Trouble on Titan/Chapter XI
DAYS passed into weeks as the Ark continued her furious rush through space. The asteroid belt presented its hazardous barrier. But Gerry, disdaining to go cautiously above or below, plowed straight through.
It was a hectic stretch, with alarm bells ringing and the ship's lights dimming constantly as the repelling screen took the juice. But the Ark negotiated this cosmic blast and fled onward.
Finally the yellow-green speck that was Earth grew larger, easily visible as a disk to the naked eye. Worry began to seep through the crew as they neared the end of the journey. Despite their tremendous dash, they still had not seen any sign of Professor Erasmus Kurtt.
Had he already returned in triumph? If so, the belated appearance of the Ark, laggard and empty, would result in humiliation beyond endurance. Gerry's hot-headedly taunting speech h a d burned all her bridges. She would be the laughing-stock of the System. Strike finally voiced his doubt.
"Seems to me, Gerry, we should've caught up to Kurtt by now. Maybe he's already home. Or maybe he cracked up somewhere. Maybe we ought to've picked up another dermaphos on Saturn before leaving. Maybe—"
"Maybe you think Kurtt will win this race. I admit he must have pushed along pretty fast to have kept ahead of us this far. You can take my word for it, Tommy. We'll find him utterly helpless, probably revolving around the Moon as a satellite."
Strike gaped stupidly at this calm statement of authority. But his astonishment was nothing compared with the emotions he felt when they came within telescope range of the Moon. They began decelerating with body-wracking speed. They had seen Professor Kurtt's space ship! Its glassed-in section was unmistakable. The ship was spinning futilely about the Moon in a eccentric orbit, elongated by the strong pull of Earth.
Strike turned toward his fiancée, demanding fiercely:
"All right, all right! Never mind the laughs. Explain this, will you? How did you know? What's happened to Kurtt?"
Gerry controlled her delight long enough to elucidate.
"It's so simple, Tommy. It all hinges on one of the first principles of our craft —study your specimens. Kurtt didn't. He let us do all the work, then simply helped himself to a monster he knew nothing about. One thing he didn't know was that the dermaphos needs uranium for its metabolism. He stored away a haphazard mess of vegetation for it to feed on, as we could see when he stole our dermaphos. But only a small percentage was that cabbage-shaped thing with the uranium salts deposits.
"Then he put our dermaphos in the glass showcase of his, where it was exposed to the full sunlight for many days. What happened? Well, the metabolism of the creature, accustomed to a minimum of sunshine, was stepped up tremendously. He became ravenous. He ate up all the vegetation and probably all the other Saturnian specimens in the hold. But a dermaphos can't utilize this food without the catalytic assistance of uranium salts.
"He sensed the presence, probably by its radiation, of the Uranium Two-thirty-five in the nearby fuel hoppers.
I know the construction of the type of ship Kurtt uses. Between the hold and the fuel hoppers, there's only a light door. The dermaphos, growing more active under stimulus of the sunshine, can easily smash it. It doesn't take much Two-thirty-five to operate a rocket ship, so the dermaphos finished it off in a few mouthfuls.
"Kurtt is left with just the fuel remaining in the firing chambers and feeder tubes, not enough to decelerate for a landing on Earth. The best he can possibly do is fall into a braking orbit around the Moon, ultimately swinging around it as a satellite."
STRIKE stared at Gerry in exasperation, resenting her omniscience. Yet she was apparently correct. If so, it was certainly a huge joke. He began to chuckle. "So that's why you laughed when he took our dermaphos! Well, I hope you're right, smartie."
There was excitement when the Ark finally drifted past the Moon toward Kurtt's helpless ship. Several private yachts and little sputtering spaceabouts were circling around like crows after a hawk. The space taxis traveling from Hollywood on the Moon to the big bloated gambling ships detoured so their passengers could get a look at the phenomenon.
They all scattered wildly as the mighty Ark eased into position beside Kurtt's rocket.
"Kurtt will be having conniptions about now," Gerry said. "He can't win the race unless he returns under his own power, and he can't do that unless he has someone bring him extra fuel. That, of course, would be contrary to the terms of the contest."
Deftly she maneuvered alongside the glassed-in hold. It was empty of life, animal or vegetable. She had been right about the appetite of the dermaphos. Presently Professor Kurtt himself appeared at one of the forward portholes. He stared at the Ark like a murderer who looks upon the ghost of his victim. Stark terror bulged his eyeballs. Gerry motioned vigorously for him to go to the ravaged hold and arrange for the crew of the Ark to make contact there.
Kurtt refused in pantomime. Gerry casually pushed the button which automatically slid the proton cannon from the concealed ports. In full view, they pointed directly at the hull of Kurtt's ship. Kurtt grudgingly obeyed. He appeared in a pressure suit and assisted his men in joining the two ships by the contact tube. Gerry led her crew into Kurtt's ship. Fully dressed in pressure suits, they entirely ignored the ugly looks and mutterings from Kurtt's men. She found her dermaphos in the fuel compartment.
Promptly she gas-bombed it into a coma, strapped the gravity plates around it, and transferred it to the Ark. The pressure there had once again been built up to resemble Saturnian conditions.
