DANE STRAINED TO hear a hint of sound in his helmet phones.
There was a far off click which faded quickly. But it was evident
that Wilcox with his double powered com received more than
that.
The astrogator took one hand from the mike and gestured the
others to come to the stalled crawler. Luckily no drone from the
interference blanketed the air waves. And by some freak the word
“stay” boomed suddenly in Dane’s ears.
Wilcox looked up at them. “We’re not to go back
now—”
“What’s wrong?” Mura’s voice lost none
of its mild tone.
“The Queen’s surrounded—”
“Surrounded!” “By whom?” “What
happened?” the questions came together in a confused
gabble.
“They were fired upon when they tried to leave the ship.
And there’s some reason why they can’t lift.
We’re to keep clear until they can find out what’s
behind it all—”
Mura glanced over his shoulder at the valleys now unveiled as
the mist drifted away in tattered streamers.
“If we cut across the open,” he said slowly,
“we can be seen with ease now that the fog is gone. But
suppose we go back—along the valley mouths, paralleling the
burnt-off country. We should reach a point opposite the Queen, and
then we can climb the heights until we are able to see what is
going on about her—”
Wilcox nodded. “We’re not to try contact by com.
They’re afraid we might be picked up.”
Though the fog had lifted visibility was not good. It must be
well into evening and the astrogator surveyed their present
surroundings with disfavour. It was plain that they could not move
through the rough foothill country in the dark. Their travels must wait until morning. But he did not order them to
find shelter in the city buildings. Mura broke the short silence
first.
“There is the bubble—we could camp there for the
night. I do not think it has been used since it was erected as a
blind.”
They seized upon that thankfully and the crawler made the return
trip to the abandoned camp of the archaeologists. They unsealed the
full door flap, allowing their carrier space to enter. And when
that portal was closed again Dane had a feeling of relief. The
walls enclosing them were Terran made, he had slept in such
shelters before. And that familiarity was in a measure security
against the alien quality of the city without.
The bubble cut off the night winds and they were not too
uncomfortable in spite of the lack of heat. Kosti who had been
wandering about the hollow shell kicked at an inoffensive bit of
rock.
“They could have left the heating unit. That’s
supposed to be part of one of these—”
Rip laughed. “But they didn’t know we were
coming.”
Kosti stared at him, inclined to be affronted, and then he
chuckled.
“No, they did not know. We can’t
complain—” His deep roar of laughter was directed at
himself.
Mura busied himself with duties which were part of his usual
job, collecting their emergency rations and parcelling out to each
one of the tasteless cubes and so many sips from their canteens.
Dane wondered at the steward’s careful measurements. It was
as if Mura did not believe they were going to return to the Queen
in the near future and thought that these limited supplies might
have to last for a long time.
Once they had eaten, they drew together for warmth, stretching
out on the bare floor. Outside the bubble they could hear the moan
of the night winds, rising to a crescendo of weird cries as it
wailed through fissures of the ruins.
Dane’s thoughts were restless. What was wrong with the
Queen? If the ship was besieged why hadn’t she simply lifted
from the landing and set down elsewhere, giving them directions where to join her, or sending out the flitter to pick them up?
What kept the freighter planet bound?
Perhaps the others shared his worries, but there were no
speculations voiced in the dark, no questions asked. Having their
orders they had determined upon a course of action for themselves
and now they were getting what rest they could.
Shortly after dawn the haggard Wilcox sat up and then limped to
the crawler. In the pinched grey light he looked years older and
there was a tight set to his lips as he bent over the machine,
making the adjustments which would leave it on manual control
during the hours to come.
None of them could have been asleep for Wilcox’s action
acted as a signal and they were all on their feet, stretching the
cramp out of arms and legs. Greetings were grunts as they ate what
Mura allowed them. Then they were out in the crispness of the
morning. Streaks of colour heralded the sun they had not seen for
so long and the last of the fog was gone. In the north the
mountains were stark and bare against the sky.
