Police Your Planet Page 2

  Chapter II

  HONEST IZZY

  A lot could be done in ten days, when a man knew what he was after. Itwas exactly ten days later. Bruce Gordon stood in the motley crowdinside the barnlike room where Fats ran a bar along one wall, and filledthe rest of the space with assorted tables--all worn. Gordon wassweating slightly as he stood at the roulette table, where both zero anddouble-zero were reserved for the house.

  The croupier was a little wizened man wanted on Earth. His eyes darteddown to the point of the knife that showed under Gordon's sleeve, and helicked his lips, showing snaggled teeth. The wheel hesitated and came toa halt, with the ball trembling in a pocket.

  "Twenty-one wins again." He pushed chips toward Gordon, as if every oneof them came out of his own pay. "Place your bets."

  Two others around the table watched narrowly as Gordon left his chipswhere they were; they then exchanged looks and shook their heads. In aMartian roulette game, numbers with that much riding just didn't turnup. The croupier shifted his weight, then caught the wheel and spun itsavagely.

  Gordon's leg ached from his strained position, but he shifted his weightonto it more heavily, and sweat popped out on the croupier's face. Hiseyes darted down, to where the full weight of Gordon seemed to rest onthe heel that was grinding into his instep. He tried to pull his footoff the button that was concealed in the floor.

  The heel ground harder, bringing a groan from him. And the ball hoveredover Twenty-one and came to rest there once more.

  Slowly, painfully, the little man counted stacks of chips and moved themacross the table toward Gordon, his hands trembling.

  Gordon straightened from his awkward position, drawing his foot back,and reached out for the pile of chips. Then he scooped it up and nodded."Okay. I'm not greedy."

  The strain of watching the games until he could spot the fix, and thenholding the croupier down, had left him momentarily weak, but Gordoncould still feel the tensing of the crowd. Now he let his eyes run overthem--the night citizens of Marsport, lower-dome section. Spacemen who'dmissed their ships; men who'd come here with dreams, and stayed withoutthem--the shopkeepers who couldn't meet their graft and were here to tryto win it on a last chance; street women and petty grifters. The air wasthick with their unwashed bodies--all Mars smelled, since water wasstill too rare for frequent bathing--and their cheap perfume, andclouded with cheap Marsweed cigarettes.

  Gordon swung where their eyes pointed, until he saw Fats Eller sidlingthrough the groups, then let the knife slip into the palm of his hand asthe crowd seemed to hold its breath. Fats plucked a sheaf of Martianbank notes from his pocket and tossed them to the croupier.

  "Cash in his chips." Then his pouchy eyes turned to Gordon. "Get yourmoney, punk, and get out! And stay out!"

  For a moment, as he began pocketing the bills, Gordon thought he wasgoing to get away that easily. Fats watched him dourly, then swung onhis heel, just as a shrill, strangled cry went up from someone in thecrowd.

  The deportee let his glance jerk to it, then froze. His eyes caught thesight of a hand pointing behind him, and he knew it was too crude atrick to bother with. But he paused, shocked to see the girl he'd seenon Mother Corey's stairs gazing at him in well-feigned warning. In spiteof his better judgment, she caught his eyes and drew them down overcurves and swells that would always be right for arousing a man'spassion.

  He glanced back at Fats, who had started to turn again. Gordon took astep backwards, preparing to duck. Again the girl's finger motionedbehind him; he disregarded it--and then realized it was a mistake.

  It was the faintest swish in the air that caught his ear; he brought hisshoulders up and his head down. Fast as his reaction was, it was almosttoo late. The weapon crunched against his shoulder and slammed over theback of his neck, almost knocking him out.

  His heel lashed back and caught the shin of the man behind him. Gordon'sother leg spun him around, still crouching; the knife in his handstarted coming up, sharp edge leading, and aimed for the belly of thebruiser who confronted him. The pug saw the blade and tried to check hislunge.

  Gordon felt the blade strike; but he was already pulling his swing, andit only gashed a long streak. The thug shrieked hoarsely and fell over.That left the way clear to the door; Bruce Gordon was through it andinto the night in two soaring leaps. After only a few days on Mars, hislegs were still hardened to Earth gravity, and he had more than a doubleadvantage over the others.

  Outside, it was the usual Martian night in the poorer section of thedome, which meant near-darkness. Most of the street lights had neverbeen installed--graft had eaten up the appropriations, instead--and thenearest one was around the corner, leaving the side of Fats' Place inthe shadow. Gordon checked his speed, threw himself flat, and rolledback against the building, just beyond the steps that led to the street.

  Feet pounded out of the door above as Fats and the bouncer brokethrough. Gordon's hand had already knotted a couple of coins into hiskerchief; he waited until the two turned uncertainly up the street andtossed it. It struck the wall near the corner, sailed on, and struckagain at the edge of the unpaved street with a muffled sound.

