You were bored—keeping the endless, dull
space-lanes clear. You wanted excitement,
danger, to see the weird planets of the System.
You wanted—And then it happened, all the
swift, blazing danger of the void—and you
found yourself being blasted out of existence.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Asteroid fishing" was no job for men who joined the Inter-PlanetaryPatrol with the lure of distant space frontiers in their heart, NordHolber told himself bitterly.
Your two-man Patrol ship hung less than twenty degrees off theecliptic, with sharp, hard starlight from the spangled jet mantle ofspace glinting against the top and sides of its maroon plastic hull.Below, the asteroids rushed through their mad orbits like the vengefulghosts of shattered planets and satellites.
Smaller fragments danced through weird paths above the main body.They were the hazard that forced space liners to arc far above theimpassable Belt on the run between Jupiter's moons and the innerplanets: and, since you were a fledgeling Patrol Officer, fresh fromFederation University, you wasted the energy that boiled in your bloodhunting these fragments, yanking them out of space!
"It's fun," Mike Doren admitted, as though reading his partner'sthought. "Like shark fishing. But it's not what I joined the Patrol todo."
Nord Holber's answering smile softened the strength a firm chin andthin, straight nose gave to his long oval face. "More like minesweeping in ancient times, Mike," he said quietly—as though thedispassionate menace of the inanimate chunks of matter they huntedcould answer the call for high adventure! "One of those things couldmake a wreck of this ship—as easily as it could a liner."
Against that possibility, they wore space suits, and, under histransparent helmet, Nord's grey eyes swept the side view screens forany fragments they'd missed on the way down. Mike was at the drivecontrols, his gaze on the lower screen, watching their prey, an ugly,angular mass, hardly larger than a man's head, two hundred feet below.
"O.K.," Mike said, his big mouth curving in a wry smile. "Let go withthe hook."
Nord pressed two control studs before him. Their ship was standardexcept for the little bay that now opened aft, the heavy electro-magnetthat shot downward under tiny automatic jets, and the power-drivenwinch that paid out flexible, heavily insulated cable to hold themagnet captive and carry the current.
"Sunspot!" Nord said, as the magnet struck the little asteroid fragmentsquarely and clung.
"There's always enough para-magnetic stuff in them," his partnercommented bitterly. "That's what makes this blasted assignmentpossible!" His blue eyes brightened. "That's one more toward a fullcargo—a trip back to Mars Base, and some planet leave. Hope I don'tdream about these dirty rocks!" The brightness hardened in his eyes, asthey dropped to the Asteroid Belt below.
"I'll start hunting another one," Nord said wearily. "You haul thisone in!" He took Mike's chair before the drive controls, and his longfingers made deft, swift adjustments. Their little ship nosed upwardtoward a safer cruising area.
The other jabbed the winch control studs. The winch began to turnagain, drawing the cable taut. Their ship lurched momentarily, as thecable tugged against the orbital inertia of the little mass at the endof the magnet; but winch and ship were built for the struggle, and theasteroid fragment swung from its course, starting upward on the magnet.
Now Mike stores