_Why did everybody step off the ship in this strange valley
and promptly drop dead? How could a well-equipped corps of
tough spacemen become a field of rotting skeletons in this
quiet world of peace and contentment? It was a mystery Peter
and Sherri had to solve. If they could live long enough!_
Peter Wayne took the letter out of the machine, broke the seal, and
examined it curiously. It was an official communication from the
Interstellar Exploration Service. It read:
FROM: Lieutenant General Martin Scarborough, I.E.S.
TO: Captain Peter Wayne, Preliminary Survey Corps
Report immediately to this office for assignment to I.E.S. _Lord
Nelson_. Full briefing will be held at 2200 hours, 14 April 2103.
By order of the Fleet Commandant.
It was short, brief, and to the point. And it gave no information
whatsoever. Peter Wayne shrugged resignedly, put the letter down on his
bed, walked over to the phone, and dialed a number.
A moment later, a girl's face appeared--blonde-haired, with high
cheekbones, deep blue-green eyes, and an expression of the lips that
intriguingly combined desirability and crisp military bearing.
"Lieutenant James speaking," she said formally. Then, as Wayne's image
appeared on her screen, she grinned. "Hi, Pete. What's up?"
"Listen, Sherri," Wayne said quickly. "I'm going to have to cancel that
date we had for tomorrow night. I just got my orders."
The girl laughed. "I was just going to call _you_, I got a fac-sheet
too. Looks as though we won't see each other for a while, Pete."
"What ship are you getting?"
"The _Lord Nelson_."
It was Wayne's turn to laugh. "It looks as though we _will_ be seeing
each other. That's my ship too. We can keep our date in the briefing
room."
Her face brightened. "Good! I'll see you there, then," she said. "I've
got to get my gear packed."
"Okay," Wayne said. "Let's be on time, you know how General Scarborough
is."