Planet Patrol: The Interplanetary Age (Star Service Book 1)

by Charles Lee Jackson II

  And move they did, scattering as the ship set down right next to the tower.

  Dave said, "They got a problem, let 'em talk to Sandy."

  BUT SANDY PENDRAGON just plowed through the crowd of angry race officials. In her wake, Wild Bill Webbe and Jack Flynn just pointed the mob back toward the ship.

  Presently, the trio arrived at the Olympia police station, where they were escorted to the chief's office. Sandy had spoken to the chief on the videophone, and so recognized him. She didn't know the other two men with him, but it was obvious they were big shots.

  How right she was. Chief Wigham introduced them as, "Mayor Donaldson; Viceroy Zucco," leader of the capital city and of the whole planet, respectively. Sandy shook the mayor's hand and exchanged formal bows with the Viceroy. His authority was roughly equivalent to her own, and the courtesies of such encounters were specific.

  Wigham got down to business. He used his clicker to activate the video monitor on the wall. "We received this a few minutes ago."

  The bound figure of an angry and disheveled Esther Cabanne appeared, a leather-clad pirate holding her head up with a tight grip on the woman's hair.

  "Go on, talk, lady," said an off-camera voice.

  "I know that voice," Sandy remarked.

  "So do we," Wigham said. "We voice-printed it. Morgas, Algernon, alias—"

  Sandy finished, "‘Cap'n’ Morgas, the pirate." The man who had kidnapped her on the verge of her first assignment, a move that had led to his own downfall. Apparently he hadn't fallen down far enough.

  On the tape, Cabanne spoke. "This message is for the manager of Cabanne Industries, Mars. I am the guest of some friends in G—" a snap of the head stopped her from saying more. Apparently getting the message, she continued.

  "My friends have discussed with me an interesting new investment opportunity, and I have decided to accept it.

  "Have my lawyer cash a draft for one hundred million Sovereigns and be ready to be informed where to bring it. This is very important. I am in no danger, but my new friends are somewhat concerned about news of this deal leaking out. Since it involves law-enforcement, they are particularly wary of the police, and I have agreed to keep them out of this.

  "I'll be in touch."

  "The manager sent us a copy immediately," Wigham explained. "That's when I called you."

  "She was obviously being forced to demand a ransom," Webbe said.

  "Yes. Morgas was trying to be clever, but that was sort of lame," Jack Flynn added.

  "This is too big for us," Wigham said. "But we can't allow the ransom to be paid. You have to rescue her. She's one of the most influential people in the System."

  Sandy made a moue. "She's one of the most annoying people in the System. Do we have to save her?"

  The Martian officials were appalled at this attitude.

  Jack gave her the nudge. "Think about it, Your Grace. If we save her, she'll be beholden to us."

  Sandy thought a moment. Then a big smile broke out across her face. "She'll have a fit," she said.

  The Martians were confused. They didn't know about Sandy and Cabanne on Mercury.

  Sandy Pendragon pantomimed rolling up her sleeves, and said, "Let's get to it."

  Chapter Two

  Ya Takes Yer Chances

  ESTHER CABANNE DIDN'T move. Each of the tiny picture elements representing her was frozen in the "pause" mode of the video player, shining out from several monitors in the room. The Viceroy, the Mayor, the Chief of Police, and three trusted officers were each intently studying the image.

  But they weren't looking at the Cabanne: They were looking at the background of the image. Behind the people was a wall, and in that wall was set a window. And through that window could be seen part of a building.

  "I'm sure I know that place," one of the cops said. Another was of the same opinion. "I just can't think where."

  Wild Bill, sitting with his partners across the small Command Center, asked, "Where have both of you been assigned?"

  "Oh, Jeez... Coleridge," the cop said. His fellow shook his head. "...Bradbury..." Another negative. "...Garrick... ."

  The other brightened. "I pulled a two-year hitch at the Garrick station-house."

  Sandy Pendragon looked up from a map. "Didn't Miss Fancy-pants say ‘Guh’ just before the pirate yanked on her hair?"

  Wigham nodded, then snapped his fingers. "Now I recognize that building. It's the municipal house in Garrick."

  Both cops agreed.

  Sandy turned to the street map of Garrick.

