PAGE 8
Vampires of Space
by
* * * * *
Hendricks fell silent, staring down at the floor. He was only a youngster, and the significance of his remarks was as plain to him as it was to the rest of us. If these monsters from the void were truly feeding on the skin of our ship, vampire-like, it would not be long before it would be weakened; weakened to the danger point, weakened until we would explode in space like a gigantic bomb, to leave our fragments to whirl onward forever through the darkness and the silence of outer space.
“And what, sir, do you plan to do when we reach this N-127?” asked Correy. “Burn them off with a run through the atmosphere?”
“No; that wouldn’t work, I imagine.” I glanced at Hendricks inquiringly, and he shook his head. “My only thought was to land, so that we would have some chance. Outside the ship we can at least attack; locked in here we’re helpless.”
“Attack, sir? With what?” asked Kincaide curiously.
“That I can’t answer. But at least we can fight–with solid ground under our feet. And that’s something.”
“You’re right, sir!” grinned Correy. It was the first smile that had appeared on the faces of any of us in many minutes. “And fight we will! And if we lose the ship, at least we’ll be alive, with a hope of rescue.”
Hendricks glanced up at him and shook his head, smiling crookedly.
“You forget,” he remarked, “that there’s no air to breathe on N-127. An atmosphere of nitrogen. And no water that’s drinkable–if the reports are accurate. A breathing mask will not last long, even the new types.”
“That’s so,” said Kincaide. “The tanks hold about a ten-hours’ supply; less, if the wearer is working hard, or fighting.”
Ten hours! No more, if we did not find some way to destroy these leeches of space before they destroyed the Ertak.
* * * * *
During the next half hour little was said. We were drawing close to our tiny, uninhabited haven, and both Correy and Kincaide were busy with their navigation. Working in reverse, as it were, from the rough readings of the television disk settings, an ordinarily simple task was made extremely difficult.
I helped Correy interpret his headings, and kept a weather eye on the gauges over the operating table. We were slipping into the atmospheric fringe of N-127, and the surface-temperature gauge was slowly climbing. Hendricks sat hunched heavily in a corner, his head bowed in his hands.
“I believe,” said Kincaide at length, “I can take over visually now.” He unshuttered one of the ports, and peered out. N-127 was full abreast of us, and we were dropping sideways toward her at a gradually diminishing speed. The impression given us, due to the gravity pads in the keel of the ship, was that we were right side up, and N-127 was approaching us swiftly from the side.
“‘Vegetation of heroic size’ is right, too,” said Correy, who had been examining the terrain at close range, through the medium of the television disk. “Two of the leaves on some of the weeds would make an awning for the whole ship. See any likely place to land, Kincaide?”
“Nowhere except along the shore–and then we’ll have to do some nice work and lay the Ertak parallel to the edge of the water. The beach is narrow, but apparently the only barren portion. Will that be all right, sir?”
“Use your own judgment, but waste no time. Correy, break out the breathing masks, and order the men at the air-lock exit port to stand by. I’m going out to have a look at these things.”
“May I go with you, sir?” asked Hendricks sharply.