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diff --git a/31327.txt b/31327.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..55beb70 --- /dev/null +++ b/31327.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2007 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Master of the Moondog, by Stanley Mullen + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Master of the Moondog + +Author: Stanley Mullen + +Release Date: February 19, 2010 [EBook #31327] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MASTER OF THE MOONDOG *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Planet Stories July 1952. Extensive + research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on + this publication was renewed. + + + MASTER of the MOONDOG + + + By STANLEY MULLEN + + + _Idiotic pets rate idiotic masters. Tod Denver and Charley, + the moondog, made ideal companions as they set a zigzag + course for the Martian diggings--paradise for fools._ + + * * * * * + + + + +It was Charley's fault, of course; all of it.... + +Temperature outside was a rough 280 degrees F., which is plenty rough +and about three degrees cooler than Hell. It was somewhere over the +Lunar Appenines and the sun bored down from an airless sky like an +unshielded atomic furnace. The thermal adjustors whined and snarled +and clogged-up until the inside of the space sled was just bearable. + +[Illustration] + +Tod Denver glared at Charley, who was a moondog and looked like one, +and Charley glared back. Denver was fond of Charley, as one might be +of an idiot child. At the moment they found each in the other's +doghouse. Charley had curled up and attached himself to the instrument +panel from which be scowled at Denver in malignant fury. + +[Illustration] + +Charley was a full-grown, two yard-long moondog. He looked like an +oversized comma of something vague and luminous. At the head end he +was a fat yellow balloon, and the rest of him tapered vaguely to a +blunt apex of infinity. Whatever odd forces composed his weird +physiology, he was undoubtedly electronic or magnetic. + +In the physically magnetic sense, he could cling for hours to any +metallic surface, or at will propel himself about or hang suspended +between any two or more metallic objects. As to his personality, he +was equally magnetic, for wherever Denver took him he attracted +curious stares and comments. Most people have never seen a moondog. +Such creatures, found only on the moons of Saturn, are too rare to be +encountered often as household or personal pets. + +But Tod Denver had won Charley in a crap game at Crystal City; and +thereafter found him both an inseparable companion and exasperating +responsibility. He had tried every available means to get rid of +Charley, but without success. Either direct sale or horse-trade proved +useless. Charley liked Denver too well to put up with less interesting +owners so Charley always came back, and nearly always accompanied by +profanity and threats. Charley was spectacular, and a monstrous care +but Denver ended by becoming fond of the nuisance. He would miss the +radiant, stupid and embarrassingly affectionate creature. + +Charley had currently burned out a transformer by some careless and +exuberant antic; hence the mutual doghouse. Scolding was wasted +effort, so Denver merely sighed and made a face at Charley. + +"Mad dogs and Martians go out in the Lunar sun," he sang as a +punishment. Charley recognized only the word "dog" but he considered +the song a personal insult; as if Denver's singing were not sufficient +punishment for a minor offense. Charley was irritated. + +Charley's iridescence flickered evilly, which was enough to +short-circuit two relays and weld an undetermined number of hot +switches. Charley's temper was short, and short-circuiting all +electrical units within range was mere reflex. + +Tod Denver swore nobly and fluently, set the controls on +automatic-neutral and tried to localize the damage. But for Charley +and his overloaded peeve, they would have been in Crystal City inside +the hour. + +So it was Charley's fault, of course; all of it.... + + * * * * * + +It was beyond mere prank. Denver calculated grimly that his isolated +suit would hold up less than twenty minutes in that noon inferno +outside before the stats fused and the suiting melted and ran off him +in droplets of metal foil and glass cloth. The thermal adjustors were +already working at capacity, transmitting the light and heat that +filtered through the mirror-tone hull into stored, useful energy. +Batteries were already overcharged and the voltage regulators snapped +on and off like a crackling barrage of distant heat-guns. + +Below was a high gulch of the Lunar Appenines, a pattern of dazzling +glare and harsh moonshadows. Ramshackle mine-buildings of +prefabricated plastic straggled out from the shrouding blackness under +a pinnacled ridge. Denver eyed the forbidding terrain with +hair-raising panic. He checked the speed of the racing space sled, +circled once, and tried to pick out a soft spot. The ship swooped down +like a falling rock, power off. Denver awaited the landing shock. + +It was rough. Space was too cramped and he overshot his planned +landing. The spacer set down hard beyond the cleared strip, raising +spurting clouds of volcanic ash which showered his view-ports in +blinding glare. + +Skids shrilled on naked rock, causing painful vibrations in the cabin. +Denver wrenched at controls, trying to avoid jagged tongues of broken +lava protruding above the dust-floor. Sun-fire turned the disturbed +dust into luminous haze blanketing ship and making vision impossible. +The spacer ground to an agonized stop. Denver's landing was rough but +he still lived. + +He sat blankly and felt cold in the superheated cabin. It was nice and +surprising to be alive. Without sustaining air the dust settled almost +instantly. Haze cleared outside the ports. + +Charley whined eagerly. He detached himself from the tilting control +panel and sailed wildly about like a hydrophobic goldfish in a bowl of +water. A succession of spitting and crackling sounds poured from him +as he batted his lunatic face to the view-ports to peer outside. +Pseudo-tendrils formed around his travesty of mouth, and he wrinkled +his absurd face into yellow typhoons of excitement. This was fun. +Let's do it again! + +Denver grunted uncomfortably. He studied the staggering scene of Lunar +landscape without any definite hope. Something blazing from the peak +of the largest mine-structure caught his eye. With a snort of bitter +disgust he identified the dazzle. + +Distress signals in Interplanetary Code! That should be very helpful +under the poisonous circumstances. He swore again, numbly, but with +deep sincerity. + +Charley danced and flicked around the cabin like a free electron with +a careless disregard for traffic regulations and public safety. It was +wordless effort to express his eagerness to go outside and explore +with Denver. + +In spite of himself, Tod Denver grinned at the display. + +"Not this time, Charley. You wait in the ship while I take a quick +look around. From the appearance of things, I'll run into trouble +enough without help from you." + +The moondog drooped from disappointment. With Charley, any emotion +always reached the ultimate absurdity. He was a flowing, flexible +phantom of translucent color and radiance. But now the colors faded +like gaudy rags in caustic solution. Charley whined as Denver went +through the grotesque ritual of donning space helmet and zipping up +his glass cloth and metal foil suiting before he dared venture +outside. Charley even tried to help by pouring himself through the +stale air to hold open the locker where the tool-belts and holstered +heat guns were kept. + +Space suiting bulged with internal pressure as Denver slid through the +airlock and left the ship behind. Walking carefully against the +treachery of moonweak gravity, he made cautious way up the slope +toward the clustered buildings. Footing was bad, with the feeling of +treading upon brittle, glassy surfaces and breaking through to bury +his weighted shoes in inches of soft ash. A small detour was necessary +to avoid upthrusting pinnacles of lavarock. In the shadow of these +outcroppings he paused to let his eyes adjust to the brilliance of +sunlight. + +A thin pencil-beam of light stabbed outward from behind the nearer +building. Close at hand, one of the lava-needles vanished in soundless +display of mushrooming explosion. Sharp, acrid heat penetrated even +the insulating layers of suit. A pressure-wave of expanding gas +staggered him before it dissipated. + +Denver flung himself instinctively behind the sheltering rocks. Prone, +he inched forward to peer cautiously through a V-cleft between two +jagged spires. Heat-blaster in hand, he waited events. + +Again the beam licked out. The huddle of lava-pinnacles became a core +of flaming destruction. Half-molten rock showered Denver's precarious +refuge. He ducked, unhurt, then thrust head and gun-arm above the +barricade. + + * * * * * + +Two dark figures, running awkwardly, detached themselves from the +huddled bulk of buildings. Like leaping, fantastic shadows, they +scampered