Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

by Harry Harrison

  "Welcome back, gang. As you can see, we were ready to go as soon as we got your message. We jumped here, and an automatic tracer zeroed in on your radio broadcast, and the new magnet beams, developed in the laboratories of the Hagg-Inder under the tutelage of the eons-old wisdom of the Garnishee, whisked you up. Now, so you don't think I'm just flying in circles and beating my gums, you will notice that below, as we talked, the gunner on the cheddite projector has been peeling back layer after layer of that immense fortress, hurling the layers into the sun of course, to expose the laboratory. Ahh, I believe that is it."

  "It is indeed!" X-9 agreed, hurling the thought at them, since he had been telepathically following the conversation.

  "Sic 'em!" Jerry jubilated as the flying fortress of the 747 dived like a hawk into the ruins. A light touch on the wheel, aided by a quick projection from the cheddite projector landed them right in the middle of the lab among the fleeing Hagg-Loos, a good number of whom were squashed by the wheels as they dropped.

  Even as the wheels hit the combat doors (newly installed) dropped open, and from the cargo compartments roared weapon-wielding Hagg-Inder warriors, while from the cabin, no less roaring or weapon-wielding, came the Garnishee fighting men. Carnage was instantly spread among the benches. The ravening Hagg-Loos asked no quarter, nor would they grant it, fighting back with anything that came to hand, benches, crystal retorts, bars of metal, urinalysis samples; they were utterly fearless. But fearless, they died under the assault of the allies, who swept all before them.

  "Would you kindly get us unstuck from this wing?" Jerry said, not too graciously as they thrashed impotently under the attraction of the magnet ray.

  "Sorry about that," John apologized, cutting the power. They dropped to the floor, and as they fell, Jerry saw a sight that made his blood run cold.

  "Over there!" he bellowed into the microphone hooked to the external speakers. "Two of the crustacean swine are escaping with the cheddite projector. Stop them at all costs!"

  Even as he spoke, the robot machine was hurling its mass across the room, plowing through any Hagg-Loos foolish enough to offer resistance. There were two of the enemy scientists carrying the machine, and one fell instantly to a lightning bolt from the forward gun. But the other, protected by the bulk of his fallen companion, dived for a secret door, pushing through it and closing it behind him. Jerry, in close pursuit, could not stop in time, and the machine plowed into the door with a horrible metallic clanging, then short-circuited. Electricity arced through the metal shell, and the occupants screamed sharply and leaped up as this same electricity raced through their metal chairs making a fundamental difference. An instant later the fighting warriors were there, dragging the disabled machine aside, battering down the door and rushing through the opening, led by the bellowing Lord Prrsi, who was shouting mighty oaths and war cries.

  "There the blighter goes – tally-ho!" and the hunt streamed on.

  But the moment's respite at the door had been enough for the fleeing Hagg-Loos scientist. He hurled himself and his precious burden into a monorail car that vanished into a tunnel mouth followed closely by bullets and blasts of energy.

  "In a car heading due north," Lord Prssi reported.

  "Pursuit impossible since this is the only car."

  "North," Jerry mused as he struggled out of the ruined machine, and with Chuck following on the end of a string, Slug-Togath behind, he bounded athletically and hurriedly across the ruined laboratory and into the cool embrace of the Pleasantville Eagle. "North, that sounds familiar. Do you have a tracer on the cheddite?" he asked, sweat bursting from every pore.

  "What has happened to Chuck!" Sally screamed, wringing her hands before the empty-eyed husk that had once been the man who loved her with every fiber of his being.

  "Got him," John said, fingers rushing over the cheddite tracer controls. "Heading north at a great rate."

  "Into the air and follow! I have a funny feeling that I know what is going on."

  "Chuckee hungry," the husk muttered, and, through bloodshot, gummy eyes, it made out the round female form hand wringing before him. All those bumps meant something, the elusive memory was there – yes, it had it!

  "Chuckee hungry!" the husk bellowed and leaped, tearing Sally's clothes from her until she stood before them, naked except for the black wisp of her Maidenform bra and even wispier black panties.