  Garrick, one of the oldest modern communities on Mars, had been built up around the grave of a twentieth-century Earthman, better known by his alias, King's-Ex. As a leader of the criminal cartel Continent-Eight, he had led an expedition to the red planet in the nineteen seventies. Though he arrived safely, the strain of the trip was too much, and he died of a heart attack. His last wish was to be buried where he fell, the lone Earthman buried on Mars. How was he to know that there had been an entire civilization of Earth people who had been brought to Mars a millennium earlier, almost all of whom were buried there?

  Given its origins, it is not surprising that the criminal element has gravitated there. Its proximity to the Martian highlands was also a factor.

  Sandy gestured at the map. "Show us this building."

  Chief Wigham placed a heavy finger on one block. "Right here. And to see that part of the building, they'd have to be..." he studied the chart a moment, "somewhere along here." He traced a line along King Street, north of the indicated block.

  "What's the quickest way to Garrick?" Sandy asked. "That doesn't involve a space ship?"

  "The bullet train goes to Bradbury. That's about half-way. Aircar from there, I guess. Maybe two hours."

  "Fast enough. Let's go. We can plan on the way." Her Grace jumped up and headed for the door.

  Wigham caught Jack Flynn's attention. "This is a job for the Marshal, isn't it? Should the Princess be going?"

  "You're welcome to suggest that to her, Chief."

  Wigham paused, turned to appeal to Viceroy Zucco. "Highness, you have the authority to stop her."

  Zucco shrugged. "I didn't get where I am today arguing with the Nobility."

  "Us, neither," Wild Bill spoke for his ship.

  Jack gestured for the door. "We'd better get goin', or she'll plan it all out without us."

  The two Service men made their exits.

  TRAFFIC WAS AT a standstill at the big railway terminal. The huge, mostly subarean structure was built like an old Earth metropolitan train station, with lots of places for people to loiter, except that the bullet trains arrived and departed through underground tubes. A wall display showed that the system ran from Coleridge in the west to Bradbury in the east, leaving about six thousand miles of the planet unserviced. Garrick, as well as the tourist spots of Utopia and Norview, and the research station in Argyre Planitia, were off the route.

  A big tote board listing all arrivals and departures was blank, and though the lobby was full of people, they all seemed to be watching television.

  The Service trio approached the information kiosk near the departure lounge. No one seemed to be in attendance. Sandy rapped her knuckles on the counter top.

  "Just a minnit," came a voice from inside. Sandy leaned over the counter to find a man sitting in a comfy chair, watching the race on a monitor.

  "Hey!" she snapped. "Now!"

  Grumbling, he got up and came to the counter. "I don't know what the hurry is. There's no service until seven o'clock."

  "And why is that?"

  "Why, everybody's watching the big race. Nobody but an idiot would be trying to use the trains now."

  "Well, we want to use them. And right now."

  "Sorry, lady. No service 'til seven."

  "Do you have any idea to whom you are speaking?"

  "I don't care if you're the Queen of Sheba, lady."

  Sandy Pendragon took a deep breath, and scowled at the poor little man.
Jack and Bill stepped back.

  Her badge was on the belt of her jacket, and she pulled it off and displayed it to the information clerk. He swallowed hard and looked like he might faint.

  But he said, "... I—I'm sorry, Ma'am. But I don't know what I can do. The engineers are all off duty."

  "You ever run a train?" she asked, pointedly.

  The little man shook his head vigorously. "No, no. But," he had a sudden thought, "the station manager used to. And he's here."

  "Get him."

  The little man scooted away, relieved to be getting away from the woman. A Princess, for cryin' out loud.

  AS THE RACE continued, the great cone of Olympus loomed before the flyers. Jerry Cabanne had, through superior skill and dogged determination, worked his way up to third place. He had been assisted in this advance by three other racers who had already dropped out, but he'd passed the other two fair and square.

  FoMarsCo and the Sangan were neck-and-neck, swooping and interweaving their flight-paths. Abruptly, the alien's engine sputtered to life, and he went into a dive.

  Jerry didn't understand this, until a moment later when the ultralight arced back up, using the speed gained in the dive, and peeled off to the left. He was going over the top, trying for the spectacular finish to the first lap.

