The Finding of Haldgren Read online

  CHAPTER III

  _Up From Earth_

  Chet had plenty of time in which to acquaint Pilot O'Malley with thefacts. And, when he had told his story, it did his sick and worriedmind good to hear the explosive stream of expletives that came from theother's lips. Yet, despite the Irishman's anger, it was noticeable thathe closed the tight door of the control room before he said a word.

  "Only a skeleton crew," he explained. "Just the relief pilot and theengineers and a man or two in the galley, and I trust 'em all. But youcan't be too careful.

  "The Commander," he concluded, "is gettin' to be more an emperor than aCommander, and somethin's got to be done. Discipline we must have, 'tistrue; but this kotowin' to His Royal Highness and all o' that--devil abit do I like it! If only you could show him up, Mr. Bullard--but ofcourse you can't."

  "I'm not so sure," Chet responded. "What I told the big boss wasn't allbluff. Haldgren _did_ go out, five years ago this month. We have therecord of a Crescent liner's captain who saw Haldgren's little shipshoot through the R.A. and go on out as if it were going somewhere. Andnow we have these flashes!

  "Do you see what that means, Spud? An SOS! Nobody but an Earth-man wouldsend that, and we wouldn't do it now. We would just press the lever ofour emergency-call, and every receiver within a thousand miles wouldpick up the scream of it.

  "But we've had this Dunston Emergency Transmitter less than four years.Haldgren knew only the old S O S. And remember this: three dots, threedashes and three dots don't just happen. They showed up on the Moon.They were repeated the next night. _Somebody sent them!_ Who was it?"

  * * * * *

  And Pilot O'Malley gave the only obvious answer:

  "There's only yourself and Mr. Harkness and Pilot Haldgren that couldhave got there. 'Twas Haldgren, of course! What a pity that you can'tgo; 'tis likely the poor bhoy needs help."

  "Five years!" mused Chet. "Five long years since he left! He must havelanded safely--and then what? After five years comes a signal and thatsignal a call for help that no pilot worthy the name would disregard....

  "Where are we bound?" he demanded abruptly.

  "Rooshia," said O'Malley. "I disremember the name--'tis on myorders--but I know it's a long way up north."

  "Spud," said Chet, "you're a rotten pilot; you're one of the worst Iever knew. Careless--that's your worst fault--and if anybody doubts thatthey'll believe it after this trip. For, Spud, if you're any friend ofmine, and I know you are, you're going to lose your bearings, and kickthis old sky-hog a long way beyond that factory she is bound for. Andyou're going to set me down in a God-forsaken spot in the arctic whereI'm pretty sure I'll find a ship waiting for me.

  "And, if you just stick around for a while after that, you will see metake off for the Moon. Then, if Haldgren is there--"

  Chet failed to finish the sentence; he was staring through a rearlookout, where, over the arc of the Earth's horizon, could be seen athin crescent Moon; about it drifting clouds made a halo.

  The eyes of Spud O'Malley followed Chet's, and his imaginative facultiesmust have been stimulated by Chet's words, for he gazed open-mouthed, asif for the first time he visioned that golden scimitar as something moresubstantial than a high-hung light. He drew one long incredulous breathbefore he answered.

  "What position, sir? Say the word and I'll lose myself so bad we'll beover the Pole and half-way to the equator again!"

  "Not that bad," was Chet's assurance. "Just spot this ship over 82:14north, 93:20 east, and I'll give you local bearings from there."

  Then to himself: "'Cold storage,' Walt said; he meant our old shop, ofcourse. Probably had a hunch we would need it."

  But to the pilot he said only the one word: "Thanks!"--though the gripof his hand must have spoken more eloquently.

  * * * * *

  The eastbound lanes of the five thousand level saw them plod slowlyalong, while faster and better-groomed ships slipped smoothly past; thenthe red hull rose to Level Twelve and swung out upon the great circlecourse that would bear them more nearly in the direction of thedestination Chet had given. There were free levels higher up in whichthey could have laid a direct course, but the Irish pilot did not needChet to tell him that the old hull would never stand it. Her internalpressure could never have been maintained at any density such as humanlungs demanded.

