O’Brien chafed with impatience till the cruiser jetted off from the spaceport. The closer he came to achieving his goal, the more nervous he grew. The jewel he kept clenched in one hand most of the time. Arnsen noticed that a dim brilliance was beginning to glow within it as the ship plunged farther out toward the void.
Hastings cast quizzical glances at O’Brien, but did what he was told. He confided in Arnsen.
“We haven’t even bothered with charts. It’s screwy, but I’m not kicking. Only this isn’t piloting. Your friend just points at a star-sector and says, ‘Go there.’ Funny.” He scratched his leathery cheek, faded eyes intent on Arnsen’s face.
The big man nodded. “I know. But it isn’t up to me, Hastings. I’m supercargo.”
“Yeah. Well, if you—want any help—you can count on me. I’ve seen space-madness before.”
Arnsen snorted. “Space-madness!”
Hastings’ eyes were steady. “I may be wrong, sure. But anything can happen out here. We’re not on Earth, Mr. Arnsen. Earth laws don’t apply. Neither does logic. We’re on the edge of the unknown.”
“I never thought you were superstitious.”
“I’m not. Only I’ve been around, and seen a lot. That crystal Mr. O’Brien lugs around with him—I never saw anything like that before.” He waited, but Arnsen didn’t speak. “All right, then. I’ve known things to drift in from Outside. Funny things, damn funny. The Solar System’s like a Sargasso. It catches flotsam from other systems, even other universes, for all I know. One rule I’ve learned—when you can’t guess the answer, it’s a good idea to stay clear.”
Arnsen grunted moodily, staring out a port at the glaring brilliance of the stars.
“Ever heard any stories about jewels like that one?”
Hastings shook his closely-cropped head. “No. But I saw a wreck once, Sunside of Pluto—a ship that hadn’t been designed in this System. It was deserted; God knows how long it had been out there. Or where it came from. Inside, it wasn’t designed for human beings at all. It came from Outside, of course, and Outside is a big place. That jewel, now—” He bit the end off a quid of tobacco.
“What about it?”
“It’s an Outside sort of thing. And your friend isn’t acting normal. It may add up to trouble. It may not. My point is that I’m going to keep my eyes open, and you’d be wise to do the same thing.”
Arnsen went back to the galley and fried eggs, angry with himself for listening to Hastings’ hints. He was more than ever uncomfortable. Back on Earth, it had been easier to disbelieve in any unknown powers that the gray jewel might possess; here, it was different. Space was the hinterland, the waste that bordered the cryptic Outside. The forward step in science that threw open the gates of interplanetary travel had, in a way, taken man back in time to a day when he cowered in a cave, fearing the powers of the dark that lurked in the unknown jungle. Space travel had broken barriers. It opened a door that, perhaps, should have remained forever closed.
On the shores of space strange flotsam was cast. Arnsen’s gaze probed out through the port, to the red globe of Mars, the blinding brilliance of the Milky Way, the enigmatic shadow of the Coal Sack. Out there anything might lie. Life grown from a matrix neither Earthly nor even three-dimensional. Charles Fort had hinted at it; scientists had hazarded wild guesses. The cosmic womb of space, from which blasphemous abortions might be cast.
So they went on, day after day, skirting Mars and plunging on into the thick of the asteroid belt. It was uncharted country now, a Sargasso of remnants from an exploded planet that had existed here eons ago. Sounds rang loudly in the narrow confines of the space ship. Nervousness gripped all three of the men. But O’Brien found comfort in the gray crystal. His eyes held a glowing light of triumph.
“We are coming closer, Steve,” he said. “Deirdre isn’t far away now.”
“Damn Deirdre,” Arnsen said—but not aloud.
The ship went on, following the blind course O’Brien pointed. Hastings shook his head in grim silence, and trained his passengers in the use of the spacesuits. Few of the asteroids had atmosphere, and it became increasingly evident that the destination was an asteroid. …
III
The Singing Crystals
They found it at last, a jagged, slowly revolving ball that looked incredibly desolate, slag from some solar furnace. The telescope showed no life. The ball had hardened as it whirled, and the molten rock had frozen instantly, in frigid space, into spiky, giant crags and stalagmites. No atmosphere, no water, no sign of life in any form.
The crystal O’Brien held had changed. A pale light streamed from it. O’Brien’s face was tensely eager.
“This is it. Set the ship down, Hastings.”
The pilot made a grimace, but bent toward the controls. It was a ticklish task at best, for he had to match the ship’s speed to the speed of the asteroid’s revolution and circle in, describing a narrowing spiral. Rocket ships are not built for maneuverability. They blast their way to ground and up again through sheer roaring power.
She settled bumpily on the iron-hard surface of the asteroid, and Arnsen looked through the thick visiglass at desolation that struck a chill to his heart. Life had never existed here. It was a world damned in the making, a tiny planetoid forever condemned to unbearable night and silence. It was one with the darkness. The sun-glare, in the absence of atmosphere, made sharp contrasts between light and jet shadow. The fingers of rock reached up hungrily, as though searching for warmth. There was nothing menacing about the picture.
