by Eando Binder
Bruce stood proudly, defiantly. He would never bow down to anyone, Black Ace least of all. The next moment a club-like blow from behind struck Bruce on the head. Another blow and his knees sagged. The two crewmen on each side eased his half-limp body down and propped him up in a kneeling position before Black Ace.
“Hah, you are obediently kneeling,” mocked the pirate chief. “Now call me what I told you. Go ahead…”
“Vermin!” spat out Bruce from bloody lips.
Black Ace’s boot came up and kicked Bruce on the chin, snapping his head back. “Say it!”
As if for emphasis, one crewman bent Bruce’s arm behind him and twisted upward sharply. Bruce winced in agony as muscles were stretched tortuously.
Bruce had to come to a decision. It was either humble himself or suffer a broken arm. There was no sense to the latter. It could not help him.
“Master,” he mumbled in a low voice.
“Again,” demanded Black Ace, fiendishly.
Bruce had to repeat it three times before the pirate chief said, “Enough. Now you know your place. Men, take him to the bunkroom to wash up. And strip him of that rotten military uniform and give him something decent to wear.”
Bruce emerged, cleaned up, wearing a swashbuckling costume as all the pirates did—loose tunic of scarlet, black baggy trousers, shiny leather boots to his knees, and a tricornered hat with fancy lace.
Black Ace was ready with a marking pencil and scrawled a name across the tunic’s chest—SLAVE. “That’s just so you don’t forget your status here,” drawled Black Ace. “Now start your duties.”
Bruce was given every possible menial task—polishing boots, serving meals, scrubbing the deck floor, shining the metalware, cleaning out the latrine. He was cuffed and kicked around at will by the other crewmen, as well as Black Ace. He took it all stonily. To fight back was sheer madness. He could only put up with this fiendish torment and hope…hope for what?
Bruce knew the meaning of an old cliché. The future had never looked blacker before.
But he was curious about one thing and finally asked Black Ace while curling his hair with an electro-iron. “Master”—he brought out the hated word because there was no choice—“How did you happen to be among the Asteroids? Last time we met, you were waylaying ships on the Mars-Earth run, robbing Earth refugees fleeing from Mars when war was declared.”
Black Ace let out an oath.
“The damned Ginzies spoiled that rich plunder for me,” he exploded. “Roving units of their warships were chasing down any Earth ship in sight, blasting them without mercy. They opened up on me and my ships and we lost two. The rest of us barely got away with a slight edge in speed. They pumped shots after us all the way, blast them.”
Black Ace let out a string of oaths, then chortled. “But I got back at them. We came here and raided the Ginzie Asteroids that the Martians took over during the political horseplay before the war began. The Ginzies have been mining these Asteroids for all they’re worth. Plenty of fat pickings for us in gem-stones and rare ores. We’re caching all our loot on a secret Asteroid too, till after the war when we can cash in on it.”
He suddenly glared at Bruce, remembering his patriotic speech the last time they met. “And don’t worry, I haven’t gone soft. Between times, we raid outlying sections of the Asteroid Republic where the Martian patrol isn’t too well organized yet, and grab valuables from rich estates owned by Earthmen. I treat ’em all alike, Ginzies or Earthbaggers. They’re all scum. But maybe I lean a little bit more toward skinning the Martians. Those blasted Ginzies…”
Black Ace spat out another stream of smoking oaths.
Bruce was on the verge of speaking up but as if reading his mind, the pirate chief leered. “But don’t try to sell me any rocketwash like my loyalty belongs to my fellow humans and I should volunteer my armed ships to the cause to defeat the stinking Ginzies. I don’t buy it, slave. See?”
Bruce subsided. But his attention had wandered and he accidentally pulled out a few hairs when removing the curling iron from Black Ace’s head. Cursing, the pirate chief swung around and punched Bruce heavily in the chest, sending him back. Then, while his two bodyguards held Bruce down, Black Ace grabbed a handful of his victim’s hair and yanked viciously.
Bruce moaned through tight-clenched teeth as he felt the warm saltiness trickle down from his torn scalp. “Take him to the medicine cabinet and fix him up,” said Black Ace. “And next time be more careful, slave.”
