Authors: Mike Jurist
The look of injured innocence on old Simeon's face was something to behold. Even Sally, well accustomed to her parent's injured looks, had hastily to stuff a handkerchief in her mouth to choke off a giggle.
"This is clean, Charlie," yelled Kenton irascibly, forgetting his pose. "It's as clean as your dadfoodled face. Anyway, it's the Commission's duty by law and constitution to lay down the proper rules and regulations for claiming and filing on newly discovered territory, ain’t it?"
"Yes, it is."
"Well, then, all I ask of you is to follow your own precedents—when the Asteroid Belt was opened up; and the Jupiter satellites. Give everyone an equal chance. Proclaim a starting day. Let anyone that wants to prospect start at the same time from Megalon. Register all entrants to make sure there's no dirty water at the crossroads. No claims legal unless all conditions are complied with. No sneaking out afore the gun."
Melville contemplated him intently a moment. "Equal chance, my eye!" he snorted. "You've got the fastest ships in the System."
"No, I ain't. That planetoidal scoundrel, Foote's got just as fast. And how about the private racers? Besides, that's the way it's been done before."
The chairman hesitated, then said doubtfully: "I suppose it's the only possible way to avoid worse complications or inequities. But," he added meaningly, "we'll put off the starting date for two weeks from now, so that
everyone
has the same chance to get ready."
"That's all right with me, Charlie," agreed Simeon meekly. "What's fair is fair. But don't you forget to put in the proclamation that any damn fool who tries to beat the gun has to come back to Megalon and begin from scratch."
"I won't. There's a Commission meeting scheduled for nine o'clock. I'll have them draw the necessary documents immediately."
"Before noon?"
"Before noon."
"Good!" said Simeon genially. "Now get back to bed and catch up on that beauty sleep that ugly map of yours needs so badly, Charlie. Ha! Ha!"
"Ha! Ha!" grunted the chairman of the Interplanetary Commission somewhat sourly. Then, as the screen went blank, he grumbled thoughtfully to himself. "I wish I knew what old Simeon's up to. Oh, well, it's the law." He sighed, and went back to bed.
"That puts Kerry out of the running, doesn't it," said Sally remorsefully. "I—I'm sorry I told you."
Simeon softened. "Look Sally, he was out of the running anyway. Foote got the jump on him." He patted her shoulder. "This'll give him a chance to show how really smart he is."
She was frankly sobbing now. "With all the cards stacked against him?"
"That's the real test, ain’t it? That's how I came up—the hard way; every blitberskite's hand against me. I'll say this, Sally," he added kindly. "If he beats me now, you can marry him."
An impish smile shone through her tears. "Dad," she said, "I'm marrying him in any event."
"Ha! Disobeying your own blood and flesh, are you?"
She kissed him. "In this case . . . yes! And remember, I gave you the first break. After this, I'm on Kerry's side."
"Okay, you viper in my bosom," he chuckled. "But mind you—you gotta play fair. No using what you wormed out o' me tonight."
"I wormed out of you!" she started indignantly. Then she twinkled. "All right, dad. But after this, business is business."
"And no holds barred."
"Right!" Father and daughter solemnly shook hands.
CHAPTER 9
AT TWENTY MINUTES before noon the
Flash
was battened down, its entry ports slid into hermetically sealed position. The members of the crew, their earlier grumpiness forgotten in the rush of events, the backbreaking toil of getting ready against time, stood at their respective positions, awaiting the final command to blast off.
Kerry Dale checked his clearance papers to make certain everything was in order. They were. A hundred dollar bill slipped to the port official had seen to that. Only one thing disturbed him. The strange insistence of the official that he must under no circumstances take off before the moment of noon. He had puzzled over that for the last hour. The man had looked a little embarrassed; scared even. And he had refused to elaborate when Kerry pressed him for the reason.
It was a little thing; but Kerry was accustomed to watching little things. As the minutes ticked slowly off, he became even more uneasy. Something was in the wind; of that he was sure. He spoke his fears to Jem.