  Fats and the other swung, just in time to see a bit of dust where it hadhit. "Around the corner!" Fats yelled. "After him, and shoot!"

  In the shadows, Gordon jerked sharply. It was rare enough to have a gunhere; but to use one inside the dome was unthinkable. His eyes shot up,to where the few dim lights were reflected off the great plastic sheetthat was held up by air pressure and reinforced with heavy webbing. Itwas the biggest dome ever built--large enough to cover all of Marsportbefore the slums sprawled out beyond it; it still covered half the city,and made breathing possible here without a helmet. But the dome wasn'tdesigned to stand stray bullets; and having firearms inside it--exceptfor a few chosen men--was a crime punishable by death.

  Fats had swung back, and was now herding the crowd inside his place. Hemight have been only a small gambling-house owner, but within his owncircle his words carried weight.

  Gordon got to his hands and knees and began crawling away from thecorner. He came to a dark alley, smelling of decay where garbage hadpiled up without being carted away. Beyond lay a lighted street, and asign that announced _Mooney's Amusement Palace--Drinks Free to Patrons!_He looked up and down the street, then walked briskly toward thesomewhat plusher gambling hall there. Fats couldn't touch him in acompetitor's place.

  Inside Mooney's, he headed quickly for the dice table. He lost steadilyon small bets for half an hour, admiring the skilled palming of the"odds" cubes. The loss was only a tiny dent in his new pile, but Gordonbemoaned it properly--as if he were broke--and moved over to the bar.This one had seats. The bartender had a consolation boilermaker waiting;he gulped half of it before he realized it had been needled with ether.

  Beside him, a cop was drinking the same slowly, watching anotherpoliceman at a Canfield game. He was obviously winning, and now he gotup and came over to cash in his chips.

  "You'd think they'd lose count once in a while," he complained to hiscompanion. "But nope--fifty even a night, no more ... Well, come on,Pete. We'd better get back to Fats and tell him the swindler got away."

  Gordon followed them out and turned south, down the street toward theedge of the dome and the entrance where he'd parked his airsuit andhelmet. He kept glancing back, whenever he was in the thicker shadows,but there seemed to be no one following him.

  At the gate of the dome, he looked back again, then ducked into thelocker building. He threaded through the maze of the lockers with hisknife ready in his hand, trying not to attract suspicion. At this hour,though, most of the place was empty. The crowds of foremen anddeliverymen who'd be going in and out through the day were lacking.

  He found his suit and helmet and clamped them on quickly, transferringthe knife to its spring sheath outside the suit. He checked the tinybatteries that were recharged by generators in the soles of the bootswith every step. Then he paid his toll for the opening of the privateslit and went
through, into the darkness outside the dome.

  Lights bobbed about--police in pairs, patrolling in the better streets,walking as far from the houses as they could; a few groups, depending onnumbers for safety; some of the very poor, stumbling about and hopingfor a drink somehow; and probably hoods from the gangs that ruled thenights here.

  Gordon left his torch unlighted, and moved along; there was a littleillumination from the phosphorescent markers at some of the corners, andfrom the stars. He could just make his way without marking himself witha light.

  Damn it, he should have hired a few of the younger bums from MotherCorey's. Here he couldn't hear footsteps. He located a pair ofpatrolling cops, and followed them down one street, until they swungoff. Then he was on his own again.

  "Gov'nor!" The word barely reached him, and Bruce Gordon spun around,the knife twitching into his hand. It was a thin kid of perhaps eighteenbehind him, carrying a torch that was filtered to bare visibility. Itswung up, and he saw a pock-marked face that was twisted in a smilemeant to be ingratiating.

  "You've got a pad on your tail," the kid said, again as low as hisamplifier would permit. "Need a convoy?"

  Gordon studied him briefly, and grinned. Then his grin wiped out as thekid's arm flashed to his shoulder and back, a series of quick jerks thatseemed almost a blur. Four knives stood buried in the ground at Gordon'sfeet, forming a square--and a fifth was in the kid's hand.

  "How much?" he asked, as the kid scooped up the blades and shoved themexpertly back into shoulder sheaths. The kid's hand shaped a C quickly,and Gordon slipped his arm through a self-sealing slit in the airsuitand brought out two of them.

  "Thanks, gov'nor," the kid said, stowing them away. "You won't regretit." Gordon started to turn. Then the kid's voice rose sharply to ayell. "Okay, honey, he's the Joe!"

  Out of the darkness, ten to a dozen figures loomed up. The kid hadjumped aside with a lithe leap, and now stood between Gordon and thegroup moving in for the kill. Gordon swung to run, and found himselfsurrounded. His eyes flickered around, trying to spot something in thedarkness that would give him shelter.

  A bludgeon was suddenly hurtling toward him, and he ducked it, his bloodthick in his throat and his ears ringing with the same pressure of fearhe'd always known just before he was kayoed in the ring. Then heselected what he hoped was the thinnest section of the attackers andleaped forward. With luck, he might jump over them, using his Earthstrength.