Wilcox pointed the crawler north where the foothill valleys
pushed out in a ragged fringe. There was plenty of cover there and
they could slip east undetected. Of them all the astrogator had the
most difficult job. Here was no smooth path for the crawler. And
within a half mile he had to throttle down to a slow walking pace
or be bounced from his seat.
In the end they separated into two parties. Two of them at time
scouted ahead, while the two remaining stayed with Wilcox and the
crawler at the slower pace. From all signs they might have been
alone in a dead world. No tracks broke the soil, there were no
sounds, and they did not even sight one of the rare insects which
must keep to the more hospitable inner portions of the valleys.
Dane was on advance patrol with Mura when the steward gave a
grunt and raised his hands as if to shade his eyes. Above them the
sun had struck fire from some gleaming surface, struck it strong
enough to flash a burning beam down at the Terrans.
“Metal!” Dane cried. Could this be another clue to
the installation?
He started towards that spot, first clambering with difficulty
over the debris left by a recent slide of small rocks. Then he
pulled himself up on a ledge the slide had uncovered and made his
way to the source of that flash. What he expected he did not really
know. But what he found was wreckage—wreckage of another
space ship—although the outlines were strange, even allowing
for alterations made by the force of its landing. It was smaller
than the prospector they had discovered the day before, and in a
greater state of disintegration, the parts which had been exposed
before the slide brought it all to the surface were only rust-eaten
scraps.
Mura joined him and looked down at the crumpled thing which had
once navigated space.
“This is old—very, very old.” He tried to pick
up a rod shaped bit. Between his fingers it became red dust.
“Old—I do not think a Terran ever flew this
one.”
“A Forerunner ship?” Dane was startled. If that were
true—this was a find—a find which might bring
Survey and its kindred services back to Limbo with all jets
blazing.
“Not that old—or it would not exist. But the
Rigellians and that vanished race of Angol Two were in Galactic
space before we were. This may be an ancient vessel of their
building. It is so very old—”
“What brought it here?” Dane wondered. “That
was a smash landing, and the prospector ended the same way. Then
there was that ship we heard come in before the fog closed down.
Yet the Queen didn’t have any trouble making a good landing.
I don’t get it. One crack up—but
three—?”
“It makes one think,” Mura agreed. “Perhaps we
should look about a bit more. The solution to this puzzle may lie
within sight and sound and yet we are not clever enough to learn
it.”
They waited on the ledge until they could signal to the slowly
advancing party with the crawler. The astrogator took careful
bearings on the site. If and when they had time, they might later
send a party to explore this discovery—since its age and
alien origin might make it of value.
“This reminds me somehow,” Kosti said, “of how
those Sissiti catch the purple lizards they make boots of. They set up
a thing that waggles back and forth—just a thin wire attached
to a motor. But the lizard sees it and—pow—he’s
sunk. Sits there watching that stupid thing wiggle-waggle until a
Sissit comes along and pops him into a bag. Maybe someone’s
set up a wiggle-waggle here to draw in ships—that would be
something!”
Wilcox stared at him. “Could be you have something at
that,” he replied, as he fingered his mike. It was apparent
he longed to report this second find to the Queen. And he had a
suggestion for the scouting parties. “Take a look up these
valleys if you can without wasting too much time. I’d like to
know if there are any more wrecks strewn about in this general
area.”
So from then on, though they continued to work their way east to
flank the Queen, they also made side trips into the valleys for
short distances. And it was Kosti and Rip who found the third
ship.
Where the two other shattered discoveries had been of an earlier
day, this was not only of their own time but a type of craft they
were able to recognize at once. Through some freak its disastrous
ending had not been as bad as those which had telescoped the
prospector and smashed the alien. While the new find lay on its
side showing buckled and broken plates, it was not crushed.
“Survey!” Rip yelled almost before they were within
hearing distance.
There was no reason to mistake the insignia on the battered
nose—the crossed, tailed comets were as well known along the
star trails as the jagged lightning swords of the Patrol.
Wilcox limped forward with the rest as they trailed along its
length.
