Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  Every one who worked for Interspace knew what a wild young hellion the boss’ son was. It was also conceded that it was just a matter of time before the Old Man would lose his patience and do something drastic about it.

  This seemed to be that time. While I was out on a scheduled run, young Harker had filled a passenger transport with a mob of drunken kids and arced off into the void on a pleasure jaunt. When he brought the ship back, four of its six forward rockets were burned to a black crisp.

  Now—the rumor was flitting about the Base—the Old Man was fed up. But definitely.

  He had called me in and, as I sat in his office watching him stamp up and down the carpet, I had an uneasy hunch what he had in mind for me.

  He stopped abruptly in front of me and glared at me as if I were the cause of his trouble.

  “You’ve been with Interspace eighteen years,” he said abruptly. “You’ve seen that son of mine turn into an insolent, disagreeable, spineless scamp in that time. Now what the hell’s wrong?”

  “You put your finger on it,” I said grinning. Knowing Bull Harker for eighteen years I wasn’t afraid of him. I think that’s what he liked about me.

  “What d’you mean?” he demanded.

  “It’s your fault,” I said. “You admitted that a while ago. There’s nothing wrong with that kid of yours. He’s just restless and bored because he’s never had any kind of a job to take care of. No responsibilities to put a weight on his head. He’s wild and careless because he’s never had to be otherwise. Now if he was to get kicked into the world and discover that it was a pretty tough place to get along in, he might settle down a bit.”

  Bull Harker strode to his desk and sat down, frowning. Finally a glimmer of a grin touched his mouth.

  “I had the same idea,” he said, “when I called you in here. It was my idea for you take the kid with you on your next trip to Base Eleven. Eleven, as I recall, is still pretty rough and unsettled. Out there things might happen,” he paused and glanced at me meaningly before continuing, “things might happen that would make him appreciate the more serious side of life. I wouldn’t have to tell you what those things might be.”

  I kept a perfect poker face.

  “That’s right,” I said. “You can never tell what might happen to a young fellow on Eleven. Native trouble, poisoned food, attacks by space pirates. Any of them things might happen just like that.”

  “I see we understand each other,” Bull Harker said gruffly. “I’ve tried everything else with that kid, but maybe this’ll work. If he gets scared badly enough it might make him fight. That’s what Pm hoping for.”

  “I can promise you,” I said, getting to my feet, “that all and several kinds of hell will break loose on Eleven when we get there.”

  “I don’t want him hurt, you understand?” Bull Harker snapped quickly. “I’m holding you responsible for that, Bill. But give him a thorough going over. Maybe there’s a real man hiding behind that insolent, drunken face of his.”

  I had my doubts about that, but I didn’t say so.

  “We’ll see,” I said. “We surely will see.”

  ABOUT a week later I was standing with Bull Harker next to the Interspace mooring tower. The sleek length of my space cruiser was resting in the auxiliary rocket tube and I was all set for the trip to Eleven.

  There was only one thing missing. And that was Bull Harker’s son, Danny. He was scheduled as my assistant and he should have arrived at the mooring tower long before this, but there was not a trace of him.

  “I’ll break him in two, myself,” Bull

  Harker roared for the dozenth time. “I told him to be here in time. Does he think I’m running a suburban commuter service? Doesn’t he know that five ships are waiting to use that auxiliary?”

  “If he does,” I said, “it isn’t bothering him much.”

  For the next ten minutes Bull Harker panthered back and forth before me in a sulphurous silence. Then came an interruption. An interruption that skyrocketed the Old Man’s blood pressure to the boiling point.

  Through the main gate roared a glistening, bullet-like land car, headed straight for us. It was one of the superpowerful types powered with U-235. They were too fast almost for anything but the clearest stretches, but this one was flashing at us at about two hundred miles an hour, straight across the crowded mooring field. It was traveling too fast for me to recognize the occupants, but I knew the car belonged to Danny Harker.

  About fifty feet from us the low slung car slewed with a protesting scream and slid to a shuddering stop not four feet from the ramp the Old Man and I were standing on.

  In the front seat of the car was Danny Harker, a slim, sullen looking young fellow with light blonde hair, and bloodshot blue eyes. Alongside him was a gorgeous redhead, her head lolling against his shoulder. In the back seat were two more girls, asleep.

  All of them reeked of Venusian rum, and plenty of it.

  “You crazy fool!” Bull Harker grated. “Where have you been? And who are these girls?”

  Danny Harker looked at the girls and shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Met ’em somewhere last night, I guess. All got drunk. Farewell party for prominent young no-good.”

  Bull Harker opened his mouth, but I tapped him on the arm and shook my head. It wouldn’t do any good to read the riot act to the young kid now. In his condition it would only make him more resentful.

  “Come on, Danny,” I said quietly. “Let’s get started.”

  He looked up at me sourly, then climbed out of his car.

  “Okay, wet nurse,” he grumbled.

  We said goodbye briefly and climbed into my ship. The kid was sullenly silent, but when I cut in the power and we zoomed up and out of the tube, he gasped and turned slightly green. I thought he would be sick, but by the time we whizzed out of Earth’s atmosphere into the void, some color was seeping back into his face. I set the controls for Eleven, threw a careless glance at the visa-screen to check the course, then relaxed against the back of my pilot’s chair.

