Police Your Planet

L >> Lester del Rey >> Police Your Planet

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Gordon nodded. "Be with you in a minute," he said as he paid Mother
Corey for the materials and work. He jerked his head and the two men
went out, leaving him alone with Sheila.

"I'll bring you some food tonight. And you may not have a private bath,
but it beats the Chicken Coop. Here." He handed her the key to the
connecting door. "It's the only key there is."

Chapter XI

THE SKY'S THE LIMIT

All that day, the three rocket ships sat out on the field. Nobody went
up to them, and nobody came from them; surprisingly, Wayne had found the
courage to ignore them. But rumors were circulating wildly. Bruce Gordon
felt his nerves creeping out of his skin and beginning to stand on end
to test each breeze for danger.

With the credit they'd accumulated in the fund, nearly all their
collection was theirs. Gordon went out to do some shopping. He stopped
when his money was down to a hundred credits, hardly realizing what he
was doing. When he went out, the street was going crazy.

Izzy had been waiting, and filled him in. At exactly sundown, the rocket
ships had thrown down ramps, and a stream of jeeps had ridden down them
and toward the south entrance to the dome. They had presented some sort
of paper and forced the guard to let them through. There were about two
hundred men, some of them armed. They had driven straight to the huge,
barnlike Employment Bureau, had chased out the few people remaining
there, and had simply taken over. Now there was a sign in front which
simply said MARSPORT LEGAL POLICE FORCE HEADQUARTERS. Then the
jeeps had driven back to the rockets, gone on board, and the ships had
taken off.

Gordon glanced at his watch, finding it hard to believe it could have
been done so quickly. But it was two hours after sundown.

Now a car with a loudspeaker on top rolled into view--a completely
armored car. It stopped, and the speaker began operating.

"Citizens of Marsport! In order to protect your interests from the
proven rapacity of the administration here, Earth has revoked the
independent charter of Marsport. The past elections are hereby declared
null and void. Your home world has appointed Marcus Gannett as mayor,
with Philip Crane as chief of police. Other members of the council will
be by appointment until legal elections can be held safely. The
Municipal Police Force is disbanded, and the Legal Police Force is now
being organized.

"All police and officers who remain loyal to the legal government will
be accepted at their present grade or higher. To those who now leave the
illegal Municipal Force and accept their duty with the Legal Force,
there will be no question of past conduct. Nor will they suffer
financially from the change!

"Banks will be reopened as rapidly as the Legal Government can extend
its control, and all deposits previously made will be honored in full."

That brought a cheer from the crowd, as the sound truck moved on. Gordon
saw two of the police officers nearby fingering their badges
thoughtfully.

Then another truck rolled into view, and the Mayor's canned voice came
over it, panting as if he'd had to rush to make the recording. He began
directly:

"Martians! Earth has declared war on us. She has denied us our right to
rule ourselves--a right guaranteed in our charter. We admit there have
been abuses; all young civilizations make mistakes. But we've developed
and grown.

"This is an old pattern, fellow Martians! England tried it on her
colonies three hundred years ago. And the people rose up and demanded
their right to rule themselves. They had troubles with their
governments, too--and they had panics. But they won their freedom, and
it made them great--so great that now that _one_ nation--not all Earth,
but that single nation!--is trying to do to us what she wouldn't permit
to herself.

"Well, we don't have an army. But neither do they. They know the people
of this world wouldn't stand for the landing of foreign--that's right,
_foreign_--troops. So they're trying to steal our police force from us
and use it for their war.

"Fellow Martians, they aren't going to bribe us into that! Mars has had
enough. I declare us to be in a state of revolution. And since they have
chosen the weapons, I declare our loyal and functioning Municipal Police
Force to be _our_ army. Any man who deserts will be considered a
traitor. But any man who sticks will be rewarded more than he ever
expected. We're going to protect our freedom.

"Let them open their banks--our banks--again. And when they have
established your accounts, go in and collect the money! If they give it
to you, Mars is that much richer. If they don't, you'll know they're
lying.

"Let them bribe us if they like. We're going to win this war."

Gordon felt the crowd's reaction twist again, and he had to admit that
Wayne had played his cards well.

But it didn't make the question of where he belonged, or what he should
do, any easier. He waited until the crowd had thinned out a little and
began heading toward Corey's, with Izzy moving along silently beside
him, carrying half the packages.

He remembered the promise of forgiveness for all sins on joining the new
Legal Force; but he'd read enough history to know that it was fine--as
long as the struggle continued. Afterwards, promises grew dim....

