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                             THIEF OF MARS

                            By HENRY HASSE

         Fate dealt Ron Jordan grim alternatives ... death by
          decree of the Space Patrol, or murder at the hands
                   of this ruthless Martian pirate.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Planet Stories Winter 1941.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Ron Jordan presented a disgusting sight of an Earthman in the last
stages of dissipation, as he slouched along the single dark street of
Halo City, the sardonically named pirate base on Ceres, Ron's clothing
was dirty and worn, his shoulders hunched carelessly and his arms
dangled by his side. A week's growth of beard was on his face, and his
hair was ragged and unkempt. If he had straightened from his slouch he
would have been an inch over six feet, with a lithe bulk that belied
the height; and despite his unsavory appearance at the present moment,
his gray eyes in the dark face were startlingly clear.

The outward appearance was all a disguise, for Jordan had a mission
here.

From the crude stone buildings on either side of the street came sounds
of drunken laughter, the click of gambling wheels, and occasional
curses as some player lost. And once Jordan saw the thin, blue flash
of an electric pistol. He shrugged, knowing that life was cheap among
these cut-throat pirates of many planets; he'd seen more than a score
of men die in the single month he'd been here.

As he neared the end of the street, one of the doors near him opened
and two men staggered out. One was a bulking Martian with dark,
leathery face and heavy-lidded eyes. The other was an Earthman. The
Martian, a little drunk, stumbled into Jordan and cursed. Jordan
mumbled an apology and tried to move unobtrusively out of the way. At
this, the Martian's lips curved. He turned to his champion and said
contemptuously:

"Listen to him. He apologizes. The scum!" With that word, he struck
Jordan hard across the face with the back of his hand.

Jordan took the blow, falling to the street and cringing. Hot anger
flooded his brain at the insult, and his muscles quivered. However, he
restrained himself, for he had long ago decided that his mission here
could only be accomplished passively. He peered up through eyes that
were dull now, and saw the Martian's hand slide to the pistol in his
belt. Jordan tensed, ready to launch himself up.

But the Martian's companion stopped him when his hand was on the
pistol. "Don't waste a charge on him. Besides he's useful to us around
here--runs errands, cleans out the ships, etc. I think he's a little
touched." He tapped his head significantly, looking pityingly down at
Jordan.

Jordan peered up and allowed his lips to part in an idiotic grin,
revealing teeth and gums that were purplish as though from chewing the
mind-destroying _Eishn_ stems.

"You're right," the Martian said cruelly, "he's an _Eishn_ hound.
People who chew that stuff ought to live. Killing them'd be too
merciful." He kicked Jordan in the ribs, and Jordan took that blow,
too, clenching his teeth tight together. It would not do to make a
stand yet.

He watched the two men move away, and then rose to his feet. It had
been the smartest and safest thing he had done, never to have a pistol
on him. No one was foolish enough to come to this pirate base unarmed,
therefore they all looked upon him as "touched" and harmless. And he
couldn't afford to get into any brawls--yet.

       *       *       *       *       *

Jordan reached the great hollow space at the end of the street. This
served as a spaceport, with ships of all sizes and designs resting
there in scattered profusion. Pirates came here whenever they pleased,
set down for a day or a week, and then left for places unknown and
unasked. The entire hollow was pretty well concealed between ragged
black cliffs that sheered up sharply on both sides.

Now Jordan moved out among the ships, searching for the one he had
heard had just arrived that morning. Thus he had searched in the month
he had been here, taking a careful look at each new arrival. He was
waiting for _one_ ship only, knowing it would be only a matter of time
until it set down here. He would wait six months, a year, if necessary,
until the _Lucifer_ came. And when it did.... Jordan's lips pressed
into a tight little line, as his eyes became space-cold and vengeful.

Ron Jordan was here to clear his brother, Carl, who had been
sentenced to the Venus prison-swamp for life on a charge of smuggling
Silicytes.[1] That was only a few months ago, and it was a false
charge. Carl Jordan, stranded on Mars, had hired out to the _Lucifer_,
a freighter purportedly scheduled for Earth. Instead, it had headed
out toward Jupiter. It was the age-old shanghai trick. Four others
besides Carl Jordan had been similarly duped. The owner and captain, a
Martian named Tarnuff, explained that they'd be well paid upon reaching
Callisto; and the men agreed, including Jordan. Then, reaching the
asteroids, the ship set down on one of the large rocks and Tarnuff
explained that they were to take on a cargo of Silicytes. The men, a
villainous bunch anyway, still agreed--all except Jordan, who rebelled.

[Footnote 1: Entities of silicon found only on the large asteroids.
Almost human in shape and actions, they possess a silicic life-base
rather than carbon, and remain a puzzle to scientists who have studied
them. Being comparatively docile, reasonably intelligent, and tireless
workers, they were originally brought to Earth for purposes of cheap
labor. It was soon discovered, however, that they could be very
dangerous. They possessed a fantastic and insatiable appetite for
_metal_, and if not closely watched would destroy any with which they
came in contact--first corroding it by means of peculiar crystalline
emanations, and then digesting it. After some very calamitous
experiences, the law was passed in 2139 forbidding any Silicytes being
removed from the asteroids, on penalty of death.]