toward the mounds of deep shadow beneath the ridge. The +route took them away from Denver, making aim difficult. He fired +twice, hurriedly. Missed. But near misses because he had not focused +for such range. + +By the time he could reset the weapon, the scurrying figures had +disappeared into the screening puddles of shadow. Denver tried to +distinguish them against the blackness, but it lay in solid, covering +mass at the base of a titanic ridge. Faintly he could see a ghostly +outline, much too large for men. It might be a ship, but it would have +to be large enough for a space-yacht. No stinking two-man sled like +his spacer. And he could not be sure in that eerie blankness if it +even were a ship. + +Besides, the range was too great. Uncertainty vanished as a circle of +light showed briefly. An airlock door opened and closed swiftly. +Denver stood clear of the rocks and wondered if he should risk +anything further. Pursuit was useless with such arms as he carried. No +question of courage was involved. A man is not required to play +quixotic fool under such circumstances. And there might not be time to +return to his spacer for a long-range heat gun. If he tried to reach +the strange ship, its occupants could smoke him down before he covered +half the distance. If he continued toward the buildings, they might +return and stalk him. They would, he knew, if they guessed he was +alone. + +Decision was spared him. Rockets thundered. The ridge lighted up as +with magnesium flares. A big ship moved out of the banked shadows, +accelerating swiftly. It was a space-yacht, black-hulled, and showed +no insignia. It was fast, incredibly fast. He wasted one blaster +charge after it, but missed focus by yards. He ducked out of sight +among the rocks as the ship dipped to skim low overhead. Then it was +gone, circling in stiff, steep spiral until it lost itself to sight in +distant gorges. + +"Close!" Denver murmured. "Too close. And now what?" + +He quickly recharged the blaster. A series of sprawling leaps ate up +the remaining distance to the mine's living quarters. One whole side, +where airlock doors had been, was now a gaping, ragged hole. A haze of +nearly invisible frost crystals still descended in slow showers. It +was bitterly cold on the sharp, opaque edge of mountain-shadow. +Thermal adjustors in his suiting stopped their irregular humming. +Automatic units combined chemicals and began to operate against the +biting cold. With a premonition of ugly dread, Denver clambered into +the ruined building. + +Inside was airless, heatless cell, totally dark. Denver's gloved hand +sought a radilume-switch. Light blinked on as he fumbled the button. + +Death sat at a metal-topped table. Death wore the guise of a tall, +gaunt, leathery man, no longer young. It was no pretty sight, though +not too unfamiliar a sight on Luna. + +The man had been writing. Frozen fingers still clutched a cylinder +pen, and the nub adhered to the paper as the flow of ink had +stiffened. From nose, ears and mouth, streams of blood had congealed +into fat, crimson icicles. Rimes of ruby crystals ringed +pressure-bulged eyes. He was complete, perfect, a tableau of cold, +airless death. + +The paper was a claim record, registered in the name of Laird Martin, +Earthman. An attached photograph matched what could be seen of face +behind its mask of frozen blood. Across the foot of the sheet was a +hurried scrawl: + + _Claim jumpers. I know they'll get me. If I can hide this + first, they will not get what they want. Where Mitre Peak's + apex of shadow points at 2017 ET is the first of a series of + deep-cut arrow markings. Follow. They lead to the entrance. + Old Martian workings. Maybe something. Whoever finds this, + see that my kid, Soleil, gets a share. She's in school on + Earth. Address is 93-X south Palma--_ + +The pen had stopped writing half-through the word. Death had +intervened hideously. Imagination could picture the scene as that +airlock wall disappeared in blinding, soundless flash. Or perhaps +there had been sound in the pressured atmosphere. His own arrival may +have frightened off the claim jumpers, but too late to help the +victim, who sat so straight and hideous in the airless tomb. + +There was nothing to do. Airless cold would embalm the body until some +bored official could come out from Crystal City to investigate the +murder and pick up the hideous pieces. But if the killers returned +Denver made sure that nothing remained to guide them in their search +for the secret mine worked long-ago by forgotten Martians. It was +Laird Martin's discovery and his dying legacy to a child on distant +Earth. + +Denver picked up the document and wadded it clumsily into a +fold-pocket of his spacesuit. It might help the police locate the +heir. In Martin's billfold was the child's picture, no more. + +Denver retraced his steps to the frosty airlock valve of his ship. +Inside the cabin, Charley greeted his master's return with extravagant +caperings which wasted millions of electron volts. + +"Nobody home, Charley," Denver told the purring moondog, "but we've +picked up a nasty errand to run." + +It was a bad habit, he reflected; talking to a moondog like that, but +he had picked up the habit from sheer loneliness of his prospecting +among the haunted desolations of the Moon. Even talking to Charley +was better than going nuts, he thought, and there was not too much +danger of smart answers. + +He worked quickly, repairing the inadvertent damage Charley's pique +had caused. It took ten full minutes, and the heat-deadline was too +close for comfort. He finished and breathed more freely as +temperatures began to drop. He peeled off the helmet and unzipped the +suit which was reaching the thermal levels of a live-steam bath. + +He ran tape through the charger to impregnate electronic setting that +would guide the ship on its course to Crystal City. "We were on our +way, there, anyhow," he mused. "I hope they've improved the jail. It +could stand air-conditioning." + + +II + +Crystal City made up in violence what it lacked in size. It was a +typical boom town of the Lunar mining regions. Mining and a thriving +spacefreight trade in heavy metals made it a mecca for the toughest +space-screws and hardest living prospector-miners to be found in the +inhabited worlds. Saloons and cheap lodging-houses, gambling dens and +neon-washed palaces of expensive sin, the jail and a flourishing +assortment of glittery funeral parlors faced each other across two +main intersecting streets. X marked the spot and life was the least +costly of the many commodities offered for sale to rich-strike suckers +who funneled in from all Luna. + +The town occupied the cleared and leveled floor of a small ringwall +"crater," and beneath its colorful dome of rainbowy perma-plastic, it +sizzled. Dealers in mining equipment made overnight fortunes which +they lost at the gaming tables just as quickly. In the streets one +rubbed elbows with denizens from every part of the solar system; many +of them curiously not anthropomorphic. Glittering and painted +purveyors of more tawdry and shopworn goods than mining equipment also +made fortunes overnight, and some of them paid for their greedy +snatching at luxury with their empty lives. Brawls were sporadic and +usually fatal. + +Crystal City sizzled, and the Lunar Police sat on the lid as uneasily +as if the place were a charge of high-explosive. It was, but it made +living conditions difficult for a policeman, and made the +desk-sergeant's temper extremely short. + +Tod Denver's experience with police stations had consisted chiefly of +uncomfortable stays as an invited, reluctant guest. To a hard-drinking +man, such invitations are both frequent and inescapable. So Tod Denver +was uneasy in the presence of such an obviously ill-tempered desk +sergeant. Memories are tender documents from past experience, and +Denver's experiences had induced extreme sensitivity about jails. +Especially Crystal City's jail. + +Briefly, he acquainted irritable officialdom with details of his find +in the Appenines. The sergeant was fat, belligerent and +unphilosophical. + +"You stink," said the sergeant, twisting his face into more repulsive +suggestion of a distorted rubber mask. + +Tod Denver tried to continue. The sergeant cut him off with a rude +suggestion. + +"So what?" added the official. "Suppose you did run into a murder. Do +I care? Maybe you killed the old guy yourself and are trying to cover +up. I don't know." + +He scowled speculatively at Denver who waited and worried. + +"Forget it," went on the sergeant. "We ain't got time to chase down +everybody that knocks off a lone prospector. There's a lot of punks +like you I'd like to bump myself right here in Crystal City. Even if +you're telling the truth I don't believe you. If you'd thought he had +something valuable you'd have swiped it yourself, not come running to +us. Don't bother me. If you got something, snag it. If not, shove +it--" + +The suggestion was detailed, anatomical. + +Charley giggled amiably. Startled, the sergeant looked up and caught +sight of the monstrosity. He shrieked. + +"What's that?" + +"Charley, my moondog," Denver explained. "They're quite