Between Planets (10 page)

“Uh, I guess I’d better keep it with me.”

“Suit yourself. But don’t take it into the C.O.’s office.” He took Don down two decks where the “gravity” was appreciably greater and stopped at a door guarded by a sentry. “Here’s the guy the Old Man sent for—Harvey.”

“Go right on in.”

Don did so. The room was large and ornate; it had been the office of the hotel manager. Now it was occupied by a man in uniform, a man still young though his hair was shot with grey. He looked up as Don came in; Don thought he looked alert but tired. “Donald Harvey?”

“Yes, sir.” Don got out his papers.

The commanding officer brushed them aside. “I’ve seen them. Harvey, you are a headache to me. I disposed of your case once.”

Don did not answer; the other went on, “Now it appears that I must reopen it. Do you know a Venerian named—” He whistled it.

“Slightly,” Don answered. “We shared a compartment in the
Glory Road
.”

“Hmm… I wonder if you planned it that way?”

“What? How could I?”

“It could have been arranged and it would not be the first time that a young person has been used as a spy.”

Don turned red. “You think I am a spy, sir?”

“No, it is just one of the possibilities I must consider. No military commander enjoys political pressure being used on him, Harvey, but they all have to yield to it. I’ve yielded. You aren’t going back to Earth; you are going to Venus.” He stood up. “But let me warn you; if you are a ringer who has been planted on me, all the dragons on Venus won’t save your skin.” He turned to a ship’s phone, punched its keys, and waited; presently he said, “Tell him his friend is here and that I’ve taken care of the matter.” He turned back to Don. “Take it.”

Shortly Don heard a warm Cockney voice, “Don, my dear boy, are you there?”

“Yes, Sir Isaac.”

The dragon shrilled relief. “When I inquired about you, I found some preposterous intention of shipping you back to that dreadful place we just quitted. I told them that a mistake had been made. I’m afraid I had to be quite firm about it. Shucks!”

“It’s all fixed up now, Sir Isaac. Thanks.”

“Not at all; I am still in your debt. Come to visit me when it is possible. You will, won’t you?”

“Oh, sure!”

“Thank you and cheerio! Shucks.”

Don turned away from the phone to find the task force commander studying him quizzically. “Do you know who your friend is?”

“Who he is?” Don whistled the Venerian name, then added, “He calls himself ‘Sir Isaac Newton.’”

“That’s all you know?”

“I guess so.”

“Mmm—” He paused, then went on, “You might as well know what influenced me. ‘Sir Isaac,’ as you call him, traces his ancestry directly back to the Original Egg, placed in the mud of Venus on the day of Creation. So that’s why I’m stuck with you. Orderly!”

Don let himself be led away without saying a word. Few if any Earthlings have been converted to the dominant religion of Venus; it is not a proselyting faith. But none laugh at it; all take it seriously. A terrestrial on Venus may not believe in the Divine Egg and all that that implies; he finds it more profitable—and
much
safer—to speak of it with respect.

Sir Isaac a Child of the Egg! Don felt the sheepish awe that is likely to strike even the most hard-boiled democrat when he first comes in contact with established royalty. Why, he had been talking to him, just as if he were any old dragon—say one that sold vegetables in the city market.

Shortly he began to think of it in more practical ways. If anyone could wangle a way for him to get to Mars, Sir Isaac was probably just the bird who could do it. He turned it over in his mind—he’d get home yet!

But Don did not get to see his Venerian friend at once. He was herded into the
Nautilus
along with Venus-bound passengers from the
Glory Road
and a handful of technicians from Circum-Terra whose loyalties lay with Venus rather than with Earth. By the time he discovered that Sir Isaac had been transshipped to the
Valkyrie
it was too late to do anything about it.

The flag of the task force commander, High Commodore Higgins, was shifted from Circum-Terra back to the
Nautilus
, and Higgins moved at once to carry out the rest of the coup. The storming of Circum-Terra had been managed almost without bloodshed; it had depended on timing and surprise. Now the rest of the operation must be completed before any dislocation in ship schedules would be noticed on Earth.

