Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  He barked out crisp orders to the ground mooring crews and kept his eyes glued on the in-coming ship. When the ship moored Mace walked toward the tower anxiously.

  A long, bulky figure swung down from the hatch in the belly of the ship and Mace recognized the lean, fatigue-drawn features of Reese.

  Mace walked up to him and Reese grinned faintly.

  “Pretty tough trip,” he said.

  Mace asked the question he had dreaded to ask himself during the last three days.

  “Did the girl get through?” He held his breath and his fists tightened as Reese pulled off his heavy helmet and lit a cigarette.

  “The girl made it,” Reese said. “She’ll be in in a minute. She was only two or three degrees behind me.” Mace felt an illogical feeling of relief flooding over him. Why he should care so much for the safety of a girl he had only seen twice in his life was a question he couldn’t answer.

  “How about Wallace?” he asked. “Didn’t make the Belt,” Reese answered matter-of-factly. “The rest got through okay. Lost two of those young replacement pilots on the way back.”

  “Damn,” Mace swore softly. “Three out of six. We can’t keep this up.”

  “The men on the Belt wanted to know about the U-235,” Reese said. “The commander there said they can’t last another week without it.”

  Mace’s jaw hardened. “They’ll get it,” he said. “I think I’ve got a scheme doped out that might get it through.”

  “Good,” Reese said, “what’s the idea?”

  “I’ll tell you this evening’. I’m going to have to send you back to the Belt tomorrow.”

  “Are you going to let me take the stuff alone?” Reese asked.

  “That’s not my idea,” Mace said. “I’m going to send a complete convoy.” Reese looked disappointed, but he only said, “you’re the boss,” and walked away toward his sleeping shack.

  MACE turned to a ground man.

  “When Miss Mason moors tell her I want to see her,” he said. Then he strode to his office. In three or four minutes he heard the whistling shriek of a ship cutting through the planetoid’s atmosphere, and five minutes after that his office door was opened and Dale Mason entered. “Did you want to see me?” she asked. Mace glanced up and noticed that she had removed the bulky space suit and was wearing a pair of slacks and a loose blouse. Her face seemed terribly pale. There were deep blue shadows under her eyes and drawn lines of fatigue about her mouth. She seemed strained to the limits of her endurance.

  “Better sit down,” suggested Mace. “You look tired.”

  “I’m all right,” the girl said. But she moved to a chair and sat down. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “How’d it go?” Mace asked.

  “All right,” the girl answered dully.

  “Feel up to a trip tomorrow?”

  The girl opened her eyes slowly. For an instant Mace thought she would protest, but then her jaw hardened into bitter lines.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “I’m sending a full convoy out tomorrow morning,” Mace said. “We’ve got to get U-235 to the Belt.”

  The girl stood up and passed her hand wearily over her forehead. Her eyes were dull and sunken.

  “All right,” she said quietly. “I’ll be ready.”

  She started for the door but before she reached it, her step faltered and she swayed. She put her hand to her eyes and took another step.

  Mace shoved his chair back and jumped to his feet, but he was too late. The girl’s knee’s buckled and she fell limply to the floor.

  Mace bent swiftly and gathered her slight form in his arms. Her head rolled limply against his shoulder as he shifted her into a chair. He crossed the room in two strides and filled a glass of water and returned to her side.

  HOLDING her head in the crook of his arm he forced a few drops of water through her lips. Then he chaffed her wrists until her eyelids fluttered open.

  “Easy now,” Mace said gently.

  The girl looked at him and then shook her head wearily.

  “Did I faint?”

  Mace nodded. “You’re exhausted. You need about twelve good hours of sleep.”

  “It isn’t that,” the girl said. “I thought I was tough and hard when I came up here. But seeing those ships burned to cinders in the Lane got me. Those young pilots, just boys—it’s too awful . . .”

  She turned her face from Mace and began to sob.

  Mace patted her shoulder awkwardly. There was nothing he could say that would help, so he remained silent.

