Amazing Stories 88th Anniversary Issue: Amazing Stories April 2014

by Unknown

  “Part of it,” Carson said. “The gun for hire part.”

  She glanced back at the man who had spoken. “Does Captain Romero call him friend?”

  “The last time this man was here the Captain told him to get out and that if he ever came back, he’d have him executed. I wouldn’t say that sounds very friendly.”

  “It was just a misunderstanding,” Carson said. “If he were here, he’d tell you so himself. He’s probably forgotten all about that.”

  “What is this?” Jameson said. “I thought you and he—”

  “We are. It was just a little argument we had.”

  “That’s enough,” Lee-la said. “I will waste no more time with you. We find you guilty of spying. There can be only one sentence for such a crime. Take them to The Pool of Death!”

  The mob roared to life, and the two prisoners found themselves pushed and punched to the floor, where they were bound with ropes, hand and foot. Once they were trussed up, Carson and Jameson were lifted up on the men’s shoulders and carried across the throne room floor and out the front door into the street. The shouting throng, sputtering torches in hand and led by Lee-la, marched down the street and out the front gate of the city. Two moons shone in the black sky above and disappeared as they followed the trail back into the jungle. This they followed, twisting their way through the dense foliage until they came to another small clearing. The men placed their torches in stanchions that had been fashioned out of thick, twisted liana vines all around the periphery of the clearing.

  They untied the ropes binding Carson and Jameson’s legs. One of the men picked a fruit growing on one of the trees and tossed it down into the purple floor of the clearing. Carson was astonished when he saw the fruit fall through the clearing floor and water suddenly splashed up. What he had taken for the purple grass common to the planet was actually moss covering what appeared to be a deep pool. Suddenly the water came alive. Half a dozen black, massive, elongated heads jumped up to the surface. Carson stepped back. The pond was full of Croco-saurs. The long-snouted monsters twirled and twisted in the water, angry at being awakened so suddenly.

  Carson noticed up ahead a wooden plank stretched out from the floor of the jungle over the pool.

  “All right, men,” Lee-la shouted. “These two have been found guilty of spying, and we will now carry out the sentence. Death by the plank!”

  Another roar went up into the jungle as the crowd grabbed Carson first and then Jameson. Carson didn’t even try to struggle to free himself. He knew it was futile. His attitude toward death had always been that one day it would come, and when it did, there would be no use fighting the inevitable. Jameson, on the other hand, began screaming, kicking, and biting to get himself free.

  In a few moments Carson stood at the edge of the pool, his feet now on the wooden plank that would serve as the path of his last walk.

  “Any last words, spy?” Lee-la asked.

  “No. Let’s get it over with.”

  Jameson erupted in screeches. “Say something, man,” he shouted. “Do something. I hired you to protect me. You were supposed to get me safe passage.”

  “You want a refund?”

  “Start walking, Carson,” Lee-la ordered. Carson felt something blunt strike him in the back. He turned and saw a man wielding a long pole. He prodded Carson again to move forward. Carson started walking slowly out the length of the plank. It bounced up and down under his weight. He came to the end of the plank and looked down. The vicious reptiles swarmed and made ugly growling, grunting noises, their bloodshot eyes looking up at him hungrily.

  Carson could sense the man with the pole ready to make his lunge. In a second it would be all over. Then something loud cracked, a light flashed in the jungle to the right of the pool, and the pole shattered into splinters. The man holding it yelled in surprise.

  “Hold it, you scurvy space dogs,” a voice shouted, and a man broke through the dense foliage between the trees. He was a tall, well-proportioned man with a thin black mustache and long dark hair. Like Lee-la, he was dressed in black leather. It was Esteban Romero! He had a plasma blaster in his hand, from the muzzle of which ozone vapors now curled.

  “What goes, here?” he asked. “Having an execution without me?”

  “Esteban!” Lee-la ran to him. “Welcome home!” They embraced and kissed. “We thought you were in some kind of trouble. These two showed up and we suspected them of being spies for the League.”

