Chapter III: Part 3

But the Jehad had no atmosphere to shield it from meteors. True, we were equipped with double walls capable of vaporizing a meteor up to a quarter of an inch in diameter. And we had methods of minimizing the danger of larger meteors--leakproof fluid in the walls, airtight bulkheads dividing the ship into segments, spacesuits, and a reserve supply of oxygen. But there was always that extreme chance of striking a big fellow, which would cancel out all our defenses. This cloud ahead of us certainly held a few that size.

Had Axel and I not been so interested in the signals from Mars, we might have spotted the meteors several minutes sooner. Our ship was now traveling close to 30,000 miles an hour, however, and those minutes had eaten up precious distance in which we might have maneuvered the craft out of danger.

We were less than an hour's run from the fringe of the cloud. The Jehad, using a very small amount of power to accelerate its huge mass, could not be turned in time to avoid it.

As Spartan sounded the alarm, he spoke tersely into the intercom mike, warning of the danger ahead and telling the crew to scatter to separate compartments, to minimize the loss in the event that a large meteor crashed into one segment of the ship. We had all been drilled on this procedure, which included the donning of spacesuits.

While Spartan remained in the control room, Axel and I put on our suits, zipped them, and then I carried one to Spartan, who put it on while Axel continued to manipulate the controls. The manipulation simply included increasing the power of the plasma motors.

All twelve were now operating, and auxiliary jets on the sides of the ship were being fired in order to curve the ship from its trajectory so that it would pass as near the extreme rear fringe of the cloud as possible. Here the meteors would be the smallest, driven back from the central mass by the pressure of sunlight, which would have less effect on the larger masses.

Wearing a space helmet aboard ship had one major disadvantage. In order to talk, it was necessary to use the radio transmitters located in the helmets. All were on the same wave length and since all of us were talking at the same time, there was a babble of voices in our ears.

"Silence!" Spartan's voice rose above the others. "Keep quiet! You distract me!"

The sounds subsided. Spartan took over the controls from Axel and continued to increase the power of the ship. Suddenly he seemed to be aware that Axel and I were still in the control room. "Go back to my compartment! Both of you! You know the regulations for an emergency like this."

Dr. Spartan's compartment, like the shower room and lavatory farther to the rear of the ship, was divided in half by a corridor. On one side were his living quarters and on the other was the chartroom which contained a small but adequate electronic computer, astronomic tables on microfilm, a projector for the film, and our entire supply of writing materials.

Axel stationed himself in the chartroom, and I went to Spartan's sleeping quarters. I felt helpless and trapped. The room, for a captain's quarters, was bleak. His sleeping bag was lashed to the bulkhead and there was a private lavatory and shaving mirror, for he did not share the one the rest of us used. A small chest--like the ones the rest of us had for our personal belongings--was near the bed roll.

I remembered suddenly that the male members of the crew had been clean-shaven and had sported butch hair-cuts when they'd come aboard. Even Gail wore a mannish bob. But Dr. Spartan had kept his beard. If, in order to cut down on weight, we'd been ordered to trim our hair, why hadn't Spartan made a sacrifice in that direction?

I thought about these things, perhaps, to turn my mind away from the approaching danger. This was also the reason I gave myself for looking into his space chest. I'm not naturally a snooper. Was he the kind of man who would murder me in order to possess Gail? Would a clue be in his chest? I looked inside.

I found a toothbrush, soap, extra clothing and shoes, electric razor for trimming his beard. There was also a locked box which probably contained poisoned darts. I had an urge to steal it, but I knew his gun was loaded and I'd never get away with the theft.

Next I found a small square of paper on which were written the names of the crew. Morrie Grover's name was first. Mine was second. Joel's had been third, but now it was crossed out and written below Axel's. Gail's name was followed by a question mark. There was no notation to indicate the reason for the names. He did not need a roster of the crew--that was in the log book.

I replaced the paper and closed the chest. I waited for meteors to strike, and wondered if any would damage the ship. But I knew the only sound I would hear would be when one struck the ship. The greater the sound, the larger the meteor.

I put my head to the floor. I was wearing my helmet, of course, but the vibrations of striking meteors would be transmitted to the helmet and I would hear them. We had often talked to each other this way without using our helmet radios.

For several minutes I waited and heard nothing. Then came a sound.

_Ping._

It was faint, but I knew a meteor had made that sound as it hit the craft.

Then _ping, ping, crump!_

Two small, one much larger. But there had been no holes made in the ship. At least, there was no alarm from Dr. Spartan who would know from the air gauges if any compartment had been punctured.

The ringing sounds, singly and in twos and threes, continued. This was a dense cloud, although we were striking them only a dozen or so to a minute. That is density in space. Then I heard a loud _thud_. A tiny bump raised itself in the metal floor not two feet from my helmet. A large meteor had pierced the outer hide of our ship and dented the inside wall before vaporizing. But the fluid in the walls was now closing the hole and we had lost no air.

Another thud. I didn't know where this one had hit.

The ship's acceleration, which had increased when Dr. Spartan started the emergency motors, suddenly seemed to decrease. Spartan's gruff voice came through my helmet radio. "A motor has been hit."

