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diff --git a/37448.txt b/37448.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9bbc2ad --- /dev/null +++ b/37448.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1251 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Comet's Burial, by Raymond Zinke Gallun + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Comet's Burial + +Author: Raymond Zinke Gallun + +Release Date: September 17, 2011 [EBook #37448] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMET'S BURIAL *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Dianna Adair and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: BRINKER BRINKER in footprints] + + + + + _A man may be a scoundrel, a crook, a high-phased confidence man, + and still work toward a great dream which will be worth far more + than the momentary damage his swindles cost._ + + + + +_Comet's Burial_ + +_by_ RAYMOND Z. GALLUN + + +Outside Tycho Station on the Moon, Jess Brinker showed Arne Copeland the +odd footprints made in the dust by explorers from Mars, fifty million +years ago. A man-made cover of clear plastic now kept them from being +trampled. + +"Who hasn't heard about such prints?" Copeland growled laconically. +"There's no air or weather here to rub them out--even in eternity. +Thanks for showing a fresh-arrived greenhorn around..." + +Copeland was nineteen, tough, willing to learn, but wary. His wide mouth +was usually sullen, his grey eyes a little narrowed in a face that +didn't have to be so grim. Back in Iowa he had a girl. Frances. But love +had to wait, for he needed the Moon the way Peary had once needed the +North Pole. + +Earth needed it, too--for minerals; as an easier, jump-off point to the +planets because of its weak gravity; as a place for astronomical +observatories, unhampered by the murk of an atmosphere; as sites for +labs experimenting in forces too dangerous to be conducted on a +heavily-populated world, and for a dozen other purposes. + +Young Copeland was ready for blood, sweat, and tears in his impulse to +help conquer the lunar wastes. He sized up big, swaggering Jess Brinker, +and admitted to himself that this man, who was at least ten years his +senior, could easily be a phony, stalking suckers. Yet, Copeland +reserved judgment. Like any tenderfoot anywhere, he needed an +experienced man to show him the ropes. + +He already knew the Moon intimately from books: A hell of silence, some +of it beautiful: Huge ringwalls. Blazing sunlight, inky shadow. Grey +plains, black sky. Blazing stars, with the great blurry bluish globe of +Earth among them. You could yearn to be on the Moon, but you could go +bats and die there, too--or turn sour, because the place was too rough +for your guts. + +Afield, you wore a spacesuit, and conversed by helmet radiophone. +Otherwise you lived in rooms and holes dug underground, and sealed up. +The scant water you dared use was roasted out of gypsum rock. The oxygen +you breathed was extracted from lunar oxides by a chemical process. Then +air-rejuvenator apparatus reseparated it from the carbon-dioxide you +exhaled, so that you could use it over and over. + +Copeland had read the tales: With that kind of frugality as the price of +survival, lunar prospectors could turn selfish to the point of +queerness. Afraid somebody might follow them to their mineral claims, +they'd take more pains to leave as little spoor as possible than a fox +being tracked by dogs. + +"Speaking of how footprints last around here," Copeland remarked for the +sake of conversation, "I understand you've got to be careful--stick to +high ridges, and to parts of the flat _maria_ where there's no old +volcanic ash or dust of thermal erosion." + +"Guys who do that are misers and old women, kid," Brinker scoffed. +"Hell--it sure ain't because they're modest that they're so cautious! +Me--I do things right." + +He lifted a foot from the dust beside the path, revealing the mark of +the specially etched steel sole of his spaceboot. A name was stamped +across the print: BRINKER. + +"I'm proud of where I've been and where I'm going--like a true +explorer," the big man said. "Get some soles like mine made for +yourself, fella, and come along with me." + +Copeland was intrigued. "Let me think about it a little." + + * * * * * + +During the next few hours he heard quite a lot. + +A big, blonde nurse--one of the two women in the sealed warrens of Tycho +Station, said: "Young man, I _love_ Jess Brinker. But keep away from +him, or you'll wind up in the prison pits, or worse." + +And Copeland heard about Tom Brinker, Jess' dad--the kind of swindler +always found in rough new territory, anywhere. He had promoted the idea +of a real city on Lunar. Yeah--one with trees and flowers. What +sentimental bait that was for home-starved, desolation-sick wanderers! +No wonder somebody had murdered him recently. + +By common opinion, twenty-odd years was the only difference between Jess +and his father. "Stay clear," was the warning; the name of Brinker was +mud and poison. + +Arne Copeland was a cagey youngster; nobody influenced him when he made +up his mind. He was no cow-eyed hero-worshipper; yet, on his own, he +kind of liked the large, battered, egotist. Copeland knew that he +was