Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “When will we reach Mars?” she asked finally.

  “Pretty soon,” Terry said.

  “Will I have time for a shower?”

  Terry kept his face straight.

  “Depends on how badly you need one,” he said.

  He heard the girl’s sharp, angry intake of breath and a smile brushed the corners of his mouth. The door banged and when he glanced up she had gone.

  With a malicious grin on his face he suddenly gunned the throttle and drove the ship toward Mars at full speed. Three minutes after the girl had left the room they were splitting the atmosphere of Mars. A light flared on the visi-screen—a signal from the Martian space port—and he set his instruments accordingly. A minute later the ship had come to a cushioned stop in Martian tower . . .

  TERRY set the controls at neutral and stepped into the cabin of the ship. MacGregor was releasing the compressed air vents that opened the hatch. Nelson and Forrest were at his side. There was no sign of the girl. From the rear compartment of the ship Terry heard the sound of running water and he rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide a quick smile.

  When the hatch opened two Martians who had been standing on the tower ramp stepped into the ship. They were a little over four feet high, a dull red in color and their flat, disc-like faces were adorned with polite smiles.

  “So happy to welcome you to our planet,” one of them murmured. He was the heavier of the two and his eyes were bright, hard, unrevealing. “I am Ogar, chief of Mars’ research division. My assistant, Melthar.”

  The Martian named Melthar bowed and smiled. Introductions were exchanged. Ogar’s pale green eyes narrowed for an instant when he saw Terry.

  “I know of you by reputation, I believe,” he said. “You had an unfortunate encounter with one of our patrols a few years ago, if I am not mistaken.”

  “It was an unfortunate encounter for your patrol,” Terry said.

  “Ah, yes,” Ogar said, smiling blandly. “But such things will happen.” He glanced at MacGregor, then at Forrest and Neelson, and a politely puzzled frown appeared on his face. “We understood another was coming,” he said gently.

  “Oh, yes,” MacGregor said, “but don’t worry, we’re all accounted for. The other member—”

  He stopped in mid-sentence as the door opened and the Masters girl appeared. She was wearing a loose bath robe and her long red hair was covered with white lather. Her eyes were closed tightly and one hand was extended gopingly in front of her.

  “Will somebody hand me a towel, please?” she asked. “I don’t want to get this darn lather in my eyes.”

  MacGregor stared at her for an instant and then he slapped a calloused palm down on his thigh. A thin, high chuckle broke through his lips and his shoulders began to shake.

  Neelson and Forrest were smiling and suddenly the two Martians joined in the laughter, their voices tittering in high-pitched giggles.

  The girl opened her eyes and a blank look of amazement spread over her features as she stared in confusion at the two Martians. She drew the robe together at her throat with a fluttering, nervous gesture and she backed toward the rear compartment door in an agony of embarrassment.

  Terry watched the scene gravely.

  His sudden acceleration in landing had caught the girl in this humiliating spot; and while he felt she deserved it, he got no satisfaction from the thought.

  A bright, painful flush stained her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly, “I didn’t know we were—” Her voice trailed weakly. “I’ll be ready in a minute,” she said. “I thought—”

  She met Terry’s eyes then and slow comprehension dawned in her face. The embarrassed flush on her cheeks was heightened by a blaze of anger.

  “I hope you’re amused!” she cried, and disappeared into the rear compartment, slamming the door behind her with unmistakable emphasis.

  OGAR, the Martian, turned to Macgregor.

  “All arrangements have been made for your accommodations,” he said. “You will have the facilities of our space ships at your command, should you need them. And if you want mechanics or technicians, we shall be happy to supply them also.”

  “Thanks,” said MacGregor dryly, “but I think we’ll manage okay ourselves.”

  “As you wish,” Ogar said politely. “The tests are scheduled for tomorrow. Will that be convenient for you?”

  MacGregor glanced at Terry.

  “How about it, son? Tomorrow okay with you?”

  Terry nodded.

