Complete Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by Fox B. Holden

“Talk! What the seven hells is going on?”

  “Run, you fool! Let go! The Rings are coming in on us! The whole damn planetoid is starting to break up! Ow—damn you! It’s the Geejay. Earth’s been going to hell for over an hour now!”

  “And they let it hit here without warning? ANSWER ME!”

  “You crazy? Warp beams are only for the ITA. Old fashioned radio’s all we’ve got, and it takes eighty minutes—”

  “Thanks!” Jon released the desperate man and thrust him aside, fought his way back into the crowded corridor.

  He had to get out of the building but he was trapped in this crazy mob.

  Another tremor, this one worse than any of the rest, sent the choked corridor into a maelstrom of kicking, clawing confusion. And Jon was the first to see the small panel now blinking EMERGENCY EXIT, sliding slowly, grudgingly back against a bent frame.

  He was through it first. He broke into an open prison yard where the squat, streamlined form of a jetgiro was parked. Crazy thing, jetgiro sitting that way in a prison yard, as though it were just waiting for somebody who’d be coming out the emergency exit. He bolted for it. Had to hurry—the others weren’t far behind, and if they caught up he’d never get the thing into the air. They’d claw him down.

  He took a quick look upward at the sky, and it seemed to be on fire. Even in the brightness of Titan’s artificial daylight the hurtling particles from the disturbed rings flamed blindingly. Saturn itself filled half the sky, and even to the naked eye the great rings were flaring dangerously at the edges.

  He got behind the controls of the giro just as the mob broke through the exit.

  He prayed that the engines weren’t too cold, and even as the durastone floor of the yard split jarringly beneath him and swallowed a dozen men, he punched the Lift stud and the small vehicle rose heavily into the air.

  Cold, of course. No . . . engine-heat almost normal. Then—

  “Sorry, Master Kane.”

  And that was all he heard. There was an awful, sudden pain in his head and then he felt nothing else.

  VI

  DEANNE saw the panel blinking EMERGENCY EXIT too late, and her momentary hesitation at the cross corridor spelled an abrupt finis to her desperate attempt. The lone guard who otherwise would never have seen her brought his springbow up with a look of dazed astonishment on his bearded features, and she froze. “Don’t—please!”

  “Flow did you escape?” He moved closer, springbow was cocked taut.

  “My—my cell door. For some reason it failed to shut properly, and I—I—”

  “That is a likely story indeed, pretty one! Escapes are not made from this prison quite so easily! You come along with me . . . come on!”

  His command ended in a sharp yell of surprise. The springbow clattered from his grasp as the corridor suddenly rocked crazily, and Deanne felt herself thrown bodily against the exit panel!

  It slid back at her touch, and she was through it, and then thrown headlong as a second tremor wrenched her from her feet. The whole world seemed to be disintegrating around her.

  She found strength somehow and ran again, trying vainly to keep her balance, to keep the pitching corridor floor beneath her feet. And then running toward her—God, another guard—

  No! No, it was no guard! And it couldn’t be—

  He caught her, held her without a word. “B-Haaq! B-Haaq—how—”

  “Majtech B-Haaq to you from now on! Just on my way to your cell to take you back where you belong! And that upstart Kane! Only this might save me the trouble—”

  He hauled her roughly after him into the open ramp way which dipped gently into the wide parking yards. The ramp trembled, bucked beneath them but she somehow kept from falling.

  “I—I thought you—Kane—”

  “Thought he killed me, did you? He came close enough, and he’ll pay for it! Come along . . .”

  They crossed the yards at a half run.

  B-Haaq was hauling her up on the fin-step, and then the outer lock was opening, and they were inside.

  The small space craft rocked sickeningly on its mounts.

  B-Haaq barked to his waiting pilot. “Up-ship, you fool! Do you want us wrecked before we’re even underway?”

  The grim faced labortech punched his studs almost before Deanne had secured herself in an ackseat, and then with a dangerous overload of power, the tender jumped free of the shuddering planetoid.

