EARTHMEN NO MORE

A Captain Future Novelet

By Edmond HAMILTON

When the Futuremen revived John Carey from his deep freeze,

he wanted to go home--but where in space was home ?

CHAPTER I

The Awakening

TILL and cold in its lightless vault of

bone, the brain stirred feebly. Slowly,

slowly, it began to wake and remember--

timeless memories, flowing across it in a

dark inchoate tide from nowhere into

nothingness.

He was alone in space. Quite alone,

floating, turning, drifting. He had no

destination and he was in no hurry. He had

lost the Sun and the planets. There were

not even any stars.

He did not worry. The dead do not

insist on stars. He had forgotten how he

came to die and he was glad.

After a long while, far distant in the

infinite night, he saw a tiny gleam. He

regarded it without curiosity or fear and

then he realized that some inexorable

current had caught him and was sweeping

him toward the light, hurling him at it in a

swift relentless rush. He knew that he did

not want to go to it--but there was no

escape.

The little point of light leaped and

spread into a sun, a nova, a shattering

glare. Terror overcame him. He clawed at

the comforting darkness as it fled past but

he could not hold onto it and it seemed to

him that he could hear the small thin

shrieking of his body against the void as it

was sucked into the devouring brilliance.

There was a face between him and the

light, huge and awesome. He cried out but

no sound came and then it was gone, the

light, the face, even himself, swallowed up

in the quiet night.

Memories--the aloneness, the

remembering, the timeless drift. A sound

like the rustle of far-off surf that boomed

louder and louder and became a voice

speaking out of the heavens, saying,

"Wake up, John Carey! Wake up!"

And he thought he answered, "But I am

dead."

How had he come to die?

EMORIES, groping, uncertain,

coming faster, clearer, clothed in

vivid color. A girl's face, a girl's red mouth

saying, "Don't go. Don't go if you love me.

You'll never come back."

Men and a ship--a little ship, a frail and

tiny craft, it seemed, for the long way it

was going and the high dreams it had.

Hard-faced iron-handed men, braver than

angels and more hungry than they were

brave, hungry for new worlds and the

unknown things that lay beyond the

mountains of the Moon, beyond the still

canals of Mars, beyond the glittering

deadly Belt.

He remembered now the men and the

ship, how they had gambled their lives

against glory and lost. "We shot the

Asteroids," he muttered, in the silence of

his mind. "Jupiter was there ahead of us, a

big golden apple almost in our hands. I

remember how the moons looked,

swarming like bees around it. I

remember..."

The meteor--the tearing agony of

metal, the last glimpse of horror in the ship

before the air-burst took him with it into

space, through the riven pilot-dome. The

brief, bitter knowledge that this was death.

"Dead," he said again. "I'm dead."

The strange voice answered, "If you

want to you can live again."

He thought about that. He thought about

it for a long time in the darkness. To live

again--the light and the warmth, the

hunger and pain and hope, the wanting, the

being able to want. He thought and he was

not sure and then at last he whispered,

"How? Tell me how!"

"Open your eyes and come back, back

where the light is. You were here before,

don't you remember? Open your eyes, John

Carey!"

He did or thought he did and there was

nothing but mist, heavy darkling clouds of

it. Far, far away he saw the gleam of light

beyond him and he tried to grope toward it

but the mists were very thick.

"I can't," he moaned. "I'm lost."

Lost forever, in darkness and cold.

"Come back!" cried the voice strongly.

"Come back and live!"

He heard the sound of a hand striking

smartly against flesh. After a while he felt

it. That little sharp pain somehow managed

to bridge a colossal gulf and make him

aware that he had a body.

His brain oriented itself with a dizzying

lunge. The mists tore away. He woke.

It was a full awakening. The exploding

nova resolved itself into a light-tube,

glowing against a low ceiling of metal.

The countenance that had loomed so

hugely above him became the face of a

man. A lean face, deeply bronzed with the

unmistakable burn of space, topped with

red hair and set with two level grey eyes

that looked straight into Carey's and made

him feel somehow safe and unafraid.

"Lie still," said the red-haired man. "Get

your breath. There's no hurry." He turned

aside and his hands, very strong but

delicate of touch, busied themselves with a

vial and a gleaming needle.

Carey lay still. For the moment he had

not the strength to do anything else. The

room was small. It was fitted as a

1aboratory, incredibly compact, and many

of the objects that his wandering gaze

passed over were strange to him.

One of these objects was a small

cubical case of semi-translucent metal,

resting on a table. The surface nearest

Carey was fitted with twin lenses and a

disc, so that it bore an unsettling

resemblance to a face. Carey thought

vaguely that it must be some sort of a

communicator.

Suddenly he said, "I'm in a ship."

The red-haired man smiled. "How can

you tell? We're in free fall."

"I can tell." Carey tried to struggle up.

"But there are no ships beyond the Belt!

How..." Then he began to tremble

violently. "Listen," he said to the stranger.

"Listen, I was killed, trying to reach

Jupiter. A meteor hit us and I was blown

clear, out into space with no armor. I'm

dead. I'm a dead man. I..."

"Steady on," said the red-haired man.

"Easy." He set the needle into a place

already swabbed on Carey's naked arm.

Carey flinched. He sobbed a little and then

the trembling quieted.

"I was dead," he whispered, again.

"No," said the red-haired stranger. "Not

really dead. What we call the space-death

isn't true death but cold shock--an

instantaneous stoppage of all life

processes. There's no time for deterioration

or cellular damage, no possibility of decay.

The organism stops short. It can, by certain

means, be started going again."

He looked thoughtfully down at Carey

and added, "Many lives are restored that

way, lives that would have been considered

ended in your time."

Carey said numbly, "Then you found

me, floating in space, in frozen sleep? You

revived me?"

"Yes. Space law requires that any ship-

wreckage encountered on radar must be

investigated. That's how we found you."

The stranger smiled. "Welcome back to

life, Carey. My name is Curt Newton."

It was only then that it penetrated

Carey's stunned mind, the phrase that had

been used so casually a moment before.

"You said, 'In my time'," he repeated.

"How long..." He stopped. His mouth was

dry. He tried again, forcing out the words

that did not wish to be spoken. "How long

was I asleep out there?"

The man who called himself Curt

Newton hesitated, then asked, "What year

was it when you met disaster, Carey?"

"It was nineteen ninety-one. It was June,

nineteen ninety-one, when we left Earth."

Newton reached for a calendar pad, held

it up. He did not speak and there was pity

in his eyes.

Carey saw the date on it, and at first it

was too incredible to touch him. "Oh, no,"

he said. "Not all that time, all those

generations. No, it's not true."

"It is."

"But it can't be ..." His voice trailed off.

The numbers on the pad, the awful sum of

years blurred and darkened before him.

Once more he began to tremble and this

time it was for fear of life, not of death.

"Why did you bring me back?" he

whispered. "I have no place here. I'm still

a dead man."

