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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f57f44 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,13 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text +*.htm text +*.html text +*.png binary +*.jpg binary +*.svg text +*.pdf binary +*.bmp binary +*.zip binary +*.midi binary +*.mp3 binary diff --git a/79265-0.txt b/79265-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2f2425 --- /dev/null +++ b/79265-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,372 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79265 *** + + + + + Public Enemy + + by Kendell Foster Crossen + + + + + At long last, Public Police Officer Brad Raynor was going to see some + action--perhaps he’d have some of the excitement that policemen in + the past experienced every day! + + + + +Brad Raynor cruised in the one thousand level above Nyork and tried to +suppress his boredom. Because of his training he was aware that dull +routine was preferable, but emotionally he yearned for a little action. + +This was Public Police Officer Brad Raynor’s fifth day in uniform. +It had taken him seven years to achieve that uniform; four years +at Harvard and three years at the University of Public Protection. +His three degrees--one in psychology, one in sociology, one in +criminalistics--were announced to the world by the neat blue uniform +and the badge, Number 42,151, he wore. + +“Car three thirty-seven,” said the voice over the audio-speaker. Brad +Raynor tensed at the first sound of the voice, then relaxed as he heard +the number. “Proceed to street level at two eighty-four West Seventieth +Street. Signal eighty-three.” + +Signal eighty-three meant a minor domestic adjustment problem. Brad +Raynor idly watched the swerving speck of light on the patrol screen, +which indicated the path of Car 337, and sighed. + +Secretly, he was amused at himself. No one was prouder than Brad +Raynor of the progress made by the middle of the 32nd Century, while +all of his training had been directed toward increasing that progress. +Still, only five days after becoming a part of the Public Police +Administration, he found himself longing for the “good old days” he’d +read about when the cops went after a fugitive with blazing guns. + +Not that he was unarmed. The police cruiser was equipped with +everything from a lightweight atomic cannon to a tiny nerve-gun which +could be concealed between two fingers. Nevertheless, it was a fact +that there was seldom any need for the weapons and Brad Raynor was +young enough to indulge occasionally in romantic fantasy. In reality, +he knew there was nothing romantic about the “good old days.” A +complete history of police work was, of course, a required subject at +the university and he was well aware that in the old days most of the +police had been incompetent, generally brutal, and for the most part +held in contempt by the Public. A favorite subject during some of the +bull sessions had been the old question of whether the actions of the +police produced the public attitude or whether the attitude formed the +police mentality. All of that, of course, had been changed by the 21st +Century. Since then all policemen had to be adequately trained and +the national, state, and city officials over them were elected by the +voters. + +“Car two ninety-one,” droned the voice from the audio-speaker. “A +speeding air-car is headed up toward your sector. Intercept and +investigate the cause.” + +Brad Raynor glanced at the chronograph on his instrument panel and saw +that it was eighteen hundred. He leaned back, lifted the panel behind +his seat and removed the record film for the past hour. He inserted +it in the projector and quickly ran it off. The film showed all the +details of the streets and houses over which he had passed during the +previous hour. He spotted nothing unusual and the film was put away to +be handed in when his patrol was over. + +“Routine,” he muttered to himself. He grinned and reached for the +audio-phone. “Car three hundred, on course, at eighteen hundred plus,” +he reported. He swung the phone back into place and idly watched the +pips of light on the patrol screen. + +“Car three twenty. Proceed to street level at one twenty-six East +Fifty-third Street and arrest citizen Jon Bair. There’ll be a complete +report on your tape by the time you get there in the event you need +it. Bair has been under voluntary treatment at Therapy Control because +of having trouble with his neighbor, but he has just destroyed some +property belonging to this neighbor. Arraign him on the charge of +destroying private property, then deliver him to Therapy Control. Watch +your screen for a photograph of Bair.” + +_And that’s the way it goes_, thought Brad Raynor. Even though he +knew it was almost impossible, he found himself wishing that someone +would rob a bank--in his sector, naturally. It would be nice to have a +citation on his blue uniform