"We're testing, too," Dynamon's communications officer said. "We'll
show you some tricks up beyond the stratosphere."
All so elaborately casual, Dynamon thought grimly. It was fairly
evident that the Martian ship intended to follow the Earth Carrier to
find out where it was going. Those inhuman devils! Why did the Earth's
people ever have to come in contact with them?
Dynamon's thoughts went back to his childhood, to that terrible
time when the men of Mars had abruptly declared war and descended
suddenly onto the Earth in thousands of Cosmos Carriers. Only the
timely invention of that remarkable substance, Geistfactor, had saved
Earth then. It was a creamy liquid, which spread over any surface,
rendered the object invisible. The principle underlying Geistfactor was
simplicity itself, being merely an application of ultra high-frequency
color waves. But it saved the day for Earth. The World Armies, cloaked
in their new-found invisibility, struck in a dozen places at the
ravaging hordes from Mars. The invaders, in spite of their prodigious
intellectual powers, could not defend themselves against an unseen
enemy, and had been forced to withdraw the remnants of their army and
sue for peace.
But the unremitting jealousy and hatred of the little men with the
giant heads for Earth's creatures was leading to new trouble. It
enraged the Martians to think that human beings, whom they despised as
inferior creatures, should have first thought of spanning the yawning
distances between the planets of the solar system. It was doubly
humiliating to the Martians that when they, too, followed suit and
went in for interplanetary travel, they could do no better than to
copy faithfully the human invention of the Cosmos Carrier. It was only
too evident that Mars was gathering its strength for another lightning
thrust at the Earth. This time, with the Photo-Atomic Ray, there was
no doubt that they intended to destroy or subjugate Earth's peoples
for good. And to that end the Martians had been inventing new bones of
contention and had been contriving new crises. A peace-minded World
Government had been trying to stave off the inevitable conflict with
conference after conference. But to those on the inside it was only too
evident that the Martians could invent pretexts for war faster than
Earth could evade them.
* * * * *
Dynamon, watching the blood-red Carrier in the periscope mirror, felt a
surging bitterness at the Martians. If they could only be reasonable,
he reflected, if only they could be _human_, then he, Dynamon, would
not now be floating away on a dangerous mission far from the Earth and
the woman he loved. He tried to imagine what Keltry was doing at that
moment. In his mind's eye he could see her on the stage of the Theater
of Comedy, enthralling audiences with her youthful charm as she played
a part in the latest witty comedy, or sang a gay ballad in a new revue.
He broke out of his reverie and tossed a glance at the altimeter. The
needle was moving much faster now, climbing steadily toward seventy
thousand feet.
"It's about time to go now, isn't it?" he asked Borion.
The navigator nodded. "Just about," he said, and put his hand on a
lever marked "gravity repellor."
As the navigator pushed the lever smoothly forward, Dynamon turned back
to the periscope mirror and saw the red ship behind suddenly dwindle in
size. The new Cosmos Carrier was beginning to show its speed.
Apparently, the Martians were momentarily caught off guard. The red
Carrier diminished to a tiny speck against the dark background of
the Earth. But then it began to grow in size again as the Martians
unleashed the power in their great magnets.
"Borion, how about friction?" Dynamon asked.
"We don't have to worry about that yet," was the answer, "we're not
going fast enough. And the temperature outside is about sixty-five
below."
Dynamon nodded and glanced again at the altimeter. The needle was
steadily climbing, a mile every ten seconds. Once again he looked into
the screen of the periscope. The Earth was now far enough away so that
the young centurion could begin to make out the broad arc which was
a part of the curving circumference of the globe. Silently he said a
final good-bye to Keltry and turned to speak to Borion. At that moment
the door of the control room burst open and an engineer stepped in and
saluted the navigator.
"Stowaway, sir," the engineer said. "Just found her in the munitions
compartment."
Dynamon stared out through the open door at the woman who stood out
there between two soldiers.
It was Keltry.
* * * * *
It was a harried and heartsick centurion who, a few minutes later,
called a conference in his own quarters. Borion and Thamon sat
regarding him gravely, while Mortoch, the second in command, lounged
against the wall, a faint, derisive smile on his lean face.
"We are faced with a situation," Dynamon said heavily. "I would like to
hear some opinions."
"Flagrant case of indiscipline," Mortoch said promptly; "that is, if
we can regard this impersonally."
"Personalities," said Dynamon sharply, "will have no influence on my
final decision."
"In that case," said Mortoch harshly, "it seems to me, you are bound
to put back to Earth and hand the woman over to the right people for
corrective action."
"Good heavens!" cried Borion, "I hope we don't have to do that. We
already have a problem on our hands in the shape of that Martian
Carrier."
