Part 2

He drew Jennifer inside, closed and locked the door.

"Look through the desk," he commanded. He went to the closed door, opened it, revealing a closet.

"Look," he said. "What's this?"

Jennifer glanced up from the desk. Norman had pulled out a single piece garment with shoes, gloves and helmet attached like a diver's suit. It was made of a very sheer translucent material resembling oiled silk. A zipper-like fastener ran up the back. The suit was pale green, even the eye pieces being the same color.

Jennifer shook her head. "I never saw anything like it before. It isn't heavy enough for a space suit. What do you suppose it could be?"

Norman shrugged, put it back on the rack. He went through the pockets of the remaining clothes, found exactly nothing. From the closet, he turned to the built-in dresser. Again his search was fruitless.

"Have you found anything, Jennifer?"

The girl shook her head. "Not a thing. Except papers from the Venusian Export Lines. He seems to be an accredited agent of theirs after all."

"Let's get out of here," said Norman uneasily.

Jennifer clutched his arm. "Listen!"

He heard the grate of a key in the lock. He and the girl looked at each other in consternation.

"Quick," said Norman, struck by an inspiration. He embraced Jennifer clumsily. "Put your arms around me! Hurry! Now kiss me!"

Bewildered but obedient, she held up her lips. Norman kissed her. He held it until a discreet cough behind them caused them to spring apart guiltily.

Mr. Vermeer was regarding them from the open door, his black eyes sardonic. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but you've got the wrong cabin."

"I know it," said Jennifer in confusion. "My stateroom's next door. Silly mistake, isn't it?"

"Sorry, Vermeer," apologized Norman hastily. "Come on, Jennifer." He led the girl into the corridor. Vermeer closed and locked the door after them.

Jennifer unlocked her cabin, said, "Come in."

Norman limply followed her inside, collapsed on a chair.

"You were wonderful," she cried. "I never would have thought of that. It explained everything, even our confusion."

He began to feel rather proud of himself. He glanced about the girl's room. It was similar to Vermeer's except that it was not so tidy. Gauzy white undergarments of finest spun microweb lay on the chairs. He recognized a tiny vial of Venusian perfume on the dresser surrounded by a litter of brushes, mirrors, combs. There was a picture of a tall elderly man in a uniform.

"That's papa," exclaimed Jennifer.

"I wish I knew what that suit was used for," said Norman thoughtfully. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"You know," said the girl seating herself on the edge of the bed, "you're not like most Earth men. You're not stodgy and patronizing. You're cute."

He felt ridiculously pleased. He was convinced that he'd never met a more intelligent, a more charming, a more beautiful girl than Jennifer Scott. He said, "I've had to revise all my opinions of Outlanders since I met you."

Jennifer laughed, jumped to her feet. Stooping over, she kissed him lightly. "That's for a very pretty compliment. Now let's get back to the dance before I lose all my maidenly modesty."

IV

Beyond the orbit of Mars a tension gripped the passengers of the _Jupiter_. The killer of the T.I.S. agent remained at large, and the passengers were beginning to regard each other suspiciously. They were now in the zone where the terror operated. The battle ship had edged in closer. Constant radio contact was maintained between the two vessels.

Norman Saint Clair and Jennifer were on the observation deck in the forepeak. The quartzite dome arched flatly overhead. The chill immensity of space crowded all around them, black infinity pricked with a million blazing suns. It was Norman's first visit to the observation deck. Jennifer had brought him up.

"There's Jupiter," she exclaimed pointing to a large bright star dead ahead. Norman gazed at it, fascinated.

The lookout, a lean spaceman, stirred restlessly, then stiffened. Norman followed his gaze, saw three brief pin pricks of light stab out of the void.

"Look!" He clutched Jennifer's shoulder, but she had seen the flashes already.

The lookout grabbed the phone, said, "Observation deck reporting, sir. Three flashes two points on the port bow. Yes sir. Two points on the port bow." He hung up the phone.

Norman and Jennifer exchanged glances.

Jennifer said, "The _Comet_ reported three flashes before she disappeared. It must be a signal?"

