Chapter IV

Pell was first conscious of time--a duration between the recurring sequence of pain jags. Gradually the pain left him to be transformed into a dull ache which encompassed his whole body. Every separate nerve end seemed to shoot subtle, rapid messages to his cortex, announcing that they were not feeling well.

He opened his eyes; blinked them several times to shake the web of blackness from them. He tried to move. Pure, unadulterated anguish backlashed at him. With a mighty effort he concentrated his will on the task of overcoming the surging wash of pain.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, gritting his teeth as agony swelled his head. The ship was a crumpled mass of smoking wreckage. Pell noticed dully through one of the shattered ports that it had scorched the area in which it lay and its path through the low timber was charred and black.

Suddenly he realized it was hot inside the shock suit--very hot. He stooped over Gret and picked her up. He tried the air-lock in the waist; it was jammed shut. But further aft he found a gaping rent in the ship's metal skin. Gently he lowered her still form through it.

He returned to the waist and unharnessed Heintz from the shock chair. Pell realized that the fat man was too ponderous for him to lift; hence he dragged him awkwardly to the rent in the ship and stuffed him through unceremoniously. Stopping only to pick up the kit of medical supplies, Pell followed.

He stripped off his shock suit and looked at Gret anxiously. He took off her helmet and saw that her face was very pale. Gingerly he pulled her out of the heavy suit and felt in the medical kit for a stimulant. Her gold-blonde hair fell across his arm lightly as he administered the hypo. A touch of color began to come into her cheeks beneath the tan and she breathed more easily.

He turned to Heintz and wrestled for a minute or two with his huge body, trying to extricate it from the suit. The fat man's body sagged lifelessly as if his joints were made of jelly. Cursing under his breath, Pell upended him and dragged off the bulky garment.

Reaching for his wrist, Pell found his pulse with some difficulty. Heintz still lived, but the accelerated shallow pumping of his heart indicated that something would have to be done in a hurry. Hastily Pell jabbed his arm with a hypo and watched Heintz anxiously until he felt his pulse pick up with greater strength.

Sudden reaction hit Pell and he sat down heavily. For the first time he noticed their surroundings. The crushed wreck of the little space ship was poised on the brink of a small stream and faintly Pell heard it tumbling over rapids in the distance. The stream disappeared around a small rise in ground and to the right and left at a distance of perhaps five miles, Pell could make out rocky escarpments of a mighty range of mountains clearly defined in the light of the late afternoon sun. The air had a distinct chill in it and Pell was on the point of returning to the ship to try to salvage some garments when he heard Gret Helmuth gasp. He bent over her as her eyes opened.

"Pell ... did we make it?" she asked painfully.

He smoothed the hair from her face tenderly and grinned. "Yeah, we made it. But there isn't much left of the ship."

She tried to rise from her prone position and half succeeded when she fell back with a moan.

* * * * *

Pell laughed and said, "I wouldn't try that so soon, Gret. Better let the corpuscles splash around before you do it again."

He made as if to rise, touching her hand. Instinctively it tightened on his and he settled beside her again. The Centauri sky was a deep cobalt blue and the wind was keen and bracing. He felt in his jumper pocket for a couple of cigarettes and his atomic lighter. The novelty's vicious looking, hazy blue flame made Gret jump in spite of herself and Pell grinned.

At length the girl spoke. "Pell, I don't like the idea of waiting around here. I mean ... well, I have a feeling that something is wrong."

Pell glanced at her. It was plain to see that she was worried and uncertain; he could almost feel it as a tangible thing.

"How do you mean?" he asked her.

"Well ... for one thing, these hills. We're somewhere in the Cheon Range and there were remnants of DIC mercenaries dug in here when I left. They were holding out in an abandoned blaster tower around here somewhere. If they should happen to be in the neighborhood--" She shrugged.

Pell felt a distinct chill settle down the base of his spine. "If your Insurgents are worth their U-235, they've tracked us on their radar. They should be here any minute," he said reassuringly.

He rose and clambered into the ship through the rent in its side in order to salvage some outer garments because the air was becoming colder. When he returned from the ship to the place where Gret lay, he noticed that she was trembling--and not from the cold.

