MACE was abreast of the convoy now, and in a few moments they were falling behind him, vanishing into invisibility on the rear visi-screen. Ahead of him stretched the Lane that the convoys followed to the Asteroid Belt—Lane 7. But his forward visi-screens were blank. Reese and the girl were a long way ahead of him.
Mace flashed along for another hour, watching carefully for the blood-red enemy ships. His worried eyes were glued to the visi-screens, but nothing came into their range.
Suddenly he strained forward. For a second he had seen a slim streaking object disappearing out of the lateral range of the front visi-screen. The ship—if it had been a ship—must have been leaving Lane 7, blasting off the known pathway into the trackless maze of the void.
Mace ran a worried hand through his hair. He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them and studied the screen again. It was completely blank. His eyes were burning with the strain of his intent scrutiny of the visi-screen. He cursed helplessly. He couldn’t be sure that he had seen anything on the screen. Years of facing the blinding glare of burning suns had taken their toll from his eyes.
For minutes he studied the screen but he saw nothing else. When he reached the approximate location where he had seen the ship he hesitated a moment, checking the speed of the ship slightly. If he left the Lane on a wild-goose chase into the void, he’d never catch Reese and the girl. That was the chance he’d have to take. With a prayer in his heart he picked up speed, banked the ship sharply to the left and rocketed from Lane 7 into the uncharted void.
He continued on a dead-ahead course for several minutes, then he began sweeping back and forth in wide circles to cover as much territory as possible. The visi-screen remained blank.
An hour later his jaw was clamped grimly. Worried lines furrowed his brow. He was thousands of miles from the lane now, thousands of miles deep in the fathomless maze of outer space.
And he had seen nothing yeti
A helpless feeling of despair swept over him. His chances were one in millions of stumbling on the ship he’d seen leaving Lane 7.
The most maddening fact was that he couldn’t be sure he had seen a ship in the first place. It might have been an illusion caused by his weak, strained eyes.
HE SEARCHED the blank visi-screens with almost a desperate urgency. There were no evidences of space craft, but he leaned forward suddenly as he saw the vague shape of a tiny asteroid coming into range. The thing that caught his attention was not the existence of the asteroid—he’d seen dozens since he’d left the Lane—but rather the filmly edge of the asteroid that indicated the presence of an atmosphere.
Mace’s pulses pounded excitedly. This was the only spot he’d seen so far that was potentially capable of supporting human life.
He swung the nose of the ship around and cut his rocket power. In a sweeping arc he hurtled toward the slowly rotating asteroid, watching tensely as the tiny globe of matter grew larger and larger in the visi-screen plates.
When he flashed into the asteroid’s atmosphere he could hear the shrieking whistle of its friction against the metal sides of his ship. He levelled out and switched in both forward repulsion rockets as the ground of the asteroid rose up to meet him. Braked, the ship bucked like a reined horse, then continued on at a moderate speed.
Mace saw the rocky, craggy surface of the asteroid through the duraglass observation window under his feet. There was no sign of life visible on the hostile, barren earth of the asteroid, but as he pulled the ship out of its dive and zoomed upward, he saw a sight that sent a fierce exultation pounding through his veins.
Two space ships were moored side by side next to a small cluster of buildings on the asteroid. And Mace recognized both of those ships. One was the freighter the girl had set out for the Belt with; the other was the slim fighter Reese had piloted!
The panoramic scene flashed into his vision and was gone even more rapidly as his ship blasted up and out of the asteroid’s atmosphere.
An exultant satisfaction was drumming in his body as he swung the ship about in a tight loop and dove back toward the asteroid. His fingers tightened over the levers that controlled the ship’s deadly atomic cannons. He fired a trial blast as he rocketed downward. A savage delight gripped him as he saw the long white beams of atomic force strike out from the nose of the ship and cleave smoking passages through the asteroid’s atmosphere.