Overhead the general alarm rang furiously. A file of Armed Guards poured onto the observation deck, took up their posts. Norman pointed to the battle ship. Its guns were run out like bared fangs.

"_Attention!_" blared a voice over the public address system. "_All passengers return immediately to their staterooms. Attention! All passengers return immediately to their staterooms._"

"Come on," urged Norman. "We'd better go below."

"Do you mind if I stay with you?" asked Jennifer.

"Of course not. I wouldn't leave you alone, anyway."

They descended the companionway to their deck, entered Norman's stateroom. Through his port he could still observe the warship pacing them noiselessly.

He padded back and forth across the fiberon carpet. "I wish I had a dart gun, anything. I feel so helpless." He went to the door, opened it a crack, peered out. "Jupiter!" he breathed.

"What is it?" cried Jennifer, starting up from her chair.

"Not so loud," he cautioned. "Come here."

The girl sprang lithely across the deck. On tiptoe, her body pressed against his, she stared over his shoulder through the inch wide crack.

A strange figure stood back to them at the turn in the corridor, a man clad in loose green coveralls with helmet, gloves and boots attached so that no part of his figure was exposed.

"Vermeer!" breathed Jennifer. "He's put on the suit we saw in his closet."

Vermeer remained motionless, half crouched at the end of the hall as if waiting for some signal. A poisoned dart gun was buckled around his waist.

Norman eased the door shut, not allowing it to click, faced Jennifer.

"What is it?" she asked breathlessly.

"I don't know. But I think we should have reported that suit to the Captain."

Jennifer sank to the edge of the bed. He looked at her, thought again, how striking was the contrast between blue eyes and black hair. He felt dizzy, said, "Jennifer, do you notice anything?"

"I feel faint!" she gasped.

A numbing sensation spread through his limbs. The room tilted crazily, darkened. He cried, "Jennifer!" and fell forward limply on his face. He wondered vaguely, just before consciousness left him, if he were being disintegrated. Then the blackness of infinite space engulfed him.

* * * * *

When Norman Saint Clair returned to consciousness, he was still lying face down on the green fiberon carpet. He groped to his feet, swayed groggily. He glanced at the bed. Jennifer was gone.

Shaking his head to clear it of the cobwebs, he staggered to the door. It was locked. He was a prisoner in his own room.

Still something was missing, something intangible. Then he heard the silence. It screamed at him. The soft overtones of the motors were dead. The engines had been stopped.

He sprang to his port hole, glanced out. The bulk of the battle ship floated a little above the wounded _Jupiter_. His eyes opened wide in consternation. Half of the warship appeared to have been sheared off as if by a giant cleaver. Even as he watched she was slowly disintegrating.

Then he made out dozens of figures swarming over the hull like ants. They were men in space suits, he realized, and they were spraying the battle spacer with a film which no sooner solidified than it became invisible, hiding ship and all. A light absorbent matter, he guessed.

The warship was not disintegrating. She was being coated with a film which absorbed all the light rays and so rendered it invisible. That was the answer to the strange disappearance of the _Comet_ and her escort. He looked closer, realized that the invisible stern of the warship was blocking out a patch of stars.

Above the battleship he saw a port open in space and from nowhere a two man tender was launched into the void. It was uncanny. Then he realized he was looking at the ship of the terror, invisible of course. That was how they had approached their prey without being detected. It was one chance in a million that anyone would notice the momentary blotting out of a star.

"Pirates," he thought. The word was archaic. It had almost disappeared from the vocabulary. He shuddered. They must have approached unseen, bathed the two ships in a ray which knocked everyone unconscious. The vaunted warship, the pride of the Empire, had been taken without firing a shot.

* * * * *

Vermeer, he thought. Of course, they would need a man aboard to shut down the engines, bring the _Jupiter_ to a stop so they could board her. Vermeer's odd suit must have protected him from the effects of the paralysis ray.

He crossed to his bunk, sat down. He felt strangely indifferent to his own fate, but Jennifer! He clenched his hands until the nails bit into his palms. What were the beasts doing with Jennifer?

Abruptly the door opened. Norman sprang to his feet, saw a strange figure blocking the entrance.