The men found a colony of Silicytes and were herding them into the ship
when a Patrol ship was sighted sweeping upon them. Tarnuff, in return
for Jordan's rebellion, knocked him out and left him on the asteroid.
The Patrol ship pursued the _Lucifer_ but lost it; then returned and
found Carl Jordan there with the Silicytes. He had protested his
innocence in vain, but in view of the circumstances he was only given a
life sentence instead of the usual swift death penalty.

Now Ron Jordan peered around the hollow of the Ceres spaceport. More
than a score of ships rested there. It was very dark but he recognized
most of them. Then, on the far side, he saw it.

As he approached, and made out the design of the ship, his heart
leaped. It might ... it just possibly might be the one! It was a
Martian freighter all right, although rather sleek and slim with a
suggestion of speed. He came nearer. There were the side tubes, four
of them horizontally one above the other, unusually far forward, just
as Carl had described! Ron moved to the rear of the ship. Yes! There
were the triple rear tubes, flexible, resting along the wide fin which
could raise or lower them; they were huge, six feet in diameter, with
smaller auxiliary tubes arranged circularly around them. Ron's heart
was pounding now. If this wasn't the _Lucifer_, it must be a twin! It
was a solid black ship perfectly in keeping with the name.

He walked toward the prow, looking up at the circular ports as he
passed; all were dark, apparently no one being aboard at present. He
reached the prow, looked up for the name and saw it, dimly: _Martian
Belle_. Ron's heart fell in his abrupt disappointment. Wrong, after
all. It meant more weeks, perhaps months, of waiting, while his brother
languished in the black Venus prison-swamp without news.

Ron started to walk away, when an idea occurred to him. He drew out a
tiny torch, the only object he carried on him. It might be dangerous
flashing a light around a strange ship, but he had to chance it. This
ship was so very similar, that he had to be sure.

He clicked the penetro-button and flashed the powerful beam upward,
playing it across the words _Martian Belle_. Then his heart leaped. A
great square patch had been newly painted there! And beneath that patch
his beam picked out the old letters: L-U-C-I-F-E-R.

       *       *       *       *       *

Without wasting another second Jordan hurried to the dark cliff a short
distance away. He found a narrow defile that led up into the rock;
followed it, and reached a little cave. There, fumbling, he at last
found the electro-pistol he had hidden beneath a pile of rocks. He
hurried back to the spacer and pondered what to do; he had planned no
further than this. Obviously, the only thing to do was await the return
of the owner: the Martian, Tarnuff, he sincerely hoped. Ron settled
down comfortably beneath the rear lateral fin to wait.

It must have been hours later. Ron was aware he had dozed several
times. But now he heard footsteps approaching, and he jerked himself
alert. Silently he crept beneath the under curve of the hull toward the
main side portal. There he stood very still in the deeper darkness and
watched a lone figure approaching. It was a Martian all right, he could
tell that by the huge, vague bulk of him. Ron waited until he came
within a few yards--then he stepped out and said:

"Hello, Tarnuff."

The Martian stopped suddenly; then leaned forward, peering through the
dark.

"An Earthman," he rasped. "What are you doing around my ship? Clear out
of here!" He started to stride forward again, purposefully.

"Don't come any closer!" Jordan snapped. "I've got a pistol trained
right on you."

The Martian looked down and saw it. He said tersely:

"How do you know my name? What do you want?"

Jordan didn't answer the first question, but smiled at the
confirmation. "I want three things, Tarnuff. First I want you to toss
your pistol over here on the ground. Next I want you to enter this ship
ahead of me. Finally I want you to sign a paper. After which I may or
may not let you go, depending on how you comply."

Tarnuff didn't move. He stood there staring.

"Quick--your pistol!" Jordan snapped. "Or you get a taste of mine!"

"Oh, no." Tarnuff was looking above Jordan's head. He went on quickly:
"All right, Oruk, grab him!"

Jordan laughed aloud. "That old trick! I don't fall--"

His voice was cut off as two huge hands reached down and closed around
his throat. At the same instant Tarnuff leaped forward and knocked the
pistol from his hand.

"That old trick, eh? But sometimes it works. Nice going, Oruk."

"Heard voices--came to see," a gruff voice said.

Jordan was dangling, his toes barely touching the ground. He couldn't
breathe. The hands tightened still more, as very powerful arms hauled
him up into the airlock. There the hands loosened, and Jordan crumpled
to the floor, half conscious. He was barely aware of Tarnuff climbing
in, and his voice saying:

"Throw him in one of the empty cabins, Oruk, then stand by in the
rocket room. We're taking off. I'll attend to the brave Earthman later."

       *       *       *       *       *

Ron came back to full consciousness, his head spinning dizzily as the
blood rushed back. He was lying on the floor of a bare metal room. The
door was locked, as expected. Were they in space already? He hadn't
heard the throb of the rockets. He rushed to the port and looked out.
No, they were still resting in the dark hollow of Ceres. He tried the
port, and to his surprise it swung open. That meant they'd be rising
very soon, else Oruk wouldn't have been so careless.

