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diff --git a/41565-0.txt b/41565-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..30ba168 --- /dev/null +++ b/41565-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,463 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41565 *** + + CONSIGNMENT + + BY ALLAN E. NOURSE + + ILLUSTRATED BY SUSSMAN + +[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Science Fiction +Adventures Magazine December 1953. Extensive research did not uncover +any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Illustration] + + + In the jungle the vicious man-killer is king, but what chance would + a tiger have in the Times Square traffic. + + +The three shots ripped through the close night air of the prison, +sharply, unbelievably. Three guards crumpled like puppets in the dead +silence that followed. The thought flashed through Krenner's mind, +incredibly, that possibly no one had heard. + +He hurled the rope with all his might up the towering rock wall, waited +a long eternity as the slim strong line swished through the darkness, +and heard the dull "clank" as the hook took hold at the top. Like a cat +he started up, frantically, scrambling, and climbing, the sharp heat of +the rope searing his fingers. Suddenly daylight was around him, the +bright unearthly glare of arc lights, the siren cutting in with its +fierce scream. The shouts of alarm were far below him as he fought up +the line, knot after knot, the carefully prepared knots. Twenty seconds +to climb, he thought, just twenty seconds-- + + * * * * * + +Rifle shots rang out below, the shells smashing into the concrete around +him. Krenner almost turned and snarled at the little circle of men in +the glaring light below, but turning meant precious seconds. A dull, +painful blow struck his foot, as his hands grasped the jagged glass at +the top of the wall. + +In a moment of triumph he crouched at the top and laughed at the little +men and the blazing guns below; on the other side lay the blackness of +the river. He turned and plunged into the blackness, his foot +throbbing, down swiftly until the cool wetness of the river closed +about him, soothing his pain, bathing his mind in the terrible beauty of +freedom, and what went with freedom. A few dozen powerful strokes would +carry him across and down the river, three miles below the prison +fortress from which he had broken. Across the hill from that, somewhere, +he'd find Sherman and a wide open road to freedom-- + + * * * * * + +Free! Twenty-seven years of walls and work, bitterness and hateful, +growing, simmering revenge. Twenty-seven years for a fast-moving world +to leave him behind, far behind. He'd have to be careful about that. He +wouldn't know about things. Twenty-seven years from his life, to kill +his ambition, to take his woman, to disgrace him in the eyes of society. +But the candle had burned through. He was free, with time, free, easy, +patient time, to find Markson, search him out, kill him at last. + +Hours passed it seemed, in the cold, moving water. Krenner struggled to +stay alert; loss of control now would be sure death. A few shots had +followed him from the wall behind, hopeless shots, hopeless little +spears of light cutting across the water, searching for him, a tiny dot +in the blackness. Radar could never spot him, for he wore no metal, and +the sound of his movements in the water were covered by the sighing wind +and the splashing of water against the prison walls. + +Finally, after ages of pain and coldness, he dragged himself out onto +the muddy shore, close to the calculated spot. He sat on the edge and +panted, his foot swollen and throbbing. He wanted to scream in pain, but +screams would bring farmers and dogs and questions. That would not do, +until he found Sherman, somewhere back in those hills, with a 'copter, +and food, and medication, and quiet, peaceful rest. + +He tried to struggle to his feet, but the pain was too much now. He half +walked, half dragged himself into the woods, and started as best he +could the trek across the hills. + + * * * * * + +Jerome Markson absently snapped on the radiovisor on his desk. Sipping +his morning coffee thoughtfully as he leafed through the reports on his +desk, he listened with half an ear until the announcer's voice seeped +through to his consciousness. He tightened suddenly in his seat, and the +coffee cooled before him, forgotten. + +"--Eastern Pennsylvania is broadcasting a four-state alarm with special +radiovisor pictures in an effort to pick up the trail of a convict who +escaped the Federal Prison here last night. The escaped man, who shot +and killed two guards making good his escape, dived