His father had to smile at the boy's confidence in himself, but he
merely said, "This I've got to watch."
Assured everyone was safely strapped in, Jon started the tubes firing,
raised the ship into the air--watching his plate closely as he circled
about--then came down again ... right beside and not over five feet
from port-lock to box.
"That's perfect," his father cried delightedly, watching in his plate.
"You're sure getting to be an expert pilot, Son."
"And you're getting too excited and too tired from all this, Tad," Mrs.
Carver said determinedly. "We'll have no more of it today. You boys go
into the living room, and you, Mr. C., relax and take a nap. We can't
have you getting sick again."
The boys started to protest but their father grinned. "Our mistress'
voice, Boys. And she's right, I was trying too much. We're not in that
big a hurry. Jon, you and Jak go make a box to hold our specimen."
They left him, and in moments he was asleep from exhaustion.
In the storeroom, Jon found some pieces of one-inch oak, and Jak
and he made up their box, finishing just as their mother called
them to dinner. It was a six-inch cube, sturdily fastened with
plenty of screws; strong enough to hold solid osmium. The lead foil
was carefully fitted into the interior, and was now twelve layers
thick--three-eighths of an inch.
"That ought to do it," Jak said, and Jon agreed.
"Let's go out and fill it after we eat." Jak was all eagerness.
Jon shook his head. "Not unless Pop says to. Now that he's awake, I
just don't like to make decisions."
Jak grinned. "You're right, of course. Guess we got too big-headed,
having to do things ourselves while he was unconscious."
"Yes, we're still pretty inexperienced, and I'm glad we don't have to
figure things out now."
"Still, we can't go back to depending too much on him," Jak said
thoughtfully. "That way, we'll never get the habit of thinking for
ourselves, and deciding--and that would be bad. But about this, I agree
fully," he added quickly as he saw his brother about to protest.
"Even if I don't know much about it, I can see that this stuff's
dangerous to monkey with."
Their father awakened later, much refreshed by his nap. After the boys
had explained and exhibited their new box, he agreed it would be all
right for them to go out and get a single piece of the metal.
"Leave it in the lock, though," he added. "Then, in the morning, maybe
I'll feel like helping Jon study and experiment with it."
The two boys ran to get into their suits, and soon were outside,
carrying their lead-lined box. They jumped into the large cache box
after lifting off the lid, and took the top from the inner one. They
set the carrier beside it, then ran back to the ship. With the "distant
hands," Jon flipped a nugget into the small box, and set it aside on
the sand. Using the same servo-mechanism, he closed both covers. Then
he brought the little box back and deposited it on the floor of the
lock.
The two boys took off their suits and hung them in the wall closet,
then went into the control room.
"You were right, Pop. We sure couldn't have handled the big box at
all." Jon grinned, still panting. "Even the little one is really heavy
with just one nugget in it."
His father grinned back. "I had an idea, but thought I'd let you learn
the hard way. Now maybe you'll remember it longer."
"Anyway, we got it in the lock, and tomorrow, if you feel up to it, we
can start experimenting."
"Just how big are the pellets?"
"A little over half the size of our treated-copper ones," Jon told him.
"We'll have to cut it before we try working with it."
Jak, having disposed of the used plastic from their suits, had come
into the control room and was listening interestedly, as was their
mother, who was hovering near, not quite sure she liked the idea of her
menfolks fussing with this unknown but admittedly dangerous metal.
"That means we'll have to make and install a smaller injector, too,
doesn't it?" Jon asked. And when his father nodded, he added "I'll see
about making it."
"Later, when we've found out whether we can use the stuff. Right now
we'd all better get some sleep. I'm bushed, and I imagine you chaps
are, too. How about you, Marci?" Mr. Carver turned to his wife.
"Well, I could use some sleep," she admitted.
"Right, Pop. Good night. 'Night, Mom."
12
Early the next morning the boys were clamoring to get started, but
their mother would not let them go into the control room.
"Now you listen to Mother," she protested, using a favorite phrase of
hers. "Your father hasn't made any sign yet. You wait until he's awake
and has had something to eat. I know how anxious you are to do all
these things, but you must remember he isn't strong yet, and we must
not let him overdo. He is as much a child about such things as you two
are, but someone has to watch him."
The boys laughed rather shamefacedly. "It's just we get so interested
in things, Mom," Jon apologized.
"Yes, I know. But if you will look in your dictionary, you will find a
word called 'moderation.'" She smiled.
"Never heard of it." Jon grinned as he went to get a reelbook on
radioactives, and began studying. Jak, too, went back to studying and
trying to classify the various specimens he had obtained from the two
worlds. However, they soon remembered their usual duties--and whisked
through their various chores about the ship, then went back to their
absorbing occupations.
