Hellflower (1957)

by George O. Smith

  “I do.”

  “Good. Now have another martini while Carolyn dresses for dinner.”

  Niles poured. Carolyn disappeared. Mrs. Niles leaned forward and asked, “Charles, why did you become a spaceman?” Her tone of voice and attitude made her seem like all the other fathers and mothers who have asked the same question. For the moment he forgot about her position in this odd scheme of things just because she looked precisely fitted to the role she played for public consumption. Almost mechanically, Farradyne began to explain. He knew the story by rote because he had told it so often in the same manner and to the same sort of person. This gave his mind a chance to consider them, partly.

  Mr. and Mrs. Niles appeared to be the successful businessman and his wife. The aura of respectability extended to include the house and its spacious grounds, so that Farradyne burned with resentment at any proposition whereby he, who had not committed anything more than a few misdemeanors and some rather normal fun and games which are listed on the books but are likely to be overlooked, should be less cultured, less successful and less poised than this family of low-grade vultures. If anything, the attitude of Mrs. Niles shocked him more than the acts of her husband. Men were the part of the race that play the rough games and run up the score, according to Farradyne. Women occupied one of two positions: they were patterned after Farradyne’s mother who had been a poised, mature woman of education and breeding, if a trifle puritanical; or they were slatterns and sluts and they looked as well as acted the part. So instead of Mrs. Niles presiding over the mansion as a gracious lady, she should be loud and cheap. That she was poised and gracious offended Farradyne’s sense of fitness.

  As for Carolyn, who was equally engaged in this loathsome game, Farradyne felt annoyed because there was nothing about her outward appearance that would permit him to scorn her. Like her parents, she gave the impression of success, as though the business they were all engaged in were both honorable and beneficial. Farradyne yearned for the moment when he could pull the pedestal out from under them and dump them into the mud where they damned well belonged.

  Farradyne became, in those few moments, a more mature man. He understood Clevis’ attitude. Always before, he wondered why a clever man would work for peanuts at a thankless job which included anonymity when he could have put his efforts into some sort of business and emerge wealthy and famous. Now Farradyne was beginning to understand the personal satisfaction that could be gained by following in the footsteps of a man like Clevis. In Niles’ own words, some men like money, others like power and still others build model railroads. Well, some achieve their personal gain by rooting out the lice that undermine the moral fiber of the race, and this gives them the same satisfaction that amassing a billion dollars gives a man whose ambition is wealth.

  Money had never been Farradyne’s god. He had not wanted more than enough to exchange for the fun and games he preferred, and these did not come high. He found himself elated to have discovered a new outlet for his nervous energy and his urge to do something. Performing a thankless job in anonymity could provide for Farradyne a deep satisfaction in proving that he was smarter than people like Niles and family.

  He smiled as his mouth got to the point in his story where he was telling about the time he had landed the training ship perfectly—but nine feet above ground, so that the ship dropped the nine feet and nearly flunked him out of spaceman’s school. He knew that his smile was hypocritical and he enjoyed this sort of thing. If Niles could play the hypocritical game, so could Farradyne. But Farradyne could play it better because his own kind of hypocrisy was—he hated to call it righteous but could not find a better word to describe it. He could play Niles’ game, and he could even go along with Mrs. Niles, although he wondered how a woman that looked as honorable as Mrs. Niles could justify her willingness to have a daughter engaged in the vile game of hellflower running. He could play their game because he would have little contact with them.

  But he wondered whether he could play the game Carolyn expected. He did not know exactly what she expected but his guess was that anybody amoral enough to run dope would hardly cavil at anything else. He knew that many a man could lie in his teeth and play the role of spy convincingly, but when the role included making love to a woman whose background was distasteful to a man, Farradyne believed that this distaste would show through anything he did.