  After a while the girl stopped crying. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and stood up. Her swimming eyes avoided Mace’s.

  “Why don’t you say it,” she demanded, almost angrily. “I’m a silly, hysterical, adolescent girl, just as you said. Why don’t you say ‘I told you so’ ?”

  “Because,” Mace said quietly, “it isn’t so. You’ve got guts and I’m the first to admit it. Now get to bed.”

  The girl turned to him slowly. The bitterness in her face faded. There was a dazed, incredulous light in her eyes. Her mouth was tremulous.

  “No more talk, now,” Mace said. I’ll see you in the morning. Are you still willing to hit the Lane again at Dawn?”

  The girl smiled. It was the first time Mace had seen her smile and it lighted up her entire face with a soft glow. He realized suddenly that she was very beautiful.

  “I’ll be ready,” she said. She opened the office door slowly and paused. “Thanks,” she said quietly, then she stepped into the night.

  CHAPTER V

  Lane 7!

  AT FIVE the next morning, Earth time, Mace sat behind his desk and studied the pilots who faced him. The office was cold and unpleasantly damp. Glaring light was provided from a single unshaded bulb in the ceiling.

  Mace puffed on his pipe in silence. The earthen jug was before him on the desk with its contents of five white marbles concealed by a piece of paper.

  Reese was lounging against a wall, next to the girl, Dale. Three other pilots were in the room. One of them was the remaining member of the recently arrived replacement group. Already, he looked older, hardened and slightly bitter.

  Mace swung his eyes about the circle of faces.

  “The trip you are making today,” he said slowly, “is the most important convoy shipment we’ve ever sent. Ten tons of U-235 is being sent to the Belt. If we fail to get it there we’re signing the death warrants of the men defending the Belt. You’ll draw in the usual manner. Then I’ll explain how we’re going to get the U-235 through. Miss Mason, you’re first.”

  The girl stepped to the desk, a faint smile on her lips. There was a peculiar expression of cynical amusement hovering about her eyes as she reached into the jug and selected a marble.

  Mace knew that there was no black marble in the jug, but he couldn’t fathom the girl’s expression. It was as if she were laughing at them all. He frowned as the girl withdrew her hand. The marble was hidden in her small closed fist.

  “Well?” he asked sharply. “What is it?”

  The girl smiled slowly. “I appreciate what you men have done, but that’s not the way I play.”

  Without glancing at the marble she tossed it on the desk in front of Mace. He looked at the marble bewilderedly.

  For it was black!

  Mace looked sharply at Reese. “There’s been some mistake,” he said quickly.

  REESE walked to the desk, for once his expressionless poise broken. His eyes were excited and a bead of sweat stood out on his forehead.

  “I’ll say there has been,” he said grimly. He reached into his pocket and flipped another marble onto the desk. It also was black.

  He turned to the girl, almost angrily.

  “What’s the idea?” he demanded.

  The girl looked at Reese and then glanced at the other pilots. She was smiling.

  “I know you men decided to save me from drawing the decoy ship,” she said softly. “It was swell of you but—it
isn’t right. I’ve got to take my chances along with everyone else. I’d be dead weight if I didn’t. I unintentionally overheard a conversation between two pilots and I learned then that the black ball was to be removed before I drew. So I got another black ball.” She turned to Mace. “I took it out of your desk drawer. I hope you won’t mind. I had it in my hand when I reached into the jug. And that settles it. I pilot the decoy ship.”

  “But you didn’t have a chance,” Reese protested angrily. “You knew you were going to draw the black ball. You held it in your hand all the time.”

  “That’s right,” the girl said. “That was the only way I could make up for the break you gave me on the first drawing. That time I couldn’t have drawn the black marble because it wasn’t in the jug when I drew. This time I had to make sure I drew it.”

  Reese’s face was strained.

  “You’ll be shot down without a chance,” he said hoarsely. “I refuse to let you do it. I’ll pilot the ship myself.”