At least Black Ace wasn’t inhumane in that respect. Whenever Bruce suffered injury, he was promptly doctored up. The miracle medicines of the 25th century quickly took away pain and promoted rapid healing. No marks remained on Bruce.
But he wondered if someday he would ever have the satisfaction of dealing with this lawless brute on a more equal basis. It was a dream as remote as his fading dream of getting to Jupiter…
* * * *
“A nice haul,” gloated Black Ace. His ten ships sped away from one of the Ginzie Asteroids with a load of prime jewels in its hold. “Another raid under the blasted Ginzies’ noses. And not a patrol ship in sight…”
“Wrong,” said Bruce, who was in the main cabin, pointing at the viewscreen. “Martian gunboat coming up fast.”
“Full-g away!” bawled Black Ace. He turned grinning. “We can out-fly those tubs any day.”
Still, with its momentum, the Martian patrol ship got within range of its guns. One proton-beam licked at Black Ace’s ship with enough power to knock it sideways, throwing everyone off his feet.
Bruce helped Black Ace up. There was more bad news when they glanced at the viewscreen. “Another Ginzie patrol from the other way,” gulped Black Ace, turning pale. “They’ve got us boxed in.”
The two Martian craft came at them from opposite sides, guns flaming. Before long, evasive maneuvers by the pirates would fail. Black Ace sweated at the pilot controls. “This may be it, men,” he croaked over the fleet intercom. “They’ve got us outgunned and in a trap.”
“What trap?” said Bruce, springing to the controls and shoving Black Ace aside. “Let me take over.”
“Hands off,” roared the pirate chief in rage. “Who do you think you are…”
“The pilot,” cut in Bruce, “who twice out-flew you in space with an inferior ship.”
Black Ace purpled in anger, first, at the memory. Then with a glance at the two vengeful Martian ships closing in, he stepped aside. “Go to it, Bruce. If you can make a monkey out of those Ginzies, I’ll end your slave status.” Bruce had already made lightning calculations. Into the pirate fleet intercom he hissed the coordinates as his own hand moved over the toggles and buttons. “Hyper-parabolic curve, two degrees…then random mode half-g…at mark 10 pile on full-g at visible target.” The Martian gunners of both ships were astonished to see their easy targets suddenly sideslip in space weirdly. Proton-beams and laser rays missed widely. When the Martian gunners frantically swung their sights into the new mode, the pirate fleet again made an impossible arching sweep.
Then, most incredible of all, the 10 ships held perfect formation and plunged straight at one of the two Martian patrols as if on a collision course. The Martian commander shrieked commands in panic.
“Sidesweep at 20 seconds of arc,” yelled Bruce to his ships. “Aim guns and fire at mark…NOW!”
Astoundingly, the pirate ships had veered and swept alongside the Martian patrol. And every pirate gun spoke at once, pouring a lethal broadside into the Martian ship, which began to crack like a broken mirror. The next moment it was debris.
“We did it,” screeched Black Ace in triumph. “Now we can outrun the other patrol ship easily…
“No, we fight it,” barked Bruce, already giving new coordinates to the fleet intercom. “Every dead Ginzie counts. And every wrecked ship.” And Bruce also wanted to get back at the Martians for the stinging defeat that had marooned him in space and thrown him into the hands of pirates.
Another fantastic series of
maneuvers by the pirate echelon bewildered the Martians aboard the second ship. The next thing they knew, ten vengeful ships had completely evaded their big guns, and were poised for a broadside.
Whoomp! And it was over.
“Resume normal getaway speed,” said Bruce into the intercom, stepping aside for Black Ace to take over again.
The pirate chief was staring at Bruce in awe. “You aren’t human,” he whispered. “You handle a ship like you were born on it. Two Ginzie patrol ships, blasted to the stars…terrific. You saved us.”
“I’m not exactly proud,” said Bruce bitterly. “It wouldn’t matter much if parasitical vermin like you were obliterated.”
Stung by the insult, Black Ace seemed about to attack him in fury, but then he subsided with an obvious effort. “You’re no longer a slave as I promised,” he said. “You have the right now to speak as you please. Your status is now that of an equal.”
“What does that mean?” asked Bruce hesitantly.
“You’re a full-fledged member of our band. And I appoint you our chief fleet pilot.”
