Chapter XV
MURDOCH'S MANTLE
There were three men, each with a white circle painted on chest and leftarm, talking to Mother Corey when Bruce Gordon came down the ricketysteps. He stopped for a second, but there was no sign of trouble. Thenthe words of the thin man below reached him.
"So we figured when we found the stiffs maybe you'd come back, Mother.Damn good thing we were right. We can sure use that ammunition youfound. Now, where's this Gordon fellow?"
"Here!" Gordon told the man. He'd recognized him finally as Schulberg,the little grocer from the Nineteenth Precinct.
The man swung suspiciously, then grinned weakly. There was hunger andstrain on his face, but an odd authority and pride now. "I'll bedoggoned. Whyn't you say he was with Murdoch?"
"They want someone to locate Ed Praeger and see about getting some foodshipped in from outside, cobber," Mother Corey told him. "They got somemoney scraped together, but the hicks are doing no business withMarsport. You know Ed--just tell him I sent you. I'd go myself, but I'mgetting too old to go chasing men out there."
"What's in it?" Gordon asked, reaching for his helmet.
There was a surprised exchange of glances from the others, but MotherCorey chuckled. "Heart like a steel trap, cobber," he said, almostapprovingly. "Well, you'll be earning your keep here--yours and thatgranddaughter's, too. Here--you'll need directions for finding Praeger."
He handed the paper with his scrawled notes on it over to Gordon andwent shuffling back. Gordon stuck it into his pouch, and followed thethree. Outside, they had a truck waiting; Rusty and Corey's two henchmenwere busy loading it with ammunition from the cellar.
Schulberg motioned him into the cab of the truck, and the other twoclimbed into the closed rear section. "All right," Gordon said, "whatgoes on?"
The other began explaining as he picked a way through the ruin andrubble. Murdoch had done better than Gordon had suspected; he'd laid outa program for a citizens' vigilante committee, and had drilled enough inthe ruthless use of the club to keep the gangs down. Once the policewere all busy inside the dome with their private war, the committee hadbeen the only means of keeping order in the whole territory beyond. Itwas now extended to cover about half the area, as a voluntary policeorganization.
He pointed outside. It was changed; there were fewer people outside.Gordon had never seen group starvation before....
They passed a crowd around a crude gallows, and Schulberg stopped. A manwas already dead and dangling. "Should turn 'em over to us cops,"Schulberg said. "What's he hanged for?"
"Hoarding," a voice answered, and others supplied the few details. Thedead man had been caught with a half bag of flour and part of a case ofbeans. Schulberg found a scrap of something and penciled the crime onit, together with a circle signature, and pinned it to the body.
"All food should be turned in," he explained to Gordon as they climbedback into the truck. "We figure community kitchens can stretch things abit more. And we give a half extra ration to the guys who can findanything useful to do. We got enough so most people won't starve todeath for another week, I guess. But you'd better get Praeger to sendsomething, Gordon. Here, here's the scratch we scraped up."
He passed over a bag filled with a collection of small bills and coins."We can trust you, I guess," he said dully. "Remember you with Murdoch,anyhow. And you can tell Praeger we got plenty of men looking for work,in case he can use 'em."
He pulled up to shout a report through the big Marspeaker as they passedthe old building Murdoch had used as a precinct house. It now had acrude sign proclaiming it voluntary police HQ and outland governmentcenter. Then he went on until they came to a spur of the little electricmonorail system, with three abandoned service engines parked at the end.
"Extra air inside, and the best we could do for food. Was gonna trymyself, but I don't know Praeger," Schulberg said. He handed over a key,and nodded toward the first service engine. "Good luck, Gordon--and damnit, we're--we gotta eat, don't we? You tell him that! It ain't much--butget what you can!"
He swung the truck, and was gone. Gordon climbed into the enclosed caband pulled back questioningly on the only lever he could see. The enginebacked briefly; he reversed the control. Then it moved forward, pickingup speed. Apparently there was still power flowing in from the automaticatomic generators.
He got off to puzzle out a switch, using Mother Corey's scrawledinstructions.
He had vaguely expected to see more of Mars, but for eight hours therewas only the bare flatness and dunes of unending sandy surface andscraggly, useless native plants, opened out to the sun. Marsport hadbeen located where the only vein of uranium had been found on Mars, andthe growing section was closer to the equator.
