This World Must Die! | Page 4

port. The girl made an adjustment, and the view
crept over to the center of the screen just as the last of the figures
vanished into the opening. Almost immediately, the other rocket

slanted away on a new course.
Donna followed it on the screen until the brief flashes of its jets were
dimmed by a new radiance--the ruddy disk of Mars. "We are where he
said," she admitted. "Now what?"
She looked at Phillips, who merely shrugged. "What do you make of
it?" she insisted.
"Pretty much as he said, probably," answered the engineer. "He's
heading for Deimos, I suppose. I hear they're landscaping the whole
moon--it's only about five miles in diameter--and building a new space
station for a radio beacon and relay."
"Does that log say anything about the plague ship?" asked Truesdale
nervously.
Donna scanned the observation record, then adjusted the viewer. The
red radiance of Mars fled, to be replaced by a dimmer scene of distant
stars.
"In there someplace," she said. "Out of range of this screen, but we
could probably locate it with detector instruments."
"Why all the jabber?" demanded Brecken. "Let's get going!"
Phillips stared at him. "What's the rush? Did he sell you that easily?"
"Huh? Oh, hell, no! I mean let's make a dive for Mars. They were dumb
to set us loose with a fast ship. We're dumber if we don't use it!"
"That's right," agreed Truesdale eagerly. "We don't owe them anything.
They owe us; for the years they took out of our lives!"
* * * * *
Truesdale had a point there, Phillips felt. This could grow into quite a
discussion, and he was not sure which side he wanted to take. He had
no great urge to become a hero, but on the other hand there was

something about Brecken that aroused a certain obstinacy in him.
"Wait a minute!" Donna protested; "what do you think you're going to
do?"
"Slip into a curve for Mars," said Brecken. "Slow down enough to take
to chutes an' let this can smack up in the deserts somewhere. They'll
never know if we got out, an' we'll be on our own."
The girl turned to Phillips. "How about you?" she asked. "Don't you
think we should at least consider what Varret told us? If this plague is
as dangerous as he says, this is no time to--"
"Do you have to be so bloodthirsty?" complained Truesdale.
"I don't want to kill anybody," declared the girl; "maybe we could just
disable the cruiser."
"Aw, kill your jets!" Brecken broke in. "I've been waiting for a chance
like this for years. Don't get any ideas!"
"But listen!" pleaded Donna. "It's a terrible thing, but if we don't do it,
we won't be safe on Mars ourselves; they'll land and set an epidemic
loose."
"I'll take my chances with it," said Brecken. "You're supposed to know
something about piloting. Now get us on a curve for Mars, an' be
snappy about it!"
Donna turned desperately to Phillips.
"Why not look over the ship," the engineer suggested, "before we blast
off on half our jets? We can make up our minds when we see what we
have for fuel and weapons."
Brecken opened his mouth to object, but was smitten by an unpleasant
thought. "Suppose they didn't leave us enough fuel to make Mars!"
"We can find out soon enough," said Phillips, leading the way to the

door.
They trooped down the corridor on his heels, past the few closet-like
compartments set aside for living quarters. It was a single-deck ship,
with storage compartments above and below for fuel, oxygen, and other
necessities. The corridor was liberally supplied with handrails,
apparently in case of failure of the artificial gravity system.
About halfway to the end, another passage crossed the fore-and-aft one,
and a few steps farther was a ladder. This extended up and down a
vertical well, which in space amounted to a second cross corridor.
Phillips was right when he guessed that the door beyond opened into
the rocket room.
The others were bored by the power plant of the ship. The engineer,
however, could not repress a thrill at once more standing surrounded by
the gauges, valves, and pumps with which he had formerly lived. He
strode about, examining and comprehending such appliances as seemed
new since his last service in space.
"How about it?" demanded Brecken. "Can you handle it?"
"Sure," answered Phillips confidently. "Mostly automatic anyway."
"Then we can get movin' whenever we want?"
"I suppose so. The tanks are nearly full; let's find those space torpedoes
the old man mentioned."
"Maybe it won't hurt, at that," grumbled Brecken.
* * * * *
He led the way out, but paused indecisively. Phillips stepped past him
and considered the cross passages