scarce here." + +Charley made eerie, chittering noises and settled on Denver's +shoulder, waiting for his master to stroke the filaments of his blunt +head. + +"Looks like a cross between a bird and a carrot. Try making him scarce +from my office." + +"Don't worry, he's housebroke." + +"Don't matter. Get him out of here, out of Crystal City. We have an +ordinance against pets. Unhealthy beasts. Disease-agents. They foul up +the atmosphere." + +"Not Charley," Denver argued hopelessly. "He's not animal; he's a +natural air-purifier. Gives off ozone." + +"Two hours you've got to get him out of here. Two hours. Out of town. +I hope you go with him. If he don't stink, you do. If I have any +trouble with either of you, you go in the tank." + +Tod Denver gulped and held his nose. "Not your tank. No thanks. I want +a hotel room with a tub and shower, not a night in your glue factory. +Come on, Charley. I guess you sleep in the ship." + +Charley grinned evilly at the sergeant. He gave out chuckling sounds, +as if meditating. To escape disaster Tod Denver snatched him up and +fled. + + * * * * * + +After depositing Charley in the ship, he bought clean clothes and +registered for a room at the Spaceport Hotel. After a bath, a shave +and a civilized meal he felt more human than he had for many lonely +months. He transferred his belongings to the new clothes, and opened +his billfold to audit his dwindling resources. After the hotel and the +new clothes and the storage-rent at the spaceport for his ship, there +was barely enough for even a bust of limited dimensions. It would have +to do. + +As he replaced the money a battered photograph fell out. It was the +picture of Laird Martin's child. A girl, not over four. She was plump +and pretty in the vague way children are plump and pretty. An old +picture, of course; faded and worn from frequent handling. Dirty and +not too clear. How could anyone trace a small orphan girl on Earth +with the picture and the incomplete address? She would be older, of +course; maybe six or seven. Schools do keep records and lists of the +pupils' names might be available if he had money to investigate. Which +he hadn't. + +His ship carried three months of supplies. Beside the money in his +billfold, he had nothing else. Nothing but Charley, and the sales of +him had always backfired. At best, a moondog was not readily +marketable. Besides, could he part with Charley? + +Maybe if he looked into those old Martian workings, the money would be +forthcoming. After all, the dying Laird Martin had only asked that a +share be reserved for his daughter. Put some aside for the kid. Use +some to find her. Keep careful accounting and give her a fair half. +More if she needed it and there wasn't too much. It was a nice +thought. Denver felt warm and decent inside. + +For the moment some of his thoughts verged upon indecencies. + +He lacked the price but it cost nothing to look. He called it +widow-shopping, which was not a misnomer in Crystal City. There were +plenty of widows, some lonely, some lively. Some free and uninhibited. +And he did have the price of the drinks. + +The impulse carried him outside to a point near the X-like +intersection of streets. Here, the possibilities of sin and evil +splendor dazzled the eye. + +Pressured atmosphere within the domed city was richer than Tod Denver +was used to. Oxygen in pressure tanks costs money; and he had +accustomed himself to do with as little as possible. Charley helped +slightly. Now the stuff went tingling through nostrils, lungs and on +to his veins. It swept upward to his brain and blood piled up there, +feeling as if full of bursting tiny bubbles like champagne. He felt +gay and feckless, light-headed and big-headed. Ego expanded, and he +imagined himself a man of destiny at the turning point of his career. + +He was not drunk, except on oxygen. Not drunk yet. But thirsty. The +street was garish with display of drinkeries. In neon lights a tilted +glass dripped beads of color. There was a name in luminous +pastel-tubing: + +_Pot o' Stars._ + +Beneath the showering color stood a girl. Tod Denver's blood pressure +soared nimbly upward and collided painfully with blocked safety +valves. The look was worth it. Tremendous. Hot stuff. + +Wow! + +When bestially young he had dreamed lecherously of such a glorious +creature. Older, bitter experience had taught him that they existed +outside his price class. His eyes worked her over in frank admiration +and his imagination worked overtime. + +She was Martian, obviously, from her facial structure, if one noticed +her face. + +Martian, of course. But certainly not one of the Red desert folk, nor +one of the spindly yellow-brown Canal-keepers. White. Probably sprang +originally from the icy marshes near the Pole, where several odd +remnants of the old white races still lived, and lingered painfully on +the short rations of dying Mars. + +She was pale and perilous and wonderful. Hair was shimmering bright +cascade of spun platinum that fell in muted waves upon shoulders of +naked beauty. Her eyes swam liquid silver with purple lights dwelling +within, and her sullen red lips formed a heartshaped mouth, as if +pouting. Heavy lids weighed down the eyes, and heavier barbaric +bracelets weighted wrists and ankles. Twin breasts were mounds of +soft, sun-dappled snow frosted with thin metal plates glowing with +gemfire. Her simple garment was metalcloth, but so fine-spun and +gauzelike that it seemed woven of moonlight. It seemed as un-needed as +silver leafing draped upon some exotic flowering, but somehow enhanced +the general effect. + +Her effect was overpowering. Denver followed her inside and followed +her sweet, poisonous witchery as the girl glided gracefully along the +aisle between ranked tables. As she entered the glittering room talk +died for a moment of sheer admiration, then began in swift whispered +accents. Men dreamed inaudibly and the women envied and hated her on +sight. + +She seemed well-known to the place. Her name, Denver learned from the +awed whispering, was--Darbor.... + +_The Pot o' Stars_ combined drinking, dancing and gambling. A few +people even ate food. There was muffled gaiety, glitter of glass and +chromium, and general bad taste in the decoration. The hostesses were +dressed merely to tempt and tease the homesick and lovelorn +prospectors and lure the better-paid mine-workers into a deadly +proximity to alcohol and gambling devices. + + * * * * * + +The girl went ahead, and Denver followed, regretting his politeness +when she beat him to the only unoccupied table. It had a big sign, +_Reserved_, but she seemed waiting for no one, since she ordered a +drink and merely played with it. She seemed wrapped in speculative +contemplation of the other customers, as if estimating the possible +profits to the house. + +On impulse, Denver edged to her table and stood looking down at her. +Cold eyes, like amber ice, looked through him. + +"I know I look like a spacetramp," he observed. "But I'm not +invisible. Mind if I pull up a cactus and squat?" + +Her eyes were chill calculation. + +"Suit yourself ... if you like to live dangerously." + +Denver laughed and sat down. "How important are you? Or is it +something else? You don't look so deadly. I'll buy you a drink if you +like. Or dance, if you're careless about toes." + +Her cold shrug stopped him. "Skip it," she snapped. "Buy yourself a +drink if you can afford it. Then go." + +"What makes you rate a table to yourself? I could go now but I won't. +The liquor here's probably poison but who pays for it makes no +difference to me. Maybe you'd like to buy me a short snort. Or just +snort at me again. On you, it looks good." + +The girl gazed at him languorously, puzzled. Then she let go with a +laugh which sparkled like audible champagne. + +"Good for you," she said eagerly. "You're just a punk, but you have +guts. Guts, but what else? Got any money?" + +Denver bristled. "Pots of it," he lied, as any other man would. Then, +remembering suddenly, "Not with me but I know where to lay hands on +plenty of it." + +Her eyes calculated. "You're not the goon who came in from the +Appenines today? With a wild tale of murder and claim-jumpers and old +Martian workings?" + +Quick suspicion dulled Denver's appreciation of beauty. + +She laughed sharply. "Don't worry about me, stupid. I heard it all +over town. Policemen talk. For me, they jump through hoops. Everybody +knows. You'd be smart to lie low before someone jumps out of a +sung-bush and says boo! at you. If you expected the cops to do +anything, you're naive. Or stupid. About those Martian workings, is +there anything to the yarn?" + +Denver grunted. He knew he was talking too much but the urge to brag +is masculine and universal. + +"Maybe, I don't know. Martian miners dabbled in heavy metals. Maybe +they found something there and maybe they left some. If they did, I'm +the guy with the treasure map. Willing to take a chance on me?" + +Darbor smiled calculatingly. "Look me up when you find the treasure. +You're full of laughs tonight. Trying to pick me up on peanuts. Men +lie down and beg me to walk on their faces. They lay gold or jewels or +pots of uranium at my feet. Got any