BRUPTLY, from beyond the closed

bulkhead door, there came the sound

of footsteps. Strange steps, ponderous and

clanking, as though someone enormously

heavy walked in metal boots. Curt Newton

turned his head sharply.

"Grag!" he called. "Hold on there.

Wait!"

The footsteps hesitated and a voice from

beyond the door said mockingly, "I told

you so. What do you want to do, frighten

the poor chap out of his wits?" The voice

had a peculiar soft sibilance of tone.

It was answered by a rumbling metallic

growl, an utterly unhuman sound, that

seemed to have words in it. Carey got up.

He clung to the edge of the surgeon's table,

fighting the weakness that was on him, his

eyes fixed on the bulkhead door.

"Carey," said Curt Newton, "things

have changed and science has come a long

way. There are three others aboard this

ship besides myself. They're not--well, not

quite human, as men of your day

understood the term. Even now, in our

time, they're unique, created by techniques

far beyond the general knowledge. But you

must not be afraid of them. They're my

friends and will be yours."

A chill came over Carey, creeping into

his bones. He continued to stare at the

door. What waited behind it, what

monstrous things--not quite human, not

quite human. The words repeated

themselves in his brain, scuttling across it

like spiders spinning icy webs, tightening

until he could barely hear Newton's voice

talking on.

"Robot..." Faintly the voice came and

Carey stared at the door. The drops of

sweat ran slowly down his face. "Robot,

human in intelligence, created by scientific

genius..."

There were sounds behind the door.

There were presences not of the flesh.

Carey's mouth was dry with the taste of

fear.

"... android, human in all respects but

created also in the laboratory..."

Carey began to move toward the door.

What dreadful facet of the future had he

been cast into? What uncanny children of

this undreamed-of age were lurking there

behind that panel? He could not bear to

know but somehow not knowing was

worse. Not knowing and wondering and

thinking...

"...the brain of a great scientist, a

human, kept alive for many years in a

special case..."

Robot, android, living brain. A red-

haired man and a date on a calendar. A

ship where there are no ships, a life where

there is no living. A dream, Carey--a

dream you're dreaming, drifting along

with the endless tides, the dark night tides

beyond the Belt. Open the door, Carey.

What difference in a dream?

A human figure, lithe and graceful,

whose face had the unhappy beauty of a

faun, green-eyed and mocking. And beside

it a shape, a towering gigantic manlike

form built all of gleaming metal. A shape

that bent toward him, reaching out its

dreadful arms, glaring at him with two

round, flashing eyes.

A harsh, toneless voice spoke close

behind Carey, saying, "Catch him, Curtis."

Carey looked for the source of the

strange voice. The cubical box that he had

taken for a communicator had risen from

its shelf, hovering upon tenuous beams.

And he saw that the surface with the twin

lenses and the disc was indeed a face.

"No," said Carey. "Don't touch me.

Don't any of you touch me."

He made his way back into the little

laboratory. The room had closed in on him.

The darkening air pressed against him like

water. He was conscious that his hands

were cold, that his feet were very heavy,

treading on a surface he could no longer

feel.

"I tried to soften the shock for him,"

Curt Newton was saying somewhere across

the universe.

And the harsh voice of the cubical metal

case replied without inflection, "Poor

fellow, he has many shocks in store."

Carey sat down. He put his face

between his cold palms, and the knowledge

came to him, the truth that he had not quite

believed before but from which now there

was no escape.

He had bridged the gulf of time. He had

left his own past in the dust of centuries

behind him and he stood face to face with a

future that was beyond his knowing. He

was brother to Lazarus, come forth into an

alien world.

CHAPTER II

Return from Space

E could hear them talking. He did

not want to hear them. He did not

want to lift his head and see them again.

He did not even want to be alive. But he

could not help hearing.

Grag's booming voice, the thunderous

voice of the robot. "I didn't know, when I

fished him out of that wreckage, that he

had been floating there so long!"

The harsh inflexible voice of the metal

box, of the brain who had once been Simon

Wright, a scientist of Earth. "A long time

indeed," said Simon Wright and added

slowly, "He is old, this man--almost as old

as space-flight."

The soft sibilance of the android, at

once cruel and compassionate. "It was no

kindness to bring this one back, Curt. He's

as much alone in the world as we are."

There was something in the attitude of

these three unhuman strangers that struck

Carey suddenly. It was a strange thing, for

one who had for all his life been merely a

man named John Carey, of no particular

importance to anyone but himself. It was

awe. And that realization brought another

with it--that John Carey was a creature as

queer and unreal to these beings of the

future as they were to him.

Curt Newton said to the android, "I

think you're wrong, Otho. I think any man

with guts enough to buck the Belt in those

old tin skyrockets would rather live, even

in an unknown time, than sleep eternity

away."

Carey did not answer that. He did not

know the answer.

"He creates a problem for us, Curtis,"

said Simon Wright. "And at a time when

we have a grave problem of our own. You

understand that."

"Yes." Curt Newton went and stood in

front of Carey and spoke his name. Carey

looked up.

"I want you to know one thing," said

Newton. "You're not alone, not without

friends. You'll stay with us until you're

oriented. After that--well, we have a

certain amount of influence and we'll see

that you get a start on whatever sort of life

you may choose."

Still Carey did not answer.

"Listen," said Newton. "You were a

pioneer. Why you were or what you

wanted out of it I don't know. But

whatever it was you were trying to push

the frontiers back so you could get it.

Well, you succeeded, you and others like

you. Even in failure, you succeeded.

"There are colonies on the farthest

moons. Men have even begun to reach out

to the worlds of other stars. You helped to

make all that possible, Carey, and you're

alive to see it. Isn't that enough to make

you want to live? Aren't you curious to see

the civilization you helped to build?"

Carey smiled faintly. "Psychotherapy,"

he said. "We had it in my day and it wasn't

any more subtle. All right, Newton. I'll be

curious as hell when I have time to think

about it. Meanwhile I'm alive--so I don't

really have any choice, do I?"

He got up. Deliberately he forced

himself to look at Grag and Otho and

Simon Wright.

"All right," he said to them all, to no

one. "I'll get used to it in time. A man can

get used to anything if he has time."

"Quite," said the voice of Simon

Wright. "All of us have learned the truth of

that--even Curtis."

Carey tried in the period that followed.

But it was a hard thing to do. To his own

time-sense the great gap between yesterday

and today was only an instant of sleep. He

caught himself often thinking of Earth as

he knew it, of the men and women who

would be there just as he had left them, of

the songs and the streets and the faces of

buildings, the uncountable small details

that make up the sum of an epoch.

It was hard to teach himself that they

were there no more. But one or another of

his shipmates was always near him and

never let things get to bad. So gradually,

from constant association, Grag and Otho

and Simon Wright became familiar to

Carey and he no longer felt that uncanny

twinge when he was near them.

