind had

evolved many mathematical and physical deductions, hypotheses, and

theories, and these he sent out to the _Sirius_, concluding:

"There's all the dope I can give you. Figure it out, and don't come at

all until you can come loaded for bear; they're bad medicine. Call us

occasionally, to keep us informed as to when to expect you, but don't

call too often. We don't want them locating you, and if they should

locate us through your ray or ours, it would be just too bad. So-long.

Stevens and Newton."

Nadia had insisted upon staying up and had been brewing pot after pot

of her substitutes for coffee while he sat at the key; and it was

almost daylight when he finally shut off the power and arose, his

right arm practically paralyzed from the unaccustomed strain of hours

of telegraphing.

"Well, sweetheart, that's that!" he exclaimed in relief. "Brandon and

Westfall are on the job. Nothing to do now but wait, and study up on our

own account on those Jovians' rays. This has been one long day for us,

though, little ace, and I suggest that we sleep for about a week!"

CHAPTER VIII

Callisto to the Rescue

All humanity of Callisto, the fourth major satellite of Jupiter,

had for many years been waging a desperate and apparently hopeless

defense against invading hordes of six-limbed beings. Every city and

town had long since been reduced to level fields of lava by the rays

of the invaders. Every building and every trace of human civilization

had long since disappeared from the surface of the satellite. Far

below the surface lay the city of Zbardk, the largest of the few

remaining strongholds of the human race. At one portal of the city a

torpedo-shaped, stubby-winged rocket plane rested in the carriage of a

catapult. Near it the captain addressed briefly the six men normally

composing his crew.

"Men, you already know that our cruise today is not an ordinary patrol.

We are to go to One, there to destroy a base of the hexans. We have

perhaps one chance in ten thousand of returning. Therefore I am taking

only one man--barely enough to operate the plane. Volunteers step one

pace forward."

The six stepped forward as one man, and a smile came over the worn

face of their leader as he watched them draw lots for the privilege of

accompanying him to probable death. The two men entered the body of the

torpedo, sealed the openings and waited.

"Free exits?" snapped the Captain of the Portal, and twelve keen-eyed

observers studied minutely screens and instrument panels connected to

the powerful automatic lookout stations beneath the rims of the widely

separated volcanic craters from which their craft could issue into

Callisto's somber night.

"No hexan radiation can be detected from Exit Eight," came the report.

The Captain of the Portal raised an arm in warning, threw in the guides,

and the two passengers were hurled violently backward, deep into their

cushioned seats, as the catapult shot their plane down the runway. As

the catapult's force was spent automatic trips upon the undercarriage

actuated the propelling rockets and mile after mile, with rapidly

mounting velocity, the plane sped through the tube. As the exit was

approached, the tunnel described a long vertical curve, so that when the

opening into the shaft of the crater was reached and the undercarriage

was automatically detached, the vessel was projected almost vertically

upward. Such was its velocity and so powerful was the liquid propellant

of its rocket motors, that the eye could not follow the flight of the

warship as it tore through the thin layer of the atmosphere and hurled

itself out into the depths of space.

"Did we get away?" asked the captain, hands upon his controls and eyes

upon his moving chart of space.

"I believe so, sir," answered the other officer, at the screens of the

six periscopic devices which covered the full sphere of vision. "No

reports from the rim, and all screens blank." Once more a vessel had

issued from the jealously secret city of Zbardk without betraying its

existence to the hated and feared hexans.

For a time the terrific rocket motors continued the deafening roar of

their continuous explosions, then, the desired velocity having been

attained, they were cut out and for hours the good ship "Bzark" hurtled

on through the void at an enormous but constant speed toward the distant

world of One, which it was destined never to reach.

"Captain Czuv! Hexan radiation, coordinates twenty two, fourteen, area

six!" cried the observer, and the commander swung his own telescopic

finder into the indicated region. His hands played over course and

distance plotters for a brief minute, and he stared at his results in

astonishment.

"I never heard of a hexan traveling that way before," he frowned.

"Constant negative acceleration and in a straight line. He must think

that we have been cleared out of the ether. Almost parallel to us and

not much faster--even at this long range, it is an easy kill unless

he starts dodging, as usual."

As he spoke, he snapped a switch and from a port under the starboard

wing there shot out into space a small package of concentrated

destruction--a rocket-propelled, radio-controlled torpedo. The rockets

of the tiny missile were flaming, but that flame was visible only from

the rear and no radio beam was upon it. Czuv had given it precisely the

direction and acceleration necessary to make it meet the hexan sphere

in central impact, provided that sphere maintained its course and

acceleration unchanged.

"Shall I direct the torpedo in the case the hexan shifts?" asked the

officer.

"I think not. They can, of course, detect any wave at almost any

distance, and at the first sign of radioactivity they would locate and

destroy the bomb. They also, in all probability, would destroy us. I

would not hesitate to attack them on that account alone, but we must

remember that we are upon a more important mission than attacking one

hexan ship. We are far out of range of their electromagnetic detectors,

and our torpedo will have such a velocity that they will have no time to

protect themselves against it after detection. Unless they shift in the

next few seconds, they are lost. This is the most perfect shot I ever

had at one of them, but one shot is all I dare risk--we must not betray

ourselves."

