Part 2

"Do you think either the U.S. or the B.S. would agree to any such harebrained scheme as that?"

"They would if they had to."

"But the Big Shots glory in having no sense of honor. Under their crazy code, they'd be bound to doublecross us if they lost."

"But they couldn't lose, could they? Not if they've learned how to disintegrate atoms." Her voice sounded far away.

"I don't get you. What's the use of our side putting up a champion if he's sure to lose?"

"I didn't say our side would lose. Or did I?" She yawned again. "I'm dog-tired and all mixed up. Haven't taken a hike like this since we marched on Venusport. Kiss me goodnight. Beetlebrow says we have to be on our toes in the morning."

Frank lay awake a long time, listening to jungle sounds and struggling over her paradox. He dozed off to be jerked awake by a burst of gunfire. It was from the sentries; their quick action alone saved the little party as a horde of wild-eyed, ragged savages poured up the ridge toward them in the dawnlight.

Sadie was out of her blankets and yelling orders even as she knuckled the sleep from her eyes.

"Take cover," she shouted. "Spread out. 'Ware grenades. Hold your fire." She spoke with the authority of a girl who had grown up as a jungle outlaw. As the others jumped to obey, Frank crawled through the biteweed to see whether their defense circle was complete. He found it so, except where the ridge ended in a steep declivity.

"Fire," screamed their self-appointed commander as the gaunt figures of their attackers loomed through the fog. A storm of Tommygun bullets sent the enemy flying, except for a dozen who lay writhing.

"They're poor devils of Incors who've been waylaid and robbed by some Big Shot patrol," Sadie explained grimly as the shooting died. "They'll come again; they've either got to make another stake, let themselves be concentrated, or starve."

It was at this moment that Beetlebrow went mad. Throwing away his gun, he began running along the edge of the cliff, waving his arms and alternately shouting curses at the enemy and screaming for mercy.

Without a second's hesitation, Sadie swung her weapon and pressed the trigger. Beetlebrow went over the cliff.

"My Gawd! What did you do that for?" Frank looked at her aghast.

"I think he was signaling for an attack up the cliff. Get a detail deployed over there fast."

"Why, the kid cracked up!"

"In that case he didn't belong in Wildoatia and I did him a service. Quick! That detail!"

Surely enough, when they reached the clifftop they found twenty of the frowsy enemy toiling up toward them. This time their fire did real execution; the few survivors fled like lost souls.

* * * * *

Mindful that they must reach Nirvana before nightfall if they expected to enter its wall, the Incors, who had survived the battle with hardly a scratch, packed knapsacks and plunged again down the trail. Once they detoured a heavily-guarded convoy of ore trucks enroute to Venusport. Once their enemies of the morning tried another ambush. Nevertheless they made good progress and caught sight of the mist-shrouded battlements of their destination while it was still light. Here Sadie called a halt.

"Fellow Incors," she cried as she leaped onto a rock, "you're entering Wildoatia proper. From now on each one of us is on his own. You all know the laws here: Might makes right; dog eat dog; devil take the hindmost. No cooperation; no partnerships; no friendships. Even hand-shaking is illegal. If you are robbed or cheated, don't go running to the police. They'll laugh at you. Maybe they'll slap you in a concentration camp where you'll work a year to pay your fine.

"You get only three breaks in Wildoatia. If anyone swipes your gun, he has to leave a shooting iron of some kind in exchange. If you're arrested and escape, you can't be picked up again on the same charge after five hours have passed. And if you manage to beg, borrow, earn or steal a million bucks, you automatically become a Big Shot with all rights, privileges and immunities."

"Wait a minute, Miss." The speaker was rawboned and bowlegged, as though from riding herd on some far-away cattle ranch. "Ain't they no way a feller can get help if he finds himself in a jam?"

"There are two ways. First, you can return to Venusport and promise the S.P. that you'll go straight." She bit her lip and hesitated. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you the other way this early in the game, but I will. If you've got the guts, you can join the Underground. Then you'll have a sporting chance of getting to civilization."

"The Underground," sang out a downy youth from Mars. "The indoctrinators said you can get shot just for joining it."

