The Mysterious Planet

CHAPTER 2 Attack in Space

JAKES CAME TO SEE BOB the night before the take-off. Bob’s mother announced it when Bob came in from his final fitting for his uniform, which would bear the insignia of a Cadet Observer—a triangle with a dot inside. Her still pretty face was a mixture of worry over last-minute details and maternal pride, and she nearly forgot it.

Then she caught herself. “You’ve got a visitor, Bobby. I took him up to your room. Simon Jakes. Wasn’t he in the Academy with you?”

Bob grimaced slightly, and nodded. “What did he want?”

“I don’t know—he didn’t say. I gave him some cookies and soda, and left him looking at your model collection. He seemed like a nice boy.”

All Bob’s friends seemed like nice boys, to her. And all who had ever come had been stuffed with cookies and soda. Sometimes Bob wondered whether she realized that he and the boys he knew were no longer ten years young. Then he remembered that she’d taken the news of his coming trip without a moment’s protest, like a good Navy woman, and he felt ashamed of himself. He caught her around the shoulders in a quick hug, and went up to his room.

Jakes surprised him. He looked up and saw Bob, and jumped to his feet with one hand stretched out. “Hey, Bob, you lucky dog! Congratulations. I just heard. Might have told a fellow. Couldn’t be happier if it happened to me.”

“I meant to see you…” Bob began, but the other nodded.

“Sure, I guess you’ve been busy. So’ve I. Been trying to get them to move up my take-off schedule, but your flight has all the priorities.”

“Then you’re still planning on being the foolhardy hero?” Bob asked.

“I dunno. Maybe not. From what I hear, I figure I’d better take it easy. I’ve got clearance to Neptune and official permission to base the Icarius at Outpost Field; with all this stir over Wing Nine, that took some doing, too. But now I’m trying to get a chance to join your party.”

He stopped, and Bob shook his head. “Go along officially? How?”

“Oh, it’s been done,” the other answered. “Dad heads the pool of commercial interests that would have to help develop Planet X if it has ores and such things. Sometimes the Fleet takes along a commercial observer or two. I thought maybe you could put in a good word with your father, and that might help.”

So that was the angle? Bob shook his head quickly. “It wouldn’t help. Dad makes his own decisions, and he’s already decided there’d be no more in the party.”

“Oh! Well, no harm trying.” Jakes seemed to drop it completely, to Bob’s surprise. “Anyhow, I’m going to keep working on it. If I can’t go officially… well, somehow I’m going to get a look at Planet X, but we’ll see. Can I give you a hand with anything?”

Bob shook his head, just as his mother came to announce that dinner was on the table, and that a place had already been set for Jakes. Simon seemed almost embarrassed at being included, but he was quick to accept; apparently he wasn’t used to being included in groups.

Then the talk broke down into generalities until Jakes left, and Bob and bis father could begin discussing the details of the official trip.

The ships were all fueled and provisioned to the last bit, though much of that seemed useless, since Outpost was well equipped to supply them. Partly, it was just routine Navy precaution, but there seemed to be an added element of caution involved. Griffith admitted that he didn’t know what was behind it, unless it had something to do with the increase of piracy beyond the orbit of Jupiter.

Having secured leave, the men, of course, were out celebrating their last night on Mars. And the ships were already lined up outside the hangar, waiting for take-off. They stood on their tail fins, rising some two hundred feet into the thin air, seeming already straining toward space. Griffith’s flagship, the heavy cruiser Lance of Deimos headed them, rearing up another fifty feet.

Bob’s own preparations were complete. As a Cadet Observer, he was entitled to one bag, weighing not over thirty pounds, and it was already packed. He tried to think of something else to do, and then sat fiddling uncomfortably, until his father suggested a game of darts that took up the rest of the evening.

Weather control had deliberately made sure it was a fine morning for the take-off; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Bob and his family drove up a few minutes late, since there had been some delay in getting his uniforms. A crowd was already assembled, seeing the men of Wing Nine off.

Bob’s mother was an old hand at this. She didn’t get out of the car or carry on as some of the other women were doing. She kissed her husband quickly, squeezed Bob’s hand, and managed a perfectly normal smile at them. “Good luck, sailors,” she told them, and then began backing the car out of the way, where she could watch the take-off, Bob found himself swallowing quickly, but he tried to keep a stiff, military pose.