* * * * *

Course, lookout, and rank forgotten, the little crew of two stared

into the narrow field of vision, set at its maximum magnification. The

instruments showed that the enemy vessel was staying upon its original

course. Very soon the torpedo came within range of the detectors of the

hexans. But as Captain Czuv had foretold, the detection was a fraction

of a second too late, rapidly as their screens responded, and the two

men of Zbardk uttered together a short, fierce cry of joy as a brilliant

flash of light announced the annihilation of the hexan vessel.

"But hold!" The observer stared into his screen. "Upon that same line,

but now at constant velocity, there is still a very faint radiation,

of a pattern I have never seen before."

"I think ... I believe ..." the captain was studying the pattern,

puzzled. "It must be low frequency, low-tension electricity, which is

never used, so far as I know. It may be some new engine of destruction,

which the hexan was towing at such a distance that the explosion of our

torpedo did not destroy it. Since there are no signs of hexan activity

and since it will not take much fuel, we shall investigate that

radiation."

Tail and port-side rockets burst into roaring activity and soon the

plane was cautiously approaching the mass of wreckage, which had been

the IPV _Arcturus_.

"Human beings, although of some foreign species!" exclaimed the captain,

as his vision-ray swept through the undamaged upper portion of the great

liner and came to rest upon Captain King at his desk.

Although the upper ultra-lights of the Terrestrial vessel had been

cut away by the hexan plane of force, jury lights had been rigged,

and the two commanders were soon trying to communicate with each

other. Intelligible conversation was, of course, impossible, but King

soon realized that the visitors were not enemies. At their pantomimed

suggestion he put on a space-suit and wafted himself over to the airlock

of the Callistonian warplane. Inside the central compartment, the

strangers placed over his helmet a heavily wired harness, and he found

himself instantly in full mental communication with the Callistonian

commander. For several minutes they stood silent, exchanging thoughts

with a rapidity impossible in any language; then, dressed in

space-suits, both leaped lightly across the narrow gap into the still

open outer lock of the terrestrial liner. King watched Czuv narrowly

after the pressure began to collapse his suit, but the stranger made

no sign of distress. He had been right in his assurance that the extra

pressure would scarcely inconvenience him. King tore off his helmet,

issued a brief order, and soon every speaker in the _Arcturus_

announced:

"All passengers and all members of the crew except lookouts on duty will

assemble immediately in Saloon Three to discuss a possible immediate

rescue."

The subject being one of paramount interest, it was a matter of minutes

until the full complement of two hundred men and women were in the main

saloon, clinging to hastily rigged hand lines, closely packed before the

raised platform upon which were King and Czuv, wired together with the

peculiar Callistonian harness. To most of the passengers, familiar with

the humanity of three planets, the appearance of the stranger brought

no surprise; but many of them stared in undisguised amazement at his

childish body, his pale, almost colorless skin, his small, weak legs and

arms, and his massive head.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Captain King opened the meeting. "I introduce to

you Captain Czuv, of the scout cruiser _Bzarvk_, of the only human race

now living upon the fourth large satellite of Jupiter, which satellite

we know as Callisto. I am avoiding their own names as much as possible,

because they are almost unpronounceable in English or Interplanetarian.

This device that you see connecting us is a Callistonian thought

transformer, by means of which any two intelligent beings can converse

without language. Our situation is peculiar, and in order that you may

understand fully what lies ahead of us, the captain will now speak to

you, through me--that is, what follows will be spoken by Captain Czuv,

of the _Bzarvk_, but he will be using my vocal organs."

"Friends from distant Tellus," King's voice went on, almost without a

break, "I greet you. I am glad, for your sake as well as our own, that

your vessel was able to destroy the hexan ship holding you captive, and

whose crew would have killed you all as soon as they had landed your

vessel and had read your minds. I regret bitterly that we can do so

little for you, for only the representatives of a human civilization

being exterminated by a race of highly intelligent monsters can fully

realize how desirable it is for all the various races of humanity to

assist and support each other. In order that you may understand the

situation, it is necessary that I delve at some length into ancient

history, but we have ample time. In about ..." he broke off, realizing

that the two races had no thought in common in the measure of time.

"One-half time of rotation of Great Planet upon axis?" flashed from

Czuv's brain, and "About five hours," King's mind flashed back.

"It will be about five hours before any steps can be taken, so that I

feel justified in using a brief period for explanation. In the evolution

of the various forms of life upon Callisto, two genera developed

intelligence far ahead of all others. One genus was the human, as you

and I; the other the hexan. This creature, happily unknown to you of the

planets nearer our common sun, is the product of an entirely different

evolution. It is a six-limbed animal, with a brain equal to our own--one

perhaps in some ways superior to our own. They have nothing in common

with humanity, however; they have few of our traits and fewer of our

mental processes. Even we who have fought them so long can scarcely

comprehend the chambers of horror that are their minds. Even were I able

to paint a sufficiently vivid picture with words, you of Earth could not

begin to understand their utter ruthlessness and inhumanity, even among

themselves. You would believe that I was lying, or that my viewpoint was

warped. I can say only that I hope most sincerely that none of you will

ever get better acquainted with them."

