They whirled, all who heard your rocket dying and dead against the stars... But that hellish tune must dance to it � so � spin, devil!
The massive, bearded man stiffened in the wide web straps, tilted his head back and yelled with all the power of his lungs. It was a gargantuan yawp that set up a heavy metallic resonance in the forward compartment of the tiny ship. He yelled again and again, and suddenly stopped. He slumped, his face slack, his mouth open, a sticky thread of saliva on his bearded chin. His eyes, small flecks of aquamarine in the weathered leather above the beard, were dazed and confused. A series of relays clicked and he was once again in the deathly silence that had lasted for ten full days. His fear soured the air around him.
He shook his big head, dug at the corners of his eyes with his knuckles in a gesture like that of a tearful child.
Then a look of animal cunning crept into his eyes. He carefully checked his astrogation chart, flicked the switch that started the gyros, watched the dial that indicated change of axis. When the change was sufficient, he cut the gyros. Three tenths of a second of blast would straighten the little ship on the new course. The blast was like a tremendous hammer that flung him heavily to one side, the straps tightening like bands of steel.
His lips moving, he counted off the seconds as he watched the rear vision plate, black with the nothingness of space, the star lines distorted by the supralight speed. Fourteen-fifteen-sixteen... There it was! A needle-point flare.
The Security cruiser was steadily narrowing the distance between them. He couldn�t hope to match its speed.
The need for sleep welled over him. He checked the simple dials. Slouching in the web harness that held him fast to the chair, he closed his eyes. His face twitched as he slept.
Senior Lieutenant George Bolles, commanding the light cruiser Genesee, crew of eight, yawned and then glared at the pursuit plate. The pip, representing the tiny ship far ahead, was nicely centered in the plate.
For eleven years Security had searched for the planet hideout of Wink Midas and his nest of pirates. George, while still in elementary school, had heard of Midas� work. Luxury cruisers on the planet lines attacked in space; money, jewels, fuel, liquor, recruits and women hustled quickly into the attacking ship.
Midas had become a legend in his own time, cruel, ruthless and powerful. He alone had kept the interplanet insurance rates at an exorbitant level.
And finally an obscure research mathematician at Security headquarters had analyzed eleven years of survivor reports, had charted the position of each attack, the trajectory away from each. Making the assumption that in every case the attacking ship would head away from base, he had plotted the one area of the universe toward which the ship had never headed. Thus a possibility of incredible billions of planets had been narrowed down to approximately 1.3 million.
Security specialists had girdled the area with scanners built to resemble small asteroids, placed them in orbits around outlying stars. And within three months the hideout planet known as Midas I had been discovered.
Never again would one of the vast passenger ships be subjected to �the Midas touch.� Never again would an ill-fated ship like the Denver be robbed of fuel beyond the safety factor so that by the time Security rescued her, all two thousand passengers and crew had strangled in the foul air.
George Bolles glanced from his preoccupation with the pursuit plate as Junior Lieutenant Arnold King announced his approach with a click of magnetized shoes on the steel floor of the bridge. He was junior in rank only, a fleshy, dour man of forty who, because of some youthful indiscretion, had been frozen in the permanent rank of junior lieutenant, forbidden to command even the smallest Security ship. George knew that King hated him cordially, hated every man who held a higher rank that his own.
And yet he saw that for the first time King looked at him with excitement rather than contempt. He held out the strip of tape without a word.
George took it, read, �Genesee from flagship: You trail only human to escape attack web. Wink Midas not on Midas I. Good hunting.�
�I should have realized!� George said.
The Security fleet had overpowered the patrol ships before they could signal the alarm to Midas I. Silently the forty ships had crept in, neutralizing the watching screens, overpowering guards after they had landed, inerting the drives of the ten attack ships which comprised the Midas fleet. Only the Genesee and one other light cruiser had remained in orbit around Midas I. The Genesee had been closest when the tiny ship had flamed up from Midas I, and George Bolles had, after a few minutes delay, snapped the bigger ship into the pursuit formula, automatic pilot set to follow each variation of course, engine roaring at maximum.
�My sister was on the Denver, sir,� Arnold King said flatly.
�You never mentioned that before, Arnold!�
�There was no point in mentioning it before, sir. That was five years ago. I�ve been � eager to meet Wink Midas.�
There was no mistaking the hate behind the quiet words.
