Yachting Party

While their crew worked feverishly to repair the damaged rocket ship, the passengers set out to explore the planet. Thus they met the Hairy One....

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy January 1952 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The girl, Marla, trembled, yet she was not afraid. Ronal had told her at the outset of the cruise that although Krist's friend Logan was young for a space pilot, he was a good one, and had trained in the old fuel-propelled ships that men had first flown Space in before the new warp-drive had been perfected. But Logan was sweating visibly.

The blue planet loomed up, and Krist, who owned the trim Space-yacht and had suggested the cruise, jumped noticeably when the first shrill whistle of atmospheric resistance pierced the tense quiet of the well-appointed control-room.

They were half-falling, half-gliding downward, and despite Logan's attempts to check their descent with the clogged free-drive maneuvering jets, their downward speed seemed to increase each second.

"My fault," Ronal muttered so only Marla could hear. "Had we stayed on the warp we charted and not followed my suggestion to go adventuring on free-drive in some system none of us have ever heard of, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Not your fault, dear," Marla said to her husband. "Even Logan couldn't have known the free-drive would fail and leave us too far from our warp-point to make it back, and--"

The stricken craft lurched again, and the polished nose began an almost imperceptible up-swing. The shrill scream of the rarefied atmosphere began descending the scale like a gigantic siren running down.

"Flat on the deck!" Krist yelled.

Lush, green forests stretched but scant miles below. The sound of a heavy, rich atmosphere now racing past their gleaming hull dropped to a low, moaning note and then the sound of it was gone.

The nose came up.

There was a wrenching jar and the nerve-shattering cry of tearing, scorched metal. The control-room rocked crazily, then was suddenly still, cocked at a nightmare angle, as a shuddering impact brought the wildly slewing craft to a punishing halt.

And for the four of them, there was sudden oblivion....

"Marla was as lucky as the rest of us," Ronal said. "Just the wind knocked out of her. She's coming around." The girl's silver-flecked eyes were already open and for a moment there was forgetfulness in them. "We splattered a little," Ronal told her. "You move all right?"

She was shaken, but unhurt. He helped her to a standing position on the canted deck, and saw that Krist and Logan were already taking a rapid inventory of the yacht's available tools.

"Got to look around outside," Logan was saying, shaking his bruised head a little, "before I can tell you how bad we are. But I think Krist and I can get her back into one piece."

"Can if we can go out," the tall, athletic-looking owner of the pleasure craft said. "We'll need the suits."

"Maybe not," Ronal said. "There was plenty of atmosphere wailing away--"

"Five credits gets you 20 it's all pure poison," Logan retorted. He was standing at one of the metalo-glass ports, surveying the colorful terrain speculatively. They joined him.

The ship had hit in an oblong clearing, perhaps five miles in length and half that in width. Surrounding the open, grassy spot were the depths of an untamed, riotously colored jungle.

"I'll give it a try in a suit," Logan said. "The sooner we patch up and get out of here the better. No telling what's in that." He gestured toward the clearing's mile-distant edge.

Ronal helped him into the bundlesome plasti-seal space-suit, then watched tensely with the others as the starboard airlock hissed, and Logan stepped onto the thickly-carpeted clearing floor.

"He's a cool kid," Ronal said. "For all we know, he's just--"

"He's a cracker-jack mechanic," Krist interrupted. "If we've got a couple of straight rivets left, he'll get us out of here. I'm just glad that he picked out this planet to come in on instead of the first or second out from this system's sun. It's plenty hot even here." They were all perspiring freely; the atmosphere conditioner had ceased operating from the shock of landing.

Logan's voice cracked from the still-functioning communications panel.

"Not too bad. Forehull plates got a little bashed in--couple of rips in the speed-skin. Take us maybe four, five days to get her Space-worthy again. Can unclog the free-drive jets in a day easy. But the guy who thought of leaving modern yachts equipped with free-drive units oughtta be hung from a comet tail."