* * * * *

"Ages ago, then, the human and the hexan developed upon all four of the

major satellites of the Great Planet, which you know as Jupiter, and

upon the north polar region of Jupiter itself. By what means the two

races came into being upon worlds so widely separated in space we know

not--we only know it to be the fact. Human life, however, could not long

endure upon Jupiter. The various human races, after many attempts to

meet conditions of life there by variations in type fell before the

hexans; who, although very small in size upon the planet, thrived there

amazingly. Upon the three outer satellites humanity triumphed, and many

hundreds of cycles ago the hexans of those satellites were wiped out,

save for an occasional tribe of savages of low intelligence who lived in

various undesirable portions of the three worlds. For ages then there

was peace upon Callisto. Here is the picture at that time--upon Jupiter

the hexans; upon Io hexans and humans, waging a ceaseless and relentless

war of mutual extermination; upon the three outer satellites humanity in

undisturbed and unthreatened peace. Five worlds, each ignorant of life

upon any other.

"As I have said, the hexans of Jupiter were, and are, diabolically

intelligent. Driven probably by their desire to see what lay beyond

their atmosphere of eternal cloud, to the penetration of which their

eyesight was attuned, they developed the space-ship; and effected a

safe landing, first upon the barren, airless moonlet nearest them, and

then upon fruitful Io. There they made common cause with the hexans

against the humans, and in space of time Ionian humanity ceased to exist.

Much traffic and interbreeding followed between the hexans of Jupiter

and those of Io, resulting in time in a race intermediate in size

between the parent stocks and equally at home in the widely variant air

pressures and gravities of planet and satellite. Soon their astronomical

instruments revealed the cities of Europa to their gaze, and as soon

as they discovered that the civilization of Europa was human, they

destroyed it utterly, with the insatiable blood lust that is their

heritage.

"In the meantime the human civilizations of Ganymede and Callisto had

also developed instruments of power. Observing the cities upon the other

satellites, many scientists studied intensively the problem of space

navigation, and finally there was some commerce between the two outer

satellites at favorable times. Finally, vessels were also sent to Io

and to Europa, but none of them returned. Knowing then what to expect,

Ganymede and Callisto joined forces and prepared for war. But our

science, so long attuned to the arts of peace, had fallen behind

lamentably in the devising of more and ever more deadly instruments

of destruction. Ganymede fell, and in her fall we read our own doom.

Abandoning our cities, we built anew underground. Profiting from lessons

learned full bloodily upon Ganymede, we resolved to prolong the

existence of the human race as long as possible.

"The hexans were, and are masters of the physical science. They

command the spectrum in a way undreamed of. Their detectors reveal

etheric disturbances at unbelievable distances, and they have at their

beck and call forces of staggering magnitude. Therefore in our cities

is no electricity save that which is wired, shielded, and grounded;

no broadcast radio; no source whatever of etheric disturbances save

light--and our walls are fields of force which we believe to be

impenetrable to any searching frequency capable of being generated.

Now I am able to picture to you the present.

"We are the last representatives of the human race in the Jovian

planetary system. Our every trace upon the surface has been obliterated.

We are hiding in our holes in the ground, coming out at night by stealth

so that our burrows shall not be revealed to the hexans. We are fighting

for time in which our scientists may learn the secrets of power--and

fearing, each new day, that the enemy may have so perfected their

systems of rays that they will be able to detect us and destroy us, even

in our underground and heavily shielded retreats, by means of forces

even more incomprehensible than those they are now employing.

"Therefore, friends, you see how little we are able to do for you, we

a race fighting for our very existence and doomed to extinction save

for a miracle. We cannot take you to Callisto, for it is besieged by the

hexans and the driving forces of your lifeboats, practically broadcast

as they are, would be detected and we should all be destroyed long

before we could reach safety. Captain King and I have pondered long and

have been able to see only one course of action. We are drifting at

constant velocity, using no power, and with all save the most vitally

necessary machinery at rest. Thus only may we hope to avoid detection

during the next two hours.

"Our present course will take us very close to Europa, which the hexans

believe to be like Ganymede, entirely devoid of civilized life. Its

original humanity was totally destroyed, and all its civilized hexans

are finding shelter from our torpedoes upon Jupiter until we of Callisto

shall likewise have been annihilated. The temperature of Europa will

suit you. Its atmosphere, while less dense than that to which you are

accustomed, will adequately support your life. If we are not detected

in the course of the next few hours we can probably land upon Europa in

safety, since its neighborhood is guarded but loosely. In fact, we have

a city there, as yet unsuspected by the hexans, in which our scientists

will continue to labor after Callisto's civilization shall have

disappeared. We think that it will be safe to use your power for the

short time necessary to effect a landing. We shall land in a cavern,

in a crater already in communication with our city. In that cavern,

instructed and aided by some of us, you will build a rocket vessel--no

rays can be used because of the hexans--in which you will be able to

travel to a region close enough to your earth so that you can call for

help. You will not be able to carry enough fuel to land there--in fact,

nearly all the journey will have to be made without power, traveling

freely in a highly elongated orbit around the sun--but if you escape the

hexans, you should be able to reach home safely, in time. It is for the

consideration of this plan that this meeting has been called."