�You know the regulations under which we operate, Arnold. You know them better than I do. �Security personnel do not punish. Security brings violators of interplanetary law to the proper courts for punishment Self-defense is not an excuse. No Security officer will place himself in such a position that he must kill in self-defense.� �
�It isn�t necessary to quote the rule book � sir,� King said, his thick lips compressed.
�Sorry, Arnold. I wanted to make it clear right now, at this stage of the game, that Wink Midas will receive exactly the same treatment as anybody else. Our job is to grab him and take him back. That�s all.�
King saluted, more smartly than was necessary. �Yes sir!� he snapped. He about-faced and walked back to the compartment door.
�Wait a minute, Arnold!� George said. �I want your advice. If the boss is right, that man ahead of us is as clever as a fox. His whole organization is shot. He realizes that. He knows that if we take him � they�ll shock his mind down to an animal level and turn him over to the labs on Venus. His first thought will be to escape; after that he can think of setting himself up with a new identity. And it might not be too hard. Nobody knows what he really looks like underneath that beard. If you were Wink Midas, what would you do?�
Arnold King walked slowly back, pulled himself down into the copilot chair beside George Bolles, snapped the belt across his thighs.
�Sir, he�s got the advantage of us in two ways. More maneuverability, and the knowledge that we want to capture, not kill. If we don�t kill him, we may not get him.�
�Where would you head for if you were Midas?�
Arnold King permitted himself a smile. �Exactly where he�s headed. One of the thickest asteroid belts in the known universe.�
George indexed the proper star map, flicked the light on under it. He made several mental calculations. �If that�s where he�s headed, hell have to start deceleration within five hours. Otherwise he�ll swing beyond it in such a wide arc that we can cut him off. At this rate, we�ll catch him in twenty hours if he doesn�t reduce speed. See if you check me on this. His aim will be to decelerate, dive into the asteroid belt and anchor himself on a big one, hoping that the metallic content of the asteroid he picks will be high enough to obstruct our search pattern.�
�Right. And we can detect the area where he ducks in, and we can blast everything in that area.�
George Bolles sighed. �Arnold, I understand how you feel. But we can�t do that. If we lose him, we lose him. We don�t kill.�
Wink Midas awoke. He checked his instruments, and saw that the time was near; almost dangerously near. Once again he saw the answering flash of correction and made a small course correction. By the time nine seconds had passed, the jets were closer and brighter than at any other time during the ten days. Fear was a thick hand at his throat. The asteroid belt was ahead. For ten days he had planned exactly what he would do. It was dangerous, but it pitted the crude strength of his body against the strength of those who followed him. That was the way he wanted it.
With the gyros he switched his tiny ship end for end.
He knew that on the cruiser they were already deciding that Wink Midas was going beyond the asteroid belt � that it was too late for deceleration.
His blunt finger on the jet controls, he waited. The seconds ticked by. The time came. He forced his big body back against the plastic foam cushions, tightened all the belts to the limit of his strength, shoved his head back so that his neck wouldn�t snap, set the controls for a full five seconds of jet.
He flicked the control switch. His eyeballs were glowing flames forced back into the soft tissue of his brain. His tongue plugged his throat and his mighty ribs cracked. One foot had been an inch away from the chair brace. It smashed against the brace with a thud that numbed his leg. He screamed in agony, felt the tiny, angry rip of tissues, and it was as though he were being crushed between two steel walls.
The pain ceased. A spear of fire, jets foremost, went by him fifty miles away, unable to decelerate at that rate, forbidden by safety devices built into the ship itself, even if the commanding officer had been willing to accept a fifty percent mortality among his small crew.
He still moved backward, but at far less than the speed of light. The pain with the second burst was not so great, and for a moment the dials told him that his ship was nearly motionless with respect to the asteroid belt, moving rearward at less than fifty miles a second. By now the light cruiser would be far beyond the asteroids, straining to come to a stop, to reverse and return once more to pick up his trail.
He spun the little ship to the proper angle, gave the merest touch to the jets, looked anxiously in all screens for the friendly bulk of an asteroid. One grew on the port screen, looming through nothingness, touched vaguely with the light of distant stars, giving the familiar effect that it was he who was motionless, that the asteroid, some thirty miles in diameter, was a massive stone hurled at him by angry gods.
Once more he corrected course, adjusted his velocity to that of the asteroid, approaching its course at not more than a three-degree angle. There was no sign of pursuit. He watched all screens. The rough face of the asteroid filled the port screen.
At last the mass of it caused a minute alteration, and the small black ship drifted slowly toward it. The asteroid moved slowly on its axis. The hull of the little ship clanged hollowly against the zero rock, the rough desolation, bounced, clanged more softly, at last came to rest, rocking.
He yanked at the anchor lever. The spearhead drove down into the rock, expanded. The ship rebounded sharply to the end of the short length of cable, settled slowly down to the surface again.
With motions oddly deft for so large a man, he slipped into the space armor, tightened the globular helmet with a practiced twist, set the oxygen supply, then cracked the valve on the ship itself. The air screamed out, forming tiny solid pellets that slid slowly down the hull, drifted to the rock.
He spun the hatch free, swung it aside, clambered metallically through the narrow port and floated, almost weightless, to the bare rock of his new world. Most of his fear was gone. The suit he wore was so designed that a man could live for two weeks in it � in considerable discomfort, but he could live.
And in two weeks they would give up.
To his belt was slung a slim, tubular weapon. It was useless against the cruiser � but if they came after him in suits...
He looked around him. He saw a miniature world, a black, hard world of shattered rock. A hundred yards away was a cliff fifty feet high, pocked holes in the face of it. On such a world, this was a mountain range.
With the ease of long practice, he reached the cliff in two bounds. He slid into one of the holes in the cliff face, sat so that his back was against one wall, and he could see the black heavens.
Let them look.
�Maybe it killed him,� George Bolles said sullenly. But as he said it, he knew that he had been out-generaled. He shuddered to think of the report he would have to turn in. Pursuing the great Wink Midas, and then evaded as though he were a child of ten. When he had known that it was no longer possible for the human frame to bear the deceleration necessary to enter the asteroid belt, Midas had done exactly that, while they had shot by, helpless, frustrated and angry.
�It didn�t kill him, sir,� Arnold King said. �Not that one.� He pointed to the chart. �He entered the belt at about this point. The asteroid bodies in the belt have almost a constant orbit. Three hours have passed. He should be in there somewhere.�
�There covers four million cubic miles, Arnold.�
�It would be difficult to explain if we fail to find him, sir.�
�I see what you mean. All right. We�ll cruise up to that point right there, and use that asteroid as reference point for the search.�
There was no day or night, and no way of knowing the time without going back to the ship. Wink Midas had slept twice.
He awoke, glanced up, saw the faint starlight glimmering from the sleek hull of the cruiser, and cursed bitterly. The search was over. They hung five hundred yards above his ship, settling slowly.
He heard the tiny buzz of the communicator. He lifted the metallic left hand of the space suit, palm toward his face, thumbed aside the small screen cover, pushed the nub toward the end of the slot which would enable him to receive without transmitting.
A young face filled the tiny screen. He saw by the collar insignia that the young man was a senior lieutenant.
�Wink Midas. Come in Wing Midas. Resistance is useless. This is the Security Cruiser Genesee. Come in Midas. Come out of your ship with your arms up. We are blanketing your jets. You cannot escape.�
Midas felt a sudden surge of hope. They thought he was in the ship. With his smaller ship anchored, they would be unable to settle low enough to fasten their airlock to his port. They would have to don suits and while they were exposed...
He slid the panel over the screen so that they would not see that he was out of his ship. He pushed the nub over, said, �Come and get me, lieutenant.�
Taking it off �send,� he opened the panel. The young face was still there, but it was in profile. �I�ll go in and get him, Arnold,� the young man said.
�It�s my job,� the senior lieutenant said.
�I have better reason,� another voice said.
Wink Midas grinned, glanced from the screen up at the ship which slowly settled. He moved further back.
Glancing back at the screen, his eyes widened as he saw the senior lieutenant try to avoid a blow. A fist smashed solidly against his jaw and he fell back out of range of the screen. A new face filled the screen. An older face; a face in which there was cold hate and fury.
�You don�t know me, Midas. I�m Arnold King. Remember the Denver, Midas? This is a personal score I�m settling. I�ve locked the compartment door. The rest of the crew is trapped. I�m coming out after you, Wink Midas. And you won�t live for a fancy court trial. You�ll die on that pretty little world you�ve picked for a grave.�
The screen went blank. Midas chuckled. It would be a pleasure to wipe out a hero. Maybe if he could do it quickly enough, he could enter the cruiser through the air lock, kill the senior officer and take over the control room.