  And then Carolyn came down the stairs in a white strapless evening dress and Farradyne knew that he was going to have trouble remembering that she was worthy of only shapeless, gray prison denim. “You have to dress, too, Charles,” she said in a soft voice, reminding him of their plans for the evening.

  Farradyne nodded and got up. He wondered how she could possibly act this part of a young, marriageable woman pleased with a date when at the same time she was engaged in a hellishly illegal operation. He realized at the same time that Carolyn had most likely spent her entire life this way and was attuned to it. Such was her natural way of living, and there was not going to be any possibility of weaning her into a life of honorable struggle.

  Then she put her hand into his elbow and gave a little squeeze and Farradyne found it not too hard to put his personal attitude into a small compartment in his mind and half-close the door. The bait was very attractive and only the image of Norma Hannon and her dulled eyes remained with Farradyne to keep that compartment of his mind open to the character of Carolyn Niles.

  8

  In the salon of the Lancaster, Farradyne smiled knowingly. “The plan was to let you investigate this ship while I dressed, but I gather you have seen your share of spacers.”

  “I admit it,” she replied. “For that I am sorry, Charles. But I couldn’t very well have played the know-it-all, could I?”

  “I suppose not. Well, park yourself somewhere while I get into whites.”

  She sat down and stretched. “A highball and a cigarette?” she inquired.

  “The cigarette is easy,” he said, handing one to her and flipping his lighter. “But the highball may be more difficult. I‘ve nothing but White Star Trail aboard.”

  She nodded at him. “With water,” she said. She relaxed into the cushions. Farradyne went and mixed her highball. She sipped it and nodded approvingly. “Charles, please go dress but fast—I am rather more hungry than curious about the insides of a spacer.”

  “Of course.” He turned to go.

  “Charles?” She rose and came forward, lifting her hands to put them on his shoulders. He stood woodenly. “Charles,” she asked in a soft voice, “are you unhappy because I am not the girl you hoped I‘d be?”

  Farradyne wanted to hurt her. “How many men have you played this role for?” he asked.

  A wry smile twisted her face. “I should slap your face for that,” she said. “Because when I tell you the answer you won’t believe me.”

  Caution came to him. He was the rookie hellflower operator, not the young man who has discovered that his girl has been playing games behind his back. He tried to fit himself into her picture and decided that according to her code of loused-up ethics she might possibly be thinking of a future: a pleasant home with rambling roses and a large lawn and a devoted husband and maybe a handful of happy children all creating the solid-citizen facade for dope running, just as her parents were doing. If this were the case, Farradyne was to play the suitor. He must carry roses for his wife in one hand, toys for the kids in the other and his hip pocket must be filled with hellflowers.

  He played it. He relaxed and put his hands on her waist. “I admit to being a bit of a louse,” he said with a brief laugh. “But that’s because I’m a bit new at a very rough game.”

  She leaned forward a bit. “Even rough games have their rules.”

  “I’ll play according to the rules as soon as I learn them.”

  She looked at him. “You know them,” she said quietly. “All men and women learn them at home, in school, in church. They’re sensible rules and they keep people out of trouble, mostly. If you adhere
to the rules, people will have nothing to which their attention can be directed. That’s what Father was trying to say when he suggested that you provide a visible means of support for yourself. Play by these rules and we’ll get along. It’s especially important when we must not have people looking in our direction, Charles.”

  She sighed and leaned against him softly. “You asked me a question, Charles. The answer is three. One of them preferred a blonde and they are living quietly and happily on Callisto. The second couldn’t have jelled because he was the kind of man who would work eighteen hours a day. Some men are that way and some women like it that way, but not me. The third, Charles, was Michael. Mike didn’t last long. Only long enough to prove to me that he was a woman-chaser. The fourth could be you, and maybe there mightn’t be a fifth.”

  “Three men in your life,” he said.

  She smiled up into his eyes. “Three men in my life,” she said with a happy little nod of her head, “but, Charles, it isn’t three men in my bedroom.” Carolyn cocked an eyebrow. “The only way the fourth will get in is to make sure there won’t be a fifth. So now you know. You can play it from there.”

