“A woman!” ‘Rays’ Walford exclaimed in amazement. “I ain’t seen one in—”
He had been going to say ‘five years’ but a warning glance from ‘Knife’ Halligan stopped him. For her own part, the girl closed the door and then coolly surveyed the assembly.
“This a convention?” she asked dryly. “Any of you men got tongues? My ship’s out of fuel. How about some?”
“Your own ship?” Conroy questioned, and the girl’s frizzy head nodded.
“That’s right. It cost me everything I had. Matter of fact I was headed back for Earth. I’m a cabaret artist, working on a five-year contract with the Jovian Mining Combine on Callisto. Trouble was, there aren’t many women there. Eventually I got sick of being—pestered, so—” the girl shrugged, “I decided that a girl can do better on her native planet. I left in something of a hurry and didn’t have much time to work out my course. I expended too much fuel in simply blasting clear of the Jovian system’s gravitational fields. Give me a little and I’ll trouble you no more.”
“None to spare,” Blackie told her roughly. “But we’re heading for Earth, so you can have a free ride.”
“And what about my ship?”
“You’ll have to forget it. It looks a pretty ancient model anyhow.”
“Now look, that ship cost me—”
“I said forget it!” Blackie’s face was ugly.
The girl relaxed slowly, staring at him with big grey eyes; then she turned aside and pulled off the rest of her spacesuit, finally standing revealed in a form-hugging dress which made ‘Rays’ Walford’s eyes open a shade wider.
“All right, gorilla, so be it,” the girl said. “I once had to sleep in a sewer so I suppose I can take this. If you want to speak to me the name’s Dorothy Wilson—Miss Wilson to you.”
“Plain Dot to me,” Blackie grunted. “Get moving again, Conroy; we’ve no time to waste.”
Conroy crossed to the switchboard. The vessel began to increase speed once more. Dorothy Wilson, her cynical eyes watching everything intently, perched herself near the table and daintily fingered what was left of a bowl of concentrates. ‘Rays’ Walford finally took his eyes from her slender legs and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
“Listen, the rest of you!” Blackie suddenly swung round and faced his colleagues. “This girl means nothing to us, see? Just nothing! She’s a free passenger. Because she’s a woman, don’t any of you start getting ideas. One pass at her and I’ll plaster you on the wall. Right?”
“Right, Blackie,” Pen Andrews agreed soothingly. “Right — You know us.”
“That’s the trouble.” Blackie looked at the girl. “I’m Blackie Melrose. You can rely on me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Looking at you, I was thinking there might be something in the theory of the recessive unit after all. However, I’m not scared of any of you—least of all that corpse at the controls there. I’m a girl who knows how to look after herself — Now, if you gallants have no objection, I’ll find myself a bunk.”
She departed towards the sleeping quarters of the roomy vessel and the four men looked at each other. Conroy, apparently, was not interested in the proceedings.
“This,” Pen mused, “means that one of us is going to be minus a bunk. And I’ll certainly not sleep with any of you lice.”
“You’ll bunk with ‘Knife’ and like it!” Blackie told him.
“All right by me,” ‘Knife’ growled, “but I tell you straight Blackie, that I don’t like the girl showing up. She may be a jinx. She looks like a leg-swinger all right, but suppose she’s a special agent put on our trail by prison radio? That’s possible.”
“Anything,” Conroy said, from the switchboard, “is possible. But I think the girl is genuine enough. I’ve seen her in cabarets before today—” He broke off, pulling quickly at various switches. His sudden strained anxiety was immediately obvious.
“That’s odd!” he exclaimed at length. “Very odd!”
“What is?” Blackie demanded, and with the others he moved to the switchboard. Conroy looked up dazedly.
“We’re in a sink hole!” he exclaimed. “A four-point hole!”
There was silence for a moment—grim silence. Each man knew what that meant. A four-point sink hole was the terror of space—a becalmed spot where movement cannot exist—created by the converging of four different gravity-fields, the central point holding a ship with equal power on every side so nothing of its own devising could move it in any direction.