The mate laughed it off. "What difference does it make?" he wanted to know. "We'll get to . . . uh . . . Ganymede just as fast. In a two week trip we kin make up a few minutes easy enough. That is," he added with peculiar emphasis, "if we're headin' that way." He was a little hurt that Kerry hadn't seen fit to take him into his confidence.
Kerry grinned. "Of course we are, Jem." Then he frowned again. Foote knew what he did; and Foote was a pretty slick customer. Had he somehow gotten wind that Kerry knew too, and was even now taking measures to head him off? Kerry never thought of old Simeon Kenton in this connection. He certainly didn't know that Sally had put two and two together and made a million. He had thought of Sally plenty during the hectic night; and with remorse. He had treated her cavalierly. But then, she had done the same to him! His jaw set grimly. There was a lot of unfinished business to take care of when he returned.
When -
he returned? Who knew what awaited him on Comet X—what perils, what unknown lethal gases, what destructive radiations. And there was Foote, who wouldn't hesitate to kill—if he could get away with it—in order to gain his ends.
Sparks was seated at his receptor; his lean, dry face that stemmed from an ancient Yankee ancestry working calmly on some Venusian pungent root. Jem was leaning idly against the observation port, staring disinterestedly at the field outside. Hardly anything was stirring there. They were the only ship ready for taking off. The administration building loomed foursquare about two hundred yards away; and even that seemed deserted.
The warning signal buzzed on the receptor. That was the official channel, always left open. Sparks shifted his plug root to the other cheek, flicked a switch. Charles Melville, chairman of the Interplanetary Commission, sharpened into focus on the screen. In his hand was a legal-looking document.
"Attention, all planets, satellites, asteroids and ships in space. I am about to read to you an important regulation, regularly promulgated and sealed by the Interplanetary Commission this twenty-third day of the fifth month in the Earth year two thousand, four hundred and one. Subject, Comet X. It having been brought to the attention of the Commission that the said Comet X possesses a solid planetoidal core of hitherto unknown elements which may prove of definite monetary and other value, and the said Comet X coming under the jurisdiction of the Commission as by law hitherto provided, we do now declare to all and every inhabitant of the System that—"
At the first mention of Comet X, Kerry went rigid. The gears of his mind meshed smoothly and raced at breakneck speed. So Foote had found out he was taking off, and bad pulled some fast work at the Commission to prevent him. He walked rapidly and noiselessly toward the screen. As he did, Jem, leaning against the observation port, uttered an exclamation. "Something's up!" he cried. "There's the field official—and—well, what do you know—Miss Kenton! They're runnin' toward us like all hell's afire. By Saturn's rings," he said admiringly, "that gal kin run! She's a—"
Kerry slipped, and fell heavily against the visiscreen. There was a jar, a crash, a little spurt of blue flame and some smoke. The screen went blank.
Sparks cried out in anguish: "You've went and busted the screen, Mr. Dale."
"Sorry!" said Kerry, righting himself. "I slipped."
Jem turned at the crash, swung back to the port. "By God, they're yelling at us. There must be some message—" He moved toward the mechanism that regulated the entry port.
Kerry whirled, physically and mentally. Sally! Had she come to tell him she had changed her mind—that she would marry him, father or no father? But why then was the official running with her? A blinding light burst on him. Now be knew why the man had been so insistent that the
Flash
stay in the blasting cradle until the stroke of noon. He had known this Commission directive was coming—to stop him. He cursed under his breath. Taking his hundred dollar bribe and laughing inwardly at the gullible fool all the while. Sally—Jericho Foote—the Commission—everyone was against him!
His jaw set, his eyes grew hard.
"Orders, Jem," he rasped. "Blast off at once!"
Jem turned unbelievingly. "But the field instructions, Kerry," he protested. "It's still ten minutes o' noon. And Miss Sally—"
Sparks also protested. "I have to fix the screen first. A Commission regulation says—"
"This is my order," grated Kerry. "Blast off at once!"
Jem stared, shrugged and obeyed. The pop-eyed crew, bewildered at the tense little drama, sprang to the controls. There was a whoosh—a roar—and the
Flash
hurtled smoothly upward, leaving a blast of flame echoing in the rocket pit beneath.
