Journey to Infinity - [Adventures in Science Fiction 02]

by Edited by Martin Greenburg

  “I have Pier Duvain,” he said abruptly. “He is my prisoner.”

  “Is that so important that you can dispense with ordinary politeness?” Grueter asked. “Where is he?”

  “Not so fast,” Cameron cautioned. “I want to make a trade.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I want my job back,” Cameron said, “and a few more things. Then I’ll tell you where he is.”

  “Where-is-he?”

  “Do you mean that you won’t trade?”

  For answer Grueter pressed a button on the wall beside him. Cameron became coldly angry.

  “Calling in soldiers won’t make me tell. For Heaven’s sake, Martin, I’m doing this nation a great service. Surely you’ll discuss it with me.

  “Why should I dicker with you?” Grueter said shortly. “Give you back your job? You’re not a desirable citizen. You’re not even a desirable ordinary civilian. You refused to accept a judgment passed by your superiors. We don’t want men like you in this nation.”

  “Then you’ll never take Duvain.”

  “If he’s inside Plastic Center, and he must be if he’s a prisoner, we’ll find him.”

  “Yes, you’ll find him,” Cameron said. “You can practically see him from here. Look!”

  He pointed through the still-open door. The outlaw plane was barely visible as a blacker outline against the night.

  “He’s on there, captive.”

  Grueter’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re telling the truth!” he exclaimed, almost in a whisper.

  “On both counts, Martin.”

  A plane swooped down at the door and two soldiers in red saluted Grueter. Cameron smiled wryly at Captain Robert Fane.

  Fane went through an obsequious ritual of greeting which Grueter absently acknowledged. His eyes were on the plane.

  “Guard this man. When I return you can dispose of him.”

  “Don’t go out there!” Cameron said as Grueter moved toward the door. “Martin, it’s death for you.”

  Grueter went out into the night.

  Cameron turned to Captain Fane. “Stop him, captain! He’s going to his death.”

  Captain Fane’s heavy, swart features showed amused indifference. He said nothing, but it was clear that he didn’t care one way or the other about Martin Grueter.

  Cameron shrugged. “I tried. You were witnesses.”

  He was not yet aware of what had happened within himself. But when the soldiers turned bored eyes to the doorway through which Grueter had vanished, Cameron had an opportunity to analyze his feelings.

  He was an outlaw.

  This was shocking, but there was pleasure in it. As the outlaws themselves walked with pride, he now felt equal with these soldiers who ranked next only to executives on the Center’s social scale. He was an outlaw, as good as any man.

  He had refused Martin Grueter’s command, had thrown custom and caste aside, had rebelled in that one act against the culture in which he had been born and raised. At the moment of rebellion he had felt motivated by a desire to attain his former eminence. But he realized now that his motive had been deeper, embedded in a sense of independence which had grown to maturity among the outlaws.

  The very scheme, he now realized, which he had proposed as a strategic maneuver against Duvain, had sprung from some basic part of his nature. He believed it. He had believed when he trapped the outlaws, but long conditioning prevented him from admitting it.

  Yes, he was an outlaw now in spirit but not in fact. He was a captive. Further, and more serious, more heartbreaking, he was undoubtedly an outcast. After what he had done to Duvain and Gran, and Willis and Ann, they could have only contempt for him.

  Ann. How would she look at him now? Not with deep lights in her purple eyes. On that occasion in Grueter’s office, later in her own, her eyes had been hard, glazed. He shivered, remembering their coldness. And she had been acting then. How would she look now when she meant it ?

  He twisted an ironic smile when he realized that he’d probably never know. Eventually, somebody would find that plastic box and turn off the screen. The outlaws would be helpless before the wave of attackers that would roll over them. And before that, perhaps, Josh Cameron himself would be a corpse.

  At least he had a momentary satisfaction knowing that he was no longer subject to empty codes which made a great mass slaves of a few in purple. He had his moment, an independence denied most.

  At that moment a faint call came through the door.

  “Soldiers! Help!”

  Captain Fane sighed. “Come on,” he said to Cameron. “Don’t try anything fancy.”

  Cameron marched between them across the field, dormant hope stirring faintly within him. Any informal action could create opportunity, and this, God knew, was informal.

  The outlaw ship loomed larger as they approached, and Cameron could see the group silhouette of those four he was ashamed, but ached with desire, to face. Fifteen yards nearer stood Martin Grueter, who urged them with almost incoherent gibberish.

  “Get ‘em,” he cried. “Give me your coagulator. Shoot the rats. Pier Duvain’s there, the coward. Come on out, you. I’ll show you!”

  His voice was almost hysterical and contained a note which Cameron could not place. Fear? Anger? Insanity?

  Grueter lunged toward them in the darkness and snatched the soldier’s weapon from his belt. The big man whirled, pointed and pressed the activator. With what seemed to be maniacal fury, he flung the weapon at the group of silent outlaws. A small flash, a hushed pop!

