A GUEST OF GANYMEDE
By C. C. MacAPP
Illustrated by Giunta
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of Tomorrow June 1963
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
On Jupiter's moons great treasure awaits
a daring man—and so does Death!
I
His employer had paid enormously to have the small ship camouflagedas a chunk of asteroid-belt rock, and Gil Murdoch had successfullymaneuvered it past the quarantine. Now it lay snugly melted into theice; and if above them enough water had boiled into space to leave ascar, that was nothing unique on Ganymede's battered surface. In anycase, the Terran patrols weren't likely to come in close.
Murdoch applied heat forward and moved the ship gingerly ahead.
"What are you doing now?" Waverill demanded.
Murdoch glanced at the blind man. "Trying to find a clear spot, sir, soI can see into the place."
"What for? Why don't you just contact them?"
"Just being careful, sir. After all, we don't know much about them."Murdoch kept the annoyance out of his voice. He had his own reasonsfor wanting a preliminary look at the place, though the aliens hadundoubtedly picked them up thousands of miles out and knew exactlywhere they were now.
Something solid, possibly a rock imbedded in the ice, bumped along thehull. Murdoch stopped the ship, then moved on more slowly.
The viewscreens brightened. He stopped the drive, then turned off theheat forward. Water, milky with vapor bubbles, swirled around them,gradually clearing. In a few minutes it froze solid again and he couldsee.
They were not more than ten feet from the clear area carved out of theice. Murdoch had the viewpoint of a fish in murky water, looking intoan immersed glass jar. The place was apparently a perfect cylinder,walled by a force-field or whatever held back the ice. He could seethe dark translucency of the opposite wall, about fifty yards awayand extending down eighty or ninety feet from the surface. He'd onlylowered the ship a third that far, so that from here he looked downupon the plain one-story building and the neat lawns and hedges aroundit.
The building and greenery occupied only one-half of the area, the halfnear Murdoch being paved entirely with gravel and unplanted. That, hepresumed, was where they'd land. The building was fitted to the shapeof its half-circle, and occupied most of it, like a half cake set in around box with a little space around it. A gravel walkway, bordered bygrass, ran along the straight front of the building and around the backcurve of it. The hedges surrounded the half-circle at the outside.
There was an inconspicuous closed door in the middle of the building.There were no windows in the flat gray wall.
The plants looked Terran, and apparently were rooted in soil, thoughthere must be miles of ice beneath. Artificial sunlight poured on thewhole area from the top. Murdoch had heard, and now was sure, thatsomething held an atmosphere in the place.
"What are we waiting for?" Waverill wanted to know.
Murdoch reached for a switch and said, simply, "Hello."
The voice that answered was precise and uninflected. "Who are you."
"My employer is Frederick Waverill. He has an appointment."
"And you."
"Gilbert Murdoch."
There was a pause, then, "Gilbert Andrew Murdoch. Age thirty-four. Bornin the state called Illinois."
Murdoch, startled, hesita