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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32820-h.zip b/32820-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2ecc449 --- /dev/null +++ b/32820-h.zip diff --git a/32820-h/32820-h.htm b/32820-h/32820-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3dab978 --- /dev/null +++ b/32820-h/32820-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1686 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of World Beyond Pluto, by C. H. Thames. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of World Beyond Pluto, by C. H. Thames + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: World Beyond Pluto + +Author: C. H. Thames + +Illustrator: NOVICK + +Release Date: June 15, 2010 [EBook #32820] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD BEYOND PLUTO *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h1>WORLD BEYOND PLUTO</h1> + +<h3>A "Johnny Mayhem" Adventure</h3> + +<h2>By C. H. THAMES</h2> + +<h3>ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK</h3> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories November +1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>Johnny Mayhem, one of the most popular series characters +ever to appear in</i> <span class="smcap">Amazing</span>, <i>has been absent too long. So here's good +news for Mayhem fans; another great adventure of the Man of Many +Bodies.</i></div> + + +<p>They loaded the over-age spaceship at night because Triton's one +spaceport was too busy with the oreships from Neptune during the day to +handle it.</p> + +<p>"Symphonies!" Pitchblend Hardesty groaned. Pitchblend Hardesty was the +stevedore foreman and he had supervised upwards of a thousand loadings +on Triton's crowded blastways, everything from the standard mining +equipment to the innards of a new tavern for Triton City's so-called +Street of Sin to special anti-riot weapons for the Interstellar +Penitentiary not 54 miles from Triton City, but never a symphony +orchestra. And most assuredly never, never an all-girl symphony +orchestra.</p> + +<p>"Symphonies!" Pitchblend Hardesty groaned again as several stevedores +came out on the blastway lugging a harp, a base fiddle and a kettle +drum.</p> + +<p>"Come off it, Pitchblend," one of the stevedores said with a grin. "I +didn't see you staying away from the music hall."</p> + +<p>That was true enough, Pitchblend Hardesty had to admit. He was a small, +wiry man with amazing strength in his slim body and the lore of a solar +system which had been bypassed by thirtieth century civilization for the +lures of interstellar exploration in his brain. While the symphony—the +all-girl symphony—had been playing its engagement at Triton's +make-shift music hall, Hardesty had visited the place three times.</p> + +<p>"Well, it wasn't the music, sure as heck," he told his critic now. "Who +ever saw a hundred girls in one place at one time on Triton?"</p> + +<p>The stevedore rolled his eyes and offered Pitchblend a suggestive +whistle. Hardesty booted him in the rump, and the stevedore had all he +could do to stop from falling into the kettle drum.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Just then a loud bell set up a lonely tolling and Pitchblend Hardesty +exclaimed: "Prison break!"</p> + +<p>The bell could be heard all over the two-hundred square miles of +inhabitable Triton, under the glassite dome which enclosed the small +city, the spaceport, the immigration station for nearby Neptune and the +Interstellar Penitentiary. The bell hadn't tolled for ten years; the +last time it had tolled, Pitchblend Hardesty had been a newcomer on +Neptune's big moon. That wasn't surprising, for Interstellar +Penitentiary was as close to escape-proof as a prison could be.</p> + +<p>"All right, all right," Pitchblend snapped. "Hurry up and get her +loaded."</p> + +<p>"What's the rush?" one of the stevedores asked. "The gals ain't even +arrived from the hotel yet."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what the rush is," Pitchblend declared as the bell tolled +again. "If you were an escaped prisoner on Triton, just where would you +head?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I don't know for sure, Pitchblend."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll tell you where. You'd head for the spaceport, fast as your +legs could carry you. You'd head for an out-going spaceship, because it +would be your only hope. And how many out-going spaceships are there +tonight?"</p> + +<p>"Why, just two or three."</p> + +<p>"Because all our business is in the daytime. So if the convict was smart +enough to get out, he'll be smart enough to come here."</p> + +<p>"We got no weapons," the stevedore said. "We ain't even got a +pea-shooter."</p> + +<p>"Weapons on Triton? You kidding? A frontier moon like this, the place +would be blasted apart every night. Interstelpen couldn't hold all the +disturbers of the peace if we had us some guns."</p> + +<p>"But the convict—"</p> + +<p>"Yeah," Pitchblend said grimly. "He'll be armed, all right."</p> + +<p>Pitchblend rushed back to the manifest shed as the bell tolled a third +time. He got on the phone and called the desk of the Hotel Triton.</p> + +<p>"Hardesty over at the spaceport," he said. "Loading foreman."</p> + +<p>"Loading foreman?" The mild, antiseptic voice at the other end of the +connection said it as you would say talking dinosaur.</p> + +<p>"Yeah, loading foreman. At night I'm in charge here. Listen, you the +manager?"</p> + +<p>"The manager—" haughtily—"is asleep. I am the night clerk."</p> + +<p>"O.K., then. You tell those hundred girls of yours to hurry. Don't scare +them, but have you heard about the prison break?"</p> + +<p>"Heard about it? It's all I've been hearing. They—they want to stay and +see what happens."</p> + +<p>"Don't let 'em!" roared Pitchblend. "Use any excuse you have to. Tell +'em we got centrifigal-upigal and perihelion-peritonitus over here at +the spaceport, or any darn thing. Tell 'em if they want to blast off +tonight, they'll have to get down here quick. You got it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—"</p> + +<p>"Then do it." Pitchblend hung up.</p> + +<p>The escape bell tolled a fourth time.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>His name was House Bartock, he had killed two guards in his escape, and +he was as desperate as a man could be. He had been sentenced to +Interstelpen for killing a man on Mars in this enlightened age when +capital punishment had been abolished. Recapture thus wouldn't mean +death, but the prison authorities at Interstelpen could make their own +interpretations of what life-in-prison meant. If House Bartock allowed +himself to be retaken, he would probably spend the remaining years of +his life in solitary confinement.</p> + +<p>He walked quickly now, but he did not run. He had had an impulse to run +when the first escape bell had tolled, but that would have been foolish. +Already he was on the outskirts of Triton City because they had not +discovered his escape for two precious hours. He could hole up in the +city, lose himself somewhere. But that would only be temporary.</p> + +<p>They would find him eventually.</p> + +<p>Or, he could make his way to the spaceport. He had money in his +pocket—the dead guard's. He had a guardsman's uniform on, but stripped +of its insignia it looked like the jumper and top-boots of any spaceman. +He had false identification papers, if needed, which he had worked on +for two years in the prison printshop where the prison newspaper was +published. He had....</p> + +<p>Suddenly he flattened himself on the ground to one side of the road, +hugging the gravel and hardly daring to breathe. He'd heard a vehicle +coming from the direction of Interstelpen. It roared up, making the +ground vibrate; its lights flashed; it streaked by trailing a jet of +fire.</p> + +<p>House Bartock didn't move until the afterglow had faded. Then he got up +and walked steadily along the road which led from Interstelpen to Triton +City.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Girls! Hurry with your packing! Girls!"</p> + +<p>Sighing, Matilda Moriarity subsided. The girls, obviously, were in no +hurry. That would have been out of character.</p> + +<p>Matilda Moriarity sighed again. She was short, stocky, fifty-two years +old and the widow of a fabulously wealthy interstellar investment +broker. She had a passion for classical music and, now that her husband +had been dead three years, she had decided to exercise that passion. But +for Matilda Moriarity, a very out-going fifty-two, exercising it had +meant passing it on. The outworlds, Matilda had told her friends, lacked +culture. The highest form of culture, for Matilda, was classical music. +Very well. She would bring culture to the outworlds.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Triton was her first try and even now sometimes she had to pinch herself +so she'd know the initial attempt had been a smashing success. She +didn't delude herself completely. It had been a brainstorm selecting +only girls—and pretty young things, at that—for the Interstellar +Symphony. On a world like Triton, a world which played host to very few +women and then usually to the hard types who turned up on any frontier +in any century, a symphony of a hundred pretty girls was bound to be a +success.</p> + +<p>But the music, Matilda Moriarity told herself. They had listened to the +music. If they wanted to see the girls in their latest Earth-style +evening gowns, they had to listen to the music. And they had listened +quietly, earnestly, apparently enjoying it. The symphony had remained on +Triton longer than planned, playing every night to a full house. Matilda +had had the devil's own time chaperoning her girls, but that was to be +expected. It was their first taste of the outworlds; it was the +outworlds' first taste of them. The widow Moriarity had had her hands +full, all right. But secretly, she had enjoyed every minute of it.</p> + +<p>"They say the bell means a prison break!" First Violin squealed +excitedly. First Violin was twenty-two, an Earth girl named Jane +Cummings and a student at the conservatory on Sirtus Major on Mars, but +to the widow Moriarity she was, and would remain, First Violin. That +way, calling the girls after their instruments, the widow Moriarity +could convince herself that her symphonic music had been of prime +importance on Triton, and her lovely young charges of secondary +importance.</p> + +<p>"How many times do I have to tell you to hurry?"</p> + +<p>"But these gowns—"</p> + +<p>"Will need a pressing when you return to Mars anyway."</p> + +<p>"And a prison break. I never saw a prison break before. It's so +exciting."</p> + +<p>"You're not going to see it. You're just going to hear about it. Come +on, come on, all of you."</p> + +<p>At that moment the room phone rang.</p> + +<p>"Hello?" the widow Moriarity said.</p> + +<p>"This is Jenkins, ma'am, desk. The spaceport called a few minutes ago. +I'm not supposed to frighten you, but, well, they're rather worried +about the prison break. The escaped convict, they figure, will head for +the spaceport. Disguised, he could—"</p> + +<p>"Let him try masquerading as a member of <i>my</i> group!" the widow +Moriarity said with a smile.</p> + +<p>"All the same, if you could hurry—"</p> + +<p>"We are hurrying, young man."</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p> + +<p>The widow Moriarity hung up. "Gi-irls!"</p> + +<p>The girls squealed and laughed and dawdled.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>House Bartock felt like laughing.