Kenniston’s fist caught his chin, and the man sagged to the floor.
“Bar the door, Holk!” yelled Kenniston as he leaped toward the rocket-throttles.
“Hell, there’s only a catch!” swore the Jovian. He braced his brawny shoulders against the metal door. “I can hold it a little while.”
Kenniston’s hands were flashing over the throttles. The Sunsprite was moving at reduced speed toward the meteor-enclosed asteroid.
The cruiser shook to the bursting roar of power, as he opened up all the tail rockets. It plunged visibly faster toward the deadly swarm around Vesta, picking up speed by the minute.
Rocking, creaking, quivering to the dangerous rate of acceleration Kenniston was maintaining, the little ship rushed ahead. But now there was loud hammering at the bridge-room door.
“Open up or we’ll burn that door down!” came Captain Walls’ yell.
Kenniston didn’t turn. Hunched over the throttles, peering tensely ahead, he was tautly estimating speed and direction. His eyes searched frantically for the periodic break in the outer meteors.
There was a muffled crackling and the smell of scorched metal flooded the bridge-room. A hoarse exclamation of pain came from Holk Or.
“They got my arm through the door, damn them!” cursed the Jovian. “Hurry, Kenniston!”
Kenniston was driving the Sunsprite full speed toward the whirling cloud of meteors around the asteroid. He had spotted the break in the cloud, the periodic opening caused by the gravitational influence of another nearby asteroid.
It was not a real opening. It was merely a small area in the swarm where the rushing meteors were not so thick, and where a ship had a chance to worm through by careful piloting.
Kenniston only remotely heard the struggle that Holk Or was putting up to hold the door against the hammering crowd outside. His mind was wholly intent on the desperately ticklish piloting at hand.
He cut speed and eased the Sunsprite down into that thinner area of the meteor-swarm. Space around them now seemed buzzing with rushing, brilliant little moons.
The meteorometers had gone crazy, blinking and buzzing unceasing warning, their needles bobbing all over the direction-dials. Instruments were useless here—he had to work by sight alone. He eased the cruiser lower through the swarm, his fingers flashing over the throttles, using quick bursts of the rockets to veer aside from the bright, rushing meteors.
“Hurry!” yelled Holk Or hoarsely again, over the tumult. “I can’t—hold them out much longer—”
Down and down went the Sunsprite through the maze of meteor-moons, twisting, turning, dropping ever lower toward the green asteroid.
A last gasping shout from Holk Or, and the door crashed off its burned-through hinges. Kenniston, unable to turn from the life-or-death business of threading the swarm, heard the Jovian fighting furiously.
Next moment a hand gripped Kenniston’s shoulder and tore him away from the controls. It was Murdock, his eyes blazing, his gun raised.
“Raise your hands or I’ll kill you, Kenniston!” he cried.
“Let me go!” yelled Kenniston, struggling to get back to the throttles. “You fool!”
He had just glimpsed the jagged moonlet rushing obliquely toward them from the left, bulking suddenly big and monstrous.
Crash! The shock flung them from their feet, and the Sunsprite gyrated crazily in space. There was a blood-chilling shriek of outrushing air from the fore part of the ship, and the slam-slam-slam of the automatic air-doors closing, down there.
The cruiser’s whole bows had been crushed in by the glancing blow of the meteor. Now, ironically, the ship was falling clear of the meteor-swarm for Kenniston’s piloting had almost won through it before the impact. But the Sunsprite was falling helplessly, turning over and over as it plunged down toward the green surface of the jungled asteroid.
“By God, we’re struck!” came Captain Walls’ thin yell.
“This is your fault!” Murdock blazed at Kenniston. “You damned pirates will die for this!”
“Let me at those controls or we’ll all die together in five minutes!” Kenniston cried. “We’ll crash to smithereens unless I can make a tail-tube landing—”
Heedless of Murdock’s gun, he jumped to the controls. His hands flew over the throttles, firing desperate quick bursts of the tail rocket-tubes to bring them out of the spin in which they were falling.
The brake-rockets in the bow were gone. The ship was crippled, almost impossible to handle. And the dark green jungles of Vesta’s surface were rushing upward with appalling speed.
Kenniston’s frantic efforts brought the Sunsprite out of the spin. By firing the lateral rockets, he kept it falling tail-downward.
“We’re goners!” yelled someone in the stricken ship. “We’re going to crash!”
Air was screaming outside the plummeting ship. Kenniston, his hands superhumanly tense on the throttles, mechanically estimated their distance from the uprushing green jungles.
He glimpsed a little black lake in the jungle, and near it the big circle of an electrified stockade. He recognized it—John Dark’s camp!
Then, a thousand feet above the jungle, Kenniston’s hands jerked open the throttles. The tail rockets spouted fire downward.
Sickening shock of the sudden check almost hurled him away from the controls. His hands jabbed the throttles in and out with lightning rapidity, checking their further fall with one quick burst after another.
A sound of rending branches—a staggering sidewise shock that flung him from his feet. A jarring thump, then silence. They had landed.
CHAPTER IV
The Vestans
Kenniston picked himself up groggily. The others in the bridge had been thrown against walls or floor by the shock, but seemed no more than bruised. Holk Or was nursing his burned arm. But Hugh Murdock, staggering in a corner, still held his atom-pistol trained on Kenniston and the Jovian.
“My God, what a landing!” exclaimed Captain Walls, his plump face still white. “I thought we were done for.”
“Maybe we still are,” Murdock said grimly. He said savagely to Kenniston, “You think you’ve won, don’t you? Because you’ve managed to crash us on this asteroid where your pirate boss is waiting?”
“Listen, Murdock—,” Kenniston began desperately.
“Keep your hands up or I’ll kill you both!” blazed Murdock. “March down to the main cabin.”
Kenniston and the Jovian obeyed. The Sunsprite was lying sharply canted on its side, and it was difficult to scramble down through the tilted passageways and decks to the big main cabin.
The cabin was a scene of confusion, for it was impossible to stand upright on its tilted floor. Young Arthur Lanning had been stunned, and Gloria Loring and the scared blonde girl, Alice Krim, were bathing his bruised forehead. Robbie Boone was peering wildly through a porthole at the sunlit tangle of green jungle outside. From Mrs. Milsom came a shrill, steady wail of terror.
“Stop that screeching,” Murdock told the dumpy dowager brutally. “You’re not hurt. Gloria, are you others all right?”
Gloria raised her white face from her task. “Only bruised, Hugh.”
She did not look at Kenniston or the big Jovian as she spoke.
Robbie Boone’s teeth were chattering. “Murdock, what are we going to do? We’re wrecked, on this hellish jungle asteroid—”
Murdock paid the frightened, chubby youth no attention. Captain Walls, Bray,