into the river +adjoining the prison, and is believed to have headed for an outside +rendezvous somewhere in the Blue Mountain region. The prisoner is John +Krenner, age 51, gray hair, blue eyes, five-foot-nine. He is armed and +dangerous, with four unsuccessful escape attempts, and three known +murders on his record. He was serving a life term, without leniency, for +the brutal murder in July, 1967, of Florence Markson, wife of the +now-famous industrialist, Jerome Markson, president of Markson +Foundries. Any person with information of this man's whereabouts should +report--" + +Markson stared unbelieving at the face which appeared in the visor. +Krenner, all right. The same cold eyes, the same cruel mouth, the same +sneer. He snapped off the set, his face white and drawn. To face the +bitter, unreasoning hate of this man, his former partner--even a prison +couldn't hold him. + +A telephone buzzed, shattering the silence of the huge office. + +"Hello, Jerry? This is Floyd Gunn in Pittsburgh. Krenner's escaped!" + +"I know. I just heard. Any word?" + +"None yet. We got some inside dope from one of the men in the prison +that he has an outside escape route, and that he's been digging up all +the information he could find in the past three months or so about the +Roads. But I wanted to warn you." The policeman's voice sounded distant +and unreal. "He promised to get you, Jerry. I'm ordering you and your +home heavily guarded--" + +"Guards won't do any good," said Markson, heavily. "Krenner will get me +if you don't get him first. Do everything you can." + +The policeman's voice sounded more cheerful. "At any rate, he's in the +eastern part of the state now. He has four hundred miles to travel +before he can get to you. Unless he has a 'copter, or somehow gets on +the Roads, he can't get to you for a day or so. We're doing everything +we can." + +Markson hung up the receiver heavily. Twenty-seven years of peace since +that devil had finally murdered his way out of his life. And now he was +back again. A terrible mistake for a partner, a man with no reason, a +man who could not understand the difference between right and wrong. A +man with ruthless ambition, who turned on his partner when honesty got +in his way, and murdered his partner's wife in rage when his own way of +business was blocked. A man so twisted with rage that he threatened on +the brink of capital punishment to tear Markson's heart out, yet Markson +had saved him from the chair. An appeal, some money, some influence, had +snatched him from death's sure grasp, so he could come back to kill +again. And a man with such diabolical good fortune that he could now +come safely to Markson, and hunt him out, and carry out the fancied +revenge that his twisted mind demanded. + +Markson took the visiphone in hand again and dialed a number. The face +of a young girl appeared. "Hi, dad. Did you see the news report?" + +"Yes, I saw it. I want you to round up Jerry and Mike and take the +'copter out to the summer place on Nantucket. Wait for me there. I don't +know how soon I can make it, but I don't want you here now. Leave +immediately." + +The girl knew better than to argue with her father. "Dad, is there any +chance--?" + +"There's lots of chance. That's why I want you away from here." + +He flipped off the connection, and sighed apprehensively. Now to wait. +The furnaces had to keep going, the steel had to be turned out, one way +or another. He'd have to stay. And hope. Perhaps the police _would_ get +him-- + + * * * * * + +The elderly lady sat on the edge of the kitchen chair, shivering. "We'll +be glad to help you, but you won't hurt us, will you?" + +"Shut up," said Krenner. The gray plastic of his pistol gleamed dully in +the poor light of the farm kitchen. "Get that foot dressed, with tight +pressure and plenty of 'mycin. I don't want it to bleed, and I don't +want an infection." The woman hurried her movements, swiftly wrapping +the swollen foot. + +The man lifted a sizzling frying pan from the range, flipping a +hamburger onto a plate. He added potatoes and carrots. "Here's the +food," he said sullenly. "And you might put the gun away. We don't have +weapons, and we don't have a 'phone." + +"You have legs," snapped Krenner. "Now shut up." + +The woman finished the dressing. "Try it," she said. The convict stood +up by the chair, placing his weight on the foot gingerly. Pain leaped +through his leg, but it was a clean pain. He could stand it. He took a +small map from his pocket. "Any streams or gorges overland between here +and Garret Valley?" + +The farmer, shook, his head. "No." + +"Give me some clothes, then. No, don't leave. The ones you have on." + +The farmer slipped