Acid Bath, Page 2

"But that metal alsois found on our world. It's probably the softest and most malleable wehave. We were surprised you--earthmen, is it?--use it as protectivemetal."

  "Why are you in this system?" Jon asked, hardly expecting an answer.

  It came anyway. "For the same reason you Earthmen are reaching outfarther into your system. We need living room. You have strategicallyplaced planets for our use. We will use them."

  Jon sighed. For 400 years scientists had been preaching preparedness asEarth flung her ships into the reaches of the solar system, taking thefirst long step toward the conquest of space.

  There are other races somewhere, they argued. As strong and smart asman, many of them so transcending man in mental and inventive power thatwe must be prepared to strike the minute danger shows.

  Now here was the answer to the scientists' warning. Invasion byextra-terrestrials.

  "What did you say?" asked Steel-Blue. "I couldn't understand."

  "Just thinking to myself," Jon answered. It was a welcome surprise.Apparently his thoughts had to be directed outward, rather than inward,in order for the Steel-Blues to read it.

  He followed the Steel-Blue into the gaping lock of the invaders' spaceship wondering how he could warn Earth. The Space Patrol cruiser was duein for refueling at his service station in 21 days. But by that time heprobably would be mouldering in the rocky dust of the asteroid.

  It was pitch dark within the ship but the Steel-Blue seemed to have notrouble at all maneuvering through the maze of corridors. Jon followedhim, attached to one tentacle.

  Finally Jon and his guide entered a circular room, bright with lightstreaming from a glass-like, bulging skylight. They apparently were neartopside of the vessel.

  A Steel-Blue, more massive than his guide and with four more pair oftentacles, including two short ones that grew from the top of its head,spoke out.

  "This is the violator?" Jon's Steel-Blue nodded.

  "You know the penalty? Carry it out."

  "He also is an inhabitant of this system," Jon's guide added.

  "Examine him first, then give him the death."

  Jon Karyl shrugged as he was led from the lighted room through morecorridors. If it got too bad he still had the stubray pistol.

  Anyway, he was curious. He'd taken on the lonely, nerve-wracking job ofservice station attendant just to see what it offered.

  Here was a part of it, and it was certainly something new.

  "This is the examination room," his Steel-Blue said, almostcontemptuously.

  A green effulgence surrounded him.

  * * * * *

  There was a hiss. Simultaneously, as the tiny microphone on the outsideof his suit picked up the hiss, he felt a chill go through his body.Then it seemed as if a half dozen hands were inside him, examining hisinternal organs. His stomach contracted. He felt a squeeze on his heart.His lungs tickled.

  There were several more queer motions inside his body.

  Then another Steel-Blue voice said:

  "He is a soft-metal creature, made up of metals that melt at a very lowtemperature. He also contains a liquid whose makeup I cannot ascertainby ray-probe. Bring him back when the torture is done."

  Jon Karyl grinned a trifle wryly. What kind of torture could this be?

  Would it last 21 days? He glanced at the chronometer on his wrist.

  Jon's Steel-Blue led him out of the alien ship and halted expectantlyjust outside the ship's lock.

  Jon Karyl waited, too. He thought of the stubray pistol holstered at hiship. Shoot my way out? It'd be fun while it lasted. But he toted up thedisadvantages.

  He either would have to find a hiding place on the asteroid, and if theSteel-Blues wanted him bad enough they could tear the whole place topieces, or somehow get aboard the little life ship hidden in the servicestation.

  In that he would be just a sitting duck.

  He shrugged off the slight temptation to use the pistol. He was stillcurious.

  And he was interested in staying alive as long as possible. There was aremote chance he might warn the SP ship. Unconsciously, he glancedtoward his belt to see the little power pack which, if under idealconditions, could finger out fifty thousand miles into space.

  If he could somehow stay alive the 21 days he might be able to warn thepatrol. He couldn't do it by attempting to flee, for his life would besnuffed out immediately.

  The Steel-Blue said quietly:

  "It might be ironical to let you warn that SP ship you keep thinkingabout. But we know your weapon now. Already our ship is equipped with aforce field designed especially to deflect your atomic guns."

