Captain Future 06 - Star Trail to Glory (Spring 1941) (8 page)

He dropped the
Comet
expertly into the landing field behind the big, square building that was the Planet Police headquarters. When Curt and his friends entered the building, a young Martian officer in charge stared wonderingly at the weird Futuremen. Then he happened to glimpse Curt's emblemring.

CAPTAIN FUTURE!" he exclaimed. "And Marshal Gurney!"

"Call Lan Tark, Rissman and all the other big space ship manufacturers here," Curt ordered.

The young Martian looked doubtful.

"They're all at the big masquerade ball that Lan Tark is giving in his Space Palace tonight."

Curt frowned. "They are? Well, if they're all together, we'll go to the Space Palace right now to see them. Simon, stay here with the
Comet
and keep trying to figure out that mystery-weapon. Grag and Otho can come along with me in a rocket-flier."

"If you, Grag and Otho appear openly at that masquerade ball," Joan protested, "all the guests there will know Captain Future is working on this space ship robbery case. You don't usually advertise your presence."

Curt grinned. "Nonsense. They'll never suspect we're here. We're going to that masquerade ball at the Space Palace in disguise, of course. We're masquerading as Captain Future and his Futuremen."

THE Space Palace was unique among private residences of the System. A luxurious mansion, it circled the planet Mercury as a tiny artificial satellite. When Lan Tark, the Martian space ship magnate, had come to Mercury to establish his great factory, he could not become accustomed to the changeless dusk of the Twilight Zone. So he had built the Space Palace at his factory.

A thick disk of super-light and strong metal, a thousand feet in diameter, was the base. Upon this massive platform was built a splendid mansion of the same light silvery alloy, roofed over by the air-tight glassite dome. Heavy rocket-tubes in the base of the structure lifted it out of the weak gravitational grip of Mercury. It was carefully guided out just beyond the thin atmosphere and given an impetus and course that made it fall into a regular orbit around the planet. No further power was needed. It had its own air generators. Magnetic plates in the base supplied an artificial gravitation. There was an automatic air-lock at one side of the dome of glassite, through which rocket-fliers could enter. When the artificial satellite was over the Hot Side, there was day in the Space Palace. When it was over the Cold Side, there was night.

Rushing through space many miles above the frozen black wilderness of the Cold Side, the whole Space Palace blazed with golden light. Rocket-fliers had been arriving in scores, bringing gay guests from the planet below. Inside the glassite dome rippled laughing voices and brilliant music. The masquerade ball was getting under way.

A few guests strolled in the semidark gardens around the palace. Grown in artificial beds of soil, the gardens seemed transplanted from oases of faraway Mars. Graceful, fronded canal trees, desert-roses, sand-orchids demonstrated Lan Tark's nostalgia for his home world. Most of the guests were crowded in the spacious, golden-lit ballroom in the main wing of the silvery mansion. A famous Venusian string orchestra was playing the haunting melodies of the cloudy planet. Dancing to the music or drifting through the ballroom was a grotesquely attired throng. All were masked, and all in costume.

A Mercurian man swathed in a tight-fitting suit of white fur was posing as a Stygian, a native of Pluto's third moon. He was dancing with a Venusian girl whose artificial white wings showed that she was supposed to be one of the Qualu people of Saturn. A fat Earthman was ludicrously muffled in a fishlike suit to make him look like one of the sea-people of Neptune's ocean. Others of the masked company were impersonating Venusian swamp men, dark-uniformed Planet Police officers, such famous characters in interplanetary history as Gorham Johnson and Jan Wenzi.

As the music halted and the dancing stopped, the roar of a rocket-flier entering the lock could be heard remotely. A few moments later, three new figures appeared in the entrance of the ballroom. A cry of applause went up. All three wore black face-masks. One was a tall Earthman with flaming red hair, an odd black pistol at his belt, and a big, queer ring on his left hand. The second was a giant metal robot, and a third a rubbery-looking android.

