Duncan was still unconscious. Hartman rolled him out of the bunk and dressed him in a suit, fitting the Varra Helmet in place. With the flexible straps he bound Duncan’s arms to his side; a makeshift job, but it would serve. Finally he pried the intertron knob from the Helmet and sighed with relief.
Hesitantly he went to the controls. The star-map told him little, except that they were approaching Pluto. Should they begin deceleration? Hartman’s fingers hovered over the studs—Damn! He dared not alter the course. He wasn’t a pilot, and it took trained hands to control a spaceship.
Well, that didn’t matter. There was another way—with the Varra Helmets.
He broke an ammonia capsule under Olcott’s nose and applied artificial respiration. After a time Olcott stirred.
“Hartman?” His tongue was thick. “Where—what’s happened?”
“A great deal. Lie still and get back your strength. I’ll tell you—”
But Olcott struggled to rise. “Duncan!”
“He’s safe.” Hartman nodded toward the bound figure. Then he sucked in his breath and sprang up. Duncan’s eyes were open.
“Stay where you are,” Hartman said, showing the gun. “I won’t hesitate to kill you, you know.”
Duncan grinned. “Go ahead. You can’t pilot this ship. I can wait.”
Olcott got up unsteadily. “You’ll pilot it—back to Earth. Damn you, Duncan—”
“I’ll pilot it to Pluto. Nowhere else.”
Hartman intervened. “Wait. Listen, Duncan. We have several Varra Helmets aboard. You didn’t know that.”
“So what?”
“We do not need you as a pilot. If we make connections with the Varra, we can chart a course back to Earth by letting them instruct us.”
Duncan’s eyes changed.
He said, “You’re crazy.” But his voice lacked conviction.
“The Varra!” Olcott scowled. “But—”
Hartman whirled on him. “I know! It will mean giving up the radium. But there’s no other way. We’re near Pluto. The Plutonians may detect us at any moment. If they do—” He shrugged. “We can keep the radium and die here. Or we can use the Helmets, summon the Varra, and have them guide us back to Earth.”
“Can they do that?”
“Easily. If they had tangible bodies, they could pilot spaceships as well as Duncan, or anyone else. As it is, they can tell us how to handle the controls.”
“We’ll lose the radium. It’ll mean prison too.”
“Not necessarily. Our lives are worth more than the radium—eh? And the Varra can’t read minds. Suppose we have a convincing story to tell? We planned this spaceflight as a scientific expedition, nothing more. We didn’t know Duncan was an escaped convict. We didn’t know he planned to hijack the Maid—”
Olcott rubbed his mustache. “Plenty of holes in that. But you’re right. We can fix up some sort of story. And there’ll be no legal proof—”
He looked toward the helpless Duncan. “Except him. We don’t want him talking.”
Hartman touched the gun, but Olcott shook his head. “No. Listen. Duncan. You’re licked. We can get back to Earth, with you or without you. But if we get the Varra to help, we lose the radium. Why not be smart? Play along with us, and you’ll still get your half a million credits.”
“Go to hell!” Duncan suggested.
Hartman said, “We’ve no time to waste. We’re not far from Pluto—” He didn’t finish, but there was a suggestion of panic fear in his voice.
“Right. This ship’s got an escape hatch, hasn’t it? Good.” Olcott hurriedly began to don spacesuit and Varra Helmet. At a gesture, Hartman followed his example.
“Don’t use the power yet. Help me.” Olcott picked up Duncan by the shoulders. Grunting and straining, the two men carried their captive into the airtight bow chamber, sealing the valve behind them. The magnetic projector, looking like an oversized cannon, faced the circular transparent port through which they could see the starry darkness of empty space.
“Know how to work one of these?”
“They’re simple,” Hartman said. “This switch—” He indicated it. “Obviously it closes the circuit. Yes, I can operate this.”
Duncan remained silent as he was roughly thrust into the projector’s gaping muzzle, feet-first. Olcott bent over him.
“You’ve got auxiliary-suit rockets and enough oxygen. And you can untie yourself, if you work fast, before you hit Pluto. You can make a safe landing—till the Plutonians find you. Well?”
Duncan didn’t answer.
Olcott said, “Don’t be a fool! You’ll die rather unpleasantly on Pluto. You know that. Will you take us back to Earth?”
There was a long silence. Abruptly, with a muffled curse, Olcott snapped Duncan’s faceplate shut, and then his own. Hartman did the same, and, with a wry face, touched the power-button on his Helmet that would summon the Varra.
In a moment the intertron knob began to glow, with a cold, unearthly brilliance. Olcott hastily turned the power on in his own Helmet. Now there was no time to waste. Soon the Varra would come. …
Cold eyes dark with fury, Olcott gestured. Hartman, in response, swung the projector’s muzzle into position; both men closed their faceplates. The transparent shield of the bow port slid aside, and the air within the escape hatch blasted out into space.
Hartman moved a lever. Electromagnetic energy blasted out from the projector, blindingly brilliant. One flashing glimpse the men had of Duncan’s bound, spacesuited body hurtling into the void—and then it was gone, racing toward Pluto at breakneck speed.
Hartman closed the port and pumped air back into the tiny chamber. Abruptly a voice spoke within his brain.
“Who are you? Why do you summon the Varra? And why are you so near to Pluto?”
Olcott had heard the message too. He framed the thought:
