9 Tales of Space and Time Read online

  “What has he got against you, Brandt?” asked Lisa Giovannetti. “He—he was positively venomous toward you.”

  “It’s not me he hates,” said Brandt Cardozo. “It’s what I stand for.”

  “But they won’t listen to him—they won’t kill Tasker!”

  “Sure they will,” Cardozo nodded. “History bears him out. You see, primitive man couldn’t run the risk of keeping his criminals alive—”

  “But we’re not primitive!”

  “We’ve reverted. Under the excuse of necessity, of course. We just haven’t got the facilities, you see. Perhaps later, when everything is lovely a few years from now. Ha! We’ll never take the first step. There’ll always be a Blair around to point out the difficulties . . . and the dangers.”

  They started for the door, walking slowly. Hrdlicka put a hand on Cardozo’s shoulder.

  “If you live as long as I have, Brandt, you’ll just about lose all faith in human beings. They’ll cause you nothing but grief.” He patted the younger man’s shoulder. “Blair . . . wish I knew what makes the little bastard tick.”

  “Oh,” replied Cardozo, “that’s simple. I found that out during the debates on our constitution and laws. It’s fear. He doesn’t like or trust his fellow man, so he’s afraid of him.”

  Anthony Hrdlicka walked slowly down the dim street of the village, headed toward the river. The old man’s shoulders were bowed and he puffed jerkily at the cigar clenched between his teeth. One of the planet’s two little moons was already high in the sky, shining bravely among constellations uncharted, unknown. Hrdlicka picked his way easily enough along the pebbled path that took over when the street ended.

  He passed the towering hulk of the Tonia. It was empty now and would stay where it had rammed into the alien soil, a leaning tower of gleaming alloy. As time passed, its former passengers would cut away its metal as they needed it and, unless they found usable ores, one day there would be nothing left of the Tonia but a tribal memory.

  The path ended at the crude wharf they had built at the river’s edge. Hrdlicka walked past a storage shed to the edge of the wharf, sat down and swung his legs over the edge. There he sat, chin in hands, elbows on knees, and stared somberly at the quiet water.

  After a while he muttered, “Damn fools!”

  The Council had met that afternoon. The old man grinned briefly at the memory of the battle he and Brandt Cardozo had waged before the final vote had beaten them down. Cardozo, he thought, was a damn good man . . . he would have been a great help to Hrdlicka back . . . back in those great days that would never come again. Why, and the old man’s eyes lighted up as he remembered, there was that time he’d had the big fight with the government over the ownership of certain mines in Sirius III. He could have used a man like Cardozo in that deal—except Cardozo, the young romantic, would have been on the government’s side. Which was all right, too, the USN lads had been a bunch of bright, tough-minded kids. Not like today’s hysterical sheep, blatting after Hugo Blair . . .

  He scowled at the gurgling water.

  And felt a brief, sharp pain under his left shoulder. Hrdlicka waited and the pain went away. He knew it would come again and again. After all, he was seventy-three. And one day they’d dig another hole in the little cemetery where most of the crew and officers of the Tonia now rested and . . . what would he be leaving?

  He was a little surprised at himself. That he should be concerned with the brave new laws of a huddle of castaways when he had, well, not broken but certainly evaded the laws of a confederation of sixteen planets! And why should he, Anthony Hrdlicka, be worked up over the coming death of a miserable wretch who was no good to anyone? Hrdlicka’s cigar had gone out, but he still puffed at it. With his usual harsh realism he began to examine the situation and himself.

  There was a scuffling sound behind him and he turned, alert and wary. This planet had evidenced no intelligent life—yet. A tall figure moved cautiously out of the shadows of the shed. Hrdlicka heard the mutter of a voice and called out, “Who’s there?”

  The tall shadow moved closer, then spoke. “Is that Hrdlicka?”

  “Yes.” He squinted, then grinned broadly. “Why, it’s Brandt! Welcome to the mourner’s bench, lad!”

  Brandt Cardozo moved nearer. Hrdlicka saw that he was frowning.

  “What are you doing here?” Cardozo said.

  “Came down to get away from a bunch of goddam fools. Come on, boy, sit down and have a smoke. You know, we better find some kind of tobacco weed on this place or there’s going to be a lot of nervous wrecks soon. I’m down to my last case of cigars myself.”

  “No. No, thanks.” Cardozo walked to the edge of the wharf and looked quickly up and down the river. “Have you seen anyone around here?” he asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “Ah, never mind.” Cardozo paused, then, still not looking at Hrdlicka, said, “You plan to be here much longer? It’s—it’s getting cool, you know.”

  Hrdlicka peered up at him.

  “What’s on your mind, son?” he asked quietly. Cardozo did not answer. Hrdlicka snapped his fingers. “I know! I’m the goddam fool! You’re worryin’ about the execution.”

  “There’ll be no execution.”

  “Eh? What did you say?”

  “I said, there will be no execution!”

  Hrdlicka scrunched backward until his feet were on the wharf. Then, with considerable grunting, he hauled himself erect. He stood, hands on hips, staring at Brandt Cardozo. He took the cold cigar from his mouth and tossed it into the river.

  “You’d better explain yourself.”

  Brandt Cardozo still looked out at the river.

  “There’ll be no execution because I won’t stand for it. You might as well know I’ve got Tasker over there in the shed. I’m taking him down the river on a cotton-weed raft.”

  “Well . . . I’ll be—”

  Brandt Cardozo half turned and gazed steadily at the old man.

  “There’s no use arguing,” he said coldly.

  “I’m not going to argue. I assume you know what you’re doing.”

  “I do. I know that these people,” he jerked a hand back toward the sleeping village, “took a look at their future and made one of the best codes man has ever dreamed up in his nine-thousand-year history. Today, these same people got scared—and the ape scampered back up the tree.”

  “You know,” Hrdlicka grunted, “sometimes I think you make too many speeches.”

  “Could be.” Cardozo took a step toward the shed. “Better get out of here, Anthony. There’ll be hell to pay in the morning. And when our Mr. Blair gets his mob organized, you’ll be the first one he goes after. I don’t want you bothered for my . . . crimes.”

  “You’re really leaving?”

  “Certainly. I’ve got to stick with the poor devil until the drug wears off. And anyway . . .” Brandt Cardozo shrugged and took another step toward the shed.

  “In my time,” Hrdlicka said, moving with him, “I got a lot of things done. And I got them done by cutting my losses sometimes and starting in all over again.”

  “Please get going, Anthony. I must be on my way and I don’t want to get rough with you.”

  “Is it that you can’t take the idea of—of—well, executing the fellow?”

  “Look, my friend!” Cardozo grabbed Hrdlicka by an arm and swung him around. They faced each other. “The first warden of the Pluto house hated executions. Whenever he could, he’d pass the dirty business on to me, as the next in rank. In my time I’ve supervised the legal killing of some thirty men and two women. Now, leave or stay, whichever you like, but don’t interfere.” He stalked over to the shed. “Come on out, Tasker,” Brandt Cardozo said. “And keep it quiet.” Hrdlicka opened his mouth, closed it, and walked away. Tasker slouched out of the shed, bundles in his arms. Brandt Cardozo stood still, listening to the sound of Hrdlicka’s feet on the rough planks of the platform. He waited until the sound changed as Hrdlicka reached the pebbled
path. Then he walked into the shed and picked up another bundle. When he came out, Tasker stood at the edge of the landing, grinning.

  “We’ll take the downstream raft,” Cardozo said. “Jump aboard and I’ll hand the stuff down to you.”

  Tasker squatted and looked down. “It’s a big jump, pal. Better give me a hand.”

  “All right, but hurry!”

  “No hurry, chum. We got all the time in the world.”

  Brandt Cardozo stopped, his arm half extended to the condemned man.

  “Don’t you really know what we’re doing?” he asked softly.

  “You said we was making a break. You seem to be taking it okay. So what?”

  “But don’t you know why, really?”

  Tasker shrugged.

  “You’re a queer boy,” he said. “One minute you say rush it, the next you stop to do a lot of gabbing. Okay by me. Whatever you want.”

  “Never mind,” Brandt Cardozo sighed. “Give me your hand.”

  They clasped hands and Tasker swung his legs out over the bobbing raft. Cardozo braced, Tasker let go with his other hand and landed on the raft. Cardozo let go and saw Tasker sway, then spread his feet wide apart. In a moment Tasker had his balance and stood secure on the wobbly raft.

  Brandt Cardozo picked up a bundle. He had gathered together as few essentials as possible, a rough first-aid kit, some food concentrates, a few extra clothes. He himself was armed with a handgun and two knives. Later, when the man was more his normal self, Cardozo planned to give Tasker a knife. He had not looked into the future beyond that.

  Cardozo tossed one bundle down, Tasker caught it, dropped it in the center of the raft. Another bundle was passed.

  “Lay them carefully, damn it!” Cardozo snapped.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Cardozo had picked up the last bundle when he heard a voice call softly, “Brandt! Oh, Brandt!”

  He let go the bundle and drew his gun. A man came toward him across the landing and he saw it was Pierre Malory. Brandt Cardozo did not lower his gun.

  “Take it easy, Malory,” he said.

  Malory came closer. He was smiling.

  “I’m alone, Brandt. I don’t plan to start anything, so you can put the gun away.”

  Brandt Cardozo did not move.

  “Hrdlicka came to me,” Malory went on in a conversational tone. “When he told me your plan, I thought I’d come along and say good by.” He glanced down at the raft. “Ah, Tasker. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. How else?”

  “You won’t feel that way much longer, I think. Brandt, I don’t believe you know the symptoms of withdrawal. Morbid depression accompanied by extreme fatigue. He won’t be much good to you for some time. For just how long, I don’t know.”

  “Please go,” Brandt Cardozo said flatly.

  “Very well. But I did want to say good by, Brandt, and wish you luck.”

  “Psychology, eh!”

  “Not at all. It would do you no good. When the thoughtful, contemplative type, like you, finally breaks into violent action, nothing can stop it during the period of such action.”

  “I’m glad you realize that. Here you go, Tasker.”

  Gun still in his right hand, he picked up the last bundle and tossed it down to the waiting Tasker. Then he went over to the mooring chain.

  “Hell! I forgot this was locked!” He hesitated a moment, fingering the chain, then turned to look at Malory. “I’m going to burn this lock, Pierre. If you try anything, I’ll . . .”

  “I won’t try anything!” Malory sounded exasperated. “Go ahead, burn the lock. But don’t get so wound up that you forget your manners. Hrdlicka was hurt that you had no word for him. That tough old man is very fond of you, Brandt.”

  “He left before I—oh, the devil with it! Tell the old guy cheerio for me, Pierre. You too, guy.”

  “I will. Mind telling me your plans?”

  When Cardozo hesitated, Malory smiled and said, “I’ll tell them to Hugo Blair first thing in the morning!”

  “I’m sorry. We’ll just float down the river as far as we want to, I guess. Then, fish and hunt, live as best we can. I don’t think anyone will chase us. It’s the cotton season and they’ll need the other raft. We should learn something about this planet, eh?”

  “Let me know when you guys finish your gab,” Tasker remarked and sat down on the logs of the raft. “Shut up, you!” Cardozo barked. He turned back to Malory. “You don’t approve,” he challenged.

  “It’s not that,” Malory said thoughtfully. “It’s something like watching another doctor treat a patient. His treatment is not what I, myself, would prescribe but, on the other hand, I realize it may work. So, it’s not for me to say anything.”

  “I’m not treating anyone!”

  “Oh.” Malory thrust his hands in his pockets and gazed down at the planks. “I thought you were,” he said after a while.

  “What the devil do you mean?”

  “I thought you were treating our community. For hysteria.”

  “To hell with our community! I’m saving a man’s life!”

  “Hrdlicka was right, then. You know, I’m convinced that old gentleman is never wrong. Well, cheerio.”

  Hands still in his pockets, Pierre Malory turned his back to Cardozo. “Wait!” Brandt Cardozo cried. Malory paused, looked over his shoulder.

  “You’d better move, Brandt. The night’s getting on.”

  “Tell me what you mean first!”

  “It’s simple enough. This town’s temporarily sick. I’d diagnose its ailment as an acute case of Blair poisoning. Isn’t it up to you to give it an antidote?”

  “Up to me! I’m finished with that bunch of idiots! You heard them at the Council meeting!”

  “I did. There were some extremists, of course.”

  “Yes, indeed there were! And how about the others. I suppose you approve of them?”

  “I don’t. Their behavior was abnormal. It was also fairly orderly. And quite legal.”

  “Legal? My dear doctor, do you consider it legal to sentence a man to death under an ex post facto law?”

  “You have me there, Brandt. Yet . . . don’t forget this is a frontier, and frontier people seldom bother to make the effort our community made today. Legally, Tasker can’t die and you and I know it. But a majority of the people have condemned him, so die he must.”

  “Majority! A bunch of frantic cows mooing after a mad bull!”

  “You’re shouting, Brandt.”

  “I—sorry.”

  Brandt Cardozo drew a deep breath. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking and sweaty. He was surprised to see that he still held his gun. He quickly thrust it into his holster.

  “I apologize, Pierre. Thought I’d done all my shouting this afternoon.”

  A loud snore came up from the raft.

  Brandt Cardozo gasped, then ran back and looked over the wharfs edge.

  “Christ!” he breathed. “He’s asleep! Tasker’s gone to sleep, Pierre!”

  “Why not? Right now Tasker is incapable of worry.”

  They were quiet for a moment. The rhythmic snoring sounded over the soft murmur of the river.

  “You’d better get going,” Malory said. “Somebody just might hear that.” He took a step. “Oh. By the way, Brandt. You did leave a message for the Council? Your resignation, that sort of thing?”

  “No, I did not!” Brandt Cardozo said defiantly. “I owe them nothing! I’m leaving them—I’m going to save Tasker’s life and be damned to them!”

  “Very well. I shall make whatever explanations I see fit.”

  “When? To whom?”

  “Tomorrow morning. To Blair, most likely. He’ll take over completely, for Hrdlicka and I—as your supporters—will be discredited, of course. And strongly suspected of helping Tasker escape. Ah, well . . . Anthony can handle his problems and I’ll try to manage mine.”

  “You think I’m letting you down,” Cardozo muttered.

&nb
sp; “My dear fellow, it doesn’t matter what I think.”

  Brandt Cardozo licked his sweaty lips.

  “Don’t go,” he said thickly.

  “Why not?”

  “I want you to help me get Tasker back to his cell. Will you?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure . . .”

  “It’s no good if you’re just doing it for Hrdlicka or for me. Or for yourself.”

  “Well, who the hell else would I do it for!”

  Malory gestured briefly.

  “For all of us.”

  “For Tasker, too?”

  “I’m sorry—terribly sorry, but Tasker doesn’t matter any more. Really he doesn’t, Brandt.”

  “Damn it, Pierre . . . all right, you’re my doctor. Help me.”

  Pierre Malory searched his pockets for a cigarette, found one, and lit it. He smoked slowly as a man does who smokes solely for taste and not for nervous sustenance.

  Finally he said, “I honestly can’t help you, Brandt. You are the doer now.”

  “Blast it!” Cardozo strode to the edge and frowned down at the snoring Tasker. “I was doing something. Doing it for Tasker.”

  “No.”

  “Eh?”

  “You were doing it for none other than Brandt Cardozo. The emotional, embittered, Brandt Cardozo.”

  “Now, look—oh. I see . . .”

  “Tasker was Blair’s scapegoat. Tasker was Brandt Cardozo’s excuse.”

  “For acting the fool!”

  “Not precisely the fool. Put it in reverse. Tasker was your excuse for not acting as Brandt Cardozo, the penologist, the responsible servant of the people of the New World.”

  “I tried that. And lost.”

  “Well, then, cut your losses.”

  “The old man said that. I don’t know . . . I don’t believe in capital punishment, Pierre. It just doesn’t do any good. I told the people that. And they listened—until that damned Blair . . .”

  “Tell them again.”

  “A voice crying in the wilderness? Not me.”

  “That’s the voice that won’t rephrase its message. Tell the people in another way.”

  “Another way? What do you mean?”