Earthbound (Winston Science Fiction Book 1) (8 page)

“But not at the expense of others!”

“I tried, but it was rough. Finally, I got in with my associates, and that way I can make good money. They don’t like me, sonny, because I think they know I don’t like them. So it’s purely business, and we work together.”

“All right,” Pete said coldly. “You’ve had your say. What’s all this got to do with me?”

“That’s the whole point. Why don’t you do what I did? Work with us, take your cut — and stay happy. Here.” Gus reached into his pocket, came up with a thick roll of bills. “You’ve earned these, you sure have . . .”

Pete thrust the hand away from him. “Take your filthy money!” he cried. “I don’t want it.”

Shrugging his thin shoulders, Ganymede Gus pocketed the roll of bills. “I was only trying, but heck, I don’t care. I can always keep it myself and double my own profit. The sooner you learn . . .”

“Look,” Pete said, jabbing a finger against Gus’s chest. “I don’t want to see you again. I’m finished, understand? If you bother me once more, I’ll call the police. Threaten my family, go ahead, I don’t care. The police can take care of that.”

“You’re wrong,” Ganymede Gus declared. “You haven’t seen the last of me, and you’ll continue to work for us, too. No, I won’t threaten your family — not if it looks like Sam’s strong-arm methods won’t pay off. But there’s another way, a better way. No, I won’t tell you about it now. Maybe in a couple of days, sonny, but not now. Meanwhile, use your head. At least until you hear from me, don’t go to the police. You’ll regret it if you do.”

Ganymede Gus did not wait for an answer. Instead, he turned away and quickly lost himself in the crowd.

I can go to the police,
Pete thought,
and end this before it goes any further. But what does Gus have up his sleeve this time? He didn’t sound as if he was fooling — and yet, and yet the deeper I get into this mess, the harder it’ll be to pull myself out. If I hadn’t started in the first place. . . .

Idly, he walked into the tower, took the elevator up to the observation level.

Captain Saunders was reading a newspaper, but he looked up sharply. “Oh, Pete.”

“Hello, sir. How was the blast-off?”

“Fine. It was fine. Pete . . .” Saunders seemed at a loss for words, and that wasn’t like the captain at all. “Yes, sir? What is it?”

“Here, Pete. Read this.” And Captain Saunders handed him the newspaper. The headline caught his attention at once, but what followed was even worse.

Unknown Pirates Loot Crape Ring

Cargo of Precious Gems Stolen

Solar Patrol Suspects Inside Job

Wednesday, Luna Base (Interplanetary Press) — A daring attack was made an estimated seven hours ago on the spaceship
Crape Ring
, heading out fifty thousand miles from Luna. Somehow, unknown pirates intercepted the
Crape Ring
’s orbit, joining airlocks with the ship in deep space and making off with half a million dollars’ worth of precious stones.

Although the masked looters were armed, no casualties have been reported. Speculation in high Luna Base circles indicates what Captain R. J. Turner of the Solar Patrol calls an “inside job.” Said Turner, “It is impossible to -assume that the pirates chanced upon the
Crape Ring
by a stroke of luck. By some unknown means they learned of the ship’s orbit and hence were in a position to intercept it.”

Captain Turner further told this reporter that an investigation was being pushed, although he admitted that the Patrol “has no leads whatever.” (See later edition for complete details.)

“What do you think of that?” Saunders demanded.

Pete said nothing, for his worst fears had been confirmed. Ganymede Gus was in league with a group of space-pirates — and Pete’s information had led them to the
Crape Ring
!

“I said, what do you think of that?”

“I — I don’t know. I . . .”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and — say! You wanted to change that orbit at the last minute.”

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“It didn’t make sense, yet you wanted to change it. Why, Pete?”

“I — I can’t answer that.”

“You can’t answer it! Are you protecting someone, Pete? Is that it?”

“No, sir. I’m not protecting anyone. But I can’t answer your question.”

Saunders was angry, and his face showed it. He stormed, “I — never mind! If you don’t want to answer to me, You don’t have to. But before too long that Patrol investigation will reach us here, and when it does, you’ll have to answer to the law. By space, if you had anything to do with this —”

He slammed his hand down on the surface of his desk.

“I guess that means I’m not working here anymore,” Pete said.