  His arms did not slip around the slender waist, but the hands pulled her close to him. He kissed her gently, and for a moment she clung to him with her body. Her response was affectionate, only bordering on passion. Then she leaned back and smiled into his face. “You need a shave,” she told him. “So let go of me until you can kiss me without scratching my skin off.” Then to prove that she didn’t really mean it, Carolyn kissed him again. Briefly, and ended it by rubbing her forehead against his chin.

  Farradyne went to his stateroom and showered. He shaved, and dressed carefully in white slacks and shirt, and the last remaining holdover from a Victorian period, a dark necktie. He returned to the salon to find Carolyn waiting for him calmly and patiently. She looked him over and nodded approvingly, then got up and rubbed her cheek against his, cooing pleasantly, but moved away again when he tried to kiss her.

  Then she tucked her hand under his elbow and said, “Dinner, man-thing.”

  Farradyne chuckled. “Dinner,” he repeated.

  She hugged his arm. He led her down the landing ramp and into her car, and at her direction drove to her preference in a dinner spot. The food was good. Carolyn was a fine dancer with a high sense of rhythm and a graceful body. Farradyne decided that if this were a thankless job that gave no chance for fame and fortune, there were plenty of very pleasant facets to it. … Her shoulder rubbed his as he drove her home hours later.

  He handed her out of the car and walked to the front door with her. She gave him her key and he opened the door; she walked in, to wait for him just inside. She came into his arms as the door closed behind them and she clung to him, returning his kiss and his embrace; matching his rising fervor with a passion of her own. They parted minutes afterward. Farradyne moved her slightly, settling her body into a more comfortable fit against him.

  “It’s late,” she breathed.

  Farradyne chuckled. “With the sun shining like that?”

  She kissed him, amused. “It’s always like that, silly. You’re on Mercury, remember?”

  Farradyne held her close and kissed her again. A minute passed before he came up for air. He looked at her, leaning his bead back so that he could see her face without looking cross-eyed. “I’ll bet you are a real hellion in the dark.”

  Carolyn laughed, and shook her head. “Like all the rest of the women on Mercury, I’m scared to pieces of the dark. But it is late, Charles, and you’ve just got to go.” She hugged his head down so that he could look at her wrist watch on the arm about his neck. “It’s five o’clock and you are to take off at nine. Charles, please don’t crack up just because of lack of sleep.”

  “Okay,” he said regretfully, “okay.”

  She held him close. “It’s been a nice evening, Charles. So kiss me good-bye, and remember that it won’t be long until I see you on Terra.”

  “It gets dark on Terra,” he told her. He tightened his arms and she pressed against him.

  Against his lips she murmured, “I might not be afraid of the dark, Charles.”

  The promise of her last embrace stayed with him. There were only three hours of sleep between the time he left her and the time of awakening for the take-off. but dreams of Carolyn filled them all. They were pleasant dreams and they were unpleasant dreams; he saw Carolyn coming to him with her past renounced, he saw her coming to him as a secret agent who was in the hellish business for the same reason he was. And he dreamed of her waving him a good-bye with her dark eyes filled with tears as she was taken off to the Titan Penal Colony. He even entertained notion of joining her, justifying himself by thinking that people who fall in love with love lotus addiction are the weaklings of the human race and could be eradicated to the advantage of the general level. This he recognized as sophistry.

  But, be it as it may, Carolyn was a pleasant, attractive companion, and if her presence could only be known for a very short time, it was none the less pleasant. It was a rough game they were playing and many people were bound to get hurt. More people—innocent people—would get hurt if he called it off. So by the time Farradyne and his dreams came to the conclusion that he could afford to take what pleasure out of life this situation offered for the moment and let Tomorrow exact its tribute, it was time to get out of bed and start the pre-flight check-off.

