Trouble on Titan/Chapter IV

SHRUGGING off the momentary reaction, Strike and Gerry made their way slowly back to the Ark. Dr. Kelly, a red-headed Irish biologist with a Harvard accent, met them as they stepped inside the air-lock. Excited, he seized the piece of the dermaphos. With a brief apology, he rushed off to his little laboratory, trailing a mutter of inaudible comments. Gerry looked after the scientist in wonder.

"Seems to be in a terrible rush," she observed.

She learned the reason shortly. Turning toward the control room, she and Strike came across Lieutenant Barrows, whose young face was frowning in pure, concentrated worry. He gasped with relief when his superiors arrived.

"Oh, Miss Carlyle !" he blurted. "Something unexpected has turned up. Professor Kurtt visited us today!"

"Kurtt, here? That's impossible! Saturn's thirty-two thousand miles in diameter. He couldn't just drop in on us like a bill collector!"

Once again Strike felt that familiar prickle of apprehension whenever he thought or heard of Kurtt. The fake professor looked like a harmless bore to the naked eye, but close inspection revealed his deadly qualities. Tommy had learned never to underestimate an opponent, and he recognized the man's cool, quiet shrewdness. And this latest move made him feel more uneasy than ever.

"I dare say," he pointed out, "that it was no great trick to find us. Saturn seems to be poor in any sizable metallic deposits, so a good detector would record the presence of the Ark promptly. No, that isn't what worries me. It's why he came."

Barrows said that practically half the crew were away from the ship, doing scheduled tasks. The remainder, the scientists, were in their labs.

"When I stepped out of the control room," he continued, "I found Kurtt and four of his crew strolling along the main corridor as if they owned the place. He apologized for walking in, but said no one answered his hails. He tried to pump me about our progress, but he got mighty little out of me." Barrows looked faintly complacent.

"Is he gone now?" Gerry snapped.

"Oh, yes, Miss—"

"Crew know about Kurtt coming here?"

"Those in the ship heard him talking with me as I tried to maneuver him outside without a fuss. Dr. Kelly knows, and Dr.—"

"Did Kurtt let anything slip about what he's been doing since arriving on Saturn?"

"Well, I thought he seemed a little worried. I don't really believe he's located a dermaphos yet, Miss Car—" "Okay. We pulled a boner by not setting a guard. But it's obvious that Kurtt came nosing around to see if we'd found a dermaphos yet, and, if so, to try stealing it off right from under our noses."

She took a deep breath and began to give her orders to the now thoroughly alarmed Barrows.

"Call in all the crew. Everyone. As soon as they get here, tell Kranz to take five men with him, and a full complement of weapons and gravity plates. Have Kranz stake himself out by our dermaphos, but make no move till I contact him by radio. Just watch, and protect our property in case Kurtt should try to hijack it. On your toes, now. Snap to it!"

HARDLY missing a beat in her machine-gun firing of orders, Gerry whisked into the control room and switched on the inter-ship communicator.

"You researchers, attention! Bring your reports to the control room at once. We're leaving shortly, if it's at all possible."

Before actually catching any alien monster, Gerry always had her scientific staff learn every possible item concerning the beast. Then the data was thoroughly gone over in a general meeting. If they agreed that enough was known to insure safe transport of their prize, the expedition was then brought to a swift close.

The present conclave quickly came together in Gerry's presence. Analyses of vegetation and general environment and other data were quickly given. A few unexpected items were brought out. The first concerned the planet itself. Apparently Saturn, locally at least, was quite rich in uranium. That fact would have been worth a fortune a few years ago. Since the discovery of vast uranium deposits on the Moon, however, uranium on as distant a planet as Saturn was interesting, but of no particular value.

More to the point was the fact that some of the plant life, particularly the cabbagelike favorite of the dermaphos, seemed to utilize uranium as Earthly plants utilize sulphur and other minerals. Deposits of uranium salts had been found in the foliage.

Most interesting of all was Dr. Kelly's report, based on a quick check of the sample of dermaphos flesh which Strike had brought in.

"The fact that the beast didn't phosphoresce had been worrying me," he explained. "It occurred to me that perhaps it was a fluorescence that showed up in Murray's pictures. Of course, the dermaphos doesn't noticeably fluoresce to the naked eye, either. But there are quite a few mineral salts which fluoresce under the impact of ultra-violet. I remembered that the electroscopes showed the presence of uranium, which reacts under ultraviolet rays.

"Then I thought it was entirely possible that Murray's photos were taken with UV flash bulbs or photo-floods. So I experimented with my own camera, and some UV lights. Sure enough, it's the uranium in the dermaphos itself that causes it to glow under ultra-violet! It eats uranium. Just why, no one could say without prolonged study of the animal, both alive and dissected.

"Our bodies use many minerals, of course. My guess would be that uranium salts act as a catalytic agent in the processes of metabolism and digestion, somewhat as some of our own ductless gland secretions. Then, after their work is done, they are eliminated unchanged through the skin. That's only a guess, of course.—"

"Good work, men," Gerry cut in. "It tells me what I want to know. We can make our capture immediately. I want to pull out of here at once, because our rival has been prowling around and might think it cute to hijack our dermaphos. Barrows."

