Lester del Rey - The Mysterious Planet

“We’re all guilty together, and we’d all better get out of here before they come,” he repeated.

Jakes and Juan started off, and Bob swung to follow them. He tried to hurry over the ground, but something seemed to hold him back. He pushed more strongly, and his feet slipped.

With a slow snap, he found himself back where he had been.

The fabric he had touched was more than soft—it was sticky! He’d let go of it, but it still stuck to his space mitten. He picked up a stone quickly and tried to scrape it off, but it seemed to be glued to the metal. “Jakes,” he called.

“I’m coming. I saw the whole thing,” Jakes said. “Did you have to grab that stuff?”

“No,” Bob admitted. “And if you can’t get it free, I’ll expect you and Juan to leave me here. It was my own blunder.”

Simon had also picked up a couple of rocks and was working, trying to free Bob without touching the stuff. “Aw, come off it. I guess I’d have to see what was underneath, too. Hey, this stuff is really stuck!”

He reached for a knife in the pocket of his suit, but Bob stopped him. “Don’t. The stuff doesn’t stick to rock, so it must grab metal, like the mitten here. You’re going to have to use that knife to cut off my sleeve.”

He was already working his arm out of the sleeve of the suit. His eyes swung up toward the empty space above, instinctively looking for alien ships, and his heart was beating more rapidly than it should. But he couldn’t let the others see that he was scared.

Jakes caught the sleeve at once, and gave it a quick, tight twist. “Hold it,” he told Juan. Then he began sawing at the tough fabric below it. He was sweating, too, and probably as scared as Bob, but his voice was steadier than usual, and his hands didn’t shake.

Finally, the sleeve was cut through. There was a slow leak through it, in spite of the twist, but the tank supply made up for that. Jakes yanked out a patch and adhesive, and doubled it over the cut, smearing it with the gooey adhesive. He waited for it to boil dry in the vacuum, and let go of the sleeve.

Probably it leaked a little now, but it would hold. Bob nodded his thanks, and Jakes shrugged, his face flushing. Then they swung about quickly toward the ship. But managing over the ground with one hand held against his side was worse than Bob had thought. He found that it ruined his balance. Simon watched for a second, and then moved to the other side, locking arms with him.

It seemed to take forever to get back to the Icarius, and probably did take them several minutes. The grapples on their shoes were already dulling a little, making progress more difficult.

Juan was already in when they reached the ship. Jakes shoved Bob toward the lock, and he didn’t argue. By custom, a man with an injury or a defective space suit got all consideration.

He moved through the lock as rapidly as he could and began tearing the suit off quickly. A minute later, Jakes came in, already unzipping. He leaped for the pilot’s seat, and then stopped.

“Bob, maybe you’re right. Maybe we should stop playing a lone hand. Get on the phone and call the Fleet.”

“They can’t get here any faster than we can get back,” Bob pointed out. “While we’re sitting here, we could just as well be heading back to Outpost.”

Juan shook his head. “No, Bob, I think Simon has himself a point. Look, we are a white ship and we are on white ground here—very hard to see. Also, on all sides are boulders almost as tall as we. In space, we could be found by radar, but here I think we might hide.”

“Besides, they probably expect a big Navy tug, and won’t even bother looking for us,” Jakes added.

In a way, their case made good sense. But Bob shook his head. “Call the Fleet if you want, Simon, but I won’t. We got ourselves into it by disobeying orders. Now it’s up to us to get out.”

“A good old Navy saying, I suppose,” Jakes sneered.

“It is,” Bob told him. “You can’t play both sides of the fence. You either follow the rules or go on your own. But in this case, it’s something else. If this trap was set here, it must have been because they wanted one of our Navy ships, just as we wanted theirs. We’d be playing right into their hands; even a cruiser would be worth a lot more to them than the Icarius. And besides, if the Navy came out for us, how many men would get killed in this trap?”

“You’re just scared to stay here. Afraid one of your black ships might come down for you,”

Jakes told him.

“Sure,” Bob admitted. “I’m plenty scared of that. But what are you afraid of—going out where they can see you?”

“Vote,” Juan suggested. The others nodded, and he went on. “Thumbs up, we go back.

Thumbs down, we stay here.”

Bob stuck his thumb up at once, and Simon hesitated. Then his own thumb went up. Juan shrugged and made no attempt to state his wishes. The decision was made and he’d go along with it.

Simon reached for the throttle again, but this time Bob stopped him. “You’re half right, though. We should notify the Fleet. If they saw us come here, they may have spotted what we were after and be getting ready to send out tugs, or some sort of ships. We’d better tell them it’s a fake, and let them know what they’re up against.”

Juan nodded quickly at that, and Jakes made no objections, though he obviously didn’t like the wasted time, now that they were about to head back. He handed over the microphone to Bob, and set the beam indicator toward Outpost. Bob sent in the standard distress warning signal, together with their identification.

Wallingford’s voice answered, cutting through the usual red tape. Obviously, the departure of the Icarius had not only been noticed, but had been followed up and brought to the top brass at once. He must have had a line open to Communications every minute.

“All right, Ensign, report.”

Bob had begun that as soon as he was acknowledged, since it took several seconds for the signal to travel to Outpost. He summed it up as quickly as possible.

Wallingford’s voice came back quickly. “Right. I’m recalling all ships that were headed for your mock-up ship. Consider yourselves under arrest, but get back here as quickly as you can. And good luck!”

Bob cut off, and suddenly noticed that Jakes wasn’t there. He turned to see Jakes getting into a suit, fumbling in his effort for haste.

“Darned towrope,” Simon said as he fought with the zipper. “Forgot to unhitch it. Without weight at the other end, it’d swing right into the rocks. Might wreck us.” He got the zipper closed, and reached for the helmet. “All ships recalled, we’re under arrest, and he wishes us good luck! Phooey!”

He was going through the lock a second later. They moved to the viewport to watch him come out and dash for the hitch that held the towline to the ship. Again, his fingers were clumsy with an attempt at speed. He stamped one foot, then had to catch himself quickly as he started to drift upward. Then he stopped, looked up at them, and grinned. Bob knew he was simply trying to force himself to relax. It seemed to work. This time, he unsnapped the line, and sprang back to the lock.

Bob moved forward to help him off with the suit, and they were ready to take off again. But a lot of time had been wasted since they’d discovered the trap. They were a fine bunch of heroes, Bob thought bitterly. They practically needed a nursemaid.

The radar screen snapped on, and Jakes reached for the throttle. Then he gasped and jerked his hand back. On the screen, three large pips showed up. Straining their eyes, the boys could just make out the black ships that were low on the horizon as the little moon revolved. They hung poised and waiting.