 Chapter 28 of Briggins of the Moon. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Briggins of the Moon by Ray Cummings. Chapter 28 The broken shaggy ramparts of the giant crater rose above us. We toiled upward, out of the foothills, hanging now to the crags and pitted terraces of the main ascent. An hour had passed since we turned from the borders of Mar Imbrium, or was it two hours? I could not tell. I only know that we ran with desperate frantic haste. Anita would not admit that she was tired. She was more skilful than I in this leaping over the broken rock masses, yet I felt that her slight strength must give out. It seemed miles up the undulating slopes of the foothills, the broken white ramparts of the crater close before us. And then the main ascent. There were places where, like smooth black frozen ice, the walls rose sheer. We avoided them, toiling aside, plunging into gullies, crossing pits where sometimes, perforce, we went downwards and then up again, or sometimes we stood, hot and breathless upon ledges, recovering our strength, selecting the best route upward. In tumbled mass of rock, honeycombed everywhere with caves and passages, leading into impenetrable darkness. There were pits into which we might so easily have fallen, ravines to span, sometimes with a leap, sometimes by a long and arduous detour. Endless climb. We came to the ledge with the plains of the Mar Imbrium stretching out beneath us. We might have been upon this main ascent for an hour. The plains were far down, the broken surface down there is smooth now by the perspective of height. And yet, still above us, the brooding circular wall went up into the sky, 10,000 feet above us. You're tired, Anita. We'd better stay here. No, if we could only get to the top, the ship may land on the other side. They would see us. There was as yet no sign of the brigandship, with every stop for rest, we searched the starry vault. The earth hung over us, flattened beyond the fold. The stars blazed to mingle with the earth light and illuminate these massive crags of the Archimedes walls. But no speck appeared to tell us that the ship was up there. We were on the curving side of the Archimedes wall, which fronted the Mar Imbrium to the north. The plains lay like a great frozen sea, and gild ripples shining in the light of the earth, with dark patches to mark the hollows. Somewhere down there, 6 or 8,000 feet below us now, Miko's encampment lay concealed. We searched for lights of it, but could see none. Had Miko rejoined his party, left his camp, and come here like ourselves to climb Archimedes? Or was our assumption wholly wrong? Perhaps the brigandship would not land near here at all. Sweeping around the Mar Imbrium, the plains were less smooth. The little crater which concealed the grant-line camp was off in the crater-scarred region beyond which the distant Epidines raised their terraced walls. There was nothing to mark it from here. Greg, do you see anything up there? She added, there seems to be a blur. Her sight, sharper than mine, had picked it out. The descending brigandship. A faintest, tiny blur against the stars. A few of them occulted as though an invisible shadow were upon them. A growing shadow, materializing into a blur, a blob, a shape faintly defined, then sharper until we were sure of what we saw. It was the brigandship. It was dropping slowly, silently down. We crouched on the little ledge. A cave mouth was behind us. A gully was beside us. A break in the ledge. And at our feet, the sheer wall dropped. We had extinguished our lights. We crouched, silently gazing up into the stars. The ship, when we first distinguished it, was centered over Archimedes. We thought for a while that it might descend into the crater, but it did not. It came sailing forward. I whispered into the audio phone. It's coming over the crater. Her hand pressed my arm and answered. I recalled that when, from the planetara, Miko had forced Snap to signal this brigand band on Mars. Miko's only information as to the whereabouts of the grant-line camp was that it lay between Archimedes and the Apennines. The brigands now were following that information. A tense interval passed. We could see the ship plainly above us now. A gray-black shape among the stars, up beyond the shaggy tower and crater rim. A vessel came upon a level keel held down, slowly circling, looking for Miko's signal, no doubt, or for possible lights from grant-line's camp. They might also be picking a landing place. We saw it soon as a cylindrical, cigar-like shape, rather smaller than the planetara, but similar of design. It bore lights now. The ports of its hull were tiny rows of illumination and the glow of light under its rounding upper dome was visible. A bandit ship, no doubt of that. Its identification keel plate was empty of official passcode lights. These brigands had not attempted to secure official sailing lights when leaving Farak-Shan. It was unmistakably an outlaw ship. And here upon the deserted moon, there was no need for secrecy. Its lights were openly displayed, that Miko might see it and join it. It went slowly past us, 2000 feet higher than our level. We could see the whole outline of its pointed cylinder hull with the rounded dome on top. And under the dome was its open deck with a little cabin superstructure in the center. I thought for a moment that by some unfortunate chance, it might land quite near us. But it went past, and then I saw that it was heading for a level plateau-like surface a few miles further on. It dropped, cautiously floating down. There was still no sign of Miko, but I realized that haste was necessary. We must be the first to join the brigandship. I lifted Anita to her feet. I don't think we should signal from here. No, Miko might see it. We could not tell where he was. Down on the plains perhaps, or up here, somewhere in these miles of towering rocks. Are you ready, Anita? Yes, Greg. I stared through the visors at her white, solemn face. Yes, I'm ready, she repeated. Her hand pressure seemed to me suddenly like a farewell. We were plunging rashly into what was destined to mean our death. Was this a farewell? An instinct told me not to do this thing. Why, in a few hours, I could have Anita back to the comparative safety of the grant-line camp. The exit ports would doubtless be repaired by now. I could get her inside. She had bounded away from me, leaped down some 30 feet into the broken gully to cross it, and then up on the other side. I stood for an instant, watching her fantastic shape, with the great rounded, goggled, trunked helmet, and the lump on her shoulders, which held the little errands motors. Then I hurried after her. It did not take us long, two or three miles of circling along the giant wall. We lay only a few hundred feet above our level. We stood at last on a butelike pinnacle. The lights of the ship were close over us, and there were moving lights up there, tiny moving spots on the adjacent rocks. The brigands had come out, prowling about to investigate their location. No signal yet from Miko, but it might come at any moment. I'll flash now, I whispered. Yes. The brigands had probably not seen us. I took the lamp from my helmet. My hand was trembling. Suppose my signal were answered by a shot, a flash from some giant projector mounted on the ship. Anita crouched behind a rock as she had promised. I stood with my torch and flung its switch. My puny light beam shot up. I waved it, touched the ship with its faint glowing circle of illumination. They saw me. There was a sudden movement among the lights up there. I semaphore. I am from Miko. Do not fire. I used open universal code, in Martian first, and then in English. There was no answer, but no attack. I tried again. This is Helgen, one of the planetara. George Prince's sister is with me. There has been disaster to Miko. A small light beam came down from the brink of the overhead cliff beside the ship. Continue. I went steadily on. Disaster, the planetara, is wrecked. All killed but me and Prince's sister. We want to join you. I flashed off my light. The answer came. Where is the grant-line camp? Near here, the Mar Imbrium. As though to answer my lie, from down on the Earthlet Plains, some ten miles or so from the crater base, a tiny signal light shot up. Anita saw it and gripped me. There is Miko's light. It spelled in Martian. Come down, land Mar Imbrium. Miko had seen the signaling up here and had joined it. He repeated, land Mar Imbrium. I flashed a protest up to the ship. Beware, that is grant-line. Trickery. From the ship the summons came. Come up. We had won this first encounter. Miko must have realized his disadvantage. His distant light went out. Come, Anita. There was no retreat now, but again I seemed to feel in the pressure of her hand that vague farewell, her voice whispered. We must do our best. Act our best to be convincing. In the white glow of a search beam we climbed the crags, reached the broad upper ledge, helmeted figures rushed at us, searched us for weapons, seized our helmet lights. The evil face of a giant Martian peered at me through the visors. Two other monstrous towering figures seized Anita. We were shoved toward the port locks at the base of the ship's hull. Above the hull bulge I could see the grids of projectors on the dome side, and the figures of men standing on the deck, peering down at us. We went through the admission locks into a hull corridor, up an inclined passage, and reached the lighted deck. The Martian brigands crowded around us. End of Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Of Brigands of the Moon This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Brigands of the Moon by Ray Cummings Chapter 29 Anita's words echoed in my memory. We must do our best to be convincing. It was not her ability that I doubted as much as my own. She had played the part of George Prince cleverly, unmasked only by an evil chance. I steeled myself to face the searching glances of the brigands as they shoved us around us. This was a desperate game into which we had plunged. For all our acting, how easy it would be for some small chance thing abruptly to undo us. I realized it, and now as I gazed into the peering faces of these men from Mars, I cursed myself for the witless rashness which had brought Anita into this. The brigands, some 10 or 15 of them here on deck, stood in a ring around us. They were all big men, nearly of a 7 foot average, dressed in leather jerkens and short leather breeches, with bare knees and flaring leather boots. Paradical swaggering fellows, knife blades mingled with small hand projectors, fastened to their belts. Grey heavy faces, some with scraggly, unshaven beards, they plucked at us, jabbering in Martian. One of them seemed the leader. I said sharply, you speak earth English? Yes, he said readily. I am commander here. He spoke English with the same freedom and accent as Miko. Is this George Prince's sister? Yes, her name is Anita Prince. Tell your men to take their hands off her. He waved his men away. They all seemed more interested in Anita than in me. He added, I am set potent. He addressed Anita. George Prince's sister? You are called Anita? I have heard of you. I knew your brother. Indeed, you look very much like him. He swept his plumed hat to the grid with a swaggering gesture of homage. A courtier like fellow this, debonair as a Venus Cavalier. He accepted us. I realized that Anita's presence was extremely valuable in making us convincing. Yet there was about this potent, as with Miko, a disturbing suggestion of irony. I could not make him out. I decided that we had fooled him. Then I remarked the steely glitter of his eyes as he turned to me. You were an officer of the planetara? The insignia of my rank was visible on my white jacket collar which showed beneath the errand suit now that my helmet was off. Yes, I was supposed to be, but a year ago I embarked upon this adventure with Miko. He was leading us to his cabin. The planetara wrecked, Miko dead, and Hanon Coniston, George Prince II. We are the only survivors. While we divested ourselves of the errand suits, at his command, I told him briefly of the planetara's fall. All had been killed on board, save Anita and me. We had escaped, awaiting his coming. The treasure was here. We had located the grant mine camp and were ready to lead him to it. Did he believe me? He listened quietly. He seemed not shocked at the death of his comrades, nor yet pleased, merely imperturbable. I added with a sly, side-long glance. There were too many of us on the planetara. The purser had joined us and there was Miko's sister, the Seta Moa, too many. The treasure divides better among less. An amused smile played on his thin gray lips. But he nodded. The fear which had leaped at me was allayed by his next words. True enough, Haljin, he was