"That's right. I said you had to have guts.... Well, good luck, folks. You've made a good start; only one group of Incors out of three ever gets to Nirvana without being hi-jacked. Let's go." She jumped from her perch and stalked off toward the town which rose, like a scene from fairyland, before them.

4

Nirvana had once been the main pleasure city of Wildoatia while Venusport had been its administrative center. Since the latter had been taken over by United Stars, Nirvana had also become the Big Shot capital. But it still retained its synthetic medieval grandeur. On a mountain top which pierced the planet's lower cloud layers, it rose, tier on tier of marble castles, twisting streets and crenelated walls, until it disappeared in the distance, like a dream of old Spain.

They were welcomed like heroes into Valhalla when they reached the frowning wall, with its moat and torchlit portcullis. Trumpets sang from a dozen towers; the drawbridge came down with a roar. Out marched a guard of honor in shining armor, preceded by a bevy of houris in diaphanous robes, or better. The latter strewed orchids along the pathway before throwing themselves into the arms of the newcomers. There were even handsome youths to greet the women in the party.

"Poppycock right out of the telies," whispered Sadie. "But it wows 'em every time. It got me too, the first time I came.... Thought I was entering heaven."

A dark-eyed beauty in cellophane danced up and presented them with goblets of traskette. Sadie pretended to drain hers, but slopped most of the heady stuff on the cobblestones. Frank followed her example; the other arrivals, their misgivings forgotten, drank the liquor to the lees.

After another flourish of trumpets, a jolly fat man, dressed like the king of Mardi Gras, hurried across the drawbridge, arms outstretched. "Welcome to Wildoatia," he boomed. "Who are the leaders of your party? I have a special welcome for them."

The cowboy opened his mouth but closed it when Frank kicked his shins. There was a long silence.

"Splendid! Splendid," bellowed the fat man at last. "You have no leaders. That's as it should be in Wildoatia, where every man is a king and every woman a queen." As houris threw garlands around the necks of the newcomers he continued: "Tonight Nirvana is yours. You are honored guests of the city. Not one penny can you spend. Come, follow me to the City Hall. We must check your passports. A mere formality, of course."

"Of course!" sneered Sadie in a whisper.

"After that," this strange glad-hander rambled on, "you must taste the unparalleled joys of Nirvana, the jewel among all the cities of the universe. You may bathe in scented waters; you may dine on the best foods and drink the finest wines. Later you will want to play games of chance or dally with the maiden or youth of your choice...." He paused to mop his brow.

"... and wake up tomorrow with a dark brown taste to find that your friend has stolen your money belt," Sadie crooned in Frank's ear. "Then, ho, for a concentration camp for a long term at hard labor if you dare make a complaint."

"Come one; come all!" Their host pranced away. The houris urged the Incors across the drawbridge in his wake.

"Do exactly as I do," whispered Sadie after they had progressed for several blocks up a flag-draped boulevard. "We've got to make our get-away."

"But aren't we...?" Despite himself, Frank was a bit carried away by the pomp and circumstance of the martial music and the gaily-dressed, cheering throngs which lined the way. "I never had a chance...."

"I do believe, Frank," the girl teased him, "that if you had made your pile when you first came to Wildoatia you'd be a Big Shot today. Well, you'll have no chance to taste the fleshpots and I'm the only houri you're going to have any traffic with tonight. Besides, we wouldn't stand a chance of escaping recognition in the police lineup at City Hall.... Now!"

* * * * *

She hurled herself into the crowd lining the street, sprinted for an alley with the patrolman at her heels. They plunged into darkness just as a burst of gunfire sent splinters flying about their heads.

"That was close," gasped the girl. "The Shots certainly have their guard up these days." She seized Frank's hand and raced with him along a narrow way which was slippery with garbage and rank with stenches. "Here we are. Sharp right.... Now left.... Last time I came through here I had a broken arm. But you should have seen the Concentrator who gave it to me.... Wup! This is the place." She dived into a tumbledown liquor store.

"Sadie Thompson," she snapped at the blinking proprietor; "we're tailed."

The fellow jerked a thumb toward a curtain at the back of the shop.

They ducked behind the cloth, plunged down a flight of stairs and landed, plop, in a sewer.