Ron estimated his chances, and made up his mind quickly. He'd have to
get out of here while he could, then find another entrance whereby he
could gain the control room where Tarnuff was. At least the element of
surprise would be in his favor. He clambered through the port and slid
down the smooth curve of the ship, finally dropping to the ground ten
feet below.

There were four airlocks, one pair amidships and the other pair near
the prow. He tried them all. All were tightly sealed. He ran back
toward the stern, looking up at the row of ports. But there were no
handholds for him there, even if he could have leaped up and reached
them. He stopped suddenly at the huge, rectangular under-hull repulsion
plates. No, there was no entrance that way. Even as he looked at them,
he heard their low steady hum begin; the entire hull began quivering.
He ran on, and reached the rear fin just as the ship began to lift.
With a little prayer he leaped and pulled himself up.

It was a foolhardy thing to do, Ron knew that, even as he was climbing
atop a six-foot tube by using the smaller tubes as a ladder. He knew
the atmosphere ended about a half-mile up; he also knew that if those
tubes started blasting suddenly he'd be a cinder in no time at all.

He gained his precarious perch, and moved along toward the rocket-room
port a dozen feet ahead of him. Luckily the spacer was lifting slowly.
He reached the port and peered in. Oruk, a huge Jovian brute, was
facing half away from Ron; his hands were on the fuel levers as though
awaiting orders from Tarnuff.

The spacer stopped rising, just clear of the cliffs. The air was
tenuous, barely breathable now. With frantic fingers Ron tugged at the
rim around the heavy glass port. It was useless. At the same instant
he saw Oruk throw several levers. The small tubes on which Ron was
standing began to vibrate, and he could feel increasing heat through
his heavy shoes.

Desperately he raised one foot and crashed his heel against the
glass. It rang hollowly, but didn't break. Oruk turned at the sound,
a startled look on his huge stupid face. Again Ron lashed out, and a
third time. The glass crashed inward just as Oruk advanced toward him
with powerful long arms reaching out.

The heat under Ron's feet was unbearable now. Heedless of the ragged
glass, he grabbed the upper edge of the port and launched his entire
body through, feet first. His feet caught the advancing Oruk squarely
in the chest and sent him staggering back. Ron himself crashed to the
floor.

He arose just as Oruk came at him again with slow deliberateness.
Ron glanced hurriedly around for a weapon, but there was nothing. He
ducked under the reaching arms, crashed a blow to the Jovian's body and
another to his face. He saw Oruk grin. He tried to escape the arms, but
they found him and closed around him crushingly. Ron struggled, but
his own arms were pressed tight in that relentless grip. He could only
stare up into the grayish face that was still grinning. The breath was
slowly leaving him, the pressure on his lungs agonizing. He brought
his knee up sharply into Oruk's side, but couldn't reach it. Suddenly
Tarnuff's voice came through the communicating tube:

"All right, Oruk, full power now. All tubes!"

The pressure of Oruk's arms loosened for a moment as he stared around.
At the same time Ron feigned unconsciousness. His head dropped forward,
and he allowed his whole body to go limp. Oruk dropped him to the floor
and turned to the tube.

Instantly Ron was on his feet, but silently. One leap brought him to
Oruk's side, and he snatched out the pistol. Even as the Jovian was
turning, Ron pressed it hard against his side and released the trigger.

It wasn't an electro-gun, it was one of the Martian-style pistols that
fired tiny atomic bullets. The bullet entered Oruk's side and exploded
at once, tearing a gaping hole through him. He staggered forward, his
mouth open ludicrously as though he would speak; only a gurgling sound
emerged, then he crashed to the floor.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ron wasted a moment to lean weakly against the wall. Suddenly he saw
that the ship was rising again, the air of this room swiftly escaping
through the shattered port. Tarnuff was calling:

"Oruk! I said full power!"

Ron leaped to an iron locker, wrenched it open and saw a pair of
space-suits. Quickly he donned one, and clamped the helmet down just as
the utter cold of space swept into the room. He pressed the oxygen-tank
release and breathed gratefully as air came flowing into the helmet.
Then he stepped to the bank of fuel levers and pulled them all down.
The spacer leaped forward, leaving Ceres far behind as triple blasts of
fire streamed from the huge tubes.

Pulling Oruk's huge body after him, Ron stepped quickly into the
interior of the ship and stood a moment, listening. Not a sound came
from Tarnuff, far forward in the control room. Ron dragged Oruk's body
to the central airlock, and gave it a decent burial in space. Not until
then did he divest himself of the cumbersome space-suit. He examined
the atom pistol and saw there were still five or six charges in the
firing chamber. Then he moved forward, opened the control room door
silently and stood just within the threshold.

Tarnuff was hunched over the calculation table, his back to the
door. Once or twice he reached out and moved a directional-finder
infinitesimally to agree with the chart. Ron watched silently, a grim
smile on his lips. Not until Tarnuff straightened up from his task did
Ron speak:

"For the second time, Tarnuff--hello."

The Martian whirled around in the seat, saw Ron with the pistol
levelled.

"You!" he exclaimed, starting to spring up but sinking down again.
"So--you broke out, eh? That clumsy fool, Oruk, wait'll I get my hands
on him." His face darkened.

