Captain Future 06 - Star Trail to Glory (Spring 1941) (12 page)

CAPTAIN FUTURE and some of his companions strolled through the great factories while waiting for the Neptunian. Curt Newton was alert to seize upon the slightest clue, but he saw nothing at all suspicious. He peered into the roaring foundries in which raw-metal ingots were being melted into the super-strong, super-light alloys required in space ship construction. Endless conveyers carried the hot sheets to a stamping shop in which they were stamped into curved sections, then carried to the assembly plant, into which Captain Future stared.

The assembly line was two miles long. Starting with a framework of girders for a new ship, it moved steadily down the line, and workmen fitted on the plates of inner and outer hulls, the glassite windows and airlocks. Then massive cyclotrons of the distinctive Rissman spherical design, heavy rocket-tubes, controls, oxygenators and other interior equipment were installed. Metallic lacquer was applied, the Rissman trademark of a blazing meteor fixed to the bows, and a space ship was completed.

"Come on!" yelled Losor impatiently.

They ran back to the field. The Neptunian ordered the three Mercurians and the two Jovians to take the five new Rissmans waiting. Captain Future and those not yet assigned ships returned into the Zamor with Losor. The Neptunian took off, and the others followed in the five new Rissmans. Losor stopped again a few miles farther on, at the big Tark factory. It was similar to the Rissman plant, though not so large. They picked up two new Tark Twelve speedsters and went on. The Garson factory, their last stop, was a small affair, consisting of a couple of big barnlike metal buildings huddled against chasm-split hills.

"What a place to land!" grumbled Losor as he descended. "Garson hasn't enough money to maintain a decent field, and those fissures all around it are a sweet hazard."

Gray Garson himself was waiting beside two shining new Twenties. But the rugged, homely Earthman manufacturer did not detect Captain Future in the tall, black-haired young Rocketeer, Ray Barret.

"Take good care of these two ships over at Suicide Station, Losor," he asked the Neptunian anxiously. "I can only afford to operate my plant part time as it is, and if I lost these two new ships —"

"We'll be careful as we can," grunted Losor. "Barret, you and Kurzal take them."

They had now become a squadron of ten brand-new space ships. Losor led the way around the wilderness of the dark Cold Side. In less than half an hour they were slanting down toward Suicide Station. Captain Future peered keenly down at the lonely metal barracks and frozen tarmac stretching under the icy stars. Here was the focal point of the mystery he must solve. From this place hundreds of new space ships had gone out on test runs, never to return.

Curt purposely made his landing a little sloppy. He didn't want anyone to suspect he was too good. He found himself the target of Ka Kardak's wrath when the newcomers were lined up for inspection by the formidable chief Rocketeer.

"You, Earthman! Where did you learn to make a landing like that?"

"Why, that's the way they taught us at Earth," Curt replied.

"Well, they must be a bunch of space-struck idiots if they taught you that!" thundered Ka Kardak. He pointed a green hand at the new ships. "Let's see what else they taught you. Take that new Zamor up and bring it down in an emergency tail-landing!"

Captain Future saw the veteran Rocketeers grinning at the fun. He realized the gruff Jovian was trying to test his mettle.

"An emergency tail-landing?" he repeated jauntily. "All right."

HE WENT out to the new Zamor Twenty and purposely took off in a somewhat clumsy way. He pulled up for altitude rapidly and then leveled off for the difficult landing. A tail-landing was used only in emergencies, when bow and keel-jets were disabled. Curt was grinning as his hands tightened on the throttles.

"I'll show 'em some real amateur piloting now," he chuckled.

He slammed the Zamor down into a dive. The black wilderness far below, starred by the lights of Suicide Station, rushed up toward him. Curt stood the ship on its tail as it fell, and then cut in the rear tubes so that their blast would brake his fall. But he deliberately cut them in a trifle too late. Instead of falling straight down on its tail-blasts, the Zamor flopped and rolled in space, apparently out of control.