"What's the matter, baby?" he asked, concerned.

She tried to smile at him. "We outlanders are a queer bunch, Pell. We ... we hear things. There are men--many men down the valley and they are fighting. Both groups want to capture this ship." She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "But--"

A memory of long-dead hackles rose along the back of Pell's neck. Shadows were growing longer and in the west he could see Alpha Centauri poised over the rocky rim of the mountain, ready to plunge beneath.

* * * * *

Suddenly he heard it. Far down the valley carved in the living rocks by the small stream came the sound of firing. And it was moving closer. He looked at Gret who had scrambled to her feet; evidently she had 'heard' this long before him. Silently he handed her the huge automatic pistol which he had taken from her in the ship and tightened his hand on the butt of the tiny blaster which he had taken from the body of the DIC assassin whom she had killed that first night.

Breathing hard, they dragged Heintz to the lee of their ship to shelter him from the fire. Then they waited. In the waning glow of the last of the sunlight the woods off to the right took on an ominous appearance. They could hear the sound of shooting quite plainly now, interspersed with faint shouting. It carried well in the air which had become bitterly cold. Pell strained his eyes in the direction of the firing and for an instant he fancied he could see flashes. But which side was which?

Suddenly Gret grabbed at his arm and motioned violently behind them on the other side of the wrecked ship. Pell swore softly and crawled swiftly around the slag heap of the aft jets, blaster in hand. Dimly he could make out figures hurrying toward the ship in the cover of the trees.

"Stop!" he called.

A bomb exploding among them could have had no greater effect. They began to run helter-skelter for the ship, the weapons in their hands leaping into life. The ragged hack and roar of their machine-guns and pistols momentarily stunned Pell, but, recovering, he let loose with his blaster. Its cone of blue radiance was bright in the gathering dusk and Pell knew he had given up his position immediately, but he had no choice. The running figures seemed to falter and fall in heaps--then his blaster failed! Rapidly he checked it and found to his dismay that the tiny thing needed recharging.

All at once the attackers were on top of him--and behind him! The thunderous bark of Gret's automatic was suddenly stilled and on the heels of that knowledge, Pell was dealt a staggering blow on the head from behind.

Rough hands dragged him to his feet and dimly he realized he was surrounded by a group of ragged, heavily-armed men. They looked at him curiously, fingering their weapons uneasily. Finally a large man with gimlet eyes came up to the group. He had an air of authority and the men fell back with deference.

The large man looked at him closely and smiled. "Pell! I might have known they'd have hired you. What did you bring us, Pell?"

Pell reeled. This man was Raul Gutridge, the man who had crushed him out of business for the DIC. As a reward, DIC gave him what was thought to be a soft job, that of commander of the colonial garrison on Centaura.

Before he could answer, however, the large man had turned on his heel and was surveying the demolished ship. "Wrecking ships as usual, I see," he remarked with mock pleasantry. "No wonder your license was revoked."

Pell realized one thing and only that. He must keep Gutridge out of the ship! He could not let him find the U-235. Because with it, Gutridge, in spite of his few numbers, could mop up the planet in only a few days. The big man had ruined him once before; he must not be allowed to triumph again.

"Times are tough for unlicensed space pilots on Earth," Pell began casually. "You've got to work to eat. So I took the job of running these two through the blockade."

"What two?" Gutridge asked, seeing only Gret.

Pell cursed himself. He had blundered again. Silently he indicated the fat man sprawled under the ship.

Gutridge walked over to the recumbent Heintz and kicked him a couple of times, but without succeeding in arousing him. Then he looked up at Pell again.

"Still can't lie worth a damn, can you, Pell?" he observed. "I trust you will pardon me while I look in the ship?"

Pell watched helplessly as he entered the ship. If only the Insurgents would arrive in time!

When Gutridge came out, Pell knew he had discovered the secret. He moved slowly, as if in a dream. For once his narrow gimlet eyes were wide as he looked dazedly at his men. Then he pulled himself up and turned to Pell solemnly. All he said was one word, but it shattered all meaning and all reality for Pell.

That word was, "Thanks!"

