Ghosts of Ganymede

1. Mystery Moon

Meteor miners live a hard, lonely life. In their little cargo tugs they lurk about the outer precincts of the atmospheres of the giant planets, Jupiter or Saturn, waiting for the immensely powerful gravity fields of those enormous worlds to draw into their embrace the countless swarms of meteors that wander endlessly in the void.

When this occurs, the miners are glued to their ’scopes. Meteors largely composed of ice or frozen methane or stone behave differently than do those with cores of heavy metals, which the miners prize. And when they observe meteors which fall shrieking into the upper atmosphere of one of the giant worlds, fluttering in that characteristic manner, they know they have their prize.

Then comes the long, dangerous, often futile struggle to lock their grappling beams on the metal meteors, as their stubborn, little tugs battle grimly against the measureless power of the giant planet's gravitational field. More than one little tug has lost that struggle, and fallen to a fiery doom ...

The little two-man tug, Sweet Sue, registered to Big Bill Barlow and his scrawny sidekick, Scotty McGuire, had been five weeks circling the ochre-banded orb of giant Jupiter, and had taken nothing but some tungsten and copper ore, when they spotted the uncharted moon. That the tiny worldlet had hitherto gone unnoticed by astronomers was hardly surprising. The minuscule planetoid was scarcely more than half-a-mile long ... but what Big Bill saw in the 'scope alerted him to the chance of a real find.

"Scotty!" the big, red-faced man boomed. "Looky here! That moonlet’s got an atmosphere, and vegetation of some sort—see!"

The diminutive little Scotsman limped over to the twin 'scope and peered within. There could be no doubt about it—and any kind of an atmosphere on a moonlet so small as this meant a core of heavy, very heavy metal.

And heavy metals were valuable.

"Let’s take 'er down, Bill, and check 'er out," suggested Scotty. His huge partner agreed, and the battered and rusty little space tug settled to the surface of the mystery moon.

The two suited up before leaving their vessels. Atmosphere or no atmosphere, they had not survived as long as they had in their hard and dangerous profession by taking foolish risks. Outside, their space boots squealed and crunched in the queer pink moss and lavender lichens that clung to the moist soil.

All was deathly still. The weird scene was flooded by the amber radiance of Jupiter, whose ochre-banded shield filled almost all the visible sky. They had come down in a small clearing. To all sides loomed strange fungoid growths like enormous mushrooms, whose umbrella-like heads nodded to the impulse of unheard and unfelt winds. The spongy boles of these fungus-trees were pale or creamy or tan, striped or splotched with amazing scarlet, canary, indigo, purple. Neither of the two miners had ever seen or heard of the like.

Bill and Scotty unlimbered and set up the drill on its sturdy tripod. The little Scotsman peered around at the uncanny scene; his superstitious Celtic blood liked not at all this nameless moon, and he yearned to be gone.

Big Bill also felt the strange allure of the mystery moon. Straightening, he glanced about.

"Lissen, Scotty, you take some core samples, okay? I'm gonna have a look around and see what's to be seen. You never know what a funny place like this could hold ..."

"Okay, Bill, but you be careful, now," warned the Scotsman. The big man strode off and was soon lost to view among the tall stalks of the fungus forest. The sandy-haired Scotsman busied himself with the drill.

Suddenly a muffled exclamation sounded over the intercom that linked the suits of the two miners.

"Well, for th' luvva—hey, Scotty! Drop what you're doin' and c'mere—if this don't beat all!" boomed the big man's voice, almost deafening his partner.

"On my way, Bill!" snapped Scotty, sprinting for the fungus forest and clawing one of his heavy proton needles clear of its worn leather holster as he ran.