Golden Age of Science Fiction Vol XIII

by Various

  Sunday loomed larger and larger, closer and closer. I was a constant and ever present guest. It was an elementary matter to get Beth to invite me for Sunday dinner. The invitation came on Saturday night, and that night when I came back to my room I called Ristal for the first time since we had arrived.

  "Tomorrow," I said into the besnal. "Early evening."

  "Good."

  That was all we said, but it was enough. Our frequency was too high to be picked up. Still, we were taking no chances. Ristal knew precisely what I meant and he would be ready.

  I had the feeling that comes when a mission is about to be completed. There was a feeling of tension, and yet for the first time in my career I had a lowering of spirits that I could not explain.

  The feeling persisted until late Sunday afternoon. Then I pushed it from my mind. I dressed carefully, slipped the besnal into my inner pocket, and put my del gun in my coat pocket.

  "Take your coat off," Beth said when I came in. "You ought to know there's no formality here."

  "I'm really quite comfortable," I told her. "Am I late?"

  "No. Just on time. Dad will be down in a moment."

  He came down the stairs from his study while we were talking. He greeted me warmly, and yet I felt that this time he was scrutinizing me. All during the dinner his eyes were on me, weighing me. I felt what was coming, and as we rose from the table it came.

  "I hope you won't be offended, Marko," Copperd said. "But there are some strange things about you. Do you ever shave?"

  "No," I said. I looked out the window and saw it was growing darker.

  "That's odd. And about your hair ... have you ever realized that every strand of it grows in a different direction? You could never comb it. Your skin is of an unusually fine texture. And when you reached for something at the table I observed strange folds of skin between your fingers. You are somehow not like the rest of us."

  "Naturally," I said. It didn't matter now. It was dark enough.

  "Why naturally?"

  "Because," I told him, "I am a Venusian."

  * * * * *

  My tone was matter of fact. Yet they knew that I was not joking. Beth was staring at me, a growing fear and horror in her eyes. Her father seemed dazed by the revelation. I took the del gun from my pocket and showed it to them.

  "This is a weapon strange to you. But it is effective at this range. Please don't make me use it."

  "But what do you want?" Copperd asked.

  "I want you to take a ride with me. In your car."

  I let them put on their coats and then we walked out onto the porch and down the stairs. Across the street the security agent barely glanced at us. Then we got into Copperd's car, Beth and he in the front seat and I in the back. I told him in which direction to go.

  At the outskirts of town we lost the car that was following us. I had planned this part of it perfectly. We pulled into a side road and turned off our lights. The agent went right past us.

  "What is it you want of me?" Copperd said as we started up again.

  "We want to have a long discussion with you about some matters on which you are an authority."

  "And that's what this whole affair with me was for? So that you could get to my father!" Beth said accusingly. I saw her shoulders shake.

  "Yes. Now turn off here."

  We turned off the main road and followed a rutted trail onto an old farm.

  The farmhouse was a wreck, but the barn still good. Our ship was in there.

  The door opened as we walked toward the barn. Ristal's tall figure was framed in the doorway, and behind him stood Kresh, broad and ungainly. The others crowded up behind them.

  "Good work, Marko," Ristal said. We went into the ship, which filled the whole interior of the barn.

  "This is Commander Ristal, of the Venusian Intelligence," I told Copperd and Beth.

  "What's your official title?" Beth asked bitterly.

  "I am a special agent and language expert," I told her. Then I explained why I had brought them here.

  "Our civilization is in some way far in advance of yours. As you see, we have mastered interplanetary travel. But it is essentially a peaceful civilization. Our weapons, such as we have, are of limited range and power.

  "When it became known that Earth was developing monstrous weapons of aggression we realized that we must be prepared for the worst. There was only one way to discover what you already had and what you were working on. Once we arrived here we found that a man named Copperd was the prime figure in his country's atomic weapons research. It became our duty to seek him out."

