Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  “All right,” Blake said. He went out of the bridge and into one of the corridors.

  Commander Darfur was waiting for him in the main wardroom. “What’s happening?” he demanded.

  “They have established contact with the human forces,” Blake told him. “We are starting in now.”

  “Damnation!” Darfur said, grinding his teeth. “What do we do?”

  “I have been waiting for this,” Blake said. The Gerin are lulled now into a false sense of security. Or so I hope. They have already discounted us: we are noncombatants, less than vermin in their eyes. They expect us to do nothing but cower in the wardrooms and await the result.”

  “And that’s about all you can do,” Darfur said. “Your bunch of circus freaks won’t stand a chance against trained Gerin warriors.”

  “We freaks may have a trick or two up our sleeves,” Blake said. “You know all the stories about our special talents?”

  “You told me they were all prejudiced lies.”

  “So I did. That’s what we tell everybody. There’s enough hatred of us anyhow without revealing the truth. “

  “Which is?”

  “You will soon see. And then you must stand by, Commander, because you will have your part to play in all this, too.”

  “And that part is?”

  Blake smiled grimly. “I’m not going to tell you yet. It might alarm you.”

  Darfur had to smile at that. This circus impresario was really crazy if he thought he had something that would frighten a commander in the forces in the League of Free Planets.

  Time seemed to stand still as the P. T. Barnum crept toward the Point Bravo position. The circus people waited as the minutes ticked by. The Gerin soldiery stood to their weapons. A solemn silence reigned over the ship, broken only by the low throbbing of the engines. Tuning in on the ship’s intercom system, Blake heard an alarm go off as long-range visual contact was established. Soon, in greatly magnified view, the ranks of League ships could be seen, and behind them, a yellowish world wrapped in mists, was the planet Bravo, which served as the supply depot and strongpoint for this sector.

  “Damn you,” Darfur said. “They’re ready to begin hostilities against the League fleet. When are you going to pull this surprise of yours? Or was that just a bedtime story to keep me quiet?”

  “You exaggerate the lengths I’d go to soothe your feelings, Commander,” Blake said. “Unfortunately, my plan has no chance at all until hostilities begin. We need the distraction of battle for what I have in mind.”

  Just then the ship trembled from stem to stern and gave a slight sidewise heave. There was a noticeable pickup in acceleration, and then a din of screeching metal as the Gerin threw off the camouflaged shielding that hid the gun emplacements. Soon the ship was vibrating as the torpedoes and Gatlings opened up.

  “Now!” Darfur said. “What are you going to do?”

  “We are going to take over the ship,” Blake replied.

  “But you said yourself that was impossible! And what do your men know of hand-to-hand fighting?”

  “You’d be surprised at what we have to contend with on some of the little worlds we visit,” Blake said.

  “All right, I’m for it,” Darfur said. “But you said yourself this would be a suicidal undertaking. They’ll pick us off one by one.”

  “Well, I see it’s time I revealed our secret,” Blake said. “We freaks do have one thing, you see. We share a telepathic linkage.”

  Darfur stared at him, then comprehension dawned on him. “So you can attack simultaneously!”

  “Precisely.”

  “But after that . . .?”

  “I have plans,” Blake said. “And now, Commander, have the goodness to stand by while I put this plan into motion.”

  Blake closed his eyes. Darfur could almost sense the effort the man was making, striving to contact by telepathy all his people no matter where they were on the ship. Blake knew that the plan must have been prearranged. Blake must have contacted his people via telepathy, telling them to be ready for this. But could he make that contact now? Telepathy was notoriously unreliable . . .

  A wail arose from somewhere down the corridor. An inhuman wail that was changed into a gurgle and then was cut short.

  “We’re on now,” Blake said. He pulled a handblaster out of his belt, handed it to Darfur. “Curtain time!”

