The Black Star Passes by John W. Campbell (read e book .txt) 📕

on the floor beside the instrument panel⁠—apparently he had been watching the record of the flight. There was no one conscious⁠—or apparently living⁠—on board!

“Dead! Over three thousand people!” The field manager’s voice was hoarse, incredulous. “It’s impossible⁠—how could they have done it? Gas, maybe, drawn in through the ventilator pumps and circulated through the ship. But I can’t conceive of any man being willing to kill three thousand people for a mere million! Did you call a doctor by radio, Pilot?”

“Yes, sir. He is on his way. There’s his car now.”

“Of course they will have opened the safe⁠—but let’s check anyway. I can only think some madman has done this⁠—no sane man would be willing to take so many lives for so little.” Wearily the men descended the stairs to the mail room in the hold.

The door was closed, but the lock of the door was gone, the magnesium-beryllium alloy burned away. They opened the door and entered. The room seemed in perfect order. The guard lay motionless in the steel guard chamber at one side; the thick, bulletproof glass made his outlines a little blurred, and the color of his face was green⁠—but they knew there too must be that same pallor they had seen on the other faces. The delicate instruments had brought in the great ship perfectly, but it was freighted with a cargo of dead!

They entered the room and proceeded to the safe, but it was opened as they had expected. The six-inch tungsto-iridium wall had been melted through. Even this unbelievable fact no longer surprised them. They only glanced at the metal, still too hot to touch, and looked about the room. The bonds had been taken. But now they noticed that over the mail-clerk’s desk there had been fastened a small envelope. On it was printed:

To the Officials of the San Francisco Airport

Inside was a short message, printed in the same sharp, black letters:

Gentlemen:

This plane should land safely. If it doesn’t, it is your fault, not mine, for the instruments that it carries should permit it. The passengers are not dead! They have been put in a temporary state of suspended animation. Any doctor can readily revive them by the injection of seven cc of decinormal potassium iodide solution for every 100 pounds of weight. Do not use higher concentrations. Lower concentrations will act more slowly.

You will find that any tendency toward leprosy or cancer will have been destroyed. It will kill any existing cancer, and cure it in about one week. I have not experimented with leprosy beyond knowing that it is cured very quickly.

This is an outside job. Don’t annoy the passengers with questions.

The gas used cannot be stopped by any material I know of. You can try it with any mask⁠—but don’t use the C-32L. It will react with the gas to kill. I would advise that you try it on an animal to convince yourselves.

I have left stock in my new company to replace the bonds I have taken.

Piracy Incorporated is incorporated under my own laws.

The Pirate

On the desk beneath the note was a small package which contained a number of stock certificates. They totalled $900,000 face value of “Piracy Preferred,” the preferred stock of a corporation, “Piracy, Inc.”

“Piracy! Pirates in the air!” The field manager forced an unnatural laugh. “In 2126 we have pirates attacking our air lines. Piracy Preferred! I think I’d prefer the bonds myself. But thank God he did not kill all those people. Doctor, you look worried! Cheer up. If what this pirate says is true, we can resuscitate them, and they’ll be better off for the experience!”

The doctor shook his head. “I’ve been examining your passengers. I’m afraid that you’ll never be able to bring these people back to life again, sir. I can’t detect any heart action even with the amplifier. Ordinary heart action sounds like a cataract through this instrument. I can see nothing wrong with the blood; it has not coagulated as I expected, nor is there any pronounced hydrolysis as yet. But I’m afraid I’ll have to write out the death warrants for all these men and women. One of the people on that ship was coming to see me. That’s how I happened to be on the field. For her, at least, it may be better so. The poor woman was suffering from an incurable cancer.”

“In this case, Doctor, I hope and believe you are wrong. Read this note!”

It was two hours before the work of reviving the passengers could be started. Despite all the laws of physics, their body temperature had remained constant after it had reached seventy-four, showing that some form of very slow metabolism was going on. One by one they were put into large electric blankets, and each was given the correct dose of the salt. The men waited anxiously for results⁠—and within ten minutes of the injection the first had regained consciousness!

The work went forward steadily and successfully. Every one of the passengers and crew was revived. And the Pirate had spoken the truth. The woman who had been suffering from cancer was free from pain for the first time in many months. Later, careful examination proved she was cured!

The papers were issuing extras within five minutes of the time the great plane had landed, and the radio news service was broadcasting the first “break” in a particularly dead month. During all of June the news had been dead, and now July had begun with a bang!

With time to think and investigate, the airport officials went over the ship with the Air Guard, using a fine-tooth comb. It was soon evident that the job had been done from the outside, as the Pirate had said. The emergency pilot testified that when he entered the ship, he found a small piece of wire securing the air lock from the outside. This had certainly been put on while the ship was in flight, and that meant that whoever had done this,