Destiny's Orbit

by Donald A. Wollheim (as David Grinnell)

  INTERPLANETARY NO-MAN'S-LAND

  Though Ajax Calkins was wealthy enough to buy anything on Earth his heart desired, the one thing he wanted most was strictly forbidden. That was a world of his own—a planet, however small, which would be his private kingdom in the sky. The Earth-Mars Space Administration stood in his path. They would tolerate no such Eighteenth Century derring-do in the commercial and workaday interplanetary channels of the Twenty-First Century. Empire-building was out.

  But when an offer from a bearded stranger opened the way to just such an adventure, Ajax leapt at the chance. In his luxury spacecraft Destiny he shot out through the inner planets to the tiny world that waited a king—and, unwittingly to a monster outer-planet empire that waited a detonator for cosmic war.

  Turn this book over for second complete novel

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Ajax Calkins

  A man with a destiny and no place to put it

  The Third Least Wuj

  This loyal subject put all of his eight hairy arms to work for his master.

  Emily Hackenschmidt

  A spunky gal who stuck by her guns—even when they were taken away from her.

  Anton Smallways

  Beneath his hard exterior, there beat the heart of a traitor.

  Brother Augustus

  An advocate of peaceful repose of the soul, whose past boasted of disturbing the peace.

  DESTINY'S ORBIT

  by

  DAVID GRINNELL

  ACE BOOKS, INC. 23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N.Y.

  destiny's orbit

  Copyright ©, 1961, by David Grinnell

  An Ace Book, by arrangement with Thomas Bouregy and Co., Inc.

  All Rights Reserved

  David Grinnell is the author of

  ACROSS TIME (D-286)

  EDGE OF TIME (D-362)

  THE MARTIAN MISSILE (D-i65)

  By order of his majesty, Ajax I, this history is gratefully dedicated to his most loyal and faithful of Terrestrial advocates:

  Elsie W. and Hannes B.

  times without number

  Copyright ©, 1962, by Ace Books, Inc.

  Printed in U.S.A.

  CHAPTER ONE

  From where he sat, he could look over the wide waters of the Great Slave Lake, stretching as far as the eye could see like a small estuary. Any other man so fortunate as to have such an estate and such a view would have been content to remain there, resting his eyes on the clear untraveled northern waters during the few months they were free of the chill and ice of the long Canadian winters. But not Ajax Calkins.

  Ajax sat there and his eyes may have roved over the magnificent view from the wide wall-length window of his study, but his thoughts were not on the splendors of the known and possessed. He owned many acres along that distant frigid shore, landscaped, warmed by electronic mirrors set at discreetly hidden positions among the wide banks of slender young evergreens; he owned the vast sprawling mansion whose many rooms were his. He owned the artfully concealed airport, and the water-skimming fleet of air-cushion boats now hangared in the low plastic building along the lake front.

  He was just about master of all he surveyed, about as much master as any single man could be in that year of world peace and prosperity, 2080. He was among the world's several great billionaires, men whose fortunes had been derived from the basic discoveries of the space age,

  now in its second century, settling down to routine and commerce and stability. And he was unhappy.

  He held a book in his lap and, glancing down once again at the printed page, let his eyes rove; he shut the book with an impatient sigh, and reaching out, flicked his hand over a radiosensitive globe resting beside his wide form-fitting contour chair.

  There was a shuffling noise behind him, a discreet cough, and a voice said, "You rang, sir?"

  Ajax looked up, though he was quite familiar with the butler's bland visage. He looked over the tranquil, expressionless features, designed to instill confidence and calm. The butler's countenance had been designed by a master roboticist to duplicate exactly the basic features of the famous butler types of Queen Victoria's golden reign of centuries past.

  "Jenkins," Ajax said in a soft, musing voice. "I am bored. I long for more worlds to conquer."

  "Yes, sir," replied the robotic servant in respectful tones. "Yours is a laudable ambition. If it were in my power, I should give you the information you need in order to discover and conquer more worlds."

  "True, true," said Ajax, perfectly well aware that the butler was specifically designed always to agree with him. Though, in this case, he thought to himself, enthusiastic agreement was the only course that a truly intelligent mind could possibly take.

  "In this book," said Ajax, "I have been reading once again of the great Pizarro and his courageous followers. Singlehanded, practically alone, they took for themselves an entire nation, a mighty empire. Ah, yes, those were the days. Bravery and daring were rewarded. What is there now for such a man?"

  The butler nodded his head, issued the expected sympathetic sigh.

  Ajax went on, stroking his thin mustache thoughtfully. For a young man of twenty-five, he was fairly good look-

  ing, though his pale blue eyes could have stood some deepening of color and his rather medium brown hair was less than distinctive. Ajax gritted his teeth, moved his frame-he was something short of six feet tall—another disappointment to him.

  "I tell you, in those days there were rewards for men of daring. A man could found his own kingdom, raise his own standard. Thrones were toppled, new thrones' established. I am such a man—and my tragedy is that I live in the wrong tune."

  The butler clicked again sympathetically. "I am sure you will find your own kingdom, sir. You are brilliant, clever, kind, wise, daring, courageous. ..."

