As they neared the entrance to the ship they saw their mother standing in the opened lock, getting a breath of fresh air, and looking about the clearing with an interested expression.
Jon had just opened his mouth to call to her when suddenly, without warning, without even a change in the light or feeling in the air, rain began coming down in great sheets. The boys, after only a momentary start of surprise, raced for the airlock. Their mother stayed to help them climb in. But by the time they were inside and the outer door was closed, they were wet through to the skin.
"Wow, that's sure some storm! Wonder if it's a regular feature here?"
"I wouldn't know," Jak panted. "Did you get a look at that lightning, and hear the thunder?"
"Didn't take time—I was too busy running." Jon laughed as he tried to wring the worst of the water out of his coveralls before going through the living room to the bunkroom, where they could change to dry garments.
As they came out their mother, now also in dry clothes, met them with a smile. "I think your father is getting better—he moved about quite a bit a while ago, although he didn't completely regain consciousness."
"Wonderful!"
"That's super!"
Later, as the three were eating dinner, Jak suddenly laid down his fork in excitement. "Just happened to think. We didn't see any cities here, so doesn't that make this a prime discovery?"
"That it do, that it do," Jon said delightedly.
"Then that means we have the right to name and claim this system...."
"Unless there are intelligent inhabitants on some of the other planets."
"Seems to me if there were any, they'd be here—this is certain to be the most logical world to support life. What'll we call this system?"
"'Carveria,' of course, stupid. After Pop," Jon answered witheringly.
"That's very thoughtful of you, Son." His mother smiled at him fondly.
"We'll call the sun 'Carveria,' then, and the five planets will be 'Tad,' 'Marci,' 'Jak,' 'Jon,' and 'Rover.'"
"Ouch, how corny can you get?" Jon sniffed. "Since there are five, I know the fifth should be named for the ship, and we can't very well call it 'Star Rover.' But certainly not just 'Rover,' either."
"Why not leave off the last 'r' and just call it 'Rove'?" their mother suggested.
"Good!" "Swell!" the two exclaimed at once.
"That means this one is named after you, Mom. How does it feel to have a whole world named after you?"
"You ought to know," she retorted with a smile that brought out her dimples in the old way. "You've each got one named for you."
"Then let's call this moon 'Diana,' after the ancient goddess of the moon," Jak said.
"Look, Owl, this is Mom's planet. She has the right to name her own moon." Jon's voice was almost a sneer.
"I think 'Diana' is a very nice name, and I'll accept that, although I'm going to make it 'Diane,'" his mother soothed. "That has always been my favorite girl name. If I'd ever had a daughter, I probably would have named her 'Diane.' So it will make a doubly fine name for my moon."
"Haven't time to measure or weigh it now, but I'll bet it's big enough, and close enough, to cause tides," Jon said meditatively.
"What's that got to do with the price of onions in Bermuda?"
"Nothing, just thought it was interesting. Well, bed for me. Need a good rest tonight."
"Why, especially, Son? What do you plan for tomorrow?"
"Just some more exploring, that's all. And we'll be careful," Jon added hastily as he saw the familiar words forming on her lips. "'Night, Mom."
At breakfast the next morning Jon suddenly stopped eating. "Say, as we were coming down, did you notice a small river or creek just over there to the right? I was pretty busy at the time, but seem to remember something of the sort."
"Yes, there was one near, but don't know just how far. Why?"
The boy grinned. "If there's a stream, there're probably fish. I was thinking we could get some fresh supplies that way."
"You and your fishing! Don't you ever think of anything else?"
"Sure I do, but I notice you always eat your share when I catch any and Mom cooks 'em."
Their mother said quickly, "Some fresh fish would taste good, Boys. If you have time and can catch any, I know we would all appreciate them."
"Look, Jak, you want to explore some more of that jungle, and I want to see if there's any of that stuff Pop was looking for, near here. We can just as well do both while working toward that creek, and I can take my rod along. But first, we've got to set up our marker here in the clearing."
"That's right, I'd almost forgotten your telling us about that. And we don't want to stay too long, either. Didn't you say we have to place one on each planet in order to prove our claim as original discovers?"
"Yes, and one in an orbit about the sun, too." Jon pushed back his chair and rose. "I'll go get one from the storeroom."
"I'll get my specimen cases ready, and see to the guns." Jak, too, rose, then forestalled his mother by turning to her, "I'll feed Father first, and we'll be careful outside. You can call us back with the new siren Jon installed, if you need us."
"All right, Boys." She smiled at them. "Mr. C. seemed to rest well last night, although I do wish he would regain full consciousness. I've plenty of housekeeping to keep busy while you're gone. Really should do some washing, but that doesn't take long. Just don't stay out too late."
"We won't," they both assured her. "We'll be back long before dark."
The marker which Jon fetched from the storeroom and placed near the inner lockdoor, ready to take outside and set up, was one developed by the scientists and technies of Terra for just such use.
It consisted of an exceptionally strong broadcasting unit that beamed the message of a tape, continuously, toward Terra. Jon made up the tape while Jak was giving the feeding. It read, "This planetary system was first discovered by Tad Carver, on fourteenth January, 2136. This is the second planet, and has been named 'Marci.'"
Over and over, at five-minute intervals, the sender would broadcast that message on a beam aimed at Terra. The controlling mechanism was a marvelously precise uranium clock, and a small atomic motor with fuel enough for five years gave all the needed power.
By the terms of the Terran Colonial laws, this was supposed to entitle the prime discover to certain rights in the system. For one thing, he would receive a one-half per cent share of the value of all minerals, oils, jewels and certain other natural resources later colonists might wrest from those planets, for twenty years following his discovery and the acceptance of his claim.
In this way, the Colonial Board of the World Government of Terra sponsored and assured the far-flung exploration which the development of deep-space travel had made possible. The dangers and expense were so considerable that something well worth while had to be offered to make individuals or companies willing to gamble on the hardships and tremendous costs of exploration.
When the boys left the ship to place the marker, they left both lockdoors open so that the fresh morning air from outside could circulate throughout the ship, replacing the somewhat stuffy, although chemically pure air that their purifiers kept renewed.
"Keep your eyes and ears open, and shut the doors if you think there's any danger," both boys cautioned their mother, after making sure she knew how to work the door controls.
"I will," she promised with a laugh, and couldn't help adding, "Just you be as careful as I'll be."
The boys carried the signal-sender to a distant corner of the clearing, to what Jon said was a good spot. "The book says to dig a hole and plant it with the top projecting three inches above the ground, whenever such a thing is possible."
"You know what to do, so take charge," Jak said simply. When they had dug the hole and placed the sender in it, they shoveled the dirt back, then Jon opened the lid. He started the tape reels and the broadcasting unit, then carefully shut and locked the cover.
