Part 2

We collided with Garok's air fleet above Dalin's city, while it was at the height of its raid. It took us exactly eighteen minutes to clean the air, leaving destroyed planes blazing on all sides. Then we went on. But we were to get a stiff shock. Garok's sky fleet had vanished elsewhere.

"Okay," Jim decided, after we had cruised the coast line, "we'd better get back to Osmand. If Garok's fled, our mission is completed."

We withheld reporting through to Shadrak. The sky was unusually black tonight. Overhead, there were no stars. We raised the flames in Osmand some fifty miles out. Jim let out an angry yell. "Garok's attacking again," he cried. "Those are new fires."

Rockets wide open we raced down toward Osmand. There were new fires. Jim circled toward the plain where our ship was located. We saw a cone of flame leap out of the thick night. Garok was bombing the space ship.

We tore at the invaders like mad swordfish. We knocked them apart, then went in for a landing. One bomb had landed within twenty feet of the ship. We got out of the patrol car, sprinted for the big ship. Jim used a torch, assured himself the craft was undamaged. And when we went inside, Garok himself was the bird who climbed into our patrol car.

Pistol bullets cut by our ears as both of us tried to rectify that damage. Garok didn't know beans about a rocket car. But a dumb, conceited punk like him could wreck it, so we ignored the soldiers who'd climbed out of Garok's plane after that noiseless glide of his and raced for the patrol car.

Garok yelled something at us and accidentally touched off the ray guns. His own plane literally went into gas, and his men went down, or turned into more gas. Then the patrol car streaked skyward, bowling us over. Twin tongues of angry flame marked his course, higher--higher, blast wide open. "The fool," Jim cried. "He'll burn the car up, if he gains any more altitude. The thin atmosphere will fix him--"

"Maybe he didn't start it on purpose, and can't do anything about it," I suggested. Jim's face was visible in the glow of the fires. "Maybe you're right," he agreed. And as if in confirmation, there was a dull red blob high above. The blob widened, sent out a shower of sparks and vanished. "And that," Jim commented, "is the last of Garok."

Evidently Garok's wild scheme to take patrol car and then perhaps our space ship, was with his last survivors, for we heard no more planes. A police car arrived. Tarquin had sent them. "The governor advises you to leave Osmand at once," was the officer's message. "Anger is growing against you two."

"Okay by me," I said. "We clean up a mess for you and get the rap. You don't believe us, so what? We'd better save our own skins."

"I'm going to make one last appeal to Tarquin," Jim announced. "It's our duty. You stay here with the ship."

"Listen you," I sounded off, "if you go back into Osmand, I go with you. But how?"

"In the police car." To the surprised officer Jim said: "If Governor Tarquin guarantees no hope to remove anyone, we'll leave. But first, I bear him a final message. Will you take us?"

"I'll take you," the officer said. "But it is foolish. We've got to take the chance, here on Spor. It's our world, the one we love. Because you destroyed Garok's men, we'll give you safe conduct."

* * * * *

They bore us through darkened side streets. By radio we heard the damage, and of thousands massed in downtown parks, listening to speakers who demanded our punishment along with the captured invaders. Tarquin was in his office and had just completed orders to give our ship full protection. His eyes were sunken. Jim went to the point at once. "Governor Tarquin, the Martian Shadrak asked us to remove you and your family, by all means. We must clear Spor by day-break. Or before noon. Couldn't you persuade others--people of Osmand you want to save, to go to the ship. If it's a mistake and Noir doesn't wipe everything out, we can return. You know that. It's not taking a chance. Please, we're offering life--to all Spor--through you and a thousand others of Osmand."

Tarquin led us to a wide window. There was light below, and we saw a triangular space packed with thousands. Loud speakers were blasting and we could see a tiny figure on a platform.

"I tell you the forces of evil envy our world of Spor and seek to destroy us," the speaker shouted. "What influenced Garok to erupt from Plevia and attempt to enslave us? I'll answer that question. The men who came out of the sky with the wild story the end of our universe is at hand. Bah. Nature sends a dark cloud of gas nearer, and we're expected to fly into a panic. Our own governor lost his sanity for that unlikely yarn.