  “B-Haaq—for the love of Pluto, what’s happening—”

  “Haven’t you learned yet what it’s like when a Geejay breaks down? Sol III has been taking this for over an hour. Fortunately for you planetary imbalance doesn’t affect all bodies in a system simultaneously, or that piece of rock back there would be rubble by now . . .”

  “Is there a Project AA underway yet?”

  “Of course there is. The Flagship received a warp beam ESR from Sol III, and of course we dispatched a crew to take care of those nuisances immediately. One of our duties, after all . . .”

  The girl unbuckled her ackseat straps and sat up straight. “You mean they had to call?”

  “What do you expect, that we keep a constant watch on all these backwater planets—”

  “According to Regulations—”

  “A lot you know of Regulations, young woman! Do you realize what the charge against you is? And that the lives of two men were risked to bring you back in one piece?

  “All I know is that this system’s Geejay was serviced only eleven Periods ago, and was supposed to be good for at least—”

  “That will be enough of that, or you’ll find yourself facing more than just loss of rank!”

  She reddened. “What of the man Kane?” she asked.

  “He’s lucky,” B-Haaq answered, grinning slowly. “He’ll be killed down there before they finish the double-A job.”

  An alarm clanged in the ship, and it veered sharply on its automatics, dodging the hurtling masses of debris that were still being flung into Space from the Outer Ring of Saturn. Minutes passed before the labortech at the controls, face drained of color with the tension of watching for the first sign of failure of the automatics, was able to relax and set course outward toward the looming hulk that was Director Gentech Starn’s Flagship, drifting slowly at the system’s rim.

  DEANNE paused on the catwalk, blended herself with its shadows. She had heard nothing. She knew every inch of the great Flagship as she knew the limited dimensions of her own quarters; knew the main traffic corridors and the hours of each cycle when traffic was at its height and at its ebb. And she knew the mazed web of maintenance catwalks as well.

  Her orders had read “Confined to quarters pending disposition of the following charges—” but her Section Commander knew nothing of men like Kane, knew nothing of the fire that could touch a man’s soul and ignite the rebellion that now blazed so brightly in her own. The chances were few that it would even occur to Coltech Q-Jaax that she could be anywhere but in her quarters. At any rate, that was her gamble, and it was far less desperate a one than that which Kane had taken for what he believed.

  The conference chamber loomed below her in the gloom of the ship’s cavernous mid-section, and it would not be difficult to locate one of the many pressure duct leads. But she would need to remove a small transition piece, and—no! What would Kane have done—simply extract a single, strategic machine screw, and swing the piece aside! It would save minutes. Hearing the men below would then be as simple as though she stood in the chamber with them.

  And she must hear, must know what they planned. So that somehow, Jon, if he still lived, could know.

  Within seconds she had swung from the narrow walk and dropped soundlessly atop the wide expanse of the chamber’s metal ceiling. Quickly she estimated the area beneath which the main council table lay, then sought the duct nearest the spot. In only seconds more, she was lying prone in the deep shadows, able to hear.

  “—and to be quite blunt about it, I am genuinely worried . . .” It was her uncle. “
My niece’s extraordinary behavior can be discussed later, gentlemen. Right now this matter of the Gravity-Justifiers is of the most importance. First of all, Captech D-Yun, why was I not immediately notified of the perilous difficulty in Sol system? These people depend upon us for their very lives! Well?”

  “There is no excuse, Sire.”

  “Yes, I think perhaps there is! If not excuse, then reason, at least! If my memory serves me correctly, it has been a scant eleven Periods since the Sol Gravity-Justifier was last serviced, a piece of work, gentlemen, that has in the past been valid for fifty at minimum! Was I, perhaps, to be kept from knowing that what work was performed eleven Periods ago was a failure?”

  A tight pause. And then, “Certainly not, Sire,” in a soft tone from D-Yun. “But these people have been such—well, nuisances. We have given them so much more than their share of service that sabotage of some sort naturally suggested itself. We had been in the process of analytical survey—”

  “I’ll have none of that, not from any of you! Sabotage indeed. Why, it is a matter of record that Sol is not the only system in which breakdown has occurred far ahead of schedule tolerance! Yes, I know that, too, gentlemen! There is another thing I know as well. I know that there is no sabotage.