Simon remained enigmatic and remote,

an intelligence keen and brilliant far

beyond Carey's power to understand,

wrapped in his own thoughts, his own

researches. Knowledge was Simon's thirst

and his existence and it seemed to Carey

that, although Simon Wright had been a

man of Earth before his brain was taken

from his dying body and preserved by the

magic of a future science, Simon had

become the least human of them all.

Grag and Otho were easier. The android

was so nearly human that only now and

again did a flicker of something other-

worldly in his green eyes remind Carey

that Otho was not as other men. Even then

it was impossible to fee1 any horror of

him. Carey had known a lot of mothers'

sons but seldom one that he liked as much

as the sharp-tongued ironic Otho, whose

most pointed barbs were tempered with

pity.

As for Grag, once Carey had got used to

his seven-foot clanking bulk and enormous

strength, he became fond of the great

robot, whose only faults were over-

enthusiasm and a certain lack of judgment.

It was, however, constantly upsetting to

Carey to realize that this lumbering metal

giant had quite as much intelligence as he

and a good deal more knowledge.

The man Curt Newton, the man many

called Captain Future, remained

paradoxically the most difficult to

understand of all the four. It was only bit

by bit from the others that Carey picked up

Newton's story--his strange birth and

stranger upbringing in a lonely laboratory

hidden under the surface of the Moon, an

orphan with no other companions than the

three who were called the Futuremen.

O wonder, Carey thought, that with

such a background Newton was

withdrawn and guarded in his approach to

the ordinary relationships of men. He, like

his companions--and like Carey too in this

new incarnation of his--was set apart

forever from the normal world. Carey

sensed that the easy casual manner of the

red-haired man had been painfully

acquired, that beneath it lay a dark and

solitary creature, much better not aroused.

Carey soon discovered something else

about Curt Newton. He was angry and it

was no mere passing rage. It was a cold

black fury that rode him all across the

spatial gulf that plunged between Saturn,

whence he had come, and Earth, where he

was going. And the cause of it was a

message he had received from a man

named Ezra Gurney about another man

named Lowther.

There was something about a monopoly

on a certain kind of fuel, which was going

to put Lowther in control of all shipping to

and from the distant star-colonies which

were not much at present but would grow.

It seemed that the star-ships took on their

high-potential fuel for the long jump at

Pluto, where the radioactive ore was mined

and refined.

And now, by devious manipulations of

hidden stock, Lowther had got control of

the refining companies and raised the price

out of reach. There were ships stranded at

Pluto and men in an ugly mood and

Newton was heading fast for Earth to see

what he could do about it.

It sounded a dirty enough deal and

Carey hoped that Newton would bring

Lowther to time. But this talk of star-

colonies and star-ships was beyond him.

His mind was still thinking of Jupiter as

the unattained and well-nigh unattainable.

Any problems of star-ships or the men

who flew them were distant and unreal.

Furthermore he was too deeply immured in

his own fears and loneliness, in the

strangeness of being alive.

He began to think more and more of

Earth. He was hungry to see it, to feel it

under his feet again, to look up into a blue

sky at the familiar Sun. He had been long

away from Earth when he fell asleep--an

eternity, it had seemed, shut up in an iron

coffin outbound for Jupiter.

He remembered now how they had

talked about Earth, crouching within the

narrow walls that hid them from the black

negation of space. The voices still rang in

his ears, the faces were as clear as though

he had only turned his head away for a

moment or two.

Craddock and Szandor, Miles and

Delaporte, Gaines, Coletti, Fenner--the

red-headed, the black and the fair--the

different particular tricks of phrase and

expression, the kindness and cruelty and

courage and fear--the wisdom and the

folly, moulded together into the separate

forms of men. And they had talked of

Earth.

They had planned what they would do

when they got back, with the wealth of a

new world in their hands. They had talked

of the women who would be waiting for

them, of the parades and the speeches, the

fame that would be theirs around the globe.

They had talked and all the time the

darkness that was just beyond the hull had

been listening with a silent mirth and John

Carey was the only one who would ever

come back again.

As the ship rushed nearer to the orbit of

Earth Carey's eagerness increased until it

was like a fever in him. He talked of home

as those other men had talked and Curt

Newton listened with a kind of pity in his

eyes.

"Don't expect too much," he said. "It's

changed--but it's still Earth, not Paradise."

The forward jets were cut in and the

ship quivered to the brake-blasts--not the

anguished uncertain shuddering of the

ships Carey had known but a controlled

lessening of speed. The green remembered

wor1d came gleaming across the forward

port and Carey stared at it, sitting

motionless and absorbed, urging the misty

continents into shape, watching the oceans

spread into blueness and the mountains rise

and become real.

Suddenly he was afraid. He covered his

face with his hands, and said, "I can't. I

can't walk like a ghost through streets I

never saw, looking for people who have

been dead for generations."

"It won't be easy," said Curt Newton.

"But you'll have to. Until you do you'll be

living and thinking in the past." He looked

at Carey, half smiling. "After all, you came

into this world a stranger once before."

"What will they say to me?" whispered

Carey. "How do people talk to a dead

man?"

"As rudely as they do to everyone else.

And how will they know unless you tell

them? Come on, Carey, stiffen up. Forget

the past. Start thinking about the future."

"Future!" said Carey and the word had a

strange hollow sound to him. "Give me

time. I haven't caught up with the present

yet."

He was silent after that. Newton asked

for and got clearance for a landing. The

ship picked up her pattern and spiraled in.

Nothing was clear to Carey. Confused

vistas reeled and spun beneath him, a huge

monster of a city, the many-colored

patchwork of a spaceport, strange and

unknown, yet with a haunting familiarity,

like a language learned in childhood and

long forgotten. His heart pounded fiercely.

It was hard to breathe.

The ship touched ground. And John

Carey had come home from space.

He remained as he was, sitting still, his

fingers sunk deep into the padded arms of

the recoil-chair. Curt Newton's voice was

faint and far away. "Simon and I are going

to Government Center. Grag will stay with

the ship. But Otho can go along with you if

you like."

"No," said Carey. "No thanks--I..."

There was more he wanted to say but he

could not form the words. He got up and

went past the others, seeing them only as

shadows. The airlock was open. He went

out.

HE blaze of a summer sun smote

hard upon him. He looked up at white

clouds piling slowly in the sky and thought

out of some dim coign of memory, Later

there will be a storm. He began to walk

across the concrete apron, scarred with

many flames.

This was the same spaceport. It had to

be for there was the city before him and

behind him was the sea. Here, from a little

field that had looked so big and grand, the

Victrix had taken flight for Jupiter. Here a

girl had said goodbye and kissed him with

the bitterness of tears.

But it was not the same. The little field

was swallowed up and gone, drowned in

the mighty rows of docks. Where the

administration building had stood a white

pylon towered up into the clouds. The air

was filled with the thunderous roar of

ships, landing, taking off, jets flaming, lean

hulls flashing in the sun.