a domineering fellow, Miko. A third of it all was for him alone. But now, the third would go to this sub-leader and the implication was obvious. I said, Before we go any further, I can trust you for my share? Of course. I figured that my very boldness and bargaining so prematurely would convince him. I insisted. Miss Prince will have her brother's share. Clever Anita, she put in swiftly. Oh, I give no information until you promise. We know the location of the grant mine camp, the defenses, the amount and location of the treasure. I warn you, if you do not play us fair, he laughed heartily. He seemed to like us. He spread his huge legs as he lounged in his saddle and drank of the bowl, which one of his men set before him. Little Tigris, fear me not. I play fair. He pushed two of the bowls across the table. Drink, Haljin. All is well with us, and I am glad to know it. Miss Prince, drink my health as your leader. I waved it away from Anita. We need all our wits. Your strong Martian drinks are dangerous. Look here. I'll tell you just how the situation stands. I plunged into a glib account of our supposed wanderings to find the grant mine camp. Its location off the Mar Imbrium, hidden in a cavern there. Potin, with the drink and under the gaze of Anita's eyes, was in high good humor. He laughed when I told him that we had dared to invade the grant mine camp. Had smashed its exit ports. Had even got up to have a look where the treasure was piled. Well done, Haljin. You're a fellow to my liking. But his gaze was on Anita. You dress like a man or a charming boy. She still wore the dark clothes of her brother. She said, I am used to action. Man's garb pleases me. You shall treat me like a man and give me my share of gold leaf. He had already demanded the reason for the signal from the Mar Imbrium, Miko's signal. It had not come again, though any moment I feared it. I told him that grant mine doubtless had repaired his damaged ports and sallied out to assail me in reprisal. And seeing the brigandship landing on Archimedes, had tried to lure him into a trap. I wondered if my explanation was convincing. It did not sound so. But he was flushed now with drink. And Anita added, grant mine knows the territory near his camp very well, but he is equipped only for short range fighting. I took it up. It's like this, Poten. If he could get you to land unsuspectingly near his cavern, I pictured how grant mine might have figured back upon the ship. It was his only chance to catch it unprepared. We were all three in friendly, intimate mood now. Poten said, we'll land down there all right enough, but I need a few hours for my assembling. He will not dare advance, I said. Anita put in, smiling, he knows by now that we have unmasked his lure. Algern and I, joining you, that silenced him. His light went out very promptly, didn't it? She flashed me a side gaze. Were we acting convincingly? But if Miko started up his signals again, they might so quickly betray us. Anita's thoughts were upon that, before she added, grant mine will not dare show his light. If he does, said Poten, we can blast him from here with a ray, can't we? Yes, Poten agreed. If he comes within 10 miles, I have one powerful enough. We are assembling it now. And we have 30 men, Anita persisted, when we sail down to attack him, it should not be difficult to kill all the grant mine party. By heaven, Halgen, this girl of yours is small, but very blood thirsty. And I'm glad Miko is dead, Anita added. I explained, that accursed Miko murdered her brother. Acting, and never once did we dare relax if only Miko's signal would hold off and give us time. We may have talked for half an hour. We were in a small steel line cubby located in the forward deck of the ship. The dome was over it, I could see from where I sat at the table, that there was a forward observatory tower under the dome, quite near here. The ship was laid out in rather similar fashion to the planetara, preferably smaller. Poten had dismissed his men from the cubby so as to be alone with us. Out on the deck I could see them dragging apparatus about, bringing the mechanisms of giant projectors up from below, and beginning to assemble them. Occasionally some of the men would come to our cubby windows to peer in curiously. My mind was roaming as I talked. For all my manner of casualness, I knew that haste was necessary. Whatever Anita and I were to do must be quickly done. But to win this fellow's utter confidence first was necessary, so that we might have the freedom of the ship might move about unnoticed, unwatched. I was horribly tense inside. Through the dome windows across the deck from the cubby, the rocks of the lunar landscape were visible. I could see the brink of this ledge upon which the ship lay, the descending crags down the precipitous to the earth-lit plains far below. Miko, Moa and a few of the planetara's crew were down there somewhere. Anita and I had a fairly definite plan. We are now in Poten's confidence. This interview at an end I felt that our status among the brigands would be established. We would be free to move about the ship join in its activities. It ought to be possible to locate the signal room, get friendly with the operator there. Perhaps we could find a secret opportunity to flash a signal to earth. This ship I was confident would have the power for a long-range signal if not of two sustained a lane. It would be a desperate thing to attempt, but our whole procedure was desperate. Anita could lure the duty man from the signal room. I might send a single flash or two that would reach the earth. Just a distress signal signed grant line. I would do that and not get caught. Anita was engaging Poten in talking of his plans. The brigand leader was boasting of them, of his well-equipped ship, the daring of his men and questioning her about the size of the treasure. My thoughts were free to roam. While we were making friends with this brigand, the longest range electronic projector was being assembled. Miko could then flash his signal and be damned to him. I would be on the deck with that projector. Its operator and I would turn it upon Miko. One flash of it and he and his little band would be wiped out. But there was our escape to be thought of. We could not remain very long with these brigands. We could tell them that the grant line camp was on the Mar Imbrium. It would delay them for a time, but our lie would soon be discovered. We must escape from them, get away and back to grant lines. With Miko dead, a distress signal to Earth and Poten in ignorance of grant lines location, the treasure would be safe until help arrived from Earth. By the infernal little Anita, you look like a dove, but you're a Tigris, a comrade after my own heart. Bloodthirsty as a fire worshiper. Her laugh rang out to mingle with his. Oh no, set Poten. I am treasurethirsty. We'll get the treasure, never fear, little Anita. With you to lead us, I'm sure we will. A man entered the cubby. Poten looked frowningly around. What is it, Argel? The fellow answered in Martian, leered at Anita and withdrew. Poten stood up. I noticed that he was unsteady with the drink. They want me with the work at the projectors. Go ahead, I said. He nodded. We were comrades now. Amuse yourself, Halgen, or come out on deck, if you wish. I will tell my men you are one of us. And tell them to keep their hands off, Miss Prince. He stared at me. I had not thought of that, a woman among so many men. His own gaze at Anita was as offensive as any of his men could have given. He said, have no fear, little Tigris. Anita laughed. I'm afraid of nothing. I had lurched from the cabin she touched me. Smiled with her managed swagger. For fear we were still observed. And murmured, oh, Greg, I am afraid. We stayed in the cubby a few moments, whispering and planning. You think the signal room is in the tower, Greg? This tower outside our window here? Yes, I think so. Shall we go out and see? Yes, keep near me always. Oh, Greg, I will. We deposited our errands suits carefully in the corner of the cubby. We might need them so suddenly. Then we swaggered out to join the brigands working on the deck. End of Chapter 29 Chapter 30 of Brigands of the Moon This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Brigands of the Moon by Ray Cummings Chapter 30 The deck glowed lurid in the queer bluish-green glare of Martian electrophuse lights. It was in a bustle of ordered activity. Some twenty of the crew were scattered about working in little groups. Apparatus was being brought up from below to be assembled. There was a pile of errands suits and helmets of Martian pattern, but still very similar to those with which Grantline's expedition was equipped. There were giant projectors of several kinds, some familiar to me, of a fashion I had never seen before. It seemed there were six or eight of them, still dismantled, with a litter of their attendant batteries and coils and tube amplifiers. They were to be mounted here on the deck, I surmised. I saw, on the dome side, one or two of them already rolled into position. Anita and I stood outside Poulton's cubby, gazing around us curiously. The men looked at us, but none of them spoke. Let's watch from here a moment. I whispered. She nodded, standing with her hand on my arm. I felt that we were very small here in the midst of these seven-foot Martian men. I was all in white, the costume used in the warm interior of Grantline's camp, bare-headed, white silk planetaria uniformed jacket, broad belt and tight lace trousers. Anita was a slim black figure beside me, somber as Hamlet, with her pale, boyish face and wavy black hair. The gravity being maintained here on the ship, we had found to be stronger than that of the moon and rather more like Mars. There are the heat rays, Greg. A pile of them was visible down the deck length. And I saw caskets of fragile glass globes, balms of different styles, hand projectors of the paralyzing ray, search beams of several varieties, the Benson curve light and a few side-arms of ancient earth design, swords and dirks and small bullet projectors. There seemed to be some mining equipment also. Far along the deck beyond the central cabin in the open space of the stern, steel rails were stacked. Half a dozen tiny-wield ore-cotts, a tiny motor-engine of forhauling them and what looked as though it might be the dismembered sections of an ore-shoot. The whole deck was presently strewn with this mass of equipment. Potin moved about directing the different groups of workers. The news had spread that we knew of the location of the treasure. The brigands were jubilant in a few hours the ship's armament would be ready and it would advance. I saw many glances cast out the dome-side windows toward the distant plains of the Mare Imbrium. The brigands believed that the grant-line camp lay in that direction. Anita whispered, which is their giant electronic projector, Greg? I could see it amidst ships of the deck. It was already in place. Potin was there now super-intending the men who were connecting it, the most powerful weapon on the ship. It had, Potin said, an effective range of some ten miles. I wondered what it would do to a grant-line building. The errant's double walls would withstand it for a time, I was sure. But it would blast an errant's fabric suit. No doubt of that. Like a lightning bolt would kill its flashing free stream of electrons shocking the heart bringing instant death. I whispered, we must smash that before we leave. But first, turn it on Miko if he signals now. I was tensely watchful for that signal. The electronic projector obviously was not ready. But when it was connected I must be near it to persuade its duty-man to fire it on Miko. With this done we would have more time to plan our other tasks. I did not think Potin would be ready for his attack before another time of sleep here in the ship's routine. Things would be quieter then. I would watch my chance to send a signal to Earth, and then we would escape. My thoughts roving. We had been standing quietly at the cubby door for about fifteen minutes. My hand and my side-pouch clutched the little bullet projector. The brigands had taken it from me and given it to Potin. He had placed it on the saddle with my errant's suit. And when we gained his confidence he had forgotten it and left it there. I had it now, and the feel of its cool sleek handle gave me a measure of comfort. I was determined to sell my life as dearly as possible. And a vague thought was in my mind. I must not use the last bullet. That would be for Anita. That electronic projector's remote controlled look, Anita. That's the signal room over us. The giant projector will be aimed and fired from up there. A thirty-foot skeleton tower stood on the deck near us with a spiral ladder leading up to a small square steel cubby at the top. We