Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ October 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
A "JOHNNY MAYHEM" ADVENTURE
A PLACE IN THE SUN
By C. H. THAMES
_Mayhem, the man of many bodies, had been given some weird assignments in his time, but saving The Glory of the Galaxy wasn't difficult--it was downright impossible!_
The SOS crackled and hummed through subspace at a speed which leftlaggard light far behind. Since subspace distances do not coincide withnormal space distances, the SOS was first picked up by a Fomalhautianfreighter bound for Capella although it had been issued from a point innormal space midway between the orbit of Mercury and the sun's corona inthe solar system.
The terrible weapon blasted death and carnage through the ship.]
The radioman of the Fomalhautian freighter gave the distress signal tothe Deck Officer, who looked at it, blinked, and bolted 'bove decks tothe captain's cabin. His face was very white when he reached the doorand his heart pounded with excitement. As the Deck Officer crossed anelectronic beam before the door a metallic voice said: "The Captain isasleep and will be disturbed for nothing but emergency priority."
Nodding, the Deck officer stuck his thumb in the whorl-lock of the doorand entered the cabin. "Begging your pardon, sir," he cried, "but wejust received an SOS from--"
* * * * *
The Captain stirred groggily, sat up, switched on a green night lightand squinted through it at the Deck Officer. "Well, what is it? Isn'tthe Eye working?"
"Yes, sir. An SOS, sir...."
"If we're close enough to help, subspace or normal space, take the usualsteps, lieutenant. Surely you don't need me to--"
"The usual steps can't be taken, sir. Far as I can make out, that shipis doomed. She's bound on collision course for Sol, only twenty millionmiles out now."
"That's too bad, lieutenant," the Captain said with genuine sympathy inhis voice. "I'm sorry to hear that. But what do you want me to do aboutit?"
"The ship, sir. The ship that sent the SOS--hold on to your hat, sir--"
"Get to the point now, will you, young man?" the Captain growledsleepily.
"The ship which sent the SOS signal, the ship heading on collisioncourse for Sol, is the _Glory of the Galaxy_!"
For a moment the Captain said nothing. Distantly, you could hear the humof the subspace drive-unit and the faint whining of the stasisgenerator. Then the Captain bolted out of bed after unstrapping himself.In his haste he forgot the ship was in weightless deep space and wentsailing, arms flailing air, across the room. The lieutenant helped himdown and into his magnetic-soled shoes.
"My God," the Captain said finally. "Why did it happen? Why did it haveto happen to the _Glory of the Galaxy_?"
"What are you going to do, sir?"
"_I_ can't do anything. I won't take the responsibility. Have theradioman contact the Hub at once."
"Yes, sir."
_The Glory of the Galaxy_, the SOS ship heading on collision course withthe sun, was making its maiden run from the assembly satellites of Earthacross the inner solar system via the perihelion passage which wouldbring it within twenty-odd million miles of the sun, to Mars which nowwas on the opposite side of Sol from Earth. Aboard the gleaming new shipwas the President of the Galactic Federation and his entire cabinet.
* * * * *
The Fomalhautian freighter's emergency message was received at the Hubof the Galaxy within moments after it had been sent, although the normalspace distance was in the neighborhood of one hundred thousand lightyears. The message was bounced--in amazingly quick time--from office tooffice at the hub, cutting through the usual red tape because of its toppriority. And--since none of the normal agencies at the Hub could handleit--the message finally arrived at an office which very rarely receivedofficial messages of any kind. This was the one unofficial, extra-legaloffice at the Hub of the Galaxy. Lacking official function, the officehad no technical existence and was not to be found in any Directory ofthe Hub. At the moment, two young men were seated inside. Their sole jobwas to maintain liaison with a man whose very existence was doubted bymost of the human inhabitants of the Galaxy but whose importance couldnot be measured by mere human standards in those early days when theGalactic League was becoming the Galactic Federation.
The name of the man with whom they maintained contact was Johnny Mayhem.
"Did you read it?" the blond man asked.
"I read it."
"If it got down here, that means they can't handle it anywhere else."
"Of course they can't. What the hell could normal slobs like them orlike us do about it?"
"Nothing, I guess. But wait a minute! You don't mean you're going tosend Mayhem, without asking him, without telling--"
"We can't ask him now, can we?"
"Johnny Mayhem's _elan_ is at the moment speeding from Canopus to Deneb,where on the fourth planet of the Denebian system a dead body is waitingfor him in cold storage. The turnover from League to Federation statusof the Denebian system is causing trouble in Deneb City, so Mayhem--"
"Deneb City will probably survive without Mayhem. Well, won't it?"
"I guess so, but--"
"I know. The deal is we're supposed to tell Mayhem where he's going andwhat he can expect. The deal also is, every inhabited world has a bodywaiting for his _elan_ in cold storage. But don't you think if we couldtalk to Mayhem now--"
"It isn't possible. He's in transit."
