The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Runaway Asteroid
Title: The Runaway Asteroid
Author: Michael D. Cooper
Release date: March 1, 2004 [eBook #11583]
Most recently updated: October 30, 2024
Language: English
THE RUNAWAY ASTEROID
The Starman team wishes to thank
STEPHEN AVERY for coining the term “greegles.” Though these remarkable beings will probably not reappear for several books, their place in the Starman series is an essential part of the saga.
TOM NARWID, amateur astronomer, for supplying the photograph which we used for the endpapers. The scene was taken through his backyard telescope in Cottonwood, Arizona.
KEVIN ANETSBERGER for preparing Tom’s spectacular, multi-colored original photograph for publication by reducing it to two colors.
The number of fans of the Starman series is growing each day, and we appreciate the contributions many of them have made to the project. Their assistance, encouragement, and technical support have helped to improve the storyline and scientific accuracy of the Starman adventures.
The Starman Team dedicated its first book, Assault On Mars, to Joseph Greene, the late author of the Dig Allen series which was the inspiration for the Starman series. A complimentary copy was sent to his son Paul, who was moved by the tribute. We then asked Paul to write an introduction to The Runaway Asteroid. The following is his response—surely one of the most unusual introductions in any book anywhere, and one we are privileged to share with our readers.
Dear Dad,
A most remarkable invention is weaving the world together in a way we never anticipated while you were on Earth, and it netted your writing. Fans of your books for juveniles, The Digby Allen series, were able to connect to each other, share their enthusiasm for your novels, and were inspired to continue the voyage. Led by Jonathan Cooper, the intrepid mastermind of the creative crew, they made a commitment to write their own vision of the future. Thoughtfully, they credit you as having shoulders broad enough for them to stand on and see the centuries beyond. The invention that has made this possible is called the internet. There seems no need to explain what it is here, but part of its magic is that it can permit people to connect to each other independently of time and space.
The themes of Dig Allen from the 1960’s have worked like the internet in that they functioned independently of time and space, only much more slowly. You presented your ideas in books as ideas are posted on the internet. The authors of Starman were drawn to the themes in your books and then each other in cyberspace, which acts as both the bookshelf and café for today’s ideas and authors. The creators of Starman saw value in your stories and tried to get the publisher to renew the series. Sadly, your old publisher ignored them and blocked the revival, as though they were so much space junk.
No one owns a theme. But the creators of Starman have shown that they share some of the beliefs that you express in your subjects. Their young men of the stars prove that they too are brave, adventurous and willing to sacrifice for freedom and justice. With a loyalty toward each other that would create envy in every generation, they test themselves against cunning scoundrels. As they conquer villains, they, and we along with them, learn whether they measure up. Will they prove themselves worthy as young people have done for all time? Young readers can have a chance to preview something about their own lives and the world they will live in. And just as you believed, somehow the human race survives. If the world of Starman is an accurate guess on the future, then the good guys, the ones in the white spacesuits, will continue to prevail and produce more young people to keep the dream alive. I hope that some of the next generation of courageous young people will read this series.
Your fans don’t know that you started writing seriously relatively early in life, in the 1920’s and ’30’s, first as a teen for your personal pleasure and then on your school newspaper at New Utrecht High School in Brooklyn, New York. Did having to learn the English language after speaking Russian until the age of seven help you become a better writer? Were your poems and letters to Mom valuable both to her and to your professional development? Did the comic books you authored during the Golden Age of comics give you a better sense of story-telling and dialogue or did it degrade your love of language? I know that writing television scripts and other creative projects supported the family during the difficult years of the 1950’s, but how did it affect your later work with Digby Allen? So many of your themes are repeated and reworked in several of your creations right through to the late 1980’s. Who would guess that you once wrote a paper on the use of the raven in several of Shakespeare’s plays? Or that you wrote biology text to accompany a new medium, slides made from strips of 35-mm film? Would admirers realize that you were most interested in world events, but read the sports section of the New York Times first, everyday? I’m certain your fans wouldn’t have read the American Elsewhen Almanac, a compilation of bits of Americana and commentary that you published in the 1980’s.
I want to thank the authors of Starman for giving me the opportunity to write the introduction to their second novel. If there is a way to communicate to you across the veil between our dimensional world and the one in which you now reside, then it must be through the pages of a book. After the love of family, I don’t believe anything was more precious to you than books, so maybe this letter will be able to cross the divide. Just as I proofread the drafts of Digby Allen before you sent them to the publisher, your granddaughter and grandson proofread this. Perhaps that will act like a mystical booster rocket to get these pages to you.
