Ghosts of Ganymede

3. Death by Ghostly Hands

Big Bill Barlow bought round after round of drinks for his fellow spacemen and miners in the saloon, including the two strangers in the back booth. The more he drank, the happier and noisier he got, boasting of the high and glorious days to come when he and Scotty would he living it up in Luna City or Paris or anywhere else in the System they cared to travel—maybe in their private spare yacht, with girl stewards and manicurists and the choicest wines and finest gourmet chefs, and ...

Eventually, husky Quarl helped little Scotty guide the faltering footsteps of the stumbling giant up the steep stairs to the little green room on the second floor where the two miners often slept off their night’s carousal at the Spaceman's Rest, at the end of a long and usually successful voyage.

Scotty put his snoring friend to bed and fell into bed himself.

Below, spacemen marvelled over Barlow’s remarkable discovery, and enviously vied with each other in estimating the enormous value of the seven strange black gems the big man had discovered in the age-old Asterian sepulchre—or whatever it was.

As for Star Pirate and his Venusian sidekick, Phath, they finished their wine, and had a cup of strong black coffee, before going back to their ship. The two space adventurers were returning to their secret base in the Belt after a voyage to one of the moons of Uranus, where they had been instrumental in frustrating the plans of a brilliant but deranged scientist who had attempted to use his formidable intelligence and technical wizardry to subjugate bands of innocent natives to his own unscrupulous ends. On their way back to Haven, as Star’s hidden headquarters was called, they had stopped off briefly here at Ganymede to replace worn receptor coils with new ones aboard their trim little speedster, the Jolly Roger.

The two had just reached the door of the saloon and were about to venture out into the dark alleyway beyond, when they were frozen in their tracks by a screech of unearthly horror sounding from one of the little rooms above—

"Bill!—Bill! Curse you, get off him, you fiend! Oh, Gawd help me! Help me, somebody—the black ghost is murderin' me partner—!"

A bartender is always the soberest, most alert man in any saloon—since he's working, not drinking, unlike everyone else in the place. So it was not surprising that the echoes of Scotty McGuire's anguished plea for assistance had barely died away before the huge and hefty Uranian had vaulted over the bar, a stout cudgel clasped in one thick-fingered hand, and went charging up the steep wooden stair to the rooms above.

And, since they were already on their feet, it was also no wonder that Star Pirate and his Venusian sidekick, Phath, were on his very heels, their proton needles in their hands, ready for trouble.

They found the scrawny little Scotsman crouched over the sprawled corpse of his giant friend, babbling and trying to snuffle back the tears that flowed down his freckled cheeks.

"—Bill, Bill! Speak to me, ol' pall Say you ain't croaked—that shadow-devil didn’t kill yer.—Bill!"

But Scotty's tears were useless. The big, brawny Earthling miner was stone dead. While Quarl led the diminutive prospector downstairs for a slug of brandy, Star swiftly examined the body. As far as could be told by eye alone, Barlow had been strangled ... but, curiously, no marks were to be found upon his throat. At least, no marks that could have been made by human hands ... there was only one thick, continuous bruise, purpling now in the crushed flesh and muscle ... a belt-like mark, such as might have been made by a band of living steel, tightening with frightful power about the dead man's throat!

"By Yakdar's brazen backside," whispered the Venusian feelingly, "what on Earth, or off it, did this thing, chief?" Phath came from a hard school and had seen sudden death—aye, and slow and lingering death in all its many forms. But never had he seen anything remotely like this before.

The dead man's features were contorted into an expression of such unbelieving horror that it sent a chill of cold fear traveling up the spine of the lithe Venusian.

"I'd like to know the answer to that question myself," grunted Star Pirate, And his face was hard, his eyes wary and watchful, and his hand hovered only inches from the worn butt of his weapon.