At least Badger thought it was exquisite, because he saw he had his man where he wanted him, helpless but still on his feet. A hunk of meat to which he could mete out punishment.
Badger hit and hit, using the heel and sides of his hands. He knew he had this fight won; he just had to guard now against injuring himself. It wouldn't do to be incapacitated for this spaceship call. Big Ed turned and twisted and floundered, but he couldn't defend himself. A shrewd kick on the elbow brought down his left arm. He stood there, his face a mask of blood, while Badger hammered away at him like a man driving nails into a tough piece of wood. He hit and he hit, and Big Ed groaned with pain but wouldn't go down.
“Hell, I got no more time to waste on this,” Badger said. He stepped back and, measuring his man carefully, delivered a kick with his steel-capped work shoe right to the point of Big Ed's jaw. The men watching the fight winced as Big Ed's front teeth came flying out like a spray of broken china, and Ed himself crashed face-first to the floor. Badger turned on a tap and cleaned himself quickly but thoroughly. It wouldn't do to be all sweaty for his interview. He checked himself in the big mirror before he left the washroom to make sure he didn't have any of Big Ed's face hanging on his clothes.
16
“Hi, I'm Stan Myakovsky,” Stan said. These are my associates. I telephoned ahead. I need a spaceship crew for a hazardous mission.”
If the guard at the front window of the entry gate was impressed, she didn't show it. She was a squarely built woman with short bristly hair. She put down her biker magazine and said, “What company you with?”
“Sonnegard Acceptance Corporation,” Stan said, and showed his credentials.
Back before his troubles began, Stan had taken over the Dolomite by buying the controlling shares in Sonnegard, a spaceship holding company. The company was the real owner of the ship, not Stan, who had never bothered to have the ship reregistered in his own name. In fact, he had decided not to; that way, if the ship got into any trouble, he wouldn't be liable.
“You'll find my name on the list,” Stan said. He was hoping that the government hadn't gotten around to proscribing his company and red-flagging it on the computer. It was unlikely. As Julie had pointed out, it took government forever to bring their records up to date. The inefficiency wasn't strictly government's fault. There was neither the time nor the personnel available to record all the crimes, arrests, and dispositions that were taking place around the clock in an America more lawless than it had ever been in all its lawless history. Sonnegard Acceptance Corporation would probably be a legal entity for months to come.
The guard punched the name up on her computer. “Yeah, you're on the list. Go on through.” She buzzed open the heavy metal door leading to the prison.
“So far, so good,” Julie said.
Stan, accompanied by Julie and Hoban, went through into a long, brightly lit corridor.
“Oh, I didn't expect much trouble getting in,” Stan said. “It's the getting out that concerns me.”
“You worry too much,” she said. “Doesn't he, Captain Hoban?”
“He's worrying about the wrong things,” Hoban said. “What he should be thinking about is what if one of those men recognizes me?”
“You're not exactly a cover girl,” Julie said. “I don't think you need to worry.”
Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they went down the long corridor, following the flashing arrows that took visitors to the recruitment center.
There was a door at the end of the corridor. It buzzed open for them.
Within was a large office, plenty of plain metal desks and chairs, and a guard seated at a bigger desk in front of a computer.
“Come on in, Dr. Myakovsky,” the guard said. “I've got all the volunteers in a holding tank just behind this room. There are twenty of them. That is as you requested, is it not?”
“It's fine,” Stan said. “I'd like you to meet Miss Lish, my associate, and Thomas Hoban, my captain. He'll be doing the actual selection in my name.”
“As you know,” the guard said, “we have already made the preselection for you, giving you the top-twenty men on our Alpha List. You may reject any of them, and you do not have to give a reason. If you're ready, I'll have the people sent in.”
Stan nodded. The guard pressed a button. A panel slid up smoothly in the steel wall. There was a sound of moving feet, and then the prisoners came marching out in single file. Following the guard's commands, they formed a line across the room, stopped, and turned to face Stan and his party.
