Between Planets (9 page)

There was no feeling of weight at first, at least not toward the “floor.” Don experienced a dizzy sensation as increasing spin sloshed the liquid about in his inner ear. He knew that he had ridden this elevator before, when he was eleven and heading for Earth and school, but he had forgotten its unpleasant aspects.

Soon the elevator stopped; the floor became the floor in earnest, though with considerably less than one gravity, and the upsetting sensation ceased. The operator opened the door and shouted, “Everybody out!”

Don walked into a large inner compartment, carrying his bags. It was already crowded with more than half of the ship’s passengers. Don looked around for his dragon friend, then remembered that the ship would have to be moved around to a cargo port before the Venerian could disembark. He put his bags on the floor and sat down on them.

The crowd, for some reason, seemed unquiet. Don heard one woman say, “This is preposterous! We’ve been here at least half an hour and no one appears to know that we’re here.”

A man answered, “Be patient, Martha.”

“‘Patient’ he says! Only one door out of the place and it locked—suppose there were a fire?”

“Well, where would you run to, dear? Nothing outside but some mighty thin vacuum.”

She squealed. “Oh! We should have gone to Bermuda as I wanted to.”

“As
you
wanted to?”

“Don’t be petty!”

Another elevator load discharged and then another; the ship was empty. After many minutes more of grumbling, during which even Don began to wonder at the service, the only door other than the elevator door opened. Instead of a hotelman anxious to please his guests, in came three men in uniform. The two flank men were carrying mob guns cradled at their hips; the third man had only a hand pistol, still holstered. He stepped forward, planted his feet and set his fists on his hips. “Attention! Quiet, everybody.”

He got it; his voice had the ring of command, which is obeyed without thinking. He went on, “I am Assault Sergeant McMasters of the High Guard, Venus Republic. My commanding officer has directed me to advise you of the present situation.”

There was an additional short moment of silence, then a rising mutter of surprise, alarm, disbelief, and indignation. “Pipe down!” the sergeant shouted. “Take it easy. Nobody’s going to get hurt—if you behave.” He went on, “The Republic has taken over this station and everybody is being cleared out. You groundhogs will be shipped back to Earth at once. Those of you who are headed home to Venus will go home—provided you pass our loyalty check. Now, let’s get sorted out.”

A fussy, plump man pushed his way forward. “Do you realize, sir, what you are saying? ‘Venus Republic,’ indeed. This is piracy!”

“Get back in line, fatty.”

“You can’t do this. I wish to speak to your commanding officer.”

“Fatty,” the sergeant said slowly, “back up before you get a boot in your belly.” The man looked dumbfounded, then scuttled back into the crowd.

The sergeant continued, “Those of you going to Venus form a queue here at the door. Have your ID’s and birth certificates ready.”

The passengers, up to that time a friendly group of fellow travelers, split into hostile camps. Someone shouted, “Long live the Republic!”, which was followed by the beefy sound of a fist striking flesh. One of the guards hurried into the crowd and stopped the impending riot. The sergeant drew his sidearm and said in a bored voice, “No politics, please. Let’s get on with the job.”

Somehow a line was formed. The second in line was the man who had cheered the new nation. His nose was dripping blood but his eyes were shining. As he offered his papers to the sergeant he said, “This is a great day! I’ve waited all my life for it.”

“Who hasn’t?” the sergeant answered. “Okay—on through the door for processing. Next!”

Don was busy trying to quiet down and arrange his whirling thoughts. He was forced at last to admit that this was it, this was war, the war that he had told himself was impossible. No cities had been bombed, not yet, but this was the Fort Sumter of a new war; he was smart enough to see that. He did not have to be threatened with a boot in the belly to see what was in front of his face.

He realized with nervous shock that he had just barely gotten away in time. The
Valkyrie
might be the last ship to Mars in a long, long time. With the transfer station in the hands of the rebels it might be the last one for years.

The sergeant had not said anything about passengers for Mars as yet; Don told himself that the sergeant’s first effort must naturally be to sort out the citizens of the two belligerents. He decided that the thing to do was to keep his mouth shut and wait.

There was an interruption in the queue. Don heard the sergeant say, “You’re in the wrong pew, bud. You go back to Earth.”