“The hatch is open—” Rip called down from the
pinnacle he had climbed for a better look.
It was what dangled from that open hatch which centred their
attention. A rope hanging like that could mean only one
thing—that there had been survivors! Was this the
explanation for all the puzzling happenings on Limbo? Dane tried to
remember how many men comprised the crew of a Survey
ship—they usually had a group of specialists—perhaps as many as rode
in the Queen—perhaps more—
Though there was no reason why anyone would have remained in the
wrecked ship, the men from the Queen prepared to explore. Rip
dropped from the pinnacle and balanced across to that hatch. Only
Wilcox had to remain where he was as the others climbed the
rope.
It was a strange experience to lower oneself down a well which
was once a corridor, Dane found. Ahead torches picked out fugitive
gleams from smooth surfaces as the explorers poked into the
cabins.
“She’s been stripped!” Rip’s words rang
in the helmet coms back along the line. “I’m for
control—”
Dane knew very little of the geography of a Survey ship. He
could only follow the others, halting at the first open panel to
peer inside with the aid of his own torch. This must have been the
storage for space suits and exploring gear as it was on the Queen.
But it was empty now—cupboards gaping as if their contents
had been hurriedly ripped loose. Had the crew left the boat in
space before the crash? No, that did not explain the rope.
“Lord above us!” The shock in that cry stopped Dane
where he was. Rip’s voice in the com was so strained,
horrified—what had the other discovered in the
control section?
“What’s the matter?” that was Wilcox,
impatient at being left out.
“Coming—” Kosti’s growl came next.
And a few moments later the jetman’s voice was loud with a
crackle of expletives as shocked as Rip’s exclamation had
been.
“What is it?” fumed Wilcox.
Dane left the storage space and made his way quickly to the
passageway tying together all sections of the ship, which should
lead him directly to what the others had found. Mura was ahead of
him there and he soon caught up with the steward.
“We’ve found them,” Rip’s voice was
bleak and old as he answered the astrogator.
“Found who?” Wilcox wanted to know.
“The crew!”
The passage ahead of Dane was blocked. He could see past Mura,
but Kosti’s bulk and Rip’s shut out what lay beyond.
Then Rip spoke again and Dane hardly knew it for his voice.
“Got—to—get—out—of—here—”
“Yes!” that was Kosti.
Both of them turned and Mura and Dane had to retrace their way
to the hatch, hurried on by the impatience of the two behind them.
They climbed out on the curving side of the ship, giving way to the
others. Rip crawled down towards the fins. He held fast to the
braces of one and proceeded to be thoroughly sick.
Kosti’s face was greenish, but he maintained control with
a visible effort. None of the other three quite dared at that
moment to ask what either man had seen. It wasn’t until Rip,
shivering, crept back and slid down the rope to the ground that
Wilcox lost patience.
“Well, what happened to them?”
“Murder!” Rip’s voice rang too loudly, echoed
by some freak of the stone abutments about them until
“Murrrderrr” was shouted in their ears.
Dane glanced around in time to see Mura descend again into the
ship. In the shadow of his helmet the small man’s face was
composed and he gave no reason for his return.
Nor did Wilcox ask any more questions. After a minute or two
Mura’s voice sounded in their coms.
“This ship has also been stripped by
looters—”
First the prospector hulk and then this—which must have
been far more rewarding. Survivors of earlier crashes could have
been searching for supplies, for material to make life more
endurable but—Rip had an answer to that line of thought and
he gave it in a single outburst:
“The Survey men were blaster burned!”
Blaster burned! Just as the globe things had been killed in that
valley. Ruthless cruelty of a sort unknown to the civilized space
lanes was in power on Limbo. Then another announcement from Mura
electrified them all.
“This I believe, is the missing Rimbold!”