when he got married, an event which was +but two weeks away. + +“Car three hundred,” the voice said sharply. That was his number, but +it was the tone that caused Brad Raynor to straighten up. “Citizen +Will Howard broke into the home of Jan Laird, Mayor Of Nyork, ten +minutes ago. He stole two hundred world credits, in cash, and a +smallbore energy gun. Upon leaving the premises, he encountered Public +Officer Arthur Sommers and killed him without warning.” The voice +paused briefly, then continued. “The fugitive escaped in an air-car +belonging to the city. He is now in your sector, at the three thousand +level--Horizontal sixty-two, approaching Vertical ninety-one.” + + * * * * * + +The voice droned on, giving a description of the fugitive which +included his brain-wave pattern and a chemical analysis, but Brad +Raynor was already in action. He still heard the voice and was +memorizing the description, but with his left hand he touched the +controls so that the cruiser tilted up and leaped ahead. With his right +hand, he swung the radarscope. A minute later, he was picking up the +echo of the returning signal. He triggered the cybernetic control and +glanced at the tape. The fugitive was traveling at eight hundred miles +per hour and still accelerating. + +Although this was his first case, Brad Raynor had been so well trained +that all of this was already second nature to him. Even as he glanced +at the tape-reading, he was punching the fugitive’s brain-wave pattern +into the encephalscope and swinging it onto the fix held by the +radarscope. A rhythmic pinging came from the tiny receiver and he knew +that he was following the right man. + +“Watch your screen for the film record of the fugitive’s escape,” said +the voice from the audio-speaker. + +Brad Raynor glanced up at the video-screen and a moment later saw a +full color shot of a big, furtive-looking man hurrying into an air-car. +It was enough for a sight identification, despite the briefness. +Brad knew that it had been caught by the side-camera of one of the +street-level patrol cars and he felt a surge of pride at the speed with +which headquarters had located it, taken a videoprint and beamed it to +him. + +“Warning,” said the headquarter’s voice. “The fugitive is armed and is +obviously in an unstable condition.” + +Brad Raynor grinned up at the audio-speaker. This was turning into just +the sort of assignment he’d been thinking about. “Car three hundred,” +the voice said sharply--and it was almost as if the Assignment Officer +were reading his mind, although actually he was merely remembering when +he too had been a probation patrolman--“under any circumstances, bring +this man in alive.” + +That was all, but Brad Raynor knew the Assignment Officer was reminding +him of Rule 127 in the Handbook of Public Police Procedure. Like the +other rules, it was indelibly fixed in his mind. “Public Officers must +at all times remember that the criminal is merely a person at odds with +his society. The Public Police Administration was not formed to preside +at the execution of citizens. Except in those instances where a large +segment of the population is endangered, the Officer _must always_ +deliver his prisoner alive. Insofar as it’s possible, the criminal must +make amends for the results of his crime, and this might be called +punishment, but the chief duty of the police is to see that he is +brought in for therapy. A criminal cured is a citizen saved.” + +Brad Raynor watched the air-speed needle move past the twelve hundred +mark and knew he was gaining on his quarry. He glanced at his other +instruments and was surprised to see that he was already up to fifteen +thousand feet. Since the cruiser was built to adjust its oxygen supply +and pressure automatically, height was no problem. It might, however, +cause another problem. Frowning, Brad leaned over and triggered the +cybernetic control. The tape revealed that the other ship was at +twenty-five thousand. + +He pulled the audio-phone to him. “Car three hundred,” he reported, +“at fifteen thousand feet, gaining. The fugitive is now at twenty-five +thousand feet, obviously heading out.” + +“Try to intercept him before he reaches the limits of Earth’s +atmosphere,” the Assignment Officer said over the speaker. “If this is +not possible, then your orders are to arrest him whenever possible. We +will arrange clearance with the Space Patrol and with any planetary +government when needed. Use your own judgement in the matter of time +and place.” + +Being a normal young man who had never traveled farther than the moon, +there was a minute when Brad Raynor thought of letting the fugitive +escape from Earth and then catching up with him on, perhaps, Mars. +But it lasted no more than a minute, for he took very seriously the +responsibility which went with the neat blue uniform. He reached over +and shoved the power full on. The cruiser surged forward. + +The police cruiser was within a thousand feet