The Seventh Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack

by H. B. Fyfe

  The black opening widened, until she must have seen the two behind me. She wore a thin robe that glimmered silver in the dim light.

  “Send the boy out, Lilac,” I said.

  “Why should I?”

  That much was good; she might have pretended not to have him there.

  “He has to catch his ship, Lilac.”

  Behind me, I heard Howlet stir uneasily. The door began to close, but my foot was in the track. Howlet could not see that.

  “Don’t shut it, sister,” he said, “or we’ll smash it down!”

  He could have too, in about ten seconds, the way they build on Mars.

  “You wanna get yourself lynched?” Lilac warned him.

  “Over a—on account of you?”

  “Shut up, Howlet!” I interrupted. “Let me talk to the lady alone!”

  He must have understood my tone; he let Meadows pull him away a few steps.

  “And less of the ‘lady’ business outa you,” said Lilac, but low enough to keep it private. “We both know Mars, so let’s take things the way they are.”

  “That’s why I came, Lilac. Taking things that way means he has to go.”

  “What’re you gonna say? He has a job to do, or some such canal dust?”

  “Not exactly. They might pick up another third pilot. They might manage somehow without any. But he won’t like himself much, later, for missing his chance.”

  She swung the edge of the door back and forth in impatient little jerks. Finally, she took her hand off the latch and let it roll free. She still blocked the opening, however, and I waited.

  “Look, Tony,” she said after a pause, “what makes you think I couldn’t settle down with him? I never figured to be an…entertainer…all my life. With the stake I already got together, we could start something. A mine, maybe, or a tractor service like yours. Mars is growing—”

  “Pull your head inside the dome and breathe right!” I snapped at her. “I don’t mind your dreaming, Lilac, but there isn’t any more time.”

  It was light enough now to see her stiffen. She glared at me.

  “You tryin’ to say I couldn’t make a home here? You know better, Tony. Some of the best known women on Mars didn’t exactly come here first-class!”

  I held up my hand. She was beginning to get loud.

  “It wouldn’t matter if you were a princess. It’s not what he’d think of you; it’s what he’d wonder about himself, piloting a sand-buggy instead of a rocket.”

  In the alley, one of the spacers shuffled his feet impatiently. I hurried on, hoping to clinch it before she turned stubborn.

  “You, at least, ought to understand men better than most, Lilac. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but it would be smarter to grab him after he’s had his share of space instead of before.”

  It was hard to breathe without sounding loud in the stillness. Just as I had to swallow or choke, Lilac’s shoulders slumped an inch or two.

  “I’ll wake him up,” she said in a tired voice.

  Feeling as if I had struck her, I stepped back into the alley. A few minutes later, Konnel slipped out and shut the door behind him. No one said a word. From the set of his shoulders, it seemed that he might be just as glad the alley was dim; but he simply trailed along behind.

  * * * *

  We walked back to Number Four Airlock in a silence that had me counting the footsteps. When we reached the tractor parking lot, I cleared my throat.

  “Wait a minute. I’ll warm up my sand-saucer and give you a lift to your ship.”

  “Maybe we won’t need to impose on you any more, Tony,” said Howlet. “Looks like those machines over there are going out.”

  I followed his gesture and, by luck, caught the eye of a driver I knew. I waved and jerked my thumb at the spacers beside me.

  “Let’s go!” said Howlet as the tractor slowed. “Thanks for everything, Tony. Get yourself some sleep; the night watches in these domes are rough.”

  Konnel waited until they were a few steps away. Even then, he hesitated.

  “Forget it!” I said. “You aren’t the first spacer they had to pump out of some odd corner. Look me up when you get back!”

  He shook hands and trotted after his friends. They scrambled up the ladder to the cab. The tractor picked up speed, lumbering into the airlock.

  Later, a little after noon, I crawled out of bed and watched the flare of their pipes as the ship streaked up into the dark Martian sky. I hoped they would make it—almost as much as I wished it could have been me.