The Survey ship whose disappearance had indirectly led to
the auction on Naxos, and so their own arrival on Limbo! But how
had it reached here and what had brought it crashing down on this
world? Survey ships, because of the nature of their duty, were as
nearly foolproof as any ships could be. In a hundred years perhaps
two had been lost. Yet the Rimbold, for all of its safety devices
and the drilled know-how of its experienced crew, had been as
luckless as the earlier ships they had discovered.
Dane slid down on the rope, Kosti following him. The sun had
gone under a cloud and there was a spatter of rain on the rocks
about. It was thickening into a drizzle as the steward joined them.
Whatever he had seen within the Rimbold, it had not upset him as
completely as it had Rip and Kosti. Instead he had a thoughtful,
almost puzzled look.
“Does not Van tell a story like this?” he asked
suddenly. “It is one from the old days when ships rode the
sea waves not the star lanes. Then there was said to be a place in
a western ocean of our own Earth where no winds blew and a weed
grew thick, trapping within it the ships of those days so that they
were matted together into a kind of floating land of decay and
death—”
Rip’s attention was caught, Dane saw him nod. “The
Sago—no—the Sargasso Sea!”
“That is so. Here, too, we have something like—a
Sargasso of space which in some way traps ships, bringing them in
to smash against its rocks and be held forever captive. And
whatever it is must have great power. This Survey ship is no
experimental prospector of the early days when calculations were
faulty and engines could easily fail.”
“But,” Wilcox protested, “the Queen made a
routine landing without any trouble at all!”
“Did it occur to you,” Mura said, “that she
might have been permitted to make such a landing—for a
reason—”
That would explain a great many things, but the idea was
chilling. It suggested that the SolarQueen was a pawn in some
one’s game—Rich’s? And that she no longer had any
control over her destiny.
“Let’s get along!” Wilcox shifted his weight
and started limping back to where they had left the crawler.
And from then on they made no more side expeditions hunting
wrecks. There were probably more of them to be found, Dane
suspected. Mura’s idea had taken hold of his imagination—a Sargasso of space, drawing into its clutch wanderers of
the lanes which came into the area of its baleful
influence—whatever that influence could be. Why had the Queen
been able to make a normal landing on a world where other ships
crashed? Was it because they had had Rich and his men on board?
Who and what was Rich?
They splashed through a stream which had been fed by the rain.
It was there that Wilcox pulled up the crawler and spoke: “We
must be getting close to a point opposite the Queen. If we
don’t want to miss her we should get aloft—” He
pointed to the cliffs.
In the end it was decided to make temporary camp with the
crawler for their base, leaving Wilcox and two others there, while
two more in turn climbed the heights and scouted ahead. It was now
past noon and with the coming of night they would be able to move
freely. So they must discover their vantage point before dark.
Rip and Mura made the first scout, but when Shannon came back to
report—since they dared no longer trust to the com-calls
which others might catch—it was to say that the Queen was in
sight but farther ahead.
With caution Wilcox started up the crawler, taking it out of the
valley they had just selected, through the rough edge of the
plains, until he had gained a mile beyond their first proposed
base. Concealed there behind a tall outcrop, he waited for a second
report—and this time Mura made it.
“From there,” he indicated a pinnacle of rock,
“one can see well. The Queen is sealed—and there are
others around her. As yet we have not had a chance to count them or
see their arms—”
Kosti, his fear of the heights still operating to keep him from
climbing, had prowled along on the plain. Now he returned with news
as much to the point as Mura’s.
“There is a place, right up there behind the lookout,
where you can park the crawler and it can’t be seen from any
angle—”
Wilcox headed the machine for that point and the jetman took the astrogator’s place to manoeuvre the crawler into the
confined quarters. While Kosti and Wilcox stayed there, Dane
climbed with Mura up to the spy post where Rip was already
stationed, his back supported by a rock, far-distance glasses to
his eyes as as he faced south, looking out over the burnt-off
land.
There was the sky-pointing needle of the Queen. It was true she
was sealed, the ramp was in, the hatch closed, she might have made
ready for a blast-off. Dane unhooked his own glasses and adjusted
the range until the rocky terrain about the ship’s fins
leaped up at him.
