by Eando Binder
“So long, chum,” murmured Bruce, grinning. “I trumped your ace.”
And that, he ruefully reflected, was the third vehicle he had “confiscated” in his strange Arabian Nights adventure in space. But now what? Bruce had no plans, what with the suddenness of his new freedom. He was flying a known pirate ship and would be fired on at sight by anyone: the Martian patrol, the Earth patrol, the Martian Navy, the Earth Navy—everybody.
While in the ship, he was a pariah, a parasite, a despised outlaw to be summarily shot down without mercy. From how many frying pans into how many fires could he jump? Each move he made seemed to put him further away from his goal of reaching Jupiter.
He couldn’t fly the ship there. He would first have to fill the deep-space reserve fuel tanks for any such extended journey. Black Ace, while looting Asteroid victims, had kept only the necessary fuel in the tanks for short hops. A glance at the fuel gauge confirmed it for Bruce. He could get up minimal velocity toward Jupiter and arrive there all right—a year later.
If he only knew Black Ace’s hideout in the Asteroids where his ships refueled. But the pirate chief had cannily withheld this information. Drifting aimlessly through the void, Bruce found himself faced with a hopeless dilemma. Nobody would sell or give him fuel. Nor was there any place to land in safety. If it were Earth-held territory, he would either be hauled back into the Navy for further war duty or exposed as an alleged traitor and shot. If it were Ginzie territory, he would be a prisoner-of-war for the duration or shot as a spy. Every avenue of escape from his deadly trap was closed off.
Worn out by his previous ordeals, from the first trip to the Red Spot through all his subsequent trials, Bruce suddenly sagged inwardly. Mad thoughts whirled into his mind. A wild gleam came into his eye.
He would use the last of his fuel and go out in a blaze of glory—hunting down Ginzie warships. Using his sleek fast pirate ship, well-gunned and made for lightning strikes, he could take on Martian warships. The smaller ones anyway, those out on lone scout duty.
Like a fox waiting for its prey, Bruce soon lay behind a small Asteroid, having seen the blip on his radarscope. Then he saw the Martian blazer cruising along, part of the Asteroid blockade forces keeping an alert eye out for any Earth forces.
But the Martians did not suspect the smaller ship lurking in their path, until it suddenly streaked from behind the Asteroid with flaming jets. The Martian ship wheeled and brought its guns into play but the elusive black ship spun impossibly and sped closer.
Zzzzztt!
Bruce shot at close range with his laser-ray, biting a neat hole of melting metal in the side of the warship. Then away at dizzying speed. That was Bruce’s tactic, to rush in and sting again and again.
David and Goliath. The cunning jackal against the tiger. Each time Bruce darted close he hurt them—an infra-beam to sparkle against their hull and knock out electrical systems, a missile to cripple their radarscope antenna, a laser-ray to bore into their guidance computer-complex.
Then in for the kill. With Martian gunnery growing ever more confused at this tiny but deadly enemy, Bruce swooped so close to the hull he could see the welded seams.
“Proton-beam barrage,” he said to himself. “Mark!”
Whoompf! A gaping hole appeared in the Martian warship. Within, the commander must be saying a last fanatic, “Hail, Kilku!” as his ship breaks apart like an eggshell.
Hovering nearby, Bruce contemplated the disintegrating blazer with savage triumph. Scratch one Ginzie warship. No, it wouldn’t win the war. But Bruce was winning his own war against the brutal aggressors who had set the Solar System on fire for their own ruthless ambitions.
Hours later, Bruce again pounced as a lone craft rounded the small Asteroid behind which he lay hidden. But then he put on his nose retro-rockets hastily. An Earth Navy ship! One of the scouts who were keeping a daring surveillance on the Martian blockade.
Bruce backtracked but not fast enough to escape discovery. To the Earth commander’s eyes, it would seem as if a Martian craft had lain in wait. Their ship immediately leaped forward and opened fire with its long-range weapons.
For a mad moment, Bruce wanted to send across a radio call—“Stop! It’s me, Jay Bruce, Earth citizen…” But then they would insist on boarding his ship and asking questions. He would either be classed as a pirate, a war deserter, or a traitor. Which one wouldn’t matter. The end result would be the same—execution.