  "I see," Copperd grunted. "And now you expect me to reveal secrets which I am bound by oath to protect with my very life?"

  "You will reveal them," Ristal told him.

  I didn't like the way Ristal said that. There was a tinge of cruelty in his tone and in the sudden tightening of his lips. I hadn't ever worked with him before, or with Kresh, who was Ristal's second in command, but I didn't like the methods their manner implied. Copperd looked worried.

  "I told you we were a peaceful people," I put in.

  "Let me handle this," Ristal said. He pointed to a machine which stood in a corner.

  "That," he explained to Copperd, "is a device which we ordinarily use in surgery and diagnosis. It has the faculty of making the nerves infinitely more sensitive to stimuli. Also to pain. Do you understand?"

  "You can't use that on him!" I said. Ristal looked at me strangely.

  "Of course not. But on his daughter, yes. No father likes to see his daughter suffer."

  "That's out," I said flatly. "You know what our orders are."

  "I know what they were. This is my own idea, Marko. Please remember that I am commander here."

  I was duty bound to obey him, and I thought that I was going to obey. But as Kresh stepped toward Beth I found myself between them.

  "I think that those higher up may have something to say about this," I told Ristal.

  "With the information this man can give me I shall be in a position to ignore those higher up," Ristal grinned.

  Kresh reached for Beth and I hit him. I knew now what Ristal had in mind. With atomic weapons he could make himself master of Venus, and of Earth. But even more important than that was the thought that he must not harm Beth.

  * * * * *

  Kresh was coming back at me. I hit him again and he went down. Then the others came piling in. There were four of them, too many for me. I fought like a madman but they overwhelmed me and held me helpless.

  "Give him a shot of bental," Ristal ordered. "That ought to quiet him. Then dump him in a cabin. We'll dispose of him later."

  Then Kresh was coming at me with the hypodermic needle. I felt it stab into my arm. He gave me a dose that might have killed an ordinary man.

  I knew how bental worked. It was a drug that would throw me into a stupor, that would render my mind blank. Already it was taking effect. I pretended to be unconscious. Two men lifted me and carried me to a cabin, dropped me on the bunk and went out. The last thing I saw from beneath my lids was Beth being dragged toward that diabolical machine.

  My senses were leaving me. I knew that I had to overcome the effects of the drug. I knew that I had to get out of that cabin. Somehow I dragged myself out of the bunk and got a porthole open. I crawled through it and dropped to the floor of the barn.

  There were some loose boards and I pried them further apart and crawled out into the open. I no longer knew what I was doing; I no longer remembered Beth. I only knew that I had to run and keep on running.

  * * * * *

  My broken rib was stabbing into me like a knife. Across my chest the limb of the tree was a dead weight that crushed me. But now I knew who I was and what I was doing.

  Despite the agony I managed to get my hands under the limb. I pushed up and felt it move. The pressure on my chest was gone. Inch by inch I slid out from beneath the huge branch. I staggered to my feet.

  How much time had elapsed I didn'
t know. I was running again, but now I was running toward the dark barn. It wouldn't have taken Ristal long to get started. Maybe by now Beth was.... I shut the thought from my mind.

  I was a few hundred yards away when the first scream came. Through the wind and the pelting rain it came, and it chilled me more than they had done.

  My chest was aflame with every panting breath I took. But I ran as I had never run before. I had to get there before she screamed again. I had to stop them from doing this to her.

  The barn door was locked. I got my fingers under the edge and ripped the wood away from the lock and went on through and into the ship.

  None of them saw me coming. Copperd was tied in a chair, his face contorted and tears streaming down his face. Three of the men held Beth while Ristal and Kresh worked over her. The rest were watching.

  They hadn't taken my del gun from me. But I couldn't use it for fear of hitting Beth. I had it out of my pocket and in my hand as I charged across the room.

