Rescue Squad Read online

you would probably have been working on them."

  "Why all this, then, Doc? Why?"

  "Because," the little doctor hesitated--and then shrugged. "I may aswell tell you. It's not going to make any difference now, anyway. It wasall done to put him out for several hours until--"

  "Until what, Doc?" Donnelly's tone was harsh and uncompromising.

  "You must understand that I'm under orders. I'm doing what is done inall these cases. Though heaven help me, I wish I didn't have to--"

  "Doc," Donnelly roared. "You have been contradicting yourself all alongand I intend to find out why."

  "There isn't much more to find out.... Wait."

  The doctor strode quickly over to the radio, and glanced at hiswristwatch. His face haggard with strain, he turned to Williams. "Willyou contact the MR4, please?"

  He held up a silencing hand to Donnelly. "There's a reason behind allthis. Just wait for a moment, please. Just wait and listen--"

  * * * * *

  It was a fumbling-fingered ten minutes later, after Donnelly had signedoff, that Hal Burnett finally found the tiny red plastic box in thelittle emergency medical kit. Trembling he held it in his hand as hefloated in free fall.

  It was a little red key--a key to Earth, to life and to the chance toram every cold, precise, contemptuous word down his father'sover-analytical mouth.

  He didn't really hate the old man but he knew that he feared him. Hefeared also that his father might be right about him after all. Who inhis own mind, he thought bitterly, should know a son better than thatson's own father.

  A quick surge of elation swept over him as he swam quickly to theTele-screen and switched it on. It wasn't a bit like saying good-bye toan old friend, he thought, as he gazed at the flaming prominences not sofar below him. After a while he switched the instrument off and swamtriumphantly back to his bunk.

  There were some tri-dimensional color slides in the ditty bag hanging byhis bunk. He took them out and looked at them. None of them were of hisfather.

  The girl was there, though. She was a small, cute girl with a rainbow oflaughter wreathed about her. She hadn't been really important before,but she sure was important now that he was going to live. His old manhad foretold that, too.

  After a little while he put the slides back in the portable holder andbroke open the plastic box. It contained a gleaming hypo filled withwhat looked like a small quantity of water. There was an oddpeppermint-like odor about it.

  There were no instructions. Just the needle and the little red box.

  He wondered how many hours he would have to wait before help would come.But that didn't matter. He would be asleep, anyway.

  The temperature had climbed. It was burning, roaring hot.

  Gently he slid the needle into his arm and depressed the plunger....

  * * * * *

  The MR4 continued to spin even more lazily in space. Her sun-blackenedhull, pitted by the glancing blows of by-passing meteor fragments, wasslowly overheating. Her refrigeration units were gradually breaking downunder their tremendous overload.

  She was inching in ever-shortening circles always in the direction ofthe massive, molten globe not so far below....

  Sometime later, Hal Burnett awakened slowly, as if from some distant anddimly-remembered dream. The haze of a deep and foggy sleep clung to theunfamiliar mass that was his mind.

  A distant alarm bell had rung deep within the primitive, subcorticallevels of his brain. It had rung--but not loudly nor insistently enough.It had failed to cut through the eddying fog that was rising slowly intohis ebbing consciousness.

  He did not remember undoing the straps with benumbed and aching fingers.He did not remember the befogged and stumbling "walk" into the ControlRoom. Dimly, as if viewing himself and the room from a distant world, heswitched on the dying hum of the radio and tried futilely to transmit amessage.

  The faint crackle of the radio grew more distant. He slumped forward inthe bucket seat, his head striking the controls in front of him--and,for him, the sounds of the muted radio died out completely.

  The burning heat seared into the metal hull of the MR4. Its outer hullwas almost at the boiling point. Inside, it was a burning, suffocatinghell. Perhaps it was the heat that aroused Hal Burnett once again.Somehow he managed to stumble to the Tele-screen. With the last vestigeof a waning strength, he managed to switch it on and hold himself erect.