an egotist himself. He also knew that merely to be on the +sketchily-explored Moon was to take chances. + +So he said "Okay," to Brinker, and got some metal boot-soles made, with +his name etched into them in reverse, as in a rubber stamp. + + * * * * * + +Under packs that no coolie could ever have lifted against Earth gravity, +they left Tycho Station and moved toward the fringe of that lunar +hemisphere which is never seen from Terra--though it is no different +from the visible half in general character. + +Wherever their feet found a medium that would take an impression, they +left their trademark behind them. Copeland could brush a name out with a +glove; otherwise those names were about as permanent as if carved from +granite, for there was no wind to blow the dust, and no rain to wash it +away. Passing tractor-caravans would never blot out all of the +footprints. Not in ages of time. + +"At least we got us a monument, Jess," Copeland said once, feeling +somewhat thrilled. "That's what guys out exploring and prospecting need. +A legend. A reputation." + +Jess Brinker's eyes narrowed, making him look sinister. "Yeah, Cope," he +drawled. "But in my case it's a _counter_-reputation, with a little of +Robin Hood thrown in, to help blow the stink of my Old Man off me. I +want some friends and backing, so I can do what Dad really wanted to +do--though he was as much of a rogue as a saint. You listening, Cope?" + +Copeland kept his face stony. "Tell me what you want to, and then stop," +he said softly. + +"Thanks," Brinker answered. "It doesn't matter too much that I can guess +who killed Pop, and would like to square things. Yeah, a hatchet-faced +ex-partner who turned pious and legal on the outside, after he got the +breaks. How old is that story, I wonder?... It doesn't even rile me +terribly, knowing that Dad wasn't all crook, knowing he _believed_ his +idea was good for everybody, and was trying to get funds to put it +across." + +Brinker sighed and went on: "The idea is the _important_ thing, Cope. A +place with trees and flowers, a city, maybe--an antidote for the Moon's +desolation. Anyone here feels the need in his bones and nerves. But it +would take more air and water than could ever be imported, or drawn from +the lunar crust. You wouldn't know it on the dead surface, but two +hundred miles deep in the Moon there's still molten lava, plentiful +water in the form of steam, volcanic carbon-dioxide gas--the makings of +oxygen. There's nitrogen, too. + +"How to reach that stuff is the question. Drills break under the +pressure of depth at a tenth of the distance. Pop's idea involved +Brulow's Comet, which will be coming back sunward from far space in +three years. Imagine--a comet! It could be dangerous, too; nobody could +ever get permission for an attempt." + +Brinker paused again. Copeland and he were plodding through a jagged +valley. The stars were merciless pinpoints, the silence brittle and +grating. + +"But there must be a way of blasting down to those life-giving +raw-materials, Cope," Brinker continued. "Maybe with atomic explosive. +Experiments call for funds and backing. So I save my money, and wish I +had a head for making it faster. And I look for weak spots in the lunar +crust with radar. And I try to get people to know I'm around, and to +like me...." + +Copeland realized that what he had just heard could be a line of malarky +meant to kid a yokel, or a bid to get him involved in something. But he +found himself kind of falling for the yarn. More than ever he suspected +that folks were wrong about Jess Brinker; his warning instincts were +being lulled to sleep. + + * * * * * + +Month-long lunar days passed, while the two men ranged over a segment of +the hidden hemisphere. They trod plains and crater-walls unsullied by +human feet before; they took photographs to be sold to the Lunar +Topographical Commission; they located deposits of radioactive metals, +which could be registered for investigation by an assaying party, and +for possible royalties. Periodically they visited scattered supply +stations, and then set out once more. + +Such a life had its poisons even for Brinker and Copeland, who were +braced for meeting the unknown and the strange. + +Living in space suits for weeks at a time; smelling their own unwashed +bodies; slipping an arm out of a heavy sleeve to draw food through a +little airlock in their armor's chestplate; knowing, in spite of +effective insulation, that the heat of day exceeded the boiling point of +water, and that the cold of the protracted night, when usually they +continued their explorations with the aid of ato-lamps, hovered at the +brink of absolute zero--all those things had a harsh effect on +nervous-systems. + +They found two human corpses. One had been crushed in a long fall, his +spacesuit ripped open; he was a blackened mummy. The other was a +freckled youth, coffined in his armor. Failure of its air-rejuvenator +unit had caused asphyxia. What you did for guys like this was collect +their credentials for shipment home. + +Copeland also found a Martian--inside its transparent version of a +spacesuit, for the ancient Moon had been much the same as now. The being +was dead, of course. Its brain-case had been a sac; its tentacles were +like a snarl of age-hardened leather thongs. + +Lying near it was an even greater rarity--the remains of a different +sort of monster from the planet that had been literally exploded +in a war with Mars, to form the countless fragments that were the +asteroids. That much of remote history was already known from the +research-expeditions that had gone out to the Red Planet, and beyond. + +The queer, advanced equipment of these two beings from two small, +swift-cooling worlds--which had borne life early, and whose cultures had +rivalled briefly for dominance of the solar system until they had wiped +each other out those fifty million years ago--lay scattered near them. +It was still as bright and new as yesterday, preserved by the Moon's +vacuum: Cameras, weapons, instruments--rich loot, now, to be sold to +labs that sought to add the technology of other minds to human +knowledge. + +For a year, things went well. The names, BRINKER and COPELAND, +footprinted into the lunar dust, helped build the new reputation that +Brinker wanted. Copeland and he were a hard-working team; they covered +more ground than any other Moon explorers. + +The fights that Brinker got into with other toughs at the various supply +stations, and never lost, added to the legend--that old Tom's son was +savage and dangerous, but with a gentler side. For instance he once +carried a crazed Moon-tramp, whom Copeland was too slight to have +handled for a minute, fifty miles on his back to a station. Oh, +sure--the stunt could be pure ballyhoo, not charity. But Copeland knew +that more and more people had begun to admire his buddy. + +Brinker never found a weak spot in the lunar crust. "It's always about +two hundred miles deep, Cope," he said. "Lots thicker than Earth's +shell, because the Moon, being smaller, cooled more. But don't worry; +nothing is impossible. Soon I'll have enough money to make minor tests. +And maybe enough friends for serious support." + +Yeah--maybe it was all just a brain-bubble. But Copeland had seen enough +of desolation to grind the spirit of the Brinker idea into his +bones--even if he didn't think it was quite practical. + +"I'll throw my dough in with yours, Jess," he said. + +Their named bootprints helped build their fame as explorers; but there +was a flaw and an invitation here which they both must have +realized--and still faced as a calculated risk. + + * * * * * + +A lunar day later, they were plodding through the Fenwick mountains on +the far hemisphere, when streams of bullets made lava chips fly. + +As they flopped prone in the dust, a scratchy voice chuckled: "Hello, +Brinker. Maybe you and your pal want my bunch to escort you back to +Tycho Station. We might as well have the reward. Robbery of a minerals +caravan and three killings, they say. It's terrible how you scatter your +tracks around...." + +Brinker grasped Copeland's wrist to form a sound-channel, so that they +could converse without using their radiophones. "That was Krell +talking," he said. "Dad's old partner." + +Luckily, it was not many hours to sunset. The mountain ridges, slanting +up to the peaks, cast inky shadows that could hide anything. Brinker was +canny; while more bullets spurted, he led a dash back to a ridge-shadow +that went clear to the range-crest. Even with bulky packs, climbing was +a lot faster than on Earth, where things weigh six times as much. + +So they got away, over the mountains. The black night of the far side of +the Moon, where Earth never shines, hid them. + +"Making boot-soles with our names on them," Brinker growled bitterly, +using the radiophone at reduced range. "The crudest kind of frameup." + +"Your Krell is quite a man," Copeland stated. + +"He _could_ have arranged all of it--sure," Brinker answered. "He knows +I suspect that he finished Pop, so I'm dangerous to him. He might hate +me, too, as part of my Old Man--sort of ... Whatever it was he got sore +about, originally--money or principle, no doubt ... Besides, I don't +think he wants the Moon to be a little more livable. It would encourage +too many colonists to come, increase metals production, spoil prices, +cheapen his claims. He's a corny man, with all the corny reasons ... + +"He, and some of his guys, could have robbed and killed and left +footprints like ours. But any other lugs, seeking someone else to blame +for their crimes, could have done all that. If that is so, Krell has got +me even _legally_--without blame to himself." + +"Footprints!" Copeland snapped. "They're so obviously a frame that it's +silly; anyone could see that! Another thing--maybe Krell was kidding, +scaring us by saying that we are wanted. Tell you what, Jess: In any +case I won't seem as guilty as you; I'll go back alone to Tycho Station, +and clear us both." + +"You're an optimist, ain't you?" Brinker laughed. "Krell wasn't kidding; +and in a rough place like the Moon, justice jumps to conclusions and +gets mean, fast. Sure, the purpose of the footprints is obvious. But +I've been fighting uphill against my Old Man's reputation for a long +time. Who's gonna say I haven't backslid? What I want to accomplish is +tough enough with everything in my favor." + +Brinker's voice was now a sinister rumble with a quiver in it. Arne +Copeland turned wary again; he