* * * * *

"Just one question," Breckenridge spoke. "The hexans are intelligent.

Why are they leaving Europa and Ganymede so unguarded that human beings

can move back there and that we can land there, all undetected?"

"I will answer that question myself," replied King. "Captain Czuv did

not quite do justice to his own people. It is true that they are being

conquered, but for every human life that is taken, a thousand hexans

die, and for every human ship that is lost, twenty hexan vessels are

annihilated in return. While the hexans are masters of rays, the

humans are equally masters of explosives and of mechanisms. They can

hit a perfect score upon any target in free space whose course and

acceleration can be determined, at any range up to five thousand

kilometers, and they have explosives thousands of times as powerful as

any known to us. Ray screens are effective only against rays, and the

hexans cannot destroy anything they cannot see before it strikes them.

So it is that all the hexan vessels except those necessary to protect

their own strongholds, are being concentrated against Callisto. They

cannot spare vessels to guard uselessly the abandoned satellites.

Because of the enormously high gravity of Jupiter the hexans there are

safe from human attack save for ineffectual long-range bombardment, but

Io is being attacked constantly and it is probable that in a few more

years Io also will be an abandoned world. Some of you may have received

the impressions that the hexans are to triumph immediately, but such an

idea is wrong. The humans can, and will, hold out for a hundred years or

more unless the enemy perfects a destructive ray of the type referred

to. Even then, I think that our human cousins will hold out a long time.

They are able men, fighters all, and their underground cities are

beautifully protected."

There was little argument. Most of the auditors could understand that

the suggested course was the best one possible. The remainder were

so stunned by the unbelievable events of the attack that they had no

initiative, but were willing to follow wherever the more valiant spirits

led. It was decided that no attempt should be made to salvage any

portion of the _Arcturus_, since any such attempt would be fraught with

danger and since the wreckage would be of little value. The new vessel

was to be rocket driven and was to be built of Callistonian alloys.

Personal belongings were moved into lifeboats, doors were closed, and

there ensued a painful period of waiting and suspense.

The stated hour was reached without event--no hexan scout had come

close enough to them to detect the low-tension radiation of the vital

machinery of the _Arcturus_, cut as it was to the irreducible minimum

and quite effectively grounded as it was by the enormous mass of her

shielding armor. At a signal from Captain Czuv the pilot of each

lifeboat shot his tiny craft out into space and took his allotted place

in the formation following closely behind the _Bzarvk_, flying toward

Europa, now so large in the field of vision that she resembled more a

world than a moon. Captain King, in the Callistonian vessel, transmitted

to Breckenridge the route and flight data given him by the navigator of

the winged craft. The chief pilot, flying "point," in turn relayed more

detailed instructions to the less experienced pilots of the other

lifeboats.

Soon the surface of Europa lay beneath them; a rugged, cratered, and

torn topography of mighty ranges of volcanic mountains. Most of the

craters were cold and lifeless; but here and there a plume of smoke

and steam betrayed the presence of vast, quiescent forces. Straight

down one of those gigantic lifeless shafts the fleet of space craft

dropped--straight down a full two miles before the landing signal was

given. At the bottom of the shaft a section of the rocky wall swung

aside, revealing the yawning black mouth of a horizontal tunnel. At

intervals upon its roof there winked into being almost invisible points

of light. Along that line of lights the lifeboats felt their way, coming

finally into a huge cavern, against one sheer metal wall of which they

parked in an orderly row. Roll was called, and the terrestrials walked,

as well as they could in the feeble gravity of the satellite, across the

vast chamber and into a conveyance somewhat resembling a railway coach,

which darted away as soon as the doors were shut. For hundreds of miles

that strange tunnel extended, and as the car shot along door after door

of natural rock opened before it, and closed as soon as it had sped

through. In spite of the high velocity of the vehicle, it required

almost two hours to complete the journey. Finally, however, it slowed

to a halt and the Terrestrial visitors disembarked at a portal of the

Europan city of the Callistonians.

"Attention!" barked Captain King. "The name of this city, as nearly as

I can come to it in English, is _WRUZK_. 'Roosk' comes fairly close to

it and is easier to pronounce. We must finish our trip in small cars,

holding ten persons each. We shall assemble again in the building in

which we have been assigned quarters. The driver of each car will lead

his passengers to the council room in which we shall meet."

"Oh, what's the use--this is horrible, horrible--we might as well die!"

a nervous woman shrieked, and fainted.

"Such a feeling is, perhaps, natural," King went on, after the woman had

been revived and quiet had been restored, "but please control it as much

as possible. We are alive and well, and will be able to return to Tellus

eventually. Please remember that these people are putting themselves

to much trouble and inconvenience to help us, desperate as their own

situation is, and conduct yourselves accordingly."

The rebuke had its effect, and with no further protest the company

boarded the small cars, which shot through an opening in the wall and

into a street of that strange subterranean city. Breckenridge, in the

last car to leave the portal, studied his surroundings with interest as

his conveyance darted through the gateway. More or less a fatalist by

nature and an adventurer, of course, since no other type existed among

the older spacehounds of the IPC, he was intensely interested in every

new phase of their experience, and was no whit dismayed or frightened.