He had cut down the power, of course. A single motor conking out would put more thrust on the other three sides of the ship, resulting in a curved trajectory for the craft. Therefore three other motors would have to be cut in order to keep the ship in a straight line.

There were more pings and thumps in my ears as I continued to press my helmet to the floor. An hour passed. Then another. Two hours of terror. Then the noise stopped.

"I think we're out of danger," Spartan's voice came through my helmet radio. "We penetrated a thin segment of the cloud."

"Any leaks, Doctor?" Axel asked.

"The air pressure gauges show no loss. But the motor will have to be repaired. Who's on duty now?"

"Miss Loring follows me into the control room," said Axel, "but this has been a tough experience for her. I won't mind working overtime."

"I can't permit it," said Spartan. "Everyone must do his share. Fetch her, Drake."

"Yes, sir," I said.

I went back to the main cabin where I found Joel slipping out of his spacesuit. I removed mine.

"Where's Gail?" I asked him.

He nodded to the rear of the ship. "She went to the machinery room," he said. "Morrie's in the kitchen."

I shuffled back to the kitchen. Morrie's spacesuit lay in a heap on the floor, but there was no sign of him.

He wasn't in the lavatory, either. I pushed open the door to the machinery room just in time to hear Gail scream.

I stood there a moment, hardly believing what I saw. Morrie had forced her to the floor. He had almost torn her uniform from her body. She was trying to fight him off, but his arms held her tight.

I pushed myself away from the bulkhead. In the center of the ship there is very little centrifugal force and I literally sailed across the room to drop lightly on my feet beside the struggling pair.

I reached down, caught Morrie savagely around the neck with my arm, and pulled him back, away from Gail.

He squirmed out of my grasp and threw a savage punch which struck me in the shoulder. But he hadn't been set to deliver the blow and I hardly felt it. I was angry now and I lunged forward, grabbing his arm with both hands. His feet left the floor and I literally hurled him across the cabin into the water purifier on the far side of the room.

He hit with a crash.

I turned to Gail. "Are you all right?"

"I--I'm--fine," she choked. Then her eyes focused on Morrie across the room. "Look out, Bill!" she screamed.

I turned. Morrie had wrenched a pipe from the water purifier and was getting set to dive at me.

_Chapter 8_

Crouching, I awaited Morrie's onslaught. He held the aluminum pipe--about a three-foot length--biding his time, his mouth twisting in bitter frustration. I remember thinking how lucky I was that the improvised weapon was aluminum and not heavy iron. _Small consolation_, I thought. _He can certainly knock me out with it._

But Morrie's angry face showed more than a desire to make me unconscious. He had the wild eyes of a madman, and there was murder in his movements.

He swung the pipe. I ducked and it passed so close to my skull that I could feel it brush through my hair. The force of the blow tore his feet from the floor and he sailed upward, glancing off the garden trays so that he turned a somersault and came down on his feet above my head.

I sprang at him. He stepped aside and swung the pipe, catching me a glancing blow on the shoulder and knocking me across the ship and against the water purifier. The machine was already a shambles, both of us having hit it. The steam spurted into the room--water dripped on the floor.

Bruised and cautious, I shuffled around the ship toward him. He stood waving the pipe like a batter in a baseball game, determined not to miss again. I could see it in his eyes.

I moved within reach and he struck. But this time I didn't dodge. I caught the blow on my arm. Pain shot through it, but I'd caught the blow soon enough to prevent the full force from breaking the bone. As it hit, I seized the pipe with my other hand and twisted it sharply. It came out of Morrie's grasp.

He lunged toward me. I threw him back with a punch aimed at his chin, landing on his chest instead. He crouched to attack and I threw the pipe at him. Once more I didn't figure on the ten per cent gravity. The pipe went over his head and crashed into the bulkhead at the other end of the ship.

He sprang and I caught him. We stood with our magnetized shoes anchored to the floor, swinging, ducking, punching, each now angry enough to kill. We were about evenly matched as far as muscles and weight were concerned, but Morrie was showing the strength of a maniac. My punch staggered him but did no real damage. He came back and feinted. I suckered and he brought two punches against my chin and belly that sent me to the floor. Only the fact that I rolled with the punches kept me from being kayoed. He tried to dive on me, but I scrambled out of the way. We were both beginning to show some signs of damage. I had a soreness in the belly where he'd landed his blow, and his cheek had been cut by my knuckles. He dived at me again. I scored on his chin but he managed to get me in a clinch.

We wrestled, partly on the floor, partly floating near the garden trays and the cable housing in the center of the compartment. Suddenly he grasped my shoulders and brought up his knee.

It caught me in the groin and I screamed with pain.

Somehow I caught one of the trays and hurled myself out of reach, but as I hit the floor I could hardly move. All the fight left me with that blow. Somewhere, I heard Gail calling: "Bill! Get up!"

It was no use. I couldn't move my arms or legs.

Morrie hesitated a moment. Then, deciding that I was helpless, he pushed himself to the bulkhead where the length of pipe lay. He meant to use it in an attempt to beat me to death. He reached the weapon, picked it up and held it a moment in his hand as he turned a savage look toward me.

He came toward me, certain that I was no longer able to defend myself. I rolled away, the pain nearly killing me. Then I wrapped my legs around his and tripped him, in spite of the pain in my groin. He dropped the pipe as he fell.