"Yes, Miss Carlyle?"

"The hold is fully prepared?"

"Two of them are replicas of Saturn to the last detail. I have put all the incidental specimens like the kites and the Screaming Meemies in one hold, according to your orders. The second hold is reserved for the dermaphos. He rides alone, so there will no chance of a free-for-all fight ruining our prize."

"Spare us the lecture, Mister Barrows." Gerry was acid, impatient. "Radio Kranz. Tell him to make the capture. It should be quite simple. Use anesthetic gas bombs, of course. The rest of you prepare to take off."

Quickly the control room emptied, leaving only Gerry and Strike. For perhaps fifteen minutes they worked silently, making ready for the departure. Then Strike, glancing out the forward port, spied Kranz returning on the double-quick with his squad. Behind them, suspended by gravity bands adjusted to neutralize exactly the force of gravity, the sleeping dermaphos was hauled along.

"Kranz is back," said Strike. "He has the prize."

Gerry jumped, her nerves on edge. "Good." She sighed with relief. "That finishes us up here. A good job well done, and will I be glad to leave this place! Nothing left now but a few comfortable weeks in space, then the victory celebration. Professor Kurtt, I'm happy to say, is stymied." Strike said nothing. He had a nagging sense of having overlooked something, a feeling almost of foreboding. It had all been too easy so far. Was it just a sort of calm before the fury? It was. When they were only a short distance from Saturn disaster struck.

"ABANDON ship!" The call rang through loudspeakers in every corner of the mighty rocket craft.

"Abandon ship. Prepare to abandon ship."

That cry had resounded throughout the Ark many times before, but only in periodical life-boat drills, practise for an emergency that no one dreamed would ever really arise. The Ark, one of the greatest of space ships, had been built with every resource of modern science to make it impregnable against the assaults of space or unpredictable conditions on alien worlds. Could such a ship ever be destroyed? It seemed impossible.

The quiet, icy voice of Gerry Carlyle, as calm as if she were ordering dinner, came through the speakers in every compartment.

"Abandon ship. Prepare to abandon ship."

Throughout the length and breadth of the Ark there was orderly confusion. The mighty hull shivered suddenly, racked by some terrible internal disturbance. It was the fifth explosion of rapidly increasing severity that had shaken her from stem to stern.

The report from the engine room was incoherent. The huge centrifuges seemed to be crumbling, flying apart inexplicably. As each cluster of rotors broke away, it hurtled with frightful speed clean through the double walls of the ship. The control panel was a jumble of wreckage, as if smashed by the blast of some cosmic shotgun. It was only a miracle that there were no casualties yet.

As oxygen rushed out into the vacuum of space, automatic bulkheads began to rumble shut. Tortured metal screamed somewhere deep in the ship. Presently the acrid stench of ammonia filtered through the corridors. At least one of the animal holds with internal pressure equal to that of Saturn's atmosphere, had blown outward, perhaps weakened by the rupturing of the adjacent engine room walls.

There was no panic. Speedily the members of the crew gathered up those items of equipment that were designated as "vital" in case of such emergency. Then, three to a car, they entered the miniature rocket ships within special locks in the sides of the Ark. A signal flashed on each control board. The pilots flashed back their readiness for the take-off.

Abruptly the ship spouted monsters and rockets like a surrealist Roman candle.

IN the glassite bow of the Ark, Gerry Carlyle and Tommy Strike, true to ancient traditions, waited for their crew to get clear before they abandoned their ship. As each lifeboat shot away, another light gleamed on a panel in the pilot room.

Finally there were seven lights showing. All the life-boats but one were clear. Hovering at a safe distance from the Ark, they waited for further orders. Gerry took one final look about the room. It had been more of a home to her than any other place. Then Strike and Chief Astronaut Lewis hurried in. They had stowed away the charts and instruments.

"All set, gentlemen?" Gerry asked coolly.

"All set."

Both men carefully avoided any sentimentality. They knew Gerry was as bitterly heartbroken as they were, and knew also that she would fiercely resent any suggestion of feminine weakness. It was one of the traits for which they admired her.

The three of them stepped into the last life-boat.

Strike sent the little rocket streaking away out of immediate danger. They took a backward glance, after they had withdrawn about a half mile. The stricken Ark was drifting helplessly.

Slowly revolving, she revealed a gaping hole in her stern. The tangled ruins of one of her centrifuges dangled from the gash like exposed intestines. Outlined against the bright hull was one of the Saturnian kites. It had been cast forth when one of the holds near the engine room had given way. Accustomed to withstand Saturn's pressures, the kite had literally exploded into tatters. That was what would happen when all the specimens were exposed to empty space.

Gerry shuddered. Quickly, though, she established short-wave communication with the castaways and rallied them around like a cluster of silvery, flame-spurting metal fish. The first thing was to take stock of their situation.

On the credit side was the fact that they had been less than twenty-four hours away from Saturn, and still accelerating, when the accident struck them down. Saturn loomed gigantic in the sky. Its eternal rainbow rings looked so near, it seemed almost as if one could reach out and break off a piece.

Before Gerry could issue an order, an excited voice hammered through her loudspeaker.

"Miss Carlyle! Captain Strike! A space ship is coming up under the stern of the Ark!"