Noble Redman Part 3

"We had forgotten about you Runners--but it seems you didn't forget us. You sealed us off--forced us to remain on Earth. And by the time we were again ready for s.p.a.ce, you were able to prevent us. But we will not be denied forever. It took an entire planet working together to get me on Mars to learn your secrets. And when I got here, I found that I wouldn't have time to learn. We had forgotten one simple thing--my skin color. It isn't normal here and there is no way of changing it since the extract combines permanently with body cells. So I had to do the next best thing--obtain a sample of your technology and bring it to Earth. I planned at first to get enough money to buy a s.h.i.+p. But those creeps in Marsport don't lose like gentlemen. I d.a.m.n near had to beat my way out of that joint. And when a couple of them came after me, I figured it was all up. I could kill them of course, but that wouldn't solve anything. Since I can't fly one of your s.h.i.+ps yet, I couldn't steal one--and I wouldn't have time to buy one because I was pretty sure the Patrol would be after me as soon as the rumors of a red man got around. You see--_they_ know what we look like and its their job to keep us cooped up--"

"Hmm," I said.

"Why do they do it?" Redman asked. "We're just as human as you are."

He shrugged. "At any rate," he finished, "I was at the end of my rope when you came along. But you have a s.h.i.+p--you can fly--and you'll take me back to Earth."

"I will?" I asked.

He nodded. "I can make it worth your while," he said.

"How?" I asked.

"Money. You'll do anything for money." Redman looked at me soberly.

"You're a repulsive little weasel, Cyril, and I would distrust you thoroughly except that I know you as well as you know me. That's the virtue of being human. We understand each other without words. You are a cheap, chiseling, doublecrossing, money-grabbing heel. You'd kick your mother's teeth out for a price. And for what I'm going to offer you, you'll jump at the chance to help us--but I don't have to tell you that. You know already."

"What do you mean--know already?" I said. "Can I read your mind?"

"Do you mean to tell me--" Redman began. And then a peculiar smile crossed his face, a light of dawning comprehension. "Why no," he said, "why should you be telepathic--why should you? And to think I kept hiding--" he broke off and looked at me with a superior look a man gives his dog. Affectionate but pitying. "No wonder there were no psych fields protecting that dice game--and I thought--" he started to laugh.

And I knew then why the Patrol had sealed Earth off. Mutated by radiation, speeded up in their evolution by the effects of the Blowup, Earthmen were as far ahead of us mentally as we were ahead of them technologically. To let these telepaths, these telekinetics--and G.o.d knows what else--loose on the Galaxy would be like turning a bunch of hungry kelats loose in a herd of fat sloats. My head buzzed like it was filled with a hive of bees. For the first time in years I stopped thinking of the main chance. So help me, I was feeling _n.o.ble_!

"Just take it easy, Cyril," Redman said. "Don't get any bright ideas."

Bright ideas! Ha! I should be getting bright ideas with a character who could read me like a book. What I needed was something else.

"If you cooperate," Redman said, "you'll be fixed for life."

"You're not kidding," I said. "I'd be fixed all right. The Patrol'd hound me all the way to Andromeda if I helped you. And don't think they wouldn't find out. While we can't read minds, we can tell when a man's lying."

"Have you ever heard of Fort Knox?" Redman asked.

Fort Knox--Fort Knox--_fourknocks_! the thought staggered me.

"The gold I had came from there," Redman said.

Fourknocks! Sure, I'd heard of it. What citizen hadn't? They still tell stories of that fabulous h.o.a.rd of gold. Tons of it buried on Earth waiting for someone with guts enough to go in and find it.

"All your s.h.i.+p will hold," Redman said. "After we a.n.a.lyze its principles."

Five tons of gold! Six million munits! So much money! It staggered me.

I'd never dreamed of that much money. Redman was right. I _would_ kick my mother's teeth out if the price was right. And the price--I jumped convulsively. My arm brushed the control board, kicking off the negative inertia and slapping the axial correction jets.

The s.h.i.+p spun like a top! Centrifugal force crushed me against the control room floor. Redman, an expression of pained surprise on his face before it slammed against the floor, was jammed helplessly in the corridor. I had time for one brief grin. The Patrol would zero in on us, and I'd have a hundred thousand I could spend. What could I do with six million I couldn't use?

Then h.e.l.l broke out. A fire extinguisher came loose from its fastenings and started flying around the room in complete defiance of artificial gravity. Switches on the control board clicked on and off.

The s.h.i.+p bucked, shuddered and jumped. But the spin held. Redman, crushed face down to the floor, couldn't see what he was doing.

Besides--he didn't know what he was doing--but he was trying. The fire extinguisher came whizzing across the floor and cracked me on the s.h.i.+n. A scream of pure agony left my lips as I felt the bone snap.

"Got you!" Redman grunted, as he lifted his head against the crus.h.i.+ng force and sighted at me like a gunner. The extinguisher reversed its flight across the room and came hurtling at my head.