DANE STRAINED TO hear a hint of sound in his helmet phones.
There was a far off click which faded quickly. But it was evident
that Wilcox with his double powered com received more than
that.
The astrogator took one hand from the mike and gestured the
others to come to the stalled crawler. Luckily no drone from the
interference blanketed the air waves. And by some freak the word
“stay” boomed suddenly in Dane’s ears.
Wilcox looked up at them. “We’re not to go back
now—”
“What’s wrong?” Mura’s voice lost none
of its mild tone.
“The Queen’s surrounded—”
“Surrounded!” “By whom?” “What
happened?” the questions came together in a confused
gabble.
“They were fired upon when they tried to leave the ship.
And there’s some reason why they can’t lift.
We’re to keep clear until they can find out what’s
behind it all—”
Mura glanced over his shoulder at the valleys now unveiled as
the mist drifted away in tattered streamers.
“If we cut across the open,” he said slowly,
“we can be seen with ease now that the fog is gone. But
suppose we go back—along the valley mouths, paralleling the
burnt-off country. We should reach a point opposite the Queen, and
then we can climb the heights until we are able to see what is
going on about her—”
Wilcox nodded. “We’re not to try contact by com.
They’re afraid we might be picked up.”
Though the fog had lifted visibility was not good. It must be
well into evening and the astrogator surveyed their present
surroundings with disfavour. It was plain that they could not move
through the rough foothill country in the dark. Their travels must wait until morning. But he did not order them to
find shelter in the city buildings. Mura broke the short silence
first.
“There is the bubble—we could camp there for the
night. I do not think it has been used since it was erected as a
blind.”
They seized upon that thankfully and the crawler made the return
trip to the abandoned camp of the archaeologists. They unsealed the
full door flap, allowing their carrier space to enter. And when
that portal was closed again Dane had a feeling of relief. The
walls enclosing them were Terran made, he had slept in such
shelters before. And that familiarity was in a measure security
against the alien quality of the city without.
The bubble cut off the night winds and they were not too
uncomfortable in spite of the lack of heat. Kosti who had been
wandering about the hollow shell kicked at an inoffensive bit of
rock.
“They could have left the heating unit. That’s
supposed to be part of one of these—”
Rip laughed. “But they didn’t know we were
coming.”
Kosti stared at him, inclined to be affronted, and then he
chuckled.
“No, they did not know. We can’t
complain—” His deep roar of laughter was directed at
himself.
Mura busied himself with duties which were part of his usual
job, collecting their emergency rations and parcelling out to each
one of the tasteless cubes and so many sips from their canteens.
Dane wondered at the steward’s careful measurements. It was
as if Mura did not believe they were going to return to the Queen
in the near future and thought that these limited supplies might
have to last for a long time.
Once they had eaten, they drew together for warmth, stretching
out on the bare floor. Outside the bubble they could hear the moan
of the night winds, rising to a crescendo of weird cries as it
wailed through fissures of the ruins.
Dane’s thoughts were restless. What was wrong with the
Queen? If the ship was besieged why hadn’t she simply lifted
from the landing and set down elsewhere, giving them directions where to join her, or sending out the flitter to pick them up?
What kept the freighter planet bound?
Perhaps the others shared his worries, but there were no
speculations voiced in the dark, no questions asked. Having their
orders they had determined upon a course of action for themselves
and now they were getting what rest they could.
Shortly after dawn the haggard Wilcox sat up and then limped to
the crawler. In the pinched grey light he looked years older and
there was a tight set to his lips as he bent over the machine,
making the adjustments which would leave it on manual control
during the hours to come.
None of them could have been asleep for Wilcox’s action
acted as a signal and they were all on their feet, stretching the
cramp out of arms and legs. Greetings were grunts as they ate what
Mura allowed them. Then they were out in the crispness of the
morning. Streaks of colour heralded the sun they had not seen for
so long and the last of the fog was gone. In the north the
mountains were stark and bare against the sky.
