Pirates of the Gorm

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  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from Astounding Stories May 1932. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  _He jumped--directly over the Gorm!_]

  Pirates of the Gorm

  By Nat Schachner

  * * * * *

  [Sidenote: The trail of vanished space ships leads Grant Pemberton toa marvellous lake of fire.]

  Grant Pemberton sat up suddenly in his berth, every sense strainingand alert. What was it that had awakened him in the deathly stillnessof the space-flier? His right hand slid under the pillow and clutchedthe handle of his gun. Its firm coolness was a comforting reality.

  There it was again. A tiny scratching on the door as though someonewas fumbling for the slide-switch. Very quietly he sat, waiting, hisfinger poised against the trigger. Suddenly the scratching ceased, andthe panel moved slowly open. A thin oblong patch glimmered in thelight of the corridor beyond. Grant tensed grimly.

  A hand moved slowly around the slit--a hand that held a pencil-ray.Even in the dim illumination, Grant noted the queer spatulate fingers.A Ganymedan! In the entire solar system only they had those strangeappendages.

  Pemberton catapulted out of his berth like a flash. Not a moment toosoon, either. A pale blue beam slithered across the blackness,impinged upon the pillow where his head had lain only a moment before.The air-cushion disintegrated into smoldering dust. Grant's weaponspat viciously. A hail of tiny bullets rattled against the panel, andexploded, each in a puffball of flame.

  But it was too late. Already the unknown enemy was running swiftlydown the corridor, the sucking patter of his feet giving more evidenceof his Ganymedan origin. Pemberton sprang to the door, thrust it openjust in time to see a dark shape disappearing around a bend in thecorridor. There was no use of pursuit; the passageway ended in a sprayof smaller corridors, from which ambush would be absurdly easy.

  * * * * *

  HE glanced swiftly around. The corridor was empty, silent in the dim,diffused light. The motley passengers were all sound asleep; no onehad been disturbed by the fracas. Earthmen, green-faced Martians,fish-scaled Venusians, spatulate Ganymedans and homeward-boundCallistans, all reposing through the sleep-period in anticipation ofan early landing in Callisto.

  All were asleep, that is, but one. That brought Pemberton back to theproblem of his mysterious assailant. Why had this Ganymedan tried towhiff him out of existence? Grant frowned. No one on board knew of hismission, not even the captain. On the passenger list he was merelyDirk Halliday, an inconspicuous commercial traveler for InterspaceProducts. Yet someone had manifestly penetrated his disguise and waseager to remove him from the path of whatever deviltry was up. Who?

  Grant gave a little start, then swore softly. Of course! Why hadn't hethought of it before! The scene came back to him, complete in everydetail, as though he were once more back on Earth, in the small,simply furnished office of the Interplanetary Secret Service.

  The Chief of the Service was glancing up at him keenly. Beside him wasa tall, powerfully shouldered Ganymedan, Miro, Inspector for Ganymede.Grant looked at him with a faint distaste as he sat there, drumming onthe arm of his chair with his spatulate fingers, his soft-suctionpadded hoofs curled queerly under the seat. There was somethingfurtive, too, about the red lidless eyes that shifted with quickunwinking movements.

  * * * * *

  But then, Pemberton had small use for the entire tribe of Ganymedans.Damned pirates, that's all they were. It was not many years back sincethey had been the scourge of the solar system, harrying spatialcommerce with their swift piratical fliers, burning and slaying forthe mere lust of it.

  That is, until an armada of Earth space-fliers had broken their powerin one great battle. The stricken corsairs were compelled to disgorgetheir accumulations of plunder, give up all their fliers and armament,and above all, the import of metals was forbidden them. For,strangely enough, none of the metallic elements was to be found onGanymede. All their weapons, all their ships, were forged of metalsfrom the other planets.

  It was now five years since Ganymede had been admitted once again tothe Planetary League, after suitable declarations of repentance. Butthe prohibitions still held. And Grant placed small faith in thesincerity of the repentance.

  The Chief was speaking.

  "We've called you in--Miro and I," he said, in his usual swift,staccato manner, "because we've agreed that you are the best man inthe Service to handle the mission we have in mind."

  Grant said nothing.

  "It's a particularly dangerous affair," the Chief continued. "Fivegreat space-fliers, traveling along regular traffic routes, have allvanished within the space of a month--passengers, crews and all. Not atrace of them can be found."

  "No radio reports, sir?"

  "That's the most curious part of the whole business. Everyone of thefliers was equipped with apparatus that could have raised the entiresolar system with a call for help, and yet not the tiniest whisper washeard."

  * * * * *

  The Chief got up and paced the floor agitatedly. It was plain thatthis business was worrying him. Miro continued to sit calmly,seemingly indifferent. "It's uncanny, I tell you. Gone as though emptyspace had swallowed them up."

  "You've applied routine methods, of course," Grant ventured.

  "Of course," the Chief waved it aside impatiently. "But we can'tdiscover a thing. Battle fliers have patrolled the area withoutsuccess. The last ship was literally snatched away right under thenose of a convoy. One minute it was in radio communication, and thenext--whiff--it was gone."

  "Where is this area you mention?" Already Pemberton's razor-edgedbrain was at work on the problem.

  "Within a radius of five million miles from Jupiter. We've naturallyconsidered placing an embargo upon that territory, but that would meancutting off all of the satellites from the rest of the system."

  Miro stirred. His smooth slurred voice rolled out.

  "And my planet would suffer, my friend. Alas, it has already sufferedtoo much." He evoked a sigh from somewhere in the depths of his barrelchest, and tried to cast up his small red eyes.

  Grant suffered too, a faint disgust. Damn his eyes, what business hadan erstwhile pirate, not too recently reformed, being self-righteous?

  "Miro thinks," the Chief continued unheeding, "that the Callistansknow more about this than they admit. He has a theory that Callisto issomehow gathering up these ships to use in a surprise attack againsthis own planet, Ganymede. He says Callisto has always hated them."

  "Damn good reason," Grant said laconically.

  * * * * *

  Miro's lidless eyes flamed into sudden life. "And what do you mean bythat, my friend?"

  Pemberton replied calmly. "Simply that your people have harried andravaged them for untold centuries. They were your nearest prey, youknow."

  Miro sprang to his feet, his soft suction pads gripping the floor asthough preparatory to a spring. Gone was the sanctimonious unction ofhis former behavior; the ruthless savage glared out of the red eyes,the flattened fingers were twisting and curling.

  "You beastly Earthling," he cried in a voice choked with rage,"I'll--"

  The Chief intervened swiftly. "Here, none of that," he said sharply toMiro. "Don't say anything you'll regret later." Then he turned toGrant, who was steadily holding his ground: "There was no reason,Pemberton, to insult
an inspector of the Service. Consider yourselfreprimanded." But the edge of the rebuke was taken off by the slighttwinkle in the Chief's eye.

  Somehow a truce was patched up. Grant was to ship as an ordinarypassenger on the _Althea_, the great passenger liner that pliedbetween Callisto and the Earth. It was not his duty to prevent thedisappearance of the vessel, the Chief insisted, but to endeavor todiscover the cause. It was up to Grant then to escape, if he could,and to report to Miro on Ganymede immediately with his findings. Mirowas leaving by his private Service flier at once for Ganymede, toawait him. Grant thought he saw a faint sardonic gleam in theInspector's eyes at that, but paid no particular heed to it at thetime.

  * * * * *

  Now, as Grant stood in the corridor of the great space-flier,listening intently for further sounds from his hidden foe, it flashedon him. Miro knew he was on