Badge of Infamy, Lester del Rey [best romance novels of all time .txt] 📗

to guess who could have taken the

chance. No one he could think of could have booked passage on the

_Iroquois_. There wasn't that much free money in the villages.

 

Something flashed a hot blue, and the little ship leaped forward.

Whoever was handling it knew nothing about piloting. It picked up too

much speed at too great an angle.

 

Again blue spurts came, but this time matters were even worse. Then

there was a long wait before a third try was made. He estimated the

course. It would miss him by a good hundred feet, but it was probably

the best the amateur pilot could do. The ship drifted closer, but to one

side. It would soon pass him completely.

 

A spacesuited figure suddenly appeared in the tiny airlock, holding a

coil of rope. The rope shot out, well thrown. But it was too short. It

would pass within ten feet--and might as well have been ten miles for

all the good it would do him.

 

Every film he had seen on space seemed to form a mad jumble in his mind,

but he seized on the first idea he could remember. He inhaled deeply and

yanked the oxygen tank free. An automatic seal on the suit cut off the

connection. He aimed the hissing bottle, fumbling for the manual valve.

 

It almost worked. It kicked him toward the rope slightly, but most of

the energy was wasted in setting him into a wilder spin. He blinked,

trying to spot the rope. It was within five feet now.

 

Again he waited, until he seemed to be in position. This time he threw

the bottle away from it. It added spin to his vertical axis, but the

rope came into view within arm's reach.

 

He grasped it, just as his lungs seemed about to burst. He couldn't hold

on long enough to tie the rope....

 

His lungs gave up suddenly, collapsing and then sucking in greedily.

Clean air rushed in, letting his head clear. He'd forgotten that the

inflated suit held enough oxygen for several minutes.

 

His body struck the edge of the airlock and a hand jerked him inside.

The outer seal was slammed shut and locked, and there was a hiss of air

entering.

 

He threw back his helmet just as Chris Ryan jerked hers off.

 

Her voice shook almost hysterically. "Thank God. Dan, I almost gave up!"

 

"I liked the air out there better," he told her bitterly. "If you'll

open the lock again, I'll leave. Or am I supposed to believe this is

rescue and that you came along just to save me?"

 

"I came along to see you killed, as you know very well. Saving you

wasn't in my orders."

 

He grunted and reached for the handle that would release the outer lock.

"Better get back inside if you don't want to blow out with me."

 

"It's up to you, Dan," she told him, and there was all the sincerity in

the world in her blue eyes. "I'm on your side now."

 

He began counting on his fingers. "Let's see. The spare battery, the

delay in arresting me, the choice of Matthews--"

 

"It was all true." Anger began to grow in her eyes. "Dan Feldman, you

get inside this raft! If you don't care about me, you might consider the

people dying of the plague who need you!"

 

She'd played her trump, and it took the round. He followed her.

 

"All right," he said grudgingly. "Spill your story."

 

She held out a copy of a space radiogram, addressed to Mrs. D. E.

Everts, and signed by one of the best doctors on the Lobby Board of

Directors.

 

     Regret confirm diagnosis. Topsecret. Repeat topsecret.

     Martian fever incubates fourteen years, believed highly

     fatal. No cure, research beginning immediately. Penalty

     violation topsecret, death all concerned.

 

"Mrs. Everts rates a topsecret break?" Doc commented dryly. "Come off

it, Chris!"

 

"She's the daughter of Elmers of Space Lobby!" Chris answered. She

pointed to the message, underlining words with her finger. "_Fourteen

years._ You couldn't have caused it. _Highly fatal._ And people are

being told it's only a skin disease. _Research beginning._ But you've

already done most of the research. I can see that now. I can see a lot

of things."

 

"You've got me beat then," he said. "I can't see how such a reformed

young noblewoman calmly walked over and stole a life raft. I can't see

how your brilliant mind concocted this whole scheme in almost no time.

And to be honest, I can't even see why Medical Lobby decided to save me

at the last minute and sent you to do the job. You didn't have to spy

out knowledge from me. I've been trying all along to get it to your

Research division."

 

She sighed and dropped onto a little seat.

 

"I can't prove my motives. You'll just have to believe me. But it wasn't

hard to do what I've done. That shuttle pilot was found in a routine

check, stowed away on the life raft. I was with Captain Everts when he

was found, so I discovered how to get into the raft. And I heard his

whole confession. He wasn't the real pilot. He'd come from the villages

to save you. The whole scheme was his. I just used it, hoping I could

reach you."

 

As always her story had a convincing element she shouldn't have known.

The pilot's farewell, addressing him as Dr. Feldman, had been too low

for her to hear, but it was something that fitted her story. It was

probably a deliberate clue to give him hope, to assure him the villages

were still trying. It shook his confidence.

 

"And your motive--your real motive?" he insisted.

 

She swore at him, then began ripping off the spacesuit. She turned her

back, pulling a thin blouse down from her neck. He stared, then reached

out to touch the lump there.

 

"So you've had Selznik's migraine and know you're carrying plague. And

you've decided your precious Lobby won't save you?"

