Spaceman's Luck and Other Stories

by George O. Smith

  “Joe—get me the package!”

  HE NODDED, went to the machine and returned with the sugar carton. He shook his head glumly. The box was lettered in reverse.

  “And, Joe—did you get any cigarettes through this thing?”

  He nodded, slowly. He was stupefied with the enormity of it all. He returned to the machine and cranked the distance back so that the plane of view looked in on the same room. He picked up a screw and inspected it.

  “Left-hand thread,” he said. He shoved his hand through, and Sally caught it between her own.

  “Is that your right hand?” she asked.

  “It is.”

  “It came out left.”

  Sally handed him the sugar package after taking out one cube. It came through the machine re-reversed so that it could be read normally.

  He tasted the reversed cube and one that had come through the second time. The re-reversed sugar was normal, the other weak.

  “Well,” he said, “that’s it!”

  Sally left the laboratory at midnight, and by the time she left there was no doubt. Screws, shoes, printed matter; all of them went through reversed. Her parting word was humorous:

  “You could sell this to a shoe factory,” she told him. “Then they could make only right shoes and send half of their production through the machine. Save manufacturing costs.”

  He nodded glumly, and wondered where he had heard the same words before. He pondered this for some time after she had gone, and he went to bed on the couch in a spare room below. He went to sleep thinking about it, and dreamed about it after slumber claimed him…

  Norman Blair felt the feather-light touch on his lips and came awake quietly. This business of awakening quietly was a matter of practise in an institution where any night-time commotion was cause for instant investigation by the guards. It was sensible to come awake quietly because friends bring news that could not be passed along with an angry guard ordering you to separate. And because it might be an enemy, Norman Blair came awake with one hand inside a slit in his mattress; his hand clenched around a sliver of steel that had been whetted to a razor edge.

  “Norm!”

  “Sally!”

  “Shut up,” came her fierce whisper.

  “But how in the—”

  “Shut up and ask later. Get up and come here.”

  In the dim light Blair could see a large circle of somewhat lighter texture. Framed in this circle was Sally. She seemed to be standing waist-high in the circle, and it put her feet a good four inches below the level of the floor. The bottom rim of the circle was a few inches above the floor, Blair shrugged.

  “Is it safe?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Now come on quick!”

  Blair asked no more questions. He climbed through the circle and fell heavily to the floor. The sound created enough disturbance for the guard to come running with a challenging command.

  Sally snapped the switch and the circle disappeared before Blair’s amazed eyes, and it returned to its shiny silver surface.

  “Your guess was good,” she told him.

  Blair stood up and looked around. He reached for her with his right hand, and she laughed.

  “Southpaw,” she chuckled.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded.

  “You’re reversed.”

  “I’m what?”

  “Shake,” she offered.

  He held forth what he had known for thirty-five years to be his right hand. Approaching it was what appeared to be the girl’s left. She laughed and explained, cranking the dials back as she talked.

  “You’d find things hard to read,” she told him, and he nodded as he picked up a book.

  SALLY watched the plate until the laboratory was in the field of view. Then Blair stepped through the teleport and when he came out the far side, he looked back at her—but over the wrong shoulder.

  “I’m over here,” she said. “You’ve been reversed back again.”

  He shook his head. “No more of that for me, ” he told her fervently. He looked at the gear contemplatively. “But it looks good. Just what goes on?”

  Sally Ransome began to explain…

  It was a mad dream, as all dreams are. A vast machine that combined the more complicated features of a cross-sectioned internal combustion engine and the turned-inside-out interior of a Burroughs Calculator stamped, ground, formed, and assembled shoes that came curling forth on a swiftly moving belt of flexible metal.

  The moving belt slowed farther along its curving extension and came to a gradual halt, and as the belt moved more and more slowly along its length, the shoes began to move. Slowly at first they moved, then extended into a saunter, which changed to a walk, and then to a brisk trot, and finally into a bold and open run as they reached the place where the belt ceased to move.

  Though the belt slowed in its motion, the shoes increased their speed so that the shoes always moved forward at the same speed. Just beyond the place where the belt ceased to move, the shoes passed a tall, green-painted stop-sign which flashed alternately red and green.

  Here the running stream of empty shoes divided. Every second shoe arrived coincidently with a red light and paused before it leaped from the belt into an open box. The rest continued on, up, around, and over, running madly until they went the length of the broad metal belt, which returned upon itself and joined smoothly.

  The shoes leaped into the same box as their fellows had entered—but now they were all left shoes, because they had gone completely around the belt, which was twisted into a Mobius Strip.

  A veritable giant of a man came and picked up the box. He saw Kingsley and with a piece of blue chalk, he wrote “One, Two, Three, Infinity” on the side of the box. As he turned away, there was a large block letter sign on his back. It said George Gamow. The giant left, and Kingsley leaped onto the belt to follow.

  Kingsley paused at the stoplight because a voice said:

  “But it looks good. Just what goes on?”

