Asteroid H277—Plus
Date: 2020-04-06T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science fiction; Short stories; Space ships -- Fiction; Asteroids -- Fiction; Space pirates -- Fiction

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Asteroid H277—Plus

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Asteroid H277—Plus

Author: Harry Walton

Illustrator: Leo Morey

Release date: April 6, 2020 [eBook #61766]
Most recently updated: October 17, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASTEROID H277—PLUS ***

Asteroid H277—Plus

By HARRY WALTON

It was a pretty web that Akars spun aboard
the Sun-freighter Cinnabar.... Mass
murder and piracy! But he wasn't clever
enough to allow for the innocent-sounding
asteroid charted as "H277—Plus."

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1940.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Jon Akars, petty officer of the Sun Line freighter Cinnabar, backed away from the jimmied manifold of the air circulators and hastily felt for the emergency mask at his belt. Any moment now the Venusian kui-knor he had filched from the ship's medicine cabinet and dropped into the circulators would take effect. Without warning men would drop at their posts, apparently insensible, rigid of muscle, eyes staring fixedly. Actually, they would be keenly aware of everything about them, their senses sharpened rather than dulled by the drug. But it was no part of Akars' plans to be one of them. He strapped on the mask, and, at the sound of approaching footsteps, shrank back into the shadows of the machines.

An officer peered into the circulator chamber for an instant, then marched on down the corridor. Akars chuckled. Box Jordan was part of his plan; in a way, he had a star role. But not an enviable one. Nor, to be sure, were the remainder of the Cinnabar's crew going to be particularly lucky. The luck of the scheme was reserved for Akars himself, and it involved four kilos of precious Urulium which Box Jordan had unearthed during an emergency landing on an unexplored planetoid. Jordan had been fool enough to turn the stuff over as a ship's prize, to be equally divided. But with the metal on board, it was inevitable that a smarter man would see and grasp the chance that was offered. Akars was that man.

He waited until the circulation meters told him that the kui-knor had been diffused through every cubic foot of air in the ship, then softly trod the steelene-walled corridor back to the navigating compartment. The sight there was a gruesome one. Captain Cardigan was slumped over the chart table, glassy-eyed, to all appearance dead. But he wasn't dead, Akars knew. The captain and the chief petty officer and the second navigator and the supercargo—all sprawled in grotesque attitudes about the compartment, all staring vacantly into space, were in the grip of an artificially induced coma.

Deliberately Akars walked over and kicked Captain Cardigan in the chest. Cardigan's face remained impassive, the eyes expressionless, yet there was a barely perceptible quiver that told the blow had hurt. Akars grinned and landed another, then scowled and rubbed his ear with the back of a hairy hand. It was the first navigator, Box Jordan, whom he owed a special grudge. He'd nursed special ideas for Jordan, the agony of broken bones, of a merciless beating, before death should wipe him out. But Jordan wasn't here.

Built into the chart table was the fireproof compartment that held the ship's log. Akars removed the bulky volume, opened it upon the table, and ripped out the last four page entries, crumpling the thin metallic foil before throwing it to the floor. With the log would perish all records of the Urulium find; if any spaceman's notes or diary held mention of it the Cinnabar's fate would destroy that also.

Akars moved toward the control board, grasped the refrigeration controls, swung them to "off." Immediately alarm bells clanged warning. He could feel the horror which his act engendered in the men who helplessly watched it—something of that horror chilled even him. For without refrigeration the fuel tanks would quickly warm up. The compressed gaseous fuel, held inert only by refrigeration, would spontaneously explode. The Cinnabar, by that simple movement of two levers, was doomed.

The alarm bells echoed madly about him as he left the navigation compartment and walked further aft, to the stern deck where the ship's tender nestled against her hull. An airtight telescoping tube connected parent ship and life ship, and Akars saw that the manhole cover was slid aside. Someone was either in the tender or had just left it—perhaps one of the spacemen now lying beside the manhole—on a routine maintenance job.

Akars climbed the short ladder into the life ship's tiny control compartment. Lamps were burning, but there was nobody in the compartment, nor in the little vessel's supply compartment, engine room, or living quarters. Satisfied, Akars checked food stores, fuel and air gauges with keen satisfaction. Everything was in perfect order. His scheme couldn't fail. Only a fool would have let a chance like this slip by.

