by Eando Binder
“So your plan of using me as a front to reach Jupiter is useless,” finished Gorson with a malicious grin. “Heading outward in my ship is a ruse that won’t work…”
“But we’re not heading outward in your ship,” put in Bruce. “We’re going in the pirate ship, which is heavily armed. After we transfer your fuel load to that ship, we’ll fight our way through the blockade, if necessary.” Gorson turned white. “Bruce, you’re a madman. You can’t battle big warships with your little pirate ship.”
“Want to bet?” said Bruce laconically.
* * * *
The pirate ship leaped away from the dead Asteroid. Behind lay the abandoned ship of John Gorson, emptied of all fuel. Bruce’s tanks were loaded now to the brim.
Grimly, Bruce headed in a direction away from Earth as he arrowed through the thickness of the Asteroid Belt. Behind him, Gorson was not only fastened into his g-harness but also roped as well, helpless to interfere with Bruce. Gorson was moaning to himself most of the time. “Riding with a madman,” he would mutter, rolling his eyes upward. “A crazy man who thinks he can tackle warships…heaven help us.”
Bruce was not unprepared when the flare appeared ahead, rapidly enlarging into a swift Martian patrol ship. He hadn’t expected to get through the blockade with ultra-range detectors covering every inch of space throughout the Asteroids. The Martians had set up their ship-tight network with speed and efficiency.
A booming radio-voice came in harshly. “Halt. Decel and identify.”
“Go to hell,” said Bruce but into a dead mike. He wasted no time with words. Already his fingers were punching flight-patterns that hurled his small black ship into an intricate curve.
Martian guns began to fire but it was like aiming at a ghostly black shadow that flitted mockingly in the wrong places. Keeping just out of range of spitting death, Bruce maneuvered undulatingly through space, deliberately allowing the clumsier Martian ship to follow.
It wouldn’t do to just out-fly the tub and make for parts unknown. The patrol ship would then send a red alert ahead and a massive unit of patrol craft would form a block even Bruce could not evade. So, there was only one choice.
Chapter 17
Bruce’s twists and turns in space seemed random, a frantic effort to escape as it appeared to the pursuers. But Bruce was angling toward a definite goal. Suddenly he darted straight toward a small Asteroid that bulked out of the void. The Martian ship doggedly followed. Their radarscope report came a second too late, warning of the Asteroid dead ahead.
Bruce’s ship skidded through space in a max-g curve that flung it past one edge of the Asteroid. The Martian ship didn’t make it. Gorson stared at the viewscreen where the brilliant explosion lighted up the entire misshapen hulk of the Asteroid.
“Unbelievable,” he murmured, looking with new respect at Bruce. “You tricked that warship into its own doom.” Sweat glistened on his brow. “But I don’t know if I’ll live through more narrow escapes like that.”
“You’ll make it,” said Bruce cheerfully. “Your heart may be black but it’s not weak.”
“Listen, you’re going to suffer for all this,” Gorson suddenly said in a menacing tone. “When Mars wins this war, I’ll become the biggest interplanetary tycoon there is.”
“If Mars wins the war,” amended Bruce.
Gorson ignored that, a fanatical light in his eye. “Yes, I’ll be the most powerful Earthman in the system with untold wealth and influence. The Martians promised me that I’m going to be a king, a financial king, with more power than the kings of old. And do you know what will happen to my enemies, like you? You’re top on my list, for revenge.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” said Bruce bitingly. Gorson glared at him malevolently. “I’m going to have you put in a spaceship, chained, and sent out toward the next star with a limited fuel supply. You’ll drift on into space for a thousand years, as a corpse.”
Bruce’s blood ran cold at the horrifying threat that only a heartless power-hungry man could conceive of.
“Others who opposed me or gave me trouble of any kind will be punished,” continued Gorson, as if reveling in his future days of ruthless glory. “That pirate, for instance, called Black Ace. He robbed me of a young fortune in radioactive ores. But he’ll never live to enjoy it after the war. I’m going to have him and his pirate gang imprisoned in a spaceship heading straight into the sun. But the death ship will go very slow. Before they reach the sun, for days, they’ll slowly boil alive inside the ship. Yes, boil alive!”