of the fleeing air-car by +the time they were twenty miles above the surface of the earth. Brad +Raynor switched on his sighting screen, turned the nose-cannon over to +_Manual_ and fired a shot which would explode well ahead of the other +ship. He pulled over the audio-phone and thumbed the button on its side. + +“Public Officer Brad Raynor calling Nyork city car, registration 12Z,” +he said. He knew the occupant of the car would hear him whether his +receiver was on or not. Every air-car built contained a panel which +would automatically pickup police calls sent out on a tight beam +limited to police work. “City car 12Z, pull up and surrender.” + + * * * * * + +For a moment, the air-car continued at the same speed. Then it began +to slow up, finally becoming stationary at an altitude of twenty-five +miles. The police cruiser approached cautiously, Brad holding himself +in readiness to send it flashing away if the other ship tried to ram +him. When the two craft were a mere hundred feet apart, he stopped the +cruiser and stabilized it. He was sure that city air-cars were not +normally armed and the appearance of the ship in the forward viewing +screen revealed nothing that looked like armament. With that, Brad +Raynor leaned over and pressed a button on the control panel projecting +a tractor beam. + +But even as the beam reached for the other ship, it moved. Straight +down it flashed, the backwash of power rocking the police cruiser. +The tractor beam gyrated in empty space and dissipated itself. Brad +switched off the beam, savagely jammed the power on and brought the +cruiser around in a whirling dive. But even so the ruse had given the +other a start. As the radarscope lined up on the fleeing ship, it was +already thirty miles away and accelerating madly. Brad shot the cruiser +in pursuit. + +It was a wild race earthward. But the fugitive’s craft had gained just +enough of a lead by the maneuver to stay in front, and it pulled out +of the dive only a few hundred feet above the ground. So quickly did +the dive end, there was a moment when Brad thought his stomach wouldn’t +make it. + +They had come down over a small town which Brad recognized as one of +the suburbs lying north of Nyork. The ship ahead of him darted down to +within a few feet of the street and began zooming among the buildings. +Brad Raynor followed. As he did so, he thrust his left foot down on a +button on the floor and held it there. The grilled nose of the cruiser +began broadcasting supersonic waves, out and around the ship ahead, to +be picked up by an oncoming craft so that they could get out of the +way. At the same time, he flipped another switch which automatically +sent out a police identification signal which would be picked up by any +other police car in the neighborhood. + +Once more the police cruiser slowly gained on the car ahead. Brad +was strained forward in his seat, squeezing every bit of speed out +of the cruiser that was possible as they zigzagged around buildings. +He watched as the nose of the cruiser reached the tail of the other +car, then crept up along the side. He was holding a slight elevation +advantage of the other and now he began nosing it to the side and down. +It was a delicate operation, with both ships traveling at well over a +hundred miles per hour, where one slip might crash both of them. + +Then, suddenly, the fleeing car heeled over and flashed into a narrow +alley. Brad saw it scrape the side of the building as he flashed by +and he winced. Crushing, he threw the cruiser up in a tight top loop, +cutting speed at the same time. Even so, he lost several minutes +getting back to the alley. + + * * * * * + +The city air-car was parked inside the alley, on the ground. There was +a long dent on one side where it had scraped the wall, but otherwise +it seemed undamaged. Brad grounded his cruiser behind it. He swung the +encephalscope on the ship, but there was no answering _peep_. It meant +that the fugitive had already left the car. + +He opened the emergency panel in the cruiser and took out a smaller, +portable encephalscope. He hesitated, then took from the rack over his +head the tiny nerve-gun. A moment later, he stepped out into the alley. +He slowly swung the encephalscope around until it emitted a slight +sound. It was pointed toward the solid wall rising beside him. + +Brad walked out of the alley and to the front of the building. It was a +large apartment house and the faint _peep_ from the encephalscope told +him that the fugitive was somewhere inside. + +The front door was locked and there were a number of push-buttons along +the wall, each one with a tiny two-way video-screen above it. But Brad +went directly to the door. He pulled an electronic pick from his pocket +and bent over the lock. The door swung open. + +Inside, Brad paced along the hall, swinging the encephalscope from door +to door. He did the same thing on the second and then on the third +floor. It was on the third