  “A fine soldier!” Grueter snarled. “Useless weapon! Give me yours, captain.”

  “What’s the difficulty, sir?” Fane inquired, taking his coagulator from its holster.

  “Idiocy. Contrascreen, indeed! No such thing. Give—me— that—”

  Fane presented the coagulator, butt first. Grueter snatched it, aimed, fired, and hurled it from him. He spoke with shaking, but controlled fury.

  “Both of you men will be reduced to ordinary citizens for incompetency. Suppose you had to use those weapons. Capture those four!”

  The soldiers started forward. Cameron took each by an arm. “Wait a second.” They halted, surprised. “Why don’t you go in there, Martin?”

  The soldiers gasped at both the familiarity and at the sneer in Cameron’s voice.

  “They stopped me, begged me,” Grueter said. “Told me I would die. Nonsense! Attend to you later.” To the soldiers: “Well?”

  Cameron’s hold tightened as the men surged forward. He yanked first one, then the other, to a stop. They faced him.

  “Don’t try it,” Cameron said. “Let him go if he wants to. They saved his life, but I won’t stop him if he isn’t afraid. There’s no need for you to die, though. You haven’t done anything.”

  Captain Fane and his aid said nothing. Cameron could feel their uneasiness.

  “Make Grueter do it,” he pressed. “He’s the one who wants ‘em. Let him go in after ‘em.”

  “Are you going to obey?” Grueter snapped. “Or would you rather be executed?”

  They flinched, as if struck by a whip, and jerked free.

  Cameron swung at Fane’s jaw and the soldier’s knees buckled. Without waiting to see the result of his blow, Cameron dived at the other soldier’s legs, threw him sprawling.

  Cameron’s world spun as Grueter kicked him behind one ear. His arms went limp, but he rolled clear of the next kick and struggled to his feet. The soldier was up, too, and Cameron kicked him in the stomach. The man bent double as Captain Fane hit Cameron high on the head.

  He hit the ground and bounced. He was groggy but able to rise. In a stumbling rush he leaped after Fane, dragged him down. When Grueter kicked him again, Cameron rolled to a point where he heard a faint crackle. Immediately, cries reached him.

  “Josh! Be careful!”

  “That was close, Cameron.”

  “Let ‘em come, sonny. It’ll teach ‘em a lesson.”

  Cameron jumped aw
ay from the crackling. Maybe the contrascreen did sound like that where it met the earth. He didn’t want to make sure. He jerked Fane clear, kicked him in the jaw with every last atom of strength and fell as the other soldier sped past him, intent on carrying out his master’s order.

  The flash, the explosion, brought silence.

  “That’s one down,” Gran said, after a few seconds. “He’ll know better after this.”

  Martin Grueter said softly, “What a weapon! A man could rule—“

  His tone was shrill with fear, but his words were suddenly crisp. “What do you want for it, Cameron?”

  “Shut up!” Cameron said contemptuously. “Haven’t you any feeling?”

  He helped Captain Fane to his feet. “Sorry about your buddy, captain. I tried.”

  Fane gripped Cameron’s hand, spoke under his breath. “You can ask me anything . . . anything. I’ll do it, I don’t care why.”

  “I’ll remember that, captain.”

  “Well?” Grueter broke in. “You came here to make a trade. All right, I’ll agree. But I’m not as interested in Duvain as I am in this screen. It may have a certain small value, and I am willing to discuss terms.”

  “Be quiet!” Cameron snarled. “I want to think.”

  “Do you realize who I am?” Grueter blustered.

  “Yes,” Cameron said wearily. “I didn’t until now.” He tried to discern the mottled look which he knew was flooding Grueter’s square face. “So shut up.”

  Grueter gasped and Captain Fane shifted uneasily. But Cameron got his moment of quiet.

  Presently he went to the little bush, picked up the plastic box and snapped the switch. He came back to Grueter.

  “I’ll dicker with you, Martin.”

  “Good!” Grueter enthused. “I like a man who makes quick decisions. We’ll get along, Josh, old fellow.”

  “Get into that plane,” Cameron said.

  “Into—”

  “The plane. Quick!”

  “But—the screen.”

  “This is the screen. One false move and I turn it on you. You’re safe, as long as you obey.” He turned to Captain Fane. “Go back to your office, captain.”

  Fane saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  With Grueter walking cautiously, fearfully ahead, Cameron went toward the plane. When he reached the outlaws, he gave the box to Gran, whispered to Ann:

  “You’re a prisoner, too. March in there with him.”

  She obeyed without question.

  “Miss Willis has already agreed to my proposal,” Cameron said later when they were high in the darkness. “We captured her yesterday, but she finally agreed. She has the interests of Plastic Center at heart, it seems.”

  Ann took her cue. Her dark eyes were anxious. She twisted her long white hands as she hung on Grueter’s reply.

  “Independence,” he mused. “It’s desirable, but frankly, old man, I’d rather talk about that amazing weapon.”

