FullReads

He saluted me, rather carelessly, I should say, and I returned the salute with the crispness with which the gesture was rendered in my day. When he was gone, I turned to my desk and began searching in that huge and capacious drawer in which were kept, helter-skelter, the dusty, faded, nondescript mementoes of a thousand adventures.

I found, at last, what I was seeking. No impressive thing, this: a bit of metal, irregular in shape, no larger than my palm, and three times the thickness. One side was smooth; the other was stained as by great heat, and deeply pitted as though it had been steeped in acid.

Silently, I turned the bit of metal over and over in my hands. I had begged hard for this souvenir; had obtained it only by passing my word its secret would never reach the Universe through me. But now … now that seal of secrecy has been removed.

As I write this, slowly and thoughtfully, as an old man writes, relishing his words for the sake of the memories they bring before his eyes, a bit of metal holds against the vagrant breeze the filled pages of my script. A bit of metal, no larger than my palm, and perhaps three times the thickness. It is irregular in shape, and smooth on one side. The other side is eroded as though by acid.

Not an imposing thing, this ancient bit of metal, but to me one of my most precious possessions. It is, beyond doubt, the only fragment of my old ship, the Ertak, now in existence and identifiable.

And this story is the story of that pitted metal and the ship from which it came; one of the strangest stories in all my storehouse of memories of days when only the highways of the Universe had been charted, and breathless adventure awaited him who dared the unknown trails of the Special Patrol Service.

* * * * *

The Ertak, as I recall the details now, had just touched at Base upon the completion of a routine patrol–one of those monotonous, fruitless affairs which used to prey so upon Correy’s peace of mind. Correy was my first officer on the Ertak, and the keenest seeker after trouble I have ever known.

“The Chief presents his compliments and requests an immediate audience with Commander Hanson,” announced one of the brisk, little attaches of Base, before I’d had time to draw a second breath of fresh air.

I glanced at Correy, who was beside me, and winked. That is, I quickly drew down the lid of one eye–a peculiar little gesture common to Earth, which may mean any one of many things.

“Sounds like something’s in the wind,” I commented in a swift aside. “Better give ‘no leaves’ until I come back.”

“Right, sir!” chuckled Correy. “It’s about time.”

I made my way swiftly to the Chief’s private office, and was promptly admitted. He returned my salute crisply, and wasted no time in getting to the point.

“How’s your ship, Commander? Good condition?”

“Prime, sir.”

“Supplies?”

“What’s needed could be taken on in two hours.” In the Service, Earth time was an almost universal standard except in official documents.

“Good!” The Chief picked up a sheaf of papers, mostly standard charts and position reports, I judged, and frowned at them thoughtfully. “I’ve some work cut out for you, Commander.

“Two passenger ships have recently been reported lost in space. That wouldn’t be so alarming if both had not, when last reported, been in about the same position. Perhaps it is no more than a coincidence, but, with space travel still viewed with a certain doubt by so many, the Council feels something should be done to determine the cause of these two losses.

“Accordingly, all ships have been rerouted to avoid the area in which it is presumed these losses took place. The locations of the two ships, together with their routes and last reported positions, are given here. There will be no formal orders; you are to cruise until you have determined, and if possible, eliminated the danger, or until you are certain that no further danger exists.”