The First Science Fiction Megapack

by Reginald Bretnor

  Tommy faced him stubbornly. “I don’t want to be any old spaceman. I want to be a sandfoot like old Pete. And I want to go home.”

  Helen bit back a smile at the two earnest, stubborn faces so ridiculously alike, and hastened to avert the gathering storm.

  “Now look, fellows. Tommy’s career doesn’t have to be decided in the next five minutes…after all, he’s only ten. He can make up his mind later on if he wants to be an engineer or a rabbara farmer. Right now, he’s going to stay here and go to school…and I’m staying with him.”

  Resolutely avoiding both crestfallen faces, Helen, having shepherded Tommy to bed, returned to the living room acutely conscious of Big Tom’s bleak, hurt gaze at her back.

  “Helen, you’re going to make a sissy out of the boy,” he said at last. “There isn’t any reason why he can’t stay here at home with Bee.”

  Helen turned to face him.

  “Earth isn’t home to Tommy. And your sister Bee told him he ought to be out playing football with the boys instead of hanging around the house.”

  “But she knows the doctor said he’d have to take it easy for a year till he was accustomed to the change in gravity and air-pressure,” he answered incredulously.

  “Exactly. She also asked me,” Helen went on grimly, “if I thought he’d be less of a freak as he got older.”

  Tom Benton swore. “Bee always did have less sense than the average hen,” he gritted. “My son a freak! Hell’s-bells!”

  Tommy, arriving at the hall door in time to hear the tail-end of the sentence, crept back to bed feeling numb and dazed. So even his father thought he was a freak.

  * * * *

  The last few days before parting was one of strain for all of them. If Tommy was unnaturally subdued, no one noticed it; his parents were not feeling any great impulse toward gaiety either.

  They all went dutifully sight-seeing as before; they saw the Zoo, and went shopping on the Skywalks, and on the last day wound up at the great showrooms of “Androids, Inc.”

  Tommy had hated them on sight; they were at once too human and too inhuman for comfort. The hotel was full of them, and most private homes had at least one. Now they saw the great incubating vats, and the processing and finally the showroom where one of the finished products was on display as a maid, sweeping and dusting.

  “There’s one that’s a dead-ringer for you, Helen. If you were a little better looking, that is.” Tommy’s dad pretended to compare them judicially. Helen laughed, but Tommy looked at him with a resentfulness. Comparing his mother to an Android.…

  “They say for a little extra you can get an exact resemblance. Maybe I’d better have one fixed up like you to take back with me,” Big Tom added teasingly. Then as Helen’s face clouded over, “Oh, hon, you know I was only kidding. Let’s get out of here; this place gives me the collywobbles. Besides, I’ve got to pick up my watch.”

  But his mother’s face was still unhappy and Tommy glowered sullenly at his father’s back all the way to the watch-shop.

  It was a small shop, with an inconspicuous sign down in one corner of the window that said only, “KRUMBEIN—watches,” and was probably the most famous shop of its kind in the world. Every spaceman landing on Terra left his watch to be checked by the dusty, little old man who was the genius of the place. Tommy ranged wide-eyed about the clock and chronometer crammed interior. He stopped fascinated before the last case. In it was a watch…but, what a watch! Besides the regulation Terran dial, it had a second smaller dial that registered the corresponding time on Mars. Tommy’s whole heart went out to it in an ecstasy of longing. He thought wistfully that if you could know what time it was there, you could imagine what everyone was doing and it wouldn’t seem so far away. Haltingly, he tried to explain.

  “Look, Mom,” he said breathlessly. “It’s almost five o’clock at home. Douwie will be coming up to the barn to be fed. Gosh, do you suppose old Pete will remember about her?”

  His mother smiled at him reassuringly. “Of course he will, silly. Don’t forget he was the one who caught and tamed her for you.”

  Tommy gulped as he thought of Douwie. Scarcely as tall as himself; the big, rounded, mouselike ears, and the flat, cloven pads that could carry her so swiftly over the sandy Martian flatlands. One of the last dwindling herds of native Martian douwies, burden-carriers of a vanished race, she had been Tommy’s particular pride and joy for the last three years.

