PAGE 6
A Matter Of Importance
by
“It was heading inland, all right,” rumbled Sergeant Madden. “Lucky! If it’d been heading the other way, it could’ve gone out and landed in the sea. That would ha’ been a mess! But where is it?”
The squad ship descended farther. It followed the lane of carbonized soil. That marking narrowed–the Cerberus had plainly been descending. Then the streak came to an end. It pinched out to nothing. The Cerberus should have been at its end.
It wasn’t. There was no ship down on Procyron III.
* * * * *
The matter ceased to be routine. If the liner’s drive conked out where Procyron III was the nearest refuge planet, it should have landed here at least six days ago. Some ship had landed here recently.
“Set down,” grunted Sergeant Madden.
Patrolman Willis obeyed. The squad ship came to rest in a minor valley, a few hundred yards from the end of the rocket-blast trail. Sergeant Madden got out. Patrolman Willis followed him. This was a duly surveyed and recommended refuge planet. There was no need to check the air or take precautions against inimical animal or vegetable life. The planet was safe.
They clambered over small rocky obstacles until they came to the end of the scorched line. They surveyed the state of things in silence.
A ship had landed here recently. Its blue-white rocket flames had melted gulleys in the soil, turned it to slag, and then flung silky, gossamer threads of slag-wool over the rocks nearby.
At the end of the melted-away hollows, twin slag-lined holes went down deep into the ground. They were take-off holes. Rockets had burned them deeply as they gathered force to lift the ship away again.
Sergeant Madden scrambled to the edge of the nearest blast-well. He put his hand on the now-solidified, glassy slag. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold. The glass-lined hole a rocket leaves takes a long time to cool down.
“She landed here, all right,” he grunted. “But she took off again before the torp arrived to tell us about it.”
Willis protested:
“But, sergeant! She only had one set of rockets! She couldn’t have taken off again! She didn’t have the rockets to do it with!”
“I know she couldn’t,” growled the sergeant. “But she did.”
The Cerberus, once landed, should have waited here. It was not only a police regulation; it was common sense. When a ship broke down in space, the exclusive hope for that ship’s company lay in a refuge planet for ships in that traffic lane. Even lifeboats could ordinarily reach some refuge planet, for picking up later. They couldn’t possibly be located otherwise. With three dimensions in which to be missed, and light-years of distance in which to miss them–no ship or boat had ever been found as much as a light-week out in space. No ship with a crippled drive could possibly be helped unless it got to a specified refuge world where it could be found. No ship which had reached a refuge planet could conceivably want to leave it.
There was also the fact that no ship which had made such a landing would have extra rockets with which to take off for departure.
The Cerberus had landed. Timmy’s girl was on it. It had taken off again. It was either an impossible mass suicide or something worse. It certainly wasn’t routine.
Patrolman Willis asked hesitantly:
“D’you think, sergeant, it could be Huks sneaked back–?”
Sergeant Madden did not answer. He went back to the squad ship and armed himself. Patrolman Willis followed suit. The sergeant boobied the squad ship so no unauthorized person could make use of it, and so it would disable itself if anyone with expert knowledge tried. Therefore, nobody with expert knowledge would try.
The two cops began a painstaking quest for police-type evidence to tell them what had happened, and how and why the Cerberus was missing, after a clumsy but safe landing on Procyron III and when all sanity demanded that it stay there, and when it was starkly impossible for it to leave.