"I tell you, citizens of Osmand, we have made a civilization of such prosperity and contentment that word has reached other planets of this solar system. They sent messengers in disguise, to throw us into panic. In the future let us arm, and repel any such future invasion as Garok gave us. Let us punish by death any who come among us and seek to undermine us by fantastic stories. Men and women of Osmand, we shall never be frightened out of Osmand, and most certainly not to desert Spor...."

"You see," Tarquin spoke presently, with sadness in his voice. "My family is down there. They consider me mad, to entertain any belief in what you say."

"But it is true," Jim cried. "It is true. They must be convinced. Spor is doomed, in hours. I tell you I am speaking the truth. And surely you will go with us. You believe us, don't you?"

"I believe you, Jim Drake. I know Shadrak, and his fellow Martians feel their responsibility. They saved us once, when they believed Earth was doomed entirely. It wasn't. And the Martians could be wrong again," he added hopefully.

An hour later we were taken by police back to our guarded ship. So many were on duty that the crowds had drifted back to Osmand. Fires were out now, and only the street lights were visible. Osmand, to all outward appearances, was peacefully going to bed. Shadrak, summoned at our call, came to the telescreen. "I was afraid," he said after Jim reported. "You have done your best. You have my permission to depart Spor immediately. The Noir is within twelve hours of Maj."

"Let's go," I cried. Maybe Tarquin and the others had some hope, but I was ready to go. Jim's next words sent cold chills down my spine. "May we stay, till sunrise sir. We should have at least four hours after the sun of Maj is blotted out, before Spor is reached. Maybe, after they see the sun eclipsed, some will come to us."

"There is a chance," Shadrak conceded. "But do not delay. If none come, be prepared to take the course already transcribed on the robot screen."

It was midnight. I noted the absence of all stars ahead of Jim. "It's spreading," I told him. All at once I felt chilled. It was like a thick, cloudy night on Earth, only more eerie. Like being in a cave. The darkness seemed to bear down on the lights of Osmand and make them dimmer. Neither of us slept. We couldn't. We worked on our course plot, inspected the entire hull and paced every deck till the hour for daylight.

* * * * *

Only, there was no daylight. The chronometers aboard the ship checked Martian time, which we still kept. And yet Osmand's lights glowed, and the rest of Spor was in the darkness of a grotto. Then the city's lights went out.

We went outside, staring, conscious of abrupt coldness. Suddenly there were sirens screaming, then bells. All at once the lights flashed back on again. "The sun--the sun of Maj," Jim exclaimed, "it's blotted out. Forever, maybe."

Panic gripped me. "Let's scram," I told him. Jim shook his head. He ran into the ship, switched on all lights. The landing lights put the entire plain in a warm glow. Jim said the people could see us. So we waited.

Lights of a fast moving car sped along the highway from Osmand. It came on, to a quick stop. We saw Tarquin, and a group of men his age. "They're coming," I told Jim. "They've changed their minds."

"Tell the others to hurry," Jim shouted, as he ran forward to meet them. "We haven't more than an hour. The Noir is racing toward Spor from the sun."

Tarquin looked like a man already at the door of the beyond. He walked to us, slowly, head lifted. Then he stopped, and we saw he wore the robes of his office. So did the others. Slowly Tarquin spoke. "We are not going with you, Jim Drake."

"Not going! But man, you know the end. It's death, in less than two hours. We're risking our own lives and we thought--"

"None of my family wishes to leave Osmand," the governor said quietly. "Therefore, I have no desire to survive, without them."

"But all of you can live, if you come with us."

"You forget our neighbors, and our kinsmen." Tarquin pointed out gravely. "I think you do not understand.

"Life, anywhere else has no attraction for the citizens of Spor. I know that now, plainly. The referendum would not have registered a thousand votes of those choosing to abandon the planet, had I sufficient time to explain, and Garok had not run amuck." Tarquin sighed. "There still is hope, that this black fog will be dissipated, as our scientists contend. If not--then it is farewell, men of our parent Earth."

