“I’ll watch out for them,” Stan said, feeling very uncomfortable. What was he getting himself and Julie into?
“You wanta good restaurant?” the driver said suddenly. “Try Toy’s Oriental Palace over on Ogden. They got a way with soypro you’d never believe. They use real spices in their sauces, too.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that,” Stan said. “Are we close now?”
“You can smell it, can’t you?” the driver said, grinning. “Yep, we’re just about there.”
The driver slowed down and looked for an opening in the traffic, found one that was too small, and decided to make it larger. He propelled the little pedicab into it, suffering no more than a bruised bumper, ducked into a narrow street off the boulevard, took a couple of turns, and pulled up to the curb.
* * *
Stan and Julie got out. Stan saw they were in an evil-looking neighborhood, which was just about what he’d expected. Above him, rising above the buildings, he saw a landmark: the spire of the Commercial Services Landing Field, a local service facility where non-stellar spaceships took off and landed. There had been a lot of discussion about it in the newly formed city council. Too close to the city, some said. It could be a source of danger. If one of those things goes down… Some people still didn’t trust spacecrafts. It was a point, but the other side had the answer. “It’ll bring jobs into the city. We’ll be the closest full-facility field within a hundred-mile radius of New York. A lot closer than the Montauk Point facility. The business will flock to us.” And in Jersey City, where business is king and corruption is its adviser, there was no answer to that.
The spaceport’s spire was several miles away, Stan figured. He was in a neighborhood of small ramshackle buildings built against the bulwark of several skyscrapers. He was standing in front of Gabrielli’s Meat Market, advertising fresh pork today in addition to the usual soypro steaks and turkeytofu butterballs, and the place stank of blood and chemicals. Next to it was a small newsstand, and what looked like a betting parlor beside that. Betting was legal in the state of New Jersey, an important source of revenue. Most of the state legislature didn’t approve of gambling, but money was hard to find these days, even with the giant Bio-Pharm plant recently opened in nearby Hoboken and with MBSW—the Mercedes-Benz Spaceship Works—sprawled out in Lodi.
A young woman, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, came up to Stan. She was slender and tall, and she wore a new motorcycle jacket.
Ignoring Julie, she said, “Can I help you, mister?”
Stan shook his head. “I’m not interested today, thank you.”
She glared at him. “You think I’m selling sex? Forget it, stupid. I can see you got a lady with you. And besides, you don’t have enough to buy me.”
“What are you offering, then?” Stan said.
“Advice. Guidance.”
Stan couldn’t help laughing. “Thanks, but we can do without it.”
“Can you really? You people from around here?”
“No, as a matter of fact.”
“That’s pretty clear. You want to walk out of here alive? You’d better buy a pass.”
Stan looked around. There seemed to be nothing much happening on the street. It all looked safe enough. Yet something about her tone of voice chilled him, and he said, “Just out of curiosity, what happens if we don’t take a pass?”
She shrugged. “What usually happens to people who stray onto other people’s turf?”
“But I’m standing in a public street!”
“It’s turf all the same. You’re in the territory of the Red Kings. I can sell you a pass that’ll keep you out of trouble, or you can take your chances.”
Julie had been standing by, listening, letting Stan handle it, but she was getting impatient. “For heaven’s sake, Stan, give her something and let’s get on with it!”
“I guess I’ll take two passes,” Stan said. “How much are they?”
Her price of ten dollars didn’t seem too bad. Stan paid with a twenty and waited for change.
“For the other ten I’ll sell you some advice,” the woman said.
Stan hesitated, then decided not to argue. “Okay. What’s your advice?”
“When you go into the soup kitchen,” she said, “don’t forget your pail.” And then she turned and walked away.
Stan looked at the pass in his hand. It was a playing card, the five of diamonds. Turning it over, he saw a fine looping scrawl in red Magic Marker. He couldn’t read it, but it looked just like graffiti.