WHEN he levelled from his screaming dive he saw that Reese’s slim fighter was ready for flight. And as he blasted again into space he heard a throbbing detonation from the asteroid. And he knew that Reese had heard him, seen him, and was void-bound to meet him.
Mace shoved the tangled mass of hair from his eyes with a suddenly nervous hand. Everything depended on the outcome of this engagement in space. Five years ago he would have welcomed the battle eagerly. But he knew now that his eyes and his hands were lacking the certainty of half a decade ago. He wasn’t afraid for himself. But the life of Dale Mason and the lives of the gallantly battling men on the Belt were in his hands, along with his own. And Reese was one of the most savage and coldly vicious space fighters that the void had ever produced.
Mace swung the ship about and circled the asteroid and, as he did, he saw Reese’s slim fighter slash through the atmosphere into the void, a trail of bright sparks dropping from its rocket exhausts.
Reese’s ship climbed above him and Mace circled warily, tensely awaiting the diving attack that was sure to come. In the visi-screen above his head he saw Reese’s ship wheel in a tight bank and drop toward him, gaining speed with every second. This was it!
Mace waited until the last possible minute, then he gunned his ship furiously and shot under Reese’s drive. Long blasting bolts of atomic force speared at him from the nose of Reese’s ship almost scoring direct hits on his rear rockets. Mace zoomed desperately away from the lance-like blasts. He shook his head in helpless anger. He had almost delayed too long that time. His eyes, his weakened, uncertain eyes, had almost betrayed him. He had completely misjudged the speed of Reese’s ship in that maneuver. And, in the void, a man is allowed only one or two mistakes in misjudgment.
Reese was circling, pulling out of his dive in a fast tight loop and heading back now, aiming for an attack on the tail of Mace’s ship.
MACE escaped by a quick bank that threw him unexpectedly on the offensive. His fingers tightened convulsively on the firing control levers. Reese’s ship was directly in his fore visi-screen as the long thundering bolts of atomic power shot out from the nose of Mace’s ship.
But both shots were wide. And before Mace could fire again Reese’s ship had slipped from range. Mace swore helplessly. That had been his chance. But he had muffed it completely.
Reese was back again, cannons thundering a dirge of death. Mace squirmed out of range and ran for it; there was nothing else he could do. Reese fought with a cold, diabolical ruthlessness that was unnerving. Mace twisted, saw Reese’s ship creeping inexorably on him in the rear screen.
For another ten seconds Mace fled desperately; then something within him rebelled. His jaw tightened grimly. With an almost savage gesture he swung the ship about in a straining bank and headed back for Reese.
The two ships rushed toward each other like meteors.
Mace bared his teeth in a vicious grin and closed his fists over the firing controls. He was too old to start running from trouble. This might be his last flight but he would go out facing the enemy, and not with a shot in his back.
He gunned the ship for more speed, even cutting in the emergency rockets. The ship leaped forward like a slim piece of flashing quicksilver. The distance between the onrushing ships narrowed with breath-taking suddenness.
Mace could see the nose of Reese’s ship rushing at him in the visi-screen. They were only seconds away.
Mace gritted his jaw and closed his hands on the firing control. The long lances of atomic power blasted from the nose of his ship with incredible speed.
He was almost on top of Reese now. With a
savage snarl he jammed the firing lever into place and braced himself for the blinding, shattering, inevitable collision.
The nose of Reese’s ship rushed at him, and then, at the last fractional instant, it turned aside—and Mace’s deadly, blasting cannons raked the ship from nose to tail, transforming it in one second to a blazing mass of disintegrating matter.
Mace swung his ship around carefully and watched the flashing cinders drifting where once had flashed a trim, beautiful ship.
He wiped his damp forehead with a trembling hand. Reese had faltered in that last collision drive and his maneuver had brought his ship into the blasting range of his cannons.
Mace headed for the asteroid. He felt weak and shaken. It hadn’t been skill or ability or cunning that had saved his life and all he was fighting for. Those things had deserted him long ago. He had been saved by the one thing that never deserts a man. He had been saved by sheer guts.