"Don't you think if we could talk to him now he would agree to board the_Glory of the Galaxy_?"
"How should I know? I'm not Johnny Mayhem."
"If he doesn't board her, it's certain death for all of them."
"And if he does board her, what the hell can he do about it? Besides,there isn't any dead body awaiting his _elan_ on that ship or any ship.He wouldn't make a very efficacious ghost."
"But there are live people. Scores of them. Mayhem's _elan_ is quitecapable of possessing a living host."
"Sure. Theoretically it is. But damn it all, what would the results be?We've never tried it. It's liable to damage Mayhem. As for the host--"
"The host might die. I know it. But he'll die anyway. The whole shiploadof them is heading on collision course for the sun."
"Does the SOS say why?"
"No. Maybe Mayhem can find out and do something about it."
* * * * *
"Yeah, maybe. That's a hell of a way to risk the life of the mostimportant man in the Galaxy. Because if Mayhem boards that ship andcan't do anything about it, he'll die with the rest of them."
"Why? We could always pluck his _elan_ out again."
"_If_ he were inhabiting a dead one. In a live body, I don't think so.The attraction would be stronger. There would be forces of cohesion--"
"That's true. Still, Mayhem's our only hope."
"I'll admit it's a job for Mayhem, but he's too important."
"Is he? Don't be a fool. What, actually, is Johnny Mayhem's importance?His importance lies in the very fact that he is expendable. Hislife--for the furtherance of the new Galactic Federation."
"But--"
"And the President is aboard that ship. Maybe he can't do as much forthe Galaxy in the long run as Mayhem can, but don't you see, man, he's afigurehead. Right now he's the most important man in the Galaxy, and ifwe could talk to him I'm sure Mayhem would agree. Mayhem would want toboard that ship."
"It's funny, we've been working with Mayhem all these years and w
e nevereven met the guy."
"Would you know him if you saw him?"
"Umm-mm, I guess not. Do you think we really can halt his _elan_ insubspace and divert it over to the _Glory of the Galaxy_?"
"I take it you're beginning to see things my way. And the answer to yourquestion is yes."
"Poor Mayhem. You know, I actually feel sorry for the guy. He's had moreadventures than anyone since Homer wrote the _Odyssey_ and there won'tever be any rest for him."
"Stop feeling sorry for him and start hoping he succeeds."
"Yeah."
"And let's see about getting a bead on his _elan_."
The two young men walked to a tri-dim chart which took up much of theroom. One of them touched a button and blue light glowed within thechart, pulsing brightly and sharply where space-sectors intersected.
"He's in C-17 now," one of the men said as a gleaming whiteness wassuddenly superimposed at a single point on the blue.
"Can you bead him?"
"I think so. But I still feel sorry for Mayhem. He's expecting to wakeup in a cold-storage corpse on Deneb IV but instead he'll come to in aliving body aboard a spaceship on collision course for the sun."
"Just hope he--"
"I know. Succeeds. I don't even want to think of the possibility hemight fail."
In seconds, the gleaming white dot crawled across the surface of thetri-dim chart from sector C-17 to sector S-1.
* * * * *
The _Glory of the Galaxy_ was now nineteen million miles out from thesun and rushing through space at a hundred miles per second, normalspace drive. The _Glory of the Galaxy_ thus moved a million miles closerto fiery destruction every three hours--but since the sun'sgravitational force had to be added to that speed, the ship was slatedto plunge into the sun's corona in little more than twenty-four hours.
Since the ship's refrigeration units would function perfectly until theouter hull reached a temperature of eleven hundred degrees Fahrenheit,none of its passengers knew that anything was wrong. Even the members ofthe crew went through all the normal motions. Only the _Glory of theGalaxy's_ officers in their bright new uniforms and gold braid knew thegrim truth of what awaited the gleaming two-thousand ton spaceship lessthan twenty-four hours away at the exact center of its perihelionpassage.
Something--unidentified as yet--in all the thousands of intricate thingsthat could go wrong on a spaceship, particularly a new one making itsmaiden voyage, had gone wrong. The officers were checking theircatalogues and their various areas of watch meticulously--and notbecause their own lives were at stake. In spaceflight, your own lifealways is at stake. There are too many imponderables: you are, to acertain degree, expendable. The commissioned contingent aboard the_Glory of the Galaxy_ was a dedicated group, hand-picked from all theofficers in the solar system.
* * * * *
But they could find nothing. And do nothing.
Within a day, their lives along with the lives of the enlisted menaboard the _Glory of the Galaxy_ and the passengers on its maiden run,would be snuffed out in a brilliant burst of solar heat.
And the President of the Galactic Federation would die because someunknown factor had locked the controls of the spaceship, making itimpossible to turn or use forward rockets against the gravitational pullof the sun.
Nineteen million miles. In normal space, a considerable distance. Ahundred miles a second--a very considerable normal space speed.Increasing....