In digging, they found the ground here to be damp and soggy, apparently from that terrific downpour of the previous evening. It was almost like a wet clay, although, even to their inexperienced eyes, it seemed to be a very rich type of soil.
"Look how wet it is, even over two feet down," Jon said.
"That was a real rain last night," Jak shook his head slowly, "but somehow I can't believe it made this. Maybe this is the rainy season."
They started toward the jungle, but turned to look back toward the ship. They saw their mother at the open door, and waved to her.
After seeing her answering wave, they plunged into the forest at a point where they saw a trail, left either by the frequent passings of the great triped they had shot, or by other beasts of some type not yet seen. Memory of that gigantic beast, though, made them doubly cautious.
"Sure don't want to meet his relatives," Jon said.
"Especially the mate," Jak added, and could not conceal a shiver.
They had noticed with considerable interest and surprise that those native ant-like scavengers had almost entirely eaten the bones of the triped.
"Apparently we'll not find much in the way of remains on this world," Jak commented as they walked carefully along the trail. "Those scavenger birds and ants sure clean up things in a hurry."
"Except for old vegetation," Jon grunted as he stumbled over a dead branch protruding out into the trail. He was keeping his rifle ready in his hands, and his keen eyes alert to one side and then the other, rather than downward.
Knowing his younger brother was so carefully on guard, Jak felt free to study and examine the various trees and other plant life near the irregular path they were following. He was almost in a frenzy of delight, constantly darting off the trail a few yards to look at some specimen he had detected, studying it carefully and exclaiming over his find.
"Hey, this one is like anacer compestris," he yelped, intently studying the bark with his magnifying glass.
"Spik Englis," Jon scolded. "What is it?"
"A hard maple," Jak's voice was condescending. Then he ran over to another. "This one's almost like a silver poplar. See how its light bark glints where the sunlight hits it?"
He started toward another farther away, but Jon called him back. "Don't get so far from the trail." Reluctantly, Jak retraced his steps, only to be off again a moment later.
"This 'un's got nuts almost like small coconuts." He picked a fallen one from the ground and tossed it to Jon. "See if you can crack it and find out what's inside."
But when Jon had done so, it proved to be dried and half-rotted. They could not get a fresh one from the tree by shaking, and it was too smooth and high to climb without spurs.
Jak quickly filled his knapsacks with first one and then another of the smaller plants, twigs and leaves he was continually finding. Soon Jon was laughing heartily, for his brother now had to discard an older specimen to make room for the new.
"You'll have to make several trips to get anywhere near all of those just around here, Owl," Jon called at last. "You can't take back everything, anyway. Way you're going now, you'd soon have the ship so full of your junk there'd be no place for us. And this is only the first planet, remember?"
"But these are unique," Jak wailed. "Botanists will want to study them."
"Then let them come here," Jon stated practically.
Jak looked at him, and grew shamefaced. "Guess I did go a little nuts," he said. But before long his excitement rose to fever pitch again. "There's so much here that's new and different, yet something like the ones we know. I must take back samples of everything."
"How many different kinds of—oh, say, roses—are there on Terra?"
"Why ... why ... I don't really know. Hundreds, I'm sure. Maybe thousands. What's that got to do with this?"
"Simply trying to make you realize you can't take back samples of 'everything,' as you said."
"Ouch!" Jak laughed good-naturedly then. "You've got me, pal. I'll take it easier."
But he soon forgot his good intentions as he found ever newer and more different plants and trees and mosses. There was such a dissimilarity, yet at the same time so many points of likeness between the plant life of this new world and that of Terra, that the young botanist was in a continual state of excitement.
Jon, meanwhile, although still keeping a sharp watch for any possible dangers, had been noticing the profusion of other life in this jungle. There were a number of different bird forms, although he saw that those he was close enough to examine were fur-covered rather than feathered. Nor did they seem to be songsters, for the only noises he heard were the soughing of the wind through the trees and vines and bushes, and theswishof wings as the birds flew past.
They had gone some distance when he stopped short. Off at one side there was movement among the small bushes. A quick sibilant whisper froze Jak in his tracks. Jon raised his gun, his eyes searching quickly. Then two quick shots ... and a threshing in the underbrush. Soon stillness—and the two boys advanced cautiously, both with their guns at the ready. In the bushes they found what Jon had shot—two small tripeds somewhat resembling large jack rabbits.
"Hah, these should be good eating." Jon was in transports as he picked them up, examining them carefully.
"Should be tender, at least, if the flesh is suitable to us." Jak was excited, too. "There's enough for a good meal."
Jon took a piece of cord from his coverall pocket and tied the hind legs together, then slung them over his shoulder. "Let's keep going."
Jak continued finding new and different plants, and Jon kept on guard. Once they saw one of the huge tripeds in the distance, and stopped instantly, being very quiet as they slipped behind the boles of large trees, from which they peered out cautiously. But apparently the great beast had not heard, seen nor smelled them—it finally wandered away—grazing.
"Well, I'll be a tadpole!" Jon exclaimed. "A grass-eater."
But Jak was not so sure. "Lots of meat-eaters also eat a little grass. Those teeth didn't look like the ones of a herbivore. I think I'll keep away from them, anyway."
"You and me both!" Jon was agreeable to the idea.
At last, after nearly two hours, the two boys came to the banks of the stream, which was about a quarter mile wide at this point, and seemed not too deep, at least near the shore. Now it was Jon's turn to become the most excited. He ran to the edge and peered into the shallow depths, then called out delightedly at seeing dozens of darting forms of some type of marine life in the clear waters.
"You watch while I fish," he commanded, dropping his gun and the two hare-like creatures. He took the carrying case from his shoulder, opened it and in moments had his rod, reel and line ready.
"Yippee!" he yelled as he got an immediate strike on his first cast. With true fisherman's skill, he played the now fighting, swiftly darting denizen of the river. Carefully he reeled in his catch, giving line when the fish ran or plunged, reeling in when he felt the least bit of slack, exerting only enough pressure to force the fish-thing in toward him without losing it.
Soon the wriggling creature was in shallow water, and Jon waded out with his landing net. A quick, darting movement with hand and net, and he had his first catch.
He took it carefully from the net and held it aloft, examining and admiring it, while Jak danced about on the shore near him, uttering shrill yelps of triumph.
They could see that Jon's catch was streamlined almost like a trout or barracuda. It was nearly fifteen inches long, and very slender. There seemed to be no scales—the skin was more like that of an eel or bullhead.
"Fish or snake?" Jak asked.
"Don't know for sure." Jon was still studying it. "Think it's a fish, all right, but it hasn't any fins, and swims with the same wriggles a snake uses. I think it's more eel than snake, though, and I'm quite sure it'll be good eating."
The mouth was large and ran back almost three and a half inches. When Jon pried it open to remove his hook he saw there was a triple row of needle-sharp teeth, so quickly took a pair of pliers from his tool belt, and used these to remove the deeply swallowed hook.
The eel-fish freed, he dropped it into his creel, then cast again. It was apparent these water denizens were unused to lures, for hardly had his spinner touched the surface of the water than he had another strike.
As swiftly as he could reel in and remove one from his hook and cast again, Jon brought in fish after fish. All this time Jak was dancing about, now as excited as his brother at this prospect of fresh food to replace for the time the nourishing but hardly-delectable concentrates and frozen foods on which they had been living for so long.
But when Jon finally was satisfied with the size of his catch, he found that leaving the river was not to be a simple matter of wading ashore. So intent had he been on his fun he had not noticed that his feet were sinking further and further into the bottom.
Only now, as he tried to return to shore, did he find he could not lift his feet. They were firmly embedded in the sand or muck, more than halfway to his knees.
For a long moment he struggled to pull first one foot and then the other from the clinging stuff. Then he realized he must be in a sort of quicksand, and he began to panic.
"Quick, Jak, come help me! I'm caught."
But almost instantly he countermanded that sharply. "No! Stay back. The bottom here's quicksand or something."
Jak had come running at Jon's first cry. At this warning, though, he slid to a halt just short of the water. "How can I help?" he cried anxiously.
"Catch these first." And Jon threw first his rod, then his creel filled with fish.
Jak caught each and tossed them farther back onto the bank. He then looked quickly about, and spied a long, fallen branch at some little distance. He called to his brother, who was still trying desperately to free himself, "Hang on a minute. I'll be right back."
Racing for the branch, he picked it up and brought it back to the water's edge. But when he extended it toward Jon, it was too short by several feet, even though both leaned forward. Jak would have gone into the water with it, but Jon would not let him.
"We'll have to try something else, then." Jak was getting really worried now, for he could see that the water was up to Jon's waist.
"You'll have to make it snappy," Jon spoke as calmly as he could. "I'm sinking deeper all the time."
Again Jak searched swiftly and purposefully about him. He saw something he thought might help and ran swiftly toward one of the smaller trees. With difficulty, because of the scarcity of limbs, he climbed this and soon was hacking, with his machete-like knife, at the long, slender liana or climbing vine that hung downward from it. It took only a few moments to sever the top end, then Jak slid down the trunk and traced the vine to its root, cutting it there. With this long section he ran back to the water's edge.
"Catch," he yelled—but it took several attempts before he could get the unwieldy vine-end near enough for Jon to grasp.
Jak dug his heels into the ground and started pulling. His face grew red, cords stood out in his neck, and his muscles bulged. But quickly the strain proved too great for him. Since he was the lighter and weaker he was being pulled toward the water, rather than freeing his embedded brother.
"I ... can't ... do it," Jak panted, his strength gone, his muscles and limbs aching and trembling.
"Tie your end around a tree. I'll try to work myself out."
Jak did so, and the muscles on Jon's more powerful arms, back and shoulders stood out in ridges as he threw all his splendid young strength into this climactic effort. He pulled, he wriggled about from side to side.
Slow, heartbreaking moments passed as the tug of war continued. Inch by hard-fought inch Jon was withdrawing his imprisoned legs from the sucking, gripping stuff that was so determined not to yield its victim.
But he was still only a boy, and he had neither the strength nor the endurance to continue for long this tremendous struggle. Slowly his efforts grew weaker and less successful. The sand began reclaiming that which it had lost. Before long Jon sank back, and the strain on the vine relaxed.
"Can't ... make it. You've been a great brother...." He tried to smile. "Take care of Mom and Pop ... and break it to them gently."
"Shut up, you dope," Jak yelled, but there was a catch in his voice. "We're not licked yet!"
Desperately his mind raced. He must think of some more effective mode of leverage. If only he knew how to handle the ship! He could bring that here, and with the loading winch in the lock drag his brother loose. But that was out—he didn't know how to handle it.
He thought of going after his mother, but realized quickly that before he got her and brought her back, Jon would be gone.
No, it was strictly up to him—and time was swiftly running out.
Jak Carver's eyes searched the edge of the jungle feverishly for any idea—for some means of rescuing his younger brother, embedded in the quicksand of the stream there.
Suddenly he spied a slim but stout-looking tree close to the water's edge ... and a trick the two boys had often played with a small tree in their back yard at home sprang into his mind.
"Got an idea, Jon. Slack off a minute."
For Jon had been trying again and again, as he felt a momentary return of part of his strength, to pull himself free. He had, by this means, barely managed to keep from sinking further, but that was all.
Now, with a quick twist, Jak unfastened the end of the liana from the tree to which he had tied it. "Tie your end about you, just under the arms," he called. Then, placing his end of the vine in his mouth and gripping it firmly with his teeth, he started climbing that slim tree. It was about seven inches in diameter at the base, and some forty to forty-five feet tall.
His brother instantly recognized what he had in mind. So, as Jak climbed, Jon made sure his end was securely fastened about him. Then he grasped the vine firmly with both hands, a few inches in front of his chest.
As Jak climbed ever higher into the tree, the slender sapling bent beneath his weight. He still climbed, but carefully now, on the side nearest the water, so the treetop would bend in that direction. The higher he climbed the tree, the more his weight made it curve downward, so that toward the last, his back was almost parallel to the ground.
Holding with his legs wrapped about the trunk, when he was almost three-quarters of the way up, Jak fastened his end of the liana tautly in place. This was extremely difficult because of his unnatural position, as well as the stiffness of the vine and his having to work with one hand. But without wasting time, he took pains to make sure the knot was tight and secure.
Then he started climbing again, further and further toward the slender top of the now bent tree. But carefully, lest his weight and the bending splinter or snap the treetop as it bent still further.
"Get tight, Jon. Be ready for the yank when I let go."
"All set and line tight. Yell when you drop."
Glancing down to see that the way was clear below him, Jak let his legs go and swung by his arms until he was hanging clear. He yelled sharply and let go—plunging down the fifteen or eighteen feet to the ground.
Disregarding the shock, he scrambled up, and peered closely at the tree, then the vine, then at Jon. The tree was straining to pull back into its accustomed erectness. The liana was taut—but bits of its bark were flecking off. It creaked so alarmingly Jak was afraid it would break.
All the time Jon was wriggling and twisting to help free his feet and legs. And the vine held, as the tree proved its natural strength and desire for an upright position. Slowly but surely Jon's body was pulled from its prison. As he came more nearly free the tree snapped upright so swiftly he was whipped out of the water and a dozen feet onto the sand. He landed, face down, with a terrific jar.
Jak ran up and helped untie the vine. Jon sat up slowly with his brother's help. His face was scuffed where it had slid along the sandy beach, and he slowly, painfully wiped it somewhat clean with his handkerchief. His breath came in gasps from the terrible constriction of the vine about his chest, and from his unusual exertions.
Sympathetically, Jak hovered about until finally Jon's breathing was a bit easier. When his brother started to try to get up, he helped and held him.
"Guess I can make it now." Jon finally broke away and did manage to stand alone, although he still reeled a bit from the fatigue and the terrible ordeal through which he had been.
He walked slowly about, rolling his shoulders and moving his arms and fingers, exercising his cramped muscles. Jak gave him a couple of anti-fatigue pills from his pocket first-aid kit, and Jon swallowed these. Finally, he began collecting his rod and creel.
"They'd danged well better be good to eat," he declared, shaking the offending fish basket.
"It certainly wasn't worth all that narrow escape," Jak said soberly as he took the things from his brother and went over to pick up the little animal carcasses. But when he got there he exclaimed in disgust, "Darn, those ants have eaten them almost all up!"
"We mustn't let Mom know how close I came to not getting back," Jon said as he staggered along the little trail, although as he went his strength and limberness returned somewhat.
"I'll say not. I'll keep my trap shut. One thing's sure, though. There'll be no more fishing trips here."
"Aw, I wouldn't say that," Jon snapped back. "I know enough now to stay on the bank. And if these are good eating, it's too easy a way to get fresh food to waste."
They were just climbing into the lock when again that sudden heavy downpour of rain began.
Jon grinned as he opened the inner door. "Glad to see the rain this time. It'll keep Mom from wondering why my clothes are so wet."
As soon as they had changed to dry clothing, Jon went to clean his "fish," then took them to his mother in the galley. Jak, meanwhile, was in the control room, rearranging and trying to begin the classification of his plant specimens.
When their mother called them to table, the boys sniffed appreciatively at the delicious odor of the nicely browned fish-things.
"They cook nicely, but how do we tell if they're good to eat?" Mrs. Carver asked.
Jak flipped one onto his plate and cut off a tiny portion. "Tell you soon." And he forked the piece into his mouth. With his tongue and teeth he tested it, but did not swallow. "Tastes good," he said a moment later, retrieving the piece with his fork and laying it on the side of his plate. "One more test."
He cut off another small piece and took it into the storeroom, where he placed a piece in one of the cages containing half a dozen white rats. A couple of them came up immediately, smelled the food, then one of them gobbled it up. Jak watched anxiously for a moment, then gave another rat a piece. It, too, gobbled it up, and then joined the rest who were pressed against the wires begging for more. Jak stood watching for one minute, then two, then three. Satisfied that the meat had done the rodents no harm, he returned to the table.
"It's all right," he said and began eating. "The rats liked it and it didn't seem to hurt them."
The others pitched in then, and soon the entire platterful was reduced to a pile of bones on the three plates.
"How's Father been today," Jak asked. "He was asleep when I glanced at him after getting back."
"He moved about several times, tossing and groaning a bit, and seeming to be trying to touch his broken leg, although...."
"Probably it itches inside the cast," Jak said.
"He didn't regain full consciousness, but I tried spooning some concentrated broth into his mouth, and he was able to swallow a little of it."
"Golly, that's great!" Jak exclaimed in relief. "His drifting out of his coma from time to time shows there is no real damage to his brain, and now he's evidently beginning to come out of the concussion."
"Whatever it is, I feel more sure he'll soon regain consciousness and be all right." Mrs. Carver spoke with quiet confidence.
"Of course he will, Mom. Pop's too tough for a busted leg and a bump on the head to kill him." Jon smiled at her comfortingly.
"As the surface wound heals, the brain tissues beneath will also be healing," Jak said pedantically. "As long as we can keep him fed and otherwise healthy, the concussion will grow less and finally dissipate entirely."
"Doctor Carver, I presume." Jon sniggered, and his brother flushed a bit, then poked him in the ribs.
Jon tried not to wince at that light jab. Luckily their mother had not noticed anything so, as quickly as possible, he said, "Well, Owl, let's hit the sack. Want to move around this planet tomorrow and get our pics and info, then take a look at the others."
Jak started to protest, but caught his brother's almost imperceptible but frantic signal, and changed his words. "Maybe Jon's right at that, and we should get an early start. 'Night, Mother."
"Good night, Boys." She responded to their kisses, and soon the two were in their bunkroom, with the door closed.
Jak turned swiftly on his brother. "What's the big idea, making us go to bed so early, and why that funny look you gave me?"
"I had to get out of there." Jon winced as he began taking off his shirt, and Jak crammed his fist into his mouth to keep from crying out as he saw the great, angry red welts and the terrible black-and-blue splotches on Jon's torso.
"Great guns! What happened?"
"That vine must have really hurt when it pulled me loose from that quicksand. I didn't notice it particularly, though, until you poked me in the ribs."
Jak quickly dragged his large first-aid kit from its place in the wall cupboard, and opened it. "Lie down on the bunk, and I'll fix you up," he said as he took out tubes of unguents, bottles of antiseptic and rolls of bandages and plasters from the kit. "Golly, kid, I had no idea you were in that shape, or I'd have done this before."
Jon gritted his teeth as the other gently felt to see if any ribs were broken, and later as Jak applied the healing lotions and sometimes smarting antiseptics. But he could not entirely restrain his exclamations of pain, although he muffled them with his pillow lest their mother hear and come to investigate. He knew his brother was being sympathetically gentle, and when at last it was done, Jon did feel easier. The burning had largely stopped, and some of the ache was gone.
"I'd better give you some barbit so you'll sleep sounder." Jak shook two small pills from a bottle. "The calmer you sleep, the less you'll mess up those dressings, and the quicker you'll heal."
He got a glass of water and Jon took the pills and washed them down. "You do have your uses now and then," he growled, but the grateful look in his eyes belied the ungraciousness of his words—and Jak was well content.
In the morning much of the soreness and discoloration was gone, and there was no sign of inflammation or pus. After Jak had again tended to the abrasions and friction sores, the two boys dressed and went in to breakfast.
Their mother was in good spirits. "Mr. C.'s breathing seems much easier than it was," she announced with delight.
They all went in to see him, and while Jak was redressing the now almost healed head wound, Jon looked on happily.
"Won't be long now." He hugged his mother joyfully.
"I hope not," she sighed. "He does seem to be getting better, though."
"We're lucky we still have him, Mother." Jak's voice was serious. "If that rock had even touched him, it would have been the end. His leg looks OK—no signs of swelling or inflammation."
Breakfast was quiet, and as soon as they finished Jon rose purposefully. "I'll take us up now, and we'll cruise around and see what we can see. Have to take lots of recordings and pictures, you know."
"Are you sure you understand all that has to be done?" His mother's voice was anxious.
"Sure, Mom. It tells all about it on the papers the Colonial Board furnished. All we have to do is follow their instructions. You coming, Jak?"
"Right with you." His brother hastily drank the rest of his coffee and rose, wiping his mouth. "Be sure you strap down at the signal, Mother, if you aren't coming with us."
She flashed him a smile. "I will. Meanwhile, I'll clear the table—if I have time?" She looked questioningly at Jon.
"Sure, it'll take ten—fifteen minutes to get ready, and I'll give you a couple of one-minute warnings."
When all was ready, Jak strapped himself down in the co-pilot's seat, the book of instructions in his hand. Jon touched the stud of the buzzer, waited a full minute then punched two buzzes. Then he nodded at his brother.
"Close fuel dump valves," Jak said, referring to the manual.
"Valves closed."
"Switch on fuel pumps."
"Pumps on."
"Switch on generators."
"Gens on."
"Open all oil valves."
"Oil open."
"Check heaters."
"Heaters on."
"Check refrigerators."
"Frigs on."
"Fire tube one and balance."
Jon snapped a switch. A dull rumbling began and the ship seemed to strain as the first tube started functioning, although at minimum strength. He carefully watched a dial to see that it was working smoothly.
Finally, "Tube one firing."
In like manner tubes four, two and then three were started and tested, and finally reported firing evenly. The ship seemed more than ever straining, as though anxious to get into the air and into free space—but remained on the ground.
"Up landing props."
Jon touched another stud, and they could feel the motor lifting the landing props into their slots in the hull.
"Take off."
The roar deepened as Jon increased the amounts of fuel being fed into the tubes. The ship lifted effortlessly, easily, into the air.
"Check acceleration pressure."
"Normal to speed."
"Check altimeter."
"One thousand seven hundred."
"Level off."
A moment of maneuvering, then Jon reported, "Ship level at twenty-four hundred, traveling parallel to ground surface."
"Check rocket balance."
"All tubes on balance."
"Switch on auto-pilot."
"Auto on, but keeping ready to switch back to manual if necessary."
Jak loosened his straps and went to look out of the port, but Jon kept his gaze fastened on the lookout plate before him, his hands resting lightly on the controls, although they were not connected now.
Beneath them the land was sliding by, as the ship cruised at the slow speed, for it, of just under a thousand miles an hour. The boys saw the same sort of jungle forests, the same occasional clearings. From time to time the glint of water revealed rivers or lakes, the latter seldom more than a mile or so in width or length.
After nearly an hour, they were flying above a huge plain, covered with some sort of grass or grain. They had been above this for some minutes when Jon uttered an exclamation and Jak came up quickly to see what his brother had spotted in the magnifier-screen.
"Look down there, Owl," the younger brother was excited. "Thousands of cattle!"
"Whew! Most like those old buffalo-herds we read the old pioneers saw on the western plains of Noramer. Hey, those things are tripeds, too, like the big one we shot, and the rabbits."
"Yes, I see. Must be the usual thing here. But those down there are smaller, like cows. Wonder if they're good to eat, or give milk?"
"Don't know, but we sure want to report this."
He took several pictures with the recording camera, then made notations in the data book. The two continued watching until the tremendous herd was out of sight behind them, and they were flying once more above a great forest. They had gone almost two thousand miles when they saw ahead and downward the beginnings of what was either an ocean or a great sea. As they drew closer, they still could not see its further shore.
"I don't remember this from before, do you?" Jon looked perplexed.
"Yes, I think this must be the one we saw part of from the north—that is, I assume it was north, as we were near the icecap. But I didn't realize it was so...."
"Hey, look down there! That proves I was right." Jon pointed triumphantly toward his visiplate. "See those high-water marks along the shore? That means this moon is big enough to cause tides, same as Luna does to Terra."
"What good, really, are tides?"
"Why," superciliously, "they're one of the most useful things God has given man. They ... they...." Jon stopped, flushed, then laughed. "Darned if I know what they're good for. Of course, if they're high enough, men can make tide-motors and produce power, but now that we've got atomics, we don't need those."
"I suppose we should record them, though." Jak was tactful enough not to laugh.
"Yes, write it down."
They were over an hour passing above this ocean, and had begun to wonder if it was greater in extent than Terra's Pacific. But finally they made out in the distance the dim blueness of the farther shore.
"That's some ocean all right. Shows there's lots of water here on Two."
"With those heavy rains there'd almost have to be. This'll be of special interest to colonists—means not only plenty of water, but if that stream was any example, there'll be lots of fish down there to start a big food industry later."
About two hundred miles past the eastern shore of the ocean, they saw the blue of mountains in the decreasing distance. Soon Jon had to rise higher and higher to clear them safely. Some of the individual peaks seemed to be nearly five miles high, and one or two of them, almost at the range of visibility, the boys estimated to be even taller.
"Probably lots of metals here," Jon commented. "I'll swing back and over them again, and let 'Annie' get to work."
"Yes, this list says to report on metallic ores. Say, doesn't it seem funny to you that there are no people on a world as capable as this of supporting life? Wonder why?"
"No telling. Pop says lots of Earthlike planets don't have any inhabitants capable of any sort of civilization. But that means more ready-made worlds for Terrans to colonize."
Jon made their ship circle above the mountains while the boys took readings with the spectro-analyzer. Then they started on again. After almost another hour, when they were over one of the few desert places they had seen, Jon suddenly leaned forward with a little intake of breath that his brother noticed.
"What's up?"
"Not sure. But listen to 'Annie' click. From the reading, I think there must be some of that metal Pop was so positive about, down there somewhere."
"The stuff for a new fuel?"
"Yes. We don't know it'd be any good as fuel, but its atomic weight seems to be so high Pop was all excited when the spectrogram of this sun showed it. He said he felt sure we'd find it on at least one of these planets."
"It'll take a lot of time to locate it exactly, won't it?"
"Not too much, with the new gadgets they have for locating metal ores." Jon tried not to sound impatient with his brother's ignorance. "We've got one that lets us cruise around in the air and spot it fairly close, then land and find the exact place quite easily."
"What sort of gadget?"
Jon shrugged. "Don't know exactly how they work, but I can use one. Something like a spectroscope that works without first having to heat the metals into gas. Plus something like those old Geiger counters they used to trace radioactives. Plus some other ideas the technies put into them. It tells about them in one of our reelbooks there. You go get ours—I think it's in Bin 14, in the storeroom. Looks like a small black suitcase with carrying straps. Meanwhile, I'll get ready to set us down."
"I'll hurry so's to be back to read the routine for you."
While his brother was gone, Jon activated the bow retarders—after snapping off the stern tubes. Then he sent the ship into a curve that would bring them back nearer the place where he wanted to land. But only part of his mind was doing that—the rest was wondering why there had to be so much fuss and detail in landing and taking-off with a ship. Why couldn't it be fixed so one man could navigate and pilot without all this bother? It ought not to be too difficult....