had never lost entirely the deepseated +notion that Brinker might cause him misfortune. + +"So now what?" he demanded softly, flashing his ato-light beam against +Brinker's face-window, so that he could see his expression. Copeland +meant to forestall danger aggressively. + +But as the darkness between them was swept aside, he also saw the muzzle +of Brinker's pistol levelled at him. The bigger man's grin was lopsided. +"I'd give you my neck, Cope," he rumbled. "But I'd give both our necks +for you-know-what. Now, because that's all there's left, I'm gonna try +it Pop's crazy way. You're gonna help. If you and I can last through a +couple of years of _real_ silence and solitude, it might have a chance. +I got a ship hidden. Give me your gun. Easy! If you think I wouldn't +shoot, you're a fool. Now I'll wire one of your wrists to mine; we've +got a long march ahead." + + * * * * * + +Some march it was! Copeland was fiercely independent. The warnings about +Brinker had gone to waste; so had his own wariness. Bitterness made him +savage. The harshness of the Moon still ached in his guts--he wanted the +steam and gases of its interior tapped and used, yes--but by some +reasonable means. Jess Brinker must be truly Moon-balmy, now. +Desolation-nuts. Wild for the sight of growing things. Else how could he +think seriously of using Brulow's Comet? Was it hard to guess how? +Copeland knew that he and Brinker had courage, and willingness to work +for a sound purpose. But to trade long effort and hardship in a +proposition that courted suicide, even in its probable failure--and wide +destruction if it managed to be successful--was worse than folly. + +So, when these meanings became clear in his mind, he wrestled Brinker at +every turn. Twice he almost won. He argued and cursed, getting nowhere. +He defied Brinker to shoot him. The big man didn't do that. But at last +Brinker jabbed a hypodermic needle--part of the regulation medical +kit--through the flexible rubberized fabric of the elbow-joint of +Copeland's spacesuit, and into his arm. + + * * * * * + +Many hours later, and many miles farther into the mountainous country, +Copeland awoke in a cavern with glassy walls, illuminated by Brinker's +ato-light. Brinker stood near where he lay. He seemed just grimly +good-humored. + +"This is an old Martian supply depot, Cope," he offered. "I found it +before I knew you, and I kept it in reserve for possible trouble, like +now. I knew I could convert its contents to considerable money at any +time. So it was like a bank-account, and a last resort, too. There's +even a small Martian spaceship; only three others have ever been found, +intact. I also cached some Earthly instruments here. You can bet I +didn't leave _any_ tracks for miles around." + +Copeland's gaze caught the errie gleam of the strange little craft. He +saw the stacks of oddly-made boxes and bales. His hackles rose as he +thought of a senseless plunge into unplumbed distance. + +"Unwire my hands, Jess!" he coaxed again, trying to control fury. "Get +wise! Damn you--you're more dangerous as an altruist than any crook +could be!" + +Brinker's laugh was sharp, but his eyes held real apology. "Want to help +me ready and load the ship?" he said almost mildly. "No--I guess not; +you aren't quite in a cooperative frame of mind, yet. I'll need you +later. Sorry, but you're the only guy around, Cope." + +Brinker blasted queer bulkheads out of the ship, in order to make it +habitable for humans. The exit of the cavern had been masked with +debris, but now he cleared it. He tossed Copeland aboard and took off +into the lunar night. + + * * * * * + +The vast journey lasted for months. Once Brinker said to his sullen, and +again partially-drugged, captive: "Maybe in two years, if we're very +lucky, we'll be back." + +Hurtling outward, they passed the orbits of Mars, the asteroids, +Jupiter, and Saturn. There, with Earth-made instruments, Brinker located +what he sought: Brulow's Comet. + +So far from the sun, where the fluorescence-inducing radiations were +thinned almost to nothing, it glowed hardly at all. And it had almost no +tail; it was only a gigantic, tenuous ghost, with a core of stone and +magnetic iron fragments. + +Still dazed, Copeland thought about comets. Wanderers, following +elongated orbits that loop tight around the sun at one end and plumb the +depths of space at the other. Of all large forms moving through the +void, they were the least dense. In coma and tail, they were only +intensely rarefied and electrified gas. The great enigma about them was +that things so deficient in mass and gravity could hold onto even that +much atmosphere for long. Perhaps new gases were baked out of the +meteoric core, each time a comet was close to the sun; maybe some of +them even renewed their atmosphere periodically, by capturing a little +of the tenuous substance of the solar corona, during their very near +approaches to it. + +Brulow's Comet was on the sunward swing, now, gaining speed under solar +gravitation; but it still had a long ways to go. Brinker guided the ship +down through its coma and toward its lazily-rotating nucleus, where +thousands of fragments of iron and rock swirled around their common +center of gravity. + +The chunks clattered