  “It’s Mobius Space!” yelled Kingsley.

  He leaped from the production line Mobius belt—fell to the floor in a welter of bedclothes!

  Then he remembered.

  Gamow. A gentleman with a sense of humor and a definite talent for explaining the more abstract bits of higher mathematics in terms that the man in the street could understand and enjoy reading. It had been Professor Gamow who had hinted that space might be twisted in the Mobius fashion, and that shoes sent across space might turn out to be left shoes, thus simplifying the production problems.

  “That’s where she heard it before!” muttered Kingsley.

  CHAPTER V

  The Hijacker

  BELOW in the laboratory, Blair looked at Sally. “What was that?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Joe Kingsley.”

  Blair picked up a heavy file and hefted it menacingly. Then he dropped it on the bench again with a clatter.

  “He’s valuable,” Blair said shortly. “If this gimmick goes wrong, someone’s got to repair it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Take him.”

  Sally smiled wisely. “He’s soft on me. Make it look like you’ve kidnaped me, too, Norm.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re soft on me also. Would you act quick to see me saved from having my feet burned?”

  He winked at her instead of answering. He reached for Sally quickly and carried her to the chair, where he dropped her roughly. He roughed up her hair and slapped her across the face several times, not sharply, but enough to bring an unmistakable flush to her cheek and a few tears to her eyes.

  He tore her dress at the shoulder a bit, and then added another inch to the tear after he saw the result. More soft white shoulder gleamed, and Blair nodded calculatingly.

  Above, Kingsley blinked uncertainly as the file clattered and then, wondering why burglars would enter a laboratory, he headed for the stairs.

  He entered the laboratory and was met with a sharp c
hop against the side of his head from the edge of Blair’s hand. He slumped, senseless, and when he opened his eyes, he was neatly taped with electrician’s tape. He looked around and assumed that the tape on Sally’s wrists was as tight as that on his own. He glared at Blair.

  “What goes on?” he demanded.

  “I’m taking over.”

  “But you—”

  “Shut up, chum. I’ve done it.”

  Kingsley looked at Sally. The girl shrugged unhappily.

  “He met me as I left,” she said.

  “Anybody who’s working this late at night must be doing something good,” grunted Blair. “And then there’s that strange coin and the reversed cigarette package.”

  “What reversed coin?”

  “The one you tossed into the coin box at the corner. Huh! Looks like I got here second.” He glared at Sally.

  “She’s a magazine writer.”

  “That so?”

  Sally nodded.

  “Maybe,” grunted Blair. “And maybe you’re fronting for another gang.”

  “She couldn’t be!”

  “Shut up.” Blair faced the gear. “How does this run?”

  “I’ll never tell you.”

  Blair faced Kingsley coldly. “Like to watch me slice off a few toes?”

  “You won’t make me talk.”

  “Brave man,” sneered Blair. “But I mean her toes!”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Watch.” With a swagger, Norman Blair went to the tool table and inspected it critically. There were saws and files and drills and other items of the metal-worker’s trade, but no knife. Blair grunted angrily, and turned to face the taped-up pair.

  “There are other means,” he said ominously, angered by his failure to find a knife.

  He looked around the room and his eyes fastened on the teleport. It had been turned off by the power switch and the controls set as Sally had left them following Blair’s re-reversement.

  The distant plane of view was not many feet from the prime plane, and Blair knew it. He could run the gear if he had to, for he had seen Sally do it. He preferred to pretend ignorance, however, because it gave him a better chance to learn the workings of the equipment, and would also give some weight to the pretense of Sally’s innocence.

  HE FUMBLED with the switch uncertainly. He swore at Kingsley for not labeling the controls, and called the scientist a fool. He realized in his mind that the scientist was familiar enough with the gear to know its every part, and so needed no labels, but he did not say so.

  He snapped the switch, and the silver plate changed slowly from solidity to translucence to complete transparency. Then, with a sly grin, Blair went over and lifted the bound girl in his arms. He carried her forward until her feet entered the circle.

  From Kingsley’s position, he could see back into the circle. His field of view showed most of the girl’s body and Blair’s hands as he held the girl suspended. It was an eery sight, for beyond them he could see Blair facing away from him, holding the girl with her feet extended through the circle and beyond the girl’s feet he could see his own—

  No! It was not an image! It was himself!

  His mind corrected itself almost automatically, though he struggled to comprehend the completely strange condition. It was something that never before had happened.

  Blair lowered the girl until the bottom of the circle supported her legs just across the back of the knees. With the hand so freed, Blair reached for the “OFF” switch, turning back to Kingsley.

  “Might be interesting,” he said callously. “When this goes off, will she be stretched out a few yards at the knee or will her legs just drop off? ”

  Kingsley did not know, and the idea made him turn a bit sick. Sally turned a true pale and screamed.

  “Give you three,” snapped Blair. “One, tw—”

  “You win,” said Kingsley in a dry voice.

