The 13th Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack

by Lester Del Rey

  Out on the ways that had been thrown up hastily, gaunt girders were shaping into position to form her skeleton, and some of the outer sheathing was in position. The stubby air fins that would support her in the air until speed was reached were lying beside her, ready to be attached, and a blower was already shooting in insulation where her double hull was completed. Space itself would be insulation against heat loss, but the rays of the unfiltered sunlight needed something to check them, or the men inside the ship would have been boiled long before Mars was reached. Hsi Kung was running the blower, babbling at it in singsong Peking dialect. At a time like this, they were all common laborers when there was work to be done.

  Erin pulled on coveralls and reached for the induction welder, while Jimmy Shaw consulted his blueprints. “Wonder why Doug hasn’t shown up?” the boy asked. “He usually gets back from the mainland before morning, but it’s nine already. Hmm. Looks like Hank’s machined enough hull plates to keep us busy until supper.”

  “It does, though where he finds time is a puzzle. He must work all night. We need other workers, if we’re to compete with Stewart’s force. Even counting Kung, eight men aren’t enough for this job.” Erin began climbing up the wooden framing that gave access to the hull, wondering whether his heart would bother him today. Sleep had been slow coming the night before, and he was tired. This work was too heavy for an old man, though he hadn’t thought of himself as old before. Certainly he didn’t look old.

  “Wonder why Doug goes to town once a week?” he asked.

  Jimmy chuckled. “Don’t you know? He’s found a girl friend there, believe it or not. Some woman has either taken pity on him, or he’s found his nerve at last.”

  Doug wasn’t exactly the sort that would appeal to women. His short, scrawny figure was all angles, and his face, topped by its thin mop of reddish hair, was vaguely like that of an eagle. Then, too, he usually stuttered around women.

  Erin smiled faintly. “It’s a shame, in a way, that Doug’s so shy around girls. I hope he has better luck with this one than that other.”

  “So do I, though I wouldn’t tell him so. He’s been as cocky as a rooster since he found this Helen.” Jimmy settled into position with a grunt and began moving a sheet into place as it came up on the magnetic grapple Jack was working below him. “Okay, fire away.”

  The welder was heavy, and the heat that poured up from the plates sapped at Morse’s strength. He was conscious of sudden relief at noon when a shout came up to him. He released the welder slowly, rubbing tired muscles, and looked down at the weaving form of Doug Wratten. One of the physicist’s thin arms was motioning him down erratically.

  “Drunk!” Jimmy diagnosed in amazement. “Didn’t know he touched the stuff.”

  There was no question of Doug’s state. His words were thick and muffled as Erin reached him. “Go ’head ’n’ fire me,” he muttered thickly. “Fire me, Erin. Kick m’ out ’thout a good word. I’m a low-down dirty dog, tha’s what.”

  “For being drunk, Doug? That hardly justifies such extreme measures.”

  “Huh-uh. Who’s drunk? It’s tha’ girl…I foun’ the leak we been worr’n’ about.”

  Erin got an arm around him and began moving toward the bunk-house, meaning to pay no attention to his mumbled words. But the last ones struck home. The leak of information to Stewart’s camp had been troubling them all for the last two months. “Yes?” he encouraged.

  “ ’S the girl. She’s a spy for Stewart.” His voice stuck in his throat and he rumbled unhappily. “Use’a be his sec’tary; planted her on me. Jus’ usin’ me, tha’s all. Saw a letter she was writin’ him when I was waitin’ for her to come down. Din’t wait anymore…Jus’ usin’ me; tol’ me she was in’rested in my work. Tol’ me she loved me. Foun’ out all I knew…Better fire me, Erin.”

  “I think not, Doug. It might have happened to any of us. Why don’t you go to sleep?”

  Wratten rolled over in the bed as he was released, gagging sickly, and moaning to himself. “I love…Helen…Damn Helen!” As Erin closed the door, his voice came out, pleading. “Don’t tell Jimmy; he’d laugh.”

  Jimmy stood at the door as Erin came out. “Poor devil,” he said. “I heard enough to know what happened. Anything I can do for him?”