against the craft's metal hull, but did no damage +at their low speed. Brinker brought the ship to rest at the center of +the nucleus, where there was one solid mass of material a hundred yards +in diameter. + +"Well, we're here, Cope," Brinker said grimly. "We don't have to work +right away--if you don't want to. We've got too much time." + +Those two years looming ahead were the worst. If the Moon had been +harsh, it was nothing to this eerie place. The heart of this small comet +was illumined by faint, shifting phosphorescence, ranging from blue and +tarnished silver to delicate if poisonous pink. Perhaps the cause was +the same as that of the terrestrial aurora. The silence here was that of +space; but the swirling motion of the nucleus suggested a continuous +maddening rustle to Copeland. + +He had to yield to Brinker's wishes. Toil might divert him some, keep +him from feeling the tension of time and strangeness so much. + +"Okay, Brinker," he said. "You win. Brulow's Comet is headed for a close +approach to the Earth-Moon system. So you want to be spectacular, and +shift it a little from its orbit--so that it will hit the Moon and maybe +break its crust. Was that so hard to figure? That sounds pretty big, +doesn't it? But I'll humor you. Let's see how far we get ... Since we're +here." His sarcasm was tired. + + * * * * * + +As a preliminary, they cut a cavern in the central mass of the nucleus +with Martian blasters, and fitted it with a crude airlock. The cavern +would be better to live in than the interior of a ship meant for alien +beings. They moved Martian apparatus and supplies into it: +Air-rejuvenators, moisture-reclaimers, cylinders of oxygen and water, +and containers of nourishment--all millions of years old. + +Their remaining supply of Earthly food in their packs was now very +short. It was weird--eating what had been preserved so long ago, on +another world, for beings just barely close enough to human for their +food to be edible. Gelatins, sectional fragments of vegetation, and what +might have been muscle-tissue. Copeland and Brinker both gagged often. +It wasn't the bland, oily taste so much, but the idea.... + +Some of it, Copeland decided, was not native Martian. It was more like +terrestrial fish. And slabs of coarse meat might have been flesh of the +last dinosaurs! Martians surely must have visited Earth briefly, though +evidence there had long since weathered away. + + * * * * * + +While the still-distant sun sent thin light into the comet, Brinker and +Copeland removed the propulsion-tubes from the ship and welded them to +the central chunk of the nucleus. They had a number of other spare +jet-tubes. These they fastened to lesser masses. + +Whenever, in the slow swirling of the nucleus, tubes pointed in the +calculated proper direction at right angles to the comet's course, they +were fired in long bursts. Thus, slowly, like a perfectly-balanced bank +vault door moved by a finger, the mass of the comet--slight by volume, +but still measuring many thousands of tons--was deflected in the +opposite direction. Astrogation-instruments showed the shift. Copeland +had expected such coarse deflection to be possible; still, it startled +him--this was the moving of a celestial body! + +"Just a little--for now, Cope," Brinker said. "We'll leave the fine +aiming for later. Meanwhile we've got to pass the time, stay as well as +we can, and keep our heads on straight." + +Sure--straight! If Brinker hadn't turned foolish before they had come, +they wouldn't be out here at all. In a month they were already thinning +down from malnutrition and strain. At first, thinking coldly, Copeland +was sure they'd wilt and die long before they got near the Moon. + +Then, as they managed to steady themselves some by the diversions of +playing cards, and studying the intricacies of Martian equipment, he +began to fear once more that Brinker might succeed in his efforts--but +fail terribly in result. + +Many times Copeland went over the same arguments, struggling to speak +calmly, and without anger: "I wonder if you realize it, Brinker--with +enough velocity one large meteor carries more energy than a fission +bomb. A whole comet would affect thousands of square miles of the lunar +surface, at least. Smash equipment, kill men. And if the comet happened +to miss the Moon and hit Earth--" + +Sometimes Brinker's expression became almost fearful, as at an enormity. +But then he'd turn stubborn and grin. "There's plenty of room to avoid +hitting the Earth," he'd say. "On the Moon, astronomers will warn of the +shifted orbit of Brulow's Comet in plenty of time for everybody to get +out of danger. Most of what we've got to worry about now, is our lives, +or jail ..." + +A moment later, as like as not, they'd be slamming at each other with +fists. Copeland found it hard to contain his fury for the man who had +brought him such trouble, and--without intent--was so determined to +extend it to many others. + +Brinker kept winning the scraps. But Copeland's ten-year age-advantage +meant something when it came to enduring hardship and partial-starvation +over a long period. They didn't weaken equally. + +This levelling of forces was one thing that Copeland waited for. Another +was that when Brulow's Comet