Part 2 (1/2)

He turned away, leaving the officer to descend the ladder in baffled fury to the ground below, where his men huddled together in the unfamiliar cold, and stared half fearful at the far-away sun glowing like a yellow arc-light in the depths of s.p.a.ce half a billion miles away.

When the rising s.h.i.+p reached the thousand-foot level, the weapons and food were dropped by parachute, and the port-hole closed and locked.

Winford hurried forward to the control room where the two navigators, who had signed with him for a hundred and twentieth share of the iridium each, were already pointing the nose of the s.h.i.+p up through the purple heavens toward Ganymede.

”Open her up! Use the emergency propulsion beams!” ordered Winford. ”We are overdue now for my tryst with this new governor at New Chicago!”

The officers gazed at him in awe, wondering what desperate thing he planned at the new colonial capital.

Winford was poring over the maps of New Chicago six hours later in the chart room when one of the navigation officers touched him on the shoulder.

”Battle sphere rapidly overhauling us from sunward, sir,” said the man.

”Approaching us against the glare of sunlight until it was so close when we discovered it that escape is now impossible. I'd say it is one of the new 4-Q heavies of the Interplanetary Council patrol fleet.”

Winford hurried to the telescope. As his anxious eye took in the spherical outline of the battle craft, showing as a silvery crescent to the rear and starboard of them, he recognized it as one of the heavily armored spheres of the Interplanetary Council's fleet with the new long range K-ray disintegrator guns.

Winford seized a telescope speed calculator. The sphere was coming up far too rapidly to permit the _Golden Fleece_ to pick up speed soon enough to escape--although he was confident the freighter could do it now, since Agar had changed its propulsion machinery.

Perhaps the commander of the battle sphere was merely curious about the _Golden Fleece_ since it appeared to be an ordinary tramp freighter with no distinguis.h.i.+ng emblems or other identification, and was coming close to give her a better look. Or perhaps he was hurrying to some destination and his nearness to the _Golden Fleece_ was merely accidental.

Whatever the cause, there remained but one thing to do, and that was to keep the freighter on its course as though nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. Winford turned to the communication board and cut in the universal radio wave. The instrument was silent. He sighed. At least the commander of the battle sphere was not trying to communicate with him.

Winford turned back to the window again. The sphere was quite close now, and its speed was dropping rapidly. Suddenly the radio loud-speaker hummed to life.

”Ahoy there, aboard the freighter,” sounded a stern, determined voice.

”This is the Interplanetary Council battle sphere, _Eagle_, nearing you.

We are coming aboard you to investigate. Make ready your air-lock to receive us. Attempt nothing hostile. Hundred-kilowatt ray guns are trained on you.”

Winford cut in the microphone and answered with the customary ”O. K.”

reply; then he turned to the two white-faced navigators.

”Carry on as usual,” he said grimly. ”Perhaps we can fool them once they are aboard.”

Then he turned to the phone connecting with the crew's quarters. He hurriedly explained the situation to Jarl and instructed him to receive the boarding party at the air-lock.

The big battle sphere was drawing close alongside. Magnet grapnels shot across the narrow s.p.a.ce between the two craft and gripped the side of the freighter, followed by the cable bridge along which the boarding party presently came wavering their way to the air-lock of the freighter.

Winford counted fifty men, then turned away dejectedly. This was no ordinary inspection party, but a prize crew coming aboard. He sat down wearily. Just as victory seemed almost within his grasp--had been actually in his hand when he had started to Ganymede--this battle sphere popped up out of nowhere like an inescapable doom to strike him and his companions down. He gritted his teeth. Some way, somehow he would still win out. He and his fellows had come too far to be cheated of liberty now.

The door of the control room opened, and a smart young officer in gold and gray of the Interplanetary Council Marine service entered, accompanied by three privates with drawn pistols who took their positions near the door. Winford noted the clean-cut lines and fresh features of the officer and felt that under different circ.u.mstances he would like to know him.

”I am Lieutenant Commander 6666-A,” the officer introduced himself, using the designation the Interplanetary Council required of all their fighting men. ”You are Evan Winford, are you not?”

Winford nodded.

”You nearly got away with it, Winford,” complimented the officer with a boyish grin. ”I almost admire you for it. But you made at least one fatal error.”