* * * * *

He found himself seated in a narrow canoe of metal, immediately behind

the pilot, who sat at a small control panel in the bow. Propelled by

electromagnetic fields above a single rail, upon lightly touching and

noiseless wheels, the terrestrial pilot saw with keen appreciation the

manner in which switch after switch ahead of them obeyed the impulses

sent ahead from the speeding car. The streets were narrow and filled

with monorails; pedestrians pursued their courses upon walks attached

to the walls of the buildings, far above the level of the streets. The

walls were themselves peculiar, rising as they did stark, unbroken,

windowless expanses of metal, merging into and supporting a massive

roof of the same silvery metal. Walls and roof alike reflected a soft,

yet intense, white light. Soon a sliding switch ahead of them shot in

and simultaneously an opening appeared in the blank metal wall of a

building. Through the opening the street-car flew, and as the pilot

slowed the canoe to a halt, the door slid smoothly shut behind them.

Parking the car beside a row of its fellows, the Callistonian driver

indicated that the Terrestrials were to follow him and led the way into

a large hall. There the others from the _Arcturus_ were assembled,

facing Captain King, who was standing upon a table.

"Fellow travelers," King addressed them, "our course of action has

been decided. There are two hundred three of us. There will be twenty

sections of ten persons, each section being in charge of one of the

officers of the _Arcturus_. Doctor Penfield, our surgeon, a man whose

intelligence, fairness, and integrity are unquestioned, will be in

supreme command. His power and authority will be absolute, limited only

by the Callistonian Council. He will work in harmony with the engineer,

who is to direct the entire project of building the new vessel. Each of

you will be expected to do whatever he can--the work you will be asked

to do will be well within your powers, and you will each have ample

leisure for recreation, study, and amusement, of all of which you will

find unsuspected stores in this underground community. You will each

be registered and studied by physicians, surgeons, and psychologists;

and each of you will have prescribed for him the exact diet that is

necessary for his best development. You will find this diet somewhat

monotonous, compared to our normal fare of natural products, since it

is wholly synthetic; but that is one of the minor drawbacks that must

be endured. Chief Pilot Breckenridge and I will not be with you. In

some small and partial recompense for what they are doing for us all,

he and I are going with Captain Czuv to Callisto, there to see whether

or not we can aid them in any way in the fight against the hexans. One

last word--Doctor Penfield's rulings will be the products of his own

well-ordered mind after consultation and agreement with the Council of

this city, and will be for the best good of all. I do not anticipate any

refusal to cooperate with him. If, however, such refusal should occur,

please remember that he is a despot with absolute power, and that anyone

obstructing the program by refusing to follow his suggestions will spend

the rest of his time here in confinement and will go back to Tellus in

irons, if at all. In case Chief Pilot Breckenridge and I should not see

you again, we bid you goodbye and wish you a safe voyage--but we expect

to go back with you."

Brief farewells were said and captain and pilot accompanied Czuv to one

of the little street-cars. Out of the building it dashed and down the

crowded but noiseless thoroughfare to the portal. Signal lights flashed

briefly there and they did not stop, but tore on through the portal and

the tunnel, with increasing speed.

"Don't have to transfer to a big car, then?" asked Breckenridge.

"No," King made answer. "Small cars can travel these tubes as well as

the large ones, and on much less power. In the city the wheels touch

the rails lightly, not for support, but to make contacts through which

traffic signals are sent and received. In the tunnels the wheels do

not touch at all, as signaling is unnecessary--the tunnels being used

infrequently and by but one vehicle at a time. No trolleys, tracks, or

wires are visible, you notice. Everything is hidden from any possible

visiray of the hexans."

"How about their power?"

"I don't understand it very well--hardly at all, in fact."

"It is quite simple." To the surprise of both Terrestrials, Czuv was

speaking English, but with a strong and very peculiar accent; slighting

all the vowels and accenting heavily the consonant sounds. "The car no

longer requires my attention, so I am now free to converse. You are

surprised at my knowing your language? You will speak mine after a few

more applications of the thought exchanger. I am speaking with a vile

accent, of course, but that is merely because my vocal organs are

not accustomed to making vowel sounds. Our power is obtained by the

combustion of gases in highly efficient turbines. It is transmitted and

used as direct current, our generator and motors being so constructed

that they can produce no etheric disturbances capable of penetrating

the shielding walls of our city. The city was built close to deposits

of coal, oil, and gas of sufficient amount to support our life for

thousands of years; for from these deposits come power, food, clothing,

and all the other necessities and luxuries of our lives. Strong fans

draw air from various extinct craters, force it through ventilating

ducts into every room and recess of the city, and exhaust it into the

shaft of a quiescent volcano, in whose gaseous outflow any trace of our

activities is, of course, imperceptible. For obvious reasons no rockets

or combustion motors are used in the city proper."

* * * * *

Thus Captain Czuv explained to the Terrestrials his own mode of life,

and received from them in turn full information concerning Earthly life,

activity, and science. Long they talked, and it was almost time to slow

down for the journey's end when the Callistonian brought the conversation

back to their immediate concerns.