"They're impersonating Captain Future and the Futuremen!" was the exclamation everywhere. "Did you ever see such clever costumes?"

GUESTS swarmed around Curt Newton, Otho and Grag, admiring their supposed costumes. A pert Mercurian girl prodded Grag's metal chest.

"How in the world did you get into this metal suit?" she cried, "You must have had it riveted on you."

"It's pretty tight, at that," Grag boomed.

"And even your voice is fixed to sound like a robot's," she marveled. "Come on, we'll dance. It'll be fun."

Grag was thunderstruck, "I don't know how to dance."

"I'll dance with you, lady," offered Otho confidently. "Can you do any Jovian dances? Swell! Let's show 'em something."

The Mercurian girl, who was made up as a Uranian hill-woman, looked up at Otho as he took her arm.

"Why, you even feel as rubbery as you look!"

"That's just my costume," Otho assured her. "Me and my two pals are big gravium magnates from Neptune. We thought up these costumes to make a hit."

Otho danced away, enjoying himself. Always yearning to be accepted as a human being, he relished the situation. But Grag, who knew none of the niceties of human society, was acutely uncomfortable. The big robot shifted from one metal foot to another as gay maskers importuned him to join them.

"I'm unhappy, Chief!" Grag complained to Curt. "I can't dance or make small talk. What am I going to say to these people?"

"That's your problem," Curt chuckled. Through his mask he sighted a tall, dignified Martian approaching. He said hastily to Grag; "I think this is Lan Tark coming. You and Otho stick around and see if you can pick up any gossip about the space ship robberies."

Grag, helpless to resist, was dragged away by a laughing group who believed the robot was only a guest inside a metal costume. The elderly Martian, who wore no mask, came toward Curt Newton.

"I don't recognize you," he told Curt smilingly. "But the disguise of you and your companions are good ones. Welcome, anyway."

"You're Lan Tark?" Captain Future asked quietly.

Tark was surprised. "Of course. If you don't know me, who invited you here?"

The Martian was bald, red-skinned, big-chested and stilt-legged, like all his race. He wore a flowing suit of fine black synthesilk. His aging face had the strength and dignity characteristic of his people.

"I'm not just dressed as Captain Future," Curt told him evenly. "I am Captain Future. I'm here to investigate these space ship thefts. I want to see you and the other manufacturers in private, at once."

Lan Tark looked unbelieving at first.

Then his eyes fastened on Curt's emblem ring, whose "planet" jewels slowly circled the "sun" jewel.

"That ring isn't a fake, as I thought," he muttered. "You are Future!"

"What other space ship magnates are here tonight?" Curt pursued.

"Christian Rissman is here," Tark answered, "and Durl Cruh and his partner, Rin Cholo, Zamor, Gray Garson and Ak Kalber."

"Please have them all quietly summoned to your study," Curt requested. "We'll meet there."

Driven by the force of Captain Future's personality, Lan Tark gave a whispered order to an attentive Mercurian servant. Then he led the way out of the noisy ballroom and into a wing of the Palace. The study of the Martian magnate was a sound-proofed, small, square room, its walls covered by fine mural paintings of Martian desert and oasis scenes. Behind a massive desk, a broad window looked out across the dark gardens of the Space Palace and through the glassite dome into the sheer immensity of starry space.

CURT took off his black mask. As he did so, the space ship magnates began to appear. None was in costume, apparently considering themselves too old for such nonsense. Lan Tark named them to Curt as they entered the study. Christian Rissman was a square, solidly built Earthman with a hard, blocky face. His penetrating blue eyes showed the energy which had made the Rissman Space Ship Company the biggest in the business.

"What is it, Tark?" he asked crisply. "Have you fellows decided finally to get wise and sell out your factories to me?"

"Not at all," Lan Tark stated. "We rejected your last offer only six weeks ago, if you remember."