They had been at these nearly an hour when they heard their father's
voice. Dropping everything, they sprang toward the control room, and
found him wide-awake and looking much better. Mrs. Carver came running
in, and they were told, "Feel fine. This is a wonderful bed. Seem to be
much stronger today, too."
"That's wonderful, Mr. C. I'll go get you some breakfast."
Jon ran for a basin of water and towels, and he and Jak helped their
father with his toilet.
"While you're eating, Pop, how about me cutting off that piece of the
new metal so we can start studying it?"
"How big a piece were you figuring on?" Mr. Carver asked with that
quizzical look.
Jon flushed and mentally changed the size he had planned to get. "About
a gram?" he asked.
"I'd say more like a few milligrams." His father grinned. "That's
plenty for our initial studies and analyses, and shouldn't hurt us any
if we're careful and wear insulation."
"But that's only a pin-head size."
"Well?" again quizzically.
Jon flushed once more. "Yes, that's big enough to test, I realize now.
It's a good thing I waited for you to help me. I'd probably have burned
myself but bad. Actually," he smiled now, "I was figuring on about a
quarter of a pellet."
His father frowned. "You should have known better than that, Jon. I
thought I'd taught you something about being careful, and the dangers
of rashness or impulsiveness. Especially around anything as dangerous
as this stuff undoubtedly is."
"You did, sir, and I'm sorry. But I forget sometimes, when I get too
enthusiastic."
"Well," philosophically, "you'll probably learn as you grow
older ... if you live that long!" But again there was that disarming
grin, which Jon repaid in kind before leaving to get his tools and
go after the mite of new metal. This time, he did not neglect his
precautions. He wore his suit, and put on a pair of extra-thick,
lead-impregnated gloves.
Carefully he lifted a pellet from the box, wrapped it in several layers
of lead foil left after making the box. He carried it so into the
storeroom, locked it in a vice, and with a fine hacksaw cut off a tiny
bit. Still wrapped carefully in the lead foil, he carried the remainder
of the pellet back to the box in the lock, closed the lid and then took
the sample inside. He took off his suit and donned a lead-impregnated,
hooded gown and the leaded gloves.
"Good," his father said when Jon told what he had done. "I think I feel
well enough to sit up a bit. Suppose you crank this seat halfway up,
then I can watch better while you make the tests."
"Just be sure you don't get too tired," Jon said solicitously as he
raised the seat and locked it at half-recline. He had brought in
another of the leaded-gowns, and he slipped this over his father's
head, arms and upper torso, arranging the balance of it down over his
blanket-enwrapped legs.
Then, acting on his father's various instructions, he took the particle
from its wrappings and began his tests. He measured the amount of
radioactivity, and together they computed its half-life.
"Wow! That sure is high-pressure stuff," Jon exclaimed when they had
completed the various tests which they had the equipment to make.
His father silently motioned him to set the seat back to full recline
and lay there, concentrating, for some time before he spoke.
"Yes," he said at last, "it's even higher in the scale than I thought.
Lots higher than Curium, even now. And no telling, by any tests we can
make, what it was originally, before its many half-life reductions that
must have taken place over the long time it has undoubtedly been lying
out there. Probably way above anything known, even theoretically, to
Terran scientists."
"Can we use it?" Jon was quivering with excitement.
"If we can figure out a way to do so safely, so it doesn't want to
disintegrate all at once, I think we've really got a fuel--a super
fuel. But we'll have to go at it mighty slow and easy. That stuff could
blow us higher than up, if used wrongly."
"Yes, I know. But after our scientists first liberated atomic energy
for their bombs, many people said they couldn't control a hydrogen
bomb, but they did. And later the thorium bomb. And then they got our
activated copper. So I'm betting they can figure this out."
Both fell silent, although there were a dozen eager questions the boy
wanted so much to ask. But he did not interrupt his father's line of
thought, even though long, long minutes dragged away while the elder
still pondered the problem.
At last, after more than a quarter of an hour, Tad Carver stirred and
looked up. "This is going to take a long time to figure out," he said
slowly. "I'm not too much on atomics, myself, and neither are you. Now
you run along and do whatever else you have to do. It's a cinch we
won't be able to try this stuff right away--if we try it at all."
The disappointment on Jon's face was plain, but he restrained any
protests, knowing his father was right, and not wishing to call down on
himself another verbal chastisement like that recent one.
"What about the rest of the stuff?" he asked instead. "Shall I get the
box out of the cache and weld it onto the hull, as we thought we might
do?"
