“That must be the answer,” Bob Star agreed, a little relieved to find any sort of explanation for that giddy pit, yet chilled with colder awe of the unknown powers of the Cometeers.
“Anyhow,” Jay Kalam resumed abruptly, “some forty men were left alive with me.
I made no effort to stop their rush to the life rockets.
The vortex gun was wrecked; we couldn’t fight.
I remained aboard alone.
“The six little rockets drove back toward the fort here—a tiny swarm of blue stars, dwindling swiftly in the dark of space.”
His dark eyes closed for a moment, as if with pain.
“They had gone only a little way,” he said huskily, “when that red light burned again.
The little blue stars reddened and went out.”
Hal Samdu’s big, gaunt face flamed with anger.
“So they murdered the survivors?” he muttered.
Jay Kalam nodded grimly.
“That is our measure of the Cometeers—and of Stephen Oreo! For it seems from what you say that he is now their ally.”
Bob Star stood peering at him dazedly.
“Which way did they go, commander?”
“As far as I could follow them with the detector, Bob, they were returning toward the comet.”
“We must follow,” Bob Star whispered.
“Stephen Oreo must be destroyed.”
“He must.” Jay Kalam grinned without mirth. “He has certainly forfeited his immunity.”
He shrugged wearily.
“I was hoping to get help at the fort—”
“But now there’s no help for us,” Bob Star muttered bitterly.
“The only men on the whole frozen continent, without a ship—”
Hal Samdu broke in,
“Bob, we aren’t the only men.”
“What!”
“Ah, so, there are others—enemies!” wheezed Giles Habibula.
“In this monstrous confusion of disasters we’ve had no time to tell you, lad.
But some stranger came up to us through the fog, while you lay unconscious there by the pit.”
“Why do you call him an enemy?”
“He’s no friend of mine!”
The old soldier shivered.
“At first I thought him a chance survivor of the garrison, and I called out to him.
The answer was a shot from a proton gun.
The flash went wide, thanks be to the fog.
Then Hal flung a rock, and the stranger fled, snarling and whimpering like a hurt beast.”
“Eh?”
Jay Kalam seemed to catch his breath.
“You’re sure this fellow didn’t come from the fort?”
“Sure as death, Jay.
I saw him in the flash of his gun, and I know it’s many months since he was washed and shaved to pass inspection.
A bearded, hairy, shaggy brute, clad in faded rags.”
“Strange.” The commander whistled softly.
“I wonder—”
8 Death on Neptune
Bob Star asked, while they were still within the ivory-walled luxury of Jay Kalam’s quarters on the wrecked Invincible:
“Can’t we signal for help?”
The commander shook his head.
“The signal house was destroyed, with all the spare equipment in the stores.”
“But we can’t just do nothing,” Bob Star whispered.