Then, thinking of Jordan again, Akars cursed. The lean, red-headed first navigator had been poison to him ever since joining the ship. Jordan hadn't been afraid of him. Other officers had excused or overlooked badly done or neglected work—Box Jordan never. The red-head had tongue-lashed Akars too often, and Akars had promised himself a meeting with Jordan—Jordan helpless, paralyzed, but fully conscious and able to feel every blow that fury could inflict. Now it seemed he was to be cheated of that.

The clanging alarm reminded him that time was dangerously short. Soon the tanks would let go; he couldn't afford to be near the doomed freighter when the exploding fuel did its work. Without glancing back, he shut the entrance port, pressed the button that collapsed the escape tube, and took his place at the glowing controls of the little vessel.

The Cinnabar's death knell was muffled now. Like a tocsin of the dead, it rang dully in his ears as he reached for the levers. But confidence returned as he felt the familiar handles beneath him. The life ship was complete, self-sufficient. Charts were reduced to a simple form, instruments were direct-reading, course plotting almost automatic, so that the commonest spaceman could navigate the tender at need. He had himself operated it during the Cinnabar's emergency landing a month ago.

He punched the internal-combustion engines into life, watched the generator output mount, then cut in a weak repulsion field. With a lurch the little ship tore free from its parent vessel and retreated from the long, gleaming shape of the freighter. He switched over to the space-induction field coils. Power thrummed in the depths of the tiny craft; it swerved about and obediently plunged ahead, fleeing the coming tragedy. After ten minutes at full field he turned it around and held it motionless in space with respect to the now distant Cinnabar.

The slim freighter, gleaming gold in the light of the distant sun, seemed to float upon a soft, star-sprinkled darkness. There was no trace of movement, although she was still flying, with untended engines, at three-quarters field. He bit his lips, waiting. Then, soundlessly, catastrophe struck!

From amidships flowered a terrible, consuming blossom of blue-white flame, a petalled fire that engulfed the Cinnabar from bow to stem and limned itself fantastically against the velvet heavens behind. Streamers of white-hot gas, sunlike in intensity, burst and flared in the brief glory of destruction, then as swiftly collapsed upon themselves, dimmed to the lesser glow of molten metal. The Cinnabar, a slender, white-hot needle, broke into a thousand dripping fragments, droplets of fire spattering the sky.

Akars chuckled uneasily, swore, rubbed his ear with the back of a hand. That was that. Somewhere in the swirling, far-flung wreckage he must find the tiny block of unbelievably heavy, practically indestructible Urulium, flung out of the shattered strong room which he could have penetrated in no other way. The explosion should have released the treasure and wiped out all evidence against him at the same time. Like the rest of his plan it was simple, direct, foolproof.

He flung the little tender back through space toward the glowing debris which now milled about itself, spinning about a common center. A few fragments had ripped free from the gravitational whirlpool of the rest. He dodged a piece half as large as the life ship itself. Red hot still, it swept past the port, more like a blazing meteor than anything, made by man. Past other wreckage he swept, evidence of the terrific energy of spontaneously exploded fuel—gruesome human debris as well as that of the Cinnabar itself. The temperature within the tender climbed slowly as it absorbed heat from glowing fragments outside. Uneasily he checked his own fuel refrigerator, turned thermostatic controls to maintain a lower temperature.

Something swept into his field of vision with startling speed. He ripped the helm over, swearing in sudden panic. The tender swerved, but not sharply enough. A grating shock, a metallic crash, told that the vessel had been hit. The jar of the concussion almost threw him from the control seat.

His temples throbbing madly, Akars waited for the dread hiss of escaping air, the drop in pressure which his ear drums would quickly detect. The tender was small; a gash in the hull plates would empty it of air rapidly.

But the pressure remained normal, and he relaxed at last, certain that the collision had done no more than dent the hull plates. He forgot the incident upon spying what had been the strong room door. Cautiously he worked the tender alongside it, scanning nearby debris closely.

It took him fifteen minutes to find the thick-walled copper casket containing the treasure, scarred by impact, half fused by the terrific heat even though it had been protected by the walls of the strong room from the brunt of it. He knew that its precious contents could have suffered no harm, and carefully manipulated the ship's grappling mechanism until the casket was safely inside the tender's loading port. He swung the life ship about and drove for clear space.