Bruce winced. “No, thanks. I decline the honor.”
“But you can’t turn down my offer,” said Black Ace, for once almost pleadingly. “You’ll get an equal share of any loot we divide up…no, I’ll give you two shares as chief pilot.”
As Bruce still looked stubborn, Black Ace’s tone turned ominous. “The alternative is that we put you back on the Asteroid where we found you, with one day’s ration of oxygen.”
Bruce jerked. He had a choice—to turn pirate or die. “I know how an honest man like you,” Black Ace was saying, “hates to turn into an outlaw, hunted by the law…”
He stopped in astonishment at the burst of wild laughter from Bruce. He, Jay Bruce, was also an outlaw, though they didn’t know it. In fact, wanted for the greater crime of treason rather than mere piracy. It was all a fantastic farce, in Bruce’s mind.
Bruce still hesitated, revolted by the thought of deliberately joining in their piracy and openly robbing others. As a prisoner, Bruce was still technically innocent of any of their crimes. But once he voluntarily aided them, he was legally and morally guilty along with the crew.
And even in the face of the other alternative, death, Bruce hesitated in turning thief by his own free will. The other charges against him were false. Treason had not been planned by him. The theft of a jetabout and Gorson’s spacer had been out of sheer necessity to escape death over the false charge of treason. Should he now, for the first time, actually turn criminal even to save his life?
Black Ace saw Bruce’s face begin to harden as if he would refuse the offer. “Look,” he said hastily; “if you’re squeamish, I’ll let you look over the list of planned jobs we have in mind. You can take your pick. Maybe some won’t seem so bad to you.”
Black Ace handed over a sheet and Bruce took it automatically, to kill time while he made up his mind. It was not easy to refuse an offer to live and to take death. His eyes ran down the list, hardly seeing it, until something leaped out: ROB COLLECTION CENTER FOR MINED RADIOACTIVE MINERALS IN GINZIE ASTEROIDS, UNDER OWNERSHIP OF JOHN GORSON.
There were further details as to the procedure, the chances of the Martian patrol interfering, and such, but Bruce ignored that. One name stuck in his mind—John Gorson. The sneaky rat who had sold himself to the Martians, had plotted the whole rotten scheme which lured Dr. Kent into the web of Martian Espionage, had gotten Dora a captive, and had turned Bruce himself into a hunted man.
Stealing from him would not be a crime, Bruce told himself. Once he was revealed as a traitor, his holdings would be declared forfeit and subject to confiscation when the war was over. That is, if Earth won.
Bruce shook his head over those trivialities. One thing only stood out in his mind—striking a blow, even if a small one, against the hated man who had caused all his troubles. Maybe a futile gesture, one that wouldn’t help at all in finishing his personal mission, but it would give him some satisfaction at least.
Bruce looked up. “I’m your man,” he said to Black Ace.
“Provided we rob John Gorson’s collection center for his mining operations in the Ginzie Asteroids.”
“Hmm, you would pick a tough one,” rasped Black Ace, pursing his lips. “The Ginzies patrol that section pretty heavily since they took it over. But then, all the rare radioactive ores from dozens of Asteroid mines owned by Gorson are collected there for grading. A young fortune and worth the risk. It’s a deal, Bruce—with you as pilot.”
Bruce didn’t know whether he was glad or sorry over the pact.
Chapter 15
The lone pirate ship glided through the star-peppered vault of space. Ahead lay an Asteroid in the peculiar shape of a lumpy potato, glinting dully in the dim light that reached out here, 275 million miles from the sun.
“I don’t know if that was such a good idea,” grumbled Black Ace, “having the rest of my ships separate from us and approaching from a different direction.”
“You’ll see the point soon,” said Bruce shortly. He had full command of the operation, and did not feel it necessary to consult with the pirate chief on details.
“John Gorson set up anti-spaceship guns, you know,” added Black Ace. “With all that wealth there, he had to protect himself from looting. With ten ships attacking at once, we’d have a much better chance of knocking out the guns. Luckily, no sign of Martian patrols within radar range.”
Bruce said nothing. A moment later, a wild hope came to him. “Is there any chance that John Gorson himself is there now?” How he would love to corner the fat pig and haul him to the authorities for a full confession.