The man he was speaking to answered, “No, no! Take a look at my papers; I’m emigrating to Venus.”

“You’re a little bit late to be emigrating. The situation has changed.”

“Why? Sure, I know it has changed. I declare for Venus.”

The sergeant scratched his head. “This one isn’t in the book. Atkinson! Pass this man on through; we’ll let the lieutenant figure it out.”

When he had completed the group that wanted to go to Venus the sergeant went to a speech-only wall phone. “Jim? Mac speaking, from the nursery. They got that dragon out yet? No? Well, let me know when the
Road
is back at the chute; I want to load.” He turned back to the crowd. “All right, you groundhogs—there’ll be a delay so I’m going to move you into another room until we’re ready to send you hack to Earth.”

“Just a moment, Sergeant!” called out a male passenger.

“Yeah? What do you want?”

“Where do passengers for Luna wait?”

“Huh? Service discontinued. You’re going hack to Earth.”

“Now, Sergeant, let’s be reasonable. I haven’t the slightest interest in politics; it does not matter to me who administers this station. But I have business on the Moon. It is
essential
that I get to the Moon. A delay would cost millions!”

The sergeant stared at him. “Now isn’t that just too bad! You know, brother, I’ve never had as much as a thousand at one time in my life; the thought of losing millions scares me.” His manner suddenly changed. “You stupid jerk, have you ever thought what a bomb would do to the roof of Tycho City? Now line up, all of you, double file.”

Don listened to this with disquiet. Still, the sergeant had not said anything about Mars. He got into line, but at the very end. When the tail of the line reached the door he stopped. “Get a move on, kid,” said the sergeant.

“I’m not going back to Earth,” Don told him.

“Huh?”

“I’m headed for Mars in the
Valkyrie
.”

“Oh, I see. You mean you were—now you’re headed back to Earth in the
Glory Road
.”

Don said stubbornly, “Look, mister, I’ve
got
to get to Mars. My parents are there; they are expecting me.”

The sergeant shook his head. “Kid I feel sorry for you. I really do. The
Valkyrie
isn’t going to Mars.”

“What?”

“She’s being recommissioned as a cruiser of the High Guard. She’s going to Venus. So I guess you had better go back to Earth. I’m sorry you won’t be able to join your folks, but war is like that.”

Don breathed slowly and forced himself to count up to ten. “I’m not going back to Earth. I’ll wait right here until a ship does go to Mars.”

The sergeant sighed. “If you do, you’ll have to chin yourself on a star while you wait.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Because,” he said slowly, “a few minutes after we blast off there will be nothing in this neighborhood but a nice, pretty radioactive cloud. Want to play a leading role in a Geiger counter?”

D
ON COULD
not answer. His simian ancestors, beset with perils every moment of life, might have taken it calmly; Don’s soft life had not prepared him for such repeated blows. The sergeant went on, “So it had better be the
Glory Road
for you kid. That’s what your parents would want. Go back and find yourself a nice spot in the country; the cities are likely to be unhealthy for a while.”

Don snapped out of it. “I’m not going back to Earth! I don’t belong there; I’m not a native of Earth.”

“Eh? What is your citizenship? Not that it matters; anybody who isn’t a citizen of Venus goes back in the
Glory Road
.”

“I’m a Federation citizen,” Don answered, “but I can claim Venus citizenship.”

“The Federation,” the sergeant answered, “has had a slump in its stock lately. But what’s this about Venus citizenship? Stop the double-talk and let’s see your papers.”

Don passed them over. Sergeant McMasters looked first at his birth certificate, then stared at it. “Born in free fall! I’ll be a cross-eyed pilot—say, there aren’t many like you, are there?”

“I guess not.”

“But just what does that make you?”

“Read on down. My mother was born on Venus. I’m Venus native born, by derivation.”

“But your pop was born on Earth.”

“I’m native born there, too.”

“Huh? That’s silly.”

“That’s the law.”

“There are going to be some new laws. I don’t know just where you fit. See here—where do you want to go? Venus or Earth?”

“I’m going to Mars,” Don answered simply.