Bruce instead flicked his fingers over the control buttons and twisted his ship like a magician until he was out of range of their weapons. His small but powerful ship could pull away from any heavy warship. He breathed in relief as behind him, the Earth ship faded into the distance.
* * * *
Bruce decided to take it easy for a time, eating and having a long sleep. Then he tuned the radio for war news, which was mostly bad.
In the Earth sector, the Imperial Martian Navy still held Moon territory and had strengthened their base, using it for bombings on Earth itself. The Earth Space Navy could not challenge the enemy directly and could only stage hit-and-run blows here and there without gaining any strategic advantage.
On Earth itself, the Martian Army had established several beachheads protected by the navy. Here, they were steadily building up their forces, as long lines of troop ships landed and disgorged the fighting men.
Obviously, the Martians planned toward the day when they could make an all-out attack by land and by space, and encircle entire cities and cut them off. Once New York City fell this way, Earth would have to capitulate.
Meanwhile, the Mercurian Armada units continued their steady harassment of Venus and Earth wartime shipping, with the eventual aim of pinching off the two-planet lifeline. Then the Coalition partners would be isolated from each other, battling with their backs against the wall. So far, the Venus Space Legion had kept this from happening. But the Mercurians had forced one big clash between their two navies with serious losses to the Legion. Another such space battle might weaken the Legion to the point where it could not hold the Earth-Venus lifeline open.
At the third major spacefront, in the Asteroids, the Martian blockade was now complete. Earth ships could no longer fly to Jupiter and the outer-space colonies were cut off. The Martians at their leisure could take over the Earth-held moons of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune, and the outposts on Pluto.
And in political terms, the Martian blockade meant that Jupiter, too, was isolated. This made it far less probable that Jupiter would cast off her neutrality and join the Coalition. It would be like joining a lost cause.
On the other hand, the blockade made it more tempting for Jupiter to join the Mercury-Mars Axis. It was rumored that High Lord Kilku of Mars was secretly negotiating with Imperator Pazovkelzz of Jupiter, offering him the four big Jovian moons as a prize for joining the Axis. The only reluctance the Imperator could have was the fact that the Earth-held moons had always been an asset to him, routing through enormous financial and technical aid to Jupiter itself. Gaining the four moons might bolster his pride but also shrink his pocketbook.
The outcome of the war really depended, in the final analysis, on what the Imperator decided. Even if he remained neutral and didn’t join the Axis, this noninterference would assure Martian-Mercury victory. However, if Jupiter joined the Coalition, the Martians would be attacked from both sides of the blockade. The Jovian Space Fleet of 5 million warships, thrown on the side of the Coalition, would force the Martians into a two-front war and upset the whole strategic balance.
And Bruce could see why the Martians had set up their secret war base in the Red Spot—for a quick paralyzing strike against Jupiter should they lean toward the Coalition. The Ginzies must be beefing up the war base with thousands of fighting ships for that contingency.
And all unknown to the Jovians, or to anybody. Bruce groaned. He alone knew of the Martian plot that could blow off the lid and bring about their defeat—yet his lips were sealed.
The same old m
addening squirrel cage.
Chapter 16
Turning the dial idly for other news, Bruce suddenly caught a radio-call of deafening volume. It must be some transmitter nearby in the Asteroids. He heard an exchange of calls, one somewhat fainter than the other as if it were an approaching ship.
“Spaceship ZZQQ calling Mars Asteroid base KKKJJ. Request landing.”
“Radar shows you are an Earthship. Halt!”
“Yes, but look in your codebook for ZZQQ.”
“Ah, yes. John Gor—”
“Shut up, you fool! But you know who I am. Inform Martian patrol units to let me through without firing.”
“It will be done. Advance, ZZQQ.”
Bruce’s brain was afire. John Gorson’s ship! He was here in the Asteroids—within reach. Bruce tuned the approach instructions and heard the spatial coordinates. Then his hands streaked to the flight controls. He could intercept Gorson before he reached the Asteroid spaceport.
Gorson was probably here to investigate the recent robbery of his collection center by Black Ace. And being an important agent of the Martian Espionage, he could easily get through the patrol without hindrance. It was a sign of how completely the renegade Earthman had thrown his allegiance to the Martians.
