Police Your Planet
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Lester del Rey >> Police Your Planet
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"Trench is outside in a heavy-armored car, Bruce. Says he wants to see
you. Something to discuss--a proposition!"
Gordon stood up, wobbling a little, trying to think. Then he swore, and
headed for his room. "Tell him to go to hell!"
He saw Izzy and Sheila leave, wondering vaguely where she had been.
Through the opening in the seal, he spotted them moving toward the big
car outside. Then he shrugged. He finally made the stairs and reached
his bed before he passed out.
Sheila was standing over him when he finally woke. She dumped a headache
powder into her palm and held it out, handing him a small glass of
water. He swallowed the fast-acting drug, and sat up, trying to
remember. Then he wished he couldn't.
"What did Trench want?" he asked thickly.
"He wanted to show you a badge--a Security badge made out for him," she
answered. "At least he said he wanted to show you something, and it was
about that size. He wouldn't talk with us much. But I remember his name
in the book--"
Gordon shook his head and sat up. The book, he thought, trying to focus
his thoughts. The book with all the names...
"All right, Cuddles," he said finally. "You got your meal ticket, and
you've outgrown it in this mess. Now I want that damned book! I've been
operating in the dark. It's time I found out how to get in touch with
some of those people. Where is it?"
She shook her head. "It isn't. Bruce--I don't have it. That time I gave
you the note, you didn't come when I said, and I thought you wouldn't.
Then Jurgens' men broke in, and I thought they'd get it, so--so I burned
it. I lied to you about using it to make you keep me."
"You burned it!" He turned it over, staring at her. "Okay, Cuddles, you
burned it. You were trying to kill me then, so you burned it to keep
Jurgens from getting it and putting the finger on me! Where is it,
Sheila? On you?"
She backed away, biting her lips. "No, Bruce. I burned it. I don't know
why. I just did! No!"
She turned toward the door as he pushed up from the bed, but his arm
caught her wrist, dragging her back. She whimpered once, then shrieked
faintly as his hand caught the buttons on the dress, jerking them off.
Then suddenly she was a writhing, biting, scratching fury. He tightened
his hand and lifted her to the bed, dropping a knee onto her throat and
beginning to squeeze, while he jerked the dress and thin slip off.
She sat up as he released his knee, her hoarse voice squeezed from
between her writhing lips. "Are you satisfied now, you mechanical beast!
Do you still think I have it on me?"
He grinned, twisting the corners of his mouth. "You don't. Don't you
know a _wife_ shouldn't keep secrets from her _husband_? A warm-blooded,
affectionate husband, to boot." He bent down, knocking aside her
flailing arms, and pulled her closer to him. "Better tell your husband
where the book is, Cuddles!"
She cursed and he drew her closer. He bent down, forcing her head back
and setting his lips on hers.
From somewhere, wetness touched his cheek; he lifted his head and looked
down. The wetness came from tears that spilled out of her eyes and ran
off onto the mattress. She was making no sound, and there was no
resistance, but the tears ran out, one drop seeming to trip over
another.
"All right, Sheila," he said. His voice was cracked in his ears.
"Another week of being a failure on this planet of failures, and I
might. Go ahead and tell me I'm the same as your first husband. If I
can't even keep my word to you, I can at least get out and stay out." He
shook his head, waiting for her denunciation. "For your amusement, I'm
going to miss having you around!"
He stood up. Something touched his hand, and he looked down to see her
fingers.
"Bruce," she said faintly, "you meant it! You don't hate me any more."
She rubbed her wrist across her eyes, and the ghost of a smile touched
her lips. "I don't think you're a failure. And maybe--maybe I'm not.
Maybe I don't have to be a failure as a woman--a wife, Bruce. I don't
want you to go!"
* * * * *
Two worlds. One huddled under its dome, forever afraid of losing that
protection and having to face the life the other led; and yet driven to
work together or to perish together. The sacred dome!
And suddenly he was shaking her. "The dome! It has to be the answer!
Cuddles, you broke the chain enough for me to think again! We've been
blind--the whole damned planet has been blind."
She blinked and then frowned. "Bruce--"
"I'm all right! I'm just half sane instead of all insane for a change."
He got up, pacing the floor as he talked.
"Look, most of the people here are Martians. They've left Earth behind,
and they're meeting this planet on its own terms. And they're adapting.