Holding him tightly with a scissors grip, I lay there, inhaling deeply, trying to rid my body of pain. Morrie turned and twisted, trying to break free. With each movement he was sliding, until finally he was free.

I rolled over and got to my knees, waiting for his next rush. I needed all the time I could get to regain my strength. Knowing this, Morrie wasted no time. He got ready to leap again.

Then I saw Gail. She had picked up the pipe Morrie had dropped. She moved toward him, holding it high, ready to strike. My eyes, watching her, gave her away. Morrie saw my glance and turned just as she was ready to strike. He warded off the blow with his left arm, just as I'd done early in the fight, then he swung hard with his right. The punch landed solidly on Gail's jaw. She gave a startled moan of pain as she went down to the floor.

That did more than all the resting in the world for me. The pain seemed to leave my body for a moment. At least I didn't feel it any more. All that was left was a desire to pound Morrie Grover into a shapeless pulp because he had struck Gail with his fist. I hit him like a truck.

He went down and I fell on top of him. Holding him with my knees on his stomach I punched his face, his nose, his mouth, his jaw. Left, right. Left, right. One, two and again one, two. Morrie's head lolled with the punches and he was out. And then my strength left me. I fell over his unconscious body in a faint.

* * * * *

The darkness seemed to float away as I felt a cooling moisture on my face. I opened my eyes and saw Gail bending over me. Her clothing was in so many rags she looked naked. She had taken a strip of torn cloth, moistened it under the leaking water purifier, and was bathing my battered face.

I turned my head and saw Axel and Dr. Spartan coming through the bulkhead door.

"What in the devil happened here?" Spartan snarled.

"Grover," said Gail, nodding toward Morrie, who was trying to lift himself off the floor.

"He's hurt!" said Axel.

"Attend to him," said Spartan. Then he turned to Gail. "And Drake? Were they fighting? Over you?"

Gail stopped bathing my face. She began to sob. I sat up straight now.

"Stop tormenting her!" I said, my anger rising to choke me.

"Sir!" said Spartan. He always insisted we call him _sir_. Now that bit of rank pulling seemed more important to him than ever. His eyes showed steel-hard determination to force me into submission; his lips were tight with hatred.

"I said 'Stop tormenting her!' and I didn't say _sir_!" I shouted. "Morrie tried to rape her. Can't you figure that out?"

"Sir!" Spartan snapped. "And how do I know you weren't the one who tried it?"

"Because, damn you, _SIR_, I'm her husband!"

Spartan's face flushed angrily. "That's no way to talk to your superior officer!" he snapped. "For this impertinence--"

He stopped in the middle of pronouncing sentence as his eyes fell on the water-purifying apparatus.

"You've wrecked it!" he shouted and sprang to examine it.

Axel was holding Morrie upright now and Gail resumed bathing my bruised face with refreshing water. "Let me have some of that water," said Axel, ripping out a torn piece of Morrie's T-shirt.

Spartan swung around. "Stop wasting that water!" he roared. "Do you realize we're dangerously short of water as a result of this foolishness?"

Gail continued to bathe my face with the damp cloth.

"Stop it!" thundered Spartan.

"Bill's hurt," she replied calmly.

"By his own idiocy."

"Idiocy!" Gail stood up and faced Spartan. "If there's an idiot aboard this ship, it's you--you interplanetary Captain Bligh!"

Spartan didn't move a muscle. His face was frozen into a mask of contempt and resentment. "Miss Loring," he said, "just because you are a woman gives you no special privileges. I'm the captain of this ship, and I _must_ be treated with respect."

"Why don't you do something to earn respect then?" she demanded, looking as though she might burst into tears at any moment.

"Ten days extra duty for you, Miss Loring," he said. He turned and went to the bulkhead door. When he reached it, he turned to Axel. "As soon as these men are able, bring them into the main cabin. We'll hold the court-martial there."

He disappeared through the door. Axel got up and went over to the water purifier. He spent three or four minutes examining it. When he finished he looked very grim.

"Two of the four units are wrecked," he said. "We may be on half rations of water for the next two years."

* * * * *

When Morrie and I were able to get on our feet, we went into the main cabin, where Spartan was arranging Morrie's spacesuit beside his sleeping bag. He gave us a frowning glance and beckoned to Axel, who went to where he was standing. They talked for a few minutes, discussing the damage to our water system. Only Joel was absent, being in the control room.

Finally Spartan turned to the rest of us. "Sit down," he said.

He waited until we had arranged ourselves in front of him, Axel, Gail and I sitting cross-legged on the floor behind Morrie, who reclined on his elbows facing Spartan.

"Mr. Ludson has just told me that our water-cycling equipment is badly damaged," Spartan said, seating himself. "Therefore, we will have to use less water, unless we can make repairs. The present outlook is very bad. The cycling units can now distill only half the amount we have been using.

"We can't cut down on the amount of water we use to irrigate our garden. And we can't prepare meals without water because we have to depend on dehydrated food. So we'll have to use less water for drinking, washing and laundry."

"Good heavens, Dr. Spartan! We can't live in filth!" said Gail.

"Perhaps not," said Spartan, "but when we wash, or do laundry, that water must come from our drinking supply. That will force us to hold unnecessary cleanliness to a minimum."

