Ghosts of Ganymede

2. Seven Black Pearls

In the back-alleys behind the big spaceport on Ganymede, moon of Jupiter, stands a two-storey edifice whose illusion-sign proclaims it to be "The Spaceman's Rest."

Although it did not noticeably differ in any particular way from any of the other dozen or so saloons that lined the narrow dirt alley, it was the favorite rendezvous of Big Bill Barlow and Scotty McCuire, whenever they happened to be in port between voyages. The reason for their giving the Spaceman’s Rest their exclusive custom may perhaps lie in the fact that, somehow or other, the owner and bartender always managed to have on hand (although at hefty prices) genuine Scotch whiskey imported all the way from earth. And this beverage was favored by both Big Bill and Scotty.

They had arrived in parking orbit above Ganymede that morning, wasted no time in selling their meagre claim of copper and tungsten ore to the first-comers, and had taken their tiny gig down to the spaceport for a night of celebration. As they entered the Spaceman’s Rest, they found the joint crowded with other meteor miners and crewmen from various freighters—even a handful of tourists out for a night of slumming. The saloon was thronged with ruddyfaced, burly Jovians, slim, paleskinned Venusians, Mercurians, dark as mahogany, with eyes like gold coins, and the usual sprinkling of Earthlings in their usual variety of shapes, sizes and colors.

Room was swiftly made for Big Bill Barlow and his freckle-laced little sidekick at one long table in front of the fire, for the two miners were favorites here. Although noisy and boisterous when in his cups, Bill never got into brawls in the bar and usually stood drinks for everybody in sight, so long as he still had a few credits in his pocket. The bartender and owner of the saloon, a fat, moonfaced, yellow-skinned Uranian named Quarl, brought a pitcher of water and a bottle of good, well-aged Earth Scotch over to their table, and two tumblers.

In no time, Bill was busy regaling some of his friends with the tale of their discovery of the uncharted moonlet of Jupiter, and of the weird treasure that it had held.

”... And there it was, mates," rumbled Big Bill, waving his heavy hands expansively, "buried in them weird mushroom jungles, for the Lord on ’y knows how many millions of years!"

He described the view that had greeted him on the other side of the fungus forest, where a structure of black basalt protruded from the loam of the nameless moonlet, half-overgrown with uncanny pink moss There were few who did not know that it was theorized that the Asteroid Belt—and many of the moons of Jupiter—were actually fragments of a shattered planet, the mysterious "Aster," torn asunder aeons before in a tug of war between the gravitational forces of the giants, Jupiter and Saturn, and the mighty Sun. And that some weird form of intelligent life had inhabited the Lost Planet was also no secret, for more that a few asteroids and moons bore the enigmatic ruins of this forgotten race.

Barlow told his breathless audience how he had pried open the sealed stone vault, discovering naught within but a metal box of unknown and nameless alloy, which, when forced open, revealed seven strange, unearthly stones—

One of these he had brought with him, and now displayed it solemnly on his palm. The miners and spacemen gaped, staring avidly at the mystery jewel, which was unlike anything they had ever seen before.

It was a perfect sphere, larger than a man's thumb, and black as night itself, but with a queer bloom upon it like that upon the skin of a purple grape. Many of those present had heard of black pearls—but never of one as huge or as dark as this ...

"And there are seven in all, mates," breathed Big Bill Barlow, staring down at the dark shape which shimmered in his grasp. "Seven black pearls ..."

"And each one worth a fortune, I’ll wager," muttered the fat bartender, Quarl. "I’ve heard of unknown gems like this, found in the hearts of meteors or the soil of far-off worlds and moons, going for half a million credits each to the big jewellers on Mars ... say, in Syrtis Port, or Propontis, or Sun Lake ..."

"Half a million ..." breathed someone in the crowd.

"Then my partner and I are rich,” grinned Big Bill, wrapping one huge arm around the skinny shoulders of the Scotchman. "Rich ... we can retire from space, and live at ease like gentlemen on one of them pleasure moons ... ’cause with Scotty an’ me, it's always been half an' half, an’ always will be ..."

In the rear of the saloon, half-hidden in a booth which lay in the shadow of a stone pillar, two men sat hunched over the remnants of their meal and half-empty winecups, listening to the loud voice of the meteor miner.

One was a slender, milk-pale Venusian, with the pink eyes and hairless pate of his kind. The other was a tall, long-legged, rangy, broad-shouldered and lean-hipped Earthling who wore leathern space-boots and a drab one-piece zipper suit of gray synthetic. He was wrapped in a gray wool hooded cloak, whose cowl was drawn up around his face, perhaps to conceal features already a bit too well known in these parts.

He had a merry, space-tanned, clean-shaven face, with an impish grin, and his eyes were sparkling green with mischief under an unruly mop of red curls.

They called him Star Pirate.