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Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Astounding Stories October 1931. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
The two fighting men circled warily.]
In the Orbit of Saturn
By R. F. Starzl
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _Disguised as a voluntary prisoner on a pirate space ship,an I. F. P. man penetrates the mystery of the dreaded "SolarScourge."_]
The _Celestia_, gliding through space toward Titan, major satellite ofSaturn, faltered in her course. Her passengers, mostly miningengineers and their wives, stockholders, and a sprinkling of visitors,were aware of a cessation of the heavens' apparent gyrations, due tothe halting of the ship's rotation on its axis. At the same time theship's fictitious gravity, engendered by the centrifugal force of itsrotation, ceased, so that passengers, most of whom were assembled inthe main salon, which occupied the entire midship section, driftedaway from the curved floor, whose contour followed that of the outerskin, to flounder in helpless confusion.
A woman screamed. A rasping sound, as of metal scraping against thehull, came from one point in the circumference, and here the portholeswere obscured by a dark mass that blotted out the stars.
An old man, clinging to a luxuriously upholstered chair, and pale withfright, cried:
"It's those damned pirates. If they find out who I am it'll break thecompany to ransom me."
"If the company thinks it worth while to ransom you," retorted hisyoungish, saturnine companion, who seemed less scared than annoyed.
Questions darted back and forth. No word came from the control roomforward, and little of what transpired outside could be seen throughthe thick glass ports. The pirate ship loomed over them like amonstrous leech, its bolts sharply etched in black and white by thesunlight from their stern. Beyond that was only the velvetydarkness--the absolute vacuity of space that carries no sound,refracts no light. A battle was raging out there, but of that nothingcould be seen or heard in the salon. Only a dull, booming vibrationthrough the flyer's hull, made by the rockets in a useless effort toshake off their captor.
* * * * *
Of all the passengers, none understood the situation as well as QuirlFinner. In imagination he followed the desperate struggle that wasgoing on out there, for the men who were selling their lives were hiscompanions in arms, the ship's guard of the redoubtable I.F.P., theInterplanetary Flying Police who carried the law of white men to theoutermost orbit of the solar system.
Quirl bristled, but he maintained his pose of indifference--of thesightseeing passenger who depended blindly on the ship's crew for hisown safety. In appearance he might easily have been the pampered sonof some millionaire that he impersonated. His close-fitting silkentunic of blue, with its bright yellow roll-collar, the turban of fineyellow lace, the close-fitting trousers that showed his lithe yetpowerfully molded legs, the thin-soled low boots--all proclaimed himthe typical time-killing dandy of the times. His superb proportionsmade him look smaller, lighter than he really was, and his leanfeatures, which under the I.F.P. skullcap would have looked hawk-like,were sufficiently like the patrician fineness of the character part hewas playing. Young men of means in the year 2159 were by no meanswithout their good points. They indulged in athletic sports tocounteract the softening influence of idleness, and so Quirl Finnerhad no misgivings about the success of his disguise.
Yet he could not refrain from listening intently for every sound thatpenetrated the hull. His part was to be captured by the pirate, whohad been named "The Solar Scourge" by sensational newscasters, and tolearn all he could, and eventually to be ransomed by a "wealthyfather" with his priceless information. So he waited, chafing, whilemen he knew, men who had faced the perils of space with him, met theirdeath.
After a time there came the sudden crackling of the air-tight bulkheadwhich separated the salon from the forward sections. Quirl knew whatthis meant. The pirates had succeeded in breaching a hole through theship's skin, and the air of the forward section had rushed into space.It was sickening to think of those brave men up there caught in thesuddenly formed vacuum. Long before the bulkhead had ceased cracklinghe knew they were dead, and that the pirate crew had entered, wearingvacuum suits, and was even then replenishing the air so the passengerscould be taken alive.
* * * * *
They had been in the prison hold of the pirate ship for five days,terrestrial time. This was nothing like the spacious quarters they hadoccupied before. A cross-section of their prison would have lookedlike a wedge with a quarter circle for its blunt end. The curved wallof the great cylindrical projectile, nearly a hundred feet indiameter, was their floor, on which they could walk like flies on theinside of a wheel rim. The walls of the room, on two sides, convergedtoward the top, until they joined the sides of a well-like tunnel thatran from the nose of the ship to its tail, where the rocket nozzleswere. A door pierced the tunnel side, and under this door was a metalplatform, from which one could either climb into the passage or down aladder into the hold. A pirate guard held this platform, from where hecould peer over the top of a curtain which gave scant privacy to themen and women prisoners on either side of it.
On the floor-plates, without even the meager comfort of the driedMartian weeds that had been given to the women, sat or lay the men.They showed their dejection, their faces covered with new growths ofbeard, their clothes crumpled and torn. The only furniture consistedof a long, light metal table on the women's side, securely bolted tothe floor. The prisoners were obliged to stand at this when eatingtheir meals. The whole cheerless scene was coldly illuminated by asingle light-emanating disk just under the guard's platform.
Steps echoed hollowly metallic from above. Quirl wondered if it wasalready time for the galley boy to bring the immense bowl of hot stewfor the noon meal.
* * * * *
It was not. It was Moby Gore, the huge and overbearing first mate ofthe pirates on his daily mission of inspection and prisoner baiting.Quirl crept further into his corner. It would be fatal to his plan forhim to attract the attention of this petty tyrant. It was hard enoughto keep away from him--to crush back the almost overwhelming desire tofly at him, fists hammering.
Gore came down the ladder deliberately, pausing on the lower steps tolook around with his little, pig's eyes. His head was set well forwardon his thick, muscular neck, so that he had to look out from under hisbeetling brows in a manner peculiarly ape-like. His heavy face wassmooth-shaven, and his blue-black jowls and chin looked painfullysmooth. His coarse, black hair was brushed back and plastered firmlyto his bullet head.
His body was heavy, but moved with deadly smoothness and precision.The customary harness which passed around his naked torso supported adouble-barreled ironizing electrocution pistol, and also a short,savagely knobbed riot club. Depending from the belt at his waist wereshort pants, which displayed the thick, hairy legs with theircable-like muscles. On his feet were thick socks, so that his toeswere able to curl around the rungs of the ladder.
Satisfied with his quick, darting inspection, Gore now came all theway down. At the foot of the ladder lay an elderly man in the oblivionof sleep. Gore's foot came down on the thin chest. With savagepleasure he bore down, so that the old man's startled squawk ended ina fit of coughing. Gore cuffed him aside roughly, growling:
"Old squiffer! Let that learn you to sleep out of the way!" He laughedcoarse
ly when one of the prisoners, with the temerity of anonymity,started to boo, but received no support.
* * * * *
Carelessly Gore passed among the prisoners. Here and there he halted,snatching some article of finery or inconspicuous bit of jewelry thathe had overlooked before. They shrank from him, only too glad to seehim pass on to the next unfortunate.
"You, there!" Gore rasped, indicating Quirl with his stubbyforefinger. "Come on out o' there, you!"
Quirl hoped that the brutal mate would not hear the thudding of hisbeating heart, or that if he did, he would take it for fear. He cameslowly toward Gore, who was greedily eyeing the young man's brightlycolored and valuable tunic. Quirl came too slowly.
"What do you take me for?" Gore bellowed in unreasonable anger. Hestrode forward, the prisoners scattering before him. His large, knottyhand closed on Quirl's arm, and jerked, with the intention of whirlingthis