Asimov, Isaac - Lucky Starr 01 - David Starr, Space Ranger

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FAIR FIGHT

David said, "I'll see you in the dome if you wish. Meanwhile, step aside."

He walked forward unhurriedly, and Griswold stepped back. "You stupid greenhorn. We can't have a

fist-fight with nosepieees on."

"Take your nosepiece off, then," said David, "and I'll take mine off. Stop me

in fair fight, if you can."

"Fair fight!" came the approving shout from the crowd, and Bigman yelled, "Put tip or back down,

Griswold." He leaped forward, lipping Griswold's blaster from his hip.

David put his hand to his nosepiece. "Ready?"

Bigman called, "I'll count three.''

Bigman began counting, "One—"

And at the count of "Three" David quietly removed Ms nosepiece and tossed It, with the attached cylinders,

to one side. He stood there, unprotected,

holding Ms breath against the unbearable atmosphere of Mars ...

By Isaac Asimov

Published by Ballantine Books:

THE CLASSIC FOUNDATION SERIES; Foundation

Foundation and Empire Second Foundation Foundation's Edge

THE GALACTIC EMPIRE MOVELS: The Stars, Like Dust The Currents Of Space Febble In The

Sky

THE CAVES OF STEEL

THE NAKED SUN

I, ROBOT

THE WIHDS OF CHANGE

LUCKY STARR AMD THE BIG SUN OF MERCURY

DAVID STARR

SPACE

RANGER

Isaac Asimov

writing as Paul French

A Del Key Book BALLANTINE BOOKS • HEW YORK

RLI- VL: 7 + up IL: 8 + up

A Del Rey Book

Published by Ballantine Books

Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of

Canada Limited, Toronto.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resem-blance to actual persons living or dead is purely

coincidental.

ISBN 0-345-31541-3

This edition published by arrangement with Doubleday and Company, Inc.

Manufactured in the United States of America First Ballantine Books Edition: April 1984 Cover art by

Darrell K. Sweet CONTENTS

1The Plum from Mars

2The Breadbasket in the Sky

3Men for the Farms of Mars

4Alien Life

5Dinnertime

6"Sand Away!"

7Bigman Makes a Discovery

8Night Meeting

9Into the Fissure

10 Birth of the Space Ranger

11 The Storm

12 The Missing Piece

13 The Council Takes Over

14 "I Am the Space Ranger!"

15 The Space Ranger Takes Over

16 Solution

9 19 29 41 51

104

114

124

135

146

156

165

Preface

Back in the 1950s, I wrote a series of six derring-do novels about David "Lucky" Starr and his battles

against malefactors within the Solar System. Each of the six took place in a different region of the system,

and in each case I made use of the astronomical facts—as they were then known.

Now, more than a quarter-century later, these novels are being published in new editions; but what a

quarter-century it has been! More has been learned about the worlds of our Solar System in this last

quarter-century than in all the thousands of years that went before.

DAVID STARR: SPACE RANGER was written in 1951 and at that time,there was still a faint possibility

that there were canals on Mars, as had first been reported three-quarters of a century earlier. There was,

therefore, a faint possibility that intelligent life existed there, or had existed at one time.

Since then, though, we have sent probes past Mars and around it to take photographs of its surface, and

map the entire planet. In 1976, we even landed small laboratories on the Martian surface to test its soil.

There are no canals. There are instead, craters, giant volcanoes and enormous canyons. The atmosphere

is only 1 percent as dense as Earth's and is almost entirely carbon dioxide. There is no clear sign of any life

at all upon Mars, and the possibility of advanced life upon it, now or ever, seems nil.

If I had written the book today, I would have had to adjust the plot to take all this into account.

8David Starr, Space Ranger

I hope my Gentle Readers enjoy the book anyway, as an adventure story, but please don't forget that

the advance of science can outdate even the most conscientious science-fiction writer and that my

astronomical descriptions are no longer accurate in all respects.

isaac asimov 1

The Plum from Mars

David Starr was staring right at the man, so he saw it happen. He saw him die.