Great cranes clanked and rumbled.

Strings of lorries snorted back and forth

between the freight docks and the

warehouses and from beyond them spoke

the anvil voices of the foundries. Atomic

welders blazed like little suns and the huge

red tenders rolled ponderously among the

ships with their loads of fuel.

Carey walked slowly. He was listening

to the music, the titan song of the ships and

the men who served them. Good music to

one who had first helped to write it long

ago. He listened and was proud--not just

for himself but for Gaines and Coletti,

Fenner and Miles and Szandor, the men of

his crew and all the other crews who had

christened this port in their blood and

flame.

And suddenly the song was drowned in

the chattering voices of women. People

surged around him, caught him up and

carried him on toward a great sleek craft of

silvery metal, with a name and an

unknown flag on her bow--Empress of

Mars. Trim young men in natty uniforms

stood by her gangplank. High heels clicked

against the curving metal with a sound as

brittle as the voices.

"Such a wretched cruise the last time! I

was simply bored to tears..."

"Well, Mars isn't what it used to be, so

overrun with tourists. I went last to

Ganymede for a change and you have no

idea..."

A young girl, giggling--"It's my first

trip and I'm just thrilled to death. Janet

said they have a simply heavenly orchestra

on this ship!"

Under the shrill incessant chatter lay the

heavier intermittent voices of men. Rich

men, stuffed with the tallow of good living,

men with big sweating bellies sheathed in

silk, comparing the food and service on the

Empress with the Morning Star, that flew

the luxury run to Venus, and the Royal

Jove. And here and there among them an

anxious younger man with a red-mouthed

woman on his arm, underlings stripped to

their last nickel for the privilege of rubbing

shoulders with the elite on a trip across

space.

A sickness came over Carey. He felt

smothered in perfume and smug

sophistication. He looked at the trim young

officers and hated them.

Over the chatter and the cries an

annunciator spoke with firm politeness.

"Last warning for Empress of Mars

passengers! The gangways close in six

minutes. Last warning..."

Carey stood, a silent unnoticed figure in

the crowd, thinking of other ships and

other men who had left Earth long ago, and

the sickness in him deepened. Caught in

the press of soft comfortable flesh he heard

gongs clanging and a surge of voices and

then the sibilant roar that became a purring

thunder as a glistening fabric of shining

metal lifted skyward. Then he was swept

away in the backwash of people from the

empty dock.

"She really earned a nice vacation..."

"...and those cruise-ships are so much

more fun than ordinary space-trips. They

have hostesses and games and always

something to do!"

Carey stumbled out of the stream at last

into a little deserted backwater around a

tall pillar that stood at the edge of the

spaceport.

There was gold lettering on it, only a

little dingy from the back-blast of many

ships. Carey saw a name he knew.

He looked closer. It was a tall pillar and

he had to look high to see the legend that

read, TO THE PIONEERS OF SPACE.

Now he saw. Underneath that legend

were names, and dates. First the names of

the great trail-blazers.

Gorham Johnson--Mark Carew--Jan

Wenzi--

Wenzi...Once a small boy had watched

with worshipping eyes as a grizzled one-

armed man stumped toward a ridiculous

rocket-ship.

A little farther down, not much. Lane

Fenner--Etienne Delaporte--William

Gaines--yes, all the Victrix crew including

John Carey, all with the golden stars beside

them that meant Lost in Space.

Names--names and men, his friends,

his shipmates, his rivals. Jim Hardee, the

kid who had sat drinking with him the

night before he hit for Jupiter. While he

had lain dead in space young Hardee had

gone on, doing the big things he dreamed

of. And now, like the others, he was only a

dingy gold-letter name on a forgotten

monument.

The voice of the annunciator pleaded

monotonously, "Will Pallas passengers

please report at once to Dock Forty-four?

Will Pallas passengers..."

Old Wenzi and Jim Hardee and young

Szandor and Red Miles--yes, and he

himself, bucking the black emptiness and

the cold death to push the frontiers out...

"Attention, please," said the mechanical

voice. "The liner Star of Venus will land at

Dock Fourteen at exactly six-ten. Those

wishing to greet incoming passengers..."

Carey sat down on the steps of the

monument. Otho found him there, staring

at the bright crowds going back and forth,

listening to the voices and the laughter, the

swift proud thunder of the ships.

Otho touched his shoulder and after a

while Carey asked him tonelessly, "Did we

die for this?"

CHAPTER III

Men of Earth

OR the better part of two days Curt

Newton was busy carrying his fight

against Lowther into one Government

office after another. And during that time,

with Otho determinedly sticking to him to

keep him out of trouble, Carey wandered

about in the city.

It was very large. It had always been

so--the largest city on the world of Earth.

Now it was no longer merely large but

monstrous, bloated, towering, spreading,

gorged with humanity and wealth. Yet it

seemed less crowded than Carey

remembered.

The buildings were taller now,

frighteningly tall, and there were covered

walks of chrome and glassite spanning the

dizzy canyons in between, so that a man

might go across the city and never touch

the ground. Traffic ran on many levels

underneath. The streets were quiet and

clean and Carey missed the brawling

taxicabs, the surge and hum of crowds.

He watched the people who passed him.

The tempo had slowed since the days he

knew. Men and women strolled now,

where before they had almost run. Their

faces were a little different too, more

relaxed and satisfied. He did not think that

they were much happier or wiser, certainly

no more kind.

Men and women, well fed, well dressed,

making money, spending it. Palaces of

entertainment, offering elaborate

amusements to suit every taste. Travel

bureaus displaying their three-dimensional

living posters, urging people no longer to

visit Quaint Brittany or the Romantic

Caribbean but luring them instead with the

ancient Martian cities and the pleasure-

domes of tropical Venus.

Shop windows, full of marvels.

Tenuous spider-silks from Venus,

necklaces of Martian rubies like drops of

blood to glow against white flesh, jugs of

curious wines from the moons of Jupiter,

the splendid furs of beasts that hunt across

the frozen polar seas of Neptune.

We opened the way, Carey thought. We

died and they grow fat.

Stone and steel and plastic and rare

metals to make the giant towers splendid.

Soft colors, soft sounds of music from

garden terraces far above, where the sea

wind tempered the heat and set the fronds

of other-worldly shrubs to rustling.

Terraces where people sat feeding on

delicacies brought across space in fleets of

special ships, watching languidly the

musicians and the dancers who were as

alien as the exotic plants. Everywhere was

the pervading softness, the silk-wrapped

cushioned luxury, the certain ease of men

who have never had to fight.

"You might as well see it all," said

Otho. And so Carey visited the places of

amusement, the parks and the pleasure

gardens, and sat upon the perfumed

terraces, a dark and sombre shadow among

the butterfly crowds. And often the women

turned and looked at him as though

perhaps they saw in his face a thing that

was lost out of the men they knew.