But cold water was thrown on his dream by the pirate. “No chance. If Gorson came here, he would be held by the Martians as an enemy alien. He couldn’t return to earth. No doubt the Martians have taken over his mines.” But that wasn’t true, Bruce knew. He had forgotten that Black Ace did not know the truth, either. And Bruce could not tell him. Once Black Ace found out that Bruce was a fugitive from the law—whether under false charges or not—the pirate would have him under his thumb as a wanted man. Bruce might then have little chance to avoid a lifetime of piracy.
Bruce sighed and concentrated on his job. The pirate ship, smaller than any warship, needed only one pilot and Bruce carried out his maneuvers by himself. Adopting an eagle-swoop plunge, the pirate ship swung over a settlement of domes and installations with the sign—JOHN GORSON MINING ENTERPRISE.
Alert anti-spaceship crews in concrete bunkers immediately began peppering away with all their gunnery. Black Ace gripped his g-harness nervously, but Bruce was calm. Almost with ease he took evasive action of a kind that left the gunners gasping. More and more weaponry was turned against the lone raiding craft until the sky was half-filled with rays and missiles.
Bruce smiled in satisfaction. “Just as I expected. The gunnery commander is so intent on getting us that he’s pouring everything he’s got in our direction. We served as a decoy. So now…”
He barked a word into his intercom: “MARK!”
And from the opposite direction came the nine other pirate ships, guns spitting. The gunnery commander below had left himself wide open. Before his crews could swing to aim at the new attackers, pirate fire blew them to oblivion. Bruce’s ship, too, joined in, with Black Ace at their guns. Bruce knew that the gunners were all Martians, for after the takeover of the Ginzie Asteroids, they would automatically seize all armaments and military fortifications.
When the gun emplacements had all been silenced, the pirate ships landed, and half the crew, in spacesuits, raided the main collection center for radioactive ores. The personnel—interned Earth people whom Gorson had employed, plus Martian technicians—offered no resistance and the pirates came out lugging leaden boxes, each of which held a small but valuable specimen of rare radiominerals. They would eventually be processed for radium, plutonium, einsteinium, and thorollium. This time, however, they would go to Black Ace’s secret Asteroi
d cache, to be sold through stolen-goods channels after the war.
A nice dent in John Gorson’s riches, gloated Bruce. By virtue of his defection to the Martians, it was still a going business and hence it was a real loss to him. A petty sort of revenge, perhaps, but Bruce savored it for what it was worth.
Bruce’s final aim, of course, after rescuing Dora and her father and exposing the secret Martian war base in Jupiter’s Red Spot, was to see that Gorson got his just deserts as a black-souled renegade to Earth.
Where was Gorson now? Bruce wondered. On Earth, carrying on his guise as a loyal Earthman and plotting more deviltry with the Martian Espionage? Or on Mars, working more directly with them? Or perhaps on Jupiter at the Red Spot’s Martian nest, helping them break down Dr. Kent into revealing his alloy secret? And slobbering over Dora…
This most of all made Bruce grind his teeth, but helplessly. He still had the insurmountable problem of reaching Jupiter. To do that, he would have to escape from the pirate band.
Bruce was alone with Black Ace. He contemplated jumping the pirate chief, who was staring at the viewscreen and watching his men lug out the loot. But Black Ace was keeping an eye on Bruce, too, and the pirate was well armed with hand weapons.
One of the pirates outside stumbled and dropped his leaden box. The clasp broke and the lid flew open. Intense radiation sprang out and bathed the unlucky man, a dose of thousands of roentgens that assured his death by radiation sickness within the hour. Already he began to writhe in agony. Other pirates sprang toward him.
“The fools!” yelled Black Ace. “If they go near, they’ll get a dose of killing rays, too. I’ll lose half my men unless I stop them…”
Mouthing livid oaths, Black Ace slapped on a space-suit and ran out of the airlock.
Bruce couldn’t believe his luck. He was alone, unguarded. With an uncertain grin, as if it were too good to be true, he started the upsweep jets and flung his ship away. At the last moment he saw Black Ace stop running to stare upward in horrified surprise. Bruce could even see his lips moving, pouring out curses.