Third-generation children--not all, but a lot of them--are breathing the
air we'd die on, and they're doing fine at it. Probably
second-generation ones can keep going after we'd pass out. It's just as
true out here as it is on the frontier. But Marsport has that sacred
dome over it. It's still trying to be Earth. And it can't do it. It's
never had a chance to adjust here, and it's afraid to try."
"Maybe," she agreed doubtfully. "But what about this part of Marsport?"
"Obvious. Here, they grow up under the shadow of it. They live in a
half-world, and they have to live on the crumbs the dome tosses them.
Sheila, if something happened to that dome--"
"We'd be killed," she said. "How do we do it?"
He frowned, and then grinned slowly. "Maybe not!"
They spent the rest of the night discussing it. Sometime during the
discussion, she made coffee, and first Randolph, then the Kid came in
for briefing. Randolph was a natural addition, and the Kid had been
alternately following Gordon and Sheila around since he'd first heard
they were fighting against the men who'd robbed him of his right to
speak. In the end, as the night spread into day, there were more people
than they felt safe with, and less than they needed.
But later, as he stood beside the dome when night had fallen again,
Gordon wasn't so sure. It was huge. The fabric of it was thin, and even
the webbing straps that gave it added strength were frail things. But it
was strong enough to hold up the pressure of over ten pounds per square
inch, and the webbing was anchored in a metal sleeve that went too high
for cutting. They could rip it, but not ruin it completely; and it had
to be done so that no repair could ever be made.
Under it, and anchoring it, was a concrete wall all around the city.
Izzy came back from a careful exploration. "We can work enough powder
under those webbing supports, and lay the fuse wire beside the plastic
ring that keeps it airtight," he reported. "But God help us, gov'nor, if
any gee spots us."
They worked through the night, while Rusty went back to requisition more
explosives from the dwindling supply, and while the Kid and Izzy took
time off to break into a closed converter plant and find wire enough to
connect the charges. But dawn caught them with less done than they had
hoped. Gordon went to connect a wire and switch from the battery and
coil they had installed, but jerked backwards as he saw a suspicious
guard staring at him.
"Let him think we're just scouting," Randolph advised.
There were suspicious looks as the group came back to the Coop, but
Mother Corey waddled over to meet them. "Did you find them, cobber?" he
asked quickly, and one of his eyelids flickered.
Izzy answered before Gordon could rise to it. "Not yet, Mother. May have
to go back tonight."
Gordon left them discussing the mythical search for certain supplies
that Mother Corey had apparently used as an alibi for their absence from
the building. Sheila started to make coffee, but he shook his head and
headed for the bed. She yawned and nodded, fingering the stitches that
still ran down the blanket to divide it. Then she grimaced faintly and
dropped down beside him on top of the blanket. Her head hit his arm, and
she seemed to be asleep almost at once.
He awoke to find Izzy shaking his shoulder. He looked down for Sheila,
but she was gone. Izzy followed his eyes, and shook his head.
"The princess took off in a car three hours ago," he said. "She said it
was something that had to be done, gov'nor, so I figured you'd know
about it."
Gordon shrugged, and let it pass. He found the rest of the group ready,
with Mother Corey wishing them better luck tonight. The Mother obviously
knew something; but he kept his suspicions to himself, and gave them a
cover from the others.
There was no sign of Sheila near the dome. But inside, there were guards
pacing along it. Gordon spotted them first, and drew the others back. If
they'd found the carefully worked-in powder...
The Kid ducked down and out of the car, worming his way around the
building that concealed them. He waited for the guard to vanish, and
then went crawling forward. Gordon swore, but there was no sense in two
of them risking themselves, only to attract more attention. And at last
the Kid came back. He ducked into the truck, nodding.
"Wire and explosive still there?" Gordon asked.
The Kid made the sound he used for assent.
It made no sense; there was no reason for the sudden vigilance inside
the dome.
"We might be able to run the wire in," Izzy said doubtfully.
Gordon grunted. "And tip them off to where it is, probably. No, we'll
have to do it under some kind of covering, the way I had it planned in
the first place, only with one more damned complication. We'll pull
another false raid on the dome. As soon as we get chased off, I'll
manage to set it off while they're relaxing and laughing at us."
"It smells!" Izzy told him. "Who elected you chief martyr around here?
You'll be blown up, gov'nor--and if you ain't, they'll rip you to
ribbons for knocking off the dome."
