Collected Short Fiction

by C. M. Kornbluth

  Mistress Cannon saw them grimly to the door. “If you come back, girlie,” she said, “I may wrap a bar stool around your neck.”

  Outside, Cade peered curiously down the narrow darkness of the city street. How did Commoners get places?

  There was no way even to orient himself. How had they expected him to get to the Palace?

  He turned abruptly to the girl.

  “What city is this?” he demanded.

  “Aberdeen.”

  That made sense. The ancient Proving Grounds where he himself and all the Armsmen for ten thousand years had won their guns in trial and combat. The city of the Palace, the awesome Capitol of the Emperor himself, and in the Palace, the High Office of the Power Master, the grim executive.

  “There is a Chapter House,” he remembered. “How do I get there?”

  “Gunner, understand me. You aren’t going to any Chapter House. That’s the best and quickest way to get yourself killed.”

  A typical Commoner’s reaction, he thought, and found himself saddened to have had it from her. She had, after all, incurred some risk in defying the plotters.

  “I assure you,” he said kindly, “that the prospect of my eventual death in battle does not frighten me. You Commoners don’t understand it, but it is so. All I want to do is get this information into the proper hands and resume my fitting task as Gunner.”

  She made a puzzling, strangled noise and said after a long pause: “That’s not what I meant. I’ll speak more plainly. You had an alcoholic drink tonight—two of them, in fact. You’re not accustomed to them. You are what is called, among us Commoners”—she paused again, swallowing what seemed inexplicably like laughter—“blasted,. birdy, polluted, or drunk. I’ll be merciful and assume that your being blasted, birdy, polluted or drunk accounts for your pompous stupidity. But you are not going anywhere by yourself. You’re going to come with me, because that’s the only safe place for you. Now please stop being foolish.” Her face was turned up to his, pleading, and in the wandering rays of light from a distant street lamp, she seemed more than ever the perfect likeness of The Lady, the perfection of womanhood that could never be achieved by mortal females. Her hand slipped easily around his arm, and she clung to him, tugging at him, urging him to follow her.

  Cade didn’t strike her. He had every reason to, and yet, for some reason he could not bring himself to shake her off as he should have done, to throw her to the ground, and leave her and be rid of her peril forever. Instead he stood there, and the flesh of his arm crawled at the soft touch of her hand through the commoner’s cloth he wore.

  “If you have nothing more to tell me,” he said coldly, “I’ll leave you now.” They were at a corner; he turned up the side street and noticed that there were brighter lights and taller buildings ahead.

  The girl didn’t let go. She ran along at his side, holding on, and talking in a furious undertone, “I’m trying to save your life, you idiot. Will you stop this nonsense? You don’t know what you’re getting into!”

  There was a Watchman standing across the street, on the opposite corner, a symbol of familiar security in immaculate Service gray. Cade hesitated only an instant, remembering where he had last seen that uniform desecrated. But surely, surely, that was not cause enough to lose all faith.

  He turned to the girl at his side. The touch of her hand was like fire against his arm. “Leave me now,” he told her, “or I cannot promise for your safety.”

  “Cade, you mustn’t.”

  That was in tolerable. Love of woman, he thought again, and shook off her arm impatiently as he would have brushed away an insect or vermin.

  He strode into the street. “Watchman!”

  The man in Grays lolled idly on his corner.

  “Watchman!” Cade called again. “I desire to be directed to the Chapter House of the Order of Armsmen.”

  “Your desires are no concern of mine, citizen.”

  Cade remembered his Commoner’s clothing, and swallowed his ire. “Can you direct me . . . sir?”

  “If I see fit. And if your purpose is more fitting than your manner. What business have you there?”

  “That is no concern—” He stopped himself. “I cannot tell you . . . sir. It is an affair of utmost privacy.”

  “Very well, then, citizen,” the Service man laughed tolerantly, “find your own way—privately. He was looking past Cade, over the Gunner’s shoulder, “Is she with you?” he asked with alerted interest.

  Cade turned to find the girl right behind him again.

  “No,” he said sharply.

