Astounding Stories of Super-Science, June, 1930 Read online

  Brigands of the Moon

  (The Book of Gregg Haljan)

  CONCLUSION OF A FOUR PART NOVEL.

  _By Ray Cummings_

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  _The First Encounters_

  Like feathers we were blown with it.]

  [Sidenote: The besieged Earth-men wage grim, ultra-scientific war withMartian bandits in a last great struggle for their radium-ore--andtheir lives.]

  It seemed, with that first shot from the enemy, that a great reliefcame to me--an apprehension fallen away. We had anticipated thismoment for so long, dreaded it. I think all our men felt it. A shoutwent up:

  "Harmless!"

  It was not that. But our building withstood it better than I hadfeared. It was a flash from a large electronic projector mounted onthe deck of the brigand ship. It stabbed up from the shadows acrossthe valley at the foot of the opposite crater-wall, a beam of vaguelyfluorescent light. Simultaneously the search-light vanished.

  The stream of electrons caught the front face of our main building ina six-foot circle. It held a few seconds, vanished; then stabbedagain, and still again. Three bolts. A total, I suppose, of nine orten seconds.

  I was standing with Grantline at a front window. We had rigged anoblong of insulated fabric like a curtain: we stood peering, holdingthe curtain cautiously aside. The ray struck some twenty feet awayfrom us.

  "Harmless!"

  The men in the room shouted it with derision. But Grantline swung onthem.

  "Don't think that!"

  An interior signal-panel was beside Grantline. He called the duty-menin the instrument room.

  "It's over. What are your readings?"

  * * * * *

  The bombarding electrons had passed through the outer shell of thebuilding's double-wall, and been absorbed in the rarefied, magnetizedair-current of the Erentz circulation. Like poison in a man's veins,reaching his heart, the free alien electrons had disturbed the motors.They accelerated, then retarded. Pulsed unevenly, and drew added powerfrom the reserve tanks. But they had normalized at once when the shotwas past. The duty-man's voice sounded from the grid in answer toGrantline's question:

  "Five degrees colder in your building. Can't you feel it?"

  The disturbed, weakened Erentz circulation had allowed the outer coldto radiate through a trifle. The walls had had a trifle extraexplosive pressure from the room-air. A strain--but that was all.

  "It's probably their most powerful single weapon, Gregg." Grantlinesaid.

  I nodded. "Yes. I think so."

  I had smashed the real giant, with its ten-mile range. The ship wasonly two miles from us, but it seemed as though this projector wereexerted to its distance limit. I had noticed on the deck only one ofthis type. The others, paralyzing-rays and heat rays, were lessdeadly.

  Grantline commented: "We can withstand a lot of that bombardment. Ifwe stay inside--"

  That ray, striking a man outside, would penetrate his Erentz suitwithin a few seconds, we could not doubt. We had, however, nointention of going out unless for dire necessity.

  "Even so," said Grantline. "A hand-shield would hold it off for acertain length of time."

  * * * * *

  We had an opportunity a moment later to test our insulated shields.The bolt came again. It darted along the front face of the building,caught our window and clung. The double window-shells were our weakestpoints. The sheet of flashing Erentz current was transparent: we couldsee through it as though it were glass. It moved faster, but wasthinner at the windows than in the walls. We feared the bombardingelectrons might cross it, penetrate the inner shell and, like alightning bolt, enter the room.

  We dropped the curtain corner. The radiance of the bolt was dimlyvisible. A few seconds, then it vanished again, and behind the shieldwe had not felt a tingle.

  "Harmless!"

  But our power had been drained nearly an aeron, to neutralize theshock to the Erentz current. Grantline said:

  "If they kept that up, it would be a question of whose power supplywould last longest. And it would not be ours.... You saw our lightsfade down while the bolt was striking?"

  But the brigands did not know we were short of power. And to fire theprojector with a continuous bolt would, in thirty minutes, perhaps,have exhausted their own power-reserve.

  This strange warfare! It was new to all of us, for there had been nowars on any of the three inhabited worlds for many years. Silent,electronic conflict! Not a question of men in battle. A man at aswitch on the brigand ship was the sole actor so far in this assault.And the results were visible only in the movement of the needle-dialson our instrument panels. A struggle, so far, not of man's bravery, orskill, or strategy, but merely of electronic power supply.

  * * * * *

  Yet warfare, however modern, can never transcend the human element.Before this insult was ended I was to have many demonstrations ofthat!

  "I won't answer them," Grantline declared. "Our game is to sitdefensive. Conserve everything. Let them make the leading moves."

  We waited half an hour, but no other shot came. The valley floor waspatched with Earthlight and shadow. We could see the vague outline ofthe brigand ship backed up at the foot of the opposite crater-wall.The form of its dome over the illumined deck was visible, and the lineof its tiny hull ovals.

  On the rocks near the ship, helmet-lights of prowling brigandsoccasionally showed.

  Whatever activity was going on down there we could not see with thenaked eye. Grantline did not use our telescope at first. To connectit, even for local range, drew on our precious ammunition of power.Some of the men urged that we search the sky with the telescope. Wasour rescue ship from Earth coming? But Grantline refused. We were inno trouble yet. And every delay was to our advantage.

  "Commander, where shall I put these helmets?"

  A man came wheeling a pile of helmets on a little truck.

  "At the manual porte--other building."

  Our weapons and outside equipment were massed at the main exit-locksof the large building. But we might want to sally out through thesmaller locks also. Grantline sent helmets there; suits were notneeded, as most of us were garbed in them now, but without thehelmets.

  * * * * *

  Snap was still in the workshop. I went there during this firsthalf-hour of the attack. Ten of our men were busy there with thelittle flying platforms and the fabric shields.

  "How is it, Snap?"

  "Almost all ready."

  He had six of the platforms, including the one we had already used,and more than a dozen hand-shields. At a squeeze, all of us could rideon these six little vehicles. We might have to ride them! We plannedthat, in the event of disaster to the buildings, we could at leastescape in this fashion. Food supplies and water were now being placedat the portes.

