Reunion on Ganymede

The senator was suddenly at a loss for words. 'Why, nothing, officer, nothing at all,' he stammered.

'I don't suppose you were down there rolling around with them?' snarled the policeman.

'Why, you see, it was this way, officer,' the senator explained. 'I tried to separate them. Tried to make them quit fighting. And one of them hit me.'

The policeman chuckled. 'Peacemaker, eh?' he said.

The senator nodded, miserably.

The officer turned his attention toward Gramp and Jurg Tec. 'Fighting the war over again,' he said. 'Can't you fellows forget it? The war was over forty years ago.'

'He insulted me,' Jurg Tec squeaked.

'Sure, I know,' said the officer, 'and you were insulted pretty easy.'

'Listen, here, officer,' said the senator. 'If I take these two boys and promise you they won't make any more disturbance, will you just forget about this?'

The big policeman looked at the little policeman.

'Who are youT the little policeman asked.

'Why, I'm — I'm Jack Smith. I know these two boys. I was sitting talking with them before this happened.'

The two policemen looked at one another again.

Then they both looked at the senator.

'Why, I guess it would be all right,' agreed the little policeman. 'But you see they keep peaceable or we'll throw all three of you in the jug.'

They eyed him sternly. The senator shifted uneasily. Then he stepped forward and took Gramp and Jurg Tec by the arm.

'Come on, boys, let's have a drink,' he suggested.

'I still say,' protested Gramp, 'that one Earthman can lick ten Marshies — '

'Here, here,' warned the senator, 'you pipe down. I promised the police you two would be friends.'

'Friends with him?' asked Gramp.

'Why not?' asked the senator. 'After all, this reunion is for the purpose of demonstrating the peace and friendship which exists between Mars and Earth. Out of the dust and roar of battle rises a newer and clearer understanding. An understanding which will lead to an everlasting peace — '

'Say,' said Gramp, 'danged if you don't sound like you was makin' a speech.'

'Huh,' said the senator.

'Like you was makin' a speech,' said Gramp. 'Like you was one of them political spellbinders that are out gettin' votes.'

'Well,' said the senator, 'maybe I am.'

'With that eye of yourn,' Gramp pointed out, 'you ain't in no shape to make any speech.'

Senator Brown strangled on his drink. He set down his glass and coughed.

'What's the matter with you?' asked Jurg Tec.

'I forgot something,' the senator explained. 'Something very important.'

'It can wait,' Jurg Tec said. 'I'll buy the next round.'

'Sure,' agreed Gramp, 'ain't nothin' so important you can't have another drink.'

'You know,' said the senator, 'I was going to make a speech.'

The two old soldiers stared at him in disbelief.

'It's a fact,' the senator told them, 'but I can't with this eye. And will I catch hell for not making that speech! That's what I get for sneaking out with my camera.'

'Maybe we can help you out,' suggested Gramp. 'Maybe we could square things for you.'

'Maybe we could,' squeaked the Martian.

'Listen, boys,' said the senator, 'if I were to go out in a ship for a tour of the surface and if the ship broke down and I couldn't get back in time to make my speech, nobody would blame me for that, would they?'

'You're dang right they wouldn't,' said Gramp.

'How about the eye?' asked Jurg Tec.

'Shucks,' said Gramp, 'we could say he run into somethin'.'

'Would you boys like to come along with me?' asked the senator.

'Bet your life,' said Gramp.

Jurg Tec nodded.

'There's some old battle hulls out there I'd like to see,' he said. 'Ships that were shot down during the battle and just left there. Shot up too bad to salvage. The pilot probably would land and let us look at one or two of them.'

'Better take along your camera,' suggested Gramp. 'You'd ought to get some crackin' good pictures on one of 'em old tubs.'

IV

The navigator tore open the door of the control room, slammed it behind him and leaned against it. His coat was ripped and blood dripped from an ugly gash across his forehead.

The pilot started from his controls.

'The robots!' screamed the navigator. 'The robots are loose!'

The pilot blanched. 'Loose!' he screamed back.

The navigator nodded, panting.

In the little silence they could hear the scraping and clashing of steel claws throughout the ship.

'They got the crew,' the navigator panted. 'Tore them apart, back in the engine room.'

The pilot looked through the glass. The surface of Ganymede was just below. He had been leveling off with short, expert rocket blasts, for an easy coast into Satellite City.

'Get a gun!' he shouted. 'Hold them off! Maybe we can make it.'

The navigator leaped for the rack where the heavy flame rifles hung. But he was too late.

The door buckled beneath a crushing weight. Savage steel claws caught it and ripped it asunder.

The pilot, glancing over his shoulder, saw a nightmare of mad monsters clawing into the control room. Monsters manufactured at the Robots. Inc., plant on Mars, enroute to Satellite City for the show at the Ganymede Battle reunion.