Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “Right there in black and white,” she said accusingly. “It’s addressed to ‘James Donavon’.”

  “Naturally,” the soldier said. “I’m James Donavon. Same name as the Captain. This ain’t the first time our mails got mixed up.”

  Jing hugged Tink happily.

  “You did it!” she cried. “Everything all right now. Oh, Tink, you’re marvelous.”

  The girl was looking at the letter, a dazed happy look in her eyes.

  “Then this is your letter,” she exclaimed.

  The soldier nodded, grinning.

  “That’s what I been trying to tell you, Miss.”

  “Then the Captain isn’t married to Maisie?”

  “He’d better not be,” the soldier said.

  “And he doesn’t have five children?”

  The soldier grinned happily.

  “He doesn’t have six children!”

  The Irish girl crushed the letter to her as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

  “Oh!” she cried, “I’ve never been happier in my life.”

  She leaned forward and kissed the amazed soldier on the cheek.

  “Take that to your Captain,” she laughed.

  The soldier rubbed his cheek in embarrassment.

  “I couldn’t hardly do that,” he said, “but I’ll explain things so’s he’ll get the general idea.”

  He left then and the girl danced back through the room to the rear of the house, singing happily.

  Tink and Jing sat on the mantel, swinging their legs over the edge. Tink had his arm around Jing’s waist and they laughed until the tears came to their eyes.

  Nastee was standing on the mahogany table, his features twisted in a scowl of bitter disappointment. He stared at them balefully, hands set belligerently on his hips.

  “Well, what’s so funny!” he snapped.

  “You,” Jing giggled.

  Nastee scowled unpleasantly at them and then he slid down the table leg and made for the door, both hands pressed to his temples.

  “I think he’s got a hangover,” Tink observed with considerable satisfaction.

  THAT night peace was restored to the pleasant village of Ballycree. Soldiers from the American Camp strolled the streets of the little town and smiled in genuine friendliness at the villagers, who patted them on the back and invited them into their homes to sample their beer and meet their daughters.

  A pale, mellow moon cast a lambent glow over the village and countryside and by its friendly light couples could be seen strolling arm in arm through dells and glens in which the tiny town nestled.

  One of these couples stopped to rest by an old-fashioned stone well.

  Captain James Donavon looked down at the beautiful, dark-haired girl at his side and he sighed in sheer happiness.

  “You’ll always love me, won’t you?” he said softly.

  “Forever and ever,” the girl answered, smiling.

  Tink and Jing were seated on the edge of the well, listening interestedly. Nastee was bathing his fevered brow in the bucket that swung gently over the deep dark well.

  Jing sighed and looked at the moon. “Aren’t they a wonderful couple?” she said dreamily.

  Tink nodded happily. “It would have been a shame if anything happened to their romance.”

  Nastee looked up from the rim of the bucket.

  “Remind me never to drink beer again,” he said mournfully. “And,” he added spitefully, “don’t be too surprised if something does happen to the Captain’s beautiful romance.” He grinned wickedly. “I just have a hunch that someone is in for a very unpleasant surprise.”

  At that moment the Captain leaned back and his elbow jarred against the well crank. With a rusty creak the ratchet slipped and the swinging bucket plummeted downward into the black depths of the well.

  The Captain looked around, slightly surprised.

  “Well,” he said, grinning, “no harm done.”

  He took the dark-haired girl by the arm and they sauntered slowly away.

  Tink and Jing peered over the well’s rim. Faintly they-heard Nastee’s outraged, spluttering shrieks from the depths of the deserted well. They looked at each other and smiled. Then they climbed down to the ground and sauntered away, arm-in-arm.

  VENGEANCE ON VENUS

  First published in the September 1942 issue of Amazing Stories.

  There was only one way to find out how these prisoners were escaping from the Venus penal colony—g0 there as an actual convicted man!

  CHAPTER I

  DARKNESS was settling swiftly as Lieutenant Blake Richardson strode across Panetoid 7’s flaky surface toward the towering height of the Penal Administration Building.