Wilcox pointed the crawler north where the foothill valleys
pushed out in a ragged fringe. There was plenty of cover there and
they could slip east undetected. Of them all the astrogator had the
most difficult job. Here was no smooth path for the crawler. And
within a half mile he had to throttle down to a slow walking pace
or be bounced from his seat.
In the end they separated into two parties. Two of them at time
scouted ahead, while the two remaining stayed with Wilcox and the
crawler at the slower pace. From all signs they might have been
alone in a dead world. No tracks broke the soil, there were no
sounds, and they did not even sight one of the rare insects which
must keep to the more hospitable inner portions of the valleys.
Dane was on advance patrol with Mura when the steward gave a
grunt and raised his hands as if to shade his eyes. Above them the
sun had struck fire from some gleaming surface, struck it strong
enough to flash a burning beam down at the Terrans.
“Metal!” Dane cried. Could this be another clue to
the installation?
He started towards that spot, first clambering with difficulty
over the debris left by a recent slide of small rocks. Then he
pulled himself up on a ledge the slide had uncovered and made his
way to the source of that flash. What he expected he did not really
know. But what he found was wreckage—wreckage of another
space ship—although the outlines were strange, even allowing
for alterations made by the force of its landing. It was smaller
than the prospector they had discovered the day before, and in a
greater state of disintegration, the parts which had been exposed
before the slide brought it all to the surface were only rust-eaten
scraps.
Mura joined him and looked down at the crumpled thing which had
once navigated space.
“This is old—very, very old.” He tried to pick
up a rod shaped bit. Between his fingers it became red dust.
“Old—I do not think a Terran ever flew this
one.”
“A Forerunner ship?” Dane was startled. If that were
true—this was a find—a find which might bring
Survey and its kindred services back to Limbo with all jets
blazing.
“Not that old—or it would not exist. But the
Rigellians and that vanished race of Angol Two were in Galactic
space before we were. This may be an ancient vessel of their
building. It is so very old—”
“What brought it here?” Dane wondered. “That
was a smash landing, and the prospector ended the same way. Then
there was that ship we heard come in before the fog closed down.
Yet the Queen didn’t have any trouble making a good landing.
I don’t get it. One crack up—but
three—?”
“It makes one think,” Mura agreed. “Perhaps we
should look about a bit more. The solution to this puzzle may lie
within sight and sound and yet we are not clever enough to learn
it.”
They waited on the ledge until they could signal to the slowly
advancing party with the crawler. The astrogator took careful
bearings on the site. If and when they had time, they might later
send a party to explore this discovery—since its age and
alien origin might make it of value.
“This reminds me somehow,” Kosti said, “of how
those Sissiti catch the purple lizards they make boots of. They set up
a thing that waggles back and forth—just a thin wire attached
to a motor. But the lizard sees it and—pow—he’s
sunk. Sits there watching that stupid thing wiggle-waggle until a
Sissit comes along and pops him into a bag. Maybe someone’s
set up a wiggle-waggle here to draw in ships—that would be
something!”
Wilcox stared at him. “Could be you have something at
that,” he replied, as he fingered his mike. It was apparent
he longed to report this second find to the Queen. And he had a
suggestion for the scouting parties. “Take a look up these
valleys if you can without wasting too much time. I’d like to
know if there are any more wrecks strewn about in this general
area.”
So from then on, though they continued to work their way east to
flank the Queen, they also made side trips into the valleys for
short distances. And it was Kosti and Rip who found the third
ship.
Where the two other shattered discoveries had been of an earlier
day, this was not only of their own time but a type of craft they
were able to recognize at once. Through some freak its disastrous
ending had not been as bad as those which had telescoped the
prospector and smashed the alien. While the new find lay on its
side showing buckled and broken plates, it was not crushed.
“Survey!” Rip yelled almost before they were within
hearing distance.
There was no reason to mistake the insignia on the battered
nose—the crossed, tailed comets were as well known along the
star trails as the jagged lightning swords of the Patrol.
Wilcox limped forward with the rest as they trailed along its
length.