  But they were on their way, and Chet's customary genial expression gaveplace to one of more grim determination as he watched the white-fleckedocean drift slowly past below.

  Once a patrol ship spoke to them. Daylight had come to show plainly thesilver hull with the distinctive red markings of the Service thatslipped smoothly down from above to hang poised under flashing fans likea giant humming-bird. Her directed radio beam flashed the yellow callsignal in O'Malley's control room.

  * * * * *

  Chet was beside him, and the two exchanged silent glances beforeO'Malley cut in his transmitter. He must give name and number--thissignal was a demand that could not be disregarded--but on the oldfreighter was no automatic sender that would flash the informationacross to the other ship; the pilot's voice must serve instead.

  "Number three--seven--G--four--two!" he thundered into the radiophone."Freighter of the Intercolonial Line, without cargo--"

  "For the love of Pete," shouted the loudspeaker beside him in volume todrown out the pilot's words, "are you sending this by short wave, or areyou just yelling across to me? Calm down, you Irish terrier!"

  Then, before the pilot could reply, the voice from the silver and redpatrol ship dropped into an exaggerated mimicry of the O'Malley brogue--

  "And did yez say 'twas a freighter you had there? Sure, I thot at th'very last 'twas a foine big liner from the Orient and Transpolar run,dropped down here from the hoigh livils! All right, Spud; on your way!But don't crowd the bottom of the Twelve Level so close. This isO--sixteen--L; Jimmy Maddux. By--by! I'll report you O.K."

  * * * * *

  Again Chet looked at the pilot silently before he glanced back at thevanishing ship, already small in the distance. He repeated the PatrolCaptain's words:

  "You will 'report us O.K.'--yes, Jimmy, you'll do that, and if they wantto find us again you can tell them right where to look."

  "I'm pushin' her all I can, Mr. Bullard," said Spud. "'Tis all she cando.... And now do ye go into my cabin--there's two berths there--andwe'll just turn in and sleep while my relief man takes his turn. But goin before I call him; there's not a soul on the ship besides ourselvesknows that you're here."

  And, in the cabin a short time later, Pilot O'Malley chuckled as hewhispered: "I gave the lad his course. And Mac will follow it, but it'llniver take him near to the part of Rooshia he expects it to. Still, therecord's clear as far as he's concerned; I've got it in the log. Mac's agood lad, and I wouldn't have him get into trouble over this."

  * * * * *

  In the freighter's cabin the chronometer was again approaching the hourof twenty-two; for nearly twenty-four hours the ship had been on herplodding way. And, lacking the A.D.D.--the Automatic DestinationDetector--and other refinements of instrumental installations of thepassenger ships, Pilot O'Malley had to work out his position forhimself.

  And where a faster craft would have driven through with scarcely aquiver, the big ship trembled with the buffets and suction of a wintryblast that drove dry snow like sand across the lookout glasses. Thetwelve thousand level was an unbroken cloud of snow--a gray smotherwhere the red ship's blunt and rusty bow nosed through.

  O'Malley clung to the chart table as the air gave way beneath them andthe ship fell a hundred feet or more before her racing fans took holdand jerked her back to an even keel. He managed to check his figures,then moved to the door of his cabin, opened it and called softly.

  Chet was beside him in an instant. It had seemed best that he remain inhiding, and he knew what the pilot's call meant
. "Made it, did you!" heexclaimed. "Now I'll take a look about and pick up my bearing points."

  But one look at the ports and he shook his head.

  "That's dirty," he told O'Malley, and his eyes twinkled as he felt theold ship rear and plunge with the lift of a driving gale; "and how theold girl does feel it! She can't rip through, and she can't go above.You've had some trip, Spud; it's been mighty decent of you to go to allthis--"

  * * * * *

  A flashing of yellow light on the instrument panel brought his thanks toa sudden halt. A voice, startling in its sudden loudness, filled thelittle room.