</p> + +<p>He'd just had his first big break, and it might turn out to be the only +one he needed. On an impulse, he had decided to strike out directly for +the spaceport. He had done so, and now stood on the dark tarmac between +the manifest shed and the pilot-barracks. And, not ten minutes after he +had reached the spacefield a cordon of guards rushed there from +Interstelpen had been stationed around the field. Had Bartock arrived +just a few minutes later, he would have been too late, his capture only +a matter of time. As it was now, though, he had a very good chance of +getting away. Circumstances were in his favor.</p> + +<p>He could get so far away that they would never find him.</p> + +<p>It was simple. Get off Triton on a spaceship. Go anyplace that had a big +spaceport, and manage to tranship out in secret. Then all the police +would have to search would be a few quadrillion square miles of space!</p> + +<p>But first he had to leave Triton.</p> + +<p>From the activity at the port, he could see that three ships were being +made ready for blastoff. Two of them were purely cargo-carriers, but the +third—Bartock could tell because he saw hand-luggage being +loaded—would carry passengers. His instinct for survival must have been +working overtime: he knew that the third ship would be his best bet, for +if he were discovered and pursued, hostages might make the difference +between recapture and freedom.</p> + +<p>Bartock waited patiently in the darkness outside the pilot-barracks. The +only problem was, how to discover which pilot belonged to which ship?</p> + +<p>The cordon of police from Interstelpen had set up several score +arc-lights on the perimeter of the field. The spaces between the lights +were patrolled by guards armed, as Bartock was, with blasters. Bartock +could never have made it through that cordon now. But it wasn't +necessary. He was already inside.</p> + +<p>The barracks door opened, and a pilot came out. Tensing, ready, Bartock +watched him.</p> + +<p>The three ships were scattered widely on the field, <i>Venus Bell</i> to the +north, <i>Star of Hercules</i> to the south, <i>Mozart's Lady</i> to the east. +<i>Venus Bell</i> and <i>Star of Hercules</i> were straight cargo carriers. +<i>Mozart's Lady</i>—what a queer name for a spaceship, Bartock couldn't +help thinking—had taken in hand luggage. So if the pilot who had just +left the barracks headed east, Bartock would take him. The pilot paused +outside, lit a cigarette, hummed a tune. The scent of tobacco drifted +over to Bartock. He waited.</p> + +<p>The pilot walked east toward <i>Mozart's Lady</i>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Ready, girls?"</p> + +<p>"Ready, Mrs. Moriarity. But couldn't we—well—sort of hang around until +we see what happens?"</p> + +<p>"You mean the escaped convict?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am." Hopefully.</p> + +<p>"They'll catch him. They always catch them."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"Come on."</p> + +<p>"Aw, gosh, Mrs. Moriarity."</p> + +<p>"I said, come on."</p> + +<p>Reluctantly, the hundred girls trooped with their chaperone from the +hotel.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Bartock struck swiftly and without mercy.</p> + +<p>The blaster would make too much noise. He turned it around, held it by +the barrel, and broke the pilot's skull with it. In the darkness he +changed clothing for the second time that night, quickly, confidently, +his hands steady. In the darkness he could barely make out the pilot's +manifest. The man's ship was <i>Mozart's Lady</i>, all right. Outbound from +Triton City for Mars. Well, Bartock thought, he wouldn't go to Mars. +Assuming they learned what ship he had boarded, they would be guarding +the inner orbits too closely.</p> + +<p>He would take <i>Mozart's Lady</i> daringly outward, beyond Neptune's orbit. +Naturally, the ship wouldn't have interstellar drive, but as yet Bartock +wasn't going interstellar. You couldn't have everything. You couldn't +expect a starship on Triton, could you? So Bartock would take <i>Mozart's +Lady</i> outward to Pluto's orbit—and wait. From the amount of hand +luggage taken aboard, <i>Mozart's Lady</i> would be carrying quite a number +of passengers. If that number were reduced—drastically reduced—the +food, water and air aboard would last for many months. Until the fuss +died down. Until Bartock could bring <i>Mozart's Lady</i>, long since given +up for lost, in for a landing on one of the inner planets....</p> + +<p>Now he dragged the dead pilot's body into the complete darkness on the +south side of the pilot-barracks, wishing he could hide it better but +knowing he didn't have the time or the means.</p> + +<p>Then he walked boldly across the tarmac, wearing a pilot's uniform, +toward <i>Mozart's Lady</i>.</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later, House Bartock watched with amazement while a +hundred pretty young women boarded the ship. Of all the things that had +happened since his escape, this came closest to unnerving him, for it +was the totally unexpected. Bartock shrugged, chain-smoked three +cigarettes while the women boarded slowly, taking last-minute looks at +dark Triton, the spaceport, the cordon of guards, the arc-lights. +Bartock cursed impotently. Seconds were precious now. The pilot's body +might be found. If it were....</p> + +<p>At last the port clanged shut and the ground-crew tromped away. Since +even an over-age ship like <i>Mozart's Lady</i> was close to ninety percent +automatic, there was no crew. Only the pilot—who was Bartock—and the +passengers.</p> + +<p>Bartock was about to set the controls for blastoff when he heard +footsteps clomp-clomping down the companionway. He toyed with the idea +of locking the door, then realized that would arouse suspicion.</p> + +<p>A square woman's face over a plump middle-aged figure.</p> + +<p>"I'm Mrs. Moriarity, pilot. I have a hundred young girls aboard. We'll +have no nonsense."</p> + +<p>"No, sir. I mean, no ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Well, make sure."</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"And I want an easy trip, without fuss or incidents. For half of our +girls it's the second time in space—the first being when they came out +here. You understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"What happened to the pilot who took us out?"</p> + +<p>"Uh, pressed into service last week on a Mercury run. I'm surprised the +control board didn't tell you."</p> + +<p>"They didn't. It doesn't matter. You do your job, and that's all."</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am," House Bartock said. "Just my job."</p> + +<p>A few moments later, <i>Mozart's Lady</i> blasted off.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Stop! Hey, wait!" Pitchblend Hardesty bawled at the top of his voice. +But it didn't do any good. The police rushed up behind Pitchblend, not +daring to fire.</p> + +<p>Moments before, they had found the dead pilot's body.</p> + +<p>They knew at once what it meant, of course. They had been not more than +a minute too late.</p> + +<p>"Call Central Control on Neptune," a police officer said. "We'll send a +cruiser after them."</p> + +<p>"Won't do any good," Pitchblend Hardesty groaned.</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about, fellow?"</p> + +<p>"Unless the cruiser's brand new."</p> + +<p>"On Neptune? Don't be silly. Newest one we've got is ten years old."</p> + +<p>"Like I said, won't do any good. I worked that ship over, mister. I know +what she's like inside. She may look like an over-age tub on the +outside, but don't let that fool you. She's got power, mister. She's +probably the fastest thing this side of the Jovian moons, except for +those experimental one-man rocket-bombs down at Neptune Station. But +chasing a big tub in a one-man space-bound coffin—" here Pitchblend +used the vernacular for the tiny one-man experimental ships—"ain't +going to do anybody any good. Best thing you can do is track <i>Mozart's +Lady</i> by radar and hope she'll head sunward. Then they could intercept +her closer in."</p> + +<p>But <i>Mozart's Lady</i> did not head sunward. Radar tracking confirmed this +moments later. <i>Mozart's Lady</i> was outward bound for Pluto's orbit. And, +with Pluto and Neptune currently in conjunction, that could even mean a +landing, although, the police decided, that wasn't likely. There were no +settlements on Pluto. Pluto was too weird. For the strangest reason in a +solar system and a galaxy of wonders, Pluto was quite uninhabitable. +More likely, <i>Mozart's Lady</i> would follow Pluto's orbit around, then +make a dash sunward....</p> + +<p>The radar officer threw up his hands. "I give up," he said. "She's +heading for Pluto's orb all right. Call Neptune Station."</p> + +<p>"Neptune Station, sir?"</p> + +<p>"You bet. This job's too big for me. The brass will want to handle it."</p> + +<p>Seconds later, sub-space crackled with energy as the call was put +through from Triton City to Neptune Station.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Whatever else history would write about him, it would +certainly call Johnny Mayhem the strangest—and literally most +death-defying—test-pilot in history. Of course, testing the sleek +experimental beauties out of Neptune Station and elsewhere wasn't +Mayhem's chief occupation. He was, in a phrase, a trouble-shooter for +the Galactic League. Whenever he had a spare few weeks, having completed +an assignment ahead of schedule in his latest of bodies, he was likely +to turn up at some testing station or other and volunteer for work. He +was never turned down, although the Galactic League didn't approve. +Mayhem was probably the galaxy's best pilot, with incredible reflexes +and an utter indifference toward death.</p> + +<p>For the past two weeks, having completed what turned out to be an +easier-than-expected assignment on Neptune, he had been piloting the +space-bound coffins out of Neptune Station, and with very satisfactory +experimental results.</p> + +<p>A few minutes ago he had been called into the station director's office, +but when he entered he was surprised to see the Galactic League Firstman +of Neptune waiting for him.</p> + +<p>"Surprised, eh?" the Firstman demanded.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you want me to quit test-flying," Mayhem said with a smile +which, clearer than words, told the Firstman his advice would be +rejected.</p> + +<p>The Firstman smiled too, "Why, no, Mayhem. As a matter of fact, I want +you to take one of the coffins into deep space."</p> + +<p>"Maybe something's wrong with my hearing," Mayhem said.</p> + +<p>"No. You heard it right. Of course, it's up to you. Everything you do, +you volunteer."</p> + +<p>"Let's hear it, Firstman."</p> + +<p>So the Firstman of Neptune told Johnny Mayhem about <i>Mozart's Lady</i> +which, six hours ago, had left Triton for Pluto's orbit with an +eccentric wealthy widow, a hundred girls, and a desperate escaped +killer.</p> + +<p>"The only thing we have out here fast enough to overtake them, Mayhem, +is the one-man coffins. The only man we have who can fly them is you. +What do you say?"</p> + +<p>Mayhem's answer was a question, but the question didn't really require +an answer. Mayhem asked: "What are we waiting for?"</p> + +<p>The Firstman grinned. He had expected such an answer, of course. The +whole galaxy, let alone the solar system, knew the Mayhem legend. Every +world which had an Earthman population and a Galactic League post, +however small, had a body in cold storage, waiting for Johnny Mayhem if +his services were required. But of course no one knew precisely when +Mayhem's services might be required. No one knew exactly under what +circumstances the Galactic League Council, operating from the hub of the +Galaxy, might summon Mayhem. And only a very few people, including those +at the Hub and the Galactic League Firstmen on civilized worlds and +Observers on primitive worlds, knew the precise mechanics of Mayhem's +coming.