Reverse Action E-Book

John Russell Fearn

• Herausgeber: Wildside Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 47

Beschreibung

Reverse Action

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

REVERSE ACTION, by John Russell Fearn

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 1954 by

First published in VargoStatten Science Fiction Magazine, April 1954, under the pseudonym Vargo Statten.

Reprinted with the permission of the Cosmos Literary Agency.

Published by Wildside Press LLC.

wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

REVERSE ACTION,by John Russell Fearn

The trouble at the Plutonian outpost started in the simplest way. One man ventured outside the outpost in his pressure-suit, stayed too long, and returned with a raving case of cosmosis—or, more literally, cosmic radiation fever. Quite unable to control his actions, he shot two of the medical specialists who tried to attend to him. In retaliation, two other specialists shot dead the stricken man.

This was considered inhumane by the small governing body controlling the outpost, but on the other hand, several of the settlers agreed with the specialists… So it grew, this bickering and argument amongst some five-hundred men and women, all of them specialised scientists on the System’s farthest world, gathered together in a city under an air-tight dome, surrounded by the black, relentless wastes of Pluto and overhung by the everlasting stars.

Rapidly the disorders got out of hand. Radio messages began to seep through to faraway Earth. Finally, the Commanding Officer of Commercial Spacelines realised something had to be done—and quickly. So he sent for Irwin Grant, one of the most reliable space-pilots in the Service.

“Only one thing we can do about this business, Grant,” the C.O. said, when he had given particulars of the Plutonian disorders, “and that is to get some canthite to the Plutonian governors as fast as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Irwin Grant assented—and waited. He was a forty-year-old man, grim-faced, hard-jawed, and looked as though he had a perpetual grudge against life.

“Canthite, as you know, Grant, is an atomic by-product which upon explosion produces long-term paralysis. Long enough anyhow for the governors to regain control of the outpost. On the other hand, canthite is difficult stuff to deal with because of its high mutational speed. If it is not transported to Pluto within a given time-limit it will reach that certain stage of its evolution where it explodes with shattering force. The whole thing will be a desperate gamble—a race against time.”

“Yes, sir,” Grant assented, thinking. “However, given the fastest ship in the Service, and a crew of the toughest rocketeers, I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t make the trip in time.”

“I knew I chose the right man,” the C.O. smiled. “I know you will probably succeed in scrambling a crew together—and ‘scramble’ is indeed the right term, for only fugitives and down-and-outs are willing to fuel a machine which has a three thousand, three hundred million mile journey to make… The point is, what about the technical side? Whom are you using for first mate?”

“I think Anderson will fill the bill, sir. Have I your permission to bring him in here?”

“By all means! Where is he?”

“Waiting in one of the ante-rooms.”

The C.O. nodded and pressed the intercom switch at his elbow.

“Have Mr. Anderson shown in here, please…”

In a moment or two Anderson entered. He was short, blunt-featured, with wiry black hair. Down his right cheek was a deep-laid vicious scar. He looked both tough and reliable.

“Robert Anderson?” the C.O. enquired.

“Awaiting orders, sir.”

“You have first mate’s papers and navigation credentials?”

For answer Bob Anderson laid them on the desk. As he did so the C.O. and Irwin Grant exchanged glances. In the eyes of both men there was a significant light as though they had come to a mutual decision over something exclusively between themselves.

“Yes…” The C.O. bent his head to the papers. “These seem to be in order, Mr. Anderson. Now I’ll give you the details.”

And for Anderson’s special benefit the C.O. repeated all that he had told Grant. When he knew the facts Anderson merely gave a shrug of his thickset shoulders.

“Be tough going, sir, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t make it. I’ll be glad of the privilege to work under Captain Grant.”

“Good!” The C.O. sat back in his chair. “I understand that you two men are firm friends?”

“Have been for many years, sir,” Grant acknowledged.

“All to the good. When the two controllers of a space machine are also firm friends in private life it makes for that mutual understanding so necessary in your work…” All the time he spoke the C.O.’s eyes were studying Anderson pensively.

There was silence again as the C.O. finished speaking—long-winded as usual, either talking for the sake of it, or else so that he could study these two men who had been assigned to such a dangerous mission.

“Are there any particular instructions, sir?” Grant ventured at length.

“They will be sent to your quarters, Grant. Your job now is to get a crew together. When you have done that notify me and I will do the rest regarding the canthite… For the moment that will be all.”

Both men saluted formally, shook hands with their superior, and then departed. Out in the corridor they relaxed and looked at each other.

“No easy job,” Anderson commented. “I can’t see the crew taking kindly to it.”

“Neither can I, but we’ll get one together somehow—”

Grant paused and turned as the office door of the C.O. suddenly opened and the brass-hat himself appeared.

“Oh, you’re still here, Grant! Good! I’ve just contacted the Operational Base and you will be using the ZM/10.”

Grant’s eyes brightened. “The ZM/10! Why she’s a brand new vessel, sir, isn’t she?”