Then she peremptorily ordered Professor Erasmus Kurtt to come at once to the control room of the Ark. Kurtt came reluctantly, shucking off his pressure suit at Gerry's command. The girl and Strike stood staring at him balefully in silence. Kurtt grew visibly more nervous by the moment.
"You're taller than I am," Tommy said at last. "Almost as heavy. It'll be a fairly even match."
Kurtt gulped and whined a feeble protest. Gerry cut him short.
"Just a question or two, Professor. You have any objections to our reclaiming our dermaphos? Laws of salvage, you know."
Her voice was bittersweet, but Kurtt shook his head in mute fright. "Do these jackals"—she waved at the bunch of curiosity-seekers hovering about—"know anything what happened? Could they have seen the dermaphos ? Have you communicated with anyone since you ran out of fuel?"
"N-no. No one knows anything. I was t-trying to f-figure out a way to get t-to Earth."
The girl smiled in complacent satisfaction.
"That fortunate circumstance may save you a lot of grief. We might not even have to air this matter in a court of law. And now, Tommy? I think the rest of this case is in your department."
TOMMY escorted Kurtt into another room and closed the door. Faintly his words came through the door.
"You deliberately wrecked our ship in mid-space, stole the fruits of our labor, and calmly left us to die. Don't get the idea that we don't like you, Kurtt. We just think you're a louse. This'll hurt you more than it hurts me—"
There was the sound of a hard fist striking bone. Then there was tumult. Gerry cocked an ear critically and turned to the visiphone to put in a call to Hollywood on the Moon. Von Zorn was not there, but the call was transferred to the California offices. Presently the simian features of the great Von Zorn—the little Napoleon of the film industry—glowered from the telescreen.
"So it's you!" he snapped, staring at her under lowered brows. "From the reports I been getting of such excitement at the Moon, I should've guessed as much."
"Don't you want to know what happened?" asked Gerry with suspicious sweetness.
"All right. So what goes on? Where's that dog, Kurtt?"
Carefully sparing no single detail, Gerry told the story of Kurtt's dastardly trick. Throughout the recital, Von Zorn's face turned crimson, then pasty white, then a peculiar shade of puce.
"Lord!" he groaned, fully realizing what it might mean to him if the murderous behavior of his candidate became known to the public. "I—I—So help me, I didn't authorize him to do any such thing as that. With me, it was supposed to be just a race, on the square. Honest!"
Gerry sadistically enjoyed the spectacle of Von Zorn squirming and perspiring. Then she said regretfully:
"Yes, I know it was just Kurtt's idea."
The relief on the man's face was comical.
"Well, then," he barked, "I give up Kurtt. Of him I wash my hands. Absolutely—"
"Ah, ah. Not so fast. I know you don't play dirty, but does the world know it?"
Von Zorn's complexion was in a constant state of flux. Now it became pale again.
"But—but you wouldn't break that story when it would ruin me unjustly! Come, now. I know you better than that. You're too much of a lady!"
"I am not. And only one thing will prevent me from telling the whole story. I'll let you have an armistice on my terms."
"Why—why that's blackmail!"
"It is, isn't it?" she agreed pleasantly. "Are you going to pay?"
"Okay," Von Zorn groaned. "So what's the price?"
"A huge banquet in my honor tomorrow night. Tommy, the crew and I are to be guests of honor. You will be the host."
Von Zorn buried his face in his hands at the thought of this humiliation. "There must be flowers, motion picture celebrities, and newscasters," Gerry continued remorselessly. "The speech of the evening will be made by you, eating humble-pie. You will stress the fact that not only have I brought home the dermaphos, but also your entry in the competition. I am bringing back Erasmus Kurtt—"
She turned as the door opened and Tommy Strike entered. He was slightly bruised. Behind him he dragged a shapeless bundle, which he laid at Gerry's feet with the proud expression of a cat bringing something for its young. She examined the repulsive thing briefly.
"Yes." Gerry turned back to the telescreen. "We're bringing Kurtt back alive."
Von Zorn moaned in protest.
"I can't do it. It ain't human. It's cruel."
Gerry was adamant.
"Yes or no? After all, I'm letting you down plenty easy."
Von Zorn braced himself visibly. "All right. This once maybe I can do it. But if it kills me from shame, I'd hate to live with your conscience."
GERRY CARLYLE and Von Zorn traded long, silent looks over thousands of miles of space, via the visiphone. Slowly Gerry smiled. "You're a pretty good loser, at that," she said.
Von Zorn grimaced, remembering what Gerry could have done to him if she had been at all vindictive.
"And you're not such a bad winner. But this is only one round. I ain't lost yet. Next time, maybe, huh?"
Gerry smiled with scornful superiority.
"Just keep on swinging, little man. Some day you'll learn you're fighting out of your class. Well, see you tomorrow night." She snapped the screen to darkness and turned to Strike. "And that is that."
"Not quite," contradicted Strike.
"Have you forgotten the proper fadeout to every melodrama, after the forces of evil have been defeated and the villain properly thrashed?"
Gerry smiled tantalizingly. Tommy shoved the battered Kurtt aside with one foot and seized his fiancée. There was a struggle, but it was quite brief. It ended in a well known gesture of mutual affection between the male and the female of the human species.