  Well, I still come out to the wall of whatever dome I find myself in, to watch the sky a while—not that I’ll see those boys coming down at this late date! They must have splattered to a puddle on Jupiter, or slipped back into the sun, or taken up a cold, dark orbit out where they’ll never bother anyone. Nobody will ever know for sure, I suppose.

  If I had it to do over again?

  No, of course I don’t feel funny about it. If they weren’t the ones, it would have been another crew. By the law of averages, a certain number of bad tries seems to go with every new push out into space. Maybe there’s no reason it has to be like that, but it always has. When the bad luck is used up, someone makes a new frontier.

  Why say “superstition”? Each new orbit out from the sun has cost plenty in money, ships, and lives; it’s the admission price.

  Sure, it was too bad about Konnel and his little girl—who, by the way, later married a very important man in Asaph Dome. It would have been nice to see Meadows wind up rich, or for Howlet to become mayor of the dome, but what could I do? Which one should I have talked into staying for the sake of love or money or power, without even being able to go in his place?

  Every time Man pushes ahead a little, a percentage of the pushers pay the fare. Still, it will be healthier if we push out of this planetary system before someone else pushes in.

  For all we know, they may be on the way.

  IRRESISTIBLE WEAPON

  In the special observation dome of the colossal command ship just beyond Pluto, every nervous clearing of a throat rasped through the silence. Telescopes were available but most of the scientists and high officials preferred the view on the huge telescreen.

  This showed, from a distance of several million miles, one of the small moons of the frigid planet, so insignificant that it had not been discovered until man had pushed the boundaries of space exploration past the asteroids. The satellite was about to become spectacularly significant, however, as the first target of man’s newest, most destructive weapon.

  “I need not remind you, gentlemen,” white-haired Co-ordinator Evora of Mars had said, “that if we have actually succeeded in this race against our former Centaurian colonies, it may well prevent the imminent conflict entirely. In a few moments we shall know whether our scientists have developed a truly irresistible weapon.”

  Of all the officials, soldiers, and scientists present, Arnold Gibson was perhaps the least excited. For one thing, he had labored hard to make the new horror succeed and felt reasonably confident that it would. The project had been given the attention of every first-class scientific mind in the Solar System; for the great fear was that the new states on the Centaurian planets might win the race of discovery and…

  And bring a little order into this old-fashioned, inefficient fumbling toward progress, Gibson thought contemptuously. Look at them—fools for all their degrees and titles! They’ve stumbled on something with possibilities beyond their confused powers of application.

  A gasp rustled through the chamber, followed by an even more awed silence than had preceded the unbelievable, ultra-rapid action on the telescreen. Gibson permitted himself a tight smile of satisfaction.

  Now my work really begins, he reflected.

  A few quick steps brought him to Dr. Haas, director of the project, just before the less stunned ob
servers surrounded that gentleman, babbling questions.

  “I’ll start collecting the Number Three string of recorders,” he reported.

  “All right, Arnold,” agreed Haas. “Tell the others to get their ships out too. I’ll be busy here.”

  Not half as busy as you will be in about a day, thought Gibson, heading for the spaceship berths.

  * * * *

  He had arranged to be assigned the recording machines drifting in space at the greatest distance from the command ship. The others would assume that he needed more time to locate and retrieve the apparatus—which would give him a head start toward Alpha Centauri.

  His ship was not large, but it was powerful and versatile to cope with any emergency that may have been encountered during the dangerous tests. Gibson watched his instruments carefully for signs of pursuit until he had put a few million miles between himself and the command ship. Then he eased his craft into subspace drive and relaxed his vigilance.

  He returned to normal space many “days” later in the vicinity of Alpha Centauri. They may have attempted to follow him for all he knew, but it hardly mattered by then. He broadcast the recognition signal he had been given to memorize long ago, when he had volunteered his services to the new states. Then he headed for the capital planet, Nessus. Long before reaching it, he acquired a lowering escort of warcraft, but he was permitted to land.

