The Runaway Asteroid, Michael D. Cooper [mobi reader android TXT] 📗

spaceships. "No one is going to be hurt, but I'm not guaranteeing that that situation will last. I'm not a patient man and I don't like wasting time."

"What about our belongings?" asked George.

"You won't need them. Move to the ship. Now." The voice was even and quiet but as hard as iron. Zip started the procession. He slumped down as if completely disheartened and walked like a prisoner, his eyes pointed to the ground. The others followed. The invaders kept them surrounded as they walked the short distance to the pilot ship. Several invaders entered first and then kept watch on the prisoners as they ascended the ladder into the staging area. Once the asteroid miners were aboard, the other invaders entered their ships.

When the door was sealed, the invaders removed their helmets. The miners followed suit. The leader took a quick inventory of the prisoners, and then settled his gaze on George.

"You are George St. George," he said in a tone that knew he was stating a fact. "My name is Lather. You and your men are now prisoners of Lurton Zimbardo. I am taking you to him. As long as I've got you, I don't care about anything or anyone else. Don't make any trouble and I won't see any need to put anyone off the ship. It doesn't make any difference to me whether any of your men is in deep space or my guest room, but it might make a difference to you-and them."

Without turning his head, Lather addressed one of his crew. "Blaze, see that this base is melted into the bedrock."

"Yes sir," said the man addressed and left the room.

Lather addressed another of his crew. "Spelford, escort the prisoners to their quarters."

Spelford lifted his weapon and nodded in the direction they were to go.
The prisoners went, under the guard of several armed men.

They were taken to a room set up to accommodate up to twenty passengers. There were niches with beds in them, and couches for use during acceleration.

"Prepare for lift-off," ordered Spelford. The prisoners sat down and strapped themselves in. Spelford and his men left, locking the door behind them. In a moment the warning signal for lift-off was given. The ship raised itself gently from the surface of the asteroid. The fierce glare of destructive laser strikes came through the quartz window for nearly a minute, and the prisoners knew that the living quarters of Z25 were being systematically destroyed.

"They're ramsquaddling the whole operation," said Sabbath George in a voice that sounded almost matter-of-fact. "Never had anything like this happen before. This is a first."

When the glow ceased, the ships accelerated. The Starmen and their companions felt themselves pressed into the chairs.

The five invisible ships had been gone for over an hour, but the man in the shadow still did not move. He was on a neighboring chunk of floating iron, just a mile or two in diameter with a very slow rotation. St. George's asteroid would vanish below his horizon in a few minutes. The man pulled the telescope up to his face plate once again and scanned the area that had been the base on Z25. There had been no movement of any kind since the ships had rayed the site. He took a few more pictures for his files. The metal and quartz plating-all signs of human presence-had been completely destroyed, melted into the rock of the asteroid. The brilliant orange of superheated rock had quickly cooled in the near-absolute zero of airless space.

"Guess it's okay to go now," he thought. "Those space buzzards are not detail men-just grab and destroy without even looking around. Lucky for me."

The man went over to a small asteroid cruiser, built for speed in touring the Asteroid Belt. Stepping in, he sealed the airlock and pulled out a small recorder. He tuned in a complicated code and began to speak.

"Steve Cliff, reporting in to Oritz Konig on Mars Base." Steve went on to give the date, time, and location, and a brief but thorough report of what he had seen, from the time the Starmen landed on Z25 to the time the pirates' five ships had disappeared. He added to the file the pictures he had taken, and concluded, "Now returning to Yellow City. If you have anything else you'd like me to do, Oritz, contact me there. I don't have to tell you I'm pretty fond o' those boys and I was more'n delighted to keep an eye on 'em for you on this trip. Sorry this report isn't any better. I'll stop in and see Sim before I continue my trip back to Earth, just in case you leave a message for me there."

Having finished the recording, he put it into a small projectile with an automatic timer to release and send the message in three hours. Then he lifted off the small asteroid and headed toward Ceres. A few minutes after liftoff, he fired the projectile. When it sent its message, Steve Cliff would be far away and no one could trace the message back to his ship. On top of that, the message was encrypted and designed to travel on the microwaves similar to those in the background of space. It was highly unlikely that this message would make anyone curious. After the message had been sent, the projectile would break down into its component parts and scatter them into the infinity of space.

The ships had stopped accelerating and the prisoners could talk easily.

"You don't seem too upset, George," suggested Mark.

"Naw," said George. "'Course I'm sorry to lose my stuff back there, and I'm sorry for the men, but most of our stuff is somewhere else. This was a temporary base and the mine wasn't producing too well anyway. Hardly worth our time. Besides, I've learned to be content just about wherever I am. I've been around the asteroids a lot and I've learned to depend on a Resource outside myself whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be brought low, and I know what it is to have plenty. I've been thoroughly initiated into the human lot with all its ups and downs-fullness and hunger, plenty and want. Makes little difference to me. Wherever I am, whatever happens, I'm confident. And I'm a man of prayer."

"I'm sure sorry about your friend Montezuma," said Zip sympathetically.

"What do you mean?"

"Why, these ships must be the same five that attacked him. They couldn't have found you without getting the information from Vly. So it's a good guess that they destroyed his base the way they did yours."

"Nothing of the sort!" said St. George heatedly. "I told you that those ships were defeated and their crew sent back to wherever they came from with their tail between their legs!"