It was obvious that we would be the dirtiest group of spacemen who ever made an interplanetary voyage.

"In addition," Spartan went on, "No. Five motor is not functioning because it was hit by a meteor. We have yet to determine how badly it is damaged, but since it is important that we have that extra margin of safety, we must make every attempt to repair it. And if that isn't enough trouble for us, two of our crew have engaged in a disgraceful brawl."

"It was _not_ a brawl!" said Gail.

"Miss Loring, I've warned you. I will increase your punishment if you continue with these remarks. I've called you together here to hold a court-martial to decide where to fix the blame for the damage to the water machinery. Now, Miss Loring, if you want to talk, you can tell me what happened."

Gail, who had found time to put on another uniform, bowed her head.

"It is very embarrassing, Dr. Spartan--"

"It is necessary," said Spartan.

Gail hesitated, collecting her thoughts. "When the meteor alarm was given I went to my station in the machinery room, which is nearest my quarters in the rear cupola of the ship--"

"We all know that. It is unnecessary to give these details," said Spartan.

"After you gave the all-clear signal, Morrie--Mr. Grover--who had been in the kitchen, came in through the bulkhead and asked me if I was all right. After I told him I was, he broke down and began to cry. I felt sorry for him and went over and put my arm on his shoulders to cheer him up."

"Are you sure, Miss Loring, that was the only reason you put your arm around him?" Spartan asked.

"I did _not_ put my arm around him, Doctor," Gail said succinctly. "Mr. Grover apparently had been under tremendous strain. As you know, he's the youngest member of the crew."

"He's old enough to have mature emotions."

"He has shown that his emotions are definitely _not_ mature," Gail replied. "As I said before, I tried to cheer him up, but he--like other people I could name--put a different interpretation on an innocent gesture. He threw his arms around me and kissed me. He said some wild things about being in love with me. I tried to push him away, explaining that I was a married woman--"

"We all understand about that marriage," Morrie broke in.

"Nevertheless, I made promises at that ceremony and I intend to keep them until Bill Drake is no longer my husband," she replied. "I thought Morrie was out of his head. Then, before I knew it, he began to tear off my clothing. I tried to struggle but he held me so tightly I couldn't. Then Bill Drake appeared. He threw Mr. Grover across the room, and Morrie tore a piece of pipe from the condenser and they--they fought."

"Then it was Drake who threw Grover into the machinery?" Spartan asked.

"Yes," replied Gail. "But it wasn't intentional."

"It may not have been intentional!" Spartan snarled, "but it has endangered the success of this expedition."

"Morrie also knocked Bill Drake into the machinery," she said. She was calling Morrie by a single name and me by my full name. Suddenly I sensed that in using my complete name she was not being formal. On the contrary, she had turned it into a term of endearment. It was as if she savored the full name, rather than any kind of abbreviation.

"Humph! And are you sure you never, at any time, encouraged Mr. Grover to make these--uh--advances?"

"Of course not!"

Spartan turned to Morrie. "What do you have to say?" It was obvious that he hoped Morrie could successfully refute the story told by Gail.

Morrie shrugged, his whole manner noncommittal.

"I want an answer," said Spartan. "Is she telling the truth?" He was driving for the answer he wanted.

Morrie breathed deeply. "What is the truth, Dr. Spartan?" he asked.

"Surely you know the truth." An incredulous look sprang to his face.

"Don't act so damned dogmatic. The truth can be a dozen different things. Right now I don't know what's real and what isn't. Nothing is the same out here as it was on the earth. Everything familiar is millions of miles away. Even the earth looks like a star in the sky and it takes a telescope to see the moon. Stars whirl like a merry-go-round and the sun is smaller and has a corona, which we never see at home except during an eclipse. We travel in something different from any vehicle ever dreamed of, powered by something nothing else runs by. We don't wear clothes, we wear gym suits. Our meals are dehydrated food and hybrid vegetables. And our drinking water is distilled from urine! We have centrifugal force for gravity and we even have a marriage that isn't real."

"The rest of us have adjusted ourselves to these conditions," said Spartan sternly, obviously disappointed at the turn the conversation had taken.

"Do you really think so?" Morrie asked. "I'm not so sure. We're living under conditions that are decidedly upsetting. It wouldn't take much to push any of us over the edge into a psychosis. Nothing is real, not even our thoughts, because our world is totally different."

Spartan's lips pressed together. Then he asked: "Is this your excuse?"

"Gail Loring is the only real thing aboard. That's because she's a woman and I'm a man. The only thing traveling with us that we knew on earth is sex." Having had his say, he took on a hangdog look, as if putting himself on the mercy of the court.

"Bah! A flimsy defense." Spartan's tone was not convincing. He was too much aware of sex himself.

"Then if it's not a defense or an excuse, it's a reason why I went mad for a few minutes," Grover said. "Perhaps I'm not justified by earth standards, but those standards don't exist here. You said so yourself. All I thought of was that she was a woman. I didn't think of the consequences. I thought of myself."

I was still angry and could never forgive Morrie, but I also felt sorry for him. Out of frustration, I'd nursed some pretty weird thoughts myself. Fortunately, I'd been able to control them.