Bruce shuddered. If Mars won and elevated this cruel Earth traitor to a position of power, dozens or even hundreds of people would suffer untold agonies. No doubt he had a long “black list” of people against whom he had even the pettiest of grievances. And instead of making the punishment fit the crime, Gorson would make his punishment ten times worse than the crime.
And Dora married to this sadistic monster—it was unthinkable. Bruce vowed within himself to break through the Martian blockade and reach Jupiter, and somehow expose the Martian’s secret war base. Then, if Mars lost the war, Gorson would only be the “king” of traitors, his vile schemes ended before a firing squad.
Bruce snapped to attention as a blip showed on his detector screen. No, two blips, coming from opposite directions. “Hah,” gloated Gorson, also reading the screen, “two Martian patrols boxing you in. See if you can escape this time.” Then he blanched. “Bruce! You must escape. If you don’t, I’ll die!”
“A pity,” said Bruce sarcastically. “But actually I’d hate to see you die now. I want you to face the music later. Now shut up and let me concentrate on outwitting those Ginzies. One thing they always bring with them—overconfidence. It’s my ace in the hole.”
Daring was called for. And extreme piloting skill. When the call came to halt, Bruce sent one sound through the mike—“nyaaaaaaaaaa.”
The two ships sped up grimly and Bruce allowed them to come almost within gunnery range. Then his ship seemed to slide down a hole just as crisscrossing proton-beams sizzled through space.
Once more Bruce let them line him up and again his ship skipped aside in a bewildering maneuver that he knew must be infuriating the Martian pilots. The pride of the Imperial Martian Navy was hurt—badly. They came at him vengefully from both sides, putting on sudden acceleration to shorten the range and make a sure kill.
Bruce estimated distances and gunnery ranges and said “Ah.” Then he deliberately shot toward one patrol ship, inviting a proton-beam barrage. The patrol ship opened fire with a withering blast.
Timed to the split second, Bruce’s ship seemed to almost make a right-angle turn and shoot clear. But the proton-blast went on—and struck the other patrol ship squarely. Its side blown out, the victim ship tumbled end over end but kept going at its former momentum. With no deceleration to halt its onward plunge, the wreck smashed into the remaining patrol ship.
Bruce watched the scattering debris that suddenly filled space. “I knew they’d be so eager to gun me down they’d forget they were within range of each other. By missing me, one ship destroyed its brother. Then, shocked by what they’d done, they didn’t scramble out of the way of the wreck quickly enough.” He grinned at Gorson. “To use an old cliché, that’s killing two Martian birds with one trick.”
Gorson was shaking his head, half in anger, half in relief. Bruce caught the expression and rubbed it in. “Every time I wipe out a patrol ship, it hurts you to see one of your ‘allies’ go down. Yet at the same time you’re glad I saved your skin. I’ll whipsaw you some more like that till you’re red raw inside.”
Bruce enjoyed the way Gorson squirmed. And the “fun” was not yet over. After each encounter, Bruce had kept drilling outward from the sun to get out of the Asteroid Belt into free space, where the Martian patrol would be much lighter. But he still had a few million miles of patrolled space to cross.
A stroke of luck came Bruce’s way. He had just spotted a patrol-blip but saw that it was just
landing on an Asteroid, not chasing him. Cautiously approaching, Bruce saw that a small Asteroid had been converted into a patrol base by the Martians. And below lay five parked Martian ships. One was just lifting off to replace the patrol ship that had landed.
Bruce’s eyes gleamed. A chance to make a real killing. It would take crazy luck but that was what Bruce had been gambling on in every clash with the patrol. Why stop now?
Hesitation lasted only a millisecond. Then Bruce was diving down at reckless speed, simulating a Kamikaze plunge. Anti-spaceship fire opened up but they had no time to line up their sights on the blurred craft.
As Bruce hoped, the rising Martian ship halted a hundred feet over the field and began settling down again in panic, fearing a Kamikaze collision. But Bruce had already set his rockets to drum out with offside blasts that created a curved swoop. At the lowest point of the swoop Bruce let loose with all his gunnery at the lowering ship.