He had no use for the present administration, but Earth had no right to
take over without a formal investigation, and a chance for the people to
state their choice.

Then he grimaced at himself. He was in no position to move according to
right and wrong. The only question that counted was how he had the best
chance to ride out the storm, and to get back to Earth and a normal
life.

He was still in a brown study as he took the bundles from Izzy and
dropped them on his bed. Izzy went out, and Gordon stood staring at the
wall. Trench? Or the new Commissioner Crane? If Earth should win--and
they had most of the power, after all--and Bruce Gordon had fought
against Security, the mines of Mercury were waiting.

He picked up the stuff from his bed and started to sweep it aside before
he lay down. Then he remembered at last; he knocked on the panel, until
it finally opened a crack.

"Here," he told her. "Food, and some other stuff. There are some refuse
bags, too. Yell when you want them removed."

She took the bundles woodenly until she came to a plastic can. Then she
gasped. "Water! Two gallons!"

"There are heat tablets, and a skin tub." The salesgirl had explained
how one gallon was enough in the plastic bag that served as a tub; he
had his doubts. "Detergent. The whole works."

She hauled the stuff in and started to close the panel. Then she
hesitated. "I suppose I should thank you, but I don't like to be told I
stink so much you can't stand me in the next room!"

"Hell, I've gotten so I can stand your grandfather," he answered. "It
wasn't that." The panel slammed shut.

* * * * *

He still hadn't solved his problem in the morning; out of habit, he put
on his uniform and went across to Izzy's room. But Izzy was already
gone.

Gordon fished into the pocket of his uniform for paper and a pencil to
leave a note in case Izzy came back. His fingers found the half notebook
cover instead. He drew it out, scowling at it, and started to crumple
it. Then he stopped, staring at the piece of imitation leather and paper
that wouldn't bend.

His fingers were still stiff as he began tearing off the thin covering
with his knife; the paper backing peeled away easily.

Under it lay a thin metal plate that glowed faintly even in the dim
light of Izzy's room! Gordon nearly dropped it. He'd seen such an
identification plate once before.

The printing on it leaped at him: "This will identify the bearer, BRUCE
IRVING GORDON, as a PRIME agent of the Office of Solar Security,
empowered to make and execute any and all directives under the powers of
this office." The printing in capitals was obviously done by hand, but
with the same catalytic "ink" as the rest of the badge. Murdoch must
have prepared it, hidden it in the notebook, then died before the secret
could be revealed.

A knock sounded from across the hall. Gordon thrust the damning badge as
deep into his pouch as he could cram it and looked out. It was Mother
Corey.

"You've got a visitor--outside," he announced. "Trench. And I don't like
the stench of that kind of cop in my place. Get him away, cobber, get
him away!"

Gordon found Trench pacing up and down in front of the house, scowling
up at it. But the ex-Marine smiled as he saw Bruce Gordon in uniform.
"Good. At least some men are loyal. Had breakfast, Gordon?"

Gordon shook his head, and realized suddenly that the decision seemed to
have been taken out of his hands. They crossed the street and went down
half a block. "All right," he said, when the coffee began waking him.
"What's the angle?"

Trench dropped the eyes that had been boring into him. "I'll have to
trust you, Gordon. I've never been sure. But either you're loyal now or
I can't depend on anyone being loyal."

During the night, it seemed, the Legal Force had been recruiting. Wayne,
Arliss, and the rest of the administration had counted on self-interest
holding most of the cops loyal to them. They'd been wrong. Legal forces
already controlled about half the city.

"So?" Gordon asked. He could have told Trench that the fund was
good-enough reason for most police deserting.

Trench put his coffee down and yelled for more. It was obvious he'd
spent the night without sleep. "So we're going to need men with guts.
Gordon, you had training under Murdoch--who knew his business. And you
aren't a coward, as most of these fat fools are. I've got a proposition,
straight from Wayne."

"I'm listening."

"Here." Trench threw across a platinum badge. "Take that--captain at
large--and conscript any of the Municipal Force you want, up to a
hundred. Pick out any place you want, train them to handle those damned
Legals the way Murdoch handled the Stonewall boys. In return, the sky's
the limit. Name your own salary, once you've done the job. And no
kickbacks, either!"

Gordon picked up the badge slowly and buckled it on, while a grim,
satisfied smile spread over Trench's features. The problem seemed to
have been solved. Gordon should have been satisfied, but he felt like
Judas picking up the thirty pieces of silver. He tried to swallow them
with the dregs of his coffee, and they stuck in his throat.

