Part 2

He drew a line from the point to the square. That was Tar Norn coming in to the town. That would have been about ten hours ago.

Then, from the information about Callisto and Comprotown that had been in the papers in Tar Norn's ship, the pirate had found the home of the director. He would have had no trouble finding Leah's room. Venusians could see in the dark and walk as silently as cats. He would undoubtedly have drugged Leah into unconsciousness, probably without awakening her, since there had been no sign of a struggle. He'd put her into the lightweight spacesuit.

Why? Undoubtedly it indicated that she would be outdoors. During the Callisto day, it would have been unnecessary. But an unconscious Earthwoman would freeze to death in the cold dark period of Callisto's eclipse behind Big Jupe.

What then? The Venusian left, carrying her--

He threw down the pencil and began to pace the room again. His muscles were tense from listening. How many minutes? He didn't want to know; dared not look.

But Tar Norn must have planned it all before he left the wrecked ship. Otherwise he wouldn't have taken the timer and--

Would he have rigged the time-bomb first, or after he had kidnapped Leah? And how? The timer itself would not have provided the concussion to set off the uranite. He'd have needed a battery, a spark-coil, and--

_But Venusians weren't mechanics._

They didn't understand machines, or electricity, or even simple clockworks, brilliant as their strange minds were in other ways.

Tar Norn could have set the timer all right. For that matter, he could calculate an orbit and make settings for space flight. But he couldn't have made a time-bomb, even with the timer. He couldn't have rigged a circuit that would set off a cap! And, Mart realized suddenly, the timer itself would be an electrical--not a clockwork--gadget. Once disconnected from the now broken dynamo of the ship, Tar Norn couldn't have made it run at all!

A momentary surge of elation swept Mart. Tar Norn must have been bluffing! Then he remembered: a Venusian might murder his own family, but he would never swear to an untruth by the Eternal Varga. That one superstition, or religion, as they looked upon it, was binding beyond all else. And Tar Norn had sworn by that oath that Leah Barrows would die at nine-thirty unless--

Mart looked at the chronometer. It was twenty-six minutes past nine. He caught a glimpse of Director Barrow's face. It looked like the face of a dead man. Barrow had obviously given up all hope and waited only for the four minutes to pass.

The carrier wave hummed. All of them started, but the voice from the communicator merely reported, "All Comprotown reports in. All negative. Giros report nothing. Foot parties five miles out. Reports negative."

Three minutes to go. Mart could see by the attitude of the others that they were bracing themselves for the sound of an explosion. All of them had liked, or loved, Leah Barrows. Mart had a momentary vision of her again, and remembered the electric thrill that had run through him when she had placed her hand on his arm, just a few days ago, and told him that she did care for him, well, a little anyway--

But, if Tar Norn couldn't have rigged a time-bomb, how could he have arranged for Leah to die at nine-thirty?

He saw again the corpse-like face of the Director. Yes, they had all been wrong in thinking that nothing mattered to Barrow more than the schedules--_Schedules_! There had been departure schedules among the papers in Tar Norn's ship. Could he have--

With a sudden intake of breath that was almost a gasp, Mart whirled and ran to the communicator. The others looked at him, startled. Mart was yelling at the mike even before he got near enough to it to talk in a normal voice. "Control! Emergency! Get _Jupe Freighter One_! _Tell him not to test his tubes._ Not to touch a lever!"

* * * * *

Then he was racing out of the door and across the field to where the big ugly freighter was up on the racks over the blasting pits. He wasn't counting on that message through the communicator.

Out of breath, he hammered on the steel door and yanked at the handle until the pilot opened it from within.

"Hold everything," Mart yelled at him. "Don't try the test blasts!"

Whether Mart was right or wrong, there needn't be any hurry now, but he was already lowering himself into the ash-filled blasting pit under the rocket tubes of the freighter. Carefully, he groped among the ashes from previous blast-offs, ignored the light soft ash that flew up into his face.

A hand touched heavy cloth, and the other found smooth transpariplast, the helmet of a spacesuit. Gently, he lifted the unconscious body of Leah Barrow and handed her up to the men looking down from the rim of the pit.

Ten minutes later, back in the office, Leah was reacting to the antidote Doc Rogers had just administered. A glance at her face had told the medico that the drug had been Venusian tragweed.

Mart was still answering questions. "... Sure, Tar Norn knew that. Every ship in the system makes its trial blasts just half an hour before take-off. It's a fixed convention. Rocket captains do everything according to a rigid schedule. And we were looking for a time-bomb so we'd never think of the blasting pits. But Tar Norn couldn't have rigged a time-bomb. We didn't think of that when we found the timer was gone. He'd just thrown it away--"

Someone was wringing his hand, and he saw it was Director Barrow. "Mart!" Barrow's voice wasn't cold and distant now; all the ice had melted. "I can't begin to tell you how much--If there is any reward I can possibly offer you--"

Mart Wells grinned. "--unto your daughter and half of your kingdom, as they used to say in stories? Well, sir, I don't know what I'd do with half of Callisto, but as for the other part of it--"

He turned back to the awakening girl. Director Barrow's answer was cinched, of course, but Leah--? Well, he'd have to ask her again.

But probably she wasn't up to that just yet, even though her eyes were open now and she was smiling at him. He'd have to give her time, of course, before he asked her. Lots of time. Say, five minutes, or maybe three.