Bull and Skip disagreed about the merits
of the Cerebus III as a space ship. But a ship's
mettle--like a man's--is proved in an emergency!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
November 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The Inner Planet Fleet's spacegoing salvage vessel _Cerebus III_ leaped
sidewise as though she was trying desperately to escape from some
mythical monster of the spaceways. Inside the instrument filled control
room the tiny group of ship's officers, gathered together by Captain
Stevens' urgent order, felt their feet leave the deck. They reached
wildly for any hold available, the lucky ones clinging desperately with
strained muscles, the others jumbled in awkward cursing heaps against
the bulkheads.
"You idiot!" Captain Stevens shouted. "Next time give us warning!"
The lateral tubes pilot grinned wryly but didn't lift his eyes from the
scanner before him. "Sorry, Sir. There was no time. When one of those
calcium faculae come boiling up at you like a cannonball, you pick a
new spot in the chromosphere for the ship and get there quick--or you
don't arrive at all."
Bull Wright, one of the two men who had been strong enough to keep his
hold, slowly untwined his huge fingers from a projection and flexed
them. He looked across the room and grinned down at the floor where
Skip Allen was struggling to his feet. "How do you like good old Sol
from that angle?" he drawled sarcastically. "Different from reading
about it in a textbook, isn't it?"
The slim built Ensign quickly came to his feet and automatically
adjusted the cap on his red head. "Mr. Experience talking, eh? I wonder
why Headquarters hasn't discovered that Ensign Wright sees all, knows
all, and blabs all?"
"Lay off it, you two," Captain Stevens ordered. "We've got a real
problem this time." He paused dramatically, waving a sheet of
spacegram paper in the air. "We've been ordered to find the _Regis_ and
remove her crew and passengers."
"Why that's Fleet Command's new sun cruiser," Skip gasped. "What's
happened to her?"
"Headquarters doesn't know exactly," Stevens replied. "They got part
of a message saying her propulsion power controls were jammed and her
anti-grav and anti-heat equipment was slowly losing effectiveness. They
give her about four hours before she's falling too fast to contact; and
about the same time before she gets too hot to maintain life.
"A laminated layer of charged particles must have whipped across her
sending beam about then because her message became garbled and finally
faded out."
"Rescue," growled Bull. "That's not our kind of job. We're not
outfitted for it. If that bunch of stuffed shirts didn't know enough to
navigate through the corona and into the chromosphere, they deserve to
die. Why should we risk our necks to save them?"
"We're the only ship near enough to stand a chance of reaching them
during the next couple hours. But that's not all. Alistar of Cygnus is
on board."
"Alistar of Cygnus?" one of the officers questioned. "Who the hell is
he?"
"An inspector from Intergalactic Federation Headquarters. Remember that
container of electron stripped nuclei found in Federation Headquarters
Building last month?"
The men all nodded.
* * * * *
"The Federation figures it came from one of our nuclei dredges in
one of Sol's spots. With all the other crazy things that have been
happening lately to throw suspicion our way, our system stands in
danger of being ejected from the Federation unless we can clear
ourselves. You know what that would mean to our trade activities?
"That's why they've sent Alistar of Cygnus here to make a preliminary
investigation. His report will determine further action. Now suppose
that something happens to Alistar? They're sure to think that it's part
of some plot we're concocting in this corner of the galaxy.
"We've got to find that ship and get him out. Those are our orders. We
do it--or die trying."
"Simple problem," sniffed Bull derisively. "All we have to do is locate
a tiny thing like that on the sun. That's easy. Only about two and a
half million miles of circumference to cover."
Captain Stevens smiled. "It isn't that bad. The message that was picked
up also gave a rough location. They were about 15 degrees North and
near a small sunspot about 70 degrees west of the east limb of the
sun as seen from Earth at the time of the message. I have plotted the
coordinates. We've been on our way there ever since we began talking.
"Are there any further questions, gentlemen? Then take up your assigned
duties. You are all dismissed except Ensigns Wright and Allen."
After all the others had filed out, Captain Stevens turned to the two
nervously waiting officers. "I warned you two days ago to lay off. I
don't mind your picking one another to pieces, but this feud of yours
about the space worthiness of the Cerebus III has the whole crew upset."
Skip and Bull looked guiltily at one another. Stevens went on. "Your
bantering may have been amusing to the crew for a few days out of
Terra. But now they're sensitive about it, and your panning the ship
is making the men nervous. Both of you know a nervous crew is nothing
to have on a ship operating within the atmosphere of the sun. Even a
subconscious suspicion of the worth of the Cerebus III might cause
some technician to make a mistake or hesitate long enough to send
everyone to his death.
"Just remember, you two," Stevens warned, "this is your first flight
as Ensigns. It's strictly a probation period. A word from me can
cancel out that diploma you received from Space Academy, Ensign Allen.
And wipe that grin from _your_ face, Mr. Wright. You may have spent
the last ten years working yourself up through the ranks, but your
appointment as Ensign is also subject to my report at the end of this
tour of duty."