David had been waiting patiently for Dr. Henree and, in the meanwhile, enjoying the atmosphere of

International City's newest restaurant. This was to be his first real celebration now that he had obtained

Ms degree and qualified for full membership in the Council of Science.

He did not mind waiting. The Cafe Supreme still glistened from the freshly applied chromosilicone

paints. The subdued light that spread evenly over the entire dining room had no visible source. At the

wall end of David's table was the small, self-glowing cube which contained a tiny three-dimensional

replica of the band whose music filled in a soft background. The leader's baton was a half-inch flash of

motion and of course the table top itself was of the Sanito type, the ultimate in force-field modernity and,

ex-cept for the deliberate flicker, quite invisible.

David's calm brown eyes swept the other tables, half-hidden in their alcoves, not out of boredom, but

because people interested him more than any of the scientific gadgetry that the Cafe Supreme could

gather. Tri-television and force-fields were wonders

10 David Starr, Space Ranger

ten years before, yet were already accepted by all. People, on the other hand, did not change, but even

now, ten thousand years after the pyramids were built and five thousand years after the first atom bomb

had exploded, they were still the insoluble mystery and the unf aded wonder.

There was a young girl in a pretty gown laughing gently with the man who sat opposite her; a middle-

aged man, in uncomfortable holiday clothing, punching the menu combination on the mechanical

waiter while his wife and two children watched gravely; two businessmen talking animatedly over their

dessert.

And it was as David's glance flicked over the busi-nessmen that it happened. One of them, face

congest-ing with blood, moved convulsively and attempted to rise. The other, crying out, stretched out an

arm in a vague gesture of help, but the first had already col-lapsed in his seat and was beginning to slide

under the table.

David had risen to his feet at the first sign of dis-turbance and now his long legs ate the distance

be-tween the tables in three quick strides. He was in the booth and, at a touch of his finger on the

electronic contact near the tri-television cube, a violet curtain with fluorescent designs swept across the

open end of the alcove. It would attract no attention. Many diners preferred to take advantage of

that sort of privacy.

The sick man's companion only now found his voice. He said, "Manning is ill. It's some sort of seizure.

Are you a doctor?"

David's voice was calm and level. It carried assur-

The Plum from Mars

ance. He said, "Now sit quietly and make no noise. We will have the manager here and what can be

done will be done."

He had his hands on the sick man, lifting him as though he were a rag doll, although the man was

heavyset. He pushed the table as far to one side as possible, his fingers separated uncannily by an inch of

force-field as he gripped it. He laid the man on the seat, loosening the Magno-seams of his blouse, and

began applying artificial respiration.

David had no illusion as to the possibility of re-covery. He knew the symptoms: the sudden flushing,

the loss of voice and breath, the few minutes' fight for life, and then, the end.

The curtain brushed aside. With admirable dis-patch the manager had answered the emergency sig-nal

which David had tapped even before he had left his own table. The manager was a short, plump man,

dressed in black, tightly fitting clothing of conserva-tive cut. His face was disturbed.

"Did someone in this wing ------- " He seemed to

shrink in upon himself as his eyes took in the sight.

The surviving diner was speaking with hysterical rapidity. "We were having dinner when my friend had

this seizure. As for this other man, I don't know who he is."

David abandoned his futile attempts at revival. He brushed his thick brown hair off his forehead. He

said, "You are the manager?"

"I am Oliver Gaspere, manager of the Cafe Su-preme," said the plump man bewilderedly. "The

emergency call from Table 87 sounds and when I come, it is empty. I am told a young man has

just

12 David Starr, Space Ranger

run into the booth of Table 94, and I follow and find this." He turned. "I shall call the house

doctor."

David said, "One moment. There is no use in that This man is dead."

"What!" cried the other diner. He lunged forward, crying, "Manning!"

