The Lost Master - The Collected Works

by Stanley G. Weinbaum

  "But you're a pirate, nevertheless."

  "Yes, but I have my reasons. I have, Frank. And—Oh, why should I justify myself to you, anyway? I don't care what you think of me."

  "All the same," he growled, "I'll tell you what I think. I think your parents should have given you a series of good spankings. You're nothing but a spoiled, reckless, dangerous child."

  "My parents," she echoed.

  "Yes. Do you think they'd he proud of you now?"

  "I hope," she said slowly, "that one of them would be." She paused at the door of her chamber, unlocking it. "Come in here," she ordered sharply.

  He followed her into the lavish interior. She disappeared into an adjacent room, returning in a moment with a bottle and a strip of gauze. "Here," she said. "Dress your toe."

  "It's nothing. It needs no dressing."

  "Dress it!" she snapped. "I want no cases of infection here."

  "I might"—he observed as he took the bottle—"die of the infection and thus save you a murder."

  Her green eyes seemed to soften. "Remember this, Frank," she said in a low voice. "I could have let you die back there at the edge of the pit. I could have, but I didn't."

  He had no answer. For a moment he gazed thoughtfully at the exquisite delicacy of her face, and then, irrelevantly, he asked again, "What is your name?"

  She smiled. "Peri," she said.

  "Really? Peri what? That's a strange name."

  "Yes. It's the Persian word for imp or elf."

  "I know. I've worked in Iraq. But it means more than just that; it's the name given to the child of a disobedient angel, waiting to he admitted into paradise."

  Her features grew suddenly wistful. "Yes," she murmured. "Waiting to be admitted into paradise."

  "But Peri what?" he repeated.

  She hesitated. "If I told you," she said slowly, "you might understand. I think I will tell you, Frank. Did you ever hear of Perry Maclane?"

  He frowned. "Perry Maclane," he muttered. "I—think so. Wait a minute. Do you mean Red Perry Maclane, the inventor who had the famous legal battle with Interplanetary? But that was years ago, years and years. I was a child of seven or eight; you must scarcely have been born."

  "I was just born. Perry Maclane was my father."

  "Red Perry your father? And—the ship! I see—Red Peri, named after him."

  "Named by him, after me. He built it. He built it purposely to be a pirate craft, and you can't blame him!"

  "Can't blame him! Why not?"

  "Listen to me, Frank." Her glorious eyes were intense and serious. "Perry Maclane was robbed by Interplanetary and their associates. Do you know how dangerous space travel used to be, twenty-five or thirty years ago? Even fifty years after the first colonies were founded on Venus, it was a gamble with death to travel there.

  "Trade was all but impossible; because the rocket blasts kept failing, and ships kept crashing in trying to land, or even plunged into the Sun. And then the thermoid expansion chamber was developed; the blasts became steady, safe, usable. Trade was possible, and Interplanetary became an enormous, wealthy corporation. But do you know who invented the expansion chamber? Do you?"

  "Perry Maclane did! He invented it and patented it. But Interplanetary wouldn't let a little thing like honor stand in their way. They copied the patent; they claimed one of their engineers had developed the chamber first; they fought the case through every court, and at last they fought Perry Maclane out of money, and won. It took four years to do it; and as the last year I was born and my mother died; and Perry Maclane was ruined.

  "But he didn't give up. He worked at anything he could find—he, the greatest rocket engineer in the world! He dug sewers and planned drainage systems; he did any sort of work, but meanwhile, all the time, he was carrying the idea of revenge.

  "Evenings he worked on the plans of such a ship as no one had dreamed of, a rocket with inherent stability, one that could flash through gravitational fields as easily as through interplanetary space, instead of teetering down on its jets, wobbling and compensating and inching lower. And when he had it—I was three then—he found those who supplied money to build it.

  "He wasn't the only man Interplanetary had ruined; others hated the corporation, too. So he built the Red Peri, and began raiding corporation ships. He had no trouble manning his ship; he could have had a thousand men; but he picked and chose among the best for his crew.

  "At first he worked out of the Australian desert as a base, but that became dangerous. He thought of the Moon, and of an asteroid; but at last, because he had a ship to which planetary distances meant nothing, he came here to build his colony. Save for the years I spent at school, I've lived here ever since."

