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_Nothing affected it._]
The SKY TRAP
by FRANK BELKNAP LONG
Lawton enjoyed a good fight. He stood happily trading blows withSlashaway Tommy, his lean-fleshed torso gleaming with sweat. Hepreferred to work the pugnacity out of himself slowly, to savor it asit ebbed.
"Better luck next time, Slashaway," he said, and unlimbered a left hookthat thudded against his opponent's jaw with such violence that the big,hairy ape crumpled to the resin and rolled over on his back.
Lawton brushed a lock of rust-colored hair back from his brow and stareddown at the limp figure lying on the descending stratoship's slightlytilted athletic deck.
"Good work, Slashaway," he said. "You're primitive and beetle-browed,but you've got what it takes."
Lawton flattered himself that he was the opposite of primitive. High inthe sky he had predicted the weather for eight days running, with farmore accuracy than he could have put into a punch.
They'd flash his report all over Earth in a couple of minutes now. FromNew York to London to Singapore and back. In half an hour he'd bedonning street clothes and stepping out feeling darned good.
He had fulfilled his weekly obligation to society by manipulatingmeteorological instruments for forty-five minutes, high in the warm,upper stratosphere and worked off his pugnacity by knocking down aprofessional gym slugger. He would have a full, glorious week now towork off all his other drives.
The stratoship's commander, Captain Forrester, had come up, and wasstaring at him reproachfully. "Dave, I don't hold with the reformingJohnnies who want to re-make human nature from the ground up. But you'vegot to admit our generation knows how to keep things humming with aminimum of stress. We don't have world wars now because we work off ourpugnacity by sailing into gym sluggers eight or ten times a week. Andsince our romantic emotions can be taken care of by tactile televisionwe're not at the mercy of every brainless bit of fluff's calculatedankle appeal."
Lawton turned, and regarded him quizzically. "Don't you suppose Irealize that? You'd think I just blew in from Mars."
"All right. We have the outlets, the safety valves. They are supposed tokeep us civilized. But you don't derive any benefit from them."
"The heck I don't. I exchange blows with Slashaway every time I boardthe Perseus. And as for women--well, there's just one woman in the worldfor me, and I wouldn't exchange her for all the Turkish images in thetactile broadcasts from Stamboul."
"Yes, I know. But you work off your primitive emotions with too muchgusto. Even a cast-iron gym slugger can bruise. That last blowwas--brutal. Just because Slashaway gets thumped and thudded all over bythe medical staff twice a week doesn't mean he can take--"
The stratoship lurched suddenly. The deck heaved up under Lawton's feet,hurling him against Captain Forrester and spinning both men around sothat they seemed to be waltzing together across the ship. The still limpgym slugger slid downward, colliding with a corrugated metal bulkheadand sloshing back and forth like a wet mackerel.
A full minute passed before Lawton could put a stop to that. Even whilecareening he had been alive to Slashaway's peril, and had tried to leapto his aid. But the ship's steadily increasing gyrations had hurled himaway from the skipper and against a massive vaulting horse, barking theflesh from his shins and spilling him with violence onto the deck.
He crawled now toward the prone gym slugger on his hands and knees, histemples thudding. The gyrations ceased an instant before he reachedSlashaway's side. With an effort he lifted the big man up, propped himagainst the bulkhead and shook him until his teeth rattled. "Slashaway,"he muttered. "Slashaway, old fellow."
Slashaway opened blurred eyes, "Phew!" he muttered. "You sure socked mehard, sir."
"You went out like a light," explained Lawton gently. "A minute beforethe ship lurched."
"The ship _lurched_, sir?"
"Something's very wrong, Slashaway. The ship isn't moving. There are novibrations and--Slashaway, are you hurt? Your skull thumped against thatbulkhead so hard I was afraid--"
"Naw, I'm okay. Whatd'ya mean, the ship ain't moving? How could itstop?"
Lawton said. "I don't know, Slashaway." Helping the gym slugger to hisfeet he stared apprehensively about him. Captain Forrester was kneelingon the resin testing his hocks for sprains with splayed fingers, hisfeatures twitching.
"Hurt badly, sir?"
The Commander shook his head. "I don't think so. Dave, we are twentythousand feet up, so how in hell could we be stationary in space?"
"It's all yours, skipper."
"I must say you're helpful."
Forrester got painfully to his feet and limped toward the athleticcompartment's single quartz port--a small circle of radiance on a levelwith his eyes. As the port sloped downward at an angle of nearly sixtydegrees all he could see was a diffuse glimmer until he wedged his browin the observation visor and stared downward.
Lawton heard him suck in his breath sharply. "Well, sir?"
"There are thin cirrus clouds directly beneath us. They're not moving."
Lawton gasped, the sense of being in an impossible situation swelling tonightmare proportions within him. What could have happened?
* * * * *
Directly behind him, close to a bulkhead chronometer, which was clickingout the seconds with unabashed regularity, was a misty blue visiplatethat merely had to be switched on to bring the pilots into view.
The Commander hobbled toward it, and manipulated a rheostat. The twopilots appeared side by side on the screen, sitting amidst a spiderynetwork of dully gleaming pipe lines and nichrome humidification units.They had unbuttoned their high-altitude coats and their stratospherehelmets were resting on their knees. The Jablochoff candle light whichflooded the pilot room accentuated the haggardness of their features,which were a sickly cadaverous hue.
The captain spoke directly into the visiplate. "What's wrong with theship?" he demanded. "Why aren't we descending? Dawson, you do thetalking!"
One of the pilots leaned tensely forward, his shoulders jerking. "Wedon't know, sir. The rotaries went dead when the ship started gyrating.We can't work the emergency torps and the temperature is rising."
"But--it defies all logic," Forrester muttered. "How could a metal shipweighing tons be suspended in the air like a balloon? It is stationary,but it is not buoyant. We seem in all respects to be _frozen in_."
"The explanation may be simpler than you dream," Lawton said. "Whenwe've found the key."
The Captain swung toward him. "Could _you_ find the key, Dave?"
"I should like to try. It may be hidden somewhere on the ship, and thenagain, it may not be. But I should like to go over the ship with afine-tooth comb, and then I should like to go over _outside_,thoroughly. Suppose you make me an emergency mate and give me a carteblanche, sir."
Lawton got his carte blanche. For two hours he did nothing spectacular,but he went over every inch of the ship. He also lined up the crew andpumped them. The men were as completely in the dark as the pilots andthe now completely recovered Slashaway, who was following Lawton aboutlike a doting seal.
"You're a right guy, sir. Another two or three cracks and my nogginwould've split wide open."
"But not like an eggshell, Slashaway. Pig iron develops fissures underterrific pounding but your cranium seems to be more like tempered steel.Slashaway, you won't understand this, but I've got to talk to somebodyand the Captain is too busy to listen.
"I went over the entire ship because I thought there might be a hiddensource of buoyancy somewhere. It would take a lot of air bubbles toturn this s
hip into a balloon, but there are large vacuum chambers underthe multiple series condensers in the engine room which conceivablycould have sucked in a helium leakage from the carbon pile valves. Andthere are bulkhead porosities which could have clogged."
"Yeah," muttered Slashaway, scratching his head. "I see what you mean,sir."
"It was no soap. There's nothing _inside_ the ship that could possiblykeep us up. Therefore there must be something outside that isn't air. Weknow there _is_ air outside. We've stuck our heads out and sniffed it.And we've found out a curious thing.
"Along with the oxygen there is water vapor, but it