And to future space pioneers, may the solar winds be at your back.
Paul
1: Controlled Fury
“THEY’RE getting closer! They’re almost on us! We won’t make it into the Belt on time!” The navigator of the Silver Spear was on the verge of panic. His frenzied hands moved over the controls.
“Keep going! Keep up full speed! Make sure that we get there ahead of them!” Lurton Zimbardo’s voice was even and controlled, but it was obvious that he was barely containing his volatile fury. His commands were not to be questioned. His nostrils flared, the muscles around his lips were taut, he kept his fists clenched and pounded a persistent rhythm on his ship’s control panel. His breath sounded as if he could inhale and exhale the room’s entire atmosphere. It was only his iron self-control that kept his crew from giving in to their fears.
Behind them just moments away Starman David “Zip” Foster’s ship, the Star Ranger, was closing the gap. The pursuit had been going on for two days, since the Silver Spear had blasted off from Eagle City on Mars and escaped while the rest of the pirates were rounded up by Earth’s forces. Zip Foster, accompanied by Starmen Mark Seaton and Joe Taylor and their companion Steve Cliff, had followed less than fifteen minutes later. The brief lead that Lurton Zimbardo’s ship had was enough to keep the Silver Spear out of the clutches of their pursuers, but not by much. The crew of the Spear was suffering acutely from sleeplessness and mounting anxiety.
Only days earlier, Lurton Zimbardo had been second-in-command under Troy Putnam. Together they had organized over 500 men and attempted to take control of the capital city of Mars in a sudden attack. Had they succeeded, the pirates could have held the people of the Earth-Moon system hostage to their demands. The Starmen and their allies had thwarted the pirates’ plan. Most of the pirates, including their leader, had been captured. Zimbardo, however, had escaped with a few others. With the Starmen in close pursuit, he was desperately trying to outrun them and return to the pirates’ base in the Asteroid Belt.
The Belt loomed up. The first few chunks of rock were visible now to the unaided eyes of those on the deck of the Silver Spear. In seconds, they were among them. The navigator screamed as the ship whipped by a pitted rock a quarter of a mile long, missing it by a few yards.
“Fool!” shouted Zimbardo. “Turn on the automatic pilot!” The navigator’s eyes were the size of saucers. Immobile with terror, he didn’t respond to Zimbardo’s command. The former second-in-command of the pirates pushed him out of the chair, took over, and activated the switch that cut in the automatic pilot. Lurton Zimbardo was not physically imposing, but more than made up for his slight build with an immensely strong will and a decisive nature that was merciless whenever it served him.
He knew they were going too fast even for the automatic pilot to keep the ship safe once they entered the thick sweep of the asteroids. He also knew that the Belt was their only hope of escaping the Starmen on their trail. Powered by adrenaline, his senses were functioning at their peak. With amazing alacrity and intensity, Zimbardo aided the automatic pilot and threaded the Silver Spear through the weaving asteroids. It almost seemed as if he were in a trance.
Soon a dark asteroid loomed ahead, roughly shaped like a potato, forty-five miles long and twenty-five wide, rotating slowly around its longest axis. It was nearly invisible both to the eye and to the instruments, but Zimbardo knew where it was. He barked out a command. The Silver Spear slowed quickly, and moments later a huge airlock door opened in one of the poles of the asteroid. Zimbardo piloted the ship into the airlock, through the stone tunnel that led into the interior of the asteroid, and then touched down.
The thin, wiry man raced for the control room as fast as he could run, pushing men out of the way and heeding no one who called out to him. Once inside, he quickly pressed a series of buttons and entered a numeric code. Once it was entered and confirmed, he made a fist and slammed it hard on a large red button. Immediately all the radar screens were covered with snow.
Zimbardo relaxed for the first time in days. He exhaled quietly and actually smiled. He took a deep breath and smiled more broadly.
“Sir?” asked one of the technicians who had watched the procedure.
“I detonated a hydrogen bomb on a neighboring asteroid a couple of hundred miles from here. Part of a backup plan for keeping this place hidden. It will clog all radar screens for a few minutes. By the time they clear, no one will be able to find us or this asteroid.”
Zimbardo’s relaxed state did not last long. He swelled up with energy again, strode to another console, and tapped in a series of commands.
“Come here, Gene,” he ordered as his fingers flew over the keyboard. The man he addressed quickly came to stand by the pirate leader. He was a well-built young man in his late twenties with short curly brown hair, finely chiseled features, and an obvious desire to please. He was well trained in the technology of space control systems. After he had proven his competence in the field, Troy Putnam had made him his chief control officer.
