Part 2

The smile on the Martian's leathery face faded into a dark frown. "Oh. Just like your brother, eh? All right, about this time tomorrow we'll be approaching Callisto, and what then? Maybe you'll be joining your brother. I've heard that the Venus swamp is a slow and hideous death. Some men prefer the swiftness of the Ray-chamber to it...."

Ron knew that, and involuntarily he winced. He had come out here to clear Carl, he had waited a long weary month for the opportunity, and then he had bungled it.

Tarnuff pressed his advantage.

"Since you have a peculiar aversion to breaking the Earth-made laws, I can think of only one other way out of our little stalemate. A way which I, personally, prefer. But I wonder if you would dare?"

Ron looked at Tarnuff narrowly, and didn't like the smile which had appeared again on his face; there was a mocking challenge in it. Tarnuff went on:

"I would much prefer, in your Earth idiom, to comb you out of my hair and continue unhampered to Callisto. But as matters stand"--he glanced shrewdly at Ron's hand, which hovered near the weapons in his belt--"you have control of this ship at the present moment. On the other hand you need my signature on this statement to clear your brother of his sentence. True, the statement implicates me to the fullest extent of the law...."

He paused, the smile on his face widened imperceptibly, and Ron nodded impatient agreement.

"Nevertheless," Tarnuff went on, "I will sign this damnatory statement."

Ron stepped forward eagerly. "You will? Good. Now you're talking."

"On one condition."

"No conditions!"

"I will sign this paper," the Martian went on, "and I will keep it in my possession. My conditions are that if I give you a chance at it, you'll give me an equal chance to take over this ship again. In other words--one of us takes everything."

Ron frowned. "What are you driving at?"

"Exactly this. I intend that if this ship reaches Callisto, I'll be the only man alive on it. On the other hand it may reach Earth; if it does, _you'll_ be the only man alive on it, and you'll have my signed statement clearing both yourself and your brother."

Ron was listening. "Go on," he said.

Tarnuff indicated the pistols in Ron's belt. "Two identical atom pistols there. The Martian _V'Nith_--you have heard of it?"

* * * * *

Ron was suddenly tense, standing there; his brain was spinning with the idea. Yes, he had heard of it--the cunning dueling game which men like Tarnuff sometimes engaged in, mostly on the dark asteroids; the duel which called for the most infinite precision and cunning; in which the first mistake usually meant death.

Tarnuff was watching Ron shrewdly now; he saw his indecision; he said sharply:

"All or nothing, man! Get it over with quickly! After all, you've more to gain than I ... your brother's life and your own."

"Also more to lose," Ron muttered. He glanced around the control cabin. "But here, in the ship? How--"

"No, of course not here! One loose atomic bullet would blast through the hull. We combat outside, and only one of us will enter this ship again."

Ron drew one of the Martian pistols, hoisted it thoughtfully in his hand. He had slain Oruk with it. That had been the first time he'd ever fired one. But he liked the easy, comfortable feel, every bit as familiar as his own electro-pistol.

"Well?" Tarnuff was impatient.

With a sudden surge of confidence Ron made up his mind.

"You're right, Tarnuff. We'll get it over with one way or the other! I think I'm as good a man as you at any game! Rules?"

Tarnuff, smiling, held up one finger. "One apiece."

"You're going to make it precise, eh? That's okay by me. I'm considered a pretty good shot with any kind of pistol."

"And I," replied Tarnuff with easy arrogance, "have killed four men on the asteroids in duels such as this. Marksmanship is not all."

Ron nodded. He removed the charges from both firing chambers, making very sure that only one charge was left in each.

"Your electro-pistol," Tarnuff said. "Leave it here in the control room. Not that I don't trust you, but everything must be equal."

"I've a better idea than that. I don't trust you either. Want to watch this?" Ron donned a space-suit again, stepped into the airlock and hurled his electro-pistol far away into the void where it drifted out of reach forever. Tarnuff, watching from a port, nodded his satisfaction as Ron returned.

"And now the statement," Ron said, drawing the paper from his pocket. "Which you will sign, after first adding a P.S. absolving _me_ entirely if I should be apprehended with these Silicytes on my hands."

Tarnuff looked up, smiling. "You think of everything, don't you?"

"It pays."

Tarnuff wrote for a minute, signed, and handed it to Ron. The latter read it and was satisfied.

Tarnuff took the paper from Ron's hands again and slipped it into his own pocket. "If I win I shall destroy this. If you win, which I doubt, you may take it from me at your convenience."

"You think of everything too. Okay," Ron shrugged. He held out the identical pistols. "Your choice, if it means anything."

"It doesn't, but I'll take this one." Tarnuff took one of the pistols and then climbed into a space-suit as Ron waited.

"Which airlocks?" Ron asked through the audio-phone in his helmet.