Then he came to villages. Again there was the sight of children runningaround without helmets. He stopped once for directions, and a man staredat him suspiciously and finally threw a switch reluctantly.
He was finally forced to stop again, sure that he was near, now. Thistime, it was in what seemed to be a major shipping center in the heartof the lines that ran helter-skelter from village to village. Anothersuspicious-eyed man studied him. "You won't find Praeger on hisfarm--couldn't reach it in that, anyhow," he said finally. Then heturned up his Marspeaker. "Ed! Hey, Ed!"
Down the street, the seal of a building opened, and the big, blufffigure of Praeger came out. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Gordon; thenhe grinned and waved his visitor forward.
Inside, there was evidence of food, and a rather pretty girl brought outanother platter and set it before Gordon. He ate while they exchangeduncertain, rambling information; finally, he got down to his errand.
Praeger seemed to read his mind. "I can get the stuff sent, Gordon. I'mhead of the shipping committee for this quadrant. But why in hell shouldI? The last time, every car was looted in Outer Marsport. If they won'tlet us get the oil and chemicals we need, why should we feed them?"
"Ever see starvation?" Gordon asked, wishing again someone else who'dfelt it could carry the message. He told about a man who'd committedsuicide for his kids, not stopping as Praeger's face sickened slowly."Hell, who wouldn't loot your trains if that's going on?"
"All right, if Mother Corey'll back up this volunteer police group. I'vegot kids of my own.... Look, you want food, we want to ship. Get yourcops to give us an escort for every shipment through to the dome, andwe'll drop off one car out of four for the outlands."
Gordon sat back weakly. "Done!" he said. "Provided the first shipmentcarries the most we can get for the credits I brought."
"It will--we've got some stuff that's about to spoil, and we can let youhave a whole train of it." He took the sack of credits and tossed ittoward a drawer, uncounted. "A damned good thing Security's sending aship. Credits won't be worth much until they get this mess straightenedout."
Gordon felt the hair at the base of his neck tingle. "What makes youthink Security can do anything? They haven't shown a hand yet."
"They will," Praeger said. "You guys in Marsport feed yourselves so manylies you begin to believe them. But Security took Venus--and I'm notworried here, in the long run. Don't ask me how."
His voice was a mixture of bitterness and an odd certainty. "They setSecurity up as a nice little debating society, Gordon, to make it easyfor North America to grab the planets by doing it through that Agency.Only they got better men on it than they wanted. So far, Security hasplayed one nation against another enough to keep any from daring toswipe power on the planets. And this latest trick folded up, too. NorthAmerica figured on Marsport folding up once they got a police warstarted, with a bunch of chiseling profiteers as their front; theyexpected the citizens to yell uncle all the way back to Earth. But outhere, nobody thinks of Earth as a place to yell to for help, so theymissed. And now Security's got Pan-Asia and United Africa balancedagainst North America, so the swipe won't work. We got the dope from oursouthern receiver. North America's called it all a mistaken emergencymeasure and turned it back to Security."
&nb
sp; "Along with how many war rockets?" Gordon asked.
"None. They never gave any real power, never will. The only strengthSecurity's ever had comes from the fact that it always wins, somehow.Forget the crooks and crooked cops, man! Ask the people who've beengetting kicked around about Security, and you'll find that even most ofMarsport doesn't hate it! It's the only hope we've got of not having allthe planets turned into colonial empires! You staying over, or want meto give you an engineer and drag car so you can ride back in comfort?"
Gordon stared at the room, where almost everything was a product of theplanet, at Praeger, and at the girl. Here was the real Mars--the men wholiked it here, who were sure of their future. "I'll take the drag car."
* * * * *
He found Randolph waiting in a scooter outside the precinct house afterhe'd reported his results. He climbed in woodenly, leaving his helmet onas he saw the broken window. "A good job," the little man said. "Andnews for the paper, if I ever publish it again. I came over because Iwasn't much use at the Coop, and everyone else was busy."
"Doing what?" Gordon asked.