  Depressing preparations! Our buildings uninhabitable, a rush out andaway, abandoning the treasure.... Grantline had never mentioned such acontingency, but I noticed, nevertheless, that preparations were beingmade.

  "Only that one shot, Gregg?"

  Snap's voice was raised over the clang of the workmen bolting thelittle gravity-plates of the last platform.

  "Four blasts. But just the one projector. Their strongest."

  He grinned. He wore no Erentz suit as yet. He stood in torn grimywork-trousers and a bedraggled shirt, with the inevitable red eyeshadeholding back his unruly hair. Around his waist was the weighted beltand there were weights on his shoes for gravity stability.

  "Didn't hurt us much."

  "No."

  "When I get the tube-panels in this thing I'll be finished. It'll takeanother half-hour. I'll join you. Where are you stationed?"

  * * * * *

  I shrugged. "I was at a front window with Johnny. Nothing to do asyet."

  Snap went back to his work. "Well, the longer they delay, the betterfor us. If only your
signal got through, Gregg! We'll have a rescueship here in a few hours more."

  Ah, that "if!"

  I turned away. "Can't help you, Snap?"

  "No. Take those shields," he added to one of the men.

  "Take them where?"

  "To Grantline. The front admission porte, or the back. He'll tell youwhich."

  The shields were wheeled away on a little cart. I followed it.Grantline sent it to the back exit.

  "No other move from them yet, Johnny?"

  "No. All quiet."

  "Snap's almost finished."

  The brigands presently made another play. A giant heat-ray beam cameacross the valley. It clung to our front wall for nearly a minute.

  Grantline got the reports from the instrument room. He laughed.

  "That helped rather than hurt us. Heated the outer wall. Frank tookadvantage of it and eased up the motors."

  We wondered if Miko knew that. Doubtless he did, for another intervalpassed and the heat-ray was not used again.

  * * * * *

  Then came a zed-ray. I stood at the window, watching it, faint sheenof beam in the dimness. It crept with sinister deliberation along ourfront building-wall, clung momentarily to our shielded windows andpried with its revealing glow into Snap's workshop.

  "Looking us over," Grantline commented. "I hope they like what theysee."

  I knew he did not feel the bravado that was in his tone. We hadnothing but small hand weapons: heat-rays, electronic projectors, andbullet projectors. All for very short-range fighting. If Miko had notknown that before, he could at least make a good guess at it after thecareful zed-ray inspection. With his ship down there two miles away,we were powerless to reach him.

  It seemed that Miko was now testing the use of all his mechanisms. Alight-flare went up from the dome-peak of the ship. It rose in a slowarc over the valley, and burst. For a few seconds the two-mile circleof crags was brilliantly illumined. I stared, but I had to shield myeyes against the dazzling actinic glare, and I could see nothing. WasMiko making a zed-ray photograph of our interiors? We had no way ofknowing.

  He was testing his short-range projectors now. With my eyes againaccustomed to the normal Earthlight in the valley, I could see thestabs of little electronic beams, the Martian paralyzing-rays andheat-beams. They darted out like flashing swords from the rocks nearthe ship.

  Then the whole ship and the crater-wall behind it seemed to shiftsidewise as a Benson curve-light spread its glow about the ship, witha projector curve-beam coming up and touching the window through whichI was peering.

  "Haljan, come look at these damn girls! Commander--shall I stop them?They'll kill themselves, or kill us--or smash something!"

  * * * * *

  We followed the man into the building's broad central corridor. Anitaand Venza were riding a midget flying platform! Anita, in her boyishblack garb; Venza with a flowing white Venus-robe. They lay on thetiny, six-foot oblong of metal, one manipulating its side shields, theother at the controls. As we arrived, the platform came sliding downthe narrow confines of the corridor, lurching, barely missing adoor-grid projection. Up to skim the low vaulted ceiling, then down tothe floor.

  It sailed past our heads, rising over us as we ducked. Anita waved herhand.

  Grantline gasped, "By the infernal!"

  I shouted, "Anita, stop!"

  But they only waved at us, skimming down the length of the corridor,seeming to avoid a smash a dozen times by the smallest margin ofchance, stopping miraculously at the further end, hanging poised inmid-air, wheeling, coming back, undulating up and down.

  Grantline clung to me. "By the gods of the airways!"

  In spite of my astonished horror I could not but share Grantline'sobvious admiration. Three of four other men were watching. The girlswere amazingly skillful, no doubt of that. There was not a man amongus who could have handled that gravity-platform indoors, not one whowould have had the brash temerity to try it.

  The platform landed with the grace of a humming bird at our feet, thegirls dexterously balancing so that it came to rest swiftly, withoutthe least bump.

  I confronted them. "Anita, what are you doing?"

  She stood up, flushed and smiling.

  "Practising."

  Imperturbable girls! The product of their age. Oblivious to thebrigand attack, they were in here practising!

  "What for?" I demanded.

  Venza's roguish eyes twinkled at me. Her hands went to her slim hipswith a gesture of defiance.

  She asked, "Are you speaking for yourself or the commander?"

  * * * * *

  I ignored her. "What for?" I reiterated.

  "Because we're good at it," Anita retorted. "Better than any of youmen. If you should need us...."

  "We don't. We won't." I said shortly.

  "But if you should...."

  Venza put in, "If Snap and I hadn't come for you, you wouldn't behere, Gregg Haljan. I didn't notice you were so horrified to see meholding that shield up over you!"

  It silenced me.

  She added, "Commander, let us alone. We won't smash anything."

  Grantline laughed, "I hope you won't!"

  A warning call took us back to the front window. The brigand'ssearch-beam was again being used. It swept slowly along the length ofthe cliff. Its circle went down the cliff steps to the valley floor,and came sweeping up again. Then it went up to the observatoryplatform at the summit above us, then back and crept over to theore-sheds.