Comes the revolution and we'll all eat strawberries and scream!

A hubbub sounded outside, and Trench grimaced as a police whistle
sounded, and a Municipal cop ran by. "We're in enemy territory," he
said. "The Legals got this precinct last night. Captain Hendrix and some
of his men wanted to come back with full battle equipment and chase them
out. I had a hell of a time getting them to take it easy. I suppose that
was some damned fool who tried to go back to his beat."

"Then you'd better look again," Gordon told him. He'd gone to the door
and was peering out. Up the narrow little street was rolling a group of
about seventy Municipal police and half a dozen small trucks. The men
were wearing guns. And up the street a man in bright green uniform was
pounding his fist up and down in emphasis as he called in over the
precinct box.

"The idiot!" Trench grabbed Gordon and spun out, running toward the
advancing men. "We've got to stop this. Get my car--up the street--call
Arliss on the phone--under the dash. Or Wayne. I'll bring Hendrix."

Trench's system made some sense, and this business of marching as to war
made none at all. Gordon grabbed the phone from under the dash. A sleepy
voice answered to say that Commissioner Arliss and Mayor Wayne were
sleeping. They'd had a hard night, and...

"Damn it, there's a rebellion going on!" Gordon told the man. Rebellion,
rebellion! He'd meant to say revolution, but...

Trench was arguing frantically with the pompous figure of Captain
Hendrix. From the other end of the street, a group of small cars
appeared; and men began piling out, all in shiny green.

"Who's this?" the phone asked. When Gordon identified himself, there was
a snort of disgust. "Yes, yes, congratulations. Trench was quite right;
you're fully authorized. Did you call me out of bed just to check on
that, young man?"

"No, I--" Then he hung up. Hendrix had dropped to his knees and fired
before Trench could knock the gun from his hands.

There was no answering fire. The Legals simply came boiling down the
street, equipped with long pikes with lead-weighted ends. And Hendrix
came charging up, his men straggling behind him. Gordon was squarely in
the middle. He considered staying in Trench's car and letting it roll
past him. But he'd taken the damned badge.

"Hell," he said in disgust. He climbed out, just as the two groups met.
It all had a curious feeling of unreality.

Then a man jumped for him, swinging a pike, and the feeling was suddenly
gone. His hand snapped down sharply for a rock on the street. The pike
whistled over his head, barely missing, and he was up, squashing the big
stone into the face of the other. He jerked the pike away, kicked the
man in the neck as he fell, and unsheathed his knife with the other
hand.

Trench was a few feet away. The man might be a louse, but he was also a
fighting machine of first order, still. He'd already captured one of the
pikes. Now he grinned tightly at Gordon and began moving toward him.
Gordon nodded--in a brawl such as this, two working together had a
distinct advantage.

Then a yell sounded as more Legals poured down the street. One of them
was obviously Izzy, wearing the same green as the others!

Gordon felt something hit his back, and instinctively fell, soaking up
the blow. He managed to bend his neck and roll, coming to his feet. His
knife slashed upwards, and the Legal fell--almost on top of the Security
badge that had dropped from Gordon's pouch.

He jerked himself down and scooped it up, his eyes darting for Trench.
He stuffed it back, ducking a blow. Then his glance fell on the entrance
to Mother Corey's house--with Sheila Corey coming out of the seal!

Gordon threw himself back; he had to get to her.

He hadn't been watching as closely as he should. He saw the pike coming
down and tried to duck...

He was vaguely conscious later of looking up, to see Sheila dragging him
into some entrance, while Trench ran toward them. Sheila and Trench
together--and the Security badge was still in his pouch!

Chapter XII

WIFE OR PRISONER?

Something cold and damp against his forehead brought Gordon part way out
of his unconsciousness finally. There was the softness of a bed under
him and the bitter aftertaste of Migrainol on his tongue. He tried to
move, but nothing happened. The drug killed pain, but only at the
expense of a temporary paralysis of all voluntary motion.

There was a sudden withdrawal of the cooling touch on his forehead, and
then hasty steps that went away from him, and the sound of a door
closing.

Steps sounded from outside; his door opened, and there was the sound of
two men crossing the room, one with the heavy shuffle of Mother Corey.

"No wonder the boys couldn't find where you'd stashed him, Mother. Must
be a bloody big false section you've got in that trick mattress of
yours!"

