Triplanetary
something dimly perceptible to the ultra-vision of the Secret Service
observers. Furiously the gigantic composite beam of the massed fleet was
hurled, nor was it alone.
For Roger in his floating citadel had realized at once that something
untoward was happening; something altogether beyond even his knowledge
and experience. He could not see anything--space was apparently
empty--but he took his rays off the battleships and directed his every
force just beyond the point in space where that red stream of
transformed metal was disappearing. Then, for the first time in
Triplanetary history, the forces of law and order joined hands with
those of piracy and banditry against a common foe. Rods, beams, planes,
and stilettoes of unbearable energy the doomed fleet launched, in
addition to its main beam of annihilation, and Roger also hurled out
into space every weapon at his command. Bombs, high-explosive shells,
and deadly radio-dirigible torpedoes--all alike disappeared ineffective
in that redly murky veil of nothingness. And the fleet was being melted.
In quick succession the vessels flamed red, shrank together, gave out
their air, and merged their component iron into the intensely red,
sullenly viscous stream which was flowing through the impenetrable veil
upon which Triplanetarians and pirates alike were directing their every
possible weapon of offense.
The last vessel of the Triplanetary armada converted and the resulting
metal stored away in their capacious reservoirs, the Nevians turned
their attention upon the stronghold of the pirates. There ensued a
battle royal. For this vast planetoid was no feeble warship, depending
solely upon the limited power available in its accumulators. It was the
product of a really mighty brain, a brain re-enforced by the many
perverted but powerful intellects which Roger had won over to his cause.
It was powered by the incalculable force of cosmic radiation, powered to
drive its unimaginable mass through space, against any possible
attractions, for an indefinite number of years. It was armed and
equipped to meet any emergency which Roger's coldly analytical mind had
been able to foresee.
The fact that the scientists of the Secret Service had discovered
ultra-waves as yet unknown to him was unfortunate. That Service was
itself unfortunate--impenetrable as it was, and incorruptible. He could
learn nothing whatever about it. He had heard vague rumors of certain
experiments--but even if they should discover something it would be too
late to do them any good. Even without invisibility he would have no
trouble in annihilating the massed Grand Fleet of the Triplanetary
League. He would very shortly collect his tribute and disappear. And
this new enemy, himself invisible and armed with heretofore unknown
weapons of dire power, who was apparently unaffected by his beams--even
he would discover that Roger the Great was no puny opponent. He would
analyze those unknown forces, regenerate them, and hurl them back upon
their senders.
Thinking thus, the man of gray sat coldly motionless at his great
multi-shielded desk, whose top was now swung up to become a board of
massed and tiered instruments and controls. He shut off his offensive
beams and surrounded the entire planetoid with the peculiarly rigid and
substantial shield which had so easily warded off Costigan's fiercest
attacks. And that shield was more effective than even its designer had
supposed--gray Roger had builded even better than he knew. For the
voracious and all-powerful converting beam of the Nevians, below the
level of the ether though it was, struck that perfectly transparent wall
and rebounded, defeated and futile. Struck and rebounded, then struck
and clung hungrily, licking out over that impermeable surface in darting
tongues of red flame as the surprised Nerado doubled and then quadrupled
his power. Fiercer and fiercer drove in the Nevian flood of force until
the whole immense globe of the planetoid was one scintillant ball of
scarlet energy, but still the pirates' shield remained intact--at what
awful drain of resource, Roger alone knew.
"Here is the analysis of his screen, sir." A Nevian computer handed his
chief a sheet of metal, upon which were engraved rows of symbols.
"Ah, a sixth-phase polycyclic. A screen of that type was scarcely to
have been expected from such a low form of life," Nerado commented, and
rapidly adjusted the many dials and switches before him.
As he did so the character of the clinging mantle of force changed. From
red it flamed quickly through the spectrum, became unbearably violet,
then disappeared; and as it disappeared the shielding wall began to give
way. It did not cave in abruptly, but softened locally, sagging into a
peculiar grouping of valleys and ridges--contesting stubbornly every
inch of position lost. And gray Roger knew that the planetoid was
doomed. His supposedly impregnable screen was failing in spite of its
utmost measure of energy, and, that defense down, the citadel would not
last a minute. Therefore he summoned a chosen few of his motley crew of
renegade scientists and issued brief instructions. For minutes a host of
robots toiled mightily, then a portion of the shield bulged out,
extended into a tube beyond the attacking layers of force, and from it
there erupted a beam of violence incredible. A beam behind which was
every volt and ampere that the gigantic generators and accumulators of
the planetoid could yield. A beam that tore screamingly through the
ether; that by the very vehemence of its incalculable energy tore a hole
through the redly impenetrable Nevian field and hurled itself upon the
inner screen of the fish-shaped cruiser in frenzied incandescence. And
was there, or was there not, a lesser eruption upon the other side--an
almost imperceptible flash, as though something had shot from the doomed
planetoid out into space?
