SARGASSO OF THE STARS
By FREDERICK A. KUMMER, Jr.
The Spot was the curse of the Universe—a
drifting Sargasso of vanished spaceships
and soul-lost men.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1941.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Haller watched silently as they crowded into the control room. His eyeswere slivers of gray granite, but he didn't speak. There was a longmoment of silence as the five men, scum of the space-ports, shifteduneasily, their faces strained, tense. Haller frowned; he'd beenexpecting something like this for the past few days. From now on itwould be his nerve against their strength.
"Well?" he snapped, whip-like. "What is it?"
Carlson, the big engineer, shouldered to the fore. His massive frameand sloping skull betrayed his Jovian blood, even as the scars andpurple ray burns on his bulging forearm betrayed a checkered, violentpast.
"We want to know where you're taking us!" he rumbled. "Seltzsky here,says it's off the regular lanes. If we're not heading for Jupiter,where're we going? We got a right to know."
Icy as outer space, Haller surveyed them. The pilots at Mercis hadlikened him, since the Cosmic affair, to a living robot, devoid ofall feeling, all emotion. Now, as he stared at the sullen crew, thissimile was especially apt. His lean, set face held a curious hardness,as if it had been hammered from steel, and one sensed about him aterrible determination, an unswerving singleness of purpose, found inmen who pursue a self-imposed duty rather than the call of adventure.Haller's eyes made one think that he had gazed upon all the worlds, allthings that lived, and found them dull, futile.
"So you think you've a right to know where we're bound?" he saiddeliberately. "You'll recall that I chartered this ship, that you allsigned on for three months, no questions asked. However," ... he smiledunhumorously ... "since you're so interested, I'll tell you."
Haller turned to the big chart upon the control room's wall, pointed.
"Our present position is about here ... ten days out of Mars and ratheroff the regular lanes. Our destination is this." He indicated a shadedarea forming the apex of a vague triangle of which Mars and Jupiterwere the other angles. "This area is known, for want of a better name,as the Magnetic Spot. Ships passing near it report radio disturbances,variations in their instruments. And that's where we're going! Any morequestions?"
"The ... the Magnetic Spot?" Seltzsky, the wizened little navigator,cried. "But.... Good God! Every ship that goes near it disappears!Dozens, hundreds of 'em! The Valerian, the Explorer, the Io!Warships, liners, freighters! You're mad! Only two months ago, theCosmic...."
At mention of the Cosmic a bitter flame leaped in Haller's eyes. Hishand shot to the atomite gun at his waist.
"That's enough!" he barked. "You wanted to find out where you weregoing, and now you know! Get back to your quarters!"
Carlson and Seltzsky leaned forward, their savage faces intent, fistsknotted. Haller's cold gaze did not flicker. For a long moment thetension was like a dark bubble, growing, growing, as it approached thebreaking point. Suddenly old Barger, the quartermaster, laughed.
"You're licked!" he grated. "Just as I said you'd be! I'll take oneman, like Cap'n Haller, to a dozen blustering bullies like you!" Hetouched his cap, submissively. "To