"Big enough for him and for Trench, Izzy," Mother Corey's wheezing voice
agreed. "Had to be big to fit me."

"You mean you hid Trench out, too?" Izzy asked.

There was a thick chuckle and the sound of hands being rubbed together.
"A respectable landlord has to protect himself, Izzy. For hiding and a
convoy back, our Captain Trench gave me a paper with immunity from the
Municipal Force. Used that, with a bit of my old reputation, to get your
Mayor Gannett to give me the same from the Legals. Gannett didn't want
Mother Corey to think the Municipals were kinder than the Legals, so
you're in the only neutral territory in Marsport. Not that you deserve
it."

"Lay off, Mother," Izzy said sharply. "I told you I had to do it. I take
care of the side that pays my cut, and the bloody administration pulled
the plug on my beat twice. Only honest thing to do was to join the
Legals."

"And get your rating upped to a lieutenant," Mother Corey observed.
"Without telling cobber Gordon!"

"Like I say, honesty pays, Mother--when you know how to collect. Hell, I
figured Bruce would do the same. He's a right gee."

Mother Corey chuckled. "Yeah, when he forgets he's a machine. How about
a game of shanks?"

The steps moved away; the door closed again. Bruce Gordon got both eyes
open and managed to sit up. The effects of the drug were almost gone,
but it took a straining of every nerve to reach his uniform pouch. His
fingers, clumsy and uncertain, groped back and forth for a badge that
wasn't there!

He heard the door open softly, but made no effort to look up. The
reaction from his effort had drained him.

Fingers touched his head carefully, brushing the hair back delicately
from the side of his skull. Then there was the biting sting of
antiseptic, sharp enough to bring a groan from his lips. Sheila's hair
fell over her face as she bent to replace his bandages.

Her eyes wandered toward his, and the scissors and bandages on her lap
hit the floor as she jumped to her feet. She turned toward her room,
then hesitated as he grinned crookedly at her. "Hi, Cuddles," he said
flatly.

She bit her lips and turned back, while a slow flush ran over her face.
Her voice was uncertain. "Hello, Bruce. You okay?"

"How long have I been like this?"

"Fifteen hours, I guess. It's almost midnight." She bent over to pick up
the bandages and to finish with his head. "Are you hungry? There's some
canned soup--I took the money from your pocket. Or coffee..."

"Coffee." He forced himself up again; Sheila propped the flimsy pillow
behind him, then went into her room to come back with a plastic cup
filled with brown liquid that passed for coffee here. It was loaded with
caffeine, at least.

"Why'd you come back?" he asked suddenly. "You were anxious enough to
pick the lock and get out."

"I didn't pick it--you forgot to lock it."

He couldn't remember what he'd done after he found the badge. "Okay, my
mistake. But why the change of heart?"

"Because I needed a meal ticket!" she said harshly. "When I saw that
Legal cop ready to take you, I had to go running out to save you.
Because I don't have the iron guts to starve like a Martian!"

It rocked him back on his mental heels. He'd thought that she had been
attacking him on the street; but it made more sense this way, at that.

"You're a fool!" he told her bitterly. "You bought a punched meal
ticket. Right now, I probably have six death warrants out on me, and
about as much chance of making a living as--"

"I'll stick to my chances. I don't have any others now." She grimaced.
"You get things done. Now that you've got a wife to support, you'll
support her. Just remember, it was your idea."

He'd had a lot of ideas, it seemed. "I've got a wife who's holding onto
a notebook that belongs to me, then. Where is it?"

She shook her head. "I'm keeping the notebook for insurance. Blackmail,
Bruce. You should understand that! And you won't find it, so don't
bother looking..." She went into the other room and shut the door.
There was the sound of the lock being worked, and then silence.

He stared at the door foolishly, swearing at all women; then grimaced
and turned back to the chair where his uniform still lay. He could stay
here fighting with her, or he could face his troubles on the outside.
The whole thing hinged on Trench; unless Trench had shown the badge to
others, his problem boiled down to a single man.

Gordon found one tablet of painkiller left in the bottle and swallowed
it with the dregs of the coffee. He made sure his knife was in its
sheath and that the gun at his side was loaded. He found his police
club, checked the loop at its end, and slipped it onto his wrist.

At the door to the hall, he hesitated, staring at Sheila's room. Wife or
prisoner? He turned it over in his mind, knowing that her words couldn't
change the facts. But in the end, he dropped the key and half his money
beside her door, along with a spare knife and one of his guns.