could see instrument panels. A single motion was up there. He had called down to Potin concerning the electronic projector. The roof of this little tower room was close under the dome, a space of no more than four feet. A pressure lock exit in the dome was up there with a few steps leading up to it from the roof of the tower signal room. We could escape that way, perhaps. In the event of dire necessity it might be possible, but only as a desperate resort, a big dome with a sheer hundred feet or more down its sleek bulging exterior side and down the outside bulge of the ship's hull to the rocks below. There might be a spider ladder outside leading downward, but I saw no evidence of it. If Anita and I were forced to escape that way, I wondered how we could manage at a hundred foot jump to the rocks and land safely. Even with the slight gravity of the moon it would be a dangerous fall. You are Greg Halogen. I stared as one of the brigands to me. Yes. Commander Potin tells me you were the chief navigator of the planet Terra. Yes. You shall pilot us when we advance upon the grant-line camp. I am Control Commander here. Brotow, my name. He smiled, a giant fellow but spindly. He spoke good English. He seemed anxious to be friendly. We are glad to have you and George Prince's sister with us. He shot Anita an admiring glance. I will show you our controls, Halogen. All right, I said. Whatever I can do to help. But not now. I will be some hours before we are ready. I nodded and he wandered away. I need a whispered. Did he mean that signal room up in the tower? Oh, Greg, maybe it's only the control room. Suppose we go up and see. Miko's signals might start any minute. An electronic projector seemed about ready. It was time for me to act. But our reluctant instinct was upon me. Our errant suits were close behind us in Putin's cubby. I hated to leave them. If anything happened and we had to make a sudden dash, there would be no time to gov ourselves in the suits to adjust the helmets would be bad enough. I whispered swiftly. We must get into our suits. Find some pretexts. I drew her back through the cubby doorway where we would be more secluded. Anita, listen. I've been a fool not to plan our escape more carefully. We're in too great a danger here. Suddenly it seemed to me that we were in desperate plight was it a premonition? Anita, listen. If anything happens and we have to make a dash. Up through that dome-lock, Greg, it's a manual control. You can see the levers. Yes, it's a manual. But once up there how would we get down? She was far calmer than I. There may be an outside ladder, Greg. I don't think so. I haven't seen it. Then we can get out the way they brought us in, the hull port. Yes, I think I can find our way down through the hull corridors. There are guards outside on the rocks. We had seen them through the dome windows. But there were not many, only two or three. I was armed and a surprise rush would do the trick. We dawned our errant suits. What will we do with the helmets? Demanded Anita. Leave them here? No, take them with us. I'm not going to get separated from them. We'll exchange going up to that signal room equipped like this. I can't help it, Anita. We'll explain it somehow. She stood before me, a queer-looking little figure in the now deflated, bagging suit with her slim neck and head protruding above it. Carry your helmet, Anita. I'll take mine. We could adjust the helmets and start the motors all within a few seconds. I'm ready, Greg. Come on, then. Let me go first. I had the bullet projector in an outer pouch of the suit where I could instantly reach it. This was more rational. We had a fighting chance now. The fear which had swept me began to recede. We'll climb the tower to the signal room," I whispered. Do it boldly. We stepped from the cubby. Poltan was not in sight. Perhaps he was on the further deck beyond the central cabin structure. On the deck we were immediately accosted. This was different. Our appearance in the errant suits. Where are you going?" This fellow spoke in Martian. I answered in English, up there. He stood before us, towering over me. I saw a group of nearby workers stop to regard us in a moment we would be causing a commotion, and it was the last thing I desired. I said in Martian, Commander Poltan told me what I wish I can do. From the dome we look around to see where is the grant-line camp from here. I am pilot of the ship to go there. The man who called himself Pro-Tow passed near us, I appealed to him. Put on our suits after our experience we feel safer that way, if I'm to pilot the ship. He hesitated, his glance sweeping the deck as though to ask Poltan. Someone said in Martian, the Commander is down in the stern storeroom. It decided, Pro-Tow. He waved away the Martian who had stopped me. Let them pass. Anita and I gave him our most friendly smiles. Thanks. He bowed to Anita with a sweeping gesture. I will show you over the control room presently. His gaze went to the peak of the bow. The little hooded cubby there was the control room then. Satisfaction swept me. Then above us in the tower must surely be the signal room. Would Pro-Tow follow us up? I hope not. I wanted to be alone with the duty man up there, giving me a chance to get at the projector controls if Miko's signal should come. I drew Anita past Pro-Tow, who had stood aside. Thanks, I repeated. We won't be long. End of Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Of Brigands of the Moon This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Cheryl Martin. Brigands of the Moon By Ray Cummings Chapter 31 Hurry, Anita! I feared that Potan might come up from the hull at any moment and stop us. The duty man over us gazed down, his huge head and shoulders blocking the small signal room window. Pro-Tow called up in Martian, telling him to let us come. He scowled, but when he reached the trap in the room floor grid, we found him standing aside to admit us. I flung a swift glance around. It was a metallic cubby, not much over fifteen feet square, with an eight-foot arched ceiling. There were instrument panels. The range finder for the giant projector was here. Its telescope with the trajectory apparatus and the firing switch were unmistakable, and the signaling apparatus was here. Not a Martian set, but a fully powered bot's ultraviolet sender with its attendant receiving mirrors. The Planetera had used the bot system, so I was thoroughly familiar with it. I saw, too, what seemed to be weapons, a row of small fragile glass globes hanging on clips along the wall, bombs, each the size of a man's fist, and a broad belt with bombs in its padded compartments. My heart was pounding as my first quick glance took in these details. I saw also that the room had four small oval window openings. They were breast-high above the floor. From the deck below, I knew that the angle of vision was such that the men down there could not see into this room except to glimpse its upper portion near the ceiling, and the helioset was banked on a low table near the floor. In a corner of the room, a small ladder led through a ceiling trap to the cubby roof. This upper trap was open. Four feet above the room's roof was the arch of the dome, with the entrance to the exit lock directly above us. The weapons and the belt of bombs were near the ascending ladder, evidently placed here as equipment for use from the top of the dome. I turned to the solitary duty man. I must gain his confidence at once. Anita had laid her helmet aside. She spoke first. We were with set Miko, she said, smiling, in the wreck of the planterra. You heard of it? We know where the treasure is. This duty man was a full seven feet tall, the most heavy set Martian I had ever seen. A tremendous, beetle-browed, scowling fellow. He stood with hands on his hips, his leather-garbed legs spread wide, and as I confronted him I felt like a child. He was silent, glaring down at me as I drew his attention from Anita. You speak English? I asked. We're not skilled with Martian. I wondered if at the next time of sleep this fellow would be on duty here. I hoped not. It would not be easy to trick him and find an opportunity to flash a signal. But that task was some hours away as yet. I would worry about it when the time came. Just now I was concerned with Miko and his little band, who at any moment might arrive in sight. If we could persuade this duty man to turn the projector on them. He answered me in ready English. You are the man Greg Haljan, and this is the sister of George Prince. What do you want up here? I am a navigator. Brotow wants me to pilot the ship when we advance to attack Grantline. This is not the control room. No, I know it isn't. I put my helmet carefully on the floor beside Anita's. I straightened to find the brigand glazing at her. He did not speak. He was still scowling, but in the dim blue glow of the cubby I caught the look in his eyes. I said hastily, he has landed here in Archimedes. His camp is off there on the Mare Imbrium. He sent up a signal. You saw it, didn't you? Just before Miss Prince and I came aboard, he was trying to pretend he was your earth party, Miko and Coniston. Why? The fellow turned his scowl on me, but Anita brought his gaze back to her. She put in quickly. Grantline, as Brother always said, has no great cunning. I believe now he plans to creep up on us unawares by pretending that he is Miko. If he does that, I said, we will turn this electronic projector on him and his party and annihilate them. You have its firing mechanism here. Who told you so? He shot at me. I gestured. I see it here. It's obvious. I'm skilled at trajectory firing. If Grantline appears down there now, I'll help you. Is it connected? Anita demanded boldly. Yes, he said. You have on your errant suits. Are you going to the dome roof? Then go. But that was what we did not want to do. Anita's glance seemed to tell me to let her handle this. I turned toward one of the cubby windows. She said sweetly, are you in charge of this room? Show me how the projector is operated. I know it will be invincible against the Grantline camp. I had my back to them for a moment. Through the breast high oval, I could see down across the deck space and out through the side dome windows. And my heart suddenly leaped into my throat. It seemed that down there in the earthlit shadows where the spreading base of the giant crater joined the planes, a light was bobbing. I gazed, stricken. Miko's lights? Was he advancing, preparing to signal? I tried to gauge the distance. It was not over two miles from here. Or was it not a light at all? With the naked eye I could not be sure. Perhaps there was a telescope finder here in the cubby. I was subconsciously aware of the voices of Anita and the duty man behind me. Then abruptly I heard Anita's low cry. I whirled around. The giant Martian had gathered her into his huge arms, his heavy jowl gray face with a leering grin close to hers. He saw me coming. He held her with one arm. Another flung at me, caught me, knocked me backward. He asked, Get out of here, go up to the dome. Anita was silently struggling with her little hands at his thick throat. His blow flung me across his settle. But I held my feet. I was partly behind him. I leaped again and as he tried to disengage himself from Anita to front me, her clutching fingers impeded him. My projector was in my hand. But in that second as I leaped I had the sense to realize I should not fire it because his noise would alarm the ship. I grasped its barrel, reached upward and struck with its heavy metal butt. The blow caught the Martian on the skull and simultaneously my body struck him. We went down together, falling partly upon Anita. But the giant had not cried out and I say gripped him now I felt his body go limp. I lay panting. Anita squirmed silently from under us. Blood from the giant's head was welling out, hot and sticky against my face as I lay sprawled on him. I cast him off. He was dead. His fragile Martian skull split open by my blow. There had been no alarm. The slight noise we made had not been heard down on the busy deck. Anita and I crouched by the floor. From the deck all this part of the room could not be seen. Dead. Oh, Greg. It forced our hand. I could not wait now for Miko to come but I could flash the earth signal now and then we would have to make our run to escape. Then I remembered that light down by the base. I kept Anita out of sight down on the floor and went cautiously to a window. The deck was in turmoil with brigands moving about excitedly. Not because of what had happened in our tower signal room. They were unaware of that. Miko's signals were showing. I could see them now plainly. Down at the crater base. A group of hand lights and small waving helio beam. And they were being answered from the ship. Potan was on the deck. A babble of