“It doesn’t mean anything of the sort! I think you’re connected with this in some way, Pete. I hope it isn’t as bad as that, but until we find out, you stay here. I’m not going to condemn you because I happen to believe you’re hiding something.”

Pete mumbled, “Thank you.” That was the worst part of it. Captain Saunders had to be nice to him, perhaps had to stick his own neck into a mess of trouble because he still had faith in Pete. But Pete knew he didn’t deserve it. If they threw the book at him — well, you couldn’t blame them.

Pete took the elevator down, stepped out on the spacefield. Far-off toward the horizon, ground crews scurried around a ship like so many insects. By morning, it would be ready for blast-off. Down to the smallest detail, the men in the ground crew had to do their job well, otherwise disaster might result. And the same applied to the ship’s crew itself.

The world worked like that, Pete knew. You had to cooperate. If you didn’t, it meant trouble. If you couldn’t face something which had happened, if, instead, you turned away from your fellows and took the easiest way out — then you were asking for trouble. More than that, you were behaving like a coward. . . .

Then he’d go to the police!

No — no, he couldn’t do that. Ganymede Gus still had one final hand to play, and until he played it, Pete must wait. He could always give himself up, that would be the easy part of it. Meanwhile, Ganymede Gus might be able to involve others, innocent people, and Pete did not want that.

The police would have to wait.

“See the newspaper, sonny?” Ganymede Gus demanded.

“Oh, no! Not you again —” Gus was becoming a very annoying habit.

“Sure, Pete. I just ran down the road a ways and got me a copy of the paper. Thought you might like to see it.”

“I already have,”‘ Pete said, “But I warned you.” He took a quick step forward, grabbing Gus’s left arm. “We’re going to the police!”

Gus smiled. “You see my right hand, sonny? It’s in my pocket, and I’m holding a blaster there — pointed at you. We’re going, all right, but not to the police. There’s some place I want to take you.”

Pete shrugged wearily, got into stride with the scrawny ex-spaceman. In fifteen minutes they had reached the Carnival. In twenty, they had entered the familiar sideshow, had climbed up a. flight of stairs.

“I know this place,” Pete said. “If you think it will do any good to have that guy Sam work me over again —”

Gus seemed offended. “How crude do you think I am? That was necessary then. It isn’t necessary now. Just come along.”

They entered the room, and Pete saw that three men were waiting for them. Pete advanced warily, and Gus offered him a chair near the window. “Sam you know,” said Gus, gesturing to the hulking figure off in one corner of the room.

Sam grunted a greeting which Pete did not return.

“And this man here is Clarence Roth,” Gus continued the introductions. The man was impossibly tall and thin, almost a caricature of Garr, but he had a long, solemn face which, Pete knew, would not break into Garr’s ready smile. “Pleas’t’meecha,” the man shrilled rapidly.

“And over here,” continued Ganymede Gus, “is the man we all take orders from — Mr. Fairchild.”

Mr. Fairchild was well-dressed, good-looking, sure of himself. About thirty-five, Pete figured, perhaps forty. “How do you do, Peter? I’ve heard a lot about you. Our organization is always in need of good men, and Gus informs me that we can use you on a permanent basis, both here in White Sands — and elsewhere.”

Pete’s voice stuck in his throat. His palms were clammy and he could feel the pulses pounding at his temples, but he said, “Gus made a mistake. I don’t want to work for you.”

“Your desire in the matter,” Mr. Fairchild told him blandly, “is hardly worth considering. Oh, don’t misunderstand. I like satisfied employees, but that can wait. You will become satisfied in time. Meanwhile, we need you. Therefore, you come to work for us, as I have indicated. It is all very simple.”

“He’s already been working for us,” Gus pointed out.

“Yes, I know, but not on a permanent basis. When you wanted some information, you contacted Peter. But I want him to relay his information to us as a matter of course. Do you see the difference?” Mr. Fairchild lit a cigarette. “Further, we won’t stay here in White Sands forever, and when our operations enter a new phase entirely, we’ll need Peter along with us. Peter, how would you like to visit Antarctica?”

“Antarctica?” Pete gasped.

“Well, I see you’re interested. But never mind — more about that some other time, perhaps. Now I have a question which I would like you to answer, and all I want is a one-word reply. Will you work for us?”