“Yes,” Conroy went on, figuring quickly, “we’re in the foci of four gravitational fields. That means—”
“It means, you two-timing rat, that you’ve done it deliberately!” ‘Knife’ Halligan shouted, whirling him to his feet. “You’ve stalled us so a police ship can catch up—”
Blackie whirled them apart, sending ‘Knife’ spinning towards the wall with a thrust of his powerful arm. Then he eyed Conroy grimly. Conroy backed towards the controls, his dead-looking eyes staring.
“It wasn’t deliberate, Blackie,” he insisted. “We were on course until we stopped to pick up that girl. I forgot to make adjustments and now we—”
“How,” Blackie broke in deliberately, “do we get free? And you’d better think quick!”
“I can calculate—”
“I should!” Blackie’s voice was still ominous. “We’ll get some rest while you do it. We didn’t have money drafted to your account so you could ditch us here. Come on—the rest of you. The sleeping quarters. And what I said about that girl still goes.”
*
Blackie reckoned he had been asleep in his bunk for perhaps an hour or so when he was suddenly awakened by a piercing scream. Immediately he whirled to the floor, hurtled down the narrow passage whence the scream had come, and ended up in the provision chamber. At the sight before him he drew up sharp.
The light was full on, dim though it was, and ‘Rays’ Walford lay on the floor, clutching his chest. There was a red stain on his shirt; it brimmed through onto his fingers — But that was not all. Dorothy Wilson was there too, staring down on him in horror.
Blackie glanced at her and then dropped at Walford’s side, raising his head and shoulders.
“I—I shan’t be able to—to make the journey, Blackie— My—my rocks— They’re gone! Somebody—”
Blackie felt along the belt. The pouches on it were empty.
“It—it—” Walford’s voice failed him. He became inert and his breathing stopped. Blackie lowered him slowly to the floor and his smouldering eyes sought the girl in the dim light. She was still by the wall.
“What happened?” he snapped.
“I heard him scream, so I came in—”
“Don’t hand me that! Far more likely that ‘Rays’ made a pass at you, you struggled, found the pouches on his belt whilst you struggled— Then you polished him off with something. Pair of scissors maybe. You probably carry ’em. Hand over those rocks!”
“What rocks? What are you talking about?”
“Minerals then, if you want to be particular. They’re worth a fortune—good meat for a gold digger like you. Come on, give!”
Blackie took a stride forward and then stopped as a small, pearl-handled ray-pistol flashed into her hand.
“Put your brakes on, Gorilla. Nobody mauls me without getting his fingers burned. I told you the truth,” the girl added curtly. “I heard this man scream, and when I came in the light was on dimly—as it is now—and he was lying there. That’s all I know.”
“Those other mugs wouldn’t steal from a fellow-con.”
“So that’s what you are! Convicts! Thought I knew the hair-do. Well, question the others. I’m not so sure of their honour as you seem to be.”
Blackie hesitated, his brows down. He was powerful enough, agile enough, to snatch the gun and fling the girl across the compartment. But he didn’t. Wheeling, he strode out and went to the sleeping quarters. His bellow aroused the others. In the control room he faced them and gave the
facts.”
“One of you—and that goes for you too, Conroy—killed ‘Rays’!”
“Not us,” ‘Knife’ Halligan said seriously. “We got honour.”
“Whichever one of you has got those rocks had better hand ’em over,” Blackie continued. “Either that or I’ll beat it out of you. ‘Rays’ has a family back on Earth: those rocks go to them. Come on! Hand over!”
Nobody moved. Blackie relaxed, puzzled.
“You heard nothing?”
Every head save the girl’s shook. Blackie swung to Conroy.
“You haven’t been asleep, Conroy; you’ve been working on this navigation problem. You must have heard something!”
“Nothing, I assure you.” Conroy’s face was expressionless.
“Perhaps,” the girl said languidly, “there’s a jinx aboard?”
“Yes—you!” ‘Knife’ Halligan spat. “First we lose our course; then we get in a sink hole; then ‘Rays’ gets murdered—”
“Shut up!” Blackie snapped. He jerked his thumb towards the storage compartment. “Come and help me look around. Maybe those rocks are somewhere. Perhaps dropped, or somethin’. Once they’re found we’ll figure out what comes next.”
