To The Stars

The frozen plumes were dying down and drifting away by the time he came to the grapple. He used the key to open the cover of the control box and activated the manual override. Motors whirred, he could feel their vibration through the palm of his hand, and the massive jaws slowly ground apart. He looked closely at their smooth surfaces, at what appeared to be an ice-crystaled clump of mud flattened on one of them. He brushed it away and pressed the switch in the control box. This time the jaws closed all the way and a satisfactory green light appeared. Not the world’s most difficult repair, he thought as he sealed the box again.

“Return at once!” the radio squawked loudly in his ears, then went dead. No explanation given. He unclipped his safety line and began to pull back in the direction of the airlock.

It was closed. Locked. Sealed.

While he was still assimilating this incredible fact, trying to get a response on his radio, he saw the reason.

Another deep spacer came drifting across their bow, reaction jets flaring, magnetic grapples hurling toward them, trailing their cables. Clearly visible on its side in the harsh sunlight was a familiar blue globe on white.

The flag of Earth.

For long seconds Jan just hung there, the sound of his heart pounding heavy in his ears, trying to understand what was happening. It suddenly became obvious when he saw the spacelock on the other ship begin to open.

Of course. The Earth forces weren’t going to give up that easily. They were out there, watching. They had observed the food convoy being assembled, had easily guessed the destination. And Earth needed the food in these hulls just as much as the rebel planets did. Needed it to eat — and as a weapon to starve their opponents into submission. They could not have it!

Jan’s anger flared just as the first of the suited figures emerged and dropped towards the hull close to him. They must be stopped. He groped through his tool kit, pulled out the largest powered screwdriver there and thumbed it on, full speed. It whined to life, its integral counterweight spinning to neutralize the twisting action on his body. He held this extemporized weapon before him as he launched himself at the approaching spacemen.

Surprise was on his side; he had not been seen in the shadows on the spacer’s skin. The man half-turned as Jan came up, but he was too late. Jan pushed the whirling blade against the other’s side, clutched onto him so he could not drift away, watched the metal bite into the tough fabric — then saw the plume of frozen air jet out. The man arched, struggled — then went limp. Jan pushed the corpse away, turned, kicked to one side so the man coming toward him floated harmlessly by. He was ready then to jab his weapon at another spaceman coming along behind him.

It was not as easy to do the second time. The man struggled as Jan clutched his arm. They tumbled about, floating and twisting, until someone grabbed Jan by the leg. Then still another.

It was an unequal struggle and he could not win. They were armed, he saw rocket guns ready in their hands, but they holstered them as they held him. Jan stopped struggling. They were not going to kill him — for the moment. They obviously wanted prisoners. He was overwhelmed by a sense of blackest despair as they pulled him to one side as more attackers poured by, then dragged him back into their ship and through the spacelock. Once it was sealed, they stripped the spacesuit from him and hurled him to the floor. One of them stepped forward and kicked him hard against the side of the head, then over and over again in the ribs until the pain blacked out his vision. They wanted their prisoners alive, but not unbruised. That was the last thing he remembered as the boot caught him in the head again and he roared down into pain-filled darkness.

Four

“Some they killed,” Debhu said, holding the wet cloth to the side of Jan’s head, “but only if they fought too hard and it was dangerous to capture them. They wanted prisoners. The rest of us were outnumbered, clubbed down. Does that feel any better?”

“Feels like my skull is crumbling inside.”

“No, it’s just bruising. They’ve sewn up the cuts. No broken ribs, the doctor said. They want us in good shape for public display when we get to Earth. They can’t have taken many prisoners before they captured us. It hasn’t been that kind of a war.” He hesitated a second, then spoke more quietly. “Do you have a record? I mean, is there any reason they would like to know who you were, to identify you?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve never been to Earth, or in direct contact with earthies before. They may have records on me, I can’t be sure. But they took retinal photographs of us all. You too, while you were unconscious.”

Jan nodded, then closed his eyes briefly at the pain that followed the movement.

“I think they will be very happy when they identify me,” he said. “I doubt if I will be.”