Space Gypsies by Murray Leinster Read Free Book Online Page B

before he was able to give an understandable account of what he’d seen.
    “The—the globe’s a dummy,” he said, his voice still thick with fury. “It’s bait. It’s a trap for—humans, using the message-beam as a lure. The message must say that there’s a human ship aground and calling for help!”
    “We’ve got to make something to kill them with!” he said fiercely. “The slug-ship things! Because the trap worked! A human ship—of people whose ships must be globes—a human ship came! Its people went toward the globe. Maybe they guessed they were too late because they got no answers to their calls. But they went there. And—and somewhere near the globe one of them touched a trip-wire or a trigger. And then—a killer-field went on—and everything within a quarter of a mile died instantly!”
    His fists were clenched. He was fury and rage incarnate.
    “The others of the ship—they probably risked going after some of the bodies. But they didn’t dare go too far. There were three of them they didn’t dare try to reach. They’re still there. And I’m pretty sure they’re—children.”
    He went and locked himself in the control room. He heard small cracklings. The all-wave receiver, still muted against self-revelation, emitted the noises associated with a solar flare. It was not important, but it reminded him that there was a slug-ship on the way here, confirmed now in its guess at the Marintha ’s destination by the drive-sounds made by the solar-system drive during the yacht’s landing.
    The slug-ship wasn’t hurrying. It followed the Marintha leisurely, like hunters after a game animal whose trail is plain and which cannot possibly hope to get away.
    A long time later Howell came out again. Ketch nodded reassuringly to Karen.
    “He’s all right now, and with new ideas of what we’re to do and how we’ll do it.”
    There could have been a touch of sarcasm in Ketch’s tone, but Howell nodded. He said in a carefully controlled voice:
    “I’ve been thinking. We’ll get out the capacitor and see what can be done with it. Maybe not all the plates are ruined. Maybe if we take out the spoiled ones, we can reassemble something with enough capacity to work. Maybe we can improvise extra plates. If it’s absolutely necessary, there’s some material in the scenery the slug-creatures built for their booby trap.”
    Karen made a wordless sound of protest.
    “I know!” said Howell. “But I think I know how to get to the damned thing and turn it off without tripping it. If it’s necessary I’ll try it. Otherwise not.”
    “But there’s no point in taking extra chances!” Ketch protested. “We should think of something to be done—”
    Howell said nothing. In drama-tapes, the principal characters always found a last-instant solution to their difficulties. Ketch likened their very real predicament to the contrived ones of taped narratives.
    “Breen?” asked Howell.
    “Botanizing,” said Karen. “He said he wouldn’t go far.”
    Howell grimaced. There was so much work to be done, and Breen went poking about looking at plants! But he wouldn’t be of much use in the engine room. Ketch would be better.
    “I’m going to take down the capacitor,” Howell said, without happy anticipation but because it was all that could be done.
    “Hold on!” protested Ketch. “Shouldn’t we move the yacht first? Hide it and ourselves?”
    “The booby trap hasn’t been visited in a long time,” said Howell, “or they’d have repaired the tear in its plating that gives the whole show away. But we may need some material from it. And also, our drive would be spotted when we moved.”
    Ketch shrugged his shoulders almost up to his ears. He said, “Excuse me, Karen. We’ve a problem to solve.”
    Howell couldn’t spare the energy to be annoyed by Ketch’s adoption of the manner of a dramatic actor. He went into the control room, and Ketch followed. They set to work. Ketch seemed to expect either