  “Spies?” Romero let go of the woman and walked around the edge of the pool. He looked at Jameson first and then out at the man standing at the end of the plank. His eyes opened wide and a toothy grin split his face.

  “Carson! Amigo! What are you doing out there?”

  “Esteban! Old buddy. Glad to see you haven’t forgotten me.”

  “No,” the pirate said, and then the smile disappeared and he suddenly frowned. “And I haven’t forgotten how we parted.”

  “Just a little misunderstanding between friends. That girl—I didn’t know you were that serious about her.”

  “Girl!” Lee-la said. “What girl?”

  “No girl, Lee-la,” Romero said. “It was a long time ago.” He wasn’t anxious to follow that line of discussion. “Carson! Amigo! Come down off of there.”

  He turned to Lee-la. “How could you execute my friend this way? Lee-la, I’m disappointed in you. This man saved my life once. How can I let you kill him now?”

  Carson walked back to the edge of the pond, and Romero cut the ropes away from his arms. “My friend, how good it is to see you,” he said, grabbing Carson’s shoulders with his two hands. “It’s been such a long time.”

  “I’m glad to see you too,” Carson said, glancing back at the swirling waters of the pool.

  “We have a lot of catching up to do,” Romero said. “But tell me what brings you here.”

  “I brought somebody,” Carson said. “Captain Esteban Romero I’d like you to meet James Joyce Jameson, a famous author. He writes pirate books, or what passes for books these days.”

  “James Joyce Jameson!” Romero beamed. “I love your work. You’re one writer who really seems to understand the pirate mind.” He turned to Lee-la. “Honey, this is a famous man! And you were going to kill him too?”

  “I thought he was a damn spy!”

  “A spy! You’re not a spy, are you, Mr. Jameson?”

  “No, no. Absolutely not.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  Carson interrupted. “Research.”

  “Research?” Romero was surprised. “You mean you want to know more about pirate life for your books? How interesting. You want to study Romero and his men to use us in your books? Lee-la, do you hear this? Mr. Jameson is going to make us famous!”

  “We already are famous,” the woman said.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Romero said. “She’s just angry because I spoiled the execution. Come! Let’s go back to the palace. I want to hear more.”

  He put his arm around Carson’s shoulder as they walked back down the jungle trail toward the city. “Hey, amigo,” he said. “Now we’re even. You saved my life that time many years ago. Now I saved yours. The slate is clean.”

  Carson felt strange as they walked back to the city, as though, bringing Jameson here had been a huge mistake. But the delight Romero showed as he talked to the author made him shake off the feeling. Still, he thought, the sooner the two days he’d promised Jameson were up the better.

  The next morning, Carson and Jameson awoke early in the room Romero had given them in the palace. Ancient and crumbling as the city and its edifices were, the pirate had managed to fit the interiors of the rooms with the finest furniture, carpets, and tapestries from all over the world. It had all been taken in plunder over the fifteen years Esteban Romero had plied his trade. A girl brought fresh fruit and told them they were invited to breakfast with the captain.

  The palace dining hall was as richly appointed as the other rooms. They sat with Romer
o and Lee-la at an immense, ornately carved table made of solid oak. They ate off gold plates and drank from jeweled goblets.

  “Life has treated you well, Esteban,” Carson said, sipping some fresh fruit juice.

  “I have treated myself well, my friend,” Romero answered. “Life doesn’t care one way or another. It will treat you cruelly as easily as it will treat you kindly. A man has to take what he wants from life, or he’ll die.”

  “Tell me captain,” Jameson said. “Can you remember your first adventure?” He had the Mini-Port-Comm on the table in front of him. “Do you remember what happened the day you knew it was your destiny to become a space pirate?”

  Romero smiled. “Destiny,” he said, his eyes beaming. “I like that word. I like the way you speak, Mr. Jameson.” He nudged Lee-la with an elbow. “You hear that? Destiny. Only a real writer uses words like that.”

