trouble on Vitan
A Science Fiction Novel
Trouble on Titan
By Alan E. Nourse
Jacket and Endpaper Designs by Alex Schomburg
Cecil® Matschat,
Editor Car/ Carmer,
Consulting Editor
THE JOHN
C. WINSTON COMPANY
Philadelphia * Toronto
Copyright, 1954
By Alan E.
Nourse
Copyright in Great Britain and in the British
Dominions
and
Possessions Copyright in the Republic of the Philippines
FIRST EDITION
Made in the United States
of America
L. C. Card #54-5067
To JOE For his help along the way
Oh, East is East,
and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand
presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand
face to face, though they come from the ends of the earth!
—Rudyard Kipling
From: "The Ballad of
East and West" from
departmental ditties
and ballads and
barrack-room ballads, by Rudyard Kipling, reprinted by permission of Mrs. George Bambridge
and Doubleday & Company, Inc., and Messrs. Methuen & Co., Ltd., and The
Macmillan Company of Canada.
I've Never Been There
One of the most exciting things about science
fiction, both reading it and writing it, is the freedom of imagination it
offers to both the reader and the writer.
It's
perfectly true that adventure stories, and Indian stories, and mysteiy stories, and stories of history and exploration are
imaginative. I'd be the last to deny it. But they all have strings attached. We
know a great deal about the Indians, for instance—historical facts, figures,
geographical data, biographies. We can't make Sitting Bull a Navaho. We can't
write a story about the Indians that violates any of the known facts about
them, and if we read a story that does, we toss the book aside and say, "That
fellow isn't much of a writer—"
But in science fiction, neither the writer nor the reader has any such narrow
limitations.
Perhaps
I'd better modify that just a
little, before the tried-and-true science fiction readers start crawling down
my throat. There are
limitations in science
fiction which the readers demand, and which the writers must obey. But the
limitations are different in science fiction—and it's that difference that
makes these stories so exciting to me.
I think Trouble on Titan is a good story to illustrate my point. Basically, this is a
free-wheeling adventure story. But in writing it, I could not violate what is
already proved, known fact about the background where the story is set, or the
events in the course of the story. If my book had been set in San Francisco
during the great earthquake, I'd have been very limited in the picture I could
have painted with the story. But it wasn't set
in San Francisco. It was set on Titan, the fifth moon of Saturn—and here, my friends, we can take off with a vengeance. Because I've
never been on Titan—and
neither has anybody else!
In
planning the story, I had to ask myself, "What do we really know about
Titan?" A surprising amount, for a place we've never come close to
approaching. We know, for instance, that it is a moon, circling the sixth planet of our Solar System much the same as
our Moon circles the Earth. We know that it has at least eight brother and
sister moons circling the same planet: Mimas, Enceladus, Tethys, Dione, Rhea,
Hyperion, Japetus, and Phoebe. We even know that it might have another—Themis, which was reported by
Professor Pickering in 1905, and has not been seen since. But of all these
moons, we know that Titan is the largest, approximately 3,550 miles in diameter
(compared to our own Moon's 2,160 miles in diameter). We know that Titan makes
one complete revolution around Saturn in a period of 15.94 days, that its mean
distance from its planet is 759,000 miles, and that of all the moons of Saturn,
Titan is the only one that has an atmosphere.
Well, that still gave me room enough to move
around quite a bit. What kind of atmosphere could we look for on Titan? By use
of the spectrograph, astronomers have determined that it contains large amounts
of methane. The astronomers suspect ammonia, too, as well as cyanogen and water vapor. In short, a
thoroughly poisonous atmosphere very similar to, but less dense than, that of
Saturn herself. Further, since the structure of Saturn, like Jupiter and
Uranus, is probably a huge core of rock and mineral material surrounded by a
thick ice pack and an outer blanket of volatile material, it's safe to assume
that Titan would be a rather large and bitterly cold chunk of rock and metal.
You
can see upon examination of these facts that we still aren't hemmed in very
much. We can have fun speculating on some of the possibilities of a planetoid
with a methane atmosphere. Mines, under the surface, would require either
positive pressure oxygen to enable the miners to work, or else they would have
to work constantly in protective suits—a clumsy arrangement, as you know if
you've ever hopped into a divers suit. But with oxygen
in the tunnel, and methane on the surface—leaks would spell trouble. Still, the
same principle of methane burning in oxygen would be very useful if one wanted
to do some welding out on the surface—or if one wanted to pilot a small jet
plane, for that matter.
There
were other limitations, too. One of them was quite basic to the story, and is
basic to thinking about space travel and eventual travel to other star systems.
It's
a point that many science fiction writers either ignore altogether or sideswipe
in a most disgraceful fashion. Taking a rocket ship to the Moon, or to Mars, or
to Venus, or to Titan is one thing. Taking a rocket to another star system is
quite different. The distance is prohibitive, unless a ship could somehow
accelerate enough to cut the time of the star-journey down to something
reasonable. But a fine old gentleman named Einstein has put the lid on that for
us. The speed of light is approximately 186,000 miles per second. Thou shalt go no faster. Thou shalt
not even approach that speed without having upsetting things happen—unless the
current theories of the nature of space and time are way off base. And we have
no right to assume that they are without a great deal of justification.
Well,
to a culture which has gone to the planets, and is looking for new worlds to
conquer, an interstellar drive of any sort
would be quite a plum. Yet we know of one interstellar drive that exists right
now—1
Trouble on Titan is a free-wheeling adventure story. It makes no claim to be anything
else. But if the story of Tuck Benedict and David Torm
makes you pause and think a bit, perhaps even to reshape your ideas about the
people in the world about you just a trifle, it was worth the writing a
thousand times over. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing
it!
A. E. N.
Contents
CHAPTER page
I've Never Been There ..... ix
1. The Mission.......................................................... 1
2. The Letter.............................................................. 13
3. The Land of
Incredible Cold ... 23
4. "There's Trouble at the Colonyr . .
36
5.
Ambush................................................................... 47
6.
The Prisoner......................................................... 61
7.
Revolt!..................................................................... 75
8. "That Man Is Dangerous—" ... 90
9.
The Big Secret..................................................... .... 100
10. The Wreck of
the Snooper .
. . . 114
11.
The Ultimatum.................................................. 127
12.
A Desperate Chance........................................ .... 137
13. The Secret of
the Tunnel .... 149
14.
Trapped!................................................................. 160
15.
The Closing Ring............................................... .... 171
16. "I'll Bach You
to a Man!" .
. . . 181
17.
A Fearful Choice................................................ 192
18. "When Two Strong Men-"
.... 202
Chapter J The Mi;
f |
cLEGRAM!
Telegram
for Tucker Benedict!" Tuck Benedict awoke with a start, jarred from his troubled, fuzzy
dream. At first he couldn't orient himself; then he recognized the curved
glass windows and the corridor of the giant cross-country jet liner. The trim,
blue-uniformed figure of the stewardess was moving down the aisle, and he
caught her eye as she passed his seat.
"I'm Tucker Benedict," he said. The
stewardess smiled, and handed him the folded blue envelope. "This came in
just after we left Denver," she said. "Hope it's
good news!"
Tuck
nodded and took the envelope, pulling the little plastic opener-tab with
trembling fingers. In these days of fast rocket mail, a telegram was an event.
Who could be wiring him? Certainly not someone back at
school. He was a graduate now, his diploma was carefully placed away in
its folder in his inside jacket pocket, and with it the letter that was far
more precious to him than any diploma in the world: the letter from the Dean of
Admissions of the Polytechnic
Institute of Earth, announcing that he had
been accepted at the Institute with the next incoming class. Even as he thought of it, Tuck's heart
skipped a beat, and a chill of apprehension shivered up his spine. Could
something have gone wrong with the scholarship? They couldn't have changed their minds now, not with the
formal announcements to be made at the International Rocketry Exhibit in just
two days— The blue tissue of the telegram crackled in his hand as he laid it
open, and he hardly dared to breathe as he read it:
PERSON
TO PERSON TUCKER BENEDICT CARE OF INTERNATIONAL JET LINERS INC. EN ROUTE NEW
YORK:
DEAR
TUCK ARRIVED CATSKILL ROCKET PORT THIS MORNING WILL MEET YOUR JET IN NEW YORK
CAN YOU MISS A DAY OF THE EXHIBIT? MARS JOB CLEANED UP HOME FOR A SANDWICH AT
LEAST LOVE DAD
Tuck sat back in the deep jet-liner seat,
undecided whether to laugh or cry or whoop for joy. Dad was home! After three
long, long years, dad was home again, waiting to meet him in New York! He sat
staring through the plexiglass window, looking down
on the green and white and silvery pattern passing on the ground far below,
hardly able to believe the wonderful news. He remembered clearly the note his
father had sent him from Mars at Christmas time—and at that time Colonel
Benedict had not expected to be home for another two years at least. But now—in
his excitement Tuck could hardly sit still. In just another half-hour he would
be seeing his father!
Tuck
and his father had been very close, not so many years before. Tuck had been too
young to remember when his mother died, and his earliest recollections were
of life with dad in the big, spacious New York apartment, high above the Hudson
River overlooking the beautiful terraced parks and smoothly winding highways of
the great metropolis. Those had been happy years, before his father had been
persuaded to join the Security Commission, the "Interplanetary Trouble
Shooters," as the Colonel called it, to be sent from one end of the Solar
System to the other on jobs of investigation and diplomacy. The Colonel had
been with the Commission for over eight years, and Tuck was justifiably proud
that his father had risen to a position of importance—after all, the Security
Commission was one of the most critical cogs in the whole great commercial
machine that had spread out from the cities of Earth to all corners of the
Solar System. But Tuck was jealous of the times when his father was away,
perhaps tracing down missing supplies that had never reached their destination
at the colony on Mars, perhaps smoothing out the bitter feelings of the groups
working on the rehabilitation of Venus, perhaps persuading the miners far out
in the Asteroid Rings to obey the channeling and landing procedures when they
came back home to weigh in their precious cargoes of platinum and uranium.
These trips had been long, sometimes taking Colonel Benediet
away for years, and busy as Tuck was with his studies, he had always dreamed of
the time when dad would come home for good, and the two of them could take up
the old life where they had left it.
Tuck
frowned, his steady gray eyes scanning the telegram again, a puzzled frown
crossing his forehead. "Home for a sandwich at least," his father had
said. Could that mean that this was to be only a short stay, another of those
brief visits back to Earth after a long assignment? There was something odd
about the tone of the telegram—it didn't sound quite like dad. But they could
worry about that together when the liner reached New York. It was enough for
now that he was to see his father again, after all these long years.
Happily,
Tuck stared through the observation bay that opened almost to the floor
alongside his feet. He was a sturdy-looking youth, rather slight of build, but
wiry, and browned from the West Coast sun. His gray eyes were lively in a
grave, thoughtful face, and his short brown hair had succumbed to a neat
combing, perhaps for the first time in months, and only after long and diligent
persuasion. As the jet motors hummed in his ears, he was far too excited to
sleep again, and the minutes passed slowly. Far, far below, through the blanket
of hazy white clouds, he caught a glimpse of the long, straight double ribbons
of silver crossing the broad plains, the New York-Los Angeles Rolling Roads
that carried the huge volumes of overland freight across the continent. Far to
the north the Rocky Mountains were giving way to rolling plains, and by squinting
a good deal and watching closely he could just make out the great glowing dome
of the Montana Solar Energy Converter. He had visited this great plant once, during
the years at Prep, and he knew several of his classmates who had been accepted
at the Solar Energy School in Helena, to study the theory and engineering
behind Solar Energy Conversion. The great plants all over the world converted
the enormous energy of the sunlight into heat, light and power to supply the
luxurious cities and quiet suburban towns, and the ruthenium from the lonely
outpost mining colony on Titan was the catalyst which made this energy conversion
possible.
Yet
for all its importance and complexity, Tuck could never have become interested
in Solar Energy work as a career. For him there was only one field, only one
work of importance, and he itched with impatience to
get started, to begin the studies that would lead him to his goal.
It
was not that there was anything so wonderful and new about rocket travel. The
first rocket from Earth had reached the moon well over two hundred years
before, in 1976. In a.d. 2180, the year that Tuck was born, the
rocket ship Planet
Nine had returned from
Pluto, the farthest planet from the sun, with a complete file of maps, surface
data, exploratory notes, and astronomical data on Pluto, as well as astro-photographs of the tenth planet that had been
discovered skimming its frigid course still farther out in the blackness of
space. A large farming colony had been thriving on Mars for a hundred and fifty
years, and the great Solar Converter being built on Venus would soon be at work
reconverting those arid deserts and windswept crags into
a lush tropical paradise for farmers and vacationers. The exploration of the
Solar System was almost complete, except for the mopping up—but there were
other frontiers, greater frontiers, and these were the frontiers that excited
Tuck. For beyond the limits of the Solar System lay the black wastes of deep
space, the unbridgeable gulf that led to the stars. And someday, Tuck knew,
some man would find a way to go to the stars-Tuck sat back in his seat,
fingering the letter of acceptance to the Polytechnic Institute excitedly.
Some man would learn a way, some man would discover how to take a rocket ship
and leave the Solar System light-years behind, and go to the stars. And all his
life Tuck had dreamed that he might be that man—
« « « o o
The liner landed just at dusk. From the bay
Tuck strained his eyes trying to see his father's familiar figure, waiting in
the crowd behind the blast barrier, but the bright lights threw the people into
darkness. Carefully he checked his bags with the automatic redcap, punching
the address of his father's apartment on the metal consignment tape; then he
gathered up his coat and followed the crowd down the gangway onto the smooth
concrete of the landing platform, still trying to peer ahead into the darkness.
And then he saw Colonel Benedict, standing tall and straight, his gray hair
crisp, blue eyes wrinkled into a quizzical smile. Tuck let out a cry, and broke
into a run, working his way through the crowd, and then he was wringing his
father s hand, and the two of them were trying to talk at once as they made
their way down into the Terminal Building.
"But
you said in your last letter that it might be two more years—I had no idea that
you'd be back so soon—"
The
Colonel's eyes twinkled. "I just wanted to see if you could still take a
surprise."
"Surprise! I almost dropped through the seat!"
Tuck regarded his father proudly. "Dad, it's wonderful. You couldn't look
better."
"Feel
great, too. I don't like getting out of bed in the morning as much as I used
to, but I'm probably getting old—"
Tuck
grinned. "Then I'm getting old, too. How was the passage home?"
"Not
bad. They don't jockey those ships around like they once did—steady,
responsible hands at the wheel, you know, now that the Mars-Earth run is just a
trip around the block. Feels fine to be back Earthside,
though—those ships have plenty of good clean air and all that, but there's
nothing to compare with a breeze in off the ocean."
"And
the Mars job is all finished? Everything done, and you
can stay home for a while now?" Tuck's eyes were eager. "Just think,
we could spend the whole summer here in New York, and maybe we could get in a
fishing trip up North, if you could get away. Remember how we used to fish,
Dad?"
"Yes,
I remember. I could never forget." The Colonel's face was suddenly grave,
and he started down into the taxi terminal, effectively cutting off further
conversation. Minutes later they were settling back in
the taxi seat, waiting for the little jet car to pull out of the terminal into
the broad Middle Level thoroughfare. Finally the Colonel said, "I know a
quiet place for supper. You were on your way up to Catskill for the Exhibit,
weren't you?"
Tuck nodded enthusiastically. "That's
right. The Forty-Seventh International Rocketry Exhibition.
I've heard it's really great this year. They're showing all
the latest model Interplanetaries, and I've
also heard that they're exhibiting the blueprints of the big Venus converter
plant." He looked up at his father. "They're also making formal
announcements of the Polytechnic Institute scholarship winners for this
year—"
Colonel
Benedict looked up sharply. "Scholarship winners?"
Tuck nodded. "All tuition and expenses
paid for five years of study, and a guaranteed position in mechanics,
engineering, or research when you're through. You remember—I wrote you about
the competition. I took the qualifying exams in March, and they've already
notified the winners informally—"
The Colonel's eyes were
wide. "Do you mean—"
Tuck
handed him the letter, his face glowing. "This came the day before graduation.
I got one, Dad. No hitches, nothing to go wrong. I can start with the incoming
class in September."
The
Colonel took the letter, and read it very carefully, then reread it. When he
finally looked up, his face held a curious expression. "That's great,
son—I'm proud of you. I—I really am."
"Well, you don't sound
very proud!"
"Believe
me, I am,
even if I don't sound it. I know how much you wanted it." He stared at the
letter, and his face suddenly looked very tired.
"Dad, what's
wrong?"
After
a long moment the Colonel looked at Tuck, and grinned. "Let's wait until
after supper," he said finally. "Then we can talk it over."
o
ft * ft
*
The dinner was top-rate, but Tuck couldn't
enjoy a bite of it. His father valiantly managed to keep the conversation on
light subjects, commenting on the problem of keeping the feet warm on Mars,
talking about the new plan for extension of the Rolling Roads, inquiring about
the summer's baseball line-up, waxing enthusiastic about the plans for an underwater
freight conveyer to Europe—talking of a dozen things while Tuck sat silent, a
thousand doubts plaguing him and spoiling the taste of the food. Finally he
could stand it no longer. "You've got bad news, Dad. Let's have it."
The
Colonel's face was grave. "Oh, not bad news, exactly. Maybe you'd call it
disappointing news, is all. I'm not home to stay, son. Not even for a week or
so. And I can't take in the Exhibition with you. I'm leaving on assignment day
after tomorrow, and I may not be back for a long, long time—"
Tuck's
eyes grew wide. "But, Dad! They promised you a
rest when you got through on Mars! You know they did—"
"I know, but trouble doesn't wait for
people to rest. If trouble comes up, someone has to take care of it, and
the Security Commission thinks I'm the one to
handle this. For that matter, that's why the Mars job was finished so quickly.
Major Cormack came out to relieve me. There's more important trouble elsewhere
that needs attention."
Tuck's face was stricken. "But where?"
The
Colonel hesitated for a moment. Then he said: "On Titan."
Tuck
let his spoon drop, staring at his father in disbelief. "On
Titan! Why, that's clear out to Saturn! Dad, you can't let them send you clear
out there—there's nothing out there but one little colony and a half a dozen
mines—"
"They're important
mines, son."
"How could six lousy
mines be so important?"
Colonel
Benedict looked at his son for a moment without answering. Then he took a small
instrument from his pocket, an old, beaten-up pocket flashlight, pencil-thin,
with the bulb shining bravely across the table. "See this? Just a pocket flashlight, the sort that everyone has. As
simple a mechanism as you could hope to find, a single bulb and a converter
unit. And those lights up there in the ceiling, the bright lights that light
the streets—all of them have converter units like this flashlight, drawing
their power from the Solar Energy Converters out on Long Island. All the electrical
power on the globe, all the heat, all the machinery, all the cars—they all
depend on their converter units. Simple power, practically
cost-free, power so abundant that the people on Earth can live in luxury.
And it's all possible because someone found a way to convert the heat and light
of the sun into power to make the world go around—"
"But
what does that have to do with your going to Titan?" Tuck protested.
The Colonel pointed to the flashlight again.
"In that converter unit there's a tiny piece of ruthenium—element number 44, just a little dab of gray metal of the same family as iron and
osmium—but an important little dab of metal. It catalyzes the conversion
reaction that feeds power to the light. Destroy the ruthenium, and there's no
longer any light, no power, no heat. Our whole power supply, our whole civilized
world depends on a steady supply of ruthenium." The Colonel looked up at
Tuck. "That's what those mines on Titan supply—ruthenium. They take huge
quantities of the ore from those mines, and drag out of it tiny amounts of
ruthenium. If anything happened to those mines, our entire power supply would
collapse. And there's trouble on Titan, trouble in the mines. There's been a
great deal of bitterness out there, nasty talk about revolt—oh,
nothing that can't be straightened out with a little diplomacy, but it can't
wait. It must be done at once, before something really bad breaks loose.
That's why the Commission relieved me on Mars."
Tuck's
eyes were wide. "But the people who run those mines, Dad—they're convicts,
rebels. They can't expect you to go out to such a hole!"
"But they do. I'm to leave in two days.
I may not be back for years—" The Colonel fumbled for his pipe, his face
very tired.
Tuck watched him for a moment. Then he said,
"There
was something else—in the taxi, something about the letter."
The
Colonel nodded. Carefully, he opened Tuck's acceptance letter, flattened it out
on the table. "Yes, I hadn't known about this. When they told me about
this mission, I didn't mind the idea of going so very far away, at least not
too much—" His eyes caught Tuck's, held them fast. Somewhere a waiter
dropped a glass, and the silence clung like a thick, depressing fog. "You
see, I was counting on you to go with me."
Chapter 2 utter
there was utter
silence for the length of a long breath. The Colonel quietly lighted his pipe
with trembling fingers, his eyes avoiding Tuck's. Tuck sat motionless, staring
at the sheet of paper on the table top. When he finally spoke, his words caught
in his throat. "I—I can't go, Dad. I just can't."
"I
know. I couldn't expect you to, not with a chance like this before you."
"Oh,
they might give me a leave of absence, but—" Tuck shook his head
miserably. "If there were anything out there, I could see going—if there
were anything at all. But there's nothing—"
"That's
right. Nothing but a cramped, dirty, sealed-in colony, and a
few dozen mining tunnels."
"And
the colonists—I've heard about them, Dad. There isn't a soul on Titan worth
paying a credit for. They're troublemakers and traitors, the scum of the Solar
System. Why, every other year they have to send a patrol ship out there to put
down some sort of trouble. They're not worth it, Dad, living like animals out
there —why, they're hardly human any
more. They can't be trusted, they're selfish and
treacherous—"
"But they keep the mines going,"
the Colonel interposed quietly, "and I have to see that nothing interferes
with the mining. If they want to brawl among themselves, that's up to them. But
the mines must keep going."
"Just what kind of
'trouble' is there?"
"Nothing that could be very dangerous. A few missing supplies to
trace down, a few unpleasant rumors to confirm or disprove. I might not
have to stay more than a few weeks, just long enough to get a good picture of
conditions out there to report to the Commission."
Tuck
frowned in exasperation. "But aren't there troops out there who can make
such a report?"
The
Colonel spread his hands. "Not any more. The colonists made it impossible
for troops to stay. The last garrison was recalled five years ago."
Tuck
lapsed into silence. Somehow, he had known all along that it had been too much
to hope for. So much happiness and excitement—something had to be wrong. And he knew that his dream of the old life with dad was
only a dream. Slowly he looked up at his father's grave face. "I know you
want me to go, Dad. But I can't. It would mean postponing the scholarship,
maybe losing the chance. I just can't do it. Can you see that?"
"Yes,
I can see it." The Colonel knocked out his pipe, a smile crossing his
tired face. "I wouldn't expect you to feel otherwise. And after all, I'll
be home again-sometime."
Quite suddenly a waitress appeared at the
table with a telephone.
"Call for you,
Colonel. Will you take it here?"
Colonel
Benedict nodded gloomily, and took the receiver. "Benedict
speaking—oh, yes, Mac—yes—tonight! No, that's impossible. My boy just arrived from L.A.—yes, yes, I know,
they should have had the figures this morning—" The Colonel's face went
white, and he slowly set his pipe down on the table. "They couldn't be
right—but it's idiotic—" He waited a long moment as the voice on the line
talked rapidly. Then he said, "All right, I'll be right over. Get the
figures together, and get the man who analyzed them down there. See you."
He
slapped the receiver down with a bang. "Looks like I can't even have an
evening off. Funny figures came in on the Titan supply study, and I'll have to
be down at the Commission for a couple of hours." He rose and pulled on
his jacket, his face heavy with worry. "Come on, son—I'll put you on a
car."
"But is it something
serious?"
"Don't
know. But don't worry about it. You go up to the apartment and make yourself
comfortable. Maybe we can have time to talk later. After all, we've got a lot
to catch up on, and darned little time to do it!"
Tuck
managed a wan smile, and followed his father's tall figure out to the street.
It seemed so unfair, he thought bitterly. There were plenty of Security Commission
officers—why must they choose his father for a mission like this? A surface car
approached as they reached the street, and Tuck climbed aboard, watching his
father's taxi speed out into the Middle Level Thoroughfare downtown.
Ordinarily Tuck would have been excited to be
in the city again. He was always thrilled by the tall white towers and the
flashing monorails; this was the great business center of the Western World,
built to handle the seventeen million people who daily filled the helicopter
lanes and Rolling Roads coming into the city. Down on the Lower Level the
trucks and busses hummed, the turbines turned, the machinery of the city roared
without rest, day and night. Here in the Middle Level were the main highways
and monorail trains, and high up above Tuck could glimpse the green terraces
and lighted boulevards of the Upper Level, the homes and hotels and apartments,
the green parks and the starlighted roofs. Once New York City had been a city of dirt and gloom, of congested
traffic and decaying slums. But Solar energy
with its great power had made the slums and traffic a thing of the remote past.
The city was handsome now, but as the surface car switched to monorail for the
Upper Level, Tuck hardly saw the city around him. His mind was filled with
anger and bitter disappointment—with a tinge of apprehension thrown in. Titan
was a cruel world, so far from Earth, so remote that almost anything might
happen. Suppose the trouble was greater than his father suspected? If something
went wrong, the Colonel would have little to defend him. And Tuck knew that the
laws of common decency would never apply in a sinkhole like the Titan colony.
The car swung out between the rising
buildings, and moved swiftly up the open avenue. After a few miles of swift
travel, the car left the ground contact, and moved into a neat spiral curve,
rising higher and higher, until the open air was overhead. Then the car settled
out on the Upper Level rails, and far ahead Tuck could see their apartment
building, one of the great towers rising up from the growing darkness below.
The
doorman recognized him at once, and welcomed him with open arms. The sight of
him cheered Tuck a little. Yes, the apartment was just as he had left it, and
his bags had been already sent up. And the Colonel had called, leaving a number
where he could be reached if necessary. Tuck walked into the foyer he remembered
so well, and soon was zooming up in the elevator to the place he had always
known as home.
But
happy as he was to see the old familiar places, doubt continued to plague him.
The tales he had heard about the mining colony on Titan were hard to forget. He
could remember, as a little boy, seeing the crowd of miners and their families,
loading aboard one of the great outbound rockets, a drab, surly, mean-looking
crew, huddling around their cloth-bound bundles of possessions, their eyes
downcast and bitter. His father had explained to him that these people were
going out to Titan, the sixth moon of Saturn, and he had been so frightened by
their fierce appearance that he had started to cry. He knew now that Titan had
not been a penal colony for over a hundred and fifty years, but surely those
people must have been desperate. All his life he could remember hearing about
the trouble in the mines—murders, piracy, rebellion. And now his father was to
go there, to be the only Earthman on the satellite, with the exception of his
rocket-ship's crew-He passed down the bright corridor, stopped before the door
to the apartment, and placed his hand palm-down on a shiny metal strip. The
admittance panel had been activated to his handprint when he was barely tall
enough to reach it; presently the door swung open, and he walked into the
darkening apartment, forgetting his doubts in the excitement of being home
again.
It
was just the same as he remembered it—the entrance, the living-room office,
with his father's desk in the corner, complete with visiphone,
talkwriter, and the unopened stack of the day's mail,
already flooding in, although the Colonel had been home just a day. Tuck
crossed the room, and regarded himself in the full-length mirror. He was taller
by four inches than he had been the last time he had stood there, and his face
was older, more mature, even bearing witness to a somewhat inexpert job of
shaving—but the brown hair still stood up in the back, and there was still the
wry twinkle in his steady eyes. Not too much change, after all, he thought. He
hurried to the window then, threw open the curtains, and stared down at the
picture that had always fascinated him, the glowing, beautiful, ever-changing
vista of the city at night.
It
was fine to be home. Anytime he wanted, during holidays, or whenever he wanted
a weekend of rest from his studies, he could come back here. But once the ship
blasted for Titan, his father couldn't return again until the job was done, and
he was ready for the long trip home—
A cold thought passed through Tuck's mind,
and he stopped, coat in hand, staring at the pleasant room. It was a horrible
thought, but something deep in his mind was saying over and over: Suppose he never comes home again? Suppose
he's in real danger, suppose he doesn't realize how dangerous the mission is— Tuck snorted angrily, and hung his coat in
the entranceway. It was ridiculous to think such things. Probably the rumors
had been exaggerated all out of proportion to the truth. Anyway, there was no
sense thinking about it. He had made his decision, and he would stick by it.
And above all, he would get his mind off such nasty speculations. In another
day he would be on his way to the Exhibition in Catskill, and he'd have a
wonderful reunion with his father in the meantime.
But
somehow the prospect of the Exhibition wasn't as exciting as it had been. He
walked restlessly about the room, then picked up the pile of letters on his
father's desk, and began leafing through them, idly. Possibly some mail had
come for him. There was a bill or two, an advertising circular, a large packet
from some General, a letter-Tuck froze, staring at the
letter, his heart pounding in his throat. It was an ordinary envelope, small
and compact, with the address neatly typed near the center: "Colonel
Robert Benedict, 37 West 430th Street,
Apartment
944B, Upper New York City, New York/' An innocent-looking envelope, just like
any one of a dozen his father might receive-But on the return address was Tuck's own name-Tuck sank down in the chair, staring at the
envelope. He
hadn't written any letter. He hadn't even known that his father would be home. And yet the return
read, "Tucker Benedict, Polytechnic Academy School," and the postmark
said Palomar, California—
His heart was thumping wildly, and he held
the envelope up to the light, tried to make out its contents, but he could see
nothing but a dark, opaque rectangle. On impulse he started to pull the plastic
opener-tab; then something screamed a warning in his mind. With trembling
fingers he held the letter up, staring closely at the opener-tab, just a little
piece of plastic, so simple to pull to open the end of the envelope-Like a cat,
Tuck was across the room, fumbling for a razor in his father's desk. In a few
seconds he was carefully slitting the envelope down the end opposite the
opener, desperately careful not to touch the contents. The end of the envelope
fell open, and he stared in horror at the dull green, slightly luminous plaque
inside—
With
a cry he carried the envelope at arm's length into the washroom, poured the
basin full of water, and dumped the envelope, contents and all, into the water.
The green stuff in the envelope crumbled, lost its shape, and became a pasty
green-black, evil-looking glob. Tuck ran the water out, and standing as far
away as possible, touched a match to the glob.
It flared a little as it burned, making an
acrid white smoke, hissing evilly from the dampness. But it burned slowly, and
finally crumbled into a soggy ash in the washbowl. Tuck stared at it, his heart
pounding in his ears. He had seen a Murexide bomb
only once before, in a demonstration at school, but he knew that there was
enough high explosive in that innocent-looking envelope to blow his father's
head off when he pulled the opener-tab—
And
they had used his name to booby-trap his own father! The Colonel wouldn't even have had a
chance. Angrily, Tuck snatched up the telephone, started to dial Police
Headquarters; then quite suddenly he set the receiver down again. Someone was
trying to kill his father. There was no other conclusion possible. Someone who hated him enough, or feared him enough, to use a
vicious trick like that. Someone had filled the envelope with a Murexide plate, rigged the opener-tab to detonate it, and
mailed the letter with Tuck's own name on the return, to make sure the Colonel
would open it quickly. Someone had known that the Colonel would be home, that
he would be leaving again soon. Someone had known everything, except the single
fact that Tuck would be home that night. His father had said that the trouble
on Titan was nothing dangerous, nothing but a few rumors, a little unpleasant
talk. But the assassin had meant to see that the Colonel never boarded the
rocket-Tuck sat thinking for a long time. The police would have little to
offer, for the Colonel would be leaving in just a day, and then all the police
in the world wouldn't be able to help hirn. And his
father couldn't
realize the danger—he would
never have offered to take Tuck with him if he had. And yet, before he even
left Earth there had been an attack on his life, carefully planned. What might
happen on the rocket, on Titan itself?