"I don't see why not. We want to take it back to Terra with us, whether
we figure out how to use it, or decide the job's too big for us and
turn it over to the scientists there to handle."
"Right." Jon went over to the controls of the handling arms in the
lock. Watching in the special visiplate, he opened the outer lockdoor,
extended the "hands" and guided them down into the cache, after using
them to lift the lid off the larger pit-box.
Carefully he manipulated them to grasp the inner box by its lower
end-edges, and experimentally lift it an inch or so. Finding that it
balanced, he slowly made the servo-mechanism lift the heavy container
from its ages old resting place and up onto the "top" surface of the
ship, near the stern. Making sure it was securely held there, he put on
his suit, gathered up his welding outfit, and went outside and climbed
onto the hull.
Going to where the box rested, he began the task of welding its bottom
back-edge onto the metal hull. Then he released the grip of the
handlers and, leaving them dangling in the air, welded the other three
bottom edges.
Finished, he turned off his torch, rose to his feet and started back.
But after a step or two he stopped and thought.
"Pop," he said into his suit-radio, "do you hear me?"
"Yes, Jon," the answer came back at once into his earphones. "What is
it?"
"I was just wondering if it wouldn't be a good idea to spot-weld a few
places along the edges of the cover, too, so there'd be less chances of
its coming open. It'd be easy to open it later."
"How's it fastened now?"
"Just a simple hasp."
"Better touch it in a few places, then, to make sure."
"Right."
When this was done, Jon returned inside the ship, and saw to it that
all the equipment was put back in place and carefully locked. Only then
did he doff his suit and return to the control room.
"Well, that's done. What now?"
"Anything else you need to do here on this planet?"
"No-o-o, not that I know of. Why?"
"I was thinking that if everything has been taken care of, we might as
well start back to Terra. No use staying any longer than is necessary."
"I ... I think we've done everything. Have you checked the record book
and the pictures?"
"No, not fully. And I probably should, before we take off, at that. But
I think I'd better have another nap or rest now, so I'll go over them
after a while. Put them on the table here, so I can reach them."
"Right, sir. You take plenty of time to rest. If Jak's not too busy to
go with me, I think I'll go fishing in the river, out there by the edge
of the desert. Maybe we can get quite a haul to take with us, for fresh
food on the trip."
"Good idea. Your mother said they were delicious."
When the two boys returned with full creels late that afternoon, they
went at once to see how their father was getting along. He was awake,
and studying the records they had made.
"Hi, fellows! Everything seems to be in fine shape. You chaps certainly
did a job while I was _non compos_. Get any fish?"
"Lots of them. They sure bite swell here. Maybe because no one has ever
fished them before, and they have no idea of lures and hooks."
"Then let's just rest and eat and sleep, and plan to take off in the
morning, eh?"
"You bet. I'll sure be glad to get back home again," Jak declared.
"This chasing around is fun, but I'm homesick for Terra, I guess."
"Me, too, kind of. Besides, I want to get some more schooling at one of
our atomic institutes," Jon added more slowly.
"Going to give up inter-stellar exploration, Son?" his father asked
drily.
"No, sir. But I figured we'd have to stay on Terra for a year or so
while you get everything straightened out about this discovery, and get
the ship ready for the next trip. So while you're doing that, I might
as well be trying to learn something more."
"We will, and you should. And I presume," he turned to face Jak, "you
want to study medicine?"
"That, and other things," the elder boy responded soberly. "If we can
afford it, sir, I'd like to get several top men in various branches to
give me some special coaching, instead of going to a school. That would
get me started straight, and they could recommend good books for me to
be studying while we're on our future trips."
Their father looked up at his wife with a smile. "What's happened to
our babies, Marci?"
"They've just grown up, Mr. C.--but we have some pretty wonderful men
in their place." Her eyes shone. "It was pretty hard, at first, after
you got hurt and they had to take charge of everything, to realize
that they had grown away from us. But I soon found that they hadn't,
really," she continued hastily as the boys gave cries of dismay. "They
have matured wonderfully, but we have not lost our boys at all."
"Well I should say not!" Jak cried hotly.
"We're still kids, not men," Jon declared. "Why, there's still so much
to learn--and experience to gain--we've barely started growing up."
"You can keep learning back on Terra," their mother said. "As for me,
I'm glad we're going to be there a year or more. I want to live in a
house again, on land I know."
"Then we'd all better get to bed," their father said with his old-time
roguish smile. "Otherwise we'll all be too fagged out to take off for
home tomorrow."
* * * * *
As soon as breakfast was finished the next morning the Carvers all
assembled in the control room for the start back to Terra.