Every landmark was gone, every place

he knew was changed. There was no single

street that he remembered. And the names

were gone too and the faces, gone and

utterly forgotten.

Suddenly Carey glanced up at the

overtopping spires that leaned against the

sky and said, "I hate this place. I'm going

back to the ship."

Otho smiled a little wryly and they

returned to the port.

Curt Newton came back almost as soon

as they. Simon was with him and a grizzled

leathery-faced man in uniform who was

introduced to Carey as Ezra Gurney.

Otho studied Newton's face. "I was

going to ask you how it went," he said,

"but I see--it didn't go at all."

Newton shook his head. "No." He flung

himself down, retreating into a brooding

silence. Carey saw his hard dangerous

anger.

"What happened?" demanded Grag,

"You don't mean to say they're going to let

Lowther get away with it?"

"There doesn't seem to be any way they

can stop him," said Ezra Gurney. He had a

hard honest space-worn look about him

that Carey liked. He too was angry.

"The trouble is," he explained, "that

Curt has no proof against Lowther. There's

a half dozen refining companies on Pluto

and they've all raised their fuel-prices

together. Lowther only owns one of them

outright and in the open.

"He says and they all say that mining

and refinery costs have gone up so that

they have to charge more for the fuel,

which is legal enough. All right. Now we

know that Lowther has used dummy

corporations and juggled stock and so on

until he actually controls the other five

companies. But we can't prove it!

"Curt went to everybody at Government

Center. They all said the same thing. Such

a charge would require hearings,

committees, investigation, all that

rubbish--weeks, months, maybe years,

because Lowther is smart enough and rich

enough to stall indefinitely and the chances

of nailing him are mighty slim."

"And in the meantime," said Curt

Newton slowly, "the starmen are forced

either to sell out to Lowther for fuel or to

stay here in the System while their wives

and families and the communities they've

worked so hard to build go without the

supplies they need.

"They'll give in, of course, because they

have to go back--and Lowther will gain a

stranglehold on all the trade between the

System and the colonies. In twenty years

he'll be rich enough to buy and sell the

Sun."

Grag held out his two great metal hands

and looked at them, flexing the fingers

with an ominous small clanking of the

joints. "I vote," he said, "that we pay this

Lowther a visit."

"What form of execution would you

prefer?" Otho asked him. "Being melted

down for scrap or converted into a nice

useful boiler? There's a law against killing

people, even for bucket-headed robots."

"Who said anything about killing?"

boomed Grag. "He could have an accident,

couldn't he?"

"Preferably a bad one," grunted Ezra.

"But I'm afraid that approach won't do."

"No," said Curt slowly, "but I think

Grag has the right idea at that. I think we

ought to go and talk to Mr. Lowther." He

sprang up. "Come on, Carey, this will

interest you as a commentary on the brave

new world you helped to build!"

"I think I've seen enough of it," Carey

said. "I don't want to see any more."

UT he went with them. Only Simon

Wright stayed in the ship. They took

a car from the spaceport. Except that it had

wheels and seats it bore little resemblance

to the cars Carey had known. Propulsion

units sent it rushing smoothly along the

underground high-ways.

By the time they came out onto the

great elevated boulevards that led across

suburb and country the long summer dusk

was falling. Carey turned and looked back.

Outlined against the deep blue the

enormous bulk of the city blazed with

many-colored light. Even at this distance it

had an alien look to his eyes.

The sleek suburban areas fled by.

Beyond them the country still pretended to

be as it had been. But Carey's more

primitive eyes detected the deception.

Artful hands had arranged the trees and

changed the courses of the brooks and

pruned the wild hedgerows into pleasing

vistas.

The car left the highway and proceeded

along a private road. Presently, upon a

slope ahead, Carey saw a graceful structure

of metal and glass, shaped by a master

hand to fit like a huge synthetic jewel into

its setting of terraced gardens.

The translucent walls gleamed softly

and strains of music drifted on the evening

air. The gardens were full of fairy lights.

As they came closer Carey made out the

flutter of women's skirts among the

flowers, heard the sounds of laughter.

"Looks like a party," said Otho. "A big

one."

"We'll give him a party," rumbled Grag

and cracked his metal knuckles.

They came to the gates, which were

artistic but highly functional. Curt Newton

got out. He went to the small viewer that

was housed at one side and pressed the

communicator stud. After a moment Carey

saw him returning to the car.

"Mr. Lowther is engaged and can see no

one," he quoted and then added,

"Particularly us." He surveyed the gates.

"An electronic locking device, operated by

remote control or with a light-key--neither

of which helps us. Grag, would you care to

see what you can do about it?"

Grag's photo-electric eyes gleamed as he

heaved himself out of the car and strode

toward the gates. For a minute his

enormous bulk was motionless, leaning

forward a little with his hands on the bars,

testing the resistance. Then he moved.

There was a groaning and snapping and a

metallic squeal and the gates were open.

The car drove on into the grounds.

"There was an alarm on the gate, of

course," said Newton. "They'll be waiting

for us and I don't want any trouble. We had

better get out here and go 'round through

the gardens."

The air was heavy with the scent of

flowers. It was warm and on the terraces

the white shoulders of women turned back

the moonbeams. The music ran slow and

lilting and there was laughter under the

colored lights. Curt Newton walked

through the gardens and after him came

Grag and Otho and John Carey, who was

moving in an unreal dream.

One by one the dancing couples saw

them and the laughter stopped. The

swirling skirts were still and the faces

watched them, not with fear but with an

amazement, as children might look at

sombre strangers invading their nursery.

The music continued, soft and sweet.

Along the paths between the drooping

jasmine and the great pale blooms of

Venus, across the terraces, through a

sliding wall wide open to the night, and

into a pastel room with a vast expanse of

mirror-like floor surrounded by graceful

colonnades--and here too the dancers

drew back from the intruders.

Then, from one of the archways, came a

group of men headed by a tall man no

older than Curt Newton. He wore a dress

tunic of black silk and his hair was black

and his face had a clear healthy pallor.

Carey thought that it was the sort of skin a

woman might have, shaped smooth over

handsome bones and set with wide dark

eyes. Only there was nothing womanish

about Lowther's face if by womanish you

meant weak or pitying or possessing any

softness of heart.

The men with him were of a type Carey

knew and detested. They were the kind

who are always somewhere around a man

like Lowther.

The two groups came to a halt and eyed

each other. Lowther said, "If you came to

say something, say it and get out."

Newton put one hand on Carey's

shoulder and pointed with the other to

Lowther. "There he is, Carey--the most

important man in the Solar System. Oh, the

System doesn't know it yet but he is. And

he's modest too. He owns all the refineries

on Pluto but you'd never know it to look at

the records."

He had raised his voice a bit so that it

could be heard clearly above the music. A

considerable crowd had collected, drawn in

from the gardens, and there were plenty to

hear.

OWTHER came closer to Newton.

