Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  The asteroid toward which they were speeding grew swiftly larger in the visi-screen until they could make out the jutting prominence of a dual mooring tower and beneath it several rows of tiny barracks.

  “Here we go,” Ward said. “I hope they’ve got the welcome mat out.”

  He slanted down toward the tower and cut in the repulsion blasts. The ship shrieked as it cut through the asteroid’s atmosphere and then shuddered slightly as its blazing speed was checked by the blasting jars of the fore rockets . . .

  WARD climbed out of the ship and looked around. There were several men standing in front of the row of barracks glancing up at the ship which had just moored. Off to one side there was a wide metal-sheathed hangar with a half-dozen small ships in front of it, their noses set in submerged blasting towers.

  In front of the rows of barracks there was a larger building that was apparently headquarters.

  Brick climbed out beside him on the mooring ramp and took a deep, slow breath. He looked out to the horizon where the monstrous bulk of Jupiter loomed darkly. The air was oppressive and heavy and they were both uncomfortably warm in their bulky space suits.

  “Let’s go down,” Ward said.

  “A hell of a place to spend five years,” Brick grumbled.

  They descended to the ground in the pneumatic elatube that was built into the mooring tower. When they stepped out of the car a middle-aged man in dark coveralls strolled over from the barracks.

  “The captain’s waiting to see you,” he said. He waved toward the large building set apart from the barracks. “Right in there.”

  He turned his back then and walked away.

  Brick stared after him with a cynical grin.

  “Cheerful guy,” he muttered.

  “Come on,” Ward said, striding across the hard, flaky soil, “let’s report to the captain.”

  The front door of the large building was open and they walked in. A tall, dark-haired man with lean, pale features and shadowy eyes was seated at a desk in a corner of the room, studying a sheaf of papers. A cigarette was burning in his long, yellow-stained fingers and a half-emptied bottle and a small glass stood at his elbow.

  Ward cleared his throat slightly and the man looked up and smiled cynically.

  “Welcome to Asteroid Base,” he said. “I presume you are Lieutenants Masters and Hanley.”

  “That’s right, sir,” Ward said.

  “You can forget the ‘sir’,” the man at the desk said. He poured himself a drink and leaned back in his chair. His pale, thin face was sardonically amused and there were mocking lights in the depths of his dark, proud eyes.

  “WE DON’T stand on rank here,” he said. “In fact, it is non-existent. But I give the orders. And my first order to you is this: get out of your uniforms as fast as possible and forget that you ever belonged to the Federation. Is that clear?”

  “It’s clear enough, but I don’t understand why,” Ward said.

  “Don’t trouble yourself about it.” The man at the desk stood up and tossed off his drink. He was several inches taller than Ward and his stooped shoulders and long arms accentuated his height. “Nothing is worth worrying about, gentlemen. That is my only advice to you as commander of Asteroid Base. We here are outcasts, pariahs. Earth doesn’t want us because we are essentially fighting men. You men, I presume, were sent here because you wanted to fight. If you don’t you won’t last very long.” He eyed them quizzically. “What did you train for in the service?”

  “Gunnery,” answered Brick.

  “Single ship combat,” Ward said. “Were you any good?” their commander asked bluntly.

  “I think I was,” Ward said.

  “Permit me to doubt that, until I see you in action.” The dark eyes of the commander burned contemptuously. “The Federation hasn’t produced a decent combat fighter for ten years. How can they?” he said bitterly, “when they train them in classrooms instead of in actual combat in space?” He paused long enough to pour himself another drink. “You’ll get training here,” he continued. “All you can stand. We don’t coddle anyone on Asteroid Base. I hope for your sakes that you can take it. Otherwise it won’t be pleasant for you.”

  “We’ll take it,” Ward said. He was developing an acute dislike or this bitter, sarcastic commander. “And,” he added, “if I’m going to get lessons in space combat tactics, perhaps I’ll be fortunate enough to receive them from you.”

  The commander didn’t miss the sarcasm in Ward’s voice. He smiled thoughtfully and eyed the glass in his hand.

  “I think that can be arranged,” he said. His voice was suddenly crisp. “Get a good night’s rest, Hanley. I’ll start your training myself tomorrow morning.”

  “It will be a pleasure,” Ward said.

  “Don’t count on that,” the commander said, smiling cryptically.

  WARD was checking the ship assigned to him the following morning when the commander came up beside him, smiling quizzically. The inevitable cigarette hung from his thin lips and in the light he looked even more pale and dissipated than he had the previous day.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Seems to be,” Ward said.

  “Good. Go up when you’re ready. Wait for me at six hundred miles above here. I’ll try not to keep you waiting.”

  “How do we score?” Ward asked.

  The commander smiled.

  “Simple. We fire to singe our opponent’s ship. An atomic blast leaves a definite mark on the metal surface of a ship. The ship with the least atomic burns after fifteen minutes of fighting is the winner.”

  Ward stared at the commander incredulously.

  “But how can you be sure of not scoring a damaging hit?”

  The commander flicked away his cigarette.

  “You can’t,” he said. “But a good eye and steady hands help a lot.” He strolled away.