floor that he finally pointed the instrument +to a door and was rewarded with a strong, steady chatter from it. + +Again, he used the electronic pick. Then, holding the nerve-gun +concealed in his hand, he kicked the door open. + +Directly inside, energy gun gripped in shaking hand, stood the large +man who had been pictured in the film strip flashed on Brad’s screen. +For what seemed like several long minutes the two men stared at each +other, while the encephalscope fairly purred. + +“Drop it,” Brad said finally. “It’ll do you no good to fight. Even +if you get the best of me, you can’t escape. There’ll be a thousand +encephalscopes searching you out the minute my next report fails to +come in. So, drop it.” + +There was another wait, while the hand that held the energy gun +trembled more violently. Then, slowly, reluctantly, the fingers spread +and the gun dropped to the floor. “Damn you to hell,” the man said +bitterly. “Damn all science!” + +“You’re wrong,” Brad said, leaning over to pick up the gun. “Now +you feel that you wouldn’t have been caught if it hadn’t been for +science--but the truth is that if it weren’t for science you would +have been killed while trying to escape. Come along.” He followed the +prisoner from the building. + + * * * * * + +Twenty-four hours later Brad Raynor landed his cruiser in the space on +the roof of the Justice Building in the 22nd Sector of Nyork. Herding +his prisoner ahead of him, he entered an elevator and they were carried +down to the hearing rooms. + +The Public Justice Administrator looked up as they entered. Then he +glanced back for a moment at his desk. “You must be Public Officer +Raynor,” he said with a smile. “I see that your assignment is the only +thing open in this Sector.” + +“Yes sir,” Brad said, saluting. “This is my prisoner.” + +“Will you charge him, Officer Raynor?” + +“Yes, sir. As an officer of the Public Police Administration, I charge +this man--Jan Laird, Mayor of Nyork--with the crime of negligence +in his responsibility to the people of this city. A citizen, one +Will Howard, was permitted to go unemployed. As a result of the +unemployment, Will Howard committed robbery and in leaving the premises +shot and killed a public officer.” + +“How do you plead, Mayor Laird?” the Administrator asked. + +There was a moment of silence. Then, “Guilty,” the mayor said huskily. + +The Administrator glanced at the papers on his desk. “Your crime, +Mayor Laird,” he said, “is doubly serious because of the high position +to which you were elected by the people. We have already discovered +a number of other citizens who have become slightly unstable because +of feeling that they are in a hostile environment. Fortunately, Will +Howard was the only one who had reached the point of direct action. I +have a report from Therapy Control stating that he will need five or +six months of therapy before once again being a smoothly-functioning +individual. + +“I notice, Mayor Laird, that you have done well in private enterprise +and possess considerable surplus wealth. Therefore, it is the judgement +of this Administration that you be appointed the guardian of the wife +and children of the slain Public Officer Arthur Sommers, responsible +for their economic security. This responsibility will continue for +the life of the widow and will include the children until they have +finished university training. You are also removed as mayor of this +city. This is the extent of this Administration’s concern with you. You +will now be turned over to Therapy Control for proper treatment.” + +With bowed head, the former mayor turned away. + +“Good work, Officer Raynor,” the Administrator called after them. Brad +Raynor followed the prisoner out, feeling every inch a cop and no +longer wishing for the “good old days.” + + + + +Transcriber’s note: + + + This etext was produced from Dynamic Science Fiction, December 1952 + (Vol. 1, No. 1). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence + that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but + minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79265 *** diff --git a/79265-h/79265-h.htm b/79265-h/79265-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3f3f7b --- /dev/null +++ b/79265-h/79265-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,507 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> + <title> + Public Enemy | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .5em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .5em; +} + + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} +.f15 {font-size: 1.5em;} +img.w20 {width: 20em;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp52 {width: 52%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp52 {width: 100%;} + </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79265 ***</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter illowp52" id="cover" style="max-width: 111.9375em;"> + <img class="w20" src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p>Transcribed from Dynamic Science Fiction, December 1952 (Vol. 1, No. 1).