  "Enough of that, Chuck-thing," Jerry sighed and karated it into unconsciousness once more, then hopped around the room on one leg, sucking at his swollen karate hand which he had forgotten about. Sally vanished, screaming weakly, and they turned back to the more important business at hand.

  "Due north," John said grimly. "I have a sneaking suspicion."

  "So do I," Jerry agreed. "And isn't that an extinct volcano just coming into view?"

  "The old ploy with the volcano and the spaceship," John laughed coldly. "But we have them this time. The instant it rockets into the air you get it with the cheddite projector, and zingo! end of the fiendish race of Lortonoi."

  "You're on – and here it comes!" Jerry jammed his face against the viewfinder as smoke billowed from the mountain and a great spaceship hurled itself into view. He focused with a quick turn on the controls and jammed down on the firing button.

  The Lortonoi ship vanished.

  "You did it!" John shouted, slapping his comrade on the back with delight. "One blast, and there he went. What a shot!"

  Jerry smiled sheepishly and covered his face with one hand and peered out between his fingers.

  "Well, thanks, but you see, it didn't happen quite that way. It seems that the spacer vanished a millisecond before I pressed the button. Meaning. . . ."

  "Don't elaborate, I get the message."

  "Meaning that they have mastered the use of the cheddite projector and have fled with it, to wreak even further havoc through the civilized galaxy. But they'll not get away with it," he swore. "I have a tracer on them, and they are hopping with ten light-year jumps out that way, toward that cluster of stars. We'll fuel up and take off after them; we have no choice."

  "And I will help," swore Slug-Togath, who had entered,

  "and my Garnishee warriors will follow as well."

  "Not to mention the fact, chums, that we are ever so grateful on Hagg-Inder," came the beamed thought of Lord Prrsi. "Least we can do is pitch in and lend a hand, only civilized thing to do, you know."

  "That's it!" Jerry exulted, smashing his fist into his palm and wincing. "That's it! Don't you see what that means? For the very first time in the eons-old history of the universe the civilized, intelligent races are banding together against evil, to combat it wherever it is found. A band of brothers, fighting together, dedicated to the pursuit of liberty, equality, and fraternity."

  "I wouldn't exactly phrase it that way," Lord Prrsi commented. "I would rather say we are fighting for the maintenance of the class system and the continuancy of special privileges for the few."

  "Call it what you want," Jerry shouted, "it is still democracy. Our gallant little band will go forth, fighting against any odds, pushing out the frontiers of liberty. We chosen, noble few will stand forth alone, just as the Texas Ranger did on the frontier of our land many years ago."

  "You've said it, man," John broke in. "That's the word Rangers. Rangers of space, combating evil wherever we find it."

  "The Galaxy Rangers," Slug-Togath said in a hushed voice. "Where does an alien go to enlist?"

  15

  THEY SPEAK OF KRAKAR

  The great royal hall of the Hagg-Inder was gay with bunting, colorful with noble decorations, slippery underfoot with the perspiration of the humanoid races who found that, even with the air conditioning turned full on, what proved to be a cold chill for the Hagg-Inder was a scorching furnace for them. But no one cared! Today was an important day, so important that it would go down in galactic history forever. Today the Galaxy Rangers officially came into being. The future Rangers thronged the floor, looking up at the dais
where the king himself would pin on the first star of the first Ranger, number one, the lucky creature who would be commandant of the most powerful force for democracy that the lenticular galaxy had ever seen.

  There had been a small difference of opinion on who the commandant would be. Since the Pleasantville Eagle and the cheddite projector, the backbone of the force for the Rangers, belonged to the four Earthlings, it had been decided that one of them would fill the top post. Sally was a simple girl, and Chuck was out of the running as well, his brain still no more active than a squashed watermelon despite the efforts of the finest Hagg-Inder brain men, so the choice naturally fell upon the remaining two. Jerry felt that since he had invented the cheddite projector, he should be number one, but it was pointed out to him that the guy who invented the Monitor had not been admiral of the Union Navy, so he grumbled into silence. As far as the other races could tell, the Earthlings were identical in abilities, and either would suit. In the end, a deadlock set in, with equal feelings – or lack of feelings – for both Jerry and John. Since the king was throwing out the first ball, the decision was left to him, and he chose John without an instant's thought.