  “O.K., girlie,” the Watchman demanded. “What’re you doing outside the district?”

  “The district—” For the first time Cade saw her falter. “What do you—?”

  “You know what I mean. You’re not wearing that garter for jewelry, are you, girlie? You know you can’t solicit outside the district. If you was with this citizen, now—” He looked meaningfully at Cade.

  “ She is not with me,” Cade said wearily. “She followed me here, but—”

  “Oh, what a dirty lie!” the girl whined, suddenly voluble. “This fella picked me up in a bar, it was Cannon’s place, you can ask anybody there, and he kicked up such a brawl they booted us and then he said come over to my place and then we get here and’ all of a sudden he remembers something else and he leaves me flat. These muffs that get loaded and then don’t know what they want!” She wound up on a note of disgust.

  “Well, how about it, citizen? Was she with you?”

  “She was not,” Cade said emphatically. He was staring at the garter the Serviceman seemed so concerned about. It was a slender chain of silver links fastened high on the girl’s thigh, pulling the thin folds of her pajamas tight against her flesh.

  “Sorry, girlie,” the Watchman said firmly but not unkindly. “You know the rules. We’re going to the Watch House.”

  “There, you see?” She turned on Cade in a fury. “See what you did? Now they’ll fine me for soliciting and I can’t pay, so it means sitting it out in a cell, all on account of you don’t know what you want. Come on, now, admit it how you made me come with you. Just tell him, that’s all I ask.” Cade shook her off with disgust, “You were following me,” he said. “I told you I’d keep you out of trouble if I could, but if you’re going to insist on—”

  “All right now,” the Serviceman said, suddenly decisive. “That’ll be enough out of both of you. You both come along and you can get it straightened out in the Watch House.”

  “I see no reason—” Cade began, and stopped even before the Watchman began to reach for the light club in his belt. He did see a reason, a good one—at the Watch House, he would be able to get direct transportation to the Chapter House. “Very well,” he said coldly. “I shall be glad to come along since you insist.”

  “You idiot,” said the girl.

  VI.

  “Well, which one of you is making the complaint?” The bored officer behind the desk looked from the girl to Cade and back again.

  Neither replied.

  “She was out of her district,” the Watchman explained, “and they couldn’t get together on whether she was with him or not, so I took ’em both along in case you wanted to hear it all.”

  “Official infringement on the girl, huh?” the Deskman muttered. “If she don’t want to make a. complaint, we got nothing against the man. All right. Matron!” A stout clean-looking woman in gray got off a bench along the wall and approached the desk. “Take her along and get her name and registration. Fine is ten greens—”

  “Ten greens!” the girl broke in miserably. “I haven’t even got a blue on me. He was the first one tonight—”

  “Ten greens,” he said implacably, “or five days detention. Tell your troubles to the matron. Take her away. Now—” He turned to Cade as the stout woman led the girl away. “We’ll take your name and address for the record and you can go. Those girls are getting out of hand. Soliciting all over town if you let ’em get away w
ith it.”

  It was too much to unravel now. Cade dismissed the puzzle from his mind, and said, in a low voice: “May I speak to you alone?”

  “You out of your head, man? Speak up, what do you want?”

  The Gunner looked around. No one was too close. He kept his voice low. “It would be well if you speak more respectfully, Watchman. I am not a Commoner.”

  Comprehension came over the man’s face. He stood up promptly, and led Cade into a small side room. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said as soon as the door was closed behind them. “I had no idea. The gentlemen usually identify to the Watchman on street duty when such incidents occur. You’re a young gentleman, sir, and perhaps this is your first . . . little visit to the other half? You understand, sir, you needn’t have been bothered by coming here at all. Next time, sir, if you’ll just identify to . . .”

  “I don’t believe you quite understand,” Cade stopped the meaningless flow. “I desired to come here. There is a service you can do for me and for the Realm.”

  “Yes, sir. I know my duty, sir, and I’ll be glad to assist you in any way you deem fitting. If you’ll just identify first, sir, you understand I have to ask it, we can’t chance ordinary citizens passing themselves off as—”

  “Identify? How do I do that?”