He lowered the nose of the ship into the asteroid’s atmosphere—wondering what he would find . . .
HE MOORED the ship and crawled through the sliding door in its belly and dropped to the flaky soil of the asteroid. His hand closed tightly on the electric gun at his belt as he crouched under the shadow of his ship, listening.
Drawing the gun, he cat-footed along the side of one of the metal buildings. He turned the corner and collided with a space-suited figure.
The figure stumbled against him.
“Oh, Mace, I knew you’d get here,” a muffled voice sobbed against his chest.
Mace took the girl by the shoulders.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “I came as soon as I learned about Reese.”
The girl’s lustrously dark hair was blown in disarray about her damp cheeks. Her wrists were bound behind her.
Mace untied her quickly.
“Anyone else around here?” he asked.
“No. This was evidently Reese’s meeting place with the enemy.”
“Is the U-235 safe?” Mace demanded.
“Yes. It’s still in the freighter. Reese threatened to shoot me down if I didn’t follow him here. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”
“You did just right,” Mace said.
“We had just arrived when we heard your ship. Then you flashed over our heads and Reese, after tying me, went up to meet you.”
“We can’t waste any more time talking,” Mace said. “We have to get the U-235 to the Belt. You fly the freighter and I’ll follow you. I’ve still got plenty of ammunition left in case you run into trouble.”
THE girl chaffed her wrists to restore the circulation. “All right,” she said. She turned slightly from him and her eyes dropped to the ground. “I want to apologize,” she said miserably, “for what I said the night I arrived. What a small, rotten little person you must have thought I was.”
Mace smiled faintly.
“That’s right,” he said mildly.
The girl turned and faced him. eyes blazing. She stamped her foot angrily. “You don’t have to make it harder for me,” she said. “It’s bad enough as it is. You’re so cold, so emotionless—”
Mace continued to smile. He put his hands gently on the girl’s shoulders.
“If I seem that way,” he said, “it’s only because I’m thinking more of the job than of the people doing it. Maybe I’m funny, but I think the job is more important than the people. But when the job’s over I can be quite a different person.”
“When is the job going to be over?” Gail demanded.
“This job,” Mace said, grinning crookedly, “will be over when we deliver the U-235 and get back to the home planetoid. After that,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, “you won’t have any complaints about the coldness of my attitude.”
“Is that a promise?” the girl said, a little breathlessly.
“What do you think?” Mace said.
He took her arm then and they strode toward the space ships, smiling at each other.
CAPTAIN STINKY’S LUCK
First published in the September 1942 issue of Amazing Stories.
Captain Ebenezer Scragg fell for a dame and bought a jewel—but it was a fake. Then suddenly the crooks wanted it back!
CAPTAIN Ebenezer Scragg, master of the garbage scow, Sweet Pea, was enjoying one of his rare moments of complete peace and contentment, as his squat, ugly ship drifted into the space harbor at the Earth-Jupiter stopover planetoid.
He was standing on the glasstcade bridge of the ship, the eight square feet of which he was complete king, and the one spot in the universe closest to his heart.
The captain’s features were wreathed in a happy smile and his slight frame was contentedly relaxed.
Even his bristling red hair seemed subdued and at peace.
He picked up the communication hose as the ship nosed into the harbor. “Mono” he called into the hose.
An instant later the suave voice of Mono, his Venusian navigator and deckhand answered, “Yes?”
“We’re right on the line,” Captain Scragg said. “You can cut off them dang rear rockets now. And Mono, don’t get too damned drunk when you go ashore.”
Mono’s voice was blandly surprised.
“Me sir? Of course not.”
The captain hung up the hose, and even the knowledge that Mono would be staggering drunk within an hour after leaving the ship, was not enough to disturb his peaceful tranquility.
For Captain Scragg was in the caressing coils of man’s oldest emotion. In short, the cocky, diminutive captain had fallen in love. The object of his affections was the Widow Jones of Earth, proprietor of a space-port bar, and late wife of a carousing space skipper, whose shady career had been cut short by the careful aim of a Federation officer.