Its explosion was spectacular, covering the entire landing field in a blinding nuclear fireball. When the dazzling brilliance died and the smoke cleared, the other four Martian ships were junk piles. There was not a sign of life below. The entire Martian nest had been obliterated.
Panting, he pulled his ship away, hands trembling.
Gorson began to breathe again, lungs heaving. “That was taking a ghastly chance,” he bubbled with the edge of panic still in his voice.
“Just to thrill you,” said Bruce flippantly, a little giddy at his own success. Then he sobered. “But the risk was worth it. That was probably the last patrol outpost in the Asteroids. With those ships scratched, it means free space ahead—all the way to Jupiter.”
A short time later the Asteroid “stars” faded behind them. Ahead shone Jupiter like a huge white beacon dominating the star-field of the universe.
“The Martians have the Asteroids sewed up with their blockade. So no need for them to patrol out here. We have clear sailing, all the way to the Red Spot.” Bruce’s eyes shone.
“Just what are you going to do when you get there?” queried Gorson harshly. “Attack the Martian base all by yourself? It’s gone to your head, smashing your way through the Asteroid patrol. But how can you attack a huge military base by yourself?”
“I’m not going to,” said Bruce tersely. “You gave me the idea yourself—a brilliant idea. I’ll say thanks in advance.” Then Bruce did a queer thing, swinging the ship to run parallel to the Asteroid Belt. He turned to a control board and tuned a dial. Outside on the hull a small selective radar dish turned and scanned the Asteroid region.
“One of Black Ace’s special devices,” muttered Bruce for Gorson’s benefit. “It’s a lock-on radar designed specifically to contact his own ships if he got separated from them. It ignores all other craft.”
A series of pings came forth in an unvarying tone. But suddenly the pings sharpened and came more rapidly, reaching a crescendo. “Got him,” exulted Bruce, snapping on a lock-on radio linked to the detector.
“Calling Black Ace,” barked Bruce. “My position is sunline 15 degrees, zenith quadrant, trans-Asteroid region. Come in.”
Almost immediately the call came back over this “closed circuit” system. “Black Ace here. Who’s calling?”
“Who else could call from your stolen ship but…Jay Bruce?”
“You…you pirate!” came back with a string of oaths. “Of all the low tricks, making off with my ship. My own ship. If I get hold of you, I’ll make you walk the plank. I’ll have you drawn and quartered. Boiled in oil…”
But behind the melodramatic phrases borrowed from buccaneering days on Earth, Bruce knew that the pirate chief was cannily motioning for his men to follow the lock-on signal and rush to waylay Bruce’s ship.
Bruce made no move to get away, even when his radarscope showed the nine blips of the approaching ships—no, only seven blips. Black Ace had lost two ships somewhere in the meantime. The seven ships spread out suddenly to form a globular ring around Bruce.
“You’re trapped, Bruce,” rasped the Black Ace’s voice, but it was puzzled. “With your skill you could have easily skipped. Why didn’t you? What are you up to?”
“Black Ace,” barked Bruce, “if you want, train your guns on me now. Shoot me down. Or else listen to me.”
“I’ll blast you down with pleasure,” rasped the pirate. “You won’t get away the third time…” His voice changed. “You’ve got nerve, Bruce. All right, talk and talk fast. My finger is itching.”
“You like a man with nerve,” returned Bruce, steadily. “You think you have nerve. I wonder if you’ve got as much nerve as I have?”
“Why, damn you,” exploded the pirate, “I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll… Again his voice changed. “Nerve for what?”
“For going after the Ginzies,” snapped back Bruce challengingly.
It was as though he had touched off a powder keg. “Those blasted Ginzies,” the pirate leader half screamed. “After you skipped us, they rayed down two of my ships while they were cruising dong. Without warning, without giving them a fighting chance. Damned, stinking cowards…” He paused. “Wait a minute. Don’t try to work on me about joining the Earth forces. This war isn’t my war. After it’s over, I reap plenty.”
“After it’s over,” said Bruce, “you won’t find anything to reap. Listen, Black Ace. Listen closely.”
In short, terse phrases, Bruce gave the whole story about himself, from the time of leaving Earth with Dora to the recent events.