money--now?" + +"I can pay ... up to a point," Denver confessed miserably. + +"We're not in business, kid. But champagne's on me. Don't worry about +it. I own the joint up to a point. I don't, actually. Big Ed Caltis +owns it. But I'm the dummy. I front for him because of taxes and the +cops. We'll drink together tonight, and all for free. I haven't had a +good laugh since they kicked me out of Venusport. You're it. I hope +you aren't afraid of Big Ed. Everybody else is. He bosses the town, +the cops and all the stinking politicians. He dabbles in every dirty +racket, from girls to the gambling upstairs. He pays my bills, too, +but so far he hasn't collected. Not that he hasn't tried." + +Denver was impressed. Big Ed's girl. If she was. And he sat with her, +alone, drinking at Big Ed's expense. That was a laugh. A hot one. +Rich, even for Luna. + +"Big Ed?" he said. "The Scorpion of Mars!" + +Darbor's eyes narrowed. "The same. The name sounds like a gangsters' +nickname. It isn't. He was a pro-wrestler. Champion of the +Interplanetary League for three years. But he's a gangster and +racketeer at heart. His bully-boys play rough. Still want to take a +chance, sucker?" + +A waitress brought drinks and departed. Snowgrape Champagne from Mars +cooled in a silver bucket. It was the right temperature, so did not +geyser as Denver unskilfully wrested out the cork. He filled the +glasses, gave one to the girl. Raising the other, he smiled into +Darbor's dangerous eyes. + +"The first one to us," he offered gallantly. "After that, we'll drink +to Big Ed. I hope he chokes. He was a louse in the ring." + +Darbor's face lighted like a flaming sunset in the cloud-canopy of +Venus. + +"Here's to us then," she responded. "And to guts. You're dumb and +delightful, but you do something to me I'd forgotten could be done. +And maybe I'll change my mind even if you don't have the price. I +think I'll kiss you. Big Ed is still a louse, and not only in the +ring. He thinks he can out-wrestle me but I know all the nasty holds. +I play for keeps or not at all. Keep away from me, kid." + +Denver's imagination had caught fire. Under the combined stimuli of +Darbor and Snowgrape Champagne, he seemed to ascend to some high, +rarified, alien dimension where life became serene and uncomplicated. +A place where one ate and slept and made fortunes and love, and only +the love was vital. He smoldered. + +"Play me for keeps," he urged. + +"Maybe I will," Darbor answered clearly. She was feeling the champagne +too, but not as exaltedly as Denver who was not used to such potent +vintages as Darbor and SG-Mars, 2028. "Maybe I will, kid, but ask me +after the Martian workings work out." + +"Don't think I won't," he promised eagerly. "Want to dance?" + +Her face lighted up. She started to her feet, then sank back. + +"Better not," she murmured. "Big Ed doesn't like other men to come +near me. He's big, bad and jealous. He may be here tonight. Don't push +your luck, kid. I'm trouble, bad trouble." + +Denver snapped his fingers drunkenly. "That for Big Ed. I eat +trouble." + +Her eyes were twin pools of darkness. They widened as ripples of alarm +spread through them. "Start eating," she said. "Here it comes!" + +Big Ed Caltis stood behind Denver's chair. + + +III + +Tod Denver turned. "Hello, Rubber-face," he said pleasantly. "Sit down +and have a drink. You're paying for it." + +Big Ed Caltis turned apoplectic purple but he sat down. A waitress +hustled up another glass. Silence in the room. Every eye focused upon +the table where Big Ed Caltis sat and stared blindly at his uninvited +guest. + +Skilfully, Denver poured sparkling liquid against the inside curve of +the third glass. With exaggerated care, he refilled his own and the +girl's. He shoved the odd glass toward Big Ed with a careless gesture +that was not defiance but held a hint of something cold and deadly +and menacing. + +"Drink hearty, champ," he suggested. "You'll need strength and Dutch +courage to hear some of the things I've wanted to tell you. I've been +holding them for a long time. This is it." + +Big Ed nodded slowly, ponderously. "I'm listening." + +Denver began a long bill of particulars against Big Ed Caltis of +Crystal City. He omitted little, though some of it was mere scandalous +gossip with which solo-prospectors who had been the objects of a +squeeze-play consoled themselves and took revenge upon their tormentor +from safe distance. Denver paused once, briefly, to re-assess and +recapture the delight he took in gazing at Darbor's beauty seated +opposite. Then he resumed his account of the life and times of Big Ed, +an improvised essay into the folly and stupidity of untamed greed +which ended upon a sustained note of vituperation. + +Big Ed smiled with sardonic amusement. He was in his late forties, +running a bit to blubber, but still looked strong and capable. He +waited until Tod Denver ran down, waited and smiled patiently. + +"If you've finished," he said. "I should compliment you on the +completeness of the picture you paint of me. When I need a biographer, +I'll call on you. Just now I have another business proposition. I +understand you know the location of some ancient Martian +mine-workings. You need a partner. I'm proposing myself." + +Denver paled. "I have a partner," he said, nodding toward the girl. + +Big Ed smiled thinly. "That's settled then. Her being your partner +makes it easy. What she has is mine. I bought her. She works for me +and everything she has is mine." + +Darbor's eyes held curious despair. But hatred boiled up in her. + +"Not altogether," she corrected him evenly. "You never got what you +wanted most--me! And you never will. I just resigned. Get yourself +another dummy." + +But Ed stood up. "Very good. Maudlin but magnificent. Let me offer my +congratulations to both of you. But you're mistaken. I'll get +everything I want. I always do. I'm not through with either of you." + +Darbor ignored him. "Dance?" she asked Denver. He rose and gallantly +helped her from her chair. + +Big Ed Caltis, after a black look, vanished toward the offices and +gambling rooms upstairs. He paused once and glanced back. + +Denver laughed suddenly. Darbor studied him and caught the echo of her +own fear in his eyes. He mustered a hard core of courage in himself, +but it required distinct effort. + +"When I was a kid I liked to swing on fence-gates. Once, the hinges +broke. I skinned my knee." + +Her body was trembling. Some of it got into her voice. "It could +happen again." + +He met the challenge of her. She was bright steel, drawn to repel +lurking enemies. + +"I have another knee," he said, grinning. "But yours are too nice to +bark up. Where's the back door?" + +The music was Venusian, a swaying, sensuous thing of weirdest melodies +and off-beat rhythms. Plucked and bowed strings blended with wailing +flutes and an exotic tympany to produce music formed of passion and +movement. Tod Denver and Darbor threaded their way through +stiffly-paired swaying couples toward the invisible door at the rear. + +"I hope you don't mind scar tissue on your toes," he murmured, bending +his cheek in impulsive caress. He wished that he were nineteen again +and could still dream. Twenty-seven seemed so aged and battered and +cynical. And dreams can become nightmares. + +They were near the door. + +"Champagne tastes like vinegar if it's too cold," she replied. "My +mouth is puckery and tastes like swill. I hope it's the blank +champagne. Maybe I'm scared." + +They dropped pretense and bolted for the door. + +In the alley, they huddled among rubbish and garbage cans because the +shadows lay thicker there. + + * * * * * + +The danger was real and ugly and murderous. Three thugs came boiling +through the alley door almost on their heels. They lay in the stinking +refuse, not daring to breathe. Brawny, muscular men with faces that +shone brutally in the blazing, reflected Earthlight scurried back and +forth, trying locked doors and making a hurried expedition to scout +out the street. Passersby were buttonholed and roughly questioned. No +one knew anything to tell. + +One hatchetman came back to report. + +Big Ed's voice could be heard in shrill tirade of fury. + +"You fools. Don't let them get away. I'll wring the ears off the lot +of you if they get to the spaceport. He was there; he was the one who +spotted us. He can identify my ship. Now get out and find them. I'll +pay a thousand vikdals Martian to the man who brings me either one. +Kill the girl if you have to, but bring him back alive. I want his +ears, and he knows where the stuff is. Now get out of here!" + +More dark figures spurted from the dark doorway. Darbor gave +involuntary shudder as they swept past in a flurry of heavy-beating +footsteps. Denver held her tightly, hand over her mouth. She bit his +hand and he repressed a squeal of pain. She made no outcry and the +pounding footsteps faded into distance. + +Big Ed Caltis went inside, loudly planning to call the watch-detail at +the spaceport. His word was law in Crystal City. + +"Can we beat them to the ship?" Denver asked. + +"We can try," Darbor replied.... + +The spaceport was a blaze of light. Tod Denver expertly picked the +gatelock. The watchman