</p> + +<p>Johnny Mayhem, a bodiless sentience. Mayhem—Johnny Marlow, then—who +had been chased from Earth, a pariah and a criminal, eight years ago, +who had been mortally wounded on a wild planet deep within the +Saggitarian Swarm, whose life had been saved—after a fashion—by the +white magic of that planet. Mayhem, doomed now to possible immortality +as a bodiless sentience, an <i>elan</i>, which could occupy and activate a +corpse if it had been frozen properly ... an <i>elan</i> doomed to wander +eternally because it could not remain in one body for more than a month +without body and <i>elan</i> perishing. Mayhem, who had dedicated his +strange, lonely life to the service of the Galactic League because a +normal life and normal social relations were not possible for him....</p> + +<p>"One thing, Mayhem," the Firstman said, now, on Neptune. "How much +longer you have in that body of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Five days. Possibly six."</p> + +<p>"That doesn't give you much time. If you're caught out there when your +month is up—"</p> + +<p>"I won't be. We're wasting time talking about it."</p> + +<p>"—it would mean your death."</p> + +<p>"Then let's get started."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Firstman stared at him levelly. "You're a brave man, Mayhem."</p> + +<p>"Let's say I'm not afraid to die. I've been a living dead man for eight +years. Come on."</p> + +<p>One of the so-called coffins, a tiny one-man ship barely big enough for +a prone man, food concentrates and water, was already waiting at the +station spacefield.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes after hearing about <i>Mozart's Lady</i>, without fanfare, Mayhem +blasted off in pursuit.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Maintaining top speed all the way, House Bartock brought <i>Mozart's Lady</i> +across almost two billion miles of space from Neptune's to Pluto's orbit +in three days. He was delighted with the speed. It would have taken the +average space-tub ten days to two weeks and, since as far as Bartock +knew there were nothing but average space-tubs on Neptune, that gave him +a considerable head-start.</p> + +<p>It was Jane Cummings-First Violin who discovered Bartock's identity. +Bartock was studying the star-map at the time and considered himself +safe from discovery because he kept the control door of <i>Mozart's Lady</i> +locked. However, Jane Cummings had established something of a liaison +with the pilot outward bound from Earth and Mars, so she had been given +a spare key which she'd kept, secretly, all the time the symphony was on +Triton. Now, curious about the new pilot for the same reason that the +miners on Triton had been curious about the symphony, Jane made her way +forward, inserted her key in the lock, and pushed open the control door.</p> + +<p>"Hello there," she said.</p> + +<p>House Bartock whirled. The turning of a key in the lock had so unnerved +him—it was the last thing he expected—that he forgot to shut off the +star-map. Its tell-tale evidence glowed on the wall over his head.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" he managed to ask politely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just to say hello."</p> + +<p>"You already said it."</p> + +<p>Jane Cummings pouted. "You needn't bite my head off. What's your name? +Mine's Jane, and I play the violin. It wouldn't hurt you to be polite."</p> + +<p>Bartock nodded, deciding that a little small talk wouldn't hurt if he +could keep the girl from becoming suspicious. That was suddenly +important. If this girl had a key to the control room, for all he knew +there could be others.</p> + +<p>"My, you have been hurrying," Jane said. "I could tell by the +acceleration. You must be trying to break the speed records or +something. I'll bet we're almost to Earth—"</p> + +<p>Her voice trailed off and her mouth hung open. At first Bartock didn't +know what was the matter. Then he saw where she was staring.</p> + +<p>The star-map.</p> + +<p>"We're not heading for Earth!" she cried.</p> + +<p>Bartock walked toward her. "Give me that key," he said. "You're going to +have to stay here with me. Give me that key."</p> + +<p>Jane backed away. "You—you couldn't be our pilot. If you were—"</p> + +<p>"The key. I don't want to hurt you."</p> + +<p>Bartock lunged. Jane turned and ran, slamming the door behind her. It +clanged, and echoed. The echo didn't stop. Bartock, on the point of +opening the door and sprinting down the companionway after her, stopped.</p> + +<p>It wasn't the echo of metal slamming against metal. It was the radar +warning.</p> + +<p>Either <i>Mozart's Lady</i> was within dangerous proximity of a meteor, or a +ship was following them.</p> + +<p>Bartock ran to the radar screen.</p> + +<p>The pip was unmistakable. A ship was following them.</p> + +<p>A ship as fast—or faster—than <i>Mozart's Lady</i>.</p> + +<p>Cursing, Bartock did things with the controls. <i>Mozart's Lady</i>, already +straining, increased its speed. Acceleration flung Bartock back in the +pilot's chair. Pluto loomed dead ahead.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Johnny Mayhem knew at what precise moment he had been discovered, for +suddenly the speed of <i>Mozart's Lady</i> increased. Since this had occurred +an hour and a half after Mayhem had first got a clear pip of the bigger +ship on his radar, it meant he'd been spotted.</p> + +<p>Prone with his hands stretched forward in the coffin-like experimental +ship, Mayhem worked the controls, exactly matching speed with <i>Mozart's +Lady</i>.</p> + +<p>He tried to put himself in the position of the escaped convict. What +would he do? His best bet would be to swing in close around Pluto, as +close as he dared. Then, on the dark side of the planet, to change his +orbit abruptly and come loose of its gravitational field in a new +direction. It was a dangerous maneuver, but since the escaped convict +now knew for sure that the tiny ship could match the speed of <i>Mozart's +Lady</i>, it was his only hope. The danger was grave: even a first-rate +pilot would try it only as a last resort, for the gravitational pull of +Pluto might upset <i>Mozart's Lady</i>'s orbit. If that happened, the best +the convict could hope for was an emergency landing. More likely, a +death-crash would result.</p> + +<p>Seconds later, Mayhem's thinking was confirmed. <i>Mozart's Lady</i> executed +a sharp turn in space and disappeared behind the white bulk of Pluto.</p> + +<p>Mayhem swore and followed.</p> + +<p>"He's trying to kill us all!"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't know how to pilot a ship! We're helpless, helpless!"</p> + +<p>"Do something, Mrs. Moriarity!"</p> + +<p>"Now girls, whatever happens, you must keep calm. We can only assume +that Jane was right about what she saw, but since none of us can pilot a +spaceship, we'll have to bide our time...."</p> + +<p>"Bide our time!"</p> + +<p>"We're all as good as dead!"</p> + +<p>One of the girls began screaming.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moriarity slapped her. "I'm sorry, dear. I had to hit you. Your +behavior bordered on the hysterical. And if we become hysterical we are +lost, lost, do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm."</p> + +<p>"Good. Then we wait and see what happens."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>What was happening was an attempt at what test-pilots term +planet-swinging. Moving in the direction of Pluto's orbit, <i>Mozart's +Lady</i> swung in very close behind the planet. Then, as the rotation of +Pluto on its axis hurled it forth again, as a sling-shot hurls a pellet, +<i>Mozart's Lady</i>'s rockets would alter the expected direction of flight. +Unless a pursuing ship followed exactly the same maneuver, it would be +flung off into space at top-speed in the wrong direction. It might be +hours before the first ship's trail could be picked up again—if ever.</p> + +<p>House Bartock, aware of all this—and one other factor—sat sweating it +out at the controls.</p> + +<p>The one other factor was closeness to Pluto. For if you got too close, +and the difference was only a matter of miles covered in an elapsed time +of mili-seconds, Pluto might drag you into a landing orbit. If that +happened, traveling at tremendous speed, there'd be the double danger of +overheating in the planet's atmosphere and coming down too hard. Either +way the results could be fatal.</p> + +<p>His hands sweating, Bartock struggled with the controls. Now already he +could see Pluto bulking, its night-side black and mysterious, in the +viewport. Now he could hear the faint shrill scream of its atmosphere. +Now....</p> + +<p>Trying to time it perfectly, he slammed on full power.</p> + +<p>A fraction of a mili-second too late.</p> + +<p><i>Mozart's Lady</i> stood for an instant on its tail, shuddering as if it +were going to come apart and rain meteoric dust over Pluto's surface. +That had happened too in such a maneuver, but it didn't happen now.</p> + +<p>Instead, <i>Mozart's Lady</i> went into a landing orbit.</p> + +<p>But its speed was still terrific and, lowering, it whizzed twice around +Pluto's fifteen thousand mile circumference in twenty minutes. +Atmosphere screamed, the heat siren shrilled, and a cursing House +Bartock applied the braking rockets as fast as he could.</p> + +<p>Pluto's surface blurred in the viewport, coming closer at dizzying +speed. Bartock stood <i>Mozart's Lady</i> on its tail a second time, this +time on purpose.</p> + +<p>The ship shuddered, and struck Pluto.</p> + +<p>Bartock blacked out.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When Mayhem's radar screen informed him that <i>Mozart's Lady</i> had failed +to break free of Pluto's field of gravity, Mayhem immediately went to +work. First he allowed the tiny scout-ship to complete its planet-swing +successfully, then he slowed down, turned around in deep space, and came +back, scanning Pluto with radar scopes and telescope until he located +the bigger ship. That might have taken hours or days ordinarily, but +having seen <i>Mozart's Lady</i> go in, and having recorded its position via +radar, Mayhem had a pretty good idea as to the landing orbit it would +follow.</p> + +<p>It took him three-quarters of an hour to locate the bigger ship. When he +finally had located it, he brought it into close-up with the more +powerful of the two telescopes aboard the scout.</p> + +<p><i>Mozart's Lady</i> lay on its side in a snow-tundra. It had been damaged, +but not severely. Part of the visible side was caved in, but the ship +had not fallen apart. Still, chances were that without extensive repairs +it would not be able to leave Pluto.</p> + +<p>There was no way, Mayhem knew, of making extensive repairs on Pluto. +<i>Mozart's Lady</i> was there to stay.</p> + +<p>The safe thing to do would be to inform Neptune and wait in space until +the police cruisers came for House Bartock. The alternative was to +planetfall near <i>Mozart's Lady</i>, take the convict into custody, and then +notify Neptune.</p> + +<p>If Bartock were alone the choice would have been an easy one. But +Bartock was not alone. He had a hundred girls with him. He was +desperate. He might try anything.</p> + +<p>Mayhem had to go down after him.