Complete Short Fiction, page 106
“The giants need immediate assistance. The Weapon Makers must now take over, must send out volunteers to play the role of giant for fifteen minutes or half an hour per person. They do not have to destroy, but their appearance will give an effect of continuity, and will lend psychological support to Weapon Shop propaganda.
“It is essential that the first giant appear sometime early this evening. For your sake, for the sake of the progressive forces of man, do not fail.”
He was still in his hide-out fifteen minutes later when the first of the giants appeared. So quick was the response and—
It was too quick. It showed private plans. It showed that the greatest force in the solar system was reacting like a finely poised steel spring—and he’d better get to the palace fast. But first—
The time had come to bring into use one of his secret inventions. To begin with, a little trip through the one that he had here in his hide-out. Later, when the crisis came, he could make an attempt to utilize a replica that, long ago, he had secreted in the tombs of the palace.
The next twelve hours would be—decisive.
TO BE CONCLUDED.
ABDICATION
JIM RAND had made his pile out in the stars at the frontier of the Galaxy. He was going home, hack to Earth and retirement and marriage. He was, that is, till somebody started trying to push him there—
The big man came aboard the space liner from one of the obscure planets in that group of stars known as the Ridge.
The Ridge is not visible as such from Earth. It lies well to the “upper” edge of the Milky Way; and the long, jerky line of stars that compose it point at Earth, thus showing as a little, bright cluster in an Earth telescope. Seen from Kidgeon’s Blackness, far to the right, the Ridge stands out beautifully clear, one of the more easily distinguishable guide-marks in our Galaxy.
The area is not well serviced. Once a week an interstellar liner flashes down the row of stars, stopping off according to advance notices received from its agents on the several score little-known planets. On reaching the edge of the Ridge, the ship heads for the central communication center, Dilbau III, where transfer is made to the great ships that traffic to distant Earth.
The entire trip requires about three weeks; and anyone, who moved around as much as I did, soon learned that the most interesting part of the journey is watching the passengers who get on and off at the way ports.
That’s how I came to see the big man as soon as I did.
Even before he came aboard from the surface craft that had flashed up to where we lay about a hundred thousand miles above the planet, I could see that the new passenger was somebody.
It was his luggage, case after case of it being hoisted by the cranes, which gave that information. Beside me, a ship’s officer gasped to a fellow officer:
“Good heavens, that’s ninety tons of the stuff so far!”
That made me straighten up with interest. They don’t allow freight on these liners; and ninety tons makes up a lot of personal belongings. The officer spoke again:
“It’s the permanent move, looks like to me. Somebody’s made his pile, and he’s going home to Earth. Look! It’s Jim Rand.”
It was.
I have a little theory of my own about legendary men of space like Jim Rand. It’s their reputations that enable them to accomplish their greatest and most widely publicized coups.
Initial momentum is necessary, naturally, and boundless energy and courage, but that only makes millions. It’s reputation that pushes such men into the billion stellor class.
Jim Rand’s deep, familiar voice broke my reverie: “Hello, there,” he said. “I believe I know you, but I can’t place you.”
He had stopped a few feet from where I stood, and was staring at me.
He was a man of about fifty, with a small mustache, and a nose that looked as if it had been broken, and then repaired under emergency conditions. That slight twist in it didn’t hurt his looks any, rather it added a curious strength to the muscular lines of his face. His eyes were blue-green, bright now with puzzlement.
I knew exactly how he was feeling. People whom I’ve met, and meet again later, always wonder whether or not they know me; and sometimes they become very exasperated with their memories. It’s up to me, then, to recall the occasion. Sometimes, I do that; sometimes I don’t.
I said now: “Yes, Mr. Rand, I was introduced to you by a mutual friend when you were organizing the Wild Mines of Guurdu. Your mind was probably on more weighty matters at the time. My name is Delton—Chris Delton.”
His gaze was curiously steady. “Maybe,” he said finally. “But I don’t think I’d forget a man of your appearance.”
I shrugged. They always say that. I saw that his face was clearing.
“Will you meet me in the lounge in about an hour?” he said. “Perhaps we can talk.”
I nodded. “Happy to.”
I watched him walk off along the brilliantly lighted corridor, redcaps wheeling several trunks and bags after his tall, powerful form.
He did not look back.
Beneath my feet I could feel the shudder of engines. The great ship was getting under way.
“Yes,” said Jim Rand an hour and a half later, “I’m through, I’m retiring, quitting for good. No more wildcat stuff. I’ve bought an estate; I’m going to get married, have some children and settle down.”
We were sitting in the lounge, and we had become more friendly than I had thought possible. The great, glittering room was practically deserted, nearly everybody having answered the first call for dinner.
I said: “I don’t wish to seem a cynic, but you know the old story: All this out here, these untamed planets, the measureless wealth, the dark vastness of space itself—it’s supposed to get into a man’s blood.”
I finished as coolly as I could: “Actually, the most important thing in your life at the moment is that at least two, possibly four, men have been watching you for the past three minutes.”