  * * * * *

  My rush brought me into point-blank range on a line parallel with Beth's prostrate figure. At the same time her torturers wheeled about to face me, trapped for an instant in the paralysis of complete surprise. Ristal was the first to recover.

  "Drop the gun, Marko," he said.

  In my weakened condition, habit governed my reflexes. I almost obeyed the order. Then Ristal took a single step forward and I swung the muzzle of the gun upward again.

  "You almost had me," I said. "But you are no longer in command. You and Kresh will return as prisoners, to face trial."

  I hoped that he would accept the inevitable. Our crew could plead that they had done nothing except follow the orders of their commanding officer. But for Kresh and Ristal there could be no mitigating circumstances.

  They would stand trial and they would receive the harshest of punishments, exile. It was a bleak outlook for them, and the bleakness was reflected in their faces. Ristal's hand flicked to his gun.

  [Illustration: I pulled the trigger and a sizzling bolt of energy leaped forth]

  I fired once and there was the smell of searing flesh.

  "Kresh?" I asked. He looked down at the faceless figure on the floor and shook his head.

  He raised his elbows, leaving his holster exposed. I nodded to one of the crewmen and he stepped forward and removed Kresh's del gun.

  "Drop it on the floor," I said. "Then tear off his insignia and lock him in the forward cabin."

  It was the end of the mutiny. But I felt no joy at that. My chest pained intolerably, my shoulders sagged in exhaustion. And I had failed in my mission.

  Beth was all right. I went to her and tore the electrodes from her wrists and ankles and helped her to her feet. She refused to look at me, even allowing me to untie her father by myself.

  "I regret that it turned out this way," I said.

  "How could it turn out any other way?" Beth demanded suddenly. "Do you think we'd trust you now?"

  Off in the night a siren wailed. I listened while another siren joined the first.

  "They're already looking for you," I said. "Which shows how little chance I would have had of getting to you openly. You'd better be going now."

  But as I led them to the door I knew I had to make one more attempt.

  "Professor Copperd, do you think there might still be hope? We of Venus can offer much to Earth."

  "Maybe there is hope," he said, and he looked brighter than I had ever seen him look. "I was reaching the point where I had no faith in the future. But now, knowing that you have solved the problems which we face.... Perhaps, if the proper arrangements were made.... But you would be risking a great deal to return. And I can assure you that for a long time Venus will be safe. So you have no reason--"

  "I have a good reason for coming back," I interrupted. Taking Beth by the shoulders, I swung her about to face me.

  "I love you," I said. "I started out to trick you and ended by loving you."

  Then her arms were about me and her lips were on mine. I felt my face wet with her tears, and I knew that my love was returned. There were still problems to face, dangers to overcome, but they didn't matter.

  "It may be a year," I said. "Perhaps two years."

  "I'll be waiting. I'll be standing here, waiting for you."

  Now the sirens were very close and there were searchlights sweeping the fields and the woods. I watched Beth and her father walking away and then I closed the door. I should have felt sad, but I didn't. A year or two weren't much. On this planet far from my own, I was leaving my heart, and I would return one day to redeem it.

  * * *

  Contents

  LOVE STORY

  By Irving E. Cox, Jr.

  Everything was aimed at satisfying the whims of women. The popular cliches, the pretty romances, the catchwords of advertising became realities; and the compound kept the men enslaved. George knew what he had to do....

  The duty bell rang and obediently George clattered down the steps from his confinement cubicle over the garage. His mother's chartreuse-colored Cadillac convertible purred to a stop in the drive.

  "It's so sweet of you to come, Georgie," his mother said when George opened the door for her.

  "Whenever you need me, Mummy." It was no effort at all to keep the sneer out of his voice. Deception had become a part of his character.

  His mother squeezed his arm. "I can always count on my little boy to do the right thing."

  "Yes, Mummy." They were mouthing a formula of words. They were both very much aware that if George hadn't snapped to attention as soon as the duty bell rang, he risked being sentenced, at least temporarily, to the national hero's corps.