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The trouble was, though, that of all the worlds in the galaxy—not +merely in Sol System—Pluto was the one most dangerous to Johnny Mayhem. +He had been pursuing House Bartock for three days. Which meant he had +two days left before it was imperative that he leave his current body. +This would mean notifying the hub of the Galaxy by sub-space radio to +pull out his <i>elan</i>, but Pluto's heavyside layer was the strongest in +the solar system, so strong that sub-space radio couldn't penetrate it.</p> + +<p>And that was not the only thing wrong with Pluto. It was, in fact, an +incredible anomaly of a world. Almost four billion miles from the sun at +its widest swing, it still was not too cold to support life. Apparently +radioactive heat in its core kept it warm. It even had an Earth-type +atmosphere, although the oxygen-content was somewhat too rich and apt to +make you giddy. And it was a slow world.</p> + +<p>Time moved slowly on Pluto. Too slowly. When you first landed, according +to the few explorers who had attempted it, the native fauna seemed like +statues. Their movement was too slow for the eye to register. That was +lucky, for the fauna tended to be enormous and deadly. But after a +while—how long a while Mayhem didn't know—the fauna, subjectively, +seemed to speed up. The animals commenced moving slowly, then a bit +faster, then normally. That, Mayhem knew, was entirely subjective. The +animals of Pluto were not changing their rate of living: the visitor to +Pluto was slowing down to match their laggard pace.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Two days, thought Mayhem. That was all he had. And, hours after he +landed, he'd start to slow down. There was absolutely no way of telling +how much time elapsed once that happened, for the only clocks that did +not go haywire on Pluto were spring-wind clocks, and there hadn't been a +spring-wind clock in the solar system for a hundred and fifty years.</p> + +<p>Result? On Pluto Mayhem would slow down. Once he reached Pluto's normal +time rate it might take him, say, ten minutes to run—top-speed—from +point A to point B, fifteen yards apart. Subjectively, a split-second of +time would have gone by in that period.</p> + +<p>Two days would seem like less than an hour, and Mayhem would have no way +of judging how much less.</p> + +<p>If he didn't get off Pluto in two days he would die.</p> + +<p>If he didn't land, House Bartock, growing desperate and trying to scare +him off or trying to keep control of the hundred girls while he made a +desperate and probably futile attempt to repair the damaged <i>Mozart's +Lady</i>, might become violent.</p> + +<p>Mayhem called Neptune, and said: "Bartock crash-landed on Pluto, +geographical coordinates north latitude thirty-three degrees four +minutes, west longitude eighteen degrees even. I'm going down. That's +all."</p> + +<p>He didn't wait for an answer.</p> + +<p>He brought the space-bound coffin down a scant three miles from +<i>Mozart's Lady</i>. Here, though, the tundra of Pluto was buckled and +convoluted, so that two low jagged ranges of snow-clad hills separated +the ships.</p> + +<p>Again Mayhem didn't wait. He went outside, took a breath of +near-freezing air, and stalked up the first range of hills. He carried a +blaster buckled to his belt.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When he saw the scout-ship come down, Bartock didn't wait either. He +might have waited had he known anything about what Pluto did to the +time-sense. But he did not know. He only knew, after a quick inspection, +that the controls of <i>Mozart's Lady</i> had been so badly damaged that +repair was impossible.</p> + +<p>He knew too that the scout-ship had reported his whereabouts. He had, on +regaining consciousness, been in time to intercept the radio message. +True, it would take any other Neptune-stationed ship close to two weeks +to reach Pluto, so Bartock had some temporal leeway. But obviously +whoever was pursuing him in the one-man ship had not come down just to +sit and wait. He was out there in the snow somewhere. Well, Bartock +would go out too, would somehow manage to elude his pursuer, to get +behind him, reach the scout-ship and blast off in it. And, in the event +that anything went wrong, he would have a hostage.</p> + +<p>He went arearships to select one.</p> + +<p>Went with his desperation shackled by an iron nerve.</p> + +<p>And a blaster in his hand.</p> + +<p>"... very lucky," Matilda Moriarity was saying, trying to keep the +despair from her voice. "We have some cuts and bruises, but no serious +casualties. Why, we might have all been killed."</p> + +<p>"Lucky, she says! We're marooned here. Marooned—with a killer."</p> + +<p>Before the widow Moriarity could defend her choice of words, if she was +going to defend them, House Bartock came into the rear lounge, where the +entire symphony and its chaperone was located. They would have locked +the door, of course; they had locked it ever since they had learned who +Bartock was. But the door, buckled and broken, had been one of the +casualties of the crash-landing.</p> + +<p>"You," Bartock said.</p> + +<p>He meant Jane Cummings.</p> + +<p>"Me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you. We're going outside."</p> + +<p>"Out—side?"</p> + +<p>"That's what I said. Let's get a move on."</p> + +<p>Jane Cummings didn't move.</p> + +<p>The widow Moriarity came between her and Bartock. "If you must take +anyone, take me," she said bravely.</p> + +<p>"The girl."</p> + +<p>Still the widow Moriarity didn't move.</p> + +<p>House Bartock balled his fist and hit her. Three of the girls caught her +as she fell. None of them tried to do anything about Bartock, who had +levelled his blaster at Jane Cummings.</p> + +<p>Trembling, she went down the companionway with him.</p> + +<p>A fierce cold wind blew as they opened the airlock door.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It looked like a sea-serpent floundering in the snow.</p> + +<p>Only, it was caught in the act of floundering, like an excellent candid +shot of a sea-serpent floundering in snow.</p> + +<p>Its movements were too slow for Mayhem's eyes to register.</p> + +<p>Which meant, he realized gratefully, that he hadn't begun to slow down +yet.</p> + +<p>He had to be careful, though. If he were Bartock he would make +immediately for the scout-ship. It would be his only hope.</p> + +<p>Realizing this, Mayhem had gone through deep snow for what he judged to +be fifteen minutes, until he had reached a spine of rock protruding from +the snow. Then he had doubled back, now leaving no footprints, along the +spine. He was waiting in the first low range of hills not four hundred +yards from the scout-ship, his blaster ready. When Bartock prowled into +view, Mayhem would shout a warning. If Bartock didn't heed it, Mayhem +would shoot him dead.</p> + +<p>It seemed like an airtight plan.</p> + +<p>And it would have been, except for two things. First, Bartock had a +hostage. And second, Pluto-time was beginning to act on Mayhem.</p> + +<p>He realized this when he looked at the sea-serpent again. The long neck +moved with agonizing slowness, the great gray green bulk of the monster, +sixty feet long, shifted slowly, barely perceptibly, in the snow. +Mountains of powdery snow moved and settled. The spade-shaped head +pointed at Mayhem. The tongue protruded slowly, hung suspended, forked +and hideous, then slowly withdrew.</p> + +<p>The neck moved again, ten feet long, sinuous. And faster.</p> + +<p>Faster? Not really.</p> + +<p>Mayhem was slowing down.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Then he saw Bartock and the girl.</p> + +<p>They were close together. Bartock held her arm. Walking toward the +scout-ship, they were too far away and too close together for Mayhem to +fire. Bartock would know this and wouldn't heed any warning.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>Mayhem was blocked. The gun was useless.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>So Mayhem didn't give any warning. He left the spine of rock and rushed +down through the snow toward the space-bound coffin.</p> + +<p>A low rumble of sound broke the absolute stillness.</p> + +<p>It was the monster, and now that his own hearing had slowed down, Mayhem +was able to hear the slower cycles of sound. How much time had really +passed? He didn't know. How much time did he have left before death came +swiftly and suddenly because he had been too long in his temporary body? +He didn't know that either. He sprinted toward the scout-ship. At least +it felt like he was sprinting. He didn't know how fast he was really +moving. But the sea-serpent creature was coming up behind him, faster. +No place near what would have been its normal apparent speed, but +faster. Mayhem, his breath coming raggedly through his mouth, ran as +fast as was feasible.</p> + +<p>So did Bartock and the girl.</p> + +<p>It was Bartock, spotting Mayhem on the run, who fired first. Mayhem +fell prone as the raw <i>zing</i> of energy ripped past. The +sea-serpent-like-creature behind him bellowed.</p> + +<p>And reared.</p> + +<p>It didn't look like a sea-serpent any longer. It looked like a dinosaur, +with huge solid rear limbs, small forelimbs, a great head with an +enormous jaw—and speed.</p> + +<p>Now it could really move.</p> + +<p>Subjectively, time seemed normal to Mayhem. Your only basis was +subjective: time always seemed normal. But Mayhem knew, as he got up and +ran again, that he was now moving slower than the minute hand on a +clock. Slower ... as objective time, as measured in the solar system at +large, sped by.</p> + +<p>He tripped as the creature came behind him. The only thing he could do +was prop up an elbow in the snow and fire. Raw energy ripped off the two +tiny forelimbs, but the creature didn't falter. It rushed by Mayhem, +almost crushing him with the hind limbs, each of which must have weighed +a couple of tons. It lumbered toward Bartock and Jane Cummings.</p> + +<p>Turning and starting to get up, Mayhem fired again.</p> + +<p>His blaster jammed.</p> + +<p>Then the bulk of the monster cut off his view of Bartock, the girl and +the scout-ship. He heard the girl scream. He ran toward them.</p> + +<p>Jane Cummings had never been so close to death. She wanted to scream. +She thought all at once, hysterically, she was a little girl again. If +she screamed maybe the terrible apparition would go away. But it did not +go away. It reared up high, as high as a very tall tree, and its fangs +were hideous.</p> + +<p>Bartock, who was also frightened, raised his blaster, fired, and missed.</p> + +<p>Then, for an instant, Jane thought she saw someone running behind the +monster. He had a blaster too, and he lifted it. When he fired, there +was only a clicking sound. Then he fired again.</p> + +<p>Half the monster's bulk disappeared and it collapsed in the snow.</p> + +<p>That was when Bartock shot the other man.</p> + +<p>Mayhem felt the stab of raw energy in his shoulder. He spun around and +fell down, his senses whirling in a vortex of pain. Dimly he was aware +of Bartock's boots crunching on the snow.</p> + +<p>They fired simultaneously. Bartock missed.</p> + +<p>And collapsed with a searing hole in his chest. He was dead before he +hit the snow.</p> + +<p>The girl went to Mayhem. "Who—who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Got to get you back to the ship. No time to talk. Hurry."</p> + +<p>"But you can't walk like that. You're badly hurt. I'll bring help."</p> + +<p>"... dangerous. I'll take you."