came out of his shack, picking his teeth. He +looked sleepy, but grinned appreciatively at Darbor. + +"Hi, Tod! You sure get around. Man just called about you. Sounded mad. +What's up?" + +"Plenty. What did you tell him?" + +The watchman went on picking his teeth. "Nothing. He don't pay my +wages. Want your ship? Last one in the line-up. Watch yourself. I +haven't looked at it, but there've been funny noises tonight. Maybe +you've got company." + +"Maybe I have. Lend me your gun, Ike?" + +"Sure, I've eaten. I'm going back to sleep. If you don't need the gun, +leave it on the tool-locker. If you do, I want my name in the papers. +They'll misspell it, but the old lady will get a kick. So long. Good +luck. If it's a boy, Ike's a good, old-fashioned name." + +Tod Denver and Darbor ran the length of the illuminated hangar to the +take-off pits at the far end. His space sled was the last in line. +That would help for a quick blast-off. + +Darbor was panting, ready to drop from exhaustion. But she dragged +gamely on. Gun ready, he reached up to the airlock flap. + +Inside the ship was sudden commotion. A scream was cut off sharply. +Scurried movement became bedlam. Uproar ceased as if a knife had cut +through a ribbon of sound. + +Denver flung open the flap and scrabbled up and through the valve to +the interior. + +Two of Big Ed's trigger men lay on the floor. One had just connected +with a high-voltage charge from Charley. The other had quietly +fainted. Denver dumped them outside, helped Darbor up and closed the +ship for take-off. He switched off cabin lights. + +He wasted no time in discussion until the ship was airborne and had +nosed through the big dome-valves into the airless Lunar sky. + +A fat hunk of Earth looked like a blueberry chiffon pie, but was +brighter. It cast crazy shadows on the terrain unreeling below. + +Darbor sat beside him. She felt dazed, and wondered briefly what had +happened to her. + +Less than an hour before she had entered the _Pot o' Stars_ with +nothing on her mind but assessing the clients and the possible +receipts for the day. Too much had happened and too rapidly. She could +not assimilate details. + +Something launched itself through darkness at her. It snugged tightly +to shoulder and neck and made chuckling sounds. Stiff fur nuzzled her +skin. There was a vague prickling of hot needles, but it was +disturbing rather than painful. She screamed. + +"Shut up!" said Denver, laughing. "It's just Charley. But don't excite +him or you'll regret it." + +From the darkness came a confused burble of sounds as Charley explored +and bestowed his affections upon a new friend still too startled to +appreciate the gesture. Darbor tried vainly to fend off the lavish +demonstrations. + +Denver gunned the space sled viciously, and felt the push of +acceleration against his body. He headed for a distant mountain range. + +"Just Charley, my pet moondog," he explained. + +"What in Luna is that?" + +"You'll find out. He loves everybody. Me, I'm more discriminating, but +I can be had. My father warned me about women like you." + +"How would he know?" Darbor asked bitterly. "What did he say about +women like me?" + +"It's exciting while it lasts, and it lasts as long as your money +holds out. It's wonderful if you can afford it. But Charley's +harmless. He's like me, he just wants to be loved. Go on. Pet him." + +"All males are alike," Darbor grumbled. Obediently, she ran fingers +over the soft, wirelike pseudo-fur. The fingers tingled as if weak +charges of electricity surged through them. + +"Does it--er, Charley ever blow a fuse?" she asked. "I'd like to have +met your father. He sounds like a man who had a lot of experience with +women. The wrong women. By the way, where are we going?" + + * * * * * + +Tod Denver had debated the point with himself. "To the scene of the +crime," he said. "It's not good, and they may look for us there. But +we can hole up for a few days till the hunt dies down. It might be the +last place Big Ed would expect to find us. Later, unless we find +something in the Martian workings, we'll head for the far places. +Okay?" + +Darbor shrugged. "I suppose. But then what. I don't imagine you'll be +a chivalrous jackass and want to marry me?" + +The space sled drew a thin line of silver fire through darkness as he +debated that point. + +"Now that I'm sober, I'll think about it. Give me time. They say a man +can get used to to anything." + +A ghostly choking sounded from the seat beside him. He wondered if +Charley had blown something. + +"Do they say what girls have to get used to?" she asked, her voice +oddly tangled. + +Tod Denver tempered the wind to the shorn lamb. "We'll see how the +workings pan out. I'd want my money to last." + +What Darbor replied should be written on asbestos. + + * * * * * + +Their idyl at the mines lasted exactly twenty-seven hours. Denver +showed Darbor around, explained some of the technicalities of +moon-mining to her. The girl misused some precious water to try +washing the alley-filth from her clothes. Her experiment was not a +success and the diaphanous wisps of moonsilver dissolved. She stood in +the wrapped blanket and was too tired and depressed even to cry. + +"I guess it wasn't practical," she decided ruefully. "It did bunch up +in the weirdest places in your spare spacesuit. Have you any old rag I +could borrow?" + +Denver found cause for unsafe mirth in the spectacle of her blanketed +disaster. "I'll see." He rooted about in a locker and found a worn +pair of trousers which he threw to the girl. A sweater, too shrunken +and misshapen for him to wear again, came next. Dismayed, she +inspected the battered loot; then was inspired to quick alterations. +Pant-legs cut off well above the baggy knees made passable shorts; the +sweater bulged a trifle at the shoulders, it fit adequately +elsewhere--and something more than adequately. + +Charley fled her vicinity in extremes of voluble embarrassment as she +changed and zipped up the substitute garments. + +"Nice legs," Denver observed, which was an understatement. + +"Watch out you don't skin those precious knees again," she warned +darkly. + +Time is completely arbitrary on the Moon as far as Earth people are +concerned. One gets used to prolonged light and dark periods. Earth +poked above the horizon, bathing the heights of the range with intense +silver-blue light. But moonshadows lay heavily in the hollows and the +deep gorges were still pools of intense gloom. Clocks are set to the +meaningless twenty-four hour divisions of day and night on Earth, +which have nothing to do with two-week days and nights on Luna. After +sunset, with Earthlight still strong and pure and deceptively +warm-looking, the landscapes become a barren, haunted wasteland. + +Time itself seems unreal. + +Time passed swiftly. The idyl was brief. For twenty-seven Earth-hours +after their landing at the mines came company...! + +An approaching ship painted a quick-dying trail of fire upon the black +vault of sky. It swooped suddenly from nowhere, and the trapped +fugitives debated flight or useless defense. + +Alone, Denver would have stayed and fought, however uneven and +hopeless the battle. But he found the girl a mental block to all +thoughts of open, pitched battle on the shadowy, moonsilvered slopes. +He might surprise the pursuers and flush them by some type of ambush. +But they would be too many for him, and his feeble try would end +either in death or capture. + +Neither alternative appealed to him. With Darbor, he had suddenly +found himself possessed of new tenacity toward life, and he had +desperate, painful desire to live for her. + +He chose flight. + + +IV + +The ship dropped short-lived rocket landing flares, circled and came +in for a fast landing on the cleared strip of brittle-crusted ash. + +Some distance from the hastily-patched and now hastily abandoned mine +buildings, Tod Denver and Darbor paused and shot hasty, fearful +glances toward the landed ship. By Earthlight, they could distinguish +its lines, though not the color. It was a drab shadow now against the +vivid grayness of slopes. Figures tiny from distance emerged from it +and scattered across the flat and up into the clustered buildings. A +few stragglers went over to explore and investigate Denver's space +sled in the unlikely possibility that he and the girl had trusted to +its meager and dubious protection. + +Besides the ship, the hunters would find evidence of recent occupation +in the living quarters, from which Denver had removed the frozen +corpse before permitting Darbor to assist with the crude remodeling +which he had undertaken. Afterward, when the mine buildings and +exposed shafts had been turned out on futile quest for the fugitives, +the search would spread. Tracks should be simple enough to follow, +once located. Denver had anticipated this potential clue to the +pursuit, and had kept their walking to the bare, rocky heights of the +spur as long as possible. + +He hoped to be able to locate the old Martian working, but the chance +was slim. Calculating the shadow-apex of Mitre Peak at 2017 ET was +complicated by several unknown quantities. Which peak was Mitre Peak? +Was that shadow-apex Earth-shadow or