LITMIR.BIZ

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      Subject: Lifeship 2, STS-52

      Attention Mr. P. D. Latimer

      Dear Paul,

      I have on hand the copies of your reports on the rescue of the men on the disabled STS-52. It is fortunate that the Lunar radar stations could compute their orbit.

      The detailed official report will follow, but briefly, this is what happened:

      The lifeship landed—or, rather, crashed—several miles west of Cheyenne, as you know, but it was impossible to find the man who was piloting it until yesterday because of the weather.

      He has been identified as Ronald Watkins Clayton, exiled to Mars fifteen years ago.

      Evidently, he didn’t realize that fifteen years of Martian gravity had so weakened his muscles that he could hardly walk under the pull of a full Earth gee.

      As it was, he could only crawl about a hundred yards from the wrecked lifeship before he collapsed.

      Well, I hope this clears up everything.

      I hope you’re not getting the snow storms up there like we’ve been getting them.

      John B. Remley

      Captain, CBI

      THE JUDAS VALLEY (1956)

      Peter Wayne took the letter out of the machine, broke the seal, and examined it curiously. It was an official communication from the Interstellar Exploration Service. It read:

      FROM: Lieutenant General Martin Scarborough, I.E.S.

      TO: Captain Peter Wayne, Preliminary Survey Corps

      Report immediately to this office for assignment to I.E.S. Lord Nelson. Full briefing will be held at 2200 hours, 14 April 2103.

      By order of the Fleet Commandant.

      It was short, brief, and to the point. And it gave no information whatsoever. Peter Wayne shrugged resignedly, put the letter down on his bed, walked over to the phone, and dialed a number.

      A moment later, a girl’s face appeared—blonde-haired, with high cheekbones, deep blue-green eyes, and an expression of the lips that intriguingly combined desirability and crisp military bearing.

      “Lieutenant James speaking,” she said formally. Then, as Wayne’s image appeared on her screen, she grinned. “Hi, Pete. What’s up?”

      “Listen, Sherri,” Wayne said quickly. “I’m going to have to cancel that date we had for tomorrow night. I just got my orders.”

      The girl laughed. “I was just going to call you, I got a fax-sheet too. Looks as though we won’t see each other for a while, Pete.”

      “What ship are you getting?”

      “The Lord Nelson.”

      It was Wayne’s turn to laugh. “It looks as though we will be seeing each other. That’s my ship too. We can keep our date in the briefing room.”

      Her face brightened. “Good! I’ll see you there, then,” she said. “I’ve got to get my gear packed.”

      “Okay,” Wayne said. “Let’s be on time, you know how General Scarborough is.”

      She smiled. “Don’t worry, Peter. I’ll be there. So long for now.”

      “Bye, Sherri.” He cut the connection, watched the girl’s face melt away into a rainbow-colored diamond of light, and turned away. There were a lot of things to do before he would be ready to leave Earth for an interstellar tour of duty.

      He wondered briefly as he started to pack just what was going on. There was usually much more notice on any big jump of this order. Something special was up, he thought, as he dragged his duffle-bag out of the closet.

      * * * *

      He was at the briefing room at 2158 on the nose. The Interstellar Exploration Service didn’t much go for tardiness, but they didn’t pay extra if you got there a half-hour early. Captain Peter Wayne made it a point of being at any appointment two minutes early—no more, no less.

      The room was starting to fill up, with men and women Wayne knew well, had worked with on other expeditions, had lived with since he’d joined the IES. They looked just as puzzled as he probably did, he saw; they knew they were being called in on something big, and in the IES big meant big.

      At precisely 2200, Lieutenant General Scarborough emerged from the inner office, strode briskly up the aisle of the briefing room, and took his customary stance on the platform in front. His face looked stern, and he held his hands clasped behind his back. His royal blue uniform was neat and trim. Over his head, the second hand of the big clock whirled endlessly. In the silence of the briefing room, it seemed to be ticking much too loudly.

      The general nodded curtly and said, “Some of you are probably wondering why the order to report here wasn’t more specific. There are two reasons for that. In the first place, we have reason to believe that we have found a substantial deposit of double-nucleus beryllium.”

      There was a murmur of sound in the briefing room. Wayne felt his heart starting to pound; D-N beryllium was big. So big that a whole fleet of IES ships did nothing but search the galaxy for it, full time.

      “Naturally,” the general continued, “we don’t want any of this information to leak out, just in case it should prove false. The prospect of enough D-N beryllium to make fusion power really cheap could cause a panic if we didn’t handle it properly. The Economics Board has warned us that we’ll have to proceed carefully if there actually is a big deposit on this planet.”

      Captain Wayne stared uneasily at Sherri James, who frowned and chewed her lip. To his left, a short, stubby private named Manetti murmured worriedly, “That means trouble. D-N beryllium always means trouble. There’s a catch somewhere.”

      General Scarborough, on the platform, said, “There’s a second reason for secrecy. I think it can better be explained by a man who has the evidence first-hand.”

      He paused and looked around the room. “Four weeks ago, the Scout Ship Mavis came back from Fomalhaut V.” There was a dead silence in the briefing room.

      “Lieutenant Jervis, will you tell the crew exactly what happened on Fomalhaut V?”

      * * * *

      Lieutenant Jervis stepped forward and took his place on the platform. He was small and wiry, with a hawk nose and piercingly intense eyes. He cleared his throat and smiled a little sheepishly.

      “I’ve told this story so many times that it doesn’t even sound real to me anymore. I’ve told it to the Supreme Senate Space Committee, to half the top brass in the IES, and to a Board of Physicians from the Medical Department.

      “As well as I can remember it, it goes something like this.”

      Laughter rippled through the room.

      “We orbited around Fomalhaut V for a Scouting Survey,” Jervis said. “The planet is hot and rocky, but it has a breathable atmosphere. The detectors showed various kinds of metals in the crust, some of them in commercially feasible concentration. But the crust is so mountainous and rocky that there aren’t very many places to land a ship.

      “Then we picked up the double-nucleus beryllium deposit on our detectors. Nearby, there was a small, fairly level valley, so we brought the ship down for a closer check. We wanted to make absolutely positive that it was double-nucleus beryllium before we made our report.”

      He paused, as if arranging the story he wanted to tell in his mind, and went on. “The D-N beryllium deposit lies at the top of a fairly low mountain about five miles from the valley. We triangulated it first, and then we decided we ought to send up a party to get samples of the ore if it were at all possible.

      “I was chosen to go, along with another member of the crew, a man named Lee Bellows. We left the ship at about five in the morning, and spent most of the day climbing

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