Chapter 7

“Zzap. Zzap,” he heard again, more distant this time. He came to the end of the aisle and had to slow to keep from slamming into the wall in front of him. He reached out his left hand and grabbed the corner of a crate to help him execute the turn. As he made the quick right angle twist at the end of the row of crates, he glanced behind him with his peripheral vision. Joe was close behind him and several yards farther away were two of the miners. Even as he looked, he saw the airbot fly over the crates into the aisle he had just cleared, missing the ceiling by less than a foot. With the hated “zzap” sound, it fired one beam toward the miner at the rear of the headlong retreat, and the man went limp and collapsed. His momentum carried him forward several feet before he stopped moving.

Zip saw it all in a split-second as his inertia carried him out of view. He looked forward again and sped down the aisle; after passing a few rows he turned again to the left. Far ahead of him he saw the elevator door with the bulging rupture through which the airbot had burst into the warehouse. Suddenly the airbot flew over the stack of crates to Zip’s left and appeared about fifteen yards in front of him. A feeling of panicky horror surged through Zip as he saw the airbot re-orient itself in his direction.

All at once every point of light on the airbot went out and it hung motionless in the air. Then it sped back to the elevator door as if jerked by a cable. It smashed through the hole it had made and flew into the shaft. Instantly there was a dull “whump,” more felt in one’s tissues than heard aloud. A bright light came through the opening like a spotlight, then faded.

“What happened to the airbot?” Joe’s amazed voice behind him asked the question that was in Zip’s mind.

“Let’s go,” said Zip. “Let’s find out who’s down and carry them away.” Both the Starmen were breathing hard, but quickly returned to normal as they paced the aisles. In moments they had assembled those whom the airbot had not found. Only four men had been disabled by the airbot’s beams.

“Take us out of here, George,” ordered Zip. His voice was quiet but carried the authority of leadership that people welcome when there is a crisis. Using the fireman’s carry, eight men easily transported the four who were unconscious.

George St. George turned without a word and led the way. Everyone followed. St. George came to the end of the walkway and turned to the left around the last row of storage units. On his right was a bank of elevator doors, some large and some small. He came to the first one and with his hand shaking pressed some numbers into a control panel. Nothing happened.

He looked up to Zip with a countenance marked with anguish and pleaded, “I can’t do it. My fingers won’t work. Mr. Foster, you press the numbers, please.” Zip stepped up to the panel. As the asteroid miner called out the directions, Zip pressed the buttons.

“Top center. Right center. Top right. Top right again. Bottom left. Center. Sorry, I’m a little shaken up.”

“That’s okay, George. I think we’ll be fine now.” The elevator door opened and all the men stepped into the conveyance. The door closed. George reached out and pressed one button. The elevator began to move--not down or up as the men expected, but _away_ from the chamber where they had fought the airbot.

“What’s wrong with these men?” asked one of the miners. “They’re completely unconscious and their arms and legs are swinging around like they’re puppets or something.”

“They’re just out temporarily, not hurt,” answered Joe. “Airbots disrupt certain neural connections to bring on sleep and complete relaxation of all muscle functions. I’m not sure how high the airbot’s beam was set, but I’d guess pretty high. They’ll probably sleep for several hours but they’ll be fine when they wake up.”

“What did you do to that machine that was chasing us?” asked another of St. George’s companions.

“I didn’t do anything to it. I don’t know what happened to it,” answered Zip. “I suppose it malfunctioned. Lucky for us.” Joe and Mark both glanced sidelong at Zip, then looked away. The Starmen knew that whatever had happened to the airbot, a malfunction was not one of the possibilities.

Another of the miners spoke up. “I’ve never been on an elevator that moved horizontally before. Where are we going, George? This transit is taking longer than just moving between floors.”

“The elevators inside this rock can move in just about any direction except slantindicular. If I remembered accurately, this one’ll take us to a control and information center of some kind. I don’t know where it is in relation to where we started, but we should be safe there and if I don’t forget where we come out, I can always get us back to the warehouse if we want to return.”