Ron laughed aloud. "You'll have a hard time doing that. Your
strong-arm pal is a thousand miles behind us in space by this time.
Yes," he answered the other's questioning eyes, "I blasted a hole
through him." He gestured to the Martian's belt. "I'll take that pistol
now; I asked for it a little while ago, you remember. First stand up,
then toss it to me--careful!"

Tarnuff obeyed, sullenly. Ron caught the pistol and jammed it in his
belt.

"And now my electro-gun, please. That's right. Thanks. You've got your
course charted?"

"Yes."

"For where?"

"Callisto."

"Good enough for the time being. Now lock those controls and sit down
at the table again. We'll get down to business."

"I haven't any business with you, Earthman."

"Oh, yes you have, but you don't know it yet. Sit down!" Ron shoved the
pistol at him meaningly.

Tarnuff complied, appearing more puzzled than he was sullen. But he did
not remain puzzled long, as Ron drew out a folded paper and handed it
to him.

"I'm Ron Jordan. The name may mean something to you when you've read
that. You will then sign it, if you wish to ever leave this ship alive."

Ron watched him closely as he read, and he saw comprehension slowly
dawn in the Martian's eyes. Tarnuff finished the brief, but concise
story of the asteroid incident as related by Carl Jordan. Then he
looked up with an almost contemptuous smile on his lips.

"Ah, yes, I remember now. Your brother, I presume. I had heard on
the telecast that he was sentenced for smuggling Silicytes. Most
unfortunate."

"Unfortunate for you, right now. Sign!"

Tarnuff calmly ignored the menacing pistol and said:

"But this statement implicates me most seriously, Ron Jordan. I do not
like that."

"Sign," Ron said through clenched teeth, "or I blast you here and now."

Tarnuff shook his head. "That's one thing I know you won't do. Not
without my signature. You need it too badly."

"Do I? You forget one thing, Tarnuff. The Patrol's still looking for
a ship named _Lucifer_ and your attempt to disguise it was pretty
clumsy. I had intended to let you escape at your convenience, but now
I'll just have to take you _and_ this ship back to Earth. That should
be conclusive enough."

But Tarnuff was smiling blandly, leaning back in the chair. He was
hugely amused at something, and Ron was vaguely worried without exactly
knowing why.

"No, Ron Jordan," the Martian was saying. "I don't think you'll dare
set this spacer on Earth or any other planet."

"Why not?"

"Because you know too well the penalty for Silicyte smuggling. Has
it not occurred to you what my cargo is? I'm carrying a full load of
Silicytes at this moment. As soon as you set down anywhere I'll swear
to the authorities that you're my accomplice in this. They'll believe
it, too, in view of what happened to your brother; they'll think slave
trading runs in your family!" Tarnuff laughed harshly, looking up at
Ron's suddenly perplexed face.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was several seconds before Ron could realize the implication of the
words. Then he said explosively:

"I don't believe you!"

"You don't believe I've got the Silicytes aboard? Come and see for
yourself."

Ron knew by the man's cool insolence that he spoke the truth. But he
followed Tarnuff back into the ship anyway, keeping him at pistol
point. The Martian unlocked and threw back several doors ... and there
were the Silicytes. Only twice in his life had Ron ever seen the queer
creatures, and never at this close range.

They stood erect, and were roughly human in shape, but that's as far as
the resemblance went. They were formed of thousands of faceted crystals
which clung together with peculiar cohesion, flashing iridescently
whenever they moved! Instead of arms, dozens of chain-like crystalline
tentacles hung down from a position near the shoulders. The creatures
appeared so brittle and fragile that it seemed they would fall apart
at the slightest touch, but this was purely illusion. They possessed
a dull sort of intelligence but obeyed instructions implicitly once
they understood, and they'd work for tremendous lengths of time to earn
the scraps of metal which they absorbed and relished. For this reason
they brought fabulous prices on such outposts as Callisto, despite the
fact that the owners had to work them discreetly, hiding them whenever
inspectors came.

"You see, Jordan?" Tarnuff said, closing the doors. "And that's only
part of 'em. I've got over a hundred aboard. You can put the pistol
away now, you won't need it." He moved past Ron and back to the control
room.

Ron followed him slowly, pondering the unexpected and hazardous
situation he found himself in. Hazardous because the Patrol had a
special contingent in the asteroid lanes in an effort to stop the
Silicyte smuggling which had reached unprecedented heights in the past
year. Tarnuff was right--he dared not take this ship back to Earth now;
and if a Patrol ship intercepted them in space, he'd soon be keeping
Carl company in the Venus prison-swamp.

No he wouldn't, either! Worse than that. Caught red-handed with
Silicytes in transit would mean the death penalty.

"Well, it's your move, Jordan." The Martian's voice, his entire mien,
was one of amused complacency. He stepped to the controls. "Shall I
re-chart for Earth?"

"No!" The word came explosively, and Ron was immediately sorry.

Tarnuff chuckled. "I thought not. Well?"

"We keep on for Callisto," Ron said with a finality he didn't feel.
"It's nearer."