The
Nautilus
and the
Valkyrie
had already been prepared for their long jumps; the
Spring Tide
’s crew was removed to be sent to Earth and a crew supplied from the task force; she herself was fueled and provisioned for deep space. Although designed for the short jump to Luna, she was quite capable of making the trip to Venus. Space travel is not a matter of distance but of gravity potential levels; the jump from Circum-Terra to Venus required less expenditure of energy than did the terrible business of fighting up though Earth’s field from New Chicago to Circum-Terra.

The
Spring Tide
shoved off in a leisurely, economical parabola; she would make the trip to Venus in free fall all the way. The
Valkyrie
blasted away to shape a fast, almost flat, hyperboloid orbit; she would arrive as soon or sooner than the
Nautilus
. The
Nautilus
was last to leave, for High Commodore Higgins had one more thing to do before destroying the station—a television broadcast on a globe-wide network.

All global broadcasts originated in, or were relayed through, the communications center of Circum-Terra. Since the
Nautilus
had touched in at Circum-Terra, a cosmic Trojan horse, the regular broadcasts had been allowed to continue uninterrupted. The commodore’s G-6 staff officer (propaganda and nerve warfare) picked as the time for the commodore’s announcement to Earth of the coup the time ordinarily given over to “
Steve Brodie Says
:” the most widely heard global news commentator. Mr. Brodie immediately followed the immensely popular “Kallikak Family” serial drama, an added advantage audience-wise.

The
Glory Road
had been allowed at last to blast off for Earth with her load of refugees but with her radios wrecked. The
Nautilus
lay off in space, a hundred miles outside, hanging in a parking orbit, waiting. Inside the space station, now utterly devoid of life, the television center continued its functions unattended. The commodore’s speech had already been canned; its tape was threaded into the programmer and it would start as soon as the throb show was over.

Don watched it from a recreation lounge of the liner along with a hundred-odd other civilians. All eyes were on a big television tank set in the end of the compartment. A monitoring beam, jury-rigged for the purpose, brought the cast from Circum-Terra to the
Nautilus
and the radio watch in the ship was passing it on throughout the ship so that the passengers and crew might see and hear it.

As the day’s serial episode closed, Celeste Kallikak had been arrested for suspected husband murder, Buddy Kallikak was still in the hospital and not expected to live, Father Kallikak was still missing, and Maw Kallikak was herself suspected of cheating on ration stamps—but she was facing it all bravely, serene in her knowledge that only the good die young. After the usual commercial plug (“The Only Soap with Guaranteed Vitamin Content for greater Vitacity!!”) the tank faded into Steve Brodie’s trademark, a rocket trail condensing into his features while a voice boomed, “Steve Brodie, with tomorrow’s news
TODAY!
”

It cut suddenly, the tank went empty and a voice said, “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you a special news flash.” The tank filled again, this time with the features of Commodore Higgins.

His face lacked the synthetic smile obligatory for all who speak in public telecast; his manner and voice were grim. “I am High Commodore Higgins, commanding Task Force Emancipation of the High Guard, Venus Republic. The High Guard has seized Earth’s satellite station Circum-Terra. We now have all of Earth’s cities utterly at our mercy.”

He paused to let it sink in. Don thought it over and did not like the thought. Everybody knew that Circum-Terra carried enough A-bomb rockets to smear any force or combination of forces that could be raised to oppose the Federation. The exact number of rocket bombs carried was a military secret, variously estimated between two hundred and a thousand. A rumor had spread through the civilians in the
Nautilus
that the High Guard had found seven hundred and thirty-two bombs ready to go, with component parts for many more, plus enough deuterium and tritium to make up about a dozen Hell bombs.

Whether the rumor was true or not, Circum-Terra certainly held enough bombs to turn the Terran Federation into a radioactive abattoir. No doubt with so much under ground many inhabitants of cities would survive, but any city, once bombed, would have to be abandoned; the military effect would be the same. And many would die. How many? Forty millions? Fifty millions? Don did not know.

The commodore went on, “Mercifully we stay our hand. Earth’s cities will not be bombed. The free citizens of Venus Republic have no wish to slaughter their cousins still on Terra. Our only purpose is to establish our own independence, to manage our own affairs, to throw off the crushing yoke of absentee ownership and of taxation without representation, which has bled us poor.