The elevator came to a stop and the door opened onto darkness. As before, the elevator light illumined a small space, in which the men could see a few counters. When the first passenger debarked, soft lights went on. The illumination revealed a room of about 2,000 square feet, filled with viewscreens, computer stations, cabinets and shelves, tables and chairs, and a few sofas. At least a dozen doors led from the room. The four unconscious men were laid carefully down onto the sofas.

“What is this place?” Zip asked St. George.

“Haven’t any idea, Starman. I don’t mind pushing buttons at random when it comes to elevators, but you won’t find me playing with any machine I don’t understand. I don’t want to find the ejection seat or rocket launchers by accident.”

“What do you think, Mark, Joe? Let’s look around here.” The Starmen began to examine the keyboards and control systems spread throughout the room. There were symbols written beside most of the controls, but none of the writing was recognizable.

“Alien writing,” observed Mark. “I’d sure like to know what it says.”

Joe was at the next console, thoughtfully pressing buttons, but there was no response.

“We need to find food and water,” said one of the others.

“Right,” said Zip. “Everyone check through the shelves and cabinets. Open the doors, too, and look through, but don’t go anywhere.” Zip didn’t speak aloud what was on his mind. The workings of the asteroid, no matter how technologically advanced, had been abandoned for probably thousands of years. There could be no water or food anywhere except where the pirates were. The Starmen and miners may have escaped captivity, but their freedom would do them no good until they found food, water, and a spaceship. Success in finding even one of those items without being recaptured was highly unlikely. And even if they could board a ship, escape from the asteroid was just about impossible. He wondered how long it would take before someone else realized these things and voiced them.

“There’s nothing, Mr. Foster,” said one of the men after everyone had searched thoroughly.

“Mm hmm,” Zip nodded. “Well, let’s sleep and start again in the morning. Maybe some of us can go back to the warehouse and open up a few of those crates. There may be food and water in some of them. Others can investigate some of the passages that lead away from here.”

The men arranged themselves around the room and lay down. “I think I found the light switch, anyway,” said Joe and pressed a button next to one of the doorways. The room became dark.

* * * * *

“I assure you, Mr. Zimbardo, there was nothing wrong with the airbot,” asserted a large man, standing before the pirate leader with a half dozen of his partners. “I don’t know what threw it back into the elevator shaft and I don’t know what made it explode--but there was nothing wrong with it. The prisoners must have done something to it.”

“These prisoners are more than asteroid miners! None of St. George’s men has the capability of knocking out two armed men the way those two were knocked out. None of them has the know-how to disable a airbot!” Zimbardo turned to his chief control officer. “Gene! Get me Lather right away. Tell him to bring up all information he has on the prisoners he brought in from Z25. Tell him to bring especially the video-record of the prisoners.” He turned back to the others. “You’re dismissed!”

Soon Lather appeared with a handful of records.

“Let’s see the video-record first,” said Zimbardo, and pushed his computer a little closer to his lieutenant. The man inserted the disk. In seconds, a view of the prisoners appeared on the screen, each one shuffling by as they entered the _Silver Cloud_.

When all the prisoners had passed by, Zimbardo turned his head down in disgust. Lather opened a file and brought out another disk. “I’ve got--” he began.

“You _fool_!!” spat out Zimbardo through gritted teeth. “I don’t need to see any more! I know who we’ve got now! How could you miss seeing that the three Starmen who completely destroyed our plans on Mars were your passengers for three days! _How could you miss it??_” He was shouting now. “_They’ve been on the news for two weeks! How--_” Zimbardo paused and tried hard to get control of himself. “They were our _prisoners_! --and now they’ve escaped! They’re loose inside this asteroid, and we don’t know where!”

“But sir,” inserted Lather when Zimbardo paused to take a breath and clutch the air. “There aren’t many places they can hide. There’s not much to the inside of the complex--only five floors.”

