by Don Wilcox
They swung down over the middle of the continent that had been America. It was hard to fathom the vastness of the ruins. Waterfield saw the immediate need of cargo planes to salvage quantities of goods—trucks and bulldozers and concrete mixers, lumber and building materials equipment and materials that were needed at once at Banrab.
They flew low over the valley where Gret-O-Gret’s Mogo boat had landed, and they saw a group of wingmen sitting on top of the half-mile white box, enjoying the luxuries of the giant’s gift.
“Food and supplies for a few years to come,” George said. “The wingmen made friends with Gret-O-Gret while he was ill. Originally he had intended to offer the box as a gift to the earth people—compliments of a self-appointed ambassador and friend from Mogo. But when Gret arrived he found the earth in ruins. That’s the story Paul Keller gave me.”
Waterfield saw the camp of the wing-men as they passed over one of the higher hills. He asked for more information about Paul Keller and the Mogo expedition.
“You see, I have been living on Venus for several years,” Waterfield said rather apologetically. “When Keller and his party left on a new expedition, I read the Venus newspaper accounts very casually. I don’t quite understand what has happened here. Frankly, Garritt Glasgow doesn’t impress me as being trustworthy. He’s riding too high and making too much trouble. Judge Lagnese had begun to detest him whole-heartedly.”
“He’s a slippery as the devil,” said George. “I think he was lying from the minute Pantella and I rescued him from the Mogo giant’s ship.”
“You rescued him? I hadn’t heard.”
“We haven’t said anything about it because things have been happening too fast. But as I look back on it now, I see that Garritt Glasgow got the jump on us from the minute we found him—imprisoned within a screen—on the Mogo ship.”
“You two youngsters went aboard the ship?” Waterfield was all ears.
“Yes—out of curiosity. We almost got stepped on until we climbed a long incline. We finally reached a high ledge, a half mile or so above the floor. From there we could see the Kellers—”
“Prisoners?”
“No, they were on another shelf, pointing to charts and drawing pictures. They and the giant were learning to talk together, and he was being plenty friendly to them, no doubt about that. In spite of being a million times bigger, he was eager to understand them. They had all just come back from Mogo and they were just getting used to the idea that the earth was not what they had expected it to be because it had been blasted—”
“By whom?”
“Well, according to both stories, it was another giant—a relative of Gret-O-Gret—who did the deed. But Glasgow claims that Mox-O-Mox, the giant cousin, did it, on the instructions of Keller and Gret, who planned the damnable business. But Keller’s story is that Mox and Gret had had a fight, and Mox had learned where the planet was located and had come and committed the mischief ahead of Gret’s visit. When Gret arrived and saw what had happened, he was bitter over the deal. He unloaded his big white box that he had intended as a gift from Mogo, but there were no people to give it to.”
Waterfield listened thoughtfully. He asked George to go on with the story of his and Anna’s entrance into the giant’s ship.
“Well, as I said, we climbed to the shelf in the ship and saw the Kellers, and we went closer, but someone called to us. It was Glasgow. They had him imprisoned in a cage, and he called us over and gave us a line about how the giant and the Kellers were plotting against the earth, and we fell for it. I guess we were too scared to question his facts.”
“Did the Kellers or the giant see you?”
“No. We rescued their prisoner right out from under their noses. They still don’t know about it.”
“Hm-m.” Waterfield shifted uneasily. “So that’s how it all began. Little Mr. Glasgow has a persuasive way about him, I must say.”
“The Kellers say that he got away with two murders on the expedition, and he means to have Paul killed to cover up.”
“What about Katherine?”
“He has a strange notion that he can win her over. He did his best to get me to do away with Paul. He and his sister made me believe there would be a secret three hundred thousand dollar reward if I happened to bring Paul back dead instead of alive.”
Waterfield almost jumped out of his seat. “Great guns, Hurley. This is the most colossal piece of trickery I ever heard of. They must have thought you weren’t dry behind the ears, to use you the way they have.”
“The worst of it is, I kept falling for it,” George said, mopping his forehead. “The way they kept flashing their money and jewels in the presence of Venus people—”
“I know what you mean,” Waterfield said. “I’m familiar with the methods of some people, who use their wealth to excite the public.”
The ship was skimming over the ocean, returning to the Banrab base.
“I think I have a scheme, Hurley,” Waterfield said presently. “Dictator Glasgow is beginning to look as black as the devil s own black cat. I think we’ll put him to a test soon.”
“The scheme being what?”
“Call it ‘X’ for the present,” Waterfield said. “By the way, I believe you asked for a five minute interview—in private.”
George smiled. “Just a little request. It’s about Anna Pantella. Since you’re helping with the arrangements for the Banrab village, I thought maybe you could have a lot or two saved for her—I mean for a house. You see, her folks owned this Banrab land originally—”
“I see.”
“And she was there, in possession, when I found her.”
“Yes.”
“And she has a brother—in Venus—who might bring his wife and their kids to visit.”
“I think I understand.”
“And besides, she’ll need a place to live. Now you take me—I’m knocking around in space a lot. In fact, I’m figuring on a trip to Mercury soon. But if I were a girl—well, you know, they sort of hanker for a home and things. She doesn’t know I’m asking for this favor for her, you understand.”
