Chapter XIV: Under Martial Law

Van Emmon was pretty cross because Billie, through Mona, had told Fort about Powart’s game. More than once he protested hotly, “You shouldn’t have done that! It’s all their affair, not ours!”

And Billie usually returned, just as warmly, “I don’t care! I think Powart is a scoundrel!” And it was in the midst of one of these tiffs that the doctor interrupted, exactly as though the telepathy was telephony:

“Quiet, you two. Fort has called at the prison, and is being introduced to young Ernol. He--”

“I’ve been talking with your father,” Fort was saying to the son. The guard had left them alone in the cell. “But he isn’t interested in my ideas. He seems to think he’s done all that needs to be done in getting himself imprisoned.”

The boy nodded. “He considers himself a martyr, Mr. Fort; and I guess he’s satisfied like everybody else.” He spoke bitterly.

All Fort’s own youthful enthusiasm returned with a rush. “You’re just the chap I’m looking for! If you’re genuinely ambitious to do the people a great service, now’s your chance!”

And he went on to tell the boy about Powart’s frame-up. He gave every detail of Mona’s strange disclosure, and the boy believed him absolutely.

“I might have known there was some trick about it!” cried the lad. “Alma isn’t that kind of a planet! By Heaven, Powart deserves to be assassinated!”

“Nothing doing,” replied the athlete promptly, his eyes sparkling with the old light. “The first thing is to get you out of here; you, and the other hundred and fifty who were put in at the same time.”

Whereupon he proceeded to outline a scheme such as would look utterly incredible in the mere planning. Perhaps it is best to relate the thing as it happened, instead.

Two nights after Fort’s call on Ernol, Fort again presented himself to Reblong. This time it was at the engineer’s apartments.

“I was hoping to find you about to go on duty. I’ve been wondering how your engines control the steering.” He was eying Reblong steadily. “Some time when it is convenient I wish you would show me all over the ship, and explain everything.” He turned as though to leave.

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Fort,” Reblong hurried to assure him. “I’d just as soon accommodate you right now as at any time. The ship is always open to me.”

Reblong had said exactly what Fort had hoped and planned that he would say. Fifteen minutes later the two men were inside the big air-cruiser, alone except for a few cleaners, who were finishing the usual work of preparing the ship for its next cruise. But Reblong could not know that Fort had carefully made sure of this fact beforehand.

The engineer took the athlete from one end of the cruiser to the other, showing him how the pilot was able to control its motions with the utmost delicacy, thanks to automatic mechanism in the engine-room, electrically connected with the bridge.

“Suppose I was the pilot now,” commented Fort, standing on the bridge and looking up at the stars. “All I need to do is to set these dials”--indicating the pilot’s instruments--”to ‘ascend,’ and the engine-room would do the rest automatically. Is that it?”

Reblong said this was practically true, and led the way back to the engine-room. The place was full of a gurgling sound, now, due to the fuel being run into the tanks. Reblong glanced at the indicating tube. “We’ve already got enough,” he estimated, “to take the ship a thousand miles.”

And next instant Fort had leaped upon him. Reblong staggered back in his surprise, stumbled against a chair, and sat down heavily, helpless as a child in the athlete’s iron grip.

“Sorry, old man,” remarked Fort, meanwhile pushing him, chair and all, toward the instrument-table. “But it’s simply got to be done.” Like a flash he let go the engineer and snatched a strap from the table--where he had of course previously placed it--and again threw himself upon his man before Reblong recovered from his surprise. In a second he was strapped tight in his chair; and not until then did he think to use his feet. Another strap put an end to his kicking.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?” The athlete was enjoying himself hugely. “Now--I must remind you that I’m taking a big chance in doing this. If you make a noise, I shall treat you as any desperate man would treat you!” There was a look in his eyes which clinched the matter.

Immediately he disappeared in the direction of the nearest cleaners. Reblong heard sounds of struggling from time to time; and evidently he implicitly believed that Fort would take vengeance upon him if he called for help; for he kept perfectly quiet. After perhaps twenty minutes the athlete returned, breathing heavily, but happy.

“The last one almost spilled my beans,” said he--to use the expression Smith employed. “He happened to see me shutting another one into a closet, and jumped me from behind. I had to lay him out.” Reblong must have looked alarmed. “Oh, no harm done. They’ll all live to tell about it for the next twenty years.”

Next he made certain adjustments in the engine-room mechanism. Then he went to the telephone, and located the man in charge of the depot. “Hello--Mr. Fort speaking; Reblong isn’t able to come to the phone.” He winked at the man in the chair. “There’s something wrong with the fuel indicator. Shut off the supply for a while, will you?”

The gurgling soon stopped. Reblong watched in continued silence as Fort disappeared again, this time taking the elevator to the bridge. He was back again in a couple of minutes.

“Now, old man,” addressing the engineer, “you can guess what I’m up to. I’m going to navigate this cruiser alone!”

“I’ve set everything for the ascent. You see what I’ve done; if I’ve made any mistakes, it means good-by for the Cobulus, for me, and--for you!

“I leave it to your good sense to tell me if there’s anything I’ve overlooked.” And he laid his hands on the starting-levers.

Reblong said nothing so far, such was his chagrin and wonder. But now he evidently considered seriously what Fort had said.

“I see you mean it, Mr. Fort. And--you ought to know that once you’ve cleared the landing-dock, you’ll have a hard time to keep her level unless you’re up on the bridge. That is, while you’re shifting the wing-angle. But you ought to be down here to do that; and, meanwhile, she might nose down and slam into something, and--” Reblong shuddered.

“I see.” The athlete pondered for a moment. Then he lifted the engineer bodily, chair and all, and moved him over nearer the instrument. Next he loosened one of Reblong’s hands, just enough to permit him to reach certain of the levers. He also did some more tying of knots and shifting of buckles, roped the chair to a stanchion, and made sure that Reblong could not undo himself.