David Starr pulled him back, pinning him against the unseeable table top. "Easy, man. You

cannot help him and this is no time for noise."

"No, no," Gaspere agreed rapidly. "We must not upset the other diners. But see here, sir, a doctor

must still examine this poor man to decide the cause of death. I can allow no irregularities in my

restau-rant."

"I am sorry, Mr. Gaspere, but I forbid the ex-amination of this man by anyone at the moment."

"What are you talking about? If this man dies of

a heart attack -- "

"Please. Let us have co-operation and not useless discussion. What is your name, sir?"

The living diner said dully, "Eugene Forester."

"Well, then, Mr. Forester, I want to know exactly what you and your companion ate just now."

"Sir!" The little manager stared at David, with eyes swelling out of their sockets. "Are you suggest-ing

that something in the food caused this?"

"I'm not making suggestions. I'm asking ques-tions."

"You have no right to ask questions. Who are you? You are nobody. I demand that a doctor

ex-amine this poor man."

"Mr. Gaspere, this is Council of Science business."

David bared the inner surface of his wrist, curling

The Plum from Mars

the flexible Metallite sleeve above it. For a moment it was merely exposed skin, and then an oval spot

dark-ened and turned black. Within it little yellow grains of light danced and flickered in the familiar

patterns of the Big Dipper and of Orion.

The manager's lips trembled. The Council of Science was not an official government agency, but its

members were nearly above the government

He said, "I am sorry, sir."

"No apologies are necessary. Now, Mr. Forester, will you answer my first question?"

Forester muttered, "We had the special dinner number three."

"Both of you?"

"That's right."

David said, "Were there no substitutions on either part?" He had studied the menu at his own table.

The Cafe Supreme featured extraterrestrial delica-cies, but the special dinner number three was one of

the more ordinary meals native to Earth: vegetable soup, veal chops, baked potato, peas, ice cream, and

coffee.

"Yes, there was a substitution." Forester's brows drew together. "Manning ordered stewed marplums

for dessert."

"And you didn't?''

"No."

"And where are the marplums now?" David had eaten them himself. They were plums grown in the

vast Martian greenhouses, juicy and pitless, with a faint cinnamon flavor superimposed on their fruit-iness.

14 David Starr, Space Ranger

Forester said, "He ate them. What do you sup-pose?"

"How soon before he collapsed?"

"About five minutes, I think. We hadn't even finished our coffee." The man was turning sickly pale.

"Were they poisoned?"

David did not answer. He turned to the manager, "What about the marplums?"

"There was nothing wrong with them. Nothing.'' Gaspere seized the curtains of the alcove and shook

them in his passion, but did not forget to speak in the softest of whispers. "They were a fresh shipment

from Mars, government tested and approved. We have served hundreds of portions in the last three

nights alone. Nothing like this has happened till now."

"Just the same you had better give orders to elimi-nate marplums from the list of desserts until we can

inspect them again. And now, in case it wasn't the marplums at all, please bring me a carton of some sort

and we will transfer what is left of the dinner for study."

"Immediately. Immediately."

"And of course speak to no one of this."

The manager returned in a few moments, smear-ing his brow with a feathery handkerchief. He said, "I

cannot understand it. I really cannot."

David stowed the used plastic dishes, with scraps of food still adhering to them, in the carton, added

what was left of the toasted rolls, recapped the waxed cups in which the coffee had been

served, and put them aside. Gaspere left off rubbing his

The Plum from Mars

hands frantically to reach a finger toward the con-tact at the edge of the table.

David's hand moved quickly, and the manager was startled to find his wrist imprisoned.

"But, sir, the crumbs!"

"I'll take those too." He used his penknife to col-lect each scrap, its sharp steel sliding easily along the

nothingness of the force-field. David himself doubted the worth of force-field table tops. Their sheer

transparency was anything but conducive to relaxation. The sight of dishes and cutlery resting on nothing

could not help but leave diners tense, so that the field had to be put deliberately out of phase to induce

continual interference sparkles that gave rise to an illusion of substance.