</p> + +<p>He'd take her, flirting with death. Because, for all he knew, his time +on Pluto, objectively, had already totalled forty-eight hours. If it +did, he would never live to get off Pluto. Once his thirty days were up, +he would die. Still, there might be danger from other animals between +the scout-ship and <i>Mozart's Lady</i>, and he couldn't let the girl go back +alone. It was almost ludicrous, since she had to help him to his feet.</p> + +<p>He staggered along with her, knowing he would never make it to <i>Mozart's +Lady</i> and back in time. But if he left her, she was probably doomed too. +He'd sacrifice his life for hers....</p> + +<p>They went a hundred yards, Mayhem gripping the blaster and advancing by +sheer effort of will. Then he smiled, and began to laugh. Jane thought +he was hysterical with pain. But he said: "We're a pair of bright ones. +The scout-ship."</p> + +<p>Inside, it was very small. They had to lie very close to each other, but +they made it. They reached <i>Mozart's Lady</i>.</p> + +<p>Mayhem didn't wait to say good-bye. With what strength remained to him, +he almost flung the girl from the scout-ship. The pain in his shoulder +was very bad, but that wasn't what worried him. What worried him was the +roaring in his ears, the vertigo, the mental confusion as his <i>elan</i> +drifted, its thirty days up, toward death.</p> + +<p>He saw the girl enter <i>Mozart's Lady</i>. He blasted off, and when the +space-bound coffin pierced Pluto's heavyside layer, he called the Hub.</p> + +<p>The voice answered him as if it were mere miles away, and not halfway +across a galaxy: "Good Lord, man. You had us worried! You have about ten +seconds. Ten seconds more and you would have been dead."</p> + +<p>Mayhem was too tired to care. Then he felt a wrenching pain, and all at +once his <i>elan</i> floated, serene, peaceful, in limbo. He had been plucked +from the dying body barely in time, to fight mankind's lone battle +against the stars again, wherever he was needed ... out beyond Pluto.</p> + +<p>Forever? It wasn't impossible.</p> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of World Beyond Pluto, by C. H. 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H. Thames + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: World Beyond Pluto + +Author: C. H. Thames + +Illustrator: NOVICK + +Release Date: June 15, 2010 [EBook #32820] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORLD BEYOND PLUTO *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + WORLD BEYOND PLUTO + + A "Johnny Mayhem" Adventure + + By C. H. THAMES + + ILLUSTRATOR NOVICK + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories November +1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: Johnny Mayhem, one of the most popular series characters +ever to appear in AMAZING, has been absent too long. So here's good +news for Mayhem fans; another great adventure of the Man of Many +Bodies.] + + +They loaded the over-age spaceship at night because Triton's one +spaceport was too busy with the oreships from Neptune during the day to +handle it. + +"Symphonies!" Pitchblend Hardesty groaned. Pitchblend Hardesty was the +stevedore foreman and he had supervised upwards of a thousand loadings +on Triton's crowded blastways, everything from the standard mining +equipment to the innards of a new tavern for Triton City's so-called +Street of Sin to special anti-riot weapons for the Interstellar +Penitentiary not 54 miles from Triton City, but never a symphony +orchestra. And most assuredly never, never an all-girl symphony +orchestra. + +"Symphonies!" Pitchblend Hardesty groaned again as several stevedores +came out on the blastway lugging a harp, a base fiddle and a kettle +drum. + +"Come off it, Pitchblend," one of the stevedores said with a grin. "I +didn't see you staying away from the music hall." + +That was true enough, Pitchblend Hardesty had to admit. He was a small, +wiry man with amazing strength in his slim body and the lore of a solar +system which had been bypassed by thirtieth century civilization for the +lures of interstellar exploration in his brain. While the symphony--the +all-girl symphony--had been playing its engagement at Triton's +make-shift music hall, Hardesty had visited the place three times. + +"Well, it wasn't the music, sure as heck," he told his critic now. "Who +ever saw a hundred girls in one place at one time on Triton?" + +The stevedore rolled his eyes and offered Pitchblend a suggestive +whistle. Hardesty booted him in the rump, and the stevedore had all he +could do to stop from falling into the kettle drum. + + * * * * * + +Just then a loud bell set up a lonely tolling and Pitchblend Hardesty +exclaimed: "Prison break!" + +The bell could be heard all over the two-hundred square miles of +inhabitable Triton, under the glassite dome which enclosed the small +city, the spaceport, the immigration station for nearby Neptune and the +Interstellar Penitentiary. The bell hadn't tolled for ten years; the +last time it had tolled, Pitchblend Hardesty had been a newcomer on +Neptune's big moon. That wasn't surprising, for Interstellar +Penitentiary was as close to escape-proof as a prison could be. + +"All right, all right," Pitchblend snapped. "Hurry up and get her +loaded." + +"What's the rush?" one of the stevedores asked. "The gals ain't even +arrived from the hotel yet." + +"I'll tell you what the rush is," Pitchblend declared as the bell tolled +again. "If you were an escaped prisoner on Triton, just where would you +head?" + +"Why, I don't know for sure, Pitchblend." + +"Then I'll tell you where. You'd head for the spaceport, fast as your +legs could carry you. You'd head for an out-going spaceship, because it +would be your only hope. And how many out-going spaceships are there +tonight?" + +"Why, just two or three." + +"Because all our business is in the daytime. So if the convict was smart +enough to get out, he'll be smart enough to come here." + +"We got no weapons," the stevedore said. "We ain't even got a +pea-shooter." + +"Weapons on Triton? You kidding? A frontier moon like this, the place +would be blasted apart every night. Interstelpen couldn't hold all the +disturbers of the peace if we had us some guns." + +"But the convict--" + +"Yeah," Pitchblend said grimly. "He'll be armed, all right." + +Pitchblend rushed back to the manifest shed as the bell tolled a third +time. He got on the phone and called the desk of the Hotel Triton. + +"Hardesty over at the spaceport," he said. "Loading foreman." + +"Loading foreman?" The mild, antiseptic voice at the other end of the +connection said it as you would say talking dinosaur. + +"Yeah, loading foreman. At night I'm in charge here. Listen, you the +manager?" + +"The manager--" haughtily--"is asleep. I am the night clerk." + +"O.K., then. You tell those hundred girls of yours to hurry. Don't scare +them, but have you heard about the prison break?" + +"Heard about it? It's all I've been hearing. They--they want to stay and +see what happens." + +"Don't let 'em!" roared Pitchblend. "Use any excuse you have to. Tell +'em we got centrifigal-upigal and perihelion-peritonitus over here at +the spaceport, or any darn thing. Tell 'em if they want to blast off +tonight, they'll have to get down here quick. You got it?" + +"Yes, but--" + +"Then do it." Pitchblend hung up. + +The escape bell tolled a fourth time. + + * * * * * + +His name was House Bartock, he had killed two guards in his escape, and +he was as desperate as a man could be. He had been sentenced to +Interstelpen for killing a man on Mars in this enlightened age when +capital punishment had been abolished. Recapture thus wouldn't mean +death, but the prison authorities at Interstelpen could make their own +interpretations of what life-in-prison meant. If House Bartock allowed +himself to be retaken, he would probably spend the remaining years of +his life in solitary confinement. + +He walked quickly now, but he did not run. He had had an impulse to run +when the first escape bell had tolled, but that would have been foolish. +Already he was on the outskirts of Triton City because they had not +discovered his escape for two precious hours. He could hole up in the +city, lose himself somewhere. But that would only be temporary. + +They would find him eventually. + +Or, he could make his way to the spaceport. He had money in his +pocket--the dead guard's. He had a guardsman's uniform on, but stripped +of its insignia it looked like the jumper and top-boots of any spaceman. +He had false identification papers, if needed, which he had worked on +for two years in the prison printshop where the prison newspaper was +published. He had.... + +Suddenly he flattened himself on the ground to one side of the road, +hugging the gravel and hardly daring to breathe. He'd heard a vehicle +coming from the direction of Interstelpen. It roared up, making the +ground vibrate; its lights flashed; it streaked by trailing a jet of +fire. + +House Bartock didn't move until the afterglow had faded. Then he got up +and walked steadily along the road which led from Interstelpen to Triton +City. + + * * * * * + +"Girls! Hurry with your packing! Girls!" + +Sighing, Matilda Moriarity subsided. The girls, obviously, were in no +hurry. That would have been out of character. + +Matilda Moriarity sighed again. She was short, stocky, fifty-two years +old and the widow of a fabulously wealthy interstellar investment +broker. She had a passion for classical music and, now that her husband +had been dead three years, she had decided to exercise that passion. But +for Matilda Moriarity, a very out-going fifty-two, exercising it had +meant passing it on. The outworlds, Matilda had told her friends, lacked +culture. The highest form of culture, for Matilda, was classical music. +Very well. She would bring culture to the outworlds. + + * * * * * + +Triton was her first try and even now sometimes she had to pinch herself +so she'd know the initial attempt had been a smashing success. She +didn't delude herself completely. It had been a brainstorm selecting +only girls--and pretty young things, at that--for the Interstellar +Symphony. On a world like Triton, a world which played host to very few +women and then usually to the hard types who turned up on any frontier +in any century, a symphony of a hundred pretty girls was bound to be a +success. + +But the music, Matilda Moriarity told herself. They had listened to the +music. If they wanted to see the girls in their latest Earth-style +evening gowns, they had to listen to the music. And they had listened +quietly, earnestly, apparently enjoying it. The symphony had remained on +Triton longer than planned, playing every night to a full house. Matilda +had had the devil's own time chaperoning her girls, but that was to be +expected. It was their first taste of the outworlds; it was the +outworlds' first taste of them. The widow Moriarity had had her hands +full, all right. But secretly, she had enjoyed every minute of it. + +"They say the bell means a prison break!" First Violin squealed +excitedly. First Violin was twenty-two, an Earth girl named Jane +Cummings and a student at the conservatory on Sirtus Major on Mars, but +to the widow Moriarity she was, and would remain, First Violin. That +way, calling the girls after their instruments, the widow Moriarity +could convince herself that her symphonic music had been of prime +importance on Triton, and her lovely young charges of secondary +importance. + +"How many times do I have to tell you to hurry?" + +"But these gowns--" + +"Will need a pressing when you return to Mars anyway." + +"And a prison break. I never saw a prison break before. It's so +exciting." + +"You're not going to see it. You're just going to hear about it. Come +on, come on, all of you." + +At that moment the room phone rang. + +"Hello?" the widow Moriarity said. + +"This is Jenkins, ma'am, desk. The spaceport called a few minutes ago. +I'm not supposed to frighten you, but, well, they're rather worried +about the prison break. The escaped convict, they figure, will head for +the spaceport. Disguised, he could--" + +"Let him try masquerading as a member of _my_ group!" the widow +Moriarity said with a smile. + +"All the same, if you could hurry--" + +"We are hurrying, young man." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +The widow Moriarity hung up. "Gi-irls!" + +The girls squealed and laughed and dawdled. + + * * * * * + +House Bartock felt like laughing. + +He'd just had his first big break, and it might turn out to be the only +one he needed. On an impulse, he had decided to strike out directly for +the spaceport. He had done so, and now stood on the dark tarmac between +the manifest shed and the pilot-barracks. And, not ten minutes after he +had reached the spacefield a cordon of guards rushed there from +Interstelpen had been stationed around the field. Had Bartock arrived +just a few minutes later, he would have been too late, his capture only +a matter of time. As it was now, though, he had a very good chance of +getting away. Circumstances were in his favor. + +He could get so far away that they would never find him. + +It was simple. Get off Triton on a spaceship. Go anyplace that had a big +spaceport, and manage to tranship out in secret. Then all the police +would have to search would be a few quadrillion square miles of space! + +But first he had to leave Triton. + +From the activity at the port, he could see that three ships were being +made ready for blastoff. Two of them were purely cargo-carriers, but the +third--Bartock could tell because he saw hand-luggage being +loaded--would carry passengers. His instinct for survival must have been +working overtime: he knew that the third ship would be his best bet, for +if he were discovered and pursued, hostages might make the difference +between recapture and freedom. + +Bartock waited patiently in the darkness outside the pilot-barracks. The +only problem was, how to discover which pilot belonged to which ship? + +The cordon of police from Interstelpen had set up several score +arc-lights on the perimeter of the field. The spaces between the lights +were patrolled by guards armed, as Bartock was, with blasters. Bartock +could never have made it through that cordon now. But it wasn't +necessary. He was already inside. + +The barracks door opened, and a pilot came out. Tensing, ready, Bartock +watched him. + +The three ships were scattered widely on the field, _Venus Bell_ to the +north, _Star of Hercules_ to the south, _Mozart's Lady_ to the east. +_Venus Bell_ and _Star of Hercules_ were straight cargo carriers. +_Mozart's Lady_--what a queer name for a spaceship, Bartock couldn't +help thinking--had taken in hand luggage. So if the pilot who had just +left the barracks headed east, Bartock would take him. The pilot paused +outside, lit a cigarette, hummed a tune. The scent of tobacco drifted +over to Bartock. He waited. + +The pilot walked east toward _Mozart's Lady_. + + * * * * * + +"Ready, girls?" + +"Ready, Mrs. Moriarity. But couldn't we--well--sort of hang around until +we see what happens?" + +"You mean the escaped convict?" + +"Yes, ma'am." Hopefully. + +"They'll catch him. They always catch them." + +"But--" + +"Come on." + +"Aw, gosh, Mrs. Moriarity." + +"I said, come on." + +Reluctantly, the hundred girls trooped with their chaperone from the +hotel. + + * * * * * + +Bartock struck swiftly and without mercy. + +The blaster would make too much noise. He turned it around, held it by +the barrel, and broke the pilot's skull with it. In the darkness he +changed clothing for the second time that night, quickly, confidently, +his hands steady. In the darkness he could barely make out the pilot's +manifest. The man's ship was _Mozart's Lady_, all right. Outbound from +Triton City for Mars. Well, Bartock thought, he wouldn't go to Mars. +Assuming they learned what ship he had boarded, they would be guarding +the inner orbits too closely. + +He would take _Mozart's Lady_ daringly outward, beyond Neptune's orbit. +Naturally, the ship wouldn't have interstellar drive, but as yet Bartock +wasn't going interstellar. You couldn't have everything. You couldn't +expect a starship on Triton, could you? So Bartock would take _Mozart's +Lady_ outward to Pluto's orbit--and wait. From the amount of hand +luggage taken aboard, _Mozart's Lady_ would be carrying quite a number +of passengers. If that number were reduced--drastically reduced--the +food, water and air aboard would last for many months. Until the fuss +died down. Until Bartock could bring _Mozart's Lady_, long since given +up for lost, in for a landing on one of the inner planets.... + +Now he dragged the dead pilot's body into the complete darkness on the +south side of the pilot-barracks, wishing he could hide it better but +knowing he didn't have the time or the means. + +Then he walked boldly across the tarmac, wearing a pilot's uniform, +toward _Mozart's Lady_. + +Fifteen minutes later, House Bartock watched with amazement while a +hundred pretty young women boarded the ship. Of all the things that had +happened since his escape, this came closest to unnerving him, for it +was the totally unexpected. Bartock shrugged, chain-smoked three +cigarettes while the women boarded slowly, taking last-minute looks at +dark Triton, the spaceport, the cordon of guards, the arc-lights. +Bartock cursed impotently. Seconds were precious now. The pilot's body +might be found. If it were.... + +At last the port clanged shut and the ground-crew tromped away. Since +even an over-age ship like _Mozart's Lady_ was close to ninety percent +automatic, there was no crew. Only the pilot--who was Bartock--and the +passengers. + +Bartock was about to set the controls for blastoff when he heard +footsteps clomp-clomping down the companionway. He toyed with the idea +of locking the door, then realized that would arouse suspicion. + +A square woman's face over a plump middle-aged figure. + +"I'm Mrs. Moriarity, pilot. I have a hundred young girls aboard. We'll +have no nonsense." + +"No, sir. I mean, no ma'am." + +"Well, make sure." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"And I want an easy trip, without fuss or incidents. For half of our +girls it's the second time in space--the first being when they came out +here. You understand?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"What happened to the pilot who took us out?" + +"Uh, pressed into service last week on a Mercury run. I'm surprised the +control board didn't tell you." + +"They didn't. It doesn't matter. You do your job, and that's all." + +"Yes, ma'am," House Bartock said. "Just my job." + +A few moments later, _Mozart's Lady_ blasted off. + + * * * * * + +"Stop! Hey, wait!" Pitchblend Hardesty bawled at the top of his voice. +But it didn't do any good. The police rushed up behind Pitchblend, not +daring to fire. + +Moments before, they had found the dead pilot's body. + +They knew at once what it meant, of course. They had been not more than +a minute too late. + +"Call Central Control on Neptune," a police officer said. "We'll send a +cruiser after them." + +"Won't do any good," Pitchblend Hardesty groaned. + +"What are you talking about, fellow?" + +"Unless the cruiser's brand new." + +"On Neptune? Don't be silly. Newest one we've got is ten years old." + +"Like I said, won't do any good. I worked that ship over, mister. I know +what she's like inside. She may look like an over-age tub on the +outside, but don't let that fool you. She's got power, mister. She's +probably the fastest thing this side of the Jovian moons, except for +those experimental one-man rocket-bombs down at Neptune Station. But +chasing a big tub in a one-man space-bound coffin--" here Pitchblend +used the vernacular for the tiny one-man experimental ships--"ain't +going to do anybody any good. Best thing you can do is track _Mozart's +Lady_ by radar and hope she'll head sunward. Then they could intercept +her closer in." + +But _Mozart's Lady_ did not head sunward. Radar tracking confirmed this +moments later. _Mozart's Lady_ was outward bound for Pluto's orbit. And, +with Pluto and Neptune currently in conjunction, that could even mean a +landing, although, the police decided, that wasn't likely. There were no +settlements on Pluto. Pluto was too weird. For the strangest reason in a +solar system and a galaxy of wonders, Pluto was quite uninhabitable. +More likely, _Mozart's Lady_ would follow Pluto's orbit around, then +make a dash sunward.... + +The radar officer threw up his hands. "I give up," he said. "She's +heading for Pluto's orb all right. Call Neptune Station." + +"Neptune Station, sir?" + +"You bet. This job's too big for me. The brass will want to handle it." + +Seconds later, sub-space crackled with energy as the call was put +through from Triton City to Neptune Station. + + * * * * * + +Whatever else history would write about him, it would +certainly call Johnny Mayhem the strangest--and literally most +death-defying--test-pilot in history. Of course, testing the sleek +experimental beauties out of Neptune Station and elsewhere wasn't +Mayhem's chief occupation. He was, in a phrase, a trouble-shooter for +the Galactic League. Whenever he had a spare few weeks, having completed +an assignment ahead of schedule in his latest of bodies, he was likely +to turn up at some testing station or other and volunteer for work. He +was never turned down, although the Galactic League didn't approve. +Mayhem was probably the galaxy's best pilot, with incredible reflexes +and an utter indifference toward death. + +For the past two weeks, having completed what turned out to be an +easier-than-expected assignment on Neptune, he had been piloting the +space-bound coffins out of Neptune Station, and with very satisfactory +experimental results. + +A few minutes ago he had been called into the station director's office, +but when he entered he was surprised to see the Galactic League Firstman +of Neptune waiting for him. + +"Surprised, eh?" the Firstman demanded. + +"I'll bet you want me to quit test-flying," Mayhem said with a smile +which, clearer than words, told the Firstman his advice would be +rejected. + +The Firstman smiled too, "Why, no, Mayhem. As a matter of fact, I want +you to take one of the coffins into deep space." + +"Maybe something's wrong with my hearing," Mayhem said. + +"No. You heard it right. Of course, it's up to you. Everything you do, +you volunteer." + +"Let's hear it, Firstman." + +So the Firstman of Neptune told Johnny Mayhem about _Mozart's Lady_ +which, six hours ago, had left Triton for Pluto's orbit with an +eccentric wealthy widow, a hundred girls, and a desperate escaped +killer. + +"The only thing we have out here fast enough to overtake them, Mayhem, +is the one-man coffins. The only man we have who can fly them is you. +What do you say?" + +Mayhem's answer was a question, but the question didn't really require +an answer. Mayhem asked: "What are we waiting for?" + +The Firstman grinned. He had expected such an answer, of course. The +whole galaxy, let alone the solar system, knew the Mayhem legend. Every +world which had an Earthman population and a Galactic League post, +however small, had a body in cold storage, waiting for Johnny Mayhem if +his services were required. But of course no one knew precisely when +Mayhem's services might be required. No one knew exactly under what +circumstances the Galactic League Council, operating from the hub of the +Galaxy, might summon Mayhem. And only a very few people, including those +at the Hub and the Galactic League