  We had no men outside, if that was what the brigand wanted todetermine. The search-beam presently vanished. It was replacedimmediately by a zed-ray, which darted at once to our treasure shedsand clung.

  That stung Grantline into his first action. We flung our own zed-raydown across the valley. It reached the brigand ship; this zed-ray anda search-light were our only two projectors of long range.

  The brigand ray vanished when ours flashed on. I was with Grantline atan image grid in the instrument room. We saw the deck of the brigandship and the blurred interior of the cabins.

  "Try the search-beam, Franck. We don't need the other."

  The zed-ray went off. We gazed down our search-light which clung tothe dome of the distant enemy vessel. We could see movement there.

  "The telescope," Grantline ordered.

  * * * * *

  The little dynamos hummed. The telescope-finder glowed and clarified.On the deck of the ship we saw the brigands working with theassembling of ore-carts. A deck landing-porte was open. The ore-cartswere being carried out through a porte-lock and down a landingincline. And on the rocks outside, we saw several of the carts--andrail-sections and the sections of an ore-shute.

  Miko was unloading his mining apparatus! He was making ready to comeup for the treasure!

  The discovery, startling as it was, nevertheless was far overshadowedby an imperative danger alarm from our main building. Brigands wereoutside on our ledge! Miko's search-beam, sweeping the ledge a momentbefore, had carefully avoided revealing them. It had been done justfor that purpose, no doubt--making us sure that the ledge wasunoccupied and thus to guard against our own light making a search.

  But there was a brigand group here close outside our walls! By themerest chance the radiating glow from our search-ray had shown thehelmeted figures scurrying for shelter.

  Grantline leaped to his feet.

  We rushed for the rear exit-porte which was nearest us. The giantbloated figures had been seen running along the outside of theconnecting corridor, in this direction. But before we ever got there,a new alarm came. A brigand was crouching at a front corner of themain building! His hydrogen heat-torch had already opened a rift inthe wall!

  CHAPTER XXXV

  _Desperate Offensive_

  "In with you!" ordered Grantline. "Get your helmets on! How many? Six?Enough--get back there, Williams--you were last. The lock won't holdany more."


  I was one of the six who jammed into the manual exit lock. We wentthrough it: in a moment we were outside. It was less than threeminutes since the prowling brigands had been seen.

  Grantline touched me just as we emerged. "Don't wait for orders! Getthem!"

  "That fellow with the torch, the most dangerous--"

  "Yes! I'm with you."

  We went out with a rush. We had already discarded our shoe and beltweights. I leaped, regardless of my companions.

  The scurrying Martians had disappeared. Through my visor bull's-eye Icould see only the Earthlit rocky surface of the ledge. Beside mestretched the dark wall of our building.

  I bounded toward the front. The brigand with the torch had been atthis front corner. I could not see him from here: he had beencrouching just around the angle.

  I had a tiny bullet projector, the best weapon for short rangeoutdoors. I was aware of Grantline close behind me.

  It took only a few of my giant leaps. I landed at the corner,recovered my balance, and whirled around to the front.

  The Martian was here, a giant misshapen lump as he crouched. His torchwas a little stab of blue in the deep shadow enveloping him. Intentupon his work, he did not see me. Perhaps he thought his fellows hadbroken our exits by now.

  * * * * *

  I landed like a leopard upon his back and fired, my weapon muzzleramming him. His torch fell hissing with a silent rain of blue fireupon the rocks.

  As my grip upon him made audiphone contact, his agonized screamrattled the diaphragms of my ear-grids with horrible, deafeningintensity.

  He lay writhing under me, then was still. His scream choked intosilence. His suit deflated within my encircling grip. He was dead; myleaden, steel-tipped pellet had punctured the double surface of hisErentz-fabric, penetrated his chest.

  Grantline's following leap landed him over me.

  "Dead?"

  "Yes."

  I climbed from the inert body. The torch had hissed itself out.Grantline swung on our building corner, and I leaned down with him toexamine it. The torch had fused and scarred the surface of the wall,burned almost through. A pressure-rift had opened. We could see it, acurving gash in the metal wall-plate like a crack in a glasswindow-pane.

  I went cold. This was serious damage! The rarefied Erentz-air wouldseep out. It was leaking now: we could see the magnetic radiance of itall up the length of the ten-foot crack. The leak would change thepressure of the Erentz system, constantly lower it, demanding steadyrenewal. The Erentz motors would overheat; some might go bad from thestrain.

  Grantline stood gripping me.

  "Damn bad!"

  "Yes. Can't we repair it, Johnny?"

  "No. Have to take that whole plate-section out, shut off the Erentzplant and exhaust the interior air of all this bulkhead of thebuilding. Day's job--maybe more."

  * * * * *

  And the crack would get worse, I knew. It would gradually spread andwiden. The Erentz circulation would fail. All our power would bedrained struggling to maintain it. This brigand who had unwittinglycommitted suicide by his daring act had accomplished more than heperhaps had realized. I could envisage our weapons, useless from lackof power. The air in our buildings turning fetid and frigid: ourselvesforced to the helmets. A rush out to abandon the camp and escape. Thebuildings exploding--scattering into a litter on the ledge like achild's broken toy. The treasure abandoned, with the brigands comingup and loading it on their ship.

  Our defeat. In a few hours now--or minutes. This crack could slowlywiden, or it could break suddenly at any time. Disaster, come now soabruptly upon us at the very start of the brigand attack....

  Grantline's voice in my audiphone broke my despairing rush ofthoughts. "Bad. Come on, Gregg; nothing to do here."

  We were aware that our other four men had run along the building'sother side. They emerged now--with the running brigands in front ofthem, rushing out toward the staircase on the ledge. Three giantMartian figures in flight, with our four men chasing.

  A bullet projector spat, with its queer stab of exploding powder fedby the burning oxygen fumes of its artificial air-chamber--one of ourmen firing. A brigand fell to the rocks by the brink of the ledge. Theothers reached the descending staircase, tumbled down it with recklessleaps.