So easy it had been! A few minutes of effort had won him ten times as much as other men earned during a lifetime of hard, dangerous work in the space-lanes. Lucky he wasn't squeamish by nature. This way he was safe. Every witness against him was dead. His own word would be taken as gospel truth. Already he had planned every detail of the story—how he had been on routine inspection of the tender when the explosion started forward, in the fuel tanks. How the life ship, with him aboard, had been blown free by the blast—how he had barely managed to close the port in time to escape suffocation—how from the tender he had witnessed the destruction of the Cinnabar, and how—a touching detail this—he had cruised back into the wreckage in search of survivors, but found none. He would not try to explain the explosion. The lethally dangerous nature of the fuel would answer all doubts. Nobody could suspect him.

Just before landing he would transfer the Urulium to his own duffle bag—a new one, of course, stocked with clothing taken from the tender's supplies. A welding torch would reduce the copper casket to a lump of reddish metal. He would dispose of a little Urulium illegally, outfit a one-man ship with the proceeds, and go on a prospecting cruise from which he could return with a legitimate store of the precious stuff. Disposed of to the Martians, who valued it as a healing agent, the four kilograms would bring a fortune.

He pushed the little ship to top speed, which was slow at best. Hour after hour he hurled its silvery nose toward the distant stars, on a course which his charts told him led to earth. Mars, smaller than his own world, was on the other side of the sun. It was on earth that automatic cameras would have snapped the explosion of the Cinnabar. Perhaps salvage ships were already on their way; in a few hours he might meet them.

Glancing at the chronometer, he saw that it was safe to remove his mask. The last vestige of kui-knor which might have entered the tender from the Cinnabar would have decomposed by now. By this time it would also have decomposed in the blood of the drugged men had any remained alive to experience it.

"Akars! Blast my orbit, what happened?"

He whirled at the voice, all his fear surging up within him, choking him. In the doorway stood Box Jordan, his tall, lean figure swaying a little, keen eyes questioning.

"Jordan! I—where d'you come from?"

"Routine inspection forward. I was checking the fuel tanks, started to back out of the tank compartment when I froze up. Couldn't move a toe." The navigator's sharp eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

"Happened?" Akars fought the panic in his voice, the fear of this man who was not afraid of him. "Nothing much—just that the Cinnabar blew up."

"Blew up! You mean we're the only survivors?"

Akars shrugged. "I thought I was, until you popped up. Of course I looked around. There wasn't anybody else—" He stood up, stretching. "If you'll take over a while, I'll get the kinks out of me."

For an instant Jordan hesitated. Akars watched him closely. He suspected, of course—knew that he had been drugged. Even when under the kui-knor, he must have felt the tender pull away from the Cinnabar, and that without any evidence of an explosion. In a moment he would add things up, reaching the only possible conclusion. Desperately Akars glanced about for a weapon.

And Jordan, with a queer twisted smile, walked forward—not toward the pilot's seat, but toward Akars. Those big bony hands of his were working. His very silence was terrible.

Akars flattened himself against a wall. Big as he was, he knew himself to be no match for the hard-muscled first navigator. Aroused as the latter now was, he would be doubly dangerous. Akars clawed the bare wall, breathing hard.

"You drugged the air-cycle," said Jordan. "You shut off the refrigerators and took off in the tender. You stood by while the Cinnabar went to hell, with every man aboard her. Then you went back and picked up the Urulium—"

"No!" screamed Akars. "No! I swear I didn't—"

Jordan's hard fingers closed over his windpipe, crushed in his throat like a steel clamp tightened about it. He could feel his eyes bulging from their sockets, his body turning cold and dwindling away from him.

He slumped suddenly, as though unconscious. A moment longer Jordan held him in that terrible grip, then flung him away. Akars hit the wall, collapsed into a huddled heap, gasping and retching as breath passed his bruised throat. He took his time, gathering strength, sure that Jordan would not attack him while he was down. Desperation lent him courage. Concerned, there was nothing to do but fight it out. He wouldn't let the navigator get another throat hold.

Pretending to be weaker than he was, Akars lurched to his feet. He had a plan now, and warily circled Jordan before closing in. Then he plunged forward, ducked a swift uppercut, took a solid body blow that left him gasping—but reached the wall behind Jordan which was his objective. A rack of oxygen tanks for use with space suits was fastened there. Akar's hands tore one free—a slender, blunt-ended cylinder, massive enough to be a dangerous club. As Jordan closed in Akars brought it down on the navigator's left arm, which fell limp. With a bellow of triumph Akars struck for the head.

Jordan, still drug-hazy and crippled in one arm, took the blow on a temple. It stopped him like a shot; he crumpled to one knee and fell. Breath rattling in his swollen throat, Akars stared into the hated face and wondered whether he should finish the job with a few more blows. Caution whispered consent, but still he hesitated. This was Box Jordan. Box Jordan! Why kill him like this? He wanted Jordan to know what was coming—to know it as long as possible.