  There was a flicker of dawnlight in the sky, now, however; and he madeout others behind, ready for just such a move. He changed his lunge inmid-stride, and brought his arm back with the knife. It met a smallround shield on the arm of the man he had chosen, and was deflected atonce.

  "Give 'em hell, gov'nor," the kid's voice yelled, and the little figurewas beside him, a shower of blades seeming to leap from his hand in theglare of his bare torch. Shields caught them frantically, and then thekid was in with a heavy club he'd torn from someone's hand.

  Gordon had no time to consider his sudden traitor-ally. He bent to theground, seizing the first rocks he could find, and threw them. One ofthe hoods dropped his club in ducking; Gordon caught it up and swung ina single motion that stretched the other out.

  Then it was a melee. The kid's open torch, stuck on his helmet, gavethem light enough, until Gordon could switch on his own. Then the kiddropped behind him, fighting back-to-back. Here, in close quarters, theattackers were no longer using knives. One might be turned on its owner,and a slit suit meant death by asphyxiation.

  Gordon saw the blonde girl on the outskirts, her face taut and glowing.He tried to reach her with a thrown club wrested from another man, butshe leaped nimbly aside, shouting commands.

  Two burly goons were suddenly working together. Gordon swung at one,ducked a blow from the other, and then saw the first swinging again. Hetried to bring his club up--but knew it was too late. A dull weight hitthe side of his head, and he felt himself falling.

  * * * * *

  It took only minutes for dawn to become day on Mars, and the sun waslighting up the messy section of back street when Bruce Gordon's eyesopened and the pain of sight struck his aching head. He groaned, thenlooked frantically for the puff of escaping air. But his suit was stillsealed. Ahead of him, the kid lay sprawled out, blood trickling from anugly bruise along his jaw.

  Then Gordon felt something on his suit, and his eyes darted to handsjust finishing an emergency patch. His eyes darted up and met those ofthe blonde vixen!

  Amazement kept him motionless for a second. There were tears in the eyesof the girl, and a sniffling sound reached him through her Marspeaker.Apparently, she hadn't noticed that he had revived, though her eyes wereon him. She finished the patch, and ran perma-sealer over it. Then shebegan putting her supplies away, tucking them into a bag that held notesthat could only have been stolen from his pockets--her share of theloot, apparently.

  He was still thinking clumsily as she got to her feet and turned toleave. She cast a glance back, hesitated, and then began to move off.

  He got his feet under him slowly, but he was reviving enough to standthe pain in his head. He came to his feet, and leaped after her. In thethin air, his lunge was silent, and he was grabbing her before she knewhe was up.

  She swung with a single gasp, and her hand darted down for her knife,sweeping it up and toward him; he barely caught the wrist coming towardhim. Then he had her firmly, bringing her arm back and up, until theknife fell from her fingers.

  She screamed and began writhing, twisting her hard young body like a boaconstrictor in his hands. But he was stronger. He bent her back over hisknee, until a mangled moan was coming from her speaker; then his footkicked out, knocking her feet out from under her. He let her hit theground, caught both her wrists in his, and brought his knee down on herthroat, applying more pressure until she lay still. Then he reached forthe pouch.

  "Damn you!" Her cry was more in anguish then it had been when he wasthreatening to break her back. "You damned firster, I'll kill you ifit's the last thing I do. And after I saved your miserable life...."

  "Thanks for that," he grunted. "Next time don't be a fool. When you killa man for his money, he doesn't feel very grateful for your revivinghim."

  He started to count the money. About a tenth of what he had won--noteven enough to open a cheap poker den, let alone bribe his way back toEarth.

  The girl was out from under his knee at the first relaxation ofpressure. Her hand scooped up the knife, and she came charging towardhim, her mouth a taut slit across half-bared teeth. Gordon rolled out ofher swing, and brought his foot up. It caught her squarely under thechin, and she went down and out.

  He picked up the scattered money and her knife, then made sure she wasstill breathing. He ran his hands over her, looking for a hiding placefor more money; there was none.

  "Good work, gov'nor," the kid's thin voice approved, and Gordon swung tosee the other getting up painfully. The kid grinned, rubbing his bruise."No hard feelings, gov'nor, now! They paid me to stall you, so I did.You bonused me to protect you, and I bloody well tried. Honest Izzy,that's me. Gonna buy me a job as a cop. That's why I needed the scratch.Okay, gov'nor?"

  Gordon hauled back his hand to knock the other from his feet, and thendropped it. A grin writhed onto his face, and broke into sudden grudginglaughter.

  "Okay, Izzy," he admitted. "For this stinking planet, I guess you'resomething of a saint. Come along, and we'll both apply for thatjob--after I get my stuff."

  He might as well join the law. Security had wanted him to police theirdamned planet for them--and he might as well do it officially.

  He tossed the girl's knife down beside her, motioned to Izzy, and beganheading for Mother Corey's.