“No.”

The man called Clarence Roth sucked in his breath sharply; Sam thumped his left fist against his right palm meaningfully; Ganymede Gus shook his head. But Mr. Fairchild remained unruffled. “As you can see,” he told Pete, “our Mr. Smith would like to take the matter into his own hands. He prefers violence to any other form of arbitration. Although he cannot become quite so violent, our Mr. Roth agrees. And Ganymede Gus is disappointed in you. As for myself, young man, I’ve always been a reasonable person. I am ready to reason with you.”

“It won’t do any good,” Pete advised him. “I’ve had enough of all this.”

“He says that periodically!” Ganymede Gus chortled.

“But each time I’ve come up with something else which has changed his mind.”

“This time,” Mr. Fairchild predicted, “we are in a position to change his mind permanently. Consider, Peter, do you like your family? Are you proud of the name your father has made?”

“Of course — but you can forget about that. Sam threatened me with that a while ago, but the police can take care of it.”

Mr. Fairchild nodded. “At least you’re honest. But no, that isn’t what I had in mind. I’ve referred to your father’s name. You are proud of it, and that’s both understandable and commendable. Thus you felt bad when you couldn’t take that name back into space, and now you certainly wouldn’t want to do anything else to hurt it, isn’t that so? Fine, fine. And this time I don’t mean an error of omission; I mean one of commission.”

“I don’t understand.” Pete frowned.

“Recently you gave Gus some information concerning the orbit of the Spaceship
Crape Ring
, did you not?”

“Yes, I did. But Gus . . .”

“Why you did it does not matter. Let’s confine ourselves to what is relevant. Still more recently, the
Crape Ring
was boarded in deep space, a fortune in jewelry stolen. Right?”

“Y-yes.” Doubtfully.

“That was made possible by the intelligence you passed along to Ganymede Gus. You are, therefore, in the eyes of the law, as much responsible for the looting of the
Crape Ring
as any of the men who actually boarded the ship. Can you see the logic in that?”

“Sure,” Pete said. “Of course I can see it. But . . .”

“But nothing. You are guilty. Thoroughly guilty. Very well. Were the police to discover that, were they to bring you to trial for your crime, that would bring a smear to your family name. Consider, Peter. From what I hear, your father is now an unhappy man. One son was killed in space, the other is earthbound. On top of that, if you were to be sentenced to a prison term . . .”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Pete cried. “You’d implicate yourself as well! I’ll admit it, I’m in a mess. But I don’t intend to hide it forever. Someday soon I’ll have to tell the police. I mean that. And when I do, all of you will — but that’s beside the point. You wouldn’t dare to turn me in, because you’d be admitting your own guilt if you did.”

“Good!”‘ Mr. Fairchild chuckled. “You have a fine head on your shoulders. I like that, despite the fact that what you say isn’t quite true. There are certain men in our organization, Peter, who are expendable. Along with you, I can implicate them, and nothing will ever lead to me. I’m a respectable business man with a good record. No one will believe any ridiculous accusations about me. Rest assured I can do precisely what I say — and will, too, if you force my hand.”

Ganymede Gus stood up, paced back and forth nervously. “When you say some men are expendable, do you mean anyone in this room?”

“Figure it out for yourself,” Mr. Fairchild told him, laughing. “Remember, Gus: you brought Peter into this in the first place.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s fair. . .”

“No one pays you to determine what is and what is not fair! You’re wanted by the police too, Gus. So is Sam, and so is Clarence. And don’t you forget it. Now, Peter —”

It was all very logical, Pete realized. It made good sense, and it made it with finality. Mr. Fairchild was the puppet-master, dangling his men on strings which he could cut at any time. They had a set of simple alternatives: they could obey him or they could suffer the consequences. And, Pete knew, the same applied to a young ex-Cadet named Peter Hodges. He did not care about himself any longer; he knew he would have to settle this in his own way, and quietly. If he had committed any crime, then he was prepared to pay for it, but only if he could do that without bringing shame to Big Pete.

“Now, Peter,” Mr. Fairchild was saying, “I’m waiting for your answer. Will you work for us? Or, to put it in your own language, are you ready to become a pirate?”