  I know that my personal staff of copytechs has been overworked for a full period in an effort to keep the peoples of over twenty different star systems unaware of the major technical difficulties which have been increasingly frequent in each of the others! I know that propaganda, instead of technical skill, has been keeping the prestige of the Alliance intact! The fault cannot be laid to Captech D’Yun’s saboteurs! It must be laid squarely at our own door step, gentlemen! For some reason which I would like to know, we have simply not been able to keep up. We are not the technicians our fathers were, and careful study wall show that they were not technicians to match their fathers, nor they their fathers before them! Slowly but too surely, we are losing something! Why?”

  DEANNE breathed shallowly, straining to hear every word.

  “Perhaps, Sire, the efficiency of our Cad tech recruiting system could be improved. Although I admit, the planets have not been producing youths of the caliber of—”

  “Bah! If anything, they’re getting quicker-witted all the time! And we have had little trouble, from among twenty-one star systems in two galaxies, in obtaining the necessary periodic quota! Yet our new ships are not as good! Our number increases, but that is all! And mere number, by itself, is worthless!”

  Another voice replied, but she could not identify it. “That might be traced, Sire, to the poorer quality of raw materials which the planets are obliged by law to furnish us at the scheduled intervals in return for our service—”

  “That is starwash, and you know it! If anything, quality has improved, since the discovery of new mining planets. I can still read records, young man! Perhaps you are not fully acquainted with the Director whom you’re attempting to deceive!”

  “If, Sire, I may hark back for a moment to the question of sabotage . . .” A curious chill coursed the length of Deanne’s slender back. That was B-Haaq speaking. “I suggest that in this particular instance. Captech D-Yun may well be correct. I speak in light of the renegade, Cadtech Kane. Prior to his capture on Titan, there is little telling to what lengths he may have gone for revenge, Sire. As a Fourth Period Cadtech, he knew Geejay co-ordinates for at least twelve systems, and he knew also upon what the power of the ITA depends—technical efficiency. If that were to be flagrantly misrepresented through such sabotage, ITA prestige and power would of course suffer, and Kane’s thirst for revenge slaked. I think perhaps it is of paramount importance that we seek to discover where he might strike next! If, that is, he survived the disintegration of Titan.”

  A murmur went up, grew noisier, and Deanne felt herself holding her breath. Then there was her uncle’s voice again—“You use the word ‘power’ strangely, Majtech.”

  “Not at all strangely, Sire! Our technical excellence has male all planets completely dependent upon us! You may say that it is not revenge that we seek, but only safety. You may say that if we do have power and prestige, it is only for self protection, so that what happened to our ancestors centuries ago may never again be repeated. All these things are true. But also true is the fact that power is power. We have it, for two galaxies depend upon us for the very life of their civilizations! It is Kane who would threaten it! To give it up, or to let it be so easily taken from us, is to make of ourselves the fools that Kane so confidently assumes us to be! Centuries of work and progress hang in the balance, gentlemen! If this Kane has escaped Titan, we must find him! And if he has not, then we must undo his work! We must, in short, show these planets who holds the whip-hand, first, last and always!”

  There was a moment of silence. Then suddenly a swelling flow of voices lifted in approval, and there was scattered applause. And it did not quiet immediately when the Director Gentech spoke.

  “Gentlemen! Gentlemen. You must know that I thoroughly disapprove of the views that Majtech B-Haaq has just expressed, and I am certain that, upon a moment’s self-examination, you will feel as I do. I have thought often of the man Kane, and have as often wondered how close he may have been to many truths which we have either overlooked or forgotten! However, in all fairness to the Majtech I will call for a vote. Those in favor of the Majtech’s proposals to comb the Sol system for Cadtech Kane, and to assert the prestige of the ITA will ballot yea.’ Those opposed will cast blank ballots.”