</p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> + +<h1> +Public Enemy +</h1> + + +<p class="f15 center">by <strong>Kendell Foster Crossen</strong></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<blockquote> +<p><b>At long last, Public Police Officer Brad Raynor was going to see some +action—perhaps he’d have some of the excitement that policemen in the +past experienced every day!</b></p> +</blockquote> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div> + + +<p>Brad Raynor cruised in the one thousand level above Nyork and tried +to suppress his boredom. Because of his training he was aware that +dull routine was preferable, but emotionally he yearned for a little +action.</p> + +<p>This was Public Police Officer Brad Raynor’s fifth day in +uniform. It had taken him seven years to achieve that uniform; +four years at Harvard and three years at the University of Public +Protection. His three degrees—one in psychology, one in sociology, one +in criminalistics—were announced to the world by the neat blue uniform +and the badge, Number 42,151, he wore.</p> + +<p>“Car three thirty-seven,” said +the voice over the audio-speaker. Brad Raynor tensed at the first +sound of the voice, then relaxed as he heard the number. “Proceed +to street level at two eighty-four West Seventieth Street. Signal +eighty-three.”</p> + +<p>Signal eighty-three meant a minor domestic adjustment +problem. Brad Raynor idly watched the swerving speck of light on +the patrol screen, which indicated the path of Car 337, and sighed.</p> + +<p>Secretly, he was amused at himself. No one was prouder than Brad +Raynor of the progress made by the middle of the 32nd Century, while +all of his training had been directed toward increasing that progress. +Still, only five days after becoming a part of the Public Police +Administration, he found himself longing for the “good old days” he’d +read about when the cops went after a fugitive with blazing guns.</p> + +<p>Not +that he was unarmed. The police cruiser was equipped with everything +from a lightweight atomic cannon to a tiny +nerve-gun which could be concealed between two fingers. Nevertheless, +it was a fact that there was seldom any need for the weapons and Brad +Raynor was young enough to indulge occasionally in romantic fantasy. +In reality, he knew there was nothing romantic about the “good old +days.” A complete history of police work was, of course, a required +subject at the university and he was well aware that in the old days +most of the police had been incompetent, generally brutal, and for +the most part held in contempt by the Public. A favorite subject +during some of the bull sessions had been the old question of whether +the actions of the police produced the public attitude or whether +the attitude formed the police mentality. All of that, of course, +had been changed by the 21st Century. Since then all policemen had +to be adequately trained and the national, state, and city officials +over them were elected by the voters.</p> + +<p>“Car two ninety-one,” droned +the voice from the audio-speaker. “A speeding air-car is headed up +toward your sector. Intercept and investigate the cause.”</p> + +<p>Brad Raynor +glanced at the chronograph on his instrument panel and saw that it was +eighteen hundred. He leaned back, lifted the panel behind his seat +and removed the record film for the past hour. He inserted it in the +projector and quickly ran it off. The film showed all the details of +the streets and houses over which he had passed during the previous +hour. He spotted nothing unusual and the film was put away to be +handed in when his patrol was over.</p> + +<p>“Routine,” he muttered to himself. +He grinned and reached for the audio-phone. “Car three hundred, on +course, at eighteen hundred plus,” he reported. He swung the phone back +into place and idly watched the pips of light on the patrol screen.</p> + +<p>“Car three twenty. Proceed to street level at one twenty-six East +Fifty-third Street and arrest citizen Jon Bair. There’ll be a complete +report on your tape by the time you get there in the event you need +it. Bair has been under voluntary treatment at Therapy Control because +of having trouble with his neighbor, but he has just destroyed some +property belonging to this neighbor. Arraign him on the charge of +destroying private property, then deliver him to Therapy Control. Watch +your screen for a photograph of Bair.”</p> + +<p><i>And that’s the way it goes</i>, +thought Brad Raynor. Even though he knew it was almost impossible, he +found himself wishing that someone would rob a bank—in his sector, +naturally. It would be nice to have a citation on his blue uniform +when he got married, an event which was but two weeks away.