The Edmond Hamilton Megapack: 16 Classic Science Fiction Tales (91 page)

“Vance Evers!” The patrolman spoke the name with excitement that had a touch of awe in it. His gun came up a trifle higher. “So you’re one of the—” He broke off, then asked swiftly, “Where are the others?”

“The others?” said Evers. He felt a fierce rage and disappointment, and he knew that he was going to do a fool thing. He knew he would try to jump the patrolman and he knew he would fail.

“Eric Lindeman, John Straw,” rapped the patrolman. “Don’t try to dummy up. Evers. It’s all in the micro-bulletin with your pictures. Wanted for violation of Galactic Council directives and—”

Evers saw something move behind the man. It was a small hand, flat and edge-on, that flashed up and struck the back of the patrolman’s neck.

The GC man’s eyes suddenly widened and filmed. His mouth opened ludicrously, and he toppled swiftly forward, stunned.

Evers looked over his fallen form at the red-haired Valloan girl. She had come up behind the patrolman quite silently on her bare feet. He gawked at her, and her green eyes flashed at him impatiently.

“Do you
want
to be taken?” she demanded. Her hand grabbed his wrist. “All right, come on then.”

Evers was tugged along by her, around the corner and then in a half-run down a narrow alley between the close-clustered crystal houses, before he found his voice.

“Why the devil would you—”

She turned swiftly and faced him. “I hate police. Earthman. It’s reason enough. But if you’d rather I hadn’t interfered, all right!”

Evers, his brain beginning to work, thought that she was probably telling the truth about her hatred of police. Valloans were a race to whom the profession of thief was hereditary and respected.

Over the ringing sweetness of the chimes that filled the air cut the harsh shrillness of a siren whistle. Instantly, Evers was reminded of the desperate nature of his situation. He had failed to reach Garrow, and the attempt must be given over for now. He had to get back to the hidden ship and wait for another chance.

The Valloan girl seemed to read his face, for she turned and ran up a stairway that broke the crystal facade beside them. “This way!”

Evers ran after her, his boots slipping clumsily on the worn crystal steps. The girl ahead of him was not wiggling and bouncing now—her long legs moved like an antelope’s. Drugged with fatigue as he was, Evers was panting when they reached the roof.

Under the radiance of the cataract of suns that belted the sky, stretched a bewildering labyrinth of glittering roofs. The chiming of crystal bells was overpoweringly loud up here, coming from all directions but loudest from just ahead. Then he saw, on the next flat roof, the old Valloan man who squatted before his double row of queer conical crystal bells, tapping them with his little hammers, adding his own peculiar chiming rhythm to the ringing confusion that throbbed through the night. Mentally, Evers damned the Valloan fondness for their queer music that kept some of them on the roofs half the night.

“It’s all right, old Oriden never sees anything when he’s at his bells,” said the girl. “We’d better hurry.”

Evers thought they had better. More whistles had joined the first, back toward the Federation compound. He went across the roofs with the girl and didn’t ask where it was they went.

She ducked down a stairway in the middle of the roof, and he followed her down into a corridor that was almost totally dark. He felt glad to be out of the full impact of those chimes.

She opened a door, and he followed her through into a room equally dark. The door closed, and then Evers uttered a little exclamation, his eyes wincing. She had suddenly struck fire to a lamp, and he was momentarily dazzled. The soft little flame of the lamp was reflected brilliantly from the faceted crystal walls and floor and ceiling.

“How you people can stand all this crystal—,” he began, and then stopped. He looked at her suspiciously. “What’s this place? And who are you?”

“I’m Sharr,” she said. “And it’s my place. And you’re safe here—for a while.”

Evers looked around, and thought that it was a hell of a thing that his great dream, the great thing that he and Straw and Lindeman had done—should have led him only to this—a backwater fringe-planet and a poorly furnished room of crystal, and a Valloan girl with red hair and a sexy shape, who stood and inspected him with curious green eyes.

“You didn’t stick your neck out just because you hate police,” Evers told her. “Why did you?”

She shrugged her bare shoulders. “Earthmen are rich. Everyone knows that. One would pay well, I thought, to escape arrest.”

Evers ran his hand wearily over his face, and told her, “I’ve got a few credits on me, but not too many. But I’ll have more later, and—”

He stopped. Sharr wasn’t listening to him. She was looking past him, at the door behind him, and her green eyes were wide with fear, her mouth falling open.

Evers spun around instantly, his hand frantically scooping in his pocket for his weapon.

There was nobody at all behind him.

He heard a hand whizz through the air but he couldn’t turn back in time. A stunning blow hit the nerve-centers in his neck, and skyrockets went off gloriously inside his head.

He woke, how much later he did not know, with a filthy headache. It was some minutes before he became conscious of anything but the pounding of his head. When he did, it was to find his face against the smooth crystal floor.

Evers began to remember. Raging, he tried to scramble up, and discovered at once that his wrists were tightly bound behind him.

He rolled over. The girl Sharr sat in a low chair three feet away, one silk-clad leg crossed over the other, smiling down at him with happy eyes.

“Did you think I didn’t know who you are?” she said. “Why do you suppose I followed you, and risked snatching you away from that GC man? A fortune—and you walk right into my hands!”

“You’re out of your mind,” Evers said thickly. “I told you how much I have.”

Sharr laughed. “It’s not how much you have, but how much you’ll
bring
. You’re Vance Evers. One of the men who went to Andromeda Galaxy.”

CHAPTER II

The crystal chimes of Valloa whispered down into the room from above, their throbbing tinkling rising and falling in the silence.

Evers lay and looked up at the girl, and then he laughed mirthlessly. “Do you have any idea how far away Andromeda Galaxy is?”