Tarnuff was still unperturbed. "Oh, I see. And there you turn me over
to the authorities, eh? Well, Jordan, that means you cut your own
throat; I meant it what I said; you're in this with me now."

Ron stood motionless, frowning and indecisive.

Tarnuff's voice was suddenly serious. "Come, Jordan, you're in a spot
and you know it. So am I--I want to get these Silicytes through safely.
So I'll make you a proposition. Come in this with me! I know how to
land these things on Callisto and how to get rid of 'em. We'll have the
cash an hour after we land there. This _was_ to be my last load--it's
getting risky--but I know where I can get a hundred more, and with
your help we can get them through too. We'll split fifty-fifty."

Ron smiled thinly, indicating the pistols in his belt. "You're in a
hell of a position to be talking like that, Tarnuff. If I wanted the
Silicytes I'd take 'em all. But I don't want any part of your filthy
business!"

The smile on the Martian's leathery face faded into a dark frown. "Oh.
Just like your brother, eh? All right, about this time tomorrow we'll
be approaching Callisto, and what then? Maybe you'll be joining your
brother. I've heard that the Venus swamp is a slow and hideous death.
Some men prefer the swiftness of the Ray-chamber to it...."

Ron knew that, and involuntarily he winced. He had come out here to
clear Carl, he had waited a long weary month for the opportunity, and
then he had bungled it.

Tarnuff pressed his advantage.

"Since you have a peculiar aversion to breaking the Earth-made laws,
I can think of only one other way out of our little stalemate. A way
which I, personally, prefer. But I wonder if you would dare?"

Ron looked at Tarnuff narrowly, and didn't like the smile which had
appeared again on his face; there was a mocking challenge in it.
Tarnuff went on:

"I would much prefer, in your Earth idiom, to comb you out of my
hair and continue unhampered to Callisto. But as matters stand"--he
glanced shrewdly at Ron's hand, which hovered near the weapons in
his belt--"you have control of this ship at the present moment. On
the other hand you need my signature on this statement to clear your
brother of his sentence. True, the statement implicates me to the
fullest extent of the law...."

He paused, the smile on his face widened imperceptibly, and Ron nodded
impatient agreement.

"Nevertheless," Tarnuff went on, "I will sign this damnatory statement."

Ron stepped forward eagerly. "You will? Good. Now you're talking."

"On one condition."

"No conditions!"

"I will sign this paper," the Martian went on, "and I will keep it in
my possession. My conditions are that if I give you a chance at it,
you'll give me an equal chance to take over this ship again. In other
words--one of us takes everything."

Ron frowned. "What are you driving at?"

"Exactly this. I intend that if this ship reaches Callisto, I'll be
the only man alive on it. On the other hand it may reach Earth; if it
does, _you'll_ be the only man alive on it, and you'll have my signed
statement clearing both yourself and your brother."

Ron was listening. "Go on," he said.

Tarnuff indicated the pistols in Ron's belt. "Two identical atom
pistols there. The Martian _V'Nith_--you have heard of it?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Ron was suddenly tense, standing there; his brain was spinning with the
idea. Yes, he had heard of it--the cunning dueling game which men like
Tarnuff sometimes engaged in, mostly on the dark asteroids; the duel
which called for the most infinite precision and cunning; in which the
first mistake usually meant death.

Tarnuff was watching Ron shrewdly now; he saw his indecision; he said
sharply:

"All or nothing, man! Get it over with quickly! After all, you've more
to gain than I ... your brother's life and your own."

"Also more to lose," Ron muttered. He glanced around the control cabin.
"But here, in the ship? How--"

"No, of course not here! One loose atomic bullet would blast through
the hull. We combat outside, and only one of us will enter this ship
again."

Ron drew one of the Martian pistols, hoisted it thoughtfully in his
hand. He had slain Oruk with it. That had been the first time he'd
ever fired one. But he liked the easy, comfortable feel, every bit as
familiar as his own electro-pistol.

"Well?" Tarnuff was impatient.

With a sudden surge of confidence Ron made up his mind.

"You're right, Tarnuff. We'll get it over with one way or the other! I
think I'm as good a man as you at any game! Rules?"

Tarnuff, smiling, held up one finger. "One apiece."

"You're going to make it precise, eh? That's okay by me. I'm considered
a pretty good shot with any kind of pistol."

"And I," replied Tarnuff with easy arrogance, "have killed four men on
the asteroids in duels such as this. Marksmanship is not all."

Ron nodded. He removed the charges from both firing chambers, making
very sure that only one charge was left in each.

"Your electro-pistol," Tarnuff said. "Leave it here in the control
room. Not that I don't trust you, but everything must be equal."

"I've a better idea than that. I don't trust you either. Want to watch
this?" Ron donned a space-suit again, stepped into the airlock and
hurled his electro-pistol far away into the void where it drifted
out of reach forever. Tarnuff, watching from a port, nodded his
satisfaction as Ron returned.

"And now the statement," Ron said, drawing the paper from his pocket.
"Which you will sign, after first adding a P.S. absolving _me_ entirely
if I should be apprehended with these Silicytes on my hands."

Tarnuff looked up, smiling. "You think of everything, don't you?"

"It pays."

