Part 1 (2/2)
Quentin, second to Cragley in command, labored over the sending apparatus. Quentin looked up at his superior officer with an uneasy expression. The captain was quick to sense trouble.
”What's wrong?”
”I don't like the looks of this,” was Quentin's reply. ”The sender refuses to function properly. I can do nothing with it.”
Cragley's face bore a troubled look. He stepped to the side of his subordinate for a hasty inspection of the radio sender.
”The receiver plate doesn't light up, either,” said Quentin. ”Looks to me as though someone has been tampering with this.”
In their spiral of seats, the pa.s.sengers looked silently and gravely upon the cylinder base where Cragley and his staff were gathered over the apparatus. A dull glow of cloudy light coming in through the transparent interstices of the descending cylinder softened and counteracted the glow of the radium lights. An intangible feeling of depression hung in the air.
”Elevation, five hundred feet!” announced one of the crew from his position at the alt.i.tude dial.
”Make a landing,” ordered Cragley. ”We can't be very far from where the _C-49_ fell. If there's enough of the s.h.i.+p left, we may be able to discover the cause of this accident.”
Down through the lush vegetation, the cylinder felt its way, dropping very slowly. Finally it came to rest on a knoll.
”How far are we from the s.h.i.+p?” queried the captain.
”About seventeen hundred feet south of it, I'd say.”
”We'll go outside and get organized. We've got to get that platinum s.h.i.+pment off the _C-49_ and get into communication with headquarters at Deliphon somehow. The proximity detector tells us we're over two hundred miles from there.”
One of the pa.s.sengers spoke up with a suggestion. ”Can't we go the rest of the way in this? You can send back for what's left of the s.h.i.+p. I've an important reason for arriving in Deliphon quickly. If--”
”Not a chance,” cut in Cragley, both amused and annoyed. ”The cylinder wouldn't take us anywhere. All the cylinder is good for is an emergency descent. It has no driving power.”
Preparations were made for a trip to the wrecked s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p.
”Might I go with you and the men, Captain?” I ventured.
”Sure, Hantel, come along! I'll have to leave part of the crew here with the pa.s.sengers and the cylinder, so I'm glad to have a few volunteers.”
”Count on me, then,” another of the pa.s.sengers spoke up.
I recognized him as Chris Brady. He was a man about my own age, possibly younger, perhaps in his late twenties. Brady and I had become friends during the trip, having spent many hours together. This was my second trip to the clouded planet. Brady had made many trips to Venus, spending considerable time among the colonies. I had learned much about the man which had interested me.
Our party consisted of Cragley, Brady, three of the crew, four other pa.s.sengers and myself. Well armed, we set out through the yellow jungle in search of the remains of the _C-49_. Quentin insisted that it was not far away according to the proximity detector which was especially attuned to the bulk and metal composition of the s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p.
Progress was difficult in spots, and we found it necessary to hack our way through lush growths of vegetation, taking numerous detours around interlaced verdure. We were out of sight of the cylinder almost immediately.
One of the pa.s.sengers who had volunteered to accompany us complained at the prospects of becoming lost. Cragley calmed the man's anxiety with a brief explanation of the directometer he carried. It was an elaborate perfection of the old compa.s.s. On a square plate, our position was always designated in relation to the _C-49_. By telescopic condensation of the field, Cragley was capable of bringing Deliphon on the instrument. It was well over two hundred miles beyond us.
”If Quentin doesn't have that televisor fixed by the time we get back, we are in a jam.”
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