“Hey, kin I help?” a voice asked.
It was a vagrant in a shapeless graycloth hat who had spoken to them. He looked fat and stupid and evil.
Julie said to him, “Buzz off, buster.”
The man looked for an instant as though he was prepared to take umbrage at the remark. Then, warned perhaps by a sixth sense that told him when he was outmatched, he mumbled something and walked on.
“I should be doing the protecting,” Stan said.
“Don’t get all bent out of shape over it,” Julie said. “I can take care of bums and wise guys, but I don’t know how to build robots. It all evens out in the end.”
“Yeah, I guess it does,” Stan said. “Here we are.”
They walked up the crumbling steps of a rotting tenement. An odor of roach repellent fought with the smell of crushed roaches. There was not much to choose between them. Dim yellow light bulbs burned overhead as they climbed to the third floor.
Stan found the right door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again, louder.
Julie said, “Maybe we should have phoned.”
“No telephone.” Stan hammered on the door. “I know he’s in there. There’s a light on under the door. And I can hear the TV.”
“Maybe he’s shy,” Julie said. “I think we can fix that.” With one well-placed kick, she shattered the lock. The door swung inward.
Within, there was a dismal-looking apartment that might have been pretty nice along around the time Rome was founded. It was a hideous place of ancient wallpaper and mildew, and the sound of a toilet running. The smell of frying kelp patties from other apartments overlaid the basic odors. There was an overflowing garbage pail, with two cardboard cartons of garbage beside it.
For furniture, there was an old wooden kitchen table. Sitting at it in a straight-backed chair was a strongly made, sad-faced, middle-aged man with iron-gray hair.
This man looked up as they came in. He seemed startled by what he saw, yet uncaring, as if it didn’t matter what the world threw at him next. There was a small black-and-white TV on the table, and he turned it off.
“Hello, Captain Hoban,” Stan said.
Hoban took his time about answering. He seemed to be reorienting himself in the real world, after a long trip to some unimaginable place, perhaps to the time of his trouble in the asteroids.
At last he said, “It is you, isn’t it? Why, hello, Stan.”
“Hi,” Stan said. “I want you to meet my friend Julie.”
Hoban nodded, then looked around. He seemed aware for the first time of the apartment’s appearance.
“Please, sit down, miss. You, too, Stan. I’ll get you some tea… No, I’m sorry, there isn’t any left. No extra chairs, either. If I’d known you were coming, Stan…”
“I know, you would have had lunch catered,” Stan said.
“Lunch? I can fry you a kelp patty…”
“No, sorry, just kidding, Captain. We’re not staying. We’re getting out of here, and so are you.”
Hoban looked surprised. “But where are we going?”
“There’s got to be a café near here,” Stan said. “Someplace we can talk.”
Hoban looked around again, grinned sheepishly. “I guess this place isn’t too conducive to conversation.”
“Especially not a business talk,” Stan said. “Have you got a coat? Let’s go!”
14
Danziger’s was a Ukrainian café on the next block. It had big glass windows, alw
ays misty with steam. There were vats of water perpetually at the boil for the pirogies in ersatz flour gravy that were the specialty of the place. Stan, Julie, and Hoban took a small booth in the rear. They drank big mugs of black coffee and talked in low voices.
Stan was concerned about Hoban’s condition. It had been a while since he had last seen the captain, back when Hoban had been captain of the Dolomite and Stan had bought the ship. Stan had liked the taciturn, serious-minded captain and had kept him in charge.
Hoban was one of the old breed, a straight-shooting captain, always serious and controlled, whose interests were exclusively in intergalactic navigation and exploration, and who could be counted on to follow orders. Stan had bought the Dolomite during his flush period, when the royalties were rolling in from his various patents, before his troubles with Bio-Pharm and the government. In those golden days, it had looked like the sky was the limit.