A
moment later Tuck was on the telephone, waiting for the operator to locate
Colonel Benedict, somewhere in the Security Commission conference rooms. At
last he heard his father's voice, and he tried frantically to keep his own
voice level, to keep his words from choking. "I've been thinking about the trip, Dad,"
he said. "When did you say your rocket was leaving?"
The
Colonel's voice was puzzled. "0800, day after tomorrow.
What's the matter, son? Something wrong?"
"No—"
Tuck gritted his teeth in the face of the lie. "Nothing
wrong. I've
just changed my mind, that's all. I've decided to go with you."
Chapter 3 The Land of Incredible
Colé
n alarm bell clanged in Tuck's ears, and he sat bolt \\ upright, staring out
into the darkness. Then he felt his heart jump as the pilot's deep voice rang
out over the public address system: "All hands, muster in landing
quarters! Prepare ship for landing! Landing scheduled for 0900 hours—"
Tuck
snapped on the cabin wall lamp, and checked his wrist watch. It seemed as if he
had barely gotten to sleep; actually, he had slept a full eight-hour period,
and his watch read five minutes to eight.
In
an hour they would be landing! Excitedly, Tuck dressed, and then threw open the
oval-shaped lock to his father's sleeping quarters. "Come on, Dad! We're
going down in an hour!"
Colonel
Benedict was half dressed, his eyes still blurry from
interrupted sleep. "So I hear," he said dryly, rubbing his ear.
"I was wondering why they had those speakers built so close to the heads
of the bunks."
Tuck
took a deep breath, and lifted his feet experimentally. "We re decelerating lots faster, too. I've been
feeling like I was sliding out onto the floor for the past six hours."
The Colonel chuckled. "You get used to
it, after a while. Let's go forward. The orders for landing are very
strict—we'll have to strap down, and prepare for a good jolting."
Carefully he packed some gear into a footlocker near his bunk. "We won't be needing these magnetic boots any more—and you might as
well store your wrist watch out of harm's way, too. It won't do you any good,
once we land. An hour on Titan is only forty minutes long."
Tuck
stored his own gear in the footlocker, and together they started up the
corridor. There was a breath of excitement throughout the ship. Crewmen were
moving swiftly from chamber to chamber, checking the thousand details that must
be checked prior to landing operations. Far down in the rear of the ship the
engines were whining, and every so often the ship shuddered as the forward and
belly jets took hold. Tuck and the Colonel reached the landing bunks, and
settled back in the deep, spongy seats, strapping belts tightly around their
shoulders and hips as they waited for the landing hour to approach. The tedious
journey was nearly at an end.
It
had been a long trip out. Even with the powerful atomic engines to accelerate
the ship, the journey had taken over two months. For many it might have been
dull, but for Tuck it had been wonderful—two long months to become reacquainted
with his father, two months to talk, to plan, two months to get used to the
idea of once more being father and son. There had been no trouble about the
scholarship. The Institute had promised to hold it open for Tuck when he returned,
and the journey seemed almost like an incredible vacation trip.
But
the time was not spent loafing. Crates of information tapes and microfilm
spools had come aboard" the rocket before they left, and both Tuck and his
father had spent hours every day listening and reading—data and reports on the
planet Saturn, studying about her major and minor satellites, reading up on the
founding of the colony on Titan, about the working of the mines. Tuck had
found the study a little tiresome; he would much rather have spent his time
with the pilot and navigator of the ship, and he often managed, on one pretext
or another, to turn up in the control room. There he would settle down on the
nearest stool, and spend hours listening to the navigator hold forth
enthusiastically on the problems of celestial navigation.
But
there were many other times when Tuck and his father had sat up in the great plexiglass bay in the nose of the ship, staring out at the
black, diamond-studded expanse of space through which the ship sped. They
talked of many things, watching Saturn, a tiny dot far in the distance,
gradually become bigger, day by day, watching the strange, disklike
rings as the planet rotated, one day so far on edge that they were all but
invisible, another day surrounding the planet like a halo. Tuck made a game of
counting the tiny bright dots circling the planet, the moons of Saturn,
considering this an acceptable measure of how close they were coming.
"Hey!" he cried
out one day. "I can
see another!"
"Where?" The Colonel had peered in the direction Tuck
was pointing. "I can't see any that we didn't see yesterday."
"Sure you can—away
out, just a little tiny one."
"Right
you are! That would be Phoebe, the baby of the lot. Looks like we've counted
all nine moons now—"
"I
wonder," said Tuck, "why they picked Titan." The Colonel looked
up, and drew out his pipe. "For what?"
"For the mining colony. What was wrong with Japetus,
for instance? Or Rhea? They're almost as large as
Titan. Why is Titan the only moon of Saturn with a mining colony?"
"Probably because it's richest, among
other things.
The ore from the Titan mines is very rich—comparatively speaking. Of course,
that doesn't mean much, since ruthenium ore is almost as poor in the metal as
uranium ore is in uranium. Probably they could have mined Rhea, or Tethys, or
any of the other moons, except Japetus—"
"Why
not Japetus? It's big enough."
The Colonel chuckled. "You'll also
notice that it's half gone. They've never landed on Japetus—the
Geiger counters wouldn't let them. The whole moon is radioactive, too hot to
toy around with. But when the moons were explored, the explorers spotted a
tremendous vein of ruthenium ore running close to the surface on Titan, so they
chose that as a likely starting place. And then, Titan is the largest of the
nine, the closest to Earth-size of all Saturn's satellites. It's probably as
ideal for establishing a permanent colony as any. That's not to say that any of them are particularly cozy. Maybe you can't blame people too much for
making trouble when they get out there."
Tuck nodded, his conscience giving him a
sudden sharp jab. Half a dozen times he had almost blurted out to his father
the whole story of the booby trap in the apartment, and then at the last moment
held off. It disturbed him greatly; he had always been straightforward with dad
before, and he knew how hurt the Colonel would be. Sometimes Tuck almost
wondered if it had really happened, if he had not made up the whole thing to
give himself an excuse to come, but then he would smell that acrid smoke again,
see in his mind's eye the sputtering, evil-smelling bomb, stripped of its
explosive power, burning in the washbasin. Yet he couldn't bring himself to
reveal it, until one day the Colonel had made the overture himself.
It
was during one of the observation sessions, near the end of the third week out.
It seemed that the Colonel had been watching him that afternoon with far more
interest than he watched the stars, and Tuck was becoming increasingly nervous.
Finally the Colonel said, "When are you going to tell me about it,
son?"
Tuck started,
his eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
A
smile touched the Colonel's lips. "You know what I mean. Your sudden decision to come along with me. Something happened to change your mind. I was hoping
you'd tell me—"
"Aw, Dad—you wouldn't have let me come,
and I had to come, after what I found!" Almost
tearfully
Tuck
blurted out the whole story—his worry, the spurious return address, the bomb
in the envelope. When he had finished, the Colonel sat still for a long, long
time. Then he said, "I wish you'd told me this before."
"I couldn't, Dad, I
just couldn't—"
"I
know. Sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world." He stared into the
darkness. "That puts a different complexion on things, all right. And it
begins to make things add up." The Colonel's eyes were grave. "You
remember that call I got the evening you came home?"
Tuck nodded unhappily.
"We'd
had men checking the invoices on supplies that have been coming out to the
Titan colony. We suspected that there had been some funny business-extra
supplies, misplaced consignments, 'lost' invoices —but there had never been a
double Security Commission check before—"
"You mean there's been
smuggling?"
The
Colonel nodded. "Food, equipment—tremendous quantities
over their quota."
Tuck's
eyes widened. "But I thought Security controlled shipments very
carefully."
"They're
supposed to. But this has been going on for years. All neatly hidden behind
such a screen of confusion and inefficiency and red tape that even regular FBI
checks couldn't spot it." He shook his head and knocked out his pipe.
"Yes, you should have told me about the booby trap—it's bad. The leader of
the colony, a man named Anson Torm, knows we're coming.
According to the reports, he's one of the biggest troublemakers. And he'll
probably be out to meet us when we land." He looked up at Tuck, his eyes
filled with concern. "You bit off a mouthful, son. It looks like we're in
trouble—real trouble. I only hope it wasn't too big a mouthful."
a
o a a a
For a moment Tuck
lay still, almost stunned by the terrific jolt. The ship shook from stem to
stern, then settled down on its tail in the shallow,
rocky crater where supply ships had been landing for over a hundred and fifty
years. Carefully Tuck stripped away the straps, examining himself for bruises,
and moved forward into the observation bay. Slowly he walked to the great plexiglass window and stared out, hardly daring to breathe.
The
sky was dark blue, the darkest, coldest, most hostile blue Tuck had ever seen
in his life. The stars stood out like brilliant gems against that blue, and
hanging low near the horizon was the huge, luminous globe of Saturn, six times
the size of Earth's moon, her rings forming a razor-sharp line around her
silvery middle. She was tilted slightly, so that she looked like a huge,
off-center top, hanging in the sky. But it wasn't the immense, luminous beauty
of Saturn that made Tuck gasp. It was the utter, unbroken desolation of Titan
that sent a chill down his back. The surface of the planetoid looked utterly
dead.
If
there had been a howling wind swirling around the ship, it wouldn't have been
so bad. But there was no sound, no motion. The ship's silvery nose rose high above the ground, but on three sides of her were
huge black crags jutting up sheer and barren against the cold blue sky. The
ground was covered with a blanket of glistening white, covering the jagged rocks,
giving way to crevices that sliced deep into the black crater floor. As far as
Tuck's eyes could see there was no change, no difference—only the endless
succession of jagged rocks, sheer cliffs, and vast gorges, reflecting the pale
bluish sunlight from their harsh faces.
"It looks so
cold," Tuck murmured.
"It is cold," replied the Colonel,
at his elbow. "It's incredibly cold. There aren't words to describe how
horribly cold it is, and the cold goes right down to the core of the
planetoid."
"But
what temperature is it out there? That looks like fresh-fallen snow—"
"Well—it is snow, in a way. And it might have been fresh-fallen ten million years
ago—we don't have any way of telling. Part of it is water vapor, frozen before
it ever became water. Part of it is carbon dioxide, and part is frozen ammonia.
And the atmosphere is almost all methane, with a little ammonia and cyanogen mixed in. It's more than 250° below zero out
there—"
Tuck
stared, hardly believing his eyes. "Is the whole planet like this?"
He pointed to the ragged, impossible tumult of rocks and crevices.
"It's—amazing."
"The
geologists have had a field day studying the surface. They say some of those
crevices go down for miles. They're probably volcanic in origin, judging from
the type of rock. Or maybe there were Titan-quakes, millions of years
ago."
Tuck shook his head, still scanning the
jagged horizon. "Gee," he said suddenly. "What?"
"Suppose a ship crashed out here
somewhere. It would be lost for good."
The Colonel nodded.
"It happened, once."
"You're kidding!"
Tuck looked horrified.
"No
such thing. Back in the days before the colony, it happened. Exploratory ship,
instruments fouled. It crashed out in that wilderness, somewhere, and they
never found it. Probably smashed to smithereens on the rocks.
They're more careful, nowadays—"
The
navigator popped into the room. "Something for you to
see, Colonel." He handed the Colonel a pair of binoculars.
"Over there to the left."
The
Colonel stared through the binoculars for a moment. "Well, well," he
murmured, handing Tuck the glasses. "See what you see."
At
first Tuck saw the same picture he had seen before—great black rocks, gorges,
sheer cliffs. Then his eyes caught something moving, far in the distance,
something that looked like a small black bug, crawling up through one of the
gorges, slowly but steadily moving toward the ship. Tuck blinked, stared
closer, then looked up in alarm. "That's a
half-track, or I'll eat my shirt."
"That
won't be necessary. It's a half-track, all right. Looks as if
we're going to have visitors." He took the glasses again, scanning
the horizon. "I'd hoped to see the colony from here, but that ridge
obscures it. It's only about five miles away."
"But why don't they fly over here,
instead of driving that clumsy thing?" Tuck took the glasses again, and
found the little machine crossing a level stretch of white, then disappearing
behind the nearest ridge of rock.
"Half-track
is smarter, in the long run. It doesn't go very fast, but it gets here. The
colony probably has some jets, but they're not much good for anything but
exploration on this terrain. The half-track has power, and it's heavy, and it
can easily be sealed against the atmosphere."
"But
what about the colony?"
"It's sealed, too. Plexiglass
dome. Not very big, either, considering that there are five
hundred people living in the colony, including wives and children. And
most of the mine shafts open right up inside the dome."
Quite
suddenly the creeping half-track appeared, lumbering over the ridge of rocks
surrounding the ship, making its way slowly, carefully, down into the shallow
center of the crater where the ship stood. It was a strange-looking vehicle,
with fat pillow tires eighteen inches thick in front, and heavy caterpillar
treads on the back to drive it. It was exactly what they called it, a
half-tractor, and it wasn't nearly so small as it had looked. The whole top
part was sealed in with a clear plastic bubble, rounding out over the top where
a single figure sat, guiding the car in its path. Tuck squinted, but the dull
bluish sunlight reflected from the plastic, and he could not get a clear view.
The pilot stuck his head in the door.
"Shall I let him aboard? We ran the crane out when we first landed—"
"Better
let him come. If we're to have a welcoming committee, we might as well get
things off to a good start. This may be one of Anson Torm's
men."
Tuck
frowned, watching the half-track move down near the ship and grind to a halt.
"Don't you think we'd better have guns ready?" he asked. "You
never can tell—"
"I'll
leave that up to the crewmen. I want to make arrangements for living quarters
in the colony, and see what I can find out at the start about the trouble we've
been hearing about. Probably it would be best to be as friendly as
possible."
The
dome of the half-track suddenly sprang open, and a curious-looking figure
struggled out, clumsy in the great padded pressure suit that covered his body.
A heavy transparent dome covered the man's head, and he stopped momentarily
when he reached the ground to seal the half-track up tightly again. Then he
moved toward the ship, and in a moment Tuck heard the crane winches hum with
the unaccustomed strain as the man was hauled up to the space-lock.
Moments later the lock opened, and a man
walked in, his transparent helmet thrown back, his body still clad in the
thickly padded space suit. Tuck stared at the man, hardly believing what he
saw. He was huge, over six feet tall. Even without the suit he would have
looked like a powerfully built man. His hair was thick and sandy, and his
cheeks were pale; shaggy brown eyebrows jutted out over ice-blue eyes.
For
a long moment the stranger stared coldly at the Colonel and Tuck; then his eyes
flashed, and he looked straight at the Colonel. "My name is Anson Torm," he said, in a rich bass voice. "What's
yours?"
"Benedict—Robert Benedict. This is my son, Tuck." The Colonel
stepped forward, offering his hand. "Take off the suit, and make yourself
comfortable. You'll roast if you wear that thing in here."
Very
briefly the man's eyes flickered over Tuck's face; then he looked back at the
Colonel, ignoring the hand. "The supply ship isn't due to arrive for four
months yet," he said finally, not making a move.
"This isn't a supply
ship."
"Then what is
it?"
The
Colonel smiled. "Call it an informal check on production in the mines, if
you like," he said.
Anson Torm's face
darkened. "So you're the trouble shooter that Security was going to
send?"
"I'm
representing the Earth Security Commission, yes."
Slowly
the big man began to peel off his pressure suit. His clothing was coarse, with
a multitude of patches and careful repairs, and his heavy face was wrinkled
with worry and strain. But there was something arresting about the man's face,
something that brought a flicker of warmth to Tuck's mind. Anson Torm looked like a powerful man, and not only in terms of
physical strength. There was a light of pride in his eyes, a curious air of
fierce bravery about him that the coarsest of clothing could not diminish. He
stepped from the suit like a man completely in command of himself and of all
those around him, and when he turned to the Colonel, it was as if he were
meeting the Security Commission President on his own grounds. "All
right—I'm representing the interests of the Titan colonists," he said. "I
suggest that we go where we can talk, and without delay. I also suggest that
you, sir, talk more sensibly than the last few representatives of Earth
Security—"
The Colonel's eyebrows went up in surprise.
"You mean you've talked to Security men before this?"
"Until
my tongue froze," Anson Torm replied coldly.
"You must remember that I've lived in this colony for a very long time.
This time, I think it would be wise for us to reach an understanding, and reach
it fast. Because if your ship leaves Titan without an agreement that meets
with the satisfaction of the Titan colonists, I am afraid
Earth has received her last cargo of ruthenium."
The
Colonel's eyes widened. "You mean your people are refusing to work the
mines?"
"Not at all," said the Titan
leader. He looked at the Colonel, and his voice was heavy with weariness.
"I mean that there will be no mines left for my people to work."
Chapter 4 " There's
Trouble at the Co/ony/"
F |
or a moment they
stood in shocked silence, staring at the big man. The Colonel's face was pale,
and all traces of his smile had fled. "If that was meant as a threat, I'm
afraid you're talking to the wrong man," he said quietly. "I'm not
here to listen to threats. I'm here to collect facts, and to draw my own conclusions
on the basis of those facts."
Anson
Torm was shaking his head. "That was not a
threat. It was a simple statement of fact. I don't care to see the mines shut
down—I'll do everything in my power to keep them open.That's
why I'm here, to talk to you before you go on to the colony." He eyed Tuck
and the pilot with frank hostility. "I'd prefer to talk privately."
The
Colonel hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he nodded. "Would you
mind, Tuck? Perhaps you could get the gear ready to go back to the
colony." He turned to the pilot. "Tuck and I will plan to go to the
colony after I've talked with Mr. Torm. I'd like you
and your crew to stay with the ship, at least for the time being. And we'd
rather not be disturbed by anyone for a while."
Tuck made his way down the corridor toward
the sleeping quarters, trying to make some sense from the colony leader's
words. He was shocked by the big man's appearance far more than he realized.
Granted that he hadn't been entirely sure of what to expect a colonist to look
like—he had had mental pictures of crafty, shifty-eyed, bitter-faced people,
more animal than human—after all, that was the
generally accepted picture back home. But Anson Torm's
cold blue eyes could hardly have been called shifty, and far from giving a
crafty appearance, he had struck Tuck as the sort of man who would prefer sharp
conflict to any kind of trickery. Almost shamefacedly, Tuck realized that he
had liked the big man on sight, liked him without any basis whatsoever. Yet Torm, he realized, was a Titan colonist with a record for
treachery a mile long; no matter how he looked, he couldn't be trusted.
Swiftly
Tuck packed the great pressure-sealed bag that was to be taken back to the
colony, impatient for the conference to end. He was eager to move, anxious to
get out of the ship, to get his feet on the ground of this strange world. What
would the colony be like, how could the people live under a plastic bubble?
An
idea struck him suddenly, and he hurried aft and poked his nose into the
control room. The pilot was sitting at his desk, working on a pile of reports;
he looked up and grinned when he saw Tuck. "Looking for something?"
"Well—maybe.
I just had an idea. Do we have pressure suits for the outside here on the
ship?"
"Of course. Specially made for the surface
of Titan, with built-in heaters."
"How
about letting me go outside for a while? I'd like to go up on the ridge and see
if I can see the colony."
The
pilot shrugged. "No harm in that." He stepped into the corridor,
broke open one of the storage bins hanging from the overhead. The suit was
bulky, well-padded, with the heating element and compressed oxygen tanks built
into a compact unit on the back. "Ever been in one of these things?"
"Oh,
sure, I went out with the crew when we had to repair that sprung hull plate, on
the way out here."
"That's
right. Well, then you know how to handle the palm controls for heat and air
conditioning and all. Just remember, though—the oxygen supply will last for
eight hours, but you'll probably get cold long before that. Keep an eye on the
peripheral circulation gauge, and when it says your feet are getting cold, come in! It means your
feet are getting cold, whether they feel cold or not. And don't hesitate to let
out a loud yowl if something happens. If you rip that suit on the rocks, clamp
down the section sealer, and scream bloody murder."
Tuck
clambered into the clumsy suit, adjusting his fingertips to the row of buttons
on the palm, and made sure he could work the joints with ease. On the surface
of Titan the suits were more necessary to keep out the cold and the poisonous
atmosphere than to regulate body pressures, but without some care in handling
the joints of the suit, he would soon be spread-eagled and helpless. Once
securely inside, with die oxygen flow adjusted, he lumbered down the corridor
into the lock, waved to the pilot, and dogged down the pressure hatches. The
pumps whirred until the pressure registered "even" with the
atmospheric pressure of the planetoid's surface; then he opened the outer
hatch, and stepped onto the crane.
When
he stepped off onto the ground, a wonderful feeling of excitement struck him.
For the first time, he was setting foot on another world, a world so alien to
the warm, comfortable Earth he knew that it seemed impossible that the two could
be in the same universe. This was a cruel, cold world, yet just five miles away
was a little nucleus of the same warm Earth that he had left behind, a single
oasis in a barren wilderness. Man could not live with the hostile cold of
Titan's surface, but they could do the next best thing: adapt part of the
surface to conditions they could live
with. Slowly Tuck walked out on the flat crater floor, turned and looked back
at the ship, standing like a slender silver finger against the dark blue sky.
The white powder crunched under his feet as he walked, and rose in little
whirlwinds around his legs, and though it was only two inches deep, he could
feel the unearthly chill under his feet. Glancing down, he saw the frost
already forming knee-high on the legs of his suit. But close to the skin of his
feet he could feel the soft pads of the thermocouples, constantly registering
the temperature of his feet. If the blood flow to his feet slowed below a
critical level, the thermocouple would register a danger signal, the signal
that all spacemen knew too well, which meant that they must return to the
warmth of their ships or their feet would be frozen. Tuck shivered, even in the
warmth of his suit. He'd wait until he had a half-track before he strayed too
far.
The
floor of the crater was covered with small, jagged rocks; he carefully picked
his way between them, moving off in the direction of the worn path of the
half-track. Perhaps up over the first ridge he would be able to see the colony,
if the terrain were smooth enough. The going was rough, but by following the
ruts, he was able to make good time. These ruts had been worn by the heavy
tread of the half-tracks for the past hundred and fifty years, ever since the
colony was built, and since the first of the semiannual supply ships had
selected this crater as the closest landing place to the colony that would be
safe. How could the colonists dare to close down the mines, even to make such
threats, if their food and other living necessities must come by such a precarious
pipe line from Earth? It seemed incredible to Tuck, as
he clambered up the rugged pathway, but he had heard Anson Torm's
words, and he had seen the paleness of his father's face. Whatever the answer,
the mines were in danger of closing. And that, above all,
they had to prevent.
He
had almost reached the top of the ridge when he suddenly froze in his tracks,
staring at the large black rock in the path before him. Frantically he shook
his head, then looked again, and his skin broke into a
sweat. But there was no question about what he had seen. Just as he had started
to pass it, the
black rock had moved—
Panic
rose up in Tuck's throat, but he stood steady. Then it moved again, and Tuck
recoiled in horror. It looked just like all the rest of the black rocks, but it
slowly changed shape, and slithered down the grade a few inches, then stopped
and lay motionless, like a black rock again. Even as Tuck watched it, he saw
the bit of rock that lay under the thing dissolve away, and suck up into it,
like ink into a sponge—
And
then Tuck remembered the paragraph on one of the microfilms he had read,
describing these strange black creatures, an incredible sort of half-living
thing with a silicon-based metabolism. The report had called them "clordelkus" and said they were quite harmless, but
could dissolve away and suck up almost any kind of silicon rock. Tuck
shuddered, starting up in the opposite direction from the creature. Harmless or
not, it had given him a horrible start. For the first time he
realized, almost with a shock, the true strangeness and desolation of the
place. This was a harsh world—what could it mean to live here, actually live under a plastic bubble, with a cruel, barren, frozen world on all sides,
just waiting for the seal to break? These colonists—how could they feel? How
could anyone help but hate a life on such a wasteland, in an outpost so remote
that contact with Earth could come but once or twice a year? How could anyone
live here, and not become desperate after a while? Suddenly Tuck felt terribly
alone. There were so many dangers, so many pitfalls, so many ways they might
simply disappear on a world like this—
He had started on toward the ridge again when
the whine of a motor came to his ear. Suddenly, from over the ridge there was a
flash of silver, and a tiny jet plane swooped in, extremely low, skimming
through the thin atmosphere with an angry squeal. Tuck stared open-mouthed at
the plane as it swung up, barely missing the ship, then made a great whining
arc, and settled smoothly in, dropping like a graceful bird onto the smooth
floor of the crater not fifteen yards from the crane. Almost immediately the
cockpit swung open, and a space-suited figure clambered out, started swiftly
for the crane of the Earth ship. Tuck turned and started back for the ship in
alarm, moving as fast as his clumsy suit would allow. The plane was a
curious-looking thing, hardly twenty feet long from air-scoop to jet, and was
shaped short and squat, for all the world like a
rocket lifeboat which had been clumsily rebuilt by an inexpert hand. Tuck
stared at it in amazement. The exhaust had been so fragile and pencil-thin that
he had hardly believed his eyes when it had slid into a landing-Tuck was
thoroughly acquainted with small jets back home, and he'd never seen an exhaust
cone like that! He longed to stop and inspect this ship more closely, but the
stranger was already at the outer lock of the ship. Quickly Tuck moved to the
crane, started up, and then waited for the lock to empty and open again, a hard
core of fear in his mind. Finally the door swung open; in a moment he stepped
into the corridor of the ship, and then stopped short in surprise.
The
stranger was not a man, but a youth, hardly older than himself, a stout,
muscular fellow who seemed to be attempting to take the ship by storm, in the
face of two very angry crewmen. As the lock closed, Tuck saw one of them motion
toward the lock, gun in hand, saying, "I told you they're in conference,
and they left orders that they weren't to be disturbed under any circumstances.
Now will you get out, or do we have to throw you out?"
"But
I've got to see him," the boy cried.
"Look—it wouldn't hurt you to bang on the door and tell him David is
here—he won't eat you—"
"We've got our
orders—"
"Orders! Bah! What good are orders? You may be dead
in five minutes!" The fellow's excitement was expansive, his voice filling
the corridor. "Look, I'm David Torm—the man in
there is my father. My father,
can't you hear that? I've
got to see him—" Swiftly the boy's voice became wheedling. "What will
it hurt to let me see him for just ten seconds? What can they do to you for
that? Hang you by your toes? Or aren't they doing that on Earth any more? Let me see him, and your commander will be
forever grateful. You'll be the apple of his eye! Just one moment to see my
father, I beg of you—"
The
man, who was growing redder by the minute, nearly exploded at this outburst.
"You move an inch further into this ship, sonny, and you'll be dead."
The boy's eyes flashed angrily, and he shook
his fist in the guard's face. "Hah! You'd not have the nerve to shoot me,
you chicken! I'll see my father if I have to slice your ears off, clod! May
your suit spring a leak, may your airline clog—don't lay a hand on me, or you'll regret it—" The boy's voice rose shrilly, and he ducked
nimbly back when the guard took an angry swipe at his head. Swiftly he turned
to Tuck, his eyes bright. "You! Explain to this dolt, in simple terms, that I've got to see my father
before it's too late!" He stared in utter contempt at the crewman, whose
face had gone purple, then turned his entire attention to Tuck,
as if the man had ceased to exist. "It's urgent," he said quite
seriously. "I must see him."
"Why?"
Tuck eyed the youth coldly, fighting down an impulse to laugh aloud at the
crewman's discomfort. "They're busy. Why can't you wait?"
David
Torm groaned in exasperation, brushing thick blond
hair out of his eyes. His face had the same healthy, weathered look as his
father's, and the eyes were the same startling blue—but this lad's eyes were
quicker, with a twinkle of exuberant mischief in them, not in the least clouded
by his excitement. "I've been trying to explain to this toad over here for
fifteen minutes. There's trouble at the colony. My father must get back as soon
as possible."
"What kind of
trouble?"
The
blue eyes flashed in disgust. "You too? Questions,
always questions! A clordelkus is attacking. He's
chewing up the bubble. In half an hour the colony will be frozen to death.
Can't you see it's urgent?" David didn't even crack a smile.
Tuck just looked at him. "So let it
chew," he said dryly. "Then maybe my father and I can go home."
David
Torm's face lighted up. "So it's your father
he's talking to! Then tell my father I'm here."
Tuck
looked him straight in the eye. "If I thought you'd been telling a word of
truth since you got here, I'd do so gladly. Tell me what the trouble is, and
I'll tell him."
David
threw his hands up in despair. "You Earth people!
You're all alike! Stubborn, like mules." He
stared at Tuck for a moment, then started to bolt on
his helmet again. "If it wouldn't kill you," he said sarcastically,
"perhaps you'd tell my father to get back to the colony without losing a
minute, as soon as he's through talking. I can't wait,
I've got to get back." He started for the lock. "Tell him that Cortell is organizing his group—can you tell him
that?" Without waiting for an answer, he clamped down the faceplate of
the helmet, still muttering under his breath. Tuck stood watching as the lock
door clanged shut, thoroughly confused. Maybe the boy had been serious! There
had been something about those pale blue eyes that had demanded trust. But
then, he was a colonist, and nothing he said could be trusted. Tuck turned
angrily away from the lock. Probably he had come aboard simply to look
around—or maybe he had his pockets stuffed with Murexide
plates. There was no way of telling. And certainly, it wasn't worth taking a
chance.
Impatiently Tuck paced the corridor outside
the room where the men were conferring. They had been talking almost two hours
now, and as the minutes passed, Tuck became more and more uneasy. Perhaps he
should have trusted the boy, accepted his word. Who was Cortell?
And what sort of a group was he organizing? Probably Anson Torm
would know the significance of that. But surely the conference was more
important than anything else. If the mines were to shut down, there would be
real trouble, and soon.
Tuck's
mind drifted back to the blond-haired youth. So Anson Torm
was his father. That meant he must have been born and grown up in the colony.
For an instant a thousand questions flooded Tuck's mind, questions he would
like to ask. And the jet plane—could David possibly have rebuilt it himself? It
would be wonderful to have such a ship, to come and go with as he pleased, just
big enough to use for exploratory jaunts—and especially if he lived on such a
place as Titan, with so much of the surface still a barren, uncharted jungle of
rocks and gorges and black-faced cliffs. But he jerked his thoughts away from
such channels; probably he would never even talk to the fellow again, and
certainly he'd have no chance to try out his plane. There were more important
things to do—
And
then the door to the room flew open, and Colonel Benedict stalked out, his face
white and drawn with anger. He was followed by the tall colony leader. Anson Torm's face looked very tired, and his jaw was set in a
grim line. Tuck stared at the two men, and his heart sank.
The first conference was
over.
Chapter 5Amu,*
n the course of
his eighteen years Tuck Benedict had seen the Colonel in many moods, but he had
never before seen such a combination of anger and distrust on his father's
face. The Colonel stalked into the room, barely nodding to Tuck,
and slapped a sheaf of papers down on the desk furiously. Then he snatched up
the intercom speaker, his hand trembling barely within the limits of
control/'Better get up here, Jim," he snapped to the pilot. "We're
going to the colony."
Tuck
stared at his father, and then at the tall colony leader, his heart sinking.
What could have happened? His father was furious, and Torm
was controlling himself with difficulty, his face white, lips in a tight, grim
line. Neither man spoke; Torm was
struggling into his pressure suit again, the tired wrinkles deeper around his
eyes, an expression of bitterness and disappointment on his face.