voices, above which his rose with roars of command. At one of the dome windows a brigand with a hand search beam was sending its answering light. And I saw that Potan was working over a deck telescope finder. It had all come so suddenly that I was stunned. But I did not wait to read the signals. I swung back at Anita who stared helplessly at me. It's Miko. And they are answering him. Get your helmet. I'll try firing the projector. Or would I instead try and send a brief flash signal to earth? There would be no time to do both. We must escape out of here. The route up through the dome was the only feasible one now. This range mechanism of the projector was reasonably familiar and I felt that I could operate it. The range finder and the switch were on a ledge at one of the windows. I rushed to it. As I swung the telescope training it down on Miko's lights I could see the huge projector on the deck swinging similarly. Its movement surprised the men who were attending it. One of them called up to me but I ignored him. Then Potan looked up and saw me. He shouted in Martian at the duty man whom he doubtless thought was behind me. Be ready. We may fire on them. I'll give you the word. The signals were proceeding. It had only been a moment. I caught something like, Haljan is imposter. I was aiming the projector. I was aware of Anita at my elbow. I pushed her back. Put on your helmet. I had the range. I flung the firing switch. At the deck window the giant projector spat its deadly electronic stream. The men down there leaped away from it in surprise. I heard Potan's voice. His shout of protest and anger. But down in the earth glow at the crater base Miko's lights had not vanished. I had missed an error in the range. Abruptly I knew it was not that. Miko's lights were still there. His signals still coming. And I noticed now a faint distortion about them. The glow of his little group of hand lights faintly distorted and vaguely shot with a greenish cast. Benson curve lights. My thoughts whirled in the few seconds while I stood there at the tower window. Miko had feared he might be summarily fired on. He had gone back to his camp equipped all his lights with the Benson curve. He was somewhere at the crater base now. But not where I thought I saw him. The Benson curve light changed the path of the light rays traveling from him to me. I could not even approximate his true position. Anita was plucking at me. Greg, come. I can't hit him, I gasped. Should I try the flash signal to earth? Did we dare linger here? I stood another few seconds at the window. I saw Potan down in the confusion of the deck training a telescope. He had shouted up violently at his duty man here to fire again. And now he let out a roar. I can see them. It's Miko, by the almighty, his giant stature. Bro Tao, look. That's not an earth man. He flung aside his telescope finder. Disconnect that projector. It's Miko down there. This Haljen is a trickster. Where is he? Braille, Braille, you accursed fool. Are Haljen and the girl up there with you? The duty man lay in his blood at our feet. I had dropped back from the window. Anita and I crouched for an instant in confusion, fumbling with our helmets. The ship rang with the alarm, and amid the turmoil we could hear the shouts of the infuriated brigands swarming up the tower ladder after us. End of Chapter 31 Chapter 32 of Brigands of the Moon This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Cheryl Martin Brigands of the Moon by Ray Cummings Chapter 32 I was only inactive a moment. I had thought Anita would have on her helmet, but she was reluctant, or confused. Anita, we've got to get out of here, up through the overhead locks to the dome. Yes, she fumbled with her helmet. The climbing men on the ladder were audible. They were already nearing the top. The trap door was closed. Anita and I were crouching on it. There was a thick metal bar set in a depressed groove for the grid. I slid it in place. It would seal the trap for a short time. A degree of confidence came to me. We had a few moments before there could be any hand-to-hand conflict. The giant electronic projector would eventually be used against Grantline. It was the Brigands' most powerful weapon. Its controls were here. By heaven, I would smash them. That at least I could do. I jumped for the window. Miko's signals had stopped, but I caught a glimpse of his distant moving curve lights. A flash came up at me, as in the window I became visible to the Brigands on the ship's deck. It was a small hand projector, hastily fired, for it went wide of the window. It was followed by a rain of small beams, but I was warned and dropped my head beneath the sill. The rays flashed dangerously upward through the oval opening, hissed against our vaulted roof. The air snapped and tingled with a shower of blue-red sparks and the accurate odor of the released gases settled down upon us. The trajectory controls of the projector were beside me. I seized them, ripped and tore at them. There was a roar down on the deck. The projector had exploded. A man's agonizing screams split the confusion of sounds. It silenced the Brigands on the deck. Under our floor grid, those on the ladder had been pounding at the trap door. They stopped, evidently to see what had happened. The bombardment of our windows stopped momentarily. I cautiously peered out the window again. In the wreck of the projector, three men were lying. One of them was screaming horribly. The dome side was damaged. Potan and other men were frantically investigating to see if the ship's air was hissing out. A triumph swept over me. They had not found me so meek and inoffensive as they might have thought. Anita clutched me. She still had not donned her helmet. Put on your helmet. But, Craig, put it on. I don't want to put it on until you put yours on. I've smashed the projector. We've stopped them coming up for a while. But they were still on the ladder under our floor. They heard our voices. They began thumping again. Then pounding. They seemed now to have heavy implements. They rammed against the trap. The floor seemed holding. The square of metal grid trembled, yielding a little. But it was good for a few minutes longer. I called down. The first one who comes through will be shot. My words mingled with their oaths. There was a moment's pause. Then the ramming went on. The dying man on the deck was still screaming. I whispered, I'll try an earth signal. She nodded. Pale, tense, but calm. Yes, Craig. And I was thinking, it won't take a minute. Have your helmet ready. I was thinking, she hurried across the room. I swung on the bot signaling apparatus. It was connected. Within a moment I had it humming. The fluorescent tubes lighted with their lurid glare. They painted purple the body of the giant duty band who lay sprawled at my feet. I drew on all the ship's power. The tube lights in the room quivered and went dim. I would have to hurry. Potan could shut this off from the main hull control room. I could see through the room's upper trap, the primary sending mirror mounted in the peak of the dome. It was quivering, radiant with its light energy. I sent the flash. The flattened past full earth was up there. I knew that the western hemisphere faced the moon at this hour. I flashed in English with the open universal earth code. Help. Grant line. And again. Help. Archimedes region near Apennines. Attacked by brigands. Send help at once. Grant line. If only it would be received. I flung off the current. And he just stood watching me intently. Greg, look! I saw that she had taken some of the glass globe bombs which lay by the foot of the ascending ladder. Greg, I threw some of them. At the window we gazed down. The globe she flung had shattered on the deck. They were darkness bombs. Through the blackness of the deck the shouts of the brigands came up. They were stumbling about. But the ramming of our trap went on and I saw that it was beginning to yield. We've got to go, Anita. From out of the darkness which hung like a shroud over the deck an occasional flash came up, un-aimed, wide of our windows. But the darkness was dissipating. I could see now the dim glow of the deck lights blurred as through a heavy fog. I dropped another of the bombs. Put on your helmet. Yes, yes, I will. You put yours on. We had them adjusted in a moment. Our errant motors were pumping. I gripped her arm. Put out your helmet light. She extinguished it. I handed her my projector. Hold it a moment. I'm going to take that belt of bombs. The trap door was all but broken under the ramming blows of the men. I leaped over the body of the dead duty man, seized the belt of bombs and strapped it around my waist. Give me the projector. She handed it to me. The trap door burst upward. And shoulders appeared. I fired a bullet into him, the leaden pellet singing down through the yellow powder flash that spat from the projector's muzzle. The brigands screamed, and dropped back out of sight. There was confusion at the ladder top. I flung a bomb at the broken trap. A tiny heat ray came wavering up through the opening, but went wide of us. The instrument room was in darkness. I clung to Anita. You go first. Here's the ladder. We found it in the blackness, mounted it, and went through the cubby's roof trap. I took another look and dropped another bomb beside us. The four-foot space up here between the cubby roof and the overhead dome went black. We were momentarily concealed. Anita located the manual levers of the lock entrance. Here, Greg. I shoved at them. Fear leaped in me that they would not operate. I clung. The tiny port opened wide to receive us. We clambered into the small air chamber. The door slit closed, just as a flash from below struck at it. The brigands had seen our cloud of darkness and were firing up through it. In a moment we were out on the dome top. A sleek, rounded spread of glassite with broad illuminite girders. There were cross-ribs which gave us a footing, and occasionally projections. Streamline, fin tips, the casings of the upper rudder shafts, and the upstanding stubby funnels into which helicopters were folded. We moved along the central footpath and crouched by a six-foot casing. The stars and the glowing earth were over us. The curving dome top, a hundred feet or so in length and bulging thirty feet wide beneath us, glistened in the earth-light. It was a sheer drop and down these curving sides past the ship's hull, a hundred feet to the rocks on which the vessel rest in. The towering wall of Archimedes was beside us, and beyond the brink of the ledge the thousands of feet down to the plains. I saw the lights of Miko's band down there. He had stopped signaling. His little lights were spread out, bobbing as he and his men advanced up the crater's foothills, coming to join the ship. I had an instant glimpse. Anita and I could not stay here. The brigands would follow us up in a moment. I saw no exterior ladder. We would have to take our chances and jump. There were brigands down there on the rocks. I saw three or four helmeted figures, and they saw us. A bullet whizzed by us, and then came the flash of a hand-ray. I touched Anita. Can you make the leap? Anita, dear. Again, it seemed that this must be farewell. Greg, dear one, we've got to do it. We have a lot of good pounds on us. Anita, lie here a moment. I jumped up and ran 20 feet toward the bow, then back toward the stern, flinging down the last of my bombs. The darkness was like a cloud down there, enveloping the outer brigands. But up there we were above it, etched by the starlight and earth glow. I came back to Anita. We'll have to chance it now. Greg, good-bye, dear. I'll jump first down this side. You follow. To leap into that black patch with the rocks under it. Greg. She was trying to tell me to look overhead. She gestured, Greg, see? I saw it, out over the plains, a little speck amid the stars, a moving speck coming toward us. Greg, what is it? I gazed, held my breath, a moving speck out there, a blob now, it was not a large object far away, but small and already very close, only a few hundred feet off, dropping toward the top of our dome. A narrow, flat, ten-foot object, like a wingless volplane. There were no lights on it, but in the earth light I could see two crouching, helmeted figures riding it. Anita, don't you remember? I was swept with dawning comprehension. Back in the grant-line camp, Snap and I had discussed how to use the planetara's gravity plates. We had gone to the wreck and secured them, had rigged this little volplane flyer. The brigands on the rock saw it now. A flash went up at it. One of the figures crouching on it opened a flexible fabric, like a wing over its side. I saw another flash from below, harmlessly striking the insulated shield. I gasped to Anita. Light your helmet. It's from grant-line. Let them see