  Our men turned back. Before we could join them, the enemy ship down inthe valley sent up a cautious search-beam which located its returningmen. Then the beam swung up to the ledge, landed upon us.

  We stood confused, blinded by the brilliant glare. Grantline stumbledagainst me.

  "Run, Gregg! They'll be firing at us."

  We dashed away. Our companions joined us, rushing back for the porte.I saw it open, reinforcements coming out to help us--half a dozenfigures carrying a ten-foot insulated shield. They could barely get itout through the porte.

  * * * * *

  The Martian search-ray abruptly vanished. Then almost instantly theelectronic ray came with its deadly stab. Missed us at first, as weran for the shield. It vanished, and stabbed again. It caught us, butnow we were behind the shield, carrying it back to the porte, hidingbehind it.

  The ray stabbed once or twice more.

  Whether Miko's instruments showed him how serious that damage was toour front wall, we never knew. But I think that he realized. Hissearch-beam clung to it, and his zed-ray pried into our interiors.

  The brigand ship was active now. We were desperate: we used ourtelescope freely for observation. And used our zed-ray andsearch-light. Miko's ore-carts and mining apparatus were unloaded onthe rocks. The rail-sections were being carried a mile out, nearly tothe center of the valley. A subsidiary camp was being establishedthere, only a mile from the base of our cliff, but still far beyondreach of our weapons. We could see the brigand lights down there.

  Then the ore-shute sections were brought over. We could see Miko's mencarrying some of the giant projectors, mounting them in the newposition. Power tanks and cables. Light-flare catapults--littlemechanical cannons for throwing the bombs.

  The enemy search-light constantly raked our vicinity. Occasionally thegiant electronic projector flung up its bolt as though warning us notto dare leave our buildings.

  * * * * *

  Half an hour went by. Our situation was even worse than Miko couldknow. The Erentz motors were running hot--our power draining, thecrack widening. When it would break we could not tell; but the dangerwas like a sword over us.

  An anxious thirty minutes for us, this second interlude. Grantlinecalled a meeting of all our little force, with every man having hissay. Inactivity was no longer a feasible policy. We recklessly usedour power to search the sky. Our rescue ship might be up there; but wecould not see it with our disabled instruments. No signals came. Wecould not--or, at least, did not--receive them.

  "They wouldn't signal," Grantline protested. "They'd know the Martianswould be more likely to get the signal than us. Of what use to warnMiko?"

  But he did not dare wait for a rescue ship that might or might not becoming! Miko was playing the waiting game now--making ready for aquick loading of the ore when we were forced to abandon our buildings.

  The brigand ship suddenly moved its position! It rose up in a low flatarc, came forward and settled in the center of the valley where thecarts and rail-sections were piled, and the outside projectors newlymounted on the rocks. But the projectors only shot at us occasionally.

  The brigands now began laying the rails from the ship toward the baseof our cliff. The chute would bring the ore down from the ledge, andthe carts would take it to the ship.

  The laying of the rails was done under cover of occasional stabs fromthe electronic projector.

  And then we discovered that Miko had made still another move. Thebrigand rays, fired from the depths of the valley, could strike ourfront building, but could not reach all our ledge. And from the ship'snew and nearer position this disadvantage was intens
ified. Thenabruptly we realized that under cover of darkness-bombs an electronicprojector and search-ray had been carried to the top of thecrater-rim, diagonally across and only half a mile from us. Theirbeams shot down, raking all our vicinity from this new angle.

  * * * * *

  I was on the little flying platform which sallied out as a test toattack these isolated projectors. Snap and I and one other volunteerwent. He and I held the shield; Snap handled the controls.

  Our exit-porte was on the lee side of the building from the hostilesearch-beam. We got out unobserved and sailed upward; but soon a lightfrom the ship caught us. And the projector bolts came up....

  Our sortie only lasted a few minutes. To me, it was a confusion ofcrossing beams, with the stars overhead, the swaying little platformunder me, and the shield tingling in my hands when the blasts struckus. Moments of blurred terror....

  The voice of the man beside me sounded in my ears: "Now, Haljan, givethem one!"

  We were up over the peak of the rim with the hostile projectors underus. I gauged our movement, and dropped an explosive powder bomb.

  It missed. It flared with a puff on the rocks, twenty feet from wherethe two projectors were mounted. I saw that two helmeted figures weredown there. They tried to swing their grids upward, but could not getthem vertical to reach us. The ship was firing at us, but it was faraway. And Grantline's search-beam was going full-power, clinging tothe ship to dazzle them.

  Snap circled us. As we came back I dropped another bomb. Its silentpuff seemed littered with flying fragments of the two projectors andthe bodies of the men.

  We flew swiftly back and got in.

  * * * * *

  It decided Grantline. For an hour past Snap and I had been urging ourplan to use the gravity platforms. To remain inactive was sure defeatnow. Even if our buildings did not explode--if we thought to huddle inthem, helmeted in the failing air--then Miko could readily ignore usand proceed with his loading of the treasure under our helpless gaze.He could do that now with safety--if we refused to sally out--for wecould not fire our weapons through our windows.[1]

  [Footnote 1: To fire a projector through the walls or windows would atonce wreck the protective Erentz system. The enemy ship has pressureportes, constructed for the emission of the weapon-rays. Grantline'sonly weapons thus mounted were his search-beam and zed-ray.]

  To remain defensive would end inevitably in our defeat. We all knew itnow; it was obvious. The waiting game was Miko's--not ours! And he wasplaying it.

  The success of our attack upon the distant isolated projectorsheartened us. Yet it was a desperate offensive indeed upon which wenow decided!

  We prepared our little expedition at the larger of the exit portes.Miko's zed-ray was watching all our interior movements. We made abrave show of activity in our workshop with abandoned ore-carts whichwere stored there. We got them out, started to recondition them.