was found to be off course, a ship might be +sent to investigate. He never mentioned it, certainly; but once Brinker +said: "I'm ready for what you're thinking, Cope. I've got weapons." + +By then they spent much of their time in torpid sleep. + +Another difficulty was that it was getting harder to keep one's mind +consistently on the same track. Space, tribulation, and the months, were +having their blurring effect. + +Often, Copeland spent many hours in wistful reverie about his girl, +Frances, in Iowa. Sometimes he hated all people--on Earth, Moon, and +everyhere, and didn't care what happened to them. On other occasions +Brinker's basic desire to lessen the desolation of the lunar scene +looked supremely good to him--as of course it always had, in principle. +Then, briefly and perhaps madly, he was Brinker's pal, instead of +yearning to beat him to a pulp. + + * * * * * + +Somehow, twenty months crept by, and the first spaceship hove +inquisitively close to Brulow's Comet. A shadow of his former self, +Brinker crept out of the cavern to man his weapons. But like a famished +beast seeking prey, Copeland followed him. + +His victory, now, was almost easy. Then all he had to do was wait to be +picked up; the ship was coming nearer. Through the now much-brightened +glow of the comet, it had ceased to be a planetlike speck reflecting +sunlight; and showed its actual form. + +Confusion whirled in Copeland's head; hunger gnawed in him. Yet he +looked down at Brinker--poor Brinker, beaten unconscious inside his +spacesuit. Brinker had tried to fight lifeless dreariness. Copeland, +weak of body and fogged of mind, was now close to maudlin tears. +Dreariness was the enemy--here as elsewhere. He tried to think; his +stubborn nature mixed itself with splinters of reason, and seemed to +make sense. + +His twenty months of suffering out here had to be used--mean +something--didn't it? It couldn't be just a futile blank. You had to +follow a thing started through to the end, didn't you? Brinker wanted to +improve the Moon, which certainly needed that. Okay--finish the job that +had gone so far. Damn desolation everywhere! Fight it! Smash it! Sudden +rage made Copeland's thin blood pound. Dimly he realized that he was +driven by the same dreariness-disease that motivated Brinker. So what? +Who cared about smashed lunar equipment, after all. And beside +experience, prison would be paradise. + +Copeland fired a Martian rocket-launcher, aiming behind the ship. He saw +the blaze of atomic fission. Jets flaming, the craft fled. + +In his phones he heard a voice that he remembered: "That you, Brinker? +Trying your father's trick, eh? Idiot! You'll kill yourself, or be +executed. And now you even shoot!" + +Fury at Krell clinched Copeland's decision. He did not answer him. But +when Brinker woke up he said savagely, without friendship or +forgiveness, yet with cooperation: "We're on the same side, now. Let's +aim Brulow's Comet." + +Concentrating was hard, but they had their instruments and calculators. +Velocity, position, and course of both comet and Moon had to be +coordinated to make them arrive in the same place at the same moment. It +was a problem in astrogation, but a comet was not as easily directed as +a space ship. Copeland had once thought that the necessary fine guiding +couldn't be done. The jet-system they had rigged in that inconveniently +whirling nucleus was crude. + +But one thing was in their favor; they had ample time. They could adjust +their course with the jets, check with instruments, and re-adjust--again +and again. Copeland found himself doing the vital part of the job; he +was better at math than Brinker. + +They still had plenty of Martian food left--for what it was worth to +human insides. Perhaps unified purpose and action brightened their +outlook a little, helping their bodies. They could never work very +long--even in the almost total absence of gravity. But--at least--their +weakness wasn't increasing now. + +During those last four months they drove several ships away. Earth and +Moon swelled to spheres, ahead. Brulow's Comet lengthened its tail under +increased solar light-pressure. Intensified radiation made its shifting +colors glorious. + +Brinker and Copeland lined their gigantic missile up on its target as +perfectly as they could. Fifty hours before the crash was due, they +smashed most of the jets. The remaining ones they tried, feebly, to +refit into their ship, meaning thus to escape. + + * * * * * + +Three Space Patrol craft showed up, and they had to man their weapons. +Copeland hated to be an outlaw; but now he could not see effort brought +to nothing. Brinker and he had survived so far, accomplishing much--far +better results than he had expected; it made him surer that their +purpose was generally sound. + +More missiles were fired carefully--not to do damage, but to discourage +the intruders; the latter were held at bay for another twelve hours. +Copeland and Brinker left radio commands and threats unanswered, so it +was hard for their opponents to get a fix on their position in the +whirling nucleus. + +Explosions blazed around them, but never very close. Masses of iron and +stone were shattered and half vaporized, cooling subsequently to fine +dust. The nucleus