Bruce had a smoldering look of rage in his eyes as he sped his ship to a rendezvous with treachery. Fate had in one upheaval given him a chance to set right all that had gone wrong before.
John Gorson was the key to breaking that other blockade, the one that kept Bruce’s tongue silent.
In cold, relentless efficiency, his every nerve straining eagerly, Bruce hawked his radarscope and spotted the blip dead ahead. Bruce made a wide barrelhouse sweep in front of Gorson’s ship, causing its retro-rockets to flare in alarm.
Bruce had kept his radio open and an angry voice boomed out. “Go away. Don’t block my way. Yes, I’m in an Earthship but I’m John Gorson, do you understand? Didn’t the spaceport send orders to you Martian patrol ships to let me through?”
Bruce snapped on his mike, licking his lips. This was going to be fun, but not for Gorson.
“I don’t happen to be a Martian patrol ship,” he said in Telluro, the Earth language, rather than in Solaro, the Solar System patois. “Take another look.”
“A…a pirate ship,” gasped Gorson. “But I’ll signal the Martian patrol…”
“You do and you die,” snapped Bruce. “My biggest proton-gun is aimed at your pilot room.”
“Don’t shoot,” came back quickly, in a voice trembling in fear. “But what do you want?”
In savage delight, Bruce carried on the cat-and-mouse game with the cowardly wretch. “The most precious thing you’ve got aboard.”
“I’ll give you anything,” came back slobberingly. “Anything you want. As a matter of fact, I’m carrying a bag of jewels…you know, as emergency currency during this wartime period…”
“I said the most precious thing,” demanded Bruce harshly.
“But what’s more precious than my jewels?”
“Your life, John Gorson,” spat out Bruce with infinite venom.
“M-my life?” the voice choked, in abysmal fear. “No, no. Please…”
“Yes, I know. You’re too fat and bloated and rich to die.” Contempt dripped from Bruce’s voice. And now to twist the knife…
“Do you know who I am, Gorson? The name is Jay Bruce.”
“Jay B-Bruce?” There was utter shock in Gorson’s voice.
“Yes, the Jay Bruce you framed on a charge of espionage. The Jay Bruce who brought a duped Dora Kent to Jupiter in order to fall into Martian hands with her father. The Jay Bruce who tried to rescue Dr. Kent from the trap you had lured him into. The Jay Bruce who found his message about the secret Red Spot war base squelched by you, never to reach Earth authorities.”
Bruce’s voice became a deadly hiss. “The Jay Bruce whose hands are itching to get around your neck and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze…”
Gorson was already gasping as if his life were being choked out of him. “Bruce…have mercy…I’ll make it right for you…”
“You most certainly will,” roared Bruce. “Now here’s what I want you to do. Turn around and follow my directions. We’re both going to land on a deserted Asteroid. If you don’t obey…
Bruce flipped a toggle and a proton-beam whooshed dangerously close to Gorson’s ship. “The next shot will slice your ship in half.”
“I’ll go anywhere you say,” quavered Gorson hastily.
Bruce gave the instructions. He had seen a dead Asteroid just a while back. He followed Gorson like a bloodhound, and they both landed on the Asteroid. Gorson had chosen to come in a small ship that required no crew. How could he, a traitor, hire an Earth crew to take him within Martian territory?
Bruce put on his spacesuit, reached toward the handguns in Black Ace’s well-supplied arms closet, and floated across to Gorson’s airlock, using the button outside that automatically opened it.
In a moment he was inside, facing the cowering mining magnate.
“Don’t do it,” he pleaded whiningly. “Don’t choke me…”
“Forget it,” said Bruce. “I wouldn’t soil my hands on a rotten creature like you. I have no intention of killing you.”
Gorson eased up and some of the pastiness left his face. “Listen, Bruce, I’ll do right by you. I’ll take you with me safely, through the Martian patrol.”
“Yes,” said Bruce cynically, “and then tell your Martian buddies to shoot me on the spot. Don’t kill me with kindness, Gorson.”
“Then I’ll take you back to Earth. My…er…cover…is still secure there.”