  “Well, well, it’s young Gibson!” the Chairman of Nessus greeted him, after the newcomer had passed through the exhaustive screening designed to protect the elaborate underground headquarters. “I trust you have news for us, my boy. Watch outside the door, Colonel!”

  One of the ostentatiously armed guards stepped outside and closed the door as Gibson greeted the obese man sitting across the button-studded expanse of desk. The scientist was under no illusion as to the vagueness of the title “Chairman.” He was facing the absolute power of the Centaurian planets—which, in a few months’ time, would be the same as saying the ruler of all the human race in both systems. Gibson’s file must have been available on the Chairman’s desk telescreen within minutes of the reception of his recognition signal. He felt a thrill of admiration for the efficiency of the new states and their system of government.

  He made it his business to report briefly and accurately, trusting that the plain facts of his feat would attract suitable recognition. They did. Chairman Diamond’s sharp blue eyes glinted out of the fat mask of his features.

  “Well done, my boy!” he grunted, with a joviality he did not bother trying to make sound overly sincere. “So they have it! You must see our men immediately, and point out where they have gone wrong. You may leave it to me to decide who has gone wrong!”

  Arnold Gibson shivered involuntarily before reminding himself that he had seen the correct answer proved before his eyes. He had stood there and watched—more, he had worked with them all his adult life—and he was the last whom the muddled fools would have suspected.

  The officer outside the door, Colonel Korman, was recalled and given orders to escort Gibson to the secret state laboratories. He glanced briefly at the scientist when they had been let out through the complicated system of safeguards.

  “We have to go to the second moon,” he said expressionlessly. “Better sleep all you can on the way. Once you’re there, the Chairman will be impatient for results!”

  Gibson was glad, after they had landed on the satellite, that he had taken the advice. He was led from one underground lab to another, to compare Centaurian developments with Solarian. Finally, Colonel Korman appeared to extricate him, giving curt answers to such researchers as still had questions.

  “Whew! Glad you got me out!” Gibson thanked him. “They’ve been picking my brain for two days straight!”

  “I hope you can stay awake,” retorted Korman with no outward sign of sympathy. “If you think you can’t, say so now. I’ll have them give you another shot. The Chairman is calling on the telescreen.”

  Gibson straightened.

  Jealous snob! he thought. Typical military fathead, and he knows I amount to more than any little colonel now. I was smart enough to fool all the so-called brains of the Solar System.

  “I’ll stay awake,” he said shortly.

  Chairman Diamond’s shiny features appeared on the screen soon after Korman reported his charge ready.

  “Speak freely,” he ordered Gibson. “This beam is so tight and scrambled that no prying jackass could even tell that it is communication. Have you set us straight?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency,” replied Gibson. “I merely pointed out which of several methods the Solarians got to yield results. Your—our scientists were working on all possibilities, so it would have been only a matter of time.”

  “Which you have saved us,” said Chairman Diamond. His ice-blue eyes glinted again. “I wish I could have seen the faces of Haas and Co-ordinator Evora, and the rest. You fooled them completely!”

  Gibson glowed at the rare praise.

  “I dislike bragging, Your Excellency,” he said, “but they are fools. I might very well have found the answer without them, once they had collected the data. My success shows what intelligence, well-directed after the manner of the new states of Centauri, can accomplish against inefficiency.”

  The Chairman’s expression, masked by the fat of his face, nevertheless approached a smile.

  “So you would say that you—one of our sympathizers—were actually the most intelligent worker they had?”

  He’ll have his little joke, thought Gibson, and I’ll let him put it over. Then, even that sour colonel will laugh with us, and the Chairman will hint about what post I’ll get as a reward. I wouldn’t mind being in charge—old Haas’ opposite number at this end.

