A savage anger took his breath and shook his limbs and roared in his ears.
“Look out!” He gasped harshly.
“Because I’m through running away.
I don’t quite know what I can do—or how—against you and all the Legion.
But—look out!”
He stopped the geodynes, and swung grimly to the chart cabinet.
The view-plate showed him the greenish point of Earth, and presently the silver atom of the New Moon beside it.
He read its position on the calibrated screen, and turned to the calculator to set up his first hopeless move against his unknown tormentor.
5 ‘At the Blue Unicorn—’
The mighty Inflexible slipped gently into a berth against one of the six vast tubular arms of the New Moon’s structure.
Massive keys locked her trim hundred thousand tons of fighting strength into position.
Her valves opened, to communicate with the artificial satellite.
Three men hi plain clothes were sitting at a table in a long, richly simple chamber hidden aft the chart-room of the flagship.
The slender man had chosen conservatively dark, exquisitely tailored civilian garb.
The white-haired, rugged faced giant had attired himself hi lustrous silks that reflected every bright hue of the New Moon’s mirrors; he had left behind his tinkling sheaf of medals with a visible reluctance.
The careless gray cloak of the third fell loose on his short but massive figure; a heavy cane was gripped in his pudgy yellow hand.
“For life’s sake, Jay, what’s the mortal haste?”
The round, blue-nosed face of Giles Habibula looked imploringly at the tall Com-mander.
“Here we’ve just sat down to get our precious breath, after that frightful dash across the void of space.
We’ve had but a whiff of dinner, Jay.
And now you say that we must go!”
Great Hal Samdu looked at him grimly.
“The dashing could have harmed you little, Giles,” he rumbled, “when you were fast in a drunken sleep.
And if you’ve had but a whiff of Jay’s good food—then a whole taste would founder a Venusian gorox!”
Jay Kalam nodded gravely.
“We’re at the New Moon, Giles.
Caspar Hannas is waiting for us, at the valve.
And we’ve a job to do.”
Giles Habibula shook the wrinkled yellow sphere of his head, and turned fishy pleading eyes to the Commander.
“I can’t stand it, Jay,” he whimpered.
“It’s a turn I can’t endure.”
He pointed a trembling yellow thumb at his protruding middle.
“Look at Giles Habibula.
He’s an old, old man, Giles is.
He must ration his precious wine.
He must have a cane to aid his limping step.
He’ll be dead soon, Giles will.”
The pale eyes blinked.
“Ah, so, dead—unless the scientists come at the secret of rejuvenation.
And precious soon!
There’s a specialist, Jay, on this very New Moon, whose advertising promised that—but John Star wouldn’t let me come!”
He sighed, sadly.
“Aye, the whole world plots for the death of poor old Giles. Look at him, Jay.
He was drinking up his last miserable drop of happiness at the Purple Hall.
For Phobos is a pleasant world, Jay.
The sun in its gardens is kind to the aches in an old man’s bones.
John Star is a generous host—not always rushing famished guests away from his table, Jay!
“Ah, and it’s a comfort to see Aladoree every day—to see her so happy with John Star, Jay, after all the fearful dangers they’ve come through.
A comfort to be near, to guard her, if trouble comes again.”
His seamed face smiled a little.