After the asteroid incident, when Hoban had lost his license, Stan had pulled some strings and managed to get him a temporary captain’s ticket. They had all been quite close then, Stan and Hoban and Gill, the android, who was second-in-command. But then Stan’s problems with Bio-Therm had begun, and the lawsuits had started flocking in like flies to a flayed cow.
A hostile holding company had taken over the Dolomite, and their first act had been to dismiss Hoban, who was known for his loyalty to Stan. They accused the captain of various peccadilloes. That was really a laugh, with a man of Hoban’s known probity, but mud sticks when you fling enough of it hard enough, and the licensing board had lifted Hoban’s temporary ticket pending an investigation.
The captain had taken it hard. He was reduced in the course of one terrible day from a man who commanded his own little empire to a penniless derelict who couldn’t find any work better than washing dishes.
Now they sat together in a Ukrainian café, with the late-afternoon sun streaming in through the windows, and Stan said, “I’m going back into space, Captain, and I want you with me.”
“It’s good of you to say so,” Hoban said. “But no employer would have me without a license.”
“I still want you,” Stan said. “As for your license, we’ll claim it’s still in force.”
“But it won’t be,” Hoban said.
“You can’t be sure of that,” Stan said. “Money talks. I think the courts will find for you, if it comes to an actual trial. And I’ll get your case reopened after this trip.”
“Can you really do that?” Hoban asked. A ray of hope lightened his heavy features for a moment, then his expression darkened again. “But I have no ship, Dr. Myakovsky. Or do you want me to pilot something other than the Dolomite?”
“No, we’re going on the good old Dolomite,” Stan said.
“But, Doctor, you no longer own it! And even if you did, I am no longer allowed to pilot it.”
“Possession is nine tenths of the law,” Stan said. “Once we’re aboard and under way, they’ll have to argue with us in court. Their lawyers against ours.”
“I don’t know,” Hoban said, slumping down and shaking his head.
“Money talks,” Stan pointed out again. “We’ll win your case. After this trip, we’ll all have it good.”
“Yes, sir. Back into space again… Excuse me for asking, sir, but do you have any money for this venture?”
“Enough for what we need. And a way to get a lot more.”
“Where do you want to go?” Hoban asked.
“Let’s get into that later,” Stan said. “You don’t mind if it’s dangerous, do you?”
Hoban smiled sadly and shrugged. “Anything’s better than rotting here, with nothing to hope for.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Stan said. “This is Miss Julie Lish, my partner. You’ll be seeing a lot of her on this expedition.”
Hoban shook Julie’s extended hand. “But wait,” he said. “I’m sorry, Stan, you had me dreaming for a moment. I’m afraid it’s impossible.”
“Why do you say that?” Stan asked.
“For one thing, no crew.”
“Okay. And what else?”
“The Dolomite’s in geosynchronous orbit above Earth, ready to go on a mining trip in a few days.”
“We’ll have to act quickly. Who’s running the Dolomite?”
“Gill, until the replacement captain comes aboard.”
“Excellent!”
“I don’t think so, Stan. You know Gill. He’s programmed to follow the rules. Gill always obeys orders.”
“Not to worry,” Stan said. “Are you sure the new captain’s not aboard yet?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Then it’s simple. We’ll go aboard and take off at once.”
“Yes, sir… But it won’t work, sir. You and I are both proscribed from boarding the Dolomite. There are guards. They’ll read our retinal prints, turn us back…”
“No,” Stan said. “They’ll call Gill to make a judgment. He’s in charge now.”
“But what can Gill do? Androids are very simpleminded, Dr. Myakovsky. They obey orders. Their loyalties are built-in, hardwired.”
“Like a dog,” Stan suggested.
“Yes, sir. Very much like.”
“There’s still a chance. Since he was animated, Gill has only worked with you.”
“That’s right. But it’s been a while since we’ve been together. And anyhow, when they changed his orders, they will have changed his loyalties, too.”