  When he reached the portals of the building he paused and glanced up at the fog-enshrouded planet of Venus, only a few thousand miles away.

  Against the jet black of the void Venus was a globe of lambent blue beauty, and the last rays of the dropping sun tinged its mists with a brilliant flaming halo.

  Lieutenant Richardson was not impressed by the planet’s beauty. His eyes were hard and cold and thoughtful, and when he turned and entered the Administration Building, there was a determined angle to his jaw.

  An elatu.be flashed him up to the top of the building where the offices of his chief, Commander Evans, were located.

  Commander Evans turned from the window as Blake entered and closed the door behind him.

  “Sit down, Blake,” he said. “What was it you wanted to see me about?”

  “Something rather serious, sir,” Blake answered. He remained standing. His tall, well-muscled body was taut and strained. There was a restrained anger in his lean face and in his cold gray eyes.

  Commander Evans sat down at his desk and looked thoughtfully at Blake Richardson.

  “You seem upset,” he said drily. “Suppose you tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Blake ran a hand through his kinky hair in a gesture of helpless disgust.

  “I’m certain, sir,” he said in a hard-clipped voice, “that the prisoners we send to Venus are being released and given their liberty. I’m convinced that a deliberate and systematic organization has worked out a plan to take these prisoners from Venus and ship them to other planets in the Universe. Whoever or whatever this organization is, I’m sure it’s working in collusion with the prison authorities on Venus.”

  Commander Evans hunched forward in his chair and his square face was set in hard lines. His ice-blue eyes snapped.

  “Can you prove these statements?” he demanded.

  Blake shook his head bitterly.

  Commander Evans settled back in his chair and a faint rare grin touched his mouth.

  “You may not be able to,” he said, “but,” he paused an instant and looked steadily at Blake, “I think I can!”

  BLAKE wasn’t sure for a moment that he heard correctly. He stared incredulously at his commander.

  “Then,” he said slowly, “you know—”

  “Not everything,” Commander Evans said. He leaned forward, his hard eyes boring into Blake’s.

  “I’ve been suspicious for several months,” he said. “I haven’t said or done a thing because it might ruin our chances. I’ve been waiting for definite proof. I don’t have it yet, but I will, you can damn well bet on that.”

  Blake drew a relieved breath.

  “This makes things a lot easier, sir. I was afraid I’d have the job of convincing you that my suspicions weren’t groundless. But, as usual, you’re several jumps ahead of me.”

  Commander Evans smiled faintly.

  “That’s my job, Blake. Tell me, just what have you found out?”

  “When I took the last load of Earth prisoners to Venus,” Blake said, “I asked Macy, the super, to let me see one of the men I’d brought up on a previous trip. Macy said it was impossible. When I asked him why, he told me that the man had died. That seemed odd because this particular prisoner had been in perfect health when I delivered him a month be
fore. So I did a little snooping through the records and I discovered that quite a few important, wealthy prisoners had ‘died’ in the past six months. That started me thinking. I checked the prison crematory then, and I discovered that more men had ‘died’ than had been cremated.”

  “Did you say anything to Macy about that?” Commander Evans asked. “Not a thing.”

  “Good. That might have put him on his guard. It’s obvious that something phony is going on there. Just how it’s being done, I couldn’t say.”

  The commander stood up and nervously paced the floor.

  “We’ve got to stop this thing,” he said harshly. “It means that all the work being done on Earth, and all our work is completely useless, if prisoners can escape from Venus after we put them there. But the only way we can get the information we need is from the inside.”

  HE STOPPED and looked sharply at Blake, then he shook his head. “No,” he muttered, half to himself, “The danger—”

  “Please, sir,” Blake said, “I believe I know what you were thinking. The same idea has occurred to me.” He leaned forward and gripped the edge of the desk with his hands and his face was flushed with excitement. “Send me to Venus as an Earth prisoner. It’s the only way we can find out what we must know!”

