Brigands of the Moon

  IV

  I did not appear at that morning meal. I was exhausted and druggedwith lack of sleep. I had a moment with Snap to tell him what hadoccurred. Then I sought out Carter. He had his little chart roominsulated. And we were cautious. I told him what Snap and I hadlearned: the rays from the Moon, proving that Grantline hadconcentrated a considerable ore body. I also told him of Grantline'smessage.

  "We'll stop on the way back, as he directs, Gregg." He bent closer tome. "At Ferrok-Shahn I'm going to bring back a cordon ofInterplanetary Police. The secret will be out, of course, when we stopat the Moon. We have no right, even now, to be flying this vessel asunguarded as it is."

  He was very solemn. And he was grim when I told him of the invisibleeavesdropper.

  "You think he overheard Grantline's message? Who was it? You seem tofeel it was George Prince?"

  I told him I was convinced the prowler went into A20. When I mentionedthe purser, who seemed to have been watching me earlier in the night,and again was sitting in the smoking room when the eavesdropper fledpast, Carter looked startled.

  "Johnson is all right, Gregg."

  "Does he know anything about this Grantline affair?"

  "No--no," said Carter hastily. "You haven't mentioned it, have you?"

  "Of course I haven't. But why didn't Johnson hear that eavesdropper?And what was he doing there, anyway, at that hour of the morning?"

  The Captain ignored my questions. "I'm going to have that Princesuite searched--we can't be too careful.... Go to bed, Gregg, you needrest."

  I went to my cabin. It was located aft, on the stern deck, near thestern watch tower. A small metal room with a chair, a desk and a bunk.I made sure no one was in it. I sealed the lattice grill and the door,set the alarm trigger against any opening of them, and went to bed.

  The siren for the midday meal awakened me. I had slept heavily. I feltrefreshed.

  I found the passengers already assembled at my table when I arrived inthe dining salon. It was a low vaulted metal room with blue and yellowtube lights. At its sides the oval windows showed the deck, with itsports on the dome side, through which a vista of the starry firmamentwas visible. We were well on our course to Mars. The Moon had dwindledto a pin point of light beside the crescent Earth. And behind them ourSun blazed, visually the largest orb in the heavens. It was somesixty-eight million miles from the Earth to Mars. A flight,ordinarily, of some ten days.

  There were five tables in the dining salon, each with eight seats.Snap and I had one of the tables. We sat at the ends, with thepassengers on each of the sides.

  Snap was in his seat when I arrived. He eyed me down the length of thetable. In a gay mood, he introduced me to the three men alreadyseated:

  "This is our third officer, Gregg Haljan. Big, handsome fellow, isn'the? And as pleasant as he is good-looking. Gregg, this is Sero ObHahn."

  I met the keen, somber gaze of a Venus man of middle age. A small,slim graceful man, with sleek black hair. His pointed face,accentuated by the pointed beard, was pallid. He wore a white andpurple robe; upon his breast was a huge platinum ornament, a devicelike a star and cross entwined.

  "I am happy to meet you, sir." His voice was soft and deep.

  "Ob Hahn," I repeated. "I should have heard of you, no doubt, but--"

  A smile plucked at his thin, gray lips. "That is an error of mine, notyours. My mission is that all the universe shall hear of me."

  "He's preaching the religion of the Venus mystics," Snap explained.

  "And this enlightened gentleman," said Ob Hahn ironically, nodding tothe man, "has just termed it fetishism. The ignorance--"

  "Oh, I say!" protested the man at Ob Hahn's side. "I mean, you seem tothink I meant something offensive. And as a matter of fact--"

  "We've an argument, Gregg," laughed Snap. "This is Sir ArthurConiston, an English gentleman, lecturer and sky-trotter--that is, hewill be a sky-trotter; he tells us he plans a number of voyages."

  The tall Englishman, in his white linen suit, bowed acknowledgement."My compliments, Mr. Haljan. I hope you have no strong religiousconvictions, else we will make your table here very miserable!"

  The third passenger had evidently kept out of the argument. Snapintroduced him as Rance Rankin. An American--a quiet, blond fellow ofthirty-five or forty.

  I ordered my breakfast and let the argument go on.

  "Won't make me miserable," said Snap. "I love an argument. You said,Sir Arthur--"

  "I mean to say, I think I said too much. Mr. Rankin, you are morediplomatic."

  Rankin laughed. "I am a magician," he said to me. "A theatricalentertainer. I deal in tricks--how to fool an audience--" His keen,amused gaze was on Ob Hahn. "This gentleman from Venus and I have toomuch in common to argue."

  "A nasty one!" the Englishman exclaimed. "By Jove! Really, Mr. Rankin,you're a bit too cruel!"