Finally
the Colonel turned to the tall colony leader. "You have accommodations for
us at the colony, I presume?" he said coldly.
Torm shrugged. "If you
desire them. You and your son will have to stay in my quarters—there's
no place for guests in the colony. But your crew will have to stay here."
The
Colonel snorted. "They will, all right." He turned sharply to the
pilot who had just come in. "We're leaving for the colony," he said,
his voice regaining some semblance of control. "We'll have a hand radio
with us, of course, and I'd like a man here on the receiver all the time."
The pilot nodded. "Any idea how long—?"
"None in the least. Maybe a day, maybe six weeks.
I couldn't even guess, at this point." He shot a venomous glance at Anson
Torm.
Tuck
watched the men miserably. The conference had been a failure—obviously. He knew
the Colonel had counted on establishing some sort of liaison on the first
meeting, some grounds for understanding— and it appeared that he had failed
utterly. And Torm had said that unless an
understanding was reached, there wouldn't be any mines left to work! Tuck felt
a chill run down his spine. What could he have meant? The colonists wouldn't dare to stop work, to close down the mines—and yet the colonists were violent
—rebels and traitors. They might dare anything. Tuck's heart skipped a beat as
he thought of David Torm's visit to the ship, and his
message suddenly took on a horrible significance. If there had been some plan
made, back at the colony, to start a violent outbreak if the conference was
not successful—Tuck turned to Anson Torm in alarm.
"Your son was here—"
The colony leader lowered his hands from the
suit slowly, staring at Tuck, his pale blue eyes widening. "David? You
mean he came here to the ship?"
Tuck
nodded. "Half an hour ago. He wanted to see you,
but we told him you'd left orders not to be disturbed."
There
was alarm on Anson Torm's face now, and he blinked at
Tuck, and then shot a glance at the Colonel. "What did he want?"
"He
wouldn't tell me. Said there was trouble of some sort back at the colony—"
"Cortell!" The word was like a curse.
Tuck
nodded excitedly. "That's right. He said Cortell
was organizing his group, or something like that, and that you should get back
as soon as possible."
Anson
Torm scowled, his fist clenching at his side.
"Did he say anything else?"
"Nothing
else. He
just left in a hurry."
Torm half-turned to the Colonel, worried lines
furrowing his broad forehead. "This is a horse of a different
color," he said sharply. "I think you'd better let me go in
alone—before you come."
The
Colonel's eyebrows lifted. "Not on your life," he growled. "Not
after the story you've been telling me for the last two hours—"
Anson
Torm's eyes flashed. "Colonel, you've got to trust me. For the sake of the mines,
and for the sake of your own neck. This is something I've got to handle
alone—"
"I'd
say you've handled it rather badly alone." The Colonel's voice lashed angrily.
"Who is this Cortell?"
"I told you about John Cortell. He's a troublemaker, and he's dangerous."
The
Colonel regarded Torm for a long moment. Then he said
coldly, "I thought you were
supposed to be the leader of the colony people."
Torm's mouth tightened. "I am."
"Then
why don't you keep your troublemakers in confinement where they belong?"
"Colonel,
you simply don't understand the situation at the colony—"
"That's
for dead sure!" The Colonel cut him off with a wave of the hand. "I
don't understand a thing you've said all afternoon. And that is precisely why
I'm not going to stay here now. All I've heard is double talk and threats. You
want to keep the mines working, but you don't want to keep the mines working.
You've gotten extra supplies, but you haven't gotten extra supplies. You're the
colony leader, but you can't lead the colony! Bah!" The Colonel's face was
red with anger. "I want to know what's going on out here, and I've had
nothing but nonsense handed to me. Now I want the facts. If there's trouble in
the colony that you can't control, we'll see what the trouble is, and we'll see
if we can't control it."
"You're determined to
go in with me?"
"I am indeed."
Torm shrugged his shoulders, angrily. "Then
you'd better hurry, because I'm going in as fast as I can get there." He
turned back to the pressure suit, and Tuck was almost startled to see the
whiteness of his face.
The
Colonel turned to Tuck, his voice quieter. "Maybe you'd better stay, if
there's likely to be trouble—"
"If
there's trouble, you'll need help," Tuck protested. "Anyway, they
won't dare harm us—not with the crew as close as it is,
and you with Security credentials—"
The Colonel frowned for a moment, then nodded. "All right. But
you'd better be quick about it—"
A
few moments later they were standing in the lock, waiting as atmosphere hissed
out of the exhaust pumps until the outer door sprang open. The crane grated
shrilly as they descended, and Tuck felt his blood stir as they approached the
ground. Now, at last, he would be seeing this strange colony for himself. The
people who lived in a bubble! He shook his head, still puzzled that people
would choose to live in such a time-forgotten outpost. What could be driving
them? And yet, he knew, they seldom came back to Earth, once they had worked on
Titan. Occasionally they came back, looking for work, applying to the schools,
or just vacationing, but almost invariably a Titan colonist who came back to
Earth for any reason was back on the next ship out to Titan again. Of course,
everyone knew that they were poor workmen, shifty and lazy and treacherous,
and nobody on Earth wanted to hire a man who knew nothing but how to keep
methane out of a mining tunnel, and there probably wasn't a person in the
colony who could qualify for entrance requirements at an Earthside
University—and with their long history of treachery and violence, who wanted
them back on Earth anyway? They couldn't even run their own tiny colony
without constant fighting and revolutionary outbreaks —what place could they
find in the civilized society back on Earth?
The
three of them reached the floor of the crater, and stepped off the crane,
clambering into the cockpit of the half-track. The motor started, and the vehicle
gave a lurch, and rolled in a wide arc, crawling over the ragged terrain like a
short, stubby worm, absorbing the bumps and declevities
with the pillow tires and the caterpillar treads that gave the thing its
driving power. Tuck caught a brief glimpse of the tall, slender ship, and then
it disappeared as the halftrack made a complete circle and started up toward
the first ridge of crags. Tuck felt a sudden pang of uneasiness pass through
him. At least in the ship there had been a certain degree of safety. But beyond
that ridge of rocks—who could say? It was no use fooling himself.
They were leaving their safety behind.
He
heard his father's voice in the earphones, a startling sound, as though the
Colonel were speaking directly into his ear. "Did the boy say what Cortell was trying to organize?"
"Not
a word. He clammed up the minute I asked. Maybe you should ask Mr. Torm. He seems to know what his son was talking
about."
Anson Torm threw a
glance at Tuck, then met the Colonel's cold eyes.
"I think you'll want to find out for yourself," he said coolly. "John
Cortell is powerful—and he's getting more powerful
every day. He
has a lot of the colonists on his side, and he wants open revolt with Earth. I've been trying to tell you for the past two hours that the colonists
have reached the end of their tether out here. They want some changes made, and
they're going to have those changes. And if they find out that you've come here
without any idea of making changes, I can't
vouch for what will happen."
The
Colonel raised his eyebrows in exasperation. "And as I told you, Security can't consider making changes unless we know exactly
what is going on in this colony. All the Earth asks is the colonists' cooperation—nothing
more."
Torm
snorted. "Co-operation! The Earth doesn't want
co-operation, the Earth wants slaves! We've cooperated to the limit, and we've
been slapped in the face every time. We've dealt squarely with Earth, and
they've cheated us and betrayed us and degraded us—"
"And
I suppose that these smuggled supplies are part
of your policy of dealing squarely with Earth?"
Torm's
face was white. "You've been given the wrong information about our
supplies. That's all I can say." He swung the wheel of the
half-track sharply to avoid a huge rock, and the car shook as if every bolt
were about to fall loose.
The
Colonel's eyes were dark. "I'm
afraid that answer won't do this time, Torm.
Security made the investigation this time, in duplicate—two separate groups
working independently, checking shipping orders, receipts, invoices; checking
rocket schedules and loading lists and everything else. They both came up with
the same
results. Oh, the shipping was
well concealed—changing suppliers every
couple of years, filling duplicate orders—always
above quota, extra supplies. No colony
in the
Universe would need the supplies this colony has been
piling in for the last
hundred years—"
Torm looked straight at
Colonel Benedict, and his face was
grave. "But I tell you
in all
truth that we've received nothing in
this colony that we don't
need— for survival."
"You mean
you need
food enough to feed twice
your population?" the Colonel
snapped. "What are you doing to
that food? Are you trying
to tell
me that
just working these mines
requires almost double the normal food supply?"
"I repeat—we have
received nothing that we don't
need—for
survival." It seemed to
Tuck that the
colony leader placed an emphasis on
the last
two words.
"And you must remember that the
men are
working, they spend their days in
physical labor, they
need more food than the average
Earthman. And you aren't dealing
with the same conditions here as on Earth.
We have atmosphere leaks to plague
us, we
have contamination problems.
When food gets contaminated with some of the natural
bacterial flora here, or when
our hydroponics are thrown out of balance
by natural
fungi, we can't take
any chances.
We have
to throw
out all we have
that may have been contaminated,
or run the risk of a
plague, or of no oxygen
to breathe—"
"And I suppose
your people eat metal, Mr. Torm? I suppose they
eat tool
steel? Or does the strange
Titan atmosphere make your tools and machinery
more prone to breakage?"
The
colony leader gripped the steering bar heavily, not even answering. The
half-track reached the top of the grade, and for a brief moment they could see
the colony, far ahead, a small, grayish, glasslike bubble, sitting down in a
valley between two long lines of jagged peaks. Tuck stared, open-mouthed at the
picture, until the half-track went over the ridge and started bumping and
jogging down the other side, down a sharp ravine of jagged rock. Torm picked his way carefully, partly following the path
that had been worn by generations of supply trains crossing the rocks to the
colony, partly moving aside from the path to avoid boulders of black rock which
had fallen onto the path from the vibrations. The whole landscape had a
strange, uncertain appearance; the rocks did not look stable, they did not
appear solid and timeless like the jutting slabs of rock Tuck had seen during
his summer climbing adventures in the Rocky Mountains on Earth. These rocks
looked sharp, precariously balanced; they jutted up stark and barren, leaning
crazily, looking for all the world as if they had been dropped there, quite
suddenly, by some celestial hand, and then stopped in motion before they had a
chance to roll. The half-track struck one of the boulders near the path a
glancing blow, and then Torm slammed on the brakes as
the boulder went crashing down the slope before them, bouncing like a huge,
crazy black ball until it struck the bottom, bringing down a shower of pebbles
and debris after it. Without a word Torm started the
machine again, lumbering carefully down the slope. About a mile ahead was a
narrow cleft or gorge between two cliffs; the half-track rumbled toward it.
Then,
quite suddenly, the men heard an unearthly screech in their ears, and the
little jet plane zoomed in close over them, turned a flip, and zoomed back,
still closer. The Colonel stared at the plane as it skimmed over, not twenty
feet above them, and then turned to Torm in alarm. "What
was that?"
Torm
frowned, staring through the plexiglass panel at the
little plane as it made a graceful arc in the sky, and raced down in front of
them, zigzagging across their path. "That's odd," he said.
"That's my son's ship. An old lifeboat he begged off one of the supply
ships and rebuilt for an exploring scooter. But I don't know what he's trying to do—"
The
ship was indeed behaving most oddly. It swooped down swiftly, coming so close
that the men in the half-track gripped their supports, half-expecting it to
crash into their top; then it whizzed over and sped for a hundred yards or so
down along the valley floor before them, zigzagging across their path as
"before. The huge cleft between the cliffs ahead was closer now, and the
half-track lumbered along the path, with the little jet doing its strange
maneuverings ahead of them as they went.
"What
is he trying to do—signal us?" The Colonel was half out of his seat as the
plane zoomed overhead again.
Torm shook his head. "I—I don't think so.
He'd drop a flare if he wanted us to stop—"
"Well, he's going to
kill us—look
at that!"
The
plane almost struck the valley floor that time. Torm's
breath hissed between his teeth, and his foot slammed down on the brake as the
little jet plunged down to what appeared almost certain disaster; then, quite
suddenly, it lifted itself again, and zipped up high through the gorge ahead. Torm muttered something under his breath, his face dark.
"He's crazy!" the
Colonel breathed.
"He's
up to something." Torm shook his head again as the half-track skidded down a bank toward
the gorge. "He's a skillful flier, but he knows better than
that."
"But what—" The plane had circled
around and made another run through the cleft, somewhat lower, and on less of
an angle than the first.
Tuck
had been staring at the plane silently for several minutes. "Looks to me
like he's scouting the path for us!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Didn't
you see that? He's cutting in as low as he dares, and zigzagging along the
floor—"
"But that's
ridiculous. There's nothing—"
The
Colonel leaned forward sharply. "Tuck's right," he said. "He is scouting—"
The
little jet had just made another run through the cleft, not a hundred yards
ahead of them, and started down into the valley below. Then, almost as an afterthought,
David brought the ship up high, and raced over behind the half-track. With a
whine the ship skimmed along the ravine, quite low, and then zoomed down until
it almost touched the ground; suddenly it swung directly into the half-track's
path, and buzzed through the gorge ahead of them, not four feet off the ground—
And
on the tail of the jet there was a blinding, purple flash, and a huge roar, and
the entire gorge went up in a fury of purple fire and gray-white smoke. In
horrible slow-motion, the cliffs on either side of the gorge crumbled from the
concussion, heaping tons of rock down into the pathway, in the exact spot where
the half-track would have been just a few minutes later. The concussion wave
caught the jet as it zipped through, and the little plane went into a series of
sickening rolls, then panned out and slid into a crash landing somewhere
behind the pillar of fire and smoke that was rising from the gorge—
Torm slammed on his brakes, and shoved the halftrack
into reverse, his face white as putty. Frantically he backed the machine away
from the pillar of fury in the gorge and started it up a flanking path, up a
sharp declivity that would take it around the gorge to the right. Tuck held on
with both hands as the halftrack clambered up the unbroken path, engines roaring,
bouncing all its occupants about the inside like dolls in a box, but Anson Torm wrestled the steering bar, gunning the machine as fast
as he could make it go. At the top of the rock he slowed, spotted the scooter
lying with a crumpled wing and a split-open jet, on the floor of the gorge
below the place of the explosion. Torm turned the
half-track in that direction, and it roared on down
the hill. All three of them watched the wreck, but there was no sign of life
from the little scooter. It seemed a lifetime as the half-track made its way
down; as they came closer, Tuck felt his stomach muscles tighten. Somehow,
David must have known that an ambush might be planned to destroy the half-track
as it returned from the ship; when he'd not been allowed to see his father, he
had waited, then scouted the pathway for them as they made their way back to
the colony. Tuck suddenly felt sick—David had been telling the truth, there on
the ship! And Tuck had had to pick that time to be stuffy and suspicious. And
he had thought himself very clever the way he had handled the flamboyant
visitor! Quite suddenly and incredibly, as they moved down toward the wreckage
of the jet plane, Tuck felt deeply ashamed. The blond-haired lad had had the courage
to risk his own life to save them from a trap— and now he was down there in the
smashed jet—
They
reached an outcropping above the jet scooter, and Torm
was out of the half-track in an instant. The Colonel and Tuck followed, staring
at the crumpled wing and smashed-in undercarriage of the little ship. And then,
even as they approached, the cockpit flew open, and David appeared, moving
feebly, dragging himself up out of the seat. Torm let out a
cry, and helped him down to the ground, checking his helmet for leaks as the
boy muttered incoherently. Then David's knees buckled under him, and
they eased him down to the ground.
"It's unbelievable," Torm said, his voice choking.
"He's alive. And no bones broken—probably just a
slight concussion." He motioned toward the half-track, and together they
carried the youth, pressure suit and all, into the cab of the machine, made a
place for him on the floor behind the seats where some oilcans had been stored.
They were silent; as they moved the lad, the anger in Anson Torm's
face grew like a gathering storm. "They did it this time," he
muttered as he took his place behind the controls of the half-track. "They
went a step too far this time. If it hadn't been for David they'd have gotten
all of us—"
The
Colonel stared at Torm, wide-eyed, and there was
bewilderment on his face. "I don't get this," he said. "I can
see somebody ambushing us—Tuck and me —but you were in this half-track too—"
Torm's eyes were filled with bitter anger. "A
remarkable observation," he said sourly. "Now maybe you'll believe
me when I tell you I'm on your side. This was well-planned—magnetic fuse on a
land mine, so that anything metallic that came into that gorge would be gone. Beautiful. Even David missed it, until he brought the
scooter in at the same level as the halftrack. And it was supposed to kill two
birds with one stone." He turned a bitter grin toward the Colonel and
Tuck. "Or maybe I should say three birds—"
"And you know who
planted the trap?"
Torm looked up again,
and his eyes were not pleasant. "Yes, I know who did it. And I know what
to do about it. I think it's time for a showdown with John Cortell."
Chapter 6 The Prisoner
r |
tE colony lay
tight and compact in the long, shallow valley between the two parallel lines
of black, jagged peaks. A queer, bulbous, glistening bubble of heavy plexiglass surrounded the entire outpost like an alien
cocoon. Tuck stared at the huge bubble wonderingly as the half-track rumbled
the last hundred yards down the grade toward the entrance lock. "You mean
that that plastic stuff covers the entire colony?"
Anson
Torm nodded grimly. "Every crack and leak is
sealed off with the stuff, or with the plastic gum we use to seal off and caulk
leaks. Remember, we're human beings—we're not equipped to live and breathe in a
methane atmosphere at 250 degrees below zero." He swung the half-track
around a heap of rocks, and rumbled up to the opening of the lock. Tuck peered
with excitement through the glimmering sheathing. The pale sun was almost below
the horizon, and the colony bubble caught the dim, ghostly light of Saturn, now
almost directly overhead. Inside the dome Tuck could see the pale electric
lights beginning to glow,
brightening the drab interior as much as anything could
brighten the dreary place. The half-track moved into the lock, and Torm began loosening his pressure-suit helmet almost at
once, the anger still black on his tired face. Suddenly the inner lock-hatch
opened with a loud ping, and the half-track moved forward until the door could
close behind it. Torm threw open the top, and sprang
out onto the ground.
Tuck
followed Torm out, holding up a hand to help his
father, his eyes taking in the street in all its details. It was a strange
street; the lock opened into a large, clear area, faced by a long, low building
of rock and wood that looked like a troops' barracks.
The clearing stretched out to the left and right in a rough unpaved road that
curved around, following the course of the curved dome. And lining the road on
both sides were strange-looking buildings, mostly thrown together of black
stones and coarse mortar—buildings doubly strange because they seemed to have
no roofs. The rock walls rose eight or ten feet in the air to end in jagged
wall-like tops; on a few Tuck could see brightly colored woven blankets and
painted canvas thrown across the tops, but many had nothing of the sort, and
through one open door Tuck could see the bright dome shining through from
above.
Near
the lock, one of the buildings had a large porchlike
arrangement, and signs were posted on the black walls—obviously a trading post
or store. Several men and women were gathered on the porch, staring at Tuck and
his father with dark, suspicious eyes, and a group of children were chattering
and pointing. Then a small, deeply tanned man broke from the group and ran
across the clearing toward them. He ignored the Earthmen as if they weren't
there, and turned to Anson Torm excitedly. "What
happened, Anson? We heard a blast—"
Torm nodded to the man, and gestured toward Tuck
and his father. "The Earth delegation, Ned.
Colonel Robert Benedict and his son, Tucker. This is Ned Miller."
The
little colonist looked up at the Colonel and Tuck with sharp brown eyes, as if
he were trying to penetrate a veil; then he sniffed in disgust and turned back
to Torm. "Now I think that's real nice," he
said sourly. "But what—" His eye caught sight of the boy in the back
of the half-track. "Anson! That's David— what
happened, man?"
They
helped David out of the cab onto the ground, where he lay, still limp. The man
called Ned Miller galvanized into frantic action, waving a couple of the men
over, shouting for a stretcher. "We heard the blast half an hour
ago," he said excitedly. "We expected David to be back with some
news, but he didn't come. Is he hurt bad?"
"Not
bad. Concussion, or maybe just shaken up a little." He turned to one of
the men. "Send over word to Doc Taber, and ask him to come running, will
you?"
"But what
happened?" Ned Miller asked again.
Torm's face darkened as he stood up. "Ambush. One of the mining charges,
with a magnetic fuse. David must have gotten wind of it, somehow. He
came over in the Snooper,
and scouted it out for us—
over in Carter's gorge. Didn't touch us, but the concussion wave got the Snooper and David."
Ned
Miller scowled, rubbing his grizzled chin. "Cortell,"
he said.
"Who
else?
But there's no proof."
"Proof,
bah!" Miller exploded, his brown eyes snapping. "Cortell
couldn't wait for you to get out of here this morning. He and about ten men had
a meeting, a quarter of an hour after you left, and half a dozen of his boys
were out of the mines this afternoon."
Torm nodded angrily. "Send Martz and Darly to get Cortell down to the
convention room, and pronto. Legal order. We'll be
down there in a few minutes, and we want him there. And if he doesn't want to
come, break his legs and then bring him."
Miller's
eyes were worried. "There'll be trouble, Anson. Unless you and the Colonel
got farther than I think you did—"
"There'll
be trouble, all right. But there isn't much we can do about it now. This thing
has got to stop." He turned to find the short, balding figure of the
colony's doctor kneeling beside David.
"What about it,
Doc?"
The
doctor examined the boy's head carefully. "Better get X-rays. I wouldn't
worry, but he'll be down at the infirmary for a couple of days. Check with me
later."
Anson
nodded, and turned to Tuck and the Colonel. Together, they started across the
clearing into the long, low building that faced them.
It was a barracks, on either side of the
large common room—the quarters of the former military contingent, now used as
a storehouse. But in the rear were stone steps, leading down
in a long spiral. Anson Torm snapped on
lights, his face still tense with anger, and they started down. A number of the
colonists were in the common room reading, and a few waved at Anson as they
passed through—but there were no smiles when they saw Torm's
company. At the bottom of the stairs they found themselves in a huge
underground excavation, filled with rude seats, with a desk and chair at the
front, and a massive wall of files. Anson Torm nodded
Tuck and the Colonel into seats, then seated himself at the table, and waited,
drumming his hand on the table top in impatient anger. The hall was dark, and
very silent. There was room here to seat every one of the colonists, man,
woman, and child, but now the room was empty. Yet, if he listened closely, Tuck
could hear more clearly the strange, rumbling noise he had heard up above,
coming from far underground —a persistent sound that never dropped nor rose,
and almost became a part of the background of the place. Probably pumps, Tuck
reasoned—or maybe mining machinery. Whatever it was, it only added to the gloom
of the place. Tuck shifted uneasily, wishing the stillness were not so complete.
Finally
Colonel Benedict broke the silence. He turned to Anson Torm
questioningly. "What do you propose to do with this Cortell
person when he gets here?"
Torm turned his angry eyes to the Earthman. "I don't know," he said slowly.
"You mean you'd let him get away with
something like this?" The Colonel's eyes were wide. "Like what?"
"Like an ambush. Like
attempted murder." The Colonel's voice was tense.
Torm stared at him tiredly. "I may have no
choice. I am the elected leader of this colony—nothing more. I have the
position of judiciary—the power to select juries and the power to make final
judgments in judicial matters of law. And since I've held this position, I've
studied Earth law and colony law for a long, long time." The big man
shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "Unfortunately, in all this time
and study, I've not yet found any justification for condemning a man with no
evidence against him."
"But
everyone here seems to know that it was Cortell who
planted the trap—or at least Cortell's men—"
"This may very well be
true. But it's not proof."
The
Colonel drummed the table top impatiently. "And yet, from a very selfish
viewpoint, that was a deliberate attempt on my life—nothing
more nor less. I'm here with a job to do—and I intend to see it done, if I have
to take Cortell, and you, and everyone else involved
in the little plot and place them under Earth arrest for high treason."
Torm looked at the Colonel for a long moment,
studying his face, a look of puzzlement in the colony leader's eyes. "You
forget one thing," he said finally. "It was an attempt on my life, too. And it nearly killed my son."
"But why on your life?"
Anson Torm leaned
forward, his eyes square on the Colonel's face. "How well do you know the
history of this colony?"
"Quite well, I should
say—"
"Security Commission
records, no doubt."
The
Colonel reddened. "Among other source materials.
What are you getting at?"
"It
was started as a prison, this colony," Torm
said. "That was a hundred and fifty years ago. A place where criminals
against Earth society were sent, a deathtrap, a modern-world Devil's Island if
you wish— You've heard of that place, I presume? Not a fair comparison,
really—at least those poor creatures had Earth sky and Earth sea—" The big
man's eyes grew wistful for just a moment. "But back when the colony here
was started, ruthenium wasn't so critical to Earth economy. As time went on,
Earth authorities began to realize that they didn't dare leave the mining of their ruthenium up to criminals and cutthroats, so
they recruited workers, made the mines a free colony, and started the mining
system that we have here now—"
"This
is all very interesting," the Colonel said. "But I repeat—what are
you driving at?"
Tuck
watched the colony leader closely. He felt the awkwardness between the two men
quite acutely. And strangely, as he listened, the doubts which had been
creeping into his mind since his first sight of the big man's face on the ship
became stronger. It seemed incredible that this quiet voice, this stern face
with the lines of worry and compassion engraved over the years, could be the
voice and face of an outlaw and a liar. And yet he knew, even thinking it
otherwise was foolhardy. There had been two vicious attacks, there was violence
in the very air of this strange colony, and this big, sandy-haired man was the
leader here. Or at least, he claimed to be—
Torm held up his hand. "Patience, Colonel.
Think about history for a minute. Earth made Titan a free colony, which was
very fine—except that the people on Earth could never forget that it was
originally a prison colony. Ruthenium became more and more necessary to the
growing luxury on Earth, and this colony became more and more vital—and the
people on Earth grew more and more afraid of us who worked in the mines. They
were afraid of the power we might assume, they were afraid we might someday
grow too strong. So, you see, they took steps to see that we would never grow
too strong. Very gradually, very skillfully, they turned propaganda on Earth
against us —propaganda deliberately planned to degrade us as human beings,
planned to lower our status, planned to make people on Earth more afraid of us,
to make them regard us as slaves, half-animals, rebels—'
Colonel
Benedict stared at the colony leader. "You're expecting me to believe
this?"
"You
should believe it," Torm replied softly.
"Your own Earth Security Commission has engineered it for years—"
"The
Commission is responsible for the security of people on Earth—nothing more.
They hardly have the time to set themselves up as persecutors. There's been
trouble in this colony for years—you know that as well as I. Time after time Earth delegations have come out here, trying to reach a
ground for peace and co-operation. Time after time they've been met with
treachery and hatred."
"That
is not true, Colonel. You have been afraid of us, and naturally we have grown
to fear you, too. After all, Earth has the power to starve us, to smother us,
to slaughter us, if they wish." The colony leader stood up,
walked back and forth in the still room. "We know that. We're helpless out
here, alone, utterly dependent on Earth's regular supplies. But we have always
known how much Earth needs ruthenium. Of course they have never done us
physical harm—but there are other things that can destroy people, Colonel. Men
must be able to keep their self-respect, and the respect of the people they
live with. And slowly, over the years, we've been down-graded in the eyes of
Earth people. Oh, nothing deliberate or premeditated—but we've lost our status
as citizens in the Solar System. Promises have been broken, supply quotas have
been lowered, higher and higher production has been expected, and every year
our position as citizens falls, and fear builds up, and we go through the
vicious circle again."
Tuck
stared at Torm, hardly believing his ears. This was
seditious talk; this was treason—yet his father sat calmly, without even
lifting a finger to stop the man. Finally, when Torm
had finished, the Colonel said, "Let's get to the point, Mr. Torm. Where does Cortell come
into this?"
Torm shrugged. "The people of the colony
have taken all they're going to take. They've had enough for decades, but they
never had anyone smart enough to lead them, or think for them. But Cortell is a clever man—far more clever than I am, Colonel.
He knows how to use propaganda and back-street whispers. He's an incendiary,
third generation in this colony, and he hates Earth and Earthmen. There are
many people here who have been listening to his talk, more and more, and he's
set about deliberately to undermine my power as leader. My power is traditional
here, and it's elective. And Cortell pretends to
believe that by open revolt the colony can win against Earth, and dictate its
own terms—"
The Colonel jerked back in his chair, staring.
"Open revolt—you mean armed warfare against Earth?"
"Precisely."
"Why, that's
ridiculous! The Earth could—"
"The
Earth could bring its bombing rockets and wipe out the colony in an hour,"
said Torm quietly. "But it would be too late,
because Cortell could do his work much more quickly
than Earth could move. Because the first step in open revolt, as Cortell sees it, would be to break open the mining tunnels,
flood the mines with methane, and then set a match to it—" The colony
leader looked up slowly. "Methane and oxygen explode," he said
softly. "They explode with such violence that no one would ever again be
able to operate these mines."
Colonel Benedict chewed his lip. Then he
looked up at Torm. "And where do you
stand?"
Torm shrugged. "I'm tired, Colonel. I've
been fighting him for five years—ever since he started his move for power.
He's been working up hatred for Earth, whipping the colonists to the edge of
revolt, undermining my power every way he can. He thinks the colony could win
such a revolt. I know they can't." He looked straight at the Colonel, and
his face was white. "There is only one way to reinstate this colony in
Earth society as a unit with full rights and privileges—only one way short of
violence. And that way is to work together, my people and your people, in
mutual trust. But to me, you're an Earthman, and I don't believe a word you
say, not one. And I won't, until you give me some reason to. I've been kicked
by Earthmen once too often. I'm not going to be kicked again."
Colonel
Benedict took a deep breath. "Well, we can discuss this at length later.
It looks to me as if you'd better turn Cortell over
before we do anything."
"Cortell will be accused and tried in the Titan colony, by a
jury of Titan colonists. Not on the Earth ship, and not back on Earth—"
The colony leader's voice was cut off by a commotion on the stairs. There was a
scuffle of feet, and two burly miners appeared, half-dragging a third man
between them. They marched the man across the floor to the desk, then released
him, and stood nearby, grimly. "He didn't want to come, Anson," one
of the men said sourly. "Didn't seem to think he wanted to see you."
The
captive glared at them, then turned his sharp little eyes to Anson Torm. He was a man of medium height, thin and wiry, and he
stood like a cornered wildcat, his brown hair disheveled, thin lips drawn back
over sharp yellow teeth. When he spoke, his voice was nasal, and hissed through
his teeth, as though he were out of breath. "You'll be sorry for this, Torm—you have no warrant to drag me around like this—"
Torm sat back in the chair and blinked up at the
man. "There was a land mine in Carter's gorge," he said, his rich
bass voice almost conversational. "It wasn't there when the half-track
went out to the ship. It was there
when it came back."
A
nasty grin spread over John CorteU's face. "A
pity it didn't get you and these Earth dogs you call your friends—"
Torm rose slowly from the desk, his eyes blazing,
and slapped Cortell sharply across the mouth.
"It did get my son," he grated. "And these Earth dogs are no
more friends of mine than yours. But if they're harmed, the whole colony will
suffer—"
Cortell rubbed his mouth, glaring at Torm. "What do you want with me?"
"You and your men laid
the mine."
"Really? You have proof of that, of course?"
"Where
were you when the half-track left for the ship this afternoon?"
"I was in Smogi's
having a drink and waiting for my shift to come due." The grin returned to
CorteU's face. "Any more
questions? Or are you ready to go back to selling out the colony to
these toads?"