“All right,” growled Black Ace at the end. “So you’ve had your troubles. What do I care? And let the Ginzies win the war…”
“And you’ll lose your life,” cut in Bruce. “John Gorson, the rat who caused this whole trouble, is aboard this ship as my prisoner. If the Martians win the war and patrol the Solar System, he’s promised to ruin or exile or kill everyone who did him the slightest injury.” Bruce paused for effect, then: “You robbed his Asteroid collection center of a treasure in radio-ores. He’ll conduct a manhunt for you all over space until you’re captured. Then guess what fate he’s planned just for you?”
“What?” demanded Black Ace, his voice an ominous growl.
“He’s going to pack you and your crew in a spaceship, chained, and aimed for the sun. A slow trip, so that before you arrive you’ll boil alive. His exact words—boil alive.”
An explosive oath came back over the radio, and Gorson winced.
“Let me aboard, Bruce,” roared the pirate chief. “Let me cut out his living heart right now. Let me aboard!”
Bruce saw Gorson’s face crawling with terror. “No, no,” he babbled. “Don’t let that cutthroat aboard… Don’t!”
Bruce let him bubble in his own juices for a moment, then replied to Black Ace. “Gorson stays alive, to be shot later as a traitor. But that won’t happen unless the secret Martian war base in the Red Spot is exposed or destroyed. It all hinges on that—Gorson’s fate, your fate, my fate. If Mars wins, you and I lose and only Gorson gains.”
Bruce took a hopeful breath at Black Ace’s silence, as if he were thinking deeply. “Join me, but not only to save your life in the future from Gorson’s vengeance.” Cold fire crackled from his voice. “This is your chance to go down in history, dead or alive. Follow me to that secret Martian base. We can blast down on them, raise hell. Maybe by the sheer insane surprise of it, we might win out. Most of their warships will be grounded. Sitting ducks. Maybe I’m crazy, I don’t know. Time’s short. What’s your answer, Black Ace?”
“Wait a minute.” After a pause, the pirate said quietly, “Okay, Bruce. I’m with you. My men agree we’ll show those Ginzies a thing or two.”
Chapter 18
Three Earth-days later, the eight pirate ships swung down in the murk of Jovian atmosphere, above the Red Spot.
Fast ships, they had rammed across space wide open. One deep-space Martian patrol had given chase, was left behind by an arcing maneuver that Bruce directed.
Bruce looked down eagerly
for the ground. At last the vague mushroom shapes of the Martian war base blossomed out. He called a halt, spoke rapidly, outlined plans of attack.
Bruce knew several things were in their favor. Feeling secure beneath the sight-obscuring mists of the Red Spot, the Martians kept a lax warning system, probably sweeping the upper clouds by radar only at routine occasions.
Secondly, the warships clustered below were not yet fueled or tuned up for battle of any kind. That would come on some unknown “D-Day” when the Martian High Command decided to sweep out, attacking and taking over all Earth-held moons from here out to Pluto.
But this attack could not be launched until the negotiations between High Lord Kilku and Imperator Pazovkelzz were over. The outlying moons might have to be ceded to Jupiter as the prize for joining the Mercury-Mars Axis.
Hence, the Red Spot war base was a potential military threat but at present was in a state of unreadiness. It was not a clash with the grounded warships that Bruce had to fear, only a pitched battle against the guard system of the fortifications. And here, they were on a more equal footing. Eight well-armed pirate ships represented a powerful attack against this inactivated war base. The odds were almost even.
Bruce patiently outlined all this to show Black Ace that it was not necessarily a suicide mission. But the pirate chief was not one to weigh odds, once he had made up his mind.
“Give ’em hell, men,” he yelled when Bruce was done. “We’ll show these Ginzies how Earthmen fight.”
The ships dove screamingly, guns belching.
Bruce was never quite sure about the next hour. It was all thunder and lightning and the universe cracking wide open. He piloted his pirate ship in maneuvers that he knew, by some sixth sense, were the product of sheer genius. Time and again, ravening bursts from the defending guns swept by with tingling inches to spare. And the other pirate ships seemed imbued with the same incredible powers to escape destruction.