Corsairs of the Cosmos

1. Villainy in the Void

The Interplanet Lines freighter Saturn Maid had just entered its parking orbit about Callisto, the jungle moon of Jupiter. Present on the bridge was Captain Nargo, a fat, dark-skinned, moon-faced Mercurian with the bright gold eyes of his race. He was there to make certain that his pilot entered orbit properly. Satisfied, he turned to his communications officer and was about to tell him to signal up the fleet of tugs which would unload the Saturn Maid of her valuable cargo, when he suddenly froze.

Someone was pressing the business end of a proton needle in the small of his back—

"This is The Blur speaking," a soft voice whispered in his ear. "Kindly instruct your officers to disarm themselves, and I assure you that no one will be harmed."

"Devils of the Darkside—!" the plump Mercurian choked furiously. Then he fell silent. Whoever the mystery mastermind known only as "The Blur" might be, he was the most cunning and successful corsair of the spaceways since the legendary days of Star Pirate himself. Although, unlike Star Pirate, The Blur did not hesitate to stain his hands with the blood of those foolish enough to get in his way.

"Mr. Urgon," the Captain said in strangled tones to the pilot, a red-faced Jovian giant, "you will remove your sidearm and lay it on the control console. You other gentlemen will do the same."

The burly Jovian stared in surprise. "But, Captain—!"

"Do as I say, Mr. Urgon," growled the Mercurian officer in tones that would accept of no demur. Baffled, his officers disarmed themselves. The pressure of the proton needle left the small of Nargo's back. With furious eyes he watched as The Blur crossed the bridge to scoop up the weapons. As expected, he saw nothing but the slightest mist or haze where the figure of a man should have been fully visible—The Blur was aptly named, he thought bitterly to himself.

"Captain, we are being approached by an unmarked cruiser!" yelped a young ensign. The Captain turned to stare at the forward televisor screen and saw a lean, rakish craft. It was painted dead black, and something about its slim, wolfish lines sent a cold shudder up the Mercurian's spine.

"That is my ship," The Blur whispered in his ear. "Instruct your men that the forward airlock doors be opened."

"Open the forward airlock doors," Nargo growled, fat cheeks quivering with frustrate fury.

The young ensign gave him a startled glance. "But, Captain—?"

"Do as you're told, boy!" snapped the Captain. "It may have escaped your notice, lad, but we are being pirated, curse the luck! There's a gun at my back even as I speak. Open those airlock doors, and be quick about it!" And with bitterness in his golden eyes, the Mercurian watched as a dozen unknown men with opaqued space helmets began transferring crate after heavy and ponderous crate to the nameless corsair craft. Those crates, he knew, held costly ingots of pure iridium, vanadium, chromium and ylemium from the metal refineries on Titan. The refined ore, almost one hundred percent pure, was worth an immense fortune.

"You have been very cooperative, Captain," hissed that hated voice in his ear. "Therefore, neither you nor any of your officers or crew have suffered injury. Be cooperative a brief while longer, and we will no longer interfere with your voyage ..."

"Go to the Devil, sir!" growled the Mercurian.

A soft chuckle was his only answer.

Moments later, the black cruiser drifted away from its linkage with the Saturn Maid, and vanished—becoming as invisible to the human eye as had been its mysterious master.

Within the hour, System-wide news services alerted a startled citizenry that The Blur had struck again!