  Behind him, Tommy heard his mother murmur under her breath, “Tom…the watch; could we?”

  And his Dad regretfully, “It’s a pretty expensive toy for a youngster, Helen. And even a rabbara raiser’s bank account has limits.”

  “Of course, dear; it was silly of me.” Helen smiled a little ruefully. “And if Mr. Krumbein has your watch ready, we must go. Bee and some of her friends are coming over, and it’s only a few hours ’till you…leave.”

  Big Tom squeezed her elbow gently, understandingly, as she blinked back quick tears. Trailing after them, Tommy saw the little by-play and his heart ached. The guilt-complex building up in him grew and deepened.

  He knew he had only to say, “Look, I don’t mind staying. Aunt Bee and I will get along swell,” and everything would be all right again. Then the terror of this new and complex world—as it would be without a familiar face—swept over him and kept him silent.

  His overwrought feelings expressed themselves in a nervously rebelling stomach, culminating in a disgraceful moment over the nearest gutter. The rest of the afternoon he spent in bed recuperating.

  In the living room Aunt Bee spoke her mind in her usual, high-pitched voice.

  “It’s disgraceful, Helen. A boy his age.… None of the Bentons ever had nerves.”

  His mother’s reply was inaudible, but on the heels of his father’s deeper tones, Aunt Bee’s voice rose in rasping indignation.

  “Well! I never! And from my own brother, too. From now on don’t come to me for help with your spoiled brat. Good-bye!”

  The door slammed indignantly, his mother chuckled, and there was a spontaneous burst of laughter. Tommy relaxed and lay back happily. Anyway, that was the last of Aunt Bee!

  * * * *

  The next hour or two passed in a flurry of ringing phones, people coming and going, and last-minute words and reminders. Then suddenly it was time to leave. Dad burst in for a last quick hug and a promise to send him pictures of Douwie and her foal, due next month; Mother dropped a hasty kiss on his hair and promised to hurry back from the Spaceport. Then Tommy was alone, with a large, painful lump where his heart ought to be.

  The only activity was the almost noiseless buzzing as the hotel android ran the cleaner over the living room. Presently even that ceased, and Tommy lay relaxed and inert, sleepily watching the curtains blow in and out at the open window. Thirty stories above the street the noises were pleasantly muffled and remote, and his senses drifted aimlessly to and fro on the tides of half-sleep.

  Drowsily his mind wandered from the hotel’s android servants…to the strictly utilitarian mechanical monstrosity at home, known affectionately as “Old John”…to the android showroom where they had seen the one that Dad said looked like Mother.…

  He jolted suddenly, sickeningly awake. Suppose, his mind whispered treacherously, suppose that Dad had ordered one to take Mom’s place…not on Mars, but here while she returned to Mars with him. Suppose that instead of Mom he discovered one of those Things…or even worse, suppose he went on from day to day not even knowing.…

  It was a bad five minutes; he was wet with perspiration when he lay back on his pillows, a shaky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He had a secret defense against the Terror. He giggled a little at the thought of what Aunt Bee would say if she knew.

  And what had brought him back from the edge of hysteria was the triumphant knowledge that with th
e abnormally acute hearing bred in the thin atmosphere of Mars, no robot ever created could hide from him the infinitesimal ticking of the electronic relays that gave it life. Secure at last, his overstrung nerves relaxed and he slid gratefully over the edge of sleep.

  He woke abruptly, groping after some vaguely remembered sound. A soft clicking of heels down the hall.… Of course, his mother back from the Spaceport! Now she would be stopping at his door to see if he were asleep. He lay silently; through his eyelashes he could see her outlined in the soft light from the hall. She was coming in to see if he was tucked in. In a moment he would jump up and startle her with a hug, as she leaned over him. In a moment.…

  Screaming desperately, he was out of bed, backing heedlessly across the room. He was still screaming as the low sill of the open window caught him behind the knees and toppled him thirty stories to the street.

  Alone in the silent room, Helen Benton stood dazed, staring blindly at the empty window.