  FoMarsCo, though, plowed straight ahead, heading for a close skirt of the volcano at about the forty thousand foot level.

  Jerry decided he knew what he was doing, and headed after him, keeping just to his left and a hundred feet higher.

  He'd win this race or know the reason why.

  A hundred and some miles back, the little Dodge kept plugging along. He'd lose or know the reason why.

  THE SHORT PROCESSION rolled down the moving walkway to the platform. A special train had been called up to run them out to end of track, and the manager was waiting at the throttle. The bullet trains were all-electromagnetic, and zoomed through the tubes without touching them.

  Jack Flynn bounded ahead, swinging aboard the cab. He wanted to watch the engineer; Wild Bill and Sandy retired to a club car, to go over their plans.

  But they never got to make any.

  As soon as the doors whooshed closed, the air-conditioning system came on. Within seconds the two were slumped over the furniture, victims of knock-out gas.

  Two gas-masked pirates appeared from the washroom, and gathered up the Princess. "Where's t' ot'er guy?" one wondered.

  "T'is ain't a quiz show," the other snapped. "We gotta move!" They hustled her limp form out the rear hatch.

  A few moments later, the bullet train rose on its cushion of magnetism and zoomed off for Bradbury.

  WHEN ALLESANDRA PENDRAGON awoke, she wasn't sure what had happened. The gas used left no ill effects, so she found herself clear-headed and ready for action. Unfortunately, she also woke up securely bound, and bare-handed. She was draped over a big old couch in a shabby-looking windowless room. Across from her was a battered old chest of drawers, with her glove and gauntlet on top.

  "Ye didn't t'ink we'd f'get yer little toy, now, did ye?"

  She started at the sound of that voice, and craned her head around to get a look at the speaker. Yes, it was Morgas. Morgas, who had good reason to recall the BLASER concealed in her gauntlet.

  And Cabanne was with him.

  But she wasn't tied up.

  "I thought you were a prisoner," Sandy said.

  "And did you think you could rescue me?" Cabanne laughed.

  "Bill and Jack will—"

  Morgas cut her off. "Will be lookin' down in t'at rat-hole Garrick f'r hours. By t'en y'll be a memory, Roy."

  He saw her looking at her gauntlet, so far away. "Argh, t'at t'ing won't do y' no good. We took it from ye, first t'ing.

  "But it's outta juice. Or broken. T'at won't help y' excape."

  Esther Cabanne brushed some stray hair back into place. "Maybe this will teach you not to mess with your betters."

  "Betters? Gran'ma, I've only got one ‘better’. And you aren't him."

  Cabanne just made a face, turned to the captain. "This should do it. I'll be on my way. If you'd like to stop by my office, I'll get you your money in the morning."

  Morgas licked his chops and looked apologetic. "Arrrgh, well, I'm sorry about t'at, Mis'ess, but I discussed it wit' me crew, and, well, t'ere's been a change a' plans."

  Cabanne frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "Y' see, it's t'is way," he began. Two pirates immediately sprang from the shadows and whipped a cord around the woman, hog-tying her in a flash. "We've decided t'ere's more money t' be made really holdin' y' f'r ransom."

  Cabanne began to struggle, to no avail. After they got her wrists bound, they dumped her on the davenport next to Sandy.

  The Princess, who had figured out what was going on from the dialogue, smirked at her new fellow prisoner. "Maybe this will teach you not to mess with pirates."

  Esther Cabanne started to curse, at the Princess, at Morgas and his crew, at the system in general. Presently the pirates had to gag her to spare their poor shell-like ears.

  "HEY! HEY, WAKE up!" rang in Wild Bill Webbe's ears. Something slapped his face, and he opened his eyes. Jack Flynn was kneeling over him, looking worried.

  "What's the matter?" Bill asked.

  "That's what I wanta know. Where's Sandy?"

  Bill shook his head, looked around. "I dunno. Where're we?"

  "About a hundred miles from nowhere. If I hadn't come back here... ."

  Wild Bill collected his wits. "If you hadn't gone up front in the first place, we'd all have been knocked out. It must’ve been the pirates – and they've taken Sandy."