In restaurants they were popular since at the con-clusion of a meal it was necessary only to extend the

force-field a fraction of an inch to destroy whatever adhering crumbs and drops remained. It was only

when David had concluded his collection that he allowed Gaspere to perform the extension, removing the

safety catch first by a touch of the finger and then permitting Gaspere to use his special key. A new,

absolutely clean surface was instantly pre-sented.

"And now, just a moment." David glanced at the metal face of his wrist watch, then flicked a corner of

the curtain aside.

He said softly, "Dr. Henree!"

The lanky middle-aged man who was sitting on what had been David's seat fifteen minutes earlier

stiffened and looked about him with surprise.

16 David Starr, Spacfe Ranger

David was smiling. "Here I am!" He put a linger to his lips.

Dr. Henree rose. His clothes hung loosely upon him and his thinning gray hair was combed carefully

over a bald spot. He said, "My dear David, are you here already? I had thought you were late. But is

anything wrong?"

David's smile had been short-lived. He said, "It's another one."

Dr. Henree stepped within the curtain, looked at the dead man, and muttered, "Dear me."

"That's one way of putting it," said David.

"I think," said Dr. Henree, removing his glasses and playing the mild force-beam of his pencil-cleaner

over the lenses before replacing them, "I think we had better close down the restaurant."

Gaspere opened and closed his mouth soundlessly, like a fish. Finally he said in a strangled gasp,

"Close the restaurant! It has been open only a week. It will be ruin. Absolute rum!"

"Oh, but only for an hour or so. We will have to remove the body and inspect your kitchens. Surely

you want us to remove the stigma of food poisoning if we can, and surely it would be even less

convenient for you to have us make arrangements for this in the presence of the diners."

"Very well then. I will see that the restaurant is made available to you, but I must have an hour's grace

to allow present diners to finish their meals. I hope there will be no publicity."

"None, I assure you." Dr. Henree's lined face was a mask of worry. "David, will you call Council Hall

The Plum from Mars 17

and ask to speak to Conway? We have a procedure for such cases. He will know what to do."

"Must I stay?" put in Forester suddenly. "I feel sick."

"Who is this, David?" asked Dr. Henree.

"The dead man's dinner companion. His name is Forester."

"Oh. Then I am afraid, Mr. Forester, you will have to be sick here."

The restaurant was cold and repulsive in its emp-tiness. Silent operatives had come and gone.

Effi-ciently they had gone through the kitchens atom by atom. Now only Dr. Henree and David Starr

re-mained. They sat in an empty alcove. There were no lights, and the tri-televisions on each table were

simply dead cubes of glass.

Dr. Henree shook his head. "We will learn noth-ing. I am sure of that from experience. I am sorry,

David. This is not the proper celebration we had planned."

"Plenty of time for celebration later. You men-tioned in your letters these cases of food poisoning, so I

was prepared. Still, I wasn't aware of this intense secrecy which seems necessary. I might have been

more discreet if I had known."

"No. It is no use. We cannot hide this trouble for-ever. Little by little there are tiny leaks. People see

other people die while eating and then hear of still other cases. Always while they're eating. It is bad and

will grow worse. Well, we will talk more of this tomorrow when you talk to Conway himself."

18 David Starr, Space Ranger

"Wait!" David looked deep into the older man's eyes. "There is something that worries you more than

the death of a man or the death of a thousand. Some-thing I don't know. What is it?"

Dr. Henree sighed. "I'm afraid, David, that Earth is in great danger. Most of the Council does not

be-lieve it and Conway is only half-convinced, but I am certain that this supposed food poisoning is a

clever and brutal attempt at seizing control of Earth's eco-nomic life and government. And so far, David,

there is no hint as to who is behind the threat and exactly how it is being accomplished. The Council of

Science is entirely helpless!" 2

The Breadbasket in the Sky

Hector Conway, Chief Counselor of Science, stood at his window in the topmost suite of Science

Tower, the slender structure which dominated the northern suburbs of International City. The city was

begin-ning to sparkle in the early twilight. Soon it would turn to streaks of white along the elevated

pedestrian promenades. The buildings would light up in jeweled patterns as the windows came to life.