Zimbardo continued. “Follow these coordinates at this speed. Don’t alter the course for any reason without my permission.”
Gene looked at the planning board where the numbers were posted in a pleasant green light. “That course will take us out of the Belt, Mr. Zimbardo. Is that what you want?”
“That’s what I want. It’s time to move away from here. If anything out of the ordinary happens, let me know immediately. Find me by using my personal code on the communicator—no general announcement. Keep watch especially for any spacecraft—especially any spacecraft!”
“Yes sir!” Gene took his place and the others returned to their duties.
Once he saw that the crew members were well settled, he picked up the intercom and ordered his leaders to assemble in a meeting room in five minutes. From the few dozen pirates left, he had hand-selected five competent leaders to be his lieutenants: Gebbeth, Crass, Lather, Bolcher, and Slant.
In less than that time, Lurton Zimbardo was sitting at a table with the five other men. All but Zimbardo looked haggard. The pirates were demoralized and upset. Victory on Mars and beyond had been within their grasp, but it had all been blundered away. A band of several hundred men who had planned and worked for several years had been reduced to a few dozen. Their dreams of power and prominence, shaped and fueled by their captain Troy Putnam, had been utterly destroyed. Now Putnam was in custody on Mars, along with the rest of the pirates who had been captured by Earth’s forces.
“Troy Putnam was a fool,” Zimbardo announced in a quiet voice edged with steel. “His plan might have worked—might have worked, if I had had more part in planning—but he was no more than a conceited ignoramus! The Starmen walked in on him and took him completely by surprise! I can just imagine how his face must have looked as he realized his plan was over and he was led off to jail. A fool! We are better off without him!”
“Better off without him?” asked one man in a dull voice. “What do you mean, Lurton? Better off for what?”
“Don’t be a fool yourself, Crass!” Zimbardo sneered. “You think we’re finished here? We will still get what we want and it won’t be very difficult! We don’t need Putnam and we don’t need a few hundred men, either! You can be thankful you’re here instead of locked in a stone room in Eagle City eating square, plain, healthy meals off of a metal tray! The collapse of Putnam’s big dream is the best thing that could have happened for us!”
A muscular, unsmiling man on Zimbardo’s right swung his gaze to the speaker. “It sounds as if you have a plan, Mr. Zimbardo.” The man was in his early thirties and resembled a street fighter. His carefully combed dark hair made him look almost strikingly handsome, but his eyes were black and humorless.
Zimbardo turned toward the man. “Yes, I have a plan. You, Gebbeth, will be my chief assistant and the pilot of the Tartarus, my personal ship. I can depend on you. Space Command’s celebration on Mars will be extremely short-lived.”
“You were always the strong one, Lurton,” said another. “I kind of always figured you for the real leader, and I always wished it was you instead of Putnam.”
“Now you got your wish, Bolcher. I’ve taken charge. I’m moving this asteroid out of its orbit into a place outside the Belt. Here’s my plan.”
Almost an hour later, the men left the meeting room, smiling, joking, and stepping lightly. Their fatigue was gone, their discouragement forgotten.
Lurton Zimbardo was the last to leave. Now that things were moving in the direction he wanted, he allowed his fatigue to take over. Encouraged by the support of his assistants, he felt he could rest at last. He walked down the halls, past various doors and entered an elevator. The display screen offered only the few floors in use by the pirates but Zimbardo had another destination in mind. Alone in the elevator, he punched in a special code which only he knew. When the proper sequence was displayed, he pressed “Enter.” As the elevator began to move, the new leader of the pirates relaxed even further. The others would not know where he was, and he would be undisturbed.
He could barely sense the elevator’s motion. He didn’t know how far into the asteroid’s interior he was moving, but he knew what he would find when he reached his destination. The door opened and Zimbardo stepped out. A quick walk down a short corridor brought him to a double door. Embossed on the doors was a huge, rich, golden symbol—a lush planet with about 80% blue oceans, a few continents, and thick cloud cover. Three small moons were arranged at the upper left, set at the points of an equilateral triangle. Zimbardo had been intrigued by the design when he’d first found it, but now he hastened through the doors without noticing it. He was eager to get into the Chamber beyond.
As Lurton stepped into the room, he gasped. His dozen prior visits still had not taken the surprise out of the room. Each time he stepped into the Chamber he seemed to be setting foot into another world; he knew he was still inside the asteroid but his senses told him otherwise.