  “I think I might indeed be permitted to boast of that much ability, Your Excellency,” he answered, putting on what he hoped was an expectant smile. “Although, considering the Solarians, that is not saying much.”

  The little joke did not develop precisely as anticipated.

  “Unfortunately,” Chairman Diamond said, maintaining his smile throughout, “wisdom should never be confused with intelligence.”

  * * * *

  Gibson waited, feeling his own smile stiffen as he wondered what could be going wrong. Surely, they could not doubt his loyalty! A hasty glance at Colonel Korman revealed no expression on the military facade affected by that gentleman.

  “For if wisdom were completely synonymous with intelligence,” the obese Chairman continued, relishing his exposition, “you would be a rival to myself, and consequently would be—disposed of—anyway!”

  Such a tingle shot up Gibson’s spine that he was sure he must have jumped.

  “Anyway?” he repeated huskily. His mouth suddenly seemed dry.

  Chairman Diamond smiled out of the telescreen, so broadly that Gibson was unpleasantly affected by the sight of his small, gleaming, white teeth.

  “Put it this way,” he suggested suavely. “Your highly trained mind observed, correlated, and memorized the most intricate data and mathematics, meanwhile guiding your social relations with your former colleagues so as to remain unsuspected while stealing their most cherished secret. Such a feat demonstrates ability and intelligence.”

  Gibson tried to lick his lips, and could not, despite the seeming fairness of the words. He sensed a pulsing undercurrent of cruelty and cynicism.

  “On the other hand,” the mellow voice flowed on, “having received the information, being able to use it effectively now without you, and knowing that you betrayed once—I shall simply discard you like an old message blank. That is an act of wisdom.

  “Had you chosen your course more wisely,” he added, “your position might be stronger.”

  By the time Arnold Gibson regained his voice, the Centaurian autocrat was already giving instructions to Colonel Korman. The scientist strove to interr
upt, to attract the ruler’s attention even momentarily.

  Neither paid him any heed, until he shouted and tried frenziedly to shove the soldier from in front of the telescreen. Korman backhanded him across the throat without looking around, with such force that Gibson staggered back and fell.

  He lay, half-choking, grasping his throat with both hands until he could breathe. The colonel continued discussing his extinction without emotion.

  “…so if Your Excellency agrees, I would prefer taking him back to Nessus first, for the sake of the morale factor here. Some of them are so addled now at having been caught chasing up wrong alleys that they can hardly work.”

  Apparently the Chairman agreed, for the screen was blank when the colonel reached down and hauled Gibson to his feet.

  “Now, listen to me carefully!” he said, emphasizing his order with a ringing slap across Gibson’s face. “I shall walk behind you with my blaster drawn. If you make a false move, I shall not kill you.”

  Gibson stared at him, holding his bleeding mouth.

  “It will be much worse,” Korman went on woodenly. “Imagine what it will be like to have both feet charred to the bone. You would have to crawl the rest of the way to the ship; I certainly would not consider carrying you!”

  In a nightmarish daze, Gibson obeyed the cold directions, and walked slowly along the underground corridors of the Centaurian research laboratories. He prayed desperately that someone—anyone—might come along. Anybody who could possibly be used to create a diversion, or to be pushed into Korman and his deadly blaster.

  The halls remained deserted, possibly by arrangement.

  Maybe I’d better wait till we reach his ship, Gibson thought. I ought to be able to figure a way before we reach Nessus. I had the brains to fool Haas and…

  He winced, recalling Chairman Diamond’s theory of the difference between intelligence and wisdom.

  The obscene swine! he screamed silently.

  Colonel Korman grunted warningly, and Gibson took the indicated turn.

  They entered the spaceship from an underground chamber, and Gibson learned the reason for his executioner’s assurance when the latter chained him to one of the pneumatic acceleration seats. The chain was fragile in appearance, but he knew he would not be free to move until Korman so desired.