Asteroid Man by R. L. Fanthorpe Read Free Book Online

Krull. "Sometimes it helps to know that the man at the top is feeling it, too. It gives you a better perspective on yourself."
    "I suppose it does," agreed Jonga. "Still—I don't like it. I don't think there is an easy explanation. I've got a nasty feeling here, in the pit of my stomach, that something's gone very badly wrong… I shall be very surprised if we ever hear anything from those ships again."
    "You're a Job's comforter."
    They reached the control room again, and Jonga crossed to the computer. 2,810, 2,811, 2,812, the computer crackled and stopped. "Two eight one two?" He pressed the recheck key. "Krull, come over here."
    The astrophysicist crossed the room in three quick strides. "What is it, Jonga?" he asked.
    Jonga pointed dumbly to the clock. "2,812. The asteroid has gone!"
    "What?" exploded Krull.
    "It's gone! We're back to the original number!"
    "Jumping galaxies. It looks as if it's gone and taken our five ships with it." Jonga nodded silently. "Do a recheck, see if you've missed anything out anywhere."
    "Sure." By the time he had completed the check, Krull's urgent ringing had brought Rotherson to the checkroom.
    "It's gone," Rotherson was exploding as he came in the door. "Are you sure?"
    "Was the computer all right?" asked Krull. Jonga nodded.
    "As right as it's ever been. The asteroid is gone as surely as if it never came. And so have our five ships, apparently."
    The general sat down—he looked suddenly old and tired…

CHAPTER V
    It seemed to Greg Masterson that this was the end, and, grim as the situation was, he could not fail to see the ironical twist of it. He had escaped a crash that had killed twenty-four other men; he was the sole survivor of million to one odds. He was in the middle of a mystery so grim, so deep, so dark, and so obscure that it looked as if it were going to be the greatest thing since they invented nuclear fission nearly three centuries ago… and now he was going out like a light, either to be killed by the fall, or by the jaws and clutching talons of the beast which he had glimpsed lurching and lumbering toward his hole. He had only seen it for a few fleeting fractions of a second—but that had been enough! More than enough! It had been like something out of a nightmare! It was a sort of combination—that fleeting impression—of claws and teeth and scales and dripping slime, and foul venomous fangs. It looked to be as big as a mountain, a mountain with bloodshot, purple eyes, a mountain with tentacles. A walking death mountain, lurching toward him like a gargantuan cat in pursuit of a singularly microscopic mouse. Like the most enormous spider in pursuit of himself—the tiniest fly.
    A quick death at the bottom of the hole would be far, far better than falling into the hands of that beast. His feet struck something that felt rather like a hard flooring, plastic. Then he felt a jarring sensation. The suit was flexible and tough, devilishly tough. It had to be to withstand the rigors and the pressures and the temperatures to which it was exposed. He was aware that against the pressure of the suit there was a strong tide of escaping air. Then, for a few merciful seconds, blackness engulfed him. Just before consciousness left him, he remembered wondering whether it was his own air that was escaping or whether the sound came from elsewhere, whether the feeling came from some other place—then he seemed to be taking a head-first dive; a deep, relaxing dive into an enormous black pit, a pit from which there seemed to be no awakening. He dived for what seemed an eternity—then he seemed to be surfacing again, very slowly, so slowly that he felt as though his lungs would burst, as though his chest could no longer sustain the pressure of something. What—he had no idea. At last consciousness flooded back in pain-stabbing rays of light against his eyes. He couldn't understand it. He should have been dead; it had been a long fall, far more than the twelve feet he had originally