  The Gerin, alert at their posts, had, over the course of the last days, come to take the humanoid crew for granted. So apathetic did the circus people seem, so willing to obey orders, so little inclined to rebel, that the Gerin were caught completely by surprise. Suddenly, and within half a second of each other, several dozen fights burst out on the ship as the circus people turned simultaneously on their Gerin captors.

  One moment everything was normal; the next, the Gerin were fighting for their lives. The circus people, using what weapons came to hand, or crude knives and clubs secreted in their clothing, struck suddenly, simultaneously, and with complete violence.

  The circus freaks had received their orders telepathically from Blake, and on his signal they acted in concert. No sooner did a man kill his opponent than he rushed to assist the man nearest to him. The Gerin fought back savagely, but they had been caught by surprise, at a time when they were already in combat, and not expecting an attack from behind their own lines. Blood flowed over the deckplates, some of it the purple of Gerin, but mixed with the red of humanoid blood. Some of the Gerin crowded together to make a stand. Even then their individuality undid them: the Gerin warriors were all too ready to abandon their rallying points and sally forth each on his own, to be pulled down and hacked to bits by the furious circus folk.

  Blake and Darfur raced to the bridge. There Usq-Usq-Tweed and his squire companions were trying to continue fighting the Point Bravo fleet and simultaneously put down the rebellion.

  Usq-Usq-Tweed caught sight of Blake. “You dog!” he shouted. “You tricked me! For that you die!”

  He aimed a handgun at Blake, who tried to dodge out of the way. But Darfur was already firing. A blaster was something never used aboard ship for fear of holing it. But Darfur had adjusted for range and was hoping for the best. He cut down the Gerin commander as he rushed at them. Blake had picked up another weapon, a laser projector, and was cutting around him with deadly effect.

  “Careful with that!” Darfur shouted. The laser sliced through the remaining Gerin warrior. Darfur managed to switch the weapon off before Blake could pierce the hull.

  “Good work!” Darfur cried. He rushed to the control console, pushing bits of chopped Gerin out of the way. “Now to signal the fleet and get out of here!”

  “Actually,” Blake said, “I think it’s a little too late for that.” He pointed to the rearview monitors.

  Far away, but closing rapidly, Darfur could see dozens of Gerin globeships that had downwarped out of FTL space.

  “What do you suggest now?” Darfur asked.

  “They think we’re still on their side,” Blake said.

  “Retreat until we’re in range, then open fire on them. With any luck, the Point Bravo flotilla will pull themselves together and follow.”

  Darfur laughed with glee when he realized how beautiful the scheme was. The Gerin were caught in their own trap! The Trojan Horse ship, which was supposed to open the way through Earth’s defenses, would serve as a Trojan Horse for the other side, too.

  “Great plan,” Darfur said, his fingers dancing on the computer keys. “You’ve done it, Blake! Made them stick their neck out. Now we can get in there and really do some hitting. “

  He had the ship turned now and racing toward the Gerin fleet, which held its fire, believing Usq-Usq-Tweed and his men were still in control. The intercom squabbled with questions directed to the dead Usq-Usq-Tweed.

  Darfur said, “We’re coming into range. Tell your men to stand ready to fire.”

  “There’s only one thing,” Blake said.

  “What is it?”

  �
�My men don’t know anything about gunnery. They can swing a cudgel or use a dagger with the best of them, as you’ve seen. But as for laser cannon and plasma torpedoes, they haven’t a clue.”

  “Great,” Darfur said. “If we can’t protect ourselves, those globeships will take us out before the Earth fleet can come to our aid.”

  As he spoke, the viewplate showed the globe discharging small fighter craft.

  “Oh, we’re going to fight them,” Blake said. “We’re going to use every weapon the enemy has so thoughtfully put at our disposal. The thing is, you are going to have to control it all. “

  “But how can I? Even if I try to tell each man what he should do, it would take too long. We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “I think we can fix that,” Blake said. “With telepathy. You’ll have to control all the guns, Darfur, via telepathic circuit. We can take you into the hookup—if you’re willing. “

  “No!” Darfur said. Like many people, he had a deep-seated fear of mental control. The idea of Blake and these freaks sharing his mind . . . no, it was intolerable.