  "But what of Red Perry Maclane?" asked Keene.

  "He was killed three years ago. Do you remember when Interplanetary's Captain Thorsen of the Lucrece shot one of the pirates? That was my father; he died and was buried as he wanted to be—in space. It was I who killed Thorsen, with my own hand as he shot at me."

  He stared at her. Those were certainly tears in the glorious, emerald eyes. "Peri," he said softly, "but what will he the end of it? Arc you going on all your life pursuing revenge for your father? You're not really hurting Interplanetary, you know; they carry insurance. But you are slowing down the development of the planets. It's come to a point where people are actually afraid to travel."

  "Good!" she flashed. "Then it's less trade and fewer fares to swell the coffers of Interplanetary."

  "But—good heavens, Peri! With a design like that of your ship you could make millions legitimately!"

  "Oh, of course!" she retorted sarcastically. "Just as my father did from the thermoid expansion chamber."

  There was no answer to that. He shook his head sadly. "Then do you intend to live out your life as a pirate until you're finally captured, or until you die out here on this miserable black planet?"

  "I do not. I intend to carry out the plans of Red Perry Maclane. He wasn't fighting out of blind passion, you know. He built up his organization, here and on Earth, for a single purpose. Little by little, the plunder we take from Interplanetary goes back to Earth, to be turned into cash and securities, in banks in New York, London, Berlin, Paris, Tokyo. When I have enough—and a hundred million dollars will be enough—do you know what I'll do?"

  "I don't, Peri." His eyes were glued to her tense, lovely face.

  "Then listen!" she said fiercely. "I'll open a line competing with Interplanetary. I'll build ships like the Red Peri, and I'll drive their corporation to ruin! I'll have them groveling and begging, but this time I'll have money enough so they can't fight with crooked lawyers and bribed judges. I'll annihilate them!"

  For a long time he stared at her strange loveliness, her wild, green eyes and flaming hair. "Oh, Peri!" he said at last, in tones of sadness. "Don't you see how insane such a plan is? Don't you know that once you produce the design of this ship, you'll be known as the pirate? No one else knows of it."

  "I don't care!" she blazed. "The law can't touch anyone with a hundred million dollars. My father learned that from Interplanetary." And at his continued silence, she snapped, "Your advice would be to take it lying down, I suppose. I prefer to fight."

  "But you don't have to declare war on the whole Earth on account of an injury done your father."

  "War on the Earth? I haven't. But”—her green eyes glowed fiercely—"if I ever should, I could give them such a war as they never dreamed of!"

  "What do you mean, Peri?"

  "I'll tell you! Suppose I were to take one of those carbon feeders, like the ones that nipped your toe. Suppose I took just one tiny Crystal and dropped it in the jungles of Africa or in Middle Europe or in the wheat belt of America. All life has carbon in it. What would happen to the pretty, green Earth, Frank? What would happen to the crooked lawyers and the bribed judges, and all the rest, honest and dishonest, right up to the heads of Interplanetary itself?"

  "My Lord!" he said.

  "Can't
you see the crystal crawlers rustling their way along?" she cried. "Wheat fields, houses, horses, humans!"

  "Listen!" he said huskily. "Do you know what I ought to do? I know what my duty is. It's to kill you, right now and here, while I've got you alone. Otherwise that mad and reckless spirit of yours may some day drive you to do just that. I ought to strangle you now, but—by heavens—I can't!"

  All the passion drained suddenly from her face, leaving it alluringly wistful. "I'm glad you said those last two words, Frank," she murmured. "Look." She raised her arms; he saw her hand resting firmly on the butt of her revolver. "Would it please you," she asked softly, "if I promised you never to think again of that particular revenge?"

  "You know it would!"

  "Then I promise. And now, tell me if you still blame me for being—the Red Peri. Do you?"

  "I don't know. I think—perhaps—you are justified for feeling as you do, but, Peri, it's madness."

  "What would you want me to do?"

  "Why—the sane course, the honorable course, would be to make restitution, to return everything you've stolen; and then to give yourself up, to expiate the wrongs you've done, and so be free to live without the need of burying yourself out here at the edge of nothingness. I don't say you could do all of that, but at least you could return what you've taken and live as you were meant to live—honorably and happily."