Jon had already made the astrogational calculations for their trip,
having worked on them off and on during many evenings of the past
several weeks.
But just as they were all strapping down, his father stopped Jon with
a sudden exclamation. "Wait, Son! I think we'd better go back close
enough to all the planets and the sun to make sure all the signals are
working right. That's one of the most important things the Colonial
Board will check."
"Oh, I'm sure they're OK, Pop. We listened to each one after we'd
placed it."
"But cases have been known where a sender failed--especially those on
extremely hot or exceptionally cold planets. I'm not doubting that you
handled them all right--it's just that I think it worth the time and
effort to check them and make sure while we're still out here."
"All right, you're the captain." Jon opened the drawer in the control
desk and hunted out the sheets on which he had figured his former
flight plans to the various planets.
"We won't need to land if the signals are working," his father said.
"Just get us close enough in line so we can receive the messages."
"In that case, we can fly almost by sight, merely taking into
consideration the direction and speed of the planets." Jon shoved
his papers back into the drawer. "Let's see ... we'll make the best
time going to One, then the Sun, then Three, Four and Five, and then
circling about and heading for home."
"Fine! Get going."
"Strap down, everybody."
A quick glance to see that they were all secure, then Jon closed
the master switch of his new interlocking controls. Smoothly, with
increasing acceleration, the _Star Rover_ lifted upward through the
atmosphere on the planet Marci--Carveria Two.
Ever more swiftly it flew, and a special sort of gladness was in each
heart at the thought that soon they would be once more speeding toward
their home on far distant Terra.
Traveling about the universe, seeing new suns, new planets, new and
interesting--even though alien, and sometimes dangerous--forms of
life of various kinds, all this was a constant source of interest
and delight. Still there was within each of them, even Tad Carver, a
love of and a longing for the planet that had given them birth. Men
had always found it so--it was probable that men born on Terra always
would. Probable, too, that men born on other planets would always long
for a return to _their_ mother world.
It took a special type of person to become a colonist on another
and alien planet. Much the same type of pioneer as those
great-grandparents, many times removed, who had made the terrible
journey across the western plains and mountains of Noramer to conquer
the great, wealth-producing West, and _their_ forefathers and mothers
who had braved the perilous and unknown oceans to come from the Old to
the New World in Colonial days, to search for freedom and opportunity.
It had been found that, even among those willing to make the sacrifices
and uprootings necessary to become colonists on other worlds, there
were always a few who realized they could not stand it, after all.
These unfortunate people usually returned to Terra--if they had the
funds to do so. Nor did it seem to matter how much this new planet was
like Earth, nor how great the opportunities for gaining wealth and
prestige. It was that inner feeling of always _remembering_ that they
were so far from home and everything and everyone they had formerly
known and loved.
Tad Carver was a true "son of wanderlust." He had the itching foot;
the urge to travel; the zest for new places, new scenes, new outlooks.
But even he, after a certain time away, felt that indefinable yet
exceedingly strong _must_ to return to his home world for a while.
The boys were young, which meant they were eager for new experiences,
whether on their own or other worlds. They had not yet come to an age
where Terra meant a great deal to them. Life was so thrilling, so
interesting--there was so much to see and do. Yet even they did feel
nostalgia after too long an absence.
It was Marci Carver who felt it most--this longing, this _need_ for
the old home. While it is true that her great love for her husband and
sons made "home" for her any place in the universe where they might
be, yet she had no real interest in exploration, no great desire or
even curiosity to see other lands or other worlds. The deeps of space
brought such an _awe_ to her that they almost made her afraid. No, if
her menfolk had been satisfied there, she would never have dreamed of
leaving Earth. She would have been perfectly content to live in one
town or city all her life--in the same house, even. She did not have
the pioneer spirit; did not in the least desire new scenes. Her home
and her man and boys--these were all she asked of life.
Yet she did have the rare knack of making any place where she might be,
home. She could make a mansion or a hovel--or this spaceship--seem such
a perfect home to her men that they were perfectly happy and contented
with their living quarters. It was not a matter of furnishings or their
arrangement--not just material things like pictures, books, pillows or
other knickknacks placed just so. Rather it was the "spirit of home"
with which she impregnated every place in which her family might be
living at the moment.
The boys had not yet noticed this consciously--they were so filled
with the joy of living and doing and learning that they had not yet
stopped to think about such matters. But Tad Carver recognized it, and
loved his wife all the more because of her ability.
He often remarked of her, "put her in even a hotel room for ten
minutes, and she'll make it home for me." He sometimes felt moments of
guilt that he made her chase around so much, instead of letting her
stay in one place--and remaining with her there. But he could not stay
put--and he knew she would not want to remain any place without him.
