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“First, of course, they will annex the richest terri­tories on the planet with their raw materials, and later import these mate­rials to Earth. Mind you, this will not take place at once – but make no mis­take, it will come, sooner or later, as inevi­tably as tomorrow.”

“Once the trip has been success­fully made the inven­tors will not rest until they have found a way of carry­ing freight between the two worlds at eco­nomic rates. It may take them ten years to do it, it may take them a cen­tury, but sooner or later, do it they will.”

“And that, gentle­men, will mean the end of Metallic Indus­tries.”

There was a pause during which no one spoke. Drakin looked around to see the effect of his words.

“Gratz has told me,” he conti­nued, “that I.C. is convin­ced their ship is capable of the journey. Is that not so?”

“It is,” I con­firmed. “They have com­plete faith in her and so have I.”

Old John Ball's voice rose again. “If this is not non­sense why have we let it go on? Why has I.C. been allowed to build this vessel with­out inter­ference? What is the good of having a man there who does noth­ing to hinder the work?” He glared at me.

“You mean?” inquired Drakin.

“I mean that this man has been excel­lently placed to work sabo­tage. Why has there been none? It should be simple enough to cause an ‘accidental’ explosion.”

“Very simple,” agreed Drakin. “So simple that I.C. would jump to it at once. Even if there were a genuine acci­dent they would sus­pect that we had a hand in it. Then we should have our hands full with an expen­sive ven­detta. Further­more I.C. would recommence building with additional precautions and it is possible that we might not have a man on the inside.

“I take it that we are all agreed that the Nuntia must fail – but it must not be a suspi­cious failure. The Nuntia must sail. It is up to us to see that she does not return.”

“Gratz has been offered a posi­tion aboard her but has not as yet returned a defi­nite answer. My sugges­tion is that he should accept the offer with the object of seeing that the Nuntia is lost. The details I can leave to him.”

Drakin went on to elabo­rate his plan. Directly the Nuntia had left, Metallic Indus­tries would begin work on a space-flyer of their own. As soon as possible she would follow Venus. Mean­while I, having settled the Nuntia, would await her arrival.

In the unlikely event of the planet being found inha­bited I was to get on good terms with the natives and endea­vour to influence them against I.C. When the second ship arrived I was to be taken off and brought back to Earth while a party of M.I. men remained to survey and annex terri­tory. On my return I would be suffi­ciently rewarded to make me rich for life.

“You will be doing a great work for us,” he concluded, “and we do not forget our servants.” He looked me straight in the eye as he said it. “Will you do it?”

I hesitated. “I would like a day or so to think it over.”

“Of course. That is only natural. But there is not a great deal of time to spare – will you let me have your answer by this time tomorrow? It will give us a chance to make other arrange­ments in case you refuse.”

“Yes, sir. That will do.”

With that I left them. As to their further deli­be­ra­tions I can only guess. And my guesses are bitter.

Beyond an idea that it would appear better not to be too eager, I had no reason for putting off my answer. Already I had deter­mined to go – and to wreck the Nuntia. I had waited many years to get in a blow at I.C., and now was my chance.

Ever since the death of my parents I had set my mind on injur­ing them. Not only had they killed my father by their negli­gence in the matter of unshielded rays but they had stolen his inven­tions and robbed him by prolonged liti­ga­tion.

Enough, you say, to make a man swear revenge. But it was not all. I had to see my mother die in poverty when a few hundred dollars would have saved her life – and all our dollars had gone in fighting I.C.

After that I changed my name, got a job with I.C. and worked – hard. Mine was not going to be a paltry revenge. I was going to work up until I was in a respon­sible posi­tion, one from which my blows could really hurt them.

I had allied myself with Metallic Indus­tries because this was their biggest rival and now I was given a chance to wreck the ship to which they had pinned such faith. I could have done that alone but it would have meant exile for the rest of my life. Now M.I. had smoothed the way by offering me passage home.

Yes, I was going to do it. The Nuntia should make one trip and no more.

But I'd like to know just what it was they decided in the Board Room after I left.

MURDERS IN SPACE

The Nuntia was two weeks in space but nobody was very happy about it.

In those two weeks the party of nine on board had been reduced to seven and the reduc­tion had not had a good effect upon our morale. As far as I could tell there was no tangi­ble suspi­cion afoot – just a feeling that all was not well.

Among the hands it was rumoured that Hammer and Drafte had gone crazy before they killed them­selves. But why had they gone crazy? That was what worried the rest. Was it some­thing to do with condi­tions in space – some subtle, unsus­pected emana­tion? Would we all go crazy?

When you are cut off from your kind you get strange fancies. Imagi­nation gets over­heated and you become too credu­lous. That is what used to happen to sailors on their long voyages in the old wind­jammers. They began to attri­bute the deaths to uncanny malign influen­ces in a way which would never have occurred to them on Earth. It gave me some amuse­ment at the time.

First had been Dale Hammer, the second navi­gator. Young, a bit wild at home, perhaps, but brilliant at his job, he was proud and over­joyed that he had been chosen for this voyage. He had gone off duty in a cheer­ful frame of mind.

A few hours later he had been found dead in his bunk with a bottle of tablets by his side: one had to take some­thing to ensure sleep out here. Every­one agreed that it was under­stand­able, though tragic, that he had taken an over­dose by mis­take.

It was after Ross Drafte's disap­pear­ance that the super­stitions began to cluster. He was an odd man with an expression which was fre­quently taci­turn and eyes in which burned feverish enthu­siams. A failure might have driven him despe­rate but under the circum­stances, he had every­thing to live for.

He was the designer of the Nuntia and she, the dream of his life, was endors­ing his every expect­ation. When we returned to make public the story of our voyage his would be the name to be glori­fied through millions of radios, his the face which would stare from hundreds of news­papers – the con­queror of gravi­tation. And he had disappeared.

The air-pressure graph showed a slight dip at one point and Drafte was.no more.

I saw no trace of sus­picion. No one had even looked askance at me nor, so far as I knew, at anyone else. No one had the least inkling that any one man aboard the ship could tell them exactly how those two men had died. There was just the con­vic­tion that some­thing queer was afoot.

And now it was time for another.

Ward Govern, the chief engi­neer, was in the chart­room, talking with Captain Tanner. The rest were busy else­where. I slipped into Govern's cabin unob­served. His pistol I found in the drawer where he always kept it and I slipped it into my pocket. Then I crossed to the other wall and opened the venti­lator which commu­ni­cated with the passage. Finally, after care­fully assuring my­self that no one was in sight, I left, closing the door behind me.