Bigman had brought Conway and Henree to Ceres on Lucky's own ship, the Shooting Starr, and for that Lucky was grateful. It meant he could go out into space with it, feel its deck beneath his feet, hold its controls in his hands.
The Shooting Starr was a two-man cruiser, built this last year after Lucky's exploits among the farm boys of Mars. Its appearance was as deceptive as modern science could make it. It had almost the appearance of a space-yacht in its graceful lines, and its extreme length was not more than twice that of Hansen's little rowboat. No traveler in space, meeting the Shooting Starr, would have estimated it to be anything more than a rich man's plaything, speedy perhaps but thin-skinned and unequal to hard knocks. Certainly it would not have seemed the type of vessel to trust in the dangerous reaches of the asteroid belt.
An investigation of the interior of the vessel might have changed some of those notions, however. The gleaming hyperatomic motors were the equal of those on armored space-cruisers ten times the Shooting Starr's weight. Its energy reserve was tremendous and the capacity of its hysteretic shield was sufficient to stop the largest projectile that could be put out against it by anything short of a dreadnought. Offensively its limited mass prevented it from being first-class, but weight for weight it could outfight any ship.
It was no wonder that Bigman capered with delight once he had entered the air-lock and thrown off his space-suit.
"Space," Bigman said, "I'm glad to get off that other tub. What do we do with it?"
"I'll have them send up a ship from Ceres to scoop it. " in.
Ceres was behind them, a hundred thousand miles away. In appearance it was about half the diameter of the Moon as seen from Earth.
Bigman said curiously, "How about letting me in on all this, Lucky? Why the sudden change of plans? I was heading out all by myself, the last I heard."
"There aren't any co-ordinates for you to head to," said Lucky. Grimly he told him the events of the last several hours.
Bigman whistled. "Then where are we going?"
"I'm not sure," said Lucky, "but we begin by aiming at the place where the hermit's rock ought to be now."
He studied the dials, and added, "And we leave here fast, too."
He meant fast. Acceleration on the Shooting Starr went high as velocity built up. Bigman and Lucky were pinned back to their diamagnetically cushioned chairs and the growing pressure spread evenly over their entire body surfaces. The oxygen concentration in the cabin was built up by the acceleration-sensitive air-purifier controls and allowed shallower breathing without oxygen starvation. The g-harness (g being the usual scientific symbol for acceleration) they both wore was light and did not hamper their movements, but under the stress of increasing velocity it stiffened and protected the bones, particularly the spine, from breaking. A nylotex-mesh girdle kept the abdominal viscera from undue harm.
In every respect the cabin accessories had been designed by experts at the Council of Science to allow of twenty to thirty per cent greater acceleration on the Shooting Starr than on even the most advanced vessels of the fleet.
Even on this occasion the acceleration, though high, was less than half of that of which the ship was capable.
When velocity leveled off, the Shooting Starr was five million miles from Ceres, and, if Lucky or Bigman had been interested in looking for it, they would have found it to have become, in appearance, merely a speck of light, dimmer than many of the stars.
Bigman said, "Say, Lucky, I've been wanting to ask you. Do you have your glimmer shield?"
Lucky nodded and Bigman looked grieved.
"Well, you big dumb ox," the little fellow said, "why in space didn't you take it with you when you went out pirate-hunting then?"
"I did have it with me," said Lucky calmly. "I've had it with me since the day the Martians gave it to me."
As Lucky and Bigman (but no one else in the Galaxy) knew, the Martians to whom Lucky referred were not the farm boys and ranchers of Mars. They were rather a race of immaterial creatures who were the direct descendants of the ancient intelligences that once inhabited the surface of Mars in the ages before it had lost its oxygen and water. Excavating huge caverns below Mars' surface by destroying cubic miles of rock, converting the matter so destroyed into energy and storing that energy for future use, they now lived in comfortable isolation. Abandoning their material bodies and living as pure energy, their existence remained unsuspected by Mankind. Only Lucky Starr had penetrated their fastnesses and as the one souvenir of that eerie trip* he had obtained what Bigman called the "glimmer shield."
Bigman's annoyance increased. "Well, if you had it, why didn't you use it? What's wrong with you?"
