Beyond the Point of Unknown (Space Travel & Alien Contact Novels). Ray Cummings

exclaimed Balch, "there might be—probably are—huge Martian interests concerned in this thing. These men aboard are only emissaries, making this voyage to learn what they can. When they get to Ferrok-Shahn, they'll make their report, and then we'll have a real danger on our hands. Why, an outlaw ship could be launched from Ferrok-Shahn that would beat us back to the Moon—and Grantline is entirely without warning of any danger!"

      It seemed obvious. Unscrupulous criminals in Ferrok-Shahn would be dangerous indeed, once these details of Grantline were given them. So now it was decided that in the remaining nine days of our outward voyage, we would attempt to secure enough evidence to arrest all these plotters.

      "I'll have them all in the cage when we land," declared Carter grimly. "They'll make no report to their principals!"

      Ah, the futile plans of men!

      Yet, at the time, we thought it practical. We were all doubly armed now. Bullet projectors and heat ray cylinders. And we had several eavesdropping microphones which we planned to use whenever occasion offered.

      Only twenty-eight hours of this eventful voyage had passed. The Planetara was some six million miles from the Earth; it blazed behind us, a tremendous giant.

      The body of Anita was being made ready for burial. George Prince was still in his stateroom. Glutz, effeminate little hairdresser, who waxed rich acting as beauty doctor for the women passengers, and who, in his youth, had been an undertaker, had gone with Dr. Frank to prepare the body.

      Gruesome details. I tried not to think of them. I sat, numbed, in the chart room.

      An astronomical burial—there was little precedent for it. I dragged myself to the stern deck where, at five a.m., the ceremony took place.

      We were a solemn little group, gathered there in the checkered starlight with the great vault of the heavens around us. A dismantled electronic projector—necessary when a long range gun was mounted—had been rigged up in one of the deck ports.

      They brought out the body. I stood apart, gazing reluctantly at the small bundle, wrapped like a mummy in a dark metallic screen-cloth. A patch of black silk rested over her face. Four cabin stewards carried her; and beside her walked George Prince. A long black robe covered him, but his head was bare. And suddenly he reminded me of the ancient play-character of Hamlet. His black, wavy hair; his finely chiseled, pallid face, set now in a stern patrician cast. And staring, I realized that however much of the villain this man might be, at this instant, walking beside the body of his dead sister, he was stricken with grief. He loved that sister with whom he had lived since childhood; and to see him now no one could doubt it.

      The little procession stopped in a patch of starlight by the port. They rested the body on a bank of chairs. The black-robed chaplain, roused from his bed and still trembling from excitement of this sudden, inexplicable death on board, said a brief, solemn little prayer. An appeal: That the Almighty Ruler of all these blazing worlds might guard the soul of this gentle girl whose mortal remains were now to be returned to Him.

      Ah, if ever God seemed hovering close, it was now at this instant, on this starlit deck floating in the black void of space.

      Then Carter for just a moment removed the black shroud from her face. I saw her brother gaze silently; saw him stoop and implant a kiss—and turn away. I did not want to look, but I found myself moving slowly forward.

      She lay, so beautiful. Her face, white and calm and peaceful in death. My sight blurred.

      "Easy Gregg," Snap was whispering to me. He had his arm around me. "Come on away."

      They tied the shroud over her face. I did not see them as they put the body in the tube, sent it through the exhaust chamber and dropped it.

      But a moment later I saw it, a small black, oblong bundle hovering beside us. It was perhaps a hundred feet away, circling us. Held by the Planetara's bulk, it had momentarily become our satellite. It swung around us like a moon. Gruesome satellite, by nature's laws forever to follow us.

      Then from another tube at the bow, Blackstone operated a small zed-co-ray projector. Its dull light caught the floating bundle, neutralizing its metallic wrappings.

      It swung off at a tangent. Speeding. Falling free in the dome of the heavens. A rotating black oblong. But in a moment distance dwindled it to a speck. A dull silver dot with the sunlight on it. A speck of human Earth dust, falling free....

      It vanished. Anita—gone.

      CHAPTER XI.

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      I turned from the deck. Miko was near me! So he had dared show himself here among us! But I realized he could not be aware we knew he was the murderer. George Prince had been asleep, had not seen Miko with Anita. Miko, with impulsive rage had shot the girl and escaped. No doubt now he was cursing himself for having done it. And he could very well assume that Anita had died without regaining consciousness to tell who had killed her.

      He gazed at me now. I thought for an instant he was coming over to talk with me. Though he probably considered he was not suspected of the murder of Anita, he realized, of course, that his attack on me was known. He must have wondered what action would be taken.

      But he did not approach me. He moved away and went inside. Moa had been near him; and as though by prearrangement with him she now accosted me.

      "I want to speak to you, Set Haljan."

      "Go ahead."

      I felt an instinctive aversion to this Martian girl. Yet she was not unattractive. Over six feet tall, straight and slim. Sleek blond hair. Rather a handsome face; not gray, like the burly Miko, but pink and white; stern lipped, but feminine, too. She was smiling gravely now. Her blue eyes regarded me keenly. She said gently:

      "A sad occurrence, Gregg Haljan. And mysterious. I would not question you—"

      "Is that all you have to say?" I demanded.

      "No. You are a handsome man, Gregg—attractive to women—to any Martian woman."

      She said it impulsively. Admiration for me was on her face, in her eyes—a man cannot miss it.

      "Thank you."

      "I mean, I would be your friend. My brother Miko is so sorry about what happened between you and him this morning. He only wanted to talk to you, and he came to your cubby door—"

      "With a torch to break its seal," I interjected.

      She waved that away. "He was afraid you would not admit him. He told you he would not harm you."

      "And so he struck me with one of your Martian paralyzing rays!"

      "He is sorry...."

      She seemed gauging me, trying, no doubt, to find out what reprisal would be taken against her brother. I felt sure that Moa was as active as a man in any plan that was under way to capture the Grantline treasure. Miko, with his ungovernable temper, was doing things that put their plans in jeopardy.

      I demanded, "What did your brother want to talk to me about?"

      "Me," she said surprisingly. "I sent him. A Martian girl goes after what she wants. Did you know that?"

      She swung on her heel and left me. I puzzled over it. Was that why Miko struck me down and was carrying me off? I did not think so. I could not believe that all these incidents were so unrelated to what I knew was the main undercurrent They wanted me, had tried to capture me for something else.

      Dr. Frank found me mooning alone. "Go to bed, Gregg. You look awful."

      "I don't want to go to bed."

      "Where's Snap?"

      "I don't know. He was here a little while ago." I had not seen him since the burial of Anita.

      "The Captain wants him," he said.

      Within