Lurton seemed to be standing on a high mountain overlooking a vast plain on some forgotten planet. A pale blue sky was overhead and a light wind was blowing. Down below on the plain he saw a river snaking its way through a green forest; if he listened carefully he could hear the water. In the distance he saw a fantastic alien metropolis of beautiful glass skyscrapers; he could just barely make out ships hovering over it and small vehicles driving around in the distance. Clouds sailed gently overhead; it was near dusk.
He knew that the room was actually no more than about a hundred feet square, but the display was seamless. For all the world he seemed to be standing on another planet on a late, peaceful afternoon. He had never been able to find out how the room worked or where the wind came from, but he suspected the display was generated by some sort of holographic projectors far in advance of anything he had ever seen or heard of.
Lurton guessed that the scene was from the home planet of the asteroid’s builders; perhaps the distant city was their capital. He had spent hours watching the room and never tired of it, for the scene always changed. After a certain number of hours dusk fell and the city lights came on. He had watched different kinds of weather and seen glorious sunsets and sunrises. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of a huge alien starship. He had seen many strange things in the Chamber and he was sure that he had not seen them all.
Lurton liked coming here when he was upset or annoyed; the room had a peaceful air that rested and soothed him. He was certainly in need of that now. He hadn’t slept in over fifty hours and could easily have lain down in what seemed like soft turf and fallen deeply asleep, but the ethereal beauty of the Chamber’s vision was restful and he didn’t want to close his eyes for an instant while he was inside.
He thought back to the day when he’d found the room. The asteroid had been drifting and uninhabited for who knows how many thousands of years when a solitary asteroid miner had found it and discovered that it was hollow. He had told a few others about his find and eventually Troy Putnam learned of it. Zimbardo grudgingly admitted to himself that Troy was a genius—a weak, impractical genius, but a genius nonetheless. Putnam had found the miner and persuaded him to bring him to the nearly-invisible asteroid. He had even learned how to use many of the asteroid’s capabilities, and then had made it the base for his foolish attempt to take over Mars.
Shortly after the pirates had taken residence, Troy Putnam had directed Lurton to explore the asteroid beyond the few floors the pirates used and find out everything he could about it. It was a trying assignment. The first few floors comprised a connected unit and the elevator codes were easy to learn. Moving anywhere else was a matter of trial and error, and the access codes were complex.
One day Zimbardo had found the Chamber. There was very little that could arouse any kind of sensitivity in the wiry, energetic man, but the Chamber could do so. Maybe it was because no one else knew about it and no one could see him wrapped in the depths of the emotions the room could inspire. The Chamber was not the only secret of the asteroid which Lurton had retained for himself, but it was certainly the best one.
At last the peace and enchantment of the Chamber overcame Lurton’s resistance to slumber. He sat down and rested with his back against a tree, gazing over the landscape at the alien city. The massive trunk was slightly rough but not uncomfortable. Huge roots spread out in all directions before disappearing into the grassy soil. Branches laden with broad leaves made a shadow-filled canopy over the pirate leader.
As he felt sleep coming on, he fumed one more time at the Starmen and the stupidity of Troy Putnam. He mulled over his plan and smiled a little. The Starmen would live to regret what they had done to him. His eyes closed and his breathing became deep and regular. At last the pirates’ new leader slept.
Above him a few birds chirped peacefully. A short distance away a brook murmured in lyric gentleness. The sky over the city gradually turned from flawless blue through lavender into violet, and silver stars emerged.
2: Sent to Ceres
THE SPLENDOR of the Asteroid Belt stretched away in all directions, and the piercing light of uncountable stars filled the background. Such a view was possible only in airless space. Starman David Foster was staring out of the window of his ship, the Star Ranger, but he was not really seeing anything. His brow was furrowed with an uneasy doubt.
“Still no sign of ’em, Zip,” announced Joe Taylor. The lanky six-footer had eased naturally into the position of pilot under David’s direction. Joe had flown everything from ancient biplanes to interplanetary rockets. He understood the principles of propulsion and flight, and with amazing facility could learn to fly almost any vehicle designed for traveling through an atmosphere or the vacuum of space.
Mark Seaton had naturally become the navigator and engine master of the Starman crew. He specialized in engines and large, complex machinery. He had always had a talent for understanding machines, and he knew the workings of the average rocket from stem to stern.
David Foster, like all Starmen, was able to navigate and fly his own ship, but had a specialty in Deep Space exploration and survival skills. Whenever he was faced with a problem, he could think it through and come up with a solution with the equipment available. He was a natural leader. He excelled at organization and decision-making, and Joe and Mark were glad to be a part of the Starman team under Zip’s leadership.
Joe continued to relate his observations. “I’ve scanned as far as the instruments can reach, and there’s just nothing out there in any direction—except the Earth ships, of course. They should be here in about three hours.”