That was why he had arranged things so she and the boys could travel
with him. And, until he had been hurt and she, with the boys, had had
to take over his duties, she had seldom left the ship while on other
planets, although she always looked out through port or visiplate in
the various places where they had gone, with the keen interest in
anything new that made her such a delightful traveling companion.
So now all four felt that eagerness to be done with this matter of
last-minute re-checkings, so they could be on their way back to Terra.
It made the time pass swiftly--yet made it so draggingly prolonged, it
seemed they would never reach their destination.
The ship soon reached an acceleration of two Earth gravities, and Jon
asked, "Is this fast enough, Pop, or can you stand more?"
"You might step it up to three G's for an hour. There's no use loafing
around here longer than necessary to make the curve so we can come
fairly near each planet on the line between it and Terra."
"And that'll get us up to cruising speed quicker when we do start the
straight stretch for home," Jon said, and turned back to his controls
to apply another notch of speed.
It was not long before they approached Planet One--"Tad." Jon had
plotted a course that would take them to within about thirty thousand
miles of the little, hot planet, on the Earthward side. As they flashed
past it, their receiver clearly picked up the broadcast of their
signal-unit.
"That one's all right," their father said in a pleased voice, and Jon
looked up and back from his calculations on the orbit to circle them
about the sun, to grin his pleasure at the approval.
"Jak put it on top of a peak in the intermediate zone," he explained.
"The weather--if you can call it weather--there is more nearly normal
than either on the sunward or the spaceward side."
An hour later Jak struggled up from his chair, staggering beneath
the triple weight of his body at that acceleration. Seeing him, Jon
called, "Wait, Owl, I'm just about to reduce to two G's." And in a
moment the older boy found it easier to get the sandwiches and bottles
of nourishing broth their mother had prepared before take-off, and
distribute them to the others. Gratefully, they all ate and drank.
"After we circle the sun and are en route to Three, I'll cut down to
one gravity while we have a real meal," Jon promised.
"Aw, let's not slow down just for ..." Jak began.
"It won't cut our speed, just our acceleration, which means 'constantly
added' speed," his father explained good-naturedly. "As soon as we've
passed them all and are heading for home, we'll cut to one gravity for
the greater part of the trip, but our speed will have been built up
tremendously."
"Oh, sure, I know that, but I forgot for the minute."
As they circled toward the sun Mr. Carver studied it carefully in his
visiplate. "Just about the same type of sun as Sol," he said after a
while.
"That's what I figured, only that it's about one quarter larger and
heavier," Jon told him. "I was hoping you'd be well enough before we
left to check it for me."
"How close did you set your signal-sender orbit here?"
"Ten million miles."
"_Ten million!_" The man gasped, then laughed in relief as he thought
the boy was just trying to spoof him. "Oh, come off it, Jon. How far
out were you, really?"
"Unless my figures are all wrong," Jon's voice held a hurt note, "it
was really only ten million miles. You can check my calculations.
The book says quote said orbit to be as nearly circular and as close
to the discovered sun as possible unquote, so I sent us in on a van
Sicklenberg throw-out orbit apexing at ten million."
"Boy, that was really taking a chance. You don't need to repeat it for
my benefit."
"I wasn't planning to, sir." Jon grinned now. "We'll go around at about
twenty million this time, but the same type of orbit as before."
"That's better. Well, I think I'll go back to sleep. All of us should,
I suggest."
"Mother has already dropped off," Jak said softly, glancing toward the
recline seat in which she lay. "Switch on the auto, Chubby, then douse
the glotubes. 'Night, Father."
And soon the little ship was speeding across the interplanetary wastes,
guided only by the automatic pilot, while inside four weary people
slept peacefully, knowing the mechanisms would guide them safely and
surely to their distant, plotted destination.
For, outside of a possible recurrence of the accident that had caused
Mr. Carver's injury--and that was a billions-to-one chance that could
not possibly strike them again--what was there to fear away out here?
Nevertheless, it was the sudden ringing of an alarm bell that woke them
all into instant, wondering wakefulness.
13
"What in the world?" Jon's eyes snapped open and immediately began
scanning the various telltales on the panel, while from the other three
came a chorused, "What's wrong?"
"Something out here using atomic energy." Jon's surprised voice made
them raise their seats quickly to upright, so they could better see for
themselves.
Mr. Carver hastily adjusted his visiplate to maximum magnification, and
began searching the heavens surrounding them. "A ship, you think?"
"Yes, and quite close." And a moment later, aided more surely by his
more complex instruments, Jon cried, "There it is! RA 11; square 17 on
the plate."