It was a man dressed from head to foot in black. Black trousers were tucked into black boots. Blouse and helmet, all a somber black. His eyes though, were blue, his face clean shaven. He had a dart gun in his hand.

"Come along." He motioned with the dart gun. "You're wanted above." He stepped back, indicated that Norman should precede him.

They went silently along the corridor, the pirate collecting more men from the staterooms on either side. By the time they reached the companionway he was herding ahead of him quite a number of frightened prisoners.

"What are they going to do with us?" asked a fat man beside Norman.

They had reached the companionway.

"Up!" said their guard.

They mounted the stair, came out into the dining saloon.

A scene of wildest disorder burst upon Norman's shocked gaze. A throng of black clad pirates moved among the passengers who had been routed from all parts of the ship. The missing women, he saw, were huddled in a frightened group at the opposite end of the hall. They had been brought to the saloon in whatever state of undress the ray had caught them; in evening dress, scant undergarments, in gowns and shorts, and one frightened girl, clutching a large bath towel about herself.

Norman was pushed into the group of men. His eyes, though, kept searching for Jennifer. With a sigh of relief, he discovered her at the same time she found him. She waved rather forlornly, and Norman almost dislocated his shoulder waving back.

The fat man said, "Pirates! The effrontery of those rogues. When the Terrestial Navy locates their lair, they'll blast them to atoms."

Norman recognized Dr. Pequod at his elbow. The doctor was clad nattily in the hair on his chest and a flaming pair of shorts.

"It's not so simple as that," the doctor answered the fat man. "You fail to realize the size of the Universe. Nine tenths of it remains unexplored, unmapped. And how will the Terrestial Navy trail an invisible enemy?"

The fat man blew himself up, said, "The resources of the Empire are unlimited."

"Sounds good," agreed the doctor; "but the Empire these days is living on its reputation."

A crowd of the frightened passengers were gathered about the two men.

"And I've a notion," the doctor went on, "that this is more than piracy. The Empire is crumbling. Some faction may be nibbling at its edges, growing strong from its life blood, the trading lines. Has it occurred to you that with every ship lost, the pirates are that much stronger and we that much weaker!"

"Nonsense," retorted the fat man, but his tone had lost conviction.

"Break it up," commanded one of their guards. "Silence!"

* * * * *

The main entrance to the saloon had swung open, admitting the strangest creature that Norman had yet seen. It appeared human, but obviously it was not from any known planet. Short and squat, with yellow wrinkled skin, it looked more like a rutabaga than a man. The pirates snapped to attention.

"Jupiter," breathed Norman. "Is it a man?"

Dr. Pequod scratched the shag on his chest. "Odd specimen. Wonder what corner of the Universe it hails from?"

The creature regarded the prisoners without any expression whatever on its parchment-like face. It was clothed in a harness which gave no clue to its sex. With a scrawny hand it beckoned the renegade Earthman who had been directing the operations, said something in a voice too low for anyone to overhear.

The Earthman nodded, turned to the captives. "Every able bodied man between the ages of nineteen and forty, step out," he shouted. As no one moved, he frowned, said, "In any case your books will be examined and your correct age determined. Get a move on!"

Norman accompanied by perhaps thirty percent of the male passengers advanced into the center of the room.

"That's far enough," advised the creature in a high reedy voice.

They halted uncertainly.

"Gentlemen," said the leader, for such the creature seemed to be; "I am here to offer you a choice of two courses. We are coming into possession of more vessels than we have recruits to man. Consequently, it is our custom to offer all able bodied humans between the ages of nineteen and forty the opportunity to join us. As a further inducement, the new recruits will share equally in the proceeds of this venture with the regular crew." He paused. Not a flicker of expression had marred the creature's face.

Norman Saint Clair's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A forlorn hope presented itself, if only he had the courage to grasp it.

"Now, gentlemen," the turnip shaped leader continued; "it would only be fair to give you the opposite side of the coin. You are bound to us for life; not by anything so puerile as an oath. In fact you are at liberty to escape any time," he paused, "if you can.

"You will be given good quarters and food. Money for any pleasure or vices you wish to indulge will come as your share of the prizes taken. The alternative, gentlemen, which I mentioned at first, is slavery. We also need men and women to work our factories, maintain our living quarters. The fighting men do not work."