  "Calling three--seven--G--four--two! Stand by for orders! PatrolO--sixteen--L sending; acknowledge, please!"

  Chet's eyes were staring into those of O'Malley. "That's Jimmy Madduxback on our trail," he said. "Now, what has got them suspicious?"

  He glanced once at the collision instrument. "He's right overhead atthirty thousand," he added; "and there are more of them coming in fromall sides. Now what the devil--"

  Spud O'Malley had his hand on the voice switch. "Be quiet!" hecommanded; then spoke into the transmitter--

  "Three--seven--G--four--two acknowledging!" he said, and again Chetobserved how all trace of accent had departed from his voice; it was anindication of the moment's tenseness and of the pilot's fullunderstanding of their position.

  The answering order was crisply spoken; this was a different JimmyMaddux from the one who had chaffed the Irish pilot some hours before.

  "Stand by! We're coming down! Records at Hoover Terminal show two menreporting at pilots' gate under the number of your engineer, CG41. Holdyour ship exactly where you are; we're sending a man aboard!"

  * * * * *

  Chet had moved silently to the controls. The old multiple-leverinstrument--he knew it well! But he looked at Spud O'Malley and waitedfor his nod of assent before he presumed to trespass on another pilot'sdomain. Then he shifted two little levers, and the ship fell awaybeneath them as it plunged toward the Earth.

  And Pilot O'Malley was explaining to the Patrol Ship Captain as best hecould for the rolling plunge of the careening ship:

  "I can't hold her, sir. And you'd best be keepin' away. It's stormin'fearful down here, and I can't rise above it! Keep clear!--I'm warnin'you!" The hum of their helicopters rose to a shrill whine as Chet drovethe ship out and down through the smothering clouds. "You must hear herfans on your instruments; you can see how we're pitchin'!"

  He switched off the transmitter for a moment and faced Chet. "They'vebeen checkin' close," he stated. "That was my engineer's number I gaveyou as we came through the gate. And, of course, he had given it beforewhen he reported in. Now we're up against it."

  The collision instrument was humming with the sound of many motors, andwarning lights were giving their silent alarm of the oncoming ships.

  "They're comin' in," Spud went on hopelessly, "like a flock of kites inthe tropics when one of them's found somethin' dead--and it's us that'sthe carcass!"

  * * * * *

  But Chet was not listening. The snowy clouds had broken for an instant;their ship had driven through and beneath them. Through the wild,whirling chaos of white there came for an instant a rift--and far acrossan icy expanse Chet glimpsed a range of black hills!

  He spoke sharply to the pilot. "That's Jimmy Maddux above us--kid himalong, Spud! Tell him we're coming up, don't let him grab us with hismagnets! This is putting you in a devil of a hole, old man. I'msorry!--but we've got to see it through now.

  "You can never set this ship down, Spud; that patrol would be on ourbacks in half a second. And they'd knock me out with one shot the minuteI stepped outside."

  The clear space in the storm had filled again with the dirty gray ofwind-whipped snow; off at the right a dim glow of distant fires was themidnight sun as it shone for a brief moment. One blast, more malignantin its fury than those that had come before, tore first at the bluntbow, then caught them amidships to roll the big, sluggish freighter tillher racked framework shrieked and chattered.

  Spud pointed through a rear lookout where a silvery Patrol Ship flasheddown through the clouds. "There's Jimmy!" he shouted. "He's takin' nochances of our landing--he's right on our tail!"

  * * * * *

  But Chet Bullard, his hands working at the control levers, was staringstraight ahead into that gray blast; and his eyes were shining as hepulled back on a lever that threw them once more into the concealment ofthe whirling clouds above.

  "Spud," he was shouting, "have you got a 'chute? You freighters have 'emsometimes. Get me a 'chute and I'll fool them yet! I saw the shed--ourhangars--our work shop! There's where our ship is!"