It struck him then that killing Jordan wasn't as simple as it seemed. Found aboard the tender, Jordan's body would convict him. Flung into space, this far from the Cinnabar disaster, it would provoke awkward questions—unanswerable questions—when discovered. Here was an unexpected flaw in a scheme that had looked foolproof! Cursing, Akars pulled the chart book toward him.

He had tied Jordan's feet and fastened his hands behind him, lashed to a wall railing. In a supply closet he had found a paralysis gun, which he now wore in a side holster. For these and other reasons he was as confident, when Jordan showed signs of returning life, as he had been at first. Grinning, he watched the navigator stir and weakly sit up.

"Coming out of it, are you? Listen to me, Jordan. I've got the Urulium aboard. Want to come in on this with me?"

Jordan rubbed his temple tenderly. "I suppose there isn't much choice—"

Akars chuckled. "You'll come in, huh? And spill the first chance you get. I'd be asking for the mercury mines if I took you back. Skip it, Jordan. I was kidding."

"So was I." The navigator smiled crookedly. "But when it comes to teaming up with a rat, I'm ashamed of myself for even kidding about it."

Akars struck out—a hard flat hand blow that rocked Jordan's head and left red welts on his cheek. "You know what? I've got your spot picked out. Nice and cool. No air, except what'll be in your suit tank. And about as much chance of rescue as an ice cube in hell—"

He picked up the chart book and with ruffled brow turned its alumin-foil pages, his tongue between his lips. The page found, he held it before Jordan.

"See that? A dinky space-apple that's been passed up by every claiming bureau in the system. Ten miles through. Just big enough to keep you from drifting free where a nosy patrolship might find you. It's the nearest asteroid—I'd dump you on Pluto if it weren't out of my way."

"Asteroid H277 plus," read Jordan calmly. "Not exactly exciting. Why not ray me here and chuck out the remains?"

Akars swore. "Because you're supposed to be with what's left of the Cinnabar—damn you. I can't take you back there—salvage ships may be out by now. And I can't throw you out where you may be picked up by a patrol. I've got to ditch you where you'll stay put—"

"So it's H277 plus for me?" murmured Jordan. "The plus part of it sounds interesting. What does it mean, Akars?"

"How the hell would I know? And what do you care? You won't live long enough to worry about it."

But Akars himself was worrying as the asteroid floated into sight. He'd had to go off-course to reach it, when he should be making a bee-line for earth. There was a slight chance that the tender might be observed stopping here—a risk he had to take, but which could be minimized by haste. To cut the time shorter he'd let Jordan wear a space suit and walk out of the airlock. That would save time. Otherwise, if he killed Jordan on board, there would be some delay while he disposed of the body. Besides, there was a savage satisfaction in marooning the navigator alive, in letting him live out those last hopeless hours in slow torture of body and mind. Akars himself shuddered as he thought of it—the fate reserved for murderers taken aboard ship. A ten hour tank of oxygen—and a barren island of the sky such as this.

Asteroid H277 plus was a bleak lump of pitted rock, roughly oval in shape, gleaming where the sunlight fell, pitch-black in the shadows. No ship would ever come close enough to it to make out a man's body, even if it lay in the light. In fact, space-ships avoided such masses as this just as the ancient steamers avoided icebergs. The chance of rescue was practically non-existent.

"Almost there, aren't we?" asked Jordan from the floor. "What do I do—a swan dive from the emergency lock?"

Akars shut off power, held the tender immovable by a weak repulsion field, and freed the navigator's feet.

"You get in a suit—and don't try any tricks or I'll beam you." He watched sharply as Jordan meekly obeyed and climbed into the stiff canvas garment. Akars set the helmet over his head and fastened the rim studs, tearing off the collar bridge bearing the legend "SS Cinnabar."

"If you ever are found, you won't be recognized. They say a body loses heat slowly enough for decomposition to make a good start, in one of these suits. When we land, you close your face plate and go out through the lock."

He watched Jordan narrowly as he jockeyed the ship closer to the tiny asteroid. Without knowing why, he was uneasy. Jordan was a fighter. Funny he'd go out like this, the hard way, without a scrap. But what could he do? If he didn't march out of the lock under his own power, Akars could beam him and throw him out through the loading port.

