_The Last of Antrid_
Tommy was running beside him now and Ulana was not far behind. They too
had seen the danger. If they could not reach the vessel ahead of the
Llotta; would not fight them off and gain possession, it was all off.
They'd die here, horribly, on the roof of Antrid.
And the ray pistols were useless: they could not be fired inside the
ballooning fabric of their suits without destroying it and themselves.
There were only the hooks that were attached to the bulging
sleeves--iron hooks for lifting--but these were heavy and sharp
pointed. They might be of some use, at that.
Once they were completely blinded by a deluge of ice particles, Blaine
could see neither the RX8 nor the waddling figures of the Llotta. He
clung to his companions by means of the hooks, interlocking his with
theirs, and waited for the storm to ease off. If ever it would!
Pressing the thick glass window of his helmet against that of Ulana's,
he saw that her eyes were wide with terror. But she smiled bravely and
nodded encouragement. What a girl!
There was a momentary clearing a little way from the white wall and he
saw the hull of the ship, a dim shape that loomed suddenly distinct and
near. They dashed for the open port, still holding together.
One of the bulging, helmeted Llotta had reached the port and was
scrambling inside. Blaine loosed himself and pounced on him, swinging
one of his hooks in a sweeping, clawing arc. It caught in the fabric of
the fellow's suit, ripping a foot-long slit. Like a punctured ballon it
deflated and became a shriveled, clinging thing. The Llott hung there
over the rim of the port, instantly suffocated and frozen stiff in the
vacuum and intense cold of space as the air and heat of the suit was
dissipated.
* * * * *
Blaine dragged the rigid body from the opening and flung it to the
white powdered copper surface. Wheeling, he saw that another of the
Llotta had engaged Tommy. Two of them: in fact, there were three
swollen figures in that mix-up. And the fourth was advancing on a
smaller figure that turned and ran. Ulana! In a flash he was after
them. Tom Farley would have to look out for himself, poor devil. With
two of them against him, the outcome was dubious.
And then came a second snow-like deluge of white particles. He stumbled
on, groping blindly; slipping, sliding in the precarious footing. It
was ankle deep now, that powdery carpet of ice particles. Oh God, if
that Llott devil got Ulana! He groaned aloud, a hideous mournful echo
in the confines of the helmet. Groping, staggering there in the white
silence, he gave up hope. The white-carpeted shell of Antrid heaved
mightily from the force of some new concussion within, and threw Blaine
scrambling.
Crawling now, feeling his way over the shuddering surface, he saw a dim
huddled mass there in the pelting rain of ice. Moving, it was! Two
bloated figures, one large and one small, rolling over and over: Ulana
and the Llott who had chased her! He was there in one mad scramble and
had dragged the fellow from her; was astride the rubbery inflated
covering, clawing and tearing. The thing collapsed and went flat
between his knees. He saw the mist of moisture-laden escaping air; felt
the quick swelling and the jarring collapse as internal organs exploded
from the atmospheric pressure inside the brute's body. Nauseated, he
crawled away from the dead, grotesque-looking figure.
Ulana was on her knees, endeavoring to get to her feet. She had not
been harmed, thanks to his good fortune in finding them. But where was
the RX8? In the awful white silence, broken only by the eery patter of
the ice particles on helmets and fabric, all sense of direction was
lost. Through the double thickness of helmet lenses he looked into
Ulana's eyes: for the last time, he thought.
* * * * *
And then the white shroud lifted once more. The ship was there, not a
hundred yards distant! Tommy still battled one of the Llotta,
desperately circling the wary, grotesquely bobbing figure and swinging
those terrible slashing hooks. The other was down, almost covered with
white. Out of the picture, that one, but the remaining Llott was giving
his friend a tough time of it. With the girl clinging to him, their
arms hooked fast, he scuttled over the treacherous, ice-powdered
copper. He had to get there quickly, and help.
Tom Farley slipped and fell heavily. The Llott was on him in a flash
and they struggled madly there in splashings of white that hid them
from view for a moment. Then one of them was up and the other lay
still, a surprisingly shrunken and motionless figure.
The victor was coming at him then, bloated arms lashing out in swift,
vicious circles. He had got Tommy, the damned swine! Blaine met his
rush with a flying tackle that brought him down crashing. He lay still,
the devil, knocked out probably by the metal helmet contacting with his
skull. With arm poised for that slashing swing that would send him into
eternity, Blaine peered through the lens of his helmet. His heart
stopped beating and the upraised arm fell limp. This was no Llott: it
was Tom Farley! Good Lord, he would have killed him in another second!
He tried to shake him; to bring him to. But he couldn't get hold of the
bulging suit anywhere without danger of slashing it with one of those
hooks. What if that fall had been fatal! Ulana was at his side now and
he stared at her, white-faced, trembling in his uncertainty and horror.
And then Tommy opened his eyes. They saw him shake his head to clear it
and then he, too, stared in horror. How close a call! Friend killing
friend, out here in the air-less cold on the shivering shell of the
dying alien world!
