Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  Major Slade grinned maddeningly at Ward.

  “You see,” he said softly, “as our Leader says, it is inevitable. Now you can understand why your insistence on patrols and investigative activity on Exile Planetoid were so very dangerous to our plans. Fortunately, you were unable to jar the stupid leaders of Earth from their complacent attitude. Nevertheless we had to shut your troublesome mouth. That, my excellent friend, is why you were framed and court-martialed. If you had accepted that fate you might have been able to save your life. Instead you stole a ship and made for Exile Planetoid. I informed Baron Von Multke that you were on your way and set out for Mars myself. Things were due to break and I desired most ardently to be on the winning side. In return for certain desirable information I have been promised a very advantageous position in the new order.” Tojo glanced obliquely at the major and smiled inscrutably.

  “As usual the major is correct,” he said softly. “But time is running short. The designs of destiny must not be delayed. Lieutenant, we must bid you farewell. When we return from our engagement with the unprepared forces of Earth, we shall decide what is to be done with you.”

  He stepped to the major’s desk and pressed a button. A second later the metal door slid silently open and four stocky soldiers in uniforms entered. All were armed with electric arc pistols, and thin knives in belt scabbards.

  TOJO spoke sharply to them and one stepped to Ward’s side. For a wild impulsive instant Ward tensed himself to spring at the slight Japanese leader. But it was hopeless. The gesture would be a futile, desperate act which would gain him nothing but the oblivion of death.

  He relaxed against the chair, while the heavy-set guard stepped behind him and passed a leather thong swiftly and expertly about his wrists. When his arms were helplessly bound the soldier drew his electric arc gun and pointed it at his head.

  Ward was facing the great white screen that was erected behind Slade’s desk, and as the guard drew his gun from the thick pouch at his belt, he fancied he saw the glowing red ball swing slightly to one side.

  He couldn’t be sure, for almost at the same instant Tojo sprang to the guard’s side and slapped him viciously across the mouth.

  “Fool!” he hissed.

  The guard backed away from his fury, his face livid with fear. A white smear showed against his face where Tojo’s savage slap had landed.

  He mumbled something under his breath and hurriedly replaced the electric gun in its holster. Then he drew the long, razor-keen knife from his belt and planted himself before Ward.

  Tojo smiled slightly and walked to the door.

  Major Slade stepped around his desk and followed. His mocking glance brushed lightly over Ward.

  “This appears to be the moment of parting,” he said, his silky voice heavy with sarcasm. “Pleasant thoughts, my young friend.”

  Tojo reached the door and turned, a peculiar smile lighting his small inscrutable eyes.

  “The major is correct as always,” he murmured. “This is indeed the hour of parting.” His eyes turned slowly and focused on Major Slade with a strange intensity.

  “We shall always be indebted to you for the information and assistance you have so graciously tendered our cause. Perhaps the thought of our gratitude will make your end more bearable.”

  The major stared at him bewilderedly, but a slow terror flickered in his eyes and brought points of red to his cheeks. Instinctively, he recoiled from the slight figure of the Japanese leader.

  “N—no no,” he choked.

  The imperturbable Japanese spoke one soft word of command and the three remaining soldiers stepped swiftly forward and grabbed the major’s arms.

  WARD watched in a fascinated horror as the thin figure of the traitorous Earth officer writhed frantically and futilely in the grip of the swart, stocky half-breed soldiers.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing!” Slade babbled wildly. “You dirty, damn double-crosser!”

  One of the guards slapped him heavily across the mouth. A thin trickle of blood and saliva drooled from his open mouth.

  “Please,” Tojo said softly, “such scenes are deplorable. Surely, Major, you can realize that a man who would betray his country as you have done, is liable to do it again. For that lamentable reason you must be liquidated, in spite of the fact that you have been extremely useful.”

  “Damn you!” Slade shrieked. “You rotten—”

  Tojo raised one hand slightly and the three impassive soldiers jerked the screaming man across the room and through the door.