  “Your badge of rank, sir.” He hesitated, and saw confusion still on Cade’s face. “Surely, sir, you didn’t come out without it?”

  The Gunner understood at last. “You misunderstand,” he said indignantly. “I have heard of the degenerates among our nobility who indulge in the . . . kind of escapade you seem to have in mind. You are presuming when you class me with them. I am a Gunner in the Order of Armsmen, and I require your immediate assistance to reach the nearest Chapter House.”

  “You have no badge of rank?” the Deskman said grimly.

  “Armsmen carry no prideful badges.”

  “Armsmen carry guns.”

  Cade kept his temper. “All you have to do is get in touch with the Chapter House, Deskman. They can check my fingerprints, or there might be a Gunner there who can identify me personally.”

  The Deskman made no answer; he walked to the door and pushed it open.

  “Hey, Bruge,” he called. The Watchman of the street got to his feet, and came toward them. “You want to put a drunk-and-disorderly on this fella? He’s either cockeyed drunk, or out of his head. Was he acting up outside?”

  “The girl said he was drinking. Can’t smell it much,” the other man said reflectively.

  “Well, you’re the one’ll have to register the complaint. I’m not letting him out of here tonight. He’s been telling me in deepest confidence that he’s really a Gunner in the Order—”

  “Say, that’s how the whole thing started,” Bruge remembered. “He came up to me asking where was the Chapter House. I figured he was just a little cracked, and I wouldn’t of pulled him in at all except for the argument with the girl. You think he’s off his rocker?”

  “I don’t know.” The Deskman was silent for a moment, then made up his mind. “I’ll tell you what, you sign a d-and-d, and we’ll see how he talks in the morning.”

  Cade could endure no more of it. He strode angrily between the two men. “I tell you,” he announced loudly, “that I am Gunner Cade of the Order of Armsmen and my Star is the Star of France. If you do not do what is necessary to identify me immediately, you will pay dearly for it later.”

  Another Watchman, who had listened idly from a bench, stood up and joined them. “I’m a fighting fan myself. It’s a real privilege to meet up with a real Gunner, firsthand.” He was short and stout, and there was an idiotic smile on his beaming moon-face, but at least he seemed more alert than the others. “I hate to bother you, sir, at a time like this, but I was having a little argument just yesterday with Bruge here and you could settle it for us. Could you tell me, sir, for instance, how many times you’ve been in action this year? Or, say, your five-year total?”

  “I really don’t remember,” said Cade impatiently. “This is hardly a fitting time for talk of past actions. I must report immediately to the nearest Chapter House. If your superior sees fit to do his duty now and call the House for identification, I shall endeavor to forget the inconvenience I have suffered so far.”

  “How about it, chief?” the moonfaced one appealed to the Deskman, turning his face away from Cade. “Why don’t you let Bruge here make a call for the Gunner? It’s only sporting, isn’t it?”

  There was an unexpected smile on the Deskman’s face when he replied. “O.K.—go on, Bruge, you go call up.” He winked in a friendly fashion.

  “All right,” said Bruge, disappointedly, and left the room.

  “I wonder, Gunner Cade,” Moonface said easily, “how many men you’ve killed since you became Armiger? Say, in offensive actions compared with defensive actions?”

  “Eh? Oh, I’ve never kept count, Watchman. I don’t know any Gunners who do.” This fellow was at least civil, he thought. There was no harm in answering the man’s questions while he waited. “Numbers killed don’t mean everything in war. I’ve been in engagements where we’d have given half of our men to get control of a swell in the ground so unnoticeable that you probably wouldn’t see it if you were looking right at it.”

  “Think of that!” marveled one of the Watchmen. “Did you hear that? Just for a little swell in the ground that slobs like us wouldn’t even notice.

  Hello, Jardin—” He hailed another man in gray who had just entered. “Here’s the man you want,” he told Moon-face. “Jardin can give you facts and figures on the Gunner.”