  Silence, then, and Deanne counted her heart beats, thought surely they must be loud enough now to be heard the length and breadth of the ship.

  “—the ballots have been counted, gentlemen . . .” The deep voice was slow and deliberate as it always was—yet it seemed, somehow, too slow now, too deep. “Majtech B’Haaq’s proposals are approved by a majority of—of one vote. We will therefore begin our search immediately, and will trust that I was also incorrect in my evaluation of our present technological efficiency. This session is now adjourned.”

  Director Gentech Starn had suffered the first overruling of his long career.

  VII

  THERE were hard, stinging sensations in his face. They pierced the infinity of darkness until somewhere in it they touched his naked nerves and the darkness receded, slowly and became a blinding light.

  A space-suited figure was standing over him, and it held the limp form of an empty suit in one hand, and a hand-weapon in the other, and the weapon was extended toward him, butt first!

  He could see the hard, beetle-browed face behind the sealed face piece of the helmet. The mouth was moving rapidly, but he could not hear.

  Jon’s head hurt, and the pain spread throughout his body when he moved to get his feet beneath him, stood up. Subconsciously he knew he was aboard a ship in Space; there was die subtle, rippling vibration so familiar to any man with Spacelegs, and there was the smell of pumped atmosphere and the curious feeling of artificial gravity.

  He tried to think even as he took the suit shoved into his arms by the man who had brought him back to consciousness, and began climbing dazedly into it. A suit, inside a ship in which the atmosphere was perfectly breathable? A ship! Tinker? No—no ITA craft, even the newest, had such thicklooking bulkheads, or was equipped with suits of such peculiar design—hard to get into the thing, nothing was in its right place. But if not an ITA craft, then—but that was not possible!

  He had no sooner gotten the helmet adjusted than the radiophones in it crackled.

  “Snap it up, get that face plate sealed! Here, you may need this—” He had taken care of the face plate, and now the curiously fashioned hand weapon was pushed into his right hand.

  “What—”

  “There’s half a hundred Tinkers out fumbling around with a Project AA. Things are letting up on the planets, but they still haven’t got the damn thing fixed the way it should be . . . found us, though . . .”

  “Us?” His tongue was still thick in his mouth and it w
as difficult to talk, or even think of words to say.

  “You’ll find out about us later. But in about a minute more they’ll be in range, and those Space cannon of theirs’ll be whaling away at us for all they’re worth. They’d be dead ducks if this bucket was equipped the way it should be . . .” The man cursed. “. . . but there’s not enough E-blasters to go around yet, or I-drives either, and that’s why we’re going to be a big sieve in less time than it takes to tell it. I suppose it ain’t your fault—”

  “My fault? Last I knew—”

  “Sorry if I slugged you too hard, but the boss said to be sure. Be sure, he says, and he sends us out in one of the first tanks we made instead of one of the new jobs! Sometimes, I—”

  “No escape craft? No—”

  “You kidding? We sit here and take it! We could take to the ports, but the power packs on these suits are no match for those space tenders of theirs. They’d pick us up sure. Me, I’d die ten times first!”

  Jon tried to assimilate the information, tried to take it all in even as he struggled to gain back his full consciousness.

  “Mind telling me where we are? Where we’re headed? Why in hell I was shanghaied?”

  “Right now, about two points spherical north-northwest of Jupiter, minus about twelve to the ecliptic. Where we’re headed you’ll find out, if we live through this. And you weren’t shanghaied. Not all the way, anyway. You didn’t think that alarm system stayed quiet all by itself, did you? Or that the jetgiro flew itself to where you found it? The boss is still going to be sore. We were supposed to put the net over two of you—”

  So it had been too easy! Of course the ’quake hadn’t been counted on and that had disrupted the plan, but at least there had been a plan, and that meant that there was someone who wanted him away from the ITA.

  “You weren’t on Titan five minutes before we knew.”

  “But what about the girl? The Lenantech arrested with me?” Something cold was suddenly eating away inside him, and the memory of the awful quakes came back to him in a rush, and he could visualize Deanne, lying lifeless somewhere.