Wading against a flood of filth, beating off tarks which squeaked and slavered at them, they advanced blindly. A quarter of a mile "up-stream" they found a door marked by a phosphorescent glow.

They dragged themselves through it and into an empty chamber which bore the word, _Baths_, on an inner door.

After scrubbing some of the sewage off each other and changing to clean overalls, which they found in a locker, Sadie pressed a concealed button in a series of dots and dashes.

A door opened in the wall, revealing a corridor hewn out of rock. They went through it until they reached a room occupied by a man with one arm and a hideously disfigured face.

"Jack!" cried the girl. "I hoped you'd be on duty. This is Captain Sage; you've heard of him. The Shots are tearing the town apart to find us. Can you put us up for the night?" As the one-armed man nodded she rattled on: "We hear the Shots have something better than Plutonium."

Again the nod.

"Know where their labs are located?"

Jack picked up a pencil, wrote a sentence and handed her the pad.

"Somewhere under the Polar Sea?" Sadie frowned. "Not much chance of hitting a hideout like that with a V-60. How far along are they?"

"One ship finished and given a trial run," wrote the cripple. "The Underground managed to get 542 on board but I haven't received any information for weeks."

"How about her speed?" Frank put in.

"Last report from 542 said she travels at One Gravity acceleration," was the scribbled reply.

"One G?" The spaceman wanted to laugh but dared not because of that scarred, impassive face. "Why that's only a little more than 32 feet per second. My patrol ship can hit ten G's."

"You got me wrong," came the answer. "One G is only 16.1 feet for the first second, but after that, the speed of the new ship increases steadily at the rate of 32.2 feet per second."

"Wow! I see what you mean." Frank did some quick calculation. "She can reach Earth in three days or so. Our ships have to take more than a month for the same run because they hit maximum speed soon after blast-off and coast the rest of the way to save fuel."

"And since the new ship has some sort of super-fuel, there need be no limit to her size," Sadie exclaimed. "She can carry plenty of food, air and water, so crews can remain conscious at all times. Crews can move about on shipboard as comfortably as they do on the ground because her constant acceleration--or deceleration after she reaches turnover point--will act as a substitute for gravity. This is big, Frank. Bigger than we thought."

"Man can reach for the stars," wrote Jack.

"Or finally blow himself to smithereens." This from Frank. "The Shots have us licked this time if we don't stop them quick."

"Can we raid that lab?" asked the girl.

"Not a chance." The pencil raced. "Only a tark could get into it."

"Then we'll have to fish a tark out of some sewer." Sadie thought deeply for a moment, then slapped her round thigh. "Not a bad idea at that!... Well, Jack, how about a place to sleep?"

They spent the night in an air-conditioned subterranean chamber. Jack had beautifully forged passports ready for them when they awoke. After bidding him goodby they mounted endless stairs to emerge at last onto a busy street.

* * * * *

Even in the pearly daylight--Venusians seldom see their monstrous sun, and then only with regret--they found that the city had lost none of its brittle charm ... its hectic Coney Island dash.

Incors by the score already were entering its blatant palaces, intent on squandering their last few silver dollars or gold nuggets in an effort to forget their grinding, hopeless toil in mine or jungle. Others, better dressed and cockier, evidently had made a stake. They were going to the dens, usually to gamble away their winnings, but once in a while to pyramid them into the coveted million which meant freedom and a proud place in Wildoatian society.

A few Big Shots were drifting into the more expensive and exotic pleasure haunts, there to lord it over lesser men, take their pick of lesser women and indulge every whim their jaded fancies could invent.

Roaming the streets at random, the interlopers looked from blossoming terraces over breathtaking vistas; smiled at roving mountebanks and accepted flowers tossed by pretty girls.

"The place has a certain charm," Frank said grudgingly.

"Think so?" She led him into a street where glittering cafes--one was frankly called "The Clip Joint"--dope dens, telie theaters, circuses and houses of assignation rubbed elbows like thievish brothers.

Within a few minutes they saw an Incor in ragged coveralls stumble out of a "gambling salon", place an automatic to his head and blow his brains out. Later a blonde in sequin harness stepped behind her companion and slipped a stiletto between his plump shoulders. In both cases nearby policemen made no move to interfere. Instead, they blew piping whistles which brought street cleaners on the run to clear away the mess.