Jak was soon back with the recorder, and Jon showed him how to read it. Soon they located what seemed to be the center of that strange disturbance, and with Jak's help, Jon set the ship down on the sand, fairly close to where they thought that hoped-for metal or its ore might be found.
When the two boys went into the living room, they told their mother what they had landed for, and that they were going out to look for the source of this excitement.
"Is it really necessary?" she asked anxiously. "Mr. C. didn't say anything to me about any such thing. Haven't we got fuel enough to get home on?"
"Sure, Mom," Jon hastened to explain. "But Pop thought this new stuff would be a lot more powerful than the fuel we're using. Said it ought to give us far greater cruising range with lots less storage space. If we found something of the sort, it would be a great contribution to space travel."
"That's right," Jak added, "and if we do find such a thing here, miners will soon be flocking after it, and that'll meanbeaucoupcredits for us."
"Well," doubtfully, "I guess you know best. Your father seems to be growing better, and lets me feed him, even though he hasn't ever seemed to regain full consciousness. If you are sure this is what he'd do if awake, I suppose it is what you should do."
"Looks like a funny place for ore," Jon said as the two boys left the ship and started at a fast pace in the direction "Annie" had pointed out as the center of activity. "I'd have expected it to be in the mountains, not in a desert like this."
"Yes, I was wondering about that." The elder brother shook his head slowly. "But you can tell there's something here. What is it we're really looking for? Oh, I know it's metal or ore of some kind," he added hurriedly as he saw Jon start a retort. "What I mean is, is it ore or natural nuggets, and is it radioactive, or what?"
Jon grinned as he trotted along. "Don't really know much more than you. I know how to detect it, and I'll know it if we find it. But to tell ahead of time, I haven't the minnow of an idea."
They had actually gone less than a quarter of a mile when the heat of the sun, reflected from the hot, white, desert sand, became almost unbearable. Finally Jak stopped, wiping the pouring perspiration from his face and neck. "We can't take much of this. Better go back and get our suits."
"Yes, guess you're right." Jon was also working his handkerchief overtime. "The refrigs in them will keep us cooler, even if they're harder to walk in."
"And the suit-goggles will protect us better from the actinic rays of this sun," Jak said. "We're so close—only sixty-five or seventy millions, you said?—that the solar rays are lots stronger than those we get back on Terra, even in the deserts."
"Sure, those jungle trees protected us before, so we didn't notice them."
Their mother heard them as they returned and came to see what the trouble was. When they explained, as they were putting on their suits, she again warned them to be careful.
Then she added, somewhat hastily, "It's just a mother's instinct to keep warning her children to be careful. I know you boys always are—the fact that you came back rather than take chances shows this. Please don't feel badly that I keep nagging at you."
"Heck, Mom, we know you aren't nagging." Jon hugged her. "If you ever quit warning us, that's when we'd really get worried."
Their suits on and the refrigerators working, the pair began retracing their steps. Jon led the way, since he was carrying the detector. They went in a decreasing spiral to locate the center, then made a beeline for that spot.
But after almost a mile the signal seemed to grow weaker, and they stopped for a conference.
"Must have passed it," Jon said over his suit-radio as his puzzled eyes studied the meters on the finder.
"Try going back thirty or forty yards to the right, then back toward the left," Jak suggested.
Soon Jon shouted and started off in a new direction, but more slowly, and Jak ran quarteringly toward him.
Inside half a mile Jon lost the beam again, and once more they quartered to find it. In narrower and narrower circles they searched.
Suddenly Jak stumbled and fell to the ground. As he started to rise, Jon heard his excited yell coming through his earphones.
At his brother's eager cry, Jon ran over toward where the older boy was stooping down, examining carefully something almost completely embedded in the sand. He saw Jak rise, take his shovel from the carrying straps on his suit's back, and start uncovering whatever it was he had stumbled over.
As Jon came up, he uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Why ... what ... that's a metal plate. What is it, Jak?"
"Don't ... know ... yet," the elder panted as he worked even more feverishly with his shovel. Jon quickly laid down the detector, which was clicking excitedly, to unsling his own shovel and begin digging.
In a few moments they had completely bared the metal plate, and could now see it was about ten by four feet, and hinged on one side.
"Looks like a trap door."
"Sure does. Lend a hand—let's see if we can open it."
The crack along the edge was not wide enough for the gloved fingers of their suits, so Jon inserted his shovel tip in the crack as a prize. Jak did the same and after many attempts—for it was much heavier even than they expected—they managed to lift the edge a bit.
"Can you hold it alone a sec?" Jak asked.
"Try," Jon threw his whole weight on the end of the shovel handle, while Jak quickly found a small stone and wedged it in the opening. Then, with Jon moving his shovel farther and farther back along the edge, Jak pushed ever larger stones closely behind him, and they finally managed to get the cover high enough so they were able to tip it back, but only after considerable straining and puffing.
"What do you suppose is down there?" Jon hopped about, digging at the sand with his boot tip.
"Don't know, but it has sure been a long time since anyone used this." Jak spoke slowly.
"How can you tell?"
"Because of all the sand that's sifted in here, silly. You don't think this is just a box of sand, do you? It could have been here thousands and thousands of years."
"You mean ... there were people living here then?"
The elder boy shook his head. "Maybe yes, maybe no. It could have been folks who merely visited here. Well, what do we do now?"
Jon picked up his shovel. "You're the one that's silly now. We clear it out and look."
For some time the two made the sand fly, then Jak's shovel struck metal, and feverishly the two concentrated on that spot. Another few minutes and they could see it was a large metal chest that almost filled this covered, metal-lined pit. When they finally had the top of the box completely exposed, they found its cover fastened with a simple hasp, which was quickly opened. Then they lifted this second lid.
Inside, the box was completely filled with thousands of small cubes of some sort of glistening metal. Jak started to reach for one but Jon struck his hand away.
"Listen to that detector—it has gone crazy," he yelled. "That stuff's deadly radioactive, I bet." He started to scramble out of the hole after slamming down the lid. "We get out of here, but fast. Then we talk about it."
Jak had sense enough to heed his brother's warning, and lost no time in following. Some little distance away, the two stopped to debate what they were to do.
"You know what I think?" Jon's eyes gleamed. "I think this was a fuel cache left by people who used to make trips around the galaxy, and not something left by people who once lived here."
"You're nuts. Who—and when—and why didn't they ever come to Terra, if they had space-flight? If they came this close, wouldn't they have gone there, too?"
"Not necessarily—space is so big and Sol is relatively small, you know. But maybe they did get to Earth, at that." Jon grew more thoughtful. "Remember our reading about all the strange things people reported seeing, hundreds...."
"You mean those old 'flying saucer' reports a couple of centuries ago?"