  “No,” the girl said, “I can’t let you.”

  “You must,” Reese said anxiously. “I insist.”

  Mace had sat in silence, watching the scene. Now he said, “just a minute Reese.”

  Reese turned and glared at him.

  “You aren’t going to let her go through with foolishness, are you?”

  “Yes,” Mace said, “I am. And if everyone will calm down I’ll tell you why. We aren’t using a decoy ship this trip. I’ve changed our plans in order to get the U-235 through to the Belt.”

  The girl turned to him in sudden anger.

  “Where does that leave me?” she demanded.

  MACE fought for patience. “Listen and you’ll soon know,” he said. “Instead of using the empty freighter as a decoy we’re going to load it with the shipment of U-235, double its rocket power and blast it through Lane 7 under full speed. The idea is this: The enemy has become accustomed to attacking the decoy, the clumsy freighter that brings up the rear of the convoy. This time the freighter—souped-up with extra power—will lead the convoy into Lane 7 and blast for the Belt. Sheer surprise is the big factor in the favor of the ship getting through. Miss Mason seems to be the one slated to pilot that ship.”

  Reese said, “How do you figure that?”

  “Simple. She drew the black ball that gave her the decoy freighter. The decoy freighter is the one used for the U-235. Same ship, different assignment, that’s all.”

  “It’s too dangerous for a girl,” Reese protested. His thin face was darkly angry.

  “It’s not a particularly dangerous run,” Mace said. “In fact the pilot with the U-235 shipment has the best chance of getting through.”

  “It’s a big job for a girl,” Reese said. “Do you think she be able to handle it.”

  Mace stood up and looked at Reese. “I’m the judge of that,” he said quietly. “You aren’t forgetting, are you, who the hell’s running this show?”

  The blank expressionless mask slipped again over Reese’s thin face. But his dark eyes were smouldering.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “You’re the boss.”

  “It’s a good thing to remember,” Mace said. He looked at the other pilots. “You’re leaving as soon as possible.” To the girl he said, “the decoy freighter has been loaded with the U-235. Test your extra rocket power before you get to the Lane, then give the ship all she’ll take.”

  She nodded quietly and slipped on her helmet.

  The three pilots filed out of the door. Reese, with an inscrutable glance at the girl, followed them. Mace put his hand on the girl’s arm.

  “No point in telling you how important this is,” he said. “You realize that. This isn’t a fight talk. I just want to say ‘good luck.’ ”

  “Thanks,” the girl said softly. She seemed about to speak, then she turned suddenly and slipped through the door.

  CHAPTER VI

  Treachery!

  MACE stood in the doorway of his office until the five-ship convoy had disappeared into the trackless depths of the void. As usual the clumsy, bulky freighter had blasted-off last—but this time the powerful rear propulsion rockets of the decoy had hurled the ship away like a thunderbolt. With the girl at the controls it would soon overtake the regular convoy and when the flotilla reached the hazardous Lane 7, it would flash into the lead. That, at least, was the plan.

  With a scowl on his face Mace returned to his desk. Something vague and nebulous was plucking at his mind, disturbing him strangely.

  He couldn’t figure out what it was. He shook his head in irritation and plunged into the work of bringing some order to the scattered reports on his desk.

  In a few minutes he came to the letter that had been sent from Earth to Guy Wallace, the replacement pilot who had been lost on his first trip to the Asteroid Belt. He had forgotten about it completely. He turned it over, then held it to the light. It bore no return address and it apparently contained an ordinary correspondence paper.

  He shrugged and slit open the envelope. He spread open the letter and his eyes widened as he recognized the official crest of the Federation on the paper. The letter read:

  Wallace,

  Proceed at once with arrest. Reports here confirm your suspicions. Urgent that you act immediately. Ackerman, alias, Reese, definitely in league with enemy. Proceed with full authority.

  The letter was signed by Lieutenant Sheffield, commander of Earth Intelligence.

