Duncan moved fast, but there was a gun in Olcott’s hand covering him.
The latter said, “Take it easy. You killed one man with your fists. I’m taking no chances.”
A tiny scar on Duncan’s forehead flamed red. “You rotten—”
“Don’t be a fool. She’s wearing a Varra Helmet. Of course she’ll take it off when she joins you, or she’d have a Varra en rapport with her, one who’d spill the beans completely.”
“Andrea wouldn’t—”
“She doesn’t know all of my plans. And she was willing to help me—as the price of your freedom. Listen!” Olcott spoke persuasively. “The girl’s already on the ship. She’s got her instructions. Tomorrow, at , she’ll smash the radio. If you’re not on hand to pick her up—and the radium—she’ll get into trouble. Destroying communications in space is a penal offense. She might go to Transpolar.”
Duncan snarled deep in his throat. His face was savage.
Olcott kept the gun steady. “Everything’s planned. Be smart, and in a couple of days you’ll be back on Earth, with Andrea and half a million credits. If you want to be a damned fool—” the pistol jutted—“it’s a long drop. And it’ll be tough on the girl.”
“Yeah,” Duncan whispered. “I get it.” His big fists clenched. “I’ll play it your way, Olcott. I have to. But if anything happens to Andrea, God help you!”
Olcott only smiled.
II
Invisible Pirate
Rudy Hartman was drunk. An overturned bottle of khlar, the fiery Martian brew, lay beside his cot, and he stumbled over it and cursed thickly as he blinked at tropical sunlight. The gross, shapeless body, clad in filthy singlet and dungarees, lumbered over to a crude laboratory bench, and Hartman, blinking and grunting, fumbled for a syringe. He shot thiamin chloride into his arm, and simultaneously heard the roar of a plane’s motor.
Hastily Hartman left the godown and headed for the island’s beach near by. The camouflaged amphibian was gliding across the lagoon—a quick flight, that had been, from the Polar Circle to the South Pacific! Hartman’s eyes focused blearily on the plane as it slid toward the rough dock.
Two men got out—Olcott and Duncan.
“Everything’s ready,” Hartman said. His tongue was thick, and he steadied himself with an effort.
“Good!” Olcott glanced at his wrist-chronometer. “There’s no time to waste.”
“When do I take off?”
“Immediately. You’ll pick up the Maid this side of the Moon, but it’s a long distance.”
Hartman was blinking at the convict. “You’re Saul Duncan. Hope you’re a good pilot. This is—um—ticklish work.”
“I can handle it,” Duncan said shortly. Olcott was already moving toward a trail that led inland from the beach. The other two followed for perhaps half a mile, till they reached the dead-black hull of a small cruiser-type spaceship, camouflaged from above with vines and pandanus leaves. The boat showed signs of hard usage. Duncan walked around to the stern tubes and carefully examined the jointures.
“Crack-up, eh?” he said.
Olcott nodded. “How do you suppose we got our hands on the crate? It was wrecked south of here, near a little islet. There weren’t any survivors. It cost me plenty to have the ship brought here secretly, where Hartman could work on it. But it has been put in good shape now.”
“She—um—runs,” the scientist said doubtfully, blinking. “And she has strong motors. Unless they’re too strong. I spot-welded the hull, but there is—um—a certain amount of danger.”
Olcott made an impatient gesture. “Let’s go in.”
The control cabin showed signs of careful work; Duncan decided that Hartman knew his job. He moved to the controls and examined them with interest.
“Made any test-runs?”
“Without a pilot?” Olcott chuckled. “Hartman says it’ll fly, and that’s enough for me.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I see you’ve painted the ship black. That’ll make it difficult to spot. I’ll have only occlusion to worry about, and a fast course with this little boat will take care of that.” Duncan pulled at his lower lip. “I noticed you put rocket-screens on, too.”
“Naturally.” Rocket-screens, like gun-silencers, were illegal, and for a similar reason. The flare of the jets are visible across vast distances in space, but a dead-black ship, tubes screened, would be practically invisible.
“Okay,” Duncan said. “What about the Plutonians.”
It was Hartman who spoke this time. “Just what do you know about the Plutonians?”
“No more than anyone else. No ship’s ever landed on Pluto. The creatures are mental vampires. They can reach out, somehow, across space and suck the energy out of the brain.”
Hartman’s ravaged face twisted in a grin. “So. But their power can’t break through the Heaviside Layer. That’s why Earth hasn’t been harmed. Only space travelers, unprotected by a Varra convoy, are vulnerable. Even with Varra Helmets, men are sometimes killed. All right. How do you suppose the Plutonians find their victims?”
“Nobody knows that,” Duncan said. “Mental vibrations, maybe.”
Hartman snorted. “Space is big! The electrical impulses of a brain are microscopic compared to interplanetary distances. But the ships—there’s the answer. A spaceship is visible for thousands of miles—reflection, and the rocket-jets. It’d be easy for the Plutonians to locate our ships, if they have any sort of telescopes at all. So, we have here a ship they cannot find. Therefore, we do not need a Varra escort to protect us from the Plutonians.”
“It would have been safer if we could have hired a Varra,” Olcott said. “Still, that was impossible. They’re hand in glove with the government.”
“I know. They’ve convoyed me, in the old days,” Duncan grunted. “Let me go over it again. I take this ship out, pick up the Maid, Earthside of Luna, and get the radium—and Andrea.”
“Right,” Olcott nodded. “Then back here, and I hand over half a million credits.”
“Going into space without a Helmet is risky.”
“You will not be near Pluto,” Hartman put in. “There is danger, yes, but it is minimized.”
“But there is danger. I’m thinking of Andrea. When I pick her up, she’s got to leave her Helmet in the Maid.”
“Naturally,” Olcott snapped, his lips
