_A Burn on a Martian Arm_
I did not appear at that morning meal. I was exhausted and drugged with
lack of sleep. I had a moment with Snap, to tell him what had occurred.
Then I sought out Carter. He had his little chart-room insulated. And we
were cautious. I told him what Snap and I had learned: the Gamma rays
from the moon, proving that Grantline had concentrated a considerable
ore-body. I also told him the message from Grantline.
"We'll stop on the way back, as he directs, Gregg." He bent closer to
me. "At Ferrok-Shahn I'm going to bring back a cordon of Interplanetary
Police. The secret will be out, of course, when once we stop at the
moon. We have no right, even now, to be flying this vessel as unguarded
as it is."
He was very solemn. And he was grim when I told him of the invisible
eavesdropper.
"You think he overheard Grantline's message?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Who was it? You seem to feel it was George Prince?"
"Yes."
I was convinced that the prowler had gone into A 20. When I mentioned
the purser, who seemed to have been watching me earlier in the night,
and again was sitting in the smoking room when the eavesdropper fled
past, Carter looked startled.
"Johnson is all right, Gregg."
"Is he? Does he know anything about this Grantline affair?"
"No--no," said the captain hastily. "You haven't mentioned it, have
you?"
"Of course I haven't. I've been wondering why Johnson didn't hear that
eavesdropper. I could hear him when I was chasing him. But Johnson sat
perfectly unmoved and let him go by. What was he sitting there for,
anyway, at that hour of the morning?"
"You're too suspicious, Gregg. Overwrought. But you're right--we can't
be too careful. I'm going to have that Prince suite searched when I
catch it unoccupied. Passengers don't ordinarily travel with invisible
cloaks. Go to bed, Gregg--you need a rest."
* * * * *
I went to my cabin. It was located aft, on the stern deck-space, near
the stern watch-tower. A small metal room, with a desk, a chair and
bunk. I made sure no one was in it. I sealed the lattice grill and the
door, set the alarm trigger against any opening of them, and went to
bed.
The siren for the mid-day meal awakened me. I had slept heavily. I felt
refreshed. And hungry.
I found the passengers already assembled at my table when I arrived in
the dining salon. It was a low-vaulted metal room of blue and yellow
tube-lights. At the sides its oval windows showed the deck, with its
ports of the dome-side, through which a vista of the starry firmament
was visible. We were well on our course to Mars. The moon had dwindled
to a pin-point of light beside the crescent earth. And behind them our
sun blazed, visually the largest orb in the heavens. It was some
sixty-eight million miles from the earth to Mars, this voyage. A flight,
under ordinary circumstances, of some ten days.
There were five tables in the dining salon, each with eight seats. Snap
and I had one of the tables. We sat at the ends, with three passengers
on each of the sides.
Snap was in his seat when I arrived. He eyed me down the length of the
table.
"Good morning, Gregg. We missed you at breakfast. Not pressure-sick, I
hope?"
There were three passengers already seated at our table--all men. Snap,
in a gay mood, introduced me.
"This is our third officer, Gregg Haljan. Big, handsome fellow, isn't
he? And as pleasant as he is good-looking. Gregg, this is Sero Ob
Hahn."
* * * * *
I met the keen, dark-eyed somber gaze of a Venus man of middle age. A
small, slim, graceful man, with sleek black hair. His pointed face,
accentuated by the pointed beard, was pallid. He wore a white and purple
robe; upon his breast was a huge platinum ornament, a device like a star
and cross entwined.
"I am happy to meet you, sir." His voice was soft and sleek.
"Ob Hahn," I repeated. "I should have heard of you, no doubt. But--"
A smile plucked at his thin, gray lips. "That is the error of mine, not
yours. My mission is that all the universe shall hear of me."
"He's preaching the religion of the Venus Mystics," Snap explained.
"And this enlightened gentleman," said Ob Hahn ironically, "has just
termed it fetishism. The ignorance--"
"Oh, I say!" protested the man at Ob Hahn's side. "I mean, you seem to
think I intended something opprobrious. As a matter of fact--"
"We've an argument, Gregg," laughed Snap. "This is Sir Arthur Coniston,
an English gentleman, lecturer and sky-trotter--that is, he will be a
sky-trotter; he tells us he plans a number of voyages."
The tall Englishman in his white linen suit bowed acknowledgment.
"My compliments, Mr. Haljan. I hope you have no strong religious
convictions, else we will make your table here very miserable!"
* * * * *
The third passenger had evidently kept out of the argument. Snap
introduced him as Rance Rankin. An American--a quiet, blond fellow of
thirty-five or forty.
I ordered my breakfast and let the argument go on.
"Won't make me miserable," said Snap. "I love an argument. You said, Sir
Arthur?...
"I mean to say, I think I said too much. Mr. Rankin, you are more
diplomatic."
Rankin laughed. "I am a magician," he said to me. "A theatrical
entertainer. I deal in tricks--how to fool an audience--" His keen,
amused gaze was on Ob Hahn. "This gentleman from Venus and I have too
much in common to argue."