 

She dropped her eyes, then raised them to meet his defiantly. "I'm not

just scared and selfish. Dad caught it, too, and it must be close to the

time for him. He switched to Mars-normal when he was a liaison agent and

never changed back. Dan, are we all going to have to die? Can't you save

him?"

 

Feldman was out of his suit and at the control panel. There was a manual

lever, which Chris must have used before. It might work out here where

there was room to maneuver and nothing to hit. But trying to make a

landing was going to be different.

 

"Dan?" she repeated.

 

He shrugged. "I don't know. They've started research too late and

they'll be under so much pressure that the real brains won't have a

chance. The topsecret stuff looks bad for research. Maybe there's a

cure. It works in culture bottles, but it may fail in person. When I'm

convinced I'm safe with you, I may tell you about it."

 

"Oh." Her voice was low. Then she sighed. "I suppose I can understand

why you hate me, Dan."

 

"I don't hate you. I'm too mixed up. Tomorrow maybe, but not now. Shut

up and let me see if I can figure out how to land this thing."

 

He found that the fuel tanks were nearly full, but that still didn't

leave much margin. Mars must have been notified by Everts and be ready

to pick the raft up. He had to reach the wastelands away from any of the

shuttle ports. They had no aspirators, however, and they couldn't cover

much territory in the spacesuits they would have to use. It meant he'd

have to land close to a village where he was known.

 

He jockeyed the ship around by trial and error, studying the manual that

was lying prominently on the control panel. According to the booklet,

the ship was simple to operate. It was self-leveling in an atmosphere,

and automatic flare computers were supposed to make it possible for an

amateur to judge the rate of descent near the surface. It looked

reassuring--and was probably written with that in mind.

 

Finally he reached for the control, hoping he'd figured his landing

orbit reasonably well by simple logic. He smoothed it out in the

following hours as he watched the markings on Mars. When they were near

turnover point, he began cranking the little gyroscope to swing the

ship. It saved fuel to turn without power, and he wasn't sure he could

have turned accurately by blasting.

 

He was gaining some proficiency, however, he felt. But now he had to

waste fuel and ruin his orbit again. There was no way to practice

maneuvering without actually doing so.

 

In the end, he compromised, leaving a small margin for a bad landing

that would require a second attempt, but with less practice than he

wanted.

 

He had located Jake's village through the little telescope when he

finally reached for the main blast control. The thin haze of Mars'

atmosphere came rushing up, while the blast lashed out. Then they were

in the outer fringes of the sky and the blast was beginning to show a

corona that ruined visibility.

 

He turned to the flare computer and back to what he could see through

the quartz viewport. He was going to land about half a mile from the

village, as nearly as he could judge.

 

The computer seemed to work as it should. The speed was within

acceptable limits. He gave up trying to see the ground and was forced to

trust the machinery designed for amateur pilots. The flare bloomed, and

he yanked down on the little lever.

 

It could have been worse. They hit the ground, bounced twice, and turned

over. The ship was a mess when Feldman freed himself from the elastic

straps of the seat. Chris had shrieked as they hit, but she was

unbuckling herself now.

 

He threw her her spacesuit and one of the emergency bottles of oxygen

from the rack. "Hurry up with that. We've sprung a leak and the

pressure's dropping."

 

They were halfway to the village when a dozen tractors came racing up

and Jake piled out of the lead one to drag the two in with him.

 

"Heard about it from the broadcasts and figured you might land around

here. Good to see you, Doc." He started the tractor off at full speed,

back to the wastelands, while Doc stared at the armed men who were

riding the tractors.

 

Jake caught his look and nodded. "You're in enemy territory, Doc.

There's a war going on!"

XII (War)

 

Sometimes it seemed to Doc that war was nothing but an endurance race to

see how many times they could run before they were bombed. He was just

beginning to drop off to sleep after a long trip for the sixth

consecutive day when the little alarm shrilled. He sighed and shook

Chris awake.

 

"Again?" she protested. But she got up and began helping him pack.

 

Jake came in, his eyes weary, pulling on the old jacket with the big

star on its sleeve. Doc hadn't been too surprised to learn that Jake was

the actual leader of the rebels. "Shuttles spotted taking off this way.

And I still can't find where the leak is. They haven't missed our

location once this week. Here, give me that."

 

He took the electron mike that had been among Doc's' possessions, but

Chris recaptured it. "I can manage," she told him, and headed out for

the tractor where Lou was waiting.

 

Doc scowled after her. He and Jake had been watching her. She was too

useful to Doc's research to be turned away, but they didn't trust her

yet. So far, however, they had found nothing wrong with her conduct.

Still....

 

He swung suddenly into Jake's tractor. "Just remembered something. How'd

they find me that time I stopped in the tractor to use the mike? I was

pretty well hidden, and no tracks last in the sand long enough for them

to have followed. But they were there when I came to. Somehow, they must

have put a radio tracer on me."

 

Jake waited while they lighted up, his eyes suddenly bright. "You mean

something you got from