Captain Hoban walked up to the men. He paced up and down the line, peering into their faces. He came to one, hesitated, stopped, and stared.
Red Badger stared back.
Hoban said, “Do I know you? Have we ever met?”
“I don't think so, sir,” Red Badger said. “But of course I've got a lousy memory.”
Hoban kept on staring at him. Badger said, “I'm a good spaceman, sir. I just want a chance to rehabilitate myself.”
Hoban pursed his lips, frowned, then turned away.
“Anything wrong, Mr. Hoban?” Stan asked.
“No, everything is fine,” Hoban said.
“Do the men look all right to you?”
“Yes, they look fine.”
Stan could see that something was bothering Hoban, but now was obviously not the time to ask him about it. Maybe, he thought, the captain was just nervous.
Stan turned to the guard. “I'll accept this lot. I'm posting money to send them out to their ship.”
“Okay with me,” the guard said. “What ship is that?”
“The Dolomite,” Stan said, and waited.
The guard bent over the computer. “How do you spell it?” she asked, and Stan knew everything was going to be all right.
17
They were transporting the prisoners to Facility 12, where they would take the shuttle to the Dolomite, their new ship.
Hoban was thinking, “Damn it, I know I've seen that man before”. He knew who I was, I'm sure of it. So why did I pick him? Because I could tell from his look, if I didn't take him, he was going to tell everyone who I was. It's not just my imagination, I knew what that bastard was going to do. I should never have gotten myself into this in the first place….
Unexpectedly, Hoban found himself regretting his decision to go in with Stan. Some people might have thought it was crazy, but people just didn't understand.
He was grateful for this chance to redeem himself, get back on top, prove himself a winner. But another side of his character, knew himself for a loser and just wanted a soft place to lie down. Funny to think of Jersey City as a soft place, but it was. Somehow he always got fed, always had a roof over his head. And best of all, nobody expected anything of him. He could relax, take a drink or two, take a lot of drinks… He knew that wasn't how he ought to feel.
It was like there were a couple of Hobans, and at least one of them was working actively to undermine him. He tried to remind himself that good things lay ahead: he'd soon be piloting his own ship again. You couldn't do better than that. But somehow, it didn't have quite the savor it ought to. And Captain Thomas Hoban became aware that he faced a greater danger than whatever Stan was getting them into. You can guard against murder, but how do you guard against your own thoughts of suicide?
18
There was one way to get aboard a spaceship without having to produce a pass or wait for a computer check. You could go aboard as part of a tour party. It was Julie's idea. They waited a few hours to give the authorities enough time to deliver the prisoners to the Dolomite. Then they came to the Staten Island launch site.
All ships picked up extra income by letting sight-seeing parties aboard while they were in port, lifting them up to the ship's orbit in a chemical launching craft. Touring the spaceships was a popular entertainment, as in a bygone year people had gone into New York Harbor to visit battleships when the fleet was in. Spaceships were still novel enough, that people paid just to walk aboard one.
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With the passengers aboard, the little craft lifted lightly and soon was high above Jersey City. Julie looked through a viewport and saw the earth below looking like a swirly blue-white basketball. Passengers ate hot dogs and talked with each other until the lander arrived at the Dolomite's geosynchronous orbit and locked onto one of the ship's entry ports.
Hoban, with Stan and Julie, came aboard the Dolomite with a group of eight other people, just a few of the hundreds who came up here every day from the Staten Island Spaceport. Accompanying them was a guide. He was giving his standard spiel about thruster jets and diosynchronous interruptor-type impellers and standard warp capacities.
“Right this way, folks,” the tour guide was saying. He was a large man with pale blond hair, and wore a white vest with lavender polka dots under a crimson blazer. “Right this way you'll find the refreshment stand and, just beyond it, the souvenir booth. They carry official ship's souvenirs. Folks, these items are not sold in stores in the city. You can only get them here. There's a hall of diorama views of approaches to various planets. There's even a snack bar featuring delicacies from this world and many others. Right this way —“
The guide broke off his spiel when he noticed something unusual happening.