He waited in line to be checked in, while his father went on ahead. He was beginning to think the line would never move up when Simon Jakes jumped out of a taxi and came rushing up, obviously looking for him. Jakes was sweating, but he broke into his usual slack-lipped grin as he spotted Bob.

“Whew! Thought I’d missed you. Here!” He shoved a box into Bob’s hands awkwardly. Bob turned it over and finally opened it. Inside was an officer’s pocket-knife, a marvel of compactness that held twelve tools, from scissors to tiny pliers, as well as standard blades.

Beside it lay one of the tiny, expensive little personal radios issued to the higher officers. It was built to fit entirely within one ear, except for the nearly invisible wire that served as an antenna and connected to the walnut-sized power pack to be worn in the breast pocket. Bob had wanted one for a long time, but the price had always been prohibitive. With it, he would be automatically tuned in to all general calls, and independent of the ship paging system.

He blinked in surprise, instinctively adjusting it to his ear. Then he shook his head. “No can do, Si. Look, it’s swell of you, but…”

Jakes face sobered quickly. “You mean just because it’s expensive? You won’t be obligated—Navy pride, all that.” He shrugged. “Okay, I was afraid of that. Though why, when you know I’m filthy with the stuff…”

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Bob told him quickly. It had been on his mind, but Jakes’s obvious hurt made the excuse impossible; anyhow, the expense hadn’t meant much, and the spirit of the gift seemed genuine. “I mean, I’m already right up to the limit on weight.”

The smile came back. “Oh that!” Jakes dragged out another parcel quickly. “Yeah, I thought of that. Here. I had the whole thing checked for weight, and this saves enough over your regulation set to make it come out even.”

He opened it to show a set of de luxe toilet fittings inside a special case. It was another of the expensive things which was nonregulation, but officially approved for those who wanted to buy them out of their own funds.

Bob gave up, and hastily opened his bag to exchange the toilet set for the heavier regulation one he had packed. He tried to thank Jakes, but the other would have none of it, seeming genuinely happy that his gift had been accepted. Then the checker tapped Bob on the shoulder, and Simon Jakes stuck out his hand.

“See you on Outpost,” he said quickly, and was gone.

The checker ran his eyes up Bob’s uniform to see if everything had been removed from his pockets for the weighing, and then stamped his permit. He stepped up the little ramp and into the Lance of Deimos, an accredited member of the crew.

“Take-off in seven minutes,” the little radio said into his ear. “Officers will report to the control room.”

Bob stowed his luggage in the tiny bunk room he would occupy, and made for the control room on the double. Technically, while he had few duties beyond serving as a runner for his father, he was one of the officers and subject to all such general calls. Engineers, and other officers concerned with the mechanical end of the ship, were listed as reporting when they were at their own stations, and had their intercommunication phones switched on. Actually, only the dour Dutch navigator, Hoeck, and the Senior Leftenant, Anderson, would be there, together with his father. Griffith believed in operating with the minimum number of officers permitted.

The others were already in their seats when Bob came in. His father blinked in surprise at the sight of the radio in Bob’s ear, but he gave no other notice. Bob dropped into the seat that would normally have been occupied by a Junior Leftenant. Then the radio began buzzing with Griffith’s voice as the time ran out and the ships reported in. Outside the field was cleared and the green flag was going up.

Commander Griffith put down the little microphone and reached for the instrument board.

The Lance of Deimos let out a thundering growl, and Bob was forced down in the chair as acceleration hit. It was old stuff to him, after the training at the Academy—and yet, it was completely new. He had never been on a real ship, on a genuine mission of importance, before. This gave a flavor to the mission that set his heart pounding heavily, while the Lance picked up speed and grew quiet as they left the thin atmosphere behind.

The acceleration picked up then. This was no passenger liner, filled with worldlubbers, but a Navy ship with a trained crew. Every man on board could stand an acceleration pressure that was equal to three times their Earth weight for days. Nobody ever learned to like feeling such “weight,” as they did the feeling of weightlessness during times when the ship was just coasting; but the human body was seemingly capable of adapting to almost anything.

Griffith and Hoeck compared notes, and the Commander set the controls. Then he swung his chair around, leaving the ship on its automatic pilot. He faced the others, holding a spacegram in his hand.

“We’ve had a flash on Planet X,” he announced. “It’s not for general release yet, without more checking. But it may interest you to know that the Pluto observatory caught something that might have been a radio signal from Planet X. Pluto’s a long way off on her orbit, and no other planet got it. But now Outpost claims that they have spotted flashes of light. We’ll have to be prepared to face the possibility that there is intelligent life on X!”