With a faint bow the creature turned on his heel, disappeared as suddenly as he had come.

A low buzz sprang up in the hall as everyone turned to his neighbors, questions tumbling from their lips. The pirates dropped their stiff pose, returned to their duties. The men grouped in the center of the floor shifted uneasily.

Norman bit his lip, frowned. He might be able to protect Jennifer as one of the pirates and eventually escape. He wished he could talk it over with her.

"All right," said the burly renegade. "How many of you are volunteering? Step forward."

Norman Saint Clair stepped out of the group. He did it like a man plunges off a high dive, quickly before his nerve departed. Nine of his fellow passengers straggled beside him.

"Is that all, gentlemen?" inquired the pirate. "This is your last chance. Either piracy or slavery. And let me warn you, slaves don't live an easy life."

Twenty-three more men straggled uncertainly around Norman.

"All right," said the pirate. "The rest of you can return to your fellows. Baldy! Hey, Baldy!"

A second Earth man strolled across the deck. He was short, older than most of the freebooters.

"Take these men aboard the _Rocket_," the first renegade directed. "You know what to do with them."

Baldy grinned, saluted. "Come along, you buccaneers," he commanded.

Norman caught Jennifer's eyes. She was staring at him in astonishment. He waved, trying to convey reassurance across the space that separated them. Slowly a flush burned up from the girl's throat. With a look of scorn, Jennifer deliberately turned her back.

* * * * *

Norman gaped after her in consternation. He had expected her to realize that he was joining the pirates in order to help her. He certainly had no ambition to go gallivanting through space capturing space ships.

"Hey you," said Baldy, "move along there."

Norman jumped, trailed after the new recruits. He would help the girl in spite of herself. He visualized himself standing off a dozen black clad figures while Jennifer boarded a small space craft. Then he tumbled in beside her, wrenched the controls wide open: "You're wounded," Jennifer cried. "Norman, I didn't understand. Can you forgive me?"

"Hey," growled the man in front. "For God's sake, quit tramping on my heels."

They had arrived at the air lock, he saw with a start. Baldy opened the port, revealing a small space tender. They wedged themselves inside. With the pirate at the controls the craft launched into space, speeding toward a shadow which blocked off half the heavens.

A port snapped open in space dead ahead. Norman blinked his eyes. Although he knew this was the pirate's ship coated with the light absorbent film the sight of an air lock appearing suddenly where nothing had been before was disconcerting. The tender eased into the lock, settled to the deck.

"Here we are, you volunteers," observed Baldy.

They passed from the lock through a corridor into a large square room. Half of the room was railed off. Behind the railing a man in a black uniform sat working at a desk. It reminded Norman of an employment bureau. The rest of the space was filled with benches set in evenly spaced rows.

"Sit down," said Baldy.

The recruits seated themselves nervously.

"You," said Baldy, indicating Norman. "Go up to the desk."

Norman rose, approached the middle aged pirate who sported a spade beard and dark brown eyes.

"Your book," he said.

Norman handed it over.

"Sit down," said the man. "Make yourself comfortable.

"You know, since the T.I.S. has inaugurated these books our jobs have been greatly simplified." He was making rapid notations on a form. "Lecturer on Ancient History," he read aloud. "Degrees in twentieth century literature." He looked up at Norman, smiled. "I'm an anthropologist myself. Was with an expedition to study the aborigines of Jupiter when the pirates captured our ship." He closed Norman's book, dropped it in a drawer.

"Now this is serious," he began in a different, somehow ominous tone. "What I am about to tell you is of the gravest importance. Every recruit is warned once and once only, so take heed.

"When you leave here you will be subjected to a machine which registers your personal wave length, particularly the subtle peculiarly individualistic vibrations emanating from your brain. Those vibrations will be impressed on an indestructible duraloid cylinder and sent to the control station in Behrl. The Dohlmites have devised a machine which can broadcast your death at any time, no matter where you may be. It operates through the wave length of your individual vibration."

"Dohlmites?" echoed Norman.