  Ward could hear his terror-filled curses as he was dragged down the corridor that flanked the room. Finally the shrieks grew fainter and then they faded away altogether.

  Tojo sighed regretfully.

  “A pity,” he murmured.

  Ward felt nothing but a grim exultation. Any pity he might have felt for Slade was destroyed by his knowledge of the man’s treachery.

  The slim Japanese spoke a few words to the remaining soldier and then, with a last suave bow to Ward, he stepped through the door.

  It clicked silently shut after him.

  Ward glanced up at the solid, squat soldier who guarded him. The man was a German-Jap breed with coffee-colored skin and pale blue eyes. His face was flat and stupid looking, but he was warily watchful.

  He stood almost six feet from Ward, directly in front of him. The long knife he held tightly in his hands was pointed at a spot just below Ward’s chin.

  Ward’s eyes flicked about the room, searching desperately for anything which he might use in escaping. There was nothing.

  From where he was sitting he could command a view of the broad, sprawling space field through the immense window of the office.

  Small figures were hurrying about and a general air of heightened activity dominated the scene. At the far end of the field he could see that the line of mighty space dreadnaughts were being prepared for a blast-off.

  Ward’s eyes swung back to the grimly impassive soldier. The thick-set guard’s attention was riveted on him. Hardly by a flicker of an eyelash did his concentration waver.

  WARD fought back a mounting hysteria. The realization that a vast force of devastating space units were being readied for an onslaught on unsuspecting Earth, and the fact that he was futilely powerless to move a finger to prevent the catastrophe was maddening.

  Desperately he strained against the leather bonds, but he only succeeded in tightening them further.

  The savage looking soldier moved closer as Ward struggled, his small piggish eyes lighting with bestial anticipation.

  Ward ceased his efforts and slumped against the back of the chair breathing heavily. An enervating despair settled on him, sapping his spirit and strength.

  What could he accomplish if he were free? The answer was nothing. And his futile efforts to free himself would surely cost him his life. The guard, he knew, would like nothing better than to use his gleaming knife on his throat.

  An apparently endless interval passed in grim silence.

  Then—Ward heard a thunderous detonation from the sprawling space field. The reverberations from the mighty blast jarred the floor under his feet.

  Through the room’s wide window he saw a crimson streak flash upward from one of the giant expulsion tubes at the far end of the field.

  Silence settled for an instant. Silence that was shattered almost immediately by another roaring blast from an expulsion tube.

  Again a crimson streak flashed upward.

  Ward felt icy beads of sweat congealing on his forehead.

  The mighty fleet of attacking space dreadnaughts was blasting off—on its way toward Earth!

  In a fury of desperation he struggled like a madman at his bonds. He had no real thought of escaping. It was just a desperate gesture that gave a release to his raging helplessness.

  The guard inched closer, his knife ready.

  When he was within four feet of him, Ward suddenly saw a chance—a foolhardy, million-to-one-chance—but he seiz
ed it without hesitation.

  Pressing his feet to the floor he shoved down with all his strength. The chair tilted abruptly back and Ward fell heavily to the floor. He landed on his back, his knees drawn up to his stomach.

  His desperate plan hinged completely on the guard’s reaction. Fortunately he reacted just as Ward had prayed he would.

  EYES flashing with excited anticipation, the stocky soldier sprang forward. Ward had one clear picture of his face—lips flattened in a snarl, nostrils flaring, eyes gleaming—before he lashed out brutally with both feet at that savage countenance.

  The soldier’s eagerness had brought him into perfect range, and Ward’s thick boots smashing into his jaw tumbled him backward to the floor.

  Ward scrambled to his feet and kicked the chair to one side. His arms were still bound behind him, but he had a momentary advantage.

  The knife was lying beside the groaning guard, but before Ward could reach it the fellow’s groping fingers touched it and closed on its hilt.