</p> + +<p>“Car three +hundred,” the voice said sharply. That was his number, but it was the +tone that caused Brad Raynor to straighten up. “Citizen Will Howard +broke into the home of Jan Laird, Mayor Of Nyork, ten minutes ago. +He stole two hundred world credits, in cash, and a smallbore energy +gun. Upon leaving the premises, he encountered Public Officer Arthur +Sommers and killed him without warning.” The voice paused briefly, +then continued. “The fugitive escaped in an air-car belonging to the +city. He is now in your sector, at the three thousand level—Horizontal +sixty-two, approaching Vertical ninety-one.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The voice droned on, +giving a description of the fugitive which included his brain-wave +pattern and a chemical analysis, but Brad Raynor was already in action. +He still heard the voice and was memorizing the description, but with +his left hand he touched the controls so that the cruiser tilted up and +leaped ahead. With his right hand, he swung the radarscope. A minute +later, he was picking up the echo of the returning +signal. He triggered the cybernetic control and glanced at the tape. +The fugitive was traveling at eight hundred miles per hour and still +accelerating.</p> + +<p>Although this was his first case, Brad Raynor had been +so well trained that all of this was already second nature to him. +Even as he glanced at the tape-reading, he was punching the fugitive’s +brain-wave pattern into the encephalscope and swinging it onto the fix +held by the radarscope. A rhythmic pinging came from the tiny receiver +and he knew that he was following the right man.</p> + +<p>“Watch your screen +for the film record of the fugitive’s escape,” said the voice from the +audio-speaker.</p> + +<p>Brad Raynor glanced up at the video-screen and a moment +later saw a full color shot of a big, furtive-looking man hurrying +into an air-car. It was enough for a sight identification, despite +the briefness. Brad knew that it had been caught by the side-camera of +one of the street-level patrol cars and he felt a surge of pride at +the speed with which headquarters had located it, taken a videoprint +and beamed it to him.</p> + +<p>“Warning,” said the headquarter’s voice. “The +fugitive is armed and is obviously in an unstable condition.”</p> + +<p>Brad +Raynor grinned up at the audio-speaker. This was turning into just the +sort of assignment he’d been thinking about. “Car three hundred,” the +voice said sharply—and it was almost as if the Assignment Officer were +reading his mind, although actually he was merely remembering when he +too had been a probation patrolman—“under any circumstances, bring +this man in alive.”</p> + +<p>That was all, but Brad Raynor knew the Assignment +Officer was reminding him of Rule 127 in the Handbook of Public Police +Procedure. Like the other rules, it was indelibly fixed in his mind. +“Public Officers must at all times remember that the criminal is merely +a person at odds with his society. The Public Police Administration +was not formed to preside at the execution of citizens. Except in +those instances where a large segment of the population is endangered, +the Officer <i>must always</i> deliver his prisoner alive. Insofar as it’s +possible, the criminal must make amends for the results of his crime, +and this might be called punishment, but the chief duty of the police +is to see that he is brought in for therapy. A criminal cured is a +citizen saved.”</p> + +<p>Brad Raynor watched the air-speed needle move past the +twelve hundred mark and knew he was gaining on his quarry. He glanced +at his other instruments and was surprised to see that he was already +up to fifteen thousand feet. Since the cruiser was built to adjust +its oxygen supply and pressure automatically, height was no problem. +It might, however, cause another problem. Frowning, Brad leaned over +and triggered the cybernetic control. The tape revealed that the other +ship was at twenty-five thousand.</p> + +<p>He pulled the audio-phone to him. +“Car three hundred,” he reported, “at fifteen thousand feet, gaining. +The fugitive is now at twenty-five thousand feet, obviously heading +out.”</p> + +<p>“Try to intercept him before he reaches the limits of Earth’s +atmosphere,” the Assignment Officer said over the speaker. “If this is +not possible, then your orders are to arrest him whenever possible. We +will arrange clearance with the Space Patrol and with any planetary +government when needed. Use your own judgement in the matter of time +and place.”</p> + +<p>Being a normal young man who had never traveled farther +than the moon, there was a minute when Brad Raynor thought of letting +the fugitive escape from Earth and then catching up with him on, +perhaps, Mars. But it lasted no more than a minute, for he took very +seriously the responsibility which went with the neat blue uniform. He +reached over and shoved the power full on. The cruiser surged forward.