"Charm!" snorted Sadie. "Yes, in Nirvana you can do anything you please ... except look crosswise at a Big Shot, or go broke."

"Where are you taking me, anyway?" Sage tried to forget the things he had just seen.

"To the City Hall to look up an old friend of ours."

"A Big Shot?"

"I'll say; we made him one of the biggest."

"You mean...." He fished back into those hectic days when he first had come to Venus and when Sadie was the firebrand of the Underground. "You mean Mike, the stupid little doublecrossing tark who betrayed Venusport to us in exchange for the location of the uranium mother lode?"

"The same; he's now commandant of Nirvana."

"He'll have us shot."

"No he won't--not if we make it worth his while. Besides, I still have the safe conduct he gave me to show his gratitude."

"Look, Sadie my girl!" He dragged her down on an iridescent bench beside a fountain of scented rainbows. "Ever since I got back I've been trailing you around like a puppydog. I don't like it. Are we partners or am I just a stooge? What's up your sleeve?"

"I'm simply working on the theory that history repeats itself," she chuckled, rumpling his hair. "Ancestors of the Big Shots lost the First World War, the Second World War and the Atomic War. Each time they were a hundred times better prepared than the decent folks who opposed them. Now, teacher, tell me why they lost."

"Because ..." he fumbled. "I guess it was because they had no honor; they doublecrossed themselves into defeat."

"Right. They're atavars ... throw-backs to the age of tooth and claw. Some of them happen to be geniuses, though. That's one of the reasons why we try not to kill 'em any more. We send 'em here to blow off steam, bust atoms if they can, and possibly see the error of their ways. The reason we dare do that is because they can't see any farther than their own noses; they take the cash and let the credit go, as old Omar put it."

"A comforting theory," he jeered. "If it's true, why don't we just sit back and take it easy?"

"Because such people have to be whittled down to size occasionally. They serve a useful purpose in society but they can't be allowed to get out of hand again."

"You win. But you still haven't told me what you want with Mike."

"I'm going to take him in hand," she laughed, and dodged into a crowd of tipsy merrymakers as he reached for her.

5

They took a compressed air car to the City Hall, a vision in black marble which towered at the very top of the mountain. Sadie's crumpled safe conduct got them past guard after frowning guard, but they saw several less fortunate citizens being booted down the wide steps.

They were escorted into a 100-foot-long chamber. At the end of it, a colorless man in a colorful uniform was almost hidden behind a desk three sizes too large for him. It was Mike, all right, but a Mike considerably changed by his success. That is, he no longer sniggered sadistically; he frowned sadistically. He still gnawed the knuckle of his left forefinger, however, with the same nervous gesture he had used when he had been bodyguard to the brutal boss of Dead Man's Delta.

"Well?" he barked when their guards had placed the visitors before his chromium and plastic throne.

"Well yourself," the patrolman snapped. "Send your gorillas away."

Mike gnawed in indecision, then gave the order.

"So you found you couldn't get out of Nirvana and have come in to give yourselves up," said the commandant when they were alone. "That was a dirty trick you played on me yesterday.... Scared the new Incors half to death. If you had come as members of the Space Patrol, I'd have given you every honor. As it is, I'm entitled to concentrate you under the law. Which camp do you pick?"

"We'll take the one under the Polar Sea." Sadie lit a cigarette and tossed the match on the inch-thick rug.

Mike jumped, then blew up, dropping his pseudo-cultured tone for gangsterese. "Snoopin' again," he shrieked. "I'll have you rubbed out. Youse guys ain't gonna...."

"Mustn't say 'youse guys', Mike," Sadie spoke as to a child. "You're commandant now."

To Frank's amazement, Mike's fury collapsed like a pricked balloon.

"You haven't a thing on me," he mumbled, sinking back on his throne. "I ain't gonna ... I won't talk."

"Nobody asked you to," said Frank. "This is just a personal call ... for old time's sake. We were wondering how you are making out with your mother lode."

"It ... it's still producing ninety per cent of the U 235 on Venus." Mike stared at them like a sick calf. "Only...."