Almost cen-tered in his window were the distant domes of the Halls of Congress, with the Executive

Mansion snuggled between.

He was alone in his office, and the automatic lock was adjusted to Dr. Henree's fingerprints only. He

could feel some of his depression lifting. David Starr was on his way, suddenly and magically grown up,

ready to receive his first assignment as a member of the Council. He felt almost as though his son were

about to visit him. In a way, that was how it was. David Starr was his son: his and Augustus Henree's.

There had been three of them at first, himself and Gus Henree and Lawrence Starr. How he remem-

bered Lawrence Starr! They had all three gone through school together, qualified for the Council

together, done their first investigations together; and

20 David Starr, Space Ranger

then Lawrence Starr had been promoted. It was to be expected; he was by far the most brilliant of the

three.

So he had received a semi-permanent station on Venus, and that was the first time the three had not

tackled a proposition together. He had gone with his wife and child. The wife was Barbara. Lovely

Barbara Starr! Neither Henree nor himself had ever married, and for neither were there any girls to

com-pete with Barbara in memory. When David was born, it was Uncle Gus and Uncle Hector, until he

sometimes got confused and called his father Uncle Lawrence.

And then on the trip to Venus there was the pirate attack. It had been a total massacre. Pirate ships

took virtually no prisoners in space, and more than a hundred human beings were dead before two hours

had passed. Among them were Lawrence and Barbara.

Conway could remember the day, the exact min-ute, when the news had reached Science Tower.

Pa-trol ships had shot out into space, tracing the pirates; they attacked the asteroid lairs in a fury that was

completely unprecedented. Whether they caught the particular villains who had gutted the Venus-bound

ship none could ever say, but the pirate power had been broken from that year on.

And the patrol ships found something else: a tiny lifeboat winding a precarious orbit between Venus

and Earth, radiating its coldly automatic radio calls for help. Only a child was inside. A frightened, lonely

four-year-old, who did not speak for hours except to say stoutly, "Mother said I wasn't to cry."

The Breadbasket in the Sky , . 21

It was David Starr. His story, seen through child-ish eyes, was garbled, but interpretation was only too

easy. Conway could still see what those last minutes within the gutted ship must have been like:

Lawrence Starr, dying in the control room, with the outlaws forcing their way in; Barbara, a blast

gun in her hand, desperately thrusting David into the lifeboat, trying to set the controls as best she

could, rocketing it into space. And then?

She had a gun in her hand. As long as she could, she must have used it against the enemy, and when

that could be no longer, against herself.

Conway ached to think of it. Ached, and once again wished they had allowed him to

accompany the patrol ships so that with his own hands he might have helped to turn the asteroid caves

into flaming oceans of atomic destruction. But members of the Council of Science, they said, were too

valuable to risk in police actions, so he stayed home and read the news bulletins as they rolled out on the

ticker tape of his telenews projector.

Between them he and Augustus Henree had adopted David Starr, bent their lives to erase those

last horrible memories of space. They were both mother and father to him; they personally supervised his

tutoring; they trained him with one thought in mind: to make him what Lawrence Starr had once been.

He had exceeded their expectations. In height he was Lawrence, reaching six feet, rangy and hard,

with the cool nerves and quick muscles of an athlete and the sharp, clear brain of a first-class scientist.

And beyond that there was something about his

22 David Starr, Space Ranger

brown hair with the suggestion of a wave in it, in his level, wide-set brown eyes, in the trace of a cleft in

his chin which vanished when he smiled, that was reminiscent of Barbara.

He had raced through his Academy days leaving a trail of sparks and the dead ash of previous records

both on the playing fields and in the classrooms.

Conway had been perturbed. "It's not natural, Gus. He's outdoing his father."