Zimbardo turned to the ship captain. With words that smoldered, he said, “The complex of this asteroid is far larger than you think! I have barely begun to explore, and St. George knows more than I do!”

Back in control now, Zimbardo punched his desk communicator. “Gene! Get a search party together and have them scour every part of the asteroid they can find.” He filled in the details about the Starmen. But he knew that neither the miners nor the Starmen would be found. With George St. George leading them, they could be anywhere--anywhere but where his men would be able to search.

* * * * *

Mark came out of a deep sleep into a light doze. He knew he was sleeping, but he was also mindful of his surroundings. It gradually washed through him that he was hearing voices. Two voices were conversing in very low tones, far away. He had a feeling that the air was thick and the sound had to struggle to get to him. He became aware of his eyelids, and they fluttered. Fully conscious but deeply relaxed now, he slowly opened his eyes. He saw only darkness, but it was not absolute.

He turned his head slowly to the left. Through an open door, about twenty feet away along a corridor were two tall, vaguely humanoid beings wrapped in shadows. Mark’s heart leaped and began to race, but outwardly he showed no trace that he was alert. His eyes narrowed in an attempt to see more clearly. He knew instinctively that the creatures were alien. They walked in utter silence and stepped into the room. Mark lay frozen. They looked around for a few seconds, then went back into the corridor to the place where he had first seen them. They manifested no ill intent toward the sleepers.

The figures began conversing in low voices. Mark sensed a deep sadness in their tone. He strained to hear what they were saying, what their words sounded like.

Suddenly he heard something that sounded familiar. “A coincidence,” he thought to himself. They couldn’t have said “Zimbardo.” After several more exchanges, one of the figures pressed a series of buttons on the wall, next to a blank screen. It came alive with a dull silver glow. Bright green lines appeared in the configuration of a map or blueprint. Mark strove to see as well as to hear. Slender fingers pointed to one part of the screen or another as the conversation continued.

Then he heard it again, this time clearly. “Zimbardo.” Mark lifted his head a little and turned so he could observe the screen better. “A plan of the surface control center,” he thought. He recognized the floor plan by its telltale great doors through which the prisoners had been marched.

The scene changed as one of the figures pressed a button. A series of diagrams appeared, diagrams that indistinctly suggested a power plant to Mark. One of the tall figures began talking animatedly, pointing to various locations and repeating the word “Zimbardo” frequently.

Suddenly Mark understood what was going on: the aliens were talking about shutting down the power plant! Mark strained to get a closer look at the diagram they were examining. “The aliens!” His mind raced. “They must be the builders of this base! Shutting down the power plant--why, they must want to stop Zimbardo! They’re on our side!”

Then the other figure spoke up. He seemed to agree with the animated one, but his voice had a sorrowful tone to it. He pressed a few buttons on the screen and a picture of a warship appeared. As the alien pointed to the ship and talked, all the life seemed to drain out of his companion and he began looking hopeless and despondent. He turned the screen off.

Mark didn’t understand--what was that ship? Why did it bring such hopelessness?

As the panel went dark, Mark realized with a crushed heart that, for some reason, the aliens were not going to deactivate the power plant after all. He buried his face in his hands. Something was stopping them, something having to do with the spaceship that had appeared on the screen last.

Mark looked up and saw that the figures had vanished!

10: Both Sides Move

THE GREAT AIRLOCK on the pirates’ asteroid opened. From the depths of the abyss five ships came forth. Emerging from the stone tunnel, they moved into formation and then headed for the Asteroid Belt. Lurton Zimbardo’s lieutenant Crass held the authority over the small fleet. Each ship was sheathed with the radar bender, making it invisible to the normal means of detection used by Starlight Enterprise, Space Command, and other Earth-based entities.

As the ships came into the Belt, Crass gave the command to the other four pilots. “The target asteroid has been located. Proceed with the destruction of the sats.” The sats were small, unmanned electronic satellite observers, distributed throughout the Asteroid Belt to aid in research and navigation. They monitored movement in the Belt and provided constantly updated information on the location, speed, and direction of major asteroids.