Curt Newton judged distances by inches. The most expert space pilot in the System was giving a wonderful imitation of a novice pilot in trouble. The Zamor rushed down toward the tarmac, unable to avoid destruction. But at the last split-second, Curt's hands flipped the throttles. The tail-blasts roared, checked the reeling ship's fall just in time. It rolled, bucked, then settled on the tarmac.

Curt found Ka Kardak speechless when he tramped up and reported. The Racketeers gathered to watch were swearing noisily.

"Of all the blazing, star-scorched luck I ever saw!" Kardak exploded at Curt. "You came within a hair of cracking up that ship!"

"Well, I landed it all right, didn't I?" Curt defended.

"You did, by sheer dumb luck!"

"Kardak, that young Barret's no ordinary pilot," Losor called dryly. "He's talking about piloting in the Round-the-System Race."

A roar of laughter went up from the assembled Rocketeers.

"Well, why not?" Curt retorted, with assumed sulkiness. "Whoever wins out in the preliminaries gets to pilot in the race, doesn't he?"

"Who do you think you are — Captain Future?" Ka Kardak bellowed. "Just because you've won Rocketeer rating, do you think you're a big shot? By the nine planets and the thirty-one moons, I’ll sweat that notion out of you!"

"Cut your rockets, Barret," one of Curt's companions whispered to him. "You're getting the chief down on you."

Captain Future, chuckling inwardly, remained silent under Ka Kardak's blistering tongue-lashing. Then the Jovian went on to the other newcomers. He sent them out one after another in hazardous take-offs and landings. Not until all had been tried out did he dismiss them.

"That's enough for today," he roared. "I can't stand to see any more piloting like that. I may be able to make real Rocketeers out of you, but I doubt it." As he turned away, puffing, his eye fell balefully on Curt Newton. "Wants to pilot in the Race! By the fourteen devil-gods of Saturn, I never thought I'd live to see such gall."

A group of the older Rocketeers approached Curt Newton and his companions. They were still chuckling at Ka Kardak's wrath. One of them, a tall, bronzed young Earthman, held out his hand to Curt.

"I'm Jan Walker," he introduced himself. "I'm pretty new here myself, but welcome to Suicide Station."

"You sure got Kardak going," chuckled Yalu, an old Martian Rocketeer. "I thought he was fit to bust when you made that crazy landing."

Curt kept up his impersonation of a cocky, self-confident novice.

"Aw, that landing was good enough," he muttered. "If that walleyed Jovian thinks he's going to ride me, he's way off his orbit."

"Take it easy, Barret," advised Jan Walker. "You'll find the grind is tough enough here at the Station without scrapping with Kardak."

"I guess you're right," Curt said dubiously. "What's all this talk I hear about you fellows having ships stolen from you in test runs?

CAPTAIN FUTURE was watching the Rocketeers closely as he asked. They looked oppressed and uncomfortable when he mentioned the ship thefts.

"It's a bad business," Walker admitted reluctantly. "It happened to Yalu and me on my first run. It's got us half-crazy. You go out in a ship, blast along peacefully, and then —
zowie!
You pass out and wake up floating in space, your ship gone, space knows where."

"Spooky, I call it." Old Yalu shuddered. "Three more ships vanished like that in the last two days, two of 'em taken in test runs way out past Mars' orbit. How long's it going to keep up?"

"It can't keep up much longer without Tark and Zamor and some of the others going bankrupt," predicted Losor. "Hope to space I get a Rissman to test next. Rissmans aren't ever bothered."

They filed out of the bitter cold and dark into the barracks. Walker showed Curt where to put the space-bag he'd brought. The air was hazy with green
rial
smoke as the Rocketeers sat around, swapping yarns of adventures and talking earnestly of the great race soon to be run. The bell rang for supper and Curt and the others streamed into the dining hall. The eyes of all Rocketeers fastened on two chairs.

"Kiru and Zinzak missing tonight," muttered Yalu. "Not back from testing that Tark. That means another new ship stolen."

When they had eaten, Ka Kardak arose ponderously and read out the list of testing assignments for the next day.

"Jan Walker will take that Cruh-Cholo Thirty out for its final endurance test. Straight run out past Jupiter's orbit and back." Kardak's baleful eye fastened on Curt. "Walker, your co-pilot will be our new space-wonder, Barret. He wants to be a racing pilot. We'll see how he stands up under the grind this'll give him."

When they left the dining hall, Jan Walker spoke to Curt.

"It's a tough assignment, Barret, but we'll make it all right."

"Sure, I'm not worried any," said Curt.

Next morning he and Walker tested the Cruh-Cholo's cyclotrons. The whole tarmac was vibrant with the thunder of cycs as the Rocketeers tuned up for the day's tests. While Walker was busy checking, Curt slipped back to the barracks. From his baggage he took out a compact instrument he had constructed to emanate a blanketing field of dampening force. He turned it on and hid it in one of the Cruh-Cholo's compartments.

"If the machine men are using some secret beam of force to knock out pilots, as I suspect, it can't penetrate that screen of dampening energy," Curt muttered. "Now if the metal devils try to capture this ship, they'll fail and I can turn the tables on them. Walker and I will be unharmed, and can pursue our attackers so that we can get a direct lead to the hijackers' main base."

"All ready, Barret," called Walker from the control room. "I'll take her off. You can take over when we get out in the clear."

Curt grinned. Walker thought he was a poor pilot and was tactfully trying to help him. They both donned their space-suits and then blasted off. Soon the big Cruh-Cholo was thundering outward away from Mercury. The cyclotrons droned steadily and the rockets roared monotonously as they steadily built up speed for the long test run.

They crossed Venus' orbit. Their velocity was mounting and soon they had passed Earth's orbit also. On and on they throbbed, Curt and Walker alternating at the controls and watching the performance of the cycs. This long grind was the final grueling test of the Cruh-Cholo's cycs and tubes.

They pounded on past Mars' orbit, up over the wilderness of the asteroid zone and on, until they were beyond the orbit of Jupiter.

"Far enough — we'd better cut back now," called Walker anxiously.

Curt Newton heard a vague movement. He turned in a flash, but invisible forces gripped him and whirled him through blurring spaces. His reeling brain was aware of nothing but terrific motion.

His senses cleared, and his heart sank. He and Walker, still in their space-suits, were floating in empty space.

The ship was gone!

FUTURE was ordinarily not given to profanity, but he felt like swearing when he discovered that his careful scheme had completely failed. He had been sure his force-field would shield them from whatever mysterious beam the machine men used, yet his defense had proved an ignominious failure.

Therefore it was plain that the machine men were not using any kind of beam or ray at all.

"But then what in the name of space is their cursed weapon?" Curt gritted. "There was nothing but a sound of movement, and then it seemed that something grabbed me and whirled me away at impossible speed!"

The mystery would have to remain unsolved for the time being, he realized as he looked around. He and Walker were drifting in an almost untraveled region of the vast outer spaces, far from any ship-lane. Jan Walker had drawn his impeller from his belt and was kicking himself toward Curt with its little blast. His face was haggard through his glassite helmet.

"They got our ship!" he cried. "The same way it happened to Yalu and me on my first run. Curse it, Barret, how do they do it?"

"I wish I knew," Curt replied gloomily.

"There's small chance we'll escape from this," Walker said bitterly. "These spaces aren't like the inner regions of the System. Even in ship-lanes out here, you've only one chance in thousands of being picked up, and we're far off the lanes. I had to keep off them with a new, untested ship, according to Planet Patrol space-traffic laws."

Curt knew that Walker was right about the danger of their predicament. The air supply of their space-suits would last a few hours. It was a million to one that they would not be picked up in that time. They might float in this empty region for months without seeing a ship, for all ships gave this region a wide berth because of —