“Yes,” said Jim Rand. “I know. They’ve been there since we came in.”
“Do you know them?”
“Never saw them before in my life.” He shrugged. “And I don’t give a damn either. Five years ago, even last year, I might have got myself excited about the possibilities. Not now. I’m through. My mind is made up. I’ve laid my plans.”
He settled back in the lounge chair, a big, alert man, smiling at me with a faint, amused expression in his eyes.
“I’m glad you were aboard,” he said, “though I still can’t remember our last meeting. It would have been boring alone with all these little minds.”
He waved a great hand with a generous gesture that took in half the ship. I couldn’t suppress a smile. I said:
“Boredom—there’ll be plenty of that on Earth for a map of action. The place is closed in by the damnedest laws—all kinds of queer regulations about not carrying energy guns—and if anybody bothers you, or starts trouble, you’ve got to settle it in court. Why, do you know, they sentence you to jail simply for owning an invisibility suit?”
Rand smiled lazily. “That won’t bother me. I gave all mine away.”
I stared at him, frowning. “You know,” I said finally, “I’ve found that trouble never asks whether it’s welcome or not. Don’t look now, but somebody’s just got out of the elevator, and is coming toward you.”
I finished: “If you need any help, just call on me.”
“Thank you,” said Jim Rand. He smiled his lazy smile, but I could see the gathering alertness in him. “I usually handle my own trouble.”
It was I who had the vantage point. I was facing the elevator. Rand was sitting side-wise to it; and, superb actor that he was, he did not deign to glance around, or so much as flick an eyelash.
I studied the stranger who was approaching, without looking at him directly. His eyes, I saw, were dark in color, rather close-set behind a long, thin nose. It was a wolfish face thus set off, with thin, cruel lips and a receding chin that yet gave no suggestion of weakness. The man eased his lank body into the lounge beside Rand.
Ignoring me, he said: “We might as well understand each other.”
If Rand was startled by that, there was no indication on his face. He smiled, then pursed his lips.
“By all means,” he said. “Misunderstandings are bad, bad.”
He clicked his tongue sadly, as if the memory of past misunderstandings and resultant tragedies was passing through his mind. It was magnificently done, and I could not restrain a thrill of admiration.
“You are meddling in something which is no business of yours.”
Rand nodded thoughtfully to that, and I could see that the movement was more than an actor’s gesture. It must be occurring to him by now that he had better put some thought to such an open threat.
His voice was light, however, as he said: “Now, there, you have touched on one of my pet subjects—business ethics.”
The man’s dark-brown eyes flamed. He spat his words: “We have already been compelled to kill three men. I am sure, Mr. Blord, you would not want to be the fourth.”
That startled Rand. His eyes widened; and there was no doubt that he was shocked at the discovery that he was being mistaken for someone else, particularly that someone.
I don’t know whether I’m qualified to speak about Artur Blord. He’s simply one of several dozen similar types of men who made the Ridge their stamping ground. Cities spring up where the heavy hand of their money points. And that brings more money, which they concentrate elsewhere.
Blord differed from the others only in that he was a mystery, and few people had ever seen him. For some reason, this added to his reputation, so much so that I have heard people speak about him in hushed whispers.
The shock faded from Rand’s face. His eyes narrowed. He said coldly:
“If there must be a fourth dead man, I assure you it won’t be me.”
The wolf-faced man actually changed color. That’s what reputation can do. He said hastily, his tone conciliatory:
“There’s no reason for us to be fighting. There’re nine of us now, all good men that even you, Blord, cannot afford to antagonize. I should have known I couldn’t scare you. Here’s our real proposition:
“We’ll give you ten million stellors, payable in cash, within an hour, provided you sign an agreement stating that you will NOT get off this ship tomorrow at Zand.”
He leaned back. “Now, isn’t that a fair and square offer?”
“Perfectly,” said Rand, emphatically, “perfectly fair.”
“Then you’ll do it!”
“No!” said Jim Rand. And moved his right arm about a foot. It was a long distance for that powerful arm to gather momentum; and its effect was comparatively devastating.
“I don’t like,” said Jim Rand, “people who threaten me.”
The man was moaning, clutching at his broken nose. He stumbled blindly to his feet and headed for the elevator. His four companions gathered around him, and they all vanished into the glistening interior.
As soon as the elevator door closed, Rand whirled on me. “Did you get that?” he said. “Blord! Artur Blord is mixed up in this. Do you realize what it could mean? He’s the biggest operator on this side of Dilbau III. He’s got a technique for using other men that’s absolutely the last word. I’ve always wanted to stack up against him but—”
He stopped, then hissed: “Wait here!”
He walked swiftly toward the elevator, stood for a moment staring at the floor indicator of the machine the others had taken, then climbed into the adjoining lift. Ten minutes later, he settled softly in the seat he had left.
“Have you ever seen a wounded nid?” he said exultantly. “It heads straight for home without regard to the trail it may leave.” There was bright fire in his gaze, as he went on briskly: “The chap whom I hit is called Tansey; and he and his gang have taken Apartments 300-308. The outfit must be new to the Ridge stars. Proof is they mistook a person as well-known as I am for Blord. They—” Rand stopped short there. He looked at me sharply. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m thinking,” said I, “of a man who’s retiring; his plans are all made, estate, wife, children—”
“Oh!” said Jim Rand.