The four ships moved into pre-determined areas in the quadrants around a small, heavy, black, iron asteroid that was speeding smoothly along on its course.

Crass stood on the deck of his ship and gazed out at the small asteroid. He spoke as if to himself. “There it is, the first of five surprise packages for our beloved Mars.” The pirate leader waited patiently for the pilots of the four companion ships to report back. He expected that their assignment would take about 45 minutes--maybe as long as an hour. The first report came in 42 minutes later.

“Mr. Crass, this is Slant. We located three sats in quadrant two and destroyed them all.” The other reports came in only moments later. A total of fourteen sats had been located within 600 miles of the asteroid where Crass was waiting, and all had been destroyed. Crass opened the intercom on his own ship.

“We’re clear. Go to it.”

Over a dozen space-suited men spilled out of the airlock. They had been waiting for the order from Crass. Each carried a large crate, nearly weightless in the Asteroid Belt. They maneuvered easily through space and floated gently to the surface of the asteroid--a dark 100-yard wide clump of dirty rock. Immediately the men began to distribute the crates evenly over the surface of the rock.

The grim, forbidding, pocked asteroid became the site of frenzied work. The crewmen removed sheet after sheet of dark metal from the crates and fastened them to the floating chunk of iron. Tiny flames showed where the irregular metal of the asteroid was being shaped to fit the plates the pirates were anchoring to its surface.

In one hemisphere three other men were attaching power and propulsion units. They sank holes several feet deep and inserted tubes, fuel tanks, and a control mechanism. At one place near the asteroid’s equator a technician was installing a communications unit.

The four companion ships had returned and remained on guard less than a quarter mile from the asteroid. In less than two hours the work on the asteroid was completed and the crewmen reentered their ship.

“Take us home,” ordered Crass. The five ships left the Belt and began the quick journey back to their port. Crass smiled most of the way back.

* * * * *

On Mars in the communications tower of Eagle City, technician Mel Golden was puzzled. Some of his data had just dried up. Mel was responsible for monitoring the sats in a large segment of the Asteroid Belt, and a section over a thousand miles in diameter had gone dark. He called to his superior.

“Will, I’ve got something curious here.” A slender, middle-aged man with long gray hair walked over to the console.

“What is it, Mel?”

“Look at this. You asked us to report anything out of the ordinary. Well, occasionally one sat will malfunction, but it looks as if at least a dozen have stopped reporting all at once. I haven’t plotted out the details yet, but there’s an entire section of the Belt where nothing’s happening.”

“When did it start?”

“Just a moment ago. So whatever occurred out there happened about...”--he thought for a second--“about eleven minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Mel. This could be the surprise we’ve been waiting for. I’ll report this immediately.” Will went over to the master communicator in the tower and sent a top priority message to Space Command’s headquarters on Mars, describing the situation. Space Command headquarters forwarded the information to its centers on Earth and the Moon, as well as to Oritz Konig, SE’s Head of Security in Mars Base.

Konig’s report to Richard Starlight included these words: “It looks probable that the pirates have taken some sort of action in the Belt. There are no population centers of any size within 10,000 miles of the place, and no known solitary miners. It’s a completely dead spot, and sats are spaced very thinly there. Yet fourteen sats in a sphere at least a thousand miles in diameter were put out within a ten-minute period. No natural phenomenon can explain that. Space Command has the closest ship, but it won’t get to the site for a little more than 22 hours. The nearest backup ship is more than three hours after that. SE doesn’t have a ship of any kind at all within four days of the site, so we’ll have to depend on Space Command for the first reports.”

* * * * *

“Wake up! Everybody wake up!” Starman Joe Taylor was shouting.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Voices came from several men, jerked awake by Joe’s outburst.

“Food! There’s food here!” he burst out. “And water! Someone brought us food and water! Lots of it!”

