Its orbit lay close to the dying dwarf.
And it was gigantic, John Star realized; many tunes the bulk of Earth.
Jay Kalam drew a long, awed breath.
“The forts!” he whispered.
“The stations that make the barrier— that’s what they must be.
A belt of moons!”
John Star found them.
Dim and tiny crescents, red as the mon-strous planet.
He found three, following in the same orbit high above the murky atmosphere of the mighty world ahead; there must be six in all, he guessed, spaced sixty degrees apart.
A ring of fortress moons!
The barrier itself must be invisible radiation, but the perfect spacing of those trailing satellites was proof enough of the Medusae’s hostile and scientific craft.
John Star’s brooding gaze went back to the larger murky crescent.
“Aladoree—there!”
His low-breathed words were choked with a sense of incredulous horror.
“Beyond those moons! Hidden and guarded, somewhere on that planet.
And tortured, I suppose, for the secret of AKKA.
We must get through, Jay.”
“We must.”
And Jay Kalam spoke quiet orders into his telephone.
“Mortal me!” a thin voice came plaintively back from the bulkhead speaker.
“For the sake of precious life, Jay, can’t we have a single breath of time?
Must we go driving like a pack of reckless fools into new and wicked dangers, with never a blessed pause?
Can’t you give us a moment, Jay—just one single precious moment —to snatch a bite to eat?”
“Give us all the power you can, Giles,” Jay Kalam broke in gently.
“Because, right now, we’re diving toward the barrier zone, depending on surprise and speed.”
“Dear life—not now!” gasped Giles Habibula.
“Not into that wicked thing they call the Belt of Peril!”
“We are, Giles,” Jay Kalam said.
“We’re going to try it midway between two of their forts, hoping their rays will interfere.”
“Sweet life—not yet!” sobbed Giles Habibula.
“Give us time, Jay, for a single sip of wine!
You couldn’t be so heartless, Jay—not to a poor old soldier of the Legion.
Not to a miserable, tottering human skeleton, Jay, dead on his feet from toiling day and night to keep his precious geodynes going, and gone to skin and bones for want of time to eat.
“Not that, Jay! Not to poor old———”
But John Star was listening no longer.
Tense at the controls, scarcely breathing, he was driving the Purple Dream down toward that vast and evil-seeming crescent of crimson murk, aiming straight between two of those black and tiny moons.
And now he saw a fearful thing.
Still no visible projectile or ray had come from the fortress satellites, but he saw something happening to the ship—and to him!
The metal bulkheads, and the faces of all the instruments before him, were suddenly luminous.
His own skin was shining.
Bright atoms were dancing away into the air, swirling motes of many colors.
The very metal of the ship, it seemed, was evaporating into iridescent mist. His own body was!
Then he felt it—a sheet of blinding pain.
For a moment he gave way to agony, sick and reeling, eyes closed.
He fought grimly to control himself, and lurched unsteadily toward Jay Kalam—who was a shimmering spectre now, clad in a splendid mist of dissolving rainbows.
“What———” His gasping voice came faint and strange, and agony clenched his teeth upon it.
“What’s this?”
“Radiation———” The bright spectre’s voice was thin with pain.
“Must dissolve the molecular bonds!… Ionized atoms dancing away… Everything melting into atomic mist!… Molecular dissolution!… Our very nerves—destroyed!” “How long can———?” His voice went out.
Red agony surged against his brain.