Then he stopped suddenly, staring. Bruce Gordon leaned forward, with
Izzy's hands grabbing for him. But he'd seen it, too.
Standing next to the dome was Trench, talking to one of the guards. And
beside him stood Sheila, with one hand resting on the man's elbow!
He could feel the thickness of the silence and misery in the truck, but
he pushed it away, with all the other things. "Get us back, Izzy," he
ordered. "We've got to round up whatever group we can and get them back
here on the double. They must be counting on our original time, so
they're in no hurry to remove the powder and wiring. But we can't count
on any more time."
"You're going through with it?" Randolph asked doubtfully.
"In one hour. And you might pass the word along that we're doing it to
save the dome. Tell the men we just found out that Trench is losing and
intends to blow it up instead of letting the Legals win."
Rumor would travel fast enough, he hoped. And it should give him a few
extra seconds before his forces cracked.
He lifted the switch in his hands and stared at it. It wasn't necessary
now. All he had to do was to reach the battery and drop any metal across
the two terminals there--if they could get back before Trench--and
Sheila--could remove the battery.
It was a period of complete fog to him, but it wasn't until his motley
army reached the dome, straggling up in trucks and on foot, that he
snapped into focus again. There was no sign of Sheila this time, and he
didn't look for her. His whole mind was concentrated down to a single
point: Get the dome!
This time, there was no scattering of Municipals and Legals. The
Municipal forces were rushing up toward the dome, and surprised Legals
were frantically arriving in trucks. There was the beginning of a
pitched battle right at the spot where Gordon needed his own cover.
It made no sense to him, and he didn't care. He marched his men up, with
the thin wailing of a banshee in his ears.
"Dome warning!" Izzy shouted in his ear. "Hear that siren, gov'nor?
Means they're scared we may do it. Give me that damned switch!"
He grabbed for it, but Gordon held firmly to the copper strap. And now
the men inside caught sight of the approaching force. For a second,
consternation seemed to reign.
Then a huge truck with a speaker on top drove into the struggling group,
and the thin whisper of unintelligible words reached Gordon. The whole
development made no more sense than any part of it to him, but he saw
the Municipals and Legals suddenly begin to turn as a single man to face
the outside menace that had crept up on them while they were boiling
into a fight.
And suddenly the Marspeaker over the entrance blasted into life. "Get
back! The dome is mined! Any man comes near it, it'll blow! Get back!
The dome is mined!"
By Gordon's side, a sudden gargling sound came from the Kid. His hand
snaked out, caught the strap from Gordon's hand, and jerked it free.
Then he was running frantically forward.
Rifles lifted inside, and shots rang out, clipping bullets through the
dome. In one place it began to tear, and there was a sudden savage roar
from the men around Gordon. He had started forward after the Kid, but
Izzy was in front of him, holding him back.
The Kid stumbled and slid across the ground, while blood spurted out
from a gash across his head, and the helmet fell into pieces. Then, with
a jerk, he was up. His hand reached out, the strap hit the terminals...
And where the dome had been, a clap of thunder seemed to take visible
form. The webbing straps broke, and the dome jerked upwards, twisting
outwards, and then falling into ribbons. The shock wave hit Gordon,
knocking him from his feet into the crowd around him.
He struggled to his feet to see helmeted men pouring out of the houses
around, and other men pouring forward from his own group. The few of
either police force still standing and helmeted broke into a wild run,
but they had no chance! The mob had decided that they had mined and
exploded the dome.
He turned back toward the Coop, sick with the death of the Kid and the
violence. For once, he'd had more than his fill of it.
Then a small truck drew up, and an arm went out to draw him inside the
cab. He stared into the face of Isaiah Trench. And driving the truck was
Sheila.
"Your wife took a helluva chance, Gordon," Trench said heavily. "And I
took quite a chance, too, to set this up so nobody could ever believe
you were behind it. Getting that fight started in time, after you first
showed up--oh, sure, we spotted you--was the toughest job I ever did!
But I guess Sheila had the roughest end, not even knowing for sure where
I stood."
Gordon stared at them slowly, not quite believing it, even though it was
no crazier than anything else during the past few hours.