Randolph grinned crookedly. "Running Outer Marsport. The Mother's theonly man everybody knows, I guess--and his word has never been brokenthat anyone can remember. So he's helping Schulberg make agreements withthe sections the volunteers don't handle. Place is lousy with peoplenow. Heard about Mayor Wayne?"
Gordon shook his head, not caring, but the man went on. "He must havehad his supply of drugs lifted somehow. He holed up one day, until itreally hit him that he couldn't get any more. Then he went gunning forTrench, with some idea Trench had swiped the stuff--so Trench is nowrunning the Municipals. And I hear the gangs are just about in controlof both sections, lately."
* * * * *
The Chicken Coop was filled, as Randolph had said, but he slipped in andup the stairs, leaving the news to the publisher. The place had beencleaned up more than he had expected, and there must have been newplants installed beside the blower, since the air was somewhat fresher.
He found his own room, and turned in automatically...
"Bruce?" A dim light snapped on, and he stared down at Sheila. Then heblinked. His bunk had been changed to a wider one, and she lay under thethin covering on one side. Down the center, crude stitches of heavy cordshowed where she had sewed the blanket to the mattress to divide it intotwo sections. And in one corner, a couple of blanket sections formed arough screen.
She caught his stare and reddened slowly. "I had to, Bruce. The Coop isfull, and they needed rooms--and I couldn't tell them that--that--"
"Forget it," he told her. He dropped to his own side, with barely enoughroom to slide between the bed and the wall, and began dragging off hisboots and uniform. She started up to help him, then jerked back, andturned her head away. "Forget all you're thinking, Cuddles. I'm stillnot bothering unwilling women--and I'll even close my eyes when youdress."
She sighed, and relaxed. There was a faint touch of humor in her voicethen. "They called it bundling once, I think. I--Bruce, I know you don'tlike me, so I guess it isn't too hard for you. But--sometimes ... Oh,damn it! Sometimes you're--nice!"
"Nice people don't get to Mars. They stay on Earth, being careful not tofind out what it's like up here," he told her bitterly. For a second hehesitated, and then the account of the newsboy and his would-be killerscame rushing out.
She dropped a hand onto his, nodding. "I know. The Kid--Rusty'sfriend--wrote down what they did to him."
Gordon grunted. He'd almost forgotten about the tongueless Kid. For asecond, his thoughts churned on. Then he got up and began putting on hisuniform again. Sheila frowned, staring at him, and began sliding fromher side, reaching for her robe. She followed him down the creakingstairs, and to the room where Schulberg, Mother Corey, and a few otherswere still arguing some detail.
They looked up, and he moved forward, dragging a badge from his pouch.He slapped it down on the table in front of them. "I'm declaring myselfin!" he told them coldly. "You know enough about Security badges to knowthey can't be forged. That one has my name on it, and rating as a Prime.Do you want to shoot me, or will you follow orders?"
Randolph picked it up, and fumbled in his pocket, drawing out a tinybadge and comparing them. He nodded. "I lost connection years ago,Gordon. But this makes you my boss."
"Then give it all the publicity you can, and tell them Security has justdeclared war on the whole damned dome section! Mother, I want all thedope we found!" With that--about the only supply of any size left--hecould command unquestioning loyalty from every addict who hadn't alreadydied from lack of it. Mother Corey nodded, instant understanding runningover his puttylike face.
Schulberg shrugged. "After your deal with Praeger, we'd probably followyou anyhow. I don't cotton to Security, Gordon--but those devils inthere are making our kids starve!"
Mother Corey heaved his bulk up slowly, wheezing, and indicated hischair at the head of the table. But Gordon shook his head. He'd made hisdecision. His head was emptied for the moment, and he wanted nothingmore than a chance to hit the bed and forget the whole business untilmorning.
Sheila was staring at him as he shucked off his outer clothesmechanically and crawled under the blanket. She let the robe fall to thefloor and slid into the bed without taking her eyes off him. "Is it trueabout Security sending a ship?" she asked at last. He nodded, and herbreath caught. "What happens when they arrive, Bruce?"
She was shivering. He rolled over and patted her shoulder. "Who knows?Who cares? I'll see that they know you weren't guilty, though. Stopworrying about it."
She threw herself sideways, as far from him as she could get. Her voicewas thick, muffled in the blanket. "Damn you, Bruce Gordon. I _should_have killed you!"