Sun-shadow? And had he started +out in the correct direction to find the line of deep-cut arrow +markings at all? + +The first intangible resolved itself. One mitre-shaped peak stood out +alone and definite above the sharply defined silhouettes of the +mountains. It must be Mitre Peak. It had to be. + +The next question was the light source casting the shadow-apex. There +were two possible answers. It was possible to estimate the approximate +location of either sun or Earth at a given time, but calculations +involved in working out too many possibilities on different Earth-days +of the Lunar-day made the Earth's shadow-casting the likeliest +prospect. Neither location was particularly exact, and probably Laird +Martin had expected his directions to be gone into under less +harrowing circumstances than those in which Denver now found himself. +With time for trial and error one could eventually locate the place. + +But Denver was hurried. He trod upon one of the markings while he +still sought the elusive shadow apex. + +After that, it was a grim race to follow the markings to the old +mines, and to get under cover behind defensible barricades in time to +repel invasion. + +They played a nerve-wracking game of hare and hounds in tricky floods +of Earthlight, upon slopes and spills of broken rock, amid a goblin's +garden of towering jagged spires. It was tense work over the bad +going, and the light was both distorted and insufficient. In shadow, +they groped blindly from arrow to arrow. In the patches of Earthglare, +they fled at awkward, desperate speed. + +Life and death were the stakes. Life, or a fighting chance to defend +life, possible wealth from the ancient workings, made a glittering +goal ahead. And ever the gray hounds snapped at their heels, with +death in some ugly guise the penalty for losing the game. + +Charley was ecstatic. He gamboled and capered, he zoomed and +zigzagged, he essayed quick, climbing spirals and almost came to +grief among the tangled pinnacles on the ridge of the hogback. He +swooped downward again in a series of shallow, easy glides and began +the performance all over again. It was a game for him, too. But a game +in which he tried only to astound himself, with swift, dizzy miracles +of magnetic movement. + +Charley enjoyed himself hugely. He was with the two people he liked +most. He was having a spirited game among interlaced shadows and +sudden, substantial obstacles of rock. He nuzzled the fleeing pair +playfully, and followed them after his own lazy and intricate and +incredibly whimsical fashion. His private mode of locomotion was not +bounded by the possibilities involved in feet and tiring legs. He +scampered and had fun. + +It was not fun for Tod Denver and Darbor. The girl's strength was +failing. She lagged, and Denver slowed his pace to support her +tottering progress. + +Without warning, the mine entrance loomed before them. It was old and +crumbly with a thermal erosion resembling decay. + +It was high and narrow and forbiddingly dark. + +Tod Denver had brought portable radilumes, which were needed at once. +Inside the portals was no light at all. Thick, tangible dark blocked +the passage. It swallowed light. + +Just inside, the mine gallery was too wide for easy defense. Further +back, there was a narrowing. + + * * * * * + +Denver seized on the possibilities for barricading and set to work, +despite numbed and weary muscles. Walking on the Moon is tiring for +muscles acquired on worlds of greater gravity. He was near exhaustion, +but the stimulus of fear is strong. He worked like a maniac, hauling +materials for blockade, carrying the smaller ingredients and rolling +or dragging the heavier. A brief interval of rest brought Darbor to +his side. She worked with him and helped with the heavier items. +Fortunately, the faint gravity eased their task, speeded it. + +For pursuit had not lagged. Their trail had been found and followed. + +From behind his barricade, Denver picked off the first two hired thugs +of the advance guard as they toiled upward, too eagerly impatient for +caution. A network of hastily-aimed beams of heat licked up from +several angles of the slope, but none touched the barricade. The +slope, which flattened just outside the entrance made exact shooting +difficult, made a direct hit on the barricade almost impossible, +unless one stood practically inside the carved entrance-way. Denver +inched to the door and fired. + +The battle was tedious, involved, but a stalemate. Lying on his belly, +Denver wormed as close as he dared to the break of slope outside the +door. There, he fired snap shots at everything that moved on the +slopes. Everything that moved on the slopes made a point of returning +the gesture. Some shots came from places he had seen no movement. + +It went on for a long time. It was pointless, wanton waste of +heat-blaster ammunition. But it satisfied some primal urge in the +human male without solving anything. + +Until Darbor joined him, Denver did not waste thought upon the +futilities of the situation. Her presence terrified him, and he urged +her back inside. She was stubborn, but complied when he dragged her +back with him. + +"Now stay inside, you fool," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper +in his communication amplifier. + +"You stay inside," he commanded with rough tenderness. They both +stayed inside, crouched together behind the barricade. + +"I think I got three of them," he told her. "There seemed to be eight +at first. Some went back to the ship. For more men or supplies, I +don't know. I don't like this." + +"Relax," she suggested. "You've done all you can." + +"I guess it's back to your gilded cage for you, baby," he said. "My +money didn't last." + +"Sometimes you behave like a mad dog," she observed. "I'm not sure I +like you. You enjoyed that butchery out there. You hated to come +inside. What did it prove? There are too many of them. They'll kill +us, eventually. Or starve us out. Have you any bright ideas?" + +Denver was silent. None of his ideas were very bright. He was at the +end of his rope. He had tied a knot in it and hung on. But the rope +seemed very short and very insecure. + +"Hang on, I guess. Just hang on and wait. They may try a rush. If they +do I'll bathe the entrance in a full load from my blaster. If they +don't rush, we sit it out. Sit and wait for a miracle. It won't happen +but we can hope." + +Darbor tried to hug the darkness around her. She was a Martian, +tough-minded she hoped. It would be nasty, either way. But death was +not pleasant. She must try to be strong and face whatever came. She +shrugged and resigned herself. + +"When the time comes I'll try to think of something touching and +significant to say," she promised. + +"You hold the fort," Denver told her. "And don't hesitate to shoot if +you have to. There's a chance to wipe them out if they try to force in +all at once. They won't, but--" + +"Where are you going? For a walk?" + +"Have to see a man about a dog. There may be a back entrance. I doubt +it, since Martian workings on the Moon were never very deep. But I'd +like a look at the jackpot. Do you mind?" + +Darbor sighed. "Not if you hurry back." + +Deep inside the long gallery was a huge, vaulted chamber. Here, Denver +found what he sought. There was no back entrance. The mine was a trap +that had closed on him and Darbor. + +Old Martian workings, yes. But whatever the Martians had sought and +delved from the mooncrust was gone. Layered veins had petered out, +were exhausted, empty. Some glittering, crystalline smears remained in +the crevices but the crystals were dull and life-less. Denver bent +close, sensed familiarity. The substance was not unknown. He wetted a +finger and probed with it, rubbed again and tested for taste. + +The taste was sharp and bitter. As bitter as his disappointment. It +was all a grim joke. Valuable enough once to be used as money in the +old days on earth. But hardly valuable enough, then, even in real +quantity, to be worth the six lives it had cost up to now--counting +his and Darbor's as already lost. First, Laird Martin, with his last +tragic thoughts of a tiny girl on Earth, now orphaned. Then the three +men down the slope, hideous in their bulged and congealing death. +Himself and Darbor next on the list, with not much time to go. All for +a few crystals of--Salt! + + * * * * * + +The end was as viciously ironic as the means had been brutal, but +greed is an ugly force. It takes no heed of men and their brief, +futile dreams. + +Denver shrugged and rejoined his small garrison. The girl, in spite of +the comradeship of shared danger, was as greedy as the others outside. +Instinctively, Denver knew that, and he found the understanding in +himself to pity her. + +"Are they still out there?" he asked needlessly. + +Darbor nodded. "What did you find?" + +He debated telling her the truth. But why add the bitterness to the +little left of her life? Let her dream. She would probably die without +ever finding out that she had thrown herself away following a mirage. +Let her dream and die happy. + +"Enough," he answered roughly. "But does it matter?" + +Her eyes rewarded his deceit, but the light was too poor