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Shock Treatment
By Stanley Mullen
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from If Worlds of ScienceFiction September 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _"I'll give you the cure for the most horrible disease,"Songeen said. "The sickness of life itself." Newlin replied, "Fine. Butfirst, give me a couple of minutes to kill your husband. Then we'll goon from there."_]
In Venusport, on payday-night, it is difficult to tell for certain wherethe town leaves off and the pink elephants begin. It is difficult totell about other things, too. Spud Newlin had heard that a man couldsometimes get rich overnight just tending bar on such occasions, and hewas putting the rumor to the test. Not many bartenders had lasted longenough to find out.
The night had had a good start. Clock hands over the bar in theSpacebell registered 1:18 Venus-time, and considering, things werealmost dull at the moment. The place had been jumping earlier, buthilarity had worn itself out, the dead had been removed and excitementdulled. No relatives or widows of the dead sportsmen had yet appeared;all corpses-elect had died clean, with the minimum of messy violenceand, surprisingly, only three more or less innocent bystanders had beenburned down in the proceedings. After shattering uproar, such calm wasdisturbing. Newlin was actually getting bored. Then _she_ came in--andhe was no longer bored. But, perversely, he resented the surge ofinterest that ran through him at sight of this out-of-place girl.
At a casual glance, she might seem ordinary, but Newlin was neversuperficial. Her kind of beauty was something to be sensed, notcatalogued. It was part of the odd grace of movement, of the fine,angular features, of the curious emotion which dwelt upon them, sad andsubdued. Even her costume was as out of place in the Spacebell as hermood; the dress was simply cut and expensive, but drab for the time andplace. It clung about a slight, well-formed body in smoothly curvedlines that seemed almost a part of her. Only her hands and eyes showednervous tension.
At first he thought her eyes were cold, but it was something racialrather than personal. He noticed that they were large and luminous--likemoonstones--with a pearly opaque glimmer as if only upper layers coloredand reflected light. In their depths was an odd effect, like metalflakesdrifting through ribboned moonlight with abysses of deepest shadowbeyond. There was pain, trouble, and sadness in them, and behind that,fear--a desperate fear. You thought of wailing, haunted moonlight, andof dreadful things fled from in dreams.
Newlin's first thought was that she was one of the new-made widows, andwas likely to be all too human about it. Later, when he had begun todoubt that she was all-human, her physical charms still went inside himand turned like a dull knife. He was no more immune to animal attractionthan the next man, but in this particular woman there was something elseeven more intriguing and unpredictable. He felt a powerful impulse to dosomething to relieve her of that paralyzing supernatural dread.
A situation pregnant with violence was working up at one of the gamingtables but Newlin wilfully tore his attention from the mounting tensionbetween the fat Martian gambler and an ugly character from Ganymede.
"Anything I can do for you, sister?"
Her smile was strange, thoughtful, preoccupied. "Yes," she told him."There is something you can do for me. Unless your question was purelyprofessional. If so, forget it. I need something stronger than the--theliquors you serve here."
Newlin grinned sourly. "You don't know our drinks. One sip and a mousesnarls at a snow-leopard. The question was not purely professional. Notmy profession, anyhow. I don't know about yours. Or do I?"
* * * * *
Her head jerked on its slender stalk of neck. Pale eyes stared into his;her lips twisted in cold scorn.
"I don't think you do. And I'll do without your help. Perhaps you'dbetter go back to polishing glassware."
The rebuke failed to impress Newlin. He waited while her glance swungabout the room, evaluating the place and its occupants in one quicksweep. Dissatisfied, she turned back to Newlin and again the moonstruckeyes probed and assessed him.
"Take your pick," he said sharply. "But don't judge them by theirclothes. On Venus, a man in ragged space-leather may have heavy pockets.Now, take me--"
"I was told I could find Spud Newlin here. Point him out and I'll payyour fee--"
Newlin was suddenly cautious. "Yes, he's here--but what would a womanlike you want with such a notorious--"
"I'm asking questions, not answering," she said calmly. "And I'm wellaware of his failings. I selected him because of his ... his reputation.It's revolting, but even such a man may have uses. My requirements ofhim, and my reasons for the choice, I will discuss with him. No oneelse."
"Free advice, sister. Forget it, and get out of here. He's no good.Particularly bad, for a choice morsel like you."
"I'm used to making up my own mind. Where is he?"
Newlin shrugged. "You win. I'm Newlin. You take it from there."
Incredulity flooded her face and slowly drained away. "You! Yes, youcould be Newlin. But you're working here. A famous man like you. Why?"
Newlin laughed easily. "It's very simple. I need money. If I can lastthrough till morning, I'll have it. Now I'll ask the questions. Youanswer them. What do you want? Why me?"
A variety of expressions flowed over her mobile features.
"But--you could leave?" she faltered.
"I could, but I won't. This isn't charity night, kid. So go home andcome back another time. Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow won't do. Maybe I've chosen the wrong man, but there's no timefor second chances. I wanted a man with courage, a man used to livingdangerously and going his own way, a man who wouldn't ask questions andwould do anything for money. You sounded like something out of the oldbooks; a rogue; a rebel."
Newlin sighed. Did it show so much? From the gutter that spawned him, hehad fought and gouged and elbowed his way up. To him all men wereenemies. As a spacebum, he had explored the raw, expanding frontiers asMan surged from planet to planet. As a hunted outlaw he had existedperilously on the twilight fringes of civilization. Ruthless and savage,a thief and despoiler, a criminal and adventurer, he had found his wayback to Earth, Mars, Venus and wrested a niche of sorts within thecitadels he had attempted to overthrow. Despite the brittle amnesty, heknew that authority awaited only a single slip to deal with himaccording to their views. But in the bitterness of ultimatedisillusions, he had found the fountainhead as lacking in civilizationand sanity as its furthest ripples. He longed, now, only for the finalgesture of rejection. Escape....
"I had expected more of Newlin," said the girl.
* * * * *
His reply was a short, bitter laugh. "So had I. My character is ascorrupt as the rest of mankind. Poverty is undignified and degrading; itpoisons virtue and debases the outlook. Without money a man cannot claimhis birthright of freedom; getting money he loses his independence andhis character."
"You think money would make you free?" the girl asked.
"Not of itself." Newlin scowled. "With money, a free man can be free; aslave with money is still a slave. Perhaps I want to learn for myselfwhich I am. I want enough to pay for a spaceship, the best to be had. Aone-man ship in which I can escape this madhouse and venturealone--beyond Pluto. Such a plan requires money, so I work in theSpacebell. Between wages, tips, graft and my winnings, I may have halfenough, by dawn. If I live that long."
The girl nodded, then spoke contemptuously, "I can pay very generously.You can set your own price. Enough even for your spaceship
. But what doyou expect to find--beyond Pluto?"
"Myself, first. After that, who knows? This solar system is a vastpesthouse. I am contaminated by fools, moneygrubbers, sheep and thecorrupt authorities that rule them. What else I find isn't important ifI find myself. Even death."
Newlin's eyes burned with a hot glare of fanaticism. Dread sprang intothe girl's heart. Always with these people there was this fear, thispanic-desire to escape, always an urge to destruction coupled with eerymysticism, compulsions, conflicts--and always the final delusion ofpersonal sanity in the atmosphere of chaos. Some of Newlin's words foundecho in herself, but she checked a momentary sympathy. The system wasmad, true--but how sane was Newlin? How sane and trustworthy? He couldbe a
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