  Blair laughed sourly and lifted the girl back to her chair where he dumped her unceremoniously. Then he went back to the tool table and found a file which he poked through the circle. He snapped the switch.

  There was a brilliant flash of white, a brief wave of beat, and a sound similar to the blowing of a fuse. The far end of the file dropped to the floor with a clatter and the cut end smoked as it hit the linoleum. The end that Blair had was held only for a moment; then it grew hot along its length as the heat at the end came along the length of the file. Blair dropped it with a howl.

  “Now talk,” he snapped.

  Kingsley began to explain…

  * * * * *

  The porter came through the sleeping cars quietly and tapped at the bedroom door. Walter Murdoch came out of fitful slumber quietly and opened the door expectantly. The porter handed him a telegram, explaining that it had been picked up on the fly at the last town.

  It was in code, but Murdoch went to work on it quickly, and came up with:

  RE REVERSED PRINTS CLASSIFIED AND SIFTED TO PROFESSOR JOSEPH KINGSLEY OF HOLLAND COLLEGE OF SCIENCE. GOOD LUCK.

  MONROE

  Murdoch nodded. He knew that by “classified and sifted,” Monroe meant that the cards had been run through the selector machine and had come up with several, and that these had been sorted as to possible connection and discarded until only the glaring connection between Joseph Kingsley and the town of Holland remained.

  This at least was a true lead, one that he could get his fingers into. He consulted his watch and then went back to bed. He would arrive in Holland by early morning and that was as soon as he could make it.

  Tomorrow would be a busy day!

  * * * * *

  “And so it’s like that,” said Blair with a sneer. “And the next thing to do is to get this junk to some safer place.”

  He scoured the laboratory and the other rooms and returned with a .32 target pistol, which he inspected cynically. A gangster of the first water, Blair preferred the heavier .45 automatic, but this was at least a weapon, and that was what he wanted.

  His handling of the teleport’s controls was crude but he knew that practise with the machine would increase his dexterity. His first move was to locate a garage containing a moving van. Then he marked the controls carefully.

  NEXT, Blair returned the distant circle to the laboratory and stepped through. Reversed, he had some trouble with the controls, but he reset them to their pencil-mark calibrations and thickened the plate until passage was possible. He picked up his pistol and stepped through. He breathed a sigh of relief when he attained the distant garage without trouble. He looked around the garage warily, and then walked boldly towards the moving van.

  “Hey! What goes?” came a challenging cry.

  Blair turned and coldly pulled the trigger. The watchman fell, squirmed once, and was silent.

  Then Blair opened the doors of the garage and drove the van out. He paused long enough to close the doors because he did not want the watchman to be found while the teleport circle was available.

  He stopped the van before the laboratory a half-hour later and raced upstairs to turn off the machine.

  “Now,” he said. “Before I start taking this stuff apart, I’ll send you fellows to a nice safe place.”

  Blair turned the machine on again and sent the controls spinning. He located a neat house beside a lake and grinned happily as he inspected it through and through.

  “Everything neat,” he said. He picked up Kingsley and with some difficulty he carried the scientist to the circle. “You in here,” he said, and he shoved Kingsley through the circle.

  Joe Kingsley landed on his side and turned over in time to see the circle vanish. He wondered in which room Sally would be put, and then started to struggle with his bonds.

  Kingsley intended to break out of this place at once and give the alarm.

  He was still struggling with the metal walls, the heavy shutters, and the sealed door, and cursing the complete lack of any tools when Blair and Sally Ransome left the laboratory with the machinery a
ll neatly disconnected and stored in the van.

  It was slightly past the gray of dawn.

  CHAPTER VI

  Too Much Coincidence

  MURDOCH yawned as he stepped from the train and looked around for a taxicab. Holland, he thought, must be a really small town. There was nothing awake. Nothing awake, that is, excepting the big transcontinental truck that was waiting for the train to start so that it could cross the tracks.

  He saw a sign pointing to Holland College campus and began to trudge down the road in the early morning light. He yawned again and swore that some day he would quit this nerve-wracking job and take up a nice quiet one. Something like the guy driving the moving van, who was sharp enough to have a woman going along with him.

  The train moved on, and Blair crossed the tracks and left the scene as the Treasury agent headed up the road toward the laboratory.

  It was before things should begin stirring, but Murdoch beat on the door of the laboratory anyway. Then he waited and waited, and the ring of cigarette butts grew about his feet as he sat there on the gray stone and fumed. It was almost eight o’clock before the first of the townspeople began to stir about.

  “I’m Murdoch,” he said to the first man who came to the laboratory. “I’m looking for Professor Joseph Kingsley.”

  “I doubt that he is here,” said the man. “I’m Edward Holmes. Kingsley usually gets here about nine.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  At nine-forty, Murdoch went inside and asked Holmes where Kingsley lived.

  “He has a small apartment at Forty-one Normal Street. Occasionally he sleeps in the rooms we have here for men who have worked too late. I looked there, however.”