"My lieutenant and I were upon a mission of some importance, but it is

more important to take you to Callisto, for there may be many things

in which you can help us. Not in rays--we know all the vibrations you

have mentioned and several others. The enemy, however, is supreme

in that field, and until our scientists have succeeded in developing

ray-screens, such as are used by the hexans, it would be suicidal to

use rays at all. Such screens necessitate the projection of pure, yet

dirigible, forces--you do not have them upon your planet?"

"No, and so far as I know such screens are also unknown upon Mars and

Venus, with whose inhabitants we are friendly."

"The inhabitants of all the planets should be friendly; the solar

system should be linked together in intercourse for common advancement.

But that is not to be. The hexans will eventually triumph here, and a

Jovian system peopled by hexans will have no intercourse with any human

civilization save that of internecine war. We, of Callisto, have only

one hope--or is it really a hope? In the South Polar country of Jupiter,

there dwells a race of beings implacably hostile to the hexans. They

seem to invade the country of the hexans frequently, even though they

are apparently repulsed each time. Our emissaries to the South Polar

country, however, have never returned--those beings, whatever they

are, if not actively inimical, certainly are not friendly toward us."

"You know nothing of their nature?"

"Nothing, since our electrical instruments are not sufficiently

sensitive to give us more than a general idea of what is transpiring

there, and vision is practically useless in that eternal fog. We know,

however, that they are far advanced in science, and we are thankful

indeed that none of their frightful flying fortresses have been launched

against us. They apparently are not interested in the satellites, and it

is no doubt due to their unintentional assistance that we have survived

as long as we have."

In the cavern at last, the three men boarded the Callistonian

space-plane and were shot up the crater's shaft. The voyage to

Callisto was uneventful, even uninteresting save at its termination.

The _Bzarvk_, coated every inch as it was with a dull, dead black,

completely absorptive outer coating, entered the thin layer of

Callisto's atmosphere in darkest night, with all rockets dead, with not

a light showing, and with no apparatus of any kind functioning. Utterly

invisible and undetectable, she dove downward, and not until she was

well below the crater's rim did the forward rockets burst into furious

life. Then the Terrestrials understood another reason for the immense

depth of those shafts other than that of protection from the detectors

of the enemy--all that distance was necessary to overcome the velocity

of their free fall without employing a negative acceleration greater

than the frail Callistonian bodies could endure. From the cavern at the

foot of the shaft, a regulation tunnel extended to the Callistonian city

of Zbardk. Portal and city were very like Wruszk, upon distant Europa,

and soon the terrestrial captain and pilot were in conference with the

Council of Callisto.

* * * * *

Months of Earthly time dragged slowly past, months during which King and

Breckenridge studied intensively the offensive and defensive systems

of Callisto without finding any particular in which they could improve

them to any considerable degree. Captain Czuv and his warplane still

survived, and it was while the Callistonian commander was visiting his

terrestrial guests, that King voiced the discontent that had long

affected both men.

"We're both tired of doing nothing, Czuv. We have been of little real

benefit, and we have decided that your ideas of us are all wrong. We are

convinced that our personal horsepower can be of vastly more use to you

than our brain-power, which doesn't amount to much. Your whole present

policy is one of hiding and sniping. I think that I know why, but I want

to be sure. Your vessels carry lots of fuel--why can the hexans outrun

you?" Thus did King put his problem.

"They can stand enormously higher accelerations than we can. The very

strongest of us loses consciousness at an acceleration of twenty-five

meters per second per second, no matter how he is braced, and that

is only a little greater than the normal gravity of our enemies upon

Jupiter. Their vessels at highest power develop an acceleration of

thirty-five meters, and the hexans themselves can stand much more than

even that high figure," replied Czuv.

"I thought so. Assume that you traveled at forty-five. Would it disable

you permanently, or would you recover as soon as it was lowered?"

"We would recover promptly, unless the exposure had been unduly

prolonged. Why?"

"Because," said King, "I can stand an acceleration of fifty-four meters

for two hours, and Breckenridge here tests fifty two meters. I can

navigate anything, and Breckenridge can observe as well as any of your

own men. Build a plane to accelerate at forty-five meters and we will

blow those hexans out of the ether. You will have to revive and do the

shooting, however--your gunnery is entirely beyond us."

"That is an idea of promise, and one that had not occurred to any of

us," Czuv replied and work was begun at once upon the new flyer.

When the super-plane was ready for its maiden voyage, its crew of three

studied it as it lay in the catapult at the portal. Dead black as were

all the warplanes, its body was twice as large as that of the ordinary

vessel, its wings were even more stubby, and its accommodations had been

cut to a minimum to make room for the enormous stores of fuel necessary

to drive the greatly increased battery of rocket motors and for the

extra supply of torpedoes carried. Waving to the group of soldiers and

citizens gathered to witness the take-off of the new dreadnought of

space, the three men entered the cramped operating compartment, strapped

themselves into their seats, and were shot away. As usual the driving

rockets were cut off well below the rim of the shaft, and the vessel

rose in a long and graceful curve, invisible in the night. Such was its

initial velocity and so slight was the force of gravity of the satellite

that they were many hundreds of miles from the exit before they began to

descend, and Breckenridge studied his screens narrowly for signs of

hexan activity.

"Do you want to try one of your long-range shots when we find one of

them?" the pilot asked Czuv.