“Excuse me, you people there!”
He was talking to three people, two men and a woman, who had moved in the opposite direction from the crowd and now were about to open a door marked no admittance except to authorized personnel in five different languages.
“Did you mean us?” one of the men said. He was short and plump and wore glasses. The woman beside him was a handsome creature, slim and with magnificent chestnut-red hair. She was beautiful even with the livid scar that ran down one cheek. The other man, somewhat older than the first two, looked dazed.
“Yes, you,” the guide said. “Can't you read the sign on the door?”
“Of course we can,” Stan replied. “It doesn't pertain to us.”
“You're not trying to tell me you're ship's crew?”
“Certainly not,” Stan said. “I'm the new owner.”
“Impossible! I would have been told.”
“I'm telling you right now. We're going aboard.” Stan pushed at the door. The guide moved to stop him, then stopped abruptly when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The young woman had seized him, and she had a grip of steel.
“Madame, unhand me!” the guide said, trying to make a joke out of it, because people from the tour were staring. He tried to shake free, but Julie's fingers didn't budge.
“I'll be happy to let you go,” she said. “Just don't interfere with the new owner.”
“I have no proof that he's the new owner!” the guide said.
Julie shrugged. “What difference does it make to you, anyhow, who runs the ship? You've got your concession. You're selling your tickets and your hot dogs. You're doing all right.”
The guide considered. He didn't want any trouble, life was hard enough, why stir up trouble with people who were probably nutcases? The woman with the strong hands was right, what difference did it make to him?
“Do whatever you want,” he said, stepping back as Julie released his shoulder.
Stan pushed open the door that led into the Dolomite proper. As it opened, an alarm went off deep inside the ship.
The lights in the corridor behind the door began to flash.. There was a sound of heavy running feet, and then two men in brown security-guard uniforms came hurrying up with carbines at port arms.
“What's going on?” one of the guards asked. “Halt, you people! No one is allowed here.”
“We're authorized personnel,” Stan said. “I'm the new owner and these are my associates. Kindly escort us to your commanding officer.”
“Back off at once or I'll fire,” the guard said. “This weapon is set for immediate paralysis. The company is not responsible for any broken limbs or other injuries suffered while resisting authorized orders.”
Julie said, “I warn you not to fire that thing.” Her body tensed. She seemed ready to throw herself at the guards.
There was a moment of impasse. The guards weren't sure what to do. The situation wasn't quite serious enough to warrant firing. Not yet. On the other hand, what were they supposed to do? They knew they could get into a lot of trouble if they didn't handle this right. A tall man in officer's uniform came from a doorway inside the ship. “What is going on here?” he asked.
The senior guard said, “These people are trying to break in, Mr. Gill.”
Gill had a long, dark, mournful face. His features were small. His typical expression, in common with those of many androids, was impassive and a little melancholy. He stared at the new arrivals unbelievingly.
At last he said, “Captain Hoban? Dr. Myakovsky?”
“And I am Julie Lish,” Julie said, holding out her hand.
Gill hesitated, then shook Julie's hand.
One of the guards asked, “Do you know these people, sir?”
“Yes,” Gill said. “Stand back and let me handle this.”
The guards saluted and moved back against a wall.
“What is going on, Captain?” Gill asked.
Hoban looked unsure of himself, but his voice was firm enough as he answered, “Mr. Gill, I have decided to take command of the Dolomite again.”
“But, sir,” Gill protested, “a duly appointed court stripped you of this command and gave it to me to hold until the new captain arrives.”
“They had no right to relieve me of command,” Hoban said.
“Are you sure of that, sir?”
“Of course I'm sure, and I am taking over the ship again pending a formal hearing.”
“Perhaps you have that right, sir. I wouldn't know. But meantime there is a legal decision against you, and to the best of my knowledge that has not been rescinded.”
