struck ... everywhere the purge was wiping out in blood every person who might revolt against the Chambers-dictated governments. Throughout the Solar System violence was on the march, iron-shod boots trampling the rights of free men to tighten the grip of Interplanetary.
*
In the control room of the Invincible the two men stared at one another.
“There’s one man we need,” said Greg. “One man, if he’s still alive, and I think he is.”
“Who is that?” asked Russ.
“John Moore Mallory,” said Greg.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He was imprisoned in Ranthoor, but Stutsman transferred him some place else. Possibly to one of the prison fleet.”
“If we had the records of the Callisto prison,” suggested Russ, “we could find out.”
“If we had the records ...”
“We’ll get them!” Russ said.
He swung back to the keyboard again.
A moment later the administration offices of the prison were on the screen.
The two men searched the vision plate.
“The records are most likely in that vault,” said Russ. “And the vault is locked.”
“Don’t worry about the lock,” snapped Greg. “Just bring the whole damn thing here—vault and records and all.”
Russ nodded grimly. His thumb tripped the tele-transport control and from the engine rooms came a drone of power. In Ranthoor Prison, great bands of force wrapped themselves around the vault, clutching it, enfolding it within a sphere of power. Back in theInvincible the engines screamed and the vault was ripped out of the solid steel wall as easily as a man might rip a button from his shirt.
Chapter Fifteen
John Moore Mallory sat on the single metal chair within his cell and pressed his face against the tiny vision port. For hours he had sat there, staring out into the blackness of space.
There was bitterness in John Moore Mallory’s soul, a terrible and futile bitterness. So long as he had remained within the Ranthoor prison, there had always been a chance of escape. But now, aboard the penal ship, there was no hope. Nothing but the taunting reaches of space, the mocking pinpoints of the stars, the hooting laughter of the engines.
Sometimes he had thought he would go mad. The everlasting routine, the meaningless march of hours. The work period, the sleep period ... the work period, the sleep period ... endless monotony, an existence without a purpose. Men buried alive in space.
“John Moore Mallory,” said a voice.
Mallory heard, but he did not stir. An awful thought crossed his mind. Now he was hearing voices calling his name!
“John Mallory,” said the voice again.
Mallory slowly turned about and as he turned he started from his chair.
A man stood in the cell! A man he had never seen before, who had come silently, for there had been no screech of opening door.
“You are John Moore Mallory, aren’t you?” asked the man.
“Yes, I am Mallory. Who are you?”
“Gregory Manning.”
“Gregory Manning,” said Mallory wonderingly. “I’ve heard of you. You’re the man who rescued the Pluto Expedition. But why are you here? How did you get in?”
“I came to take you away with me,” said Greg. “Back to Callisto. Back to any place you want to go.”
Mallory flattened himself against the partition, his face white with disbelief. “But I’m in a prison ship. I’m not free to go and come as I please.”
Greg chuckled. “You are free to go and come as you please from now on,” he said. “Even prison ships can’t hold you.”
“You’re mad,” whispered Mallory. “Either you’re mad or I am. You’re a dream. I’ll wake up and find you gone.”
Manning stood in silence, looking at the man. Mallory bore the marks of prison on him. His eyes were haunted and his rugged face was pinched and thin.
“Listen closely, Mallory,” said Greg softly. “You aren’t going mad and I’m not mad. You aren’t seeing things. You aren’t hearing things. You’re actually talking to me.”
*
There was no change in the other’s face.
“Mallory,” Greg went on, “I have what you’ve always needed—means of generating almost unlimited energy at almost no cost, the secret of the energy of matter. A secret that will smash Interplanetary, that will free the Solar System from Spencer Chambers. But I can’t make that secret available to the people until Chambers is crushed, until I’m sure that he can’t take it from me. And to do that I need your help.”
Mallory’s face lost its expression of bewilderment, suddenly lighted with realization. But his voice was harsh and bitter.
“You came too late. I can’t help you. Remember, I’m in a prison ship from which no one can escape. You have to do what you can ... you must do what you can. But I can’t be with you.”
Manning strode forward. “You don’t get the idea at all. I said I’d get you out of here and I’m going to. I could pick up this ship and put it wherever I wanted. But I don’t want to. I just want you.”
Mallory stared at him.
“Just don’t be startled,” said Greg. “Something will happen soon. Get ready for it.”
Feet drummed on the metal corridor outside.
“Hey, you, pipe down!” yelled the voice of the guard. “You know there’s no talking allowed now. Go to sleep.”
“That’s the guard,” Mallory whispered fiercely. “They’ll stop us.”
Greg grinned viciously. “No, they won’t.”
*
The guard came into view through the grilled door.
“So it’s you, Mallory ...” he began, stopping in amazement. “Hey, you!” he shouted at Greg. “Who are you? How did you get in that cell?”
Greg flipped a hand in greeting. “Pleasant evening, isn’t it?”
The guard grabbed for the door, but he did not reach the bars. Some force stopped him six inches away. It could not be seen, could not be felt, but his straining against it accomplished nothing.
“Mallory and I are leaving,”
