Murder is always a cold-blooded crime any way you look at it. But for outright cruelty an barbarism there was no equal to the actions of—
The Three Thieves Of Japetus
By Mark Reinsberg
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy June 1957 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
They sat huddled together in the tiny space-survival unit, watching the big rocket freighter draw closer to their drifting position off Saturn.
Jake moistened his thin purple lips and clenched the radiophone tighter. "Hello, freighter!" he repeated. "We're survivors of a shipwreck. Can you pick us up? Please answer." His voice grew more urgent. "Please pick us up! Our air supply is failing!"
Matt shook his thick black head of hair. "If they fall for this, they're stupider than I gave them credit for." His hand rubbed the gun hidden beneath his shirt.
A fierce cone of light flared in the freighter's forward rockets, brighter for an instant than the sun's remote disc.
"They are falling for it, Matt," Henry exclaimed. A wide grin spread over his pudgy baby-face. "They're slowing down."
The radio receiver came to life. "Hello, survivors. We hear your message and are adjusting course to pick you up. Stand by."
Jake turned to his cohorts, a triumphant glint in his pale grey eyes. "I knew they would. What were you guys worried about?"
"They don't like to," said Matt. "Costs them time."
"Space law says they have to," said Henry.
"Space law!" echoed Matt. "There isn't a space patrol within two hundred million miles."
"Gosh, it's a big ship," said Henry. "Wonder what's in its cargo?"
"Yeah, Jake. How about telling us now?"
Jake smiled with self-contentment. "I said it would be worth your while. Be patient a few minutes longer."
The cargo hold of the freighter opened. A rocket-propelled net shot out into space. Their tiny unit was caught up like a fish and dragged into the freighter's maw.
The first mate stood by as they clambered out of the unit.
"We sure do thank you," said Jake to the ship's officer. "Another hour and it would have been too late."
"Say," said Matt, "has your ship picked up any of the others?"
"No," said the mate. "How many more were there?"
"Seven, I think. We had a ship about your size. How many are in your crew?"
"Eight altogether," said the mate. "Perhaps you had better tell the captain about your accident."
He led them to the bridge. It was a darkened compartment, with green luminescent control panel, and a great steel-glass turret overlooking the universe. Dominating the scene was a huge, dramatic closeup of Saturn, girdled by its thin, tilted rings.
"You are the captain?" said Jake to the grave elderly man at the controls.
"I am. You are the survivors?"
Jake and his companions bared their guns.
"Call your entire crew," said Jake, pressing the muzzle into the captain's side. "I want to see eight men in this room."
"Ah," said the captain sadly. "So this is what our mercy stop has let us in for."