Tarnuff wrote for a minute, signed, and handed it to Ron. The latter
read it and was satisfied.

Tarnuff took the paper from Ron's hands again and slipped it into his
own pocket. "If I win I shall destroy this. If you win, which I doubt,
you may take it from me at your convenience."

"You think of everything too. Okay," Ron shrugged. He held out the
identical pistols. "Your choice, if it means anything."

"It doesn't, but I'll take this one." Tarnuff took one of the pistols
and then climbed into a space-suit as Ron waited.

"Which airlocks?" Ron asked through the audio-phone in his helmet.

"I'd suggest the central ones. I'll take the port side and you the
starboard. We'll enter the respective locks at the same instant, then
into space. After that, well, only one of us will enter this ship
again."

They moved into parallel corridors on opposite sides of the ship.
Instantly Ron was alert, not trusting the Martian out of his sight now
that they were both armed with a bullet apiece. But both their helmet
phones were on. Ron stopped a moment and listened. He heard the other's
amused voice:

"Stopping, Jordan? On to your airlock! Goodbye, but don't mind if I
don't wish you good luck."

"The same to you." Ron entered his lock. The inner door closed
automatically, and a few seconds later the outer door opened. He knew
Tarnuff had done likewise, for he could hear the faint sound of the
mechanism through his phones. Then he knew that Tarnuff had swung
outside, for he heard a couple of metallic clicks as the magnetic shoes
made contact on the outer, opposite side of the hull.

Satisfied, Ron moved out too, and his own shoes swung around in an arc
to make contact.

       *       *       *       *       *

For a single instant he was appalled at the utter, outer immensity, the
sweeping darkness; then he did not look outward again, but clung to the
hull, facing it. He knew the _Lucifer_ was still speeding along on its
full rocket blast, but not relative to him.

The helmet phones had given him an idea. He held his breath, listening.
He heard the faint clicks of Tarnuff's shoes as he moved along on the
opposite side. He seemed to be moving toward the bow. Then Ron heard
a different click, as Tarnuff shut off his phone. Ron chuckled as he
reached up and shut off his own. He was sure Tarnuff had done that
deliberately, and probably was reversing his direction and moving
sternward now.

Ron didn't move at all for a minute. He clung there lightly, peering up
along the sweeping curve of the hull above his head, ready to use his
pistol if Tarnuff should appear there. But Tarnuff didn't appear, and
Ron thought it likely he wouldn't for awhile. He hadn't forgotten the
other's words, "marksmanship is not all." One bullet apiece! Probably
Tarnuff would try to make him waste his bullet, thus putting Ron at his
mercy. That would be the logical thing to do.

Keeping this in mind, Ron moved carefully sternward. He held the pistol
ready in his hand. Occasionally he peered upward along the curve, alert
and ready for anything. He wondered what Tarnuff had in mind. But this
wasn't a guessing game, it was far more deadly than that, and he'd have
to be very sure before he fired his bullet.

But there was still another danger. This hull was his only world now
and he was almost weightless. He clung to it fiercely as he inched
along, knowing that it wouldn't take much of a shove to send him
drifting free, out of its gravity forever. He looked along the straight
line of it and saw the faint glow of the rocket blasts. His brain
writhed at a sudden horrible thought. Would Tarnuff try to gain the
control room again, change the course suddenly and thus shake him off
into space?

At this thought Ron hurried his progress a little, making for the four
parallel side tubes he could see a little distance away. They were the
only tubes that weren't blasting, being used only in emergency; they
would allow him firmer footage, and maybe it would be a good idea to
wait there until Tarnuff came somewhere in sight.

As he neared these tubes, something seemed wrong with them. There was
something else there--a vague dark blur--between the second and third
tubes. Ron stopped suddenly. Could Tarnuff have reached there already?
No, that was impossible. He moved forward cautiously, and the blur
didn't stir.

And then Ron saw what it was. And he was glad he had shut off his
helmet phone, for he laughed loudly, a little hysterically, the sound
almost bursting his ear-drums inside the helmet.

Wedged between those horizontally parallel tubes was Oruk's huge body
which Ron had thought he had buried in space! Apparently it had been
caught in the gravity of the ship again, and had slid slowly along the
hull, luckily right in line with those tubes, to finally come to rest
there.

Ron had been indecisive. Now he felt his brain become suddenly cool and
concise. He knew what he must do. It had been pure luck that _he_ had
taken the starboard side instead of Tarnuff. It was an omen.

But it would be risky. Ron suddenly sobered, moved along until he could
grasp Oruk by the collar. He tugged. The body was wedged tight, just
fitting the space between the tubes. Ron thrust the pistol into his
belt and used both hands. At last the body came free.

He saw that he'd have to leave the pistol in his belt now. If Tarnuff
should suddenly appear somewhere over the curve of the hull, it would
be the end. But he'd have to risk it.

Hugging the body tightly to him, he moved a little higher, up to the
long line of circular ports. He moved slowly back toward the center of
the ship, peering into each glassite port as he passed. But he couldn't
find what he was looking for; all was dark within.

At last he came to one that wasn't so dark. He saw a faint
scintillation of color. Silicytes! There were at least a score of them
in this cabin into which he peered. He had almost forgotten about them,
but now he was glad of their faint flashing light, for he saw what he
sought: one of the lockers containing space-suits.