“You mean as a Martian spy. But that’s just the trouble. I’d have no chance to brand you as a spy, with your influence. Like last time, I’d be shot at sunrise with the espionage charge still against me. All of your doing, Gorson. And you’ve got to undo it.”
“But how?” queried Gorson, blankly. “If you’re too suspicious to go to the Martians with me, or to Earth, then where else can we go?”
“To Jupiter,” said Bruce.
Gorson gasped.
“We’re going to the Red Spot war base with you as my hostage. Are Dora and Dr. Kent still safe up there?” Bruce had delayed asking this vital question. He had almost dreaded hearing the answer, if it were the wrong one. He waited tensely as Gorson promptly said, “Yes. No harm was done to them. I insisted—under threat of exposing the base—that Dora, my future wife, be unmolested. Somehow, Dr. Kent sensed that and then they couldn’t break down his resistance. He still hasn’t told them the secret of the alloy. Not that the Martians really care now. The war is going well, better than they expected. They will win and the alloy is unimportant.”
Bruce’s pulse slowed down. A great weight seemed to lift off his shoulders. The thing he had most dreaded had not happened to the girl he loved and her father. His mission could still be accomplished…
“But how will we get through the Martian outer-planet blockade?” Gorson was saying skeptically.
“Through you,” returned Bruce, forming rapid plans. “The first step is for me to take off my spacesuit and hide in your ship.”
As Bruce began taking off the suit, he had to transfer the gun from one hand to another, unable to keep it trained on Gorson.
Gorson jumped him, as Bruce expected.
With delight, Bruce swung the fishbowl helmet and caught Gorson flush in the face, jolting him back with a bloody nose. But the gun had dropped and the fat man leaped for it with a wild cry of triumph. Before Bruce, who was half-tangled in the spacesuit, could move, Gorson snatched up the gun, pointing it with a deadly grin.
“Goodbye, Bruce,” he snarled. “Killing you will end any more danger of my plans being spoiled. Die…” He pressed the stud. There was an empty click.
“Oh, forgot to tell you,” drawled Bruce, “that gun isn’t loaded. But”—Bruce now drew a second gun from his own pocket—“this one is.”
Gorson dropped his
useless gun from nerveless fingers. “You mean…”
“Sure, I tricked you when I came in, with an unloaded gun. I knew I had to protect myself when I took off my spacesuit.”
Gorson looked sick.
“Now,” said Bruce briskly, “let’s get on with it I’m going to hide in your supply closet” Bruce swung its door open and stepped in, then closed the door with just a crack showing. His gun snout pointed out. “I can shoot you at any moment if you try any tricks. You will first land at the spaceport and have them fill your reserve tanks with enough fuel for a trip to Jupiter.”
“But what excuse will I have?” Gorson said.
“Don’t act stupid,” snapped Bruce. “You know very well you simply have to say you want to visit your future wife, Dora Kent, on Jupiter. You’re known as a Martian Espionage agent. Then you take off with the full fuel load.”
“But we won’t get through the Martian blockade that way,” remonstrated Gorson, this time honestly. “Not without full clearance from the Martian Espionage. And they won’t sanction a trip to Jupiter just on my whim. It won’t work, Bruce.”
“We’ll see about that later. Right now, get that fuel load.”
* * * *
There was little trouble or delay at the spaceport At Gorson’s request, a minor Martian officer came aboard to identify Gorson and make sure he was a Martian Espionage agent as he claimed. Gorson licked his lips as if about to burst out with the story of why he was here fueling up, but a glance at the door crack where a gun could be poked out instantly and fired and he continued the talk routinely. One thing Bruce knew—Gorson’s cowardly soul valued his hide more than anything.
The officer left, agreeing to the fueling, which was accomplished in short order. The base was geared for wartime speed in servicing ships on short order. Still menaced by the gun and the man hiding in the closet, Gorson obediently lifted off and went into space.
“All right, I did it,” said Gorson as Bruce stepped out. “All fueled for Jupiter, but we’ll never get there. That spaceport officer was simply fulfilling a routine request by a privileged Martian agent. But the first Martian blockade ship we meet will send us back. Only a direct order from the Martian Espionage High Command on Mars will let us through. And my visiting Jupiter would be a useless trip in their eyes. They have other plans for me. I’m under their orders, you know.” Bruce knew only too well.