  He turned avaricious eyes on it and Gran glared at him.

  “You can’t have it,” Cameron said.

  Grueter shrugged. “Ah, well. All right, I’ll give you the Baltex formula for . . . let’s see, what were they . . . power and manufacturing units. Yes,” he mused, “we can soon bring the other Centers to terms.” He twinkled jovially. “I don’t suppose you jolly outlaws care about that?”

  Pier Duvain set the robot controls and joined the group. He gave Grueter a dark, level stare, and said:

  “You’re not fooling us, Grueter. We know you’ll set all the forces you command after us as soon as we drop you. You’ll give us a phony formula and hope to catch us before we have a chance to try it. So we’re keeping Miss Willis as hostage.”

  Cameron forced down the singing that rose within him. Not to well, for Gran shot him an amused look.

  “Oh, I say!” Grueter protested. “She’s one of the most valuable members of my staff.”

  “And,” Pier Duvain went on, “we’re throwing our contrascreen around Plastic Prime until we’ve had time to prove your formula bona fide.”

  “But that will maroon us, man! It will stop all traffic. We have contracts to fill.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  Grueter was thoughtfully silent. Finally, “What else can I say?” he asked. “I’m forced to agree.”

  “Oh, no,” Duvain contradicted. “You can refuse. We’re not going to kill you. We’ll deliver you safely and take our proposition to Power Center.”

  “Oh, my God, man! They’d soon rule the nation! They have enough Baltex ahead to last a year. No, I’ll agree, all right.”

  They returned him, secured the formula and his promise to stop all traffic to and from Plastic Prime, and were soon headed for their island.

  ~ * ~

  Cameron cut short the impromptu celebration. “Before I go into a personal matter here is something you don’t know. Fane is grateful enough to lodge a criticism against Grueter for allowing the Baltex formula to get out of his hands. We can provide Fane with proof. Then Ann can take care of Fane’s superiors until he’s in command. Then we can move in. It shouldn’t take long. Now, what are you going to do with me?”

  His tone brought stares.

  “When I went into Grueter’s, I tried to sell you out.”

  A hardness came into their eyes. They had forgotten, in their triumph. He looked at them in turn. Pier’s eyes were steady, not cold, not warm; Harvey’s, red-rimmed, were aloof; Gran’s were blank; Ann’s wide with—what? Sadness, anxiety?

  Gran broke the silence. “What caused you to change?”

  Cameron told them. “I believed, I suppose, all along,” he added, “but wouldn’t admit it. Anyway, there it is. I tried to betray you. Whatever you decide, I’ve got it coming, I guess.”

  “I suggest,” Duvain said, “that we put you on probation for a suitable time, that we don’t give you any authority until you’ve proved your sincerity. After all, even your about-face at Grueter’s might be temporary, induced by anger and a desire to lash out at something which threatened you personally.”

  “He risked his life,” Ann pointed out, “to save those soldiers. And almost lost it. That looks sincere.”

  “I agree with Pier,” Gran said. “He ought to be watched. We’d better put a guard over him.”

  “Absolutely,” Harvey Willis agreed. “We can’t take a chance on his getting away.”

  Cameron felt humble. They were giving him another chance. He smiled at Ann. To the others: “Thank you.”

  “We’ll keep him safe for you, honey,” the old woman said to Ann, “till you can take over the job.”

  Cameron blinked, examined them. They were joking. He looked at Ann. She was suddenly scarlet.

  “Should’ve heard her,” Gran said to him. “Took on no end when you’d gone. Said you’d come through all right. Said she’d never—”

  “Gran!” Ann cried. “Don’t.”

  “Safe to tell him,” Gran went on. “I can read signs. You’re the only one for him.” She turned to Cameron. “Said she’d never fall for a rat.”

  A strained but pleasant silence fell. Cameron knew he was looking fatuous. He attempted a grin at Ann. It felt all right, but he imagined that he looked as if he’d just been promoted. Ann didn’t seem to mind.

  “If your first one’s a boy,” Gran said slyly, “maybe he’ll grow up to be president.”

  <>

  ~ * ~

  Events in Man’s progress had become cosmic in scope. Victories were won in the great interstellar wars of 23,000, the first war of the robots in 42,000 and in the final robot wars of 83,000. For 20,000 years of peace the human species pressed on from galaxy to galaxy. Perhaps, though, the journey to infinity had ended. When the new crisis came it was recognized soon enough, but the spiral downward into darkness seemed inevitable.

  BARRIER OF DREAD

  by Judith Merril

  I

  t would have been a perfect day for the Managing Director, but his wife spo
iled it for him. Sarise had a way of saying unexpected things; it was half her charm. This time as they settled into the cushions on the moving ramp that would take them into the space ship from the great amphitheatre where the ceremonies had been held, she looked worried. That is to say, she would have looked worried if it were possible that a mature woman in perfect health of body and mind, with nothing to desire, could have looked worried.