  I could see we were doomed to have turbulent meals this voyage. Ilike to eat in quiet; arguing passengers always annoy me. There werestill three seats vacant at our table; I wondered who would occupythem. I soon learned the answer--for one seat at least. Rankin saidcalmly:

  "Where is the little Venus girl this meal?" His glance went to theempty seat at my right hand. "The Venza, isn't that her name? She andI are destined for the same theater in Ferrok-Shahn."

  So Venza was to sit beside me. It was good news. Ten days of areligious argument three times a day would be intolerable. But thecheerful Venza would help.

  "She never eats the midday meal," said Snap. "She's on the deck,having orange juice. I guess it's the old gag about diet, eh?"

  My attention wandered about the salon. Most of the seats wereoccupied. At the Captain's table I saw the objects of my search:George Prince and his sister, one on each side of the Captain. I sawGeorge Prince in the life now as a man who looked hardly twenty-five.He was at this moment evidently in a gay mood. His clean-cut, handsomeprofile, with its poetic dark curls, was turned toward me. Thereseemed little of the villain about him.

  And I saw Anita Prince now as a dark-haired, black-eyed little beauty,in feature resembling her brother very strongly. She presentlyfinished her meal. She rose, with him after her. She was dressed inEarth-fashion--white blouse and dark jacket, wide, knee-lengthtrousers of gray, with a red sash her only touch of color. She wentpast me, flashed me a smile.

  My heart was pounding. I answered her greeting, and met GeorgePrince's casual gaze. He, too, smiled, as though to signify that hissister had told him of the service I had done her. Or was his smile anironical memory of how he had eluded me this morning when I chasedhim?

  I gazed after his small white-suited figure as he followed Anita fromthe salon. And thinking of her, I prayed that Carter and Halsey mightbe wrong. Whatever plotting against the Grantline Expedition might begoing on, I hoped that George Prince was innocent of it. Yet I knew inmy heart it was a futile hope. Prince had been the eavesdropperoutside the radio room. I could not doubt it. But that his sister mustbe ignorant of what he was doing, I was sure.

  My attention was brought suddenly back to the reality of our table. Iheard Ob Hahn's silky voice. "We passed quite close to the Moon lastnight, Mr. Dean."

  "Yes," said Snap. "We did, didn't we? Always do--it's a technicalproblem of the exigencies of interstellar navigation. Explain it tothem, Gregg. You're an expert."

  I waved it away with a laugh. There was a brief silence. I could nothelp noticing Sir Arthur Coniston's queer look, and I have never seenso keen a glance as Rance Rankin shot at me. Were all three peopleaware of Grantline's treasure on the Moon? It suddenly seemed so. Iwished fervently at that instant that the ten days of this voyage wereover. Captain Carter was right. Coming back we should have a cordon ofInterplanetary Police aboard.

  Sir Arthur broke the awkward silence. "Magnificent sight, the Moon,from so close--though I was too much afraid of pressure sickness to beup to see it."

  I had nearly finished my hasty meal when another incident shocked me.The two other passengers at our table came in and t
ook their seats. AMartian girl and man. The girl had the seat at my left, with the manbeside her. All Martians are tall. The girl was about my own height.That is, six feet, two inches. The man was seven feet or more. Bothwore the Martian outer robe. The girl flung hers back. Her limbs wereencased in pseudomail. She looked, as all Martians like to look, avery warlike Amazon. But she was a pretty girl. She smiled at me witha keen-eyed, direct gaze.

  "Mr. Dean said at breakfast that you were big and handsome. You are."

  They were brother and sister, these Martians. Snap introduced them as_Set_ Miko and _Setta_ Moa--the Martian equivalent of Mr. and Miss.

  This Miko was, from our Earth standards, a tremendous, brawny giant.Not spindly, like most Martians, this fellow, for all his seven feetin height was almost heavy set. He wore a plaited leather jerkinbeneath his robe and knee pants of leather out of which his lower legsshowed as gray, hairy pillars of strength. He had come into the salonwith a swagger, his sword ornament clanking.

  "A pleasant voyage so far," he said to me as he started his meal. Hisvoice had the heavy, throaty rasp characteristic of the Martian. Hespoke perfect English--both Martians and Venus people are by heritageextraordinary linguists. Miko and his sister Moa, had a touch ofMartian accent, worn almost away by living for some years in GreaterNew York.

  The shock to me came within a few minutes. Miko, absorbed in attackinghis meal, inadvertently pushed back his robe to bare his forearm. Aninstant only, then it dropped to his wrist. But in that instant I hadseen, upon the gray flesh, a thin sear turned red. A very recentburn--as though a pencil ray of heat had caught his arm.

  My mind flung back. Only last night in the city corridor, Snap and Ihad been followed by a Martian. I had shot at him with a heat ray: Ithought I had hit him on the arm. Was this the mysterious Martian whohad followed us from Halsey's office?