  “You mean Cade?” the new man said unhappily. “Yeah, I sure can. It’s only eight kills for the second quarter. He would have hit twelve, sure, only—”

  “Yeah, it’s a shame all right,” Moon-face broke in. “Jardin, I’ve got a real treat for you. A France fan like you, and Gunner Cade is your favorite, too. Well, here’s the thrill of a lifetime, man. Gunner Cade, himself, in person. Jardin, meet the Gunner. Gunner Cade, sir, this is a long-standing fan of yours.”

  Two more men had come in, and another was at the door. They were all standing around listening. Cade regretted his earlier impulse to answer the man’s question. A distasteful familiarity was developing in Moon-face’s attitude.

  “Quit your kidding,” Jardin was saying, almost angrily. “I don’t see what’s so funny when a good Gunner dies.”

  “I tell you the man says he’s Gunner Cade. Isn’t that true?” Moon-face appealed to the Gunner.

  “I am Gunner Cade,” he replied, with what dignity he could muster.

  “Why, you—!”

  The outburst from Jardin was stopped abruptly by the Deskman.

  “All right, that’s enough now,” he said sharply. “This farce is no longer fitting to our honored dead. Jardin is right. Fellow,” he said to Cade, “you picked the wrong Gunner and the wrong Watchman. Gunner Cade is dead. I know because Jardin here lost twenty greens to me on him. He was silly enough to bet on Cade for a better second-quarter total of kills than Golos of Zanzibar. Golos topped him with . . . but never mind that. Who are you, and what do you think you’re doing impersonating a Gunner?”

  “But I am Gunner Cade,” he said, stupefied.

  “Gunner Cade,” said the officer patiently, “was killed last week in the kitchen of a house in some French town his company was attacking. They found his body. Now, fellow, who are you? Impersonating a Gunner is a serious offense.”

  For the first time, Cade realized that Bruge had left, not to call the Chapter House, but to collect the crowd of Watchmen who had assembled while they talked. There were eleven of them in the room now—too many to overpower. He remained silent; insisting on the truth seemed hopeless.

  “That’s no d-and-d,” the Deskman said in the silence. “We’ll hold him for pyscho.”

  “Want me to sign the complaint?” It was Bruge, grinning like an ape.

  “Yeah. Put him into a cage until morning and then to
the psycho.”

  “Watchman,” said Cade steadily, “will I be able to convince the psych, or is he just another Commoner like you?”

  “Hold him!” Two of them expertly caught Cade’s arms. The questioner flicked a rubber truncheon across Cade’s face. “Maybe you’re crazy,” he said, “but you’ll show respect to officers of the Klin Service.”

  Cade stood there, the side of his jaw growing numb. He knew he could break loose from the Watchmen holding him, or disable the man with the truncheon by one well-placed kick. But what would be the good of it. There were too many of them there. It is fitting that we Gunmen serve—but the thought trailed off into apathy.

  “All right,” said the man with the truncheon. “Put him in with Fledwick.”

  The Gunner let himself be led to a cell and locked in. He ignored his cell mate until the man said nervously: “Hello. What are you in for?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Oh. Oh. I’m in here by mistake. I’m a Klin Teacher. I am attached to the lectory at the Glory of the Realm ground car works. There was some mix-up in the collections, and in the confusion they concluded I was responsible. I should be out of here in a day or two.”

  Cade glanced uninterestedly at the man. “Thief” was written all over him. So Klin Teachers could be thieves.

  “What does a silver garter on a girl mean?” he suddenly demanded.

  “Oh,” said Fledwick. “I wouldn’t know personally, of course.” He told him.

  Curse her, thought Cade. He wondered what had happened to her. She’d said she couldn’t pay the fine.

  “My real vocation, of course, was military, “said Fledwick.

  “What?” said Cade.

  Fledwick hastily changed his story. “I should have said, ‘the military teachership.’ I was never really happy at the Glory shop. I’d rather serve humbly as a Teacher in an obscure Chapter House of the Order.” He raptly misquoted: “It is fitting for the Emperor to rule. It is fitting for the Power Master to serve the Emperor.”