They helped him to his feet and through the entrance manhole. His mind
awhirl with emotion, Blaine saw that Ulana was inside and then followed
as in a dream. He bolted the outer cover and turned the valve that
would admit air to the lock. Soon they would be inside. With their
protecting coverings discarded there would be the fresh air of the
interior; light; warmth. Safety for Ulana. Away from the copper-clad
world, they'd be on their way--home.
* * * * *
A little later, Blaine Carson sat at the controls of the RX8, Ulana at
his side. Tommy was below, polishing and oiling and fondling his
beloved machines. The surface of Antrid was visible through the
viewing port, twenty miles beneath them and receding rapidly. Swinging
in its new orbit, Antrid was gasping its last.
Over there, a few miles to the east, there spouted a column of white
vapor that rose from a heaped up crater of ice which extended in a
circle now many miles in diameter. Heavily laden with moisture as it
was, the artificial atmosphere of Antrid provided a vast storm of
frozen particles as it escaped into the absolute zero of space. For
many days this would continue and the pressure within would drop
gradually, down, down, until the air was so rare it would no longer
sustain life. And there was no hope of repairing the break: the
mountain of ice prevented getting at it from outside, and the rush of
air from within made the handling of patch plates and brazing torches
impossible. Besides, an area of supporting columns of more than a mile
diameter had been wrecked by the blast of the rocket-tube. It would
require an Earth year to make such a repair, even if they could retain
that atmosphere. Antrid was done for, this time.
Abruptly, Blaine turned his head from the port and gave his attention
to the controls. The RX8 pointed her nose upward, away from this
terrible world of disaster and death--homeward bound. With a tremendous
blast from the stern rocket-tubes she headed swiftly into the heavens.
A thousand miles, five, ten, they shot into space with ever increasing
acceleration.
* * * * *
And then a blazing orb was visible off to one side of the swiftly
receding globe that was Antrid. Through the floor ports it shone,
casting cheerful rays upward to the ceiling where they made a patchwork
pattern of the gleaming metal.
"The sun," Ulana breathed, in awe. "I--I've never seen it, my Carson.
It is most beautiful."
He drew her to him tenderly. "You'll see it every day, dear," he
whispered, "when we're home."
Home--a wonderful thought! He'd not hoped to see it again; hadn't dared
to since Antarro showed his hand back there in the asteroid belt. And
now it was a reality. He was going home, and with him he was
taking--Ulana.
"You--you think they will approve of me?" she was saying as he sent
blasts from the steering rockets to swing them around on a new course
sunward. "Your people, I mean. They will approve of your choice, my
Carson?"
Anxiety showed in her wide-eyed gaze and she drew closer as if fearful
of losing him.
If only she knew! If only he had words to tell her!
"Approve of you!" he said huskily. "Lord, girl, they'll love you! But
not as I love you. It is the biggest thing--"
Tommy's discreet cough came from the head of the companionway. Blaine
turned to glare savagely. His friend was standing there, grinning like
an idiot and extending a paper-wrapped package.
"Look," he exclaimed guilelessly: "cigarettes. I found them, a whole
carton."
"Well, I'll be damned!" Blaine exploded, careful that he spoke in
English. "All you think of, all you've talked about since we left the
vessel, is your hankering for a cigarette. For God's sake, get out of
here and go smoke yourself to death."
But Tommy was advancing, still grinning, still extending the package.
"Come on, old kid, have one," he insisted. "It'll do you good; quiet
your nerves."
And his friend dropped a tantalizing eyelid. In spite of his annoyance
Blaine was forced to laugh. "Oh, all right," he said, reaching for the
package of smokes; "I'll take one. Just to please you. But, beat it
then, will you?"
* * * * *
Swaggering as he went and casting knowing glances over his shoulder, he
was gone. Great little Irishman, Tommy: always smiling, always there in
a pinch, never worried, he was the best friend a man could have. They'd
catch hell when they got back, for losing a part of their precious
cargo. Those miserly k-metal people wouldn't give them credit for
salvaging nine-tenths of the stuff (luckily only about a tenth had been
removed by the Llotta): they'd only cry about the amount that was lost.
And Tom Farley would laugh it off: kid them out of it.
Ulana was smiling as if she understood. She _did_ understand, God bless
her. She saw into this wonderful friendship and was glad. It was great
to have a friend like that--and a girl like this.
Hand in hand, they gazed into the heavens before them. To the girl it
was a most marvelous sight, an omen of good fortune and of happiness to
come. She nestled her head into the shoulder of the Earth man as she
watched; spellbound.
For a long time the silence was broken only by the steady muffled purr
of the stern rocket-tubes. The aroma of cigarette smoke drifted up the
companionway.
Out there in the heavens was the sun, Mars, Earth, Venus; the dear old
solar system was still intact, undisturbed excepting for the slight
perturbation in the region of Jupiter. Blaine doubted if the influence
was measurable insofar as changes in the motions of the inner planets
were concerned.
He turned to the eyepiece of the telescope and swung the instrument
around to bear on the Earth. A cool green crescent was there in the
field of vision: the eastern coast line of the Americas outlined clear
and distinct.
"Look, dear," he whispered. "Home! Your new home is there; our home
together."
She sighed happily as she gazed at the inviting sunlit outlines.
"Home," she repeated, softly, reverently, "with you, oh my Carson--for
all eternity."