Brigands of the Moon | Page 5

he said. "Johnson says thirty-eight. I hope they're experienced travelers. This
pressure sickness is a rotten nuisance--keeps me dashing around all night assuring
frightened women they're not going to die. Last voyage, coming out of the Venus
atmosphere--"
He plunged into a lugubrious account of his troubles with space sick voyagers. But I was
in no mood to listen to him. My gaze was down on the spider incline, up which, over the
bend of the ship's sleek, silvery body, the passengers and their friends were coming in
little groups. The upper deck was already jammed with them.
The Planetara, as flyers go, was not a large vessel. Cylindrical of body, forty feet
maximum beam, and two hundred and seventy-five feet in length. The passenger
superstructure--no more than a hundred feet long--was set amidships. A narrow deck,
metallically enclosed, and with large bull's-eye windows, encircled the superstructure.
Some of the cabins opened directly onto the deck. Others had doors to the interior
corridors. There were half a dozen small but luxurious public rooms.
The rest of the vessel was given to freight storage and the mechanism and control
compartments. Forward of the passenger structure the deck level continued under the
cylindrical dome roof to the bow. The forward watch tower observatory was here,
officers' cabins, Captain Carter's navigating rooms and Dr. Frank's office. Similarly,
under the stern dome, was the stern watch tower and a series of power compartments.
Above the superstructure a confusion of spider bridges, ladders and balconies were laced
like a metal network. The turret in which Dr. Frank and I now stood was perched here.
Fifty feet away, like a bird's nest, Snap's instrument room stood clinging to the metal
bridge. The dome roof, with the glassite windows rolled back now, rose in a mound peak
to cover the highest middle portion of the vessel.
Below, in the main hull, blue lit metal corridors ran the entire length of the ship. Freight
storage compartments; gravity control rooms; the air renewal system; heater and
ventilators and pressure mechanisms--all were located there. And the kitchens, stewards'

compartments, and the living quarters of the crew. We carried a crew of sixteen, this
voyage, exclusive of the navigating officers, the purser, Snap Dean, and Dr. Frank.
The passengers coming aboard seemed a fair representation of what we usually had for
the outward voyage to Ferrok-Shahn. Most were Earth people--and returning Martians.
Dr. Frank pointed out one. A huge Martian in a grey cloak. A seven foot fellow.
"His name is Set Miko," Dr. Frank remarked. "Ever heard of him?"
"No," I said. "Should I?"
"Well--" The doctor suddenly checked himself, as though he were sorry he had spoken.
"I never heard of him," I repeated slowly.
An awkward silence fell between us.
There were a few Venus passengers. I saw one of them presently coming up the incline,
and recognized her. A girl traveling alone. We had brought her from Grebhar, last voyage
but one. I remembered her. An alluring sort of girl, as most of them are. Her name was
Venza. She spoke English well. A singer and dancer who had been imported to Greater
New York to fill some theatrical engagement. She'd made quite a hit on the Great White
Way.
She came up the incline with the carrier ahead of her. Gazing up, she saw Dr. Frank and
me at the turret window, smiled and waved her white arm in greeting.
Dr. Frank laughed. "By the gods of the airways, there's Alta Venza! You saw that look,
Gregg? That was for me, not you."
"Reasonable enough," I retorted. "But I doubt it--the Venza is nothing if not impartial."
I wondered what could be taking Venza now to Mars. I was glad to see her. She was
diverting. Educated. Well traveled. Spoke English with a colloquial, theatrical manner
more characteristic of Greater New York than of Venus. And for all her light banter, I
would rather put my trust in her than any Venus girl I had ever met.
The hum of the departing siren was sounding. Friends and relatives of the passengers
were crowding the exit incline. The deck was clearing. I had not seen George Prince
come aboard. And then I thought I saw him down on the landing stage, just arrived from
a private tube car. A small, slight figure. The customs men were around him. I could only
see his head and shoulders. Pale, girlishly handsome face; long, black hair to the base of
his neck. He was bare-headed, with the hood of his traveling cloak pushed back.
I stared, and I saw that Dr. Frank was also gazing down. But neither of us spoke.
Then I said upon impulse, "Suppose we go down to the deck, Doctor?"

He acquiesced. We descended to the lower room