"Yes, them. And even before that, there'd been reports of strange airships and things. Why, there was one—that's almost four hundred years ago—of a Dutch sea captain who saw something in the air above the Indi Ocean and reported it in his log. Even made a sketch of it, that was almost exactly like those made later by people who said they'd seen it."
"Mmmm," Jak had been thinking back, "then maybe the Bible story of Ezekiel's 'wheel within a wheel' he saw in the air, was one?"
"Sure. Earth people for centuries have seen all sorts of unknown things."
"Then maybe your idea isn't so wild, after all."
"The question now is," Jon ignored the apology, "how do we take some of this stuff back to the ship, and how do we test it to see if it's fuel—or don't we?"
"That's more your line than mine. What do you suggest?"
Jon thought seriously for several minutes, then brightened. "You stay here so I can see where I'm going, and I'll go get the ship and bring it here. Then we'll try one of those cubes in the generator."
"You ... you think it's safe?"
"What would get you, out here in this desert?"
"I didn't mean that, and you know it. I meant, do you think it's safe to try this stuff that way?"
"Oh, that? Sure." Jon threw down the extra things he was carrying, and started away at a trot.
When he reached the ship and was inside the airlocks, he called to his mother as he was sitting down at the controls.
"What's the matter, Jon?" she asked as she came in and saw him working at the controls. "And where's Jak?"
"We found something out there too heavy to carry, and Jak's watching it while I bring up the ship. Strap down."
She sank into the co-pilot's seat and fastened the broad belt about her even as Jon was activating the generator and tubes. Raggedly, since he was trying to handle the controls and read the directions at the same time—it simply didn't occur to him to ask his mother to read them to him—the boy finally got the ship into the air.
"What is it you've found?" His mother could contain her curiosity no longer.
"Something we think is that new fuel Pop talked about, but it's radioactive and we didn't dare try to carry it without special equipment," he told her absently as the ship began lowering.
He maneuvered it to a bumpy landing close to his brother, whom they could now see through the port, excitedly waving his arms at them. "We think it's something some other people left here as a cache, a long, long time ago," Jon explained as he put his controls in neutral, his voice an excited squeak.
"Some other Earth people?" she asked incredulously. "You mean we aren't the first ones here, after all?"
"No, we don't think it was Terrans," he said as he unstrapped. But before he could get out of the seat, they heard the lockdoor mechanisms working, and knew Jak was coming inboard, so the two stayed in the control room. Jon answered his mother's anxious questions as best he could.
Jak soon came running in and the two boys held a quick council, almost ignoring their mother in the excitement of trying to figure a safe way of bringing some of the fuel-stuff aboard and trying it out.
But at last she made herself heard. "I think you should wait and let Mr. C. decide about this," she said with determination.
"How is he—awake?"
"About the same—still unconscious."
"Then don't you see, Mom, that there's no telling when he'll wake up, and we don't want to wait that long?"
"I still say you mustn't take the chance of blowing us all to Kingdom Come before you can have his advice and help in deciding what to do with that new, untried and dangerous metal," she declared so firmly that they could not ignore her. "Now you listen to your mother. This is once when I'm setting my foot down. I willnotlet you do it!"
Nor could their pleas move her.
"All right, Mother," Jak finally conceded defeat with—if the truth must be told—an inner sense of relief. He, too, had been more than a little afraid of that untried stuff. But Jon had seemed so sure, while he knew very little about it. "We'll leave it here while we go set our markers on the other planets."
"Unless Pop wakes up before we're finished here," Jon added sullenly, somewhat humiliated because he felt his mother was treating him like a little boy instead of the man and scientist he now considered himself to be. "When he does, though, you'll see he'll say we should have tried it."
His mother, understanding well how he felt, but still worried over the possibilities for danger her anxious mind insisted on painting, patted his shoulder. "In that case, Son," she said softly, "I'll apologize."
"We'd better go out and shut that trap door and mark the place some way before we leave." Jak tried to lighten the tension.
"I'll take measurements of where we are, and that'll do just as well." Jon's voice still held that injured tone.
Mrs. Carver kept her voice level, but her eyes caught and held those of her younger son. "I'm sorry if I seem too stubborn about this, Jon; but I just don't like the idea of you boys trying to handle, alone, something you don't know anything about, especially since you yourselves admit that it's highly dangerous."
Jon's petulance slowly disappeared, and finally he grinned and kissed her. "You're right, as always, Mom. I'm getting too big for my coveralls. I'll calculate courses to One, and to and around the sun, and we'll let this ride until Pop wakes up."
While Jak and Mrs. Carver busied themselves at other tasks, Jon sweated over the complicated math of the new courses. He knew how important this was, especially the plan he had in mind for placing the marker in its orbit about the sun. He knew their very lives depended on the correctness of his calculations. So he did them slowly, carefully, and checked them closely to make sure he had done them right and made no mistakes.
But when he was finished, he put the sheets of calculations in a drawer, took more paper and figured the courses over a second time. That solution he also put in the drawer, and figured it the third time, without consulting what he had done before.
When he had completed this third computation he took out the other two sets and compared the three. All came out exactly the same ... and he gasped in relief and sank back, trembling with thankfulness, in the pilot's seat. They must be right.
While Mrs. Carver and her sons were eating lunch they heard a weak call from the bunkroom, and ran in to find their father fully awake. He seemed surprised at his condition, but Jak explained swiftly what had happened, and Jon told briefly what they had done and were planning to do next.
"That's good; that's very good," he said drowsily, and before Jon could say anything about finding that new metal, his father had again sunk into sleep—or unconsciousness; not even Jak could tell which.
"Well," Jon tried to be brave about his disappointment, "I guess we'll just have to go ahead. But isn't it swell that Pop woke up fully?"
"It certainly is." Mrs. Carver had tears of joy in her eyes. "Now we know he'll soon be all right."
The trip to Planet One—"Tad"—was neither long nor eventful, once they got started. They found, as expected, that the small world—smaller than Sol's Mercury—was so close to the sun that it was fearfully hot, even on the equator, or "intermediate" zone.
Despite the refrigerators on the ship, it was becoming hot inside, and all stripped as far as decency allowed. The planet had no real atmosphere, but many of the metals—indeed, the very rocks, themselves—were so largely molten, especially on the eternally sunward side, that there was a fog of gasses about the surface. These gaseous emanations were in a state of motion much like that of Earthly cyclones, constantly swirling and blowing with terrific velocity.
The boys carefully examined their spectro-analyzer, but "Annie" showed none of that strange fuel-metal they were so keen to locate in its natural state. "Maybe we found all there is here," Jak suggested.
"Perhaps, but somehow I can't feel that way." Jon's voice was worried. "I must have slipped somewhere. Don't see how just one boxful could have shown up so clearly from as many light years away as we first discovered it."
