The Beasts in the Void Part 1

The Beasts in the Void.

by Paul W. Fairman.

Holloway was used to big game hunters and their expeditions to other worlds. But this trip was sheer madness--a s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p stalking among--

The examiner looked doubtful and said, "But Mr. Holloway, regulations require that I read your log before I take verbal testimony."

Holloway's face was drawn and ravaged. His bloodshot eyes sat in black pits. They were trained on the Examiner but looked through him rather than at him.

Holloway said, "But, I _must_ talk! I've got to tell you about it. I have to keep talking."

"But--"

Holloway's words tumbled out. "It started in the control cabin there in deep s.p.a.ce. When Mrs. Kelvey came in. She was the blonde one. I turned around and she said, 'Captain, there's a great big tiger in the companionway.'"

The desperate Holloway, fearful of being stopped or running out of words, went into minute detail. "She made the statement as a pouting complaint, almost casually. Then, before I could speak, she realized what she'd said and her face changed. A kind of horrified double-take.

'_A tiger? In the companionway of a s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p?_' This last was an incredulous question she asked herself. Then she fainted. I looked outside. I thought I saw something blurred and indistinct but it vanished quickly if it was really there at all. The companionway was empty. No tiger. No animal of any kind--"

The Examiner, holding up a hand of protest, looked like a man directing traffic. "Please, Mr. Holloway--please. We must remember regulations."

Holloway's eyes closed for a moment but he resolutely forced them open as though afraid of something.

The scene was Holloway's two-room suite in the s.p.a.ce Port Hotel. There were three men present--Holloway, skipper of the _s.p.a.ce King_, John Mason, Port Resident, and Merle Kennedy, Section Examiner for the s.p.a.ce Authority people. Kennedy regarded Holloway with frank concern.

Good heavens--the man was a complete mess. Looked ready to collapse.

Kennedy turned to Mason. "This can be postponed, you know."

Mason was regarding Holloway also. Strange, he thought; Holloway had left in a fanfare of publicity. Now it appeared his return would be even more dramatic. Maybe Holloway was that kind of a chap; the kind things just happened to.

He was quite young though he certainly didn't look it now. He'd been known as a playboy ever since his father struck it big in Venusian oil. But good-looking, personable, he had worn the label well. He'd been good copy because the public regarded him with patronizing affection. To them, he'd been a nice kid having fun; not a young wastrel wasting his father's money.

Naturally he would pick a glamour girl to play the romantic feminine role and Melody Hayden had filled the bill perfectly. Together, they had enchanted the public. Princess and Prince Charming stuff. Then tragedy. Disaster in a rocketing sports car; Melody's coffin sealed before the funeral; young Holloway coming off without a scratch.

Melody's death was a bombsh.e.l.l and everyone asked. _What will he do now?_ expecting of course, something sensational.

He didn't let them down. Dramatically, he announced a completely new life. He bought a s.p.a.ce s.h.i.+p and foreswore his old ways. He had quite a reputation as a big game hunter. He'd stalked the vicious Plutonian ice bears and lain in Venusian swamps waiting for the ten-ton lizards to rise out of the slime. He had knocked over the wiliest of animals, a telepathic Uranian mountain wolf and had dropped in flight a Martian radar-bat, a feat duplicated by only three other marksmen of record.

So what more natural occupation than guiding hunting parties in deep s.p.a.ce? Holloway had been obviously torn by Melody's tragic death.

Perhaps out among the stars he could forget.

There had been some trouble, Mason recalled, in clearing Holloway's first cruise. A party of five. Not to any established hunting ground but a D. U. thing. _Destination Unknown_, and they were always trouble. Clearance had been made, though, and now--here was Holloway back again--dramatically of course--with one of his party dead and the other four in trance-like stupors. Strange.

And stranger still, Holloway's reason for wanting to talk immediately; with no rest--no medical attention:

"It will help keep me awake. I mustn't go to sleep. Can't I make you understand? _I've got to stay awake._"

Mason pitied the man. He turned to Kennedy. "I have the log here, sir.

Perhaps you could go over it now--"

Holloway leaned forward. "I'll tell you what's in the log. Every word of it. If I just sit here waiting--"

Mason laid a hand on his knee. "It's all right, old chap. I won't let you go to sleep. You and I will talk while Mr. Kennedy goes through the log. It won't take long."

Mason handed the book to Kennedy. He was almost apologetic. "It's a strange log, sir, It--"

"Strange?" Kennedy frowned. Logs had no right to be strange. There were regulations--rules stating exactly how a log should be kept.

"Well sir, the lad is young. His first trip. I just meant there's perhaps a little more in the log than should appear there."

"We'll see," Kennedy said. There was a slight frost on his words. If disciplinary measures were in the offing it would pay not to get too cozy with Holloway and the Resident.

Kennedy opened the log. The first entry was dated June 3rd, 4:10 p. m.

Earth time. Kennedy frowned. Permissible of course, but sloppy, very sloppy. The better skippers computed from Orion immediately after blast-off. Kennedy set back and began to read:

_June 3rd, 4:10 p. m._

We blasted at 2:18 p. m. A good getaway. Course 58.329 by the polar angle. No blast sickness among the pa.s.sengers. They are old hands. I put the automatic board into control at 3:50 p. m. I checked the tubes. Pressures balanced and equal.

I don't like this cruise. I don't like Murdo. He's a domineering slob.

The other four, well--Keebler is an alcoholic, Kelvey an empty-headed opportunist. I don't particularly dislike them. They're just a worthless pair who would rather fawn on Murdo and take his insults than work for a living. The two wives are both young. Martha Keebler has a child's mind in a woman's body. Jane Kelvey is an overs.e.xed witch with an indecent exposure complex. I may have trouble with her.

Already she's parading around in skimpy shorts and a bra. Evidently Murdo doesn't care for women. He pays no attention to her. Money and power are his dish. And a terrible restlessness.

Melody baby--I wish you were here--

_June 4th, 3:00 p. m._

I had a talk with Murdo about this silly cruise. Tried to swing him onto something that makes a little more sense. Pluto, Venus, Ganymede--some hunting ground I'm familiar with. No good. Even a suggestion and he thinks you're crossing him and snorts like a bull.

Still demands to go to this place where big game prowls in s.p.a.ce.

Where elephants and leopards and snakes and anything you can name fly around your s.h.i.+p and look in your ports. Where you do your hunting in s.p.a.ce suits right out in the void.

Why in h.e.l.l did I fall for this idiocy? Guess I just didn't care.

Maybe I thought it was a good idea because it sounded like a cruise you could get killed on without much trouble. No--I shouldn't say that. Melody wouldn't like me to say it. She was so wonderful--so level-headed. How wrong they all were about us. About her. Because she was so beautiful, I guess. I tried to tell them I'd married an angel and they took bets among themselves on how long it would last. The answer to that would have been forever. It still is. I've lost so much and learned so much in such a very short time. The h.e.l.l with Murdo and his four puppets. I'll take them out and bring them back. Then I'll go somewhere alone and I won't come back at all.

Melody.

Course 28.493 by the polar angle. Went through small asteroid field....

Kennedy looked up sharply. He frowned. "This log is unacceptable."

Holloway was pacing the floor, his eyes blank and terrible "Unacceptable?"