  It seemed to fool Miko. His zed-ray clung to the workshop, watchingus. And at the distant porte we gathered the little platforms, theshields, helmets, bombs, and a few hand-projectors.

  There were six platforms--three of us upon each. It left four peopleto remain indoors.

  * * * * *

  I need not describe the emotion with which Snap and I listened toVenza and Anita pleading to be allowed to accompany us. They urged itupon Grantline, and we took no part. It was too important a decision.The treasure--the life or death of all these men--hung now upon thefate of our venture. Snap and I could not intrude our personalfeelings.

  And the girls won. Both were undeniably more skilful at handling themidget platforms than any of us men. Two of the six platforms could beguided by them. That was a third of our little force! And of what useto go out and be defeated, leaving the girls here to meet death almostimmediately afterward?

  We gathered at the porte. A last minute change made Grantline ordersix of his men to remain guarding the buildings. The instruments--theErentz system--all the appliances had to be attended.

  It left four platforms, each with three men, with Grantline at thecontrols of one of them. And upon the other two of the six Venza rodewith Snap, and I with Anita.

  We crouched in the shadows outside the porte. So small an army,sallying out to bomb this enemy vessel or be killed in the attempt!Only sixteen of us. And thirty or so brigands.

  I envisaged then this tiny Moon-crater, the scene of this battle wewere waging. Struggling humans, desperately trying to kill. Alone hereon this globe. Around us, the wide reaches of Lunar desolation. In allthis world, every human being was gathered here, struggling to kill!

  Anita drew me down to the platform. "Ready, Gregg."

  The others were rising. We lifted, moved slowly out and away from theprotective shadows of the building.

  In a tiny queue the six little platforms sailed out over the valleytoward the brigand ship.

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  _The Battle in the Crater_

  Grantline led us. We held about level. Five hundred feet beneath usthe brigand ship lay, cradled on the rocks. When it was still a mileaway from us I could see all its outline fairly clearly in thedimness. Its tiny hull-windows were now dark; but the blurred shape ofthe hull was visible and above it the rounded cap of dome, with a dimradiance beneath it.

  We followed Grantline's platform. It was rising, drawing the othersafter it like a tail. I touched Anita where she lay beside me with herhead half in the small hooded control-bank.

  "Going too high."

  She nodded, but followed the line nevertheless. It was Grantline'scommand.

  I lay crouched, holding the inner tips of the flexible side-shields.The bottom of the platform was covered with the insulated fabric.There were two side-shields. They extended upward some two feet,flexible so that I could hold them out to see over them, or draw themup and in to cover us.

  They afforded a measure of protection against the hostile rays, thoughjust how much we were not sure. With the platform level, a bolt frombeneath could not harm us unless it continued for a considerable time.But the platform, except upon direct flight, was seldom level, for itwas a frail, unstable little vehicle! To handle it was more than aquestion of the controls. We balanced, and helped to guide it, withthe movement of our bodies--shifting our weight sidewise, or back, orforward to make it dip as the controls altered the gravity-pull in itstiny plate-sections.

  Like a bird, wheeling, soaring, swooping. To me, it was a precariousbusiness.

  * * * * *

  But now we were in straight flight diagonally upward. The outline ofthe brigand ship came under us. I crouched tense, breathless; everymoment it seemed that the brigands must discover us and loose theirbolts.

  They may have seen us for some moments before they fired. I peeredover the side-shield down at our mark, then up ahead to getGrantline's firing signal. It seemed long delayed. We were almost overthe ship. An added glow down there must have warned Grantline that ashot was coming. The tiny red light flared bright on his platform.

  I hissed on our Benson curve-light radiance. We had been dark, but asoft glow now enveloped us. Its sheen went down to the ship to revealus. But its curving path showed us falsely placed. I saw the littleline of platforms ahead of us seem to move suddenly sidewise.

  It was everyone for himself now; none of us could tell where the otherplatforms actually were placed or headed. Anita swooped us sharplydown to avoid a possible collision.

  "Gregg--?"

  "Yes. I'm aiming."

  I was making ready to drop the little explosive globe-bomb. Oursearch-light ray at the camp, answering Grantline's signal, shot downand bathed the ship in a white glare, revealing it for our aim.Simultaneously the brigand bolts came up at us.

  I held my bomb out over the shield, calculating the angle to throw itdown. The brigand rays flashed around me. They were horribly close;Miko had understood our sudden visible shift and aimed, not
where weappeared to be, but where we had been a moment before.

  * * * * *

  I dropped my bomb hastily at the glowing white ship. The touch of ahostile ray would have exploded it in my hand. I could see itsblue-sizzling fuse as it fell. I saw the others also dropping from ournearby platforms. The explosions from them merged in a confusion ofthe white glare--and a cloud of black light-mist as the brigands outon the rocks used their occulting darkness bombs.

  We swept past in a blur of leaping hostile beams. Silent battle oflights! Darkness bombs down at the ship struggling to bar our campsearch-ray. The Benson radiance-rays from our passing platformscurving down to mingle with the confusion. The electronic rays sendingup their bolts....

  Our platforms dropped some ten dynamitrine bombs in that firstpassage over the ship. As we sped by, I dimmed the Benson's radiance.I peered. We had not hit the ship. Or if we had, the damage wasinconclusive. But on the rocks I could see a pile of ore-cartsscattered--broken wreckage, in which the litter of two or threeprojectors seemed strewn. And the gruesome deflated forms of severalhelmeted figures. Others seemed, to be running, scattering--hiding inthe rocks and pit-holes. Twenty brigands at least were outside theship. Some were running over toward the base of our camp-ledge. Thedarkness bombs were spreading like a curtain over the valley floor;but it seemed that some of the figures were dragging their projectorsaway.

  We sailed off toward the opposite crater-rim. I remember passing overthe broken wreckage of Grantline's little space-ship, the _Comet_.Miko's bolts momentarily had vanished. We had hit some of his outsideprojectors; the others were abandoned, or being dragged to saferpositions.