  “Let him sleep it off. I’ll have a talk with him when he wakes up and see what I can do about bolstering his faith in himself.”

  “Okay,” Jimmy agreed, “but it was a dirty, rotten trick of Stewart’s, using him like that. Say, Dad’s up at the shack swearing at something else Stewart’s done, and yelling for you. I just went up there.”

  Erin grunted, and turned hastily toward the temporary office building they had erected. It was always something, except when it was more than one thing. First the fire, the trouble with the patent, now safely squelched, difficulty in obtaining tools, and one thing after another, all meant to wear down their morale. This was probably one of the master strokes that seemed to happen almost at regular intervals.

  Sometimes he wondered whether either of them would ever succeed; forty years of rivalry had produced no results except enough to keep them trying. Now, when success for one of them seemed at hand, the feud was going on more bitterly than before, though it was mostly one-sided. And war was menacing the world again, as it would always threaten a world where there were no other escape valves for men’s emotions. They needed a new frontier, free of national barriers, where the headstrong could fight nature instead of their brothers.

  He had hoped to provide that escape valve in leading men to another planet, just as Stewart hoped. But would either of them succeed? Erin was sure of Stewart’s ultimate failure—explosives couldn’t do the trick; though he had enough of a sense of humor to realize that Stewart was saying the same thing about him and his method. If only there could be peace until he finished!

  Shaw was waiting impatiently, swearing coldly in a voice Erin hadn’t heard since the days when Tom was tricked out of a discovery by a company for which he’d worked as metallurgist, and he joined the men on the island. “The mail’s in,” he said, breaking off his flow of invectives. “Here’s a present from Captain Hitchkins—says he can’t get the cargo of beryllium alloy we ordered made up. And here’s the letter from the Beryl Company.”

  Erin picked up the letter and read it slowly. It began with too profuse apologies, then cited legal outs: “—will realize that we are not breaking our contract by this action, since it contains a clause to the effect that our own needs shall come first. Mr. G. R. Stewart, who has controlling interest in our company, has requisitioned our entire supply, and we are advised by our legal department that this contingency is covered by the clause mentioned. Therefore we can no longer furnish the alloy you desire. We regret—”

  He skimmed the passage of regret and polite lies, to center on a sentence at the end, which conveyed the real message, and revealed the source of the letter. “We doubt that you can secure beryllium alloy at any price, as we are advised that Mr. Stewart is using all that the market can supply. If such is not the case, we shall, of course, be glad to extend our best wishes in your enterprise.”

  “How about that?” he asked Shaw, pointing to the last sentence. “Have you investigated?”

  “Don’t need to. Hitchkins showed more brains than I gave him credit for. He scoured the market for us, on his own initiative, and beryllium just ain’t.” Shaw passed over the other letters that had come, reverting to his invectives. “Now what do we do?”

  “Without beryllium, nothing. We’ll have to get it, someway.” But Erin wondered. Whatever else Stewart was, he was thorough, and his last stroke had been more than the expected major move.

  V

  The supper table had turned into a conference room, since news of that importance was impossible to keep. Even Doug Wratten had partially forgotten his own troubles, and was watching Erin. Kung stood unnoticed in the doorway,
his moon face picturing the general gloom,

  Dutch Bauer finished his explanation and concluded. “So, that is it. No beryllium, no Santa Maria. Even aluminum alloys are too heavy for good design. Aluminum—bah! Hopeless.” He shrugged and spread his pudgy hands to show just how hopeless it was.

  Jimmy grunted and considered. “How about magnesium alloys—something like magnalium?” he asked, but without much hope. “It’s even lighter than beryllium—1.74 density instead of 1.8.”

  “Won’t work.” Their eyes had turned to Shaw, who was the metallurgist, and his answer was flat. “Alloys aren’t high enough in melting point, aren’t hard enough, and don’t have the strength of the one we’ve been using. When the ship uses the air for braking, or when the sun shines on it in space, we’ll need something that won’t soften up at ordinary temperatures; and that means beryllium.”