  “We’re going to have a great time on Eleven,” I said, with what I hoped was a hearty ring in my voice.

  The kid looked at me sourly, then closed his eyes and leaned his head against the duraUoy wall of the control room.

  “Isn’t that just ducky,” he said sarcastically.

  Then he went to sleep.

  AS WE rocketed on through the blackness I did a little speculating on my somewhat disagreeable charge. In spite of his sullenness and rotten manners, I felt that he couldn’t be all bad. No son of Bull Harker could be. But the kid had led a pampered, lazy existence, and you could hardly blame him for developing into a spoiled, soft brat.

  I decided grimly there would be nothing soft or easy about his stay with me on Eleven. As a rule I’m against the rough treatment generally handed to greenhorns, but this was a case where I would have no scruples.

  I was so busy with my thoughts that I hadn’t kept an eye on the screen before him. Now, when I glanced at it perfunctorily, I saw that a small black dot had appeared in the right top corner.

  Straightening up I watched the dot interestedly. It grew in size until finally I could see the miniature outlines of a dead black space ship, flashing along behind me. It was fitted with atomic cannons and this bothered me. Passenger and freight ships were not usually armed, and I couldn’t see any military insignia on the ship behind me to account for the heavy arms it carried.

  The strange ship following me suddenly disappeared from the front screen. I shot a worried glance at the side screen and saw that it had appeared there. Now it was coming up on my side, flanking me with its superior speed.

  I didn’t like it at all.

  I tried more speed, but it didn’t help. The black ship kept up, even pulled a little ahead of me. It was only about eighteen thousand miles from me now, and any ship that creeps up that close to another in the limitless expanses of the void does it with a reason.

  What reason? I asked
myself.

  I soon found out. From the fore atomic cannon of the black ship a puff of smoke appeared, and simultaneously an orange bolt of scorching flame streaked across the front of my ship.

  So that was their game! Obviously the black ship was one of the fast disappearing freebooters that preyed on shipping in the void. The blast from the cannon had been a signal for me to cut my speed to 460/460 which was the speed established by the Space Federation for inter-locking in the void.[*] That meant they intended to board us.

  I shook the kid roughly, until he blinked his eyes and straightened in his chair.

  “What’s the big idea?” he grumbled.

  “Maybe trouble,” I said briefly. Even then I was able to appreciate something of the irony of the situation. Bull Harker had instructed me to create some phony trouble for the kid, and here was the real thing, dangerous and on the level.

  The kid glanced up at the side screen, studied the black ship carelessly.

  “What’s up?” he asked yawning.

  “We’re going to be boarded,” I answered tersely. I had already cut my speed to 460/460. There was nothing else I could do. “We aren’t carrying anything valuable,” I went on, “so I can’t figure out why we’re being stopped. Maybe they’ll let us go after a search.”

  “And maybe not,” the kid said carelessly. He didn’t seem to be scared, just vaguely interested in what was going on. It was too soon though to know how he’d react when things got tough.

  He leaned back in his seat then and closed his eyes.

  “Don’t forget to wake me up when they get here,” he murmured drowsily. “I’m kind of interested in meeting a real live pirate.”

  Then, to my complete surprise, he dozed off again.

  “I’LL wake you,” I muttered grimly.

  I strode into the body of the ship and prepared the hatchway for the locking of the approaching ship. It had disappeared from the screen altogether so I knew it was practically alongside now.

  In about another couple of minutes I heard a metallic bang! Then a shuddering jar traveled the length of my ship and I knew we were locked to the side of the black raider.

  Another five minutes passed while I knew air was being pumped into the hermetically sealed compartment created by the locked hatchways of the two ships.

  Then I heard a metal clamp release, a door open. Then a heavy fist was pounding imperiously on the hatchway door of my ship.

  I opened the door and three men with drawn electric guns in their fists shoved me aside and stalked into the ship.

  They were all hard looking specimens of the space marauder type. One of them covered me with his gun while the other two made a swift search of the ship. The one with the drop on me was tall and lean with a viciously hooked nose.

  “We aren’t carrying cargo,” I said quietly. “In fact there’s nothing on board of any value.”

  “Shut up!” Hook Nose snapped.

  The two other bandits returned then, ushering young Danny Harker before them. He still looked sleepy and uninterested in what was going on.

  “It’s him, all right,” Hook Nose said. “Take him to the chief.”

  One of the men behind the kid nudged him with his gun.

  “Get movin’ !” he snapped. “Into the other ship.”

  The kid looked at him with sleepy irritation.

  “Supposing I don’t?” he asked.

  The man behind him hesitated for an instant. Then his mouth hardened.

  “If you don’t you’ll feel something very, very hot right between your shoulders.”

  “You wouldn’t shoot me,” the kid said, “but I’ll go along anyway. Just to see how far you simpletons are going to carry this thing.”

  He disappeared through the connecting hatchways followed by the two men. Hook Nose turned to me, an ugly smile on his face.