for him to +see them. It was easy enough to imagine stars in them, and even a man +without illusions can still dream. + +"Maybe it will matter," she replied. "We can hope for a miracle. It +will make all the difference for us if the miracle happens." + +Denver laughed. "Then the money will make a difference if we live +through this? You mean you'll stay with me?" + +Darbor answered too quickly. "Of course." Then she hesitated, as if +something of his distaste echoed within her. She went on, her voice +strange. "Sure, I'm mercenary. I've been broke in Venusport, and again +here on Luna. It's no fun. Poverty is not all the noble things the +copybooks say. It's undignified and degrading. You want to stop +washing after a while, because it doesn't seem to matter. Yes, I want +money. Am I different from other people?" + +Denver laughed harshly. "No. I just thought for a few minutes that you +were. I hoped I was at the head of your list. But let's not quarrel. +We're friends in a jam together. No miracle is going to happen. It's +stupid to fight over a salt mine, empty at that, when we're going to +die. I'm like you; I wanted a miracle to happen, but mine didn't +concern money. We both got what we asked for, that's all. If you bend +over far enough somebody will kick you in the pants. I'm going out, +Darbor. Pray for me." + +The blankness of her face-plate turned toward him. A glitter, dark and +opaque, was all he could make out. + +"I'm sorry," she said. "I know it was the wrong answer. But don't be a +fool. He'll kill you, and I'm afraid to be in the dark, alone." + +"I'll leave Charley with you." + +Denver broke the girl's clasp on his arm and edged slow to the +doorway. He shouted. + +"Hey, Caltis!" + +There was stunning silence. Then a far, muted crackle in his +earphones. + +A voice answered, "Yes? I'm here. What's on your mind, funny boy?" + +"A parley." + +"Nuts, but come on out. I'll talk." + +"You come up," Denver argued. "I don't trust you." + +Big Ed Caltis considered the proposition. "How do I know you won't try +to nail me for hostage?" + +"You don't. But I'm not a fool. What good would it do even if I killed +you. Your men are down there. They'd still want the mine. I don't +think they care enough about you to deal. They'd kill us anyhow. Bring +your gun if it makes you feel more like a man." + +After an interval Big Ed Caltis appeared in the doorway. As he entered +Denver retreated into the shadow-zone until he stood close beside the +rude barricade. + +"I'll bargain with you, Caltis. You can have the workings. Let us go +free, with an hour's start in my space sled. I'll sign over any share +we could claim and agree never to bother you again. It's no use to a +corpse. Just let us go." + +Caltis gave a short laugh. In the earphones, it sounded nasty. + +"No deal, Denver. I hate your guts. And I want Darbor. I've got both +of you where I want you, sewed up. We can sit here and wait. We've +plenty of air, food and water. You'll run short. I want you to come +out, crawling. She can watch you die, slowly, because I'm not giving +you any air, water or food. Then I want her to squirm a while before I +kick her back into the sewers. You can't bargain. I have her, you, the +workings. I've got what I want." + +Hate and anger strangled Denver's reply. Caltis skulked back out of +sight. Without moving, Denver hailed him again. + +"Okay, puttyface!" Denver screamed. "You asked for it. I'm coming out. +Stand clear and order off your thugs or I'll squeeze you till your +guts squirt out your nose like toothpaste from a tube. I'll see how +much man there is left in you. It'll be all over the slope when I'm +through." + +His taunt drew fire as he had hoped it would. He dodged quickly behind +the shelter of the barricade. A beam of dazzling fire penciled the +rock wall. It crackled, spread, flaring to incredible heat and light. +It exploded, deluging the gallery with glare and spattering rock. + +After the glare, darkness seemed thick enough to slice. + +In that second of stunned reaction blindness, Denver was leaping the +barricade and sprinting toward the entrance. Caltis came to meet him. +Both fired at once. Both missed. The random beams flicked at the +rough, timbered walls and lashed out with thunderous violence. + +Locked together, the men pitched back and forth. They rocked and +swayed, muscles straining. It was deadlock again. Denver was youth and +fury. Caltis had experience and the training of a fighter. It was +savage, lawless, the sculptured stance of embattled champions. Almost +motionless, as forces canceled out. The battle was equal. + + +V + +While they tangled, both blocked, Darbor slipped past them and stood +outside the entrance. She was exposed, a clear target. But the men +below dared not fire until they knew where Caltis was, what had +happened to him. She held the enemy at bay. Gun ready, Darbor faced +down the slopes. It was not necessary to pull trigger. Not for the +moment. She waited and hoped and dared someone to move. + +Neither man gave first. It was the weakened timbering that supported +the gallery roof. Loose stones rained down. Dry, cold and brittle wood +sagged under strain. Both wild shots had taken shattering effect. +Timbers yielded, slowly at first, then faster. Showering of loose +stones became a steady stream. A minor avalanche. + +Darbor heard the sound or caught some vibration through her helmet +microphones. The men were too involved to notice. Caltis heard her. He +got a cruel nosehold, twisted Denver's nose like an instrument dial. +Denver screamed, released his grip. In the scramble, his foot slipped. +Darbor cried out shrill warning. + +Breaking free, Caltis bolted in panic toward the entrance. + +The fall of rock was soundless. It spilled down in increasing +torrents. Larger sections of ceiling were giving away. + +Above the prostrate Denver hovered a poised phantom of eerie light. +Charley, bored, had gone to sleep. Awakening, he found a game still +going on. A fine new game. It was fascinating. He wanted to join the +fun. Like an angle of reflected light cast by a turning mirror, he +darted. + +The running figure aroused his curiosity. Charley streamed through the +collapsing gallery. He caught up with Caltis just inside the entrance. +With a burble of insane, twittering glee, he went into action. It was +all in the spirit of things. Just another delightful game. + +Like a thunderbolt he hurtled upon Caltis, tangled with him. It was +absurd, insane. Man and moondog went down together in a silly sprawl. +Sparks flew, became a confused tesseract of luminous motion. Radiance +blazed up and danced and flickered and no exact definition of the +intertwined bodies was possible. Glowing lines wove fat webs of living +color. It was too swift, too involved for any sane perception. + +A wild, sprawling of legs, arms and body encircled and became part of +the intricacies of speeding, impossible light. + +It was a mess. + +Some element or combination of forces in Charley, inspired by +excitement and sheer delight, made unfortunate contact with ground +currents of vagrant electricity. Electricity ceased to be invisible. +It became sizzling, immense flash, in which many complexities made +part of a simple whole. It was spectacular but brief. It was a flaming +vortex of interlocked spirals of light and color and naked force. It +was fireworks. + +And it was the end of Big Ed Caltis. He fried, and hot grease +spattered about him. He sizzled like a bug on a hot stove. + +When Denver reached the entrance, man and moondog lay in a curious +huddle of interrupted action. It was over. + +Charley was tired, but he still lived and functioned after his curious +fashion. For the moment, he had lost interest in further fun and +games. He lay quietly in a corner of rough rock and tried to rebuild +his scattered and short-circuited energies. He pulsed and crackled and +sound poured in floods of muffled static from the earphones in +Denver's helmet. + +But this was no time for social amenities. Big Ed Caltis was dead, +very dead. But the others down the slope were still alive. + +Like avenging angels, Denver and Darbor charged together down the +slope. Besiegers scattered and fled in panic as twinned beams of +dreadful light and heat scourged their hiding places. They fled +through the grotesque shadow patterns of Lunar night. They fled back, +some of them, to the black ship which had brought them. And there, +they ran straight into the waiting arms of a detail from Space Patrol +headquarters. + + * * * * * + +Tod Denver's friend, the watchman, had talked. From spaceport he had +called the Space Patrol and talked where it would do some good. A bit +late to be of much use, help had arrived. It took the Space Patrol +squads a half hour to round up the scattered survivors. + +Darbor went back to the mine-buildings with the Space Patrol +lieutenant as escort. Denver trudged wearily back up the slope to +recover Charley. + +The moondog was in a bad way. He bulged badly amidships and seemed +greatly disturbed, not to say temperamental. With tenderness and +gentle care, Denver cradled the damaged Charley in his arms and made +his way back to the living shack at the mine. Space Cops were