“Hm-m—yes, you’re right, Hurley. They do sort of hanker—” Waterfield seemed to be studying George out of the corner of his very serious eyes. “I’ll take your problem into consideration. There’s one possible solution that may present itself quite naturally.”
“What’s that?”
“Some of the young men who recently arrived from Venus have already shown a natural interest in some of the attractive girls. Anna, obviously, is a very attractive girl.”
The space ship gave a little downward lurch and almost clipped a tree atop at the edge of the Banrab landing field. George muttered that he’d have to adjust the controls.
“I might add,” Waterfield went on, “that a few young men have spoken to me about the possibility of financing private homes. A village must have homes, you know. In due time the new earth will bring forth its own new popula—hey! do you always land with such a bump?”
“Control’s bad,” said George.
“So, as I was about to say, I’ll see that Anna gets the fairest kind of a break on her land—if we put our village here. Frankly, after what we’ve seen today, I’m not so sure. But speaking of Anna—if she wants a home—well, I’m sure things are going to be happening fast.”
The space ship came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the field.
“Control’s bad,” George said. “I’ve got to take up some slack.”
CHAPTER XXXII
The revolt against Garritt Glasgow was gathering momentum. Little evidences of it were cropping up everywhere.
“Popovers for lunch!” Mamma Mountain announced in her hearty voice. They were serving lunch out under the trees again. Now that both Keller and the giant were off the planet, the camp had emerged from the caves and taken to the open air. Mamma Mountain, assisted by Papa and a few other docile workers, was at the height of her glory as self-appointed chef. Since most of the colony were busy with tools, working
on the space port, the village street, or the beginnings of truck gardens, they were glad to, have the food department handled by such a competent executive as Mamma.
“Popovers for lunch!” The announcement soon evolved into a gag—Mamma Mountain’s own—tinged with bitterness. There were popovers, all right, and they were delicious. Garritt Glasgow ate his fill hurriedly and went back to the cave where he had set up his private office. Then the gag began to pass around, from one person to another—but not to Glasgow’s porters or close friends.
“Which will you have, popovers or pushovers?” Mamma Mountain would ask whenever a boarder came back to the serving table for a second helping.
“What’s a pushover?” was the inevitable question.
Then Mamma would whisper something and the person would look around uncomfortably to be sure the words hadn’t been overheard.
George went back for a second helping to get the lowdown.
“Popovers or pushovers, Mr. Hurley?” Mamma asked, her eyes gleaming with something stronger than mischief.
“What’s a pushover?”
She whispered, “It’s a person that gets too close to the cliff after quarreling with Glasgow.”
George’s pulses jumped. This was dangerous talk. It was spreading. If the porters didn’t hear of it soon, some of Glasgow’s other followers would.
“You may be the next pushover, Mamma, if this kind of talk gets out on you.”
Mamma’s big brown eyes shot a serious warning at him. “I’ve been looking for you to be it, ever since your hand flew loose. I still can’t figure how he let that pass.”
“Glasgow and I are old buddies,” said George with a wink. “I’ve rescued him a couple of times.”
“The next time try to rescue somebody like Judge Lagnese. Our camp hasn’t been the same since we lost him. Funny business. Nobody’s been able to run it down.”
“Take it easy, Mamma.” George thought of Waterfield and ‘Plan X’ and wondered how soon things might break.
During the next several days “popovers or pushovers” became a sort of underground password. And there was another dangerous expression that had come into use. Anna’s words. “Give it to him!” Glasgow was always barking sharp orders, right and left, and he often forgot to cover his savage arrogance with a smooth tongue. Some listeners would retort, under their breath, “Give it to him!” The words added glory to George’s well remembered slap and at the same time added fuel to the fires of revolt.
George had succeeded in avoiding Glasgow most of the time. When they passed, at meal times, George could imagine that the sly little dictator meant to call him on the carpet soon. They were studying each other, knowing there was about to be a clash.
Plan X was sprung shortly before the next arrival of the Venus Express. It began when George returned from a two-day absence from the Banrab camp—an absence that was unexplained and unauthorized. He came in fast, and the dust rolled up from the landing gear as he jerked to a stop. He bounded out.
“Where’s Glasgow? I want to see him at once.”
“You’d better see him,” a surly porter replied.
“He’ll want to see me,” George snapped. “I’ve got news for him.”
“What’s happened.”
“That’s for Glasgow to know,” he said sharply.
“All right, Tight Mouth. He’s up the hill in his office.” The porter turned to a telephone that had been rigged up temporarily to permit communications between the valley and the cave. He called Glasgow and announced that Hurley had come and was in a dither to see him. That was all right with George.
At the cave entrance another porter and Poppendorf were standing guard. Poppendorf squared his big shoulders and thrust his hard jaw forward.
“If you get away with this, the boss is slipping. Where the hell have you been the last two days?”
“Out riding on a breeze,” said George.
“Not so fast. You don’t get by here till we check up.” Poppendorf swung his arm up with a stiff-arm motion, not quite grazing Hurley’s jaw, ending his gesture by brushing his own hair back quite casually.
