Мюррей Лейнстер - The Wailing Asteroid

Keller shook his head again. Burke shrugged and went out of the instrument–room. He went down the stairs and the first long corridor, and past the long rows of emplacements in which were set the hunkering metal monsters he'd cube–dreamed of using, but which would be of no conceivable use against speeding, whirling, artificial–gravity fields with the pull and the mass of suns.

He reached the last long gallery on which the ship–lock opened. He saw the broad white ribbon of many strands of light, reaching away seemingly without limit. And he saw a tiny figure running toward him. It was Sandy. She staggered as she ran. She had already run past endurance, but she kept desperately on. Burke broke into a run himself.

When he met her, she gasped, "Pam! She—vanished—down below! We were—looking, and Pam cried out. We ran to her. Gone! And we—heard noises! Noises! Holmes is searching now. She—screamed, Joe!"

Burke swung her behind him.

"Tell Keller," he commanded harshly. "You've got that hand–weapon? Hold on to it! Bring Keller! We'll all search! Hurry!"

He broke into a dead run.

It might have seemed ironic that he should rush to help Sandy's sister in whatever disaster had befallen her when they were facing the end of the whole solar system. In cold blood, it couldn't be considered to matter. But Burke ran.

He panted when he plunged down the ramp to the lower portions of the asteroid. He reached the huge cavern in which the motionless power–generator towered storeys high toward a light–laced ceiling.

"Holmes!" he shouted, and ran on. "Holmes!"

He'd been no farther than this, before, but he went on into tunnels with only double lines of light–tubes overhead, and he shouted and heard his own voice reverberating in a manner which seemed pure mockery. But as he ran he continued to shout.

And presently Holmes shouted in return. There was a process of untangling innumerable echoes, and ultimately they met. Holmes was deathly white. He carried something unbelievable in his hands.

"Here!" he growled. "I found this. I cornered it. I killed it! What is it? Did things like this catch Pam?"

Only a man beside himself could have asked such a question. Holmes carried the corpse of a bird with mottled curly feathers. He'd wrung its neck. He suddenly flung it aside.

"Where's Pam?" he demanded fiercely. "What the hell's happened to her? I'll kill anything in creation that's tried to hurt her!"

Burke snapped questions. Inane ones. Where had Pam been last? Where were Holmes and Sandy when they missed her? When she cried out?

Holmes tried to show him. But this part of the asteroid was a maze of corridors with uncountable doorways opening into innumerable compartments. Some of these compartments were not wholly empty, but neither Burke nor Holmes bothered to examine machine–parts or stacks of cases that would crumble to dust at a touch. They searched like crazy men, calling to Pam.

Keller and Sandy arrived. They'd passed the corpse of the bird Holmes had killed, and Keller was strangely white–faced. Sandy panted, "Did you find her? Have you found any sign?"

But she knew the answer. They hadn't found Pam. Holmes was haggard, desperate, filled with a murderous fury against whatever unnameable thing had taken Pam away.

"Here!" snapped Burke. "Let's get some system into this! Here's the case with the message–cube. It's our marker. We start from here! I'll follow this cross corridor and the next one. You three take the next three corridors going parallel. One each! Look in every doorway. When we reach the next cross–corridor we'll compare notes and make another marker."

He went along the way he'd chosen, looking in every door. Cryptic masses of metal in one compartment. A heap of dust in another. Empty. Empty. A pile of metal furniture. Another empty. Still another.

Holmes appeared, his hands clenching and unclenching. Sandy turned up, struggling for self–control.

"Where's Keller?"

"I heard him call out," said Sandy breathlessly. "I thought he'd found something and I hurried—"

He did not come. They shouted. They searched. Keller had disappeared. They found the mark they'd started from and retraced their steps. Burke heard Holmes swear startledly, but there were so many echoes he could not catch words.

Sandy met Burke. Holmes did not. He did not answer shouts. He was gone.

"We stay together," said Burke in an icy voice. "We've both got hand–weapons. Keep yours ready to fire. I've got mine. Whatever out of hell is loose in this place, we'll kill it or it will kill us, and then—"

He did not finish. They stayed close together, with Burke in the lead.

"We'll look in each doorway," he insisted. "Keep that pistol ready. Don't shoot the others if you see them, but shoot anything else!"

"Y–yes," said Sandy. She swallowed.

It was nerve–racking. Burke regarded each doorway as a possible ambush. He investigated each one first, making sure that the compartment inside it was wholly empty. There was one extra–large archway to an extra–large compartment, halfway between their starting point and the next cross–corridor. It was obviously empty, though there was a large metal plate on the floor. But it was lighted. Nothing could lurk in there.

Burke inspected the compartment beyond, and the one beyond that.

He thought he heard Sandy gasp. He whirled, gun ready.

Sandy was gone.

The star Sol was as bright as Sirius, but no brighter because it was nearly half a light–year away and of course could not compare in intrinsic brightness with that farther giant sun. The Milky Way glowed coldly. All the stars shone without any wavering in their light, from the brightest to the faintest tinted dot. The universe was round. There were stars above and below and before and behind and to the right and left. There was nothing which was solid, and nothing which was opaque. There were only infinitely remote, unwinking motes of light, but there were thousands of millions of them. Everywhere there were infinitesimal shinings of red and blue and yellow and green; of all the colors that could be imagined. Yet all the starlight from all the cosmos added up to no more than darkness. The whitest of objects would not shine except faintly, dimly, feebly. There was no warmth. This was deep space, frigid beyond imagining; desolate beyond thinking; empty. It was nothingness spread out in the light of many stars.

In such cold and darkness it would seem that nothing could be, and there was nothing to be seen. But now and again a pattern of stars quivered a little. It contracted a trace and then returned to its original appearance. The disturbance of the star–patterns moved, as a disturbance, in vast curved courses. They were like isolated ripplings in space.

There seemed no cause for these ripplings. But there were powerful gravitational fields in the void, so powerful as to warp space and bend the starlight passing through them. These gravity–fields moved with an incredible speed. There were ten of them, circling in a complex pattern which was spread out as an invisible unit which moved faster than the light their space–twisting violence distorted.

They seemed absolutely undetectable, because even such minute light–ripplings as they made were left behind them. The ten ships which created these monstrous force–fields were unbelievably small. They were no larger than cargo ships on the oceans of one planet in the solar system toward which they sped. They were less than dust particles in infinity. They would travel for only a few more days, now, and then would flash through the solar system which was their target. They should reach its outermost planet—four light–hours away—and within eight minutes more swing mockingly past and through the inner worlds and the sun. They would cross the plane of the ecliptic at nearly a right angle, and they should leave the planets and the yellow star Sol in flaming self–destruction behind them. Then they would flee onward, faster than the chaos they created could follow.