He knew the Silicytes could live in airless space, so he didn't
hesitate. A few blows with his metallic shoe, and the port shattered.

It was almost his undoing. The rush of air from the room came so
suddenly it almost swept him away into space. Just in time he grasped
the edge of the circular opening with one hand, clung tenaciously to
his gruesome burden with the other. Then the air was gone, and he
shoved Oruk's body into the room ahead of him.

Instantly the Silicytes crowded around, their chain-like tentacles
clashing, reaching out toward him. Ron could feel their crystal
coldness even through his space-suit. He shoved them recklessly out of
the way, knowing they were harmless. At last he procured a space-suit,
and then came a job not to his liking--fitting Oruk's huge body into
it. At last, however, it was accomplished. He shoved the bulging,
helmeted figure outside again, and climbed out beside it.

Ron's lips tightened grimly now. If his luck held, he'd make Tarnuff
waste his bullet....

But where was Tarnuff? For a second Ron thought of clicking on his
phone again and calling out, to see what would happen. But no--that
would give his own position away. If he didn't know where Tarnuff was,
neither did the Martian know where he was.

Ron took a guess and moved toward the stern again.

He knew he would have to be doubly careful now, and yet paradoxically
he'd have to take a chance. With difficulty he held the space-suited
figure close to his side. As he came ever nearer the stern he began to
move oblique upward, peering intently all along the hull's horizon for
a sight of Tarnuff. Would this trick work? Perhaps Tarnuff wouldn't
fire at the first sight of a space-helmeted figure, as Ron hoped. And
yet--why not? He'd be expecting no other moving figure out there except
Ron's.

Ron was almost at the stern tubes now. He began to wonder if Tarnuff
had taken the other direction after all, toward the bow off the ship.
He took a firmer hold on the body beside him, moved a few more feet
obliquely upward, and then ... he had guessed right! He saw the Martian!

       *       *       *       *       *

Ron caught only a glimpse of him, flattened against the hull with his
pistol held ready, before he jerked his own head down again. He looked
at Oruk's dead grayish face inside the plate so close to his own. He
could only hope that Tarnuff wouldn't recognize it. Luckily the two
helmets were identical, and Ron was sure that if Tarnuff fired at all,
it would be at the face-plate.

It was a gruesome thing to do, but this was no time for squeamishness,
Ron thought, as he began easing the body up inches at a time. It was
the age-old trick to draw the enemys fire.

Nothing happened. He pushed the body higher, almost recklessly, but
maintained a firm grip on it. Still higher. He was sure it must be at
least partially in Tarnuff's line of vision by now. Why didn't he fire?
Could he have detected--

And then it did happen, so suddenly that Ron couldn't even gasp his
surprise. There was an abrupt puff of atomic dust above him; at the
same instant he felt Oruk's body torn spinning out of his grasp.
Then he saw the space-suited figure drifting lazily outward. It was
grotesque, headless.

The ruse had worked! Tarnuff had fired his bullet, and very accurately!
Ron felt a fierce surge of exultation as he drew his own pistol and
then hauled himself swiftly up into Tarnuff's sight.

Tarnuff had risen to his feet. He still held the pistol loosely in his
hand. A satisfied little smile was on his lips. Then he caught sight
of Ron, the smile vanished, the pistol fell and went skidding lightly
across the hull. The expression on his face was so ludicrous that Ron
wanted to laugh. Instead, he reached up and clicked on his helmet
phone, motioning Tarnuff to do the same.

"Beat you!" Ron cried fiercely. "Beat you at your own game, Tarnuff,
and it was easy! Now, before I kill you, I want you to know it's going
to be the greatest pleasure of my life!"

Tarnuff looked out at the drifting body he had just blasted. He nodded,
and when he spoke his voice almost purred.

"Ah, now I see. Clever, Jordan, very clever. But don't congratulate
yourself too soon, because you haven't won yet! We're back at the
stalemate again. Why don't you pull the trigger, Jordan? Go ahead and
pull it--and blast yourself to dust!"

Startled, Ron looked down at the weapon in his hand. Now it was Tarnuff
who was exultant as he went on:

"You never had a chance, Jordan! Never from the beginning! You see, I
counted on your Earth chivalry, and you did just what I expected--gave
me my choice of what you thought were identical pistols. But they
aren't identical! The one you now hold works in reverse! Such reverse
pistols have stood me in good stead on several occasions, and I always
make it a point to have one with me. Fire it--and you blast yourself,
not me!"

       *       *       *       *       *

They stood facing each other, perhaps thirty feet apart. Tarnuff
glanced down and saw the pistol he had dropped. He reached out with his
foot and slid it along the hull to Jordan.

"There you are. If you'll compare the two, you'll see that the firing
mechanism of yours is in reverse. One needs to look very closely to
detect the difference."

Ron didn't bother to pick up the weapon.

"You know I don't know a thing about these Martian pistols, Tarnuff."

"Exactly. You don't."