They all turned and started an examination. They were busy on the job in the dim light, poking into various corners, when Blackie whirled suddenly and pinned ‘Knife’ Halligan to the wall with a mighty forearm across his throat. With his free hand he whipped Halligan’s deadly weapon from his belt and studied it keenly. Then he dropped his hold and handed the knife back.
“All right, it’s clean,” he said briefly. “This blade of yours is old-type steel. Bound to be signs if you’d stabbed with it.”
“Big of you!” ‘Knife’ said sourly. “I didn’t take those rocks though I wouldn’t have minded—”
“One of us killed him,” Blackie stated. “And before we’re finished one of us is going to confess to it. Space can crack any man wide open in time—and a woman too,” he added, seeing the girl searching assiduously.
There was silence for a moment, then Blackie shrugged.
“Give me a hand to put him in cold storage. If we fire him outside he’ll just lie out there and give us the jitters.”
He and ‘Knife’ carried the corpse to the refrigerator and dumped it inside, slamming the door. Then with a grim face Blackie fed the way back into the control room.
“When do we start to get out of this sink hole?” he demanded of Conroy.
“It begins to look,” Conroy answered slowly, “as though we don’t! I’ve figured it every way I can—and I don’t see how we can move. I’ve tried rocket blasts on every side, but the gravity-field is equal in all directions.”
“Give it all you’ve got,” Blackie snapped. “The blast may free us—”
“And if we use up all that fuel what happens then?” Conroy demanded. “We shan’t have enough to make Earth.”
“Blast us out the other way,” ‘Knife’ suggested. “We might get to the girl’s ship—”
“No use,” she put in. “I’m out of fuel.”
“This is what comes of having a woman on the ship!” ‘Knife’ muttered.
“Oh, shut up,” Blackie growled. “Conroy was no more to blame than any of us. Might happen to any navigator. But we’ve got to get free,” he finished anxiously. “We can’t stop here. Our provisions won’t last out.”
“We might signal a ship,” Conroy speculated. “If we could get aboard and hold up the crew—”
“Might work as a last resort,” Blackie agreed, thinking. “It’s damned dangerous, though. Better try figuring again, Conroy. I’m going to have another look around the provision room.”
“What for?” ‘Knife’ demanded. “I suppose you’re looking for them rocks? For that matter, how do we know you didn’t kill ‘Rays’?”
Leaning over, Blackie whirled ‘Knife’ against the wall and held him there tightly.
“Listen, ‘Knife’!” His voice was low and deadly. “Any more remarks like that and I’ll forget you’re my pal. I’ll remember instead that you’re just a cheap crook—a back-stabber — I’m going to take a proper look for those rocks, sure, but I’ve already told you why. Sit down!” He flung ‘Knife’ back helplessly into his chair and then strode out.
*
As before, he found nothing of particular interest. Slowly he wandered around, flashing his torch this time; then just as he was about to give up the beam caught suddenly on a strip of paper wedged in a crack between two of the welded plates. It was a thrice-folded note, finishing with a hasty slash of the pencil.
Blackie, this is to warn you I expect death any minute. There’s a jinx aboard. You must—
It stopped there. No signature: no hint as to who had written it. It was not ‘Rays’ Walford’s scrawl: that Blackie well knew. He frowned over it, biting his lip. Conroy? Impossible. Conroy was still alive. Then who the—?
Pen Anderson came in silently, that smile of perpetual innocence on his greasy, round face.
“Anything of interest yet, Blackie?”
“No.” Blackie balled the note in his palm and thrust it into his pocket. “But because I haven’t found anything it doesn’t say I won’t figure out who killed ‘Rays’. And I’ll find where those rocks went, too.”
“I know where they are.” Pen smiled blandly. “I’ll even tell you-—for a consideration.”
“Why so generous? If you know where they are why talk about splitting? Why tell me anything at all, in fact?”
Pen studied his fingers. “You misunderstand me, Blackie. I don’t want the rocks. I have no agents on Earth like you have, who might sell them for me. All I want is a price for telling you where they are. If you give your word I know you’ll pay up when you get the money. You’re a square-shooter—”
“Listen, you greasy, pot-bellied rat, you don’t trust me any more ’n I trust you.”
