Geedeh was a bit quicker than I in giving the obvious answer. "Just
as with us," he said. "Increase the output of the gravity generator
here to a certain degree. From space, the increase will be practically
unnoticeable. The rockets will try to land--but without taking into
consideration the multiplied attractive force, they will crash!"
"Many birds with one stone!" Haynes chuckled gleefully. "You will
have a short reprieve, friends, while I take care of these intruders,
whoever they are. I can't use too great a gravity on them at first. It
might warn them, if they notice that their ships are accelerating too
rapidly. They might as well be part of my 'accident', even if they do
happen to be police. The Space Patrol has accidents now and then, just
like anybody else!"
Haynes started to work the manual controls of the generator. The
area in which he and his several aides stood, was shielded against
the greater attraction, having been thus arranged by us for testing
purposes. The shrill hum of the machines grew louder.
I felt the weight of my prone body increase suffocatingly. The
heat increased too, as the great coils, gleaming in the glow of
illuminators, gradually absorbed more power. And I knew that, out in
space, those slender fingers of force were reaching and strengthening,
invisible and treacherous. Our unknown friends were doomed.
Not only were they doomed, but our whole idea was destined to failure.
The dream that Nick had died for. The vast progress that it meant.
Worlds out here--worlds with largely a self-sufficient production--real
colonization. Fair play. Norman Haynes would resist all that, because
progress would weaken his power here. He was master of the asteroids,
because he was master of their imports and exports. And unless he
could control the rejuvenated asteroids himself, they would never be.
With him directing, they would not represent a real improvement--only
another means of robbing from the colonists. And colonists weren't rich.
I could see those same thoughts, that gouged savagely into my own
brain, burning in Geedeh's cat eyes, where he sprawled near me. Being
a Martian, born to a lesser gravity than the terrestrial, he was
suffering more than I--physically. But perhaps my mental torture was
worse. Geedeh was Irene's friend, but I loved her. She was gone--lost
somewhere--maybe dead. That, for me, was the worst--much worse than
that crushing weight.
I couldn't let things remain the way they were! My seething fury and
need lashed me on, even in my helplessness. God--what could I do? I
tried to figure something out. Could I break the gravity machinery some
way? Impossible, now, certainly!
I tried to remember my high school physics. Principles that might be
used to give warning signals, and so forth. And just what that awful
gravity would do to things.
Close to me was the base of the domelike crystal shell that covered
the gravity generator. It wasn't a vital part, certainly, just stout
quartz. But it was the only thing I could reach. As I lay there on the
floor, I drew my foot back, doubling my knee. I stamped down against
the quartz with all my strength. The first blow cracked it. The second
drove my metal-shod boot-heel through with a crashing sound. A small
hole, eighteen inches long, was made in the barrier. The sounds of the
great machinery went on as before. The gravity kept slowly increasing.
Geedeh, suffering more, now, looked at me puzzledly. Pa Mavrocordatus
stared anxiously. And Norman Haynes at the surface phone laughed
unpleasantly.
"Cracking up, eh, Wallace?" he sneered. "I know who your would-be
helpers on those space ships are, now. I suppose I should be surprised
at their identities. They're calling to you. Want to listen? My men
above have locked this surface phone to our ship radio."
[Illustration: _"Cracking up, eh, Wallace?" Norman Haynes sneered._]
He turned up the volume of the reproducer.
Irene's voice was the first in the speaker. "Chet!" she was urging.
"Chet Wallace! Pa! Geedeh! Do you hear me? I left 487 of my own free
will. I couldn't waste time, going to the Space Patrol for help--they'd
want proof, and that would take a while to present. So--there was only
one person and I thought you'd mistrust him.... Why don't you answer?
Or have you left 487 too? I'm turning the mike over to somebody else,
now. I found him on Enterprize, just come from Earth, Mr. Arthur
Haynes...."