The Best of E.E. Doc Smith. Classic Adventures in Space By One of SF’s Great Originals

there isn’t much copper, even on a sphere as big as this one.”

“Even if you could get it, and it were enough, we’d starve anyway, wouldn’t we?” Margaret, holding herself together

desperately, tried to speak lightly.

“Not necessarily. That would give me time to figure out something else to do.”

“You wouldn’t have to figure anything else,” Dorothy declared. “Maybe you won’t, anyway. You said we have two

days?”

“My observations were crude, but it’s a little over two days-about forty-nine and a half hours now. Why?” “Because

Dick and Martin Crane will find us before very long. Quite possibly within two days.”

“Not in this life. If they tried to follow us they’re both dead now.”

“That’s where even you are wrong!” she flashed. “They knew all the time exactly what you were doing to our old

Skylark, so they built another one, that you never knew anything about. And they know a lot about this new metal

that you never heard of, too, because it wasn’t in those plans you stole!”

DuQuesne went directly to the heart of the matter, paying no attention to her barbs. “Can they follow us in space

without seeing us?” he demanded.

“Yes. At least, I think they can.” “How do they do it?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t tell you, if I did!”

“You think not? I won’t argue the point at the moment. If they can find us-which I doubt-I hope they detect this dead

star in time to keep away from it-and us.”

“But why?” Dorothy gasped. “You’ve been trying to kill both of them-wouldn’t you be glad to take them with us?”

“Please try to be logical. Far from it. There’s no connection. I tried to kill them, yes, because they stood in the way

of my development of this new metal. If, however, I am not going to be the one to do it-I certainly hope Seaton

goes ahead with it. It’s the greatest discovery ever made, bar none; and if both Seaton and I, the only two men able

to develop it properly, get killed it will be lost, perhaps for hundreds of years.”

“If he must go, too, I hope he doesn’t find us … but I don’t believe it. I simply know he could get us away from here.”

She continued more slowly, almost speaking to herself, her heart sinking with her voice, “He’s following us and he

won’t stop even if he knows he can’t get away.” “There’s no denying the fact that our situation is critical; but as long

as I’m alive I can think. I’m going to dope out some way of getting that copper.”

“I hope you do.” Dorothy kept her voice from breaking only by a tremendous effort. “I see Peggy’s fainted. I wish I

could. I’m worn out.”

She drew herself down upon one of the seats and stared at the ceiling, fighting an almost overpowering impulse to

scream.

Thus time wore on-Perkins dead; Margaret unconscious; Dorothy lying in her seat, her thoughts a formless prayer,

buoyed only by her faith in God and in her lover; DuQuesne self-possessed, smoking innumerable cigarettes, his

keen mind at grips with its most desperate problem, grimly fighting until the very last instant of life-while the

powerless spaceship fell with an appalling velocity, and faster and yet faster, toward that cold and desolate monster

of the heavens.

Seaton and Crane drove the Skylark at high acceleration in the direction indicated by the unwavering compass, each

man taking a twelve-hour trick at the board.

The Skylark justified the faith of her builders, and the two inventors, with an exultant certainty of success, flew out

beyond man’s wildest imaginings. Had it not been for the haunting fear for Dorothy’s safety, the journey would have

been one of pure triumph, and even that anxiety did not preclude a profound joy in the enterprise.

“If that misguided ape thinks he can pull a stunt like that and get away with it he’s got another think coming,” Seaton

declared, after making a reading on the other ship after a few days of flight. “He went off half-cocked for sure this

time, and we’ve got him right where the hair is short. Only about a hundred light-years now. Better we reverse

pretty quick, you think?”

“It’s hard to say-very hard. By our dead reckoning he seems to have started back; but dead reckoning is notoriously

poor reckoning and we have no reference points.”

“Well, dead reckoning’s the only thing we’ve got, and anyway you can’t be a precisionist out here. A light-year plus

or minus won’t make any difference.”