us. I could erect. The little flying platform went over us, fifty feet up, circling, dropping to the dome-top. I waved my helmet-light. The exit-lock from below, up which we had come, was near us. The advancing brigands were already in it. I had forgotten to demolish the manuals, and I saw that the darkness down on the rocks was almost gone now, dissipating in the airless night. The brigands down there began firing up at us. It was a confusion of flashing lights. I clutched at Anita. Come this way. Run! The platform barely missed our heads. It sailed lengthwise of the dome-top and crashed silently on the central runway near the stern tip. Anita and I ran to it. The two helmeted figures seized us, shoved us prone on the metal platform. It was barely four feet wide. A low railing handles with which to cling and a tiny hooded cubby in front. Greg! You, snap! It was Snap and Venza. She seized Anita, held her crouching in place. Snap flung himself face down at the controls. The brigands were out on the dome now. I took a last shot as we lifted. My bullet punctured one of them. He slid, fell scrambling off the rounded dome and dropped out of sight. Light rays and silent flashes seemed to envelop us. Venza held the side shields higher. We tilted, swayed crazily, and then steadied. The ships dome dropped away beneath us. The rocks of the open ledge were beneath us. Then the abyss with the moving, climbing specks of Miko's lights far down. I saw over the side shield the already distant frigging ship resting on the ledge with the massive Archimedes wall behind it. A confusion back there of futile flashing rays. It all faded into a remote glow as we sailed smoothly up into the starlight and away heading for the Grantline camp. End of Chapter 32 Chapter 33 of Brigands of the Moon This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org for more information on LibriVox.org and the LibriVox recording by Cheryl Martin. Brigands of the Moon by Ray Cummings Chapter 33 Wake up! Greg! They're coming! I forced myself to consciousness. Coming? I leaped from my bunk, followed Snap with a rush into the corridor. We had returned safely to the Grantline camp. Anita and I found ourselves exhausted on the Brigandship. On the flight back, Snap had explained how the landing of the ship on Archimedes was observed through the Grantline telescope. They had read with amazement my signals to the Brigands. Snap had rushed to completion the first of our flying platforms. Then he had seen Miko's signals from the crater base, seen the lights and the flight to capture Anita and me and had come to rescue us. And forced me to try to sleep. Though be on us in a few hours, Greg, Miko will have joined them by now. He'll lead them to us. You must rest, for we need everyone at his best. And surprisingly, in the midst of the camp's turmoil of last-minute activities, I slept soundly until Snap called me, telling me the ship was coming. The corridor echoed with the tramp of Grantline's busy crew, but there was no confusion. The calmness had settled on everyone. Anita and Venza rushed up to join us. It's in sight. There was no need of going to the instrument room. From the windows fronting the brink of the cliff the brigandship was plainly visible. It came sailing from Archimedes, a dark shape blurring the stars. All its lights were extinguished, save a single white search beam in the bow-peak, slanting diagonally down. The beam presently caught our group of buildings. Its glare shone in the windows as it clung for a moment. I couldn't visage the triumphant curiosity of Potan and his men up there, gazing along the beam. We had dimmed the lights to conserve our power, and to enable the urn's motors to run at full capacity. Our buildings would have to withstand the brigands' rays, which soon would be upon us. Outside, on our dim, we showed where our few guards were lurking. As I stood at the window, watching the incoming ship, Grantline's voice sounded. Call in those men! Ring the call lights, Frank! The siren buzzed over the camp's interior. The warning call lights on the roof brought in the outer guards. They came running to the admission ports, which had been repaired after Amiko disabled them. The guards came in. We dimmed our lights further. The treasure sheds were black against the cliff behind us. No need for guards there, we reasoned the brigands would not attempt to move it until our buildings were captured. But, if they should try it, we were prepared to defend it. In the dim light we crouched. A silence was upon us, save for the clanging in the workshop down the corridor. Most of us wore our urn suits with helmets ready, though I am sure there was not a man of us but who prayed he might not have to go out. At many of the windows our weakest points to withstand the rays, insulated fabric sheets were hung like curtains. The brigandship slowly advanced. It was soon over the opposite rim of our little crater. Its search beam swung about the rim and down the valley. My thoughts ran like a turgid stream as I stood tensely watching. Four hours ago I had sent that flash signal to earth. If it was received, a patrol ship should come to our rescue and arrive here in another eight hours, or perhaps even less. Ah, that if, if the signal was received, if the patrol ship were immediately available, if it started at once. Eight hours at the very least I tried to assure myself that we could hold out that long. The brigandship crossed the opposite crater rim. It dropped lower. It seemed poised over the crater valley, almost at our own level and less than two miles from us. Its search being banished. For a moment it hung, a sleek cylindrical silver shape gleaming in the earth light. Snap looked at me and murmured. It's descending. It slowly settled, cautiously picked its landing-place amid the crags and pits of the tumbled, scarred valley floor. It came to rest, a vague, menacing silver shape lurking in the lower shadows, close at the foot of the inter-opposite crater wall. A few moments of tense waiting passed. Soon, tiny lights were moving down there, some out on the rocks near the ship, others up under its deck dome. A stab of searchlight shot across the valley swung along our ledge and clung with its glaring ten-foot circle to the front of our main building. Then a ray flashed. Had begun. End of Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Of Brigands of the Moon This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Richard Kilmer Brigands of the Moon by Ray Cummings Chapter 34 And with that first shot from the enemy, that a great relief came to us. An apprehension fallen away. We had anticipated this moment for so long, dreaded it. I think all our men felt it. A shout went up. Harmless. It was not that, but our building withstood it better than I had feared. It was a flash from a large electronic projector mounted on the deck of the brigands' ship. It stabbed up from the shadows across the valley at the foot of the opposite crater wall. A beam of vaguely fluorescent light. Simultaneously the searchlight vanished. The stream of electrons caught the front face of our main building in a six-foot circle. It held a few seconds, vanished, then stabbed again and still again. Three bolts, a total I suppose, of nine or ten seconds. I was standing with grant-line at a front window. We had rigged an oblong of insulated fabric, like a curtain. We stood peering, holding the curtain cautiously aside. The ray struck some twenty feet away from us. Harmless the men shouted it with derision. But grant-line swung on them. Don't get that idea. An interior signal panel was beside grant-line. He called the duty men in the instrument room. It's over. What are your greetings? The bombarding electrons had passed through the outer shell of a building's double wall and had been absorbed in the rarefied, magnetized air-current of the Irenz circulation. Like poison in a man's veins, reaching his heart, the free alien electrons had disturbed the motors. They accelerated, then retarded, pulsed unevenly, and drew added power from the reserved tanks. But they had normalized it once when the shot was passed. The duty men's voice sounded from the grid in answer to grant-line's question. Five degrees colder in your building. Can't you feel it? The disturbed, weakened Iran's system had allowed the outer cold to radiate through a trifle. The walls had had a trifle extra explosive pressure from the air. A strain, but that was all. It was probably their most powerful single weapon, Greg, said grant-line. I nodded, yes, I think so. I had smashed the real giant with its ten-mile range. The ship was only two miles from us. But it seemed as though this projector were exerted to its distance limit. I had noticed on the deck only one of this type. The others, paralyzing rays and heat rays, were less deadly. Grant-line commented, we can withstand a lot of that bombardment if we stay inside. The ray striking a man outside would penetrate his errant soup within a few seconds, we could no doubt. We had, however, no intention of going out and less for dire necessity. Even so, said Grant-line, a hand-shield would hold it off for a certain length of time. We had an opportunity a moment later to test our insulated shields. The bolt came again. It darted along the front face of the building, caught our window and clung. The double-window shelves were our weakest points. The sheet of flashing errant's current was transparent. We could see through it, as though it were glass. It moved faster, but was thinner at the windows than the walls. We feared the bombarding electrons might cross it, penetrate the inner shell and, like a lightning bolt, enter the room. We dropped the curtain corner. The radiance of the bolt was dimly visible. A few seconds then it vanished again, and behind the shield we had not felt a tingle. Harmless. But our power had been drained nearly an aeron, to neutralize the shock to the errant's current. Grant-line said, if they keep that up, it would be a question of whose power supply would last longer, and it would not be ours. You saw our lights fade when the bolt was striking. But the brigands did not know the port of power, and to fire the projector with a continuous bolt would in thirty minutes perhaps have exhausted their own power reserve. I won't answer them, Grant-line declared. Our game is to sit defensive, conserve everything, let them make the leading moves. We waited half an hour, but no other shot came. The valley floor was patched with earth-light and shadow. The ground was covered with acid crater wall. The form of its dome over the illuminated deck was visible, and the line of its tiny, whole ovals. On the rocks near the ship, helmet lights of prowling brigands occasionally showed. Whatever activity was going on down there, we could not see with the naked eye. Grant-line did not use our telescope at first. To connect it, even for local range, however, some of the men urged that we searched the sky with the telescope. Was our rescue ship from earth coming? But Grant-line refused. We were in no trouble yet, and every delay was to our advantage. Commander, where shall I put these helmets? A man came wheeling a pile of helmets on a small truck at the manual port in the other building. Our weapons and outside equipment were massed at the main exit locks of the large building, but we might want to go out through smaller locks too. Grant-line sent helmets there. Suits were not needed, as most of us were garbed in them now. Snap was still in the workshop. I went there during the first half-hour of the attack. Ten of our men were busy there with the little flying platforms and the fabric shields. How goes it, Snap? Almost all ready. He had six of the platforms, including the one we had already used, and more than a dozen hand shields. At a squeeze all of us could ride on these six little vehicles. We might have to ride them. We planned that, in the event of disaster to the buildings, we could at least escape in this fashion. Food supplies and water were now being placed at the ports. Depressing preparations? Are buildings uninhabitable? A rush out and away, abandoning the treasure? Grant-line had never mentioned such a contingency, but I noticed nevertheless that preparations were being made. Snap's voice was raised over the clang of the workmen bolting the gravity plates of the last platform. Only that one projector, Greg? They gave us four blasts, but just the one projector, their strongest. He grinned. He wore no irentsuit as yet. He was wearing black trousers and a bedraggled shirt with the inevitable red eye shade holding back his unruly hair. Around his waist was the weighted belt, and there were weights on his shoes for gravity stability. Didn't hurt as much? No. When I get the tube panels in this thing I'll be finished. It'll take