Slowly
Torm sat back in his chair. His whole body was
shaking almost uncontrollably. He found a small printed form in one of the desk
drawers, laid it on the table, and started to write. "You're under arrest,
John," he said softly. "For attempted murder and
treason against the colony. You'll be held for trial,
and exportation to Earth if you're convicted." He nodded to the guards.
"Take him to his quarters, and post a double guard. There'll be a hearing
in public tomorrow. And no visitors—"
John
Cortell's face went white with rage, and he flew at Torm, slamming his fist down on the desk top. "You
don't have proof," he screamed. "You can't prove a thing against me,
and when you get through, see how
long you last as leader of this colony! Just wait!" Cor-tell turned and stalked for the door, with
the guards on his heels.
Torm turned to the Colonel, still vibrating with
anger. "And as for you, Colonel, I think you'd better start facing facts
for a change, you and your Earth people. I'm fighting a battle here to keep a real fire from starting in this colony, but I'm losing it. I can't fight it
by myself much longer."
Colonel Benedict's eyes were cold. "I
have only one job here—to make certain that the supply of ruthenium for Earth
is not jeopardized. I'm afraid I'm not much interested in your petty internal
struggles for power. They don't interest me except where they affect the supply
from the mines."
"Then you won't
co-operate with me?"
"Before I can do anything, I need to see
the whole picture here in the colony," the Colonel snapped. "So far,
an attack has been made on my life and that of my son, and I'm afraid that I
can't trust you, either, Mr. Torm. Not with the
record you have behind you on this colony. I'm afraid the problems here will
have
to be settled on Earth terms, regardless of how
the colony feels." He turned to Tuck, and took a deep breath. "Right
now, I think we'd better see to getting settled in quarters."
Torm stared at them for a long moment, and for
the briefest second Tuck thought he saw a light of weary desperation in the big
man's eyes. Then finally he stood up, hardly looking at the Colonel and Tuck,
and silently led them toward the stairs.
Chapter 7Revolt!
I |
uck awoke with
a jerk in the semidarkness of the little room. He sat up sharply, the whisper
of a very unpleasant dream still drifting in his mind. For a moment of panic he
wondered where he was; then he saw the crude gray concrete wall curved in over
the bed at a sharp angle, and the brightly painted canvas ceiling of the Torms' cabin. He stood up on the cold, uneven floor, and
felt every joint in his body scream in protest. He whacked the rough sleeping
pallet with his fist, then wrung his hand until the
pain went away. This was a bed? A horizontal board covered by a lumpy
plastic-covered mattress which couldn't have been an inch thick anywhere! Tuck
groaned, and reached for his clothes, glancing over at his father's sleeping
place. It was empty; the Colonel must have slept even worse than he had! And
yet, there was an edge of worry that nibbled at Tuck's mind, and he started
rapidly to dress.
Details
of the previous evening began to return. There was the conference with Anson Torm the night before—and there was the prisoner. Tuck's
gloom deep-
ened. There was a man to watch out for! His
mind's eye held a sharp picture of the twisted, bitter face of John Cortell as he had strode away with a guard on either side.
Both the Colonel and Torm had been angry at the end
of that meeting, so angry that they barely had spoken on the way from the
meeting room. Tuck recalled his own feeling of futility and helplessness as he
had followed the two men down the rough road to the small, hutlike
cabin that Torm called his home. It was
wrong—everything was wrong. From the first meeting with Torm,
something had been awry, some aura of deadly suspicion in the air, yet think as
he would, Tuck could not pinpoint it. Torm had shown
them their room, and then had left them to their own devices while he went to
meet his wife at the infirmary, and to see David.
"But
Dad, you didn't even listen
to him," Tuck had
protested as he and his father started unpacking their bags. "I know that
we have to be careful, but he was telling the truth, Dad—"
The
Colonel sat down, head in his hand. "I wish I could believe that, but I
just can't."
"But can't you meet
him halfway?"
"There's
too much at stake to meet them halfway, son. You heard what Torm
said tonight."
Tuck
nodded eagerly. "Yes, I did—and if it's true, it makes things add up. The
rumors, the ambush in the gorge—"
"How about the bomb in the letter? How about the smuggled supplies? No, there
are too many things that don't add
up."
Tuck sobered. "It's just wrong, somehow.
There's something wrong, something we don't know."
"I
know. But just suppose the colony is planning
a revolt, open warfare, real trouble. And then, before they're fully prepared,
they get word that we are coming out to investigate. They have agents back on
Earth, agents who have been arranging the smuggled shipments for years.
Suppose they made a desperate attempt on my life, before I even left
Earth—"
"Well, somebody did.
But it didn't work."
The
Colonel's face hardened. "It would have
worked. It was a chance in a million that you happened to be home and detect the
letter. But you were, so we arrive here. And what happens? Torm
appears at the ship, and spends two hours stalling me with denials and
accusations. Suppose they need time—maybe just a day or so more to prepare themselves completely for a revolt. Suppose it's essential
to keep us calmed down, out of their hair. What do they do? They carefully
stage an ambush, to throw suspicion away from Torm
onto a scapegoat. So then, according to the little scenario they've prepared,
I'm supposed to confide in Torm, trust him
implicitly, tell him everything he wants to know, and they throw the scapegoat
in jail so it looks like the trouble is under control, and everything is just
rosy—until the rest of the colony has time to finish preparations. And then,
boom! Just like that." The Colonel looked up at
his son, a twinkle in his eyes. "They're clever, Tuck. They're got the
scenario all planned out just perfectly. Only your old man isn't going along
with the scenario quite as it was planned—"
"You—you really think this has just been
an elaborate cover-up?"
The Colonel shrugged. "I don't know.
We're dealing with desperate men."
"You
think Anson Torm could be a party to a scheme of that
sort?" Tuck stared at his father.
The
Colonel stood up, slowly. "You like the man, don't you?"
Tuck's
eyes dropped. "I know. I shouldn't, I suppose. It—it doesn't seem right.
But I can't help it."
"Well,
I'll tell you a little secret, son." The Colonel's eyes were sad. "I
like him, too. And that's what's going to be toughest of all. Because I think
he's lying in his teeth, and I just don't dare take a chance that he
isn't."
They
had finished unpacking then, and when the Torms
returned there was little conversation. Tuck had not realized how extremely
hungry he was, and he watched Mrs. Torm
silently from the corner as she prepared the simple meal, and set it down on
the table for them. She was a small, quiet woman, looking far
older than her years, her face creased with anxiety, and she watched the men
with sad, weary eyes, as they ate in silence. Twice she tried unsuccessfully to
start pleasant conversation, only to see it dwindle. Finally she said, "I
know that there was trouble on the way here, Colonel, and I'm sorry. But I
will not have fighting and bitterness carried into my house. There's enough of
that in the streets and mines. I want love and friendship in my house."
She smiled suddenly, looking years younger. "We have visitors from Earth
so seldom. Perhaps you could tell us how things are—back on Earth."
It had been easier, after that. Tuck had
joined his father in an account of the new things that had happened back home.
The meal was plain, but prepared by an expert hand, and they found the
atmosphere in the house at the end of the meal quite different than before the
meal. Finally the Colonel brought out his pipe and filled it, then offered the
pouch to Anson. The old man's eyes lighted, and he
went to a cabinet against the wall, dug deep on a shelf, and came out with an
old, old pipe, cracked and blackened with age. "My father's," he
said, as he filled it. "Tobacco doesn't come to us very often—there's
little room for it on the cargo ships."
The
Colonel turned to Mrs. Torm. "And
David? How is the boy?"
"He
was resting when we saw him. The doctor said there weren't any broken bones or
concussion. It just shook him up, but he'll have to stay there a few days, just
to make sure—"
Tuck
sighed, almost audibly, making a mental note to inquire the way to the
infirmary first thing next morning. They had talked on about Earth until very
late; then Tuck and his father had retired to their cubicle, set back from the
main room of the hut and closed off with a coarse blanket.
"Sorry
we can't give you more privacy, but walls are expensive to build," Torm had said apologetically. "Someday we'll have real
houses here, I hope. For the time being, I guess you'll be tired enough to
sleep."
And now, as Tuck put on his shoes, he wished
he had been. Instead of sleeping, he had tossed and turned, his mind spinning
over the previous day's events. His father and Torm
hadn't spoken of the affairs of the colony all evening, and had seemed almost
to be warming toward each other. Yet Tuck couldn't erase his father's words
from his mind. They
are clever men, desperate men, and this may just be part of their plan. For hours he had turned the situation over in
his mind, and then had sunk into an uneasy sleep, no closer to the answer than
before—
Once
dressed, he pushed back the blanket and strode into the main room. The pale
morning light was streaming in the open door, and Mrs. Torm
was busy in the far end of the room that served as a kitchen. She smiled and
nodded him to a table. "You're deserted. Your father and Anson left just
after daybreak. They're going to tour the mines and check the production
schedules today—"
"But they're up so
early!"
"You'll
have to get used to the short nights—you slept eight hours, and our nights are
only six hours long." She set Tuck's breakfast plate down before him.
"You'll find it getting dark long before you expect it, too, until you get
accustomed to it. The days are shorter." She poured out the milk
concentrate and dried, pressed bacon in front of him. The food had a strange look; Tuck tasted it hesitantly, then tore into it like a hungry
bear. It seemed like the most delicious breakfast he had ever eaten.
Mrs.
Torm left before he had finished, brushing her hair
back from her tired face. She explained that she was responsible for the
trading post store three days out of six. Tuck finished breakfast slowly,
taking in every detail of the rude cabin that he had missed in his weariness
the night before. Once again he was struck by the simplicity, the absence of
any of the little decorations and refinements that were to be found in every
college dormitory room, or every apartment at home. At the far end of the room
hung the only picture in the whole place—a gray, faded photograph of a large,
strong-faced man, bearing a striking resemblance to Anson Torm,
yet even older, with a flowing beard and a fine wide forehead. Probably David's
grandfather, he thought—also a leader of the mining colony years before. And how about David's greatgrandfather?
Also a leader? Probably.
There seemed to be some sort of family succession. That would mean that
sometime David might be in line for leadership here. Tuck stared at the picture
for a long time. What about the great-great-grandfather? A
convict? A murderer? One of the original
miners, sent out here to the prison colony, back while Earth was still powered
exclusively by atomics? Possibly. There was no way to
tell, short of asking, and it struck Tuck that that was hardly the proper sort
of question to ask.
"Isn't
this a little late to be rolling out of the sack?" The voice boomed from
the doorway, and Tuck dropped his fork with a clatter. With a roar of laughter,
David Torm was in the room, hands on his hips, grinning
broadly at Tuck. "I always heard you folks on Earth were late
sleepers—"
Tuck
reddened and picked up his fork again, feeling foolish for his sudden start.
"I wouldn't say that. You just run a short day out here." He stared
at the blond-haired youth. David was even huskier than Tuck had remembered, a
powerfully built lad who was never still, always moving. There was a solidity about him that Tuck, with his slender, wiry
build, couldn't help but envy. David would be a good friend to have around in a
free-for-all, and an unpleasant foe indeed. "I
thought you were dying," Tuck said, his eyes twinkling. "Who let you
out?"
David
chuckled, and started preparing some breakfast with an amazing clatter of
pans. "Leetle Davey let himself out. Through the roof. You'd think I'd broken every bone in my
body—"
"Ah,
well," said Tuck. "They'll just come and
drag you back again—"
"They'll need a
half-track to do it!"
There
was a flicker of concern in Tuck's eyes. "All joking aside—are you sure
you feel all right?"
David
grinned. "Now I ask you—what kind of pilot would I be if I couldn't crash
land a little crate like the Snooper without
getting hurt? I ask you."
"Well, you were slightly unconscious, no
matter what. You scared your father out of ten years."
David
shrugged his broad shoulders good-naturedly, and sank down to breakfast.
"I've been doing that ever since I learned to walk. Dad's used to it by
now. Anyway, there wasn't anything else to do."
"Then you knew there
was a trap?"
David shrugged. "It looked like a good
bet. I heard that Cortell had something up his
sleeve, and it looked to me like a perfect setup for him to wing dad and you
folks at the same time—so I just kept you company on the way back." His
blue eyes caught Tuck's and held them gravely. "You should have let me
talk to dad, back there on the ship. He could have taken a different route
back to the colony."
Tuck
reddened. "I know. I'm sorry—really I am. I thought you were spying or
something—maybe planning to blow us up yourself—"
David
threw back his head and roared. "What, and miss a chance to show off the Snooper? Everybody thinks its a big joke around here—Davey's Coffin, they call it."
"Where did it come
from?"
"Just an old junk lifeboat that was
lying around the colony."
"You fixed it up
yourself?"
"Sure.
Rebuilt the engine completely. Only
jet engine in the Solar System that will fly in Titan atmosphere and nowhere
else!"
"What did you do to
it?" Tuck felt excitement stir.
David
grinned. "Trade secret. Just
modified the motor a little, that's all. Everyone said it'd never take
off. They just didn't know leetle Davey." He
tossed the metal dishes in the sink. "Don't say anything to mother —but I
think we can get permission from dad to go out and try to fix up the Snooper tomorrow—if you'd want to give me a
hand."
"You
mean try to make it go again?" Tuck looked dubious. "Do you think
it's possible?"
"Won't hurt to try. You ever play around with rocket
motors?"
Tuck chuckled. "I've taken so many jet
scooters apart and made them go that I could do it in my sleep."
"Good!
Maybe between us we can dig it out. But we'll have to wait until dad gets used
to my being up and around. He's slow sometimes. Want to take a look around the
colony, for the time being?"
"Say,
that would be great. I was noticing the big beehive affair in the center of the
dome—what is it?" Tuck pulled on his jacket, and stepped out into the
street with the other youth, warming to him as they talked. Could a person like
that actually be born and grow up in a colony of thieves and murderers? It
seemed incredible. They started across the street and up a narrow lane between
the cabins toward the odd-looking building. "That's a crude-ore
refinery," David was saying. "Can't ship crude ore back to Earth—they
haven't got enough ships to carry it. They only get a few grams of pure metal
from a ton of ore, and you know about tonnage and pay loads. But we don't have
enough power to completely refine the ore, here in the colony, so we split the
job halfway. That beehive is the main refining oven, where we break the metal
away from the largest bulk of rock." He pointed to the thick metal pipe
that led from the building down into the ground. "That pipe carries the
slag out about three miles from the colony, where there's a big gorge. We just
dump it there. When the gorge gets filled, well run it to another gorge. That's
one thing about this place—there's plenty of waste space around."
Tuck
shook his head as they walked along the rough street.
"I've been thinking," he said. "I don't see how you live out here."
"We're
used to it. You probably wouldn't last six weeks—you've had it too soft back on
Earth. We do what we can to make a litde Earth to
live in—even if it doesn't seem much like Earth—"
Tuck's
eyes were filled with wonder, as they walked. The colony seemed roughly similar
to the picture he had in his mind of the old colonial towns in the "wild
west" he had loved to read about when he was younger —except that these
cabins were made of black rock hewn from the cliffs, and the dust in the road
was coal black, and instead of a hot western sun, there was a dull, cold,
yellow sun, and the much bigger, brighter planet Saturn giving luster to the
landscape. Here and there was a small half-track sitting in the road near a
cabin—a far cry from the horses of the days gone by— but there were the same
men, with the craggy, weather-beaten faces and powerfully muscled arms, the
same plainly dressed women, cheerful even in such gloomy surroundings as these.
Occasionally they passed boys and girls their own age, who nodded to David in
greeting. As the boys trudged along, Tuck's confusion grew and grew. This
colony—a strange place, yes, but basically it was just another town. And the
people seemed ordinary enough, just like other people. His face must have
registered his feelings.
David
Torm looked at him, and burst out laughing.
"You look like you've swallowed a frog. What's wrong?"
Tuck shook his head. "It's—so different
from what I expected—"
There was mischief in David's eyes. "Not
even one murder on the street so far, eh? No two-headed monsters—why, we
didn't even have our best family daggers out to eat breakfast with—"
Tuck
flushed hotly and started to reply, then closed his mouth. "I don't see what's
so funny," he said.
"But you're surprised.
What did you expect?"
"I—I don't know. But
not this"
David Torm grinned.
"Of course, we're on our good behavior while you're here. Normally we go
around clawing at each other, and gnawing our food uncooked. And every night or
so we have war dances and blood orgies, and plot attacks on Earth, and plan the
huge massacres we'll have when we get power enough to start a war with
Earth—oh, don't look so surprised! I know all about the stories they tell you.
They sound a little silly to us, but we know about them—"
Tuck
stared at him. "But—everybody on Earth knows those things are true. I've
always heard them, since I was a very little boy—I never even thought about it-why should I have? If everybody
accepted it—"
David's
face was heavy with disgust. "Well, I hate to upset all these years of
nice careful teaching, but it just isn't true. It's a lie. And probably
everything you've ever heard about us is a lie."
"But why?"
"Fear. Figure it out for yourself. And then forget
what you've been told about us, and give us a break, just once."
Tuck's face was horrified. "But they've
done it so thoroughly—"
"I
know. But they've forgotten one thing. We are human beings. And the result is an account of hatred among the colonists
that goes four generations deep into our grain. Dad has been trying to cure
that hatred before it's too late. But dad can't hold out much longer. If
something doesn't stop it, the Big Secret will be out of the bag—" David
stopped short, hand to his lips, looking away quickly.
"The
Big Secret?"
David
squirmed uncomfortably. "Nothing. Just an old colony folk tale about a last-ditch stand against
Earthmen, if things ever came to a showdown."
Tuck's eyes widened.
"What kind of a showdown?"
But
David was no longer paying attention. His eyes were fixed down the road,
watching something intently. "Hey!" said Tuck. "I said—"
"Quiet!"
The word was a whispered
command. David slid back against the wall of the building, motioning Tuck
back—
"What's wrong?"
"Take a look—see the
man in the green shirt?"
Tuck
saw him. He was making his way stealthily along the road, looking to the right
and left as he moved, like a cat, out from the protection of one cabin wall,
quickly across to the next. He paused at a cabin door, rapped on it, and the
boys could see him talking to the man inside, gesticulating rapidly. Then he
was on to the cabin across the road—
"Who is it?"
"Johnny Taggart. The
man who probably set the mine in Carter's gorge. One
of Cortell's first lieutenants. He's supposed
to be confined to quarters, just like Cortell-"
"But
what's he doing out?"
"I don't know.
Something's up—"
Several
of the colonists were gathering at their doors, whispering, watching as the man
hurried along. David touched Tuck's arm. "Come on. There's trouble—I'm
sure of it. We'd better find dad and let him know. Follow me."
The
boys darted behind the building where they were standing, and then broke into a
run into another street, back like the wind toward the barracks building. And
then, suddenly, a siren sounded, high and biting in the quiet air of the dome.
David's eyes widened. "I told you something was up," he panted. They
ran pell-mell down a narrow alley-like road, then
slowed up, making their way through the excited crowd that was gathered around
the trading post. There was a buzz of conversation, and the boys broke through
the crowd just as Anson Torm and the Colonel were
coming out.
"What's
the trouble, Dad?" David panted. "A leak in the
tunnels?"
Anson
Torm's face was gray. "Worse, I'm afraid. Come
on over to the house." The colony leader nodded to Ned Miller, who started
shouting for order, standing up on the porch of the trading post as Torm and the Colonel and the two boys crossed the road to
the Torm cabin. "John Cortell's
broken prison with his two top
men. They're at large somewhere in the colony,
and they've got to be found, and fast," Anson Torm
said.
"But—why
the alann? The siren—"
"Because the word is around that Cortell is calling a showdown on me, because of the
Colonel's presence here. He thinks he's strong enough to get a wholesale revolt
organized, and to blow up the mines." Torm's
voice was hollow, and his hands were trembling as he
sank down in the chair by the table. "And I'm just afraid he might be able
to swing it—"
"That Man Is
Dangerous—"
I |
here
were a dozen men gathered
in the underground meeting room when Anson Torm and
the Colonel arrived there with the two boys. Many of the men were blackened
with the thick dust of the mining tunnels; apparently they had stopped work and
come up to the hall as soon as the alarm was sounded. Torm
nodded to the group, and sat down at the desk, his face drawn and white. "Now, then. Exactly what happened?" He looked at
one of the men.
"Cortell's a magician," the man growled. "I can't
tell you what happened, Anson. I don't know. I was on duty with Klane, guarding him in his cabin. I was inside and Klane was outside. Nobody had been near him, and he'd been
at me all night with his abuse-he's got a nasty
tongue—and then, out of a clear blue sky, he had a gun on me. Forced me to
distract Klane's attention outside, and two others
piled on him—and then they were gone."
"He
didn't have a gun when you searched him before?"
"No, sir. He was clean as a whistle."
Torm's cold blue eyes flashed to another man.
"The arsenal," he said. "Did you check the arsenal?" "Just got back. It's been broken into." "How many guns gone?" "Less
than a dozen."
"Good. Get the rest of the guns, and
lock them in the safe down here, so there won't be any more stolen. If we can
keep weapons out of their hands—"
The arsenal guard was shaking his head.
"You'd better let me have a couple of men to go with me," he said
dubiously.
Torm frowned. "What's wrong?"
"There's a nasty crowd
at the arsenal. Rog Strang's
with them. They aren't doing anything, but they're with Cortell
all the way. They could put up a fight—"
Torm stripped a small, unpleasant-looking
automatic from his belt and tossed it to the guard. "Take Klane and Simpson with you, and get those guns down here."
Torm turned back to the group of men. "Now, then, for Cortell himself.
There are plenty of people in this colony who will help him if they can. But Cortell and his boys can't get out of the colony without
our knowing it—we've got all the pressure locks under guard. So we can be
pretty sure they're in here, somewhere. Jack, you take your group and comb
everything topside—every cabin, every building. Don't miss anything—"
"Anson, the people won't take it."
The man was a huge, black-faced miner. "He's got support, and they'll
fight us down."
"Those that are with us will
help—recruit them as you go along. As for the others—" he glanced at the
miner. "That's why you have the gun. Cortell is
under arrest for attempted murder, and if they're hiding him, they're accomplices.
Now get going." The group of men shuffled out. Torm
leaned back and motioned to the man who had just come down the stairs.
"What do you think, Ned?"
"I
don't know." Ned Miller's face was tired. "Johnny Taggart has been
contacting all his supporters—"
"Oh,
I know it—it's all over the colony. And they know their propaganda
methods." Torm shot Colonel Benedict a black
look. "The question is, what now? What's he going
to do?"
Ned
scowled. "If he can't get more guns, he's blocked for a while. But there's
no hope of finding him, if he doesn't want to be found. He won't be hiding
above ground—"
"I know that. But we've got to be sure,
and get the folks on his side worried about helping him. Jack and the gang will
take care of that."
The dirty little man rubbed his stubbled chin and nodded. "So he's down in the mines
somewhere, with guns enough to blockade himself in
even if we found him." He also glanced at Colonel Benedict, and suddenly
dropped his voice to a whisper.
Torm began shaking his head vigorously. "He
couldn't do that. Not yet—the stockpile just isn't big enough. That's what I
don't like about this—he couldn't be
ready at this point. Unless he's changed his plans, somehow.
He just wouldn't dare try it—"
For the first time Colonel Benedict stood up,
turned to Torm. "I take it you don't expect to
find this madman."
Torm looked up with cold blue eyes. "We
don't stand a chance in a million, thanks to you. Cortell's
support is growing every minute. He's got over a third of the colony on his
side now—and with that he can hide where he likes, and he'll never be
found."
The
Colonel scowled. "That's very nice," he said sourly. "And just
what is it that Cortell wouldn't try?"
Torm's eyes narrowed. "He can't do anything—or
at least he won't, as long as we can keep weapons out of his hands."
"These mining tunnels—they go for miles
back underground, don't they?"
Torm's eyes flickered. "That's right."
"And how many tunnels
are there?"
"Dozens. There are three or four hundred miles of
tunnel going out of the colony, one place or another—"
"Then what's to prevent Cortell from holing himself up in one of the tunnels with
his friends, and blowing the entire colony to kingdom come?"
"Nothing could prevent it, if Cortell wanted to do it. It would be very simple. There's
methane outside on the planet's surface. It would be a simple matter to break
through someplace in the tunnel and let methane into the colony—he could do it
in a dozen places, and we wouldn't have a chance of stopping him. And then when
it got to a critical mixture, just a single spark, a single lit match, and the
colony would go off like an atom bomb." Torm's
eyes met the Colonel's defiantly.
"Anyone
in this colony could have done that, years ago—but we haven't. And Cortell won't do it, either. Not now." "Why not?"
"What would it accomplish? There he'd
be, and as soon as his supplies gave out, or his oxygen, he'd be as dead as we
were."
Colonel
Benedict leaned over the desk, staring straight at the colony leader. "But
for years and years supplies have been coming in here, smuggled supplies, above
the colony's quota, Anson. Food, plants, equipment,
tools—everything." His eyes blazed. "I think it's time for you
to do some talking. I'm tired of this run-around. I want to know where those
supplies have gone, and what Cortell plans to do with
them. I want to know who's behind the smuggling that's been going on, and why it's been going on." The Colonel's knuckles tightened on his chair.
"A criminal is at large in the colony, and you sit quietly by and say,
'Oh, he won't hurt anybody, he won't do any damage, let him be.' All right, if Cortell is not able to put his plans for revolt in action
now, I want to know why not."
Torm spread his hands. "He just won't. He
can't."
"Then
what's blocking him?"
Anson Torm's
face was set. He didn't answer.
"I
want the truth, Torm. What are his plans? What's
blocking him?"
"I can't tell you—" He broke off as
a group of men came tumbling down the stairs into the
meeting room, angry-faced men, talking rapidly among themselves.
They
gathered in a group, still muttering angrily and looking darkly at Anson Torm when a tall, thin man walked up to Torm,
hands on his belt. "What's the idea of sending men up with guns to break
out the arsenal?" The man's anger was barely controlled as he glared down
at the colony leader.
Anson
Torm looked up calmly. Then he nodded to the Colonel.
"This is Colonel Benedict, of Earth Security. Colonel, meet Rog Strang."
The
man called Strang glared at the Colonel for a moment,
and then spat on the floor. "I didn't come to talk to this scum. I came to
talk to you. Your men are cleaning out the arsenal. What's the idea?"
"I ordered them to. There were guns
stolen from it last night, as you probably know well enough. Cortell is at large, as you also know quite well. And as
long as I'm leader of this colony, Cortell's not
going to get any more guns."
Strang sneered. "Maybe you're not going to be
leader for so long. The people want you to lay off Cortell.
He's the only one who's talking sense around here, and he says the time has
come to quit taking it lying down from Earth Security. What do you say to that,
Anson?"
"Noble sentiments, indeed. Only thing is, Cortell talks too much." Torm's
pale eyes caught the other man's. "Any more foolish questions, Strang, or are you ready to take your friends back out of
here?"
The
man's hand was trembling angrily. "The people won't take it much longer.
They want Cortell cleared."
"Some
of the people, you mean. There's been no convention and no election,
to my knowledge. Until there is, I'm still in charge here, and my warrant for Cortell stands."
The
man turned on his heel and started to go, then turned once again to Torm, his eyes wild. "There's nasty talk around,
Anson. Talk about you
being the traitor, selling
out to these Earth dogs. What are they offering you, Anson? Safe
passage back to Earth? A nice place to live for the
rest of your life, with hot and cold running water—?"
"Get
out of here, Strang."
Torm's voice sounded rusty,
and his hands gripped his chair until his knuckles were white. As the group
went up the stairs, he turned to the Colonel. "I can't sit here and talk
any longer— I've got to get a search of the tunnels organized. Cortell won't do anything just now—I can't tell you why,
you'll just have to take my word for it. But I warn you, Colonel—this is a
fight to the finish, this time. If Cortell can win
the colony to his side, it'll all be over. The people hate you and Earth with
four generations of hate, and Cortell is playing that
hate for all it's worth. It's up to you, now. If you're ready to trust me and
make a square and honorable deal with the Titan colonists, there may be time to
save things. But time is running out—" He stood up and walked for the
stairs with a group of his men around him. "We'll have to split up the
tunnels among us," he was saying as they went up the stairs. "And
we'll have to go slow . . ."
Tuck
and David sat side by side, watching the Colonel. He sat for a long time in
silence, his face looking older than Tuck had ever seen it before. Then he
slammed his fist down on the table with a groan. "The fooir he grated. "The stubborn fool! Security
will never accept a deal. What does he think he can get with this kind of
blackmail? All Security wants is to have the trouble stopped and production
continued smoothly—and thanks to him we re in the
middle of the worst trouble there's been in
years."
"Dad—"
Tuck looked up at his father. "Dad, Torm is
right. You have to trust him."
"How
can I trust him?" the Colonel exploded. "Why won't he come clean? Why won't he tell me what Cor-tell has up
his sleeve?"
"I
don't know—but does it really matter? I mean, if you could take Torm at his word, and start negotiating—"
"But
how could I ever sell Security on it? How could I tell them to trust the
colonists when I'm not even convinced myself?" He
shook his head tiredly, and stood up. "No, it won't work. There'll be no
deals until Torm lays the truth on the line. Until
then, he's just another colonist rebel, I'm afraid." He started for the
stairs.
"Dad, what are you
going to do?"
"I
don't know. Wait, I guess. I just don't know." His shoulders sagged as he
walked up the stairs.
Tuck
turned to David Torm, and made a hopeless gesture.
"They can't see each other. Every time they talk, they get farther apart.
Dad is so sure that anything anybody does out here is aimed against Earth that
he won't even listen."
David's eyes were wide. "But he's got to see," he said excitedly. "Does he realize what's happening?
That man Cortell is dangerous, and he's
ruthless."
Tuck
nodded. "Yes—but your father isn't coming halfway, either—"
"I
know it." David flopped dejectedly down in the chair. "Why are people
so stupid? Dad doesn't hate Earthmen—he just distrusts them. He's seen too many
back-stabbing tricks to trust them. But Cortell isn't
made like dad. He's all hate—he lives on it. He hates Earth and everything
about Earth."
Tuck
looked at David. "Yet he's in contact with people on Earth. That's one
reason dad won't co-operate. They tried to kill him, back home, before he even
started out here." David's eyes widened as Tuck told him about the Murexide bomb in the strange letter. When Tuck was
finished, David whistled softly.
"My father doesn't
know about that, does he?" No.
The
lad paced back and forth like a caged animal. "It must have been Cortell who arranged it. Yet, I don't see—" He scowled
and paced some more. "There must be something we can do—" He grinned at the Earth boy. "At least we can talk
without going for each other's throats. And Cortell
has got to be stopped. He can carry the whole colony to suicide if he
wins—"
Tuck
turned slowly to David. "Suicide? What do you mean?"
The
leader's son looked at Tuck queerly, a sudden light of excitement on his broad
face. "Listen," he said. "I—I think I know an answer."
"Answer?"
"To the whole problem—a way out, a way
to stop Cortell, and to make dad and the Colonel see
things eye to eye—' He looked straight at Tuck. "I'd
have to count on you completely not to spill it too early—'
"You can count on
it."
"And—I hate to say it,
but you'll have to trust me."
Tuck
hesitated just a moment. Then he looked up at David and nodded.
"Then
come on!" David was on his feet, half running for the stairs. "I've
got something to tell you, but I think
we'd better get away from the colony before we talk. Dad would break my neck if
he caught on before we had a chance—"
"But where can we
go?"
"They're
busy hunting for Cortell—they'd be glad to have us
out of the way if some shooting starts. Let's go out and see what shape the Snooper is in—right now!"