Despite the conditions the young planet mappers found here on One, the Colonial law required that a sending beacon be set up on ALL planets, or else in an orbit about them. They decided to place theirs on top of one of the highest of the small mountains that comprised the twilight zone.
Jon made up the tape for this planet's signal-marker, while Jak brought it from the storeroom. When the tape was installed and running, the sender was placed in the lock between the inner and outer doors, and the boys returned to the control room.
Jon directed the ship toward the range of mountains and when he neared them Jak—from his co-pilot's seat—worked the remote controls and the outer lockdoor swung open. Then he activated the "distant hands"—the handling mechanism that was an integral part of the airlock's equipment, for handling materials into and out of the ship.
Watching through his special visiplate—really a sort of two-way television—Jak made the grips pick up the signal-sender box, ready to deposit it on the hard, hot ground outside when Jon would swoop down over the pre-selected mountaintop.
"Move it outside," Jon called, and Jak did so. "Set it down." Jon yelled, and as soon as he was sure Jak had placed the sender solidly, sent the space-yacht rising higher and away from the planet. Then Jak closed the outer door; turned in his co-pilot's seat, and tuned in their receiver. Soon they caught the message and knew everything was jetting fair.
"Nice going, Owl," Jon applauded.
"Aw, you're just saying that because it's true," Jak grunted, and Jon turned his attention once more to his controls and the new course he had plotted for their swing around the sun of this system, now less than thirty million miles away.
"How close d'you go?" Jak was more interested than fearful, having confidence in his brother's skill.
"We have to follow a course so that when the sender is dumped, it will take up a closed orbit—the more nearly circular the better—around the sun. Also, we'll have to have speed enough so we won't get fried to a crisp at the near-point, which figures to be about ten million miles."
"Isn't that pretty close?" their mother, who had slipped into the control room quietly just after Jak had placed the sender, tried not to sound too frightened.
"Relax, Mother, the kid knows what he's doing," Jak tried to calm her.
"I've figured this three times, Mom," Jon said earnestly. "Got the same answer each time, so Iknowwe can do it."
"Well," still doubtfully, "I guess you do know what you are doing, but that seems awfully close." She struggled with herself and finally managed a weak smile. "I promised to let you boys make the decisions. I'll go lie down in my bunk so I won't know what's happening until it's all over."
"You do that, Mother. I'm not worrying. Jon really knows his stuff," Jak assured her brightly. But as soon as she had left the control room, he turned worried eyes to his brother. "I ... I hope you actually do, Chubby." His voice quavered a bit.
Jon grinned mockingly. "There's one sure thing. If I'm wrong, we'll never know it. But I've studied this a lot since I knew it was up to me. I know the technique and, as I said before, I've computed our course three times and come up with the same figures each time. And we have to set it as close as possible. Now, either hit your bunk or set your seat to recline. We're up to better than two G's already, and I'm building to five."
"Yes, I feel us getting heavier. I'll stay with you." Jak made sure his straps were in place, then tilted his seat.
Jon cranked his own to recline, the control panel automatically slanting to keep it in the same relative position. His arms were resting on movable slides, and the controls he would have to manipulate on this dangerous orbit were all beneath his hands and fingers.
Closer and closer they drove to the sun with ever mounting speed. Their gallant little ship's refrigerators were full on; all shutters in place. Their only view of the outside was through one visiplate whose aperture was closed until only a tiny slit was open. But it was enough, although Jon was forced to keep building up layer after layer of protective, colored plastic to make the intense, blinding light of the swiftly approaching sun bearable.
Clearly visible now were the tremendous streamers of matter the sun was throwing up as prominences. Jon was able to see huge sunspots occurring here and there about the surface of that mighty furnace—tremendous cyclonic storms of atomic disintegration. So interested was he in this first close view of a sun that he almost forgot the reason for this dangerous trip.
Almost—but not quite, for his mind was well-trained to remember the things that had to be recalled, young as he was. So his eyes glanced often at the distance gauge. Soon he yelled at Jak, "Get ready to throw out the sender."
Jak struggled to place his hands on the controls, a thing he had not had the foresight to do before Jon started building up that tremendous acceleration. His muscles strained. Sweat broke out on him even worse than that the heat from the sun brought. His breathing became gasps. There seemed to be a constricting band about his chest. His eyes felt as though the balls were being pushed down into his head. He just couldn't possibly move a muscle under this terrible pressure.
Still he exerted every force of will and of muscle. Slowly, painfully, he stretched out his fingertips a fraction of an inch. He dug them into the fabric of the arm rest and pulled the palm of his hand along. Then he forced the rest of his arm to follow his fingers and hand. Over and over, straining to do what had to be done. Then victory at last—his hand and arm were on the sliding arms. Now it was easier, and soon his fingers were on the controls.
"S-say when," he panted then.
"Open the outer door now ... we're almost there," Jon commanded, watching his controls intently. "We're going ... so fast ... won't have ... much time."
"You're sure ... sender'll keep ... correct orbit?"
"Sure," Jon's voice was confident. "If we don't dump ... exactly on zero ... it'll just change shape ... of orbit a little ... that's all."
"Door open," Jak reported a moment later.
"Lift sender, but don't eject yet."
"Right."
More minutes while the heat increased, and even through that tiny aperture and the covering shields, the blinding light was coming in so fiercely Jon was tempted to close it entirely. Then, with a snort of disgust at his stupidity, he did close it—and breathed a sigh of relief as that piercing beam died. He didn't need to see. There was no reason to look. Even if there was, it was too late now to do anything about it. If his calculations were correct, the ship would get away safely. If his figures were wrong ... he shuddered. Well, they'd never know it, that was for sure.
He made himself forget that dire possibility and kept his eyes glued to his indicators.
"Almost there."
"Ready." Jak tensed his hand and fingers above the controls. He hoped he could do it when the time came. But this awful heat ... this horrible acceleration pressure....
"Drop it!" Jon yelled suddenly.
Jak tensed hand and fingers and tried to depress the button. It seemed he couldn't move. He gritted his teeth, and again called upon his inner strength, his will. From that hidden depth he found that extra measure of energy necessary to curve his fingertip downward.
His eyes, peering into the shielded intercom visiplate, saw those distant hands—the servo-mechanism in the lock—swing the box out through the opened doorway. When he could no longer see it, because of the angle at which his visiplate was set, he touched and depressed the second button. Now, if the mechanism was still functioning in spite of that terrific heat, its arms were opening and the box slipping away.
He withdrew the handling arms, and as they came into sight again he saw with satisfaction that they were empty. He locked them into their cradle, then closed the outer lockdoor.
"Done," he reported thankfully ... and let himself go. Unconsciousness claimed him at once. Why suffer, had been his thought, when he could so easily sleep until this intolerable pressure was gone.