Within seconds everyone was up and crowding around Joe. Now that he had roused his companions, he was bent over a half dozen large boxes, one of which was partially open. He reached in and took out a container filled with fruit. He handed it to one of George St. George’s men, reached into the box again, and withdrew a vessel with water in it. It had a spigot on it as if it were made for traveling. The men began passing it around, drinking deeply. Joe dug in again and brought out another box. He opened it and held it up so that others could see. It contained several layers of items like large crackers.

“Where did it come from, Joe?” Zip asked.

“I don’t know, Zip! I woke up before anyone else and noticed these crates. I jumped up, looked around but didn’t see anybody. I opened the first one and saw the fruit. That’s the whole story.”

“You don’t know it’s safe! You took a chance, Joe!”

“What kind of chance, David? Where were we going to find water, much less food? We were done for without this.”

“Not too much of a chance, I think, Zip,” whispered Mark to the red-haired Starman. Zip turned his head and looked at Mark curiously. “The food’s okay. Let the men distribute it and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Okay,” Zip nodded. He turned to George. “Let the men take the crates apart and see what we’ve got here. We’ll eat and then we’ll make plans.” George took over operations while the three Starmen stepped aside.

“What do you know, Mark?” asked Zip. Mark told the other Starmen what he had seen in the middle of the night.

“Hmmm. Hard to credit it, that the original builders of this wonder are still here,” mused Zip. “Why would they let Earthmen come in and take over? I gather from what we’ve learned and what we’ve overheard that the pirates have been active here for over a dozen years, and George found this place over fifteen years ago.”

“The pirates haven’t really taken over, Zip,” said Joe. “It looks as if they haven’t gone beyond the first few levels! Something’s kept them out. Only George was able to get beyond the floor where the warehouse is. Maybe that’s why Zimbardo wanted to find him and keep him alive. George doesn’t know too much about this, this, I don’t know what to call this place, but he knows more than any human living.”

“Whatever the truth is, we have some friends,” contributed Mark. “They don’t want to be seen, but they’ll help us. I’ll bet a golden asteroid that they’re the ones who destroyed the airbot. I think we need to be ready to see what happens next.”

“You’re right, Mark,” said Zip. “We’ll have to be prepared to move.” The Starmen went back to the group. Everyone was seated on the floor or on chairs, eating a welcome and refreshing breakfast. The four men who had been rendered unconscious by the airbot had benefited from a good night’s sleep and were back to normal.

Mark reached into one of the crates and took out one of the items that looked like a large cracker. He saw that several of the miners were eating them. Zip had also taken a bite out of one and was chewing thoughtfully.

“What do you think of these crackers?” Mark asked.

“Survival food,” opined Zip. “The fruit is delicious, though.”

When everyone had finished breakfast, George St. George asked, “What should we do now, Mr. Foster?”

“I was just going to ask you the same question, George,” answered Zip. “Let’s get the men together and make some plans.” George called the miners together. Zip delivered a short speech, informing them that he, Joe, and Mark were Starmen and gave a brief summary of their assignment. With a nod, Zip asked Mark to tell what he had seen during the night. Then a number of men began to ask questions.

All at once the room dimmed. The voices stopped suddenly. After a few seconds, one of the corridors lit up with a soft, pleasant light. “That’s the way we go, I think,” said Zip. “Pack up the food.” The contents of the remaining cartons were distributed among the men and Zip led the way. He felt more hopeful than he had since the Starmen had landed on Z25.

The corridor extended for several hundred yards in a straight line. Many doors and other passages led off in different directions, each marked with one or more figures, none of which was familiar. The passageway was plain and utilitarian. After more than five minutes of walking, the men came to an intersection of passages in a large, faintly illuminated room. The lights in the corridor faded behind them. Across the room was a row of elevator doors. A row of lights lit up over one of them. Zip strode boldly across the floor to the elevator that had been indicated, and the others followed without a word. When he was within twenty feet of the door, it opened. After the men entered the compartment and laid down their burdens, the door closed.