Spartan seemed immune to understanding. "I take it that you plead guilty."

Gail cleared her throat. "There are extenuating circumstances, Doctor," she said. "As the injured party, I ask you not to be too hard on Mr. Grover."

Spartan turned cold, hard eyes on her. "Is this an admission that _you_ may be more guilty than you admit?"

Gail flushed. "All I asked was a little human understanding for Mr. Grover."

"Humph." Spartan bit his lip beneath his beard. "It is necessary to make Mr. Grover understand that he must control himself in the future. He is not well adjusted. Certainly our examiners are at fault. They were supposed to perceive signs of instability and weakness. If they failed in this case, how do we know they did a better job of judging the rest of you?"

"And _you_, Doctor?" Gail asked.

He ignored her. "We can't send Grover to prison. There is none. But he is unstable," he mused, almost as if he were talking to himself. "The simplest way out would be to execute him--"

"Doctor!" exclaimed Gail.

"What in the hell, sir?" Axel said. "Don't be as crazy as Grover."

For a moment Spartan's eyes flared with indignation, then he waved his hand for silence. "I had not finished. I was just pointing out the simple solution. With Grover out of the way, we'd have less of a water problem, which he caused. If he did not exist, we would not have to worry about his psychotic violence, which might recur. On the other hand, the loss of one able-bodied crewman would certainly show itself in the results of our expedition. We must think of the expedition. However, some disciplinary action is needed." He paused.

"I agree with you," said Morrie. "And as for my being crazy, I'm not, really. I was under a strain. I was afraid. I just forgot to be civilized."

"I'm glad you see it in that light," said Spartan, "because I'm assigning you to a task that might be somewhat dangerous. You will make the necessary repairs to engine No. Five."

I felt a sense of relief. I'd been afraid of what Spartan might do, especially when he talked of capital punishment. And even though making the repairs to the plasma motors would be perilous, the danger wasn't excessive and the job was one that someone would have to do anyhow.

"You'll begin at once," said Dr. Spartan.

"Thank you, sir," said Morrie.

He rose, went over to his bed roll and began to put on his spacesuit. Dr. Spartan watched him with a curious glint in his eyes. Then he turned to me. "Stand by the locks till he returns, Drake."

I nodded.

Turning abruptly, Dr. Spartan went back into his ivory tower.

_Chapter 9_

Gail and Axel went aft to see what could be done about fixing the water-cycling machinery. I helped Morrie adjust his spacesuit in silence.

Although I felt that he had not been sane when he attacked Gail, I couldn't forgive his actions. I don't suppose he felt forgiving toward me. I was sure he hated me for stopping him from taking Gail, even though he appeared to be remorseful over his actions.

Before I put the helmet over his head, he said, "I--I wasn't myself, Bill. I want you to realize that. And try to make Gail see it that way."

"She'll accept your apology later," I said, "but get one thing straight, Grover. If you ever make another pass at her, whether you're sane or not, I'll kill you in spite of hell and Doc Spartan."

He bit his lip. "Can't blame you for feeling that way. You do love her, don't you?"

"You're damn right," I said. "Even before we were married I loved her."

His helmet was fastened and he stepped into the locks. I closed the door, ready to use the walkie-talkie transmitter for any messages. Dr. Spartan reappeared. "Grover will need welding equipment to fix that motor," he said. "Did he take it with him?"

"No, sir," I said.

"Then get it and take it out to him," said Spartan, turning and going back to his cabin.

I shrugged. I hadn't been sentenced to repair the tubes, as Morrie had, but I still had to obey orders. I got the equipment and a tool bag from the storage compartment of the machine room. When I told Gail and Axel I was taking welding equipment out to Morrie, Axel gave me a worried look. "Don't start anything, Bill," he said.

"We have an understanding," I replied.

Returning to the main cabin, I found Dr. Spartan waiting again, an oxygen tank in his hands.

"Here's the tank I want you to use, Drake," he said. "There's just a small amount of oxygen in it, but to use a new tank for such a short errand would be wasteful. We don't know when we might have another accident."

"Okay. I mean--yes, sir," I said.

"I trust you and Grover won't resume--uh--hostilities."

"No, sir. I'm sure he wasn't himself, sir."

While I put on my helmet, Spartan put the tank on my shoulders. I checked the connections, then I went into the locks. I started the pumps to exhaust the air and called to Morrie on my helmet transmitter.

"I'm bringing some welding equipment, Morrie."

He didn't answer.

"Do you read me, Morrie?" I called.

Still no answer. I called a third time and when Morrie didn't seem to hear, I grew apprehensive.

"Morrie!"

I knew something was wrong now. He should have heard me. Sometimes a man will switch off his transmitter, but he always keeps his receiver on. The locks were emptied of air and I swung open the outer door. I fastened a lifeline to my belt and fitted the hasp of the other end to a ring just outside the door.

Then I pivoted around the door frame and planted my magnetized boots against the metal side of the ship. They stuck, and I started to walk around the craft toward motor No. Five.

I found Morrie Grover beside the engine, standing like a statue, his hands raised--thrown out by centrifugal force--as if some unseen bandit had ordered him to stick 'em up.

His unnatural position and his failure to answer my calls was enough to convince me that something was radically wrong. He was unconscious or--I tried not to think of the alternative.