Durl Cruh, senior member, of the Cruh-Cholo space ship firm, was an aging, worried-looking green Jovian who was chewing narcotic
rial
leaves. Rin Cholo, his partner, was younger, fatter and carefree-looking. They stared at Captain Future curiously. So did Ak Kalber, the plump, yellow-skinned, beady-eyed Uranian manufacturer who entered after them.

"What's up, Tark?" Kalber asked in his soft, slurring voice.

"Yes, why drag us away from the party?" demanded Gray Garson. "I was just beginning to forget my troubles for once."

Garson, a homely, rugged Earthman with lines of worry in his pleasant countenance, had entered with Zamor, last of the magnates. Apparently these two, who owned the smallest of the space ship companies, felt slightly ill at ease among the more important magnates. Zamor, a wiry, compact Mercurian whose swarthy face and tawny eyes had a look of belligerent suspicion, looked at Curt Newton.

"Who's this fellow dressed up as Captain Future?" he snapped. "Did you haul us all in here just to admire his clever costume?"

"Gentlemen, this is Captain Future," Lan Tark stated calmly. "He's here on Mercury investigating these space ship thefts that are disorganizing our businesses. He has some questions to ask."

CURT was keenly watching their faces. He saw the amazement on them change swiftly. Ak Kalber looked secretive. Durl Cruh seemed more uneasy, while Cholo stared in open curiosity at the tall, famous young planeteer.

"Well, it's about time someone did something to break up these thefts!" Zamor said testily. "I'm glad there'll be action at last."

"I am, too," Gray Garson declared. "Captain Future, your coming in on this mystery is the first good news I've had for weeks. My little company is about ready to go bankrupt, from the losses of new ships we've sustained."

"Have any of you an idea who is behind this ring of space ship hijackers?" Curt asked directly.

"No," Christian Rissman answered. "There hasn't been a single clue. It's a complete mystery."

"You would say that, Rissman," Zamor, the Mercurian, sneered. "A lot of difference it makes to you whether or not this thieving's stopped. You haven't lost any ships."

"Is that true?" Curt immediately asked Rissman. "You have the biggest company and produce more ships than any other, yet none of yours has been stolen?"

"That's right, I've lost no ships," Rissman admitted.

"How do you account for the fact that the hijackers don't bother you?"

The hard-faced Earthman shrugged. "The Rocketeers who test our ships over at Suicide Station are ordered to take every precaution against theft. No slipshod inefficiency about me! That's why these ship thieves haven't been able to get any of our craft."

"All of us have told the Rocketeers to take precautions when testing our ships in space," Lan Tark said coldly. "Yet our ships continue to vanish, Rissman. Yours don't."

Captain Future was thinking quickly. It was certainly suspicious that not one Rissman space ship had been stolen.

He shot a sharp question at Christian Rissman.

"You were saying something, when you entered, about offering to buy out the other factories?"

"I made them a fair offer," Rissman grumbled. "They wouldn't accept."

"We wouldn't sell out to you and give you a monopoly of the space ship manufacturing industry," Zamor declared angrily. "And after we rejected your offer, these space ships thefts began. It looks like the thefts are designed to bankrupt us, so that we'll have to sell to you."

"That is true," purred Ak Kalber, the plump yellow Uranian. "It has the appearance of a deliberate plan to force us out."

"Bah, your lying accusations don't bother me!" Rissman exploded. "I don't need to resort to crime to force you bunglers out of business. I'm already selling more ships than any of you, simply because my ships are better and the whole System knows it. You can tell a Rissman ship anywhere you see it, not only because it has a different and better design of cyclotron, tubes and hull, but because it performs better. Rissman ships won the last two Round-the-System Races, and a Rissman will win the next race that's coming up. I know how to build ships!"

He turned violently to Captain Future.

"These bunglers are not above getting up this whole space ship hijacking business, just to discredit and ruin me. That may be why none of my ships has been bothered, so that suspicion would be cast on me. They know they can't compete with me fairly."