Asteroid H277—Plus
By HARRY WALTON
It was a pretty web that Akars spun aboard
the Sun-freighter Cinnabar.... Mass
murder and piracy! But he wasn't clever
enough to allow for the innocent-sounding
asteroid charted as "H277—Plus."
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1940.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Jon Akars, petty officer of the Sun Line freighter Cinnabar, backedaway from the jimmied manifold of the air circulators and hastilyfelt for the emergency mask at his belt. Any moment now the Venusiankui-knor he had filched from the ship's medicine cabinet and droppedinto the circulators would take effect. Without warning men would dropat their posts, apparently insensible, rigid of muscle, eyes staringfixedly. Actually, they would be keenly aware of everything about them,their senses sharpened rather than dulled by the drug. But it was nopart of Akars' plans to be one of them. He strapped on the mask, and,at the sound of approaching footsteps, shrank back into the shadows ofthe machines.
An officer peered into the circulator chamber for an instant, thenmarched on down the corridor. Akars chuckled. Box Jordan was partof his plan; in a way, he had a star role. But not an enviable one.Nor, to be sure, were the remainder of the Cinnabar's crew goingto be particularly lucky. The luck of the scheme was reserved forAkars himself, and it involved four kilos of precious Urulium whichBox Jordan had unearthed during an emergency landing on an unexploredplanetoid. Jordan had been fool enough to turn the stuff over as aship's prize, to be equally divided. But with the metal on board, itwas inevitable that a smarter man would see and grasp the chance thatwas offered. Akars was that man.
He waited until the circulation meters told him that the kui-knorhad been diffused through every cubic foot of air in the ship, thensoftly trod the steelene-walled corridor back to the navigatingcompartment. The sight there was a gruesome one. Captain Cardigan wasslumped over the chart table, glassy-eyed, to all appearance dead. Buthe wasn't dead, Akars knew. The captain and the chief petty officerand the second navigator and the supercargo—all sprawled in grotesqueattitudes about the compartment, all staring vacantly into space, werein the grip of an artificially induced coma.
Deliberately Akars walked over and kicked Captain Cardigan in thechest. Cardigan's face remained impassive, the eyes expressionless,yet there was a barely perceptible quiver that told the blow had hurt.Akars grinned and landed another, then scowled and rubbed his ear withthe back of a hairy hand. It was the first navigator, Box Jordan, whomhe owed a special grudge. He'd nursed special ideas for Jordan, theagony of broken bones, of a merciless beating, before death should wipehim out. But Jordan wasn't here.
Built into the chart table was the fireproof compartment that held theship's log. Akars removed the bulky volume, opened it upon the table,and ripped out the last four page entries, crumpling the thin metallicfoil before throwing it to the floor. With the log would perish allrecords of the Urulium find; if any spaceman's notes or diary heldmention of it the Cinnabar's fate woul