just +hustling in the last of the prisoners and making ready to return to +civilization. Denver thanked them, but with brief curtness, for +Charley's condition worried him. He went inside and tried to make his +pet comfortable, wondering where one would look on the Moon for a +veterinary competent to treat a moondog. + +Darbor found him crouched over Charley's impoverished couch upon the +metal table. + +"I want to say goodbye," she told him. "I'm sorry about Charley. The +lieutenant says I can go back with them. So it's back to the bright +lights for me." + +"Good luck," Denver said shortly, tearing his attention from Charley's +flickering gyrations. "I hope you find a man with a big fat bankbook." + +"So do I," Darbor admitted. "I could use a new wardrobe. I wish it +could have been you. If things had worked out--" + +"Forget it," Denver snapped. "There'd have been Martin's kid. She'd +have got half anyhow. You wouldn't have liked that." + +Darbor essayed a grin. "You know, I've been thinking. Maybe the old +guy was my father. It could be. I never knew who my old man was, and I +did go to school on Earth. Reform school." + +Denver regarded her cynically. "Couldn't be. I'm willing to believe +you don't know who your father was. Some women should keep books. But +that kid's not Martian." + +Darbor shrugged. "Doesn't matter. So long, kid. If you make a big +strike, look me up." + +The Space Patrol lieutenant was waiting for her. She linked arms with +him, and vanished toward the ship. Denver went back to Charley. +Intently he studied the weird creature, wondering what to do. + +A timid knock startled him. For a moment, wild hope dawned. Maybe +Darbor-- + +But it wasn't Darbor. A strange girl stood in the doorway. She pushed +open the inner flap of the airlock and stepped from the valve. + +"I was looking around," she explained. "I bummed my way out with the +Patrol Ship. Do you mind?" + +Denver scowled at her. "Should I?" + +The girl tried a smile on him but she looked ill-at-ease. "You look +like one of the local boy scouts," she said. "How about helping a lady +in distress?" + +"I make a hobby of it," he snarled. "I don't even care if they're +ladies. But I'm fresh out of romance and slightly soured. And I'm +worried about the one friend who's dumb enough to stick by me. You +picked a bad time to ask. What do you want?" + +The girl smiled shyly. "All right, so you don't look like a boy scout. +But I'm still a girl in a jam. I'm tired and broke and hungry. All I +want is a sandwich, and maybe a lift to the next town. I should have +gone back with the Patrol ship but I guess they forgot me. I thought +maybe, if you're going somewhere that's civilized, I could bum a lift. +What's wrong with your friend?" + +Denver indicated Charley. "Frankly, I don't know." He balked at trying +to explain again just what a moondog was. "But who are you? What did +you want here?" + +The girl stared at him. "Didn't you know? I'm Soleil. My father owned +this mine. He thought he'd found something, and sent for me to share +it. It took the last of our money to get me here, but I wanted to +come. We hadn't seen each other for twenty years. Now he's dead, and +I'm broke, alone and scared. I need to get to some place where I can +dream up an eating job." + +"You're Martin's kid?" + +Soleil nodded, absently, looking at Charley. The moondog gave a +strange, electronic whimper. There was an odd expression on the girl's +face. A flash of inspiration seemed to enlighten her. + +"I'll take care of this," she said softly. "You wait outside." + +Somewhat later, after blinding displays of erratic lightnings had +released a splendor of fantastic color through the view-ports to +reflect staggeringly from the mountain walls, a tired girl called out +to Tod Denver. + +She met him inside the airlock. In her arms snuggled a pile of +writhing radiance, like glowing worms. Moonpups. A whole litter of +moonpups. + +"They're cute," Soleil commented, "but I've never seen anything quite +like this before." + +"It must have been a delayed fuse," said Denver, wilting. "Here we go +again." + +He fainted.... + + * * * * * + +Awakening was painful to Denver. He remembered nightmare, and the +latter part of his memory dealt with moonpups. Swarms of moonpups. As +if Charley hadn't been enough. He was not sure that he wanted to open +his eyes. + +He thought he heard the outer flap of the airlock open, then someone +pounding on the inner door. Habit of curiosity conquered, and his +eyelids blinked. He looked up to find a strange man beside his bed. +The man was fat, fussy, pompous. But he looked prosperous, and seemed +excited. + +Denver glanced warily about the room. After all, he had been strained. +Perhaps it was all part of delirium. No sign of the girl either. Could +he have imagined her, too? He sighed and remembered Darbor. + +"Tod Denver?" asked the fat, prosperous man. "I got your name from a +Sergeant of Security Police in Crystal City. He says you own a +moondog. Is that true?" + +Denver nodded painfully. "I'm afraid it is. What's the charge?" + +The stranger seemed puzzled, amused. "This may seem odd to you, but +I'm in the market for moondogs. Scientific laboratories all over the +system want them, and are paying top prices. The most unusual and +interesting life form in existence. But moondogs are scarce. Would you +consider parting with yours? I can assure you he'll receive kind +treatment and good care. They're too valuable for anything else." + +Denver almost blanked out again. It was too much like the more +harrowing part of his dreams. He blinked his eyes, but the man was +still there. + +"One of us is crazy," he mused aloud. "Maybe both of us. I can't sell +Charley. I'd miss him too much." + +Suddenly, as it happens in dreams, Soleil Martin stood beside him. Her +arms were empty, but she stood there, smiling. + +"You wouldn't have to sell Charley," she said, giving Denver a +curious, thrusting glance. "Had you forgotten that you're now a +father, or foster-grandfather, or something. You have moonpups, in +quantity. I had to let you lie there while I put the little darlings +to bed. And it's not Charley any more, please. Charlotte. It has to be +Charlotte." + +Denver paled and groaned. He turned hopefully to the fat stranger. + +"Say, mister, how many moonpups can you use?" + +"All of them, if you'll sell." The man whipped out a signed, blank +check, and quickly filled in astronomical figures. Denver looked at +it, whistled, then doubted first his sanity, then the check. + +"Take them," Denver murmured. "Take them, quick, before you change +your mind, or all this evaporates in dream." + +A moondog has no nerves. Charley--or Charlotte--had none, but the +brood of moonpups had already begun to get on whatever passed for +nerves in his electronic make-up. He was glad and relieved to be rid +of his numerous progeny. He, or she, showed passionate and +embarrassing affection for Denver, and even generously included Soleil +Martin in the display. + +Denver stared at her suddenly while she helped the commission agent +round up his radiant loot and make ready for the return to town. It +was as if he were seeing her for the first time. She was pretty. Not +beautiful, of course. Just pretty. And nice. He remembered that he was +carrying her picture in his pocket. + +She was even an Earth-girl. They were almost as scarce in the moon +colonies as moondogs. + +"Look here," he said. "I have money now. I was going out prospecting +but it can wait. I kind of inherited you from your father, you know. +Do you need dough or something?" + +Soleil laughed. "I need everything. But don't bother. I haven't any +claim on you. And I can ride back to the city with Mr. Potts. He looks +like a better bet. He can write such big checks, too." + +Denver made a face of disgust. "All women are alike," he muttered +savagely. "Go on, then--" + +Soleil frowned. "Don't say it. Don't even think it. I'm not going +anywhere. Not till you go. I just wanted you to ask me nice. I'm +staying. I'll go prospecting with you. I like that. Dad made me study +minerals and mining. I can be a real help. With that big check, we can +get a real outfit." + +Denver stopped dreaming. "But you don't know what it's like out there. +Just empty miles of loneliness and heat and desert and mountains of +bare rock. Not even the minimum comforts. Nights last two Earth weeks. +There'd just be you and me and Charlotte." + +Soleil smiled fondly. "It listens good, and might be fun. I like +Charlotte and you. I'm realistic and strong enough to be a genuine +partner." + +Tod Denver gasped. "You sure know what you want--Partner!" He grinned. +"Now we'll have a married woman along. I was worried about wandering +around, unprotected, with a female moondog--" + +Soleil laughed. "I think Charlotte needs a chaperone." + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Master of the Moondog, by Stanley Mullen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MASTER OF THE MOONDOG *** + +***** This file should be named 31327.txt or 31327.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/3/2/31327/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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