"Too late!" I gloated mentally. Then the world was filled with novae and comets as the extinguisher struck. The cheerful thought that Redman was trapped because he didn't--couldn't--know how to drive a hypers.h.i.+p was drowned in a rush of darkness.

When I came to, my leg was aching like a thousand devils and I was lying on a rocky surface. Near--terribly near--was a jagged rock horizon cutting the black of s.p.a.ce dotted with the blazing lights of stars. I groaned and rolled over, wincing at the double pain in leg and head. Redman was standing over me, carrying a couple of oxygen bottles and a black case. He looked odd, standing there with a load in his arms that would have crushed him flat on Mars. And then I knew. I was on an asteroid.

"But how did I get here?"

"Easy," Redman's voice came over my headphone. "Didn't anyone ever tell you an unconscious mind is easier to read than a conscious one?"

He chuckled. "No," he continued, "I don't suppose they did--but it is.

Indeed it is." He laid the bottles down, and put the box beside them.

"I learned how to operate the s.h.i.+p, stopped the spin, and got her back into negative inertia before the Patrol found me. Found this place about an hour ago--and since you began to look like you'd live, I figured you should have a chance. So I'm leaving you a communicator and enough air to keep you alive until you can get help. But so help me--you don't deserve it. After I played square with you, you try to do this to me."

"Square!" I yelped. "Why you--" The rest of what I said was unprintable.

Redman grinned at me, his face rosy behind the gla.s.site of his helmet--and turned away. I turned to watch him picking his way carefully back to where the yacht rested lightly on the naked rock. At the airlock he turned and waved at me. Then he squeezed inside. The lock closed. There was a brief s.h.i.+mmer around the s.h.i.+p--a briefer blast of heat, and the yacht vanished.

I turned on the communicator and called for help. I used the Patrol band. "I'll keep the transmitter turned on so you can home in on me,"

I broad-casted, "but get that Earthman first! He's got my money and my s.h.i.+p. Pick me up later, but get him now!"

I didn't know whether my message was received or not, because Redman didn't leave me any receiver other than the s.p.a.cesuit intercom in my helmet. It was, I suspected, a deliberate piece of meanness on his part. So I kept talking until my voice was a hoa.r.s.e croak, calling the Patrol, calling--calling--calling, until a black shark shape blotted out the stars overhead and a couple of Patrolmen in jetsuits homed in on me.

"Did you get him?" I asked.

The Patrolman bending over me shrugged his shoulders. "They haven't told me," he said.

They hauled me back to Marsport, put my leg in a cast, ran me through the lie detector, and then tossed me in jail for safekeeping. I beefed about the jail, but not too loud. As I figured it I was lucky to be out of Abie's hands.

Two days later, a Patrolman with the insignia of a Commander on his collar tabs showed up at my cell. He was apologetic. I was a hero, he said. Seems like the Patrol caught Redman trying to sneak through the asteroid belt on standard drive and blasted him out of s.p.a.ce.

So they gave me the reward and turned me loose.

But it didn't do me any good. After taxes, it only came to twenty thousand, and Abie grabbed that before I could get out of town. Like I said, Abie's unforgiving where money's concerned, and Redman had taken him for over thirty kilos, which, according to Abie was my fault for lifting him and getting him out of town. After he got my twenty kilos he still figured I owed him twelve--and so I've never made it back. Every time I get a stake he grabs it, and what with the interest, I still owe him twelve.

But I still keep trying, because there's still a chance. You see, when Redman probed around in my mind to learn how to run the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p, he was in a hurry. He must have done something to my brain, because when he left me on that asteroid, as he turned and waved at me, I could hear him thinking that the Patrol would not be able to stop hypers.h.i.+ps, and if he made it to Earth his people could emigrate to some clean world and stop having to inject their kids, and while they couldn't make the grade themselves, their kids could crash the Galaxy without any trouble. I got the impression that it wouldn't be too much trouble to empty Earth. Seems as though there wasn't many more than a million people left. The red color wasn't complete protection apparently.

And there's another thing. About a month after I got the reward, there was a minor complaint from Centaurus V about one of their officials who disappeared on a vacation trip to Mars. His s.h.i.+p was a Starflite cla.s.s, Serial CY 122439. Get the idea?

So I keep watching all the incoming tourists like you. Someday I figure I'm going to run into a decolorized Earthman. They won't be able to stay away any more than the other peoples of the Galaxy. Old Mother Earth keeps dragging them back even though they've been gone for over a thousand years. Don't get the idea they want to see Mars.

It's Earth that draws them. And it'll draw an Earthman's kids. And I figure that if I could read Redman's mind, I can read theirs, too even though I haven't read a thought since. It figures, does it not?

Hey! Hold on! There's no need to run. All I want to do is collect a fifty year old bill--plus interest. Your folks owe me that much.