“No, I suppose not,” and Crane read off the settings which, had his data been exact, would put the Skylark in exactly

the same spot with, and having exactly the same velocity as, the other spaceship at the point of meeting.

The big ship spun, with a sickening lurch, through a half circle as the bar was reversed. They knew that they were

traveling in a direction that seemed “down,” even though they still seemed to be going “up.”

“Mart! C’mere.” “Here.”

“We’re getting a deflection. Too big for a star-unless it’s another S-Doradus-and I can’t see a thing-theoretically, of

course, it could be anywhere to starboard. I want a check, fast, on true course and velocity. Is there any way to

measure a gravity field you’re falling freely in without knowing any distances? Any kind of an approximation would

help.”

Crane observed, computed, and reported that the Skylark was being very strongly attracted by some object almost

straight ahead.

“We’d better break out the big night-glasses and take a good look-as you said, this optical system could have more

power. But how far away are they?”

“A few minutes over ten hours.”

“Ouch! Not good … veree ungood, in fact. By pouring it on, we could make it three or four hours . . . but . . . even so

. . . you. . . .”

“Even so. Me. We’re in this together, Dick; all the way. Just pour it on.”

As the time of meeting drew near they took readings every minute. Seaton juggled the power until they were very

close to the other vessel and riding with it, then killed his engine. Both men hurried to the bottom port with their

night-glasses and stared into star-studded blackness.

“Of course,” Seaton argued as he stared, “it is theoretically possible that a body can exist large enough to exert this

much force and not show a disc, but I don’t believe it. Give me four or five minutes of visual angle and I’ll buy it,

but –”

“There!” Crane broke in. “At least half a degree of visual angle. Eleven o’clock, fairly high. Not bright, but dark.

Almost invisible.”

“Got it. And that little black spot, just inside the edge at half past four-DuQuesne’s job?”

“I think so. Nothing else in sight.”

“Let’s grab it and get out of here while we’re all in one piece!”

In seconds they reduced the distance until they could plainly see the other vessel: a small black circle against the

somewhat lighter black of the dead star. Crane turned on the searchlight. Seaton focused their heaviest attractor

and gave it everything it would take. Crane loaded a belt of solid ammunition and began to fire peculiarly-spaced

bursts.

After an interminable silence DuQuesne drew himself out of his seat. He took a long drag at his cigarette, de-

posited the butt carefully in an ashtray, and put on his space-suit; leaving the faceplates open.

“I’m going after that copper, Miss Vaneman. I don’t know exactly how much of it I’ll be able to recover, but I hope. .

. .”

Light flooded in through a port. DuQuesne was thrown flat as the ship was jerked out of free fall. They heard an

insistent metallic tapping, which DuQuesne recognized instantly.

“A machine gun!” be blurted in amazement. “What in … wait a minute, that’s Morse! A-R-bare … Y-O-U -you . . .

A-L-I-V-E-alive? . . .”

“It’s Dick!” Dorothy screamed. “He’s found us-I knew he would! You couldn’t beat Dick and Martin in a thousand

years!”

The two girls locked their arms around each other in a hysterical outburst of relief; Margaret’s incoherent words

and Dorothy’s praises of her lover mingled with their racking sobs.

DuQuesne had climbed to the upper port; had unshielded it. “S-O-S” he signalled with his flashlight.

The searchlight died. “W-E K-N-O-W. P-A-R-T-Y O-K?” It was a light this time, not bullets.

“O-K.” DuQuesne knew what “Party” meant-Perkins did not count.

“S-U-I-T-S?” “Y-E-S.”

“W-I-L-L T-O-U-C-H L-O-C-K T-O L-O-C-K B-R-A-C-E S-E-L-V-E-S.”

“O.K.”

DuQuesne reported briefly to the two girls. All three put on space-suits and crowded into the tiny airlock. The lock

was pumped down. There was a terrific jar as the two ships of space were brought together and held together. Outer

valves opened; residual air screamed out into the interstellar void. Moisture condensed upon glass, rendering sight

useless.

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