What was wrong? Only a meteor could have hurt him here and we'd long since passed through that cloud. I knew the chance of being hit by one was so remote that it wasn't likely to occur in a couple of hundred years.

I stepped over the metal housing of the bank of motors between myself and Morrie. His body looked weird in the sunlight, going into phases like a man-shaped moon, with each revolution of the ship. Half his figure was black, half gleaming like a star. And then, as the sun peeped through the glass of his helmet, I saw a contorted face, open mouth, and staring, sightless eyes.

Sure that he was dead, I stepped to his side and peered down at the oxygen gauge on his chest, worn upside down so that it would be visible to Morrie. The tank was nearly full, but the needle didn't wiggle as it would have done if Morrie had been breathing. He was dead, all right.

"Dr. Spartan!" I called.

No answer came through my earphones. I called again. Apparently, Dr. Spartan wasn't listening, nor was anyone else. I felt the urge to walk to the nearest video camera and wave my arms so that Joel would see me in the control room. Instead, I decided to take Morrie's body to the locks--quickly, in case there was still some spark of life in the man.

The tool kit I'd brought topside wasn't magnetized and would be thrown into space by the rotation of the ship. I opened the bag, took the pliers and cut two short lengths from Morrie's life line. One I used to lash the tools to the motor housings, and the other I fastened from Morrie's belt to mine, leaving about eight feet of slack between us. Then I replaced the pliers, closed the tool kit and was ready to move.

Dragging Morrie and his magnetized boots back to the locks would be hard work, especially since I'd have to pull myself the same distance. So I lifted him off the deck and then, holding his weightless body over my shoulder, doubled my knees and jumped upward.

I sailed outward--or, if you choose, upward--for the ship, myself and Morrie, and the sun, formed a right angle, if you're interested in the geometry of our positions. The sun was toward the rear of the ship and about thirty degrees to the right, when you looked toward the tail of the craft. This geometry was presently going to become very important to my future existence.

It seemed as if I were sailing a great distance, although distance is difficult to judge in space when there's nothing to mark it. I had perhaps fifty feet of life line and it wasn't until I was certain I'd gone much further that I began to grow worried.

Then I looked down. The thin copper wire which had secured me to the ship was no longer fastened to the ring just outside the locks. It was being pulled upward and Morrie and I were swinging around each other like twin stars around a common center of gravity. The centrifugal force of our motion was swinging the wire with it.

I just couldn't explain it. There was a hasp at the end of the line which shouldn't have come unfastened. The line could hardly have broken. It was meant to stand a great deal of strain and there had been none. Not only were we weightless, but I hadn't to my knowledge, put any strain on the wire during the entire time.

My push outward--or upward--had been translated into a motion away from the ship and I would continue in that direction forever unless some force were applied to stop me. The only force I was subject to was the gravitational pull of the sun, which meant I'd revolve around the sun forever, never to return to the Jehad.

But there was another motion, too, and this was the velocity of the ship at the moment I had broken away from it. This carried me forward--which to me was in the general direction of the orbit of Mars. However, my relationship to the ship was not permanent. The ship was being constantly accelerated, second by second, by the thrust of the plasma motors. Even as I looked down, my heart freezing with horror at the thought of never being able to return to the Jehad, I could see the ship inching forward. The right triangle had become acute and presently I'd be behind the ship.

Even in this tense moment my mind was demanding explanations, even fantastic ones. What had happened? If the hasp couldn't unfasten itself, if the line couldn't have broken, something must have broken it or unfastened the hasp. What? Morrie's ghost, vowing vengeance for whatever fancied wrong I'd done to him in the machinery cabin? Or Spartan? Or something else?

These thoughts occupied only a second because I had to get busy and, as Morrie and I whirled around in our ghostly dance in space, I reached for the petcock of my oxygen flask. Just as I touched it, a warning shot through my mind: Spartan had given me a tank with only a small amount of oxygen in it, therefore he had to be the one who was trying to get rid of me. He had released my line, knowing I'd take the quickest way back to the locks, rather than to clamber over the sides.

Small comfort, this sudden discovery. I realized that since I had a minimum supply of oxygen to breathe, it would be suicidal to use any part of it for jetting back to the ship, which was pulling farther and farther ahead.

Across from me, sailing round and round like a devil's carousel, Morrie seemed to grin as the sunlight struck his helmet again. He was dead and had plenty of air, he seemed to say. I was alive and hadn't enough. And that grin was what did it. I realized he had enough to get us both back--if I acted quickly.

I pulled him toward me. It was difficult to twist him around, more difficult to turn him toward the ship. Finally I succeeded in pointing him right and I thumbed open the jet petcock at the base of his oxygen equipment.

He shot forward, but the line attached to both our belts made him somersault, and there was a tug on the thin strand that tied us together. He was pulling me _away_ from the ship, putting more distance between me and safety. For him, it didn't matter.

Quickly I pulled him back. I grabbed both his legs, like the handles of a wheelbarrow, and pointed him toward the ship, which with each second was getting farther and farther away. How far I had no idea because, as I said, distances are hard to judge in space.