  Tommy’s parting gift from his father slid from her hand and lay on the carpet, still ticking gently.

  It was 9:23 on Mars.

  JUBILEE, by Richard A. Lupoff

  Early autumn sunlight brightened the kitchen in the modest domus on the Via Palmae. Aelius reached across the table to take Dulcis’ hand. “Thank you for last night, Dulcis. I guess I was preoccupied at first. But you were very sweet. You...”

  Before he could finish the sentence he was interrupted by the shock of Livia’s cold nose against his thigh. He looked at the marsupial bitch. One of her pups had stuck its head out of her pouch and Aelius said, “Well, will you look at that. It’s about time.”

  Dulcis rounded the table and knelt on the malachite floor. Its polished greenness retained the night’s cool. This was going to be a scorcher. Sometimes the third month of the year was cool in Novum Ostia, when autumn set in early, but this year summer had been fierce and it refused to loosen its grip. The whole continent of Terra Australis seemed like a baked portion of the Jews’ unleavened bread.

  Livia whined and Dulcis reached up and scooped a dollop of wheat cereal and honey from Aelius’ plate. She put the food into Livia’s dish and the bitch trotted across the kitchen and snuffled curiously at the treat. She was still nursing two pups and her appetite, always good, was outstanding.

  Aelius growled. “You’re the one who’s always saying not to feed her off our plates, Dulcis. We shouldn’t do that, it only encourages her to beg. How many times have you told me that?” He lifted his glass and took a deep draught of freshly squeezed orange juice.

  She stood behind his chair and leaned forward, her breasts pressed against his head, her face at an odd angle to his own. “You’re right, my darling. As ever. But she has babies. Just look at that one. Pointed ears, and those big shiny eyes. The world is brand new to him. Let Livia have her treat.”

  Aelius grinned. He looked at his watch. “I’d better get a move on. Today of all days.”

  Dulcis kissed him on the ear, then moved away. Livia had cleaned cleaned up her treat and Dulcis scooped the remaining cereal from the pot into the bitch’s dish. Livia sat on her haunches, watching Dulcis. The pup disappeared back into his mother’s pouch. Almost at once another miniature marsupial dog poked its head from Livia’s pouch.

  “There he is again,” Aelius laughed.

  Dulcis frowned. “No he’s not. That’s the girl.”

  “Oh, come on. You can’t tell.”

  “Sure I can. The other one looks like a boy. This is the girl.” Dulcis stroked Livia’s sleek head, tugged gently at her pointed ears. She didn’t try to touch the tiny head peering from Livia’s pouch. Dulcis said, “What a good girl you are, Livia. What a good mommy. What beautiful babies you have.”

  Livia’s tail thumped the malachite floor. She waited for Dulcis to step away before tucking into the second bowl of cereal and honey.

  Dulcis said, “The babies don’t even look alike. The boy has darker fur and he’s much more aggressive. This one has to be a girl. Look—she has a beauty mark on her cheek. See, Aelius, the disk of golden fur against the black?”

  Aelius shook his head. “Celadus will have my head if I’m late today of all days. Caesar Viventius himself flying in from Terra Nipponsis to welcome the crew back from their expedition to Martes. This should be the biggest news day of the century.”

  “Then you’re working with Celadus today?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say working with him. You know, every once in a while Celadus gets on his high horse and decides to be an executive. You’d think he was a senator, not just a news broadcast editor.”

  Dulcis shook her head sympathetically. “Who’ll you be with?”

  “Celadus wants me at the caelumportis when Caesar’s caelumvola touches down. I’ll be reporting. And then just hours later Isis reaches ground. The first craft to visit another planet...”

  “We’ve been going to Luna for 200 years.”

  “Indeed. If you consider a mere moon a planet...”

  “By reason, Aelius, if you consider its size and...”

  “Please, Dulcis, let’s not quarrel.”

  “You’re right, Aelius. I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  Again Aelius lifted his glass and poured the last of his orange juice down his gullet. “I’m just saying that this expedition has been titanic news. The journey itself, the landing on Martes of Amaterasu, the loss of the spatiumnavis, the rescue by Isis...”