Sally and the official were so close that the concussion almost knocked them to the ground. The official gasped: "They've taken off!" Then he wailed: "What will your father say, Miss Kenton!"
"Oh, drat my father!" she snapped most unfilially. She stared upward as the craft soared swiftly into the heavens, accelerating steadily. It grew smaller and smaller on the sight; became a tiny, elongated oval, and then vanished into the sunlit sky.
She had rushed to the field to be on the spot exactly at the moment that the Commission directive was being publicly promulgated. That way she would not be breaking her promise to old Simeon. Then she could warn Kerry not to take off. Within the two-week grace period he might be able to purchase or charter one of the special racing craft that competed in the great annual Planetary Derby around the triangular Earth—Mars—Venus course. Millions of Earth
dollars,
Martian
santus
and Venusian
merales
were always wagered on the result.
But now he was gone. And unless he was brought back—She turned, left the astonished official standing openmouthed, rushed back to the administration building. She hastened to the board of the Intersystem Communications Service.
"Will you put through a call," she said breathlessly, "to the
Flash,
Mr. Kerry Dale, owner? It just took off."
The trim young operator glanced admiringly at the flushed girl;
then took a double take. Wow! This was Sally Kenton! "Why, of course, Miss Kenton," he gulped. He plugged in on the local band, spoke into the communication. "Miss Kenton calling the
Flash,
Mr. Kerry Dale. Miss Kenton calling the
Flash,
Mr. Kerry Dale."
For twenty minutes the monotone droned on, while Sally %aid nervously, every time he showed signs of quitting: "Try them again, please. They
must
answer."
At length he gave it up. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Miss Kenton. They don't answer. Can't understand it; unless something's wrong with their set."
"No, there's nothing wrong," said Sally bitterly. "Thank you very much."
As the girl marched stormily out, the operator shook his head in disbelief. "Holy cats!" he breathed. "They must've quarreled. Imagine a guy not answering a gal like that!"
Sally stood blinking a moment in the outer sun. It was to hold back the tears rather than because of the glare. Her first reaction was anger; her second, penitence. Kerry was furious at her; and with reason. He evidently knew of her complicity in the attempt to head him off. Then another thought struck her. Perhaps he had deliberately shut off communications in the belief that the Commission was recalling his clearance papers. She knew he could not have heard the whole pronouncement before he took off so hurriedly. Melville had barely begun when the
Flash
blasted.
She knew enough of Kerry's mind by this time to follow his reasoning with a fair degree of accuracy. Later on he would claim, with a great show of surprise, that his set was out of order, and he had never received the recall. Therefore his clearance would continue legal.
But what he did
not
know—since he evidently did not hear the whole of the directive—that it applied to everyone, not just to himself alone. If he kept his instrument shut until he reached Ganymede, it would then be too late. She knew the
Flash
had been thoroughly overhauled, with new rocket tubes to increase its speed; but it still would take two weeks to Ganymede. By that time it would be much too late to get back to Earth as the starting point.
She clenched her shapely hands, exclaimed: "What an insufferable little smart aleck you've turned out to be, Sally Kenton. He'll never forgive you for this—never!"
Then another thought struck her. She smiled, for the first time in hours. She looked around, saw the port official standing in agonized indecision some distance away. She beckoned somewhat imperiously.
He hastened over. "I'm truly sorry, Miss Kenton," he moaned, "for what happened. Please tell Mr. Kenton it wasn't my fault. You saw—"
"Never mind that," she cut in. "You know my little flier?" "Of course."
"Will you be kind enough to have it taken out of the drome, fueled and adjusted just as fast as possible? How long will it take?"
"About an hour."
"Splendid!" She smiled sweetly on the official. "I'll be back before that."
She hastened home by aerocab; breathed a sigh of relief when she found that her father was gone to the office. She didn't want to meet him and answer embarrassing questions just then. In the back of her mind she realized that what she intended to do was sheer insanity. But she thrust the realization violently into the back of her consciousness.
She packed a small overnight bag hastily, thrust some food and drink-pellets into a flapped pocket. She wrote a little note to Simeon, sealed it and placed it where he would be sure to find it
that evening if she hadn't returned. Then she fled back to the space port.