  "Yes, yes," said Ajax waving a hand. "But such quests are illegal; all the worlds to be taken are already had. Do you realize how hampered I am? I the Calkins, heir of the Calkans fortunes, benefactor of the whole space world, and yet held back here by lack of a world. Had I been born fifty years ago, or a hundred, I could reach out and seize myself a land. But now ..." —

  "It's sad, sir, that the Earth-Mars Space Administration has claimed jurisdiction over all within our borders—and that there is nothing outside worth the having," said the butler.

  "Yes," said Ajax. "Do you realize what men have done in the past? Think of Captain Cook, who found Australia; Cortez and the taking of Peru; even the White Rajah of Sarawak— now there was an adventurer on the old scale. But for me— what island remains to be found? What new continent to claim? What throne to seize? Nothing, I tell you, nothing. I have advertised. I have offered support to discoverers and adventurers, from Mercury clear to the asteroids; no takers.

  "I have a first class spaceship at my disposal, my splendid yacht the Destiny. I have a flag, my own, folded and stowed away in the cabin, waiting for the day it can be unfurled above that land which will be mine, the kingdom of Ajax. And here I sit, with the money and its potential power that a world gives me—tied hand and foot by pointless, soul killing laws. A lesser man would have long since despaired, Jenkins."

  Ajax jumped up, began to stride back and forth across the room. As he spoke he orated, recounting the days of centuries past, when valiant men set sail in little ships to find new islands, to wrest old empires from primitive hands, to explore and dare, to trek the frozen Antarctic, to battle the jungles and swamps. "Rhodesial" shouted Ajax, raising himself to the fine full frenzy of his dream. "The very name rings of one man's glory. Rhodesia!

  "And where is Ajaxia? Where?"

  The robot butler, the very figure of a faithful family retainer, stood silent, unab
le constitutionally to disagree, but unable equally to offer any help. As Ajax waved a hand to the window, pointing to the north, and yelling despairingly, "Where?" there was a discreet buzzing in the room.

  The butler shuffled over to the paneled cabinet, clicked it open and removed a rolled sheet of yellow paper which had just materialized in the teleprinter. He brought it over to the young man, who snatched it from him, thrust one foot ahead of him, struck a commander's pose, and started to scan the message.

  His eyes suddenly bulged. He gulped. He turned pale, then red. Losing his pose, he jumped, waved the message, and dashed over to the radio cabinet. "It's cornel" he shouted in a voice strangely high-pitched from excitement. "Look," he cried. "Read this!" He waved the message at the butler, but that official merely shook its head. It was not possible yet to construct a robot that could read and still be portable or ambulatory.

  Ajax read it aloud. One of his ads had been answered. The message was from an official of the Martian branch offices of Calkans. A person had answered the ad for a new world to conquer. If Ajax would communicate with him, he would give Calkins all the details.

  Ajax rang up the official, dialing in the number. There was a wait of several minutes while the connections were made.

  The branch manager's face appeared rather mistily, blanking out several times, until Ajax wiped out the telecast, realizing that interplanetary distances made connections of that type unsatisfactory, even on his top-priced top-range equipment.

  But the voice connection was good.

  "There is a party who has come here," said the branch manager after parrying Ajax's excited barrage of questions. "He gave his name as one Anton Smallways and says he represents a group of asteroid prospectors and miners. He states that they have an airtight claim to the independence of certain areas under their control and that he wishes to make a deal with you, as they need funds to assist in the areas' development. His claim seems to be authentic, Mr. Calkins, though he would not give full details unless he sees you."

  "When?" shouted Ajax. "When can he come to Earth and discuss it with me here?"

  "Sir," said the Martian branch officer, "he says he cannot undertake that trip. He requests that you come to Mars. Meet him in Syrtis Major Prime City as soon as you can and he will prove his point."

  "Set up the date!" said Ajax quickly. "I'll leave at once! I'll be on Mars as soon as the Destiny can make it—and it's the fastest yacht private money can buy!"

  "Very good, sir," said the man on Mars, "I'll advise you as quickly as it can be arranged." His voice faded out as the connection was broken.

  Ajax stood still. His heart was beating. "Butler!" he said. "I think this is it! Ajaxia . . . you're waiting!"

  There was a faint ring somewhere in the distant halls of the sprawling building. The butler shuffled rapidly out.

  Ajax eased himself down in his great chair and leaned forward, stared out the window, his eyes rapt with thought. He heard the shuffling sounds of the butler coming back. He heard a sharp quick tread behind him, but his thoughts were far away and he had forgotten that there was someone until the butler coughed.

  "There's a lady here to see you, sir," the butler announced.

  "Tell her I can't be bothered," Ajax said dreamily. "I have more weighty matters on my mind."

  "Exactly," snapped a new voice, sharp, feminine, and stem. "And that's why I'm here, young man. The Earth-Mars Space Administration wants to have a talk with you. Right here and now!"

  Ajax dropped his feet to the ground from their air-cushion rest and the chair wheeled around bringing him face-to-face with his visitor. Two pairs of determined eyes met.