  With amazing strength the guard twisted about to face Ward. Although his jaw was hanging brokenly, he was far from out. His eyes blazed hatred at Ward as he struggled to his feet.

  Blood and froth flecked his broken lips and his features were twisted in a horrible grimace of pain. With the knife sweeping a dreadful path before him he lunged at Ward.

  Miraculously Ward’s sidewise leap saved him from the savage sweep of the knife. The guard was weakened from the sledge hammer blows he had received in the face, but Ward was hopelessly handicapped by his bound wrists.

  If his hands were free—

  The soldier lunged past him, the force of his rush carrying him into the wall. Turning he faced Ward again, his eyes glazing murderously.

  With a snarl he charged again, driving low for Ward’s knees. There was no time or room to sidestep. Caught directly in the line of the guard’s lunge, Ward did the only thing possible.

  He jerked his knee up with savage force into the guard’s forehead. The force of the impact almost broke his knee cap. The charging soldier straightened convulsively, his neck twisting at an odd angle.

  Then he slumped to the floor moaning. The knife fell from his limp fingers with a clatter. For a moment his twisted body jerked spasmodically. Pain contorted his features. Then his face slowly relaxed, the lines of pain faded away and his body slackened. His pain-clenched fists relaxed and opened.

  Ward knew the man was dead.

  BREATHING heavily he knelt beside him and groped for the knife with clumsy, stiffened fingers. It was a heart breaking task. Again and again the knife slipped from his fingers, but finally he managed to grasp it and began the tedious sawing at his leather bonds.

  While he worked he kept anxious eyes on the sliding steel door. If more guards or soldiers arrived everything he had gained would be lost. If only his luck held . . .

  Before he managed to cut through the leather thongs his hands were slippery with his own blood. Every time the knife slipped it lanced into his lacerated wrists, but he clamped his teeth against the pain and continued sawing.

  Finally he was free. His wrists were raw from the leather strips and dark with caked blood, but he wasted no time in self-pity.

  Crossing swiftly to the vast square window he saw that the fleet of space dreadnaughts were blasting-off one at a time, without the slightest delay. The thunderous detonations of their blastoff followed each other so closely as to blend into one continuous roar of sound.

  The bulk of the fleet, however, was still on the ground.

  Glancing up Ward could see faint flickerings of orange light tinting the upper atmosphere miles above his head. These reflections he knew, were caused by the proximity of the artificially created electrical storms which raged about Mars. Even though the storm areas were hundreds of miles from the thin stratosphere of the planet, their radiations were strong enough to color the outer fringes of the atmosphere.

  Ward swung around to the huge white screen, a sudden wild idea hammering at his brain. The large glowing ball at the top of the screen was in motion now, drifting slowly downward to the right.

  This directional apparatus was responsible for the safe transit of the space ships through the electrical barrier that encircled the planet. At this very instant mighty space dreadnaughts were hurtling through the raging storms their courses automatically and inflexibly determined by the master directional finder which Ward was facing.

  Grim-lipped, Ward picked up a heavy metal chair and strode to the huge glass-incased screen. The glowing ball was moving to the left and shifting upward now, steering a whole fleet of mighty ships safely through the flashing sheets of orange and white flame which flashed about the planet.

  If that directional apparatus could be destroyed or damaged that fleet would be annihilated in the roaring holocaust of electrical energy.

  With all his strength he hurled the heavy chair at the glass barrier that protected the directional apparatus. The chair struck with a crash and bounced back to the floor.

  The glass surface was unscratched.

  Frantically Ward picked the chair up and smashed it again and again into the smooth surface of the glass barrier. The steel framework of the chair bent under the blows, but not a scratch appeared on the glass.

  He might as well have been battering against a steel wall.

  TURNING to the window again he saw that half the fleet was gone and the remaining half was blasting-off with swift regularity. In a few moments the entire fleet would be flashing through the storm areas on its way to Earth.