  * * * * *

  After a mile we wheeled and went back. I suddenly realized that onlyfour platforms were in the re-formed line ahead of us. One wasmissing! I saw it now, wavering down, close over the ship. A boltleaped up diagonally from a distant angle on the rocks and caught thedisabled platform. It fell, whirling, glowing red--disappeared intothe blur of darkness like a bit of heated metal plunged into water.

  One out of six of our platforms already lost! Three men of our littleforce gone!

  But Grantline led us desperately back. Anita caught his signal tobreak our line. The five platforms scattered, dipping and wheelinglike frightened birds--blurring shapes, shifting unnaturally in flightas the Benson curve-angles were altered.

  Anita now took our platform in a long swoop downward. Her tense,murmured voice sounded in my ears:

  "Hold off: I'll take us low."

  A melee. Passing platform shapes. The darting bolts, crossing likeancient rapiers. Falling blue points of fuse-lights as we threw ourbombs.

  Down in a swoop. Then rising. Away, and then back. This silent warfareof lights! It seemed that around me must be bursting a pandemonium ofsound. Yet I heard nothing. Silent, blurred melee, infinitelyfrightening. A bolt struck us, clung for an instant; but we weatheredit. The light was blinding. Through my gloves I could feel the tingleof the over-charged shield as it caught and absorbed the hostilebombardment. Under me the platform seemed heated. My little Erentzmotors ran with ragged pulse. I got too much oxygen; my head roaredwith it. Spots danced before my closed eyes. Then not enough oxygen. Iwas dully smothering....

  Then the bolt was gone. I found us soaring upward, horribly tilted. Ishifted over.

  "Anita! Anita, dear!"

  "Yes. Gregg. All right."

  * * * * *

  The melee went on. The brigand ship and all its vicinity was envelopedin darkness-mist now--a turgid sable curtain, made more dense by thedissipating heavy fumes of our exploding bombs which settled low overthe ship and the rocks nearby. The search-light from our camp strovefutilely to penetrate the cloud.

  Our platforms were separated. One went by high over us; I saw anotherdart close beneath my shield.

  "God, Anita!"

  "Too close! I did not mean that--I didn't see it."

  Almost a collision.

  "Oh, Gregg, haven't we broken the ship's dome yet?"

  It seemed not. I had dropped nearly all my bombs. This could not go onmuch longer. Had it been only five minutes? Only that? Reason told meso, yet it seemed an eternity of horror.

  Another swoop. My last bomb. Anita had brought us into position tofling it. But I could not. A bolt stabbed up from the gloom andcaught us. We huddled, pulling the shields up and over us.

  Blurred darkness again. Too much to the side now. I had to wait whileAnita swung us back. Then we seemed too high.

  We swooped. But not too low! Down in the darkness-mist we wouldimmediately have lost direction, and crashed.

  I waited with my last bomb. The other platforms were occasionallydropping them: I had been too hasty, too prodigal.

  Had we broken the ship's dome with a direct hit? It seemed not.

  * * * * *

  The brigands were occasionally sending up catapulted light-flares.They came from positions on the rocks outside the ship. They mountedin lazy curves and burst over us. The concealing darkness, broken onlyby the flares of our explosions, enveloped the enemy. Our campsearch-light was still struggling with it. But overhead, where the fewlittle platforms were circling and swooping, the flares gave an almostcontinuous glare. It was dazzling, blinding. Even through the smokedpane which I adjusted to my visor I could not stand it.

  But there were thoughts of comparative dimness. In a patch where theEarthlight struck through the darkness of the rocks, I saw another ofour fallen platforms! Snap and Venza! Dear God....

  It was not they, but three figures of our men. One was dead. Two hadsurvived the fall. They stood up, staggering. And in that instant,before the turgid black curtain closed over them, I saw two brigandscome rushing. Their hand projectors stabbed at close range. Our mencrumpled and fell.

  And now I saw why probably we had never yet hit the ship.

  Its outline was revealed. "Now, Gregg--can you fling it from here?"

  We were in position again. I flung my last missile, watched its lightas it dropped. On the dome-roof two of Miko's men were crouching. Mybomb was truly aimed--perhaps one of the few in all our bombardmentwhich would have landed directly on the dome-roof. But the waitingmarksmen fired at it with short-range heat projectors and exploded itharmlessly while it was still above them.

  We swung up and away. I saw, high above us, Grantline's platform,recognizing its red signal light. There seemed a lull. The enemy firehad died down to only a very occasional bolt. In the confusion of mywhirling impressions I wondered if Miko were in distress? Not that! Wehad not hit his ship; perhaps we had done little damage indeed! It waswe who were in distress. Two of our platforms had fallen--two out ofsix. Or more, of which I did not know.

  * * * * *

  I saw one rising off to the side of us. Grantline was over us. Well,we were at least three. And then I saw the fourth.

  "Grantline is calling us up, Gregg."

  "Yes."

  Grantline's signal-light was summoning us from the attack. He was athousand or two thousand feet above.

  I was suddenly shocked with horror. The search-ray from our campabruptly vanished! Anita wheeled us to face the distant ledge. Thecamp-lights showed, and over one of the buildings was a distresslight!

  Had the crack in our front wall broken, threatening explosion of allthe buildings? The wild thoughts swept me. But it was not that. Icould see light-stabs from the cliff outside the main building. Mikohad dared to send some of his men to attack our almost abandoned camp!

  Grantline realized it. His red helmet-light semaphored the command tofollow him. His platform soared away, heading for the camp, with theother two behind him.

  Anita lifted us to follow. But I checked her.

  "No! Off to the right, across the valley."

  "But Gregg!"

  "Do as I say, Anita."

  She swung us diagonally away from both the camp and
the brigand ship.I prayed that we might not be noticed by the brigands.

  "Anita, listen: I've an idea!"

  The attack on the brigand ship was over. It lay enveloped in thedarkness of the powder-gas cloud and its own darkness bombs. But itwas uninjured.