"What about going to Earth," Jim cried, suddenly inspired. "That would be different. We'll take you there."

Tarquin turned and walked to the long, official car. The others followed, silent, like men sentenced and yet hopeful of reprieve. As he stood beside the door, Tarquin lifted a hand. But he spoke no more. The motor roared. Twin lights flashed on the turf....

We stood there for minutes. I heard a dry sob. Maybe it was from Jim Drake's throat. Or again, maybe it was from my own. I don't know. We stood there, till the car's rear light merged with the glow of Osmand's illumination.

Jim said, "we've got to start." As he spoke I saw a pup, a dirty, black and white pooch, tail working, trotting up. I scooped it up. Something from Spor was going to survive. Then I went to the ship.

Shadrak's voice was imperative as he called us. "Leaving," Jim shouted into the transmitter.

"Waste no time, not even seconds," Shadrak cried. "Hurry."

The pup whimpered, snuggling against my shins as we lifted the empty ship.

Because the robots had the course, I ran to the visual screen and looked down on Osmand. There were lights everywhere. A searchlight leaped after us.

Somebody tapped my shoulder. Jim Drake had joined me. "Living now," he muttered. "See the pinpoints of light out there--the other cities. In a few minutes--"

The words choked off. You see, we had no sun of Maj to fix our beams upon. We had a distance to go before we could let up on the reserve engines Shadrak had installed. We had to flee from Noir's engulfing crescent, and find another star to build up our incredible speed. Till then, we could only approximate the speed of light. "Look. Building after building is lighting up. They're going to their shops and their factories and offices. Just as if the sun were shining."

* * * * *

We were gazing intently now. There was a clicking sound that told of Shadrak on the relief screen. He was taking our relay and the scene was visible to the Martian as well. Only he didn't speak. I think, in those last moments, we almost held our breaths, Jim and I a few thousand miles away already--or maybe a few hundred thousand--time had no bearing. It seemed an awfully long time. Then a dark finger rubbed out Osmand.

One moment and we could see the moving lines of traffic, the glowing windows even. Then there just wasn't anything at all on the screen. Jim scanned for the other cities. But there was just darkness, impenetrable darkness. We did see a searchlight break through, a moving finger, raking through for a split second. Then it, too, vanished.

From the relief Shadrak spoke. His voice was strangely gentle. "Look no more, Jim Drake and Jerry Kos. Turn back to your charts. Spor is gone. You did your best. We know that. It was not your fault. Look forward. Within thirty minutes you will find the first star to give you speed."

It wasn't real, that flight from Maj, with Noir flowing beyond the sixth planet, its crescent outrider seeking new stars to black out, and leave dry, lifeless masses in a black universe. On schedule we picked up our star, and at sight of it we felt the first return of sanity. We sped back by Orion's family, and into a familiar bit of space, with Shadrak coming to the screen at intervals, and at other times sending us transcribed news events from Earth. And thus we crossed the sky, thrilled by the sight of Neptune, Saturn and his rings, and at last the disks of Mars and Earth, beneath our own sun, so free of the black menace. We made a routine landing, settling a short distance from Shadrak's place. He was there to welcome us, with other Martians. And Jim walked up to him slowly, holding the tiny, wriggling pup we had brought along. "The last survivor of Spor," he said. Martians dislike dogs, although they admire any member of the cat family. But Shadrak reached out, studied the tiny specimen from Spor. The pup licked his hand and Shadrak smiled. "Take him back to Earth," he said. "They will appreciate the animal, better than we." Shadrak tapped each of us in the Martian way of showing deep affection. "Never reproach yourselves, because you took a ship to Spor large enough to return a thousand persons, and returned with this poor animal.

"I think," he added with a sigh, "we forget too often we are instruments of a divine power none of us, Earthmen or Martians, or any other world, can ever understand. It was granted us the privilege of rescuing men and women of Atlantis and removing them to Spor. It was denied us, the chance to save them a second time."