“No debris?”
“No, Zip. I’ve found where the explosion took place and examined that more carefully than any other area. It was a violent blow. I think about a third of an asteroid was turned into dust when it went off, and that’s powerful enough to vaporize any ship that was carrying a weapon with that kind of potential.”
Zip shook his head as if warding off a buzzing insect. “All right. Nothing we can do about it.” He turned to the third Starman on the crew. “Mark,” he called out. “Would you send a report to Mars please and ask Commander De Koven what he wants us to do?”
“Okay, Zip.”
Mark prepared the message and sent it off. The response would come through after a delay of several minutes. As they waited, Joe said, “You seem uneasy, Zip. What’s there to worry about?”
“I just like completion. That ship we were chasing carried the last of the pirates from Mars, and I’d just feel a lot better if there were some debris, some evidence that they hadn’t escaped.”
“Zip,” came a deep voice from the lounge next to the flight deck, “there’s a lot of uncertainties in life, ’specially life in space. I been around a lot and believe me, the exception is when you really know everything that happened—and that’s never.”
“Sure, Steve,” answered Zip, raising his voice. “I know. But I don’t like it.”
“You’ll probably be uneasy most of your life then. C’mon, be like me. Lie down, relax, take a nap. You’ve been rushing for days now, especially the last couple when we were shooting through the void at top speed. Give it up now, boy. You can’t do anything more.”
Zip didn’t answer, but he walked into the lounge. Steve Cliff was completely relaxed, with his feet propped on a table. His huge frame was sunk into the sofa deeper than Zip would have thought possible. Zip picked up a book that Mark had been reading, and lay down. In less than a minute, he was asleep with the open book face down on his chest.
“Up you go, Zip, it’s dinnertime.” Steve’s normally boisterous voice was gentle and almost subdued. Zip took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. He sat up, put the book aside and ran his hands through his red hair.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ve been out almost four hours. Figured I’d make myself useful so I whipped up some food. Here you go.” Steve set a tray down on the nearby table. There were mashed potatoes, salad heavy on diced tomatoes just the way Zip liked it, and a few pieces of very thinly sliced roast beef in a luscious brown gravy.
“Looks delicious, Steve; thanks.”
“Coffee’s coming up in a minute, steaming hot with half a teaspoon of sugar.” Zip reflected for a moment about how little time he had known Steve and how well he fit in to the group of three Starmen. Steve already knew how he liked his coffee—hot and fresh—and what his favorite meal was. While he was enjoying the aroma of the meal before tucking into it, Steve brought in the coffee.
Zip lifted a mouthful of roast beef and potatoes. “What’s going on?” he repeated.
“Mark got hold of the big guys in Eagle City, told ’em what was going on out here. They told us to wait until the Earth forces showed up and then get on back to Mars. We’ve been under way almost an hour.” Zip nodded.
“Mark says there’s more and wants to talk to you whenever you’re ready.”
“Send him in.”
Mark came in as Zip put a fork into a chunk of tomato and lifted it out of the bowl, dripping with dressing. “This really is delicious, Steve!” he called out as Steve disappeared onto the flight deck, leaving the two Starmen to themselves.
“Steve told you we’re on our way back to Mars, I’m sure,” said Mark by way of preamble. Zip nodded. “Commander De Koven also said that we are to report directly to Mars Base. We drop Steve off at Eagle City and go right on to the Base without getting out of the ship.” Mars Base was Starlight Enterprise’s headquarters on Mars. It was a huge plant, covering several thousand acres of Martian desert near the north pole and far from any other settlement.
“What’s up?” Zip’s gray eyes peered over the rim of the coffee mug as he took a swallow.
“There’s no danger of further attack on Mars—everything seems to be secure in Eagle City—but we’re to be given an assignment with a ‘significant time factor,’ as the Commander put it. Too sensitive to put out over the radio even with scramblers and tight beam.”
“They must’ve learned something from the pirates they captured.”
Joe peeked around the corner. “No—I think they’re going to give us a medal and a month off for liberating Eagle City!”
Two days later, the Star Ranger was cruising at a good clip a few miles above the Martian desert. Eagle City was behind them, and the course was set almost due north. Mark was reminiscing about the parting with Steve.
“Don’t worry about a thing, boys—I’ll make sure the little folk get back to the Moon safely enough.” Steve was referring to Jack and Jill, the diminutive citizens of Titan who had played a critical role in rescuing Eagle City from the pirates during their assault on Mars.
