Part 3

Rusty had seen what had happened to Fish. It would be the same with him. How could he fight a man he couldn't hurt? He went ill as his foot slid upon one of the Venusian's severed arms. The star of Earth gleamed brightly in the window and Rusty died a little death of sorrow.

The great Lothar plodded forward.

Rusty glanced wildly about, heart trembling. His shirt was growing wet. There was nothing--he almost fainted at what he saw. Beneath his feet was the weapon dropped by the Venusian.

Rusty snatched at the pistol as the Vulcanian swept upon him. He fired into the hairy chest. The mighty arm came on, knocked Rusty from his feet. Rusty fired again as he fell.

The monster's body fell across him, dead.

* * * * *

As he crawled madly from under the heavy body, Rusty saw the side viewplates filled with a gleaming hull. And printed on the sleek metal was a familiar insignia. It was a space-plane alongside--the Stellar Patrol. Hope leaped like a flame. His long journey was ended.

As he got to his feet, a voice thundered in the room. "Coming aboard for inspection!" The sound came through the walls by radio. "Open space-lock or we blast!"

Rusty ran to the adjoining room, swung the lever opening the outside trap.

It was barely opened when three men in space outfits entered. They slammed the trap behind them, doffed their helmets, entered the ship. Rusty could have embraced them. Earthmen, shaven and clean....

The men came in, guns drawn. "Keep your hands in the air!" cautioned one with a captain's stripe. He searched Rusty, pistol against his chest. The others went forward.

"Wait!" cried Rusty. "You don't understand...." His words died away. A stolen ship--four escaped Plutonian prisoners, three dead. How could they understand?

"What a mess," said one, glancing into the other compartment. "Looks like this fellow saved us trouble--killed off his chums before we came!"

How should he begin? How could he explain the stolen ship? They would never believe his story. And nine men had been killed in the ship's theft. He had done his part in their death.

They searched the ship thoroughly, Rusty closely guarded by the officer.

"I am Rusty Carter! I--"

"Shut up. We don't care who you are."

The patrolmen returned.

"No one else aboard," one reported. "Three bodies, two rayed by the same gun. A Venusian pulled apart--he must have been pretty annoyed with him!"

Rusty was pushed into a chair.

"Okay," said the captain. "Talk! We know you got this boat from the Great Moon near Pluto. We know you've been terrorizing the terrestrial traffic lanes for days. You killed nine men at the Great Moon space port. Where you come from?"

As calmly as possible, Rusty told his complete story, from the beginning of his mission in New York to his awakening presence in the ship. Hearing the story, he knew himself it was no good.

When he finished the patrolmen laughed.

"A good story anyway," said the officer, "but with its flaws. Editor Russell's dead and you can prove nothing. You lie! You could not have escaped Pluto, even in the fantastic way you said. And you might have waded the sea but no man could survive the jungle of the Great Moon. Then, of course, you and your bloody crew _have_ been preying upon the commerce lines for two days, destroyed one liner. Even the bodies in there could convict you of murder. Give up, lad. You're a goner!"

Rusty sought vainly for belief. They must believe him! He could not return to Pluto again.

Without further ceremony, he was forced into a space suit.

"You know the law concerning piracy _or_ murder in the space lanes, of course," said the Captain, adjusting his helmet. "Interplanetary law authorizes _death at apprehension_."

It could not be.

But he was carried to the patrol ship, locked in a guarded cell.

* * * * *

He sat upon the metal bunk, head heavy upon his hands. It was all over now. He had pled and sworn to no avail. His execution order had been filed. After the customary forty revs of grace, he would die. They would not even let him radio the Tele-news. Give up, his weary mind cried. At least death was better than Pluto. But he was so near home, his job completed. A priceless story would die with him. He felt fear no longer and his unreasoning rage had passed. There was only a great sadness, that he had come this far--to meet defeat. And at the hands of those whom he had sought.

The man before his cell moved away. The guard was probably changing.

Another patrolman approached, stared intently into the cage. "So you're Rusty Carter," he said. Rusty said nothing. No verbal torment could touch him. "I knew Carter once. He was a fine fellow then."

Rusty looked up. He had never seen the man before.

"Yeah," the guard continued, "Carter saved my reputation once--when I was caught in a bribery charge ten years ago, when I was on the ground force in New York."

Rusty searched his mind. He remembered a civil bribery scandal the Tele-news had uncovered many years ago. Several of the accused had been released by his activities. But the man before him struck no chord of recognition.

He was smiling. "You never knew me," he said, "but I knew you. I helped send you a medal when we were cleared, by your efforts. It's too bad you went wrong. Is there anything you want, in your last moments?"

Rusty almost burst with joy. Was there anything he wanted! "Can you get a message through to Earth?"

"If this is a trick, you won't live to see it done. I suppose I could--I know the radio operator."

"Send this. Quick! To the New York Tele-news office. Tell them what's happened. Tell them to do something!"

He waited for what seemed hours.

The man returned, sent the other guard away, shoved a printed message through the bars.

Rusty read with outward calm. His heart fell within him.

"_Carter legally convicted attempted robbery, murder. Appealed to President, no avail. Nothing we can do. He was a good Tele-news man. Sorry._"

He sank down to the bunk, the paper falling from his fingers.

Absently he heard the sound of marching feet in the corridor outside, looked up blankly, saw uniformed men before his cell.

The door opened and he was led out.

Rusty shook hands with the guard, was marched down the hall to the stern of the ship. It didn't matter now.

The older method of execution had been repealed, Rusty remembered idly. Instead of merely dropping the man out of the space lock, he was now placed in a disintegration chamber.

The lethal box stood before him, a small, compact cylinder of metal, levers upon its side.

The door was opened.

"Anything you wish to say?"

A man was speaking to him. Did he have anything to say? What could he say? But one should die with a flourish, a purple passage. Oddly none came. He merely wished the business over. He could rest then. Did he have anything to say?

"No, but you're wrong."

"Stubborn pirate. They all die innocent!"

The officer slammed the door.

Machinery whirred. It was very dark. Boy! wouldn't the public eat this story up! But in a few moments, before his mind could know it, he would be gone--body and mind--disintegrated into their component elements. He would be a wisp of gas, floating out when the door opened.

The humming stopped abruptly. It was dark and silent. It flashed to Rusty that this must be death.

Then the door opened. Would he float out? He sat there blinking in the sudden light.

"Message for you," said a voice.

Rusty stared. A hand reached in, gently helped him out. A paper was thrust into his hand.

He took it, read it again and again, but somehow his mind didn't take it in.

"You have the apologies of the Interplanetary Patrol!" someone said.

Rusty read the message again.

"Evidence brought by Mrs. S. K. Russell throws new light. Record just discovered in private papers of "Skipper" Russell. Carter granted full pardon."

Signed: THE PRESIDENT.

Someone touched his arm. "The Commander requests your company for dinner."

Then a blinding light suddenly flashed in Rusty Carter's mind. "Dinner, hell!" he yelled. "Take me to the radio. I've got a story for the New York Tele-news!"

End of Project Gutenberg's Exiles of the Three Red Moons, by Carl Selwyn