Triplanetary - E. E. Smith (phonics reader TXT) 📗

wear them all the time, too. Take this capsule and hide it against your skin, some place where it can’t be found except by the most rigid search. Swallow it in an emergency⁠—it goes down easily and works just as well inside as outside. It is the most important thing of all⁠—you can get along with it alone if you lose everything else, but without that capsule the whole system’s shot to pieces. With that outfit, if we should get separated, you can talk to us⁠—we’re both wearing ’em, although in somewhat different forms. You don’t need to talk loud⁠—just a mutter will be enough. They’re handy little outfits⁠—almost impossible to find, and capable of a lot of things.”

“Thanks, Conway⁠—I’ll remember that, too,” Clio replied, as she turned toward the tiny locker to follow his instructions. “But won’t the scouts and patrols be catching us pretty quick? The operator sent a warning.”

“Afraid the ether’s empty, as far as we’re concerned.”

Captain Bradley had stood by in silent astonishment during this conversation. His eyes had bulged slightly at Costigan’s “we’re both wearing ’em,” but he had held his peace and as the girl disappeared a look of dawning comprehension came over his face.

“Oh, I see, sir,” he said, respectfully⁠—far more respectfully than he had ever before addressed a mere first officer. “Meaning that we both will be wearing them shortly, I assume. ‘Service Specials’⁠—but you didn’t specify exactly what Service, did you?”

“Now that you mention it, I don’t believe that I did,” Costigan grinned.

“That explains several things about you⁠—particularly your recognition of Vee-Two and your uncanny control and speed of reaction. But aren’t you.⁠ ⁠…”

“No,” Costigan interrupted. “This situation is apt to get altogether too serious to overlook any bets. If we get away, I’ll take them away from her and she’ll never know that they aren’t routine equipment. As for you, I know that you can and do keep your mouth shut. That’s why I’m hanging this junk on you⁠—I had a lot of stuff in my kit, but I flashed it all with the Standish except what I brought in here for us three. Whether you think so or not, we’re in a real jam⁠—our chance of getting away is mighty close to zero.⁠ ⁠…”

He broke off as the girl came back, now to all appearances a small Triplanetary officer, and the three settled down to a long and eventless wait. Hour after hour they flew through the ether, but finally there was a lurching swing and an abrupt increase in their acceleration. After a short consultation Captain Bradley turned on the visiray set and, with the beam at its minimum power, peered cautiously downward, in the direction opposite to that in which he knew the pirate vessel must be. All three stared into the plate, seeing only an infinity of emptiness, marked only by the infinitely remote and coldly brilliant stars. While they stared into space a vast area of the heavens was blotted out and they saw, faintly illuminated by a peculiar blue luminescence, a vast ball⁠—a sphere so large and so close that they seemed to be dropping downward toward it as though it were a world! They came to a stop⁠—paused, weightless⁠—a vast door slid smoothly aside⁠—they were drawn upward through an airlock and floated quietly in the air above a small, but brightly-lighted and orderly city of metallic buildings! Gently the Hyperion was lowered, to come to rest in the embracing arms of a regulation landing cradle.

“Well, wherever it is, we’re here,” remarked Captain Bradley, grimly, and:

“And now the fireworks start,” assented Costigan, with a questioning glance at the girl.

“Don’t mind me,” she answered his unspoken question. “I don’t believe in surrendering, either.”

“Right,” and both men squatted down behind the ether-walls of their terrific weapons; the girl prone behind them.

They had not long to wait. A group of human beings⁠—men and to all appearances Americans⁠—appeared unarmed in the little lounge. As soon as they were well inside the room, Bradley and Costigan released upon them without compunction the full power of their frightful projectors. From the reflectors, through the doorway, there tore a concentrated double beam of pure destruction⁠—but that beam did not reach its goal. Yards from the men it met a screen of impenetrable density. Instantly the gunners pressed their triggers and a stream of high-explosive shells issued from the roaring weapons. But shells, also, were futile. They struck the shield and vanished⁠—vanished without exploding and without leaving a trace to show that they had ever existed.

Costigan sprang to his feet, but before he could launch his intended attack a vast tunnel appeared beside him⁠—something had gone through the entire width of the liner, cutting effortlessly a smooth cylinder of emptiness. Air rushed in to fill the vacuum, and the three visitors felt themselves seized by invisible forces and drawn into the tunnel. Through it they floated, up to and over buildings, finally slanting downward toward the door of a great high-towered structure. Doors opened before them and closed behind them, until at last they stood upright in a room which was evidently the office of a busy executive. They faced a desk which, in addition to the usual equipment of the business man, carried also a bewilderingly complete switchboard and instrument panel.

Seated impassively at the desk there was a gray man. Not only was he dressed entirely in gray, but his heavy hair was gray, his eyes were gray, and even his tanned skin seemed to give the impression of grayness in disguise. His overwhelming personality radiated an aura of grayness⁠—not the gentle gray of the dove, but the resistless, driving gray of the super-dreadnought; the hard, inflexible, brittle gray of the fracture of high-carbon steel.

“Captain Bradley, First Officer Costigan, Miss Marsden,” the man spoke quietly, but crisply. “I had not intended you two men to live so long. That is a detail, however, which we will pass by for the moment. You may remove your suits.”

Neither officer moved, but both stared back