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Read Ebook: 續子不語 by Yuan Mei
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Ebook has 346 lines and 12416 words, and 7 pages
"Good! Work on it, Jorgens. And try for the Peak One Moon station, or Peak Four." Ross watched Jorgens join the little group of signalmen toiling over the ray-type machine, and shook his head. "Did you get that, Harry? Magnus killed."
Moore blinked inquiringly. "Do we go on?"
"Go on?" Ross hesitated. He read the mangled dispatch, then squared his shoulders. "Nothing here about turning back. So on we go. Heaven knows what we'll find."
"Magnus dead." Moore shook his head. "Who takes over?"
"On the Moon? I happen to know, because it came up at the conference five years ago. Queen Boada and the two chief lords form a Council of Three. That'll be Boada, Horta and Artana, Lord of the Peaks. You remember him?"
"Sure." Moore wagged his jaws, chewing reminiscently. "Nice kid."
"Well, he was sixteen then. He'll be twenty-one, grown up. And say! Remember the Princess? Illeria. She was fourteen, she'll be nineteen now. Sweet kid."
"Skinny," grunted Moore.
"Yes," Ross agreed absently. "Well, we'll get a welcome from Boada and Artana. Maybe Horta will kick up a fuss, but he's the minority."
The ray-type machine came to life with a faint rattle. Jorgens watched it critically, then stared as the words ran out on the page. He waited for the sentence to finish, then snatched the sheet from the machine and held it out in trembling fingers to Ross.
The message was brief. Ross read it, shoved it at Moore, and grasped the orders tube. "Gun crews!" he sang out. "Load fore and after torpedo tubes and stand by!" He waited for the "Aye, sir!" to sound from both gun stations, then turned back to Moore.
The navigator was standing with jaw agape. He repeated the message word for word as if in a hypnotic spell. "Nagasaki destroyed. Purple Death."
Ross shook his arm. "Harry, snap out of it! We've got to fight!"
"Fight what?" asked Moore dazedly.
"I don't know," rapped Ross savagely. "But at a guess, I'd say the Purple Death, whatever that may be!"
The assistant navigator looked back from his post by the helmsman. "Coming in to Peak One, sir," he called.
"What's our speed?" asked Ross.
"Two thousand, sir."
"Cut her down to a thousand," commanded Ross. "Any signals from the Peak?"
The navigator shook his head nervously. "None yet, sir. Shall I cut speed if they don't signal?"
"Yes," Ross decided. "Slow up as you see fit, and hover at fifty miles if they show no signal." He gestured to his chief navigator. "Come on, Harry, let's inspect ship."
The two passed from the control room to the gleaming engines. Here the silent engine crew hearkened to the pulse of the powerful rocket engine, and kept steady eyes on the gauges that showed the compressed ray fuel was feeding steadily into the discharger. Out of the engine room they passed to the after gun station. Ross tapped one of the six-inch torpedoes, and slapped one of the slim three-inch cylinders in the number two torpedo rack. "We may need them all soon," he told the station chief.
The gunnery chief's eyes widened. "We'll be ready, sir. Can you--is there anything I can tell the men about--Number Eight?"
Ross shook his head. "She's gone," he said briefly. "Might have been an accidental explosion--but I don't think so. We're landing soon. Just be ready, that's all."
He swung away to the forward gun station, saw that all hands were alert, and led the way back to the control room. Jorgens was pulling a sheet from the ray-type. He handed it over quickly.
It was from the Moon. "Warning to Earth Fleet!" it began. "Peak One wrecked. Come in on Peak Four." And it was signed "Artana."
Ross strode forward, his blue eyes blazing. "That's all, Jorgens?"
"No, sir. More coming now." He waited until the flying keys had rattled out two more lines, then ripped the sheet off. This message told more.
"Peak One wrecked by rebels who assassinated King Magnus. Signal systems at Peaks One, Two and Three destroyed. Greetings to Commander Ross. Artana."
"Rebels!" exclaimed Ross.
"Horta!" murmured Moore.
The chief signalman caught the name. "That louse!" he exclaimed in disgust. "Pretended we couldn't teach him anything, the time we set up his systems for him. He's raising hell on the Moon, Commander?"
Ross frowned. "That's just a guess, Jorgens," he reproved the signalman. "We only know this much for sure." He tapped the two sheets.
"Huh! Ten to one that blue-nosed devil's in it," grumbled Jorgens, turning back to the ray-type. "Want to answer, Chief?"
"Yes." Ross thought rapidly. He spoke in a low tone to Moore. "This might be a trap."
Moore blinked. "You mean, Artana sent this to decoy us in to Four and smash us?"
"Not Artana," corrected Ross. "Horta."
"Gosh, yes!" Moore fumbled his glasses off. "I hadn't thought of that! No reason why Horta couldn't send a message in Artana's name!"
"It's a possibility," Ross grinned sourly. He turned to Jorgens. "Send this: 'Greetings to Artana, Lord of the Peaks, from Ross. Coming in to Peak Four.' Repeat it, too, in case they aren't getting it any too clear." He wheeled to the helmsman, noted the speed was cut down now to six hundred miles, and nodded approval. "Change course for Peak Four."
Moore laid an urgent hand on his chief's arm as the helmsman obeyed. "Say," Bruce, this is risky!"
"Risky!" Ross laughed shortly. "Of course it's risky."
"Wouldn't it be better to stand off and wait for more news?"
Ross shook his head. His eyes blazed. "Harry, there's a lot of hell breaking out on the Earth and on the Moon, too. We're in the middle. We can't be in both places, but we can find out--I hope--what's going on up here. And if we do, maybe we can put a heavy foot on what's happening to the Earth. Do you remember what Trowbridge's message said?"
Moore's ordinarily placid features tightened. "The Purple Death," he whispered. "You're the boss, Bruce. All I want is to get in on whatever happens!"
The Earth Fleet slid slowly down to the craters. The pale surface of the Moon gleamed dully, phosphorescent, lambent where the rays of the sun struck crater tops. Off to the left the High Peak, Peak Number One to the Earth visitors, loomed dark and sinister.
But Peak Four showed all its lights, bright and steady. Ross ordered the six following ships to stand off and await orders, or act on their own judgment if the flagship came to harm. Then he took his place beside the helmsman. "Take her down slow," he ordered.
The rocket ship glided straight and sure for the brightest light. Slowly the pin-point of white fire became a circle, then an oval. Then it broke up into hundreds of lights surrounding a platform. The helmsman muttered an order, and the rocket ship, answering the urge of her flippers, dived briefly and straightened out into a glide. From the control windows the shape of the platform took form, and dim little figures could be seen scurrying on its edges.
Moore fidgeted uneasily. "We'll be duck soup for them if it's Horta," he muttered.
Ross chuckled. "Where's your sporting blood?" he jibed. "Bet you even money it's Artana."
"That's an easy bet for you," retorted Moore. "You won't live long enough to pay off if it's Horta."
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