another half hour, then I'll join you. Where are you stationed? Snap went back to his work. Well, the longer they delay, the better for us. If only your signal got through, Greg, we'll have a rescue ship here in a few hours more. And that if? I turned away. Can't help you, Snap? No, take those shields he added to one of the men. Take them where? To Grant-line. He'll tell you where to put them. I followed it. Grant-line sent it to the back exit. No other move from them yet, Johnny? No, all quiet. Snap's almost finished. The brigands presently made another play. A giant heat ray bean came across the valley. It clung to our front wall for nearly a minute. Grant-line got the report from the instrument room. He laughed. That helped rather than hurt us. Heated at the outer wall. We looked at it and eased up the motors. We wondered if Miko knew that. Doubtless he did, for the heat ray was not used again. Then came a Z-ray. I stood at the window, watching it, faint sheen of beam in the dimness. It crept with sinister deliberation along our front wall, clung momentarily to our shielded windows, and pried with its revealing glow into Snap's workshop. Looking us over, Grant-line commented. I hope they like what they see. I knew that he did not feel the bravado that was in his tone. We had nothing but small hand weapons, heat rays, electronic projectors, and bullet projectors. All for very short range fighting. If Miko had not known that before, he could at least make a good guess at it after the careful Z-ray inspection. With his ship down there two miles away, we were powerless to reach him. It seemed that Miko was now testing all his mechanisms. A light flare went up from the dome peak of the ship. It rose in a slow arc over the valley and burst. For a few seconds the two-mile circle of crags was brilliantly illuminated. I stared, but I had to shield my eyes. Against the dazzling attenic glare. And I could see nothing. Was Miko making a Z-ray photograph of our interiors? He was testing his short range projectors now. With my eyes again accustomed to the normal earth light in the valley, I could see the stabs of electronic beams. The Martian paralyzing rays and heat beams. They darted out like flashing swords from the rocks near the ship. Then the whole ship and the crater wall behind it seemed to shift sideways as a Benson curve light spread its glow about the ship with a projector curve beam coming up and touching the window through which I was peering. Haljin, come look at these damn girls. Commander, shall I stop them? They'll kill themselves or kill us or smash something. We followed the man into the building's broad central corridor. Anita and Venza were riding a midget platform. Anita and her boyish black garb Venza with a flowing white Venus robe. From the tiny six foot long oblong of metal one manipulating its side shields the other at the controls. As we arrived the platform came sliding down the narrow confines of the corridor lurching, barely missing a door projection up to the low vaulted ceiling then down to the floor. It sailed over our heads rising over us as we ducked. Anita waved her hand. Grant Lyman gasped by the infernal. I shouted, Anita, stop. But they only waved at us skimming down the length of the corridor seeming to avoid a smash a dozen times by the smallest margin of chance. Stopping miraculously at the further end hanging poised in mid-air, wheeling, coming back undulating up and down. Grant Lyman clung to me by the gods of the airways. In spite of my astonished horror I could not but share Grant Lyman's admiration. Three or four other men were watching. The girls were amazingly skillful, no doubt of that. There was not a man among us who could have handled that gravity platform indoors. Not one who would have had the brash temerity to try it. The platform landed with the grace of a hummingbird at our feet. The girls dexterously balancing so that it came to rest swiftly without the least bump. In front of them Anita, what are you doing? She stood up, flushed and smiling practicing. What for? Venza's roguish eyes twinkled at me. Her hands went to her slim hips with a gesture of defiance. She asked, are you speaking for yourself or the commander? I ignored her. What for? Because we're good at it, Anita retorted. Better than any of you men. We're ready. We won't, I said shortly. But if you should. Venza put in. If Snap and I hadn't come for you, you wouldn't be here, Greg Halchin. I didn't notice you were so horrified to see me holding that shield up over you. It silenced me. She had it. Commander, let us alone. We won't smash anything. Grant Line laughed. I hope you won't. A warning call took us back to the front window. The Briggins searchlight was again being used. It swept slowly along the length of the cliff. Its circle went down the cliff steps to the valley floor and came sweeping up again. Then it went up to the observatory platform at the summit above us. Then over to the ore sheds. We had no men outside, if that's what the Briggins wanted to determine. The search beam presently vanished. Immediately by a Z-Ray, which started at once to our treasure sheds and clung. That stung Grant Line into his first action. We flung our own Z-Ray down across the valley. It reached the Briggins ship and the blurred interior of the cabins. Try the search beam, Frank. The Z-Ray went off. We gazed down our searchlight which clung to the dome of the distant enemy vessel. Grant Line ordered. The Dynamos hummed. The telescope finder glowed and clarified. On the deck of the ship we saw the Briggins working with the assembling of tiny ore carts. A deck landing port was open. The ore carts were being carried out through a portlock and down a landing incline. And on the rock outside we saw several of the carts, tiny rail sections and the section of an ore chute. Miko was unloading his mining apparatus. He was making ready to come up for the treasure. The discovery, startling as it was, nevertheless, was far overshadowed by an imperative danger alarm from our main building. Briggins were outside on our ledge. Miko's search beam, sweeping the ledge a moment before, had carefully avoided revealing them. It had been done just for that purpose. No doubt, this feels sure the ledge was unoccupied and thus to guard against our own light making the search. But there was a Briggin group close outside our walls. By the nearest chance the radiating glow from our search ray had shown the helmeted figures scurrying for shelter. Grant-line leaped to his feet. We rushed to the rear port exit which was nearest us. The giant bloated figures had been seen running along the outside of the connecting corridor in this direction. But before we ever got there a new alarm came. The Briggin was crouching at a front corner of the main building. His hydrogen heat torch had already opened a rift in the wall. End of Chapter 34 Recording by Richard Kilmer, Real Medina, Texas. Briggins of the Moon by Ray Cummings, Chapter 35 In with you, ordered Grant-line. Get your helmets on. How many? Six? Enough. Get back there. Williams, you were last. The lock won't hold any more. I was one of the six who jammed into the manual exit lock. We went through it in a moment we were outside. It was less than three minutes since the prowling Briggin had been seen. Grant-line touched me just as we emerged. Don't wait for orders. Get him. That fellow with the torch? Yes, I'm with you. We went out with a rush. We had already discarded our shoe and belt-weights. I leaped regardless of my companions. The scarring Martians had disappeared. Through my visor bullseye I could see only the earth-lit rocky surface of the ledge. Beside me stretched the dark wall of our building. I bounded towards the front. The Briggins with the torch had been at the front corner. I could not see him from here. He had been crouching just around the angle. I had a tiny bullet projector. The best weapon for short range outdoors. I was aware of Grant-line close behind me. It took only a few of my giant leaps. I landed at the corner, recovered my balance, and whirled around to the front. The Martian was here. A giant misshapen lump as he crouched. His torch was a little stab of blue and the deep shadow enveloping him. Intent upon his work he did not see me. Perhaps he thought his fellow was a little more hard on his work. He did not see me. Perhaps he thought his fellow men had broken our exits by now. I landed like a leopard upon his back and fired. My weapon muzzle ramming him. His torch fell hissing with a silent rain of blue fire upon the rocks. As my grip upon him made audio-phone contact, his agonized scream rattled the diaphragms of my ear-grids with horrible deafening intensity. He lay writhing under me. Then was still. His scream choked into silence. His suit deflated within my encircling grip. He was dead. My leaden, steel-tipped pellet had punctured the double surface of his errant's fabric, penetrated his chest. Grantline had leaped, landing beside me. Dead? Yes. I climbed from the inert body. The torch had hissed itself out. Grantline swung to our building corner and I leaned down with him to examine it. The torch had fused the scarred wall, burned almost through. A pressure-rift had opened. We could see it, a curving gash in the middle wall plate like a crack in a glass window pane. I went cold. This was serious damage. The rarefied errant's air would seep out. It was leaking now. We could see the magnetic radiance of it all up the length of the ten-foot crack. The leak would change the pressure of the errant's system, constantly lowering it, demanding steady renewal. The errant's motor would overheat. Some might go bad from the strain. Grantline stood gripping me. Damn bad. Yes, can't we repair it, Johnny? No, would have to take that whole plaster suction out. Shut off the errant's plant and exhaust the interior air of all this bulkhead. Day's job may be more. And the crack would get worse, I knew. It would gradually spread and widen. The errant's circulation would fail. All our power would be drained struggling to maintain it. This brigand would unwittingly committed suicide by his daring act had accomplished more than he had perhaps realized. I couldn't visage our weapons. Useless from the lack of power. The air in our buildings turned fetid and frigid, ourselves forced to the helmets. A rush out to abandon the camp and escape. The building exploding, scattering into a litter on the ledge like a child's broken toy. The treasure abandoned with the brigands up and loading it on the airship. Our defeat in a few hours now, or minutes, this crack would slowly widen or it could break suddenly at any time. Disaster, come now, so abruptly upon us at the very start of the brigand attack. Grantline's voice and my audio phone broke my despairing thoughts. Bad. Come on, Greg, nothing to do here. We were aware that our other four men had run along the building's other side. They emerged now, with the running brigands in front of them, rushing out toward the stairs on the ledge. Three giant Martian figures in flight with our four men chasing. A brigand fell to the rocks by the brink of the ledge. The others reached the descending staircase, tumbled down it with reckless leaps. Our men turned back. Before we could join them, the enemy ship down in the valley sent up a cautious search beam which located its returning men. Then the beam swung up to the ledge and we stood confused, blinded by the brilliant glare. Grantline stumbled against me. Run, Greg, they'll be firing at us. We dashed away. Our companions joined us, rushing back for the port. I saw it open. Reinforcements coming out to help us. Half a dozen figures carrying a ten-foot insulated shield. They could barely get it through the port. The Martian's search ray vanished. Then, almost instantly, the electronic ray came with its deadly stab. We sat first as we ran for the shield, carrying it back to the port, hiding behind it. The ray stabbed once or twice more. Whether Miko's instruments showed him how badly damaged our front wall was, we never knew. But I think that he realized. His search beam clung to it and his Z-ray pried into our interiors. The brigand ship was active now. We were desperate. We used our telescope freely for observation. Miko's orchards and mining apparatus were unloaded on the rocks. The rail sections were being carried a mile out, nearly to the center of the valley. A subsidiary camp was being established there, only a mile from the base of our cliff, but still far beyond the reach of our weapons. We could see the brigands' lights down there. Then the ore-shoot sections were brought over. We could see Miko's men carrying some of the giant projectors, mounting them in the new position, power tanks and cables, light flare catapults, small mechanical cannons, and many