The message read: “Advising a state of War with Mars. Stand by for orders!”
He put the message in his pocket and stared up at the thin atmosphere that clung about asteroid 13; beyond that his mind extended to the black wastes of the void. There, flung along a multimillion mile chain the fleets of Earth waited for attack. And above him the huge rim of the Martian underside blotted the western horizon. There was the enemy; and out in space waited the fleets of Earth. It was a thrilling moment, reminding him of his duty and responsibility, and he felt his chest swelling unbearably.
“Lieutenant Nelson,” he said, quietly. “We are at war with Mars. Our orders are to remain here until further notification. I shall expect from each of my crew what Earth expects of its fleets. Obedience, unquestioning and immediate. Pass the word to the men. That is all.”
NELSON’S face had lighted up with excitement. “Gosh, sir, we’re in it at last.” He raised a hand with the intention of slapping Corneal on the shoulder.
“Lieutenant!”
Nelson’s arm snapped down to his side. “Y—yes, sir,” he stuttered. Wheeling he marched away.
Corneal stood for a moment before the block house, then went back inside. The girl was staring at him, eyes blazing.
“I heard,” she cried. “We’re at war with Mars. You must let me free.”
“You’re willing to cooperate now?”
“Oh, you fool! You pitiful fool! You never asked why I was here. You never asked why twelve men and one girl would exile themselves to a miserable speck of land and choose a life bare of all comfort and security. Do you want to ask me now?”
“I am not interested,” he said.
He walked to the desk and sat down. She twisted to look at him. “Untie me, you idiot. Do you hear me?”
He gave her a mirthless smile. “Quite clearly. But you are not in command.”
She struggled futilely against the ropes; then collapsed breathing hard.
“You must listen to me. I know where the Martin fleet is based. I know the routes of the Martian astrocloud as I know the lines on my own hands. They will strike from that cover and will be in range of earth before your fleets can stop them. You must listen to me!”
“Those decisions will be made by the Earth council. My orders are to remain here.”
He went out ignoring her frantic demands to listen. For an hour he checked the Olympiad’s fire control system and fuel chambers. He assembled the men and repeated in substance what he had told Nelson.
When he returned to the block house he knew that he had done all he could; there was nothing to do now but wait. But the girl’s words had been churning in his mind.
She lifted her head when he came in; her face was strained and white.
“You must listen to me!” she cried.
“All right, I’ll listen.” He felt a sudden stab of sympathy for her; not for what she represented but for her as a person. There had been no reason to tie her like a wild thing; her mind and spirit were what he had sought to chain they would not be affected by the helplessness of her body.
He took a knife and cut the cords of her wrists and legs. She sat up and rubbed them to restore the circulation. Then she looked at him and said: “Do you know what it means to me to beg?”
And he knew. He knew what it would cost him to beg; and they were alike but at opposite poles. Their cores were the same hardened stuff; although they represented extremes.
“Perhaps I do,” he said.
SHE looked at him for a moment and nodded her head slowly. “I believe you do. I am begging you now to listen and believe. We have been operating here from Asteroid 13 for four years. Our motives were the same as yours; love of Earth, hatred of its enemies. But all cannot serve in the same fashion. Some must serve freely, independently, making their own decision, choosing their own means. Others must serve in uniform in the rigid mold of the Council’s discipline.
“We choose to serve in our manner. We knew the trouble would come from Mars. So we learned the maze of the astrocloud and kept contact with the main portions of the Martian fleet. We learned their habits, their routes and we guessed at their intentions. That is all we did.” She looked at him directly. “Perhaps you wondered why I didn’t return your fire during our fight?”
“I thought your guns weren’t working.”
“They were in order. But we have never fired on the Earth emblem. We are natives of Earth and were serving as best we could, but in our own fashion. Some people must serve that way. Our crime has been in operating an unliscensed ship, stealing a few supplies from merchant craft that would never miss the little food and supplies we took.”
“Your guilt is not for me to judge,” Corneal said.
“But you must judge whether I’m telling the truth. For I know more than you of the Martian plan. They have developed a fleet of robot attack ships that are controlled by single guide craft. Their exit from Mars leads through the astrocloud; their plan of attacking Earth is based on surprise, plus the fact they cannot be followed into the astrocloud by Earth ships. Even your deflexive rays will be of no help in that swarm. I want to help you now. You’ve got to believe that I want to help.”
Corneal found himself listening with mixed feelings. He believed her; but it went against every fibre of his character to ask or except assistance from anyone who had set himself apart from the laws of Earth.
He said stiffly, “You can help by giving your pledge that you will not attempt escape. My orders will come from the Council.”
“They may come too late,” she cried.
“I must follow them regardless.”
“Oh, you fool!” She was on her feet now, glaring at him. “You will follow pointless orders when you could take the initiative now and stop the Martin attack before it can begin.”
“That is not my responsibility.”
