by Leroy Yerxa
Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
ONE-WAY TICKET TO NOWHERE
By LEROY YERXA
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories December1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: Like a ghost in the night a whole Mono train vanished. And itwas up to Jeff Blake to find out where it had gone...]
Blake forced the hatch up with all his strength. A fewseconds delay would mean disaster]
"Jeff Blake!" Holly O'Toole's knotted hand reached out and grasped theright hand of the passenger descending from the rocket transport. "Thisis a hell of a night to come home, when a man's been away as long as youhave."
Jeff Blake laughed, and swung down to his side to stand on the wind- andrain-swept dock. He towered above O'Toole, lanky and smooth skinned. Hisface was tanned a deep brown from space travel and little wrinklescurled out from the corners of his mouth. Wrinkles that indicated awilling smile. There was a cheerful warmth of sincerity in his voice.
"Weather doesn't seem to bother me much any more. I've been in and outof a lot of it. This rain isn't much compared to those space turn-overswe've had around moon the last few weeks."
They walked together toward the lighted office. Once inside, HollyO'Toole tossed his coat across the warm elector-rad heater and turnedadmiring eyes on Jeff Blake's tall frame.
"They sure made a man of you in space service," he said. "The last timeyou left Hope you were a half-baked kid with a yen for a ray gun."
O'Toole sat back comfortably as Blake removed his jacket and threw itover the heater. Blake was hard, and yet as Holly watched him, thereseemed to be a touch of softness in his eyes that hadn't been there whenBlake was a kid. A little more of Wade Blake, maybe. When two men wereborn identical twins, they were bound together in a lot of odd littleways.
The faintest suggestion of a bitter smile started across Jeff Blake'syoung face. Then he relaxed, sat down. Lighting a cigarette he suckeddeeply and let the smoke drift from his lips.
"The last time I saw you, O'Toole, you were a little red-headed Irishmanwho stirred up more trouble than my brother and I could get out of in amonth. What is it now?"
Holly O'Toole's dark face grew concerned. At once Blake knew his tripwould be interesting. Knew that the trouble he had been expecting wasclose at hand.
"It's your brother, Wade," O'Toole went on. "Wade's in hot water again,and he's in over his head."
That same sardonic smile flitted across Blake's face, and fadedimmediately. O'Toole was under a terrific strain. The man was onlyforty-five, yet the once brilliant battle flag of red hair had grownthin in spots. His eyes, once clear and snapping, were a washed-outblue.
"Go on," Blake said kindly. "When I got your message it wasn't easy todrop everything and come. I expected something like this."
O'Toole stared at him, hating to say what he knew he had to.
"Wade is planning to marry Dauna Ferrell."
"Dauna?" Blake was plainly puzzled. "Why, Dauna was a tow-headed bratwhen I left Earth. But if Wade wants her, why not?"
O'Toole shook his head a little impatiently.
"It isn't that he wants her," he said. "I can't explain everything now.Let's just say that Wade is giving up every chance he'll ever have ofowning the 'Hope to Horn' line. He's stirring up trouble between Daunaand her father and making a dangerous ass of himself in the bargain."
* * * * *
Blake flicked the long ash from his cigarette.
"He must be a busy man," he admitted. "But where do I fit into thispuzzle?"
Holly O'Toole was plainly bewildered.
"I wish I knew," he admitted. "I can't handle every angle alone, and ifsome changes don't come in a hurry, Wade, Dauna and Walter Ferrell willlose everything they have, including their sanity. You're the only manwho can pound any brains into Wade's head. I figured you might bewilling to try it, before it's too late."
He stood up rather stiffly, drew his belt up over his rounded paunch.Blake watched him with narrowed, speculative eyes. O'Toole looked at hiswatch.
"Where is Wade now?" Blake asked.
"At South Station since last night," O'Toole said.
"Does he know I'm on Earth?"
O'Toole looked doubtful.
"I'm afraid he does," he admitted. "I sent your radio-wave last week andhe was in the office at the time. I can't explain why, but I have thefeeling he checked up after I left and found out who I had radioed."
Blake followed O'Toole to the door, drew on his heavy coat.
"Let's get it over with," he shrugged his shoulders. "I've had to takeWade in hand a couple of times. Once more won't do any harm. We'll go toSouth Station."
O'Toole hesitated. He had something else to get off his chest.
"Jeff," he spoke gravely. "It's only fair to tell you that being Wade'stwin may get you into some pretty heavy trouble."
Jeff grinned queerly.
"Good!" he said. "I sort of like the stuff."
The door slammed behind them and the light from the single window fadedagainst the dark field.
* * * * *
A swift shadow of a man darted from between the empty space docks. Thestranger's arm went high and jerked straight. A wicked knife flickedfrom the steeled fingers. It missed Blake's neck by inches; struck theheavy door behind him. Blake took two swift steps forward, realized theman was already lost in the night. He stopped and pivoted. O'Toole hadalready jerked the knife from the door, was staring at it with tightlips.
"Playful bunch of goons you've got around here," Blake said mirthlessly.
"I'm afraid that's some of the trouble I mentioned," O'Toole replied. "Itold you Wade is stirring up a pack of trouble and I'm afraid you'redropping right into the middle of it."
He held the knife out toward Blake and the younger man took it.
"My brother must have changed a lot since I saw him last. Ten years agohe spent most of his time playing the violin and raising flowers."
"Still does," O'Toole answered in a far-off voice. "But he has a fewother hobbies now. Games that he's learned to play too well for his owngood."
Blake was studying the knife that had missed his head. He ran a thumblightly over the razor edge of the weapon.
"Games that you play with knives?"
O'Toole nodded.
"Unless I'm greatly mistaken," he answered grimly. "That nice littlefellow who tossed the bread knife at you is one of Grudge Harror's playboys."
"Now," Blake said, "we're getting some place. Who is Grudge Harror andwhat's he got against Wade?"
"I'll try to tell you what I know of Harror while we're on our way tomake that next mono-train," O'Toole said. He took another quick glanceat his watch. "She pulls out in half an hour, so keep away from lightsand let's get to the station before we miss her."
* * * * *
They went out of the fenced space-field, bending double against thestorm. For several minutes O'Toole led Jeff Blake through desertedstreets. Reaching the lighted dome that was the Hope Mono-Terminal, heexplained.
"Grudge Harror," he said, "is the leader of a gang of cut-throats whohave been holding up and wrecking trains from here to the border. He'sgot Walter Ferrell on the verge of bankruptcy. If something doesn'thappen soon to stop him, the Hope to Horn[A] line will fold up like abusted space-kite."
"And Wade?" Blake questioned. "Where does he fit in the picture?"
"Ferrell depended on Wade to track Harror down and tear his gang apart.You mentio
ned that Wade liked to raise flowers. Well! Thus far, he'sstill at it. So for six months Harror has torn the business apart, trainby train."
Blake looked through the great entrance into the warmly lightedMono-Terminal. It was nearly deserted.
"It's a rotten shame that a cheap bunch of punks have spoiled a businessas fine as Walter Ferrell's mono line," he said slowly. "It looks asthough he has picked the wrong man for the job of getting Grudge Harror.Maybe
