CHAPTER XII
George was at the controls of the ship. As his hand hovered at the firing stud, he heard someone enter behind him. He turned.
It was the starman. His hair was matted with blood. There was a wild, rebellious glint in his eyes. He snarled like an animal.
"She hit me!" he cried. And then he smashed a fist into George's face. George went down and the starman stepped across him to the control panel. His resentment had been accumulating for a life time. He had just sabotaged two ships and sent his fellow starmen to death at the orders of the Oligarch; and he must have known (even if he told himself otherwise) that he, too, would not return to Brionimar: that alone of all who had been on the surface of Earth, the Oligarch would survive. But even in this knowledge, he had still remained loyal, caught like Herb, like his whole civilization, by the specter of chaos and held helpless. But now, thinking the destruction of Earth a certainty, his resentment rechanneled, he was able to strike—even kill, if necessary—the Oligarch in order to revenge himself upon the Earth girl who had struck him.
He snapped on the scanner and searched the airport. He saw Norma climb into the jeep. He sent the spider ship lumbering toward her. The jeep began to run.
The spider legs moved faster, and the ship, like a drunk, lurched awkwardly across the runway in pursuit. He was no pilot, but his hands jerked levers and twisted wheels and the ship moved. He sighted the underbelly heat ray.
Just as he depressed the firing lever, the ship stumbled across a transport plane that lay passively interdicting its path. The ship veered sharply to the left, throwing the sighting off target and causing the ray to turn the ground molten short of the speeding car.
The starman struggled to right his vehicle.
George found his weapon. He was numb and horrified. If Norma were actually killed ... if Bud found out...!
George moved his weapon slowly so as not to attract the starman's attention. He was terribly, desperately frightened and unsure of himself.
The starman reached again for the firing lever. George shot twice. The starman's hand fluttered as if in indecision, and George shot again. The starman fell backwards, and the ship shuddered to a stop.
George rolled to his feet. If Norma were not already dead, he must recapture her.
The C.I.D. man arrived in time to see the fantastic sight of a red and silver, tri-legged Leviathan from space stumbling after a surplus jeep. He slammed his car to a halt before the army guard station and cried, "Shoot him! Shoot him!" Demonstrating, he fired wildly in the direction of the jeep. "C.I.D.!" he cried. "Shoot, damn it!"
Herb heard the sinister pop of the hand gun and, glancing out of the corner of his eye, saw the rifles aligning themselves in his direction. He huddled lower over the wheel and screamed to Norma, "Hold on!"
Norma was transfixed with terror. The huge spider ship seemed almost upon them.
Herb was going too fast for the quick turn he attempted. The steering wheel was wrenched from his hand, and the jeep, like a tripped animal, twisted and threw itself to the ground and rolled over.
At the first bone shattering crash, Norma slammed into Herb, and his head cracked the steering wheel solidly.
Far to the west, the sky flashed dull red as the first spider ship exploded in flight. The sky flashed red again. Soldiers were running toward the wreck when the first shock wave rolled in.
In giant strides, George brought his own ship to the overturned jeep. It straddled the wreck like a defiant parent and seemed to challenge the advancing soldiers. George hurried to the port.
He slammed the door back and cried, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" The outer ladder fell away at the touch of his hand, and a second later his feet were hurrying down it.
Once on the ground, he was at the jeep in a heart beat. There was no blood, but both figures were very still. "Help me!" he cried to the arriving soldiers.
Two came forward, laid aside their guns, and together, with gentle hands, lifted Norma and then Herb free of the wreckage.
When they were stretched out on the ground, George knelt. Perspiration wetted his upper lip. He poised above Norma, seeking some sign of life, and he was aware of Herb stirring uneasily to his rear. Norma's eyelids fluttered, and a wave of relief and exultation enveloped George.
"She's all right," George said loudly. "Make sure the newspapers carry that. The girl is all right."
"Who is she?"
"She's one of ours," the Oligarch said with nice possessiveness. Bud would know better: that was all that mattered. He would know that the girl was Norma and that the girl was safe. The delicate equation of his decision was once more in balance. "Help me get them aboard the ship."
A small crowd was gathering, and an Army major pushed his way forward. The C.I.D. man, over-awed by the Oligarch's presence, and uncertain of what to do now, held back watching.
"What's this?" the major demanded. "What's this?"
George stood up. "It's our personal problem. This renegade—"
"Is he the one who escaped from you? The nutty one?"
"Yes," George said.
"What about your other two ships? They exploded. They just exploded."
Instantly the surrounding Earthmen rustled suspiciously.
"He—" George said.... "It was sabotage. He is responsible. Terrible. Terrible. I'm stunned. We haven't any time to waste. I've got to get this girl back to our big ship out there in space for medical attention."
"We've sent for a doctor," the major said stiffly.
"We have doctors. For God's sake, man, help me get them aboard. There's no time to stand here talking. We have advanced techniques, if I can only get there in time, that may mean the difference between life and death...."
The major hesitated. "All right. You two soldiers—take the girl up the ladder."
"Herb, too," the Oligarch said. "If he survives, he will be tried."
The major grunted at two more soldiers.
George followed them up the ladder. He greeted the capture of Herb with bitterness. The game was over; he had been denied the excitement of it being played out. And yet there was relief: although he had once more been thrust into a role of player, it was not of his own volition. The conspiracy of events had released him from free choice. It was not his fault that it was necessary to remove Herb prematurely from the arena. He was uncomfortably aware that the major was following him.
Inside the ship, George directed the soldiers to put their burdens in the first compartment to the left. Then he turned to the major. "Your prompt action may well have saved her life." He was tense and frightened. Now that he was sure it would be reported that a girl had been returned to the ship and hurried to medical attention, it was of paramount importance to get the soldiers and the major out of the ship. If Norma were unexpectedly to recover and begin to talk, the major might prove difficult to handle.
The crush of danger hung upon him. An instant, in which he wished to surrender and confess, was transplanted by dedication to victory. The sense of mission returned.
"I don't think I should permit you to leave, sir," the major said politely. "I've thought it over."
"Sir?"
"In view of what happened to the other two ships. How do you know this one hasn't been sabotaged, too? In your understandable anxiousness to get this girl...."
"I'm sure," George said evenly. "I tell you this ship is all right."
"Well, how do you know? Obviously, you knew the other two ships were all right, too; only they weren't...."
The Oligarch restrained an impulse to command. "This is too important a matter to delay with explanations."
The four soldiers clustering around the major seemed ominous.
"Our doctor will be here in a moment. Immediate aid can be given the girl."
George's hands trembled with rage and maddening anxiety. "I am going to takeoff immediately. Explanations can come later when the girl has been treated. I will hold you personally responsible for any further delay." He went toward the control room.
The major started to follow.
The Oligarch whirled to face him. "You will be responsible for her death. I am going to leave. If necessary, I will take all of you with me. You will have to use force to stop me."
The major stood with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. There was silence. The fists slowly unclenched.
"I would advise you to get off the ship at once," George said. He turned once more. This time he did not look back.
A thrill of uncertainty grew within the major. He swallowed stiffly and then snapped angrily to the waiting soldiers, "All right, get the lead out! Let's go! Let's go, let's go!" He seemed to want to push them physically toward the exit.
The Oligarch was in the control room by the time they dropped off the ladder to the ground. A flick of the switch, and the ladder retreated. The ship trembled. A savage jab, and the ship became airborne. It was too late now for them to stop him. He had made a successful escape. He was weak with reaction. A few moments more....
He studied the dials. Earth fell away.
He could hurry. He only need save enough fuel for a tie in. He waited impatiently for altitude. Earth shrank. The features of her surface blurred. A cloud occluded her face completely. The air resistance lessened. Gravity weakened. He was able to pour the fuel into the space jets. He fired the first and second banks. Fuel gauges descended. Acceleration pressed against him like a hand. More jets. He was in a hurry. His mission was accomplished. Within two hours he would be out of the danger area of the Earth explosion. But he was not overly worried about that. He did not expect it until an hour or so after sunrise over Washington.
He locked the ship on automatic. Time enough later to finish computing the trajectory.
He was now free to dispose of Herb and Norma.
The sense of elation increased as he left the control room. He fingered his hand weapon and smiled to himself. Less than a minute later, he stepped into the doorway of the room containing the two people, his gun raised.