</p> + +<p>The police cruiser was within a thousand +feet of the fleeing air-car by the time they were twenty miles above +the surface of the earth. Brad Raynor switched on his sighting screen, +turned the nose-cannon over to <i>Manual</i> and fired a shot which would +explode well ahead of the other ship. He pulled over the audio-phone +and thumbed the button on its side.</p> + +<p>“Public Officer Brad Raynor calling +Nyork city car, registration 12Z,” he said. He knew the occupant of the +car would hear him whether his receiver was on or not. Every air-car +built contained a panel which would automatically pickup police calls +sent out on a tight beam limited to police work. “City car 12Z, pull up +and surrender.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>For a moment, the air-car continued at the same speed. +Then it began to slow up, finally becoming stationary at an altitude +of twenty-five miles. The police cruiser approached cautiously, Brad +holding himself in readiness to send it flashing away if the other +ship tried to ram him. When the two craft were a mere hundred feet +apart, he stopped the cruiser and stabilized it. He was sure that city +air-cars were not normally armed and the appearance of the ship in the +forward viewing screen revealed nothing that looked like armament. +With that, Brad Raynor leaned over and pressed a button on the control +panel projecting a tractor beam.</p> + +<p>But even as the beam reached for the +other ship, it moved. Straight down it flashed, the backwash of power +rocking the police cruiser. The tractor beam gyrated in empty space +and dissipated itself. Brad switched off the beam, savagely jammed the +power on and brought the cruiser around in a whirling dive. But even so +the ruse had given the other a start. As the radarscope lined up on the +fleeing ship, it was already thirty miles away and accelerating madly. +Brad shot the cruiser in pursuit.</p> + +<p>It was a wild race earthward. But the +fugitive’s craft had gained just enough of a lead by the maneuver to +stay in front, and it pulled out of the dive only a few hundred feet +above the ground. So quickly did the dive end, there was a moment when +Brad thought his stomach wouldn’t make it.</p> + +<p>They had come down over a +small town which Brad recognized as one of the suburbs lying north of +Nyork. The ship ahead of him darted down to within a few feet of the +street and began zooming among the buildings. Brad Raynor followed. +As he did so, he thrust his left foot down on a button on the floor +and held it there. The grilled nose of the cruiser began broadcasting +supersonic waves, out and around the ship ahead, to be picked up by +an oncoming craft so that they could get out of the way. At the same +time, he flipped another switch which automatically sent out a police +identification signal which would be picked up by any other police car +in the neighborhood.</p> + +<p>Once more the police cruiser slowly gained on the +car ahead. Brad was strained forward in his seat, squeezing every bit +of speed out of the cruiser that was possible as they zigzagged around +buildings. He watched as the nose of the cruiser reached the tail of +the other car, then crept up along the side. He was holding a slight +elevation advantage of the other and now he began nosing it to the +side and down. It was a delicate operation, with both ships traveling +at well over a hundred miles per hour, where one slip might crash both +of them.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, the fleeing car heeled over and flashed into +a narrow alley. Brad saw it scrape the side of the building as he +flashed by and he winced. Crushing, he threw the cruiser up in a tight +top loop, cutting speed at the same time. Even so, he lost several +minutes getting back to the alley.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The city air-car was parked inside +the alley, on the ground. There was a long dent on one +side where it had scraped the wall, but otherwise it seemed undamaged. +Brad grounded his cruiser behind it. He swung the encephalscope on the +ship, but there was no answering <i>peep</i>. It meant that the fugitive had +already left the car.</p> + +<p>He opened the emergency panel in the cruiser and +took out a smaller, portable encephalscope. He hesitated, then took +from the rack over his head the tiny nerve-gun. A moment later, he +stepped out into the alley. He slowly swung the encephalscope around +until it emitted a slight sound. It was pointed toward the solid wall +rising beside him.</p> + +<p>Brad walked out of the alley and to the front of +the building. It was a large apartment house and the faint <i>peep</i> from +the encephalscope told him that the fugitive was somewhere inside.</p> + +<p>The +front door was locked and there were a number of push-buttons along the +wall, each one with a tiny two-way video-screen above it. But Brad went +directly to the door. He pulled an electronic pick from his pocket and +bent over the lock. The door swung open.