Trench shrugged. "I was railroaded here by Security, told to be good and
they'd let me go home. A lot of men got that treatment. So when Wayne
was still talking about building a perfect Marsport, I joined up. He
treated me right, and I took orders. But a man gets sick of working with
punks and cheap hoods; he gets sicker of killing off a planet he's
learned to like. I learned to take orders, though--and I took them until
Wayne tried to put a bullet through me. That ended that, and I came out
to join up with you. You were soused, I hear--but your wife guessed
enough to take the chance of coming to me, when she thought you were
going to get yourself killed. Well, I guess you get out here."
He indicated the Coop. Gordon got down, followed by Sheila as Trench
took the wheel. "What happens to you now?" Gordon asked. "They'll be
blaming you for the end of the dome."
"Let them. I planned on that. Too bad Trench got torn to bits by the
mob, isn't it? And it's a good thing I've always kept myself a place
under a safe incognito out in the sticks. Got a wife and two kids out
there that even Wayne didn't know about." He stuck out a hand. "You're
like Security, Gordon. You do all the wrong things, but you get the
right results. Goodbye!"
Sheila watched him go, shaking her head. "He likes you, Bruce. But he
can't say it. Men!"
"Women!" Gordon answered.
Then he stiffened. Coming down through the thin air of Mars was the
bright blue exhaust of a rocket. The real Security was arriving!
Chapter XVII
SECURITY PAYOFF
It was three days before Bruce Gordon made up his mind to hunt up
Security; another four days passed after they had sent him back to wait
until they received orders from Headquarters for him. There was a man
coming from Earth on a second ship who would see him. They gave him a
chauffeur back to the Chicken Coop, and politely indicated that it would
be better if he stayed within reach.
The dome had been down a full week when he watched the last of
Randolph's equipment packed onto a truck and hauled away. The little
publisher was back at the _Crusader_ again. Rusty was busy opening his
bar, and the others were all busy. Only Gordon and Sheila were left.
He heard her coming down the old stairs, and ducked out through the
private exit, snapping his helmet in place as he went through the seal.
She must have sensed his desire to be left alone, since she made no
attempt to follow. She'd asked no questions and hadn't even tried to
convince him that he'd be sent back to Earth now.
He muttered to himself as he headed over the rubble toward the
previously domed section.
Out at the spaceport, ships were dropping down from Deimos with the
supplies that had been held up so long, and a long line of trucks went
snaking by. Credit had been established again, and the businesses were
open.
For the time being, the hoods and punks were having a tough time of it,
with working papers demanded as constant identification. And while it
lasted, at least, Marsport was beginning to have its face lifted. Wrecks
were being broken up, with salvageable material used for newer homes.
Gordon came to a row of temporary bubbles, individual dwellings built
like the dome, but opaque for privacy.
As Gordon drew closer to the old foundation of the dome, the feeling
around began to clarify into something halfway between what he had seen
on the real frontier and what he had known as a kid in Earth's slums.
They had been lucky. The dome had exploded outwards, with only bits of
it falling back; and the buildings had come through the outward
explosion of the pressure with little damage. Gordon grinned wryly.
Schulberg's volunteers were official, now. Izzy was acting as chief of
police, Schulberg was head of the reconstruction corps, and Mother Corey
was temporary Mayor of all Marsport. The old charter for Marsport from
North America was dead, and the whole city was now under Security
charter, like the rest of the planet. But the dozen Security men had
left most of the control in the Mother's hands, and the old man was up
to his fat jowls in business.
Gordon moved automatically toward the Seventh Ward. Fats' Place was
still open, though the crooked tables had been removed. Gordon dropped
to a stool, slipping off his helmet. He reached automatically for the
glass of ether-needled beer. This time, it even tasted good to him.
"On the house, copper," Fats' voice said. The man dropped to another
stool, rolling dice casually between his thumbs. "And bring out a steak,
there! You look as if you could stand it--and Fats don't forget old
friends!"
"Friends and other things," Gordon said, remembering his first visit
here. "Maybe you should have got me that night, Fats."
The other shrugged. "That's Mars." He rolled the dice out, then picked
them up again. "Guess I'll have to stick to selling meals, mostly--for a
while, at least. Somebody told me you'd joined Security and got banged
up trying to keep Trench from blowing up the dome. Thought you'd be in
the chips!"
"That's Mars," Gordon echoed the other's comment. "Why don't you pull
off the planet, Fats? You could go back to Earth, I'd guess."