  Commander Evans frowned.

  “I don’t like it,” he growled. “It’s putting you on a mighty hot spot. I won’t be able to help you. You’ll be absolutely on your own.”

  “That’s just why it might work,” Blake said. “If Macy thought I was being sent there to spy on him I’d never learn a thing.”

  “We’ll have to fake a case against you,” Commander Evans said, “and sentence you to a regular life sentence on Venus. Your commission will be officially revoked. But,” he smiled faintly, “I will personally guarantee that when that commission is reissued you’ll be wearing an additional stripe on your sleeves.”

  “If I can do the job, that’ll be reward enough,” Blake said.

  “Your first job will be to determine what kind of bribe the prisoners use on the prison officials. I’d imagine that regular solar cash would be the most logical.” Commander Evans drummed thoughtfully on the top of his desk with his blunt fingers. “Here is what I’ll do. After you’ve been there several weeks I’ll arrange to send you a parcel containing marked solar bills. If you can bribe your way out, we’ll have the complete information on how it’s done, right down to the last detail.”

  Blake nodded.

  “When can I leave, sir?”

  “Almost immediately,” Commander Evans said. “There is just the unpleasant necessity of your trial and conviction to get out of the way. That shouldn’t take long. And I’ll attach a complete explanation of this entire situation to the court reports. Then if anything should happen to me there won’t be any misunderstanding about your status.”

  Blake grinned faintly.

  “Thanks. That’ll make me feel a little easier about sticking my head into the lion’s mouth.”

  THIS is a very dangerous thing you’re attempting,” Commander Evans said soberly. “If the officials on Venus discovered why you were there, you wouldn’t have a chance to get out alive. But, dangerous as it is, it’s the only way we can possibly get the information we need. The entire Penal Administration system will become a joke if we can’t stop the leak of men from Venus. If anybody with the means can buy his way out of there, all that we’ve been fighting for will be lost.”

  The commander ran his hand wearily across his eyes. His shoulders seemed to be bearing a tremendous invisible weight.

  Blake looked at the older man with concern.

  “It’s none of my business, sir,” he said, “but don’t you think you ought to ease up a bit? You’ve been driving yourself like an engine for the past six months. You can’t possibly last at the rate you’re going. You’ve worked ’till midnight almost every night. And those long hops to Jupiter and Saturn you take every week by yourself are enough to wear out any man.”

  “I know, I know,” Commander Evans said wryly, “but we’ve been short of pilots lately. And I’d rather take the controls myself, than to add another burden to our regular pilots. It’s a situation that can’t be helped, Blake. Everyone’s got to make sacrifices and I don’t consider myself an exception to that rule.”

  “I see, sir,” Blake said. He realized that nothing he could say would make his chief slow down his almost suicidal pace. It was that fact that made Commander Evans one of the most universally respected and admired officers in Penal Administration.

  He stood up and stepped around his desk.

  “Don’t worry about me, son,” he said. “You’ve got enough to worry about yourself.” He extended his hand. “Good luck.”

  That was all the commander said, but Blake could sense the emotion that was concealed by the simple, almost brusque words.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said.

  The two men shook hands warmly and then Blake turned and strode from the room.

  CHAPTER II

  Venus!

  ONE month later a black prison ship eased through the damp misty atmosphere of Venus and set its blunt nose into a mooring tower constructed within sight of the massive gray walls of the Venusian prison.

  An air clamp hissed faintly and two side doors of the hermetically sealed ship slid back. The ship was moored alongside a metal ramp, on which two men stood waiting.

  “All right,” one of them yelled. “Come on outa there.”

  Blake Richardson opened his eyes and looked around. The three prisoners to whom he was shackled were still asleep, sprawled tiredly on the floor. Blake glanced down at his rough gray work clothes and ran a hand over his shaven head. He saw the open doors of the ship and the heavy gray murk which drifted in from the outside. There was no doubt that they had arrived at Venus. He yawned and shook the man beside him.

