The Board members huddled over the sheaves of pictures for a moment, then turned severely toward Bogin. "The young man is correct. All the Carver pictures are so marked, and so is this one of the completed townsite."
Jon Carver broke in. "Ask them to describe the animal life they found on Planet Three," he suggested.
"Well?" the Chairman looked levelly at Bogin.
"Why ... why...." The latter was quite taken aback by this sudden challenge. "Why, there are several species ... and ... and they were more or less like ours here, although not exactly like them, of course."
"Ha, that proves he was never on the ground there," Jon cried out in triumph. "We found, and so will anyone else you care to send there, that while Planet Three has a lot of vegetation and is perfectly habitable—though cold—there is absolutely no protoplasmic life to be found there. At least," he added honestly, "on any of the surface we covered, and our ship's log will show, as you can see there, that we flew at less than five miles up for eight complete but spiral revolutions about the planet, and were on the ground in several places, which we explored and photographed thoroughly."
"The young man is right," Mr. Silverman spoke up. "I noticed that fact mentioned in their records, and intended asking more about it, because this is the first planet of which I've heard, that is otherwise completely habitable by mankind, where such a condition has obtained—where there is voluminous floral life but no protoplasmic life of any kind. Being something of a botanist, that fact struck me at once."
Bogin rose, sneering, but also feeling safe in this part of his claim. "Bah! They just didn't happen to sit down in the same places we did ... if they were there at all. We saw lots of animal life there."
"And you took pictures of such life?" Mr. Carver asked pointedly.
"Why, no, it isn't required."
There was a discreet rap on the door, and when the chairman gave permission, the receptionist entered and handed him a sheet of paper. He examined it quickly, then passed it to his fellow members. The five conferred together in quick whispers for several minutes—while Bogin and his man glared in sullen anger at the Carvers.
Four of the Board members finally resumed their seats, while Chairman Wilson stood at his place. He pressed a buzzer, then took up his gavel. He struck three loud, solemn notes with it.
"It is the considered opinion of the Terran Colonial Board, here assembled in official meeting," he intoned, "that Tad Carver has proven his claim as Prime Discoverer of the Solar System henceforth to be known as 'Carveria,' and this decision shall be so entered in our records as of this date. Congratulations," he added, smiling as he turned to the happy four, who were attempting the almost impossible task of each hugging all the others at the same time.
Bogin and his lieutenant rose wrathfully and started to leave the room.
"Just a moment, Bogin," Chairman Wilson said authoritatively. "You are under arrest for an illegal attempt to defraud by false testimony."
Bogin, eyes blazing, suddenly seemed to go berserk. He drew a blaster from an underarm holster, and waved it about as he and his man backed toward the door. "You ain't gonna arrest nobody. We're leaving here—and we cinder the first one of you that moves."
But, unseen by them, the door behind had opened and three space marines, guns in hand, had entered in response to the chairman's buzzed call.
"Drop that gun, Mister," their leader said sharply, his own muzzle pushed against Bogin's back. The latter, face livid, did so. In moments the two pirates were handcuffed. The sergeant saluted the Board members. "Guards will be sent to the spaceport at once to arrest the other members of the Bogin crew, sir, pending examination and trial."
"Thank you, Sergeant. We will prefer charges at once."
As the marines started leading the two away, Bogin pulled back suddenly, and faced Mr. Carver.
"One thing I'd like to know. We were catching up with you, fast, and all of a sudden you pulled away from us as though we was standing still, yet we were all in slings, and doing three and a half G's. How'd you do it?"
Mr. Carver smiled lazily. "We're submitting a full report toThe Space Pilot's Gazette. You can read it there—if they let you read where you're going."
He turned back to the Board members and again expressed the thanks of himself and his family.
Chairman Wilson held out a sheet of paper. "You may be interested in this report. It came from the Communications Center on Petrarch Three, and was the deciding factor in your case."
The four clustered close to read:
"Carver signals heard first, then ceased one by one and the Bogin signals began, although one Carver signal, the solar one, is still heard."
Mr. Carver turned to the Board members and said, "Like most crooks, Bogin was yellow. He didn't have nerve enough to run in as close to the sun as these youngsters of mine did, and so couldn't change their signal there. The boys are great planet mappers—both of them."
EDWARD EVERETT EVANS
was born in Coldwater, Michigan, the youngest of the four children of John and Nellie Evans.
Enlisting in the U. S. Navy after leaving high school, he served as a musician before and during the First World War. He played in concert and dance bands for several years after leaving the service and still finds enjoyment in listening to good music, although he no longer performs on any instrument.
He learned to read even before he entered kindergarten and has always had a fondness for the strange and off-trail in stories. When science fiction and fantasy first gained their own magazines, he became a regular reader of them—and still is.
Evans began attending conventions of the "fans" of science fiction with the first "Chicon," or Chicago Convention, and he has not missed one since. He finds both enjoyment and profit from meeting the people who are also interested in this kind of literature.
From reading to writing was a logical step—although not an easy one, but Mr. Evans has made the step successfully. In addition to his novels, he has over forty short stories to his credit. All of these reflect his optimism about the future of the human race, and his firm belief that the great majority of people are "swell guys." He confidently expects to see man's first spaceship make a successful flight within his lifetime—and thinks it will not be long after that before many of the astonishing happenings and forward-looking inventions of his stories will be actualities.