*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64874 ***

                            SPACE BLACKOUT

                             by SAM CARSON

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                             Comet May 41.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


I've seen a world die, and with it men who chose to remain and face the
end because of love.

Love of their homes and the soil beneath them and the life they had
achieved. It's a story I believe Earthmen could ponder, and benefit
from. For we are the youngest of terrestrial civilizations within the
space orbit the Martians have shown us.

I'm Jerry Kos, master navigator, twenty-seven and entitled to three
stripes on my jacket to prove I've completed that many six months
voyages with the Cosmic Survey. I'm a specialist, holder of the solo
record from Moon to Earth made in 2437, and enjoy spending all my leave
in the government preserves, camping in the raw, hiking, fishing,
anything I can do by hand, so to speak. Otherwise I'm one of some
fifty thousand young officers of the Commonwealth whose job is cut out
for him. And I like it.

It was Jim Drake, skipper of the Pelios, Cosmic Survey ship, who
persuaded me to take my leave on Mars, as a guest of Shadrak. Shadrak
is one of our advisers, guardian of the Great Waterway, and a big
shot among the hundred thousand odd Martians who rule their planet by
robot control. The Martians watched us develop thousands of years, and
let us go because they're peaceful, and like our energy, till Gregor,
the Tartar dictator came along and messed up the world. Then Shadrak,
and a half dozen others roused themselves, crossed the void to Earth
and liquidated a wad of would be exponents of force. That put the
United States on top with its ideals of democracy, and the Martians
reorganized our form of living, gave us advanced tools, knowledge and
created a technocracy. The Martians sit back, live well and give us
ideas. We do the same for them and everybody's happy. They know how to
contact all forms of life in the solar system, from Mercury to Neptune,
and now, as you know, Earth is a beehive of industry.

Jim Drake's a thoughtful chap, quiet but a whip. Since he was a kid
Shadrak has liked him. After a few days of fishing, boating, and
general recreation, Shadrak called us in to his domed estate.

First he showed us his planetarium, and a dark nebula in beyond Orion,
he calls the Noir, speaking with the throat disk because Martians can't
manage our tongue otherwise. That dark, he had just explained, was a
thousand light years beyond the nearer Orion cluster.

"Behind it," he added, "is a solar system, a sun with six planets.
The third planet is Spor, of the same albedo as Earth, and identical
atmosphere. I know, for my grandfather visited it, and he chose it as a
suitable refuge for ten thousand of your Earthmen."

I had to break in on that. Jim nudged me, but Shadrak smiled. "Small
wonder you're surprised," he commented. "On Earth you have a legend,
of the lost Atlantis. There was a general submerging of continents.
Millions perished. And we were so moved on Mars that we sent our space
ships. It was one of our few real invasions. Till we visited Gregor, we
hadn't returned. But that time we removed ten thousand, products of an
advanced civilization.

"We moved those ten thousand to Spor." Jim whistled. "Even that long
ago you traveled ahead of light. I mean, with greater speed."

Shadrak nodded. "You two are Earthmen we trust. We keep many secrets
because it is best. But in this case--" he paused, "I want you, Jerry
Kos and Jim Drake, to journey to Spor."

"But it would take years," I put in. "Maybe longer."

"Twenty two days and six hours, with the new ship just delivered,"
Shadrak corrected. "It has a capacity of one thousand. If you return
with a full load, we shall send more ships to Spor."

Jim looked bewildered. "Maybe it's too much," he said, "but such a
speed is incredible."

"There is no limit to speed," Shadrak told us. "The problem is of
acceleration, and deceleration. You have that problem in handling the
Pelios, which rides energy beams at the speed of light. Frequencies,
whether of sound or light, as instances, are constant. Therefore we
employ this fact in accelerating. We superimpose frequencies against
frequencies, repelling power, one from the other. The result is a
constant, increasing ratio. In effect, Jim--and you, Jerry--will grasp
it much easier in this manner. If you had a machine throwing a jet
of water, and it touched an opposing jet of water, your propulsion
would build up till the limits of the energy from the opposing jets
were reached. Suppose those jets continued to reach out. As light
frequencies, till you built up your maximum. In a vacuum your speed
would continue at that maximum velocity till you chose to decelerate.
Now deceleration is effected by the same principle. We do it by
hitching to our sun and reaching the maximum in building up speed. In
like manner, another sun can be used to decelerate, by reversing the
process.

