THE SPACE FLAME
By ALEXANDER M. PHILLIPS
A rocketless hulk spinning helplessly through
uncharted heavens.... A derelict space-ship.
But within that Eternity-bound shell was even
greater peril. Fire—living, writhing,
horrible! Flame that hissed and coiled and
struck with jeweled tongues of Death.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1940.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Cargyle wiped away the blood from a flesh wound over one eye. The bodyof a mutineer lay half across the threshold of the small cabin. They'dgotten that close to him. They were out there in the corridors, themutineers, searching out the officers ... killing them.
Far off in the rocket ship a burst of firing broke out. A chorus ofwild yelling began, muted by distance and the intervening walls.Cargyle listened intently; perhaps a stand was being made against thecrew! The sounds seemed to come from the control room. He hesitated,staring through the heavy port in the hull at the still stars in theblackness beyond. If there were officers still defending the pilotroom, his place was with them. But if the mutineers were in possession,he'd be going to his death. With a shrug, he pressed a concealed buttonset in the wall. A panel of the inner wall of the hull slid quietlyopen. Tucking his blastor pistol into his belt, Cargyle crawled intothe space revealed.
All space cruisers were equipped with passages like this, known only tothe officers: in the long monotonous months in space tension betweenmen would sometimes sweep up to murderous frenzy, and mutinies were notuncommon.
Mutiny on the Denebola had been long coming. They were returning froma three-year surveying and specimen-collecting expedition among theasteroids. Sent out by the Cranford Foundation, they had outfitted inthe Martian colony of Tracolatown.
Loneliness and monotony change men queerly, undermine characterand sanity. And three years is a long time. Quarrels flared up andbecame feuds. Between two members of the crew, Kalson and Wrymore, aparticularly bitter hatred developed.
The crew were permitted no weapons, but Kalson was found shot to death.The crew and their quarters were searched by the officers. No weaponswere found. There are many places small side arms can be hidden in thelength of a ship.
Captain Wallace didn't confine Wrymore, for there was no definite proofof his guilt. But he informed him he would be turned over for trial atthe first port reached.
Then there was the starboard-dorsal rocket jet, forever threateningdisintegration, which no amount of tinkering ever made right. At anyunusual sound the crew would freeze, their expressions set. Had thatjet gone at last?
But with all this Wallace could cope. A stern man, old in the service,he was fully capable of controlling a crew unnerved by the ceaselesswatching of infinity. He strode through the ship, as stern and calm asthough in his office on Earth, holding the men to their duty, theirsanity.
But when the "flame of all colors" appeared....
The Denebola pointed her sharp nose homeward; the frozen, dead lumpsof the asteroids dropped behind. A new and clearer expression found itsway to the faces of the crew.
And then Wrymore flung himself out of a storage compartment, wherehe'd been sent for a replacement part during one of the interminablerepair jobs on the rocket jet. He dashed into the engine room, and the