Ron glanced at the gun in his hand, keeping a wary eye on Tarnuff. The
strange weapon looked all right to him--and yet even his inexperienced
eye saw that it _might_ very easily have been tampered with so that the
atomic bullet would explode in the chamber. He did know that these were
dangerous and tricky weapons, and that's why most men preferred the
Earth electro-pistols.

"All right, Tarnuff, we'll settle it without weapons! I--"

Ron stopped suddenly. Something was wrong with Tarnuff. The Martian
was staring past him, real horror on his face and in his voice as he
whispered hoarsely:

"My God ... Jordan!"

Ron knew this was no trick. Tarnuff was terrified.

Ron whirled, stared--and became frozen. The pistol, Tarnuff, everything
else was forgotten as he felt a chill go up his spine at the sight.

Literally dozens of Silicytes were swarming all over the hull
amidships ... and they seemed to be absorbing the metal, literally
devouring it, digesting it! Already a gaping hole was in the hull, and
it grew even larger as more Silicytes came swarming up from below, to
join in the fantastic meal!

"You did this!" Tarnuff was shrieking now at Ron. "You fool, you must
have let them out one of the portholes! I had those rooms lined with
wood, the one thing they won't digest--and you let them escape!"

Ron paid little heed to Tarnuff's raging, but went leaping toward the
Silicytes, with some notion of throwing them off into space, anything
to get them away from there. But he couldn't even reach them. When
he was yet yards away, he felt a fierce heat exuding from them, heat
generated by the digested metal! And he saw them becoming slowly, rosy
radiant.

The heat drove Ron away. He turned and walked back toward Tarnuff
again. The latter hadn't moved.

"Well, Jordan," he grated, "I hope you're satisfied with your bungling!
Here goes the _Lucifer_ right from under us, thanks to you. There's
enough oxygen in these space-suits for about one more hour."

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it!" Ron laughed suddenly, laughed in
joyous relief, and pointed. "Look! Here comes help, and just in the
neck of time!"

Far behind them a tiny silvery dot was barely discernible against the
darkness; but it grew steadily larger as it took on the shape of a
space-ship, moving unmistakably toward them. They watched in silence as
it came nearer.

Suddenly Tarnuff exclaimed:

"Help, did you say, Jordan? Here comes the final touch, you mean--our
finish! That's a patroller!"

"Are you sure of that, Tarnuff?"

"Sure of it? Man, I've been dodging the Patrol so much out here that I
can tell 'em a million miles off!"

"So--I win after all, Tarnuff! That statement you signed absolves
me. Let 'em come!" Ron waved his arms wildly in the direction of the
approaching ship. "Come on you birds, step on it!"

Tarnuff reached suddenly in his pocket and brought out the folded paper.

"Yes, it does clear you, doesn't it? You and your brother both! Thanks
for reminding me, Jordan, in the excitement I almost forgot about
that...."

And then Tarnuff's voice became shrill with maniac glee:

"But it won't do either of you any good! By the time that Patrol ship
gets here there won't be any paper!"

He whirled suddenly and leaped toward the stern rocket tubes only a few
yards away.

In a flash of horror Ron realized his intention--to destroy that paper
in the rocket blast! Ron took two bounding steps after him, and then
realized he could never catch him in time. But Ron still held the atom
pistol. He swung his arm stiffly up in a straight line with Tarnuff's
back, and pulled the trigger.

It was a purely instinctive action, and not until a split second later
did Ron realize it. And he laughed wildly then, for Tarnuff _had_
been bluffing about that pistol; there was no reverse action to it. He
saw the center of Tarnuff's back explode in ghastly devastation. Then
Tarnuff, or what was left of him, plunged head foremost down along the
sharp curve of the hull toward the rocket tubes.

Ron leaped after him, but it was too late. He saw the crumpled paper
jarred from Tarnuff's outflung hand. It drifted lazily on, down over
the rocket tube and then out into the blast, where it vanished in an
insignificant little puff of flame.

Ron was suddenly very weary. He didn't move from where he stood, he
just sat down there, bowed his head in his hands, and waited.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Hello, hello. Jordan, is it? Can you hear us? Hello!" The voice came
so faintly in Ron's ears that it sounded like a dream. He lifted his
head, stared around, and then realized it was coming through his phone.

"Yeah, I hear you," he replied tonelessly, looking out at the Patrol
ship which was nearer than he had supposed.

"Commander Graham of Patrol ship _Terra_ speaking! Lucky thing for you,
Jordan--we've had you in our magniview plate for the past half-hour,
and in our phones for the past ten minutes. We heard everything, so
don't worry, you're in the clear. That _is_ the _Lucifer_ I suppose?"

"You suppose right, Commander! Come and get it!"

Ron looked back at the Silicytes. They were still at it! The damn
things were insatiable! The gaping hole had widened perceptibly, and
they were working in his direction now. Ron could almost imagine he
felt the heat of them already.

He leaped to his feet and turned on his helmet phone full power.

"Hey, Commander!" he yelled. "Pardon me for asking, but how long would
it take you to hurry? You'd better get here in five minutes or I'll be
a mere hunk of dessert for these animated rock-piles. Step on those
rockets!"

He heard someone chuckling, and then he sighed his relief as he saw the
Patroller respond with full blast.