He went by Izzy's room without stopping; technically, the boy was an
enemy to all Municipals. This might be neutral territory, but there was
no use pressing it. Gordon went down the stairs and out through the seal
onto the street entrance, still in the shadows.

His eyes covered the street in two quick scans. Far up, a Legal cop was
passing beyond the range of the single dim light. At the other end, a
pair of figures skulked along, trying the door of each house they
passed. With the cops busy fighting each other, this was better pickings
than outside the dome.

He saw the Legal cop move out of sight and stepped onto the street,
trying to look like another petty crook on the prowl. He headed for the
nearest alley, which led through the truckyard of Nick the Croop.

The entrance was in nearly complete darkness. Gordon loosened his knife
and tightened his grip on the locust stick.

Suddenly a whisper of sound caught his ears. He stopped, not too
quickly, and listened, but everything was still. A hundred feet farther
on, and within twenty yards of the trucks, a swishing rustle reached his
ears and light slashed hotly into his eyes. Hands grabbed at his arms,
and a club swung down toward his knife. But the warning had been enough.
Gordon's arms jerked upwards to avoid the reaching hands. His boot
lifted, and the flashlight spun aside, broken and dark. With a
continuous motion, he switched the knife to his left hand in a thumb-up
position and brought it back. There was a grunt of pain; he stepped
backwards and twisted. His hands caught the man behind, lifted across a
hip, and heaved, just before the front man reached him.

The two ambushers were down in a tangled mess. There was just enough
light to make out faint outlines, and Gordon brought his locust club
down twice, with the hollow thud of wood on skulls.

His head was swimming in a hot maelstrom of pain, but it was quieting as
his breathing returned to normal. As long as his opponents were slower
or less ruthless, he could take care of himself.

The trouble, though, was that Isaiah Trench was neither slow nor
squeamish.

Gordon gathered the two hoodlums under his arms and dragged them with
him. He came out in the truckyard and began searching. Nick the Croop
had ridden his reputation long enough to be careless, and the third
truck had its key still in the lock. He threw the two into the back and
struck a cautious light.

One of them was Jurgens' apelike follower, his stupid face relaxed and
vacant. The other was probably also one of Jurgens' growing mob of
protection racketeers. Gordon yanked out the man's wallet, but there was
no identification; it held only a small sheaf of bills.

He stripped out the money--and finally put half of it back into the
wallet and dropped it beside the hoodlum. Even in jail, a man had to
have smokes.

He stuck to the alleys, not using the headlights, after he had locked
the two in and started the electric motor. He had no clear idea of how
the battles were going, but it looked as if the Seventh Precinct was
still in Municipal hands.

There was no one at the side entrance to Seventh Precinct Headquarters
and only two corporals on duty inside; the rest were probably out
fighting the Legals, or worrying about it. One of the corporals started
to stand up and halt him, but wavered at the sight of the captain's star
that was still pinned to his uniform.

"Special prisoners," Gordon told him sharply. "I've got to get
information to Trench--and in private!"

The corporal stuttered. Gordon knocked him out of the way with his
elbow, reached for the door to Trench's private office, and yanked it
open. He stepped through, drawing it shut behind him, while his eyes
checked the position of his gun at his hip. Then he looked up.

There was no sign of Trench. In his place, and in the uniform of a
Municipal captain, sat the heavy figure of Jurgens. "Outside!" he
snapped. Then his eyes narrowed, and a stiff smile came onto his lips as
he laid the pen down. "Oh, it's you, Gordon?"

"Where's Captain Trench?"

The heavy features didn't change as Jurgens chuckled. "Commissioner
Trench, Gordon. It seems Arliss decided to get rid of Mayor Wayne, but
didn't count on Wayne's spies being better than his. So Trench got
promoted--and I got his job for loyal service in helping the Force
recruit. My boys always wanted to be cops, you know."

Gordon tried to grin in return as he moved closer, slipping the heavy
locust club off his wrist.

"I sent Ape and Mullins out to get in touch with you," Jurgens said.
"But I guess they didn't reach you before you left."

Gordon shook his head slightly, while the nerves bunched and tingled in
his neck. "They hadn't arrived when I left the house," he said
truthfully enough.

Jurgens reached out for tobacco and filled a pipe. He fumbled in his
pockets, as if looking for a light. "Too bad. I knew you weren't in top
shape, so I figured a convoy might be handy. Well, no matter. Trench
left some instructions about you, and--"

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