  Jon Karyl covered up his thoughts quickly. They can delve deeper thanthe surface of the mind. Or wasn't I keeping a leash on my thoughts?

  The Steel-Blue chuckled. "You get--absent-minded, is it?--every once ina while."

  Just then four other Steel-Blues appeared lugging great sheets ofplastic and various other equipment.

  They dumped their loads and began unbundling them.

  Working swiftly, they built a plastic igloo, smaller than the livingroom in the larger service station igloo. They ranged instrumentsinside--one of them Jon Karyl recognized as an air pump from within thestation--and they laid out a pallet.

  When they were done Jon saw a miniature reproduction of the servicestation, lacking only the cannon cap and fin, and with clear plasticwalls instead of the opaqueness of the other.

  His Steel-Blue said: "We have reproduced the atmosphere of your stationso that you be watched while you undergo the torture under the normalconditions of your life."

  "What is this torture?" Jon Karyl asked.

  The answer was almost caressing: "It is a liquid we use to dissolvemetals. It causes joints to harden if even so much as a drop remains onit long. It eats away the metal, leaving a scaly residue which crumbleseventually into dust.

  "We will dilute it with a harmless liquid for you since No. 1 does notwish you to die instantly.

  "Enter your"--the Steel-Blue hesitated--"mausoleum. You die in your ownatmosphere. However, we took the liberty of purifying it. There weredangerous elements in it."

  Jon walked into the little igloo. The Steel-Blues sealed the lock,fingered dials and switches on the outside. Jon's space suit deflated.Pressure was building up in the igloo.

  He took a sample of the air, found that it was good, although quite richin oxygen compared with what he'd been using in the service station andin his suit.

  With a sigh of relief he took off his helmet and gulped huge draughts ofthe air.

  He sat down on the pallet and waited for the torture to begin.

  The Steel Blues crowded about the igloo, staring at him throughelliptical eyes.

  Apparently, they too, were waiting for the torture to begin.

  Jon thought the excess of oxygen was making him light-headed.

  He stared at a cylinder which was beginning to sprout tentacles from thecircle. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. An opening, like theadjustable eye-piece of a spacescope, was appearing in the center of thecylinder.

  A square, glass-like tumbler sat in the opening disclosed in thefour-foot cylinder that had sprouted tentacles. It contained a yellowishliquid.

  One of the tentacles reached into the opening and clasped the glass. Theopening closed and the cylinder, propelled by locomotor appendages,moved toward Jon.

  He didn't like the looks of the liquid in the tumbler. It looked like anacid of some sort. He raised to his feet.

  He unsheathed the stubray gun and prepared to blast the cylinder.

  * * * * *

  The cylinder moved so fast Jon felt his eyes jump in his head. Hebrought the stubray gun up--but he was helpless. The pistol kept ongoing up. With a deft movement, one of the tentacles had speared it fromhis hand and was holding it out of his reach.

  Jon kicked at the glass in the cylinder's hand. But he was too slow. Twotentacles gripped the kicking leg. Another struck him in the
chest,knocking him to the pallet. The same tentacle, assisted by a new one,pinioned his shoulders.

  Four tentacles held him supine. The cylinder lifted a glass-like capfrom the tumbler of liquid.

  Lying there helplessly, Jon was remembering an old fairy tale he'd readas a kid. Something about a fellow named Socrates who was given a cup ofhemlock to drink. It was the finis for Socrates. But the old hero hadbeen nonchalant and calm about the whole thing.

  With a sigh, Jon Karyl, who was curious unto death, relaxed and said,"All right, bub, you don't have to force-feed me. I'll take it like aman."

  The cylinder apparently understood him, for it handed him the tumbler.It even reholstered his stubray pistol.

  Jon brought the glass of liquid under his nose. The fumes of the liquidwere pungent. It brought tears to his eyes.

  He looked at the cylinder, then at the Steel-Blues crowding around theplastic igloo. He waved the glass at the audience.

  "To Earth, ever triumphant,"