Read Ebook: Z-Day on Centauri by Simmons Henry T McWilliams Al Illustrator

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Ebook has 382 lines and 18588 words, and 8 pages

Z-DAY ON CENTAURI

Erupting from hyper-space in the teeth of startled DIC patrols and readying all hands for a crash-landing, adventurer Fletcher Pell could still wonder which he dreaded more--the U-235 in the hold ... or the strange girl by his side.

Pell twisted into the black maw of the alley and ran silently and swiftly into its depths. His breath came in whistling agonized gasps. Faintly he heard the footsteps of his assailant--now more clearly as the latter turned into the alley after him. Vaguely Pell could make out his silhouette outlined by the dim light that filtered in from the street.

"Ugh!" Pell struck a hard surface at the end of the alley with a grunt that he could not stifle.

Trapped! Frantically he felt about to find an opening. Softly and steadily he cursed himself, trying to keep black despair at bay. Maybe if he ... but the idea died in birth.

"Chuu!"

A blue lancet of flame arced over Pell's shoulder and struck the wall, turning a small area into running slag. The heat and prickling of the radiation Pell ignored. But the brief flash had given up his position. Then he heard his pursuer laugh softly and he knew the game was up. He felt rather than heard him moving in.

Pell's universe rocked in the reverberating thunder of the explosion.

Twice more it was repeated and in the vivid flash Pell saw his assailant twist and collapse on his face. His amazement fought with a new dread. Someone had come to his aid, but with an ancient, chemical-reaction, hand weapon. What did that mean? With his back tensed against the wall, Pell strained his perceptions to the utmost, trying to adjust his eyes once more to the darkness. Then he jumped.

"Pell!" It was a woman's voice! "Fletcher Pell! Come out--I am a friend!"

"Who are you?" Pell asked. She was small and lithe, and in the dim radiance of the street lights he noticed that she had brown hair with glints of spun-gold in it.

She did not reply to his question but put a soft hand over his mouth. "Let your questions wait. We must leave quickly, else they find us," she said huskily. She led him from the alley and walked breathlessly down the dark street, two of her steps matching one of his long ones.

There was a fast-looking black speeder at the corner. She motioned him in and no sooner had the door closed than the speeder leaped forward and melted into the traffic. The girl relaxed in the seat beside him, the sudden easing of the tension making her hands shake.

"Who are you?" Pell asked, repeating his earlier question.

She looked at him keenly in the dim light that splashed through the windows of the speeder. "Perhaps, Mr. Pell," she replied at length, "it would not be too wise to reveal identities yet. I have a certain proposition to discuss and I think it might be better to talk first about that."

Pell shrugged and said, "As long as you choose to remain my unknown benefactor, how about benefiting me with a drink?"

The voice of the driver replied unexpectedly from the front seat. "Here."

Pell accepted a gleaming flask and took a long drink. "Ahh," he said at length. "Do you have much ulcer trouble on Centaura?"

The girl looked at him, startled. "You are very shrewd, Pell. I hope you won't become too clever for your own good."

Out of the corner of his eye Pell saw her hand creep for the pocket of her jumper and it occurred to him that silence would possibly be wiser at that.

The voice of the driver broke in from the front seat. "Miss Helmuth, the DIC patrols are thick around here--we had better head out of town."

The girl looked through the plastine rear window and the dim glow of the street lamps etched lines of strain about her mouth. "You're right, Heintz. Slip out of the traffic and head for the space port."

Heintz grunted affirmatively and presently the black speeder emerged from the traffic and roared out of the city, leaving behind the red and black DIC patrols aimlessly searching the city for Pell and the unknown killer of the DIC agent.

The girl turned to him once more and began to speak--rather cautiously, it seemed to Pell.

"We have been looking for you for a long time, Pell," she said. "It was only by the purest accident that we found you in time to save your life tonight.

"And what is that?" Pell asked.

"If you are to remain alive," she replied, "you must leave Earth. But you have no ship. I have the ship and also want to leave Earth, but cannot without a pilot."

"Then why don't you simply hire a licensed pilot and be done with it?" Pell asked, his eyes narrowed.