  “This is it, boys,” he said.

  A man stepped into the ship. He was heavily built, with brutal jaws and hot dark eyes. He carried a doubled whip in one big hand. His eyes raked over the four men on the floor.

  “Didn’t you gentlemen hear me?” he asked softly. His voice had a dangerous purr. “I told you to get outa here. Are you waiting for engraved invitations?”

  The man beside Blake, a tough bitten, dark haired little man, looked up insolently.

  “We ain’t in no hurry,” he said. “We got all the time in the world.”

  The man with the whip stepped forward. His lips were flattened over his big white teeth in an animal snarl. There was a gleam of sadistic anticipation in his close-set eyes.

  “Damn you,” he said softly.

  His right arm rose and fell. The whip cracked like a pistol shot. Its lashing tip slashed across the face of the man who had spoken, opening it from eyes to jaw.

  The man shrieked and fell forward, his hands tearing at the fiery agony in his eyes.

  “All right, gentlemen,” the guard said, doubling the whip in his hands. “Get outa here. I hope the rest of you aren’t as gabby as him.”

  BLAKE climbed to his feet, wooden faced. The man with the slashed face got to one knee and then painfully straightened up. The four men filed slowly out of the ship onto the metal ramp, where another guard waited for them, impassive and hardeyed.

  The four prisoners were fastened together by a chain that was fastened to individual leg irons. The guards inspected their irons carefully.

  Blake glanced about at the bleak landscape. The prison buildings, gray and chilling, were the only structures to break the desolate monotony of the Venusian planet.

  The murky atmosphere of the planet condensed continually showering the planet with a gray misty rain; the vegetation was composed chiefly of spongy, slimy fungus that covered the surface of the planet like a damp mold.

  Blake shivered involuntarily. The penetrating dampness of the air seemed to bite into his very bones.

  The heavy, brutal jawed guard who had wielded the whip so viciously walked over to Bla
ke and surveyed him from head to foot.

  “You Blake Richardson?” he demanded.

  “That’s right,” Blake said.

  The guard inspected him for a moment and then his lips curled in a sneer.

  “You sent a lot of men here, in your time, didn’t you?”

  “I suppose so,” Blake said.

  “Well your days as a bloodhound are over,” the guard jeered. “From now on you take the orders instead of giving them. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Blake said.

  The guard scowled at him for an instant, apparently nonplussed by Blake’s civil answer.

  Blake smiled to himself. He didn’t intend to give anyone the opportunity to use a whip on him. Not for a while . . .

  The guard bent suddenly and unfastened the chain that coupled Blake to the convict in front of him.

  “Come with me,” he ordered. “The super wants to see you.”

  Blake stepped out of line and followed the guard down the concrete ramp. The leg irons only allowed him a step of about eight inches, but as he shuffled along, a grim smile touched his lips. He wasn’t in any particular hurry. Not yet . . .

  THE guard stopped before a solid steel door in the interior of the prison. He knocked once and a thin, high-pitched voice answered impatiently, “Come in.”

  The guard opened the door and stepped into the room, motioning Blake to follow him.

  “This is the fellow you wanted to see,” he said to a small man sitting behind a bare desk. “I brought him along as soon as he got here, Macy.” The man behind the desk looked up and smiled. He was slight and thin and his eyes blinked rapidly. His thinning straight hair stood up almost straight from his pink scalp.

  This was Macy, super of Venusian prisons.

  He rubbed his blue-veined hands together and beamed at Blake.

  “Nice to have you, Richardson. So seldom we receive such distinguished—eh—guests.”

  “Thanks,” Blake said drily. “Now you can cut out the mularkey, Macy. You’ve always hated my guts and now you have me just where you want me. So we needn’t bother being polite.” There was a subtle change in Macy’s face. The softness around his lips hardened and his eyes narrowed into cold slits. Everything about him seemed suddenly to freeze into hard, edged lines.