And Henree, who didn't believe in unnecessary speech, had puffed at his pipe and smiled proudly.

"I hate to say this," Conway had continued, "be-cause you'll laugh at me, but there's something not

quite normal in it. Remember that the child was stranded in space for two days with just a thin life-boat

hull between himself and solar radiation. He was only seventy million miles from the sun during a period

of sunspot maximum."

"All you're saying," said Henree, "is that David should have been burnt to death."

"Well, I don't know," mumbled Conway. "The effect of radiation on living tissue, on human living

tissue, has its mysteries."

"Well, naturally. It's not a field in which experi-mentation is very feasible."

David had finished college with the highest aver-age on record. He had managed to do original work

in biophysics on the graduate level. He was the youngest man ever to be accorded full membership in the

Council of Science.

To Conway there had been a loss in all this. Four years earlier he had been elected Chief Counselor.

It was an honor he would have given his life for, yet

The Breadbasket in the Sky 23

he knew that had Lawrence Starr lived, the election would have gone in a worthier direction.

And he had lost all but occasional contact with young David Starr, for to be Chief Counselor meant

that one had no life other than the beetling problems of all the Galaxy. Even at graduation exercises he

had seen David only from a distance. In the last four years he might have spoken to him four times.

So Ms heart beat high when he heard the door open. He turned, walking rapidly to meet them as they

walked in.

"Gus old man." He held out his hand, wrung the other's. "And David boy!"

An hour passed. It was true night before they could stop speaking of themselves and turn to the

universe.

It was David who broke out. He said, "I saw my first poisoning today, Uncle Hector. I knew enough

to prevent panic. I wish I knew enough to prevent poisoning."

Conway said soberly, "No one knows that much. I suppose, Gus, it was a Martian product again."

"No way of telling, Hector. But a marplum was in-volved."

"Suppose," said David Starr, "you let me know anything I'm allowed to know about this."

"It's remarkably simple," said Conway. "Horribly simple. In the last four months something like two

hundred people have died immediately after eating some Mars-grown product. It's no known poison, the

symptoms are those of no known disease. There is a rapid and complete paralysis of the nerves control-

24 David Starr, Space Ranger

ling the diaphragm and the muscles of the chest. It amounts to a paralysis of the lungs, which is fatal in five

minutes.

"It goes deeper than that too. In the few cases where we've caught the victims in time, we've tried

artificial respiration, as you did, and even iron lungs. They still died in five minutes. The heart is affected

as well. Autopsies show us nothing except nerve de-generation that must have been unbelievably rapid."

"What about the food that poisoned them?" asked David.

"Dead end," said Conway. "There is always time for the poisoned item or portion to be completely

consumed. Other specimens of the same sort at the table or in the kitchen are harmless. We've fed them

to animals and even to human volunteers. The stomach contents of the dead men have yielded un-certain

results."

"Then how do you know it's food poisoning at all?"

"Because the coincidence of death after eating a Martian product time after time, without known

ex-ception, is more than coincidence."

David said thoughtfully, "And it isn't contagious, obviously."

"No. Thank the stars for that. Even so, it's bad enough. So far we've kept this as quiet as we can, with

full co-operation from the Planetary Police. Two hun-dred deaths in four months over the population of

all Earth is still a manageable phenomenon, but the rate may increase. And if the people of Earth become

aware that any mouthful of Martian food might be their last, the consequences could be horrible. Even

though we

The Breadbasket in the Sky 25

were to point out that the death rate is only fifty per month out of a population of five billions, each

person would think himself certain to be one of those fifty."

"Yes," said David, "and that would mean that the market for Martian food imports would fall through

the floor. It would be too bad for the Martian Farming Syndicates."

"That!" Conway shrugged his shoulders, thrusting aside the problem of the Farming Syndicates as

some-thing of no moment. "Do you see nothing else?"

"I see that Earth's own agriculture can't support five billion people."