"But enough of that," Shadrak resumed. "Your ship will be robot
controlled. Our own master navigator will get telescreened charts of
your course. Your job will begin when you land, I fear. The planet of
Spor enters the Noir within eighteen months, and a sudden reaction in
that hundred thousand light year wide mass could reduce the engulfing
to eighteen weeks."

"What does this Noir mean, swallowing up Spor?" I fired that shot. And
it was Jim who answered.

"Noir's the light absorbing element nobody has lived to analyze. We
know it absorbs all organic life as it does light, electricity, even
sound. It's the black scourge of space."

"And we're going to play around it, eh? To bring back the descendants
of the lost Atlantis. And where do they go, providing we take 'em off?"

Shadrak waved a hand vaguely over the horizon. "Here, till we find a
planet suitable. You see, we're responsible. We moved them to Spor. Now
it's our duty to remove them again."

Jim spoke. "We're ready, whenever you are sir."

       *       *       *       *       *

Now a lot happened before we curved around the sinister prong of the
Noir, the Milky Way lost behind, even Orion and his companions. We had
ceased marveling at the repellor motors, operated within compact cases
by the efficient robot machines. And I must put in a word for the way
they lifted our big ship from Mars. You don't use rockets any more.
They catapult you, shooting you ten thousand miles outward with rocket
tubes sunk into the ground. You use inverted, concave affairs to catch
the power. And too, we had our first acquaintance with the auxiliary
repellors used inside the ship to offset inertia. This gave us the same
gravity as Earth. And Shadrak called at regular periods on the relief
screen, the new device that gives solidity to an image. He told us a
lot about the transplanted sons and daughters of ancient Atlantis, and
we had the mentameters to make immediate contact with their language
and knowledge. Shadrak had thought of everything.

The solar system which Shadrak called Maj, crawled around the crescent
of Noir, and we sighted the third planet, giving a ruddy glow. That
gave us a kick, but I felt a shiver as I watched that ebon horn
blotting out the sky, reaching hungrily toward Maj. Jim said the
movement of Noir had been constant at 110 kilometers a second, but
that the speed was building up. He called for a robot check on the tip
of Noir and Spor. After careful study, Jim flashed the telescreen for
Shadrak. "Noir tip at 60 plus 382," he reported.

Shadrak looked grave. "That gives you no more than four months," he
said. "If the movement accelerates, it will be quite earlier. After you
land, arrange for periodical checks."

It was time now to begin deceleration. We fixed on the sun of Maj. At
first we couldn't feel a change. It was ten hours before the planets
slowed down, and we curved to meet the pull of Maj. Two days elapsed by
our chronometers before we entered the gravity pull of Spor and began
our spiral descent, much as we would had it been the smaller Pelios.
Our electroscopes found a city, towers and walls gilded by a rising
sun. I worked out the course for Jim and we picked a plain nearby. We
settled on a regular nest of repellor beams, to find an army gathered
without, an army of men and women and children, not at all frightened
and apparently not hostile.

"Look," Jim cried. "They look like the museum pictures of 2000. The
same kind of cars, and streets."

It was true. We checked on the atmosphere readings, found the
temperature 76 fahrenheit, a mild spring day. We opened the locks and
stepped out on the soil of Spor, Jim lugging the portable mentameter.
I heard a buzzing sound. An airplane, of ancient vintage, judging by
the museum films, circled overhead. Men in field gray, wearing leather
leggings and caps, rode up on noisy, two wheeled machines.

"The Twentieth Century comes to life," Jim muttered. "It's like a
dream."

A man with slightly gray hair stepped from one of the cars, approached
us, flanked by the guards. He spoke, but the words were unintelligible.
Jim smiled, pointed skyward and to the ship. The greeter nodded as
if he understood. Then Jim put down the mentameter pack, adjusted
earphones and the clamp about his temples. He gestured for the other to
do likewise.

       *       *       *       *       *

Someone protested, and there was an argument, while we waited. Then the
gray haired man spoke with curtness, and the guards fell back. Smiling,
the Spor dweller put on the mentameter receiver. Jim began speaking
slowly. "I am Jim Drake, of Earth, from which your ancestors were
removed from Atlantis by Martians. We were sent here by other Martians."