His father's flying fingers found the object, then narrowed his focus
of vision and stepped up the magnification. His eyes grew large,
then hard and tense, as he studied the close-up image. "Slik Bogin's
ship--I'd know that anywhere!" he exclaimed, and the boys looked at him
in puzzled concern.
"Then I must have been right, that day I thought I heard a ship," Mrs.
Carver declared.
"You must have been," Jak agreed.
"But what's Bogin doing out here?" Jon asked with a touch of fear in
his voice.
"Nothing good, you can bet." His father's voice was grimmer than any of
them had ever heard it before. "Any time you run across that pirate,
you can lay mighty big odds there's skullduggery afoot."
"Great catfish! He's trying to beat us out of this system."
"I'll lay a thousand to one he is, if he thinks he can get away with
it."
"What can we do about it, Father?" There was now a trace of a tremor in
Jak's voice. "Jon and I have worked so hard to map these planets--how
can Bogin possibly do the same and still beat us?"
"No telling. He's a slippery cuss, and if he really wants to try
claim-jumping, he'll figure out some dirty scheme."
"Can't we get back to Earth ahead of him, Mr. C., and report to the
Colonial Board first?" Mrs. Carver was almost in tears.
Her husband gave her a tight-lipped smile. "We'll sure try, Honey." His
forehead creased with a frown of concentration for some minutes, then
he faced Jon, who was watching him from the pilot's seat.
"Bogin's headed in the opposite direction, so no use chasing him to see
what he's doing. Besides, I've heard his ship is armed, and we aren't,
except for our rifles, which are absolutely no good in space. I say,
continue our course, checking our signals, then beat it for home.
After all, we don't _know_ for sure that Bogin's trying anything--and
our best bet is to finish our job as though nothing had happened, but
not waste any time doing it ... just in case."
"Right, Pop. As near as I could tell, we have twice his speed, and we
don't need to worry. We have all the data and pictures to prove we're
the Prime Discoverers, and we didn't hear any signals to show he's put
out any senders."
But there was an uneasy and unhappy silence as the little space-yacht
continued to eat up the millions of miles.
Tad Carver had intended having his younger son slow down near Planet
Three and go into an orbit close enough so he could get a good
generalized view of this other Earthlike, though colder, planet. But
now he would not do so. Speed and time were essential in getting back
to Terra. He would try to keep his worries from the others as much as
possible, but there was a deep foreboding in his mind.
Only too well he knew the various types of men who braved the
spaceways, and that many of them were out and out criminals. And this
Slik Bogin was the most ruthless pirate and cutthroat of them all, from
reports. There were so many, many crimes charged against him ... though
it was true that none had ever been proven. Yet such was the man's
evil reputation that all honest spacemen hated him, even as they were
somewhat in fear of him.
Mr. Carver was sure that the man's spacer was almost a warship in her
armament. Nor did he doubt that the master criminal would not hesitate
to use his heavy rays to blast out of existence anyone he felt was a
menace to his nefarious plans.
And this new system the Carvers had discovered was a prize well worth
stealing, if possible. Although Mr. Carver had not seen these splendid
worlds with his own eyes, he had carefully studied the boys' concise
and complete reports, and their many detailed pictures, so he knew what
a rich treasure they had struck in finding this sun and its planets and
moons.
It would make him and his family rich beyond their fondest dreams ...
and he would be worse than flat broke if they lost out on getting their
claim approved.
For Mr. Carver had not told even his wife that all their possessions,
including their ship, were mortgaged for every credit he could secure,
to enable them to make this costly journey. It was true he had won
great wealth on his previous trips into space--but several of his
largest investments on Terra had gone sour, and this was a last
desperate chance to recoup his fortune in one intensive campaign.
As they neared the point in their trajectory that brought them to
the Earthward side of Planet Three, Jon began tuning his receiver
and turning his directional antenna-loops, so he could pick up the
continuous message of their sender. Soon he began hearing words,
and tuned more closely, stepping up his power. The four sat erect,
expectant.
Then their faces blanched and their fists tightened as they heard the
words:
"This sun and system of five planets, of which this is the third, were
discovered and surveyed by Michael Bogin and his crew, on the tenth day
of January in the Terran year of 2136."
Over and over the message was repeated, while the Carvers stared at
each other in horrified surprise and consternation.
But Mr. Carver rallied quickly. "He has changed the tape in your
senders, boys. We'll probably find the same on Four and Five, and he's
on his way to Two now to do the same."
"But he'll not be able to change the one we set out around the sun,
will he, Pop?" Jon's voice quavered and broke into a boyish soprano.
"He can't get in as close as we did, and still slow down enough to
retrieve such a small thing, can he?"