Now the air jet was shoving us forward, accelerating us toward the ship. I hoped it would match the ship's acceleration but I couldn't tell at first. Then I laughed out loud. My voice made a hollow sound in my ears. We _were_ gaining. Just a tiny bit, but the ship was getting larger. Now the question was, did I have enough air on Morrie's back to carry us to the ship? The air jet was intended for only short bursts, such as I'd used when I crossed from the Saturn capsule to the Jehad. Now I needed continued acceleration.

The thin vapor stream from the flask continued and now we were above the stern of the ship, where Gail's quarters had been established. Then the rush of air didn't seem quite as strong--we weren't creeping up as fast.

The air locks weren't far ahead, but we were above the ship, maybe two hundred yards away. Morrie's life line, the part still attached to the ship after I cut him loose, was whirling around with the ship, thrown out to its full length by the rotation. Whoever had released my line hadn't bothered Morrie's. Maybe the killer knew Morrie was dead--or maybe his object was only to kill _me_.

I steered down, hoping to get close enough to grab the line. Then the oxygen fizzled out. No more vapor came from the tank. It was empty and I couldn't quite reach the line. It was just a foot or two beyond me.

In desperation I gave Morrie a push and then praised God for Isaac Newton's action and reaction. The shove I gave Morrie was sufficient to push me back so that my free hand caught the line. I grabbed it and held on.

A couple of moments later I was pulling myself hand over hand toward the locks.

Just as I reached the locks, they opened. A hand stretched out, grasped my arm and pulled Morrie and me inside. I detached the life lines.

It was Axel Ludson, standing there in a spacesuit.

Instantly, all the suspicions I'd had in space crystallized. Axel had unfastened the life line!

I watched him close the locks and turn the valve that would presently fill the locks with air. "How long have you been here, Axel?" I demanded.

He turned, but didn't answer. His eyes focused, from within the helmet, on Morrie's body, planted to the floor of the locks by magnetic boots, swaying lifelessly as the ship rotated on its axis. "What's wrong with him? Did he pass out?"

"Dead." I said.

Axel gave me the same kind of a look I must have given him when I wondered about the life line. He was thinking of the fight between Morrie and me. "How'd it happen?" he asked quietly.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I said. "I found him that way. And somebody tried to kill me, Axel. Didn't you see how my line was loose and how I was drifting in space?"

He shook his head, then reached down and examined my life line on the floor. The hasp was on the end. Someone had unfastened it. "I looked out the port and saw you pulling yourself in. I thought it was _your_ life line," he said.

"It was Morrie's. I had to cut it to lash the tools topside."

Axel didn't seem to believe me. Now he examined the section of line I'd used to tie Morrie and me together. Apparently satisfied, he went to look at the air gauge. A breathable amount of air was in the locks--we took off our helmets. Then we worked Morrie's loose. He was dead, all right. Dead and cold.

Axel examined Morrie's helmet. His fingers probed inside where the valve from the air supply enters.

"Stuck valve," he said.

I looked relieved. "I thought somebody had killed him," I said.

"Somebody did," said Axel. He pulled his fingers from the valve. They held a tiny piece of paper.

"But it could have been an accident," I said.

"There could have been enough air in the suit to keep him alive for some minutes," Axel said. "What killed him was stale air--carbon dioxide he'd exhaled. Somebody put that paper there to keep him from getting air. Probably didn't know what was happening till too late."

I was no longer as suspicious of Axel. A murderer wouldn't be likely to explain how he killed his victim but I had to be sure. "You didn't answer me, Axel, when I asked how long you'd been in the locks."

He gave me a strange look. "You think I took your life line off the ring?"

I avoided his eyes.

"Well, I guess I'd feel the same way. But I just came into the locks a few minutes ago. I'd just pumped the air out of the locks and was ready to go topside to help you and Morrie when I saw you outside. I didn't have time to cut your life line loose. You ought to know that if I had murder in mind, I could have pushed you back into space again."

"I'm sorry, Axel," I said. "But things get screwed up in my mind. Nothing seems right out here in high space."

"There was nobody around the locks when I entered them," Axel went on. "Gail and I were working in the machinery cabin till she got worried and asked me to check up on you. I figured I'd give you a hand. Joel's in the control cabin."

He paused and I said nothing. We both knew who'd tried to kill me and who probably was responsible for Morrie's death. That piece of paper didn't get in Morrie's helmet by accident. The entire paper supply was in Spartan's chartroom.

"Why?" Axel asked slowly, a trace of accent creeping into his voice. It sounded like _vy_. He stared at me in utter perplexity. "Is Dr. Spartan crazy, too?"

I remembered something that had happened--ages ago, it seemed, although it had been less than two hours before. "I was in Spartan's cabin during the time we went through the meteor cloud, Axel. I found something there."

"Yes?"

"Yes. A piece of paper--with our names on it. Morrie's was at the top of the list. Then mine. Warner Joel's name had been crossed out and written in again after yours. At the bottom there was Gail's name with a question mark after it."

"A roster of the crew?"

"Perhaps. But the question mark puzzled me. Now I believe he had listed us in the order of execution--in the order of expendability, so to speak."

"It is a ridiculous idea," said Axel.

"He killed Morrie and tried to kill me," I said. "We were Numbers One and Two on the list."