Firstmen on civilized worlds and +Observers on primitive worlds, knew the precise mechanics of Mayhem's +coming. + +Johnny Mayhem, a bodiless sentience. Mayhem--Johnny Marlow, then--who +had been chased from Earth, a pariah and a criminal, eight years ago, +who had been mortally wounded on a wild planet deep within the +Saggitarian Swarm, whose life had been saved--after a fashion--by the +white magic of that planet. Mayhem, doomed now to possible immortality +as a bodiless sentience, an _elan_, which could occupy and activate a +corpse if it had been frozen properly ... an _elan_ doomed to wander +eternally because it could not remain in one body for more than a month +without body and _elan_ perishing. Mayhem, who had dedicated his +strange, lonely life to the service of the Galactic League because a +normal life and normal social relations were not possible for him.... + +"One thing, Mayhem," the Firstman said, now, on Neptune. "How much +longer you have in that body of yours?" + +"Five days. Possibly six." + +"That doesn't give you much time. If you're caught out there when your +month is up--" + +"I won't be. We're wasting time talking about it." + +"--it would mean your death." + +"Then let's get started." + + * * * * * + +The Firstman stared at him levelly. "You're a brave man, Mayhem." + +"Let's say I'm not afraid to die. I've been a living dead man for eight +years. Come on." + +One of the so-called coffins, a tiny one-man ship barely big enough for +a prone man, food concentrates and water, was already waiting at the +station spacefield. + +Ten minutes after hearing about _Mozart's Lady_, without fanfare, Mayhem +blasted off in pursuit. + + * * * * * + +Maintaining top speed all the way, House Bartock brought _Mozart's Lady_ +across almost two billion miles of space from Neptune's to Pluto's orbit +in three days. He was delighted with the speed. It would have taken the +average space-tub ten days to two weeks and, since as far as Bartock +knew there were nothing but average space-tubs on Neptune, that gave him +a considerable head-start. + +It was Jane Cummings-First Violin who discovered Bartock's identity. +Bartock was studying the star-map at the time and considered himself +safe from discovery because he kept the control door of _Mozart's Lady_ +locked. However, Jane Cummings had established something of a liaison +with the pilot outward bound from Earth and Mars, so she had been given +a spare key which she'd kept, secretly, all the time the symphony was on +Triton. Now, curious about the new pilot for the same reason that the +miners on Triton had been curious about the symphony, Jane made her way +forward, inserted her key in the lock, and pushed open the control door. + +"Hello there," she said. + +House Bartock whirled. The turning of a key in the lock had so unnerved +him--it was the last thing he expected--that he forgot to shut off the +star-map. Its tell-tale evidence glowed on the wall over his head. + +"What do you want?" he managed to ask politely. + +"Oh, just to say hello." + +"You already said it." + +Jane Cummings pouted. "You needn't bite my head off. What's your name? +Mine's Jane, and I play the violin. It wouldn't hurt you to be polite." + +Bartock nodded, deciding that a little small talk wouldn't hurt if he +could keep the girl from becoming suspicious. That was suddenly +important. If this girl had a key to the control room, for all he knew +there could be others. + +"My, you have been hurrying," Jane said. "I could tell by the +acceleration. You must be trying to break the speed records or +something. I'll bet we're almost to Earth--" + +Her voice trailed off and her mouth hung open. At first Bartock didn't +know what was the matter. Then he saw where she was staring. + +The star-map. + +"We're not heading for Earth!" she cried. + +Bartock walked toward her. "Give me that key," he said. "You're going to +have to stay here with me. Give me that key." + +Jane backed away. "You--you couldn't be our pilot. If you were--" + +"The key. I don't want to hurt you." + +Bartock lunged. Jane turned and ran, slamming the door behind her. It +clanged, and echoed. The echo didn't stop. Bartock, on the point of +opening the door and sprinting down the companionway after her, stopped. + +It wasn't the echo of metal slamming against metal. It was the radar +warning. + +Either _Mozart's Lady_ was within dangerous proximity of a meteor, or a +ship was following them. + +Bartock ran to the radar screen. + +The pip was unmistakable. A ship was following them. + +A ship as fast--or faster--than _Mozart's Lady_. + +Cursing, Bartock did things with the controls. _Mozart's Lady_, already +straining, increased its speed. Acceleration flung Bartock back in the +pilot's chair. Pluto loomed dead ahead. + + * * * * * + +Johnny Mayhem knew at what precise moment he had been discovered, for +suddenly the speed of _Mozart's Lady_ increased. Since this had occurred +an hour and a half after Mayhem had first got a clear pip of the bigger +ship on his radar, it meant he'd been spotted. + +Prone with his hands stretched forward in the coffin-like experimental +ship, Mayhem worked the controls, exactly matching speed with _Mozart's +Lady_. + +He tried to put himself in the position of the escaped convict. What +would he do? His best bet would be to swing in close around Pluto, as +close as he dared. Then, on the dark side of the planet, to change his +orbit abruptly and come loose of its gravitational field in a new +direction. It was a dangerous maneuver, but since the escaped convict +now knew for sure that the tiny ship could match the speed of _Mozart's +Lady_, it was his only hope. The danger was grave: even a first-rate +pilot would try it only as a last resort, for the gravitational pull of +Pluto might upset _Mozart's Lady_'s orbit. If that happened, the best +the convict could hope for was an emergency landing. More likely, a +death-crash would result. + +Seconds later, Mayhem's thinking was confirmed. _Mozart's Lady_ executed +a sharp turn in space and disappeared behind the white bulk of Pluto. + +Mayhem swore and followed. + +"He's trying to kill us all!" + +"He doesn't know how to pilot a ship! We're helpless, helpless!" + +"Do something, Mrs. Moriarity!" + +"Now girls, whatever happens, you must keep calm. We can only assume +that Jane was right about what she saw, but since none of us can pilot a +spaceship, we'll have to bide our time...." + +"Bide our time!" + +"We're all as good as dead!" + +One of the girls began screaming. + +Mrs. Moriarity slapped her. "I'm sorry, dear. I had to hit you. Your +behavior bordered on the hysterical. And if we become hysterical we are +lost, lost, do you understand?" + +"Yes'm." + +"Good. Then we wait and see what happens." + + * * * * * + +What was happening was an attempt at what test-pilots term +planet-swinging. Moving in the direction of Pluto's orbit, _Mozart's +Lady_ swung in very close behind the planet. Then, as the rotation of +Pluto on its axis hurled it forth again, as a sling-shot hurls a pellet, +_Mozart's Lady_'s rockets would alter the expected direction of flight. +Unless a pursuing ship followed exactly the same maneuver, it would be +flung off into space at top-speed in the wrong direction. It might be +hours before the first ship's trail could be picked up again--if ever. + +House Bartock, aware of all this--and one other factor--sat sweating it +out at the controls. + +The one other factor was closeness to Pluto. For if you got too close, +and the difference was only a matter of miles covered in an elapsed time +of mili-seconds, Pluto might drag you into a landing orbit. If that +happened, traveling at tremendous speed, there'd be the double danger of +overheating in the planet's atmosphere and coming down too hard. Either +way the results could be fatal. + +His hands sweating, Bartock struggled with the controls. Now already he +could see Pluto bulking, its night-side black and mysterious, in the +viewport. Now he could hear the faint shrill scream of its atmosphere. +Now.... + +Trying to time it perfectly, he slammed on full power. + +A fraction of a mili-second too late. + +_Mozart's Lady_ stood for an instant on its tail, shuddering as if it +were going to come apart and rain meteoric dust over Pluto's surface. +That had happened too in such a maneuver, but it didn't happen now. + +Instead, _Mozart's Lady_ went into a landing orbit. + +But its speed was still terrific and, lowering, it whizzed twice around +Pluto's fifteen thousand mile circumference in twenty minutes. +Atmosphere screamed, the heat siren shrilled, and a cursing House +Bartock applied the braking rockets as fast as he could. + +Pluto's surface blurred in the viewport, coming closer at dizzying +speed. Bartock stood _Mozart's Lady_ on its tail a second time, this +time on purpose. + +The ship shuddered, and struck Pluto. + +Bartock blacked out. + + * * * * * + +When Mayhem's radar screen informed him that _Mozart's Lady_ had failed +to break free of Pluto's field of gravity, Mayhem immediately went to +work. First he allowed the tiny scout-ship to complete its planet-swing +successfully, then he slowed down, turned around in deep space, and came +back, scanning Pluto with radar scopes and telescope until he located +the bigger ship. That might have taken hours or days ordinarily, but +having seen _Mozart's Lady_ go in, and having recorded its position via +radar, Mayhem had a pretty good idea as to the landing orbit it would +follow. + +It took him three-quarters of an hour to locate the bigger ship. When he +finally had located it, he brought it into close-up with the more +powerful of the two telescopes aboard the scout. + +_Mozart's Lady_ lay on its side in a snow-tundra. It had been damaged, +but not severely. Part of the visible side was caved in, but the ship +had not fallen apart. Still, chances were that without extensive repairs +it would not be able to leave Pluto. + +There was no way, Mayhem knew, of making extensive repairs on Pluto. +_Mozart's Lady_ was there to stay. + +The safe thing to do would be to inform Neptune and wait in space until +the police cruisers came for House Bartock. The alternative was to +planetfall near _Mozart's Lady_, take the convict into custody, and then +notify Neptune. + +If Bartock were alone the choice would have been an easy one. But +Bartock was not alone. He had a hundred girls with him. He was +desperate. He might try anything. + +Mayhem had to go down after him. + + * * * * * + +The trouble was, though, that of all the worlds in the galaxy--not +merely in Sol System--Pluto was the one most dangerous to Johnny Mayhem. +He had been pursuing House Bartock for three days. Which meant he had +two days left before it was imperative that he leave his current body. +This would mean notifying the hub of the Galaxy by sub-space radio to +pull out his _elan_, but Pluto's heavyside layer was the strongest in +the solar system, so strong that sub-space radio couldn't penetrate it. + +And that was not the only thing wrong with Pluto. It was, in fact, an +incredible anomaly of a world. Almost four billion miles from the sun at +its widest swing, it still was not too cold to support life. Apparently +radioactive heat in its core kept it warm. It even had an Earth-type +atmosphere, although the oxygen-content was somewhat too rich and apt to +make you giddy. And it was a slow world. + +Time moved slowly on Pluto. Too slowly. When you first landed, according +to the few explorers who had attempted it, the native fauna seemed like +statues. Their movement was too slow for the eye to register. That was +lucky, for the fauna tended to be enormous and deadly. But after a +while--how long