The Spor governor, for that was what we learned he was, shouted to the
throng. He spoke excitedly and people began to cheer, to gather more
closely. Then he spoke to Jim. By then I had on the spare receiver.

"You are fulfilling a legend," the governor said. "From our early days
the writings of our forefathers foretold the day when Earthmen would
come from beyond the dark spaces. I, Tarquin of Spor and governor of
the city of Osmand, welcome you. And if you will pardon my curiosity,
what manner of machine is this, to interpret our thoughts?"

"Brother," I cut in, "it's as mysterious to me as it must be to you.
The Martians perfected it and hold the secret."

"You think and talk like one of us," the governor chuckled. "Our
astronomers sighted you yesterday and they predicted a landing at
Osmand. So we are not exactly surprised."

We wound up with posting a guard about the ship and riding into the
city with Tarquin. A radio in the car reported our progress, the
announcer manifestly excited. We found thousands on streets and
sidewalks and crowding office windows. Above all, we had the feeling
we were among Earthmen, and yet it wasn't our technocratic manner of
life either. There was nothing orderly. And I felt that I liked this
way of living. I was in the same state of mind a week later, when Jim
and I had already learned enough about the language of Spor to talk,
and we'd been cramming on their history from the time the Martians left
off so many centuries before. At Shadrak's suggestion, we'd kept quiet
on our real mission. We found ourselves popular in Osmand as the days
grew on, and we were guests of Governor Tarquin, on a swell estate
bordering a small river. And then, as thousands lined the river for
a water carnival, Tarquin told us all was not well on Spor. We were
on a terrace and it reminded me somehow of Shadrak's place, without
the dome, or eternal robots. "Take this city," he exclaimed. "We are
a democracy, at peace with the world. But across the sea, in Plevia,
there is a colony gathering strength, headed by Garok, a troublemaker
we exiled ten years ago from Osmand."

"Why not take your planes, fly over and clean him out before he's
strong enough to fight you?" I asked.

Tarquin gazed at me, and he looked bewildered. "Osmand makes no war.
We have our civil officers, but our army is small. We of Osmand, and
of the other city states on this continent have lived in accord two
thousand years without fighting. Garok will not invade us. But he does
harbor criminals, and thereby makes trouble."

       *       *       *       *       *

And that was that. War was simply out of mind. And why not. If ever
there was a placid countryside, which we toured in the next two weeks,
it was the continent upon which Osmand was built. There were farms,
small factories, everywhere homes with large grounds, and men, women
and children employed. Everybody greeted you with a smile, it seemed,
and there was much singing. It got Jim like it did me, and I remember
what a jerk Shadrak pulled us up with, when checking with him from
the ship after a tour of the continent to the other cities--Nostran,
Tula and Polis. Shadrak told us the invading horn of Noir had indeed
accelerated its spread toward the system of Maj and would engulf it
within no less than eight weeks.

Tarquin accepted our report from Shadrak, for in the legend that
Earthmen would come, was a prophecy of destruction to Spor. "Yes," he
said slowly, pacing his terrace, his family engaged in sports below,
"we have been watching the dark cloud you call Noir. Our astronomers
are uncertain of the result."

"We're not," Jim said. "Noir will blast every vestige of life from
Spor. The Martians know. They offer refuge on their planet, till you
find another Spor. We can remove the first thousand. The Martians will
send other ships, if you agree."

"If we agree." Tarquin stood beside the terrace parapet, with the
skyline of Osmand gilded in a low sun. A shaft of light struck
a passenger plane bound for a landing field. Cries of children,
picnicking across the river in a park, drifted to us. Tarquin twisted
a bit of paper into a wad, tossed it to the lawn. Then he turned to
Jim. "I'll radio the other governors," he said. "We must place this
information before them all, and let the people vote."

"Elections," Jim cried. "That will take weeks. We've got to act now.
Shadrak says the dark nebula has tripled its speed toward Maj in the
last seven days."

"Yes," Tarquin agreed simply. "That has been noted too, from our
observatory. Last night two stars were blotted out. I'm sorry, my
friends, if we delay. But that is the way to act. Now, if you'll pardon
me, I'll invite the governors for a conference."