"A nasty one!" the Englishman exclaimed. "By Jove! Really, Mr. Rankin,
you're a bit too cruel!"
I could see we were doomed to have turbulent meals this voyage. I like
to eat in quiet; arguing passengers always annoy me. There were still
three seats vacant at our table; I wondered who would occupy them. I
soon learned the answer--for one seat at least. Rankin said calmly:
"Where is the little Venus girl this meal?" His glance went to the empty
seat at my right hand. "The Venza--wasn't that her name? She and I are
destined for the same theater in Ferrok-Shahn."
So Venza was to sit beside me. It was good news. Ten days of a religious
argument three times a day would be intolerable. But the cheerful Venza
would help.
"She never eats the mid-day meal," said Snap. "She's on the deck, having
orange juice. I guess it's the old gag about diet, eh?"
* * * * *
My attention wandered about the salon. Most of the seats were occupied.
At the captain's table I saw the objects of my search. George Prince and
his sister sat one on each side of the captain. I saw George Prince in
the life now as a man who looked hardly twenty-five. He was at this
moment evidently in a gay mood. His clean-cut, handsome profile, with
its poetic dark curls, was turned toward me. There seemed little of the
villain about him.
And I saw Anita Prince now as a dark-haired, black eyed little beauty,
in feature resembling her brother very strongly. She presently finished
her meal. She rose, with him after her. She was dressed in Earth
fashion--white blouse and dark jacket, wide, knee-length trousers of
gray, with a red sash her only touch of color. She went past me, flashed
me her smile and nod.
My heart was pounding. I answered her greeting, and met George Prince's
casual gaze. He, too, smiled, as though to signify that his sister had
told him of the service I had done her. Or was his smile an ironical
memory of how he had eluded me this morning when I chased him?
I gazed after his small, white-suited figure as he followed Anita from
the salon. And thinking of her, I prayed that Carter and Halsey might be
wrong. Whatever plotting against the Grantline Expedition might be going
on, I hoped that George Prince was innocent of it. Yet I knew in my
heart it was a futile hope. Prince had been that eavesdropper outside
the helio-room. I could not really doubt it. But that his sister must be
ignorant of what he was doing, I was sure.
* * * * *
My attention was brought suddenly back to the reality of our table. I
heard Ob Hahn's silky voice:
"We passed quite close to the moon last night, Mr. Dean."
"Yes," said Snap. "We did, didn't we? Always do--it's a technical
problem of the exigencies of interstellar navigation. Explain it to
them, Gregg--you're an expert."
I waved it away with a laugh. There was a brief silence. I could not
help noticing Sir Arthur Coniston's queer look, and I think I have never
seen so keen a glance as Rance Rankin shot at me. Were all these people
aware of Grantline's treasure on the moon? It suddenly seemed so. I
wished fervently at that instant that the ten days of this voyage were
over and we were safely at Ferrok-Shahn. Captain Carter was absolutely
right. Coming back we would have a cordon of interplanetary police
aboard.
Sir Arthur broke the awkward silence. "Magnificent sight, the moon, from
so close a viewpoint--though I was too much afraid of pressure-sickness
to be up to see it."
* * * * *
I had nearly finished my hasty meal when another incident shocked me.
The two other passengers at our table came in and took their seats. A
Martian girl and man. The girl had the seat at my left, with the man
beside her. All Martians are tall. This girl was about my own
height--that is, six feet, two inches. The man was seven feet or more.
Both wore the Martian outer robe. The girl flung hers back. Her limbs
were encased in pseudo-mail. She looked, as all Martians like to look, a
very warlike Amazon. But she was a pretty girl. She smiled at me with a
keen-eyed, direct gaze.
"Mr. Dean said at breakfast that you were big and handsome. You are."
They were brother and sister, these Martians. Snap introduced them as
Set Miko and Setta Moa.[5]
This Miko was, from our Earth standards, a tremendous, brawny giant. Not
spindly, like most Martians, this fellow, for all his seven feet of
height, was almost heavy-set. He wore a plaited leather jerkin beneath
his robe, and knee pants of leather out of which his lower legs showed
as gray, hairy pillars of strength. He had come into the salon with a
swagger, his sword-ornament clanking.
"A pleasant voyage so far," he said to me as he started his meal. His
voice had the heavy, throaty rasp characteristic of the Martian. He
spoke perfect English--both Martians and Venus people are by heritage
extraordinary linguists. Miko and his sister Moa had a touch of Martian
accent, worn almost away by living for some years in Great-New York.
The shock to me came within a few minutes. Miko, absorbed in attacking
his meal, inadvertently pushed back his robe to bare his forearm. An
instant only, then it dropped again to his wrist. But in that instant I
had seen, upon the gray flesh, a thin sear turned red. A very recent
burn--as though a pencil-ray of heat had caught his arm.
My mind flung back. Only last night in the City Corridor, Snap and I had
been followed by a Martian. I had shot at him with the heat-ray; I
thought I had hit him on the arm. Was this the mysterious Martian who
had followed us from Halsey's office?