“The hatch is open—” Rip called down from the
pinnacle he had climbed for a better look.
It was what dangled from that open hatch which centred their
attention. A rope hanging like that could mean only one
thing—that there had been survivors! Was this the
explanation for all the puzzling happenings on Limbo? Dane tried to
remember how many men comprised the crew of a Survey
ship—they usually had a group of specialists—perhaps as many as rode
in the Queen—perhaps more—
Though there was no reason why anyone would have remained in the
wrecked ship, the men from the Queen prepared to explore. Rip
dropped from the pinnacle and balanced across to that hatch. Only
Wilcox had to remain where he was as the others climbed the
rope.
It was a strange experience to lower oneself down a well which
was once a corridor, Dane found. Ahead torches picked out fugitive
gleams from smooth surfaces as the explorers poked into the
cabins.
“She’s been stripped!” Rip’s words rang
in the helmet coms back along the line. “I’m for
control—”
Dane knew very little of the geography of a Survey ship. He
could only follow the others, halting at the first open panel to
peer inside with the aid of his own torch. This must have been the
storage for space suits and exploring gear as it was on the Queen.
But it was empty now—cupboards gaping as if their contents
had been hurriedly ripped loose. Had the crew left the boat in
space before the crash? No, that did not explain the rope.
“Lord above us!” The shock in that cry stopped Dane
where he was. Rip’s voice in the com was so strained,
horrified—what had the other discovered in the
control section?
“What’s the matter?” that was Wilcox,
impatient at being left out.
“Coming—” Kosti’s growl came next.
And a few moments later the jetman’s voice was loud with a
crackle of expletives as shocked as Rip’s exclamation had
been.
“What is it?” fumed Wilcox.
Dane left the storage space and made his way quickly to the
passageway tying together all sections of the ship, which should
lead him directly to what the others had found. Mura was ahead of
him there and he soon caught up with the steward.
“We’ve found them,” Rip’s voice was
bleak and old as he answered the astrogator.
“Found who?” Wilcox wanted to know.
“The crew!”
The passage ahead of Dane was blocked. He could see past Mura,
but Kosti’s bulk and Rip’s shut out what lay beyond.
Then Rip spoke again and Dane hardly knew it for his voice.
“Got—to—get—out—of—here—”
“Yes!” that was Kosti.
Both of them turned and Mura and Dane had to retrace their way
to the hatch, hurried on by the impatience of the two behind them.
They climbed out on the curving side of the ship, giving way to the
others. Rip crawled down towards the fins. He held fast to the
braces of one and proceeded to be thoroughly sick.
Kosti’s face was greenish, but he maintained control with
a visible effort. None of the other three quite dared at that
moment to ask what either man had seen. It wasn’t until Rip,
shivering, crept back and slid down the rope to the ground that
Wilcox lost patience.
“Well, what happened to them?”
“Murder!” Rip’s voice rang too loudly, echoed
by some freak of the stone abutments about them until
“Murrrderrr” was shouted in their ears.
Dane glanced around in time to see Mura descend again into the
ship. In the shadow of his helmet the small man’s face was
composed and he gave no reason for his return.
Nor did Wilcox ask any more questions. After a minute or two
Mura’s voice sounded in their coms.
“This ship has also been stripped by
looters—”
First the prospector hulk and then this—which must have
been far more rewarding. Survivors of earlier crashes could have
been searching for supplies, for material to make life more
endurable but—Rip had an answer to that line of thought and
he gave it in a single outburst:
“The Survey men were blaster burned!”
Blaster burned! Just as the globe things had been killed in that
valley. Ruthless cruelty of a sort unknown to the civilized space
lanes was in power on Limbo. Then another announcement from Mura
electrified them all.
“This I believe, is the missing Rimbold!”