</p> + +<p>Inside, Brad paced along the +hall, swinging the encephalscope from door to door. He did the same +thing on the second and then on the third floor. It was on the third +floor that he finally pointed the instrument to a door and was rewarded +with a strong, steady chatter from it.</p> + +<p>Again, he used the electronic +pick. Then, holding the nerve-gun concealed in his hand, he kicked the +door open.</p> + +<p>Directly inside, energy gun gripped in shaking hand, stood +the large man who had been pictured in the film strip flashed on Brad’s +screen. For what seemed like several long minutes the two men stared at +each other, while the encephalscope fairly purred.</p> + +<p>“Drop it,” Brad said +finally. “It’ll do you no good to fight. Even if you get the best of +me, you can’t escape. There’ll be a thousand encephalscopes searching +you out the minute my next report fails to come in. So, drop it.”</p> + +<p>There +was another wait, while the hand that held the energy gun trembled more +violently. Then, slowly, reluctantly, the fingers spread and the gun +dropped to the floor. “Damn you to hell,” the man said bitterly. “Damn +all science!”</p> + +<p>“You’re wrong,” Brad said, leaning over to pick up the +gun. “Now you feel that you wouldn’t have been caught if it hadn’t been +for science—but the truth is that if it weren’t for science you would +have been killed while trying to escape. Come along.” He followed the +prisoner from the building.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Twenty-four hours later Brad Raynor landed +his cruiser in the space on the roof of the Justice Building in the +22nd Sector of Nyork. Herding his prisoner ahead of him, he entered an +elevator and they were carried down to the hearing rooms.</p> + +<p>The Public +Justice Administrator looked up as they entered. Then he glanced back +for a moment at his desk. “You must be Public Officer Raynor,” he said +with a smile. “I see that your assignment is the only thing open in +this Sector.”</p> + +<p>“Yes sir,” Brad said, saluting. “This is my prisoner.”</p> + +<p>“Will you charge him, Officer Raynor?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. As an officer of +the Public Police Administration, I charge this man—Jan Laird, Mayor +of Nyork—with the crime of negligence in his responsibility to the +people of this city. A citizen, one Will Howard, was permitted to go +unemployed. As a result of the unemployment, Will Howard committed +robbery and in leaving the premises shot and killed a public officer.”</p> + +<p>“How do you plead, Mayor Laird?” the Administrator asked.</p> + +<p>There was a moment of silence. Then, “Guilty,” the +mayor said huskily.</p> + +<p>The Administrator glanced at the papers on his +desk. “Your crime, Mayor Laird,” he said, “is doubly serious because +of the high position to which you were elected by the people. We have +already discovered a number of other citizens who have become slightly +unstable because of feeling that they are in a hostile environment. +Fortunately, Will Howard was the only one who had reached the point +of direct action. I have a report from Therapy Control stating that +he will need five or six months of therapy before once again being +a smoothly-functioning individual.</p> + +<p>“I notice, Mayor Laird, that you +have done well in private enterprise and possess considerable surplus +wealth. Therefore, it is the judgement of this Administration that +you be appointed the guardian of the wife and children of the slain +Public Officer Arthur Sommers, responsible for their economic security. +This responsibility will continue for the life of the widow and will +include the children until they have finished university training. +You are also removed as mayor of this city. This is the extent of +this Administration’s concern with you. You will now be turned over +to Therapy Control for proper treatment.”</p> + +<p>With bowed head, the former +mayor turned away.</p> + +<p>“Good work, Officer Raynor,” the Administrator +called after them. Brad Raynor followed the prisoner out, feeling every +inch a cop and no longer wishing for the “good old days.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"></div><div class="transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_note"> + Transcriber’s note: + </h2> + + + +<blockquote> +<p>This etext was produced from Dynamic Science Fiction, December 1952 +(Vol. 1, No. 1). Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that +the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + +<p>Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but +minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.</p> +</blockquote> +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79265 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/79265-h/images/cover.jpg b/79265-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4a0117a --- /dev/null +++ b/79265-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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