of Brulow's Comet expanded a bit under the battering +that went on within it. + +At an opportune moment, Copeland and Brinker clung to one of their +jet-tubes and, gunning it very lightly, rode it from the central +core-mass of the nucleus to a lesser meteor, and hid in a cleft. A +dust-poll had concealed their change of position. And now, with so many +other large meteors around them, they would be almost impossible to +find. + +They glimpsed the Patrol craft invading the heart of the comet. Men +poured forth, struggling to set up jets in the hope of still deflecting +this juggernaut from the Moon. But the comet was already much too close; +before the setting-up was half completed it had to be abandoned. Still, +the ships remained almost to the last. + +Copeland wondered tensely if they'd ever go. His withered palms +perspired. + +"We could still yell for help--have them take us off," Brinker suggested +when they had left. He spoke by sound-channel contact. + +The Moon loomed huge and ugly ahead. Copeland gave it a scared glance, +and then laughed grimly. "Ironic, that would be," he snapped, "No--we've +got this jet to ride, and we're still at liberty." + +From space, lashed to the flaming propulsion tube, they saw the crash +happen. It was a terrific spectacle. Copeland's hopes now had jagged +cracks of worry. The comet seemed to move slowly, its coma flattening +over the Moon's spaceward hemisphere. There were blinding flashes as the +chunks of its nucleus bit into the lunar crust, their energy of velocity +converting largely to heat. Then dust masked the region of impact. The +comet's tail collapsed over the Moon like a crumbling tower. + +Copeland gulped. He saw that Brinker had gone limp--fainted. Weakness +was enough to cause that; but the fact of a plan carried out had a shock +in it, too. + +Copeland worked the jury-rigged controls of the jet, continuing to +decelerate. At spotty intervals, under the terrible thrust of reducing +speed, he was unconscious, too. + + * * * * * + +There was no such thing as picking a landing-spot. Checking velocity +soon enough, so close to the Moon, took all of the propulsion tube's +power--so he just followed the comet down. Almost at a stand-still at +last, balanced on a streamer of flame, he toppled into hot dust Feebly +he worked to unlash himself from the tube. Brinker, jolted back to +semi-consciousness, managed to do the same. + +Weakened and spent, they could not even lift themselves against the +slight lunar gravity for a while. + +The darkness around them was Stygian. But as more dust settled, the sky +cleared, and the normal stars of the lunar night blazed out. Their +attention was drawn in one direction inevitably. + +Red-hot lava glowed there, in scattered areas over what was clearly an +extensive expanse of territory. White vaporous plumes spurted high above +the ground, and against the sides of new-formed meteor-craters, a white +layer was collecting. + +Copeland staggered erect. "Frost and snow!" he stammered. "From volcanic +steam! The first frost and snow on the Moon in a billion years! We've +done it, Brinker! Brulow's Comet really did crack the thick lunar +crust...." + +He heard Brinker's grunt of premature enthusiasm. + +The Patrol picked them up hours later, wandering dazedly. They were +emaciated ghosts of men--almost skeletons in armor. They gave their +names, but didn't really come to their senses until the prison doctor in +Tycho Station treated them, and they had slept for a long time. + +"Don't worry, fellas. Relax," he said--with fury in his eyes. + +Other faces were grim. + + * * * * * + +At the speedy trial in Tycho Station, sharp-featured Krell was among +many who flung accusations. + +"In the impact-zone itself--an area a hundred miles across--mining +installations and machinery of tremendous value were utterly destroyed," +he said. "But lesser damage extends to a far wider circle. Thousands of +claims have been buried in dust, till much of the far lunar hemisphere +will have to be resurveyed. Luckily, miners and explorers were warned in +time, and sought safety. But the charge of wholesale vandalism--terrible +enough--does not stand alone. These men are to be remembered as accused +robbers and murderers." + +In rebuttal, Brinker's defiance was a little uncertain, as if under so +much blame, he had lost his assurance. + +"Men who know the Moon know that its barrenness is poison, and not right +for people!" he growled. "I tried to change it with Brulow's Comet--when +I had no success by other means. Anyway, Copeland is blameless. I forced +him to help me." + +Embitted, there was no warmth in Copeland for his older codefendant and +jinx. Still, even without Brinker's attempt to shield him, he would have +been loyal. + +"During all important parts of mine and Jess Brinker's joint project," +he told the court, "I was in full agreement with his purpose." + +Their attorney accomplished one considerable victory before these angry +people. The charge of previous murders and robbery was barred; it was +admitted that footprints were easy to duplicate, and that the presence +of some bearing the names of the guilty was unlikely. + +Brinker got fifty years in the mine-pits, and Copeland thirty. + +"You always figured I might get