He started to speak and Newton went

on smoothly, politely, drowning him out.

"My friend has been away from Earth for a

long time, Mr. Lowther. I wanted him to

meet you, so that he could see the type of

man we produce now, the successful man.

I thought it might teach him a lesson while

he's still young enough to profit by it.

"You see where you made your mistake,

Carey? You went pioneering, and got

nothing out of it but hardship and danger

and sudden death. You should have stayed

at home like Mr. Lowther here, using your

wits and letting others do the dirty work of

opening up new worlds. See what you'd

have had--a fine house, a host of friends, a

good steady business with no competition?

"After awhile, with patience and good

judgment, you'd have owned the shipping-

lines to which at first you only sold fuel.

Doesn't it make you ashamed, Carey, to

think of how you wasted your youth--just

as the starmen stranded out there on Pluto

are wasting theirs?"

Lowther's face was even whiter than

before except for two streaks of dull red

along his cheekbones. "Listen," he said, "if

you're so worried about the starmen, you'd

better get word to them to watch their step

or they'll be in real trouble.

"They're threatening to resort to

violence and I'm leaving for Pluto in the

morning to see that my property is

protected. I don't know exactly what

you're trying to do, Newton, but even you

can't buck the law--and neither can your

friends."

Newton's face was tight and dark but his

voice was soft. "There are laws and laws,"

he said. "Some of them are so basic they

haven't even been written down. Perhaps

someday soon we'll have a longer talk

about laws."

He turned abruptly and went back down

the long room with the glassy floor and the

others went with him. Lowther followed

them at a distance, looking after them as

they left the grounds.

In the car, speeding back toward the

city, Grag said regretfully, "Why didn't

you let me wring his neck?"

"He may get it wrung yet out on Pluto,"

answered Curt. "When the starmen there

find out that I couldn't do anything for

them they'll try to do something for

themselves." He turned suddenly to Carey.

There was a hard reckless glint in his eyes.

"Carey,"he said, "do you want to come

with us out to Pluto and see a fight?"

Carey shrugged heavily. "Pluto,

Antares--what difference does it make

where I am? Yes, I'll go. I'll go anywhere

that isn't Earth."

He was sick with Earth and opulence

and the greedy faces of men. The old

horizons were gone and even Pluto, that

distant stepchild of the Sun, was the seat of

monopoly and all the ugly things that had

plagued mankind since the beginning. But

it would be a change from Earth.

Otho said to Curt, "You're not really

going to egg them on to fight?" He said it

not with reproof but with hope.

Curt answered grimly, "No. They'd

only get themselves killed without

accomplishing anything. Lowther was

right. As of now the law is all on his side."

He was silent and then he said, "No, it

was another kind of fight I had in mind."

He said nothing more, until they reached

the spaceport. Then he grinned at Carey, a

grin without much humor in it. "I know

what you need," he said. "Grag, go on

back to the ship and keep Simon company.

Otho and I will help Carey drown his

sorrows."

Grag went off. Newton and Otho took

Carey some distance around the periphery

of the port. There was an endless number

of joints along the fringe, some of them

fashionable, some catering to ordinary

spacehands. They entered one of the latter.

There were a bar and booths and tables and

Carey thought dully that this at least had

not changed.

They sat down. Through the window,

which looked out on the flash and thunder

of the port, Carey could see the rows of

docks and the long sheds with the names

on them of this and that line or company.

One of them said LOWTHER MINING

CORPORATION and there was a sleek

ship in its dock with an endless conveyor

taking cases of supplies up its gangway.

"Lowther's ship, getting ready to take

him off to Pluto tomorrow," said Newton

harshly.

Otho raised his glass toward it.

"Confusion to it," he said.

Newton moodily watched the distant

ship. Carey felt the unfamiliar liquor

explode in him like liquid fire. Otho

signaled and presently there was another

glass in Carey's hand.

He was in no mood to refuse it. He had

been a long, long time in space, his

awakening had been hard, his homecoming

bitter. The future was a cold and formless

presence, crouched behind a dark curtain.

Carey drank.

There was an interval wherein he knew

that he talked but was not sure what he

said. Then he found himself in cool night

air and Otho's arm was helping him into a

ship.

Even through his haze, Carey knew

Simon Wright's toneless voice by now.

"Where is Curtis?" it demanded.

"He'll be along," Otho said easily.

"This way, Carey--you need sleep."

It was later--how much later he could

not guess--when Carey half-roused to

voices. Simon's inflectionless voice and

Curt's.

"--and you won't tell me what you've

been up to?" Simon was saying.

"There's nothing to tell, Simon. We got

nowhere with Lowther so we came back.

Now we've got to go out to Pluto and see if

we can stop him there."

"Curtis, I know you and I know that you

have done something. Well, we shall see.

But one thing I am sure of and that is that

someday your anger will outrun your

wisdom and bring you to disaster."

Carey drifted into sleep again. He did

not even rouse to the shock of take-off.

When he woke, the ship was on its way to

Pluto.

CHAPTER IV

Earthmen No More

HEY made the long sweeping curve

to escape the pull of Neptune and

ranged in toward the dim speck that was

Pluto. The jumping-off place of the Solar

System, with nothing beyond it but

interstellar space, riding its dark cold orbit

around a Sun so distant that it seemed no

greater than the other stars.

Yet even here, if wealth was hidden

away, man would find it. Carey thought

that undoubtedly a few shrewd souls would

have set up concessions for mining coal in

Hell.

He had watched all the way out from

Earth but with only a flicker of the

excitement he would once have known.

He was interested, of course, because it

was his first trip beyond the orbit of

Jupiter. But the thrill was gone. People

talked of going out to Saturn or Uranus

now as they had once talked of going out

to California. It gave Carey, somehow, a

feeling of having been cheated. In his day

going to Mars had been a big thing and

fraught with danger.

From a featureless fleck of reflected

light almost too faint to be seen Pluto grew

into a recognizable world--a dark world

with black wild mountains shooting up

against the stars and eerie seas of ice.

There was something so cruel and

ghostlike in the look of it that Carey could

not repress a shudder.

It seemed rather like an invader from

outer space than a member of the familiar

System, the more so since in bulk and mass

and composition it bore a ghastly

resemblance to Earth as though alien

demons might have made it as a joke.

They were a little ahead of Lowther.

They had not had much start on him but

they had a faster ship.

"We'll have a little time," said Curt.

"Even a few hours might be enough to talk

some sense into Burke and the others."

Burke, Carey gathered, was captain of

one of the two star-ships fighting the battle

over fuel, was more or less the leader of

both crews.

"They counted on help from the

Government," said Otho. "When they find

out what's happened they're going to be

hard to hold."

"We've got to hold them," Curt

answered grimly. "They'll blow their only

chance if they start fighting."

Simon said nothing but his lens-like

eyes followed Curt intently. The forward

jets began to thunder and the Comet, still

curving, entered its long arc of

deceleration.