"Yes, Dohlmites. You saw one aboard your ship. The man who recruited you. They are a race so alien to mankind that we have nothing in common. The Dohlmites are the real masters here. All of us, fighting men and slaves, have had our vibrations recorded and are subject to instant death at the first sign of treachery.

"The Dohlmites can snuff your life out by simply turning a dial. Don't think I exaggerate. I have seen healthy men drop dead on the streets of Behrl. I have seen the lives of an entire rebellious crew extinguished like candles."

"But who are these Dohlmites. What are they?" Norman's brain was whirling.

"I think," replied the ex-anthropologist, "that they are plants."

"Plants!" ejaculated Norman Saint Clair.

"Yes, plants. Flora, not fauna. Their young are green in color. As they mature, ripen, I suppose is the correct word, they turn yellow. When they cut themselves, they bleed green. Sap, don't you know."

"This Behrl, where is it?" asked Norman.

"In Neptune. The planet is hollow. Just a shell. The city of Behrl is on the inside of Neptune." The ex-anthropologist sat back. "Whatever you do, don't try to escape. Even if you get away, when the Dohlmites missed you they would simply extinguish you wherever you were."

Norman's breath went out of him like air from a burst sack. The full implication of what the ex-anthropologist had revealed broke in his mind like an exploding shell. Gone were his hopes of escaping, and taking Jennifer with him. He was trapped. The net of the Dohlmites was perfect and he and the girl were caught in its meshes. Certainly, he thought bitterly, no human intelligence could have conceived such a devilish plan.

* * * * *

From the desk of the ex-anthropologist Norman was led into a small closet where the rays of the fatal machine bathed him from head to foot. Beyond the partition something click-clicked at irregular intervals like a beetle and an ominous scratching recorded his vibratory rate indelibly on the duraloid cylinder.

The machine stopped. The door of the closet opened.

Norman discovered a thick shouldered Martian grinning at him from the entrance.

"That's enough," said the Martian in the sibilant accent of the red planet. "You've been detailed to my squad."

As Norman slipped from the closet another recruit took his place. He noticed a low humming.

"The engines?" he asked.

"Yes," agreed the Martian. "We're off. Your ships have been coated with the light blanket."

"Where are they?"

"They're following us. We've put prize crews aboard. It was a rich haul. Radium." He rubbed his hands together, laughed as if in anticipation of the orgy he would be able to indulge in with his share.

Norman winced. The Martians as a rule were a cosmopolitan and cultured people.

"Don't judge too harshly," said the Martian as if reading the young man's thoughts. "You'll look forward to the brief time between voyages, too. But I'm forgetting. My name's Koal. I was a space pilot before I was captured."

Norman introduced himself.

The Martian grinned, shook hands. "Come along, Earth man, and get your issue. Then I'll show you your quarters."

At length they came to a chamber deep within the bowels of the ship. A counter ran along the back wall. A wizened yellow eyed Mercurian took Norman's measure, piled four changes of the somber uniform on the counter. With quick cat-like movements he added a helmet and boots, slug gun and Dixon Ray rifle. Wide-eyed, Norman watched the pile grow. It was a very complete outfit by the time the Mercurian paused.

Staggering under the load Norman and Koal ascended to the sleeping quarters, paused before a stateroom.

"This is your cabin," said Koal unlocking the door. "Slaves keep it cleaned." They went inside. "If you let me know the number of your stateroom aboard the _Jupiter_, I'll see that you get your personal belongings when we arrive in Behrl."

The cabin, Norman observed, was similar to the one he had left. He set about stowing away his gear.

"You have a great deal to learn," said Koal and sat down on the edge of the bunk. "The Dohlmites regard us as dangerous animals. But as long as we obey orders we are left alone."

"What happens to the prisoners?" Norman asked suddenly.

"They're sold from the block in the slave market."

"You mean anyone can buy a slave?"

"Certainly. An agent of the Dohlmites bids a flat hundred notes for each captive. If any of them strike your fancy you only need bid above the hundred notes. Of course when a pretty wench is auctioned off the bidding among the men gets rather wild."

"Jupiter!" breathed Norman pausing in the act of pulling on his blouse. "Was that right, what the Dohlmite said about the recruits sharing equally with the crew in the loot."