The
guard at the gate was not co-operative. Orders were,
nobody went out. For a while prospects looked gloomy, but as Tuck had seen
before, his companion had a gift of gab. In two minutes the guard was so
completely confused with the barrage released upon him that he broke down,
muttering darkly about little wise guys and the penalties for disobeying
orders, and opened the inner lock. With a grin from ear to ear David slammed
down the top on the half-track. Five minutes later they were rolling through
the lock into the open atmosphere of Titan, heading away from the colony at top
speed, in the direction of the wreck of the Snooper.
Chapter
9 The Big Secref
r |
ffi
trip out was wild. There was nothing in David Torm's nature to allow for caution and comfort; he rode the
half-track like a bucking bronco, whirling the steering bar with gleeful
abandon as the car tossed and tumbled across the uneven rocky terrain away from
the dome of the colony. The soft pillow wheels absorbed some of the shock, but
Tuck strapped himself down and clung to the safety bar for dear life, as they
lurched from side to side. David whistled cheerfully to himself above the
engine's tortured roar, peering ahead at the path, swerving wildly to the left
or right as boulders too large to climb over came into the path of the vehicle.
Up in the sky the sun was just at the meridian, and little swirls of snow,
white and powdery, spun up in the dead, still atmosphere as the half-track
plunged along like some strange, half-possessed monster.
David
swerved suddenly, as the wheels of the 'track slipped into an almost invisible
crevice, and the machine gave a bone-crushing lurch to one side.
"Yi!" said Tuck, feeling slightly green. "Yi, yourself,"
said David, throwing the car into
reverse and jerking loose from the crevice. The
motor responded with a grating of gears, and started climbing again. "Me
and this 'track, we understand each other."
"So it seems," said Tuck, weakly. "You try to kill it, and it tries to kill
you. Nice and cozy—"
David
grinned. "Keep your eyes open now. Seems to me the Snooper should be a couple of miles over to the left
of the main road to the rocket landing— isn't that right? I hit pretty fast
after the explosion, but I came in nearly three point,
so I must have had a couple of miles of skimming."
Tuck
shook his head. "It looked to me as if you were barrel rolling all the
way."
"Me? Barrel roll? Never!"
"Well, you didn't have
much to say about it."
"That's
for sure. Felt like somebody came up behind and whacked me with a large stone
wall." He braked the machine, and peered out in
the strange, gloomy light. "There, now. See the tracks? That must be where
dad's 'track came back onto the path after he picked me up." David jerked
the steering rod again, and this time the 'track moved
sharply to the right, mounted a rocky rise, and tumbled down, jerking from side
to side as the caterpillar tracks bit the unfamiliar coarse terrain. Tuck
gritted his teeth, and felt his hands clench the gripping bar. "I hope you know what you're doing," he growled. "That felt like we were
going to roll—"
"So
we turn it over—so what? This plastic on the top will take a lot of punishment.
There are even fancy jacks in the back to turn it back right side up if it
rolls."
Tuck
gripped the bar tighter. "Do they roll very often?"
David
laughed. "Don't get excited. It doesn't happen often. But if you get
caught after dark, the emergency lights make the crevices look just like more
rock, and then anything can happen. I spent a week in the bottom of a crevice
once, until they came and found me. Why, there was one time—" he jerked
the wheel hard— "when I ran one of these things right up on top of a great
big clordelkus before he decided that now was the
time to go somewhere else—"
Tuck
grinned, remembering his first scare at seeing one of those. The
'track was following a faint path in the snow left by the 'track before them,
and far ahead and to the right Tuck could see the gorge, or what remained of
it, where the explosion had occurred. The sight drew his mind back to
the things that had happened since the Earth ship had landed —back to the
impending crisis at the colony. He watched the leader's son, thoughtfully, as
the lad fought the steering bar of the half-track. Odd that he should be
sitting here, perfectly confident in the friendship he felt growing between
them—a friendship that was ridiculous by all the standards Tuck had ever
known. He wondered if David had even thought of the strangeness of their
friendship under these circumstances. Probably not.
And yet David was ready to take him into his confidence, with little more than
his word for security. Quite suddenly, Tuck felt a pang of shame for his
suspiciousness, for his father's stubbornness—above all, for his own reluctance
to admit to himself that Earth Security's position might, conceivably, be
wrong. This was so futile, so needless—
And
yet there was John Cortell. The thought sent a chill
down Tuck's spine. "It would be nice if they had caught Cortell by the time we get back," he said wistfully.
"That would solve a lot of problems."
David
snorted. "Well, they won't, so don't figure on it. They aren't going to
get near to catching Cortell —and dad knows it."
"How
can you be so sure? It seems to me there's just so much of the colony to
search."
David
nodded. "That's right. But it's deceptive. We're right over a part of the
colony now, even though we're three miles away from the dome."
Tuck
glanced down at the black rock path involuntarily. "Tunnel?"
David
nodded. "They go out in all directions—a regular maze. Down about forty
feet deep, and even then we have trouble with cave-ins
and quakes and landslides." He hung onto the bar precariously with one
hand, pointing to a long outcropping of rock to the right. "See that?
That's a rich vein—goes out almost twenty miles. They mine it and run the ore
back to the refinery on railroad tracks laid in there. Got a whole little
supply unit in the mining area-whoops!" The car lurched and dropped about
six feet, jarring their very bones. David spun the steering bar and went right
on talking as Tuck picked himself up from the dashboard. "The tunnels are
all interconnecting, everywhere. Get somebody in there who doesn't know their
plan, and he could starve to death trying to get out. But Cortell—"
"I suppose he knows every tunnel,"
Tuck remarked glumly.
"Like the back of his hand. He could
hide there till doomsday, and nobody'd
ever find him. And he's got plenty of friends to help him, too. If a search
party comes close to him, Cortell gets the word, and
moves somewhere else. Oh, he's a clever one—"
Tuck
blinked. "Then it seems to me that all this hunting is silly."
David grinned. "Good boy. Comes the dawn." He jerked the wheel sharply, avoiding
a huge black outcropping, and plunged the half-track down into a shallow gully
with high, overhanging crags on both sides.
"But
why is your father pretending—" "Not pretending. He's hunting. But he
needs time —he needs time worse than anything. And he needs to keep the men
that are on his side good and busy until he can get your father to see things
the colony's way." He looked soberly at Tuck. "Want to know the facts
of life?"
"Tell me the facts of life."
"Okay,
Bub. Fact number one: your father is going to have to
give in and go along with dad. If he doesn't, the fat's in the fire. Cortell will have enough time to put his plans into
action—"
"But what's holding him up now?"
"Aha! He can't do what he wants to do
now, and dad knows it. That's fact number two—but I'm coming to that. Don't
interrupt. Fact number three: if dad can keep his own boys with him long enough
to make a settlement with your father, he can cut the floor right out from
under Cortell. And that's where my little scheme
comes in—"
Tuck scowled, gripping the bar tightly as the
'track climbed back out of a gully, slowly, painfully, like a roller coaster
climbing up for its first big plunge. '"But I still don't see what Cortell is planning to do—"
David
slowed the 'track down suddenly, and braked it, snapping the motor off. He
stretched his arms for a moment, then turned to Tuck.
"Think about it a minute," he said. "The whole
picture. They teach you logic and data evaluation in your Earth schools.
Look at the facts. An angry crowd of people out here, being walked all over for
years and years. I don't care whether you believe that or not—I know it's true. They've been kicked for years. No hope of changes-things
getting worse and worse for them as the ruthenium gets more and more important
for Earth. No end in sight—are you with me?"
Tuck nodded. "So far."
"Good. Then the smuggled supplies coming
out here—oh, they've been coming out here, all right. And they've been
smuggled, too. Then your father gets appointed to come out here. Why? To trace
down smuggled supplies. And what happens? They try to clip him—"
"Who tries to clip him?"
David held up his hand. "Just hold on a
minute. Somebody—it doesn't matter who. But the attempt
backfires, you and your father come out here anyway —tracing
down the supplies. And then Cortell moves and
threatens something—and
my father won't tell your
father what." David looked at Tuck narrowly. "You're the one that's
been to school. Now I ask you —what does all that add up to?"
Tuck
chewed his lip. "Cortell is desperate that the
smuggled supplies not be found," he said suddenly. He looked at David. "And so is your father"
"Huzzah," said
David.
"Why—this begins to make sense!"
Tuck's excitement rose. "You even made a slip about it, that first
morning in the colony—"
David nodded. "The Big
Secret," he said.
"Something
both Cortell and your father know about, and your
father doesn't dare tell dad about!"
David
nodded glumly. "It's a plan," he said, his voice almost a whisper.
"There's been a plan for a long, long time, here in the colony. My father
would break my neck if he ever knew I'd told you this. It's been so well
guarded that there aren't more than six or seven in the colony now who know
exactly what
the plan is, or how it's
supposed to work—"
"But what is it?"
David shook his head. "I don't know. I
mean, I don't know specifically—"
He saw Tuck's face, and
shook his head again. "No, no—I'm not holding out on you. I honestly don't know. Hardly anybody knows, although everybody has his pet theory. It
got started over a hundred years ago, and everyone in the colony has helped
with it, one way or another—but only a few chosen ones have known exactly what
it is." "But when did it start?"
David
spread his hands. "Years ago. Back in the very
earliest days, when our leaders began to see what Earth Security was trying to
do. Oh, they were bitter in those days—there were strikes,
and fighting and protest—it was really gay. But whenever there was an outbreak,
Security just cut off supplies and let the colony starve for a while. It worked
fine—but even a hundred years ago the colony could see what was coming. Titan was going to end up a slave colony, with no rights of any
kind, and no place to go in the whole Solar System. It was like the old
horror story I read once about the guy being walled up in a cellar brick by
brick. So the leaders held a council. Sometime things
would come to a breaking point. They had to make plans for that time, while
they could, or the Colony would never be free again. So they came up with the
Big Secret."
Tuck
frowned. "I don't see how it could work. How could everyone help if nobody
knew what it was? Why all the secrecy?"
"Why?
With Security watching us like bugs under a glass? It had to be secret. It was a big plan, a plan that would take years to
prepare. And it was to be a last-ditch retreat for the colonists—maybe a huge,
barricaded, carefully hidden underground colony, where the colonists could go
and blockade themselves in, and then blow the mines to smithereens, and all
Earth's precious ruthenium with it. Oh, it's possible. After all, we're used to
living in cramped quarters, we're used to little food, we
can even take a lower oxygen concentration for a longer time than you can. They
started it, back in the early days, cutting down their rations, saving little
bits of food under deepfreeze; they got supporters back on Earth, got them
wormed into Security, and started a grand smuggling program to bring out
supplies. And once here, the goods were secretly stored, and then passed on to
the five or six men who were guarding the Secret. And there were clothes, made
out of scraps—clothes to keep 500 people warm, and tools and oxygen—for over a
hundred years every oxygen tank that has been used here has been closed down
for empty when it was only three-quarters gone. And all this
to prepare the Big Secret for action when the time came." David
shook his head. "I don't know what it
is, or where
it is—it may be carved out
of rock a hundred miles straight down in the ground—or somewhere on the other
side of the planet."
Tuck
stared numbly at the leader's son. "It would be suicide," he whispered.
"They'd—they'd be sealing themselves up forever. They could never come out! And they'd have every patrol soldier in the Solar System here
on Titan, hunting them down—"
David
shrugged. "Back in Earth legend, a guy named Horatio guarded a bridge
against a whole army. They could do the same—and they could hold out for years,
even if their location were found."
"And
after years—then what?"
David nodded unhappily. "That's the big
hitch. They could last for twenty, thirty, fifty years—but they'd be dead men,
in the long run. That's what dad believes. He thinks the Big Secret, whatever
it is, is sure suicide for the colony. That's why he fought against it, tried
to slow down its completion as much as he could, for fear the colony would
reach the breaking point while there was still a chance of peaceful change and
negotiation. But Cortell has been leading his group
to believe that the breaking point has passed, that the time has come, that
they should start the Big Secret into action right now, whatever it is. Oh, dad
is no fool, he knows
what the Big Secret is—but Cortell has a lot of the colonists believing that dad is a
weakling and a traitor, that it's too late ever to establish peace with
Earth—"
"But your father is
still strong in the colony—"
"He
was—until now. He's losing strength fast. A lot of people believed that he would be able to negotiate with the Colonel. But the important thing is that
the Big Secret just isn't ready to put into operation yet. It's nearly ready,
but not quite."
Tuck nodded. "Five hundred people are a
lot to take care of—for a long period of time."
"And how! And dad is trying to make the people see
that they're choosing suicide if they follow Cortell."
The leader's son started the motor again. "Dad doesn't dare spill the
whole story to the Colonel, because he thinks the Colonel would clamp down and
report it to Security—which he probably would, considering
the state he's in. Dad's hogtied. Earthmen and Titan colonists have hated each
other for so long that they can't imagine trusting each other. They're from
different ends of the Universe."
The
half-track started again with a lurch, and reached the top of the gully,
started lumbering down the side. Both boys peered eagerly ahead; then suddenly
Tuck let out a shout. "Over to the right—see it?"
David
squinted against the sun. "I think—yes! That's it!" The half-track
bounced forward with renewed speed as they approached the glinting metal that
had been the Snooper.
At first all they could see
was the tail, sticking out from behind an outcropping of rock; then the 'track
moved around the rock, and they saw the wreck-It had skimmed on its belly,
ripping off one of its sled tracks, and the sharp rocks had ripped long, curling
strips of the underfuselage away from the braces. The
nose had burrowed a ten-foot-long ditch, and one of the little stabilizer wings
had been ripped almost completely off. But worst of all, the exhaust tube
showed a long, crooked split that ran right back its length toward the jet
engines-Tuck felt his heart sink. They would need tools, welding—they'd
practically need a machine shop to put the little scooter back into the air. He
turned to David, all his excited hopes of exploration on the rugged planet
surface dashed into the black rocks just like the Snooper itself. "Looks like
we're out of luck."
David
eyed the wreckage critically. "Hmmm—" he said. "Have to weld the
exhaust tube—may even have wrecked the combustion chamber—I don't know. But the
thing was in a lot worse shape when I first put it together." He looked at
Tuck. "Are you game to try?"
"Well, we can't do it any harm—"
"Then
come on!" David checked the helmet to his pressure suit, and started to
open the half-track top. "Between the two of us, we should be able to get
the thing back into shape—maybe it won't take as much work as it looks."
He was out of the half-track, moving toward the back of it when Tuck got his
suit heater controls readjusted and clambered out, wondering just what they
were going to work with.
And then he saw the whole
rear casing of the half-track peel away to reveal a huge tool case, complete
with three or four large gas bottles, welding torches, metal siding, and a
dozen different types of wiring on neat spools along the top.
It
would be work, but there was lots of daylight left, and
there were emergency lights on the 'track if they couldn't finish by dark. In a
few moments both boys were struggling with the gas bottles, dragging them over
toward the Snooper, and David was clambering up into the cockpit
gleefully, disappearing into the broken fuselage.
But
even as he moved toward the little ship, Tuck was mulling over David's words. A secret, a wild, hopeless plan that would destroy Earth's power
source, utterly and irreparably. A single word, a flick of the wrist,
and everything could be lost. And neither Colonel Benedict nor Anson Torm could cross the barrier of hatred and distrust that
had built up between their peoples over the years. Tuck's heart sank gloomily.
It was too much to expect. Nobody could cast aside a lifetime of teaching, and
trust someone he had been drilled and drilled so carefully to distrust and
hate. Not even a fine and wise man like his father could cross a barrier like
that. Nobody could do it-He stopped cold in his tracks,
and stared at the little ship below him, stared at the suited and hel-meted figure now climbing out of the cockpit and waving
at him. Nobody?
He
was Tuck Benedict, an Earthman—and that was David Torm,
a Titan miner's son and a colonist, a rebel, a traitor, a sneak, a murderer, by
everything Tuck had ever been taught—and they were working together for
something they both wanted badly—
And
they were friends, and they trusted each other—
Suddenly
a great weight lifted from Tuck's chest. Nobody? He hoisted up the gas bottle and started for the ship as fast as he
could go, his heart tearing in his chest, his pulse pounding. They were somebody, and somehow, insidiously, without even giving it a
thought, they had succeeded in doing the unheard of, the very thing that had
never been achieved since the earliest days of the Titan colony. He reached the
ship, gasping for breath just as David got to the ground, took the bottle and
set it alongside the others. "Not bad up there," he said.
"There's a lot of outside tearing, but if we can seal up the cockpit and
the engines, it might just work." David grinned at Tuck. "How about it? Ready to start?"
Tuck
grinned back, feeling happier than he had ever felt in his life. "Ready?
Buddy, we re going to make this wreck run like it
never ran before. And when we have it running, you and I have a job to
do!"
"You mean—"
"I mean
we're going to teach our respective fathers the facts of life, or know the
reason why!"
ChUptCt 70 The Wreck of the Snooper
or the next ten
minutes the boys inspected the wreckage at close hand. It looked almost
hopeless to Tuck, at first, but much of the more
obvious damage involved ripped siding, which could be easily replaced. The
cockpit was almost intact, except for the long crack in the plastic hood, and
the shattered control board. Tuck worked away at the paneling, and finally
broke it loose, revealing the masses of wires leading to the pressure, fuel,
speed and altitude controls. With a few minutes' work he had straightened or
repaired the broken wires, and the panel was replaced, ready for seal-welding.
But
the engines were another story. The rear end of the jet was smashed almost
closed; a long crack ran clear back to the engine, and a whole section of
wiring had been ripped from its moorings. The two started to work, with crowbar
and hammer, slowly breaking and wrenching the little ship from its bed of rock,
talking very little as they worked. From time to time Tuck stopped to stare at
the engine and the wiring that were exposed. They didn't look at all right, for
some reason, and the more he looked the more
puzzled he became. And then it dawned on him— the
whole area where the fuel tanks belonged was filled with large gas bottles,
painted green, without the familiar insulating pad around them. Tuck looked up
at David, hardly believing his eyes. "Say, what kind of engine have you
got in this thing?"
David stopped prying at the crowbar long
enough to grin. "Ordinary jet combustion chamber.
Torm
modification."
Tuck
looked suspicious. "But those are oxygen bottles
in there—"
"That's right. That's
the Torm modification."
"But what do you use
for fuel?"
"Oxygen." David grinned at his friend's consternation, then burst out laughing. "It's really
very simple. When the jet is flying, it doesn't take air into the intakes, the way you're used to. It couldn't—there isn't any
air. It takes methane
into the air-scoop. So why
use a lot of expensive fuel and oxidizer, when all the fuel you could possibly
use is free for the asking, all around you?"
"You mean you use atmospheric methane
for your fuel?"
"Of course. The pumps just feed in a tiny stream of
liquid oxygen from those tanks there into the center of the intake of methane.
Makes a funny-looking exhaust —just a pencil-thin flame—but it works, delivers
plenty of thrust. And all I have to carry is priming fuel and oxygen—"
Tuck examined the setup excitedly. "You
must have been all over the planet with this!"
"It's been handy. Some other guys here
in the colony worked with me on it. We taught ourselves mapping and topography
from some books my dad has. We've had a lot of fun, just snooping around with
it, and we've made our own maps of the topography within a couple hundred
square miles of the colony. Better than Security Patrol maps, too." David
stood up from the crowbar and started rolling a large green oxygen bottle over
toward the damaged jet. "Let me show you another little trick with
oxygen," he said.
He
had been working for a quarter of an hour, driving a wedge into the opening,
gradually forcing the squashed tube open again, revealing a long rip in the heavy metal of the exhaust tube. Now he fished
in the small bag of little tools and came out with a bit of metal that looked
like a small brass hose nozzle, which he carefully fitted to a long aluminum
mesh tube that stretched from the neck of the oxygen bottle.
"What are you going to
do?"
"Have to weld, for a
while."
"Weld! What do you use for a generator?"
"Oh,
I don't mean arc-weld. That isn't necessary, and we've got a better method
here." He reached for the control gauge at the top of the green bottle,
and brought a small automatic flint up near the nozzle; then he carefully
opened the gauge until there was the slightest hiss from the nozzle, and struck
a spark. To Tuck's amazement a bright white flame
sprang from the nozzle of the hose, giving off a brilliant shower of white
snow. The snow scattered and drifted to the ground, for all
the world like the snow from a carbon-dioxide fire extinguisher. Tuck
stood frozen for a moment, then jumped back, his heart
pounding. "Are you crazy? That's oxygen in
that tank!" "I know."
"But
it's burning—won't it explode in this atmosphere?"
"Not
as long as I keep the gas flowing from the tank." David began pulling the
flaming nozzle down toward the metal of the jet, and started heating the edges
of the open tear. "There won't be an explosion as long as there's plenty
of room for the burning to take place, and the flame can consume the oxygen as
fast as it comes out of the tank. Makes a nice hot flame,
too." The lips of the rent were beginning to turn pinkish already.
"There's no danger at all of welding with oxygen out here—the real danger
of explosion is in a confined space, like a mining tunnel. There, if the tunnel
springs a leak somewhere, a lot of methane can squeeze in before anyone
realizes it, and any little spark can send up the whole works. It's a real
hazard in the tunnels. We even have special detecting equipment to set off an
alarm as soon as a leak breaks loose."
"What
can they do in the tunnel once the methane gets in?"
David
grinned. "Run in circles, scream and shout. Seal off the leak as fast as
they can, close off the tunnel from the rest of the colony, and pump for dear
life. So far they've been lucky."
He bent over, applying the torch to the hot
metal of the jet, as though unwilling to think about such horrible
possibilities. The metal was white-hot now; David handed the torch to Tuck, had
him hold it nearby, bathing the metal in the stream of white flame, while David
began hammering, sending up a shower of sparks. The snow that streamed from the
torch formed a little pile on the ground; some lit on the hot metal, hissed,
and burst into clouds of steam that promptly became snow again as soon as it
got away from the heat of the metal. David brought a long strip of gray-looking
metal from the supply bag, applied it to the lips of the torn metal, and the
boys watched it heat and soften, and then flow as David skillfully applied it
down the tear, hammering steadily to smooth out the edge as the rent was
filled. In a short while the jet began to take a round, even appearance again,
until David finally straightened up, glancing at the sun. "Got another
couple of hours—if we can fix that wiring and siding, and pound the landing
skid back into place, we might give it a test before dark—"
They
worked even faster. Tuck studied the wiring in the engine while David worked on
the siding metal. The wires were twisted almost beyond recognition, but Tuck
was familiar with wiring of such engines from years of jet scooter building and
racing; he went back to the half-track and selected three spools of wire,
ripping down the insulation to examine the fine strands of copper and silver.
Then he came back, and slowly began rewiring the torn and shredded masses of
wires, squatting down, his hands clumsy in the unaccustomed
padded fingers of the suit. He soon found there was no way to grip the wires
with his fingers satisfactorily. After some experimentation with pliers, wire
and welding rod, he worked out a fair approximation of the remote-control
pincers he had seen used in radioactives lab to
manipulate the wires and the contacts. He was thoroughly engrossed in his work,
so engrossed that he became oblivious of himself, or the ship, or anything but
the delicate and demanding task at hand—
And
then, a bolt of fear went through him as he heard a little musical ping in his earphones. His hands froze and he sat staring, listening, almost
fascinated— Ping—ping—ping—ping—ping—ping
—ping —ping— ping-pingpingpingpingping—
It
was a gentle sound, and a terrifying sound, a sound that meant that horrible
death was near, hovering over his shoulder—the sound every spaceman had had
conditioned into his very soul—the sound that said better than any words: get inside, fast, your circulation is down,
your feet are getting cold, too cold-Tuck jumped up with a cry, tried to run for the
halftrack. He could feel the numb coldness around his feet and legs now, and
he stumbled and fell heavily. The warmth of the pressure suit was deceptive, it was all too easy to forget that he was working
in an atmosphere so cold that his own expired air would freeze into a choking
blob in his throat if he were unprotected. He struggled to his feet, shouting
to David as he ran, and clambered stiffly into the half-track; then he leaned
out to motion David frantically. David stared at him for a moment; then he too
came running. Together they frantically slammed down the plastic top, sealed
it tight. David snapped on the engine controls and the pumps began to work
against the deadly cold, letting the engine heat in once more around their
feet. Tuck sat panting, his heart racing, his feet tingling and burning with a
strange kind of pain. And then the boys looked at each other, and burst out
laughing, more in relief than anything else. "We should have kept an eye
on the time," David panted. "Shouldn't have been
out there more than two hours at a stretch without warming up. And I
forgot you aren't as used to the cold as I am—"
Tuck
clutched his side, still gasping for breath. "Scared me to death," he
choked. "They've made movies of the helpless spaceman, marooned on an
Asteroid with his engines dead, and that nasty little bell was the sound
track."
"There are lots of spacemen who can
thank that little bell for their lives. It doesn't give them much time, but it
does give them some."
Tuck shook his head. "You must have a
terrible time in the colony, with the cold."
"Not
too much. We're used to a chillier atmosphere than you. And the heat of the
refinery keeps the dome warm."
"But the mining
tunnels—"
"Forty feet of rock is
good insulation."
"That's true.
Still—"
"There's
a lot worse problem than cold, when it comes to living and working in the
colony," said David.
"Something
that four generations of colonists haven't been able
to find an answer to, completely." "What's that?"
"It
may seem funny to you. Claustrophobia. Morbid fear of
being closed in. The men get it every now and then down in the tunnels,
especially when there's been a recent cave-in. Works on their minds, and as
soon as they get to thinking about it, it really hits them. Sometimes they get
violent, can't even stand being inside the bubble—"
"But
can't you send them back to Earth? Rest cure, something like
that?"
"Aw—quit joking."
Tuck's eyes widened.
"I'm dead serious!"
"Well,
we could go back to Earth for vacations, all right—but we couldn't buy food,
because nobody would sell us food. We couldn't stay anywhere, because no hotel
would take us. And then there's always the risk of being mobbed and
lynched—most people don't think a trip to Earth is worth it."
A
core of anger began burning in Tuck's mind. "But you must have some sort
of protection. After all, Earth is civilized. There are laws protecting
people's rights—"
David
nodded sourly. "If the people know what their rights are. But that
involves education. And we don't have much education out here—oh, sure, the
kids in the colony go to a school to learn reading and writing, the lucky
ones—and there are apprenticeships in technology and mechanics for the older
boys, to teach them to run the mining equipment and the refinery. I was taught
enough accounting to help dad with the administration work of the colony, and
one of my pals is working with Doc Taber, just in case Security doesn't send
another doctor out here when Doc is gone. But there hasn't been a colonist boy
or girl admitted to an Earth University in over seventy-five years."
"Have they tried to get in?"
David
gave him a long look. "Take me, for instance. I wanted to study
rocketry—rocket engineering, that was for me. Yes,
sir. I wrote the Polytechnic Institute for information. Did they even answer my
letter? Ha! They did not. So I wrote Earth Security. They told me I would need
a fully accredited high-school education before I could even apply. So I wrote
the preparatory schools. Know what they said? They all said, fine, come right
along—but you'll have to pay tuition, because you were born and live outside
the planetary limits of Earth. Know what the tuition was? More money than my
dad's been paid in ten years!"
Tuck's
eyes blazed. "They've admitted Mars colony boys without tuition!"
David
shrugged. "It was only a stall, I know that. If we could have taken it to
court, we might have broken the stall, too. But what if we had? My work
wouldn't be good enough. My eyes would be the wrong color. They'd find a way to
keep me out. Earth Security has seen to that."
Tuck
stared through the plexiglass windshield at the
little jet plane across the rocks, feeling sick. "Dad doesn't know what a
hornet's nest he's working in—he couldn't know.
He just doesn't realize these things, he doesn't know
the true picture."
"He's in a position to do a lot of good
for Titan, if he would—"
Tuck
nodded. "If he could be made to understand.
Look—you told me you had a plan—"
"That's
right. I've already set it in motion. I've let the Big Secret out of the bag—to
you." David scowled, and started to tighten down his helmet. "I think
we should get dad and the Colonel together and tell both of them what we've
been talking about."
"It might do some
good—"
David
looked worried. "But the Colonel could send the word straight back to
Earth if he didn't want to co-operate—"
"He
wouldn't if we made him promise before we told him."
"Would he keep his
promise?"
Tuck
bit his lip. "He's never broken a promise to me before. Never."
David
nodded, his eyes bright again. "It might work. It
might at least clear the air. All we've got to do is make them sit across the
table from each other and talk. And that's all it would take. Just one hour of
straight talk—" He glanced down at Tuck's legs. "How are they
feeling?"
"Warmed
up now."
"Good. Let's give this
buggy a trial."
They
climbed out in the dimming light, and worked feverishly. After interminable
minutes, Tuck got the last wire in place. He looked at it critically, finding
no fault, then waved at David. "I think it's
ready on this end."
David drove the final rivet, and nodded,
eying the narrow gully into which the ship was nosing. It was strewn with
boulders and jagged rocks. Tuck jerked a thumb at the half-track. "Why
don't we bulldoze a take-off path?"
Together
they searched for a large stone with a flat side, and brought the 'track over
to it; in a few moments they had it chained securely to the front of the
machine, and started the half-track moving down the gully with the rock as a
bulldozer blade, shoving rocks and debris to either side with an incredible
crashing and flying of rock and snow. The half-track engine whined and roared
like a tormented thing, bucking and heaving against the load of rock, but
finally they had left behind them a fairly level path, and David studied it,
and nodded with satisfaction. "That should do it, if the jet holds, and
doesn't warp too much. You stay in the 'track and be ready to duck if I start
to spin."
Slowly
David clambered into the cockpit of the Snooper, pulling
the patched hood down over his head. Tuck moved back, suddenly tense. He
watched with his heart in his throat as the whining sound of the priming
engines suddenly began, muffled, as though far in the distance. For almost five
minutes the whine remained steady, then suddenly revved up to the familiar
earsplitting squeal of the jet motor. If only nothing went wrong! Deep in his
heart, Tuck longed to sit at the controls of that little ship, to head out from
the colony, flying low, with telescopic scanner searching out and exploring
every crack and crevice. He would have to wait until David offered him the
controls, but he could almost feel them in his hands, almost feel the nose of
the ship lift, slick as a whistle, sliding up into the dark blue sky—
The jets coughed blue flame, then settled
down to a steady pencil-thin streak, so hot Tuck could almost imagine it
scorching his eyebrows. With a sudden thrust the little ship jerked, then began
sliding down the bulldozed trough, riding the skids smoothly, faster and
faster. And then, like magic, it rose in a burst of speed, the nose lifted, and
the ship skimmed off the ground, up and up in a slightly weaving course; in an
instant it was clear, skimming into the air like a graceful bird, moving up in
a wide arc, curving back down overhead with a squeal of thunder, and off again
like lightning in the direction of the colony.
Tuck
waited, his heart pounding with excitement. It worked! A little unsteady, a lot
that should be done before it was used for an extensive flight, but it was flying! He leaned back in the half-track seat,
waiting impatiently for David to return. The minutes ticked by —five, ten. He
shifted in the seat, peering anxiously at the rapidly darkening horizon, a
flicker of fear in his mind. Fifteen minutes—and then the ship squealed back
overhead again, and slid down in a long arc to land on a level stretch beyond
the rocks, just as the sun fell beneath the horizon. The pale light of Saturn
threw the rocks into weird relief; Tuck snapped on the emergency lamp, swung it
along the dark ground until it picked up David hurrying across the jagged rocks
on foot. But it wasn't until David was actually climbing up into the 'track
that Tuck saw the paleness of his face, the worried wrinkles around his eyes.