  "Discrimination," Jerry muttered to Sally where they sat sweating in the audience. "Just because he's black and they're black, they pick him without an instant's thought."

  "But, Jerry, darling," she reasoned, "isn't it always like that? After all, on our tree-shaded, Midwest, bible belt, WASP campus wasn't John the only black and he was the janitor?"

  He darted a suspicious look sideways out of narrowed brooding eyes. "What are you, a Commie or something?"

  "Shhh – the king is about to speak."

  A rustle of eager interest ran through the great hall on silent cat's feet and was replaced by a hushed siilence as the king clattered slowly forward.

  "Hagg-Inder, Earthlings, Garnishee, strange-looking creatures of many races. My mate and I wish to announce, upon this auspicious occasion, the founding of the soonto-be-historical, instantly galaxy famous organization by the name of. . . ." He blinked his faceted eyes at a metallic sheet on the stand before him. "An organization by the name of the Galaxy Rangers."

  Instant pandemonium filled the great hall as cheer after cheer split the red-hot air. It took a long time for the enthusiasm to die down, and the king could only be heard after portions of the floor under the noisiest spectators had been electrified.

  "With this bold band of brothers formed, the next need is for a gallant leader to lead these gallant warriors and, after careful democratic selection" – a single angry snort was ignored – "the Earthling John was nominated unanimously for this signal honor, and it is my privilege to present him with badge number one of the Galaxy Rangers."

  There were more cheers as John stepped forward and the king pinned the golden star upon his chest. John screamed hoarsely as the king ran three inches of pointed steel wire in John's pectoral muscle since, in the heat of the moment, he had forgotten that aliens pinned the pin to their clothing instead of drilling a hole in the chitin for attaching these kind of things. With shaking fingers John finished pinning on the golden star with the large number 1 upon it, the words "Galaxy Rangers" picked out neatly in diamonds, and turned to the microphone, blood seeping a ruddy patch into his clean white shirt.

  "Fellow Rangers, I greet you. I am going personally to pin Ranger star number two upon my old friend, Jerry Courteney, and after that it is your turn. Don't fight as you rush forward; there are stars enough for all. What an opportunity this is! Travel, education, career, the job of your choice, free medical and dental attention, and that can mean a lot – like, for instance, that alien there with more teeth than a piano keyboard, he'll really make out. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. We are here creatures of many different races; I count among the escaped prisoners from the DnDrf mines at least forty different species and who knows how many offspring from mixed marriages, all eager to join up. As further inducement to enlist, I mention the fact that we have no transport to take you back to your home worlds, and as soon as we Galaxy Rangers take off, the Hagg-Inder turn off the air conditioning and, zowie, it's two hundred and fifty degrees again. But don't let me attempt to pressure you in my enthusiasm. Let your conscience be your guide. And form a single line to the right, and anyone who doesn't want to come can just stay here and sweat it out. For, ha-ha, a long time."

  To a man, or really to an alien, they volunteered, and the Galaxy Rangers were already making a mark in history. But all was not happiness. Later, after the exhausting ceremonies, the Earthlings were sitting in the first-class lounge of the Pleasantville Eagle, having cocktails and chopped Ormoloo liver and facing one inescapable fact.

  "He's got about as much intelligence as a damp kitchen mop," Jerry said, nodding to his old buddy Chuck, who sat on the floor chewing happily on a shoelace and mumbling to himself.

  "Could the Hagg-Inder physicians do nothing?" Sally implored.

  John shook his head in an unhappy no. "They did their best, their top people, super mind readers and all that. Too far gone, they say, for their meager talents."

  "And their meager talents are the best in the galaxy," Jerry brooded. "So I guess we ought to start thinking about euthanasia next, as soon as we are sure about his will."