  "Honorably and happily!" she echoed bitterly. "Yes, except for the realization that I had failed my father."

  "Your father was wrong, Peri."

  She blazed in sudden anger. "Oh, you're too smug and self-righteous to live. I was going to offer you your freedom; I thought you'd understand and protect me, but now do you think I dare trust you to return to Earth? Now you'll stay as my prisoner!"

  "Some day," he said evenly, "I'll drag you back to justice, Peri, and after you're free you'll thank me for it."

  "Get out!" she cried. "You're stupid! I hate stupidity!"

  He looked quietly at her angry, exquisite face, rose, and stalked out of the door. For a moment he stood irresolute in the corridor; then he strode toward the room he shared with Solomon Nestor, ignoring the glances of a number of residents as he went. And as he opened the door, the first person he saw was the girl Elza, in close conversation with the old man.

  They looked up as he entered, and the flaxen-haired girl drew away, staring at him with a curious expression in her blue eyes.

  "Oh, bosh!" said the old man. "Elza, you're simply letting your imagination make you nervous. Listen, Frank—this girl came running here to tell me that you've been spending hours in the Red Peri's company, and that you were probably falling under her magic charms; and now Elza's afraid you're going to betray her to the Peri. Ridiculous, isn't it?"

  "Utterly!" snapped Keene, wondering how much of it was ridiculous. He felt himself reddening, and repeated hastily, "Utterly ridiculous!"

  "You see?" said old Nestor triumphantly. "All right, Elza, let's get on with this. You say you're sure you can't smuggle space suits to us?"

  "I'm sure I can't. They're kept locked up by the Red Peri, and I can't get to them."

  "But your father and brother wear them when they go to either ship, don't they?"

  "Yes, but I wouldn't dare ask them. They'd tell the Peri. I know that."

  "Well," said old Solomon thoughtfully, "if we can't get space suits, we'll have to do without. But you can get the key to one of the ships, can't you?"

  "Not to the Red Peri," said Elm. "To your ship, perhaps, because my father has that while he's working on it. I could steal it away from him, I think. He just keeps it in a desk."

  "What good would the Limbo do us?" grunted Keene. "They could run us down with the other. They could blast us to bits."

  "They could, but they won't," retorted the old man. "You leave this to old Solomon. Now Elza when will your father have the jet repaired?"

  "I think he's finishing it now."

  "And could you smuggle the key to us to-night?"

  "I think so. I'll try. To-night or tomorrow."

  "Good!" said Solomon Nestor. "You run along now, Elza. You'll have your revenge on the Red Peri—if you're a good girl."

  The yellow-haired girl vanished. Old Nestor turned quizzical eyes on Keene and mid mockingly, "Ridiculous, eh! Utterly ridiculous!"

  "What?"

  "'That you should be impressed by the Red Peri. How could so unattractive a being effect the redoubtable Frank Keene? Very ridiculous!"

  "Oh, shut up!" growled Keene. "I admit she's beautiful, and I admit that what she told me has changed my opinion of her. All the same, I think she's arrogant and overbearing. I'm just as anxious as ever to see her take a fall, and if I can trip her, that's fine. But I don't see how the key to the Limbo helps."

  "Yost will. Tell me what the Peri said to you:"

  Keene recounted the story of "Red" Perry Maclane. Despite himself, he told it with a tinge of sympathy, and when, after concluding it, he described the events at the copper bridge, he was uncomfortable aware of old Nestor's steady gaze. He finished his tale and stared defiantly back.

  "Well!" said the old man. "I suppose you realize that she risked her life for you—or at least the chance of having to cut off a finger or two. What if she'd touched the carbon feeders on your toe?"

  "I-I hadn't thought of it."

  "And now that you do think of it, are you still so bitterly determined to humble her?"

  Keene considered. "Yes!" he snapped. "I am. I don't want to hurt her, but I do want to get back at her for the way she's insulted, browbeaten, and mocked me. I want to see her take a fall."

  "Even though it means capture for her?"

  Keene groaned. "Listen, Solomon. Right now I'm so puzzled that I'm not sure. But I do know that I want to see the Red Peri paid back for the way she's acted toward me."

  "All right. I think you're in love with her, Frank, though it's none of my business."

  "Damn' right it isn't!"