"You have the wrong idea of the shield, Bigman. It won't do everything. It won't feed me and wipe my lips when I'm through."
"I've seen what it can do. It can do plenty."
"It can, in certain ways. It can soak up all types of energy."
"Like the energy of a blaster bolt. You're not going to kick about that, are you?"
"No, I admit I'd be immune to blasters. The shield would soak up potential energy, too, if the mass of a body weren't too great or too small. For instance, a knife or an ordinary bullet couldn't penetrate, though the bullet might knock me down. A good sledge hammer would swing right through the shield, though, and even if it didn't its momentum would crush me. And what's more, molecules of air can go through the shield as if it weren't there because they're too small to be handled. I'm telling you this so that you'll understand that if I were wearing the shield and Dingo had broken my face-plate when we were both tangled up in space, I would have died anyway. The shield wouldn't have prevented the air in my suit from scattering away in a split second."
"If you had used it in the first place, Lucky, you wouldn't have had any trouble. Don't I remember when you used it on Mars?" Bigman chuckled at the reminiscence. "It glimmered all over you, smoky-like, only luminous, so you could just be seen in a haze. All except your face anyway. That was just a sheet of white light."
"Yes," said Lucky dryly, "I would have scared them. They would have hit at me with blasters and I wouldn't have been hurt. So they would have all high-tailed it off the Atlas, gone off about ten miles, and blasted the ship. I would have been stone dead. Don't forget that the shield is only a shield. It doesn't give me any offensive powers whatever."
"Aren't you ever going to use it again?" asked Bigman.
"When it's necessary. Not till then. If I use it too much, the effect would be lost. Its weaknesses would be found out and I would be just a target for anyone I came up against."
Lucky studied the instruments. Calmly he said, "Ready for acceleration again."
Bigman said, "Hey-"
Then, as he was pushed back into his seat, he found himself fighting for breath and could say nothing more.
The redness was rising to his eyes and he could feel the skin drawing backward as though it were trying to peel off his bones.
This time the Shooting Starrs acceleration was on full.
It lasted fifteen minutes. Toward the end Bigman was scarcely conscious. Then it relaxed and life crept back.
Lucky was shaking his head and panting for breath.
Bigman said, "Hey, that wasn't funny."
"I know," said Lucky.
"What's the idea? Weren't we going fast enough?"
"Not quite. But it's all right now. We've shaken them."
"Shaken whom?"
"Whoever was following us. We were being followed, Bigman, from the minute you stepped foot on the deck of the old Shooter. Look at the Ergometer."
Bigman did so. The Ergometer resembled the one on the Atlas in name only. The one on the Atlas had been a primitive model designed to pick up motor radiation for the purpose of releasing the lifeboats. That had been its only purpose. The Ergometer on the Shooting Starr could pick up the radiation pattern of a hyperatomic motor on ships no larger than an ordinary lifeboat and do it at a distance of better than two million miles.
Even now the inked line on the graphed paper jiggled very faintly, but periodically.
"That isn't anything," said Bigman.
"It was, a while ago. Look for yourself." Lucky unreeled the cylinder of paper that had already passed the needle. The jigglings grew deeper, more characteristic. "See that, Bigman?"
"It could be any ship. It could be a Ceres freighter."
"No. For one thing, it tried to follow us and did a good job of it, too, which means it had a pretty good Ergom-eter of its own. Besides that, did you ever see an energy pattern like this?"
"Not exactly like this, Lucky."
"I did, you see, in the case of the ship that boarded the Atlas. This Ergometer does a much better job of pattern analysis, but the resemblance is definite. The motor of the ship that's following us is of Sirian design."
"You mean it's Anton's ship."
"That or a similar one. It doesn't matter. We've lost them."
"At the moment," said Lucky, "we're right where the hermit's rock should be, plus or minus, say, a hundred thousand miles."
"Nothing's here," said Bigman.
"That's right. The gravities register no asteroidal mass anywhere near us. We're in what the astronomers call a forbidden zone."
"Uh-huh," said Bigman wisely, "I see."