To our surprise Tarquin summoned Garok with the others. He was unlike
the others, a spare, square jawed man no older than Jim Drake, eyes
tending to the shifty side and with the gift of an orator. He could
hardly wait till Tarquin delivered his talk of our mission. I could see
the other governors refused to be stirred as Tarquin. One, Dalin, a
fat, amiable chap, laughed. "Nonsense," he exclaimed. "I'll grant you
these young men may have come from Earth as they come, but they could
be putting over a giant hoax," he added shrewdly.

"But the astronomers sighted them five thousand miles away," Tarquin
interrupted impatiently. "These men have instruments beyond our
knowledge."

"Probably stolen," Garok spoke for the first time. His manner was
swaggering, contemptuous. "For all we know they're adventurers from
another planet. And if not, why must we meet to be told fairy tales.
What of a dark cloud? Going to destroy Spor! Bah. A story to frighten
children with. Is this what you brought us here to discuss?" This to
Tarquin.

The governor of Osmand flushed. I saw Jim's fists clench, but he
remained silent. "We're not here to give opinions, when we don't know
what we're talking about," he snapped. "All our astronomers agree the
dark nebula is sweeping in like a tidal wave. These men journeyed
into our solar system to warn us. I believe them. The question is, do
the people of Spor want to believe, and act. That is the question. I
propose a referendum, the subject explained over our radio nets, to be
held one week from today."

"That date may be too late," Jim warned. "I suggest--"

"Bah," Garok cut in. "You want a panic, so that you can loot us."

That was when Jim sprang to his feet and struck Garok. The leader of
Plevia went down. But he was up and charging like a mad bull a moment
later.

Tarquin cried out and guards rushed in, separating the men. And now the
governor of Osmand frowned at Jim. "You struck first," he said gravely.
"You struck a guest of mine."

"I'm sorry," Jim told him. "But it was in desperation, because I
realize the danger to you. Governor, we must act more quickly. We must."

Tarquin nodded. "So be it. As senior governor of the continental
cities, I set aside the third day from now, and each governor shall
join our radio net, so that the people may hear, and vote as they
choose."

"You fools," Garok snarled. His right eye was discolored and he glared
at Jim. "I demand this man, to be punished for striking Garok."

"He is in my custody," Tarquin replied calmly. "For striking a guest of
mine, he must be punished."

Garok swept the room. I noticed the fat governor, Dalin, cringed. "I
choose to do my own punishing," he snapped and walked from the room.
Dalin glanced about at the silent group. "Your guest will cause us
untold trouble," he said. "I saw it in Garok's eyes. He is seeking a
cause to do damage to us, and you've permitted that cause tonight."

"If I did, I take the responsibility, Dalin. Do you other gentlemen
agree to put the question before your people and permit the
referendum?"

       *       *       *       *       *

In the end they agreed, although it was plain they were more concerned
over Garok than the threat of Noir's black flood. And I had a hunch
Garok had placed doubt in their minds about us. We persuaded Tarquin to
attend our conference with Shadrak. And to our surprise, Shadrak, from
the relief screen, spoke to Tarquin in the latter's tongue. Tarquin
left our ship a man who looked years older. "I must act, at once,"
he told us with a sigh. "Why didn't I have our meeting aboard your
ship where they too could have heard, and seen the Martian? It was my
mistake."

"You're starting at once?" Jim asked.

Tarquin nodded. "But I'm afraid--afraid there are few who would leave
Osmand, or any of the other continental states.

"Look about you," he continued. "Here is contentment, peace, a form of
collective security for all. Outside of Garok there is no discontent.
We love Osmand, as the others do their cities."

"Shadrak called this a Utopia," Jim observed thoughtfully. "I
understand. But we must get the message over, Governor. And quickly."