  They were lost once more in the snow that seemed to be driving past insolid drifts. Chet heard Spud shouting down a voice tube. And,curiously, it was plain that the Irish pilot had lost all tenseness fromhis voice; he was happy and as carefree as if he had found the answerto all his perplexing questions. He was calling an order to his reliefpilot.

  "Mac--do ye break out two parachutes, me lad! Bring 'em up here, andshake a leg! No, there's nothin' to worry about--divil a thing!"

  Then, into the transmitter, he shouted thickly as he switched theinstrument on:

  "Jimmy, me bhoy, kape away! Kape away, I'm tellin' you, or ye'll have meIrish temper disturbed, and I'm a divil whin I'm roused! What do I knowabout your twin ingineers? Wan of thim makes trouble enough for me! Nowtake yourself away, and don't step on the tail of this ship or we'll godown to glory together!--unless we go to another terminal and findoursilves in hell, and us all covered wid snow. Think how divilishconspicuous you'd be feelin'--"

  * * * * *

  A discord of voices silenced his laughing banter; on the instrumentboard the warning light was flashing imperatively. Above the bedlam ofvoices one stood out, and all other commands went silent before thevoice of authority.

  "Silence! This is the Commander of Air! Orders for O--sixteen--L: seizethat ship! Your magnets!--disregard damage!--get your magnets on thatship and hold her. We are coming down--"

  Chet reached for the transmitter switch and opened it that their voicesmight not go beyond the control room.

  "Lots of company; they seem pretty certain that they're on the righttrack. And the big boss himself is coming down to call. Can't you hurrythose 'chutes?"

  The control room door was flung open as the figure of a young manstumbled through and dropped two bundles of cloth and webbing upon thefloor. He clung to the door-frame as Chet threw the big freighter intoa totally unexpected maneuver that rolled them down and away from asilver-bellied ship above. Then the levers moved again, and the shipwent hard-a-port as Chet caught again one fleeting glimpse of shadowbelow that could only be the markings of a building he had known well.

  "Hold her there, Spud!" he shouted. "He'll be back in a minute or two!He'll get us next time!"

  Chet was reaching for the straps of a 'chute. He had the webbing abouthim when he stopped to waste precious seconds in wide-eyed staring atthe figure of Spud O'Malley.

  * * * * *

  Spud was pulling at a recalcitrant buckle. He had motioned the reliefpilot to take the controls, and now the bulk of a parachute pack hungawkwardly behind him.

  "Spud!" Chet shouted. "You're not stepping out too! It's no sure thingwith these old 'chutes; they're probably rotten! Stay here! Tell 'em Istuck you up with a gun!--tell 'em I made you bring me--"

  "If you must talk," said Spud O'Malley calmly, and pulled a strap tightacross his chest, "do ye be tryin to work while you talk. Get thatharness on! If I let you stow away on my ship you can do no less thantake me along on yours!"

  A crashing impact drove the men to the floor in a sprawling heap; Chetpulled the last strap tight as he lay there. The lookouts were blackabove where the belly of a Patrol Ship clung close.

  "Jimmy kn
ows how to obey orders," said Chet as he came to his feet. "Nocable magnets for Jimmy! He just smashed down on top of us, ripped offour fans and grabbed hold." He was helping Spud to his feet as he spoke.

  "Mac, me bhoy," the pilot told his assistant, "the log has it all, thewhole story. There'll be no trouble for you at all."

  He yanked quickly at the port-opening switch, and the big steel diskbacked slowly out of its threaded seat and swung wide.

  * * * * *

  Chet drew back one involuntary step as a blast of icy wind drovestinging snow into his face. Then, without a word, he gave Spud O'Malleya joyous grin and threw himself out into the void....

  And, later, as he released the 'chute where a wind was dragging himviolently across an icy expanse, he was laughing exultantly to seeanother 'chute whirled into the enshrouding drifts, while the chunkyfigure of a man came scrambling to his feet that he might shake a fistinto the air toward some hidden enemy and shout into the storm epithetsonly half-heard.