  "But," proceeded Nestor, "just how badly do you want to do this?"

  "With all my heart!"

  "Would you risk your life and hers to do it?"

  "My life," said Keene grimly, "but not hers."

  "Good enough. Now the first thing to do is talk you out of a few superstitions."

  "I haven't any."

  "You have, but you don't know it. Listen, now." The old man bent closer and began to talk in a low, earnest voice. At his first words Keene paled and started; then he sat very still and very intent. After five minutes of listening, he drew a deep breath, expanding his mighty chest to the full.

  "I used to plunge at the university," he said exultantly. "I could hold my breath for four minutes. I can still do three and a half!"

  "That's plenty," said Nestor.

  "Yes, if it works. If it works!"

  "If I were you," said the old man, "I'd find out—now!"

  For a full minute Keene stared at him. Suddenly he nodded, turned swiftly away, and darted out into the corridor. In five minutes he was back again, but sadly changed, for his lips were swollen, his eyes red, and his breath a rasping gurgle. But he was sniffing.

  "It works!" he gasped triumphantly. "It's unadulterated hell —but it works!"

  V

  Elza did not appear that night, although Keene tossed and twisted wakefully far miserable hours. In the darkness the thing he had to do appeared grotesque, fantastic, impossible; and this despite the fact that he had already tested the truth of old Solomon Nestor's reasoning. His toe ached and his lips and eyes burned, but more painful than all else was the idea of inflicting harm on the courageous and proud Red Peri.

  When, well toward the end of the ten-hour Plutonian night, he finally fell into troubled slumber, it was but for a brief while, and he rose sullen and morose to pace the floor of the chamber.

  The fluorolux light awakened old Nestor. For a few moments he watched the pacing Keene, and then asked, "Did Elea come?"

  "No, and I hope she doesn't," snarled Kee
ne. "I hope she couldn't get the key—and if she does get it, I'm not going through with this!"

  "It's your business," said Nestor indifferently. "It doesn't mean anything to me, because I'd never live through it, not at my age. I have to stay here anyway, and I shan't mind, because Elza said they'd move my instruments into the cave; and I can work here almost as well as farther out in space. But if you love the girl so intently, why don't you act like a human being and tell her so?"

  "Love her!" yelled Keene. "Just because r feel like a dirty dog at the thought of this, doesn't mean I love her! She's a girl, isn't she?"

  "And a very beautiful one."

  "Bah! She's a girl, and I hate to fight women!"

  "Well, don't then," suggested old Solomon.

  "Yet I want like the very devil to get back at her."

  “Then do.”

  "And yet, in a way I can't blame her."

  "Then don't."

  Keene resuming his pacing. In another minute he stopped, faced the old man, and said defiantly, "Solomon, I can't do it. I know she's a pirate and a menace to trade and civilization, but I can't do it."

  Before the other could reply, a knock sounded on the door. Keene whirled. "I hope," he muttered, "that it's breakfast—just breakfast."

  It was. Elza brought it in silently, placed it on the table, and retired; and Keene felt a vast surge of relief. She hadn't managed to get the key! He was almost ready to sing until he picked up his cup of coffee and there it was—the familiar key to the outer door of the Limbo's air lock.

  He met old Nestor's amused, blue eyes with a cold glare, and it was hardly softened by the other's murmur: "After all, Frank, you don't have to use it.”

  "I know I don't!" he snarled. "I have a fine choice, haven't I? I can stay here the rest of my life, if our hostess doesn't take a notion to kill me, or I can escape by following your scatterbrained plan of doing a thing I hate. I can't escape alone, for they'd simply run me down with their pirate ship."

  "Or you could turn pirate," suggested Solomon Nestor.

  "Gr-r-r!" said Keene amiably.

  He was unaccustomed to this sort of agonized indecision. He had never encountered a situation that pulled so many ways at once; for in all his experience right had been right and wrong had been wrong—yet now he was not at all sure but that the laws of relativity operated in the moral field as well as in the physical. Certainly the Red Peri was not entirely in the wrong, yet equally certainly she was a pirate, a menace to progress, an antisocial being, and therefore a criminal. If she would only give up this mad purpose of hers; if she would make restitution; if she—He swore bitterly and strode out of the door, scarcely realizing that the Limbo's key was in his pocket.