* * * * *

The sound of firing from downstream was much clearer and louder now. Gutridge looked over his shoulder with a trace of anxiety and nodded to one of his men. "Callen," he ordered, "take my guests back to the tower and entertain them until I return. You'll have to carry this one--but it won't be for nothing. I have something special in store for them."

Pell and Gret were yanked roughly away from their ship, while four men labored heavily with the vast bulk of the fat man. After winding along an obscure path in the woods, they emerged to find a steep cliff facing them. The tortuous path rose sharply up its side.

"Hell!" one of the mercenaries panted. "Callen, we ought to chuck this elephant over the cliff."

"Keep luggin' him," Callen directed. "The chief said he had a treat for 'em." He laughed unpleasantly.

Pell shot a glance over his shoulder. Gret was trudging apathetically behind him. A pall of black discouragement fell over Pell. Hopelessly he berated the ironic twist of fate which had delivered them into the hands of the DIC mercenaries. To think that they had gone through hell, only to deliver the U-235 to the enemy after all--better to have died out there than this!

It was completely dark when the tired group of prisoners and guards arrived at the encampment. The dim light of Centaura's half-risen moon allowed Pell to make out a few details of the place. He realized that it was nothing more than an abandoned planet-mounted blaster tower. But the warrens in its base provided quite effective dug-outs for its defense.

Pell and Gret were escorted to one of the lower levels of the blaster tower itself. There they were shoved into a hard, bare room and Heintz was dumped on the floor. The door closed behind them.

Heintz began to groan. The coldness of the floor added to the stiffness already present in his joints. Pell bent over him anxiously. The fat man had gone through a terrific strain and his recovery was quite vociferous. Pell wondered how he could explain to him their bad luck. Black despair seized him again as the fat man looked about their bare room uncomprehendingly. Haltingly Pell explained. Gret Helmuth didn't even bother to look up.

"... but as long as we are still alive, we can fight them," Pell finished, trying to keep the hopelessness out of his voice.

Finally Heintz looked up at him. "You _would_ have to land us right in the middle of the DIC, wouldn't you?" he snarled.

Then almost immediately he was sorry. "Forget it, Pell. You couldn't help it."

For a long time they remained silent. Pell grasped the girl's hand in his own, but said nothing. She looked up at him. Her eyes were empty and the tiny lines of strain about her mouth seemed to have been etched more deeply than ever. Pell vowed to himself that he could erase those lines in spite of everything that was arrayed against them. He kissed her and she responded absently.

Suddenly she buried her head under his chin and embraced him tightly. For a moment he thought she was sobbing, but she looked up at him, clear eyed and determined.

"I love you, Pell," she said softly. "If ... if we--"

Pell knew what she was going to say and shushed her gently with his big hand over her mouth. He was about to speak when he was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. Gutridge entered, his face flushed with triumph.

"You are indeed kind, Pell," he said mockingly. "Five kilos are more than enough for our little task. You will be well rewarded." He laughed.

Pell guessed only too well what the reward would be. Death! Death for all of them. He felt a surge of bitter hate for Gutridge's mocking face. He wanted to batter it to a red pulp with his fists.

Raul Gutridge smiled infuriatingly and turned to Gret. "I believe you know of Major Dallard, do you not?" he asked her. "That was his yokel militia outfit we were scrapping with at the ship. I'm going to save you for a while--I want to give you a lesson in military tactics. I intend to show you the tactical hopelessness of attacking an enemy armed with atomic weapons."

Like an angry cat she lashed out at him, striking him across the face. Her nails left four bleeding welts. "You ... you sadist!" she burst out helplessly.

Gutridge moved toward her angrily. At the same instant Pell sprang at him like a coiled spring. Gutridge reeled back as Pell's flying body staggered him. Two of the guards at his side, caught unawares for an instant, jumped on Pell and threw him to the floor. They kicked him a couple of times, then yanked him to his feet and dragged him through the door after Heintz.

Dazed, Pell realized that he and Heintz were being separated from the girl. He remembered that Gutridge had not left the room with them, but had remained with Gret. A wave of hate for the DIC mercenary washed over him, choking him.