I remember how we stood by while Tarquin started at daylight, over
the radio net, explaining it all, and the news agencies were waking
up. Crowds gathered on streets. People stared at us, some without
enthusiasm, and we weren't surprised when Tarquin assigned us guards.
We were getting blamed for the scare, it appeared. By night we were
directed to return to Tarquin's home. Garok, it seemed, was taking
to the radio, making charges, promising to capture and punish us for
trying to create a panic on Spor. Overnight crowds formed outside the
grounds of the governor's home. A large detachment had to guard our
ship, and we made arrangements to return to it. And during these three
days the grim, dark threat of Noir came on, invincible, inevitable,
overspreading one third of the firmament, blotting out star after
star. Shadrak offered no advice, strangely enough. But he kept us
apprised of reports from Martian astronomers. And then, as citizens
of the city states poured out to vote on the question Tarquin had put
before them, Garok struck.

He came with wave after wave of planes, and he dropped bomb after bomb
of outlawed explosives, not for destruction, but to send the city into
a panic. Too late Jim and I realized we had been a blessing to Garok.
In upsetting the placid lives of the city states, we had furnished
motive and opportunity to strike. It wasn't an invasion such as they
used to have on Earth. But it was onesided, Tarquin's police force
pitifully inadequate. And so as the planes landed, disgorging squads
of men, armed with peculiar flame throwers, Osmand was taken and the
referendum forgotten.

       *       *       *       *       *

In our refuge, with no arms save our ray guns, Jim and I looked
helplessly on. So far we had been unmolested. I thought of the
little single seater planes used as Earth patrols, and the blasting
charge in the nose, reserved for emergencies. Jim was pacing the
control room like a caged tiger. Shadrak was away from his post and
we had transcribed our report of Garok's coming, for his screen. Now
he signaled us, somewhat excitedly. Evidently he hadn't seen the
transcription, for he spoke rapidly. "You have ten hours left," he
cried, "before the Noir invades Maj. Ten more hours and you cannot
leave Spor. Act at once." Jim reported in crisp accents of events.
Shadrak swore in fluent Martian. Then he told us to open an emergency
locker. At once robot trucks wheeled out a dandy two seater patrol car,
with 20 millimeter ray guns for armament. "Destroy Garok's force where
necessary," Shadrak ordered. "That completed, proceed at once with
loading. Remove Tarquin's family first. He must be saved at all cost."

We broke out the rear exit as a two motored plane dived at our space
ship. Jim nosed our patrol car upward. I was at the ray gun controls.
We blew the plane out of the sky. Then we went upstairs. Garok had a
fleet of planes he surely must have taken over from transport lines.
There were different markings on them. Anyway, we knocked down planes,
plenty of them. But scores had landed, with soldiers scattering, to
take over objectives. We went down, blasted groups right and left. On
the landing field we could see police rallying. I worked the ray guns
on ground and sky alike during the next twenty minutes, and Garok's
invaders surviving turned tail, abandoning their comrades already
landed.

[Illustration: _We went down blasting ... right and left...._]

Tarquin was in command as his guards rounded up sullen, but defeated
groups of Garok's men. Sirens were wailing, and we counted a dozen big
fires raging. "Thanks," he acknowledged, nodding at our patrol car.
"Garok is attacking the other cities. They've all asked for help."

"We'll take his planes," Jim promised. "But you've got to hurry,
Governor. Shadrak says it's a matter of hours."

Tarquin seemed not to hear Jim. He stared toward the great fires.
"Destruction," he muttered. "The hell of war turned loose after all
these centuries."

Mobs had poured onto the field. Guards battled with them. The foremost
tried to reach the captured invaders, yelling curses at them. Others
continued toward us. I saw Tarquin stiffen. He ordered a ring of guards
about us. "But why?" Jim demanded.

"They blame you," Tarquin said bitterly. "For stirring up trouble. In
fact, they're demanding your lives as forfeit."

"But can't they understand?" Jim cried. "Hasn't it been made plain
enough? You talked with them, explained our coming--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Tarquin waved a hand toward the angry men and women. Some had
stones, bricks and these they were hurling our way. "You can see
for yourselves," he told us. "Dalin went on the air and blamed you,
opposing our referendum. Said it was idiotic, that departure from Spor
was unthinkable. He argued that his scientists promised the dark gas
would not enter our atmosphere and would be dissipated, permitting
sunlight to enter. My own people of Osmand were in doubt, even before
Garok came. Now--well, they think only of this destruction, and the
factors they blame, including you two."