"I'd suggest the central ones. I'll take the port side and you the starboard. We'll enter the respective locks at the same instant, then into space. After that, well, only one of us will enter this ship again."

They moved into parallel corridors on opposite sides of the ship. Instantly Ron was alert, not trusting the Martian out of his sight now that they were both armed with a bullet apiece. But both their helmet phones were on. Ron stopped a moment and listened. He heard the other's amused voice:

"Stopping, Jordan? On to your airlock! Goodbye, but don't mind if I don't wish you good luck."

"The same to you." Ron entered his lock. The inner door closed automatically, and a few seconds later the outer door opened. He knew Tarnuff had done likewise, for he could hear the faint sound of the mechanism through his phones. Then he knew that Tarnuff had swung outside, for he heard a couple of metallic clicks as the magnetic shoes made contact on the outer, opposite side of the hull.

Satisfied, Ron moved out too, and his own shoes swung around in an arc to make contact.

* * * * *

For a single instant he was appalled at the utter, outer immensity, the sweeping darkness; then he did not look outward again, but clung to the hull, facing it. He knew the _Lucifer_ was still speeding along on its full rocket blast, but not relative to him.

The helmet phones had given him an idea. He held his breath, listening. He heard the faint clicks of Tarnuff's shoes as he moved along on the opposite side. He seemed to be moving toward the bow. Then Ron heard a different click, as Tarnuff shut off his phone. Ron chuckled as he reached up and shut off his own. He was sure Tarnuff had done that deliberately, and probably was reversing his direction and moving sternward now.

Ron didn't move at all for a minute. He clung there lightly, peering up along the sweeping curve of the hull above his head, ready to use his pistol if Tarnuff should appear there. But Tarnuff didn't appear, and Ron thought it likely he wouldn't for awhile. He hadn't forgotten the other's words, "marksmanship is not all." One bullet apiece! Probably Tarnuff would try to make him waste his bullet, thus putting Ron at his mercy. That would be the logical thing to do.

Keeping this in mind, Ron moved carefully sternward. He held the pistol ready in his hand. Occasionally he peered upward along the curve, alert and ready for anything. He wondered what Tarnuff had in mind. But this wasn't a guessing game, it was far more deadly than that, and he'd have to be very sure before he fired his bullet.

But there was still another danger. This hull was his only world now and he was almost weightless. He clung to it fiercely as he inched along, knowing that it wouldn't take much of a shove to send him drifting free, out of its gravity forever. He looked along the straight line of it and saw the faint glow of the rocket blasts. His brain writhed at a sudden horrible thought. Would Tarnuff try to gain the control room again, change the course suddenly and thus shake him off into space?

At this thought Ron hurried his progress a little, making for the four parallel side tubes he could see a little distance away. They were the only tubes that weren't blasting, being used only in emergency; they would allow him firmer footage, and maybe it would be a good idea to wait there until Tarnuff came somewhere in sight.

As he neared these tubes, something seemed wrong with them. There was something else there--a vague dark blur--between the second and third tubes. Ron stopped suddenly. Could Tarnuff have reached there already? No, that was impossible. He moved forward cautiously, and the blur didn't stir.

And then Ron saw what it was. And he was glad he had shut off his helmet phone, for he laughed loudly, a little hysterically, the sound almost bursting his ear-drums inside the helmet.

Wedged between those horizontally parallel tubes was Oruk's huge body which Ron had thought he had buried in space! Apparently it had been caught in the gravity of the ship again, and had slid slowly along the hull, luckily right in line with those tubes, to finally come to rest there.

Ron had been indecisive. Now he felt his brain become suddenly cool and concise. He knew what he must do. It had been pure luck that _he_ had taken the starboard side instead of Tarnuff. It was an omen.

But it would be risky. Ron suddenly sobered, moved along until he could grasp Oruk by the collar. He tugged. The body was wedged tight, just fitting the space between the tubes. Ron thrust the pistol into his belt and used both hands. At last the body came free.

He saw that he'd have to leave the pistol in his belt now. If Tarnuff should suddenly appear somewhere over the curve of the hull, it would be the end. But he'd have to risk it.

Hugging the body tightly to him, he moved a little higher, up to the long line of circular ports. He moved slowly back toward the center of the ship, peering into each glassite port as he passed. But he couldn't find what he was looking for; all was dark within.

At last he came to one that wasn't so dark. He saw a faint scintillation of color. Silicytes! There were at least a score of them in this cabin into which he peered. He had almost forgotten about them, but now he was glad of their faint flashing light, for he saw what he sought: one of the lockers containing space-suits.

He knew the Silicytes could live in airless space, so he didn't hesitate. A few blows with his metallic shoe, and the port shattered.

It was almost his undoing. The rush of air from the room came so suddenly it almost swept him away into space. Just in time he grasped the edge of the circular opening with one hand, clung tenaciously to his gruesome burden with the other. Then the air was gone, and he shoved Oruk's body into the room ahead of him.

