No wonder that signal stabbed out into the
icy void. For it was a ship of hate and evil,
and ISP patrolman Steve Coran trusted only
one person—after strapping her in her bunk!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1949.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
On the high metallic wall across the street was a big sign: VENUSTRANSPORT and a smaller sign which read CONTAMINATION AREA—KEEP OUT!Steve Coran turned away from the window and faced the ISP officialacross the desk.
"From the time you leave this office, you'll be in deadly danger," theofficial said. "We aren't dealing with sporadic cases of space piracy.This is a well-organized group of saboteurs, pirates and assassinsbacked by a ring of powerful and unscrupulous men, some of them inhigh places. They have more on their minds than mere looting. Theyhave certain political objectives—and will stop at nothing to causeunrest, even war or revolution, to gain their ends. Fishers in troubledwaters...."
Coran laughed harshly. "Doesn't sound like a rest cure. Why'd you pickme for the job?"
The official opened a file drawer and riffled the cards. "You wererecommended by the Ministry of Transport. I confess that I was dubious,because of your record. However, you were transferred from theMars-Jupiter sector for the one reason that you're not known here. Anyof our regular security agents or the ISP men would be recognized atonce. Our original idea was to place you aboard a rocket transport asa crewman to spy out the weak links in our defensive measures. But amatter of graver importance has come up. The assignments will overlap,but we can no longer give you official backing."
"You'd better bring me up to date," Coran said bluntly.
"The pattern is usually the same. Barratry. Three of the Venustransports have been deliberately wrecked and looted. Of plutonium,for the most part. Members of this criminal group have infiltratedthe crew. Even trusted officers have been forced, by blackmail orother methods, to aid the plotters. We can trust no one, not even thecaptain."
"I see. What is this other matter you spoke about?"
"Two days ago we arrested a man. The charge was barratry. We hadno name, only a heliophoto from Venus. In his possession we founddocuments relating to political matters of vital importance. Release ofthe information contained in his portfolio would be disastrous at thistime. It could cause chaos, perhaps even war."
Coran grunted. "Such documents have no right to exist."
"I agree. Unfortunately, this one does exist. And it's no longer inour custody. A woman, obviously an accomplice, got a blaster-gun tohim. Two ISP men were killed, and the prisoner escaped. The documentswent with him. I don't have to tell you that both of these fugitivesmust be apprehended or killed. And those papers must be brought back ordestroyed. That's your job."
"I don't like it."
"Tact isn't your long suit, is it, Lieutenant? You weren't asked if youliked it. With two black marks against your record, you can't affordan opinion. One more and you're through as an officer in the spacepatrol—"
"I don't like working out of uniform."
"—and I wouldn't count too much on a friendship with Paul Jomian, if Iwere you, Coran. He's through here ... even if he was kicked upstairsinto the transport ministry. We no longer approve his methods. Hisrough-shod, undisciplined methods may get by in a frontier civilizationlike that of the outer planets, but nowadays we require efficiency andcomplete co-operation in the ISP. The time is past when an ISP o