"We're going to tackle Garok's other fleets," Jim said briefly.
"Meanwhile, we're expecting you to report our act, and to plead with
the people of Osmand to come with us, as many as we can take. We'll be
back, in a few hours."

We collided with Garok's air fleet above Dalin's city, while it was at
the height of its raid. It took us exactly eighteen minutes to clean
the air, leaving destroyed planes blazing on all sides. Then we went
on. But we were to get a stiff shock. Garok's sky fleet had vanished
elsewhere.

"Okay," Jim decided, after we had cruised the coast line, "we'd better
get back to Osmand. If Garok's fled, our mission is completed."

We withheld reporting through to Shadrak. The sky was unusually black
tonight. Overhead, there were no stars. We raised the flames in Osmand
some fifty miles out. Jim let out an angry yell. "Garok's attacking
again," he cried. "Those are new fires."

Rockets wide open we raced down toward Osmand. There were new fires.
Jim circled toward the plain where our ship was located. We saw a cone
of flame leap out of the thick night. Garok was bombing the space ship.

We tore at the invaders like mad swordfish. We knocked them apart, then
went in for a landing. One bomb had landed within twenty feet of the
ship. We got out of the patrol car, sprinted for the big ship. Jim used
a torch, assured himself the craft was undamaged. And when we went
inside, Garok himself was the bird who climbed into our patrol car.

Pistol bullets cut by our ears as both of us tried to rectify that
damage. Garok didn't know beans about a rocket car. But a dumb,
conceited punk like him could wreck it, so we ignored the soldiers
who'd climbed out of Garok's plane after that noiseless glide of his
and raced for the patrol car.

Garok yelled something at us and accidentally touched off the ray guns.
His own plane literally went into gas, and his men went down, or turned
into more gas. Then the patrol car streaked skyward, bowling us over.
Twin tongues of angry flame marked his course, higher--higher, blast
wide open. "The fool," Jim cried. "He'll burn the car up, if he gains
any more altitude. The thin atmosphere will fix him--"

"Maybe he didn't start it on purpose, and can't do anything about it,"
I suggested. Jim's face was visible in the glow of the fires. "Maybe
you're right," he agreed. And as if in confirmation, there was a dull
red blob high above. The blob widened, sent out a shower of sparks and
vanished. "And that," Jim commented, "is the last of Garok."

Evidently Garok's wild scheme to take patrol car and then perhaps our
space ship, was with his last survivors, for we heard no more planes.
A police car arrived. Tarquin had sent them. "The governor advises you
to leave Osmand at once," was the officer's message. "Anger is growing
against you two."

"Okay by me," I said. "We clean up a mess for you and get the rap. You
don't believe us, so what? We'd better save our own skins."

"I'm going to make one last appeal to Tarquin," Jim announced. "It's
our duty. You stay here with the ship."

"Listen you," I sounded off, "if you go back into Osmand, I go with
you. But how?"

"In the police car." To the surprised officer Jim said: "If Governor
Tarquin guarantees no hope to remove anyone, we'll leave. But first, I
bear him a final message. Will you take us?"

"I'll take you," the officer said. "But it is foolish. We've got to
take the chance, here on Spor. It's our world, the one we love. Because
you destroyed Garok's men, we'll give you safe conduct."

       *       *       *       *       *

They bore us through darkened side streets. By radio we heard the
damage, and of thousands massed in downtown parks, listening to
speakers who demanded our punishment along with the captured invaders.
Tarquin was in his office and had just completed orders to give our
ship full protection. His eyes were sunken. Jim went to the point at
once. "Governor Tarquin, the Martian Shadrak asked us to remove you and
your family, by all means. We must clear Spor by day-break. Or before
noon. Couldn't you persuade others--people of Osmand you want to save,
to go to the ship. If it's a mistake and Noir doesn't wipe everything
out, we can return. You know that. It's not taking a chance. Please,
we're offering life--to all Spor--through you and a thousand others of
Osmand."

Tarquin led us to a wide window. There was light below, and we saw a
triangular space packed with thousands. Loud speakers were blasting and
we could see a tiny figure on a platform.

"I tell you the forces of evil envy our world of Spor and seek to
destroy us," the speaker shouted. "What influenced Garok to erupt from
Plevia and attempt to enslave us? I'll answer that question. The men
who came out of the sky with the wild story the end of our universe
is at hand. Bah. Nature sends a dark cloud of gas nearer, and we're
expected to fly into a panic. Our own governor lost his sanity for
that unlikely yarn.