Hoban looked confused. Stan put in, “We are going to appeal that ruling. A higher court can be counted on to reverse the decision.”
“I sincerely hope so, sir. But in the meantime —“
“In the meantime,” Hoban interrupted, showing a firmness that Stan had not been sure he possessed, “things return to where they were before. I will retain command of this ship until the higher court rules.”
“Unfortunately, sir, I am bound by the lower court's decree.”
“Your first loyalty,” Hoban said, “is to me.”
Gill looked doubtful. “That is not how my orders read, sir.”
“Hang your orders!” Hoban cried. “I am giving you a direct command.”
Gill looked puzzled, worried. “My orders are to fire on you or anyone else who tries to board this ship.”
“I don't believe you'll do that, Gill.” Hoban started to walk toward the entry leading to the interior of the ship.
“Guards!” Gill called sharply. “Switch to killing mode.”
There was a double click as the guards switched their pulse rifles to killing mode.
Hoban smiled with a confidence he didn't feel and walked toward the entry.
Gill cried, “Stop!”
Stan and Julie fell into step beside Hoban, who continued to advance.
Gill stared at them. There was something like despair on his face. He said, “I must do what I must.”
“And what is that, Gill?” Stan asked him.
Gill said, “Guards!”
The guards snapped to attention.
“Meet your new commander.”
The guards saluted Hoban, who returned the salute.
“Now turn off your weapons”— another double click —“and attend to the incoming crew. They should be arriving any minute. Then you are dismissed.”
“Yes, sir!” Both guards saluted, turned on their heels, and marched off.
“Welcome aboard, Commander,” Gill said.
“Thank you, Gill,” Hoban said. “I knew I could count on your loyalty.”
“It's my conditioning that turned things your way, sir,” Gill said. “I could not fir
e on you, nor ask the guards to do so. After our many tours of duty together, you and I have developed too many bonds. But I still think what you are doing is illegal.”
“I know you feel that way,” Hoban said. “You may leave when the guards return to Earth, and no hard feelings.” He held out his hand.
Gill looked at it for a moment, then shook it. “If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to come along.”
“But why, if you think this is illegal?”
“I don't care if it's illegal or not,” Gill said. “I was just stating a fact. Since I couldn't fire on you, my conditioning in favor of government authority is canceled. I'm your man again, Captain, if you'll have me.”
“It's likely to be dangerous,” Hoban said.
“That is a matter of indifference to me.”
“Then I'll be pleased to have you, Mr. Gill.” Captain Hoban smiled.
“If you two are finished waltzing,” Julie said sarcastically, “do you think we could get on with it?”
They accompanied Gill into the ship and to the control room.
Julie said to Gill, “How did you know what decision to make?”
“I didn't know,” Gill muttered. “Androids don't have to make decisions. We just follow our conditioning.”
“Lucky androids,” Julie said.
“Gill, we're having some baggage lifted up from the space station,” Stan put in. “With it there will be a large packing case. Please see that it is handled gently.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When they arrive, get the crew bundled down in hypersleep. And get all the tourists off this ship. I want us ready to depart an hour after the crew is aboard and bedded down.”
Gill looked at Captain Hoban.
The captain nodded. “Accept his orders as if they were mine.”
The volunteers for the voyage of the Dolomite marched in single file under the watchful eyes of armed guards. They left the olive-drab prison lander and marched into the short connecting tube that led into the ship proper. As soon as they were aboard, they all burst into a cheer. The guards gave them hard looks, but put away their weapons and returned to the lander, accompanied by the two guards from the Dolomite. Their job was to see that the prisoners got aboard the ship; once aboard, they were no longer prisoners, though not quite free men, either. The arrangement was that they'd report to the proper authorities after returning from their voyage, and show their good-conduct papers signed by the captain, and receive either a commutation of sentence or a complete amnesty. In practice, many of them never bothered to return, and their names went on a wanted list, to which the authorities gave only minor attention.
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