more. The enemy search light constantly raked our vicinity. Occasionally the giant electronic projector flung out its bolt as though warning us not to dare leave our buildings. Half an hour went by. Our situation was even worse than Miko could know. The errands' motors were running hot, our power draining, the crack widening. When it would break, we could not tell, but the danger was like a sword over us. An anxious third of us for us this second interlude. Grantline called a meeting of our little force, with every man having his say. Inactivity was no longer a physical policy. We recklessly used our power to search the sky. Our rescue ship might be up there, but we could not see it with our now disabled instruments. No signals came. We could not, or at least did not, receive them. Grantline protested. They'd know the Martians would be more likely to get the signal than us of what used to warn Miko. But he did not dare wait for a rescue ship that might or might not be coming. Miko was playing the waiting game now, making ready for a quick loading of the ore when we were forced to abandon our buildings. The brigandship suddenly moved its position. It rose up in a low flat arc, came forward and settled in the center of the valley where the ship sailed, and the outside projectors newly mounted on the rocks. The brigands now began laying the rails from the ship towards the base of our cliff. The chute would bring the ore down from the ledge, and the carts would take it to the ship. The laying of the rails was done under cover of occasional stabs from the electronic projector. And then we discovered that Miko had made still another move. The brigand rays fired from the depth of the valley could strike our ledge, and from the ship's newer and nearer position this disadvantage to us was intensified. Then abruptly we realized that under cover of darkness bombs and electronic projector and search ray had been carried to the top of the crater rim diagonally across and only half a mile from us. Their beams shot down, breaking all our vicinity from this new angle. I was on the little flying platform which sallied out as a test to attack these isolated projectors. Snap and I and one other volunteer went. He and I held the shield. Snap handled the controls. Our exit port was on the lee side of the building from the hostile search beam. We got out unobserved and sailed upward. But soon a light from the ship caught us and the projector bolts came up. Our saute only lasted a few minutes. To me it was a confusion of crossing beams with the stars overhead, the swaying little platform under me and the shield tingling in my hands when the blast struck us. Moments of blurred terror. The voice of the man beside me sounded in my ears. Now, Helgen, give them one. We were up over the peak of the rim with the hostile projector under us. I gauged our movement and dropped an explosive powder bomb. It missed. It flared with a puff on the rocks twenty feet from where the two projectors were mounted. I saw that two helmeted figures were down there. They tried to swing their grids upward but did not get their vertical to reach us. The ship was firing at us but it was far away and Grantline's search beam was going full power clinging to the ship to dazzle them. Snap circled them. As we came back I dropped another bomb. Its silent puff seemed littered with flying fragments of the two projectors in the bodies of the men. We swiftly flew back to our base. It decided Grantline. For an hour past Snap and I had been urging our plan to use the gravity platforms. To remain inactive was sure defeat now. Even if our buildings did not explode if we thought to huddle in them helmeted in the failing air then Mico could readily ignore us and proceed with his loading of the treasure under our helpless gaze. He could do that now with safety. If we refused to accept the challenge for we could not fire through the windows it must go out to meet this threat. To remain defensive would end inevitably in our defeat. We all knew it now. It was Mico's, not ours. The success of our attack upon the distant isolated projectors heartened us. Yet it was a desperate offensive upon which we decided. We prepared our little expedition at the larger of the exit ports. Mico Zedre was watching all our interior movements. We made a brave show of activity in our workshop with abandoned all-carts which were stored there. We got them out, started to recondition them. It seemed to fool Mico. His Zedre clung to the workshop watching us. At the distant port we gathered the platforms, shields, helmets, bombs, and a few hand projectors. There were six platforms. Three of us upon each. It left four people to remain indoors. I need not describe the emotion with which Snap and I listened to Venza and Anita pleading to be allowed to accompany us. They urged it upon grant-line and we took no part. It was too important a decision. The death of these men hung now upon the fate of our venture. Snap and I could not intrude our personal feelings. And the girls won. Both were undeniably more skillful at handling the midget platforms than any of us men. Two of the six platforms could be guided by them. That was a third of our little force and of what used to go out and be defeated, leaving the girls here to meet death almost immediately afterward. We gathered at the port. There was men to remain to guard the buildings. The instruments, the errant system, all the appliances had to be attended. It left four platforms each with three men. Grant-line at the controls of one of them. And upon two of the others, Venza rode with Snap and I with Anita. We crouched on the shadow outside the port, so small an army sailing out to bomb this enemy vessel or be killed in the attempt. Only sixteen of us and thirty or so brigands well armed. I envisioned then this tiny moon crater, the scene of this battle we were waging, struggling humans desperately trying to kill. Anita drew me down on the platform. Ready, Greg? The others were rising. We lifted, moved slowly out and away from the protective shadows of the building. End of Chapter 35 Chapter 36 of Brigands of the Moon This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Richard Kilmer Brigands of the Moon by Ray Cummings Chapter 36 Grant-line led us. We held about level. Five hundred feet beneath us, the brigandship lay cradled on the rocks. When it was still a mile away from us, I could see all its outline fairly clearly in the dimness. Its tiny hull windows were dark, but the blurred shape of the hull was visible, and above it the rounded cap of dome with a dim radiance beneath it. We followed Grant-line's platform. It was rising, drawing the others after it like a tail. I touched Anita where she lay beside me with her head half in the small sink, going too high. She nodded, but followed the line nevertheless. It was Grant-line's command. I lay crouched, holding the inner tips of the flexible side shields. The bottom of the platform was covered with the insulated fabric. There were two side shields. They extended upwards from two feet, flexible so that I could hold them out to see over them or draw them up to cover us. They afforded a measure of protection against the hostile rays, though just how much we were not sure. With the platform level a bolt from beneath could not harm us unless it continued for a considerable time. But the platform, except upon direct flight, was seldom level for it was a frail, unstable little vehicle. To handle it was more than a question of the controls. They were balanced and helped to guide it with the movement of our bodies, shifting our weight sideways or back or forward to make it dip as the controls altered the gravity pull in its tiny plate sections like a bird, wheeling, soaring, swooping. To me it was a precarious business. But now we were in straight flight, diagonally upward. The outline of the brigandship came directly under us. I crouched, tense, breathless. Every moment it seemed that the brigands must discover us and loose their bolts. They may have seen us for some moments before they fired. I peered over the side shield down at our mark, then up ahead to get Grantline's firing signal. It seemed long delayed. An added glow down there must have worn Grantline that a shot was coming up from there. The tiny red light appeared bright on his platform. I turned on our Benson curve-light radiance. We had been dark, but a soft glow now enveloped us. Its sheen went down to the ship to reveal us. But its curving path showed us falsely placed. I saw the little line of platforms ahead of us. They seemed to move suddenly sideways. It was everyone for himself now. None of us could tell where the other platforms were headed. Anita swooped us sharply down to avoid a possible collision. Greg, yes, I'm aiming. I was making ready to drop the small explosive globe bomb. Our searchlight ray at the camp answering Grantline's signal shot down and bathed the enemy ship in a white glare, revealing it for our aim. Simultaneously, the brigand bolts came up at us. I held my bomb out over the shield, calculating the angle to throw it down. The brigand rays flashed around me. They were horribly close. Miko had understood our sudden visible shift and aimed not where we appeared to be, but approximately where we had been before. I dropped my bomb hastily at the glowing white ship. The touch of a hostile ray would have exploded it in my hand. I saw others dropping also on the platforms. The explosions from them merged in a confusion of white glare and a cloud of black mist as the brigands out on the rocks used their darkness bombs. We swept past in a blur of leaping hostile beams. Silent battle of lights, darkness bombs down at the ship struggling to bar our camp search ray. The Benson radiance rays from our passing platforms curving down to mingle the explosion, the electronic rays sending up their bolts. Our platforms dropped some ten dynamitrene bombs in that first passage over the ship. As we sped by, I dimmed the Benson radiance. I peered. We had not hit the ship, or if we had, the damage was inconclusive. But on the rocks I could see a pile of orchards scattered, broken wreckage, of two or three projectors seemed strewn. And the gruesome deflated forms of several helmeted figures. Others seemed to be running scattering, hiding in the rocks in pit holes. Twenty brigands at least were outside the ship. Some were running over towards the base of our camp ledge. The darkness bombs were spreading like a curtain over the valley floor. But it seemed that some of the figures were dragging their projectors away. We sailed off toward the opposite crater rim. I remember passing over the broken wreckage of Grant Line's little spaceship, the Comet. Mikkel's bolts momentarily had vanished. We had hit some of his outside projectors. The others were abandoned or being dragged to safer positions. After a mile, we wheeled and went back. I suddenly realized that only four platforms were in the reformed line ahead of us. One was missing. I saw it now, wavering down close over the ship. A bolt leaped up diagonally from a distant angle on the rocks and caught the disabled platform. It fell, whirling, glowing red, disappeared into the blur of darkness, like a bit of heated metal plunged into water. One out of six of our platforms already lost. Three men of our small force gone. Grant Line let us desperately back. Anita caught a signal to break our line. The five platforms scattered, dipping and wheeling, like frightened birds, blurring shapes, shifting unnaturally in flight as the Benson curve lights were altered. Anita now took our platform in a long swoop downwards. Her tense, murmured voice sounded in my ears. Hold off, I'll take a slow. A mealy, darkened platform shapes, the darting bolts crossing like ancient rapiers, falling blue points of fuse lights as we threw our bombs. Down in a swoop, then rising, away and then back, the silent warfare of lights. It seemed that around me must be bursting a pandemonium of sound, yet there was none. Silent, blurred mealy, infinitely frightening. A bolt struck us, the light was blinding. Through my gloves I could feel the tingle of the overcharged shield as it caught and absorbed the hostile bombardment. Under me the platform seemed heated. My little errant smoters ran with ragged pulse. I got too much oxygen. I was duly smothering. Then the bolt was gone. I found a soaring upward, horribly tilted. I shifted over. Miss Gregg, all right. The mealy went on. The brigand ship and all its vicinity were enveloped in the dark mist now. A turgid sable curtain made more dense by the dissipating heavy fumes of our exploding bombs which settled low over the ship and the rocks nearby. The searchlight from our camp strove futilely to penetrate the cloud. Our platforms were separated. One went