  Carson ate some of the scrambled Gorko bird egg Romero’s cook served and drank a hot beverage made of some sort of ground beans that vaguely resembled Earth coffee. He could see that Romero was clearly infatuated with his visitor. The idea of being immortalized in a book had completely swept Esteban Romero off his feet. The legendary pirate began orating the story of his first act of space piracy some 15 years ago, and Carson could only chuckle to himself, as the captain spared no detail, no dramatic inflection in the telling of the tale. The space pirate’s ego was swelling beyond even its normally huge proportions.

  After breakfast, Romero and Jameson went off together to the clearing the pirates used as a landing strip. The captain wanted to give Jameson a tour of the Black Vulture, a 200 ton, mega-war ship, equipped with laser cannon, Invisi-shields, and Hyper-drive that could reach 20 times the speed of light.

  While they were gone, Carson spotted Lee-la sitting rather dejectedly in the courtyard outside the palace. She sat on an old canon that once fired cannon balls and now stood in the courtyard more as a decorative ornament than a weapon.

  “What’s the matter?” Carson asked. “You look a little fed up.”

  “This writer, Jameson,” Lee-la said. “He talks too much. And asks too many questions.”

  “Romero doesn’t seem to mind it.”

  “He’s in love with him!” Lee-la said. “Now he has no time for Lee-la.”

  “Well, we’ll only be here another day,” Carson said. “And then we’ll be gone.”

  The girl looked up at him from the corners of her eyes. “Lee-la will be sorry to see you go,” she said.

  Carson could sense trouble. “Last night you wanted to kill me.”

  “That was last night,” she said. “Lee-la does not feel that way this morning.”

  “Sure we’re not really spies?”

  The girl frowned and the look in her eye changed. “I don’t know. Maybe not you. But that Jameson. Something about him I do not like.”

  Carson didn’t say anything. He didn’t like the man either. Was it just his superciliousness? He didn’t know. Carson wanted to change the subject. “How do you like the life of a pirate? Must be hard for a woman.”

  “Why? I can do anything any man can do.”

  “But times are changing. The League is dedicated to wiping out piracy. And in a way the pirates have brought it on themselves. It’s not like the old days. Pirates used to have a sort of code of honor they lived by. Now, the new generation I guess you can call them. They’re not much more than savage animals. The atrocities they’ve committed have made it harder for Romero. Now he’s forced to hide out in this god forsaken place. Not many places left for him. He may not be as bad as the others, but when they catch him, they’ll execute him just the same.”

  “This I know,” Lee-la said. “But what is to be done? It is too late to turn back the clock.”

  Later that afternoon, Carson returned to his room. A nagging feeling had been bothering him all morning. When Lee-la had voiced her suspicions about Jameson a faint sense of alarm had gone off inside him. And it wasn’t the first time he’d had a bad feeling about the man. What did he know about him after all? He had come to Carson out of the blue asking for his help and he’d rather recklessly agreed without bothering to check him out.

  Carson remembered how Jameson reacted when he’d said back in The Corvette as they approached Sarna that the League has all the power. He had sense an inner turmoil in the man. He’s seemed suddenly afraid. Why?

  Carson found the black canvass duffle bag that Jameson had brought with him lying on the floor at the foot of the bed he’d slept in overnight. He didn’t like snooping in other people’s property, but some instinct drove him to open the bag and look inside it. He found a change of clothes, some toiletries, a couple of Jameson’s Brain Books, and underwear. Hold it! Beneath the underwear, something winked red at him. He threw the underwear out on the bed and found a small cloth-covered compartment sewn into the bottom of the bag. Something inside the compartment sent out a steady red blinking light. Carson felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He tore the cloth away and grabbed the square object that lay under it. A galaxial positioning tracker. Damn!

  Carson stormed out of the room and strode out of the palace. He ran into Lee-la in the street next to the courtyard. She saw something wrong in Carson’s face. “What is it?”

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Carson said. “Is Romero still out at the air strip?”

  “Yes,” Lee-la said, running to keep up with him. “What’s wrong?”

  Both of them ran out of the city and minutes later found Romero, Jameson at his side, the ever present Comm-Corder in his hand. They stood in the clearing before the massive bulk of The Black Vulture. The onyx colored ship seemed almost a living thing that could lift off the ground and fly off at any moment. Its size dwarfed Carson’s gull wing fighter sitting at the other end of the field. He hoped he’d never have to meet The Vulture in combat.