"Only the new engine they've developed up north doesn't need U 235. A hunk of rock will serve it just as well for fuel. Right?"

"That's about it." The little man licked dry lips. "I'm ruined; you devils know it damned well."

"Going to take it lying down?" jibed Sadie.

"Aw, cut it out, will you? What can I do about it? Kingfish Uranium has dropped from 240 to 23-1/4 on the big board since the rumors got around. I'm washed up; one of these days the Directors will remember I'm here and kick me out among the Incors."

"Look, Mike," said Frank. "The Space Patrol likes you. You've played ball with us before. We really want to help."

"Ain't nothin'.... I mean there's nothing you can do." That knuckle was taking punishment again.

"We got you out of a hole once, didn't we?"

"You sure did and I sure appreciates it." A faint light of hope dawned in those frightened, beady eyes.

"We can do it again," the captain went on. "But first we want to ask you one question: Do you think the Shots can take over the system with their new weapon?"

"Naw." The narrow shoulders sagged. "Everybody knows we'll be blown to bits if we try that. But we _gotta_ try. Ain't no future for a man in this gawdforsaken hole. Some of the other Directors, they're rarin' to go, no matter what happens. Me, all I want is to live a while." He shook his balding head. "I don't even like commandanting any more ... don't get any fun outa it. Why, just yesterday I broke an Incor on the rack and, would you believe it, I didn't get any kick at all; I must be gettin' old." He seemed ready to cry.

"That's tough, Mike." Sadie was all sympathy. "But I have a plan to prevent any real trouble. It'll make you the biggest Shot on Venus, too ... for a consideration, of course."

"Yeah?" He leaned forward greedily. "Shoot."

* * * * *

The girl outlined her idea for a war substitute.

"You got somethin' there," he agreed doubtfully when she had finished, "but I don't get this champeen stuff. Ain't no Big Shot gonna risk his life in an evenly-matched duel."

"Oh, I didn't mean that at all. I meant something like matching your new ship against the Space Patrol out where nobody but the crews could get hurt."

"Say!" Mike sucked through his yellow teeth. "That's not bad at all. If we win we'd have a monopoly on space travel ... a chance to get off this dinky planet and do some business. If we lose, I reckon we'll have to surrender our new discovery to United Stars--but otherwise we won't be much worse off than now.... But what do I get outa the deal?"

"Why, you sell it to the Directors while we get New Washington to agree. If it goes through, it will get the Shots out of an impossible situation, no matter who wins. The least they can do is make you chairman of the board. Then you won't have to worry about Kingfish U."

"The present board chairman hates my guts. He won't go for any plan I suggest. Besides...." He looked at them through slitted lids, "what's that 'consideration' you mentioned?"

"You'll have to get one or both of us on board that ship. Frank is an astrogator, so he should qualify. I can pinch hit as a nurse, entertainer or even a cook."

"Not on your life; I ain't gonna doublecross my pals."

"You made out all right when you doublecrossed them before."

"Nope." Mike thrust out his weak chin. "They'd rub me out."

"Okay. But being rubbed out is better than rotting by inches when our V-60's begin to drop. You won't look pretty, Mike, when your nose and ears fall off; when your flesh starts peeling from your bones because of the gamma rays. Then, there's that palace of yours ... and your harem."

"Oh stop it, Sadie. Stop it! You win!" His knuckle was bleeding by now. "How about dropping out to the palace tonight? The chairman is coming over. I'll try to sell your plan to him. You won't hold it against me, will you, if he doesn't buy?"

"He'll buy ... one way or another," the girl said grimly.

"Swell." The commandant jumped up with a lightning-like change of mood. "Let's go, then. The little women will be waitin' for me."

* * * * *

After they were aboard his shiny black plane Mike asked jovially: "What kinda entertainment would you like tonight? I been tinkerin' with some of Nero's old stunts.... Incors to the scamours and stuff like that.... Not bad for a change."

"A little too close to home right now." Frank shuddered.

"How about a scamour hunt, then, before dinner? There's scads of them critters around the palace. They keep me fresh out of slaves."

"Swell." There was nothing Frank wanted less than a brush with those gobbling reptiles, but he knew Mike needed gentle handling if he were to go through with his bargain.