out of his clothes silently, and Krenner dropped the +prison grays in the corner. + +"You'll keep your mouths shut about this," he stated flatly. + +"Oh, yes, you can count on us," exclaimed the woman, eyeing the gun +fearfully. "We won't tell a soul." + +"I'll say you won't," said Krenner, his fingers tightening on the gun. +The shots were muted and flat in the stillness of the kitchen. + +An hour later Krenner broke through the underbrush, crossed a rutted +road, and pushed on over the ridge. His cruel face was dripping with +perspiration. "It should be the last ridge," he thought. "I've gone a +good, three miles--" The morning sun was bright, filtering down through +the trees, making beautiful wet patterns on the damp ground. The morning +heat was just beginning, but the food and medications had made progress +easy. He pulled himself up onto a rock ledge, over to the edge, and felt +his heart stop cold as he peered down into the valley below. + +A dark blue police 'copter nestled on the valley floor next to the sleek +gray one. It must have just arrived, for the dark uniforms of the police +were swarming around the gray machine He saw the pink face and the +sporty clothes of the occupant as he came down the ladder, his hands in +the air. + +Too late! They'd caught Sherman! + +He lay back shaking. + +Impossible! He _had_ to have Sherman. They couldn't possibly have known, +unless somehow they had foreseen, or heard--. His mind seethed with +helpless rage. Without Sherman he was stuck. No way to reach Markson, no +way to settle that score--unless possibly--. + +The Roads. + +He'd heard about them. Way back in 1967 when he'd gone up, the roads +were underway. A whole system of Rolling Roads was proposed then, and +the first had already been built, between Pittsburgh and the Lakes. A +crude affair, a conveyor belt system, running at a steady seventy-five +miles per hour, carrying only ore and freight. + +But in the passing years reports had filtered through the prison walls. +New men, coming "up for a visit" had brought tales, gross exaggerations, +of the Rolling Roads grown huge, a tremendous system building itself +up, crossing hills and valleys in unbroken lines, closed in from weather +and hijackers, fast and smooth and endless. Criss-crossing the nation, +they had said, in never-slowing belts of passengers and freight +livestock. The Great Triangle had been first, from Chicago to St. Louis +to Old New York, and back to Chicago. Now every town, every village had +its small branch, its entrance to the Rolling Roads, and once a man got +on the Roads, they had said, he was safe until he tried to get off. + +Clearly the memory of the reports filtered through Krenner's mind. The +great Central Roads run from Old New York to Chicago, through New +Washington and Pittsburgh-- + +Markson was in Pittsburgh-- + +Krenner started down through the underbrush, travelling south by the +sun, the urgency of his mission spurring him on against the pain of his +foot, the difficulty of the terrain over which he travelled. He was too +far north. Somewhere to the south he'd find the Roads. And once on the +Roads, he'd find a way to get off-- + + * * * * * + +He stopped at the brink of the hill and gasped in amazement. + +They ran across the wide valley like silver ribbons. The late afternoon +sunlight reflected gold and pink from the plasti-glass encasement, +concealing the rushing line of travel within the covering. Like twin +serpents, they lay across the hills, about a mile apart, the Road +travelling east, and the Road moving west. They stretched as far as he +could see. And he could see the white sign which said, "Merryvale +Entrance, Westbound, Three miles." + +As he tramped, across the field he could hear the hum of the Roads grow +loud in his ears. An automatic, machinelike hum, a rhythm of motion. +Close to the westbound road he moved back eastward along it, toward the +little port which formed the entrance to it. And soon he saw the police +'copter which rested near the entrance, and the uniformed men with their +rifles, alert. Three of them. + +Krenner fingered his weapon easily. It was almost dark; they would not +see him easily. He kept a small hill between himself and the police and +moved in within gunshot range. He could see the rocket-like car resting +on its single rail, waiting for a passenger to enter, to touch the +button which would activate the tiny rocket engines and move it forward, +ever and ever more swiftly until it reached the acceleration of the +Roads, and slid over, and became a part of the Road. Moving carefully, +he slipped from rock to rock, closer to the car and the men who guarded +it. + +Suddenly the bay of a hound cut