"But this story about the 'greegles'-" contributed Joe.

"The greegles sliced those ships up like salami!" insisted St. George. "These ships we're on are a different lot! And besides, Monty would never have told anybody how to find me-not by force or threat, anyway!"

"We're sorry, George," apologized Zip. "I didn't mean to upset you or cast any doubt on Montezuma Vly. You're right-he's not the type to give in to any threat. I must be mistaken."

"You're forgiven," said St. George. He went off to see how his men were doing.

"Zip!" whispered Joe urgently. "You don't really believe that story about the 'greegles.' These have to be the same ships!"

"I think it's more important not to upset George. We don't know the whole story."

"But greegles!"

"What about the greegles?" asked Mark, with a slight edge of defensiveness in his tone. "Did it seem to either of you that Vly would betray a friend to save himself? And did you see any sign of advanced weaponry at Montezuma's Castle?"

"What are you saying, Mark?" asked Joe.

"I'm saying that we shouldn't discount an old tale just because it sounds foolish or superstitious. George knew we were coming. He couldn't have known unless Montezuma sent him a message, even though we warned him against doing so. If he sent George a message, he wasn't taken over by the pirates. These aren't the same ships. These are another part of Zimbardo's fleet sent out to find George St. George. They must have tracked him down through the message Vly sent-not because they landed on the Castle and threatened him."

Zip looked deeply thoughtful. Joe looked incredulous.

"Mark, you can't be serious!"

"It's not a matter of being serious or not, Joe; it's a matter of being open-minded."

"George described it himself! He's been out in the vacuum too long."

"I don't think George strikes me as an unbalanced man. Unusual, for sure. But not unbalanced. Not unbalanced at all." Mark looked over his shoulder. George had his arms around two of his men and was talking to them in a low voice. The rest of them were gathered around, paying close attention to what he was saying. Already the atmosphere was one of peace. No one seemed afraid now.

Through the window beyond, a portion of the vast arm of the Milky Way spread out in its eternal beauty. The Starmen were silently wondering the same things: How long would it be before they met Lurton Zimbardo? Would he recognize them? Why did he want St. George alive?

6: Battle Lines

THE PIRATES' ASTEROID swung in a smooth, private orbit about a thousand miles beyond the farthest extremity of the Asteroid Belt. Lurton Zimbardo was in his private sanctum, a well-equipped workroom with precision astronomical equipment, sky charts, and an enormous inventory of computer files. As he turned his telescanner toward the Inner Planets, he saw the spread of the Belt before him.

Countless celestial bodies moved in an incredibly slow pattern like a stately dance. Reflected sunlight glinted from oblique surfaces into the light-gathering lenses of the telescanner. When the occasional crystalline surface or frozen lake on a passing asteroid caught the radiance just right, an intense but transitory sparkling brilliance was generated, and created a pattern of astonishing beauty on the scanner's computer screen.

Zimbardo entered a few more bits of data into the criteria of his search pattern and then said, "Enter." Within seconds several asteroids were marked in his files. He brought their profiles up one by one.

M253. SHAPE: OBLONG. MAXIMUM LENGTH: 0.683 MILES. MAXIMUM WIDTH: 0.307 MILES. COMPOSITION: 90.568% IRON, 6.443% TIN, 0.752% ICE, 2.237% TRACE ELEMENTS; CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS.

Other information was provided, including the asteroid's precise location and its speed of motion and rotation. Zimbardo hesitated a moment, then said, "Delete." He went on to the next entry.

M3366.
SHAPE: ALMOST PERFECT SPHERE; VARIATION <5%.
MEAN DIAMETER, 0.057 MILES.

The other information was provided. Zimbardo smiled. "Ah-nearly solid iron and about 100 yards exactly!" he thought to himself. "That makes five." He told the computer to save that file, then opened the intercom.

"Gene," he said.

"Yes sir," came the immediate response.

"Contact Mr. Crass and tell him I want M3366."

"Right away, sir."

"Then call the five lieutenants up to my study at once, please. Get Kimball, Lorry, and Jenner also. Once you've called them, come up yourself." Gene nodded and activated the personal contact codes of the men Zimbardo wanted to see.

A quarter of an hour later, the ten men were in the lounge in Zimbardo's quarters. He was playing host, and pouring out a dark golden sherry wine into luxurious spun glass goblets.

One of the men lifted up the goblet so the illumination reflected from it, highlighting subtle rainbow whorls in the surface. He swirled his wine before he sipped it.

"Very nice, Lurton, and the glass here is pretty top stuff."

"The wine came from Earth but the glassware came with the asteroid, Jeff. This place has so much in it that I haven't found a hundredth of what it contains, but all of it is high quality."

The men relaxed in the comfortable chairs. The chairs automatically adjusted to the body weight and shape of whoever sat in them. Soft, almost imperceptible music was playing in the background. A light fragrance in the air eased tensions and sharpened minds for thought. Zimbardo had nothing to do with creating this atmosphere-these features came on automatically whenever anyone entered the room.

"Petty soft life you got here, Zimbardo," sighed the man named Lorry, easing himself down into his chair. "I'm not used to this kind of comfort."

"No, Lorry, I guess not. You don't find too many easy chairs aboard the kind of ships you pilot when you're transporting the Banjoman's flilox to his customers in the Belt. But when our