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Excellent,” said Ogar, smiling. “We shall leave you now. When you are ready to leave, there will be someone here to take you to your quarters. You should all enjoy a restful sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  “You’re right,” Terry said. “Your pilots are liable to find things a bit too busy.”

  Ogar smiled at him, displaying even little teeth.

  “Let us hope not,” he said.

  TERRY was on the great Martian space field at day-break the following morning. He Inspected MacGregor’s fighter carefully and found it in perfect condition. The ship was set in an open tower, visible to the dozens of pilots who were arriving at the field. Many came over to glance at the trim ship: great, one-eyed men from Jupiter, the delicate, small-boned citizens of Venus, and Martians, all crowded around like chattering monkeys, inspecting every gadget and discussing each separate section of the ship among themselves in their baffling native tongue.

  Terry didn’t mind the others. The inhabitants of Jupiter were slow, solemn men who apparently worried about nothing. Their planet was beyond the reach of any attack and they seemed to realize it. The Venusians were pleasant and polite. Their planet was protected by a force shield whose energy was supplied by a metal peculiar to Venus; they lived secluded, quiet lives behind their artificial barrier, neither seeking nor desiring contact with other planets of the Universe. They attended space conferences out of a sense of duty.

  The Martians, however, bothered Terry. He knew they were preparing to hurl an attack at Earth, probably their first in an attempt to dominate the entire solar system. And their greed was mirrored in their small, fiat eyes as they whispered among themselves and stared speculatively at each detail of MacGregor’s slim, deadly fighter.

  MacGregor arrived a few minutes later, with Ogar trotting at his heels.

  “How’s everything?” he asked.

  “Looks okay,” Terry said. “When does the fun start?”

  “I’ll make a check myself,” MacGregor said. “Never yet saw a pilot who knew how to inspect a ship. If all the rockets are in place they jump in and blast off.” He shook his head disgustedly and Terry grinned.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  Ogar said quietly, “If it is convenient for you, my pilots are ready now. You have infra-film in your cannons, yes?”

  “Not yet,” MacGregor said grumpily, “I’m goin’ to put the photographic apparatus in right now. Send your boys up. Terry’ll catch ’em.”

  “Excellent,” Ogar said, with a hissing intake of breath that gave a sibilant sound to the word. “There will be two of our ships in the first trial. They will rendezvous at two thousand miles above our atmosphere and wait for you.” He smiled politely. “You may then use your own discretion, Mr. Lester.”

  “Wait a minute,” MacGregor said, “what’s the idea of two ships?”

  Ogar smiled and shrugged.

  “If Mr. Lester succeeds in eliminating one, there will be another for him to engage. Since all the ships are equipped with high-speed cameras instead of guns, it doesn’t make much difference.”

  “That’s right,” Terry said, “the more the merrier.”

  MacGregor put his hands in his pockets and rocked slightly on his heels. His little eyes were sharp and bright.

  “Just as a formality,” he drawled, “I’d sorta like to take a look at the cameras your pilots are using.”

  Ogar bowed.

  “But of cour
se,” he said. “Will you come with me?”

  MacGREGOR returned in about ten minutes, shaking his white head disgustedly. He was alone.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Terry. “Find a few concealed cannons in their ships?”

  “That’s just the trouble,” the little Scotchman answered sourly. “I didn’t.” He spat a wad of tobacco juice on the ground and ran a hand irritably through his scant white hair.

  “It ain’t natural,” he growled. “Them little red snakes are trying to pull something funny, but I can’t figure what. Watch yourself boy, every second up there.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Terry said. MacGregor clambered into the ship and, a few minutes later, called Terry.

  “Everything’s set,” he said, peering about the control chamber in a last-minute check. “Your cameras are ready, but I’m sorry you ain’t using cannons.”

  Terry slid into the control seat and glanced at the panel and visi-screen.

  “Don’t worry, Pop,” he grinned. “I’ll be all right.”

  “I know,” MacGregor said, but his bright eyes were troubled.