“You are sworn to fight the enemies of Earth. Must you wait until someone tells you before you strike a blow?” There was excitement in her words, a promise of freedom and danger. It struck him so hard he trembled. It was against the principles of his life and passion. But it appealed to him with a wild power.
“What else are you thinking?” he said, and his voice was hoarse.
“There is a fighter ship here, hidden on the underside of the asteroid. We could take it and head for the astrocloud. I have spent years charting the orbits of its matter. I could navigate it blindfolded. When the Martian robot fleet attempts to sneak out we will attack the guide ship.”
“My orders—” Corneal stopped helplessly.
“You swore an oath to defend Earth!”
“My command—”
“Give it to your lieutenant.”
CORNEAL struggled. The promise she held was the lure of the Lorelei. There was excitement and danger, a man’s skill and strength pitted alone against the forces of the enemy.
For a moment he stood, trembling against the force of his desire. Then something inside him melted and the shield of duty lay shattered at his feet.
Striding to the door he called for Nelson.
“I am making a reconnaissance on the asteroid,” he said crisply. “The prisoner is coming with me. You will be in command until I return.”
Nelson straightened with pride. “Yes, sir.”
Corneal went inside to the girl. “You are called Mace, eh. I am Corneal. What fates threw us into this pattern I will never know. But we are going to push ahead until we learn.” The girl grinned. “Follow me, Corneal!”
THEY blasted free from the slight gravity of asteroid thirteen a half hour later. Mace was at the controls; Corneal at the guns. Their slim ship split the thin atmosphere with a hissing flash; and then they soared into black space.
Ahead of them lay Mars; and Mace set a course for the shifting vaporous astrocloud that hung from the underside of the red planet.
Corneal felt an elation he had not known in his life. It was a feeling of release, of sudden freedom. Beside him Mace sat straight in the pil
ot’s seat, her sharp profile eager and alight. Corneal fingered the finger buttons and the chill touch of their plastic caps sent a shuddering life through his body.
“You are a gunner, Corneal?”
“I am a gunner, Mace.”
They glanced at each other and there was something between them that moment. Corneal did not know what it was, but it was more than the bond of adventure.
And then they were slanting into the astrocloud. Here was the madness of space. Millions of specks of matter caught in the whirlpool of their own gravity, churning eternally as they described eccentric orbits in parabolas that tightened and expanded with drastic swiftness. No deflexive ray would divert these swarms; no inexperienced navigator would last a second in this vortex. A miscalculation would send the ship into a gravitational spin that would either grind it into dust or cause it to be chained in a hopless orbit for all time.
Mace knew this chaos. She had ununravelled its secret, knew its eccentric order. She flashed through openings that closed together on the sparks of this jets; and spiralled from the path of crazily weaving meteror fragments with sure skill.
“You’re a pilot, Mace,” Corneal said.
Ahead of them was an edying pool of distintegrating matter; flashing past it they came to a clear area of quiet, the center of the malstrom.
Mace swung about in tight circles and pointed downward to a broad gap below the pool.
“The one clear path from Mars,” she said.
They circled for half an hour; then another. Corneal glanced at Mace. There was a line of worry across her forehead.
Another hour went by . . .
Then they saw the front guard of the Martin fleet flashing up from the gap. They were tiny ships, fighters, and they navigated in exact order, automatons of the void.
Another formation followed them, and still another. Following this came an immense crimson ship, of a class larger than the Olympiad.
“The guide craft,” Mace snapped.
Corneal’s hands tightened on the firing levers. “Let’s get into range, Mace.”
“Right,” she said, easily.
THEY tipped over and went down in a streaking dive. Below them the robot ships began to break formation, rising to meet them. Corneal knew they had been seen; that the guide ship was diverting its robot ships to attack them.
An orange bolt flashed from a closing ship, missing them narrowly. Mace swerved and Corneal fired a blast as they turned. The lead ship of the robot fleet disintegrated in gleaming fire.
Corneal fired again, carefully husbanding his blasts; and another robot ship disappeared forever in the void.
Mace glanced at him as they spiralled upward in a thousand mile climb.
“You’re a gunner, Corneal,” she said.
Corneal was too busy to answer. The robots had followed them, were on their tail. Mace maneuvered brilliantly, falling back to reverse the positions. And each time she changed direction Corneal had a robot in his screens.
Another fleet of the tiny robots soared up to meet them, barrage fire flaming from their noses. The orange balls flashed past their screen perilously close. And one came close to sear the upper plates of their hull. Corneal saw the metal bend and blister, then snap back to its original shape; but he knew it had been weakened.
Twice Mace attempted to dive on the guide ship but each time they were intercepted.
Circling once again Corneal snapped a shot at a ship in range but his levers clicked futilely. He checked the panel quickly; they were out of ammunition.
There was no need to tell Mace. She had been watching and she saw the answer in his face.
She streaked upward outdistancing the chasing robots. Circling again they saw the robot fleet returning to the guide craft like tiny minnows to a shark.
“They know we’re out of action,” she said.
“They can proceed on their mission now.”