  “And the brave nautae who gave their lives...”

  “All for the greater glory of Rome, my darling.”

  “Yes, all for the greater glory of Rome.”

  “Well, Caesar Callistus Viventius himself wants to be on hand to welcome the heroes back to Tellus. And who am I, an humble journalist, to speak other than words of praise, eh?”

  “I just don’t understand why it took 200 years after first visiting Luna, then setting up bases there, to build a spatiumnavis and travel to Martes. I mean, the navii are pretty much alike, aren’t they, Aelius? You report on these things all the time. You ought to know.”

  Aelius smiled. “We Romans have always been timid about innovation.”

  “Some would say, thorough, or at most cautious, rather than timid.”

  “And who’s to quarrel with success, eh?” Aelius took up his portfolio and headed for the door. The portfolio was marked with the double jubilee logotype in gilt and green enamel. You couldn’t go anywhere without seeing the intertwined D and M that would surely provide collectible jewelry and plaques and junk dinnerware to make merchants rich for decades to come. He stopped and patted Livia on the head and was rewarded with a snuffle of her cold nose against his palm. He peered at the sunlight through the kitchen window and turned back for a light, broad brimmed hat. His black, balding pate seemed a magnet for strong sunlight, and too much of it gave him fierce headaches.

  As he stepped from the house he heard Dulcis ask once more who he was going to work with. He muttered, “Avita, you know.” Indeed, Dulcis knew Avita, and Aelius knew that Dulcis did not care at all for Avita. Well, there was nothing that Aelius could do about it. Celadus was the boss, Celadus gave out the assignments, and Celadus said that Aelius and Avita were to work today’s events together.

  Aelius heard a dish break against the green malachite floor as he turned into the Via Palmae. He suspected that it was his favorite dish, but he did not turn back to investigate. He climbed into his little sun-powered car and headed for work.

  As he guided the car along the Via Palmae he reviewed the day’s plans in his mind. And he thought about Avita. She was a fine broadcaster. She had wonderful presence—the camera loved her, as the expression had it. Aelius did most of the research and writing for their reports, but Avita took an interest in the material. She didn’t just mouth Aelius’s words, as had some he had worked with.
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  His route carried him across the Via Fuligo and past a boarded-up shop front.

  In a stuffy room behind the boarded-up shop, two men and a woman leaned over a table of native eucalyptus wood. All three were dressed in drab garb, without ornament. Each wore a dagger at the waist. There was little to distinguish their genders save the woman’s long, stringy hair and the meager, pointed breasts that poked sharply through her coarse shirt.

  Sheets of paper littered the tabletop. A pot of Aegptian-style ink had been allowed to stand open, and had dried into a black, powdery substance. A small amphora of local wine stood open near the table’s edge. Despite the day’s heat, a small fire burned on a clay-brick hearth and added its smoke to the room’s stuffiness.

  A muscular, scowling man spoke. “This is the day. This is the last time we’ll go over this plan. And it’s a one-time chance. If we fail today, it’s all over. We’re probably dead. By Mithras, they’ll crucify us. Caesar Viventius will personally hammer in the nails.”

  “You’re dramatizing, Trux. We all know this is important. Don’t go acting as if you were on a stage.” The speaker was the group’s lone woman. She was not much taller than average, but her skeletal thinness was her dominant feature. Rather than making her appear tiny and fragile, it somehow gave her the appearance of a rickety giant, a stick figure who might reach down and clutch at her victim, throttling her prey like a vengeful phantasm.

  Trux pounded a fist on the tabletop. “Dramatizing, am I, Tenua?” He pushed himself to his feet and leaned forward, looming over the others.

  The second man, fleshy and dark-visaged, was sweating in the hot, airless room. Dark circles showed where perspiration had soaked his garment at armpits and chest. He belly was pressed against the eucalyptus-wood table. He reached for a heavy mug, lifted the amphora and poured himself a quantity of wine. He flashed bloodshot eyes from the looming Trux to the skeletal Tenua.