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Brigands of the Moon

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<h2>XXX</h2> The deck glowed lurid in the queer blue-greenish glare of Martian electro-fuse lights. It was in a bustle of ordered activity. Some twenty of the crew were scattered about, working in little groups. Apparatus was being brought up from below to be assembled. There was a pile of Erentz suits and helmets, of Martian pattern, but still very similar to those with which Grantline's expedition was equipped. There were giant projectors of several kinds, some familiar to me, others of a fashion I had never seen before. It seemed there were six or eight of them, still dismantled, with a litter of their attendant batteries and coils and tube amplifiers. They were to be mounted here on the deck, I surmised; I saw in the dome side one or two of them already rolled into position. Anita and I stood outside Potan's cubby, gazing around us curiously. The men looked at us but none of them spoke. "Let's watch from here a moment," I whispered. She nodded, standing with her hand on my arm. I felt that we were very small, here in the midst of these seven foot Martian men. I was all in white, the costume used in the warm interior of Grantline's camp. Bareheaded, white silk Planetara uniform jacket, broad belt and tight-laced trousers. Anita was a slim black figure beside me, somber as Hamlet, with her pale boyish face and wavy black hair. The gravity being maintained here on the ship we had found to be stronger than that of the Moon and rather more like Mars. "There are the heat rays, Gregg." A pile of them was visible down the deck length. And I saw caskets of fragile glass globes, bombs of different styles, hand projectors of the paralyzing ray; search beams of several varieties; the Benson curve light, and a few side arms of ancient Earth design—swords and dirks, and small bullet projectors. There seemed to be some mining equipment also. Far along the deck, beyond the central cabin in the open space of the stern, steel rails were stacked; half a dozen tiny-wheeled ore carts; a tiny motor engine for hauling them and what looked as though it might be the dismembered sections of an ore chute. The whole deck was presently strewn with this mass of equipment. Potan moved about, directing the different groups of workers. The news had spread that we knew the location of the treasure. The brigands were jubilant. In a few hours the ship's armament would be ready, and it would advance. I saw many glances cast out the dome side windows toward the distant plains of the Mare Imbrium. The brigands believed that the Grantline camp lay in that direction. Anita whispered, "Which is their giant electronic projector, Gregg?" I could see it amidships of the deck. It was already in place. Potan was there now, superintending the men who were connecting it. The most powerful weapon on the ship. It had, Potan said, an effective range of some ten miles. I wondered what it would do to a Grantline building! The Erentz double walls would withstand it for a time, I was sure. But it would blast an Erentz fabric suit, no doubt of that. Like a lightning bolt, it would kill—its flashing free stream of electrons shocking the heart, bringing instant death. I whispered, "We must smash that before we leave! But first turn it on Miko, if he signals now." I was tensely watchful for that signal. The electronic projector obviously was not ready. But when it was connected, I must be near it, to persuade its duty man to fire it on Miko. With this done we would have more time to plan our other tasks. I did not think Potan would be ready for his attack before another time of sleep here in the ship's routine. Things would be quieter then; I would watch my chance to send a signal to Earth, and then we would escape. With my thoughts roving, we had been standing quietly at the cubby door for about fifteen minutes. My hand in my side pouch clutched the little bullet projector. The brigands had taken it from me and given it to Potan. He had placed it on the settle with my Erentz suit; and when we gained his confidence he had forgotten it and left it there. I had it now, and the feel of its cool sleek handle gave me a measure of comfort. Things could go wrong so easily. But if they did, I was determined to sell my life as dearly as possible. And a vague thought was in my mind: I must not use the last bullet. That would be for Anita. "That electronic projector is remote controlled. Look, Anita, that's the signal room over us. The giant projector will be aimed and fired from up there." A thirty foot skeleton tower stood on the deck near us, with a spiral ladder leading up to a small, square, steel cubby at the top. Through the cubby window I could see instrument panels. A single Martian was up there; he had called down to Potan concerning the electronic projector. The roof of this little tower room was close under the dome—a space of no more than four feet. A pressure lock exit in the dome was up there, with a few steps leading up to it from the roof of the tower signal room. We could escape that way, perhaps. In the event of dire necessity it might be possible. But only as a desperate resort, for it