The Survey ship whose disappearance had indirectly led to
the auction on Naxos, and so their own arrival on Limbo! But how
had it reached here and what had brought it crashing down on this
world? Survey ships, because of the nature of their duty, were as
nearly foolproof as any ships could be. In a hundred years perhaps
two had been lost. Yet the Rimbold, for all of its safety devices
and the drilled know-how of its experienced crew, had been as
luckless as the earlier ships they had discovered.
Dane slid down on the rope, Kosti following him. The sun had
gone under a cloud and there was a spatter of rain on the rocks
about. It was thickening into a drizzle as the steward joined them.
Whatever he had seen within the Rimbold, it had not upset him as
completely as it had Rip and Kosti. Instead he had a thoughtful,
almost puzzled look.
“Does not Van tell a story like this?” he asked
suddenly. “It is one from the old days when ships rode the
sea waves not the star lanes. Then there was said to be a place in
a western ocean of our own Earth where no winds blew and a weed
grew thick, trapping within it the ships of those days so that they
were matted together into a kind of floating land of decay and
death—”
Rip’s attention was caught, Dane saw him nod. “The
Sago—no—the Sargasso Sea!”
“That is so. Here, too, we have something like—a
Sargasso of space which in some way traps ships, bringing them in
to smash against its rocks and be held forever captive. And
whatever it is must have great power. This Survey ship is no
experimental prospector of the early days when calculations were
faulty and engines could easily fail.”
“But,” Wilcox protested, “the Queen made a
routine landing without any trouble at all!”
“Did it occur to you,” Mura said, “that she
might have been permitted to make such a landing—for a
reason—”
That would explain a great many things, but the idea was
chilling. It suggested that the SolarQueen was a pawn in some
one’s game—Rich’s? And that she no longer had any
control over her destiny.
“Let’s get along!” Wilcox shifted his weight
and started limping back to where they had left the crawler.
And from then on they made no more side expeditions hunting
wrecks. There were probably more of them to be found, Dane
suspected. Mura’s idea had taken hold of his imagination—a Sargasso of space, drawing into its clutch wanderers of
the lanes which came into the area of its baleful
influence—whatever that influence could be. Why had the Queen
been able to make a normal landing on a world where other ships
crashed? Was it because they had had Rich and his men on board?
Who and what was Rich?
They splashed through a stream which had been fed by the rain.
It was there that Wilcox pulled up the crawler and spoke: “We
must be getting close to a point opposite the Queen. If we
don’t want to miss her we should get aloft—” He
pointed to the cliffs.
In the end it was decided to make temporary camp with the
crawler for their base, leaving Wilcox and two others there, while
two more in turn climbed the heights and scouted ahead. It was now
past noon and with the coming of night they would be able to move
freely. So they must discover their vantage point before dark.
Rip and Mura made the first scout, but when Shannon came back to
report—since they dared no longer trust to the com-calls
which others might catch—it was to say that the Queen was in
sight but farther ahead.
With caution Wilcox started up the crawler, taking it out of the
valley they had just selected, through the rough edge of the
plains, until he had gained a mile beyond their first proposed
base. Concealed there behind a tall outcrop, he waited for a second
report—and this time Mura made it.
“From there,” he indicated a pinnacle of rock,
“one can see well. The Queen is sealed—and there are
others around her. As yet we have not had a chance to count them or
see their arms—”
Kosti, his fear of the heights still operating to keep him from
climbing, had prowled along on the plain. Now he returned with news
as much to the point as Mura’s.
“There is a place, right up there behind the lookout,
where you can park the crawler and it can’t be seen from any
angle—”
Wilcox headed the machine for that point and the jetman took the astrogator’s place to manoeuvre the crawler into the
confined quarters. While Kosti and Wilcox stayed there, Dane
climbed with Mura up to the spy post where Rip was already
stationed, his back supported by a rock, far-distance glasses to
his eyes as as he faced south, looking out over the burnt-off
land.
There was the sky-pointing needle of the Queen. It was true she
was sealed, the ramp was in, the hatch closed, she might have made
ready for a blast-off. Dane unhooked his own glasses and adjusted
the range until the rocky terrain about the ship’s fins
leaped up at him.