  Jack helped the marshal to a chair. "But the kidnapping – How’s the Cabanne dame fit into this? Was she really kidnapped, or was she in on it, too?"

  Wild Bill rubbed his neck. It was a little stiff. "I don't know what to think. But that old bat said we'd regret crossing her." He looked around. "I doubt they're in that Garrick place. Can we turn this tub around?"

  "Around? In a tube? I don't think so."

  "Well, get us stopped. I don't care if we have to back up all the way to Olympia!"

  Jack gave a jocund salute and said, "Aye, aye."

  AROUND MIDNIGHT, ALL of the racers – even the Dodge – were safely landed at Olympia. Those who'd dropped out had been collected by aircar and their planes towed in. The twenty or so who'd made it under their own power – or unpower – were celebrating in a rathskeller near the viceroyal mansion.

  Viceroy Zucco himself, tall, nearly bald, with a hawklike gaze and a surprisingly friendly smile, was in attendance, putting on the happy face to preserve the secret of the Cabanne kidnapping. At one point he tapped on the table for quiet. "Gentlemen. A toast to young Jerry. His amazing skill at catching the wind over Olympus has earned him a first-place start tomorrow."

  Everyone, even the FoMarsCo man whom Jerry had nudged out on the slopes of the volcano, cheered. The racers had formed a certain comradery over the past week or so. Each was guaranteed a purse, win or lose, and it removed avariciousness from the event. They were in it for the challenge, all of them.

  Slanths, the entrant from the planet Sangar, was still trying to figure out what had been wrong about his calculations. He'd been sure that the drop on the far side of the volcano would have glided him into first place. But here he was, third. But he was having so much fun, the winning or losing had little importance. Just that miscalculation... .

  ONE OF THE television channels wasn't playing race high-lights, and Morgas and his boys had it on. Much of his crew was waiting at their ship, a barkentine disguised as a tour-bus, docked under everyone's nose at the edge of Olympia Spaceport. The others, half a dozen plus two wenches and Morgas's cabin boy (as usual, a teen-aged girl) were with him in these rooms at a flop-house owned by a retired fencer of stolen goods.

  Most of the crew had dozed off, lulled to sleep by an old motion picture on the TV, something about toys on the loose. But Morgas was w
ide-awake and slumped in an easy chair, thinking.

  He looked up at one point, seeing that only one of the others was awake. "Skunky – I need some grog!"

  Skunky, slouched in the doorway to the other room, said, "Cap'n, I'm watchin' t' pris'ners."

  Morgas scowled. "T'ey awake?"

  Skunky looked into the other room. Both women were reclining, their breathing regular and slow. "T'ey're asleep, Cap'n."

  "Then go get me me grog!"

  "But—"

  Morgas sat up. "Did I give ye a' order, Skunky?"

  The pirate saw the look in Morgas's eye, and swallowed hard. He nodded his head, and went out as fast as he could dodge around the sleeping figures.

  Morgas sat back. The moment he did, one of Sandy Pendragon's eyes opened. This was what she'd been waiting for. Pirates might be tough, but they weren't very S-M-A-R-T.

  Moving with great care, so as not to disturb Esther Cabanne, she slipped off the davenport and knelt on the floor. Her ankles were tied together, and her wrists were bound behind her. But there'd been this course back at Blinker Hall, a course just suited for this sort of situation. They'd called it "Houdini One-'o-one".

  Contorting, bringing her knees up under her chin and finding her boot-tips with her fingers. she got her arms in front of her, and, that done, the getting free was a piece of cake.

  It did take a while, though, and Sandy kept on the lookout. Skunky could be back any time. As soon as her ankles were unbound, she returned to the sofa for a few minutes. Even with the clock against her, she knew she needed to restore the circulation to her limbs.

  Skunky returned, loaded down with two grocery bags full of bottled brown liquid. Morgas stood and went to him, grabbing a bottle. "Y' call t'is ‘grog’? T'is is beer!"

  While Skunky was formulating an alibi for his failure to find grog after midnight, the Princess made her move.

  Stealing to the chest of drawers, she donned her glove and gauntlet. She knew something the pirates didn't: concealed in her belt was an auxiliary battery-pack for the BLASER built into her right fore-finger. Clutching the buckle completed the circuit. Now it had power.