The captain sighed, thinking of his fair one. When he felt the slight jar of the ship’s prow against the cushioned air dock of the space harbor, he left the bridge and descended the companionway to his cabin. He had some reports to make up before he could leave.
The Sweet Pea was returning with a load of garbage from the Gloria, a magnificent space liner on the regular Earth-Jupiter run. The Gloria was a few hundred miles out, and it would not put in to the Planetoid until it had passed quarantine, a matter of a few hours. Captain Scragg had to have his refuse report ready by that time for the captain of the Gloria. And Captain Scragg would not allow even the sweet call of love to woo him from his duty.
When he finished the reports an hour later, he felt very virtuous. He put the papers in his pockets and stuck his battered cap at a rakish angle on his head and left the ship . . .
CAPTAIN Scragg followed one of the devious and dark lanes that twisted through the harbor area until he came to a small spaceport saloon that bore the simple legend:
“THE WIDOW JONES—
CASH ONLY”
With pounding heart Captain Scragg shoved open the swinging doors and entered the dingy, smoke-filled saloon.
The Widow Jones was standing behind the bar, idly wiping a damp cloth over its scarred surface.
The captain seated himself at the bar.
“You look purtier than ever,” he said, in a brave attempt to be gallant and charming. He wished his heart would stop leaping about, in his body.
The Widow Jones moved down to the captain. If she noticed the ardent light in his eyes, she disregarded it completely.
“What’ll you have?” she asked, matter-of-factly.
“Aw, Maisie,” Captain Scragg said plaintively, “ain’t you ever goin’ to think of me as something besides a customer? I tell you, Maisie, you do things to me. I can’t sleep anymore thinkin’ about you.”
“Talk’s cheap,” the Widow Jones said scornfully. “If you’re thinking about me all the time, why don’t you bring me a little something when you come in; instead of mooning over the bar like a sick calf.”
The captain brightened. Maisie’s unsubtie approach cheered him. Maybe it meant she cared!
“All right, Maisie,” he said, slapping a fist on t
he bar for emphasis, “I’ll get you what ever you want, danged if I won’t. Just you name what your little heart’s craving for and I’ll get it for you.”
The Widow Jones fluttered her eyelids coyly.
“Why, Ebenezer,” she said, “you just sweep me right off my feet.”
The figurative connotations in the Widow’s words brought a happy blush to the captain’s weather-beaten features.
“Aw shucks,” he said, grinning foolishly, “I don’t want to rush you, Maisie, but I guess I am what you’d call the tempestuous type. But don’t you be bashful; just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.”
THE Widow Jones placed her red arms on the bar and leaned forward, a happy glint of anticipation in her eyes.
“Well,” she said, “if you really want to get something for me—” She paused and looked up and down the bar and then turned back to the captain, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “you know Puna Walla, don’t you—”
“That double crossing Martian snake!” Captain Ebenezer said shrilly. “You bet I do. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw the Sweet Pea. The last time I was in his rat hole of a bar, he fed me a knock-out powder and took all my money and had his dang durned bouncer toss me into the alley. Know him? I’ll say I do. The next time I see him I’m going to break him into a dozen pieces.”
The Widow Jones shook her head.
“Puna Walla has killed bigger men than you with his bare fists. You won’t get nowhere with him that way. Now I’ve got a scheme where you can get even with him for the dirt he done you,”
“What’s that got to do with me getting you a present?” the captain said testily.
“Listen good and you’ll see,” the Widow Jones said with a sly smile. “Puna Walla has got hold of a jewel, but he don’t know how valuable it is. You can buy it from him for next to nothing. It’s a beautiful thing, one of them clear white stones they get from Saturn, but Puna Walla don’t know that. He thinks it’s just a hunk of glass. I know he’d sell it for a hundred dollars or so. You got that much, ain’t you?”
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 126