  The stupendous white blast of the Sun struck across his staring eyes,but he did not flinch. Unconscious, his hands clutched at the controlknobs as his sagging legs let him drift weightlessly toward the floor.He was like a drowning swimmer, out of control and helplessly floatingunder water.

  He seemed to become aware for a moment as a last flicker ofconsciousness crossed his mind. He mouthed something unintelligible--alast, forgotten word.

  Anchored only by his grip on the control knobs, his weightless bodyfloated aimlessly in the almost steaming cabin as the awful stillnessre-echoed throughout the hollow vault of the ship.

  Down below, with ever-growing closeness, the Sun waited patiently, likea bright and hovering vulture.

  The MR4 swung and pivoted gently like a ship at sea straining at itsanchor in the first, fresh breezes of a gathering storm. For a moment itseemed to hesitate like a coy maiden on the verge of some unknownthreshold. Then, abruptly, she climaxed her voyage and plunged directlytoward the waiting Sun some twenty million miles below, carrying withher only her dead cargo; her pilot--

  * * * * *

  The radio crackled noisily after Hal Burnett's last incoherenttransmission. It crackled aimlessly for a few moments--and then wasstill.

  "Something's wrong," said Williams, a thin thread of moisture shiningdown his face. "Something's gone wrong up there!"

  "It sure has," said Donnelly, quietly. "And I know who I'm going to askabout it."

  The little doctor said nothing. His face was an embittered parchmentmask. "It's happened. God help me. It's happened. He's gone," hemuttered, almost inaudibly.

  Donnelly sighed heavily, a look almost of defeat sweeping momentarilyacross his features. "See here, Doc," he said exhaustedly. "Don't be soheartless about people. You've got a son of your own in space, so youought to understand how other people feel. What kind of a father woulddo a thing like this to another man's son anyway?"

  "Look, Donnelly," said the little man with bitter weariness. "Do me afavor will you? You fill out the reports tonight. Somehow or other Ijust don't feel up to it."

  "Maybe it's your conscience," said Donnelly, sarcastically. "But I'll bedamned if I'll do it for you. You don't like to do your own dirty work,do you, Doc? I thought you just loved to fill out Government reports."

  "Donnelly, Donnelly," cried the doctor in sudden anguish. "Can't youunderstand yet. Even an undertaker's job is unpleasant but somebody'sgot to do it. Don't you see yet? _It has to be done!_"

  With a muffled groan of disgust, Donnelly sprang to the radio onceagain, pushing Williams roughly aside. Futilely, and in desperation hestrained at the controls for a moment and then, with a roar of fury, heturned back to the doctor.

  "Now see here, Doc--" he thundered, and then stopped in amazement.

  The door to the dim and ill-lighted outer hallway of the lab wasstanding open. And at the far end, the outer door was quietly closingbehind the disappearing figure of the bent-shouldered little man.

  Donnelly started to spring after him, and then abruptly stopped. Hishuge figure slumped in sudden despairing futility as he recognized thetragic hopelessness of the situation.

  "Let him go," rasped Williams. "There's nothing we can do now anyway,Joe."

  "Yeah, yeah. Let's write the report up ourselves. That's real important,you know. The Government needs it."

  He sat down at the typewriter, his heavy features twisted in hopelessbitterness and anger. He started typing, and then stopped for a moment.

  "What was this kid pilot's full name,
Williams?"

  Williams checked the Government order sheet. "Hell," he said."Strangely, it's the same as the doctor's, Dr. Alfred Burnett. Only thekid's name is Harold Burnett."

  Donnelly sat, suddenly transfixed, staring at his typewriter. A peculiarlook flashed across his face. Then he shook his massive head in anunbelieving gesture of agonized understanding.

  "Hell, no," he muttered to himself. "It couldn't be. It just couldn'tbe. It just isn't possible. Burnett! _Burnett!_"

  Swiftly he was on his feet and moving through the door after thevanished figure of the little doctor, his face a mask of grim remorse.

  "It was merciful," he muttered. "Yes, it _was_ merciful. It was