Mark felt very badly that he hadn’t been able to see the Titanians. Four days before, they had left Mars without notice to begin the frantic chase of the escaping pirates, and now they were urgently called to Mars Base with no time permitted to see their friends. Personal relationships were important to Mark. As the Star Ranger returned to Mars from the Asteroid Belt, he had made a recorded greeting and farewell for Jack and Jill and entrusted it to Steve. Mark was beginning to realize that for him, the life of a Starman would be marked with frequent partings and sorrows.
The always-ebullient Joe did not seem to be affected. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll see them again. They’ll understand. Right now we’re off on another adventure!”
As the Star Ranger approached the pole, Mark shifted his mood and hoped that Joe would be right.
“Oooh, yes! Look at that!” exulted Joe, pointing out of the front of the ship. A light came over the horizon like a flame too bright to be looked at comfortably. The sun was reflecting off the glass-sheathed buildings of Mars Base, Starlight Enterprise’s primary headquarters on the fourth planet.
As the Star Ranger rapidly closed the distance, Mark radioed for landing clearance.
“Gorgeous!” said Joe. From the pilot’s seat he could make out the airport, the hangar, the sprawling laboratory and research buildings and the manufacturing centers. Men, robots, and machines scurried around the plant. Security was very high; ever since the pirate attack SE had redoubled its efforts to keep out unauthorized personnel. This was the area from which Starlight Enterprise conducted its Martian operations.
Immediately after landing, the Starmen were brought into a spacious office. As they entered, a clean-shaven man with a rather long crew cut looked up.
“Mr. Konig!” exclaimed Zip as he led the little parade into the central portion of the complex. “I sure didn’t expect to see you here!” Konig was in charge of security throughout the entire SE system.
“Welcome to the Base, Starmen!” Konig stood up and came around his desk to greet each of them with a warm, two-handed handshake. He was a genial man, large but by no means overweight, very strong, firm, and of almost regal bearing. He gave the impression of being always available and affable, but never to be taken for granted.
“Sit down,” he continued. “What I have to say is of vital importance and I’m afraid we don’t have time to do more than get you briefed on the situation. I can’t even take the time to commend you for the outstanding work you did against the pirates. Richard is busting with pride over his newest Starmen! I can’t say I blame him—you did marvelous work! You three are wanted on Earth for some special recognition, but unfortunately we have a brief mission for you first.”
“Richard” was Richard Starlight, the head of Starlight Enterprise who had entrusted Mark and Joe with their Martian assignment.
“Thank you, Mr. Konig,” responded Zip simply.
“The pirates only had a few men placed here at the Base, but they were enough to shut down operations for the few days they needed to paralyze Eagle City. Frankly, it was a surprise for us and Richard wanted me to take personal charge of security on Mars until it was quite clear that the threat was past. Actually, I flew in with the invasion fleet. My most important assignment here is to set up a secret base for Starlight Enterprise, which will be a backup and defense unit prepared for any events such as the one we’ve just experienced.”
“A secret base?”
“Yes. I’ll be looking for the best site, recruiting the right people to man it, and drawing up plans for construction and the tasks it will have to perform. I don’t need to tell you that the project is highly confidential. I’m only telling you about it because you’re Starmen, and it will be a resource you’ll need to become familiar with. Of course, there will be much more information coming your way later.”
Oritz Konig spoke cleanly and clearly, but gave the [DB1]impression that his thoughts were racing faster than he could speak. He had had to discipline himself to speak so that others could follow him. There were few wasted words when he had to get a message across, but he was able to converse in a way that assured his listeners that he valued them as people and needed their cooperation. Konig manifested an extremely rare combination of being a “people person” as well as having a supremely disciplined and task-oriented mind.
“We interrogated the pirates while you were in the Asteroid Belt. We started with Troy Putnam, of course, but he won’t say a word. He’s got a strange kind of strength to him—genial in a lot of ways, but utterly inflexible and unbreakable when he doesn’t want to cooperate.
“We questioned other pirate leaders, too, of course, and a lot of the rank and file. Not all of them cooperated, but enough did that we learned that they have a base in the Belt. It’s no ordinary base. Most of the pirates don’t know its origin but they can describe what it looks like.
“It’s a fairly good-sized chunk of hard stone, mostly iron. It’s hollow, and the base is inside. The access port is concealed. More to the point, it cannot be detected by radar.
“Some of the toughest of the pirates sneered that we’d never find it—that it couldn’t be seen even if you were right on top of it.”
Joe jumped in. “But sir, this technology is not new. There have been craft since the late twentieth century that were invisible to radar. There are other ways to find them—gravitational influences, to name one.”