  “Then how about the foreign markets?” Jack wanted to know. “My fa…Mr. Stewart can’t control all of them.”

  Erin shook his head. “No luck. They’re turning all they can get into bombing planes and air torpedoes. They’re not interested in idealism.”

  “I liked that new helix, too.” Jack tapped his fingers on the table, then snapped them out flat. “Well, there goes a nice piece of applied atomics. We should have bought our own beryllium plant, I guess.”

  “And have to close down because Stewart gained control of the new process for getting beryllium out of its ores.” Shaw grunted. “We’d have had to fall back on the old process of extracting it by dissolving out in alkalis.”

  Erin looked up suddenly, staring at Shaw. “When I was first starting,” he said thoughtfully, “I considered buying one of the old plants. It’s still standing, all the machinery in place, but it’s been closed down by the competition of the new process. The owner’s hard up, and he can’t sell the place for love or money.”

  Jimmy’s face dropped its scowl and came forth with a fresh grin; even the mention of a faint hope was enough to send up his enthusiasm. “So we buy it or get him to open up, start using it, and go ahead in spite of Stewart. How much does the old system cost, Dad?”

  “About fifteen hundred dollars a ton, using a couple of tricks I could show them. Going to try it, Erin?”

  Erin nodded silently, but the frown was still on his face as he got up and went out to the new office where he could use the visiphone. The plant had a maximum capacity of four tons a week, which was hardly adequate, and there were other objections, but trying would do no harm. The frown was heavier when he came back.

  “Sanders will open up,” he reported, “but he’ll need money to fix the plant up. He agrees to turn the plant over to us, and furnish the alloy at the price Tom mentioned, but we’ll have to invest about sixty thousand in new equipment. Add that to the cost of the metal, and it runs to a rather steep figure.”

  “But—”

  “I know. I’m not kicking about the money, or wouldn’t be if I had it to spend.” Erin hadn’t meant to tell them of his own troubles, but there was no way to avoid it now. “Stewart left nothing to chance. The stocks and investments I had began to slip a month ago, and they kept slipping. My brokers advised me that they have liquidated everything, and I have about ten cents on a dollar left; today’s mail brought their letter along with the other news.”

  Jack swore hotly. “Da—Stewart always could ruin a man on the market. Erin, I’ve got a decent legacy from my mother, and we’re practically running a co-operative here, anyhow. It’s all yours.”

  Erin saw suddenly just what the loss of the boy had meant to Stewart, and the last of numbness from his own son’s death slipped away. His smile was as sweet as a woman’s, but he shook his head. “Did you read your mail today?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because Stewart would know his own son well enough to take precautions. See if I’m not right.”

  They watched intently as the letters came out of Jack’s pocket and were sorted. He selected one bulky one and ripped it open hastily, drawing out the paper where all could see, skimming over it until it formed a complete picture. “ ‘It almost seems that someone is deliberately trying to ruin you,’” he read.

  “ ‘Our best efforts have failed completely—’ Damn! There’s about enough left to pay for the new machinery needed, and that’s all.”

  Doug came out of his trance. “I won’t be needing my savings for the future now,” he said grimly. “It’s not much, but I’d appreciate your using it, Erin. And I don’t think any of us will want the salary you’ve been paying us.”

  The others nodded. All of them had been paid more than well, and had had no chance to spend much of their salary. Their contributions were made as a matter of course, and Erin totaled them.

  “It may be enough,” he said. “Of course, we form a closed corporation, all profits—if there are any from this—being distributed. I’ll have the legal papers drawn up. Perhaps it will be enough, perhaps not, but we can put it to the test. Our big trouble is that we need new workers, men to help Hank particularly. Most of the machining will have to be done here on the island now.”

  “Mebbeso you fella catehee plenty man.” Kung hobbled forward to the table, a dirty leather sack in his hands. “You fella catchee li’l planet, fin’ allee same time catchee time makee free.” His jargon went on, growing too thick for them to understand.

