Part 2 (1/2)

He had to search intently over the icy waste to find the exact location; a dim red glow from a hidden sun shone like pale fire across distant black hills. But the hills gave him a bearing, and he landed at last beside a vaguely outlined structure, half hidden in drifting snow.

The dual fans dropped him softly upon the snow ground and Chet, as he walked toward the great locked doors, was trembling from other causes than the cold. Would the s.h.i.+p be there? He was suddenly a-quiver with excitement at the thought of what this s.h.i.+p meant--the adventure, the exploration that lay ahead.

The doors swung back. In the warm and lighted room was a cylinder of silvery white. Its bow ended in a gaping port where a mighty exhaust could roar forth to check the s.h.i.+p's forward speed; there were other ports ranged about the gleaming body. Above the hull a control-room projected flatly; its lookouts shone in the brilliance of the nitron illuminator that flooded the room with light....

Chet Bullard was breathless as he moved on and into the room. His wild experiences that had seemed but a weird dream were real again. The Dark Moon was real! And they would be going back to it!

The m.u.f.fled beating of great helicopters was sounding in his ears; outside, a s.h.i.+p was landing. This would be Harkness coming to join him; yet, even as the thought flashed through his mind, it was countered by a quick denial. To the experienced hearing of the Master Pilot this sound of many fans meant no little craft. It was a big s.h.i.+p that was landing, and it was coming down fast. The blue-striped monster looming large in the glow of the midnight sun was not entirely a surprise to Chet's staring eyes.

But--blue-striped! The markings of the Schwartzmann line!--He had hardly sensed the danger when it was upon him.

A man, heavy and broad of frame, was giving orders. Only once had Chet seen this Herr Schwartzmann, but there was no mistaking him now. And he was sending a squad of rus.h.i.+ng figures toward the man who struggled to close a great door.

Chet crouched to meet the attack. He was outnumbered; he could never win out. But the knowledge of his own helplessness was nothing beside that other conviction that flooded him with sickening certainty--

A hoax!--that was what they had called Walt's story; Schwartzmann had so named it, and now Schwartzmann had been the one to fool them; the message was a fake--a bait to draw him out; and he, Chet, had taken the bait. He had led Schwartzmann here; had delivered their s.h.i.+p into his hands--

[Ill.u.s.tration: _He landed one blow on the nearest face._]

He landed one blow on the nearest face; he had one glimpse of a clubbed weapon swinging above him--and the world went dark.

CHAPTER II

_Into s.p.a.ce_

A pulsing pain that stabbed through his head was Chet's first conscious impression. Then, as objects came slowly into focus before his eyes, he knew that above him a ray of light was striking slantingly through the thick gla.s.s of a control-room lookout.

Other lookouts were black, the dead black of empty s.p.a.ce. Through them, sparkling points of fire showed here and there--suns, sending their light across millions of years to strike at last on a speeding s.h.i.+p.

But, from the one port that caught the brighter light, came that straight ray to illumine the room.

”s.p.a.ce,” thought Chet vaguely. ”That is the sunlight of s.p.a.ce!”

He was trying to arrange his thoughts in some sensible sequence. His head!--what had happened to his head?... And then he remembered. Again he saw a clubbed weapon descending, while the face of Schwartzmann stared at him through bulbous eyes....

And this control-room where he lay--he knew in an instant where he was.

It was his own s.h.i.+p that was roaring and trembling beneath him--his and Walt Harkness'--it was flying through s.p.a.ce! And, with the sudden realization of what this meant, he struggled to arise. Only then did he see the figure at the controls.

The man was leaning above an instrument board; he straightened to stare from a rear port while he spoke to someone Chet could not see.

”There's more of 'em coming!” he said in a choked voice. ”_Mein Gott!_ Neffer can we get away!”

He fumbled with shaking hands at instruments and controls; and now Chet saw his chalk-white face and read plainly the terror that was written there. But the cords that cut into his own wrists and ankles reminded him that he was bound; he settled back upon the floor. Why struggle? If this other pilot was having trouble let him get out of it by himself--let him kill his own snakes!