  “So there’s nothing of value on board, eh?” he jeered. “Suppose Bull Harker’s son ain’t pretty valuable cargo, eh?”

  It hit me then. Somehow this band must have learned that Danny Harker was riding with me to Eleven. Their object was of course to shake down his dad for everything they could.

  “What happens to me?” I asked Hook Nose bluntly.

  He shrugged.

  “Depends on the chief.”

  I noticed that his thick index finger was curved lovingly about the trigger of the electric gun in his hand. There was no doubt in my mind as to my fate if Hook Nose had anything to say about it.

  But in a few minutes one of Hook Nose’s comrades stepped through the hatchway.

  “Chief says to bring this fellow along,” he said, in an unpleasant nasal voice.

  Hook Nose relaxed the pressure of his finger, on the trigger disgustedly. His close set, glittering eyes gleamed with frustration.

  Obeying a motion from the thug in the hatchway I followed him into the black raider, Hook Nose trailing close behind me.

  AS I was led down a corridor of the big space craft I noticed a halfdozen more bandits, all as tough and ruthless looking as the first three I had encountered. I’ve knocked about the tough spots of the universe most of my life and it takes more than a unpleasant mug to worry me. But I was thinking about the kid. With his environment and friends, such as they were, I knew all of this would be strange and terrifying to him. Or so I thought.

  The bandit ahead of me stopped at a door and knocked. I heard a gruff shout from within the room. Hook Nose prodded me forward as his comrade jerked open the door and stepped back. I stepped through the door, and the first thing I saw was the kid. He was lounging in a comfortable chair, in the act of politely covering his mouth with his hands to hide a sleepy yawn.

  There was another person in the room. A tall, heavily set man with a heavy black beard and unwinking cold blue eyes. His face was flabby with fat, but not enough to cover the jutting angle of his massive jaw. Hair like stiff bristles, black and short, covered his round head. There was something about him, something of complete ruthlessness that raised the hackles at the back of my neck.

  Without taking his eyes from mine he seated himself carefully behind a metal desk, one of the few items of furniture in the sparsely furnished room.

  “You look like you been around,” he said finally. His voice was husky, almost soft, but there was a faint rasp to it.

  “Thanks for the compliment,” I said drily. “Now what goes here?”

  He jerked a thumb at Danny Harker, who was still lounging wearily in the chair, paying little attention to what was going on.

  “He’s young Harker,” the Chief said. “His old man will part with a lot to get him back. And we’re goin’ to see that he does.”

  I watched and listened carefully as the man spoke. There was something about him that teased my memory.

  He noticed my scrutiny and smiled without humor.

  “You don’t know me,” he said. “But maybe my name is familiar to you. The Federation Police calls me the Angel.”

  The name was familiar. While not the biggest of the remaining space buccaneers, the Angel was considered tops in ruthless, merciless cruelty and callousness. A cold sweat beaded my palms as the realization of our plight, struck home.

  The Angel grinned wolfishly and stood up.

  “You know you’re not playing with a minnow,” he said in his strangely soft voice. “You’re doing business with a shark. And don’t let me have to warn either of you twice that my word is law on board this ship and at my base. I’d as soon burn a man down as blow my nose.”

  There was a tense silence in the room for an instant and then the kid—young Danny Harker—laughed. An amused, indifferent chuckle that brought a quick flush of rage to the Angel’s face.

  “My, my, but aren’t you the bloodthirsty fellow,” the kid said sarcastically.

  THE Angel’s fists clenched into meaty mallets as he stepped around the desk and strode to the chair the kid was lounging in.

  “You’re a wise guy, are you?” he growled, and the rasp in his voice was a
file on steel.

  The kid surveyed him insolently.

  “Wise enough,” he said casually.

  The Angel’s face worked spasmodically. His big fists clenched until the knuckles whitened.

  “Get up!” he barked.

  The kid stood up nonchalantly. There was no trace of fear or anxiety in his face. His eyes mocked the Angel. With his hands stuck negligently in his pockets, a funny grin on his lips, he seemed to be defying him to do his worst.

  The Angel grabbed the kid’s shirt, jerking him close to him. His right fist drew back like a sledge:

  “Go ahead,” the kid said softly. He still hadn’t taken his hands from his pockets. “Hit me. And when you do I can promise you that you’ll regret it more than anything you’ve ever regretted in your life.”

  It sounded absolutely incredible coming from that slim, drunken playboy. But he meant it. There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice or the flashes of angry color in his pale cheek.

  The Angel paused uncertainly.

  “Go ahead,” the kid prompted.

  The Angel dropped his fist and shoved the kid away from him. There was a puzzled expression on his face as he wheeled and strode back to his desk. As if he had seen, for the first time in his life, something he couldn’t quite understand.

  “Get out! Both of you,” he said, his voice again soft. “My men will take care of you till we reach the base.”

  His words were directed at both of us, but his cold eyes were staring straight at the kid. I couldn’t tell definitely, but I thought I saw an uneasy uncertainty in them.

  When we had left his quarters, Hook Nose was waiting to take us to a small, practically unfurnished room with a barred door. When this had slammed behind us, he leered at us and said.