The glow faded from his eyes. Some of the life went out of him. He sat very still frowning; and I didn’t have to be a mind reader to see the struggle that was taking place in his mind.
At last, he laughed ruefully, “I am through,” he said. “It’s true I forgot myself for a moment, but I must expect occasional lapses. My will remains unalterable.”
He paused; then: “Will you have dinner with me?”
I said: “I had dinner served in my apartment before I came to meet you.”
“Well, then,” he persisted, “how about coming up to my rooms a couple of hours from now?” He smiled. “I can see you’re skeptical about me, and so you may be interested in proof that I’m really in earnest. I’ve got the presidential suite, by the way. Will you come?”
“Why, sure,” I said. I sat watching him walk off toward the dining room.
It was half-past eight—all these stellar ships are operated on Earth time—when Rand opened the door for me, and led me into his living room. The whole room was littered with three-dimensional maps, each in its long case; and I was familiar enough with the topography that was visible to recognize the planet Zand II.
Rand looked at me quickly, laughed and said: “Don’t get any wrong ideas. I’m not planning anything. I’m merely curious about the situation on Zand.”
I looked at him carefully. He had seated himself; and he seemed at ease, casual, without a real worry in him. I said, finally:
“I wouldn’t dismiss the matter as readily as that. Remember, you didn’t invite their attention in the first place; they’re not liable to wait for future invitations either.”
Rand waved an impatient arm. “To hell with them. They’ll be off the ship in fifteen hours.”
I said slowly: “You may not realize it, but your position in relation to such men is different than it’s ever been. For the first time in your existence, you’re thinking in terms of your personal future.
“In the past, death was an incident, and, if necessary you were ready to accept it. Wasn’t that the general philosophy?”
Rand was scowling: “What are you getting at?”
“You can’t afford to take any chances. I’m going to suggest that I go to Apartment 300, and tell them who you are.”
Rand’s gaze was suspicious. “Are you kidding?” he said. “Do you think I’m going to eat dirt for a bunch of cheap crooks? If I have to handle them, I’ll do it my way.”
He shrugged. “But never mind. I can see you mean well. Take a look at this, will you?”
He indicated one of the long map plates, on which showed a section of the third continent of the planet Zand II. His finger touched a curling tongue of land that jutted into the Sea of Iss. I nodded questioningly, and he went on:
“Last time I was on Zand, they were building a city there. It was mostly tents, with a population of about a hundred thousand, about three hundred murders a week, and atomic engineering was just coming in. That was six years ago.”
“I was there last year,” I said. “The population then was a million. There were twenty-seven skyscrapers of fifty to a hundred stories, and everything was built of the indestructible plastics. The city is called Grenville after—” Rand cut me off grimly. “I know him. He used to work for me, and I had a run-in with him when I was on Zand. Had to leave fast at the time because I was busy elsewhere, and because he had the power.”
A thoughtful frown creased his face. “I always intended to go back.”
I nodded. “I know. Unfinished business.”
He started to nod to that. And then he sat up and stared at me. I was absolutely amazed at the passion that flared in his voice, as he raged:
“If I went around fishing up all the business I’ve started, and paying off all the ingrates, I’d still be here a thousand years from now.”
His anger faded. He looked at me sheepishly. “I beg your pardon.”
There was silence. Finally, Rand mused: “So there’re a million people there now. Where the devil do they all come from?”
“Not on these liners,” I said. “It’s too expensive. They come packed into small freighters, men and women crowded together in the same rooms.”
Rand nodded. “I’d almost forgotten. That’s the way I came. You’d think it was romantic to hear some people talk. It’s not. I’ve had my skinful of frontier stuff. I’m settling in one of the garden cities of Earth in a fifteen-million-stellor palace with a wife that will—”
He broke off. His eyes lighted. “That’s what I want to show you,” he said. “My future home, my future wife.”
Rand led the way into the second sitting room—the lady’s sitting room, it’s called in the circulars—and I saw with surprise that he had had a screen fitted up against a wall and there was a compact projector standing on the table.
Rand switched off the lights and turned on the projector. A picture flashed on the screen, the picture of a palatial house.
The first look made me whistle. I couldn’t help it. They say that men don’t dream of homes, but if ever anything looked like a dream come alive, this was it. There was a flow in the design, and a sense of space. I can’t just describe that. The mansion actually looked smaller than it was; it seemed like a jewel in its garden setting, a white jewel glittering in the sun.
There was a click; the picture faded from the screen, and Rand said slowly:
“That’s the house, built, paid for, fully staffed. Am I committed, or am I not?”
In the half darkness, I said: “It can’t possibly cost more than a million stellors a year to maintain. Say, another million to operate a space yacht and to cover the overhead of watching your holdings. Your share of the Guurdu Mines alone will pay for it all ten times over.”
