Harry Harrison: Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

"but I don't see the Moon."

"Not only that," John answered, a look of concentration marked on his face, "but the constellations just aren't right."

They nodded silent agreement, and when Jerry spoke, he spoke for them all.

"I hate to say it, guys, but I'm afraid that isn't Earth down there. Not only that, but I'm afraid it isn't even any planet in our solar system. Perhaps something has gone wrong with the cheddite projector. I'll check it out."

"No," John said huskily. He was staring at the sensitive radar altimeter like a bird petrified by a snake, sweat suddenly bursting out on his brow. "I'm afraid I goofed. All those years behind the iron curtain didn't really do me any good. Jerry, you told me to sound off when the altlmeter hit thirty thousand feet, right?"

"Bang on."

"Well, and I hate to say this gang, all the planes I have ever flown have always had altlmeters that read in meters, so I converted feet to meters and let you know when we hit that spot."

"Approximately one-third of our needed altitude," Jerry intoned in a hollow voice. "Still inside the deep atmosphere which interferes with the kappa radiation." John was no longer smiling as he uneasily eyed the great, cocked fist of Chuck that was slowly being drawn back into firing position. Jerry came between them and calmed them down.

"Easy does it. Anyone can make a mistake – and we've gotten out of worse pinches before. Remember that old king of the Titanians and what happened to him!" They all laughed at that memory, and the tension was eased. John lowered his head, chagrined.

"Gee, I'm sorry. Something must have snapped inside my head for me to goof up like that. We'll get out of this. Land on that planet, align the cheddite projector, then take off, and home we go!"

"And we can put some more ice in the head with Sally. She'll keep OK."

After that it was just waiting as they fell. The cabin heaters were on, and fresh Titanian oxygen was being pumped into the air, and soon they could peel off the extra layers of clothing. Chuck found some cans of cola, and they thawed and drank them, pretending not to notice when John poured seven miniatures of bourbon into his. They knew he felt bad about the mistake, and they were good enough sports not to rub it in. More frozen oxygen was packed in with Sally, still exhibiting a look of frozen horror, and they took turns grabbing a little shut-eye, not knowing what would befall them on the planet ever growing larger below. When the first wisps of atmosphere began to whistle against the skin of the ship, Chuck took the controls and waggled them.

"Almost there. Better strap in because this might be a bit rough. I think we picked up some velocity in the fall." They certainly had. Air tore at the wings until the edges began to glow and the deicer boots burned away. Chuck stayed rock-firm at the wheel and sent them bouncing in a great arc out into space again only to fall back once more into the atmosphere. Again and again he did this until their great speed was slowed to under a thousand miles per hour, and only then did he let the ship sink deeper into the atmosphere.

"Oceans, continents," Jerry said. "Almost like Earth. Makes you kind of homesick."

"That big continent, the one there," John said, pointing.

"I think that one looks the most like North America."

"Sure enough," Chuck agreed. "And that's the way we are going to head."

Heavy cloud layers covered the continent in question as they swooped in low over what could have been one on Earth – how far away now! A great storm center seemed to be active here and Jerry pulled up to go over the top of it. Apparently thunderstorms were worse on this planet than on Earth, for lightning glared and exploded continually within the clouds and the rumble of thunder could be heard even through the insulated cabin walls. They went on seeking clear weather on the far side of the immense storm.

"Good news, guys," Jerry chortled. "I've turned off the oxygen flow since this atmosphere seems to have more than enough to run the engines on."

"You know," Chuck mused, "there is something kind of funny about that thunder and lightning. If the idea wasn't so downright dim and stupid I would almost say that-" The great 747 bucked suddenly, and there was a solid thud felt through the metal fabric and a hole more than a yard in diameter appeared in the port wing.

"-those were explosions out there, shells and bombs and stuff, as though a war were going on." While he mused over this, Jerry had pulled back on the wheel and fed full power to the engines and the leviathan of the skies roared up and away from the tumult below.

"I don't think we should mix in a war," John opined. Jerry nodded agreement. "Particularly since that hole in the wing ruptured our main fuel tank and we only have about fifteen minutes' fuel left."

"That is annoying," Chuck agreed. "Better buckle your seat belts, guys," and he turned on the 'seat belts' and 'no smoking' signs as he said this.

The Pleasantville Eagle clawed its way back into the sky reaching for altitude to stretch its meager fuel supply to the upmost, fighting to clear the immense area of the strange battlefield below. They were above the clouds, droning away merrily, while the fuel needles loudly clicked, one by one, against their bottom pins. Then came the moment they had awaited and feared as, one by one, the greedy engines sucked in the last drops of fuel, then gurgled and gasped into silence. The instant the powerful thrust stopped the ship fell off into a dive, plunged toward the woolly clouds below it, diving into their misty embrace. None of the three comrades said anything, but if pulses hammered faster and jaws were clenched more firmly, who was to blame them? Anything could be waiting below the clouds.

What was waiting, they saw when they plunged through the bottom of the fleecy layer, was not very much of anything at all. From horizon to horizon, shadowed by the thick clouds above, lay a sandy waste barren of life of any kind.

"I don't think we should land down there," John said, speaking for all of them.

Jerry stretched the glide with all his considerable talent, but though he could fight, he could not win against the inexorable grip of gravity that clutched at the 747 with greedy fingers. The featureless desert flashed by below them, ever closer, and dimly far ahead a range of mountains appeared.

"Quick, the glasses!" Chuck exclaimed, leaning forward and peering intently into the distance. John slapped them into his hand, and in an instant he had them trained on the ground. "There's a fort there of some kind, I can see a flag waving over it, and explosions all around it, more fighting I guess. Yes, there are vehicles of some kind circling it, firing, and guns on the wall firing back. I can see the defenders now! Why, they're almost human except maybe they have an extra couple of arms, but what does that matter!"

"Who are they fighting?" Jerry asked, concentrating firmly on the controls.

"Hard to tell – wait – one of their cars just got blown over, the driver is crawling out and . . . ugggh!"

"Ugggh?"

"That's the word for it. A thing with a sort of repulsive purplish yellow body like a tree trunk with sort of openings all over it, four legs like smaller tree trunks and black tentacles sprouting on top where a real person would have a head."

"Well that's enough for me!" Jerry shouted for them all.

"We just have to come in on the side of the humanoids

"and show those uggghs what real humans can do."

"Right!" Chuck agreed. "But what can we do?"

"You've got a point there. Any ideas, guys?"

It was John, trained spy and saboteur, who quickly came up with the answer. "All the seats dismount easily. Make a turn and come back over the enemy and we'll show them what men can do against those purple scum." And show them they did. As the Pleasantville Eagle swooped down like its avenging namesake, from the opened emergency doors on each side dropped a stream of metal seats. Dropped straight and true as though aimed by computing bombsights, each seat plunging headlong onto one of the fleeing vehicles.