  “How’s our three-man commission coming along?” Terry asked dryly.

  “Okay, I guess. Ogar’s been winin’ and dinin’ ’em like visiting royalty. They seem to be enjoying everything to the limit.”

  “That’s just great,” said Terry bitterly. He closed the firing switch with a vicious gesture and spoke above the sudden humming of the rear rockets. “We do the work while they have the fun.” The rockets were thundering now and the slim ship was trembling, so Terry said, “You’d better clear out, Pop, unless you want to go for a loop-the-loop in space.”

  “My insides couldn’t stand it,” MacGregor grinned. He patted Terry on the shoulder and said, “Luck.” Then he was gone.

  Terry sealed the hatch a moment later and when he heard the hissing sound of the compressed air fade away, he signaled for clearance.

  When the Central tower flashed him an okay he closed the release switch and, with an exhilarating rush of power, the slim ship blasted void-ward.

  Terry cut his speed?t two thousand miles and circled until he came in sight of the Martian ships. They were waiting motionlessly for him, about two miles apart—long black ships, with flaring fins and the insignia of the Martian space corps gleaming in red from their sides.

  Terry dove between them, saluting as he passed, then circled and came back slowly, ready for action.

  He slanted toward the closer ship, expecting it to roll away in a dive. But it remained motionless as he came in, a perfect target for his fore automatic cannons. If his guns were loaded, he could have burned the ship to a cinder in that second.

  The Martian ship swung about slowly to meet him and, at that instant, Terry experienced a sixth-sense of danger, an intuitive warning that something was wrong. There was something phony in this set-up.

  Instinctively he threw his ship to one side, then shoved the throttle forward to hurl his fighter out of the range of the idling Martian ship.

  And he was not a second too soon!

  FROM the stubby cannons on the nose of the Martian ship a sudden orange blast flashed toward him like a giant spear. His instinctive maneuver saved him by a foot. The blast streaked over his ship and he felt his cabin grow suddenly hot from the searing heat of its passage. Had he continued on his former course he would have been burned to a crisp.

  He felt a cold bitter rage coursing through his veins. The Martian ships were armed and prepared to fight a battle to the death. They knew he was helpless and they were closing in like hungry sharks.

  The ship that had fired was following him in a dive, and a glance in his rear visi-screen showed Terry that the second ship was streaking to join the attack.

  Terry cursed bitterly. The Martians must have installed the atomic blasts after MacGregor had inspected their ships. He couldn’t figure out their purpose in destroying his ship. They were obviously ready for war with Earth if they’d pull a stunt like this. But he didn’t have any more time to worry about the designs of the Martians.

  He had all he could do to keep himself from being seared into nothingness by the stabbing blasts of atomic energy that were hurtling at him from the pursuing Martian fighters.

  He pulled the ship from its dive and roared void-ward. And it was only the incredible speed of MacGregor’s fighter that saved him. In a few minutes his rear visi-screen was blank and he knew he had left them thousands of miles in his wake.

  He tried his communication equipment but it was dead. He wasn’t surprised. The Martians hadn’t missed a trick. Somehow, during the night, they had managed to sabotage his space radio set to prevent him from communicating with Earth.

  He circled in a slow wide arc, trying to bring order to the jumbled thoughts in his mind. He didn’t have enough rocket current to make the trip back to Earth; and he wouldn’t run out on MacGregor if he could. He wondered fleetingly about the Masters girl. She was in a tough spot. The Martians were notorious for their treatment of prisoners, especially if they happened to be women. He’d have to do what he could for her.

  He suddenly shook his head. What was wrong? He seemed to be getting dizzy. Then he glanced at the oxygen meter and he knew what was wrong. His oxygen supply was almost exhausted.

  The Martians hadn’t forgotten a thing. They had given him just enough oxygen to reach the void and now that was gone. He’d black out in a minute or so, and crash.

  There was only one alternative. He swung the nose of the ship over and dove for Mars at full speed, praying he’d make the mooring tower before he passed out . . .