  He had work to do. Schoolmarms to haul to Pluto and some refined thorium ore to bring to Terra. He would make no signal this trip, he was still far from being on the inside. Maybe the next. Or the one after that, depending upon his progress. But in the meantime he would be seeing Carolyn Niles on Terra.

  Farradyne began his check-up, already anticipating the reunion which was at least ten days away.

  9

  They came aboard a half hour later and Farradyne saw at once that this trip would free of trouble and danger. They were all mild and wide-eyed curious. They obviously knew their place and how to go about in life with a minimum of friction.

  Their leader was a Professor Martin, an agile gentleman of about sixty years who led them up the ramp and then stood there introducing each and every one of them to Farradyne as they came in. They became a sea of faces and a sound of disconnected names except for a few of the more vivid ones. Miss Otis, who giggled like a schoolgirl but hadn’t been of schoolgirl age for at least thirty years; a Mr. Hughes, dark of skin and smiling, who tried to convey the impression that he knew his way around in space; a very prim dame named Miss Higginbotham who probably had every kid in her class scared of her; a Mrs. Logan who was far too beautiful to be part of Farradyne’s narrow pattern for schoolteachers. Miss Tilden seemed to know something about spacing, and her friend, who was old enough to be Miss Tilden’s mother, Miss Carewe, knew more about spacing than Miss Tilden. And a Mr. Forbes who seemed completely impressed by everything he laid eyes on.

  And so they came, a prim and strait-laced lot, the like of which Farradyne had not seen in a long, long time.

  Certainly nothing of the hellflower flavor among this group. It made Farradyne feel easier, and after a bit he began to smile at their innocence and their wholehearted interest. He came to understand that this trip was to be a bit different for them, or it could be if he cared to make it so. It was obvious that their previous hops had been made under pilots who treated them with the usual aloofness that spacemen hold for their passengers. Farradyne felt more sympathetic about them; he wanted to help, wanted to show them what could be seen.

  Part of this desire to help them have a good time was born in the idea that someday Farradyne would probably be looking for some character witnesses and if he treated these schoolteachers with cordial interest and a willingness to explain and demonstrate his spacecraft, they would be inclined to accept him as a man of understanding, honesty and ability.

  They took off after Farradyne delivered a very short talk on the rigors of take-off maneuvering and the necessity of stayi
ng strapped down whenever the spacer was about to cut didoes.

  It was even less of a strain than Farradyne anticipated. They helped. Miss Carewe was a home economics teacher and she took care of the galley in a highly efficient manner. Mr. Forbes taught manual training or something of the sort; he requisitioned an oilcan and removed the squeaks from a couple of doors and took care of some of the minor details that Farradyne was inclined to ignore because he had other things on his mind. Someone, Farradyne never found out who, made beds and policed the ship, cleaning the salon and passengers’ quarter until the rooms and hallways shone. Whoever it was did not recognize the faint stains of blood apparently, because there were no questions asked about the evidence of Mike Cahill’s death.

  Miss Tilden spent quite a bit of time making a small oil painting for the space above the bar which she said looked vacant The degree of their tolerance was high, too. None of them cared for drinking, but they approved of Farradyne and his White Star Trail.

  In return, Farradyne took them into the control room and showed them how the ship was run. Professor Hughes toyed with the computer by the hour because he was a mathematics teacher, and Miss Tilden listened to Farradyne by the hour as be recounted some of his adventures in space because she was a teacher of modem history.

  The beautiful Mrs. Logan taught science, so Farradyne took her below to explain the atomic pile and how it worked.

  With a pre-recorded tape from the course computer running through the autopilot, Farradyne pointed out the motion on the control rods mat regulated the activity of the pile. Above the pile, he explained, was a huge tank of water that was used as a reaction-mass. Water was fed through the pile and its energy was raised to some tremendous degree, then hurled out through the throat of the reaction motor.