Lucky smiled. There was nothing to see. A forbidden zone in the asteroid belt looked no different from a portion of the belt that was thickly strewn with rocks, at least not to the naked eye. Unless an asteroid happened to be within a hundred miles or so, the view was the same. Stars or things that looked like stars filled the heavens. If some of them were asteroids and not stars, there was no way of telling the difference short of watching intently for several hours to see which "stars" changed relative position, or using a telescope to begin with.
Bigman said, "Well, what do we do?"
"Look around the neighborhood. It may take us a few days."
The path of the Shooting Starr grew erratic. It headed outward from the Sun, away from the forbidden zone and into the nearest constellation of asteroids. The gravities jumped their needles at the pull of distant mass.
Tiny world after tiny world slid into the field of the visiplate, was allowed to remain there while it rotated, and was then permitted to slip out. The Shooting Starr's velocity had decelerated to a relative crawl, but the miles still passed by the hundreds of thousands and into the millions. The hours passed. A dozen asteroids came and went.
"You better eat," said Bigman.
But Lucky contented himself with sandwiches and catnaps while he and Bigman watched visiplate, gravities and Ergometer in turn.
Then, with an asteroid in view, Lucky said in a strained voice, "I'm going down."
Bigman was caught by surprise. "Is that the asteroid?" He looked at its angularity. "Do you recognize it?"
"I think I do, Bigman. In any case, it's going to be investigated."
It took half an hour to manipulate the ship into the asteroid's shadow.
"Keep it here,".Lucky said. "Someone's got to stay with the ship and you're the one. Don't forget it. It can be detected, but if it's in the shadow, with the lights out and the motors at minimum, it will make it as hard as possible for them. According to the Ergometer, there's no ship in space near us now. Right?"
"Right!"
"The most important thing to remember is this: Don't come down after me for any reason. When I'm through, I'll come up to you. If I'm not back in twelve hours and haven't called, either, back you go to Ceres with a report, after taking photographs of this asteroid at every angle."
Bigman's face grew sullenly stubborn. "No."
"This is the report," said Lucky calmly. He withdrew a personal capsule from an inner pocket. "This capsule is keyed to Dr. Conway. He's the only one who can open it. He's got to get the information, regardless of me. Do you understand?"
"What's in it?" asked Bigman, making no move to take it.
"Just theories, I'm afraid. I've told no one of them, because I've come out here to try to get facts to back them up. If I can't make it, the theories, at least, must get through. Conway may believe them and he may get the government to act upon them."
"I won't do it," said Bigman. "I won't leave you."
"Bigman, if I can't trust you to do what's right regardless of yourself and myself, you won't be much use to me after this if I come through safely."
Bigman held out his hand. The personal capsule was dropped into it.
"All right," he said.
Lucky dropped through vacuum to the asteroid's surface, hastening the drop by use of the suit's push-gun.
He knew the asteroid to be about the right size. It was roughly the shape he remembered it to be. It was jagged enough and the sunlit portion looked the right color. All that, however, might have held true for any asteroid.
But there was the other item. That was not likely to be duplicated very often.
From his waist pouch he took out a small instrument that looked like a compass. Actually it was a pocket radar unit. Its enclosed emission source could put out radio short waves of almost any range. Certain octaves could be partially reflected by rock and partially transmitted through reasonable distances.
In the presence of a thick layer of rock the reflection of radiation activated a needle on the dial. In the presence of a thin layer of rock, as, for instance, on a surface under which lay a cave or hollow, some radiation was reflected, but some penetrated into the hollow and was reflected from the further wall. In this way a double reflection occurred, one component of which was much weaker than the second. In response to such a double reflection the needle responded with a characteristic double quiver.
Lucky watched the instrument as he leaped easily over the stony peaks. The needle's smooth pulsing gained a quiver, and then a distinct subsidiary movement. Lucky's heart bounded. The asteroid was hollow. Find where the subsidiary movements were strongest and there the hollow would be nearest the surface. There would be the air-lock.
For a few moments all of Lucky's faculties were concentrated on the needle. He was unaware of the magnetic cable snaking its way toward him from the near horizon.
He was unaware of it until it snapped about him in coil after coil, clinging close, its momentum tossing his nearly weightless body first clear of the asteroid and then down to the rock, where he lay helpless.