by high over us. I saw another dark close beneath my shield. God, Anita. Too close, I didn't see it. Almost a collision. Gregg, haven't we broken the ship's dome yet? It seemed not. I had dropped nearly all my bombs. This could not go on much longer. Had it been only five minutes? Only that. Reason told me so. Yet it seemed an eternity of horror. Another swoop, my last bomb. Anita had brought us into position to fling it. But I could not. A bolt stabbed up from the gloom and caught us. We huddled, pulling the shields up and over us. Blurred darkness again. Too much to the side now. I had to wait while Anita swung us back. Then we seemed too high. I weighed it with my last bomb. The other platforms were occasionally dropping them. I had been too hasty, too prodigal. Had we broken the ship's dome with a direct hit? It seemed not. The brigands were sending up catapulted light flares. They came from positions on the rocks outside the ship. They mounted in lazy curves and burst over us. The concealing darkness broken only by the flares of explosions enveloped the enemy. Our camp's searchlight was still struggling with it. But overhead, where the few little platforms were circling and swooping, the flares gave an almost continuous glare. It was dazzling, blinding. Even through the smoke-pane which I adjusted to my visor, I could not stand it. But these were thoughts of comparative dimness. In a patch where the earth-light struck through the darkness of the rocks, I saw another of our fallen platforms. Snap and Venza? It was not they, but three figures of our men. One was dead. Two had survived the fall. They stood up staggering. In an instant, before the turgid black curtain closed over them, I saw two brigands come rushing. Their hand-projectors stabbed at close range. Our men crumpled and fell. We were in position again. I flung my last missile, watched its light as it dropped. On the dome-roof, two of Miko's men were crouching. My bomb was truly aimed, perhaps one of the few in all our bombardment, which landed directly on the dome-roof. But the waiting marksmen fired at it with short-range heat-projectors and exploded it harmlessly while it was still above them. We swung up and away. I saw high above us Grant Line's platform, recognizing its red signal light. There seemed the lull. The enemy fire had died down to only a very occasional bolt. In the confusion of my whirling impressions, I wondered if Miko were in distress. Not that. We had not hit his ship. Perhaps we had done little damage indeed. It was we who were in distress. Two of our platforms had fallen, two out of six, or more, of which I did not know. I saw one rising off to the side of us. Grant Line was over us. Well, we were at least three, and then I saw the fourth. Grant Line is calling us up, Greg. Grant Line's signal light was summoning us from the attack. He was a thousand feet or more above us. I was suddenly shocked with horror. The search ray from our camp suddenly vanished. Anita wheeled us to face the distant ledge. The camp lights showed, and over one of the buildings was a distressed light. Had the crack in our front wall broken, threatening explosion of all the buildings, the wild thought swept me. But it was not that. I could see light stabs from the cliff outside the main building. Miko had dared to send some men to attack our almost deserted camp. Grant Line realized it. His red helmet light semifored the command to follow him. His platform soared away, heading for the camp, with the other two behind him. Anita lifted us to follow, but I checked her. No, off to the right, across the valley. But, Greg, do as I say, Anita. She swung us diagonally away from both the camp and the brigandship. I prayed that we might not be noticed by the brigands. Anita, listen, I've got an idea. The attack on the brigandship was over. It lay enveloped in the darkness of the powder gas cloud and its own darkness bombs. But it was uninjured. Miko had answered us with our own tactics. He had practically unmanned the ship, no doubt, and had sent his men to our buildings. The fight had shifted, but I was now, without ammunition, saved for two or three bullet projectors. Of what use for our platform to rush back, Miko expected that. His attack on the camp was undoubtedly made for just that purpose, to lure us back there. Anita, if we can get down on the rocks somewhere near the ship and creep up unobserved in that blackness, I might be able to reach the manual hole lock, rip it open and let the air out. If I could get into its pressure chamber and unseal the inner slide, it would wreck the ship. Anita exhaust all its air. Shall we try it? Whatever you say, Greg. We seemed to be unobserved. We skimmed close to the valley floor, a mile from the ship. We headed slowly toward it, sailing low over the rocks. Then we landed, left the platform. Let me go first, Anita. I held a bullet projector. With slow, cautious leaps, we advanced. Anita was behind me. I had wanted to leave her with the platform, but she would not stay, and to be with me seemed at least equally safe. The rocks were deserted. I thought that there was very little chance that any of the enemy would lurk there. We clambered over the pitted, scarred surface, the higher crags, etched with Earthlight, stood like sentinels in the gloom. The brigand ship, with its surrounding darkness, was not far from us. No one was out here. We passed a wreckage of broken projectors and gruesome, shattered human forms. We prowled closer. The hull of the ship loomed ahead of us, all dark. We came at last close against the sleek metal hull side, slid along it to where I was sure the manual lock would be located. Abruptly I realized that Anita was not behind me. Then I saw her, at a little distance, struggling in the grip of a giant helmeted figure. The brigand lifted her, turned, and ran. I did not dare fire. I bounded after them, along the hull side, around under the curve of the pointed bow, down along the other side. I had mistaken the hull port location. It was here. The running, bounding figure reached it, slid the panel. I was only fifty feet away. Not much more than a single leap. I saw Anita being shoved into the pressure lock. The Martian flung himself after her. I fired at him in desperation, but I missed. I came with a rush, and as I reached the port, it slid closed in my face, barring me. CHAPTER 37 With puny fists I pounded the panel. A small pain in it was transparent. Within the lock I could see the blurred figures of Anita and her captor. And it seemed another figure there. The lock was some ten feet square with a low ceiling. It glowed with a dim tube light. I strained at it with futile, silent effort. The mechanism was here to open this manual. But it was now clasped from within so would not operate. A few seconds while I stood there and a panic of confusion raging to get in, this disaster had come so suddenly. I did not plan. I had no thought safe to batter my way in and rescue Anita. I recall that I finally beat on the glass-eyed pain with my bullet projector until the weapon was bent and useless and I flung it with a wild despairing rage at my feet. They were letting the ship's air pressure into this lock. Soon they would open the inner panel, step inside the secondary chamber, and in a moment more would be within the ship's hull corridor. Anita lost to me. The outer panel suddenly opened. I had lunged against it with my shoulder, the giant figure inside slid it. It was taken by surprise. I half fell forward. Huge arms went around me. The gobbled face of the helmet peered into mine. So it's you, Haljin. I thought I recognized that little device over your helmet bracket. In here is my little Anita. Come back to me again. Miko. This was he. His great bloated arms encircling me, bending me backward, holding me helpless. I saw over his shoulder that Anita was clutched in the grip of another helmeted figure. No giant but tall for an earthman, almost as tall as myself. Then the tube lightened the room, the loom into the visor. I saw the face, recognized it. Moa. I gasped. So I've got you, Miko. Got me. You're a fool to the last, Haljin. A fool to the last. But you were always a fool. I could scarcely move in his grip. My arms were pinned, as he slowly bent me backward. I wowed my legs around one of his. It was as unyielding as a steel pillar. He had closed the outer panel, the air pressure and the lock was rising. I could feel it against my suit. My helmeted head was being forced backward. Miko's left arm held me. In his gloved right hand, as it came slowly up over my throat, I saw a knife blade, its naked, sharpened metal, glistening blue-white in the light from overhead. I seized his wrist. But my puny strength could not hold him. The knife against all of my efforts came slowly down. A moment of this slow, deadly combat, the end of everything for me. I was aware of the helmeted figure of Moa casting off Anita, and then the two girls leaping upon Miko and threw him off his balance and my hanging weight made him topple forward. He took a step to recover himself. His hand with the knife was flung up with an instinctive and voluntary balancing gesture. And as it came down again, I forced the knife blade to graze his throat. Its point caught in the fabric of his suit. His saddled oath jangled in my ears. The girls were clawing at him. We were all full of scrambling, swaying. With despairing strength I twisted at his wrist. The knife went into his throat. I plunged it deeper. His suit went flabby. He crumpled over me and fell, knocking me to the floor. His voice with a horrible gurgling rasp of death in it rattled my ear-grids. Not such a fool are you, Halogen. Moa's helmeted head was close over us. I saw that she had seized the knife, jerked it from her brother's throat. She leapt backward, waving it. I twisted from beneath Miko's lifeless inert body. As I got to my feet, Anita flung herself to shield me. Moa was across the lock, back up against the wall. The knife in her hand went up. She stood for the briefest instant regarding Anita and me, holding each other. I thought that she was about to leap upon us. But before I could move, the knife came down and plunged into her breast. She fell forward, her grotesque helmet striking the grid floor almost at my feet. Greg! She's dead. No, she moved. Get her helmet off. There's enough air here. My helmet pressure indicator was faintly buzzing to show that a safe pressure was in the room. I shut off Moa's errant's motors, unfastened her helmet, and raised it off. We gently turned her body. She lay with closed eyes, her pallid face blue, with our own helmets off, be knelt over her. Oh, Greg, is she dead? No, not quite, but dying. Greg, I don't want her to die. She was trying to help you there at the last. She opened her eyes. The film of death was glazing them, but she saw me, recognized me. Greg! Yes, Moa, I'm here. Her vivid lips were faintly drawn in a smile. I'm so glad you took the helmets off, Greg. I'm going, you know. No. Going back to Mars to rest with the fire-makers where I came from, I was thinking. Maybe you would kiss me, Greg. I needed to gently push me down. I pressed the white faintly smiling lips with mine. She sighed, and it ended with a rattle in her throat. Thank you, Greg. Closer, I can't talk so loudly. One of her gloved hands struggled to touch me, but she had no strength, and it fell back. Her words were the faintest of whispers. There was no use living without your love, but I want you to see now that a Martian girl can die with a smile. Her eyelids fluttered down. It seemed that she sighed and then was not breathing, but on her livid face the faint smile still lingered to show me how a Martian girl could die. We had forgotten for the moment where we were, as I glanced up I saw through the inner panel past the secondary lock that the hull's corridor was visible, and along its length a group of Martians was advancing. They saw us and came running. I need a look. We've got to get out of here. The secondary lock was open to the corridor. We jammed on our helmets. The unhelmeted brigands by then were fumbling at the inner panel. I pulled at the lever of our outer panel. The brigands were hurrying, thinking that they could be in time to stop me. One of the more cautious fumbled with a helmet. I need a run. Try to keep your feet. I slid the outer panel and pushed to Danita. Simultaneously the brigands opened the inner port. The air came with a tempestuous rush. A blast through the inner port, through the small pressure lock, a wild rush, out to the airless moon, all the air and the ship madly rushing to escape. Like feathers we were blown with it. I recall an impression of the hurdling brigand figures and swift flying rocks under me, a silent crash as I struck, then soundless empty blackness. End of Chapter 37