  Miko had answered us with our own tactics. He had practically unmannedthe ship, no doubt, and had sent his men to our buildings. The fighthad shifted. But I was now without ammunition, save for two or threesmall bullet projectors.

  Of what use for our platform to rush back? Miko expected that. Hisattack on the camp was undoubtedly made just for that purpose.

  "Anita, if we can get down on the rocks somewhere near the ship, andcreep up on it unobserved in that blackness...."

  * * * * *

  I might be able to open its manual hull-lock, rip it open and let theair out. If I could get into its pressure chamber and unseal the innerslide....

  "It would wreck the ship, Anita, exhaust all its air. Shall we tryit?"

  "Whatever you say, Gregg."

  We seemed to be unobserved. We skimmed close to the valley floor, amile from the ship. We headed slowly toward it, sailing low over therocks.

  Then we landed, left the platform.

  "Let me go first, Anita."

  I held a bullet projector. With slow, cautious leaps, we advanced.Anita was behind me. I had wanted to leave her with the platform, butshe would not stay. And to be with me seemed at least equally safe.

  The rocks were deserted. I thought there was very little chance thatany of the enemy would lurk here. We clambered over the pitted,scarred surface. The higher crags, etched with Earthlight, stood likesentinels in the gloom.

  The brigand ship with its surrounding darkness was not far from us.Then we entered the cloud.

  No one was out here. We passed the wreckage of broken projectors, andgruesome, shattered human forms.

  We prowled closer. The hull of the ship loomed ahead of us. All dark.

  We came at last close against the sleek metal hull-side, slid along ittoward where I was sure the manual-porte was located.

  Abruptly I realized that Anita was not behind me! Then I saw her at alittle distance, struggling in the grip of a giant helmeted figure!The brigand lifted her--turned, and, carrying her, ran the other way!

  I did not dare fire. I bounded after them along the hull-side, aroundunder the curve of the pointed bow, down along the other side.

  I had mistaken the hull-porte location. It was here. The running,bounding figure reached it, slid the panel. I was only fifty feetaway--not much more than a single leap. I saw Anita being shoved intothe pressure lock. The Martian flung himself after her.

  I fired at him, but missed. I came with a rush. And as I reached theporte it slid closed in my face, barring me!

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  _In the Pressure Lock._

  With puny fists I pounded the panel. A small pane in it wastransparent. Within the lock I could see the blurred figures of Anitaand her captor--and, it seemed, another figure. The lock was some tenfeet square, with a low ceiling. It glowed with a dim tube-light.

  I pounded, thumped with futile, silent blows. The mechanism was hereto open this manual; but it was now clasped from within and would notoperate.

  A few seconds only, while I stood there in a panic of confusion,raging to get in. This disaster had come so suddenly! I did not plan;I had no thought save to batter my way in and rescue Anita. I recallthat I beat on the glassite pane with my bullet projector until theweapon was bent and useless; and I flung it with a wild, despairingrage at my feet.

  They were letting the ship's air-pressure into this lock. Soon theywould open the inner panel, step into the secondary chamber--and in amoment more would be within the ship's hull corridor. Anita, lost tome!

  The outer panel suddenly opened! I had lunged against it with myshoulder; the giant figure inside slid it. I was taken by surprise! Ihalf-fell inward.

  Huge arms went around me. The goggled face of the helmet peered intomine.

  "So it is you, Haljan! I thought I recognized that little device overyour helmet-bracket. And there is my little Anita, come back to meagain!"

  Miko!

  * * * * *

  This was he. His great bloated arms encircling me, bending mebackward, holding me almost helpless. I saw over his shoulder thatAnita was clutched in the grip of another helmeted figure. No giant,but tall for an Earthman--almost as tall as myself. Then thetube-light in the room illumined the visor. I saw the face, recognizedit. Moa!

  I gasped, "So--I've--got you, Miko--"

  "Got me! You're a fool to the last, Gregg Haljan! A fool to the last!But you were always a fool."

  I could scarcely move in his grip. My arms were pinned. As he slowlybent me backward, I wound my legs around one of his; it was asunyielding as a steel pillar. He had closed the outer panel; theair-pressure in the lock was rising. I could feel it against my suit.

  My helmeted head was being forced backward; Miko's left arm held me.In his gloved right hand as it came slowly up over my throat I saw aknife-blade, its naked, sharpened metal glistening blue-white in thelight from overhead.

  I seized his wrist. But my puny strength could not hold him. Theknife, against all my efforts, came slowly down.

  A moment of this slow deadly combat--the end of everything for me.

  I was aware of the helmeted figure of Moa casting off Anita--and thenthe two girls leaping together upon Miko. It threw him off hisbalance, and my hanging weight made him topple forward. He took a stepto recover himself; his hand with the knife was flung up with aninstinctive, involuntary balancing gesture. And as it came swiftlydown again, I forced the knife-blade to graze his throat. Its pointcaught in the fabric of his suit.

  His startled oath jangled in my ears. The girls were clawing at him;we were all four scrambling, swaying. With despairing strength Itwisted at his waist. The knife went into his throat. I plunged itdeeper.

  * * * * *

  His suit went flabby. He crumpled over me and fell, knocking me to thefloor. His voice, with the horrible gurgling rasp of death in it,rattled my ear-grids.

  "Not such a fool--are you, Haljan--"

  Moa's helmeted head was close over us. I saw that she had seized theknife, jerked it from her brother's throat. She leaped backward,waving it.

  I twisted from under Miko's inert, lifeless body. As I got to my feet,Anita flung herself to shield me. Moa was across the lock, backed upagainst its wall. The knife in her hand went up. She stood for thebriefest instant regarding Anita and me holding each other. I thoughtthat she was about to leap upon us; but before I could move, the knifecame down and plunged into her breast. She fell forward, hergrotesque helmet striking the floor-grid almost at my feet.

  "Gregg!"

  "She's dead."

  "No! She moved! Get her helmet off! There's enough air here."