David
slammed down the hood and sealed it without a word, revving the engine at the
same time. Then he said, "Better hold on tight, my friend. We're going to
run for it—"
Alarm exploded in Tuck's
mind. "What's wrong?"
"Something inside the dome. It looks like the whole colony is assembling
in the main hall—"
"Cortell?"
David
nodded grimly, and the half-track started with a jerk.
"I don't like it. I could see the people coming up to the hall—and they
didn't look very peaceful—"
Chapter 11 The Ultimatum
f |
iE trip back to the colony was a nightmare that Tuck was to remember as long as
he lived. The darkness settled like a cloak, blacking out the sky more and more
as the glowing, ringed planet that hung in the sky sank farther and farther
toward the horizon, throwing a weird, deceptive gloom over the path. The
emergency lamp flickered and blinked, hiding the deep crevices in a limbo of
shadow and half-light, turning the rocks into indistinguishable black blobs
that suddenly resolved into light and shadow only when the half-track was upon
them. They tried to follow their tracks; David huddled grimly over the steering
bar, panting and struggling, twisting it as the car lurched and shuddered. Once
they struck a huge boulder with an earsplitting crash, and a shower of rocks
and boulders hailed down on the plastic top. A little later the caterpillar
tracks slipped on a steep, angled grade, and the 'track slid crashing down into
a crevice, lodging tight at a ridiculous angle. David threw the engine into
four-wheel drive; the soft pillow wheels in front spun as though embedded in
thick jelly, until the 'track lurched, and lurched, and finally gave the
caterpillars
some traction, and the car lumbered out. Not a
word was exchanged between the boys; David fought the bar in a frenzy of silent
desperation, and Tuck gripped the safety bar for dear life, trying to protect
his head from banging on the overhead or the front panel. He felt numb; he
tried to think of what David had said, but his thoughts were incoherent. A meeting
at the colony could mean a dozen things, a hundred things. What if Cortell had called a convention? The men were angry,
excited—could there be a mob meeting to break Anson Torm's
power, for the last crushing blow? Or could it be an attack on the Colonel,
turned upon him when he was helpless and alone in the colony? It didn't make
sense, nothing made sense as Tuck held on tightly in the lurching vehicle, and
he just sat, praying that the half-track would not get stuck somewhere on the
way-It seemed hours before they mounted the final rise and started down the
valley toward the colony. The lights were bright; the bubble gleamed like a
magic thing in the blackness, but when they reached the lock, a single man was
the only human being in sight. The man admitted them, thrusting his thumb over
his shoulder. "Better step on it," he shouted as the boys climbed
out. "Down in the hall—there's a general colony meeting going on—"
"Who called it?"
"Petition. Two hundred signatures.
And it sounds like it's hot as ore slag—"
"Who
was pushing the petition?" David struggled out of his pressure suit,
panting, his face white.
"Well, it wasn't your
father, you can bet on that.
Cortell has been out of hiding, down in the mines—
him and some of his men. Been going through the mines all
day, whipping the men up until they're fighting mad." The guard
gave Tuck Benedict a black look from the corner of his eyes, and lowered his
voice to a whisper. "He's been telling them that Anson's made a dirty deal
with that Earthman—"
David's
face whitened, and he started at a run for the hall, Tuck close at his heels.
The colony was deserted; every cabin was empty, the lights burning stark in
the gloom; the porch of the trading post was empty. Down the road two children
were wandering, hand in hand, whimpering, and somewhere far away, Tuck heard a
baby squalling, a tiny, helpless, lonely voice shrilling in the darkness. The
boys reached the stairs and plunged down, and then at the bottom they stopped
and wormed their way into the crowd of excited people. The meeting was in
progress.
The
room was filled, every seat, every bench. At the head of the room Anson Torm sat at the table, a huge service revolver on the table
in front of him; the electric lights were dim, and someone had erected two huge
torches that burned smokily on either side of the
room, making flickering shadows dance along the rough-hewn walls. Colonel
Benedict was also in the front of the room, sitting to one side, his face an
angry mask. And standing up in the center of the room was a huge, burly man,
talking in a heavy bass rumble. The man held a hat in his hand, and his words
were greeted with a mutter of approval from people on all sides.
"—All I know is what I can see,
Anson," the big man was saying, wrenching his hat nervously in his hands.
"I been with you right down the line—you know that's a fact. But what Cortell says is beginning to sound just about right."
"You
mean what CortelTs stooges have been spreading
around the colony—is that right?" Anson Torm's voice cut like a knife in the still air.
"I
got eyes," the miner snapped back. "What I see is you and this
Earthman throwin' Cortell
in jail, and holdin' secret meetings. I don't like
it. Maybe I don't think Cortell's always right, but
he's a colonist, and he's got the good of the colony at heart—"
"And
that's more than some people can say" a voice snarled from the rear. A dozen men
burst into angry approval. "What have you got to say, Anson?" somebody
shouted. "Cortell says you're selling us
out—"
Another
man jumped to his feet, shaking his fist. "You've been whining around this
Earthman's feet for two days now—where has it got you? You've been saying
there'd be changes, that Security would listen to us when
they sent a man out—well, how about it? Where are the teachers for our
kids? And the money for the new school—how about that,
Anson?" The man's face was bitter. "What about the building materials
they've promised us for years, so we wouldn't have to five in these hovels?
When are they going to send us the men we need to run this place so we don't
have to work sixteen-hour days?"
Torm's eyes flashed angrily. "Do you think I
can help Security's broken word? Who do you think is stopping all these things?
Me? Do you think I am?"
The man on the floor raised his hand and
pointed at Colonel Benedict. "That's the man that's doing it—and you're
playing right along with him! He's got the power and authority to get changes
made if he feels like it. But he doesn't feel like it. All we hear is more work
and less food." He turned his eyes to the crowd, waving his hands wildly.
"Well I say throw 'em both out! Shut down the
mines for a while, and see how Earth Security likes it. I say let's go along
with Cortell—"
A
cheer went up in the room. Another man was on his feet—it was Taggart, the man
Tuck had seen making the rounds of the cottages after Cortell's
escape. "Seems to me there are two men to blame," he said, his voice
very loud and smooth. Faces turned to him, angry faces. "The one of them
is just a spy, an ordinary stooge like all of them Security sends out to crack
down harder on the whip. But the other one is worse than any spy could
be—" His eyes caught Anson's face, and he stabbed a hand at him, savagely.
"That's the man you want to watch. We can fight Earth—and we can win!
Don't listen to the old man; listen to the one that's on your side. We can blow
up the mines and starve them for power—we could have done it years ago, but oh,
no, Torm handed us lots of nice words and pretty
promises. Well, the time to break it off with Earth is now. Suicide?
Hogwash! Blow up these mines, and Earth is stripped! And even if it is suicide—" he paused, glaring around the room. "Well, we've got
fathers and grandfathers who died for this colony—what's wrong with you? Are
you afraid? Have they got you cowed? Torm is the
traitor—let's throw him out, send him back to Earth with his spy friends, and
let a man lead the colony like it ought to be
led—"
Torm stood up slowly, his face very tired. With a
trembling hand he banged on the table for silence. Then he said, "In six
months the laws governing this colony call for a convention of all colonists
and a general election—either to confirm the old leader, or elect a new one.
That's the law—you voted for it; you laid it down. When that election comes,
it'll be you who does the voting, and you can vote for the Devil himself, for
all I care. But until then, I'm still the leader here, with the power to sign
warrants and enforce law. And I say John Cortell has
attempted murder. I say he'll stand trial for it, and anyone who's helping him
will stand trial. Shut
up, Taggart, you've
had your say, just the way Cortell told you to say
it. Now I'll have mine."
He
brushed a hand over his forehead, and leaned forward, both hands on the table.
"You've done a great job tonight," he said bitterly. "A great job. You expect Earth Security to trust us, to
give us more freedom, more education, more respect—and then you put on a show
like this. Well, it won't work. You want to go along with Cortell's
insanity—well, that won't work, either. It's suicide. What you're talking about
is the end of the line. And as long as I'm leader, I won't let you do
that—"
Taggart
was on his feet again. "We've had about enough of your soft talk, Anson.
How about it, men? Are we going to wait for an election? Cortell
says the time is now—are we going to give this Earth spy six
months to get a nice fleet of Security Patrol ships out here to fight us?"
One of Torm's men
jumped to his feet, hands in pockets, avoiding Anson's eyes. "Now wait a
minute, Taggart—we've got to go slow. This—this all is happening too
fast." He looked unhappily at the colony leader. "Anson, I've been
with you, too—but now I don't know. We're in too deep now. Cortell's
plan is risky, I admit that—but you can see for yourself—" he gestured
helplessly.
"Attaboy!" Taggart shouted. "How
about some more of Torm's men? Carter? Aaronstein?
Miller? What have you got to say?"
"I
say you're a pack of fools!" Ned Miller shouted, jumping up on a chair so
he could be seen. "This colony has never had a better leader, and you
know it. Cortell's plan risky? Is cutting your throat risky? You're fools, the whole crowd of
you—"
The
whole room was explosive now; Tuck caught David's arm, whispered sharply in his
ear. "We've got to do something! This place is going wild!"
David
shook his head desperately. "We can't. There's no time—"
Tuck
saw his father, sitting like a statue, his face bleak. He looked tired and old,
as though the life had been torn from him, and he was a corpse sitting there in
the front of the room. Then suddenly Colonel Benedict came to life; he slammed
his fist down on the table, and stood up, bitter anger heavy on his face. He
was dressed in full Security uniform, and he stood proudly, his back straight,
gray hair perfectly combed, mustache crisp above thin-drawn lips. This was the
picture that was so familiar, Tuck thought, the picture of Earth that the
colonists had, and hated so much. The Colonel stepped in front of the table,
and the uproar subsided, reluctantly, every eye turning to the Colonel's face.
"I've
heard about as much of this as I want to hear," he said quietly, and his
voice held a whiplash in its softness. "I don't care a hang whether you
consider me a spy from Earth, which I am not, or a legal, authorized delegate
of the Earth Security Commission, which I am. And I do not care a nickel whom
you elect as your leader, or what kind of petty little squabbles you insist
upon having in this colony. But as far as what you do in the mines is
concerned, I've heard enough nonsense in this room tonight to last me for the
rest of my life."
The Colonel paused, his eyes sweeping the
room. "These mines are going to continue to run, no matter what happens
here. If you threaten production from these mines, Security is prepared to
throw every man, woman and child in the colony into prison for treason, and
send you back to Earth for trial, and bring in convicts and soldiers to run
the mines. Already there's been violence—my own life has been threatened twice.
There'd better not be any more."
The crowd exploded into an angry roar. Anson Torm was on his feet, turning furiously to the Colonel.
"Can't you see that threats won't frighten these people any more? They've been living under threats for years. They
won't take any more."
"They are threatening
Earth's entire economy. And they seem to have an exalted opinion of their own
importance, for some strange reason." The Colonel's voice was like a
knife.
"But if they blow up
the mines—"
"And kill themselves
at the same time? I'm sorry, but that bluff won't work. Too many people have
been trying to bluff me—"
Pandemonium broke loose on the floor as a
dozen men began shouting at once. "You must be blind," Torm cried. "Do you really think these people are
bluffing?"
"Five hundred people will not
deliberately blow up the very colony they must have in order to survive. Yes, I
think they're bluffing." He straightened up, and his voice cut through the
rising growl of the colonists. "I want Cortell
in irons, and I want him on the Earth ship." He was shaking with anger,
his voice trembling. "I don't care who wins your little battle here. But I
want Cortell delivered to me at the Rocket Landing by sundown tomorrow. If he isn't there then, and if
you aren't back in the mines then, I'll declare martial law in this colony, and
call a troopship in from Ganymede to enforce it." The Colonel turned to Torm as a horrified hush fell over the room. "Do I
make myself perfectly clear?"
"Perfectly." Torm spat the
word, as though it were something disgraceful.
"Then
if you don't mind, I'll leave you to your squabbling." The Colonel turned
away contemptuously, "I'd like a half-track placed at my disposal immediately."
He strode through the crowd like a man apart,
catching Tuck's eye as he passed, nodded grimly toward the stairs. Tuck
followed him silently, his heart sinking. "Where are we going?"
"Back
to the ship. It
isn't safe to remain here now."
"But Dad, this is all
wrong—"
"And
I'll thank you to keep your nose out of it, if you please!" His fathers voice was furious. Without
another word he strode up the stairs.
Tuck
hesitated just a moment, trying to catch David's eye. But when he saw the utter
despair on the boy's face, he turned quickly and followed his father.
Minutes
later they were walking swiftly toward the colony air lock.
Chapter J2a Desperate Chance
or a long time
they rode in silence. The half-track had been waiting for them when they
gathered their belongings from the Torms' cabin, Tuck packing in despair, his father in white-faced
anger. They had climbed in, with the Colonel at the steering bar, and the
vehicle started out across the valley floor in the direction of the Rocket
Landing.
Tuck
had no idea what time it was, but he knew it was very late. Saturn had set now;
the sky was pitch black, matching perfectly the black rocks of the tundra.
There seemed to be no hurry; the Colonel eased the half-track along, searching
out the path with the emergency lamp, frequently slowing to a stop to study
the treacherous ground. Tuck sat huddled on the seat, his mind whirling with
the sudden turn of events. For the first time in his life he felt himself
utterly at a loss-there seemed to be no possible answer. He stared miserably
out the front panel, saying over and over to himself that this was all wrong,
that there had
to be an answer—but he
realized that his father still didn't know about the Big Secret—whatever it
was. And as
he watched the Colonel, sitting stiffly, face
still angry, Tuck knew he couldn't tell him now. Several times he started to
speak; each time it suddenly seemed ridiculous. There was nothing to say, as
minute by minute they moved farther away from the colony.
Finally
Tuck said, "There must be some way
to stop them."
"A
trial for treason will stop them," the Colonel snapped. "Of all the
pigheaded, rebellious trash I ever saw in my life—"
"You haven't given
them a chance—"
The
Colonel snorted, turning angry eyes to his son. "Yes, they seem to have
you right along with them. I thought you had more sense than to swallow their
nonsense."
Tuck's eyes widened.
"What did I do?"
"You
really gave me a helping hand, you did, getting
yourself all chummy with that ninny of a son of his. That was fine. While I was doing everything I could
to keep things on a negotiable basis, you had to pour fuel on Cortell's little fire, to make the people think that a
shady deal was going on. I wonder what kind of friends you picked back at
school."
Tuck's
ears turned red at the sarcasm. "I'm sorry, Dad. But you aren't even
trying to see their viewpoint at all-"
"They
have no viewpoint that makes any difference!" The Colonel burst out
angrily. "You'd think they'd feel some sort of loyalty to the land that
feeds them, and supports them and depends on them. Viewpoint, bah!
First they try to blackmail me, and then they
take my own son out and feed him a wild story that he doesn't have brain enough
to see through—"
"That isn't fair, and
you know it!"
The
Colonel looked at Tuck, and his face softened suddenly. The anger disappeared,
and left behind it lines of weariness and defeat. "Oh, I suppose it isn't.
You didn't know any better, and probably David didn't realize what he was
doing, either. I—I'm just tired, that's all." He sighed audibly.
"This thing beats me, Tuck. It doesn't make sense. I came up here to try to
make a peaceable settlement, and I haven't gotten to first base. Everything's
gone wrong right from the first, and now it looks like it's going to be the
end. We'll be back to the penal colony stage, after all these years, and that's
a real defeat." He shook his head wearily. "I don't know. Maybe I'm
getting old."
Tuck
sat in silence, his heart sinking. Then his father really didn't realize what the true picture was. He still
thought the whole business was a huge scheme to bluff him—with Torm and Cortell and David all
working together. A flicker of doubt passed through his mind. Could it be
possible that he had
been fooled? That David had been used to foment violence against Torm and
his father? Could it be that the Big Secret was actually ready, and that Torm himself was trying to breed an "incident"
that would make it necessary to use it? Tuck shook his head. He just couldn't
believe that. Because there was no retreat for the colonists, no matter what
plan they had. They could only go underground, into some vast subterranean
vault, to lock themselves in, if they rebelled against Earth. Earth was too
powerful, it spread too far. And once the die was cast, no Titan colonist
would ever again be able to go anywhere in the Solar System. Their names would
be the names of traitors against humanity, and they would have to stay in their
hole and rot. So perhaps they would survive for twenty years, or fifty years,
or a hundred years —what good was survival that way?
No,
David was right, and the Colonel was wrong. He could see that—his father
couldn't. The Colonel had brought a little more distrust, a little deeper
prejudice, and a more bitter fund of experience with
him. These were the things that blocked his father and blinded him. He couldn't
see what had been happening to the Titan colonists, he couldn't realize what it
meant to live in a tight, crowded, frozen colony for generation after
generation, seeing their slender grip on freedom and their rights as men being
torn from them bit by bit. He couldn't understand how they could be as desperate
as they really were. And if Tuck were to tell him about the Big Secret—the
Colonel would probably laugh. Because unless he could see the colonists' viewpoint,
the Big Secret would be just another deceit, just another lie to use to
blackmail him—
The
half-track jounced through the gorge where the ambush had been laid. Tuck and
his father peered out, but could see very little of the rubble that had fallen.
Minutes passed—how long had they been gone? An hour? Two? Tuck knew he should be tired, but sleep was far from
his mind. Slowly they rolled along, moving in a strange slow motion, a little
black bug feeling its way across the wastes of an impossible planetoid to the
last haven of humanity that still remained—the ship from Earth. Yet once they
reached it, there would be no retreat. The colony would be lost. Because Torm would never be able to hold
the colonists to his side after this last failure to settle peaceably with
Earth.
And the Big Secret? There was the question mark, the key to the
whole problem. It kept thrusting itself upon Tuck's mind, insistently, and he
reviewed what David had said about it. It seemed incredible that a plan could
have been prepared in absolute secrecy for over a hundred years—and what could possibly
take so long? What kind of plan could possibly offer the colony any sort of
hope whatsoever?
Slowly, as they bounced along, things began
to line themselves up in Tuck's mind, like the outlines he had made in school.
When you have a problem, write down everything you know about it—all the facts
in one column, all the unknowns in another column, all possible solutions in
another. Then eliminate.
All
right.
Problem:
The
Big Secret—
A
plan, a last-ditch plan, an escape, a way out that the
colonists could use if they were driven against the wall. Check.
A plan that was guided by a very few people,
kept in strict secrecy from the rest. Check again.
A plan that had taken over a hundred years to set in readiness. Check.
A
plan that would take care of all five hundred people in the colony, a plan that
would allow them to blow
up the mines and the colony they had been living in. Check.
Hold
it. Slow now. Something was missing there-Tuck shifted his weight as the
half-track slid down a grade, then hit the bottom and lurched up again with a
roar. A plan, a last-ditch plan, a way out—
A
way out that Anson Torm thought was suicide, and
risked being branded a traitor to oppose. But Cortell
was eager to set it in motion—
A difference of opinion, then. Odd? Very odd. A last-ditch plan that was
hazardous, terribly hazardous, but which might work. That made sense! There was great risk involved. It might be a way out,
or it might be death. Cortell was willing to gamble; Torm was not— But that meant that it might be a permanent way out for the colonists, if it
worked. A
way out in utter defiance of Earth-Tuck chewed his lip. An
underground station? Could that possibly, even conceivably, be a permanent way out?
Never. It just didn't add up.
But what else? A ship to escape in?
To escape where? What kind of a ship would carry five
hundred people and let them hide out in a Solar System teeming with Security
Patrol ships, a ship that would be hunted down to the bitter end. Possible? Even conceivable?
Never. There could be no escape off the planetoid itself. There was no place to go, no place to hide.
But what? Open war against Earth? Even
more ridiculous. There were big enough ruthenium stores on Earth to last
for several weeks. The colonists would be wiped out, utterly massacred.
Then
what was the Big Secret?
It
was something big, and something desperate beyond
belief.
It was something on Titan.
Therefore—it was something
that could he found.
Tuck
stared at his father, an impossible plan forming in his mind. His father
wouldn't listen to reason now, he wouldn't believe
anything the colonists told him. Nothing would change his father's attitude at
this point but facts—cold, clear, unarguable facts. And there was
only one fact that would make much difference. The plan.
The true nature of the Big Secret. If Tuck could get
back to the colony, somehow, contact David there, there might still be time.
Time to find the Big Secret, wherever it was, whatever it was, and bring back the facts to lay before the two men.
Tuck's heart pounded, and he tensed against
the gripping bar, the plan crystallizing in his mind. Carefully he began
watching his father drive the half-track. He'd never driven it before, but he
seemed to be doing all right, and Tuck had watched David drive it. His eyes
narrowed thoughtfully. There wasn't any other vehicle at the ship that could
travel over this kind of ground. If it were possible—
After a long, unbearable time, the 'track
mounted the last rise, and tumbled over the rim, down into the shallow crater
where the Earth ship stood, tall and shiny. Already there was a brightening on
the horizon —the night was short, and it was almost dawn. Weird shadows were
creeping out of the blacks and grays, showing the surface of the valley in more
detail.
"We'll
need some sleep," the Colonel was saying, "and I think we'd better
get it while the getting is good. Well have the men alerted as soon as anything
pops, and have them radio for a troopship from Ganymede right now—it can't be
too soon." He glanced over at Tuck. "And I think you'd better stay on
the ship, no matter what happens. I've had no right to drag you into this in
the first place, particularly since I've made such a nice mess of things. And
don't worry too much about your young friend—I've a notion he'll make out all
right."
Tuck
nodded, his conscience jabbing him sharply. It was a desperate decision, a
desperate chance to take, yet he knew he had to take it. It would mean disobeying
his father—but there would be no answer but violence and death if he didn't do
it. And they could find the answer, if only there were time—
The
half-track stopped thirty yards from the crane, and the top sprang open with a
hiss. The Colonel clambered out, stepping down to the frigid ground. Tuck
leaned over the back seat, as though hunting for something in the storage
space, his heart beating in his throat, moving as slowly as he dared, until he
saw his father start walking away from the half-track. Then, like lightning,
Tuck snapped the switch that slammed the hood back down; in the same motion he
started the pump at top speed, its motor roaring in his ears. For the briefest
instant he caught a glimpse of his father's face, startled, realization
dawning; then he revved up the motor, jerked back on the steering bar, threw
the gear into reverse, and felt the vehicle lurch back thirty feet from his
father. The Colonel started running toward the vehicle, shouting, and Tuck
desperately snapped on the emergency lamp, catching the Colonel full in the
face, blinding him for an instant. Then, with a roar, the half-track pivoted,
started rolling crazily away from the ship again, headed up the path that led
to the colony. Through the back of the hood he saw his father's tiny figure,
running after the half-track for a few steps, then stopping, standing still,
just staring. And then Tuck wrenched his mind away, forcibly thrust his
betrayal out of his mind, concentrated on guiding the lumbering vehicle.
It
slipped and slid, jouncing him out of the seat time after time, banging his
head on the top, throwing him almost over on his face. It was speed now that
counted, speed more than anything else, and he urged the car forward
recklessly. A dismal red line was forming on the horizon; dawn was not far
away, but the light only confused the picture before him as the half-track
hurtled up the grade and over the rim, leaving the Earth ship far behind. Tuck
hung on for dear life, praying that the machine would stay upright,
and not run into any of the treacherous gullies and crevices that lay on either
side.
The
Snooper was in working order. If he could get to the
colony and get David, they could go for the little ship. He had no more idea
than the man in the moon what they would be looking for—but something existed, the Big Secret was somewhere—and if it existed, it could be found—
A
squeal of jet engines cut through to his ears, and he braked down the
half-track, staring. Like a streak, he saw the little jet swoop down over him,
arc up high, and loop over to come in again. Tuck's heart skipped a beat. David
had had the same idea! He slowed the 'track to a stop, threw open the hood, and
crawled out, running down the grade to the place where the Snooper had jetted in.
David
waved, and moved aside in the cockpit, motioning Tuck in beside him. "I
thought I was going to have to storm the ship single-handed to get you
out," he exclaimed. "Your dad really fixed things! I had to sneak
out—sent the air-lock guard on a wild-goose chase and copped his half-track to
get out to the Snooper—"
"But
why?"
"I've been thinking, Dad got control of
things in the meeting finally—but only because of the fight with the
Colonel." He grinned. "Cortell's boys were
having trouble explaining why they would be fighting if they were really in
cahoots. But there's only one thing that will bring any sort of solution
now." He looked up at Tuck, his face eager. "It means selling out my
dad and the colony, but it's the only thing."
"You mean the
plan," Tuck said eagerly.
"Exactly. Wherever it is, we've got to find it, and
spring it wide-open to everybody. If that won't get dad and the Colonel
together, nothing will."
Tuck
nodded. "It will. It can't help but do it. But where do we start?"
David
chewed his lip for a moment. "Wherever it is, it's connected with the
colony," he said. "I mean by tunnel. I don't have any idea where. The
easiest thing would be to go in through the colony, but I'm afraid that's out. Cortell would have the tunnel guarded, whichever one it
was—"
Tuck
blinked. "That would tip us off to the right one—"
"If we ever did find it. But there may be another way in."
"From
the outside?"
"Right. If it's a vault, or a battle station, it's big-it would have to be to take five hundred people.
There are lots of abandoned shafts that might let us in to the mines. And once
inside, we'll have to make use of every break we can." He snapped on the
primer switch of the jet. "Hang on, boy," he said softly. "We've
got a lot of hunting to do, and we haven't got much time."
Tuck
sat back, hardly able to breathe, the excited whine of the engines driving all thoughts
out of his mind. The little scooter jerked, bumped a time or two, and then
suddenly they were swooping out into the clear, thin atmosphere, rising higher
and higher, until they could see the edge of the morning sun. Time was passing
even now, precious minutes that could mean success or failure. With time
closing in on them, it seemed an almost impossible chance-But somewhere below
them the planet held a secret, a secret that had been kept inviolate for a
hundred years. And in a few short hours, somehow, the secret had to be found—
The Secret of the Tunnel
the quest seemed
hopeless from the start. Tuck had I never
been higher above the surface of Titan than I the observation room of the Earth ship; he had * never realized the
vastness of the place. But now, as the Snooper skimmed
higher and higher into the sun the realization drove home, and he stared
bleakly down at the wild panorama spread out beneath them.
There
was no break in the barren wildness. A few miles to the right he could see the
oval dome of the colony, reflecting the early morning light, gleaming like a
dull jewel as the lights within it blinked off one by one. But the colony lay
totally isolated by miles and miles of endless rock. Even as they rose, the surface
lost its detail and took on a different sort of wildness. It was a mammoth
chunk of barren rock—
And
somewhere down there five hundred people had carved out a tiny foothold, and
from it were threatening the entire Solar System!
David
Torm glanced down for an instant. "Not
very pretty, eh?"
"It
looks horrible. I don t see how we could ever find anything."
David chuckled. "Don't give up
yet." He tipped the nose of the little ship down again, and curved in
toward the colony. "We can't see anything at all up this high—I just wanted
to give you a picture of the surface." He pointed off toward the rising
sun. "The first thing I want to do is to go down there close to the
surface and look for a fault I saw
a couple of months ago. There was a big clordelkus
there—the nasty things like oxygen, for dessert, I guess and he'd sucked up
enough stone to start a cave-in over the tunnel. I mapped it, and didn't pay
too much attention to it, but it might get us inside the tunnels. If we spot
that, so we know we can
get in, well start circling
the colony in widening circles. That way we should spot anything that looks
suspicious."
"And if we don't see
anything?"
"Then
we'll try hunting from the inside." The ship was quite low now, sweeping
over the jagged land in a beeline for the sun. David handed Tuck a pair of
binoculars. "I'll make several runs of about five miles over the area—see
if you can spot anything."
"What am I looking
for, exactly?"
"A deep cut."
Tuck
snorted. "The whole surface is full of deep cuts."
"Sure,
I know—but this will be sandbagged up, and you should be able to see the
bags." The ship cut even lower, and Tuck started scanning the ground as it
whizzed by, looking for anything which might be an artificial cut. The ship
reached the end of the run, made a quarter-mile arc, and sped back. The high
rocky cliffs spun by them crazily; sometimes the ship jerked up abruptly,
sometimes it nearly skidded on the ground, sending up whirlwinds of snow in its
wake. Still Tuck saw nothing. He kept gripping at the instrument panel as the ship
lurched and dropped, but there was just nothing to see.
"You
do a good job of flying," he said, as they skimmed along one of the runs.
"Lots of practice. I'd hoped to get into rocketry, and I
learned everything I could from dad's books— but it took a lot of flying hours,
too." The leader's son looked over at Tuck. "I'm still going to get
into rocketry," he said. "Somehow, I'll get a rocket built. We're in
a perfect place to base some real exploratory work here—study Saturn and her moons,
all of them." His eyes took a wistful light. "But that's just the
start. Someday, maybe even while I'm alive, somebody is going to break the
space barrier. The real
space barrier—"
Tuck's
eyes glowed. "You mean discover an interstellar drive?"
David
nodded. "Good old Sol is just one star. There are millions of them waiting
for us. When they build the first star-ship—that's where I want to be." He
spun the scooter around for another run, then snorted
in disgust. "This is getting us nowhere. Let's take the colony as a hub and
start circling."
The sun rose higher
and higher, a dim, small, feeble-looking sun, glowering out of a cloudless
purple sky.
Tuck's
eyes were smarting from the staring, but he kept the binoculars tight to his
pressure helmet. An hour passed as they moved slowly out from the colony in
ever-widening circles. Finally he dropped the binoculars disgustedly. "I
wouldn't see anything if it walked up and kicked me," he growled.
"All I see is gorges and cuts and cliffs—"
"Want to let me look
for a while?"
"And let me fly?"
Tuck's heart leaped.
"Think you can do
it?"
"Of course. I won't go as low as you are, but I can
almost match it." He held on as David slid into a long, even stretch, then
rose higher and shifted the controls to automatic. The cockpit was a tight
squeeze, but they managed to shift, and in a few moments Tuck's hands were
gripping the semicircular wheel, and he felt the little scooter responding to
every touch, every movement. He brought the ship up in a high arc, exhilaration
shooting through him to the depths of his bones. His mind went back for a
second to the obstacle races he had flown back in school; then he brought the
ship in low. He found the place where they had left their circles, and closed
in, picking up a landmark in each quarter turn every time around, moving slowly
outward. The colony grew farther and farther away as the minutes lengthened
into another hour, and his hopes dwindled with every minute—
"Wait—"
David stared into the binoculars, shifting around as the ship left the ground behind.
"Wait a minute—"
"See something?"
David
scowled. "Can't tell. Bring her in very low,
right over that stretch there—see the gorge running off at two o'clock? Try to
follow it." His voice was excited, and he peered down, holding the
binoculars ready. Tuck swung the ship around and brought her in, scooping down
as low as he dared. He could pay no attention to anything but the path the ship
was taking, and he saw the walls of the gorge rise up on either side as they
skimmed through. And then David let out a yip of glee. "Here," he
cried. "Let me take it. See what you see! Just this side of the gorge,
over to the right—"
Tuck
relinquished the controls, peered through the binoculars at the jagged ground
below. At first he could see nothing; then, as they swooped over, he saw what
looked like a deep, black, perfectly rectangular hole—
"Looks
like a cave-in!" He cried. "Looks like it." "Is this the
one you saw?" "Nope. This is lots farther
out." "Think we can get into it?"