through the gloom. Two small brown dogs +with the men, straining at their leashes. He hadn't counted on that. +Swiftly he took cover and lined his sights with the blue uniforms. +Before they knew even his approximate location he had cut them down, and +the dogs also, and raced wildly down the remainder of the hill to the +car. + +"Fare may be calculated from the accompanying charts, and will be +collected when your car has taken its place on the Roads," said a little +sign near the cockpit. Krenner studied the dashboard for a moment, then +jammed in the button marked "Forward," and settled back. The monorail +slid forward without a sound, and plunged into a tunnel in the hill. Out +the other side, with ever-increasing acceleration it slid in alongside +the gleaming silver ribbon, faster and faster. With growing apprehension +Krenner watched the speedometer mount, past two hundred, two hundred and +twenty, forty, sixty, eighty--at three hundred miles per hour the +acceleration force eased, and the car suddenly swerved to the left, into +a dark causeway. And then into the brightly lighted plasti-glass tunnel. + +He was on the Roads! + +Alongside the outside lane the little car sped, moving on an independent +rail, sliding gently past other cars resting on the middle lane. An +opening appeared, and Krenner's car slid over another notch, disengaged +its rail, and settled to a stop on the central lane of the Road. The +speedometer fell to nothing, for the car's motion was no longer +independent, but an integral part of the speeding Road itself. Three +hundred miles per hour on a constant, nonstop flight across the rolling +land. + +A loudspeaker suddenly piped up in his car. "Welcome to the Roads," it +said. "Your fare collector will be with you in a short while. After he +has arrived, feel free to leave your car and be at ease on the Road +outside. Eating, resting, and sleeping quarters will be found at regular +intervals. You are warned, however, not to cross either the barriers to +the outside lanes, nor the barriers to the freight-carrying areas front +and rear. Pleasant travelling." + +Krenner chuckled grimly, and settled down in his car, his automatic in +his hand. His fare collector would get a surprise. Down the Road a short +distance he saw the man approaching, wearing the green uniform of the +Roads. And then he stiffened. Three blue uniforms were accompanying him. +Opening the car door swiftly, he slipped out onto the soft carpeting of +the Road, and raced swiftly away from the approaching men. + +They saw him when he started to run. Ahead he could see a crowd of +passengers around a dining area. A shout went up as he knocked a woman +down in his pell-mell flight, but he was beyond them in an instant. His +foot hindered him, and his pursuers were gaining. Suddenly before him he +saw a barrier--a four foot metal wall. No carpet beyond it, no +furnishings along the sides. A freight area! He hopped over the barrier +and plunged into the blackness of the freight tunnel as he heard the +shouts of his pursuers. "Stop! Come back! Stop or we'll shoot!" + +They didn't shoot. In a moment Krenner came to the first freight +carrier, one of the standard metal containers resting on the steel of +the Road. He ran past it, and the next. The third and fourth were open +cars, stacked high with machinery. He ran on for several moments before +he glanced back. + +They weren't following him any more. He could see them, far back, where +the light began, a whole crowd of people at the barrier he had crossed. +But no one followed him. Odd that they should stop. He centered his mind +more closely on his surroundings. Freight might conceal him to get him +off the Roads where no passenger station would ever let him through. He +climbed to the top of a nearby freight container and slipped down in. +Chunks of rock were under his feet, and he fell in a heap on the hard +bed. What possible kind of freight--? He slipped a lighter from his +pocket and snapped it on. + +Coal! A normal freight load. He climbed back up and looked along the +road. No pursuit. An uneasy chill went through him--this was too easy. +To ride a coal car to safety, without a single man pursuing him--to +where? He examined the billing on the side of the car, and he forgot his +fears in the rush of excitement. The billing read, "Consignment: Coal, +twenty tons, Markson Foundries, via Pittsburgh private cutoff." + +His car was carrying him to Markson! + +His mind was full of the old, ugly hate, the fearful joy of the +impending revenge. Fortune's boy, he thought to himself. Even Sherman +could not have done so well, to ride the Rolling Roads, not just to +Pittsburgh, not to the mountains, but