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

weightless combat than when handicapped by the force of gravitation. Keeping his projector upon the pirate, he seized the first club to hand⁠—a long, slender pedestal of metal⁠—launched himself past the pirate chief. With all the momentum of his mass and velocity and all the power of his good right arm he swung the bar at the pirate’s head. That fiercely-driven mass of metal should have taken head from shoulders, but it did not. Roger’s shield of force was utterly rigid and impenetrable; the only effect of the frightful blow was to set him spinning, end over end, like the flying baton of an acrobatic drum-major. As the spinning form crashed against the opposite wall of the room Bradley floated in, carrying Clio’s armor. Without a word the captain loosened the helpless girl’s grip upon the bracket and encased her in the suit. Then, supporting her at the window, he held his Lewiston upon the captive’s head while Costigan propelled him toward the opening. Both men knew that Roger’s shield of force must be threatened every instant⁠—that if he were allowed to release it he probably would bring to bear a hand-weapon even superior to their own.

Braced against the wall, Costigan sighted along Roger’s body toward the most distant point of the lofty dome of the artificial planet and gave him a gentle push. Then, each grasping Clio by an arm, the two officers shoved mightily with their feet and the three armored forms darted away toward their only hope of escape⁠—an emergency boat which could be launched through the shell of the great globe. To attempt to reach the Hyperion and to escape in one of her lifeboats would have been useless; they could not have forced the great gates of the main airlocks and no other exits existed. As they sailed onward through the air, Costigan keeping the slowly-floating form of Roger enveloped in his beam, Clio began to recover.

“Suppose they get their gravity fixed?” she asked, apprehensively. “And they’re raying us and shooting at us!”

“They may have it fixed already. They undoubtedly have spare parts and duplicate generators, but if they turn it on the fall will kill Roger too, and he wouldn’t like that. They’ll have to get him down with a helicopter or something, and they know that we’ll get them as fast as they come up. They can’t hurt us with hand-weapons, and before they can bring up any heavy stuff they’ll be afraid to use it, because well be too close to their shell.

“I wish we could have brought Roger along,” he continued, savagely, to Bradley. “But you were right, of course⁠—it’d be altogether too much like a rabbit capturing a wildcat. My Lewiston’s about done right now, and there can’t be much left of yours⁠—what he’d do to us would be a sin and a shame.”

Now at the great wall, the two men heaved mightily upon a lever, the gate of the emergency port swung slowly open, and they entered the miniature cruiser of the void. Costigan, familiar with the mechanism of the craft from careful study from his prison cell, manipulated the controls. Through gate after massive gate they went, until finally they were out in open space, shooting toward distant Tellus at the maximum acceleration of which their small craft was capable.

Costigan cut the other two phones out of circuit and spoke, his attention fixed upon some extremely distant point.

“Samms!” he called sharply. “Costigan. We’re out⁠ ⁠… all right⁠ ⁠… yes⁠ ⁠… sure⁠ ⁠… absolutely⁠ ⁠… you tell ’em, Sammy, I’ve got company here.”

Through the sound-disks of their helmets the girl and the captain had heard Costigan’s share of the conversation. Bradley stared at his erstwhile first officer in amazement, and even Clio had often heard that mighty, half-mythical name. Surely that bewildering young man must rank high, to speak so familiarly to Virgil Samms, the all-powerful head of the space-pervading Service of the Triplanetary League!

“You’ve turned in a general call-out,” Bradley stated, rather than asked.

“Long ago⁠—I’ve been in touch right along,” Costigan answered. “Now that they know what to look for and know that ether-wave detectors are useless, they can find it. Every vessel in seven sectors, clear down to the scout patrols, is concentrating on this point, and the call is out for all battleships and cruisers afloat. There are enough operatives out there with ultra-waves to locate that globe, and once they spot it they’ll point it out to all the other vessels.”

“But how about the other prisoners?” asked the girl. “They’ll be killed, won’t they?”

“Hard telling,” Costigan shrugged. “Depends on how things turn out. We lack a lot of being safe ourselves yet.”

“What’s worrying me mostly is our own chance,” Bradley assented. “They will chase us, of course.”

“Sure, and they’ll have more speed than we have. Depends on how far away the nearest Triplanetary vessels are. But we’ve done everything we can do, for now.”

Silence fell, and Costigan cut in Clio’s phone and came over to the seat upon which she was reclining, white and stricken⁠—worn out by the horrible and terrifying ordeals of the last few hours. As he seated himself beside her she blushed vividly, but her deep blue eyes met his gray ones steadily.

“Clio, I⁠ ⁠… we⁠ ⁠… you⁠ ⁠… that is,” he flushed hotly and stopped. This secret agent, whose clear, keen brain no physical danger could cloud; who had proved over and over again that he was never at a loss in any emergency, however desperate⁠—this quick-witted officer floundered in embarrassment like any schoolboy; but continued, doggedly: “I’m afraid that I gave myself away back there, but.⁠ ⁠…”

“We gave ourselves away, you mean,” she filled in the pause. “I did my share, but I won’t hold you to it if you don’t want⁠—but I know that you love me, Conway!”

“Love you!” the man groaned, his face lined and hard, his whole body rigid. “That doesn’t half tell it, Clio. You don’t need to hold me⁠—I’m held for life. There never was a woman who meant anything to me before,