"That's it exactly. We can't do without food from the colonial planets. There would be starvation on

Earth in sk weeks. Yet if the people are afraid of Martian food, there will be no preventing that, and I

don't know how long it can be staved off. Each new death is a new crisis. Will this be the one that the

tele-news will get hold of? Will the truth come out now? And there's Gus's theory on top of everything."

Dr. Henree sat back, tamping tobacco gently into Ms pipe. "I feel sure, David, that this epidemic of

food poisoning is not a natural phenomenon. It is too wide-spread. It strikes one day in Bengal, the next

day in New York, the day after in Zanzibar. There must be intelligence behind it."

"I tell you—" began Conway.

"Let him go on, Uncle Hector," urged David.

"If any group were seeking to control Earth, what better move could they make than to strike at our

weakest point, our food supply? Earth is the most populous planet in all the Galaxy. It should be, since it

is mankind's original home. But that very fact makes

26 David Starr, Space Ranger

us the weakest world, in a sense, since we're not self-supporting. Our breadbasket is in the sky: on

Mars; on Ganymede; on Europa. If you cut the imports in any manner, either by pirate action or by the

much more subtle system being used now, we are quickly helpless. That is all."

"But," said David, "if that were the case, wouldn't the responsible group communicate with the

govern-ment, if only to give an ultimatum?"

"It would seem so, but they may be waiting their time; waiting for ripeness. Or they may be dealing

with the farmers of Mars directly. The colonists have minds of their own, mistrust Earth, and, in fact, if

they see their livelihood threatened, may throw in with these criminals altogether. Maybe even," he

puffed

strenuously, "they themselves are --- But I'll make no

accusations."

"And my part," said David. "What is it yqu would have me do?"

"Let me tell him," said Conway. "David, we want you to go to Central Laboratories on the Moon.

You will be part of the research team investigating the problem. At this moment they are receiving

samples of every shipment of food leaving Mars. We are bound to come across some poisoned item.

Half of all items are fed to rats; the remaining portions of any fatal pieces are analyzed by all the means at

our disposal."

"I see. And if Uncle Gus is right, I suppose you have another team on Mars?"

"Very experienced men. But meanwhile, will you be ready to leave for the Moon tomorrow night?"

"Certainly. But if that's the case, may I leave now to get ready?"

The Breadbasket in the Sky 27

"Of course."

"And would there be any objection to my using my own ship?" "Not at all.''

The two scientists, alone in the room, stared down at the fairy-tale lights of the city for a long time

before either spoke.

Finally Conway said, "How like Lawrence he is! But he's still so young. It will be dangerous."

Henree said, "You really think it will work?"

"Certainly!" Conway laughed. "You heard his last question about Mars. He has no intention of going

to the Moon. I know him that well. And it's the best way to protect him. The official records will say he

is going to the Moon; the men at Central Laboratories are instructed to report his arrival. When he does

reach Mars, there will be no reason for your conspirators, if they exist, to take him for a member of the

Council, and of course he will maintain an incognito because he will be busy fooling us, he thinks."

Conway added, "He's brilliant. He may be able to do something the rest of us could not do.

Fortunately, he's still young and can be maneuvered. In a few years that will be impossible. He would see

through us."

Conway's communicator tinkled gently. He flipped it open. "What is it?"

"Personal communication for you, sir."

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FAIRFIGHTDavidsaid,"I'llseeyouinthedomeifyouwish.Meanwhile,stepaside."Hewalkedforwardunhurriedly,andGriswoldsteppedback."Youstupidgreenhorn.Wecan'thaveafist-fightwithnosepieeeson.""Takeyournosepieceoff,then,"saidDavid,"andI'lltakemineoff.Stopmeinfairfight,ifyoucan.""Fairfight!"cametheapprovingshoutf...

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Asimov, Isaac - Lucky Starr 01 - David Starr, Space Ranger.pdf

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Asimov, Isaac - Lucky Starr 01 - David Starr, Space Ranger

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