"What do you say, Thamon?" the centurion asked after a significant
pause.
"Well," said the scientist quietly, "you can't altogether regard the
situation without considering personalities. Keltry stowed away for a
very personal reason, and one which it is hard to condemn entirely. I
think we are over-emphasizing the official breach of discipline. I,
personally, can't see that it makes so much difference. After all,
we on this expedition are on our own and are likely to remain so for
some time to come. I am in favor of going along about our business and
forgetting how Keltry came aboard."
"Spoken like a civilian," said Mortoch sourly, "and I hold to my
opinion. Just because Dynamon was promoted over my head, I see no
reason for trying to curry favor with him."
There was an awkward silence during which Dynamon's face grew very pink
and his blue eyes grew cold.
"I'm going to forget what you just said, Mortoch," he said. "You are a
valued member of this expedition, and you are much too good a soldier
to overlook the danger that lies in that kind of talk. Without my
participation, you are out-voted two to one. We will not turn back."
He stood up with a gesture of dismissal and the three lieutenants filed
out of the door. He paced the floor of his quarters for a few minutes,
then walked to the door and gave orders for the prisoner to be sent in.
"Ah, Keltry darling," he said after the guard had left the two of them
alone, "you have put me in an impossible position."
"I don't see why it should be that bad," Keltry answered. "It was an
inhuman thing to do to separate us and I just wasn't going to permit
it."
"Yes, but don't you see?" said Dynamon, "I will be accused of playing
favorites because I don't turn around and take you back to Earth."
"I'm not asking favors," Keltry retorted calmly, "I just want to be a
member of this expedition."
Whatever Dynamon was going to answer to that, it was interrupted by the
loud-speaker booming:
"Centurion Dynamon is requested at the control room."
Dynamon leapt to his feet, crushed Keltry to him in a swift brief
embrace and then opened the door.
"Escort the prisoner to the scientist's quarters," he ordered, "and
release her."
* * * * *
Dynamon walked into the control room and saw that Borion's face was
gray. The navigator was standing in front of the periscope screens
looking from one to another. The centurion walked over and stood beside
him.
"The Martians are showing their hand finally," said Borion. "They have
decided that we're headed for another planet, and I don't think that
they want to let us carry out our intention. See, here and here?"
Dynamon peered into the port and starboard bow panels. He could see
dozens of little red specks rapidly growing larger.
"They will try and surround us," Borion said, "and blanket our magnets
with their own."
"That's not so good, is it?" Dynamon murmured. "What is our altitude
from Earth?"
"Forty miles," was the reply, "and I think they still may be able to
overhear our conversation."
"Let them," said Dynamon quietly, "We have no secrets from them and
they may as well know that we're going to out-run them. Full speed,
Borion!"
The Navigator advanced the "repellor" lever as far as it would go.
There was a slight jerk under foot. Then he adjusted a needle on a
large dial and moved the "attractor" lever to its full distance. There
was another jerk as the great Carrier lunged forward through space.
Borion smiled.
"I put the attractor beam on the moon," he said, "and we'll be hitting
it up close to nineteen miles a second in a few minutes. We should walk
away from those drops of blood, over there."
"Are we pointing away from them enough?" Dynamon asked. "What's to
prevent them from changing their course and cutting over to intercept
us? See, that's what they appear to be doing now."
The navigator peered critically at the forward periscope screens. "It
may be a close shave at that," he admitted. "But please trust me,
Dynamon, I'll make it past them."
* * * * *
The tiny red specks in the periscope screens were growing shockingly
fast, indicating the frightful speed at which the Earth-Carrier was
traveling. Bigger and bigger they grew under Dynamon's fascinated gaze.
The centurion darted a glance at Borion. In this fantastic encounter,
every second counted. Could the navigator elude the pursuing red
Carriers? Borion haunched tensely over the control levers, his eyes
glued to the screens. The Martian ships were as big as cigars now and
tripling their size with every heartbeat. Dynamon clenched his fist
involuntarily and fought down an impulse to shout a warning. That would
be worse than useless now--the fate of the expedition was entirely in
the hands of Borion.
Dynamon held his breath as a flash of red flicked across the port bow
periscope screen. The Carrier heaved under his feet for a second then
quickly settled to an even keel again. The sweat stood out in little
drops on Borion's forehead.
"Too close for comfort," muttered the navigator. His eyes widened as
another huge red shape loomed up in the starboard bow screen. Borion's
hands flicked over a dial spinning a needle around. Then he hung
desperately back on the repellor. There was a momentary shock. The
Carrier seemed to bounce off something. Borion staggered and Dynamon
hurled forward and crashed into the forward bulkhead of the control
room.