The sergeant looked at him and handed back the papers. “It beats me. And I can’t get any sense out of you. I’m going to refer it on up. Come along.”

He led Don down a passageway and into a small compartment which had been set up as an orderly room. Two other soldiers were there; one was using a typer, the other was just sitting. The sergeant stuck his head in and spoke to the one who was loafing. “Hey, Mike—keep an eye on this character. See that he doesn’t steal the station.” He turned back to Don. “Give me those papers again, kid.” He took them and went away.

The soldier addressed as Mike stared at Don, then paid no further attention to him. Don put his bags down and sat on them.

After several minutes Sergeant McMasters returned but ignored Don. “Who’s got the cards?” he inquired.

“I have.”

“Not your readers, Mike. Where are the honest cards?” The third soldier closed the typer, reached in a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards. The three sat down at the desk and McMasters started to shuffle. He turned to Don. “Care for a friendly game, kid?”

“Uh, I guess not.”

“You’ll never learn any cheaper.” The soldiers played cards for half an hour or so while Don kept quiet and thought. He forced himself to believe that the sergeant knew what he was talking about; he could not go to Mars in the
Valkyrie
because the
Valkyrie
was not going to Mars. He could not wait for a later ship because the station—this very room he was sitting in—was about to be blown up.

What did that leave? Earth? No! He had no relatives on Earth, none close enough to turn to. With Dr. Jefferson dead or missing be had no older friends. Perhaps he could crawl back to the ranch, tail between his legs—

No! He had outgrown that skin and shed it. The ranch school was no longer for him.

Down inside was another and stronger reason: the security police in New Chicago had made of him an alien; he would not go back because Earth was no longer his.

Hobson’s choice, he told himself; it’s got to be Venus. I can find people there whom I used to know—or know Dad and Mother. I’ll scrounge around and find some way to get from there to Mars; that’s best. His mind made up, he was almost content.

The office phone called out: “Sergeant McMasters!” The sergeant laid down his hand and went to it, pulling the privacy shield into place. Presently he switched off and turned to Don. “Well, kid, the Old Man has settled your status; you’re a ‘displaced person.’”

“Huh?”

“The bottom fell out for you when Venus became an independent republic. You have no citizenship anywhere. So the Old Man says to ship you back where you come from…back to Earth.”

Don stood up and squared his shoulders. “I won’t go.”

“You won’t, eh?” McMasters said mildly. “Well, just sit hack down and be comfortable. When the time comes, we’ll drag you.” He started to deal the cards again.

Don did not sit down. “See here, I’ve changed my mind. If I can’t get to Mars right away, then I’ll go to Venus.”

McMasters stopped and turned around. “When Commodore Higgins settles a point, it’s settled. Mike, take this prima donna across and shove him in with the other groundhogs.”

“But…”

Mike stood up. “Come on, you.”

Don found himself shoved into a room packed with injured feelings. The Earthlings had no guards and no colonials in with them; they were giving vent freely to their opinions about events. “—outrage! We should blast every one of their settlements, level them to the ground!” “—I think we should send a committee to this commanding officer of theirs and say to him firmly—” “I
told
you we shouldn’t have come!” “Negotiate? That’s a sign of weakness.” “Don’t you realize that the war is already over? Man, this place isn’t just a traffic depot; it’s the main guided-missile control station. They can bomb every last city on Earth from here, like ducks on a pond!”

Don noticed the last remark, played it over in his mind, let it sink in. He was not used to thinking in terms of military tactics; up to this moment the significance of a raid on Circum-Terra had been lost on him. He had thought of it in purely personal terms, his own convenience.

Would they actually go that far? Bomb the Federation cities right off the map? Sure, the colonials had plenty to be sore about, but—Of course, it had happened like that, once in the past, but that was history; people were more civilized now. Weren’t they?

“Harvey! Donald Harvey!”

Everyone turned at the call. A Venus Guardsman was standing in the compartment door, shouting his name. Don answered, “Here.”

“Come along.”

Don picked up his bags and followed him out into the passageway, waited while the soldier relocked the door. “Where are you taking me?”

“The C.O. wants to see you.” He glanced at Don’s baggage. “No need to drag that stuff.”