  “Romero!” Carson yelled. The pirate turned, a smile on his face.

  “Amigo!” he shouted. “Come, I was just telling Mr. Jameson—”

  “Don’t tell him anything,” Carson said. “I’ve blundered, my friend. I’m sorry. This man is a spy for the League. I found this in his bag.” Carson held the positioning device out in his hand. “He’s sending your location to the League.”

  “You see,” Lee-la shouted. “I was right!”

  Carson threw the device to the ground and stomped it with the heel of his boot until the plastic case was smashed and the light stopped blinking. “You and your men have got to get out of here. League ships must be on their way.”

  Romero turned on the diminutive Jameson, towering over him like a bear about to attack. “Is this true?”

  Jameson turned white. He ran behind Carson. “Stop him, Carson,” he yelled. “He’s going to kill me.”

  Carson grabbed Jameson’s shirt and pulled him close. “I ought to kill you myself,” he snarled. “Why, Jameson? Why did you do it?”

  “I didn’t have any choice,” the writer cried. “It was either do what they wanted or go to jail. You see the League found out I owed millions in unpaid taxes. It was all my accountant’s fault. I tried to explain. I would never cheat the government. But they wouldn’t believe me. They made me an offer. They’ve been after Romero for years. They said my career as a writer of pirate stories would be a good cover. They knew you were Romero’s friend. It was a perfect set up. I had no choice!”

  “Kill him,” Lee-la shouted.

  “Step aside, Carson.” Romero gripped his plasma pistol and stepped forward, his mouth twisted in an angry grimace.

  “Stop him, Carson,” Jameson screeched. “I paid you to protect me. You took my money, now do your job.”

  Carson let go of him, and Jameson ran around behind him, keeping Carson between Romero and him.

  “Hold it, Esteban!” Carson said. “Shouldn’t you be getting out of here?”

  “After I shoot him.”

  “Can’t let you do that.”

  “What? Why not.”


  “He’s my client. He paid for my services. Once I take a job, I see it through. You know that. I can’t let you kill him.”

  “After what he did? I admire your professional ethics, but he betrayed you too.”

  “I know. But I still can’t let you do it. He may be a worthless scumbag, but I’ve been paid to see he doesn’t come to any harm.”

  “Don’t make me kill you, Carson, just to get to him.”

  The two men stood face to face, eye to eye. “Don’t make me draw,” Carson said, the palm of his hand hovering over the laser pistol strapped to his leg.

  “Drop your weapons,” Jameson shouted. The men turned and saw Jameson with his arm yoked around Lee-la’s neck, her pistol in his hand.

  “Shoot him,” Lee-la yelled.

  “Drop the pistols on the ground now,” Jameson said.

  Carson and Romero let the guns slip from their hands.

  Jameson started dragging the woman backward, toward the jungle. Even though he had control of the situation, he was panicked. “Keep your hands up, and don’t follow us.” Lee-la tried to wrest herself free, but Jameson put the pistol to her forehead. “Don’t try it!”

  Carson started to move. “Stay where you are,” Jameson yelled. He fired a purple blast of plasma at Carson, who dove on the ground out of the way of the ray. Lee-la raised her leg and brought her foot down on Jameson’s instep. The man yelled and let go of her. He jumped back and fired. The girl yelped and spun around, then fell on the ground. Romero, now heedless of the threat from Jameson’s gun, ran toward him. With a cry of fear Jameson fired a wild blast that missed Romero, then ran into the jungle, following the trail back to the ancient city.

  Carson ran behind Romero, who stopped to kneel next to Lee-la. She looked up at him in pain. Her shoulder was burnt black by the ray. “I’m all right,” she said, sitting up with Romero’s help.

  “Get her on The Vulture,” Carson said. He noticed that men had run out of the ship at the sound of the shots and were coming toward them. “Round up all your crew and get out of here. The League will come down on this place with everything they’ve got.”