Cosmic Castaway
By CARL JACOBI
Within a year Earth would be a vassal world,
with the Sirian invaders triumphant. Only
Standish, Earth's Defense Engineer, could
halt that last victorious onslaught—and
he was helpless, the lone survivor of a
prison ship wrecked in uncharted space.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories March 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Standish came back to consciousness, a dull pain surging in his headand a feeling of nausea in his midsection. The room about him wasstrange: grey arelium walls, a single light burning above the ironcot, and a low vibration that trembled the floor beneath his feet.
For a time he lay there, fighting off a cloud of dizziness. Then hegroped unsteadily to his feet. As he did, the vibration ceased, andfar off he fancied he heard voices pitched in alarm. A bell clangedhollowly several times.
He recognized those sounds now, as his thoughts struggled to bridge thegap in his brain and the memory of past events came rushing to him.
He was on a Sirian prison ship!
The silence grew upon him, and he stood there uncertainly, listening.Something was wrong. There was no familiar drone of atomic motors, andthere should be....
When the shock came, he was hurled completely across the room to thefar bulkhead. Yet it wasn't a severe shock. It was as if the shipfaltered suddenly and heeled over on her side.
Above him, Standish saw induction and exhaust pipes, coated withsulphur dioxide frost, writhe and twist like so many serpents. Theexplosion that followed was deafening. The floor buckled upward underthe pressure. The door to the cabin was torn from its hinges, and asheet of flame and a column of smoke gushed inward.
In an instant, Standish understood. The prison ship, well on its voyagefrom Earth, had entered the danger zone, that part of space swarmingwith planetoids and miniature planets. A sleepy pilot had failed tomake the proper gravitational allowances. They had struck!
The ship was almost over on her beam ends now. It righted slowly, andStandish fought his way into the outer passageway, every muscle tensedfor instant action.
The corridor was empty. Gas and smoke searing his nostrils, theEarthman made his way to the companion. Up he climbed. Emerging on thesecond level, he stood rigid, stark horror gripping him.
The cages were there. Tier after tier of them stretching into thebowels of the space ship as far as the grey light permitted him to see.In those cages, he knew, were men of his own race: Earth soldiers,prisoners of war.
But over each cage the heavy ceiling plates had been ripped free by theforce of the explosion, and where the imprisoned men had been, onlytwisted bars and sheets of arelium steel were visible. The entirelevel was a tomb of silence.
Standish choked back a sob. His men all dead! Crushed like rats in atrap.
He crossed to the ladder leading to the third and main level, climbingslowly.
Reaching the crew deck, he rocked backward again with a cry of dismay.Here, too, the fearful destruction was evident on all sides. UniformedSirians lay dead in the scuppers. The entire bridge house was a mass offallen girders and broken metal.
The officers' quarters had been crushed like an eggshell. Only thesteering cuddy and control room had been spared. But here, too,Standish found death had not spared the occupants. A pintax bar,ripped fr