"No licensed pilot would accept the job."

"Then how do you know I will?"

"Have you followed in the daily papers the account of the Junta on Centauri V?" she countered.

Instantly Pell realized the fantastic truth. Indeed he had heard of the coup. Insurgents had successfully taken over the government and were keeping the DIC warships at bay with planet-mounted blast rifles. But speculation was rife in the daily papers as to how long they could hold out with their limited supply of U-235, for it was the colonial policy of the DIC-controlled Earth Government never to allow more than a meager amount of the universal fuel to be shipped at any one time to a colonial planet.

With growing amazement, Pell realized that the girl was an agent of old Matt Faradson, the leader of the revolt. And her purpose here on Earth was now obvious to him. He felt a quick rise in sympathy for her, but kept it out of his voice.

"In other words, you want me to pilot you and a load of U-235 to Centauri V?" he asked bluntly.

The girl nodded. "We have managed to secure secretly five kilos of U-235 and it is now stored in the ship's cadmium and graphite vaults. With it, Faradson will be able to stand off the constant skirmishing attacks of the DIC until he can build his own refining plants."

Pell whistled softly to himself, his mind busy on the train of thought the girl had presented. Of course, the Earth Government was little more than a semblance of democracy now; its short-sighted actions of more than two hundred years ago had brought it to its present situation where it was little more than a mouth-piece of huge economic empires like the Drake Interstellar Corporation, one of the largest.

When the planets of the solar system had been opened up for exploitation, the Earth Government rashly granted proprietary charters to the corporations to handle them. And even then, two hundred years ago, colonial trouble existed. As a matter of fact, they prompted Earth's decision not to allow the refining of U-235 anywhere except Earth, although it could be mined on any planet and shipped to Earth for refining. It was this control of the universal power source that enabled the Earth Government to hold the colonial planets of her interstellar empire in such tight rein. And the DIC practically controlled the Earth Government, so there it was.

Faradson's Insurgents had revolted against that control. In addition they wanted an equal and democratic voice in the Earth-Mars-Venus Federation, as well as freedom to manufacture their own U-235.

Pell looked up at the girl thoughtfully. He noticed that she had been watching him anxiously, apparently awaiting his reply to her proposition.

"Okay," he said at last. "I'm game. Now how about answering a few questions for me, Miss ... ah ..."

"Helmuth, Margaret Helmuth--but I prefer Gret. What are your questions?"

"That was one of them," Pell replied, grinning. "Why don't you get one of your own men to pilot the ship?"

"Colonials are not allowed the mastery of space navigation or piloting. It's a security measure," she replied simply. "They are allowed to master space mechanics, however. Heintz is your mechanic, incidentally." She indicated the man in the front seat behind the wheel of the speeder.

"How about weapons? Why do you use such a cumbersome, ancient thing like that pistol?"

Gret Helmuth laughed. "I see you know very little about colonial affairs, Pell. Of course we are not allowed the use of atomic weapons--that would make revolt all too easy. And naturally I could not risk acquiring one here.

"You see, almost all of our technology is geared on a twentieth century level. Only the DIC-controlled power stations and their mercenary army on Centaura are allowed the use of atomic power and weapons."

Pell shrugged and looked at the dark countryside rushing past the speeder. He had not known that it was really as bad as all that. Obviously the colonials had good reason for their revolution. And now it was up to him to run a DIC blockade and deliver five kilos of U-235 to the revolutionaries. Absently he put a cigarette in his mouth and flicked the stud of his lighter.

Gret Helmuth's startled whistling gasp snapped him out of his revery. Even Heintz grunted audibly from behind the wheel and the speeder swerved slightly as it sped down the road.

Pell stared from one to the other with surprise. "What's the matter with you two?" he asked.

"That--that thing you're lighting that cigarette with! What is it?" Gret gasped.

"Oh!" Pell laughed. "I see you're not very familiar with Earth technology," he mocked. "This is a 'Rippo Little-Blast Dandy Atomic Cigarette Lighter.' Cute little novelty, isn't it?"

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