As he settled himself into a more comfortable position, the cruiser scraped, touched, rebounded, settled gently on the far side of his tiny ship.
In the faint light he saw the slow revolutions of the circular hatch on the airlock. It opened inward. The interior lights in the air lock were off. At least the man was that smart. Midas lifted the tubular weapon.
Suddenly he stiffened, and then began to curse. A thin cable lowered a small object down toward his ship. The man was cleverer than be had thought. The object dangled, touched the smooth Hack hull of Midas� ship, then rested quietly.
Swiftly it was redrawn. He slid the cover off the small screen. The familiar face, this time shielded in the distinctive space helmet of a Security officer, smiled.
�Very clever, Midas. Even you can�t stop your heart from beating. And there�s no heartbeat in your ship. Ergo, you are outside your ship. Which hole are you in, rat?�
�Come and get me, hero.�
For a long time there was no answer. The airlock door closed, and he wondered as he saw it revolve into tight position.
The face of Arnold King in the tiny screen was suddenly brighter. Midas heard the rush of air inside the cruiser, saw King twist the helmet, lift it free.
�Come on, hero,� he said to King. �Lift your ship and slam your jets on this cliff. Maybe you�ll get me and maybe you won�t. If you do, it�s better than any other kind of death; I�ll never know what hit me. The people on the Denver � they knew what hit them.�
King�s face convulsed with a fury as great as any Midas had even seen. In anticipation of the Hast, be wiggled further back into the natural cave. It was even deeper than he had hoped.
Suddenly, with a blue-white flash from the jets, the cruiser sped away.
Midas felt the fear again � fear of the unknown; fear of the madman who guided the cruiser, the fat-faced man with death in his eyes. But a clean death would be better than the courts.
The cruiser was out of sight. Ten minutes passed. He felt a dull jar that seemed to shake the rock floor of his cave. He frowned. It made no sense to him. He could not imagine what the man was doing.
In a very few minutes he felt another shock. Then something completely inexplicable happened. He floated, rose against the cave roof. Another shock, and yet another. He was held firmly against the roof of the cave. He twisted his head so that he could see his ship. It stood straight out from the asteroid, the anchor line tight. The shocks came faster.
Then his ship pulled free, arrowed, without power, into the darkness and was lost. Suddenly he understood, and he screamed. His scream filled the helmet, tore at his ears. The man had backed the cruiser off, had blasted with his jets at an angle against the surface of the asteroid. With each blast of the jets, the asteroid had begun to spin faster on its axis, until, when centrifugal force on his body had outbalanced the weak gravity, he had floated to the roof of the small cave. Faster and faster.
And Wink Midas knew that the accelerated rate of spin would continue throughout all the rest of time.
There was one solution. Trembling, he slid back the protective cover of the palm screen. There were two faces in the small screen. The senior lieutenant, white and angry. The fleshy junior lieutenant, abject and apologetic.
�I... I lost my head, sir. I�m sorry. Temporary insanity, I guess. But when I saw what I had done, I suddenly realized that we didn�t have to go outside to get him. I just spun the asteroid with full power until the rate of spin flung him and his ship free. See, his ship is right ahead, still blanketed. We can grapple it, and tow him in.�
His lips trembling with anxiety, Wink Midas said, �But I�m not in my ship. I�m here. Back on the asteroid!�
They paid no attention to him. Obviously the screen was set to send, not receive. The senior lieutenant lost his look of anger. �All right, Arnold.� He fingered his bruised jaw. �Officially, I�ll forget it. But I thought you wanted to kill him.�
Midas wondered if it was his imagination that showed Arnold King giving a quick glance of sardonic amusement at the screen. �No sir. I can see that it will be better if he stands trial.�
The screen slowly became less distinct as the cruiser reached the outer limits of the communicator. In shrill hysteria, Midas screamed, �Don�t! Don�t leave! You�ll never find me again!�
The screen went dead.
For nearly an hour he made futile attempts to claw his way toward the cave mouth, but it was as though he�d been welded to the roof of the cave � welded by centrifugal force.
He took the tubular weapon, aimed it at himself. But he could not pull the trigger.
A spinning coffin for Wink Midas!
Slowly at first, almost with humor, he began to laugh.