* * * * *
Ever since they had left Earth's assembly satellites, Sheila Kelly hadseen a lot of a Secret Serviceman named Larry Grange, who was a memberof the President's corps of bodyguards. She liked Larry, although therewas nothing serious in their relationship. He was handsome and charmingand she was naturally flattered with his attentions. Still, although hewas older than Sheila, she sensed that he was a boy rather than a manand had the odd feeling that, faced with a real crisis, he would confirmthis tragically.
It was night aboard the _Glory of the Galaxy_. Which was to say theblue-green night lights had replaced the white day lights in thecompanionways and public rooms of the spaceship, since its ports weresealed against the fierce glare of the sun. It was hard to believe,Sheila thought, that they were only nineteen million miles from the sun.Everything was so cool--so comfortably air-conditioned....
She met Larry in the Sunside Lounge, a cabaret as nice as any terrannightclub she had ever seen. There were stylistic Zodiac drawings on thewalls and blue-mirrored columns supporting the roof. Like everythingelse aboard the _Glory of the Galaxy_, the Sunside Lounge hardly seemedto belong on a spaceship. For Sheila Kelly, though--herself a thirdsecretary with the department of Galactic Economy--it was all verythrilling.
"Hello, Larry," she said as the Secret Serviceman joined her at theirtable. He was a tall young man in his late twenties with crewcut blondhair; but he sat down heavily now and did not offer Sheila his usualsmile.
"Why, what on earth is the matter?" Sheila asked him.
"Nothing. I need a drink, that's all."
The drinks came. Larry gulped his and ordered another. His completesilence baffled Sheila, who finally said:
"Surely it isn't anything I did."
"You? Don't be silly."
"Well! After the way you said that I don't know if I should be glad ornot."
"Just forget it. I'm sorry, kid. I--" He reached out and touched herhand. His own hand was damp and cold.
"Going to tell me, Larry?"
"Listen. What's a guy supposed to do if he overhears something he's notsupposed to overhear, and--"
"How should I know unless you tell me what you overheard? It is youyou're talking about, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I was going off duty, walking by officer quarters and ... oh,forget it. I better not tell you."
"I'm a good listener, Larry."
"Look, Irish. You're a good anything--and that's the truth. You havelooks and you have brains and I have a hunch through all that EmeraldIsle sauciness you have a heart too. But--"
"But you don't want to tell me."
"It isn't I don't want to, but no one's supposed to know, not even thePresident."
"You sure make it sound mysterious."
"Just the officers. Oh, hell. I don't know. What good would it do if Itold you?"
"I guess you'd just get it off your chest, that's all."
"I can't tell anyone official, Sheila. I'd have my head handed to me.But I've got to think and I've got to tell someone. I'll go crazy, justknowing and not doing anything."
"It's important, isn't it?"
* * * * *
Larry downed another drink quickly. It was his fourth and Sheila hadnever seen him take more than three or four in the course of a wholeevening. "You're damned right it's important." Larry leaned forwardacross the postage-stamp table. A liquor-haze clouded his eyes as hesaid: "It's so important that unless someone does something about it,we'll all be dead inside of twenty-four hours. Only trouble is, thereisn't anything anyone can do about it."
"Larry--you're a little drunk."
"I know it. I know I am. I want to be a lot drunker. What the hell can aguy do?"
"What do you know, Larry? What have you heard?"
"I know they have the President of the Galactic Federation aboard thisship and that he ought to be told the truth."
"No. I mean--"
"They sent out an SOS, kid. Controls are locked. Lifeboats don't haveenough power to get us out of the sun's gravitational pull. We're allgoing to roast, I tell you!"
Sheila felt her heart throb wildly. Even though he was well on the wayto being thoroughly drunk, Larry was telling the truth. Instinctively,she knew that--was certain of it. "What are you going to do?" she said.
He shrugged. "I guess because I can't do a damned thing I'm going to getgood and drunk. That's what I'm going to do. Or maybe--who the hellknows?--maybe in one minute I'm going to jump up on thi
s table and telleveryone what I overheard. Maybe I ought to do that, huh?"
"Larry, Larry--if it's as bad as you say, maybe you ought to thinkbefore you do anything."
"Who am I to think? I'm one of the muscle men. That's what they pay mefor, isn't it?"
"Larry. You don't have to shout."
"Well, isn't it?"
"If you don't calm down I'll have to leave."
"You can sit still. You can park here all night. _I'm_ leaving."
"What are you going to do?"
"Oh ... that." Larry got up from the table. He looked suddenly green andSheila thought it was because he had too much to drink. "You don't haveto worry about that, Sheila. Not now you don't. I all of a sudden don'tfeel so good. Headache. Man, I never felt anything like it. Better go tomy cabin and lie down. Maybe I'll wake up and find out all this was adream, huh?"
"Do you need any help?" Sheila demanded, real concern in her voice.
"No. 'Sall right. Man, this headache really snuck up on me. Pow! Withoutany warning."
"Let
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