Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
The Planetoid of Peril
By Paul Ernst
[Transcriber' Note: This etext was produced from Astounding StoriesNovember 1931. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that theU.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
_He pointed it at the incredible body._]
Undaunted by crazy tales of an indestructible presence on Asteroid Z-40, Harley 2Q14N20 sets out alone to face and master it.
Harley 2Q14N20 stopped for a moment outside the great dome of theCelestial Developments Company. Moodily he stared at their asteroiddevelopment chart. It showed, as was to be expected, the pick of thelatest asteroid subdivision projects: the Celestial DevelopmentsCompany, established far back in 2045, would handle none but the verybest. Small chance of his finding anything here!
However, as he gazed at the chart, hope came suddenly to his face, andhis heart beat high under his sapphire blue tunic. There was an asteroidleft for sale there--one blank space among the myriad, pink-letteredSold symbols. Could it be that here was the chance he had been huntingso desperately?
He bent closer, to read the description of the sphere, and the hopefaded gradually from his countenance. According to its orbit andlocation, and the spectroscopic table of its mineral resources, it was achoice planetoid indeed. Of course such a rich little sphere, listed forsale by the luxurious Celestial Developments Company, would cost farmore than he could ever rake together to pay for an asteroid.
Shaking his head, he adjusted his gravity regulator to give him about apound and a half of weight, and started to float on. Then, his lipstwisting at his own absurd hopefulness, he stopped again; and afteranother moment of indecision turned into the archway that led to theconcern's great main office. After all, it wouldn't hurt to inquire theprice, even though he knew in advance it would be beyond his humblemeans.
* * * * *
A youngster in the pale green of the one-bar neophyte in businesspromptly glided toward him.
"Something for you to-day, sir?" he asked politely.
"Yes," said Harley. "I'm looking around for a planetoid; want to get aplace of my own out a way from Earth. Something, you understand, thatmay turn out to be a profitable investment as well as furnishing anexclusive home-site. I see on your chart that you have a sphere left forsale, in the Red Belt, so I came in to ask about it."
"Ah, you mean asteroid Z-40," said the youngster, gazing with enviousrespect at the ten-bar insignia, with the crossed Sco drills, thatproclaimed Harley to be a mining engineer of the highest rank. "Yes,that is still for sale. A splendid sphere, sir; and listed at aremarkably low figure. Half a million dollars."
"Half a million dollars!" exclaimed Harley. It was an incredibly smallsum: scarcely the yearly salary of an unskilled laborer. "Are you surethat's right?"
"Yes, that's the correct figure. Down payment of a third, and theremaining two thirds to be paid out of the exploitation profits--"
* * * * *
Here the conversation was interrupted by an elderly, grey-haired manwith the six-bar dollar-mark insignia of a business executive on hispurple tunic. He had been standing nearby, and at the mention ofasteroid Z-40 had looked up alertly. He glided to the two with a frownon his forehead, and spoke a few curt words to the neophyte, who slunkaway.
"Sorry, sir," he said to Harley. "Z-40 isn't for sale."
"But your young man just told me that it was," replied Hartley, loath togive up what had begun to look like an almost unbelievable bargain.
"He was mistaken. It's not on the market. It isn't habitable, you see."
"What's wrong--hasn't it an atmosphere?"
"Oh, yes. One that is exceptionally rich in oxygen, as is true of allthe spheres we handle. With a late model oxygen concentrator, one wouldhave no trouble at all existing there."
"Is its speed of revolution too great?"
"Not at all. The days are nearly three hours long: annoying till you getused to it, but nothing like the inferior asteroids of the Mars Companywhere days and nights are less than ten minutes in duration."
"Well, is it barren, then? No minerals of value? No vegetation?"
"The spectroscope shows plenty of metals, including heavy radiumdeposits. The vegetation is as luxuriant as that of semi-tropic Earth."
"Then why in the name of Betelguese," said Harley, exasperated, "won'tyou sell the place to me? It's exactly what I've been looking for, andwhat I'd despaired of finding at my price."
"I'm forbidden to tell why it isn't for sale," said the executive,starting to float off. "It might hurt our business, reputation if thetruth about that bit of our celestial properties became widelyknown--Oh, disintegrate it all! Why wasn't the thing erased from thechart weeks ago!"
"Wait a minute." Harley caught his arm and detained him. "You've gonetoo far to back out now. I'm too eager to find some such place as yourZ-40 to be thrown off the subject like a child. _Why_ isn't it forsale?"
The man tightened his lips as though to refuse to answer, then shrugged.
"I'll tell you," he said at last. "But I beg of you to keep itconfidential. If some of our investors on neighboring asteroids everfound out about the peril adjoining them on Z-40, they'd probably insiston having their money back."
He led the way to a more secluded spot under the big dome, and spoke ina low tone, with many a glance over his shoulder to see if anyone werewithin earshot.
"Z-40 is an exceptionally fine bit of property. It is commodious; abouttwenty miles in diameter. Its internal heat is such that it has adelightful climate in spite of the extreme rarity of atmosphere commonto even the best of asteroids. It has a small lake; in fact it has abouteverything a man could want. Yet, as I said, it is uninhabitable."
His voice sank still lower.
"You see, sir, there's already a tenant on that sphere, a tenant thatwas in possession long before the Celestial Developments Company wasorganized. And it's a tenant that can't be bought off or reasoned with.It's some sort of beast, powerful, ferocious, that makes it certaindeath for a man to try to land there."
"A beast?" echoed Harley. "What kind of a beast?"
"We don't know. In fact we hardly even know what it looks like. But fromwhat little has been seen of it, it's clear that it is like no otherspecimen known to universal science. It's something enormous, some freakof animal creation that seems invulnerable to man's smaller weapons. Andthat is why we can't offer the place for sale. It would be suicide foranyone to try to make a home there."
"_Has_ anyone ever tried it?" asked Harley. "Any competent adventurer, Imean?"
"Yes. Twice we sold Z-40 before we realized that there was somethingterribly wrong with it. Both buyers were hardy, intrepid men. The firstwas never heard of after thirty-six hours on the asteroid. The secondman managed to escape in his Blinco Dart, and came back to Earth to tellof a vast creature that had attacked him during one of the three-hournights. His hair was white from the sight of it, and he's still in asanitarium, slowly recovering from the nervous shock."
Harley frowned thoughtfully. "If this thing is more than a match for oneman, why don't you send an armed band with heavy atomic guns and clearthe asteroid by main force?"
"My dear sir, don't you suppose we've tried that? Twice we sentexpensive expeditions to Z-40 to blow the animal off the face of thesphere, but neither expedition was able to find the thing, whatever itis. Possibly it has intelligence enough to hide if faced by overwhelmingforce. When the second expedition failed, we gave it up. Poor businessto go further. Already, Z-40 has cost us more than we could clear from
the sale of half a dozen planetoids."
For a long time Harley was silent. The Company was a hard headed, coldblooded concern. Anything that kept them from selling an asteroid mustbe terrible indeed.
His jaw set in a hard line. "You've been honest with me," he said atlength. "I appreciate it. Just the same--I still want to buy Z-40. MaybeI can oust the present tenant. I'm pretty good with a ray-pistol."
"It would be poor policy for us to sell the asteroid. We don't want tobecome known as a firm that trades in globes on which it is fatal toland."
"Surely my fate is none of your worry?" urged Harley.
"The