  “You have to do it!” Blake said. “It’s the only chance!”

  “I can’t do that!” Darfur said.

  “Commander,” Blake said, “you’d better give it a try.”

  Darfur grimaced, then nodded glumly. “All right. What do I do?”

  “Just try to be receptive,” Blake said. He closed his eyes. Darfur felt something tug at his mind, something huge and terrible. He resisted for a moment, then forced himself to give in to it.

  There was a terrible moment of vertigo, in which Darfur thought he was going out of his mind. Then abruptly his vision cleared.

  But he wasn’t looking out of his own eyes anymore.

  He was in Blake’s head, looking at himself.

  “Good,” Blake said. “Now try to move around. The crew has been warned. You can take over.”

  Darfur got control of himself and pushed out with his mind. He felt himself passing through darkness. Then all of a sudden he had a simultaneous view through many eyes. With the rapidity of thought he was in a dozen different heads at the same time. He tried to pump his knowledge of modern weaponry into the freaks, but it was faster finally to dart from mind to mind, taking over for a moment, sighting and shooting, adjusting, firing again as they bored into the Gerin fleet.

  The Gerin hesitated, trying to figure out what had happened to Usq-Usq-Tweed’s scheme. Then they started firing back. Darfur now had another task, not just to fire the weapons, but to continue adjusting the screens, which were threatening to go into overload. It became a mad dance for him, the finale of a circus of horror in which he was the one who gave the order to fire, the one who pushed the button, and also the missile itself, arcing out into space.

  The ship’s screens flickered and began to waver. Darfur had to forget about the weapons and put his full attention to maintaining the shields. He knew it would be a matter of moments before a voltage drop let the screens open long enough for a missile to come through. And what annoyed him was that he couldn’t even hit back. But then he realized that he was hitting back, because plasma torpedoes were streaking past him, taking out fighters, trying to home in on the globeships.

  Had his crew learned how to shoot from his example?

  Impossible. And anyhow, there was no accounting for the sheer number of torpedoes racing past him. Someone must have come to his aid.

  He turned to his rear-vision viewplate and saw Admiral Van Dyne’s flotilla coming up fast behind him. One globeship was gone and the others were trying to scramble back into FTL space.

  “A classic Trojan Horse maneuver,” Admiral Van Dyne said. “Only you turned it against them. Turned it into a Trojan hearse! I really must congratulate you, Commander Darfur. I’ve read of such things in the history of early space battles, but never thought I’d live to see one performed.”

  They were in the admiral’s lounge aboard his command dreadnought, the Saratoga. Elements of the fleet were already out mopping up those elements of the Gerin fleet that had not been able to upwarp in time to escape destruction. The Barnum had survived, scorched and battered, leaking air from a dozen points, a quarter of her crew of circus people dead and another third suffering more or less serious injuries.

  “Sir,” Darfur said, “I have to tell you, I had very little to do with this fine victory. The credit belongs entirely to Blake. It was his scheme, and it was undertaken at great cost to his people. I only assisted in the final stage.”

  “The fighting against the Gerin, you mean?” Van Dyne asked.

  “Yes, sir. I was able to assist with some of the more exotic weaponry they had brought aboard.”

  “I’ve been Wondering about that,” Van Dyne said.

  “How were those freaks able to operate that weaponry?”

  Darfur was about to tell Van Dyne about the telepathic linkup, then stopped himself. He didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the circus people’s precarious security. If it became generally known that they were indeed telepathic, it might go badly for them when they tried to bring their circus to different worlds.

  “I ran around a lot, sir,” Darfur said. “They really learned amazingly fast.”

  Van Dyne seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. He smiled—a rare sight on his grim battle-scarred old face.

  “However it was done, it was well done.”