  Brick came up as Ward was climbing into his suit.

  “I don’t like this business,” he said. “That guy’s got it in for you, for some reason. He’s liable to blow you into kingdom come, just for the hell of it.”

  “I’ll have something to say about that,” Ward said briefly.

  “I don’t like this place,” Brick growled. “Everybody seems to be walking around with a chip on his shoulder.” He glared disgustedly at a group of silent men who were standing in front of the barracks, watching Ward’s preparation for blasting off.

  “I’m goin’ to knock some of those chips off and then start on heads,” Brick said grimly.

  “Take it easy,” Ward said. “Maybe they don’t thaw out very easily. So long.”

  “If anything happens to you up there,” Brick growled, “I’ll knock that gangling skunk into a dozen pieces.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” Ward said.

  He climbed into his ship and slammed the hermetically sealing doors. After a rapid check of his instruments he signalled to the ground crew for clearance. He felt his ship tremble slightly as he cut in the rear rockets. A second later the blast from the mooring tower reverberated in his ears and his ship roared upward, splitting the atmosphere with a whistling shriek.

  Ward leveled at six hundred miles and tested the eight cannons with which the ship was armed. He put the ship through half dozen fast maneuvers to get its feel and then he leveled out again. The ship responded perfectly to his touch and the cannons were ready to belch electronic blasts thousands of miles across the void at the lightest touch of his hand.

  He smiled faintly and circled over the asteroid, which was but a dim blur in the visi-screen on the floor. Perhaps the commander might be in for a slight surprise.

  Several minutes passed before he saw the flashing streak of the commander’s ship break the muggy film of the asteroid’s atmosphere and roar void-ward.

  WARD circled slowly. He was in an extremely favorable position. He had altitude and his ship’s rockets were warm. The commander shot a signal rocket from the tail of his ship as a signal to Ward that
he was ready.

  Ward smiled thinly. The commander was mighty sure of himself. He was signalling Ward to go ahead while he was still flashing upward, while he was completely vulnerable to a dive attack from Ward’s ship. He was either very confident or very careless.

  In either case Ward decided to teach him a lesson. He tightened his circle and broke suddenly into a screaming dive, throwing all of his rocket power behind the maneuver.

  According to all the accepted rules of space combat that he had learned, the move should have caught the commander’s ship squarely in the firing angles of his fore and port guns; but something went wrong.

  At the exact instant that Ward’s finger was tightening on the trigger that operated the automatically synchronized central fire control, the commander’s ship suddenly stopped its upward rush. For a fractional second it hung motionless, then, with a roaring burst of power it swerved to the right and was gone.

  Ward swung his ship about to follow, cursing himself for missing such a perfect opportunity. The commander had shaken him by firing a repulsion blast and checking his ship, momentarily ruining Ward’s fire.

  Ward closed with the commander for the second time with considerably more caution. He followed the commander’s circling ship for several seconds, gradually cutting down the distance between them. When he was almost within accurate firing range he shoved the throttle forward and flashed ahead. He couldn’t take any chances on his shots. He had to be in perfect range before he could fire with sufficient accuracy to sear the commander’s ship. Any mistakes with that type of firing could easily be fatal.

  His burst of speed brought the commander into perfect focus and with a tight smile on his lips, Ward released the full blasts of his fore and port electronic cannons. He saw their fiery course traced across the black surface of the visi-screen; and the apex of their converging lines was the commander’s ship!

  Suddenly he saw orange blasts exploding from the sides of the commander’s ship. The blasts were not aimed at him. They flashed away into the void thousands of miles from Ward’s ship, but as he watched the apparently pointless waste of firing power, he saw that his own charges which he had considered perfectly aimed were flashing wide of the mark. Not by much. They would be considered near hits and an instructor would have rated him highly on his accuracy, but they still didn’t touch their objective.

  DISAPPOINTED, Ward built up power in his rear rockets and released in one reckless, savage burst. Under the impetus of the tremendous discharge of energy his ship flashed ahead with light-like speed.

  Ward was determined to close with the commander. His jaw was set in a hard line and the knuckles of the hand were showing white as he gripped the controls.

  He roared down on the idly circling ship of his opponent taking advantage of his tremendous speed to come in above him where every advantage would be on his side. That instant he was completely in command of the combat, he was in a perfect attack position, he had superior speed and his gunnery indicators showed the commander’s ship squarely in dead center firing angle; but before he could squeeze the trigger the commander’s ship whipped around in an incredibly tight climbing turn that took it completely out of Ward’s range.

  And the next instant the position of the two ships was suddenly reversed. Somehow, Ward never knew quite how, the commander’s ship stalled in its climbing turn and came over backward putting it directly on his tail, only three miles above him.

  He saw in the mirror that reflected the rear visi-screen the commander’s ship diving on him, looming terrifyingly larger with every beat of his heart.

  He tried desperately to maneuver out of the position, but the commander’s ship stuck to his tail as if it were glued there. Ward tried every tactic he had learned, but the commander seemed to anticipate his intention and before Ward could complete the maneuver he would see that it was unavailing.

  But the commander did not open fire, although he was at point blank range. He contented himself with following Ward’s frantic maneuvering.