“Very far, they say,” Sharr answered. “They told exactly how far, in the news.” She added. “We
do
get the news bulletins now, you know, since the Federation decided to civilize us.”

Evers said nothing. This red-haired piece was intelligent, and not to be bluffed, and he was in trouble right up to his neck.

“The bulletins told,” Sharr continued sweetly, “about a man named Eric Lindeman who was a Federation scientist, an astronautical engineer-designer, they called him. And how he wanted to make a starship go faster and farther than ever before.”

Yes, Evers thought heavily. Lindeman’s big dream. It had brought them all to this, all three of them. And yet, even now, he could not regret the dream and their passion for it. It had been worth while.

Long ago, man had won the stars, by the invention of the overdrive that hurled ships in a shortcut through hyper-space, thousands of times as fast as light. Out through the galaxy had spread the ships, the commerce and civilization of the Federation, to thousands of suns and worlds.

But beyond the shores of our galaxy, out across the vast ocean of outer space, glimmered other great continents of stars, other galaxies. Could a ship cross that gulf, could man win the galaxies too, if the overdrive were stepped up so that an even tighter dimensional shortcut attained speeds tens of thousands of times greater?

Lindeman was sure it could be done. It had, he pointed out, always been theoretically possible, but nobody had tried it yet. He would try it. And he had infected his assistants—Evers and Straw—with his own enthusiasm. They had eagerly laid their plans for the building of the Lindeman drive.

And then, from the chief of their Bureau, had come the peremptory order to discontinue the research as “impractical and unnecessary at the present time.” All appeals and arguments had been flatly rejected.

Disappointed and angry, Lindeman had quit the Bureau—and had taken Evers and Straw with him. They would build the drive. If not for the Federation, then for themselves. Lindeman had a few past patents that had brought him credits. He used them to buy a four-man express cruiser, and they three had built the Lindeman drive into it. Man was going to step out into inter-galactic space.

But he wasn’t, they soon learned. From Galactic Control, the branch that governed all space travel, came a formal directive that was backed by a decision of the Council itself. No experimental voyages outside the galaxy were permitted, now or in the near future.

“There are thousands of fringe planets in our own galaxy that need development,” said the directive. “There is work for many generations along our own starways. To start a star-rush to another galaxy could fatally cripple the orderly development of our own. Permission denied.”

Lindeman had had enough. His ship had the drive in it and was ready to go. He had cursed the Council, GC and all Bureaus, he had explained to Straw and Evers the penalties they would face if they violated an official directive, and then the three of them had taken off, had plunged out of the galaxy and hit for Andromeda.

And this, Evers thought bitterly, was their homecoming from that voyage. Straw was hurt, and Lindeman was hiding with him in the ship in the jungle, and he lay here trussed up like a pig with a Valloan wench gloating over him.

The girl was saying, “You made quite a stir, you know. Most people thought you’d die out there. But in case you ever
did
come back, GC had all kinds of notices out about you.”

Evers said sourly, “All right, you’ve been clever. You spotted me and got me away from the GC man, and have me all to yourself. But what makes you think I’m worth a fortune to you?”

“To Schuyler Metals,” said Sharr casually, “fifty thousand credits is just small change.”

Evers’ worst fears were realized. It would have been bad enough to be picked up by Galactic Control. But the real danger, ever since they came back from Andromeda, was Schuyler.

Peter Schuyler. The man who owned, lock, stock and barrel, the biggest metals corporation in the galaxy. From the first moment that he and Lindeman and Straw had made their appalling discovery at Andromeda, they had known that when they got back their lives would be worth just nothing if Schuyler got hold of them.

He said, “Then Schuyler Metals has been offering rewards for us?”

Sharr nodded her red head. “Of course. They sent agents to every fringe world where you’d be likely to land, secretly passing out pictures of you with their reward-offers.” She laughed. “Half the people on Valloa would have recognized you, if I hadn’t seen you first.”

“It won’t work,” Evers said harshly. “You can’t possibly get me out of here and deliver me to them, without being seen by GC men.”

“I don’t have to,” she assured him. “While you were unconscious, I sent them a message. They’ll be along for you—with the money.”

The certainty of defeat, the blasting of his last hopes, snapped Evers’ temper. “Why, you thieving little tramp—”

He went on, telling her what he thought of her, using simple words of one syllable and great force.

Sharr flushed with anger and raised her hand to slice down at him in the Valloan nerve-stunning blow. Then she stopped, and shrugged.

“Go ahead.” she said. “I suppose I’d feel the same way, in your place.”

She went back and sat down and continued to swing one leg over the other, watching him with cool green eyes.

Evers’ brain was a confusion of raging, desperate thoughts. He knew what would happen to him—to all of them—if Schuyler got hold of them. The course Schuyler would follow was crystal clear. Three men had come back from Andromeda galaxy, and they must die for having gone there.

He wished now they’d simply landed and surrendered to Galactic Control in the first place, and told their story. But that was the trouble—they might never have been given a chance to tell that story, from a GC cell or anywhere else.

Schuyler Metals had the power to reach into many places. That it swung heavy weight inside the Galactic Bureaus was now evident. The directive that had forbade them to build or try out an inter-galactic ship—he was sure now that that had been inspired by Schuyler. And if Schuyler had that kind of influence, he could arrange to have them silenced fast if they surrendered. Their one chance had been to get their information secretly up to the Council through a contact, first. And the chance had failed, thanks to an alert GC patrolman and this damn girl.

A thought occurred to Evers’ desperately groping mind. He didn’t think it was worth much, but it was the only card he had left.

He looked up at Sharr and asked, “Why do you think Schuyler Metals is willing to pay so much for us?”

She shrugged her bare, shapely shoulders lightly. “How would I know? All I care is that they pay well. I suppose they want the secret of your ship?”