  "--and be damned to ye!" Chet heard him conclude; then was close enoughto throw one arm about the figure and draw him after where he made hisway toward a building that was like a mountain of snow.

  Spud must have marveled at the craft within; at her sleek, shiningsides; the flat nose that ended in a black exhaust port. He wasexamining the other exhausts that ringed her round when Chet pulled outa lever from the streamlined surface and swung open an entrance port.

  He motioned Spud into the brilliantly lighted interior, where nitronilluminators were almost blinding as they shone of gleaming levers anddials of a control room like none that Spud O'Malley had ever seen.

  Chet had thrown the building's doors open wide; a whirling motor haddrawn them back on hidden tracks. Now he closed the entrance port withcare, then glanced at his instruments before he placed his hand on ametal ball.

  * * * * *

  It hung suspended in air within a cage of curved bars. It was amodification of the high-liner ball-control, and it was new. WaltHarkness had had it installed to replace a more crudely fashionedsubstitute that had brought them safely back from the Dark Moon. Thename of that new satellite was on Chet's lips as his thin hand resteddelicately upon the ball.

  "It's not the Dark Moon this time, old girl," he told the ship, "thoughyou've taken me there twice. But we're going up just the same, and Itold the Commander he hasn't Patrol Ships enough to hold us back." Hisfingers were gripping the little ball--lifting it--moving it forward....

  And, as if he lifted the ship itself, the silent cylinder came roaringinto life. Within the great building was a thundering blast that madethe voice of the storm less than a whispering breath. It came butfaintly through the heavily insulated walls, but Chet felt the lift ofthe ship, and that joyous smile was crinkling about his eyes as thesilvery cylinder floated smoothly out of her shelter into the grip ofthe wind.

  His eyes were on an upper lookout, where clouds were driving away like acurtain unrolled. More cloud banks were coming, but, for a time, theheavens were clear where the great red hull of a rusty freighter hunghelpless beneath a red and silver Patrol Ship whose magnets held fast toits prey.

  * * * * *

  There were other shapes in the markings of the Service that shotslantingly down. Chet thought again of the carrion birds; then he sawthe gold star on the bow of a great cruiser and knew from that ship thatthe Commander must be seeing their own below. Then he eased gentlyforward on a tiny ball--forward and forward, while the compensatingfloor of the control room swung up behind them and seemed thrusting upwith unbearable weight.

  There were flashes from the cruisers above, and flashes of red on theice behind with fountains of shattered ice and rock; detonite works itsmost terrible destruction on a surface that is brittle and hard. But ofwhat avail are detonite shells against a craft whose speed builds up tosomething greater than the muzzle velocity of a shell?--a silvery craftthat sweeps out and out toward a black mountain range; then swingsslowly up in a curve of sheer beauty that bends into banked masses ofclouds--and ends.

  But within the control room, Chet Bullard, no longer Master Pilot of theWorld, but master, in all truth, of space, knew that his ship's flightwas far from ending. He turned to grin happily at his companion.

  "We're off!" he shouted. "And it's thanks to you that we made it. IfHaldgren's alive he'll have you to thank; for it's you that has done thetrick so far!"

  But Spud O'Malley answered soberly as he stared up and out into theblackness of levels he had never seen.

  "I've helped," he admitted; "I've helped a bit. But it's a divil of ajob of navigatin' that's ahead. And that's up to you, Chet Bullard; 'tisno job for an old omadhaun like mesilf!"

  Chet felt the lift of the Repelling Area as they shot through. Ahead wasthe black velvet night that he knew so well; its silent emptiness waspricked through with bright points of fire.

  "I found the Dark Moon," he said slowly, "and that you can't see at all.This other will be easy."

  There was no boastfulness in the tone, and Spud O'Malley nodded as heglanced respectfully at the young man who threw back his disheveled mopof hair from a lean face and marked down some cryptic figures on arecord sheet.

  Chet Bullard was on the job ... and his passenger, it would seem, wassatisfied that his unbelievable adventure was well begun.