“They will have tried,” Stan said. “Actually, it isn’t quite so simple. Loyalty in an android is formed by long association with a particular human. I think Gill will lean in your favor when it comes to a showdown between following your orders or those of the new owners.”
Hoban considered it and shook his head doubtfully. “Android conditioning is not supposed to work that way, sir. And if you’re wrong… It’ll be instant prison for all three of us.”
“Let’s worry about that when the time comes,” Stan said. “Of course it’s not dead simple. What is? The thing is, it’s a chance for us all. What do you say, Hoban? Are you with us or not?”
Hoban looked up and down, uncertain, frowning. Then he looked at Julie. “Do you know what kind of a chance you’re taking here, miss?”
“It’s better than sitting around listening to yourself breathe,” Julie said.
“This venture of yours, Doctor—I suspect it’s not entirely legal.”
“That’s correct,” Stan said. “It’s illegal and it’s dangerous. But it’s a chance to rehabilitate yourself. What do you say?”
Hoban’s mouth quirked. His face twisted in an agony of indecision. Then he suddenly drove his fist down on the table, causing the coffee mugs to jump.
“I’ll do it, Dr. Myakovsky. Anything’s better than this!”
The three shook hands. Stan said, “Let’s get moving. There’s no time to waste.”
“There’s just one problem,” Hoban said.
“What’s that?” Stan asked.
“We don’t have a crew.”
Stan’s shoulders slumped and he sat down again.
Julie asked, “How do you usually get a crew?”
“There’s no time to get them on the open market,” Hoban said, “and we’d have a hard time getting people for a dangerous mission. In circumstances like this, we requisition them from the government.”
“What does the government have to do with it?” Julie wanted to know.
“They allow convicts to put in for hazardous duty in space, in return for reduced time on their sentences.”
Stan said, “But this time it wouldn’t work. The government won’t release any of the cons to me now that I’ve been barred from my own ship.”
“Of course they will,” Julie said. “Government is slow, Stan, and one part of it never knows what some other part of itself is doing. Just go in and ask the way you usually do. You’re a legitimate owner, you’ve hired crews before. They have to serve you.”
“But what if they do know
my ship has been seized?”
“First of all, so what? People have property seized every day. It doesn’t put them out of business. They have a suit against you, but you’re still innocent until proven guilty. And besides, the people who actually give you prisoners, the guards and clerks, what do you think they know about that? They don’t know and don’t care. They do what they have to do.”
“I don’t know,” Stan said. “I’ll be too nervous.”
“It will work.”
“Maybe. But I don’t feel confident about this.”
“Stan, if you want to succeed in what you and I are getting into, you’re going to have to learn how to fake self-confidence. Have you ever acted in a play?”
“Sure, in college. I was pretty good.”
“Well, that’s what you’re going to do now. Act the part of Dr. Myakovsky, brilliant young scientist and upcoming entrepreneur.”
“Acting a part,” Stan mused. “What a novel idea! But I believe I could do that.”
Julie nodded. “I knew right away you had it in you to play the Big Con. Stan, if you weren’t already a scientist, I think you could make a great thief.”
It was the nicest compliment Stan had ever been paid.
“And as for you, Captain Hoban…” Julie continued.
“Yes, miss?” Hoban said.
“You’re going to have to get that hangdog look off of your face. You’re a spaceship captain again, not a washed-up drunk who did something wrong once in his life and is making himself pay for it the rest of his life.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Hoban said.
15
Morning came early to the federal penitentiary at Goose Lake, New York. Almost two thirds of the great gray concrete structure was underground, buried under one of the Catskills. What showed above was a windowless dome, gray as a ghost in sunlight, unrelievedly ugly despite the rows of quick-growing trees that had been planted around its perimeter in an attempt to dress it up. A ten-foot-high electrified fence surrounded the facility, but it was pretty much window dressing. No convict had gotten as far as the fence yet. The prison had its ways of keeping the prisoners docile.
The Complete Aliens Omnibus Page 27