“I have an appointment,” George said. He didn’t intend to be held up by any trifling quarrels. He knew that Waterfield and two other witnesses were inside the cave, hidden, waiting. That was according to the plan. They had prepared their hiding place, working carefully at odd moments over a period of days.
Poppendorf wanted to make trouble. He wanted to give George a verbal dressing down for all the indiscriminate running around George had been doing. He ranted for a few minutes, and George saw that the resentment and jealousy which all of Glasgow’s porters felt toward him, because of his space ship, was particularly strong in Poppendorf.
“Your damned ship ought to be appropriated,” Poppendorf said. “If anybody needs to get around, it’s Glasgow . . . Don’t argue with me, or I’ll settle this business right now. If you were laid up with a few broken bones, your ship wouldn’t stand idle.”
A professional thug, George thought. He was a man of about George’s weight, thickly muscled and raw-boned. The warm weather had caused him to discard the upper half of his clothing. He wore a pair of dirty white slacks and carried a pistol at his hip.
“I have an appointment with Glasgow,” George repeated.
The porter in the black uniform, a trifle nervous over the glares that were passing between George and Poppendorf, started into the cave to check the matter with Glasgow. Poppendorf brushed past him. “Stick with your door, Pete. And while you’re at it, park this man’s firearms.” Then he called in, making some effort to sound dignified, and announced George’s presence.
“All right, all right, send him in,” Glasgow’s voice echoed back through the cavern walls.
At last, George thought. Poppendorf flung a final remark, “Your damned ship ought to be appropriated.”
George drew a few deep breaths as he walked along the dimly lighted tunnel. The job he had before him must be done right. He had rehearsed it in his mind several times, but he knew he wasn’t good at this sort of bluffing. Already he was fighting to steady his nerves. The encounter with Poppendorf hadn’t helped matters.
“Mr. Glasgow.”
“Well, Hurley. It’s about time we had a talk.”
“I have some very important news—”
“Before you begin. Hurley, I hope you’re not going to do any accidental slapping.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Because if you are, Poppendorf is ready to deal with you. Now, what’s on your mind?” Glasgow, sitting in a folding chair, propped his feet on the rough box that served as a desk. “News, you say? Let’s have it.”
“Mr. Glasgow, a lot of things have happened to us since Anna Pantella and I first found you in the Mogo space boat. The earth looked pretty hopeless to all three of us that night when we escaped the giant and the Kellers. Then you took my ship and got up to Venus and got things started—”
“What are you driving at?”
“You depended on me for a lot of things, Glasgow.” George’s rehearsed words came out solid. “Sometimes I let you down. But sometimes I turned an unexpected trick for you, like that time I picked you out of the air when the wingman was flying off with you.”
“Have you come here to ask for some favor?”
“I’ve just done a favor for you, Glasgow. One you didn’t think I’d do. You ought to be happy over it. You know what I promised if I got that reward.”
Glasgow’s face began to twitch. “You’re talking in circles. What’s happened?”
“You remember that three hundred thousand dollars your sister told me about?” he said.
“Not so loud, damn it. That was a private offer. One of our friends—what the hell? You’re not telling me that you—”
“How was that offer stated, Glasgow?”
The little man leaned forward on his desk, trying to read what was in George’s mind. “The deal was, you were to go after Keller. You were to b
ring him in. If you happened to bring him in dead instead of alive, a friend of mine would present you with three hundred thousand dollars.”
“That’s right. And I agreed to kick back a nice hunk for the benefit of the Banrab colony—”
“For headquarters for the director—that was your offer.”
“All right,” said George. “How soon do I get the three hundred thousand?”
“What are you driving at? You brought him in alive. Or rather, he came of his own free will. And by the damnable hand of the giant, he got away from us.”
“I’m ready to bring him in dead, now,” said George, as cold as steel.
Garritt Glasgow’s hand slipped off the edge of the makeshift desk. His jaw fell loose on its hinges. He spoke breathlessly, eagerly.
“Where is he?”
“Somewhere on the other side of this planet.”
“With the giant?”
“No. The giant dumped him and went on his way—probably to Mars, though I wouldn’t swear to it.”
“Mars. My sister’s on Mars. When did this happen?”
“Yesterday evening.”
Glasgow leaped to his feet. “Take me to Mars. You’ve got a ship. I’ve got the dough to pay you—
“Let’s see it.”
“She’s got it—on Mars. Come on, don’t stand there. Get that damned flivver of yours into the ether, quick!”
“Don’t hurry me,” said George. “First I want that three hundred thousand dollars.”
“Later. Later. Come on—”
“Three hundred thousand.”
Glasgow whirled back to his desk, glaring. “What is this, a holdup! How do I know you’ve killed him?”
“I’ll take you to his body. I shot him in the back—sort of accidentally-like—the same as I slapped you that time. I didn’t exactly know how I was going to do it. But that three hundred thousand—I got to thinking. I figured I could make up to you for that slap if I’d—”
“Sh-sh!”
“What’s the matter?”
“You think I want those guards to know wanted him killed?”
“Did you?”
“Shut up, you idiot.”