  Ward felt a sensation of exhausted helplessness creeping over him. The man wasn’t human! He knew what

  Ward was going to do before Ward knew it himself.

  For the next five minutes Ward hurled the ship about a hundred square miles of the void without regard to his own safety. He dove with all rockets blasting a tortured roar of straining power and he made impossible recoveries that threatened to snap the hull of his slim ship in two.

  But nothing he could do shook the nemesis from his tail. The commander followed him through every maneuver, diving even more recklessly and pulling out at even sharper angles to close the ever-narrowing gap between the two ships.

  Ward felt perspiration trickling down his sides and his face was strained and white. His entire body was taut as tightly strung wire and his nerves were screaming from the terrible pressure of the desperate, hopeless effort he was making to escape the commander’s ship.

  If he could only dislodge him for an instant! Shake him loose for just one turn, he would be satisfied. He would prove to himself that it could be done; that the commander could be caught napping. But it was impossible. The more he fought, the harder he forced his straining ship, the slimmer grew the distance between the two ships.

  “Damn him!” Ward raged desperately. “Damn his smug sneering soul to hell!”

  HE swung the ship about in a wild frantic turn and when it failed to shake off the pursuing ship, he knew he was licked. His shoulders felt as if they were supporting thousand pound weights and his eyeballs ached with a terrible burning fire. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. And he felt a humiliation that was more galling, more piercing than anything he had ever known in his life.

  He set the controls at neutral and slumped back in his seat. This was what the commander obviously wanted, complete and humiliating admission that it was a hopeless fight. Well, be had it. There was no point in fighting any longer. Ward watched the rear visi-screen, waiting for the commander’s next move.

  And it was not long in coming!

  The commander’s ship suddenly pointed toward him in a dive and Ward saw orange blasts explode from the three fore electronic cannons.

  That galvanized him into action again. He threw on all power, even though he knew it was impossible to escape the blasts streaking toward him. Before the rear rockets could hurl his ship away he heard a shrieking wail in his ears; and he knew the commander’s blasts had seared the metallic sides of his ship.

  He felt a cold sweat of terror breaking on his forehead; and he cursed himself for it. But he couldn’t help it. He knew how horribly close those blasts had been. If the commander’s aim had been off a fraction they would have transformed his ship to a drifting cinder.

  The thought of what would have happened to him then was unnerving. He maneuvered his ship frantically and kept his eyes glued on the commander’s ship on the visi-screen. But he couldn’t shake him and when the next blasts came he was again caught squarely.

  THE shrieking searing impact of the electronic blasts was like a banshee wail in his ears; and before it had stopped echoing in his aching head he saw the commander’s ship slip off his tail and roar underneath him in a fast dive, raking his vulnerable belly with a series of deadly blasts.

  Deadly, that is, had they been direct hits. But they only grazed the sides of his ship’s belly and ricocheted harmlessly into space.

  Ward realized foggily that he was clear of the commander’s ship. The diving momentum of his ship had taken it off Ward’s tail. He watched as the commander recovered in a slow climb and came back to his level.

  A signal light burst from his tail and Ward knew with a sick sense of relief that the combat was over. The commander’s ship turned and disappeared in a spectacular power dive toward Asteroid Base.

  Ward followed more slowly. His nerves were strained to the snapping point. He knew he had been beaten badly. There had been no redeeming factor in his handling of the ship. The commander had out-maneuvered, out-thou
ght, out-fired and out-flown him in as decisive a theoretical defeat as one space pilot could achieve over another. Ward knew that had the commander wished, he could have blasted him in the first ten seconds of the encounter.

  But in spite of the humiliating beating he felt a grim, hard determination welling in him. He was not going to quit! He’d learn space combat tactics if he had to spend a life-time doing so.

  If the commander thought that one defeat was going to stop him be had another think coming . . .

  Ward stepped out of the elatube car at the base of the mooring tower, the commander was waiting for him, the inevitable cigarette in his mouth and a sardonic smile hovering at the edges of his thin lips.

  He glanced up the two hundred feet elevation of the mooring tower where Ward’s ship, electronic burns gleaming like welts on its surface, was moored.

  Ward flushed and forced bitter words through his lips.

  “You made a fool out of me,” he said.

  “Naturally,” the commander said idly. “You handle a ship in combat like a child.” He studied the tip of his cigarette with amused glints touching his cavernous eyes. “But,” he added negligently, “you’ll do all right with a little practice.”

  Ward had trouble believing that, he had heard correctly.

  “I don’t need any sympathetic pats on the back,” he said stiffly. “I know I was terrible and you do too.”

  “Yes, of course,” the commander said. “You were terrible, but only by comparison.” He flipped his cigarette away and watched it fall in an arc to the ground. A smile touched his lean white face as he studied Ward pensively. “You’ll do all right,” he said again. “You handle your ship fairly well, but you aren’t decisive enough. In void combat everything goes to the man who makes his play with everything he’s got. When you dive, dive! When you turn try and bend the nose of the ship around to touch the tail. And when you fire,” he smiled grimly and put another cigarette in his mouth, “try and fire as I do.”