  My helmet pressure-indicator was faintly buzzing to show that a safepressure was in the room. I shut off Moa's Erentz motors, unfastenedher helmet, raised it off. We gently turned her body. She lay withclosed eyes, her pallid face blue-cast from the light in the lock.

  With our own helmets off, we knelt over her.

  "Oh. Gregg, is she dead?"

  "No. Not quite--but dying."

  "Oh Gregg, I don't want her to die! She was trying to help you thereat the last."

  She opened her eyes; the film of death was glazing them. But she sawme, recognized me.

  "Gregg--"

  "Yes, Moa, I'm here."

  * * * * *

  Her livid lips were faintly drawn in a smile. "I'm--so glad--you tookthe helmets off, Gregg. I'm--going--you know."

  "No!"

  "Going--back to Mars--to rest with the fire-makers--where I came from.I was thinking--maybe you would kiss me, Gregg--?"

  Anita gently pushed me down. I pressed the white, faintly smiling lipswith mine. She
sighed, and it ended with a rattle in her throat.

  "Thank you--Gregg--closer--I can't talk so loudly--"

  One of her gloved hands struggled to touch me, but she had no strengthand it fell back. Her words were the faintest of whispers:

  "There was no use living--without your love. But I want you tosee--now--that a Martian girl can--die with a smile--"

  Her eyelids fluttered down: it seemed that she sighed and then was notbreathing. But on her livid face the faint smile still lingered toshow me how a Martian girl could die.

  We had forgotten for the moment where we were. As I glanced up I sawthat through the inner panel, past the secondary lock, the ship'shull-corridor was visible, and along its length a group of Martianswere advancing! They saw us, and came running.

  "Anita! Look! We've got to get out of here!"

  The secondary lock was open to the corridor. We jammed on our helmets.The unhelmeted brigands by then were fumbling at the inner panel. Ipulled at the lever of the outer panel. The brigands were hurrying,thinking they could be in time to stop me. One of the more cautiousfumbled with a helmet.

  "Anita, run! Try and keep your feet."

  I slid the outer panel and pushed at Anita. Simultaneously thebrigands opened the inner porte.

  The air came with a tempestuous rush. A blast through the innerporte--through the little pressure-lock--a wild rush out to theairless Moon. All the air in the ship madly rushing to escape....

  Like feathers we were blown with it. I recall an impression of thehurtling brigand figures and swift-flying rocks under me. A silentcrash as I struck.

  Then soundless, empty blackness.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  _Triumph!_

  "Is he conscious? We'd better take him back, get his helmet off."

  "It's over. We can get back now. Venza, dear, we've won--it's over."

  "He hears us!"

  "Gregg!"

  "He hears us--he's all right!"

  I opened my eyes. I lay on the rocks. Over my helmet other helmetswere peering, and faint, familiar voices mingled with the roaring inmy ears.

  "--back to the camp and get his helmet off."

  "Are his motors smooth? Keep them right, Snap--he must have good air."

  I seemed unhurt. But Anita....

  She was here. "Gregg, dear one!"

  Anita safe! All four of us here on the Earthlit rocks, close outsidethe brigand ship.

  "Anita!"

  She held me, lifted me. I was uninjured. I could stand; I staggered upand stood swaying. The brigand ship, a hundred feet away, loomed darkand silent, a lifeless bulk, already empty of air, drained in that madblast outward. Like the wreck of the _Planetara_--a dead, pulselesshulk already.

  We four stood together, triumphant. The battle was over. The brigandswere worsted, almost the last man of them dead or dying. No more thanten or fifteen had been available for that final assault upon the campbuildings. Miko's last strategy. I think perhaps he had intended, withhis few remaining men, to take the ship and make away, deserting hisfellows.

  All on the ship, caught unhelmeted by the explosion, were dead longsince.

  I stood listening to Snap's triumphant account. It had not beendifficult for the flying platforms to hunt down the attacking brigandson the open rocks. We had only lost one more platform.

  Human hearts beat sometimes with very selfish emotions. It was atriumphant ending for us, and we hardly gave a thought that half ofGrantline's little group had perished.

  We huddled on Snap's platform. It rose, lurching drunkenly, barelycarrying us.

  And as we headed for the Grantline buildings, where still the rift inthe wall had not quite broken, there came the final triumph. Miko hadbeen aware of it, and knew he had lost. Grantline's search-lightleaped upward, swept the sky, caught its sought-for object--a hugesilver cylinder, bathed brightly in the white search-beam glare.

  The police-ship from Earth!

  CHAPTER XXXIX

  _My Exit_

  My narrative lies now in this permanently recorded form before you,and I prepare my exit bow with the humble hope that I may have givenyou pleasure. If so, I do beg you to tell me of it. There are some whoalready have flashed their approval of my discs; I thank them mostearnestly and gratefully.

  My errors of recording unquestionably are many; and for them I askyour indulgence. There have been, I can readily see, errors ofomission. I have not mentioned, for instance, the final rescue of the_Planetara's_ marooned passengers on the asteroid. You will bear withme, since the disc-space has its technical limitations, that suchomissions have been unavoidable.

  Since the passage of the Earth-law by the Federated Board ofEducation, forcing narrative fiction to cling so closely to swornfacts of actual happening, I need offer no assurance of the truth ofmy narrative. My witnesses have filed their corroboratingdeclarations. Indeed, the _Planetara's_ wreck and the brigands' attackupon the Moon-treasure were given the widest news-casters' publicity,as you all know. Yet I, who was unwittingly involved in those stirringevents, may have added a more personal note, making the scenes morevivid to your imagination. I have tried to do that. I do hope that insome measure you will think I have succeeded.

  There are many foolish girls now who say that they would like to knowGregg Haljan. They doubtless would be very disappointed. I reallycrave no more publicity. And the girls of all the Universe have nocharm for me. There is only one, for me--an Earth-girl.

  I think that life has very beautifully endowed me with its blessings.