  Still in the customary, martyr's whisper, George's mother said, "This has been such a tiring day. A man can never understand what a woman has to endure, Georgie; my life is such an ordeal." Her tone turned at once coldly practical. "I've two packages in the trunk; carry them to the house for me."

  George picked up the cardboard boxes and followed her along the brick walk in the direction of the white, Colonial mansion where his mother and her two daughters and her current husband lived. George, being a boy, was allowed in the house only when his mother invited him, or when he was being shown off to a prospective bride. George was nineteen, the most acceptable marriage age; because he had a magnificent build and the reputation for being a good boy, his mother was rumored to be asking twenty thousand shares for him.

  As they passed the rose arbor, his mother dropped on the wooden seat and drew George down beside her. "I've a surprise for you, George--a new bidder. Mrs. Harper is thinking about you for her daughter."

  "Jenny Harper?" Suddenly his throat was dust dry with excitement.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Georgie?"

  "Whatever arrangement you make, Mummy." Jenny Harper was one of the few outsiders George had occasionally seen as he grew up. She was approximately his age, a stunning, dark-eyed brunette.

  "Jenny and her mother are coming to dinner to talk over a marriage settlement." Speculatively she ran her hand over the tanned, muscle-hard curve of his upper arm. "You're anxious to have your own woman, aren't you, George?"

  "So I can begin to work for her, Mummy." That, at least, was the correct answer, if not an honest one.

  "And begin taking the compound every day." His mother smiled. "Oh, I know you wicked boys! Put on your dress trunks tonight. We want Jenny to see you at your best."

  She got up and strode toward the house again. George followed respectfully two paces behind her. As they passed beyond the garden hedge, she saw the old business coupe parked in the delivery court. Her body stiffened in anger. "Why is your father home so early, may I ask?" It was an accusation, rather than a question.

  "I don't know, Mother. I heard my sisters talking in the yard; I think he was taken sick at work."

  "Sick! Some men never stop pampering themselves."

  "They said it was a heart attack or--"

  "Ridiculous; he isn't d
ead, is he? Georgie, this is the last straw. I intend to trade your father in today on a younger man." She snatched the two packages from him and stormed into the house.

  Since his mother hadn't asked him in, George returned to his confinement cubicle in the garage. He felt sorry, in an impersonal way, for the husband his mother was about to dispose of, but otherwise the fate of the old man was quite normal. He had outlived his economic usefulness; George had seen it happen before. His real father had died a natural death--from strain and overwork--when George was four. His mother had since then bought four other husbands; but, because boys were brought up in rigid isolation, George had known none of them well. For the same reason, he had no personal friends.

  He climbed the narrow stairway to his cubicle. It was already late afternoon, almost time for dinner. He showered and oiled his body carefully, before he put on his dress trunks, briefs made of black silk studded with seed pearls and small diamonds. He was permitted to wear the jewels because his mother's stockholdings were large enough to make her an Associate Director. His family status gave George a high marriage value and his Adonis physique kicked the asking price still higher. At nineteen he stood more than six feet tall, even without his formal, high-heeled boots. He weighed one hundred and eighty-five, not an ounce of it superfluous fat. His skin was deeply bronzed by the sunlamps in the gym; his eyes were sapphire blue; his crewcut was a platinum blond--thanks to the peroxide wash his mother made him use.

  Observing himself critically in the full-length mirror, George knew his mother was justified in asking twenty thousand shares for him. Marriage was an essential part of his own plans; without it revenge was out of his reach. He desperately hoped the deal would be made with Jenny Harper. A young woman would be far less difficult for him to handle.

  When the oil on his skin was dry, he lay down on his bunk to catch up on his required viewing until the duty bell called him to the house. The automatic circuit snapped on the television screen above his bunk; wearily George fixed his eyes on the unreeling love story.