a while Mayhem didn't know--the fauna, subjectively, +seemed to speed up. The animals commenced moving slowly, then a bit +faster, then normally. That, Mayhem knew, was entirely subjective. The +animals of Pluto were not changing their rate of living: the visitor to +Pluto was slowing down to match their laggard pace. + + * * * * * + +Two days, thought Mayhem. That was all he had. And, hours after he +landed, he'd start to slow down. There was absolutely no way of telling +how much time elapsed once that happened, for the only clocks that did +not go haywire on Pluto were spring-wind clocks, and there hadn't been a +spring-wind clock in the solar system for a hundred and fifty years. + +Result? On Pluto Mayhem would slow down. Once he reached Pluto's normal +time rate it might take him, say, ten minutes to run--top-speed--from +point A to point B, fifteen yards apart. Subjectively, a split-second of +time would have gone by in that period. + +Two days would seem like less than an hour, and Mayhem would have no way +of judging how much less. + +If he didn't get off Pluto in two days he would die. + +If he didn't land, House Bartock, growing desperate and trying to scare +him off or trying to keep control of the hundred girls while he made a +desperate and probably futile attempt to repair the damaged _Mozart's +Lady_, might become violent. + +Mayhem called Neptune, and said: "Bartock crash-landed on Pluto, +geographical coordinates north latitude thirty-three degrees four +minutes, west longitude eighteen degrees even. I'm going down. That's +all." + +He didn't wait for an answer. + +He brought the space-bound coffin down a scant three miles from +_Mozart's Lady_. Here, though, the tundra of Pluto was buckled and +convoluted, so that two low jagged ranges of snow-clad hills separated +the ships. + +Again Mayhem didn't wait. He went outside, took a breath of +near-freezing air, and stalked up the first range of hills. He carried a +blaster buckled to his belt. + + * * * * * + +When he saw the scout-ship come down, Bartock didn't wait either. He +might have waited had he known anything about what Pluto did to the +time-sense. But he did not know. He only knew, after a quick inspection, +that the controls of _Mozart's Lady_ had been so badly damaged that +repair was impossible. + +He knew too that the scout-ship had reported his whereabouts. He had, on +regaining consciousness, been in time to intercept the radio message. +True, it would take any other Neptune-stationed ship close to two weeks +to reach Pluto, so Bartock had some temporal leeway. But obviously +whoever was pursuing him in the one-man ship had not come down just to +sit and wait. He was out there in the snow somewhere. Well, Bartock +would go out too, would somehow manage to elude his pursuer, to get +behind him, reach the scout-ship and blast off in it. And, in the event +that anything went wrong, he would have a hostage. + +He went arearships to select one. + +Went with his desperation shackled by an iron nerve. + +And a blaster in his hand. + +"... very lucky," Matilda Moriarity was saying, trying to keep the +despair from her voice. "We have some cuts and bruises, but no serious +casualties. Why, we might have all been killed." + +"Lucky, she says! We're marooned here. Marooned--with a killer." + +Before the widow Moriarity could defend her choice of words, if she was +going to defend them, House Bartock came into the rear lounge, where the +entire symphony and its chaperone was located. They would have locked +the door, of course; they had locked it ever since they had learned who +Bartock was. But the door, buckled and broken, had been one of the +casualties of the crash-landing. + +"You," Bartock said. + +He meant Jane Cummings. + +"Me?" + +"Yes, you. We're going outside." + +"Out--side?" + +"That's what I said. Let's get a move on." + +Jane Cummings didn't move. + +The widow Moriarity came between her and Bartock. "If you must take +anyone, take me," she said bravely. + +"The girl." + +Still the widow Moriarity didn't move. + +House Bartock balled his fist and hit her. Three of the girls caught her +as she fell. None of them tried to do anything about Bartock, who had +levelled his blaster at Jane Cummings. + +Trembling, she went down the companionway with him. + +A fierce cold wind blew as they opened the airlock door. + + * * * * * + +It looked like a sea-serpent floundering in the snow. + +Only, it was caught in the act of floundering, like an excellent candid +shot of a sea-serpent floundering in snow. + +Its movements were too slow for Mayhem's eyes to register. + +Which meant, he realized gratefully, that he hadn't begun to slow down +yet. + +He had to be careful, though. If he were Bartock he would make +immediately for the scout-ship. It would be his only hope. + +Realizing this, Mayhem had gone through deep snow for what he judged to +be fifteen minutes, until he had reached a spine of rock protruding from +the snow. Then he had doubled back, now leaving no footprints, along the +spine. He was waiting in the first low range of hills not four hundred +yards from the scout-ship, his blaster ready. When Bartock prowled into +view, Mayhem would shout a warning. If Bartock didn't heed it, Mayhem +would shoot him dead. + +It seemed like an airtight plan. + +And it would have been, except for two things. First, Bartock had a +hostage. And second, Pluto-time was beginning to act on Mayhem. + +He realized this when he looked at the sea-serpent again. The long neck +moved with agonizing slowness, the great gray green bulk of the monster, +sixty feet long, shifted slowly, barely perceptibly, in the snow. +Mountains of powdery snow moved and settled. The spade-shaped head +pointed at Mayhem. The tongue protruded slowly, hung suspended, forked +and hideous, then slowly withdrew. + +The neck moved again, ten feet long, sinuous. And faster. + +Faster? Not really. + +Mayhem was slowing down. + + * * * * * + +Then he saw Bartock and the girl. + +They were close together. Bartock held her arm. Walking toward the +scout-ship, they were too far away and too close together for Mayhem to +fire. Bartock would know this and wouldn't heed any warning. + +[Illustration: Mayhem was blocked. The gun was useless.] + +So Mayhem didn't give any warning. He left the spine of rock and rushed +down through the snow toward the space-bound coffin. + +A low rumble of sound broke the absolute stillness. + +It was the monster, and now that his own hearing had slowed down, Mayhem +was able to hear the slower cycles of sound. How much time had really +passed? He didn't know. How much time did he have left before death came +swiftly and suddenly because he had been too long in his temporary body? +He didn't know that either. He sprinted toward the scout-ship. At least +it felt like he was sprinting. He didn't know how fast he was really +moving. But the sea-serpent creature was coming up behind him, faster. +No place near what would have been its normal apparent speed, but +faster. Mayhem, his breath coming raggedly through his mouth, ran as +fast as was feasible. + +So did Bartock and the girl. + +It was Bartock, spotting Mayhem on the run, who fired first. Mayhem +fell prone as the raw _zing_ of energy ripped past. The +sea-serpent-like-creature behind him bellowed. + +And reared. + +It didn't look like a sea-serpent any longer. It looked like a dinosaur, +with huge solid rear limbs, small forelimbs, a great head with an +enormous jaw--and speed. + +Now it could really move. + +Subjectively, time seemed normal to Mayhem. Your only basis was +subjective: time always seemed normal. But Mayhem knew, as he got up and +ran again, that he was now moving slower than the minute hand on a +clock. Slower ... as objective time, as measured in the solar system at +large, sped by. + +He tripped as the creature came behind him. The only thing he could do +was prop up an elbow in the snow and fire. Raw energy ripped off the two +tiny forelimbs, but the creature didn't falter. It rushed by Mayhem, +almost crushing him with the hind limbs, each of which must have weighed +a couple of tons. It lumbered toward Bartock and Jane Cummings. + +Turning and starting to get up, Mayhem fired again. + +His blaster jammed. + +Then the bulk of the monster cut off his view of Bartock, the girl and +the scout-ship. He heard the girl scream. He ran toward them. + +Jane Cummings had never been so close to death. She wanted to scream. +She thought all at once, hysterically, she was a little girl again. If +she screamed maybe the terrible apparition would go away. But it did not +go away. It reared up high, as high as a very tall tree, and its fangs +were hideous. + +Bartock, who was also frightened, raised his blaster, fired, and missed. + +Then, for an instant, Jane thought she saw someone running behind the +monster. He had a blaster too, and he lifted it. When he fired, there +was only a clicking sound. Then he fired again. + +Half the monster's bulk disappeared and it collapsed in the snow. + +That was when Bartock shot the other man. + +Mayhem felt the stab of raw energy in his shoulder. He spun around and +fell down, his senses whirling in a vortex of pain. Dimly he was aware +of Bartock's boots crunching on the snow. + +They fired simultaneously. Bartock missed. + +And collapsed with a searing hole in his chest. He was dead before he +hit the snow. + +The girl went to Mayhem. "Who--who are you?" + +"Got to get you back to the ship. No time to talk. Hurry." + +"But you can't walk like that. You're badly hurt. I'll bring help." + +"... dangerous. I'll take you." + +He'd take her, flirting with death. Because, for all he knew, his time +on Pluto, objectively, had already totalled forty-eight hours. If it +did, he would never live to get off Pluto. Once his thirty days were up, +he would die. Still, there might be danger from other animals between +the scout-ship and _Mozart's Lady_, and he couldn't let the girl go back +alone. It was almost ludicrous, since she had to help him to his feet. + +He staggered along with her, knowing he would never make it to _Mozart's +Lady_ and back in time. But if he left her, she was probably doomed too. +He'd sacrifice his life for hers.... + +They went a hundred yards, Mayhem gripping the blaster and advancing by +sheer effort of will. Then he smiled, and began to laugh. Jane thought +he was hysterical with pain. But he said: "We're a pair of bright ones. +The scout-ship." + +Inside, it was very small. They had to lie very close to each other, but +they made it. They reached _Mozart's Lady_. + +Mayhem didn't wait to say good-bye. With what strength remained to him, +he almost flung the girl from the scout-ship. The pain in his shoulder +was very bad, but that wasn't what worried him. What worried him was the +roaring in his ears, the vertigo, the mental confusion as his _elan_ +drifted, its thirty days up, toward death. + +He saw the girl enter _Mozart's Lady_. He blasted off, and when the +space-bound coffin pierced Pluto's heavyside layer, he called the Hub. + +The voice answered him as if it were mere miles away, and not halfway +across a galaxy: "Good Lord, man. You had us worried! You have about ten +seconds. Ten seconds more and you would have been dead." + +Mayhem was too tired to care. Then he felt a wrenching pain, and all at +once his _elan_ floated, serene, peaceful, in limbo. He had been plucked +from the dying body barely in time, to fight mankind's lone battle +against the stars again, wherever he was needed ... out beyond Pluto. + +Forever? It wasn't impossible. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of World Beyond Pluto, by C. H. 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