“In so doing, in so taking our stand as free men, we call on all oppressed and impoverished nations everywhere to follow our lead, accept our help. Look up into the sky! Swimming there above you is the very station from which I now address you. The fat and stupid rulers of the Federation have made of Circum-Terra an overseer’s whip. The threat of this military base in the sky has protected their empire from the just wrath of their victims for more than five score years.

“We now crush it.

“In a matter of minutes this scandal in the clean skies, this pistol pointed at the heads of men everywhere on your planet, will cease to exist. Step out of doors, watch the sky. Watch a new sun blaze briefly and know that its light is the light of Liberty inviting all Earth to free itself.

“Subject peoples of Earth, we free men of the free Republic of Venus salute you with that sign!”

The commodore continued to sit and gaze steadily into the eyes of each of his colossal audience while the heart-lifting beat of
Morning Star of Hope
followed his words. Don did not recognize the anthem of the new nation; he could not help but feel its surging promise.

Suddenly the tank went dead and at the same instant there was a flash of light so intense that it leaked through the shuttered ports and tormented the optic nerve. Don was still shaking his head from it when over the ship’s announcing system came the call: “Safe to unshutter!”

A petty officer stationed at the compartment’s view port was already cranking the metal shield out of the way; Don crowded in and looked.

A second sun blazed white and swelled visibly as he watched. What on Earth would have been—so many terrible times
had been
—a climbing mushroom cloud was here in open space a perfect geometrical sphere, growing unbelievably. It swelled still larger, dropping from limelight white to silvery violet, became blotched with purple, red and flame. And still it grew, until it blanked out Earth beyond it.

At the time it was transformed into a radioactive cosmic cloud Circum-Terra had been passing over, or opposite, the North Atlantic; the swollen incandescent cloud was visible to most of the habitable portions of the globe, a burning symbol in the sky.

I
MMEDIATELY
after the destruction of Circum-Terra the ship’s warning signal howled and loudspeakers bellowed, ordering all hands to acceleration stations. The
Nautilus
blasted away, shaping her orbit for the weary trip to Venus. When she was up to speed and spin had been placed on her to permit sure footing the control room secured from blast stations. Don unstrapped and hurried to the radio room. Twice he had to argue to get past sentries.

He found the door open; everyone inside seemed busy and paid him no attention. He hesitated, then stepped inside. A long hand reached out and grabbed him by the scruff. “Hey! Where the deuce do you think you’re going?”

Don answered humbly, “I just want to send a message.”

“You do, eh? What do you think of that, Charlie?” His captor appealed to a soldier who was bending over a rig.

The second soldier pushed one earphone up. “Looks like a saba-
toor
. Probably an A-bomb in each pocket.”

An officer wandered out of an inner room. “What goes on here?”

“Sneaked in, sir. Says he wants to send a message.”

The officer looked Don up and down. “Sorry. No can do. Radio silence. No traffic outgoing.”

“But,” Don answered desperately, “I’ve just got to.” Quickly he explained his predicament. “I’ve got to let them know where I am, sir.”

The officer shook his head. “We couldn’t raise Mars even if we were not in radio silence.”

“No, sir, but you could beam Luna, for relay to Mars.”

“Yes, I suppose we could—but we won’t. See here, young fellow, I’m sorry about your troubles but there is no possibility, simply none at all, that the commanding officer will permit silence to he broken for any reason, even one much more important than yours. The safety of the ship comes first.”

Don thought about it. “I suppose so,” he agreed forlornly.

“However, I wouldn’t worry too much. Your parents will find out where you are.”

“Huh? I don’t see how. They think I’m headed for Mars.”

“No, they don’t—or won’t shortly. There is no secret now about what has happened; the whole system knows it. They can find out that you got as far as Circum-Terra; they can find out that the
Glory Road
did not fetch you back. By elimination, you must be on your way to Venus. I imagine that they are querying Interplanet about you right now.”

The officer turned away and said, “Wilkins, paint a sign for the door saying, ‘Radio Silence—No Messages Accepted.’ We don’t want every civilian in the ship barging in here trying to send greetings to Aunt Hattie.”