would put us on the top of the glassite dome, with a sheer hundred feet or more down its sleek bulging exterior side, and down the outside bulge of the ship's hull, to the rocks below. There might be a spider ladder outside leading downward, but I saw no evidence of it. If Anita and I were forced to escape that way, I wondered how we could manage a hundred foot jump to the rocks, and land safely. Even with the slight gravity of the Moon, it would be a dangerous fall. "You are Gregg Haljan?" I stared as one of the brigands, coming up behind, addressed me. "Yes." "Commander Potan tells me you were chief navigator of the Planetara?" "Yes." "You shall pilot us when we advance upon the Grantline camp. I am control-commander here—Brotow, my name." He smiled. A giant fellow, but spindly. He spoke good English. He seemed anxious to be friendly. "We are glad to have you and George Prince's sister with us." He shot Anita an admiring glance. "I will show you our controls, Haljan." "All right," I said. "Whatever I can do to help...." "But not now. It will be some hours before we are ready." I nodded, and he wandered away. Anita whispered: "Did he mean that signal room up in the tower? Oh Gregg, maybe it's only the control room." "Suppose we go up and see? Miko's signals might start any minute." And the electronic projector seemed about ready. It was time for me to act. But a reluctant instinct was upon me. Our Erentz suits were close behind us in Potan's cubby. I hated to leave them. If anything happened, and we had to make a sudden dash, there would be no time to garb ourselves in the suits. To adjust the helmets would be bad enough. I whispered swiftly, "We must get into our suits—find some pretext." I drew her back through the cubby doorway where we would be more secluded. "Anita, listen. I've been a fool not to plan our escape more carefully. We're in too great a danger here!" Suddenly it seemed to me that we were in desperate plight! Was it premonition? "Anita, listen: if anything happens and we have to make a dash—" "Up through that dome lock, Gregg? It's a manual control; you can see the levers." "Yes. It's a manual. But once up there how would we get down?" She was far calmer than I. "There may be an outside ladder, Gregg." "I don't think so. I haven't seen it." "Then we can get out the way they brought us in. The hull port—it's a manual, too." "Yes, I think I can find our way down through the hull corridors." "There are guards outside on the rocks." We had seen them through the dome windows. But there were not many, only two or three. I was armed and a surprise rush would do the trick. We donned our Erentz suits. "What will we do with the helmets?" demanded Anita. "Leave them here?" "No, take them with us. I'm not going to get separated from them!" "We'll look strange going up to that signal room equipped like this." "I can't help it, Anita. We'll explain it, somehow." She stood before me, a queer-looking little figure in the now deflated, bagging suit with her slim neck and head protruding above it. "Carry your helmet, Anita. Ill take mine." We could adjust the helmets and start the motors all within a few seconds. "I'm ready, Gregg." "Come on, then. Let me go first." I had the bullet projector in an outer pouch of the suit where I could instantly reach it. This was more rational; we had a fighting chance now. The fear which had swept me began to recede. "We'll climb the tower to the signal room," I whispered. "Do it boldly." We stepped from the cubby. Potan was not in sight; perhaps he was on the further deck beyond the central cabin structure. On the deck, we were immediately accosted. This was different—our appearance in the Erentz suits! "Where are you going?" This fellow spoke in Martian. I answered in English, "Up there." He stood before us, towering over me. I saw a group of nearby workers stop to regard us. In a moment we would be causing a commotion, and it was the last thing I desired. I said in Martian, "Commander Potan told me, what I wish I can do. From the dome we look around to see where is the Grantline camp from here. I am pilot of this ship to go there." The man who had called himself Brotow passed near us. I appealed to him. "We put on our suits. After our experience, we feel safer that way. If I'm to pilot the ship...." He hesitated, his glance sweeping the deck as though to ask Potan. Someone said in Martian: "The Commander is down in the stern storeroom." It decided Brotow. He waved away the Martian who had stopped me. "Let them pass." Anita and I gave him our most friendly smiles. "Thanks." He bowed to Anita with a sweeping gesture. "I will show you over the control room presently." His gaze went to the peak of the bow. The little hooded cubby there was the control room, then. Satisfaction swept me. Then above us in the tower, must surely be the signal room. Would Brotow follow us up? I hoped not. I wanted to be alone with the duty man up there, giving me a chance to get at the projector controls if Miko's signal should come. I drew Anita past Brotow, who had stood aside. "Thanks," I repeated. "We won't be long." We mounted the little ladder. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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