  Unless he could accomplish something in those few minutes it would be too late. Once beyond the electrical screen the fleet would be impregnable. Nothing he could do then would be of any avail.

  Suddenly his memory clicked. The scene that had occurred as Tojo was leaving flashed across his mind. The soldier had drawn his gun. Enraged, Tojo had slapped him.

  With pounding pulses Ward dropped to his knees beside the dead soldier and jerked the electric-arc gun from the holster at his belt. A dozen wild thoughts were churning in his brain.

  There could only have been one reason why Tojo was alarmed at the presence of a gun in this room. And that reason was that its electrical waves might disturb the delicate directional apparatus.

  Still that didn’t sound logical. Electrical waves alone would not disturb the apparatus. The only thing which could affect the directional apparatus would be a magnetic influence operating on the metallic ball that marked the course on the screen.

  Ward sprang to his feet. A glance at the window showed him that practically the entire fleet of space dreadnaughts had blasted-off.

  There was not a second to lose. The glowing ball on the huge white screen was still moving in a slow orderly path. As long as it continued in that manner the fleet was safe in the blazing storm areas.

  Magnetic influence! How could he bring a magnetic influence to bear on the directional globe?

  That was the only thing that would throw it off its course and leave the armada of dreadnaughts rudderless and blind in the synthetically produced maelstrom in space.

  There was not time to construct a magnet. Even the crudest, most elementary type would take too much precious time.

  Suddenly he wheeled to the screen, taking in the details of its construction with raking eyes. The screen itself was made of some sort of porous metal and the criss-crossed lines were formed by thin wires stretched tautly over its surface.

  FIRMLY he flicked the firing button of the electric-arc gun and swung the thin barrel up to cover the center of the screen. Then he pressed the trigger.

  The electric charge leaped from the muzzle of the gun in a bright blue stream. Striking the glass barrier it crackled with a sputtering hiss, but the heavy glass seemed impervious to the terrific heat and energy blasting into it.

  Ward stepped up the charge to full strength, but the additional power was useless.

  The glass barrier seemed capable of withstanding anything.

&n
bsp; He groaned in despair. For a wild instant he thought he saw a way of smashing the directional screen. The steel screen with its circling of wires was a potential magnet in itself. If he could find some way of applying the electrical charge from the gun he could magnetize the steel screen and destroy the delicate balance of the directional globe.

  But as long as the glass barrier remained intact the chances of that were hopeless.

  He noticed then that the rumbling reverberations from the space field had ceased. The last of the huge fleet had blasted-off!

  Wheeling desperately back to the screen Ward flicked the electric-arc gun on again. The edges of the glass barrier were sheathed with gleaming metal. In his excitement he hadn’t noticed this before.

  The blue bolt from his gun swung from the impervious glass to the metal stripping. Almost instantly the metal blackened under the withering blast and wisps of smoke drifted up from the torch-like effect of the electrical ray.

  The thin wires which laterally circled the steel screen passed directly under the gleaming protective metal stripping. And Ward’s heart suddenly leaped as he saw those wires begin to glow faintly as they absorbed the electrical beam from the metallic strips that protected the corners of the glass.

  Would his wild plan work? If the electrical charge passing through the circling wires was sufficient to magnetize the steel screen—If . . .

  On that “if” hung the safety of Earth.

  DESPARATE precious seconds flitted past. The glowing directional globe continued on its course of orderly irregularity.

  Ward passed a trembling hand over his eyes. Was his imagination deceiving his senses? For an instant it had seemed as if the blazing orb had wavered peculiarly.

  No—it was still moving on its fixed inevitable course. His eyes followed it in a concentration that was almost like hypnotism.

  Right—left—left—down—

  In a sudden raging despair Ward hurled the gun madly at the screen.

  “Damn you!” he cried.

  Almost at that same instant the directional globe stopped. There could be no doubt of it. One instant it had been moving steadily and slowly to the left upper corner of the screen—the next instant it was rigidly motionless.