  Tom Shaw held up a protesting hand. “Talk chink,” he ordered. “I spent five years there once, so I can get the lingo if you take your time.”

  Kung threw him a surprised and grateful glance, and broke into a rambling discourse, motioning toward the sky, the bag in his hand, and counting on his fingers.

  Shaw turned back to the others.

  “He says he wants to join up, putting in the money he’s been saving for his funeral when they ship his body back to China. Wants to know if his race will be allowed on the other planets when we reach them?”

  “Tell him the planets are big enough for all races, provided ships are built to carry them.”

  “Very good, boss fella, savvee plenty.” Kung lapsed again into Peking dialect.

  “He says he can get us workers then, who’ll obey with no questions asked, and won’t cost us more than enough to buy them cheap food. His tong will be glad to furnish them on his say-so. Since Japan conquered them and they digested the Japanese into their own nation again, it seems they need room to expand.

  “Darn it, Erin, with even the Chinese cook behind you, we’re bound to beat Stewart.”

  VI

  Captain Hitchkins had left the unloading to the ruffian he called his mate and was examining the progress made on the island. His rough English face was a curious blend of awe and skepticism. “Naow was that ‘ere a ship, mitey,” he told Erin, “I’d s’y ’twas a maost seaworthy job, that I would, thaough she’s lackin’ a bit o’ keel. ’N’ I m’y allaow as she’s not bad, not bad atawl.”

  Erin left him talking, paying as little attention to his speech as the captain would have to a landlubber’s comments on the tub of a freighter. Hitchkins was entirely satisfied with that arrangement. The Santa Maria could speak for herself.

  The hull was completed, except for a section deliberately left open for the admission of the main atomic generator, and a gleaming coat of silver lacquer had been applied, to give the necessary luster for the deflection of the sun’s rays. In comparison to a seagoing ship, she was small, but here on the ways, seen by herself, she loomed up like some monster out of a fantasy book. Even with the motors installed and food for six years stocked, she still held a comfortable living space for the eight men who would go with her.

  “I’ve heard as ’aow they’ve a new lawr passed, mikin’ aout against the like o’ such, thaough,” Hitchkins went on. “Naow w’y would they do that?”

  “People are always afraid of new things, Captain. I’m not worried about it, though.” Erin turne
d over the bills of lading. “Have any trouble this trip?”

  “Some o’ the men were minded the p’y was a bit laow. But they chinged their minds w’en they come to, that they did.” He chuckled. “I’ve a bit o’ a w’y wi’ the men, sir.”

  They were back at the dock now, watching the donkey engines laboring under the load of alloy plates that was being transferred in the machine shop. The Chinese laborers were sweating and struggling with the trucks on which these were hauled, but they grinned at him and nodded. He had no complaint with the labor Kung had obtained. If the money held out, things looked hopeful.

  Jack Stewart located him, and yelled. “There’s a Mr. Stewart at the office,” he said flatly. “He came while you were showing Captain Hitchkins the ship, and is waiting for you. Shall I tell him to go on waiting?”

  “No, I’ll see him; might as well find out the worst.” Stewart had visiphoned that he was coming under a temporary truce, so Erin was not surprised. “Carry on, Captain.” He turned after Jack toward the shack, wishing the boy would treat his father a little less coldly. It wasn’t good for a man to feel that way about his father, and he wished Stewart no personal problems.

  Jack swung off toward the ship as they sighted Stewart, and the older man’s eyes followed the retreating figure.

  “He’s a good boy, Greg,” Erin said, not unkindly. “I didn’t plan this, you know.”

  “Skip it. He’s no concern of mine, the stubborn ass.” Stewart held out a newspaper. “I thought you might be interested to know that the law has been passed against the use of atomic power in any spaceship. It just went through the state legislature and was signed by the governor.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit high-handed? I thought that interstate and international commerce was out of the hands of the state legislature.”

  Stewart tapped the paper. “But there’s no provision against their ruling on interplanetary commerce, Erin. A few scare stories in the Sunday supplements, and a few dinners to the right men did the trick. They were sure the Martians might find the secret and turn atomic power back on us.”