Read Ebook: The Madcap Metalloids by Athanas Verne

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Ebook has 136 lines and 8262 words, and 3 pages

"Set," he said over his shoulder, and Doc slid into his shock-chair and clicked the switch. "Right," said Doc.

Jon flipped the three toggle switches and shoved the red power lever full ahead. The ship quivered, and the tiny shudders of strain telegraphed their way up to Jon's sensitive nerves. But the ship moved not at all. Jon cursed softly and threw the auxiliaries on. The sense of strain grew until it was nearly unbearable. The ship edged ahead, six inches, six more, then the warning lights began to pop on above the control panel.

Jon groaned, and cut power. He swiveled around.

"That's all," he said, "unless you want to get out and push." They unstrapped silently and lighted cigarettes without looking at each other. Unconsciously their eyes went to the Geiger. It clicked softly, and the sensitive needle jumped half across the dial and fell back. The needle of the accumulator dial was already lifting off the pin. Again the Geiger clicked and the needle jumped.

"Well," said Doc tiredly, "let's start getting it down on record tape. It may do some good someday."

The transmitter was set on automatic, and was tirelessly throwing out its XER, XER, XER, in Interplanetary Code. But only a hissing roar came from the speaker tuned to the Explocenter channel. Doc got up and turned the volume down. He rubbed his hands together briskly.

"Let's go out and have a look-see," he suggested.

"You nuts?" inquired Jon sourly. "We'd be squashed like a couple of bugs the second we step off Stable-G."

It worked.

Doc insisted on being the first out. He ran a loop of eighth-inch shielded warping line through the towing rings on the shoulders of his suit and grounded the shielding to the suit with a dab of welding metal.

"If I get stuck, Jon," his voice came tinnily through the phones, "haul me back with the winch. And whatever you do, watch the weld on your end of the shielding. There should be enough juice in it to keep it inert." Jon nodded, and Doc broke the seal on the outer door.

For a split-second the air glittered with pinpoints of light as the moisture in the air-lock solidified. Then the crystals blinked out as the further cold broke the solids into their separate gasses and dispersed them. Doc slowly descended the ladder to the ground. His voice kept up a steady drone, feeding information to Jon and to the recorders tuned in on the control panel.

"I am clear of the ship now, by about twenty meters. Surface seems to be a sort of metallic sand--granulated at least--but solid as steel. My relative weight seems to be about 1.5, with S-G unit at maximum. The area seems to be absolutely barren, without even a hummock or dune in sight. The.... Whup! There's one of those things--those spheres--just ahead, about thirty degrees off the ship's nose. Stand by--I'm coming back to the air-lock."

Jon swiftly hauled in the slack in the line, hand over hand, and pressed the winch control to feed the slack onto the drum.

"Hold it," came Doc's voice. "It's disappeared again. Whup! Now there's one over here on my right, at about a hundred meters. Spherical shape, black, about five and a half or six meters in diameter ... now it seems to be settling into the surface; assuming a hemispherical form.... Whup! Disappeared again! Reel me in, Jon. We've got to get some high-speed shots of this."

It never occurred to either of them that there was no point in making these recordings. Explocenter hand-picked its men, and insatiable curiosity was the first requisite. Quick judgment and moral stamina came next. And first, last, and always--'get it down on records'.

The Geiger clicked softly on the bulk-head and the needle of the accumulator was working toward the red area, but neither paused to consider these things now. They had made their try, exhausted their resources.

But in the back of their minds was the knowledge that within a few months a statistician at Explocenter would mark Explounit X-3 "missing", and at the end of the year two more names would be added to the column at Explocenter; that shaft of gray venustron that stood beside the main entrance, whereon was the long, long scroll of names. Simple monument to the men of Explocenter who never came back.

"We can't take the big tele-lens outside," mused Doc, "so we'll have to record off the visi-plate. I'll go outside again, and spot for you, and you can line the 'plate on my bearings."

"Huh-uh. My turn," retorted Jon. "Why should you have all the fun? I'm going out this time, and you can shoot pictures to your little heart's content. Besides, I'm going to tuck my little personal camera into my helmet under my chin and get some shots on the spot."

"All right," snorted Doc. "But don't come crying to papa if you stub your toe. And look both ways before you cross the street. Here--let me blow your nose before you go out in the cold."

"Aw go to Helios, you retort-smasher. If I run into a ground squirrel, I'll skin him and bring you some hair."

Jon eased down the ladder and shuffled across the smooth surface until he was well clear of the ship.

"Nothing yet," he reported, and swept the horizon with his glance.

"I could have told you," said Doc nastily. "Your ugly face scared them away."

"Yeah," snorted Jon. "Every stenotyper at Explo has your beautiful mug pasted in the top drawer of her desk."

"Sure!" agreed Doc smugly.

"Well," said Jon impatiently, and under his breath. "Come on, you black boogers--I ain't got all day." Then he gulped.

For a huge black sphere materialized about fifty meters to his left and rolled swiftly toward him. Jon beat a hasty retreat. He backed toward the ship, and jogged the camera under his chin to start it operating. The sphere paused a second, then rolled slowly after him.

"Steady," came Doc's voice in the phones. "I got a dis-ray on it."

Jon felt better, though he knew that a dis-ray blast this close to him would fricassee him too. He told Doc so.

"What's the difference?" inquired Doc, the first note of their doom in his voice. "Fast or slow--take your choice."

"Take your pictures, ground-hog," grunted Jon. "I'll do the heavy thinking around here."

"Don't sprain your neck with it, Fly-boy."

It was that dull black hopelessness in the back of Jon's mind that gave him the bravado that he showed then. He took a quick step toward the sphere.

"Scat," he snarled savagely, and waved his arms. "Shoo! Get lost!"

Then his mouth gaped. It was gone! Vanished!

"Doc!" he yelled, "did you see that?"

"Yup," came Doc's matter-of-fact voice. "Got it all here on the tape. Blip! Gone, just like before."

"That isn't what I mean," protested Jon. His brain was staggered by the half-formed thoughts that crowded it. "Now get this, Doc."

He shouted, "Come back here! Right here in front of me." For the space of three slow heartbeats nothing happened. Then, with the air of having been there all the time, the sphere materialized.

Breathing carefully, Jon said. "Roll toward me." The sphere hesitated a second, then came obediently toward him.

"Stop!" said Jon. The sphere was stock-still in the instant.

"Doc," cried Jon, excitement cracking his voice, "these star-blasted boogers can think!"

"Come on in out of the sun, Fly-boy," said Doc wearily. "The heat's getting you. It's coincidence. Or you moved to attract it, or something."

"No," protested Jon. "Now look. I'm going to cut off my trans, but I'll call my shots first. I'm going to have it roll left, then right, then back to center. Got that? Left, right, and back to center. Over and out." And Jon cut off his transmitter.

For fifteen minutes Jon put the hulking ball through its paces, and then as suddenly as it had appeared, the rapport was lost. The sphere trundled off across the plain, oblivious to Jon's commands, and finally settled to a hemisphere in the distance. Jon opened his trans.

"Yah," came Doc's disgusted voice. "He never jumped through no hoop."

"Drop it," retorted Jon curtly. "He got tired of it. Did you get it all down?"

"Every bit of it. Better come on in now, and we'll look it over."

Jon was suddenly tired, and he thought of the soft chairs in the Flight Room. But there would be that damned Geiger clicking, and the accumulator needle working into the red.

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