“Of course, Starman Taylor. This asteroid, however, appears to be the work of some advanced race, other than Earth. The pirates didn’t create it—they took it over. Its sheathing system is highly effective, highly effective indeed. The pirates could be lying, of course, but once the word got out to them that we knew about the asteroid, most of them seemed to swell with a kind of arrogant pride, even welcoming the fact that we had the information. They were confident that we couldn’t do anything about it.”
“And that explains, I’m sure, why we couldn’t find them in spite of an exceedingly thorough search of the area,” concluded David Foster, feeling somewhat vindicated.
“So are we to go find the asteroid?” put forth Joe, leaning forward in his chair.
“No, Mr. Taylor. We want you to find the man who discovered it.”
Joe leaned back into his chair, a puzzled look on his face. Oritz Konig continued.
“The asteroid was discovered almost twenty years ago by an asteroid miner named George St. George. He’s a loner, like so many of the asteroid miners. He makes a good living, but has no fixed address. He’s constantly on the move and spends most of his time away from settlements in the Belt. He’ll disappear for months, maybe a year or two—then show up on Ceres or in Eagle City with what he has found in the Belt and turn it into cash and supplies. Then he’s gone again.
“Apparently he discovered this remarkable asteroid the pirates took over. He’s a trusting, almost naïve, decent man. He spoke unguardedly about his find at one time and Troy Putnam learned about it. Putnam had St. George take him to the asteroid and paid him a good price for the knowledge. St. George showed Putnam where it was, and then disappeared into the Belt. Putnam went on to build his empire of pirates.”
“And now you want us to find St. George so he can show us where the asteroid is,” inferred Zip.
“It’s not that simple, Starman. We’ve also learned that the pirates who escaped are the most dangerous of the lot. Their leader is a very bad number named Lurton Zimbardo. The pirates were willing to obey Troy Putnam because he encouraged them. They liked him. He was a charismatic leader who gave them visions of grandeur and made them think that they could pull off the impossible. But they are afraid of Zimbardo—for good reason, from what we hear. He is a merciless, calculating spaceman, patiently willing to play second-in-command to Putnam while waiting for his chance to take over. That chance has now come.
“The pirates are greatly reduced in number now, but those who are left are extremely dangerous. They will be fierce, uncompromising enemies. St. George is the only person outside of the pirates who knows where the asteroid is, how to find it, and has some knowledge of how it works. Where Putnam was willing to let St. George go about his business, Zimbardo will certainly determine to eliminate him. Zimbardo will try hard to find St. George. You must find him first. Protect him, and learn from him where the asteroid is.”
“What do we know about him? How can he be found?” asked Zip.
“He hasn’t been heard from for over a year, and he could be anywhere in the Belt. But he has a friend named Montezuma Vly. If anyone knows where St. George is, Vly will know—and we know where Vly is.”
“Why not just ask Vly where St. George is?” asked Mark.
“That’s where your assignment begins,” answered Konig. “Like St. George, Montezuma Vly is an asteroid miner. Unlike St. George, he doesn’t wander far from his home. But Vly has a deep distrust of any authority figures. He lives on an asteroid he calls Montezuma’s Castle. He claimed it over thirty years ago and enjoys his privacy. No government officials have any right to enter his domain. He is completely independent. We’re hoping that where officialdom can’t act, you young Starmen can. When he knows that George St. George is at risk, I’m sure he’ll help you.”
“Where do we find Montezuma Vly?” asked Mark, who was the navigator for the trio of Starmen.
“Montezuma’s Castle is not far from Ceres. You can get to Vly in less than a day from Yellow City.” Yellow City was the major center on Ceres, the largest and most important asteroid in the system, with a population of around 100,000. It doubled as a spaceport, and was a stopping-over and refueling point on the long voyage between the Inner and Outer Planets.
“Go to Ceres first and check in there. Since the pirates will be searching for St. George, you’ll have to conduct your search quietly—using the Star Ranger and wearing Starman’s red uniforms won’t do on this assignment. You’ll need to change ships and clothes in Yellow City. The rest of the information you’ll need will be provided for you in files which you can read as you travel.”
Lurton Zimbardo called his five most trusted leaders to a meeting in one of the libraries on the pirates’ asteroid. Each was dressed in the gray and black uniform that Troy Putnam had designed for the pirates for their failed mission to take over Mars. The meeting had been going on for several hours and had involved a lot of detailed organizational work. The men were tired and showing it. As usual, Zimbardo showed no signs of fatigue.
“Yes, gentlemen,” said Zimbardo, “You know what to do now. We will need to get all of our men busy and you must drive them, drive them relentlessly! I don’t want to take any longer on this work than we need to. We’ve been moving slowly out of the Asteroid Belt for almost three days.”