Axel blinked his eyes. Then he looked at Morrie swaying upright, held in place by his magnetic boots. "First we must take the dead man into the ship," he said. "Later we talk about it, Bill. Yust you and I."

We dragged Morrie into the main cabin. Gail was still in the machinery room, and we called Spartan on the intercom. When he came through the door and saw Morrie stretched out on his sleeping bag, he glanced at him as he might have at a soiled spot on the rug.

"What happened?" he asked.

I told him just what I'd found, purposely omitting my narrow escape from death. I figured that if he wasn't told about this he might give himself away. But he had shown no surprise at my being alive and he didn't ask how I'd gotten Morrie inside.

Spartan dropped to his knee beside the body. He picked up Morrie's helmet and probed the valve with his fingers as Axel had done. "Stuck valve," he announced. "Inefficiency on the part of the manufacturer. I'll make a full report of this when I get back to the earth." I noted he said "when _I_ get back." I sensed he didn't expect much company on the return trip. Today's events had proved it.

"What do we do now, sir?" Axel asked respectfully.

"Give him a space burial, of course," said Spartan. He turned to me. "Within the next few days, you can make an oral report on the incident and I'll transcribe it on the tape recorder. We'll need it for the officials when we get back to earth." He paused and looked down at Morrie. "Our young friend has discovered a second great reality in space, I fear. The reality of death."

He turned on his heel and went back to his ivory tower.

I reached down and picked up Morrie's helmet. I felt inside the valve. The piece of paper which Axel had replaced was gone now. Dr. Spartan had removed the evidence of murder.

We put Morrie's helmet on his head and carried his body into the locks. After we put on our own helmets, we emptied the locks of air and pushed the body out into space. Then we went to tell Gail.

_Chapter 10_

Axel and I did not get a chance to have our talk immediately. For one thing, I was completing my disciplinary tours of duty imposed by Dr. Spartan and, for another, I was faced with the extra duties imposed on me by the death of Morrie.

Spartan had not attempted again to take my life, a fact that seemed very strange to me. He continued to thrive on his hatred for all of us, particularly Axel and me. Understandably, he wasn't quite as harsh with Gail. Toward Joel he seemed to have adopted a special manner. On the surface he was as curt toward him as toward the others, but I noticed that Joel was given light duties, while the rest of us got the menial tasks and the tough ones. Not that this mattered, because to be busy was not to be bored. But Joel was Spartan's fair-haired boy, there was no doubt about that. Perhaps Spartan saw need for an ally, or maybe he planned to use him for things that were to come.

Joel was elated because his chief often invited him into the chartroom for a meal, or to discuss adjustments in our orbit. And I am sure Joel reported every slip of the tongue Axel and I made which showed our true feelings toward Spartan.

Before my extra duty--and Gail's--ended, we reached the middle part of our voyage. At this point we had achieved the maximum speed for the trip, which was 40,000 miles per _hour_. This was far short of the ship's theoretical speed of 100,000 miles per _second_, but Mars was too near the earth for that kind of travel.

Planners of the trip had computed several possible routes to Mars. The shortest, a mere 40 million miles, would be undertaken when our earth and Mars were nearest each other. Such a route would be like cutting across a vacant lot from one street to the next parallel street. However, there would be fences to climb in the form of the sun's pull of gravity. The ship would have to use power from the first day till the last, and much pay load would have to be sacrificed.

The second route would use a minimum of fuel and maximum time. We would accelerate to an orbit intersecting the paths of the earth and Mars. Then the motors would be cut and we would coast in free flight to our destination, where we would decelerate. But such a trip would take from five to seven years.

Our actual path was a compromise between the two. We would use a minimum of fuel and a minimum of time. It was faster than plan 2, but more economical than plan 1. We would accelerate to a good speed, coast awhile on the planned orbit, then decelerate. Had we enough supplies, we might have remained on Mars about three months. However, every ounce of supplies we would use on Mars had to be shipped separately on conventional, unmanned rocket ships which were now orbiting Mars. Three ships of this type had been fired from the earth two years before. One of these would take us from the Jehad and back again, just as we had boarded the Jehad from the earth. The other two would be left on Mars.

But only three weeks of supplies could be shipped. After our return to the Jehad, we would orbit for about 75 days, when Mars and the earth would be in position for our return trip.

Even though we had more work than usual, the trip grew boring after Gail and I completed our disciplinary duty. Then we changed our "day" from 25 to 24 hours, replacing the five-hour shifts, which had included a shift for Morrie, to six-hour shifts. Following through on our dull routines, we realized why Morrie had cracked up. But the rest of us showed no signs of this, and even Joel bore up well. Perhaps the headshrinkers who passed on us were entitled to one mistake. We figured _one_ despite the fact that Dr. Spartan could not be considered a direct hit on the psychological target. However, Spartan was a good spaceman, just as Nero had been good at his job, though more than slightly cracked.

Then, as we neared the end of the middle stage of the trip, we picked up a new kind of signal from Mars on our electronic equipment. The first, undoubtedly a radar beam, continued as before. But the second was on a longer wave length and was undoubtedly a radio transmission. It came to us as a deep chirping sound, and Axel suggested the Martians were trying to communicate with us.

"Maybe words of welcome," he said, adding, "or warning against trespassing."