  Somewhere there ought to have been thunder.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Like many young men in all ages, Ajax Calkins did not appreciate the element of good fortune in his situation. His father had married late in life, and Ajax was the only child of a union which no one had expected to last long. But the newsmen who had made cynical wagers among themselves at the time of the Calkins-O'Neill nuptials had underestimated Miss Margaret O'Neill, orphan and night-club entertainer. Miss O'Neill was not after the elder Calkins' money.

  An incurably romantic child, Margaret sought both husband and father, and found both in Ajax's sire. The library of the Calkins estate was crammed with the sort of books that Margaret had always wanted to read—romantic tales of great adventurers of history. Ajax was fed this heady diet from the time he was able to turn the pages of a picture book; and the Calkins fortune made it possible for him to be educated as his mother desired. Contact with the real world and with the un-delightful realities behind, or side-by-side with, the glamorous aspects of Pizzaro, Rhodes, etc., barely existed. Margaret would skim such portions of the glowing tales which touched upon the crimes of the great heroes and merely say that sometimes they did bad things, and Ajax should remember that all human beings were precious and no one should be exploited unfairly. A truly great conqueror was gentle and considerate to those whom he ruled, though firm with lawlessness.

  After the death of his parents in a storm which foundered the old-fashioned sailing craft that Margaret loved, young Ajax Calkins got to read the skimmed-over parts of his favorite books, and found that his heroes were not entirely faultless. However, his mother's teaching preserved him

  from too-great shock; he could piece out the hints she had made and decide that such unpalatable behavior was due to the lower moral consciousness of bygone days. He would avoid such folly.

  It never occurred to him to wonder what might have happened had there been any other heirs or relatives to contest the Calkins legacy. The possibility that he might have found himself in a sanitarium, declared incompetent, also never occurred to him. He knew, of course, that the times were out of joint—but then, sometimes his idols of the past had had to suffer from general stupidity and tiresome laws, too. He would perservere.

  And now, his dream was about to come true. Destiny was finally opening the way for him. Whoever this caller was, she would not be allowed to interfere. He drew himself up and looked at her. Facing Ajax was a pretty young woman, perhaps his age, but more likely a year or two younger. She might have presented a pleasant picture to that young man's eyes some other time or some other place-such as seated across a table at an exotic pleasure satellite over beakers of delicately scented intoxicants—but right now her deep blue eyes were lowered in a determined frown, her lips were tightly drawn, and her arms were jutting outwards from her hips angrily.

  He noted subconsciously the details of her face, which beneath a mop of short black hair arranged in bangs like those of a poodle dog, he would have enjoyed seeing. But right now he was in a mood to match hers—which was angry.

  "Who are you and who do you think you are, young lady!" Ajax barked at her. "What do you mean by . . ."

  "Don't bellow at me, Mr. Calkins of Calkans!" she snapped back just as sharply. "You may be the smart-aleck spoiled young man I've heard of, but even you can't talk back to the EMSA! And that's who I am! I am Emily Hackenschmidt, field investigator for the North American sector, and I mean to have a talk with you!"

  Ajax leaned back in his chair, swallowing the sharp words.

  The EMSA was still nothing to challenge. Now what had he done to deserve this inquiry?

  The Earth-Mars Space Administration had been set up some fifty years ago by high treaty between the United Nations of Earth and the United Beings of Mars. The two inhabited planets agreed to establish law and order over all the territory covered by the established interplanetary trade routes. The Martians were a compliant group of intelligent types, and none of them were martial despite their planet's name. They had given up exploration somewhere in their prehistoric pasts. But they were quite willing to work with the two-legged humans of Earth, once the Earthlings had made their way out to the fourth planet's orbit. They were used to co-operating with other intelligent species, for their world had always harbored more than one such type.

  And if the bipeds
of Terra wanted to poke around in space, that was all right with the Martians. So there was peaceful co-operation, joint space government, and harmony among the inner planets. It was the devout wish of every EMSA worker to continue this.

  "My dear young lady," began Ajax cautiously. "I rather believe you must be very new to your work. Your enthusiasm for EMSA is very commendable but really I cannot imagine what is on your mind. You must have the wrong party."

  "Humph!" snorted Emily. "You're Ajax Calkins, and you're the one whose been advertising around the planets for adventurers?"

  "Well," Ajax nodded, "I am that one. There is no other. And I did place a few advertisements."

  The girl nodded, still standing and staring down at him with her penetrating eyes. Ajax fidgeted, then beckoned to his faithful robot butler. Silently the robot brought over a chair, and the girl sat down.

  "We have been investigating your curiosity concerning unclaimed places and new possibilities for conquest. We do not approve of such ambitions, Mr. Calkins. This is the Twenty-first Century, and there is no place for such Eighteenth Century high-jinks. There are no more islands to be discovered, and all the asteroids are covered by our laws. You are only encouraging charlatans and frauds." She delivered her lecture with firmness.

  Ajax stared back at her. "What I do is none of your business. And if by any chance I find a place not covered by your laws, that will also be none of your business. I have no intention of interfering with anyone's peace or trade. I merely insist on following the precepts of such glorious heroes and benefactors of mankind as Pizarro, Rhodes, Clive of India, and William Walker."