  HE DID.

  But when he opened the hatchway and stumbled from the ship, drinking the air into his tortured lungs, Melthar, the Martian, was waiting for him with a ray gun in his hand and four similarly armed guards standing beside him.

  “You came back in a hurry, didn’t you?” Melthar smiled.

  Terry leaned against the hull of his ship, breathing deeply, feeling the strength return slowly to his body. He looked at Melthar and made no effort to keep the black hatred he was feeling from showing in his face.

  “You weren’t taking any chances, were you?” he said. “You didn’t think the odds were enough in your favor, did you? One unarmed ship against two of your fighters was too much like an even thing to suit you. You had to drain off my oxygen, reduce my rocket current and put my space radio out of commission, then you felt fairly certain that things would be all right.” He smiled coldly into the little Martian’s face. “You’ll regret this, my little friend.”

  “You will come with me,” Melthar said. He gave no indication that he had heard Terry. “Quickly, please.” He stepped aside and gestured imperiously with his gun.

  Terry was led to an elaborately furnished office in the vast, gleaming structure that housed the Martians’ general staff. When the door was opened, Terry saw Ogar sitting behind a large desk, smiling pleasantly.

  At one side of the desk stood MacGregor and the Masters girl. There were alert guards stationed at all four walls of the room.

  “Welcome, my friend,” Ogar said, smiling brightly at Terry. “I’m glad you are able to join our party. Although,” he added, with a doleful shake of his head, “we didn’t really expect you.”

  “I imagine not,” Terry said in a clipped, hard voice. “Those buzzards of yours were supposed to shoot me down, weren’t they? They should have had an easy thing.”

  “Yes,” said Ogar thoughtfully, “they were very careless to miss you. But,” he said, with another bright smile, “they have paid for their carelessness by this time. I have ordered them put to death.”

  “You rotten snake!” MacGregor said explosively. His hands were clenched and there was a wrathful glint in his bright eyes. He swung to Terry and his white hair fell over his eyes. He shoved it angrily away.

  “This filthy runt thinks he’s going to keep us here as prisoners. I told him there’ll be twenty thousand Earth ships over Mars in a week if he
doesn’t let us go.”

  Ogar smiled. “I hardly think so,” he said. “In the first place, Earth doesn’t know yet that you are our prisoners. They shall not know until we give them the information.”

  THE Masters girl stepped forward and her small chin was set grimly. “You are making a definite mistake,” she said firmly. “Mr. Neelson and Mr. Forrest have been in communication with Earth since our arrival. The authorities on Earth know precisely what we are doing and if they do not receive regular bulletins from us, their suspicions will be aroused immediately.”

  “Ah!” Ogar drew a deep slow breath and regarded the slender girl with veiled eyes. “I don’t like to shatter your naive confidence,” he murmured, “but none of the bulletins your associates sent was delivered. We took the liberty of intercepting them and consigning them to oblivion. And as for Mr. Neelson and Mr. Forrest, they no longer concern us.”

  “What do you mean?” the girl asked tensely.

  Ogar smiled. “I dislike being blunt. I was hoping to spare your feelings, but the two gentlemen who accompanied you have ceased to exist. Their usefulness came to an end an hour or so ago, consequently they were destroyed.” The girl stepped back a pace as if she had been struck a hard blow in the face. She pressed one hand to her mouth and her eyes were wide with horror. “You fiend!” she gasped.

  Ogar inclined his head to her in a mocking bow.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Let’s talk sense,” Terry said curtly. “You’ve gone pretty far already, Ogar, but there may still be a chance to save your neck. If you start a war with Earth, you’ll be smashed in two weeks. A hundred of Earth’s new fighter ships could blast your space fleet out of the void. I proved that a half hour ago. I left your ships standing still. If I’d had guns you wouldn’t have had to execute your pilots; I’d have saved you the job.”

  Ogar listened intently, nodding his head slowly and smiling a deliberate smile.