Instantly the Silicytes crowded around, their chain-like tentacles clashing, reaching out toward him. Ron could feel their crystal coldness even through his space-suit. He shoved them recklessly out of the way, knowing they were harmless. At last he procured a space-suit, and then came a job not to his liking--fitting Oruk's huge body into it. At last, however, it was accomplished. He shoved the bulging, helmeted figure outside again, and climbed out beside it.

Ron's lips tightened grimly now. If his luck held, he'd make Tarnuff waste his bullet....

But where was Tarnuff? For a second Ron thought of clicking on his phone again and calling out, to see what would happen. But no--that would give his own position away. If he didn't know where Tarnuff was, neither did the Martian know where he was.

Ron took a guess and moved toward the stern again.

He knew he would have to be doubly careful now, and yet paradoxically he'd have to take a chance. With difficulty he held the space-suited figure close to his side. As he came ever nearer the stern he began to move oblique upward, peering intently all along the hull's horizon for a sight of Tarnuff. Would this trick work? Perhaps Tarnuff wouldn't fire at the first sight of a space-helmeted figure, as Ron hoped. And yet--why not? He'd be expecting no other moving figure out there except Ron's.

Ron was almost at the stern tubes now. He began to wonder if Tarnuff had taken the other direction after all, toward the bow off the ship. He took a firmer hold on the body beside him, moved a few more feet obliquely upward, and then ... he had guessed right! He saw the Martian!

* * * * *

Ron caught only a glimpse of him, flattened against the hull with his pistol held ready, before he jerked his own head down again. He looked at Oruk's dead grayish face inside the plate so close to his own. He could only hope that Tarnuff wouldn't recognize it. Luckily the two helmets were identical, and Ron was sure that if Tarnuff fired at all, it would be at the face-plate.

It was a gruesome thing to do, but this was no time for squeamishness, Ron thought, as he began easing the body up inches at a time. It was the age-old trick to draw the enemys fire.

Nothing happened. He pushed the body higher, almost recklessly, but maintained a firm grip on it. Still higher. He was sure it must be at least partially in Tarnuff's line of vision by now. Why didn't he fire? Could he have detected--

And then it did happen, so suddenly that Ron couldn't even gasp his surprise. There was an abrupt puff of atomic dust above him; at the same instant he felt Oruk's body torn spinning out of his grasp. Then he saw the space-suited figure drifting lazily outward. It was grotesque, headless.

The ruse had worked! Tarnuff had fired his bullet, and very accurately! Ron felt a fierce surge of exultation as he drew his own pistol and then hauled himself swiftly up into Tarnuff's sight.

Tarnuff had risen to his feet. He still held the pistol loosely in his hand. A satisfied little smile was on his lips. Then he caught sight of Ron, the smile vanished, the pistol fell and went skidding lightly across the hull. The expression on his face was so ludicrous that Ron wanted to laugh. Instead, he reached up and clicked on his helmet phone, motioning Tarnuff to do the same.

"Beat you!" Ron cried fiercely. "Beat you at your own game, Tarnuff, and it was easy! Now, before I kill you, I want you to know it's going to be the greatest pleasure of my life!"

Tarnuff looked out at the drifting body he had just blasted. He nodded, and when he spoke his voice almost purred.

"Ah, now I see. Clever, Jordan, very clever. But don't congratulate yourself too soon, because you haven't won yet! We're back at the stalemate again. Why don't you pull the trigger, Jordan? Go ahead and pull it--and blast yourself to dust!"

Startled, Ron looked down at the weapon in his hand. Now it was Tarnuff who was exultant as he went on:

"You never had a chance, Jordan! Never from the beginning! You see, I counted on your Earth chivalry, and you did just what I expected--gave me my choice of what you thought were identical pistols. But they aren't identical! The one you now hold works in reverse! Such reverse pistols have stood me in good stead on several occasions, and I always make it a point to have one with me. Fire it--and you blast yourself, not me!"

* * * * *

They stood facing each other, perhaps thirty feet apart. Tarnuff glanced down and saw the pistol he had dropped. He reached out with his foot and slid it along the hull to Jordan.

"There you are. If you'll compare the two, you'll see that the firing mechanism of yours is in reverse. One needs to look very closely to detect the difference."

Ron didn't bother to pick up the weapon.

"You know I don't know a thing about these Martian pistols, Tarnuff."

"Exactly. You don't."

Ron glanced at the gun in his hand, keeping a wary eye on Tarnuff. The strange weapon looked all right to him--and yet even his inexperienced eye saw that it _might_ very easily have been tampered with so that the atomic bullet would explode in the chamber. He did know that these were dangerous and tricky weapons, and that's why most men preferred the Earth electro-pistols.