"I don't see how he could. But he has some darned good technies in that
pirate crew of his. They'll figure out some way to destroy ours and
substitute one of their own, I'll bet. Well, this changes the picture.
Now we know what he's up to, so we'll just have to get to Terra ahead
of him, and lay our facts before the Board first."
"They'll take our word against his, won't they, especially since we
have such complete records and so many photographs?" Jak asked, hoping
to be reassured.
"There's no telling," Mr. Carver spoke slowly, shaking his head. "If
Bogin is trying to get this claim--and now we know he is--he'll work
out some way of getting pictures and records, too. We can only hope."
"And pray," their mother added determinedly.
"We'll make out some way," Jon tried to cheer them all. "Meanwhile, I
suggest I cut to one G and that Mom fixes us some grub. We have to eat."
"That's a good idea," his father agreed, and Jon manipulated his
controls. They all felt the sudden relief of once more being their
accustomed weight. Mrs. Carver unstrapped herself and left for the
galley. Jak also unstrapped, saying, "I'll go help Mom."
"Ask her to make a pile of sandwiches, too, and to bring plenty of
drinks so we can eat later without slowing our acceleration," his
father called, then added, "Don't let your mother talk about this. Get
her mind on something else and keep it there."
"Right, Father."
"This is serious, Jon," Mr. Carver said when the two were alone in
the control room. "I don't like to worry any of you any more than's
necessary, but our chances aren't too good, now that those signals have
been changed."
"We've got some hope left, though, haven't we?" came the anxious
inquiry.
"I see two fairly good ones--but it all depends on so many factors,"
Mr. Carver answered after a moment of thought. "We've got to try to get
back first and report and show them our records and pictures--which
are very detailed, thanks to you two boys. Second, we've got to hope
someone back there caught our original signals, and then noticed the
change--_if_ they could tell they came from the same system."
"How are you making out under this acceleration?"
"All right. I don't seem to be any weaker ... but then, what with all
the excitement and disappointment, there may be a relapse. But that's
not important...." Then, hearing his son's gasp of dismay, he continued
rapidly and grimly, "No, Jon, really. I mean that, and I want you to
keep it in mind at all times on the rest of this trip. I'm expendable,
if we can prove our case. Not that I intend to die," he hastened to add
with a grin as Jon started to protest. "But I'd rather take longer to
get well and know that you all are provided for the way you should be."
"If we cut for Terra right away, without waiting to go on to Four and
Five, Bogin couldn't possibly build up speed enough to beat us in,
could he?" Jon questioned anxiously.
"Not unless his ship's a lot faster than ours. It probably is, because
his crew can undoubtedly stand more acceleration, and he'll drive to
the limit. But if he stops to change those other signals, I don't see
how he can do it. Go ahead, change course, and let's hike for home."
"Right. Let's see, now. Terra's behind and down from where we are and
the way we're heading. I'll set us into a circle while we're figuring
out our course."
"Make it just an approximation for now. We can refine it as we go."
"Right." Jon worked swiftly at his computer, then at his controls, and
they could feel the gallant little ship begin to strain toward the
right.
"Don't try too short a turn," his father warned.
"OK, I'll let up a bit. I was figuring on a two million radius."
"Better make it three for safety."
In time their circling was completed, the new homeward bound course
figured. For days the little ship and its anxious crew were on their
way. Three times each day their acceleration was stepped up to two
Earth-gravities for a period of four hours, then back to one and a
quarter for the same period--four on and four off continually, to give
them a rest from the burden of doubled weight, and to make it easier to
prepare and eat their meals, and to do what personal and ship's chores
had to be done. In between times, as they could, they slept.
Jon had set their receptor and analyzer to react to atomics. It was now
fanning out behind them in a cone-shaped funnel of force. He hoped by
this to be able to tell if Bogin began overtaking them.
Of course, space was so vast, and the distance to Sol and Terra so
great, and their points of trajectory so different, that the pirate
ship might be taking an entirely different course, and not come
anywhere near them until the two ships were almost home. On the other
hand, Jon was taking the most direct route--and he was sure Bogin would
undoubtedly do the same--so they were quite apt to converge sooner or
later.
And since Jon's receptors covered an ever-larger sphere of space the
farther away they reached, he and his father hoped they would be able
to tell if and when their enemy began catching up with them.
Meantime, the two studied almost continuously together the problem
of that supposedly new fuel-metal they had discovered on the planet
Marci--hoping it could be used in their engines. They were sadly
handicapped, both because neither was an atomic physicist, and because
their little ship--well-stocked and provided with many instruments as
it was--did not contain anywhere near all the testing equipment needed
for such a delicate and complex and dangerous task.