"I tell you, citizens of Osmand, we have made a civilization of such
prosperity and contentment that word has reached other planets of this
solar system. They sent messengers in disguise, to throw us into panic.
In the future let us arm, and repel any such future invasion as Garok
gave us. Let us punish by death any who come among us and seek to
undermine us by fantastic stories. Men and women of Osmand, we shall
never be frightened out of Osmand, and most certainly not to desert
Spor...."

"You see," Tarquin spoke presently, with sadness in his voice. "My
family is down there. They consider me mad, to entertain any belief in
what you say."

"But it is true," Jim cried. "It is true. They must be convinced. Spor
is doomed, in hours. I tell you I am speaking the truth. And surely you
will go with us. You believe us, don't you?"

"I believe you, Jim Drake. I know Shadrak, and his fellow Martians feel
their responsibility. They saved us once, when they believed Earth was
doomed entirely. It wasn't. And the Martians could be wrong again," he
added hopefully.

An hour later we were taken by police back to our guarded ship. So
many were on duty that the crowds had drifted back to Osmand. Fires
were out now, and only the street lights were visible. Osmand, to all
outward appearances, was peacefully going to bed. Shadrak, summoned at
our call, came to the telescreen. "I was afraid," he said after Jim
reported. "You have done your best. You have my permission to depart
Spor immediately. The Noir is within twelve hours of Maj."

"Let's go," I cried. Maybe Tarquin and the others had some hope, but I
was ready to go. Jim's next words sent cold chills down my spine. "May
we stay, till sunrise sir. We should have at least four hours after the
sun of Maj is blotted out, before Spor is reached. Maybe, after they
see the sun eclipsed, some will come to us."

"There is a chance," Shadrak conceded. "But do not delay. If none come,
be prepared to take the course already transcribed on the robot screen."

It was midnight. I noted the absence of all stars ahead of Jim. "It's
spreading," I told him. All at once I felt chilled. It was like a
thick, cloudy night on Earth, only more eerie. Like being in a cave.
The darkness seemed to bear down on the lights of Osmand and make them
dimmer. Neither of us slept. We couldn't. We worked on our course
plot, inspected the entire hull and paced every deck till the hour for
daylight.

       *       *       *       *       *

Only, there was no daylight. The chronometers aboard the ship checked
Martian time, which we still kept. And yet Osmand's lights glowed,
and the rest of Spor was in the darkness of a grotto. Then the city's
lights went out.

We went outside, staring, conscious of abrupt coldness. Suddenly there
were sirens screaming, then bells. All at once the lights flashed back
on again. "The sun--the sun of Maj," Jim exclaimed, "it's blotted out.
Forever, maybe."

Panic gripped me. "Let's scram," I told him. Jim shook his head. He
ran into the ship, switched on all lights. The landing lights put the
entire plain in a warm glow. Jim said the people could see us. So we
waited.

Lights of a fast moving car sped along the highway from Osmand. It
came on, to a quick stop. We saw Tarquin, and a group of men his age.
"They're coming," I told Jim. "They've changed their minds."

"Tell the others to hurry," Jim shouted, as he ran forward to meet
them. "We haven't more than an hour. The Noir is racing toward Spor
from the sun."

Tarquin looked like a man already at the door of the beyond. He walked
to us, slowly, head lifted. Then he stopped, and we saw he wore the
robes of his office. So did the others. Slowly Tarquin spoke. "We are
not going with you, Jim Drake."

"Not going! But man, you know the end. It's death, in less than two
hours. We're risking our own lives and we thought--"

"None of my family wishes to leave Osmand," the governor said quietly.
"Therefore, I have no desire to survive, without them."

"But all of you can live, if you come with us."

"You forget our neighbors, and our kinsmen." Tarquin pointed out
gravely. "I think you do not understand.

"Life, anywhere else has no attraction for the citizens of Spor. I know
that now, plainly. The referendum would not have registered a thousand
votes of those choosing to abandon the planet, had I sufficient time
to explain, and Garok had not run amuck." Tarquin sighed. "There still
is hope, that this black fog will be dissipated, as our scientists
contend. If not--then it is farewell, men of our parent Earth."

"What about going to Earth," Jim cried, suddenly inspired. "That would
be different. We'll take you there."

Tarquin turned and walked to the long, official car. The others
followed, silent, like men sentenced and yet hopeful of reprieve. As he
stood beside the door, Tarquin lifted a hand. But he spoke no more. The
motor roared. Twin lights flashed on the turf....

We stood there for minutes. I heard a dry sob. Maybe it was from Jim
Drake's throat. Or again, maybe it was from my own. I don't know. We
stood there, till the car's rear light merged with the glow of Osmand's
illumination.

Jim said, "we've got to start." As he spoke I saw a pup, a dirty, black
and white pooch, tail working, trotting up. I scooped it up. Something
from Spor was going to survive. Then I went to the ship.

Shadrak's voice was imperative as he called us. "Leaving," Jim shouted
into the transmitter.

"Waste no time, not even seconds," Shadrak cried. "Hurry."

The pup whimpered, snuggling against my shins as we lifted the empty
ship.

Because the robots had the course, I ran to the visual screen and
looked down on Osmand. There were lights everywhere. A searchlight
leaped after us.

Somebody tapped my shoulder. Jim Drake had joined me. "Living now," he
muttered. "See the pinpoints of light out there--the other cities. In a
few minutes--"

The words choked off. You see, we had no sun of Maj to fix our beams
upon. We had a distance to go before we could let up on the reserve
engines Shadrak had installed. We had to flee from Noir's engulfing
crescent, and find another star to build up our incredible speed. Till
then, we could only approximate the speed of light. "Look. Building
after building is lighting up. They're going to their shops and their
factories and offices. Just as if the sun were shining."

       *       *       *       *       *

We were gazing intently now. There was a clicking sound that told of
Shadrak on the relief screen. He was taking our relay and the scene
was visible to the Martian as well. Only he didn't speak. I think,
in those last moments, we almost held our breaths, Jim and I a few
thousand miles away already--or maybe a few hundred thousand--time had
no bearing. It seemed an awfully long time. Then a dark finger rubbed
out Osmand.

One moment and we could see the moving lines of traffic, the glowing
windows even. Then there just wasn't anything at all on the screen. Jim
scanned for the other cities. But there was just darkness, impenetrable
darkness. We did see a searchlight break through, a moving finger,
raking through for a split second. Then it, too, vanished.

From the relief Shadrak spoke. His voice was strangely gentle. "Look
no more, Jim Drake and Jerry Kos. Turn back to your charts. Spor is
gone. You did your best. We know that. It was not your fault. Look
forward. Within thirty minutes you will find the first star to give you
speed."

It wasn't real, that flight from Maj, with Noir flowing beyond the
sixth planet, its crescent outrider seeking new stars to black out, and
leave dry, lifeless masses in a black universe. On schedule we picked
up our star, and at sight of it we felt the first return of sanity. We
sped back by Orion's family, and into a familiar bit of space, with
Shadrak coming to the screen at intervals, and at other times sending
us transcribed news events from Earth. And thus we crossed the sky,
thrilled by the sight of Neptune, Saturn and his rings, and at last
the disks of Mars and Earth, beneath our own sun, so free of the black
menace. We made a routine landing, settling a short distance from
Shadrak's place. He was there to welcome us, with other Martians. And
Jim walked up to him slowly, holding the tiny, wriggling pup we had
brought along. "The last survivor of Spor," he said. Martians dislike
dogs, although they admire any member of the cat family. But Shadrak
reached out, studied the tiny specimen from Spor. The pup licked his
hand and Shadrak smiled. "Take him back to Earth," he said. "They will
appreciate the animal, better than we." Shadrak tapped each of us in
the Martian way of showing deep affection. "Never reproach yourselves,
because you took a ship to Spor large enough to return a thousand
persons, and returned with this poor animal.

"I think," he added with a sigh, "we forget too often we are
instruments of a divine power none of us, Earthmen or Martians, or any
other world, can ever understand. It was granted us the privilege of
rescuing men and women of Atlantis and removing them to Spor. It was
denied us, the chance to save them a second time."

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64874 ***