  “Thank you, sir. What will happen to the Barnum and Blake and his people now?”

  “We’ve already taken his people into the infirmary. We’ll save all we can. The ship will be repaired by our armorers. I offered Blake a commission in our forces.”

  “What did he say, sir?”

  “Wasn’t interested. That’s the way it is with freaks. You can’t tell what they’ll do next.”

  “I suppose not, sir. I suppose he’ll go back to circusing.”

  “All in good time,” Van Dyne said. “Actually, he proposed that we refit his ship and turn him loose as a freebooter. A privateer. He could cause some merry hell in some of the neutral zones which the Gerin have been invading.”

  “Sounds like a good idea, sir,” Darfur said. “He’s a first-class fighting man-as well as a pretty good circus’ man.”

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t at first. But it’s difficult not to like a man you’ve fought beside.”

  “That’s what I thought. Blake pointed out that he would need a trained officer aboard to help maintain the weapons systems and train his crew.”

  “Good idea,” Darfur said.

  “He asked especially for you.”

  “Did he, sir?” Darfur flushed with pleasure. He could think of nothing better than ranging through space with Blake and his circus men in search of Gerin to kill. But then a thought struck him.

  “This would be a first-class assignment, sir. But I’m afraid it ought to go to an officer with more seniority than I have.”

  “I discussed that point with Blake,” Van Dyne said.

  “He was insistent that it be you. He said that you had another talent that was valuable to them, one not usually found in the armed forces.”

  “What was that, sir?” Darfur said.

  “He said that you have the makings of a first-class clown. That ability will be important if the Barnum is to carry on secret missions on the fringes of Gerin-occupied territory. “

  “He said I was a good clown, sir?” Darfur said.

  “He said you had the makings of one,” Van Dyne said. “Why? Does the occupation appeal to you?”

  “Not at all, sir,” Darfur said. “But I like to do whatever I do well. Can I go speak with Blake now?”

  “Go ahead,” Van Dyne said. “This assignment is going to be dangerous. But I’ll tell you this—if I were a hundred years younger, I’d pull all the strings in creation to be assigned to the Barnum along with you. Dismissed!”

  Darfur rushed off to find Blake. And so began the notable exploits of t
he privateer P. T. Barnum.

  ALIEN STARSWARM

  Salvatore commands the battleship Endymion, a cruiser ready-made for trouble—a cruiser with the dubious honor of being the lead ship for the mercenary forces of Count Sforza. Salvatore has seen his share of battles and fought them bravely, too. So he doesn’t hesitate when the beautiful Princess Hatari pleads for his help.

  The Princess wants to regain her throne on the planet Melchior, and Salvatore is sworn to assist her. It may be even more than Salvatore can accomplish, however, for the deadly race known as the Balderdash has taken over Melchior, and now, even his own men have turned against him.

  Bred to fight, he accepts the challenge!

  PROLOGUE

  Salvatore stretched in front of the spaceship control panel. He yawned.

  “Tired, Boss?” asked Toma, his spider robot.

  “Only bored, Toma. Only bored.”

  He’d joined the StarSwarm fleet to see action and danger. No one had told him there would be periods of waiting that would test his thin patience. How could anyone expect a sixteen-year-old commander to sit idle? He eased forward and flipped a button. A ray of light flicked through the sky.

  “Boss! You could blast another vessel to Stagmall and gone!”

  “I need action, Toma. I only want to tear up a few ships or maybe sack a planet or two.”

  “I’d save my energy if I were you,” said Toma. “You know nothing stays quiet around here for long.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Salvatore paced up and down the wide, carpeted area in front of the huge, curving windows of the battleship Endymion. Through them, he could see a splendid view of the Semiramis region of Space from a distance of a mere 1.3 light-years. In this dense region near the Galactic Center, a million pinpoints of light flared and glowed in colors ranging from pale violet through angry red. Sal wasn’t interested in the spectacle now, though at another time, it would have thrilled his sixteen-year-old heart.