"All right, Tarnuff, we'll settle it without weapons! I--"

Ron stopped suddenly. Something was wrong with Tarnuff. The Martian was staring past him, real horror on his face and in his voice as he whispered hoarsely:

"My God ... Jordan!"

Ron knew this was no trick. Tarnuff was terrified.

Ron whirled, stared--and became frozen. The pistol, Tarnuff, everything else was forgotten as he felt a chill go up his spine at the sight.

Literally dozens of Silicytes were swarming all over the hull amidships ... and they seemed to be absorbing the metal, literally devouring it, digesting it! Already a gaping hole was in the hull, and it grew even larger as more Silicytes came swarming up from below, to join in the fantastic meal!

"You did this!" Tarnuff was shrieking now at Ron. "You fool, you must have let them out one of the portholes! I had those rooms lined with wood, the one thing they won't digest--and you let them escape!"

Ron paid little heed to Tarnuff's raging, but went leaping toward the Silicytes, with some notion of throwing them off into space, anything to get them away from there. But he couldn't even reach them. When he was yet yards away, he felt a fierce heat exuding from them, heat generated by the digested metal! And he saw them becoming slowly, rosy radiant.

The heat drove Ron away. He turned and walked back toward Tarnuff again. The latter hadn't moved.

"Well, Jordan," he grated, "I hope you're satisfied with your bungling! Here goes the _Lucifer_ right from under us, thanks to you. There's enough oxygen in these space-suits for about one more hour."

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it!" Ron laughed suddenly, laughed in joyous relief, and pointed. "Look! Here comes help, and just in the neck of time!"

Far behind them a tiny silvery dot was barely discernible against the darkness; but it grew steadily larger as it took on the shape of a space-ship, moving unmistakably toward them. They watched in silence as it came nearer.

Suddenly Tarnuff exclaimed:

"Help, did you say, Jordan? Here comes the final touch, you mean--our finish! That's a patroller!"

"Are you sure of that, Tarnuff?"

"Sure of it? Man, I've been dodging the Patrol so much out here that I can tell 'em a million miles off!"

"So--I win after all, Tarnuff! That statement you signed absolves me. Let 'em come!" Ron waved his arms wildly in the direction of the approaching ship. "Come on you birds, step on it!"

Tarnuff reached suddenly in his pocket and brought out the folded paper.

"Yes, it does clear you, doesn't it? You and your brother both! Thanks for reminding me, Jordan, in the excitement I almost forgot about that...."

And then Tarnuff's voice became shrill with maniac glee:

"But it won't do either of you any good! By the time that Patrol ship gets here there won't be any paper!"

He whirled suddenly and leaped toward the stern rocket tubes only a few yards away.

In a flash of horror Ron realized his intention--to destroy that paper in the rocket blast! Ron took two bounding steps after him, and then realized he could never catch him in time. But Ron still held the atom pistol. He swung his arm stiffly up in a straight line with Tarnuff's back, and pulled the trigger.

It was a purely instinctive action, and not until a split second later did Ron realize it. And he laughed wildly then, for Tarnuff _had_ been bluffing about that pistol; there was no reverse action to it. He saw the center of Tarnuff's back explode in ghastly devastation. Then Tarnuff, or what was left of him, plunged head foremost down along the sharp curve of the hull toward the rocket tubes.

Ron leaped after him, but it was too late. He saw the crumpled paper jarred from Tarnuff's outflung hand. It drifted lazily on, down over the rocket tube and then out into the blast, where it vanished in an insignificant little puff of flame.

Ron was suddenly very weary. He didn't move from where he stood, he just sat down there, bowed his head in his hands, and waited.

* * * * *

"Hello, hello. Jordan, is it? Can you hear us? Hello!" The voice came so faintly in Ron's ears that it sounded like a dream. He lifted his head, stared around, and then realized it was coming through his phone.

"Yeah, I hear you," he replied tonelessly, looking out at the Patrol ship which was nearer than he had supposed.

"Commander Graham of Patrol ship _Terra_ speaking! Lucky thing for you, Jordan--we've had you in our magniview plate for the past half-hour, and in our phones for the past ten minutes. We heard everything, so don't worry, you're in the clear. That _is_ the _Lucifer_ I suppose?"

"You suppose right, Commander! Come and get it!"

Ron looked back at the Silicytes. They were still at it! The damn things were insatiable! The gaping hole had widened perceptibly, and they were working in his direction now. Ron could almost imagine he felt the heat of them already.

He leaped to his feet and turned on his helmet phone full power.

"Hey, Commander!" he yelled. "Pardon me for asking, but how long would it take you to hurry? You'd better get here in five minutes or I'll be a mere hunk of dessert for these animated rock-piles. Step on those rockets!"

He heard someone chuckling, and then he sighed his relief as he saw the Patroller respond with full blast.