"No, it would be useless. Between deflection by air-currents and the

dodging of the enemy vessels, our effective range is shortened to a few

kilometers, and their beams are deadly at that distance. No, our best

course is to follow the original plan--to lure them out into space at

uniform acceleration, where we can destroy them easily."

"Right," and Breckenridge turned to King, who was frowning at his

controls. "How does she work on a dead stick, Chief?"

"Maneuverability about minus ten at this speed and in this air.

She'd have to have at least fifteen hundred kilometers an hour to be

responsive out here. See anything yet?"

"Not yet ... wait a minute! Yes, there's one now--P-12 on area five.

Give us all the X10 and W27 you can, without using power--we want to

edge over close enough so that she can't help but see us when we start

the rockets."

"Be sure and stay well out of range. I'm giving her all she'll take, but

she won't take much. With these wings she has the gliding angle of a

kitchen sink."

"All x--I'm watching the range, close. Wish we had instruments like

these on the IPV's. We'll have to install some when we get back. All x!

Give her the gun--level and dead ahead!"

Half the battery of rockets burst into their stuttering, explosive roar

of power and the vessel darted away in headlong flight.

"He sees us and is after us--turn her straight up!"

A searing, coruscating finger of flame leaped toward them, but their

calculations had been sound--the hexan was harmless at that extreme

range. King, under the pilot's direction, kept the plane at a safe

distance from the sphere while the satellite grew smaller and smaller

behind them and Czuv lapsed quietly into unconsciousness.

"He's been out for quite a while. Far enough?" asked King.

"All x now, I guess--don't believe they can see the flash from here.

Cut!"

The rockets died abruptly and a blast from the side ports threw

the plane out of the beam--and once out of it, beyond range of the

electromagnetic detectors as they were their coating of absolute black

rendered the craft safe from observation. One dirigible rocket remained

in action, its exhaust hidden from the enemy by the body of the vessel,

and Captain Czuv soon recovered his senses.

"Wonderful, gentlemen!" he exclaimed, as he manipulated the delicate

controls of his gunnery panel. "This is the first time in history that

a Callistonian vessel has escaped from a hexan by speed alone."

An instantaneously extinguished flare of incandescence marked the

passing of the hexan sphere into nothingness, and the cruiser shot back

toward Callisto in search of more prey. It was all too plentiful, and

twenty times the drama was reenacted before approaching day made it

necessary for Czuv to take the controls and dive the vessel into the

westermost landing-shaft of Zbardk. A rousing and enthusiastic welcome

awaited them, and joy spread rapidly when their success became known.

"Now we know what to do, and we had better do it immediately, before

they get our system figured out and increase their own power." King

reported to the Council. "You might send a couple of ships to Europa and

bring back as many of the Tellurian officers as want to come and can be

spared from the work there. They all test above forty-five meters, and

they can learn this stuff in short order. While they're coming, your

engineers can be building more ships like this one."

The new vessel did not make another voyage until nine sister ships

were ready and manned, each with two Terrestrial officers and one

Callistonian gunner. All ten took to the ether at once, and the hexan

fleet melted away like frost-crystals before a summer sun. A few weeks

of carnage and destruction and not a hexan was within range of the

detectors of Callisto--they were gone!

"This is the first time in years that Callisto's air has been free of

the hexans," Czuv said, thoughtfully. "With your help we have reduced

their strength to a fraction of what it was, but they have not given up.

They will return, with a higher acceleration than even you Terrestrials,

powerful as you are, can stand."

"Certainly they will, but you will be no worse off than you were

before--you can return to your own highly effective tactics."

"We are infinitely better off for your help. You have given us a new

lease on life...."

He broke off as a flaring light sprang into being upon the portal board

and the observer of Exit One made his report--there was a hexan vessel

in the air, location 425 over VJ-42.

"There's one left! Let us get him! No, he's ours!" Confused shouts arose

from the bull-pen; but the original superplane was at the top of the

call-board and accordingly King, Breckenridge, and Czuv embarked upon

an expedition more hazardous far than they had supposed--an expedition

whose every feature was relayed to those in the portal by the automatic

lookouts upon the rims and which was ended before a single supporting

Callistonian plane could be launched.

For the enemy vessel was not the last of the low-powered hexan vessels,

as everyone had supposed--it was the first of the high-powered craft,

arriving long before its appearance was expected. Before its terrific

acceleration and savage onslaught, the superplane might as well have

been stationary and unarmed. After his long dive downward, King could

not even leave the atmosphere--the hexan was upon them within a few

seconds, even though the stupendous battery of rockets, full driven,

had roared almost instantly into desperate action. Bomb after bomb

Breckenridge hurled, with full radio control, fighting with every

resource at his command, but in vain. The frightful torpedoes were

annihilated in mid-flight; and nose, tail-assembly, and wings were

sheared neatly from the warplane by a sizzling plane of force. Side

rockets and torpedo tubes were likewise sliced away and the helpless

body of the Callistonian cruiser, falling like a plummet, was caught and

held by a tractor ray. Captor and captive settled toward the ground.

"This is a signal honor," observed Captain Czuv when he had revived. "It

has been many, many cycles since they have taken Callistonians captive.

They kill us at every opportunity. Is it your custom to destroy

yourselves in a situation such as this?"