Yet they learned much.
Jak took over the routine duties of their flight, after some additional
instruction on points about which he was not sure. In between times,
as the lessened pressure allowed, he studied the new specimens he
had collected, saw to it that the ship's hydroponics kept operating
correctly, and did whatever he could to relieve his brother and his
father of their ordinary duties so they could devote all their waking
time to study and experiment.
Their mother attended to her housekeeping, and saw to the comfort and
well-being of her menfolk.
Mr. Carver knew, deep within himself, that he was overdoing,
considering his illness. His partially-healed broken leg so often
pained and throbbed that he had difficulty concealing his hurt from the
sharp eyes of his family. But he loved his wife and sons so greatly
that their future well-being was far more important to him than his
own, and so he never mentioned these things.
The sturdy little yacht had covered almost half the tremendous distance
back to Sol. The Carvers were beginning to let up a bit in their
anxiety and fears. Surely, each one felt, they were winning the race.
Then suddenly their alarm rang.
Three of them found themselves on their feet, rushing toward the
control panel.
"How close are they, Jon?" their father yelled from his co-pilot's
couch.
"_Mmmm._ I've stepped this up about two hundred per cent.... I figure
it about half a billion miles."
"Not very far--in space. They must have lots more speed than we do to
have caught up with us like that."
"What shall we do?" Mrs. Carver grabbed her husband's arm with
trembling fingers.
He turned his head and smiled up at her. "We'll figure out some way to
beat them, Honey," he soothed. "There's lots more can be done yet."
"Sure, Mom, they're still a long way behind us." Jon tried to keep the
anxiety out of his voice. "And you know the old saying, 'a stern chase
is a long chase.'"
"Can't we increase our acceleration and so our speed?" Jak asked.
"Yes, we'll have to do that, at least." Mr. Carver's voice was grim. He
looked at Jon. "Step it up to two and a half, as soon as you're all in
your seats. We'll stay there more of the time from now on, and we'll
change the period to six in and two up."
"How about one and a half for the two hours?"
"We'll try it. If we sleep or nap more while we're at max, we ought to
be able to stand it."
"We're still almost ..." Jon figured rapidly at the computer, "...
three weeks out of Terra, even at that increased speed."
His father grimaced, while his wife and elder son uttered gasps of
dismay. "I know. It'll be tough, but we've _got_ to win."
But after a moment he looked first at his wife, than at Jak. "This is
an order," he said seriously. "The minute any of you feel you can't
take it any more, say so and we'll cut down, even if we do lose speed.
I guess I went off half-cocked just now in saying that we had to win.
Our health is more important...."
"Except yours, you're trying to say," Jak broke in. "You haven't been
sparing yourself any, I notice, and I know enough doctoring to know
you're not getting well as fast...."
"Pooh, I'm all right, and I'm used to ship accelerations." Mr. Carver
turned his head toward his son and made himself grin. "Even under these
three G's, I can still get up and lick you, even with a half-healed
leg."
Jon realized at once that his father was warning him not to worry
their mother any more, and forced himself to reply, pretending to be
shamefaced, "Yes, sir, you could at that. I'll be good."
But the next morning, by the ship's chronoms, after they had fully
awakened from a night of tortured sleep, Jon studied his instruments
for some time, then reported to his father, "Bogin's still catching up.
He's only about four hundred million behind us now."
"But how can he possibly be?" Jak demanded.
"Probably staying on three G's or better all the time," Jon answered.
"Or else he has a different means of propulsion than we have that
affects his whole ship and contents, including crew," his father said
slowly. "I don't know what it could be. But theoretically there are a
lot of different ways of traveling faster than any we've learned how to
use yet."
"But how could they, Mr. C.?" his wife gasped. "I don't pretend to know
much about such things, but I thought that better fuels merely meant
increased efficiency in the use of the engines, not an increase of
speed. Isn't it acceleration that makes the speed faster?"
He turned his head with difficulty--at three gravities acceleration
their apparent weight was tripled, and his body now "weighed" over five
hundred and fifty pounds, instead of its normal one eighty plus!
"You're both right and wrong, Honey," he explained. "The better the
fuel, the less we have to carry for the same distance traveled, and
that makes our thrust-to-mass ratio less. We can go home faster than
we came out here, because some of our fuel is gone and we have less
mass. But that's not what I'm talking about. Theoretically, as I said,
there are other ways, none of which our scientists have yet figured
out how to use, as far as I know. There could be a complete or partial
nullification of gravity or of inertia. Or some type of space warp. Or
some method of 'cutting through' the other dimensions, so we could go
almost instantly from one point in space to another."