"We
can sure try!" He slid the ship down, searching for a smooth place to
land. "At any rate, we'll take a look. This may be our way into the
tunnels." He was busy at the controls for a few moments, and then the ship
was down, and the sound of the jet was dying away in their ears. In a moment
they were out, lumbering for the fault as fast as their clumsy suits would let
them—
The hole was about thirty feet deep,
perfectly rectangular at the top, but sloping up from the bottom on one side,
as though one section of the tunnel had given way, and
a landslide piled into it. As they stared, they could see at the bottom an
opening, leading into a black hole that seemed to disappear into the wall of
rock.
"It
is a tunnel!" David was scrambling down the
side, staring at the other side of the hole. Tuck hesitated.
"Seems
odd there isn't an alarm, if it goes into the tunnels—"
David
shook his head. "Not so strange. The colony end of the tunnel is
completely blocked off by the cave-in. This must open into the outer end."
Tuck
peered down at him. "You think it's cut off from the main tunnel back to
the colony?"
David
nodded. "And look there—" He pointed to a large chunk of smoothly
scooped-out rock lying in the debris. "Looks like we can
thank our little silicon friend for this, too. Probably this cave-in is
quite recent—"
"Shall we go in?"
"Might as well—even if it is a dead
end."
David climbed down to the bottom of the slide, cleared rocks away from the
black hole, and stuck his head in. A moment later he looked back. "Come
on. This goes quite a way in."
Tuck
clambered down, careful not to cut his pressure suit on the jagged rocks.
Together they struggled through the tunnel, snapping on their helmet lamps as
the darkness closed in on them. The tunnel was seven or eight feet high, and
four feet wide, beamed heavily on the sides and overhead. Thirty yards ahead it
curved to the left and disappeared into the darkness
David
stopped after a few steps, and turned to Tuck, a strange expression in his
eyes. "Wait a minute," he said softly.
"What's
wrong?" Tuck's voice was a startled whisper.
"Everything!" David whispered back. "I've been
thinking. I don't remember any tunnel here. No tunnel of any sort. I've
studied all the maps, and the maps say that there's a large vein of radioactives between here and the colony—and no way to dig
through it safely—"
Tuck's eyes widened. "This is a tunnel,
map or no map—" He stopped short, staring over his shoulder at the little
patch of light, then back at David. "You mean—"
"Has your Geiger been acting up since we
came in here?" "Not a peep."
"That's
what I thought. There's a tunnel through here, all right, but not through any
radioactive vein, and not on any map that I've ever seen!" He jerked his head and started down the tunnel.
"Buddy, we're on to something!"
They plodded on in silence. The stillness of
the place was oppressive, almost ghostly; their footsteps echoed and re-echoed
in the darkness. As the tunnel curved, the opening to the outside disappeared,
and they were in total darkness except for the flicker of their helmet lamps.
"Look!" said
David suddenly.
Forty
feet ahead the tunnel suddenly broke into a Y. One branch curved gently off to
the left, and then down. The other cut sharply to the right. And at the
junction was a large, dull metal object.
Tuck stopped short and
stared. "What is it?"
"A pump and blower. There have been cave-ins before in this
tunnel—and that means it's an old one. And look at the beaming—wooden! They
haven't beamed tunnels with wood for years."
"Let's
split up here," said Tuck. "I'll take the
right, you take the left. Will the phones carry through this rock?"
"For
a little way."
"All right. Look—let's each walk for ten minutes. Then come back. Meet me here in
twenty minutes."
"That's
good," said David. "There's something about this I don't like."
Tuck
waved and started down the right-hand tunnel. It cut very sharply around, then suddenly straightened. Tuck walked slowly, the only
sound those of his own footsteps. He shivered, suddenly, as he walked. A tunnel
where there was no tunnel on the map—beyond a radioactive bed that didn't
exist. His heart pounded wildly. It could be only one thing. But what if they
were caught down here, snooping into some strange underground vault that had
been kept deadly secret for a century—what could they do? Tuck realized with a
jolt that he hadn't thought of weapons. With the tunnel open to the outside, a
quick blow to smash his helmet would be the end—
The
tunnel widened suddenly, and he was in a small room, packed to the ceiling with
sandbags. And against one wall were boxes—he peered at them, curiously. They
were aluminum cargo boxes, stacked one on top of another. Every box had a
stencil on its side that read, "Titan Colony, via Rocket Freight,"
followed by a date—
'ruck!"
Tuck started violently as the cry burst into
his earphones, and his heart pounded in his throat.
"What's
the matter, Dave?"
And
then there was an excited shout in the 'phones that Tuck couldn't catch, and he
heard the jog-jogjog coming through of running feet
in the other tunnel. He turned and rushed back down the tunnel toward the Y
again, a thousand horrible phantoms welling up in his mind. His suit was
clumsy; his feet slipped once, and he went crashing to the ground, a sharp pain
wrenching at his shoulder, but he dragged himself up again, and rushed on. At
the Y he ran into David head-on, frantic with excitement. "I've found
it," David choked between gasps. "Come on, I've found it—"
He started back up the left-hand tunnel, with
Tuck hard on his heels. The tunnel curved, and then dipped down, running
straight for a hundred feet or more. Then David slowed down, waving him to a
halt. Up ahead was an opening into something with
gloomy gray light filtering out. But David was pointing to the strip of dull
gray material that ran across the tunnel, three strips that blended almost
perfectly with the uneven ground, arranged just close enough together so that
anyone not watching the path carefully would step on one of the strips, with
the little shiny metal detonator caps that followed the strips— "Murexide!"
David
nodded. "I barely spotted it." Gingerly he stepped between the
strips, then across to the other side, and Tuck followed, his heart in his
throat. A perfect booby trap for one who wasn't watching
closely for just such a thing. On the other side they hesitated for a
moment; then David urged him on with a wave of a hand, and they hurried again
toward the opening, and stopped short, almost teetering on the drop that lay
before them. And they stood there and stared, peering dumbfounded at the
incredible thing they saw there before them in the gloom-It was not a vault,
nor a battle station, nor even a stockade. It was a ship, standing upright on its jets in a tall,
narrow crevice, with the open top camouflaged and sealed with gray plastic sheeting
that blended perfectly into the rock. A pale gray light filtered down from
above, and the huge ship stood like a ghost, tall and silent in the gloom-Tuck
stared at David, dumbfounded. "But—but a ship! But there's no place to go with a ship! They'd be hunted down, if it took a thousand years. There's no place in the Solar System they
could hide—" His
voice broke off with a gasp as the implication of his own words struck him.
There
was only one place where a ship would be beyond pursuit. Completely
and utterly beyond pursuit.
There was only one conclusion possible. The
ship was a star-ship.
Chapter 14 Trapped
r |
jck Benedict and David Torm stared at the ship in the
gloomy crevice, stared speechless at the long, slender form as the implication
sank in. And then they were both talking at once, forgetting where they were in
their amazement at the ship in the crevice before them. A thousand questions
roared through Tuck's brain, a thousand pressing questions, questions that came
out with incredible, staggering answers.
"But
where could they have gotten
it? There's never been a
ship like this on Titan for anything except regular cargo runs—and how could it be a star-ship? How could it take five hundred people—"
"I
don't know, but this is the plan—it must be." David stared up at the long,
slender, finger-like structure. "It must be the Earth ship that crashed.
That was a troopship—built to carry three or four hundred men—"
"But
that was lost clear around on the other side of the planet!"
"I
know. But the Security Patrol never found it, did they?"
"No—it was an impossible task. Titan is
almost half
as big as Earth. What chance would a search
party have? The ship may have fallen into one of those gorges, and covered over
with frost so it was completely invisible from above."
David
Torm nodded. "But everyone knew a ship had
crashed. There was no colony here then—but when the colonists first worked out
the plan, they knew
there was a
ship—somewhere—"
"And
they must have found it." Tuck's voice was filled with awe. "They
must have torn it apart, bit by bit, hull plate by hull plate, tube by tube—and
brought it here."
David
jumped up, excitedly. "That's right! Just a few men, working in secret,
dragging all that metal clear around from the other side. And then they found
this crevice here to reassemble it—and it's taken them a hundred years."
Tuck
shook his head, still incredulous. "And the
tunnel?"
"They
must have built it in secret, and then made up a story about a vein of radioactives to keep the other colonists—and the
Earthmen—away." He stared down the black hole where the jet tubes
disappeared, and the fins on which the ship rested.
"It
still doesn't add up!" Tuck burst out. "Where did they get an
interstellar drive for it? The greatest minds in the world have been working on
Earth for two hundred years to find a drive that would take a ship to the
stars. They've had laboratories, money, government support—and they've never found it. They say it's theoretically impossible."
He turned to David, his eyes wide. "How could the colonists have found something that all Earth's
technology couldn't find?"
David shrugged. "I
couldn't even guess."
"Well, I'll tell you one thing—7 want to see those engines!"
"I don't know if we should go on board
her or not—" All of a sudden David was trembling. "I don't like this,
Tuck—I'm scared of what'll happen if they find us—"
"If the colonists have developed an
interstellar drive, ifs
in that ship. You can stay here if you want. I'm going
in." Tuck started up the ramp toward the dark port in the ship's side.
David hesitated, then started up after him.
"Look," he said, pointing upward at the scaffolding. "They're
still finishing the hull plates. They must have built it from the inside out.
And it looks almost finished—"
They stepped from the ramp into the ship, and
Tuck felt a thrill unlike anything he had ever experienced. Here was the
adventure he had dreamed of all his life; here was the ship that was built to
go to the stars, built to leave Earth and Earth's puny Solar System light-years
behind, built to speed straight as an arrow-where? Alpha Centaurus? Cygni? Arcturus? Here was the greatest frontier of all, the frontier that
had never been crossed—the frontier physicists on Earth had said could never he crossed—
Because there was no drive for an
interstellar ship. The weeks and months in transit between Earth and Mars or Venus or
Titan on fast Interplanetary Atomics were insignificant compared to the
years—the centuries —that would be required to travel with them to the stars.
Man's life was too short to make such a trip possible without an interstellar
drive.
And
yet, in the bowels of this strange secret ship-was the drive there? Could the colonists, in their desperation, have discovered genius
in their midst, genius to solve the immense mathematical and technical impossibilities
of a space-warp, of faster-than-light mo-lion? The boys made their way
along the narrow dark corridor of the ship, moving downward, still downward to
the rear of the ship. They passed a huge room, and stopped, peering through the
hatch at the tier upon tier of soft, curved mattresses, set at 45° angles from
the floor—the acceleration cots. This was the troop hold, the quarters that had
been built to carry the Security Patrol troops, over a century ago—how many
were there? The boys stopped, and counted the cots on the first row, and
counted the number of tiers. Five hundred. The ship
was to carry the entire colony. There was no doubt of it.
Then
in another room a bright light shone, and when they walked in, they (ound a sealed lock and an inner hatch. They moved curiously
into the lock, and sealed the door behind them, heard the automatic pumps whir,
until the inner hatchway sprang open, and they walked into a brilliant flare of
lights. It was a large room, lined with mercury vapor lamps and carbon arcs, a
room so damp and hot that their cold suits were drenched with water, and they
stood in little individual rainstorms, until they could peer through their
dripping helmets at the row upon row of green things, growing plants in huge
tanks. The hydroponic tanks— to provide growing food, to cleanse the great ship
of carbon dioxide and to replenish the feeble stores of oxygen the ship could
carry for five hundred people. They wiped the water from their suits in sheets,
and moved back through the lock. Out once again in the icy corridor the water
froze in solid sheets upon them, and tinkled and crashed to the floor as they
broke it off. But still they moved to the rear, on toward the wonderful
engines that lay in the bowels of the ship.
Tuck
knew the layout of the ship; he had explored the Earth ship in minute detail
during the passage out to Titan, and was familiar with what to expect of such
ships. But David had never before traveled on a rocket ship; his acquaintance
had been confined to a brief visit now and then, and he followed Tuck with open
mouth and wide eyes, finding amazement in every turn of the passageway,
excitement in every compartment. And when they opened the hatch that led to the
engine rooms and generators David could hardly believe that a single ship could
carry propelling engines so huge.
But
Tuck didn't wait for his friend. In an instant he was down among the
generators, examining the engines, moving swiftly from one great pile of
machinery to another, eyes growing wider, more incredulous by the minute. And
when David finally caught up with him, he found the Earth boy sitting stunned
on an auxiliary generator, staring about in bewilderment. "What's wrong,
boy? Are you sick?"
"Sick?
No—no. I'm—I'm fine. I—I just can't understand it—"
David glanced around nervously.
"Understand what?"
Tuck stared up at him,
hollow-eyed. "The engines!"
"What's wrong with the
engines?"
"There's nothing wrong with them.
They're perfectly good, common, ordinary, everyday interplanetary atomics. There isn't any interstellar drive on this
ship!"
David sat down heavily. "I thought not. Because if there were, it would be easy for them to escape.
And my father thought it would be suicide for them—"
Tuck
nodded, speaking almost as if he were in an unbelievable dream. "It would
be suicide. They would have to make this ship a colony—a permanent colony,
drifting endlessly in space. They would have to take their bearings, and head
out into deep space until their power gave out—and then they would have to
drift. They would keep going, and they would reach their star—someday. But it
would take three hundred years." He looked up at David. "Do you
realize what that would mean? That would be twelve generations to live and die aboard this ship before it
reached its destination! And what might they find, even if they reached it? A
planet they could live on? Who knows? There might not be any planets in the
system they reached —or there might not be any oxygen, any food. They would
never know until they got there—and they might never even survive to reach
it—it would be almost hopeless to try and support five hundred people, and
their children, and their children's children, on a ship like this for three
hundred years."
David nodded. "But there
would be a chance."
"A
chance?
What kind of a chance? A billion to one?"
"More
chance than staying here. Because at least the colony would
be free."
Tuck
stared at the engines about them. "Do you think that they would actually
try it?"
David
nodded, very slowly. "I
know my people," he
said. "Even a billion-to-one chance at freedom would be better, to them.
But only if there was no hope here."
"But Cortell is urging them into it now!"
"Cortell is a fool. He wants to lead, and he hates
Earth—more than anything else in his life, he hates Earth. He wants to stop the
mines, destroy Earth's power, no matter what the cost. And this is the way he
can do it."
They
sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Tuck said, "There's still time to
stop him. The ship isn't loaded completely; there is still the whole colony and
their clothes and supplies to load. We've still got a little time." He
started up the ladder to the corridor. "Come on—we can go out where we
came in. We can get the Snooper and
go get dad at the Earth ship. And then we can get your father, and they'll have to listen to reason." He stopped suddenly, cocking his ear.
"Listen! Do you hear something?"
David
listened, and his face went white. The sound was clear now, a thin, high
whistling note, with a strange throbbing undertone. "That's a pump,"
David whispered. "We'd better hurry!"
They rushed upward, reaching the port
completely out of breath. The whine was louder now, and the throbbing had
become a clearly distinguishable pompom-pom of
pumping pistons. They scanned the outside of the ship carefully, then slipped down the gangway, dousing their lights as they
went. Once back in the tunnel they walked slowly, flicking their lights briefly
every ten steps or so. "We'll have to dodge the Murexide,"
David whispered, "but it sounds like the pumps are nearby. That cave-in
must have been vert, recent. It may have been the thing that was holding Cortell
up all along."
"But
how would they get to this side of the cave-in to set the pumps in
motion?"
"They
must have tunneled around the cave-in. It would have taken them two or three
days, and that's about right—" He stopped short, and stepped gingerly
across the deadly gray strips in their path, then moved quickly along. They
reached the Y, and still saw no one, but the sound of the pumps was imminent
now. Carefully they crept along the wall, keeping the curve of the wall between
them and the pumps—and then, almost on top of them, they heard voices, and
froze against the wall—
"—still
think there's something fishy about it," a voice was shouting above the
pumps. "Don't have cave-ins like this just out of a clear blue sky.
Especially when we're ready to get going—"
"Come
on, get the bags in there and shut up," another voice snarled. "We
got enough to do without crying about everything."
"Yeah,
but why do they gotta make us do it?" There was a dull thump as another sandbag was slammed into
place. "Who do they think we are, anyway? And it couldn't be a little
break, nothin' like that. Oh, no. Gotta
be four feet high—"
"All right, all right. Stop whining! Did you bring the
sealer?"
There
were more sounds, interspersed with grunts, and a hiss of the sealer pump as
one of the men squirted the airtight plastic caulking over the sandbags. Tuck
poked David, eyes wide with alarm. "They're closing up the opening!"
he whispered hoarsely.
"I know it. Think I'm
blind?"
"But
the Snooper! It's outside! How'll we get back?"
David waved him to silence. One of the men
was walking down the tunnel toward them. They shrank against the wall, hardly
daring to breathe—
"Now where are you going, for the love of
mike?"
The
footsteps halted. "I thought I heard something—"
"Say, what are you
afraid of—spooks?"
"Well,
I don't like this. They might at least have given us guns—"
"Look,
get back here and lend a hand, huh? Or maybe you'd rather just sit and listen
for bogeymen."
They
heard the footsteps shuffle back again. Slowly David dropped to his belly,
began slithering along the wall toward the voices. He moved very slowly, then
suddenly motioned to Tuck. Tuck dropped too, and moved
clumsily along the rough ground until he was very close. "Right behind
you," he whispered.
"Good.
The tunnel they dug through opens into this one about fifty feet from where
they're working. They haven't got much light—if we move slow and quiet we might
get past them. Careful!"
He
started moving again, inching across the tunnel toward the black, raw hole that
had been dug into the tunnel, around the cave-in. Tuck sneaked a look at the
two burly workmen, toiling to get the sandbags thrown up to completely block
the opening to the outside. Both were working in light, close-fitting pressure
suits. They worked swiftly, grunting and cursing as they struggled with the
bags. Tuck moved slowly, very slowly, desperately afraid some scratch, some
joggled stone would rattle and betray them. But he suddenly saw David's feet
disappear into the darkness of the tunnel, and with his heart racing, he eased
himself up over the lip of the newly dug hole, slithered through, and lay
panting, his heart pounding in his throat.
"Made it!" David was on his feet,
crouched over in the narrow cut. "We'd better make speed."
"Where?"
"We can go back to the colony. There's
probably a sealed entrance to this tunnel, coming off one of the main tunnels.
If we can get into a main tunnel, we're all right—nobody can touch us. But if
they catch us in here—" He solemnly drew his finger across the throat of
the helmet. "Keep your fingers crossed."
They
moved slowly, using their lights only when they needed to. "I don't think
we need to worry about more Murexide," David
whispered. "The stuff is too dangerous to mess around with, if they've had
men moving supplies through here. Probably the one booby trap was considered
protection enough." They hurried along as the tunnel started upgrading,
winding slightly as they moved. Several times they passed through widened
vaults, with cargo packed high against the walls; once they thought they heard
steps ahead of them, and froze against the wall, only to realize that it was
only rocks breaking loose from the roof and crunching down to the floor. Time
passed, and still they walked, until Tuck began to doubt if they would ever
reach the main tunnel. And then, like a flash, David dove for the floor. "Down, Tuck!"
Tuck
fell like a poleaxed mule. He lay, face down,
panting. Then he lifted his head, to confirm the glimpse of light that had
struck his eyes a moment before.
There
was no mistake. Ten feet ahead was a room, one of the widened vaults through
which the tunnel passed. It had been dark, and then a light had suddenly gone
on, almost in their faces. And in the room a man was pacing to and fro, his
face lighted by the battle lamps in the vault, and he was talking in a loud,
sharp, nasal voice that Tuck had heard once before, once too often.
The man was John Cortell.
Chapter 15 The Closing Ring
There was no
doubt of the man's identity. The thin, wiry frame, the pale hair, the narrow, hawklike face —all were carved in Tuck's memory from his
first sight of John Cortell. The man was angry now,
and he paced the room like a caged wildcat, his voice sharp in the still air.
"I
don't care if there were a thousand cave-ins, we've got to get moving, can't you see that? As long as we've got the
colony to fight them off, we're doing fine, but how long do you think that can
last?"
Another
man's voice came to the boys from inside, a man they could not see. His voice
was quiet, almost weary, and he was saying, "John, we've done everything
we can. Cave-ins happen, and this one just came at the wrong time—"
"It
sure did! It came so much at the wrong time that it smells from here to Earth
and back!"
"John,
you're getting nervous. You're dreaming things."
"Dreaming?
With a cave-in in the one tunnel we have to have open?" The fugitive's
voice rose desperately. "I don't like it. I've got a right to be
nervous—"
"But nobody knows about it—they
couldn't, or you'd have that Earth snooper and his whole crew in here on our
necks right now. Relax, John. It'll just be a few more hours."
"And that idiot Farnham!" Cortell snarled.
"Had to worry about Security catching up with him back on Earth—had to try
to rub Benedict before he even left Earth—" He ran a nervous hand through
his pale hair. "Too much has gone wrong. We could have left two days ago! We could be gone, and the whole lousy crowd
of them would be finished, and there wouldn't be a soul left to give Security a
hint—"
Tuck
listened, his confusion growing. He slowly edged his way back into the
darkness, found David crouched close to the wall, listening. "Did you hear
that? What's he talking about?" he whispered.
He
heard David's breath, harsh in the darkness. "I don't quite know.
Listen."
"But what is this
place?"
"Looks
like Cortell's main hide-out. It makes sense. He
knows dad couldn't come for him here without giving away the whole works to the
Colonel. And it's handy for making the ship ready. Cortell's
no fool."
"But
what can we do? We can't get through there into the colony—"
"That's for sure. And we can't go
back." David's voice was edged with worry. "But they don't know we're
here—and they don't know we're listening. And I want to hear the rest of
this—"
They moved in closer to the opening. Tuck's
mind was whirling, the thought screaming in his ears: your luck has run out,
you're caught here, trapped! He tried to force the thought out, but it wouldn't
force. They were
caught—what if they hadn't
been discovered yet? It was only a matter of time until somebody came back
through the tunnel. Tuck glanced nervously over his shoulder into the
blackness, straining to hear some sound of footfalls. He tried to think what
they could do if the workmen were to suddenly come back down the tunnel, and he
found to his horror that he couldn't even organize his thoughts—
"But
we'll have to move fast when the time comes, because if Torm
and the others even get a hint of it beforehand, it'll all be over." Cortell's voice was quieter now, but he still was pacing
the narrow room. "We can't take any chances on it. That's one reason I'd
like to see Torm killed now—with him gone, and maybe
Ned Miller, they'd be running around like blind men. But on the other hand, it
will be nice to think of him dying back here in the blowup, along with all the
others—"
Tuck's eyes widened in horror. He glanced back at David, caught a glimpse
of his face in the dim light, and repressed a shudder, turning back to listen
again.
"I'm
not sure I like that so much, either, John," the other man was saying.
"The ship is outfitted for everyone. There's enough—"
"Garbage!" Cortell burst out.
"It would take another ten years to outfit it for five hundred
people." His voice lowered, almost confidentially. "Look, Dan, be
reasonable. The supplies on that ship right now wouldn't keep five hundred
people alive for fifty years—not a chance in a million,
not even if everyone would take cut rations and co-operate a hundred percent.
And that's the kicker—everyone won't. With five hundred people on that ship,
there'd be murder and violence every step of the way. With five hundred people
aboard, it wouldn't stand the breath of a chance." He stared at his
companion, an ugly grin on his face. "But for ten people—five men and five women—there'd be plenty of
supplies, plenty of food, plenty of water— and enough for the children when
they come." Cortell sat down, nervously.
"It's the only smart way to do it." "I still don't like
it."
"Look—there's
me, and you, and Johnny Taggart, and Pete Yeakel and Rog Strang. And then there's our wives. Just the ten of us, on that ship, headed
out. And not a trace left behind us, no mines, no colony, no Torm, no nothing—just one big, smoking crater to teach the
Earth swine who they were meddling with—"
The
other man was silent for a long time. Then he said. "The women won't like
it, John. The men, sure, but the women—you know how they feel about—well, about
the colony, about all the children—"
Cortell grinned nastily. "Now isn't that just
too bad. It makes my heart ache, it does." His eyes were suddenly savage.
"I've waited too long, Dan. If the women don't like it, that's tough. They
come anyway. If they don't want to come, we drag them. But we've got to move—"
Tuck heard a swift movement at his elbow, a
low-throated growl of rage. He caught David's arm violently, jerked it back,
wrenching him sharply back. "Don't be a fool,"
he whispered. "Come on, we've got to get out of here—"
"I'll
break his dirty neck," David snarled. "Let go of me, I tell you, I'll
smash his skull in—"
Tuck
pinned the huge lad's arm back, suddenly savage himself.
"Quiet! You'd wreck everything. Come on now!" His whisper was a sharp
command in the darkness. David suddenly relaxed, stumbling along behind him,
tears of fury rolling down his cheeks. "He's selling out everybody, the
whole colony—"
"Well,
you can't stop him that way." They crouched against the wall, well out of
earshot of the hide-out. "Now listen. We've got to get back to the colony somehow, and fast. We can't do a thing by
ourselves now. But we know where the ship is, and we know where Cortell is. We can lead your father to him, if we can stall
Cortell, somehow. Now here's what I was
thinking—"
Swiftly
Tuck outlined the plan that had formed in his mind as he had listened to the
men in the hideout. David listened intently, nodding every now and then. Then
he said, "It might work—if the workers don't get us. And if we can stall
him long enough—" They stood up, and started down the tunnel again, moving
cautiously. The noise of their footfalls seemed deafening—surely they must be
heard, back in the hide-out—but as they paused from time to time, straining to
listen, they heard nothing but the sound of their own strained breathing.
Occasionally they stopped to catch their breath, then
forced on again. It seemed that they walked for miles, and then, far up ahead,
they saw the workmen's lights, and slowed down to a cautious approach. "Do
you think they'll be finished with the repair yet?"
David
shook his head. "Can't tell. Maybe.
But they'll have to pump out methane for another six hours before they dare
let oxygen in."
"Maybe
they won't try to let oxygen in. Why should they bother, if only ten people are
coming through? They can certainly find ten pressure suits—"
David
bit his lip, slowing to a stop. "Hadn't thought of that.
But maybe we can fix them anyway." His eyes gleamed malignantly in the dim
helmet light, and he searched around the floor of the tunnel until he found a
couple of large rocks. "I think I can really fix things for them."
They
could hear the pumps now, but there was no sign of activity at the other end of
the newly dug tunnel. Slowly the boys inched forward, and Tuck stuck his head
through the narrow opening, took a quick look, and drew it back sharply.
"One
of them is right on the other side," he whispered. "But he's
alone—"
"Think you can take
him?"
Tuck
nodded. "A lead pipe cinch, if he hasn't gotten a gun from the ship. They
had quite an arsenal there, remember—homemade jobs, but deadly."
The Closing Ring
"Did you see him with
a gun?"
Tuck
shook his head. "Well, here goes," he whispered. With a crash he
lunged through the opening into the tunnel, bringing an avalanche of rock and
dirt down with him as he went. He got his balance in the tunnel just as the
workman straightened up, alarm written a yard wide across his face. Before he
could make a sound, Tuck was upon him, ripping out the talker-wires with a
well-aimed swipe of his hand. The workman's curse was muffled as he tried to
break from Tuck's grip, and with a powerful heave he threw Tuck down on his
back on the tunnel floor. Like a cat the man was upon him, gripping his neck, lifting
his head helmet and smashing it down on the floor. Tuck gave a wrench, and
wriggled from his grasp, throwing the man off balance; then suddenly David's
helmeted figure appeared from the open tunnel mouth, and caught the worker in a
powerful half nelson. Two quick blows from David's heavy fist doubled him up on
the ground, alive but quite helpless.
"Dirty
fighting," grinned David as they started up the tunnel for the ship.
"Dirty
guys," Tuck snapped back. "Better watch the talking now. I don't know
where the other man is." They approached the Murexide
strips gingerly, and as they crossed, Tuck noticed that David still carried the
rocks. "What are those for?"
"You
just watch," said David. They reached the opening into the crevice where
the ship was. It was still quite dark and gloomy, but they could see the second
workman up on the ramp near the Rocket Port, sitting on a box, busy scraping
plastic sealer from his huge paws. He was completely oblivious to anything but
his own troubles.
The
boys flattened themselves in the shadow of the wall, slowly edging out of the
tunnel mouth. Still the guard did not look up. Tuck moved along the wall,
getting farther and farther from the tunnel mouth before he realized that
David was still there. And then he saw David raise one of the rocks and heave
it carefully into the tunnel; it struck the ground and rolled, and the guard
looked up in alarm—
And
then there was an earsplitting roar, shaking the ground like an earthquake,
reverberating down the tunnel, and billows of dense, acrid Murexide
smoke rolled out into the crevice. The guard ran down the ramp, and met a full
body block from David, coming out of the smoke. The guard rolled over and over
on the edge of the crevice as Tuck and David raced for the ramp. It was a short
jump from the ramp to the nearest section of scaffolding, and then the boys
were climbing like monkeys, higher and higher toward the rocky ledge at the top
of the crevice. "Get the ship between us and the guard," Tuck roared,
and they climbed even more frantically.
On
the tunnel ledge below the guard was on his feet again, finally realizing that
he'd been duped. There was a sharp crack, and Tuck heard a bullet whiz by his
ear, followed by another, and another, both of which drove into and through the
thin hull plating of the ship. Tuck scrambled as nimbly as he could, trying to
get behind the ship, but the guard followed on the ledge below, trying to aim
the gun with clumsy fingers on the trigger. A modern high-speed pellet gun
would have succeeded, but this was an old-fashioned, home-forged revolver,
clumsy and inaccurate. The bullets whizzed uncomfortably close, and then suddenly
the guard was climbing after them, shouting hoarsely. David made a jump for the
upper ledge, caught it and held, dragging himself up by brute strength. Then he
leaned over and caught Tuck's wrist, and in an instant they were standing on
top, with just a thin layer of plastic sealer between them and the outside.
David
whipped out a knife, and started slashing the stuff, like putty. There was a
hiss of inrushing gas as the methane broke through the airtight seal. Then
David got his hand into the hole, and gave the stuff a powerful rip; it clung
to his fist and tore like gum rubber, but the hole widened. The boys crawled
through, then started ripping the sealer away as fast
as they could. In a moment almost all of the camouflage was gone, leaving the
formerly sealed-in crevice wide open, with the nose of the ship gleaming up at
the purple sky.
And then they were running across the rocks,
making for the Snooper;
after a few minutes'
climbing, they could see the little jet where they left it, gleaming in the
fading sunlight, and they realized, almost with a shock, that they had been in
the tunnel almost the whole Titan day. The guard finally reached the top of the
scaffolding, and was shooting again, but the boys clambered into the cockpit of
the little ship, and the motor was warmed before the guard got fifty feet. With
a burst of blue flame the ship shot forward, and Tuck
leaned back, his heart pounding in his throat as he felt the Snoopers nose rise into the sky.
A
few moments later they were landing outside the air lock of the colony bubble,
just as the lights were going on for the Titan night.
The
night, Tuck reflected grimly, which bid fair to be the colony's last—
Chapter JO •• ƒ'//
Back
You to a Man!
fjNSON torm paced back and forth in the little stone cabin, his gray head bent,
hands gripped tightly || behind his
back. He was alone—he had been alone for over an hour, listening to the minutes
tick by, steadily, certainly. On the table lay a pile of papers; he stopped and
leafed through them wearily. His fingers trembled on the typewritten sheets,
and he thought, here it is—the last duty in a lifetime of work. Here is the dotted
line, Anson, for you to sign your colony's death warrant. Cortell
has won, in the end, and you have lost, but it is you who must check the supply
lists, it is you who must make sure that all the supplies are stored, all final
details completed. Not far away, a ship stands waiting to carry your people to
limbo, and soon they will wait no longer; soon they will file aboard—
The
old man stared bitterly at the table top. He wanted to smash his fist down and
roar with anger and frustration. If only they would think! If only he could
make them understand what they were doing— And yet he
knew it would do no good. This was the
end of the line. The colonists would no longer
support him, they believed Cortell
when he told them that the time for revolt had come. And perhaps it had. Even
his closest friend, Ned Miller, who fought at his side all these stormy years
of leading the colony, had said, "There's nothing more we can do, Anson.