you in a jam, didn't you, Cope?" Brinker +said. "I'll keep trying to fix that." + + * * * * * + +Copeland found nothing to grin about, in a thirty-year sentence. It was +goodbye wandering, goodbye girls, goodbye everything. He'd get out +middle-aged, finished, and marked. He might as well stay another twenty +with Brinker--complete a sour association with him. + +Copeland had another recent jolt to brood over. A bunch of old letters +from his Frances had been delivered to him. His inability to receive or +answer any of them had brought the worst result. She had married another +guy, and who could blame her? + +Arne Copeland wanted to kill Brinker. Getting desolation-goofy, and +dragging him into this mess. + +But from Brinker's infuriating grin, Copeland caught a hot spark of +hope, backed by reasoning. + + * * * * * + +Later, sweating in the penal mine-pits near Tycho Station, Brinker and +Copeland still heard scraps of news. + +Explorers moved back into the region where the comet had split the lunar +crust. The rising columns of steam and gas were perhaps unspectacular +phenomena in themselves. But there they were, ready to fill a tremendous +need. The sleepy internal fires of the Moon were unlikely to be violent. +Yet they would push vapors up to the surface here perhaps for centuries. + +In balancing benefit against transient damage, was it necessary even to +mention that deeper and richer mineral deposits had been laid bare for +easy mining by the blast effect of the comet's downfall? All free +men--good or bad, and of large or small holdings--were set to gain, +Krell included. But better mines were a side-issue. + +The prisoners soon heard how roofs of transparent, flexible plastic, +brought in bundles like fabric, were being reared over that smashed-up +region, to trap escaping volcanic vapors. One tentlike structure. Then +another and another. + +Here was ample water from volcanic steam, and vast quantities of +carbon-dioxide from which ordinary air-rejuvenators could release +breathable oxygen. Men who had lived so long in the lunar silence and +barrenness, soon saw that these raw materials of life need not only be +used locally, but could be piped anywhere. + +"Folks have caught on, Cope," Brinker said. "They were a little +desolation-balmy, too--hence on our side all the time. Now they'll feel +better about my Old Man. There'll be more than one city, I'll +bet--clusters of big, plastic air-bubbles, self-sealing against +meteor-punctures, warmed inside at night by volcanic heat. It won't +happen all at once, but it'll come. Seeds'll be planted, and houses +built. Parts of the Moon won't look the same." + +Krell's death was part of the turning tide. He was found in Tycho +Station, head smashed by a boot-sole of metal; it was good that Brinker +was in prison, because his name was printed into Krell's skull. + +Who did it? Neither Brinker nor Copeland cared very much. Some wronged +stooge of Krell's, no doubt. Let the forces of law figure out the +details. + + * * * * * + +Things got really good for Copeland and Brinker after popular demand +forced their vindication. They were feted, honored, praised, rewarded. +All Earth knew of them, and feminine colonists arriving as part of a new +phase of the Moon's development, shined up to them as heroes. + +It is not to be said that they didn't enjoy the advantages of fame. +Brinker said more than once: "Forget your Frances, Cope. Problems are +easy, these days." + +The time came when Copeland growled in answer: "Sure--too easy. Having a +lot of pals after the need is gone. No--I'm not criticizing. Most folks +are swell. But I'd like to make friends and maybe find love a little +more naturally. I thought I'd stay on the Moon; now I think I'll shove +off for Mars. People are going there; whole towns are being built, I +understand. And there's plenty of room for a lunar tramp, with a +prison-record, to get lost ..." + +Copeland chuckled at the end. His vagabond blood was singing. He was +also pitching a come-on at Brinker, for he'd seen him with some letters +while they were prisoners. Copeland had glimpsed the name and address of +the writer: Dorothy Wells, the big nurse that Brinker had known at Tycho +Station. She was in Marsport now. + +"By gosh--I guess I'll go too, Cope!" Brinker rumbled. + +Looking back, Brinker thought it sort of funny that they were pals. He +laughed. + +[Illustration] + + + * * * * * + + + Transcriber Notes: + + This etext was produced by Science Fiction Stories 1953. Extensive + research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this + publication was renewed. + + page 62 original: Many hours later, and may miles farther changed to: + Many hours later, and many miles farther + + page 69 no change: Embitted, there was no warmth in Copeland - retained + Embitted + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Comet's Burial, by Raymond Zinke Gallun + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMET'S BURIAL *** + +***** This file should be named 37448.txt or 37448.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/4/4/37448/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Dianna Adair and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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