The other nodded. "Yeah. I went back, about ten years ago. Spent four
weeks down there. I dunno. Guess a man gets used to anything ... Hell,
maybe I can hire some bums to sit around and whoop it up when the ships
come in, and bill this as a real old Martian den of sin! Get a barker
out at the port, run special busses, charge the suckers a mint for a
cheap thrill."
Gordon grinned wryly; Fats would probably make more than ever.
He finished the meal, accepted a pack of the Earth cigarettes that sold
at a luxury price here, and went out into the thin air of Mars. It was
almost good to get out into the filth of the slums, and be heading back
to the still-standing monument of the old Chicken Coop. He headed for
the private entrance out of habit, and then shrugged as he realized it
was a needless precaution now. He moved up the front steps and through
the battered seal.
Then he stopped. Security had finally gotten around to him, it seemed.
Inside the hallway, the Security man who'd first sent him to Mars was
waiting.
There was a grin on the other's face. "Hello, Gordon. Finally got our
orders for you. It's Mercury!"
Bruce Gordon nodded slowly. "All right. I suppose you know I ruined the
dome, was supposed to have killed Murdoch, pretended I was a Security
agent..."
"You _were_ one," the man said. He grinned again. "We know about
Murdoch, and we know where Trench is--but he's a good citizen now, so he
can stay there. We're not throwing the book at you, Bruce. Damn it, we
sent you here to get results, and you got them. We sent twenty others
the same way--and they failed. You were a bit drastic--that I have to
admit--but we're one step closer to keeping nationalism off the planets,
and that's all we care about."
"I wonder if it's worth it," Gordon said slowly.
The other shook his head. "We can't know in our lifetime. All we can do
is to hope. We'll probably get this Mother Corey and Isaacs elected
properly; and for a while, things will improve. But there'll be pushers
as long as weak men turn to drugs, and graft as long as voters allow the
thing to get out of their hands. Let's say you've shifted some of the
misery around a bit, and given them a chance to do better. It's up to
them to take it or lose it."
"So I get sent to Mercury?"
"You can't stay here. They'll find out too much eventually." He paused,
estimating Gordon. "You _can_ go back to Earth, Bruce, but you won't
like it now. You're a fighter. And there's hell brewing on
Mercury--worse than here. We've got permission to send you there, if
you'll go. With a yellow ticket, again--but without any razzle-dazzle
this time. The only thing you'll get out of it is a chance to fight for
a better chance for others some day--and a promise that there'll be
more, until you get old enough to sit at a desk on Earth and fight
against every bickering nation there to keep the planets clean. There's
a rocket waiting to transship you to the Moon on the way to Mercury
right now."
Gordon sighed. "All right. But I wish you'd tell my wife sometime
that--well, that I didn't just run out on her. She's had bad luck with
men."
"She already knows," the Security man said. "I've been waiting for you
quite a while, you know. And I've paid her the pay we owe you from the
time you began using your badge. She's out shopping!"
The car pulled up to the waiting rocket, and the Security man helped him
up the steps with a perfunctory wish for good luck. Then Bruce Gordon
stopped as great arms surrounded him.
Mother Corey was immaculate, though not much prettier. But his old eyes
were glinting. "Did you think we'd let you go without seeing you off,
cobber?" he asked. "And after I took a _bath_ to celebrate? I--I--Oh,
drat it, I'm getting old. Izzy, you tell him."
He grabbed Gordon's hand and waddled down the landing plank. Izzy shook
his head.
"I can't say it, either, gov'nor--but some day, I'm going to have one of
those badges myself. Like I always said, honesty sure pays, even if it
kills you. Here!"
He followed Mother Corey, leaving behind his favorite knife and a
brand-new deck of reader cards, marked exactly as the ones Gordon had
first used.
Gordon dropped into his seat, while the sounds outside indicated
take-off time. He had less than a hundred credits, a knife, a deck of
phony cards, and a yellow ticket. Mars was leaving him what he'd
brought....
She dropped into the seat very quietly, but her blouse touched his arm.
In her hand was a punched ticket with the orange of Mars on top and the
black of Mercury on the bottom.
"Hello, Bruce," Sheila said softly. "I've been shopping and I spent the
money the man gave me. This is all I have left. Do you think it's worth
it? Or should I take it back?"
He turned it over in his hands slowly, and the smile came back to his
face gradually.
"You got a bargain, Cuddles," he said. "A lot better than the meal
ticket you bought. Let's keep it."
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