Nerado's looped neck straightened convulsively as his tortured drivers
whined and shrieked at the terrific overload; but Roger's effort was far
too intense to be long maintained. Even before his accumulators failed,
generator after generator burned out, the defensive screen collapsed,
and the red converter beam attacked voraciously the unresisting metal of
those prodigious walls. Soon there was a terrific explosion as the
pent-up air of the planetoid broke through its weakening container, and
the sluggish river of allotropic iron flowed in an ever larger stream,
ever faster.
"It is well that we had an unlimited supply of iron." Nerado tied a knot
in his neck and spoke in huge relief. "With but the seven pounds
remaining of our original supply, I fear that it would have been
difficult to parry that last thrust."
"Difficult?" asked the second in command. "We would now be swimming in
space. But what shall I do with this iron? Our reservoirs will not hold
it all."
"Seal up one or two of the lower storage compartments, to make room for
this lot. Immediately it is loaded, we return to Nevia. There we shall
install reservoirs in all the spare space, and come back here for more."
The last drop of the precious liquid secured, the vessel moved away,
sluggishly now because of its prodigious load. In their quarters in the
fourth section the three Terrestrials, who had watched with strained
attention the downfall and absorption of the planetoid, stared at each
other with drawn faces. Clio broke the silence.
"Oh, Conway, this is ghastly! It's ... it's just simply perfectly
horrible!" she gasped, then recovered a measure of her customary spirit
as she stared in surprise at Costigan's face. For it was thoughtful, his
eyes were bright and keen--no trace of fear or disorganization was
visible in any line of his hard young face.
"It's not so good," he admitted frankly. "I wish I wasn't such a dumb
cluck--if Lyman Cleveland or Ford Rodebush were here they could help a
lot, but I don't know enough about any of their stuff to flag a
hand-car. I can't even interpret that funny flash--if it really was a
flash--that we saw."
"Why bother about one little flash, after all that really did happen?"
asked Clio, curiously.
"You think Roger launched something? He couldn't have--I didn't see a
thing," Bradley argued.
"I don't know what to think. I've never seen anything material sent out
so fast that I couldn't trace it with an ultra-wave--but on the other
hand, Roger's got a lot of stuff that I never saw anywhere else.
However, I don't see that it has anything to do with the fix we're in
right now--but at that, we might be worse off. We're still breathing
air, you notice, and if they don't blanket my wave I can still talk."
He put both hands in his pockets and spoke.
"Samms? Costigan. Put me on a recorder, quick--I probably haven't got
much time," and for ten minutes he talked, concisely and as rapidly as
he could utter words, reporting clearly and exactly everything that had
transpired. Suddenly he broke off, writhing in agony. Frantically he
tore his shirt open and hurled a tiny object across the room.
"Wow!" he exclaimed. "They may be deaf, but they can certainly detect an
ultra-wave, and the interference they can set up on it is enough to
pulverize your bones. No, I'm not hurt," he reassured the anxious girl,
now at his side, "but it's a good thing I had you out of circuit--it
would have jolted you loose from six or seven of your back teeth."
"Have you any idea where they're taking us?" she asked, soberly.
"No," he answered flatly, looking deep into her steadfast eyes. "No use
lying to you--if I know you at all you'd rather take it standing up.
That talk of Jovians or Neptunians is the bunk--nothing like that ever
grew in our Solarian system. All the signs say that we're going for a
long, long ride!"
CHAPTER V
Nevian Strife
The Nevian space-ship was hurtling upon its way. Space-navigators both,
the two Terrestrial officers soon discovered that it was even then
moving with a velocity far above that of light and that it must be
accelerating at a stupendous rate, even though to them it seemed
stationary--they could feel only a gravitational force somewhat less
than that of their native earth.
Bradley, seasoned old campaigner that he was, had retired promptly as
soon as he had completed a series of observations, and was sleeping
soundly upon a pile of cushions in the first of the three
inter-connecting rooms. In the middle room, which was to be Clio's,
Costigan was standing very close to the girl, but was not touching her.
His body was rigid, his face was tense and drawn.
"You are wrong, Conway; all wrong," Clio was saying, very seriously. "I
know how you feel, but it's false chivalry."
"That isn't it, at all," he insisted, stubbornly. "It isn't only that
I've got you out here in space, in danger and alone, that's stopping me.
I know you and I know myself well enough to know that what we start now
we'll go through with for life. It doesn't make any difference, that
way, whether I start making love to you now or whether I wait until
we're back on Tellus--I've been telling you for half an hour that for
your own good you'd better pass me up entirely. I've got enough
horsepower to keep away from you if you tell me to--not otherwise."
"I know it, both ways, dear, but...."
"But nothing!" he interrupted. "Can't you get it into your skull what
you'll be letting yourself in for if you marry me? Assume that we get
back, which isn't sure, by any means. But even if we do, some day--and
maybe soon, too, you can't tell--somebody is going to collect fifty
grams of radium for my head."
"Fifty grams--and everybody knows that Samms himself is rated at only
sixty? I _knew_ that you were somebody, Conway!" Clio exclaimed,
undeterred. "But at that, something tells me that any pirate will earn