The Devils Asteroid | Page 8

it easy," he said. "Your crowd booted me out, and I'm not under your rule any more. Neither can this be said to be your country. We've as much right here as you."
"Four of us," added Ruba with threatening logic. "Two of you. Fight, uh?"
"Parr," said Sadau, "do as Miss Pemberton tells you. Leave here."
"And if I don't?" temporized Parr, who felt the eagerness of his beast-men for some sort of a skirmish.
Varina Pemberton took something from her belt and pointed it. A brittle report resounded--whick! And an electro-automatic pellet exploded almost between Parr's feet, digging a hole in the rock. He jumped back. So did his three comrades, from whose memories had not faded the knowledge of firearms.
"The next shot," she warned, "will be a little higher and more carefully placed. Get out, and don't come back."
"They win," said Parr. "Come on, boys."
They retired to the upper combing of rock, with the sun at their backs. There Parr motioned them into hiding behind jagged boulders. Time passed, several hours of it. Finally they saw Sadau and Varina Pemberton depart on the other side of the hole.
"Good," rumbled Ling. "We follow. Sneak up. Grab. Kill."
"Not us," Parr ruled. "No war against women, Ling. But we'll go down where they were working, and see what it's all about."
They groped their way down again. At the bottom of the pit-valley they found the metal projection, so like a mighty steering wheel. Sadau's torch lay there, extinguished, and Parr still carried a radium lighter in the pocket of his shabby shorts. He made a light, and looked.
The big panel or rock, that had been half-open, was closed. As for the wheel, it had been bent and jammed, by powerful blows with a rock. He could not budge it, nor could the mighty Ling, nor could all of them together.
"They were inside this asteroid," decided Parr, half to himself. "Down where the Martians planted the artificial gravity-machinery. Having been there, they fixed things so nobody will follow them. Only blasting rays could open up a way, and those would probably wreck the mechanism and send air, water and exiles all flying into space. All this she did. Why?"
"Why what?" asked Izak, not comprehending.
"Yes, why what?" repeated Parr. "I can only guess, Izak, and none of my guesses have been worth much lately. Let's go home, and keep an eye peeled on our neighbors."
* * * * *
The Martians had come again--the same space-patroller, repaired, and twice as many hands and a new skipper. They carried no Terrestrial exile--for once their errand was different.
Four of them, harnessed into erect human posture, armed and armored, stood around the evening fire in the central clearing of the village now ruled by Varina Pemberton. The skipper was being insistent, but not particularly deadly.
"We rrecognize that fourr dead among you will ssettle forr one dead Marrtian," he told the gathered exiles. "The morre sso ass you assurre me that the man rressponssible hass been drriven frrom among you. But we make one demand--the arrmorr taken frrom the body of the dead Marrtian."
"I am sorry about that," the chieftainess replied from her side. "We didn't know that you valued it. If we get it back for you--"
"Ssuch action would rreflect favorrably upon you," nodded the Martian skipper. "Get the arrmorr again, and we will rrefrrain frrom punitive meassurress."
"Why do you want that armor so much?" inquired Shanklin boldly. He himself had never thought of it as worth much. He was more satisfied to have the knife, which he now hid behind him lest the Martians see and claim. But the skipper only shook his petalled skull.
"It iss no prroblem of yourrss," he snubbed Shanklin. And, to Varina Pemberton: "What time sshall we grrant you? A day? Two dayss?... Come before the end of that time and rreporrt to me at the patrrol vessel."
He turned and led his followers back toward the plain where the ship was parked.
Night had well fallen, and silence hung about the vessel. Only a rectangle of soft light showed the open hatchway. The Martian officer led the way thither, ducked his head, entered--
Powerful hairy hands caught and overpowered him. Before he could collect himself for resistance, other hands had disarmed him and were dragging him away. His three companions, narrowly escaping the same fate, fell back and drew their guns and ray throwers. A voice warned them sharply:
"Don't fire, any of you. We've got your friends in here, and we've taken their electro-automatics. Give us the slightest reason, and we'll wipe them out first--you second."
"Who arre you?" shrilled one of the Martians, lowering his weapon.
"My name's Fitzhugh Parr," came back the grim reply. "You framed me into this exile--it's going to prove the worst day's work you Martian flower-faces ever did. Not a move, any of