  Mace rose to his feet, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. His mind was swept by a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts. The full impact of the letter was like a stunning physical blow. He felt a weakening nausea.

  Reese a traitor!

  It couldn’t be possible! There was some ghastly mistake. There must be! But the evidence of this letter was damning.

  WITH an oath, Mace jammed the letter into his pocket and charged out of the office. He didn’t stop running until he reached the shack where Reese had slept. Jerking open the door he stepped inside and a cold fist of terror closed over his heart.

  Reese’s room was stripped bare. Clothes, papers, equipment, instruments—everything was gone!

  Mace stood in the center of the small room, feet spread wide, trying desperately to adjust himself to the horror of the situation. Bit by bit scraps of conversation, pieces of incidents returned to him, falling into the place with damning precision, until the jumbled jigsaw was complete.

  Reese had been after the U-235. That seemed definite. Mace groaned as he remembered Reese’s eagerness to make the flight with the precious explosive alone. Failing in that he had undoubtedly learned of Mace’s plan to send the U-235 in the decoy ship and had planned to draw the black ball himself—the black ball that would have given him the pilot-ship of the decoy freighter. The girl’s drawing the black ball had blocked that scheme, but Reese hadn’t given up. Mace remembered with sickening clarity how Reese had argued with the girl to let him take the job of piloting the decoy ship. Argued, almost desperately, to get control of the vital load of U-235.

  Mace remembered the look in Reese’s eyes as he stared at the girl when leaving—and he knew that Reese was not through yet.

  The space freighter of U-235, with the girl at the controls, was far into the void by now, far ahead of the regular convoy but, Mace knew that Reese, with the second fastest ship in the convoy would be trailing her as relentlessly as a hungry shark.

  What chance would the girl have against Reese? Reese was one of the deadliest space fighters that the void had ever produced, as cold and cunning as a snake. And Mace knew that Reese wouldn’t bat an eyelid at blasting the freighter into a cinder if it would keep the vital supplies from reaching the men on the Belt.

  A BITTER raging anger swelled up inside Mace. He left Reese’s room and strode across the field to the mooring tower that encased the emergency space fighter. His great hands were clenching and unclenching with savage anticipation.

  He snapped orders to a mechanic.

  “Prepare this ship
for an immediate blast-off. Check everything. Especially the firing panels and guns. Snap into it!”

  The mechanic took one startled look at Mace’s grim face and nodded rapidly.

  “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  Mace charged into his office and emerged a few moments later wearing a bulky space suit and carrying his space helmet in one big hand.

  The mechanic said, “Your ship’s all set, sir.”

  Mace nodded to the man and sprang up to the mooring tower and clambered into the ship. In the forward control room he slapped shut the automatic locks that hermetically sealed the opening in the belly of the ship.

  Quickly he checked the controls.

  Everything was set. He flashed a signal to the mooring tower and shoved the firing lever into place. The next instant, as the rear propulsion rockets roared into action, the ship blasted out of the tower and streaked into the void . . .

  Forty minutes later Mace sighted the rear ships of the convoy in his front visi-screen. They appeared only as specks of black against white, but they grew larger with each minute. He counted them carefully. Three ships. That left two unaccounted for. That meant the girl and Reese had outdistanced the rest of the convoy.

  Mace swore and stepped up his speed to the last notch. The roar of the rockets rose to a throbbing blast and the slim, bullet-like ship spurted ahead under the sudden burst of power.

  In five minutes his flashing speed had brought him within space wireless range of the convoy. He plugged in his equipment.

  “McAllister calling,” he snapped into the transmitter. “Where is Reese?”

  An instant later a pilot’s voice droned back, “Convoy ship 2 calling. Reese followed ship 1 into Lane 7. Intended to provide a fighter escort if necessary for freighter carrying U-235.”

  Mace cut off the space wireless with a vicious snap. The girl had blasted into the Lane 7 and Reese was right alongside of her. At any moment he could burn her ship out of the void with one blast of his guns.