If we oppose him now, Cortell will only kill us, and
carry out the plan anyway—"
"But there must be
some other way!"
"I
don't know what. We knew it would come someday. You knew it, and I knew
it."
And
Torm had spread his hands helplessly, and sank down
in the chair, a tired, beaten old man. "But it need never have come,"
he said wearily. "It's so senseless, so hopeless—"
It
was true. He knew in his heart that it was hopeless. The Colonel from Earth
had dealt the last blow with his ultimatum, even as Cortell's
men had moved through the colony, spreading hatred, whispering rebellion,
arousing the colonists to fury. And now the end had come—there was no answer,
no other way.
He
sank down to the table, taking the first supply list from the pile with a heavy
heart. And then the door burst open, and David was in the room, followed by the
son of the Earth Colonel. Anson looked up, startled by the air of excitement
that swept in the door with the boys; he saw their eyes go to the check lists
on the table, and back to his face, and he felt a pang of shame.
"Dad—you've got to come—"
Torm's eyebrows went up. "Come? Where?"
"To the Earth ship—now. Please, Dad, there's no time to waste!"
There was an urgency in his son's voice, a frantic
urgency Anson had never heard before. It struck a chord of hope in Anson's
mind, but he shook his head wearily. "There's nothing we can gain at the
Earth ship, son. There's no hope there or anywhere."
"Dad,
we've found the
star-ship—"
Anson
Torm lurched to his feet as if he had been struck.
"That's enough, David!" he snapped. "What kind of
nonsense—"
David
Torm shook his head, glancing at Tuck. "He
already knows, Dad, there's no reason to be quiet. We were together,
we couldn't have done it by ourselves, neither of us. We found the ship, and we
know where Cortell is hiding."
Torm's face was gray. "David, David—"
"Dad,
we've got to see Colonel Benedict. We found Cortell's
hide-out, we heard what he was saying—" Swiftly he told his father what
they had heard, Cortell's plan of treachery. The
Colony leader's face grew darker as he listened; he began trembling so violently
he could hardly control his hands. "There's no mistake, David? You
couldn't have been wrong?"
"There was no mistake,
believe me—"
And
then Torm was on his feet, struggling into a pressure
suit, his eyes haunted. "We'll have to get to the Earth ship," he
said. "We can get a half-track—"
"There's
not enough time for that. The Snooper will
carry us, if we're lucky."
Approximately five minutes
later the little jet plane was swooping up into the purple sky away from the
colony, leaving a trail of snow in its wake, heading like a carefully aimed
arrow for the rocket ship from Earth at the Rocket Landing—
o o o o o
Cortell had been sleeping when the guard burst into
the hide-out from the ship tunnel, panting, clutching his side, dragging a leg
after him as he walked. He staggered to a seat, gasping. "They ripped open
the ship's camouflage," he choked, "broke the whole thing open, and
they got away, I couldn't stop them—"
Cortell had the man by the throat, shaking him
savagely. "Who? How did they find it? Who was it?"
"Torm's boy, and someone else, I don't know who. They jumped
us—I don't know how they found us, I don't know where they came from. They blew
up the Murexide and tried to cave in the tunnel, but
the beams held—"
Cortell was on his feet, trembling like a wildman when Dan Carver returned. "Get the men,"
he snarled. "Get them, and get their women. The word will be out any
minute—" He pointed silently to the guard.
Dan's
jaw sagged, and his face went white. "I just saw Pete and Rog headed this way—"
"Well,
get the others!" Cortell screamed. "There's no time—"
"But the leak-"
"Let
it leak, let it leak forever. We'll use the supplies we've got, go aboard in
suits. But we've got to go—" There was fear in his face now, fear that
almost over-
shadowed the cunning, and as Dan started back for the
colony, Cortell began packing a supply bag furiously,
his eyes darting toward the tunnel, with the fear widening every minute—
Because
he knew, coldly, that he was fighting against time now, and time was running
out.
o o
a « «
Colonel Benedict's face was white as the two
boys and Anson Torm filed into the cabin. He didn't
look at Tuck, but there was anger in his eyes, and a hurt that was more painful
to Tuck than any anger could have been. He stared at
them, and when he found his voice, he said, "Did you bring Cortell with you?"
And
then the boys were talking, one after another, telling everything. So very much had happened that they could hardly contain
themselves. They told him the whole story, and then of their stumbling
upon Cor-tell's hiding place, and of the treachery
they had heard as they waited, shivering, in the black tunnel outside.
And
when they were finished, the anger was gone from the Colonel's eyes, the hurt
was vanished. Instead, he looked stunned, shaken beyond belief. He sat down at
the desk and stared at them as though they were ghosts, and twice when he tried
to speak, words failed him. And then, finally, his voice was very low.
"You found this—the two of you, together? David? Tuck?"
The boys nodded.
"It's incredible. Utterly incredible."
Anson
Torm's blue eyes caught the Colonel's, held them
bravely. "It's true. Every word of it."
"You're telling me that this colony of
men and women have been working in secret for over a century —to build this ship?"
"I'm telling you
that."
"At the risk of being
caught at any time?"
Torm nodded. "They recognized that
risk."
The
Colonel shook his head numbly. "But there is no interstellar drive."
"Desperation
and courage would be their interstellar drive."
"It would take them
centuries! They could never return—"
"It would be better
than to stay here as slaves."
"But
not even knowing that they would find anything when they got there—"
"It
would still be better." Anson Torm's voice trembled.
"I fought against it—oh, how I fought against it. But I had to guard the
secret, too. I couldn't tell you about it. I dared not tell you."
The
Colonel shook his head like a man in a dream. "It's incredible. And yet,
it's in the human tradition— to go to any length, if a chance of freedom lies
at the end—"
He
walked slowly across the room. Then he turned to Anson Torm,
his eyes on the leader's careworn face. "You colonists must be proud and
brave men," he said. He glanced at the boys, his eyes suddenly proud.
"We've been fools—both of us. It's taken them to show us what fools, but
I'm beginning to see things now that I'd never have believed." He looked
up gravely at Anson Torm. "I—I just don't know
what to say. I've
been so hidebound and devoted to authority that
I've let it blind me. I'm truly sorry. Perhaps there's still time to salvage
something." He held out his hand to the colony leader. "I'll back you
to a man, Anson. I'll back this colony in every way I can. We'll have to stop Cor-tell, if the boys can lead us to him, and try to break
his plan right now. And then I think there'll be some changes for the Titan
colony. I don't know how I can do it—I'm only one man; they may never believe
me, but I'll fight for all I'm worth. I'll open their eyes, somehow, I'll get
your story before the legislative bodies back on Earth, get it to the ears
where it will do some good. And there will be some changes made, if it's the
last thing I do. This time, Earth won't let you down."
Ten minutes later the four of them were bent
excitedly over a huge map of the underground mining tunnel and a topographical
map of the region which David had made. "This is the place where the
entrance to the ship tunnel is," Torm was
saying. "It's carefully concealed where it breaks from this main tunnel,
and Cortell will have it guarded. And this—" he
pointed beyond the area marked radioactives, "is the location of the ship."
The
Colonel studied the picture. "We should approach from both ends, in case
they move faster than we anticipate," he said. "You know the colony,
Anson. Suppose you take David, get as many men as you can, and go in from the
colony side. We're closer to the ship right here, so Tuck
and I can take the men from here and go in at that end." He looked up, and
Torm nodded approval. "And we want to take him
alive, if we can," the Colonel added. "We've got to get the support
of the colony behind you again, and for good."
David
and his father left in the Snooper. The
Colonel and Tuck and four crewmen from the Earth ship clambered into the
half-track that stood on the ground below, and plunged up the rim of rocks
along the route David had charted for them. The trip took almost an hour; Tuck
sat forward, watching the compass, directing the driver of the 'track from
time to time. He hardly dared to breathe as he peered ahead for the first sign
of the ruined camouflage, seeking the bright glint of the star-ship's pointed
nose rising above the rocks. A thousand fears crept slyly through his mind—
what if the ship had been sealed up already, so that they would have to stumble
over it to find it? The cave-in would still be there, but even that would be
invisible until they stumbled upon it. And what if Cor-tell
changed his plans, tried a break with the ship before they arrived to stop him?
The minutes passed, and tension mounted; then suddenly Tuck let out a shout,
and pointed beyond the next ridge of rocks.
And
they saw it—the pointed nose of the ship, gleaming in the sunlight, sticking
up from the protecting rim of the crevice. The half-track moved cautiously, approaching
within thirty yards of the crevice. Then the Colonel signaled to the driver to
stop. "Better go on foot," he said. "We're sitting ducks in this
thing."
They clambered out of the vehicle—the four
men
from the crew armed with projectile guns, the
Colonel with his own service automatic gripped in his suited hand. Tuck carried
a small Barnet shocker, his finger curled against the release stud. Slowly the
men fanned out, moving toward the crevice, their boots clanking on the rocks as
they advanced over the coarse terrain—
A
shot rang out, and one of the men clutched his side, toppled forward on the
rocks. "Cover!" the Colonel snapped, and they dived for the rocks as
shots began raining on them from the ship. There were two men there, armed with
the homemade automatics that Tuck had seen before, but these men were more
deadly in their aim. The bullets whizzed by Tuck's ears, striking the rocks
around him as the men slowly slid forward toward the ship. Then the Colonel
eased around a rock, let go four quick shots, and they heard one of the men
groan and crash to the ground. Like a flash, two of the crewmen raced forward
ten feet through a hail of fire, then dropped again,
panting. A thought occurred to Tuck; he started for
an outcropping of rock to the right as another volley of shots came from the
ship. The gunman's attention was held by the crewmen sneaking up on him, and
he was too well-concealed for them to get in a shot. Tuck quickly moved in to
flank the ship, then clambered slowly up on the high,
jagged ridge that overhung the crevice. Far below he saw the glint of sunlight
on a pressure helmet, and with all his strength he ripped off a huge chunk of
rock, and hurled it downward—
The
rock struck the helmet a crashing blow, and the man reeled, firing savagely up
toward Tuck. Too late he realized that he had revealed himself; the Colonel's
gun chattered sharply, and the gunman gripped his side, trying to scramble
back. For a long second he teetered; then his footing slipped, and he fell
crashing into the crevice, down between the ship's wall and the protecting
rock, and struck with a sickening thud at the bottom—
The three crewmen and the Colonel met Tuck at
the edge of the crevice. One of the crewmen was dispatched to care for the man
who had been hit; the rest of them jumped for the ship's scaffolding, and began
to clamber down like monkeys. In a moment they were moving down the tunnel,
over the rocks and debris that had been torn down by the Murexide
explosion, and then into the blackness that led to Cortell's
hideout.
For a long while there was silence, broken
only by the plodding of their feet, echoing and re-echoing weirdly from the
rocky walls of the tunnel. Then up ahead they heard shots and shouts. At a signal
from the Colonel they stopped, then moved forward cautiously. Quite suddenly,
they saw a bobbing light up ahead, then another. The Colonel hissed, and they
crouched along the walls, their own lights out, and waited, panting, as the
frantic footfalls came closer. And then two figures materialized behind the
bobbing lights; one of the crewmen pounced on the first man, and the lights
went crashing to the ground. The second man made a break, tripped on an
outstretched leg, and tumbled down, skidding on the ground. The tunnel exploded
into a crashing uproar of scuffling and curses; then, like a knife, a bright
light snapped on, a battle lamp one of the men had carried, and they saw their
prizes, panting, caught like rats in a trap.
Dan
Carver was whimpering, his face a mask of fear as he peered up at his captors.
"Don't tell them," he was babbling, "Don't tell them—take us
back to Earth, do anything, but don't let them know—" He collapsed into
frightened tears, sobbing like a baby. But John Cortell
just stared around him as though he didn't believe what he saw, and then sank
to the ground, a snarl on his lips. "If you want me back in the
colony," he rasped, "you'll carry me—"
The
Colonel stared down in contempt at the traitor, then jerked a thumb at him, and
nodded to two of the crewmen. "Carry him," the Colonel said.
Chapter 17\ Fearful Choice
t |
iTE air was heavy with bloodshed. It hung in the huge underground meeting hall of
the Titan colony; it echoed from the dark walls, and dripped from the dead rock
carved generations before; it hung on every face, every grim-faced man and
woman in the hall. Bloodshed hovered in the room like a ghost as the men and
women gathered, muttering to each other in low tones. The faces were bitter
faces, with their violence barely repressed; the mutterings were the noises of
an angry crowd, driven to its limit, and when Colonel Benedict and Anson Torm walked down the center aisle to the front of the room,
the muttering rumbled at their heels like a gathering storm. Their eyes were
turned toward Torm and the Colonel, sullen eyes that
carried the savage gleam of desperation and hatred.
And
then the guards entered with John Cortell—a
surly-faced Cortell, face red with anger, eyes that
carried an underlying tinge of fear. The colonists saw him, half-dragged to
the front of the room, and the angry muttering broke into an uproar that
drowned words in a fever of cries and gestures. Fists were shaken in
Anson Torm's
face. A
voice cried out, "Let him go!" and a hundred shouts of approval rose
like a tide in the tension-laden room.
Then
Anson Torm stood up, his face grim, sweat standing
out on his forehead as he faced the angry crowd. "I want every man and
woman in the colony down here," he shouted above the tumult. "Is
everybody here?"
Somebody
shouted, "Everybody's here—get on with it!"
"Then
let's have it quiet!" The uproar stilled slightly, as all eyes turned to Torm's face. "The Colonel from Security told us to
have Cortell in his hands by sundown," Torm cried. "All right. Cortell is in his hands, as directed." He turned cold
eyes to Cor-tell's face as a pandemonium of protest
broke loose from the crowd. "Let's have it quiet!" he cried again.
"Cortell has some things to tell you—before he's
turned over to Earth courts on charges of treason!"
The
uproar burst out again, angrily. A man jumped up in the back of the room,
shaking his fist in the air. "Anson Torm is the
only traitor in this room—"
A
cheer went up, and for an instant it looked as if the colonists would rise up
and mob the colony leader. The crewmen around Cortell
turned to face the crowd, guns raised defensively. And then, like a cat, Cortell caught the nearest guard a brutal blow to the side
of the neck, wrenched his gun from his hand as he fell. Cortell
jumped up on a chair, gun raised above his head, and a cheer went up from the
crowd as the gun lowered straight for Colonel Benedict's head.
"One
move, and the Earth spy will be dead!" Cortell shouted above the uproar.
A
hush fell on the room, a sudden, breathless stillness. The sullenness died on
the colonists' faces, and a cheer went up. "You tell 'em,
John! You tell 'em who the traitor is!"
Cortell's voice was an angry rasp as his eyes shot
around to one of the Earth ship's crewmen who was moving slowly back behind
him. "Not a move! I warn you! Even if you could shoot me, your
precious Colonel would never escape this room. And as for our fine colony
leader—" He turned his eyes to Torm, jubilantly.
"The shoe is on the other foot now, and you'd
better not forget it. You're through with your yellow-bellied deals and your
lies, Torm—as of now!"
The
room was full of cheers now. Some of the men were on their feet, ready to move
forward at a glance from Cortell. But others hestitated, and waited—
And
then, very slowly, Anson Torm walked to the table,
and leaped up on top of it, high above the group, so that every man in the room
could see him. "He's a very brave man with a gun—yes, a very brave
man." Torm's eyes flashed about the room.
"Well, I have no gun. Take a look—my hands are empty. But I've got
something to say, and you're going to listen—"
"Nobody
wants to hear you," somebody snarled, and there were cheers and
threatening fists. Cortell's face darkened with anger; he started to speak, and then caught Torm's eye. And something held him. He sneered, and
stuck his hand in his pocket as Anson Torm started to
speak.
"Cortell talks
about yellow deals—well, listen to the deal I've made. We've won our fight—do
you hear that? The Colonel came here as an enemy of all of us—he's sitting here
now as a friend. We've asked for equality—he'll fight to give us equality.
We've fought for representation, for education, for the right to go back to
Earth as men, to be regarded as men—all right, he'll fight to give us those
rights." Torm's voice rose sharply. "We've
fought against the lies and propaganda that have reduced us to the level of
slaves— he'll stop that propaganda, and tell the truth about Titan to the ends
of the Earth! The Colonel has pledged us these things, and he'll keep his promises."
A
mutter went up from the crowd, but Torm cut them off
sharply. "But Cortell here has told you that
these things will never happen. No Earthman can be trusted, he says, the time
for rebellion has come, the best solution to our problems is to go aboard the
ship which waits for us, leave Titan, leave our homes, leave the Solar System,
take what providence will offer us and our great-great-grandchildren who remain
at the end of such a voyage. This is what Cortell has
been telling you, isn't it? It wouldn't be suicide, he says, there would be
freedom for all of us, he says—isn't that what he says?" Torm's eyes turned to Cortell,
bitterly. Cortell's face had gone dead white, and a smile appeared on Torm's
lips. "How about that, John? Did you mean freedom
for everybody? Or for just a few of your friends? Tell
them about your plan, John! Tell them how you figured that the fewer people who
embarked on the journey, the greater the chances for success. Tell them why you
planned to leave secretly, to gather your four close friends and their wives
together and leave. Why don't you speak up, John? Why don't you tell them how
you planned to blast off with the ship and leave them here to die when you
ignited the mines—"
There
was bewilderment on the faces of the crowd now, and disbelief. Eyes were wide,
turned to John Cortell. They turned, and saw Cortell's face, a white, frightened mask, and realization
began to dawn—
"It's
a lie!" Cortell screamed. "Don't listen to
him! He's afraid, he's cornered and he knows it, and he's lying-"
"Well, who are you going to
believe?" Torm cried to the colonists. He
pointed an accusing finger at Cortell. "Look at
him! And then look at me. Think back, and try to remember the last time I've
lied to you in the last thirty years—think! Cortell
says I'm afraid—well, look
at him, and
then look at me, and see who's afraid—and then remember how many times you've
seen me afraid—" Torm's eyes were blazing now,
and his head was high. "Count the times you've seen me cower and cringe
and go white with fear—go ahead, name the times! Name the times you've seen me
a coward. Count the lies you've heard from my lips—and then look at the man who accuses me!"
The
faces were turned to John Cortell now, white faces,
faces with the truth dawning in them. A hundred faces turned to him, two
hundred, and voices began to rise. "Listen!" Torm
cried. "I told you he's betrayed you—that he planned to leave in secret
with
Carver
and Taggart and Strang and Yeakel,
to take your ship and leave you behind. He was all ready to go when we caught
him—* He glanced narrowly at the rear of the room, and said, "Well, we can
prove it! Look around you! Who is missing from the room right now?"
Eyes
looked around, wide, frightened eyes, eyes filling with sudden suspicion. There
was a hush over the room; then a woman let out a gasp and cried, "Their
wives! Where
are their wives?"
There
was silence, as though a huge curtain had fallen over the room. Then Torm said, "Bring 'em in,
Ned. Show the people who we found on board the star-ship!"
There
was a scuffle on the stairs, and then four figures were pushed down the center
aisle, figures still clad in pressure suits. The room was still as death as
they marched forward—Dan Carver's wife, Johnny Taggart's wife, Rog Strang's wife, John Cortell's wife. They moved forward like people condemned,
their hands covering their faces—
And
then, as the crowd rose in fury, Cortell jumped down
from the chair with a roar, gun tight in his fist. Slowly he backed toward the
stairs, covered on either side by Pete Yeakel and Rog Strang. His face was a mask
of fear now, and when he reached the stairs he broke and ran as the mob fell
upon his lieutenants. One of the Earth ship's crewmen was up the stairs in a
flash, jerking his gun from its holster as he ran. Cortell
was heading for the main tunnels; his footfalls rang out on the cold rock
ground, until a shot rang out, and he fell, arms flung out, and lay kicking
helplessly, blood streaming from his leg. And then the crewmen were around him,
keeping back the colonists, waving down the bitter shouts, until
stretcher-bearers came from the infirmary, and Doc Taber took over, and Cortell was taken away. And then they turned again, and
went back to the hall.
o o o o e
It was much later when Ned Miller appeared at
the door to Anson Torm's cabin, just as the Colonel
and Tuck were finishing supper. He stood in the doorway, awkwardly, rubbing his
stubbled chin, twisting his mining cap in his hands.
Then finally he stepped inside, nodded uncomfortably at the Earth Colonel.
"You
did a fine job, Ned," Anson Torm said. "The
timing was perfect—and I thought you'd find the women aboard the ship,
especially when I couldn't spot a one of them in the crowd—"
Ned
nodded uneasily. "Anson," he said, "I've got to say something—"
Torm looked up. "What is it, Ned?"
The
little miner shifted from one foot to the other. "I've been
delegated," he blurted finally. "Some of the men got together, after
the meeting was over. They want me to talk for them—" He looked up, his
eyes unreadable.
Torm stood up in alarm. "What's the
trouble?" "We want to go," said Ned Miller softly. "We want
to take the ship and go—"
Torm's jaw sagged. "Ned! What are you
saying?"
"We mean it, Anson. The Colonel's given
us promises—I know that. But we've heard promises from Earthmen before. Many promises, wonderful promises. And always, in the end,
we were worse off than before—"
"Ned, this is
different now!"
"I know
you believe that," the little man said doggedly. "We—we'd like to.
But we can't."
Torm's face was white. "What are you trying to
say, Ned?"
"I'm saying we've worked on the ship for
years. I've worked on it, without knowing what I was working on—until today.
But I knew it was a hope against hope, something we could count on, something
we could build our faith into. There's nothing here for me, not any more, not
with my faith built into that ship. And there are a lot of men who feel the
same way. They're afraid the Earthman will go aboard his ship tomorrow and take
it up, and bomb our star-ship to smithereens. And then where would our hope be?
Then what would prevent him from coming back down, and throwing us all into
chains—even you? Or if not this Earthman, then the next, or
the next after him. It would be the end, the bitter end of four generations
of work—"
Torm sat silent for a long time. Then he said,
"What do your men want to do, Ned?"
"There
are a hundred and forty of us—men, women and children. We talked, and we all
feel the same. We want to take the ship and go."
Torm's face was gray. "You know the chances of
ever finding a landing—"
"We know. But it's a hope. We can have
faith in it. The star-ship is the only answer, for us. If the others want to
stay, take their chances, that's their choice. For us,
we want to take the ship while we can."
Torm looked at him, the weariness of long years
written on his face. "I—I can't give you permission, Ned. That's the man
who can give you permission, or not, as he sees fit." He looked sadly at
Colonel Benedict.
Ned
turned to the Colonel, a desperate light in his eyes. "If you mean the
promises you've made to Anson, then prove your faith.
Give us permission to go."
Colonel
Benedict stared at the man. "Why, to allow you to take that ship would be
to violate every principle of the Earth Security Commission. I'd be liable to
a general court-martial. It's unthinkable—" He stood up, a strange light
in his eyes. "It would be the biggest scandal Security has had on its
hands for a hundred years—Anson, do you realize what it could mean? It would
bring a wholesale, total investigation of the whole Earth-Titan
relationship!" He stared at the colony leader, excitedly. "It would
bring this colony under the spotlight like never before. People could see what's been happening out here; they could see the truth about the colony,
instead of the lies they've been hearing! Why, Security would be turned inside
out with investigation, and in a court-martial I could tell the truth, and
there would be no brushing my report aside—they'd have to listen!"
"Then
you'll let us go?" Ned Miller's voice was eager.
"Let you? You have my full, official
permission— I'll give it to you in writing, with an Earth Security seal!"
Ned
turned to Anson Torm. "We have Security's
permission, Anson," he said. "We want our leader's permission."
Torm sighed. "Make me a listing of
passengers," he said. "We'll help you finish supplying the ship and
make it ready. And as for us who remain—" He looked proudly at Colonel
Benedict. "We've got a fight on our hands. The sooner we make our plans,
the better—'"
Chapter is " When Two Strong Men—"
r |
ffi
next days were exhausting. The list of the colonists
who were leaving on the star-ship was long; the men studied it carefully, and
the weariness grew in Anson Torm's eyes as he checked
name after name—friends of many years, men and women he had known and loved and
fought for. Yet he knew that for them, their decision was the right one. The
years of hatred and bitterness had left its mark on the colony, a mark that
nothing could erase, a mark so deep that no human decision could now change it.
And behind that mark was the knowledge that a hundred years of work and sorrow
lay behind their decision.
The
boys pitched in with the rest in the tremendous task of making the ship ready
for its final journey. With only a hundred and forty people aboard, the chances
for a successful voyage were far greater than they ever could have been with
the whole colony. But the boys saw something that their fathers perhaps did not
see— they could see the greatness of the adventure, they could feel the call of
the unknown challenge that lay before the ship. They worked in bright-eyed
eager-
ness as they saw the supplies rolling up the
ramp, the few personal belongings of the embarking colonists installed in the
tiers of small lockers in the huge sleeping quarters of the ship. Here was the
call of the stars—one small ship, manned by men who had no place in the land
they were leaving. The ship sat still and proud as the work progressed, its
silver nose pointed toward the dark sky, and as the boys worked, their
excitement grew.
At
dinners, and in the evenings, they could talk of nothing else. The Colonel and
Anson Torm watched them, feeling the excitement stir
in their own minds, even as they listened. But then, finally, the work was
done, and the ship was ready. Torm and the Colonel
had agreed to wait until then before settling down to the plans that lay ahead
for the colony; there was too much work to be done, too much excitement to talk
and think of anything else. But finally the night before the leave-taking
arrived, and Torm walked out of the cabin and found
Tuck Benedict and David sitting quietly in front of the cabin, watching the
yellow rings of Saturn as it rode high in the sky, talking a little, but mostly
sitting in silence, watching.
The
old man sat down beside them. They hardly noticed him, so he sat and watched,
too. And then, finally, he said, "It's a great adventure. We'll never know
if they get to their destination, or when, or how many. We'll never live to
know." He raised a finger, pointed to a tiny spot of brightness in the
cloud of stars. "Those are the Centauris
there—where they're heading. Even they will never know if those to come will
get there, or whether they will find anything when they do."
The boys sat mutely watching, and Anson Torm's eyes were on his son's face as he stared up. There
were so many things he wanted to say to his son, so many, many things—and yet
he knew that he and David were a million miles apart, that he could never
understand the longing that had been in his son since he had first toddled out
of the cabin and pointed toward the bright stars, and said, "I want that,
Daddy—" He saw David's broad shoulders, the unruly shock of blond hair,
the brightness in his eyes. He sat looking at David for a long time. Then he
said, "You can go with the ship if you want to, son. If that's where you
belong—if you really believe that—I'll not try to stop you—" The old man's
voice trembled.
David
turned wide, wondering eyes to his father. "It's what I've always dreamed of—going
there—"
"I know. That's why
I'd never stop you."
Tuck
watched the two, his heart suddenly beating wildly. He realized that David had
taken the words from his mouth, stated in one short, simple sentence all the
excitement and longing and adventure he felt in his own heart. David was silent
for a long time. Then he said, "I should be the leader here, after you go—
isn't that right, Dad?"
Anson Torm's eyes
were grave. "Torms have been
elected to lead the Titan colony for generations, son. Your father, your
grandfather, his father before him . . . they've been good leaders."
"And there's work to be done—here at
home. You and the Colonel will be able to make a start—but what about twenty
years from now? Who will do the work then?" He looked at the stars again,
and then his eyes caught his father's. "We've been talking, Tuck and
I," he said softly. "We been thinking about things a good bit
lately—the whole history of the Titan colony, and what there is to look forward
to here. And Tuck is going back to study, and help his
father fight for the colony, back on Earth. Last night the Colonel told me that
he had friends who would help me arrange to take admission exams for the
Polytechnic Institute, if I wanted to—" He glanced at Tuck, then dropped
his eyes. "I'm not going to do it. And I'm not going with the ship. I
think I belong here—on Titan. With me here, and Tuck back on Earth—we'll finish
what you two have started."
Anson
Torm looked at the boys, first one, then the other,
and his voice didn't seem to work right when he tried to speak. "That's
your decision—the two of you?"
"The two of us. That's our decision. Oh, Tuck will come out
here when he has a chance. We've got great plans, Dad—we want to see some of
Saturn's moons that haven't been mapped yet, maybe even go in to Saturn
herself, someday. And Japetus—we'll land there one of
these days, Geigers or no Geigers.
And I'll go back to Earth to visit, too. But that's just play, in the long run.
The real work is here."
Fo- n long moment Torm sat,
staring at the stars, his heart crying things he could never find words to say.
And then, finally, he rose and walked back to the cabin. At the door he paused,
his face happier than David had seen it in years. "We'll be seeing the
ship off in the morning," he said. "Better get some sleep."
a a &
# p
It was early, with the light just rising
above the horizon when the last man walked up the ramp, and turned to wave to
the group gathered below, then closed the port behind him, slowly, until it
locked with a final clang. The group moved away, walking back from the crevice
where the ship stood. Far back there were sandbag barriers to protect the
remaining colonists from the blast. The people found their places, and waited
in the still Titan morning. There were many tears, and much sadness on many
faces. They waited, and it seemed that the minutes that ticked by were an
eternity long—and then they heard the rumble, a whining groan which rose to a
roar, shaking the ground with its power.
A
billow of powdery white rose around the silver nose of the star-ship,
enveloping it in an iridescent cloud, and then slowly and majestically the nose
of the ship began to rise through the cloud. The jets bellowed yellow flame,
and the roar echoed and reechoed down the gorges and canyons of the planet. The ship rose, higher and higher, faster and faster, like a silver
arrow in the sky, leaving its streamer of white behind it. Slowly it
turned, slowly it dwindled, and the roar faded away in their ears, and with a
last glint of silver the ship shrank to a tiny dot, blinked, and was lost from
view.
The
people were silent as they made their way back to the colony, silent with an
emptiness that they could neither explain nor express. The boys walked side by
side, saying nothing, and a few yards behind them, Colonel Benedict and Anson Torm walked, almost surprised that they needed no words to
communicate their feelings. In a few moments they would be seated at a table,
an Earthman and a colonist working in trust and confidence for the peace and
prosperity, of both Earth and Titan, for the first time in generations. It
would be a hard job—they both knew that. A court-martial might ruin the
Colonel's career. But if it would bring the truth to the attention of Earth
lawmakers, if it would expose the cruelty and tyranny of the Security
Commission's policy toward Titan, it would be worth the fight. And both men
knew in their hearts that it would succeed.
As they walked, Colonel Benedict smiled, and
pointed ahead to David and Tuck. "Thick as thieves," he said quietly.
"I wonder why they could see so much more clearly than we could? Two boys from the ends of the Solar
System!"
"Boys?" said Anson Torm. "I wonder. They were boys a week ago, that's
true. But they were talking like men last night." He smiled,
his eyes misty. "There was an old Earth ballad my grandfather used to
recite to me when I was young." His eyes rested on the boys as they walked
along. "Kipling, I think:
"But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, though they come from the ends
of the earth!"
The two men glanced at each other, then back to the boys. And the sun shone brightly on the
Titan colony.