“Oh, but I do,” Pen murmured. “You see, unless you pay up I shall be compelled to inform the Earth authorities of certain—er—activities. I’d tell them all about you. That’s my profession.”
“What makes you think we’ll ever reach Earth, anyhow?”
Blackie stopped dead at a sudden scream from the control room and the voice of Dorothy Wilson raised high in anger.
“Get away from me, you killer! Get away, before I—”
Blackie whirled. In a bull rush he hurtled into the control room and was just in time to see the helpless girl pinned against the wall by ‘Knife’ Halligan. The blade of his weapon was pointed at the girl’s throat. Her terrified eyes stared back into his.
“A jinx!” he was whispering. “You can make it easy for yourself in only one way. Give me a little co-operation and—”
“And what?” Blackie roared; then without waiting for an answer he dived. The knife whipped round and shot unerringly towards him. He jerked his head aside and the knife landed, quivering, in the back of the wooden chair by the table. That settled it for Blackie. He finished his plunge, gripped ‘Knife’ by the throat, and slammed him round. A terrific uppercut lifted him off his feet, sent him toppling over the table to land against the wall. He stirred weakly, blood trickling from his gashed mouth.
“What happened, kid?” Blackie caught the girl’s soft arm.
“He—he went for me!” Her eyes were flashing. “I was sitting quiet as you please, but he kept watching me—like an animal. Then suddenly he went berserk. Before I could defend myself he—”
“Why didn’t you stop him, Conroy?” Blackie demanded
“Me? I’m not strong enough. ’Sides, I’ve got this problem to work out.”
“It seems,” Blackie said bitterly, gazing at ‘Knife’, then at Pen and Conroy, “that I’m this girl’s only guardian. Any more attacks like that upon her and I’ll put the guilty one out of commission for good. Understood?”
“Aw, go jump through the airlock,” ‘Knife’ snarled. “One would think you’d fallen for the girl. She’s a jinx, I tel
l you, and the sooner she’s out cold the better for all of us…”
“To hell with your superstitions!” Blackie retorted. “And watch yourself in future. In fact I’ll take your knife to be sure that you do!”
He whipped it out of the chair back and slipped it in his belt. Then he jerked a thumb to the girl.
“Better go and grab that sleep of yours. You’re safe enough.”
She nodded a grateful thanks and stole out. Blackie kicked the chair in position and for a long time sat watching the scowling ‘Knife’. Pen Anderson sat down too, dividing his attention between them, then finally he relaxed and polished his nails gently on his tunic sleeve.
“I’m still open for discussion, Blackie,” he murmured.
“About those rocks? I’m making no terms, Pen. I’ll find them in my own time—”
“So,” ‘Knife’ whispered, rising up slowly from where he had been lying, “you know where they went, you dirty sneak-thief!”
“Sure, and I’m prepared to—”
Blackie whipped Halligan’s knife from his belt and aimed the sharp point at Pen’s big stomach.
“Where are they?” he asked ominously.
“Now wait a minute, Blackie. You ought to—”
“I said where are they? Open up!”
Pen’s beaming expression changed. “The girl’s got them!”
“You rotten liar!” Blackie’s face was livid. “She wouldn’t do that, and you know it!”
“Wouldn’t she, though?” ‘Knife’ leaned over the table. “I tell you she did, just as I—” He stopped, biting his lip.
Icy silence. Blackie’s cold eyes moved to the knife he was holding. He whipped it suddenly from Pen’s middle and stared at the blade. There were new, faintly brownish marks smearing it.
“So it was you who killed ‘Rays’!” he flamed. “You, ‘Knife’! I get it now! I didn’t see those marks before because of the dim light in the storage hold. Yes, you killed him, but the girl knew it. That’s why you wanted to kill her—not because she’s a jinx. You wanted to stop her before she—”
Blackie’s voice trailed off. He stiffened. ‘Knife’ and Pen became alert too. Conroy seemed to have fallen asleep over his task at the control board—
Lunar Vengeance: A Collection of Science Fiction Stories Page 10