"It is not. While we live there is hope."

"Not ours. Unless they have made enormous strides in psychological

mechanisms, they cannot tear from our minds any secrets we really wish

to keep. That is useless," he went on, as King lifted a hand-weapon.

"You will have no opportunity whatever to use it," and he was right.

A searing beam of energy drove them out of the vessel, then

electromagnetic waves burned every metallic object out of their

possession. Burning rays herded them into the hexan sphere and into

a small room, whose door clanged shut behind them.

"Ah, two are humans of a strange breed!" a snarling voice barked

from the wall, in the Callistonian language. "Our deductions were

accurate, as usual--it is to the humans of Planet Three, whose bodies

are a trifle less puny than those of the humanity of the satellites,

that we owe our recent reverses. However, those reverses were merely

temporary--humanity, no matter what its breed, shall very shortly

disappear from the satellites. Now, you scum of the Solar System, you

shall be permitted to witness an entrancing spectacle on the way to our

headquarters, where all your knowledge is to be taken from you before

you die, lingeringly and horribly. There is a strange space-vessel

nearing us probably searching for the one we took and which you dogs of

Callisto must have been fortunate enough to take from us before we could

study and kill its human cargo. Watch its destruction and cringe--and

know, in your suffering, that the more you suffer, the greater shall be

our enjoyment."

"I believe that," King acknowledged. As all three prisoners stared at

the wall-screen, upon which was pictured a huge football of scarred grey

steel, Czuv was amazed to see the faces of Breckenridge and King light

up with fierce smiles of pleasure and anticipation.

"You dissemble well," remarked the Callistonian. "That will rob them of

much pleasure."

"They'll get robbed of more than that," King returned. "This is too

good to keep, and since they cannot understand English, I'll tell you

something. I told you about Stevens. He apparently wasn't killed, as

we thought. He must have escaped, and there is the result. That ship

there is far from innocent--her being so far out of range of any of our

power-plants proves that. That vessel is the _Sirius_--the research

laboratory of the IPC--the Inter-Planetary Corporation! It carries the

greatest scientific minds of three of the inner planets, and it is

loaded with pure poison or it wouldn't be here. Oh, you hexans, what you

have got coming to you!"

* * * * *

_Concluding a Thrilling New Serial of Interplanetary Life and Travel by

Edward E. Smith, Ph.D._

_Author of "Skylark of Space," and "Skylark Three"_

PART III

Spacehounds of IPC

_The question of rays--their expanding power for good and evil--is

receiving increasing attention from scientists. The x-ray has been

found to be very beneficial, given in certain quantities, but

extremely inimical to health, and even fatal, if too much exposure

is given. The powers of the cosmic rays have not been fully

discovered as yet. And there is no reason to doubt the theory that

there may be found still more destructive and powerful rays. Even

wars are becoming a more dangerous plaything for nations of our

world--to say nothing of other possible enemies from other parts

of our universe. Stevens and Nadia Newton meet with thrilling

experiences galore in this concluding instalment._

What Went Before:

The Interplanetary Vessel _Arcturus_ sets out for Mars, with

Breckenridge as chief pilot, carrying on board, besides its

regular crew and some passengers, the famous Dr. Stevens,

designer of space ships and computer. He checks computations

made by astronomers stationed in floating observatories, and

after he has located any trouble and suggests a plan for

minimizing the hazards of the trip from the earth to Mars he

reports his findings and suggestions to Mr. Newton, chief of

the Interplanetary Corporation.

Stevens then takes Nadia, Mr. Newton's beautiful young daughter,

on a specially conducted sight-seeing tour of the _Arcturus_

and thoroughly explains to her all of the works of the vessel.

Nadia has herself had a good science education. While they

are down at the bottom of the ship--nearing the end of their

tour--Stevens feels a barely perceptible movement of the vessel

from its course. When he turns on the visiplate, he is horrified

to find that a mysterious ray of unparalleled power has neatly

sliced the _Arcturus_ in several places.

Nadia and Stevens are completely separated from the rest of the

crew and passengers of the ship, so they get into a lifeboat,

which is equipped for a limited amount of space travel. Despite

the strict and apparently effective vigilance of the enemy

destroyer, Stevens and Nadia make their getaway in the lifeboat,

which they aptly call "Forlorn Hope," and finally make a safe

landing on Ganymede, where Stevens almost completes a power-plant

and a radio transmitter, to enable him to communicate with the

earth or with the IPV _Sirius_, which is used by Westfall and

Brandon (two of the world's best scientists) as a floating

laboratory.

They start for Cantrell's Comet, where Stevens acquires the

necessary material for his giant transmitting tube, heads back

to Ganymede, when their ship is cut, top and bottom, by a strong

ray-beam. Stevens and Nadia soon find that the other ship is

manned by friendly beings from Saturn. Together they plan against

their common foes--the Hexans--who are enemies of the universe.

After helping the Saturnians to repair their power plant, they

start back to Ganymede, aided by their new friends from the

frigid civilization. Finally, however, Stevens succeeds in

connecting, by radio, with the _Sirius_ and his scientist friends

on board it, who rush to the aid of the two castaways. It is

while the castaways are captives of the Hexans that help looms

near.