Read Online Lucky Starr and the Big Sun of Mercury by Isaac Asimov - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Isaac Asimov
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Dome fifteen minutes later. He was miserable.
How could he have believed that Lucky seriously expected adventure in the mines? Would Lucky have arranged to make radio calls for the Sirians to pick up and keep tabs on?
Sure, it was a tight beam, but the messages weren't scrambled, and no beam was so tight that it couldn't be tapped with patience.
He wondered why Cook allowed such an arrangement, and almost at once the thought occurred to him that Cook disbelieved in the Sirians too. Only Bigman had believed. Big-brain!
At the moment, he could have chewed through a spaceship hull.
He gathered in Cook and used the agreed-upon signal for all clear.
Cook's voice at once shot back. "All clear?"
"Sands of Mars! Yes. Lucky's up ahead twenty feet, but there's no sign of anything. Look, if I've buzzed all clear, take my word for it next time."
"Let me talk to Lucky Starr."
"What for?" Bigman kept it casual with an effort. "Get him next time."
Cook hesitated, then said, "All right."
Bigman nodded to, himself grimly. There'd be no next tune. He'd buzz all clear and that would be all… Only how long was he supposed to wander about in the darkness before he heard from Lucky? An hour? Two? Six? Suppose six hours went by and there was no word? How long should he stay? How long
could
he stay?
And what if Cook demanded specific information? Lucky had said to describe things, but what if Bigman accidentally failed to keep up the act? What if he tipped the boat and let slip the fact that Lucky had gone into the Sun-side? Lucky would never trust him again! With anything!
He put the thought aside. It would do him no good to concentrate on it
If there were only something to distract him. Something besides darkness and vacuum, besides the faint vibration of his own footsteps and the sound of his own breath.
He stopped to check his position in the main shaft. The side passages had letters and numbers ground sharply into their walls, and time had done nothing to dull their sharpness. Checking wasn't difficult.
However, the low temperature made the chart brittle and difficult to handle, and that didn't sweeten his mood. He turned his suit-light on his chest controls in order that he might adjust the dehumidifier. The inner surface of his face-plate was beginning to mist over faintly from the moisture in his breath, probably because the temperature within rose with his temper, he told himself.
He had just completed the adjustment when he moved his head sharply to one side as though he were suddenly cocking an ear to listen.
It was exactly what he was doing. He strained to sense the rhythm of faint vibration that he "heard" now only because his own steps had ceased.
He held his breath, remained as motionless as the rocky wall of the tunnel.
"Lucky?" he breathed into the transmitter. "Lucky?" The fingers of his right hand had adjusted the controls. The carrier wave was scrambled. No one else would make sense out of that light whisper. But Lucky would, and soon his voice would come in answer. Bigman was ashamed to admit to himself how welcome that voice would be.
"Lucky?" he said again.
The vibration continued. There was no answer.
Bigman's breathing quickened, first with tension, then with the savage joy born of excitement that always came over him when danger was in the offing.
There was someone else in the mines of Mercury with him. Someone other than Lucky.
Who, then? A Sirian? Had Lucky been right after all though he had thought he was merely putting up a smoke screen?
Maybe.
Bigman drew his blaster and put out his suit-light.
Did they know he was there? Were they coming to get him?
The vibrations weren't the blurred nonrhythmic "sound" of many people, or even two or three. To Bigman's keen ear, the distinctly separated "thrum-thrum" of vibration was the "sound" of one man's legs, rhythmically advancing.
And Bigman would meet any one man, anywhere, under any conditions.
Quietly, he put out his hand, touching the nearer
How could he have believed that Lucky seriously expected adventure in the mines? Would Lucky have arranged to make radio calls for the Sirians to pick up and keep tabs on?
Sure, it was a tight beam, but the messages weren't scrambled, and no beam was so tight that it couldn't be tapped with patience.
He wondered why Cook allowed such an arrangement, and almost at once the thought occurred to him that Cook disbelieved in the Sirians too. Only Bigman had believed. Big-brain!
At the moment, he could have chewed through a spaceship hull.
He gathered in Cook and used the agreed-upon signal for all clear.
Cook's voice at once shot back. "All clear?"
"Sands of Mars! Yes. Lucky's up ahead twenty feet, but there's no sign of anything. Look, if I've buzzed all clear, take my word for it next time."
"Let me talk to Lucky Starr."
"What for?" Bigman kept it casual with an effort. "Get him next time."
Cook hesitated, then said, "All right."
Bigman nodded to, himself grimly. There'd be no next tune. He'd buzz all clear and that would be all… Only how long was he supposed to wander about in the darkness before he heard from Lucky? An hour? Two? Six? Suppose six hours went by and there was no word? How long should he stay? How long
could
he stay?
And what if Cook demanded specific information? Lucky had said to describe things, but what if Bigman accidentally failed to keep up the act? What if he tipped the boat and let slip the fact that Lucky had gone into the Sun-side? Lucky would never trust him again! With anything!
He put the thought aside. It would do him no good to concentrate on it
If there were only something to distract him. Something besides darkness and vacuum, besides the faint vibration of his own footsteps and the sound of his own breath.
He stopped to check his position in the main shaft. The side passages had letters and numbers ground sharply into their walls, and time had done nothing to dull their sharpness. Checking wasn't difficult.
However, the low temperature made the chart brittle and difficult to handle, and that didn't sweeten his mood. He turned his suit-light on his chest controls in order that he might adjust the dehumidifier. The inner surface of his face-plate was beginning to mist over faintly from the moisture in his breath, probably because the temperature within rose with his temper, he told himself.
He had just completed the adjustment when he moved his head sharply to one side as though he were suddenly cocking an ear to listen.
It was exactly what he was doing. He strained to sense the rhythm of faint vibration that he "heard" now only because his own steps had ceased.
He held his breath, remained as motionless as the rocky wall of the tunnel.
"Lucky?" he breathed into the transmitter. "Lucky?" The fingers of his right hand had adjusted the controls. The carrier wave was scrambled. No one else would make sense out of that light whisper. But Lucky would, and soon his voice would come in answer. Bigman was ashamed to admit to himself how welcome that voice would be.
"Lucky?" he said again.
The vibration continued. There was no answer.
Bigman's breathing quickened, first with tension, then with the savage joy born of excitement that always came over him when danger was in the offing.
There was someone else in the mines of Mercury with him. Someone other than Lucky.
Who, then? A Sirian? Had Lucky been right after all though he had thought he was merely putting up a smoke screen?
Maybe.
Bigman drew his blaster and put out his suit-light.
Did they know he was there? Were they coming to get him?
The vibrations weren't the blurred nonrhythmic "sound" of many people, or even two or three. To Bigman's keen ear, the distinctly separated "thrum-thrum" of vibration was the "sound" of one man's legs, rhythmically advancing.
And Bigman would meet any one man, anywhere, under any conditions.
Quietly, he put out his hand, touching the nearer
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