Asteroid H277 plus swam up to meet the ship. Akars picked his landing spot and reduced his repulsion field carefully. The ship settled. Jordan seemed to stiffen expectantly. Akars lifted the paralysis gun from its holster.

Directly beneath the basalt blackness of the asteroid shimmered oddly with a strange translucent light. Akars swore softly. There couldn't be anything down there. A trick of the sunlight—perhaps the shadow of the ship? But it was queer. Maybe he shouldn't land—just make Jordan jump from the ship. That was it.

His eyes flickered to the navigator, stiff as a ramrod now, with that tense air of waiting for something to happen. Akars tightened his grip on the gun, jerked his eyes back to the asteroid—and froze with fear.

From the basalt surface leaped a fountain of fire—cold leaping fire licking upward at the ship. He jerked the controls over to full repulsion, screamed in terror as the ship dipped further instead of rising. An electrical flame sprang to meet it—a snapping, snarling fury of saw-edged lightning. Incredulously he saw it leave the prow of the vessel, flicker back to strike white flame from the hull plates just over the fuel tanks forward.

A muffled roar beat upon his ears. Flame billowed forth before the pilot glass. The ship trembled and shuddered to the force of unleashed gases; acrid fumes swirled over the control board and seeped from the very floor plates beneath his feet. Through drifting smoke he saw the deck curl back, white hot, and drift lazily out of sight like a burnt leaf. His ear drums snapped as air fled into space. Vaguely he saw the black surface of the asteroid fly upward, felt a crunch and crash of metal as it exploded in his face, and fell through senseless darkness....

"So you're alive?"

It was Box Jordan's voice, Akars realized as he awoke to painful consciousness. Parts of him seemed to be on fire. He was wearing a space suit, as Jordan was, and they were no longer in the ship, but on the asteroid.

"Hard time getting you into a suit when the ship's air went," remarked the navigator, his voice loud in Akars' earphones. "Of course I knew what was coming and had only to close my face plate, just as you told me. But I wanted to save you particularly. They need good, tough murderers like you at the mines. Some last as long as five years, I hear."

Akars tried to sit up, discovered that he was bound—and that Jordan had the paralysis gun now.

"I found the Urulium," continued the navigator. "The Cinnabar's widows and orphans will get their share, after all."

"What happened?" asked Akars thickly. "That explosion—"

"Only a feeble imitation of the Cinnabar's. Don't forget that her fuel exploded spontaneously—with a thousand times the force. In our case the fuel was inert, because our refrigeration didn't fail. It burnt, once ignited, but without an explosion—just as I expected. What I didn't tell you, Akars, was that the collision you had near the wrecked Cinnabar knocked a hole in one fuel tank. I was lying almost against it—almost froze, too—and for hours I could hear fuel leaking out through the rip. Not much—just enough to catch fire when that spark hit us, and to carry back and ignite the whole tank."

Akars groaned. "That spark—that damn spark!"

Jordan was staring into space. He rose and looked long, then sat down again.

"We're rescued, Akars. Naturally the salvage ships kept a lookout for the missing life ship and saw the flare-up here. They'll arrive soon."

"That spark!" groaned Akars. "What the devil was it?"

"That was what you weren't interested in, Akars. The 'plus' of H277 plus. Did you know that the earth and most planets are negatively charged—have a surplus of electrons? And that our ships are also negatively charged—in fact super-charged because of the driving fields we use? A planetoid or asteroid with a simple name or number is also negative and no precautions are necessary. But a 'plus' following the designation means it is positively charged, whether because of interacting gravitational fields, internal radio-activity, or induction between the body and an atmosphere or some other reason. When an accredited navigator has to land on a 'plus' body he orders a careful check of all fuel tanks, because he knows there will be a heavy electrical discharge between it and the ship just before landing. But you didn't know that—

"Another thing you didn't know, being a petty and not a commissioned officer, is that a new I.T.C. ruling requires an exact duplicate of the ship's log to be kept aboard life tenders at all times. Just before I went back to the tanks I replaced that duplicate log book. You took it along, Akars, and I found it when I found the Urulium, safe and sound in its fireproof case. That's what will convict you, Akars—not my words, but the story of the Urulium find and my turning it over as a ship's prize, written and signed by Captain Cardigan himself. The I.T.C. would have found that duplicate log anyhow, Akars. You never really had a chance to get away with it. Funny, isn't it? Funny how dumb a smart guy can be...."

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASTEROID H277—PLUS ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

- • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”

- • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.

- • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.

- • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.

Table of Contents

- Asteroid H277—Plus

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE