Space Gladiators, page 12
“I could stay away no longer,” said Mrs. Chickering. “I had to know how—our business was proceeding.”
Julius See leaned forward curiously. “What kind of business do you mean?”
Mrs. Chickering turned him a swift contemptuous glance; then her attention was attracted by two women who came hobbling from the direction of the inn. She gasped. “Olga! Altamira! What on Earth—”
“Don’t stand there gasping,” snapped Mrs. Chaim. “Get us clothes. Those frightful savages tore us to shreds.”
Mrs. Chickering turned in confusion to Magnus Ridolph. “Just what has happened! Surely you can’t have—”
Magnus Ridolph cleared his throat. “Mrs. Chickering, a word with you aside.” He drew her out of earshot of the others. “Mrs. Chaim and Mrs. Borgage—are they friends of yours?”
Mrs. Chickering cast an anxious glance over her shoulder. “I can’t understand the situation at all,” she muttered feverishly. “Mrs. Chaim is the president of the Woman’s League and Mrs. Borgage is treasurer. I can’t understand them running around with their clothing in shreds. …”
Magnus Ridolph said candidly, “Well, Mrs. Chickering, in carrying out your instructions, I allowed scope to the natural combativeness of the natives, and perhaps they—”
“Martha,” came Mrs. Chaim’s grating voice close at hand, “what is your connection with this man? I have reason to suspect that he is mixed up in this terrible attack. Look at him!” Her voice rose furiously. “They haven’t laid a finger on him! And the rest of us—”
Martha Chickering licked her lips. “Well, Olga, dear, this is Magnus Ridolph. In accordance with last month’s resolution, we hired him to close down the gambling here at the inn.”
Magnus Ridolph said in his suavest tones, “Following which, Mrs. Chaim and Mrs. Borgage naturally thought it best to come out and study the situation at first hand; am I right?”
Mrs. Chaim and Mrs. Borgage glared. Mrs. Chaim said, “If you think, Martha Chickering, that the Woman’s League will in any way recognize this rogue—”
“My dear Mrs. Chaim,” protested Magnus Ridolph.
“But, Olga—I promised him a thousand munits a week!” Magnus Ridolph waved his hand airily. “My dear Mrs. Chickering, I prefer that any sums due me be distributed among worthy charities. I have profited during my short stay here—” “’See!” came Captain Bussey’s voice. “For God’s sake, man, control yourself!”
Magnus Ridolph, turning, found See struggling in the grasp of Captain Bussey. “Try and collect!” See cried out to Magnus Ridolph. He angrily thrust Captain Bussey’s arms aside, stood with hands clenching and unclenching. “Just try and collect!” “My dear Mr. See, I have already collected.”
“You’ve done nothing of the sort—and if I catch you in my boat again, I’ll break your scrawny little neck!”
Magnus Ridolph held up his hand. “The hundred thousand munits I wrote off immediately; however, there were six other bets which I placed by proxy; these were paid, and my share of the winnings came to well over three hundred thousand munits. Actually, I regard this sum as return of the capital which I placed with the Outer Empire Investment and Realty Society, plus a reasonable profit. Everything considered, it was a remunerative as well as instructive investment.”
“Ridolph,” muttered See, “one of these days—”
Mrs. Chaim shouldered forward. “Did I hear you say ‘Outer Empire Realty and Investment Society’?”
Magnus Ridolph nodded. “I believe that Mr. See and Mr. Holpers were responsible officials of the concern.”
Mrs. Chaim took two steps forward. See frowned uneasily; Bruce Holpers began to edge away. “Come back here!” cried Mrs. Chaim. “I have a few words to say before I have you arrested.”
Magnus Ridolph turned to Captain Bussey. “You return to Methedeon on schedule, I assume?”
“Yes,” said Captain Bussey dryly.
Magnus Ridolph nodded. “I think I will go aboard at once, since there will be considerable demand for passage.”
“As you wish,” said Captain Bussey.
“I believe No. 12 is your best cabin?”
“I believe so,” said Captain Bussey.
“Then kindly regard Cabin No. 12 as booked.’’
“Very well, Mr. Ridolph.”
Magnus Ridolph looked up the mountainside. “I noticed Mr. Pilby running along the ridge a few minutes ago. I think it would be a real kindness if he were notified that the war is over.”
“I think so too,” said Captain Bussey. They looked around the group. Mrs. Chaim was still engaged with Julius See and Bruce Holpers. Mrs. Borgage was displaying her bruises to Mrs. Chickering. No one seemed disposed to act on Magnus Ridolph’s suggestion.
Magnus Ridolph shrugged, climbed the gangway into the Archaeomyx. “Well, no matter. In due course he will very likely come by himself.”
FIESTA BRAVA
by Mack Reynolds
For once, Supervisor Sid Jakes of Section G., Bureau of Investigation, Department of Justice, Commissariat of Interplanetary Affairs, was flabbergasted. Gone as the snows of yesteryear was the easygoing, happy-go-lucky expression on his face.
He said blankly, “You mean Supervisor Li Chang Chu sent you people for this Falange assignment?”
The large one, who had named himself Dorn Horsten, nodded seriously. His facial muscles would perhaps have been hard put to register anything other than stolid sincerity. “That is correct, Citizen Jakes.”
The Section G official looked at him in puzzlement. “Horsten … Horsten. Dorn Horsten. You’re not Dr. Horsten, the algae specialist?”
“That is correct.”
“But … but what are you doing in my office? In Section G? Li Chang was shaping up a small troupe for me to send to a far-out planet that’s been giving us a hard time.”
Horsten nodded. “I understand the size of your organization precludes you knowing all your agents, Supervisor Jakes. I was recruited by Ronny Bronston, after he had saved my life under somewhat remarkable circumstances. Although I embrace the purpose of Section G as ardently as any other agent, thus far I have been utilized on only two assignments.”
Sid Jakes shook his head and turned to the middle-aged couple seated sedately before his desk. The woman was small and demure, the man on the plumpish side. There was the feeling of servants; long years in service—he perhaps a butler, she a maid or cook.
‘‘And you two also are Section G agents?”
“We three,” the man said.
Sid Jakes stared at the little girl in her pink go-to-party dress, a blue ribbon in her neatly combed blond hair to match her baby-blue eyes.
He blurted, “How in the world did you get past the Octagon guards with that child?”
The child tinkled a laugh.
The woman said, “Helen is … is it twenty-five?”
“Twenty-six,” Helen said. She made a childish face at Sid Jakes, who blinked.
The woman, who had been introduced as Martha Lorans, said, “Helen isn’t really our daughter, of course. It’s camouflage. In putting the team together, Li Chang thought it would go far as protective coloring.”
“Especially,” Helen said, “since otherwise I’m so conspicuous.”
“But … then you’re a midget,” Sid Jakes blurted.
“Not exactly,” the seeming child said, an element of irritation in her voice. “There’s a situation on our planet that thus far our research people haven’t solved. For that matter, we are not so sure we wish to solve it. What is the basis of this belief that people should strive to be taller? Why was the Viking the ideal, rather than the Japanese?”
“For one thing,” Dr. Dorn Horsten said, deadpanned, “the Viking could clobber the Japanese.”
She looked over at him and snorted. “Not always, you big lummox. It was the Jap who perfected judo and karate, remember. But even if it was true that in the old days of swords and spears the large man dominated the small, we don’t use such weapons today.”
“What started all this jetsam?” Sid Jakes said. The interview had a feeling of unreality so far as he was concerned. He had more than an averagely serious situation on his hands, and had requested a team of trained Section G operatives. His colleague, Li Chang Chu, had sent him what would appear an average middle-aged family, man, woman and eight-year-old, and a staid, though admittedly king-sized, scientist of interplanetary reputation.
Helen said, “I was just telling you that on my home planet, of Gandharvas, we are small in stature, as averages go, and we also are long-lived and mature rather slowly, insofar as appearance is concerned. In my case, and under these circumstances, I also, of course, am relying upon children’s clothes, a child’s hairdo, and even a certain amount of cosmetic to put over the effect desired.”
“The effect desired?” Sid Jakes said blankly. “What in the name of the Holy Ultimate did Li Chang think the effect desired was? I need a troupe of agents, tough agents, to lick the situation on Falange.”
“How tough?” Helen said sweetly. She had allowed the childish lisp to return to her voice.
It was a matter of exasperation now. Sid Jakes glared at her. “Tougher than any seeming eight-year-old kid could handle,” he snapped. “Listen, they’re onto Section G on this planet Falange. We’ve lost three agents there in the past year and a half. In each case they were unmasked and brought to trial on trumped-up charges. One was accused of murder, one of subversion and the other disrespect of the Caudillo; all capital offenses. Their Policía Secreta is one of the most efficient in the some three thousand member worlds of United Planets. They ought to be, they’ve had enough practice. And now they’re just sitting there, waiting for the next batch of Section G operatives to show up.”
Sid Jakes came to his feet suddenly, paced around the desk and up and down the floor, in sheer disgust. “It’s going to be a neat trick to even land there, not to speak of overthrowing the crackpot government.”
“Overthrowing the government?” Pierre Lorans said interestedly. “Li Chang didn’t tell us what the assignment involved.”
The Section G supervisor turned on him. “I suppose that if you’ve made agent in this bureau, you must have something on the ball. What did you do before you were recruited?”
“I was, and am, a chef,” Lorans said.
“A chef!” Jakes rolled his eyes upward in search of divine guidance. Then he looked at the drab appearing woman. “And you?”
“I’m a housewife.”
“A housewife. Holy Jumping Zen. Except for the training I assume Li Chang put you through before making you a full agent, did you have any earlier background that would …”
She shook her head. “No. Not exactly.”
He rounded the desk again and plumped himself down in his swivel chair. He closed his eyes and said, “I give up. I surrender. Three of our best agents down the drain and to replace them I get a double-domed scientist, a pint-sized girl in a baby getup, a chef and a housewife.”
Dr. Dorn Horsten lumbered to his feet. He was a big man, at least six-four and some two hundred and forty pounds. However, his conservative dress, his pince-nez glasses and his scholarly facial expression, tended to offset his size.
He said gently, “Helen, I suppose we should make some effort to indicate why Li Chang Chu chose us for the assignment.”
The little girl looked up at him in wide-eyed innocence. “Al-lez oop!” she tinkled suddenly.
In a blur of motion, the hulking scientist reached down and grabbed her by the feet, swung her mightily, in a giant circle, launched her brutally at the far wall, head first.
Sid Jakes’s eyes bugged. He came halfway to his feet, froze there momentarily, sank back again.
She turned in the air, her small arms tucked around her knees, hit the wall, feet first, bounced upward, hit the ceiling, feet first, ricocheted off to a set of steel files, bounced onto the desk of the Section G supervisor, seemed to go up into the air and spin around three times. She wound up sitting on his shoulder, his paperknife in her tiny, chubby hand. The point of the paperknife was behind his right ear.
Dr. Dorn Horsten nonchalantly picked up Sid Jakes’s ultra-large steel desk, tucked it under his left arm and walked over to the wall where he leaned, on his right hand, still holding the desk.
Horsten said mildly, “The widely held prejudice that doubledomes—I believe was your term—don’t have muscles fails to stand up on my home world of Ftörsta, Citizen Jakes. You see, we have a 1.6 G planet. On top of that, the original colonists were, ah, nature boys, I believe is the usual term of contempt. At any rate, in the same manner that Helen’s world possibly has the smallest average citizen in United Planets, surely Ftörsta has the strongest.”
Sid Jakes was still in a condition of shock.
He blatted, “You can’t pick that up!”
Dorn Horsten let his eyebrows rise.
‘‘It must weight a ton!” Jakes protested.
“I doubt it,” Horsten said. ‘‘It doesn’t have the heft.”
Helen, with a skip and a jump, bounced from her superior’s shoulder to the floor and in a graceful, flowing motion, back into the chair she had originally occupied.
The overgrown doctor returned the desk to its place, an apologetic air about him. ‘‘It speeds things up, sometimes, to be a bit melodramatic,” he said.
Sid Jakes closed his eyes and rubbed them with his right hand. He opened them again and looked accusingly at Mr. and Mrs. Pierre Lorans.
Pierre Lorans shifted in his chair slightly and said, “I throw things.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Jakes muttered. And then, “What do you mean, you throw things? Why?”
“Well, it’s always been a hobby. Ever since childhood I’ve got a kick out of throwing things.” He came to his feet and approached the Section G official’s desk. “For instance,” he said and picked up the paperknife.
The office of Sid Jakes was done with a British Victorian revival motif. At the far end of the more than averagely large room was an antique calendar.
“For instance,” Lorans repeated and suddenly flicked the paperknife. “It is, June 23rd; old calendar, isn’t it?”
Jakes’s eyes went to the calendar. “Hey,” he said, “that’s a collector’s item!”
The professional chef took up an ancient pen, a decorative antique on the supervisor’s desk. That flicked suddenly too, and also buried itself in the tiny square devoted to June 23rd.
He turned back to his superior. “Just about anything. Knives, spears, hatchets, meat cleavers …”
Jakes shuddered.
“ … Ball bearings …”
“Ball bearings?” Jakes said.
“Hm-m-m,” the plump man fished into his jerkin pocket and came forth with a shiny steel marble. “You’d be surprised what you can do with a ball bearing. See the right eye in that portrait down there?”
“Oh no, you don’t …” Jakes said much too late.
The ball bearing instead of bouncing off, penetrated the eye completely and evidently imbedded itself in the wall.
”… Baseballs,” Lorans was saying, “boomerangs, shovels, crowbars, wrenches—”
“Shovels!” Jakes said. “All right, all right. Sit down. Don’t throw anything else. I accept your word.” He bent his eye on Mrs. Lorans. “Do you throw things, too, or is it only a one-member-of-the-family vice?”
“Oh, no,” she said primly. “Pierre and I met at the Special Talents class of Supervisor Li Chang …”
“Is that where she dug you all up?” he muttered. “I’m going to have to find the time to look into that pet project of Li Chang’s.”
“We attended at the same time. I’d never seen anyone throw things before. Not like Pierre does. You should see him throw a fork.”
Sid Jakes looked pained and muttered something about inviting the other to dinner, but then he said, aloud, “And your, ah, Special Talent?”
“Well,” she came to her feet and approached the antique bookshelves, pursed her lips and selected a volume of the “Encyclopedia Britannica.”
“Holy Jumping Zen,” Jakes snapped. “Easy with that. It’s worth its weight in platinum. Don’t throw it.”
“I wasn’t going to throw it,” she said. She put it down on the desk, opened it at random, spent possibly one flat second scanning the page and then pushed the book in front of Jakes and returned to her chair.
He stared at her.
Her eyes went vague and she began to recite ”… which is shown a lion holding a sword. The whole has a border of yellow. This flag was first hoisted on the morning of February 4, 1948 and became …”
She droned on and on.
Sid Jakes scowled, looked from one of the four to the other, finally looked down at the book. He blinked.
Mrs. Pierre Lorans was reciting, word for word, the “Encyclopedia’s” article on flags—word for word and without a single mistake.
“All right,” he interrupted finally. He looked at her accusingly. “You could do the whole page?”
“Yes.”
“You could do the whole ‘Encyclopedia’?” he said unbelievingly.
“If I scanned each page.”
“Holy Ultimate, why don’t you rent yourself out as a computer memory bank?”
“I have held somewhat equivalent positions,” she said.
Sid Jakes sat there for a long moment, looking at them. Finally he said, “Forgive me, but frankly you four are the most unlikely set of freaks I’ve ever had in my office.”
Dr. Dorn Horsten said stolidly, “Actually, we are not as far out as all that. It is just that you are seeing us all together. In truth, man has always been a freak among animals. Even right here on Earth, in the old days were men who trained themselves to the point where they could pick up four thousand pounds— two tons. There were others who could run down a wild horse and capture it. There were gymnasts who could put a monkey to shame. There were others with eidetic memories, such as Lord MacCauley; still others with freak brains who could do fantastic mathematical problems in their heads. I will not even mention various well authenticated psi phenomena, ranging from levitation to clairvoyance.”