As they swept closer Carey saw that the

frozen plains were pocked with craters, and

that some of the mountain-peaks had been

shattered by caroming meteors. The lunar

desolation of the world was hideous.

Carey thought what it must be like to live

and work here.

"The refinery men get relief at regular

intervals," Curt told him. "And there are a

couple of small domed cities around on the

other side."

Carey nodded. "Even so Pluto seems a

stiff place for them."

"It is," said Curt. "You'll see."

The televisor buzzed. They had been

coming in on the automatic beam but now

somebody wanted to talk to them. Curt

opened the switch.

A man's face appeared on the little

screen. It wore the expression of one who

has been handed a hot wire and doesn't

know how to let go of it. "Lowther Mines

speaking," it said. "Identify yourself."

Newton did and the man's face grew

more unhappy. "We can't very well stop

you from landing," he said. "But keep your

distance from the domes--no closer than a

hundred yards. There's a charged barrier."

He added, "We're well armed."

The screen went dark. Curt shook his

head. "They're all set for trouble. Let's

hope it hasn't already started."

Curt set the Comet down at last, on the

edge of a vast white plain where it struck

against a mountain wall. Carey saw two

great dark hulls looming near them with

only their mooring lights showing. Well

over a hundred yards away, sunk into the

living rock of the cliffs so that only the

outer bulwarks showed, was a series of

steel-and-concrete domes.

Northward along the plain, in a sector

marked off by beacons to warn away

incoming ships, were other domes. Here

there were rifts and gouges in the barren

rock of Pluto, hulks of strange machinery

and structures of various sorts whose uses

Carey could not be sure of.

Occasional lights gleamed but nothing

moved. The diggers and the ore-carriers

were still and no clouds of vapor came

from the buried stacks of the refineries.

"They're shut down tight," said Curt.

"Regular state of siege." He looked at the

others. "Don't forget what our friend said

about the barrier."

They put on protective coveralls--

except for Grag and Simon, who needed no

such protection. Curt had handed Carey

one of the suits. "You've come all the way

out and you might as well see the fun," he

said.

Then they went out into the black

Plutonian night toward the star-ships. It

was intensely dark, colder than anything

Carey remembered except that one split-

second touch of open space.

Carey stared at the distant mockery of a

Sun, overcome with the feeling that he was

indeed on the outer edge of the universe.

He was so occupied by his sensations that

he was taken completely by surprise when

men rose suddenly out of the hollows of

the ice and closed around them.

A torchbeam flashed out and struck Curt

full in the face. He said, "Burke?" and

from beyond the light a voice grunted,

"Okay, relax. It's him."

"What's the idea?" Curt demanded.

"Well," said Burke, "we picked up your

call but we wanted to be sure it really was

you and not one of Lowther's smart tricks."

"Or," said Curt, "did you hope maybe it

was Lowther himself, trying to get behind

the barrier before you knew who he was?"

He glanced around at the shadow-shapes of

the men, who were numerous and armed.

"Maybe," said Burke. He switched the

beam around the Futuremen and onto

Carey. "Who's this?"

"He's not Lowther either. His name is

Carey and he's a friend of mine."

Burke nodded briefly. His attention

returned to Newton. "What's the news?

What did they say on Earth?"

"Let's go on to your ship," said Curt.

"I'll tell you about it there."

Burke and the others must have known

from the way he said it what the answer

was going to be. But they turned silently

and went back across the ice with the

Futuremen and Carey into their ship.

They had the port shutters down but

there was light inside. It felt very warm to

Carey after the spatial chill. They stripped

off their heavy garments and went aft into

the main cabin, sorting themselves out so

that the officers of both star-ships sat down

around the battered table and the crews

crowded where they could in the

passageways to listen.

AREY stood unnoticed in a corner of

the cabin. He could see these starmen

now. They had large scarred hands and

faces burned dark as old leather. Their

uniform jumpers were worn and their boots

were shabby and they wore their greasy

caps in a certain way that Carey

remembered. He saw the sort of eyes they

had too--and those he remembered also.

Burke leaned forward across the table.

He had an oblong face that was mostly

bone and sinew like the rest of him and a

hungry look around the mouth. "All right,"

he said. "Now tell us."

Curt Newton told them and as he talked

Carey watched the starmen. An eerie

feeling crept over him that he had known

these men before. He had served with them

in the little ships that fought their way

along the planetary roads that seemed then

so long and hard. It was strange to see

these men again, to know that they still

lived. He could almost have called them by

name except that their faces had altered a

bit and he could not be sure.

Burke was talking. "If they won't do

anything we'll have to do it ourselves.

And we will! I'm not going to sell our ship

to that pirate for a load of fuel."

Curt said, "The law--"

"To blazes with the law! When it starts

protecting thieves instead of honest men

it's time to forget the law."

There was no cheering or loud talk.

There was only a harsh mutter of assent.

"Listen," Curt said. "You can't smash

into the domes and take the fuel. You

know what they've got ready for you."

"We don't have to smash in," said

Burke. "Lowther's on his way here. We

intercepted his message saying so. Well, he

can't land behind the barrier. There isn't

room."

Curt nodded. "The same thing you

pulled with me. Get Lowther in your

hands..."

"And kill him, if we have to," Burke

finished quietly. "But, we'll get our fuel."

For the first time Simon spoke. "That is

murder."

Burke shrugged. "They'll have to come

a long way to catch us." He added in a

sudden fury, "Murder, is it? We've got our

wives and families out there! They need

the medicines, the tools, the seeds. What if

they die for want of them? Isn't that murder

too?"

Simon said, "If you kill Lowther you

can never come back for more."

Curt had got to his feet. He was about to

speak. Then Carey heard a voice clamoring

over the annunciator, crying, "Radar room!

We've just picked up Lowther's ship! He's

still in free fall but he's coming!"

Carey saw the fierce excitement that

took the starmen. There was a sudden

wolfish shouting, a ringing of boots on the

deck-plates. Burke was yelling orders. The

men in the passageways began to move.

Burke faced Curt Newton. "Well?"

Curt said, "Hold your men back."

There was a tenseness about him now.

It seemed to Carey that he was listening for

something. "Hold them back!"

Burke's face hardened. "I couldn't if I

wanted to." He added slowly and

meaningly, "They'll trample anybody that

gets in their way."

He turned his back on Newton then and

for a time nothing more was said or done.

They listened to the voice of the radar man,

calling out the position of Lowther's ship.

The voice became more and more puzzled.

Simon's lens-like eyes were fixed

intently on Curt Newton.

"He's still in free fall," said the radar

man. He hasn't started his curve yet and the

indicators don't show any rockets."

Burke put his mouth close to the

speaker-grid. "Communications," he said.

"Are you getting anything from Lowther's

ship?"

The answer came back, "No. The

Company station is calling Lowther but he

doesn't answer. It's like he hasn't any

power."