She nodded bitterly.
They watched the great fleet regroup, watched it moving again across the calm lagoon in the vortex of the astrocloud.
Mace turned and gazed at him levelly. “Corneal we can stop them.”
He knew this, also. They were without ammunition, but they had their ship, a potential instrument of destruction. With a sharply tipped nose and hundreds of tons of weight it could be used as a harpoon—a harpoon hurled with the power generated by pulsing jet engines.
There was no need for him to answer. There was no need for discussion.
He looked into her green eyes and nodded slowly.
THE ship swung down as Mace flung it into a dive. On their screen the crimson guide craft of the Martian fleet loomed like the bulls eye of a target.
From the fleet a barrage of orange balls wafted upward; but their speed made any accuracy impossible.
Corneal pushed his back tightly against his control seat and watched the crimson ship growing larger on the screen. There was pulsing, roaring excitement racing through his body.
This was what he had never known. He couldn’t name it or know it. But it was as if his soul had broken its cage and was now soaring freely.
He glanced at Mace; and she flicked a glance at him. And in that look he knew and understood.
This was freedom. This was what Mace had known all her life. The freedom to see the right and act on her own. He had blinded himself to right and acted only on the orders of others. Some men could live that way; he had lived that way. But it was not the way he had been meant to live.
This was the way he had been meant to live. Free, reckless, above the bonds of time and duty.
He put a hand on Mace’s shoulder so that she would understand.
There was nothing in the screen now but the hull of the crimson ship. He saw its luster, saw its fittings and seams.
Their speed was incredible in that last flashing instant. Corneal saw the visio-screen suddenly dissolve and there was a roaring in his ears.
Corneal laughed.
[*] A ‘prequel’ of a sorts to this story, can be found here.
DARK WISH
First published in the September 1948 issue of Fantastic Adventures.
Was it the grim hand of death guiding Jim Ward’s life after he made his wish? One wish—a very dark one.
THE light changed to red. The little man with the sun glasses and white beard stepped forward from the curb. Brakes screamed in sudden protest.
Two hands caught the old man’s elbows, jerked him backward barely in time; the heavy truck thundered past.
Jim Ward took his hand from the old man’s arm and said, “You’d better be a little more careful, Pop. These cab drivers are pretty reckless.”
The other man who had helped to save the white-bearded old man, dropped his hand, muttered something that sounded profane. He was a big man about sixty and everything about him, from his flushed, well-barbered face to his Chesterfield overcoat looked like important money.
“I—I must thank you both,” the old man said, a trifle breathlessly. “I forgot myself and didn’t think.”
He smiled shyly at Jim Ward, then at the impressive man in the Chesterfield. “You have done me a great service. Perhaps I can repay you in some small way. Would you be good enough to tell me what it is you desire?”
Jim Ward was watching the light; already he had forgotten the little old man. He was late for work and unless he hurried he’d be still later. Under his arm he carried a manila envelope and in it were blueprints the head of his firm needed that morning.
“That’s all right,” he said, absently. “Lucky thing we were here. Just be careful from now on.”
The little man bowed, a curious, old world bow and then straightened and still smiling shyly, turned to the man in the Chesterfield. “You, sir, may I assist you to something you desire particularly?
“Eh? The man stared at him blankly. Then, remembering, he said: “Watch where you’re going after this. That’s the trouble with driving today. Too many jay-walkers out. Nobody knows where the hell they�
��re going. Trouble with the whole country. Everybody going in circles.” He was talking to himself more than to the shyly smiling little man. His face had flushed and his white mustaches seemed to bristle. “Just be careful, use your head a little. The whole country would be better off if people thought once for every fifty times they acted.”
The warning orange light flashed.
The little man sighed sadly. “I will try, he said. “And for you both I will grant a wish. Any wish you like as long as it harms no one else. Please, be wise and careful.”
Jim Ward heard the words and they surprised him; but the green light flashed and with a muttered goodbye, he started across the street. When he reached his office and delivered the prints to his employer, who was fortunately a bit late also, he had forgotten the incident.
THAT night his wife, Rita, met him at the door as usual, but there was something lacking in her usual welcoming smile. Over dinner, which was excellent, he asked her if anything was wrong.
“I’ve been a little worried today,” she said. She looked down at-her plate and he noticed she was blushing. She was a pretty girl, with dark red hair, flawless skin and deep violet eyes. The touch of color in her cheeks now was very becoming.
“Whats up?”
“I’ve been going over the house accounts and bills, she said. “There just seems no way to stretch the money, Jim.”
He ate in silence for a while, troubled. Prices were going up every day, but salaries, particularly in the white collar brackets, were not keeping pace. Finally he said, “I know it’s tough on you, baby. But we can cut down on a few things here and there and make out allright. We’ve still got enough to get along on comfortably.”
“There’s enough for us, of course,” she said, staring down at her place.
“Well who else have we got to worry about? he asked with surprise. “Did you think it would always be just you and me in this family?”
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 245