right to Markson's backyard! He +shivered with anticipation. Pittsburgh was only a few hundred miles +away, and at three hundred miles an hour--Krenner clenched his fists in +cruel pleasure. He hadn't long to wait. + + * * * * * + +An hour passed slowly. Krenner's leg was growing stiff after the +exertion of running. Still no sign of life. He eased his position, and +stiffened when he heard the little relay box above the consignment sheet +give a couple of sharp clicks. + +Near the end! He hugged himself in excitement. What a neat trick, to +ride a consignment of coal to the very yards where Markson would be! The +coal yards which he might have owned, the furnaces, the foundry--. There +would be men there to receive the car from the line, well he could +remember the men, day and night, working and sweating in those yards and +mills! There would be men there to brake the car and empty it. He was in +old clothes, farm clothes--he would fit in so well; as soon as the car +slowed he could jump off, and simply join the other men. Or he could +shoot, if he had to. A little agility in getting out of the car, and a +little care in inquiring the way to Markson's office-- + +The car suddenly shifted to the outer lane. Krenner gripped a handle on +the inside and held tight. He felt the swerving motion, and suddenly the +car moved out of the tunnel into the open night air. He climbed up the +side and peered over the edge. There were five cars in the consignment; +he was on the last. Travelling almost at Road speed along the auxiliary +cutoff. Swiftly they moved along through the night, through the edge of +the Pittsburgh steel yards. Outside he fancied he could hear the rattle +of machinery in the yards, the shouts of the men at their work. Making +steel was a twenty-four hour proposition. + +Then they were clear of the first set of yards. The car made another +switch, and Krenner's heart beat faster. A white sign along the side +said, "Private Property. Keep off. Markson Foundries Line." Soon now +they would come to a crunching halt. Men would be there, but his gun was +intact. No matter how many men he met, he had to get to Markson. + +The car shuddered a little, but the acceleration continued. They were +rising high in the air now, above the foundries. He looked down, and +could see the mighty furnaces thrusting their slim necks to the sky. + +A bolt of fear went through him. How far did the automatic system go? +Automatic loading of coal from the fields, automatic switching onto the +Rolling Roads. Automatic transfer of cars onto a private line which led +the cars to the foundries. Where did the automatic handling stop? Where +did the _men_ come into it? Twenty-seven-year-old concepts slid through +his mind, of how freight was carried, of how machines were tended, of +how steel was made. In a world of rapidly changing technology, +twenty-seven years can bring changes, in every walk of life, in every +form of production-- + +Even steel-- + +A voice from within him screamed, "Get off, Krenner, get off! This is a +one way road--" He climbed quickly to the top of the car, to find a +place to jump, and turned back, suddenly sick with fear. + +The car was going too fast. + +The first car had moved with its load to a high point on the elevated +road. A thundering crash came to Krenner's ears as its bottom opened to +dislodge its contents. Without stopping. Without men. Automatically. +From below he could hear a rushing, roaring sound, and the air was +suddenly warmer than before-- + +The next car followed the first. And the next. Krenner scrambled to the +top of the car in rising horror as the car ahead moved serenely, jerked +suddenly, and jolted loose its load with a crash of coal against steel. +Twenty tons of coal hurtled down a chute into roaring redness-- + +Twenty-seven years had changed things. He hadn't heard men, for there +were no men. No men to tend the fires. Glowing, white-hot furnaces, +Markson's furnaces, which were fed on a regular, unerring, merciless +consignment belt, running directly from the Roads. Efficient, +economical, completely automatic. + +Krenner's car gave a jolt that threw his head against the side and shook +him down onto the coal load like a bag of potatoes. He clawed +desperately for a grip on the side, clawed and missed. The bottom of the +car opened, and the load fell through with a roar, and the roar drowned +his feeble scream as Krenner fell with the coal. + +The last thing he saw below, rushing up, was the glowing, blistering, +white-hot maw of the blast furnace. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Consignment, by Alan E. Nourse + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41565 *** |