"Still no rockets," said the radar man. "I

can't figure this one. He's way past his

point of approach and going wide."

"Still no signals," put in

Communications. "He doesn't answer."

"Going wide--" The voice of the radar

man reached a tight pitch of excitement.

"He's lost his landing-curve! He's heading

right out into space with no rockets!"

For some odd reason Curt Newton

seemed to relax. But Burke and the other

officers stared at each other with dawning

comprehension and then with a joy that

was more savage than their anger.

"He's out of fuel," said Burke. "Nothing

else would kill both his rockets and

communications. He's out of fuel and

heading right out into the stars in free fall

with no power."

He began to walk back and forth with

short steps as though he could not bear to

be still. His hands gripped fiercely at the

air. "We don't have to kill him now. It's

done and not a finger laid on him. And it's

better--better! He'll learn before he dies.

He'll learn what it means to be between the

stars with no fuel!"

Curt Newton turned sharply toward the

door.

Simon glided before him. "Curtis," he

said, "this is your doing."

Curt said quietly, "Get out of my way,

Simon. I'm going after him."

Burke heard. So did the others. Carey

saw them move toward Newton.

"What do you mean--going after him?"

cried Burke.

"There are other men in that ship besides

Lowther. There's no reason why they

should die."

"Oh no," said Burke softly. "You're not

going to bring him back."

Carey saw them closing in around

Newton and he pushed in to stand with

Otho beside the red-haired man.

"Listen," said Newton. "I've fought for

you. I'm still fighting for you. Are you

going to trust me or aren't you?"

Burke's glance wavered before his. But

he said, "It doesn't make sense to bring

him back."

"Let him go," said Simon Wright

slowly. "He has done this thing for you.

Now let him finish it."

NCERTAINLY, reluctantly, Burke

stepped aside and Curt Newton went

out of the star-ship with Carey and Otho

and Simon Wright.

Not until the Comet was rising up from

Pluto on a jet of flame, rushing out into the

vast darkness where Lowther's helpless

ship was gone, did Simon speak again. He

asked tonelessly, "How did you do it,

Curtis?"

Newton shrugged but would not meet

his gaze. "There's a certain chemical, you

know, a pinch of which can kill a whole

tank of ship-fuel. An anti-catalytic. Well,

that night before we left Earth, I slipped

into Lowther's ship and used it to kill his

Number Six, Seven and Eight fuel-tanks."

He shrugged again. "One to Five would

take him out around Neptune, I knew. But

then he'd run out and couldn't curve in

toward Pluto."

"But why?" Carey asked puzzedly.

"Why do it and then save him?"

Simon said, "I can guess why. But I tell

you, Curtis, even if you succeed it was

harebrained. Once in the past your rashness

made outlaws of us four. It could happen

again."

No more was said until Curt Newton's

masterful piloting brought the Comet at

last alongside the dark silent ship that was

steadily falling toward infinity. The

emergency locks were coupled together

with magnetic grapples. Curt and Otho

were armed and Grag stood behind them

like an iron colossus, guarding the narrow

passage.

The locks were opened and Curt stood

facing Lowther. Watching from the

background Carey caught a glimpse of

Lowther's face, ugly with fear, with hatred.

"I might have known it would be you,"

he said to Curt Newton. "You caused our

fuel to go dead. How you did it I don't

know but--"

"You can't prove that," said Newton.

He spoke to the men who were crowding

behind Lowther. "Take it easy," he told

them. "You're in no danger."

A ray of hope crept into Lowther's eyes.

"You're going to take us back?"

"Well," said Newton, "I can't tow you

for my stern-grapples aren't working. And

my ship is small. I could take off your

officers and crew but I'm afraid there

wouldn't be any room for you."

Lowther thought about that. Carey could

see it in his face--the visualization of his

ship plunging on and on into the great

deeps with him alone in it.

"You couldn't do that," he whispered.

"I wouldn't have any choice," said

Newton.

Carey saw Lowther's face whiten and

crumble until it was hardly human. Then

Newton said, "However, I might sell you

fuel to get back to Pluto."

Shrewd and biting even through the

terror Lowther's eyes fastened on him.

"Now we're getting to it," he muttered.

"All right, what's the price?"

"As you know," said Curt, "fuel is very

high these days. But I'm not out for profit.

You sign over all rights in all your Pluto

mines and refineries to a Government

foundation, for the furtherance of travel

and exploration among the stars. And I'll

let you have a bunker full."

Something like a smile touched

Lowther's mouth. He smothered it at once,

beginning to protest and threaten, but Curt

shook his head. "Oh, no," he said. "There

will be no repudiation of this deal later on

when you're safe on Pluto. You're going to

make out a full confession of your

activities in gaining control of the five

other companies. It will be kept in a safe

place. And just to make doubly sure..."

Here he pointed to a fat-joweled little

man behind Lowther's shoulder--a man

whom Carey recognized as one of the

group who had been with Lowther that

other time on Earth.

"...to make doubly sure," Curt was

saying, "you will go into another cabin and

write out a separate confession. As

Lowther's secretary you know every angle

of that deal because you helped him. And

if the two confessions don't match I will

know that someone is lying--and that will

be two people there won't be room for in

my ship."

He turned again to Lowther and waited.

Three different times Carey saw Lowther

start to speak, and give it up. At last he

made a gesture of defeat and Curt

motioned him into the Comet. The

secretary whimpered once and

disappeared.

Less than an hour later, Curt Newton

had the signed irrevocable papers and

Lowther had his fuel.

* * * * *

Time had passed. The two great ships

on the white plain of Pluto were readying

for take-off. Rock and ice quivered to the

deep hum of great generators running on

test. Men were feverishly busy around the

gangways.

Carey came hastening across the ice to

where Newton and the Futuremen were

watching. And as he ran he felt buoyantly

and fully alive for the first time since his

strange awakening.

"I'm going with them!" he cried. "I

talked to Burke. He signed me on and I'm

going with them--out to the stars!"

Otho laughed and said to Newton,

"You were right about him."

Suddenly Carey understood. He said,

"That's why you brought me out here with

you? You knew!"

The red-haired man nodded. "I knew that

only out on the edge, out on the frontier,

would you find your own kind again."

Newton paused and added, "You're not

the only one, Carey. I've seen it happen

over and over again to spacemen in my

own time. They go out young and eager,

dreaming and talking of how someday

they'll come back to Earth with wealth and

glory and live there happy the rest of their

lives. And when they come back they find

they can't do it, they find they're Earthmen

no more."

"Earthmen no more," Carey repeated,

wonderingly. "Why, yes. That was it, of

course. It wasn't Earth that changed so

much. It was me."

From the distance, amplified by an

annunciator loudspeaker, roared Burke's

voice. "Time to lift, starmen!"

And Carey, slipping and hurrying, went

back across the frozen plain, toward the

ships and stars that waited.