Bob caught his breath. It couldn’t be human life— and men had never found any other forms of intelligent life on the planets. This might be the most important mission in all history…

“Bunk, I’d say,” Anderson was stating. “That planet’s frozen colder than Pluto—where it’s been it would get no heat at all from the sun.”

Hoeck shrugged. “Pirates!”

“Maybe,” Griffith admitted. “The pirate idea may be possible, though it’s a little farfetched.

But I have to agree with you, Anderson—no alien life could exist in that frozen a climate. Anyhow, we’re not being told there is life—just to be prepared for such an eventuality.” He faced Bob then.

“Cadet, tell the Chief Gunner I want to see him.”

Bob went out on legs that felt weak in the high pressure of acceleration. He knew his father could have called on the intercom, but it was standard tradition to keep a novice spaceman on the run as much as possible, until he completely hardened. He was glad of the chance to get away, before the excitement in his face could show that he hadn’t dismissed the idea of life on Planet X. After all, even if it were only a pirate base, it would still be something to experience!

Bob didn’t have much time to think about it, though. The ship drove on at a steady three gravities of acceleration, adding five million miles an hour to its speed every day. They were more than sixty million miles beyond Mars at the end of twenty-four hours, and nearly a quarter of a billion at the end of the second day. Jupiter’s orbit was getting close, though the big planet itself was on the other side of the sun.

Usually the ships took it somewhat more leisurely, but this was a special mission.

The first few hours of moving about under the pressure weren’t too bad. Actually, while his body now seemed to weigh over four hundred and fifty pounds, it wasn’t the same thing as trying to carry an additional three-hundred-pound load. Here, the increase in apparent weight was spread evenly over his whole body, and in complete balance. But it was still bad enough.

Then his legs began to scream with fatigue at each step. When he went down from the control room toward the tail, it was all right, but fighting back up was sheer torture. He gritted his teeth and bore it in silence. Finally, while his father ate his dinner, he sent Bob off to his bunk, to lie down; he fell into a sodden slumber without any dreams.

Getting up after his sleep was worse than anything else. The first few hours, while his legs seemed to be afire, nearly drove him to the unforgivable sin of asking for a break. Then numbness set in, and it was better. Somehow, he got through the second day, and he knew that the worst was past. It would be easier from now on, since his strength had already been developed, and he only needed to harden into the continuous grind.

He was asleep when they crossed the orbit of Jupiter and went beading out toward the orbit of Saturn, which would lie far off to the side.

They were five hundred million miles out from Mars when the heavy acceleration suddenly ceased, leaving only enough to give them a seeming weight equal to that on Earth. The change caught Bob in mid-stride, and he bounced up a bit before he could catch himself, wondering whether anything had happened to the rocket engines.

Then the tiny radio buzzed. “Take a break, men. We’ll loaf along like this for an hour. Get a bite to eat, if you like. We’re on automatic, so you can go off duty until next call. Bob, come on up, if you want to.”

Bob knew then that it was purely routine. Doctors had found that nervous tension built up under high acceleration, and it had to receive a rest after a certain time. During that period there would be no formality, as indicated by Griffith’s use of bis son’s name instead of his rank.

Hoeck was carving a tiny statue out of some hard wood, and Anderson was playing a mouth organ. But Bob’s father sat relaxed and ready to answer the questions about the ship which had come up during the trip. The ever-present tea of the Navy was already poured and waiting. Bob dropped down gratefully, feeling as light as a feather in spite of the twinges in his sore muscles. Right then, a whole hour of relaxation seemed like a lot.

But it was only half an hour later when something buzzed sharply on the control panel.

Anderson glanced sharply toward the light that would tell whether Sparks, the radioman, was on duty. Then he picked up a pair of phones, and began juggling meters.

Nearly every instrument on board had auxiliary controls here.

His fingers began hitting a tiny typewriter rapidly. Then he stopped in midstroke. “Cut off! Commander, look at this.” He began trying to signal, but obviously got no further message.

Bob crowded up to study the sheet on the typewriter, but his father summarized it quickly.

“SOS from the Ionian. She’s near by and being attacked by pirates!”

“Must have punctured the radio shack,” Anderson cut in sharply. “She’s gone silent now.”

“Any acknowledgments?” Griffith asked.

“None,” Anderson said. “We’re the nearest ship to her. It looks like it’s up to us to go to the rescue.”