His laser pointer made a few small red circles on a chart in the library. “This is where we were, and this is where we’re going to be.” The chart was nearly a full wall of smooth quartz, illumined from the inside and showing the nearby configuration of asteroids.
The table was strewn with large books opened to star maps, note pads, a couple of small computers and calculating machines, and a huge number of crumpled balls of paper. One man reached for a pitcher of water that was on the table and slowly filled his glass. Zimbardo continued.
“The manufacturing will begin tomorrow—that’ll be for Stubb to oversee. Once the sheathing device has proven effective we can begin work on restoring and disguising our fleet. After that, Crass, you’ll take care of the rest.”
One of the men looked up. “What about St. George? If anyone discovers him he could put a serious crimp in our plans.”
Zimbardo looked annoyed. “St. George will be dealt with, Mr. Slant. I have not forgotten him; you can leave that to me. He will never speak to the Starmen or anyone else.”
Another spoke. “Is it really necessary to silence him? It will take a large number of men to make a search—men we could use on the urgent projects at hand. Since you’ve moved the asteroid from its original site, he can’t find us now or show anyone else how to find us.”
“He can’t find us, but he knows how this asteroid works—almost as well as I do. If the Starmen learn what he knows, it could be disastrous for us in the unlikely chance that they ever locate us. I don’t like taking chances, and I don’t like leaving any loose ends. St. George is a loose end we can’t afford.”
“Do you know where to find him? He doesn’t have any fixed place he calls home.”
“Our men have quietly inquired for him on Ceres and learned that he has a good friend, another asteroid miner named Montezuma Vly. We know where Vly lives, and Vly will know where St. George is. Vly doesn’t receive visitors, but his resistance won’t keep a small fleet from landing. One way or another, Vly will tell us where to find George St. George—and soon.”
3: Montezuma’s Castle
A FEW DAYS later, Lurton Zimbardo decided to take a tour of the workshops and check on progress. Where Troy Putnam’s organization had been large, easy-going, and confident, Zimbardo’s was tight, highly-organized, and ruthless. Its high degree of efficiency was dependent almost exclusively on Zimbardo himself. Once Zimbardo had asserted his control over the organization, the asteroid and its crew had rapidly become an extension of his formidable personality.
He took an elevator from his suite down to the main floor of the organizational complex and stepped out into the hallway. He walked with a firm tread, and men stepped aside with a slight deferential bow. He passed through the great glass doors at the end of the passage into a huge foyer. Passing through, he entered a courtyard, strode across it, and came into the working area.
About sixty men were working at various stations. The men felt that Zimbardo was a real leader and were glad to see their new commander. It was amazing how rapidly the sense of defeat had been changed to one of expectancy and pride.
Every day or two another ship docked and new workers came in to join the crew. Zimbardo had sent out a few trusted leaders to recruit men form noted asteroid bases and mining operations in the proximity of his asteroid. He could use more men, especially skilled workers in electronics and mathematics, but he wasn’t eager to build up a large force. He chose carefully. The workforce was being built up gradually with men he could trust. He had also invited three smugglers he had known before to join the operation, with their men.
“Stubb,” called out Zimbardo.
“Sir,” responded the man so addressed, an eager man about thirty years old, with sandy blond hair and baby blue eyes. He hastened up to the pirate leader.
“Give me a status report. The ships first.”
“The sheathing systems are easy to manufacture, thanks to the ample supplies from the warehouses. The men are able to put them together rapidly, even the unskilled workers, since they just need a master circuit to copy. I have forty men working on these, with the skilled electricians checking each plate. As you know, we completed work on ten ships six days ago; they were tested and went out on their assignments. They have not returned yet. These plates we’re working on now are going on the remaining ships, and we have already finished work on four of them. That leaves just three to go, including the ship that just joined the crew yesterday. We should be finished by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good. And the power units?”
“These are far more complicated, sir, so I only have the most skilled workers assembling these. The same with the propulsion units. They won’t be ready for at least a week, not even one of them. However, once we get the prototype finished the rest should follow rapidly.”
“How long until you have all 85 completed?”
“I should have a good number of the unskilled workers ready for a new assignment once they have finished with the sheathing plates. Once the design has been checked by the experts, we can get them cracking on the power and propulsion units. Of course, each unit will have to be tested by the experts, so I would estimate that all 85 can be operational within ten days—unless we run into any problems.”
“Good work, Mr. Stubb. I will check on progress every day.”
“Very well, sir.” The man went back to work and Zimbardo returned to the main complex.