  "You cannot!" gasped Sally.

  "Why not! If he's going to sit around and drool like that for maybe fifty years more, he is not much good to anyone, including himself."

  "You are so cruel!"

  "I am not. I'll bet you that Chuck would want it that way. I certainly would if it came to the choice."

  "I say, not interrupting anything am I?" Lord Prrsi asked, poking one great faceted eye into the room.

  "Nothing important," Sally snapped "Just murder and such."

  "Well, yes, indeed. Then I'll just slip in and curl in the corner and turn my heater on high. Yes, thank you, I would appreciate one, very tasty." He smacked loudly as he drained a gallon of dry martini at a gulp. "I've come here rather unofficially, so to speak, and would appreciate it if what I tell you stayed inside these four walls. Or would it be six if you counted ceiling and floor?"

  "Prrsi, old sting-tail," Jerry said, "we are not in the mood to discuss state secrets at the present time, I hope you'll understand. We are discussing the fate of our incapacitated comrade Chuck."

  "Well, so am I, old fruit. But what I propose is highly illegal and dangerous."

  "What is it?" the three friends asked, leaning forward as one.

  "Well now. Hear me out, I beg, before interrupting. The tale I have to tell may sound strange, but I heartily assure you, it is true, though a well-kept secret. Far to the south of here just beyond Averno Desert are a range of sharp hills that the local peasants call the Mountains of Madness. Many people who venture into them are never heard of again. Many years ago the then king sent an expedition into the hills, armed, tough-minded Hagg-Inder, utterly fearless, sneering at alien or beast. They were gone for months, all track lost. Finally, a single survivor, chitin scratched and filthy, crawled into a village just beyond the mountains. He would not speak of what had occurred, and the peasants were not that interested in hearing the details in any case. But he was brought here and spoke with the king and the nobles, and since that time we in the royal house know about it but don't say a word."

  "About what?" Jerry asked, completely confused.

  "Didn't I ask you not to interrupt?" Lord Prrsi said peevishly, lashing his poison barb back and forth and rattling his claws on the walls. They were silent. "Well, to go on, if you don't mind. The secret has been kept ever since. In those mountains, in a certain valley, lives one of our race, an ancient of uncountable years. He lives in a cave by himself, a hermit mystic who does not wish to be disturbed as he thinks his centuries-old thoughts. If anyone comes close, he blasts their mind with a mind blast of such intensity that it cannot be averted. Now, as you know, our race has great mental powers, second only to the foul Lortonoi, and even against them we can hold our own. This wi
ll give you some idea of the mental strength of the hermit. Word of the mind blasting is common in the area, so of course, few venture that way. But before he died, the sole survivor told us that the hermit does not blast minds just like that. He asks the potential mind blastee three questions or riddles, and if they are answered, why, then the prisoner goes free."

  "What has that got to do with us?" asked Sally. "I don't want my mind blasted."

  "Goodness, no one would want to blast your sweet little mind, Earthling female. If I might continue. Now it seems that one of the party had been struck on the head by a fallen boulder and his chitin crushed in and his brains pretty well mashed to boot. He was being taken back for medical treatment, although all there agreed that his case was hopeless. But it wasn't! The hermit, with the incredible strength of his thoughts, restored the hapless victim to normality before asking the questions. His brain was so good he even got two of them right, though he muffed the third and had his restored brain instantly blasted."

  "I see," Jerry mused. "But it's a long chance."

  "It's the only chance," John said. The silence stretched as the two men looked each other in the eye; then it stretched some more.

  "Well, I'll go if you won't," Sally said, springing to her feet. "Can you get me a map, Prrsi?"

  "Ahh, you are indeed a stout brick, little Earthling chum. But, hope you won't mind my saying it, it will take a far sturdier mind than yours to stand up to that of the hermit. It will need a mind of at least seven hundred and forty-three IQ, a genius, a person of great moral fiber and strength, a natural-born leader, one healthily oversexed."