Space Science Fiction Super Pack. Randall Garrett
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No more going back to Earth.”
“Well, there are other planets, aren’t there? And we’ll go back to Earth in the next decade, I bet. Back to start a new American Revolution and write the Bill of Rights in the sky for all to see.” Lancaster grinned shyly. “I’m not much at making speeches, and I certainly don’t like to listen to them. But I’ve learned the truth and I want to say it out loud. The right of man to be free is the most basic one he’s got, and when he gives that up he finishes by surrendering everything else too. You people are fighting to bring back honesty and liberty and the possibility of progress. I hope nobody here is a fanatic, because fanaticism is exactly what we’re fighting against. I say we, because from now on I’m one of you. That is, if you’re sure you want me.”
He stopped, clumsily. “Okay. Speech ended.”
Karen drew a shivering breath and smiled at him. “And everything else just begun, Allen,” she said. He nodded, feeling too much for words.
“Get to bed with you,” ordered Pappas.
*
Jessup led Lancaster off, and one by one the others drifted back to their jobs. Finally only Karen and Berg stood by the airlock.
“You keep your beautiful mouth shut, my dear,” said the man.
“Oh, sure.” Karen sighed unhappily. “I wish I’d never learned your scheme. When you explained it to me I wanted to shoot you.”
“You insisted on an explanation,” said Berg defensively. “When Allen was due to go back to Earth, you wanted us to tell him who we were and keep him. But it wouldn’t have worked. I’ve studied his dossier, and he’s not the kind of man to switch loyalties that easily. If we were to have him at all, it could only be with his full consent. And now we’ve got him.”
“It was still a lousy trick,” she said.
“Of course it was. But we had no choice. We had to have a first-rate physicist.”
“You know,” she said, “you’re a rat from way back.”
“That I am. And by and large, I enjoy it.” Berg grimaced. “Though I must admit this job leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I like Allen. It was the hardest thing I ever did, tipping off the federal police about him.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, smiling faintly.
Divinity
By William Morrison
Bradley had one fear in his life. He had to escape regeneration. To do that, he was willing to take any chance, coward though he was—even if it meant that he had to become a god!
*
Bradley seemed to have escaped regeneration. Now he had only death to worry about.
Ten minutes before, he had been tumbling through the air head over heels, helpless and despairing. And before that—
He remembered how his heart had been in his mouth as he had crept down the corridor of the speeding ship. He could hear Malevski’s voice coming faintly through one of the walls, and had been tempted to run back, fearful of being shot down on the spot if he were caught. He had fought back the temptation and kept on. No one had seen him as he crept into the lifeboat.
“This is your one chance,” he told himself. “You have to take it. If they get you back to port, you’re finished.”
Luck had been with him. They were broadcasting the results of the Mars-Earth matches at the time, and most of the crew were grouped around the visors. He had picked the moment when news came of a sensational upset, and for a minute or two after the lifeboat blasted off, no one realized what had happened. When the truth did penetrate, they had a hard time swinging the ship around, and by then the lifeboat was out of radar range. He was free.
He had exulted wildly for a moment, until it struck him that freedom in space might be a doubtful gift. He would have to get to some civilized port, convince the port authorities that he had been shipwrecked and somehow separated from the other crew members, and then lose himself quickly in the crowd of people that he hoped would fill the place. There would be risks, but he would take them. It would be better than running out of air and food in space.
It had been the best possible plan, and it had gone wrong, all wrong. He had been caught, before he knew it, in the gravity of a planet he had overlooked. The lifeboat had torn apart under the combined stresses of its forward momentum and its side rockets blasting full force, and he had been hurled free in his space suit, falling slowly at first, then faster, faster, faster—
The automatic parachutes had suddenly sprung into operation when he reached a critical speed, and he had slowed down and stopped tumbling. He fell more gently, feet first, and when he landed it was with a shock that jarred but did no real damage.
*
Slowly he picked himself up and fumbled at the air valve. Something in the intake tubes had jammed under the shock of landing, and the air was no longer circulating properly. Filled with the moisture of his own breath, it felt hot and clammy, and clouded the viewplates.
If he had kept all his wits about him he would have tried to remember, before he took a chance, whether the planet had an oxygen atmosphere, and whether the oxygen was of sufficient concentration to support human life. Not that he had any real choice, but it would have been good to know. As it was, he turned the air valve automatically, and listened nervously as the stale air hissed out and the fresh air hissed in.
He took a deep breath. It didn’t kill him. Instead, it sent his blood racing around with new energy. Slowly the moisture evaporated from his viewplates. Slowly he began to see.
He perceived that he was not alone. A group of people stood in front of him, respectful, their own eyes full of fear and wonder. Some one uttered a hoarse cry and pointed at his helmet. The unclouding of the viewplates must have stricken them with awe.
The air was wonderful to breathe. He would have liked to remove his helmet and fill his lungs with it unhampered, expose his face to its soft caress, expand his chest with the constriction of the suit. But these people—
They must have seen him tumble down from the sky and land unhurt. They carried food and flowers, and now they were kneeling down to him as to a—Suddenly he realized. To them he was a god.
The thought of it made him weak. To Malevski and the ship’s crew he was a criminal, a cheap chiseler and pickpocket, almost a murderer, escaping credit for that crime only by grace of his own good luck and his victim’s thick skull. They had felt such contempt for him that they hadn’t even bothered to guard him too carefully. They had thought him a complete coward, without the courage to risk an escape, without the intelligence to find the opportunities that might be offered to him.
They hadn’t realized how terrified he was of the thing with which they threatened him. Regeneration, the giving up of his old identity? Not for him. They hadn’t realized that he preferred the risks of a dangerous escape to the certainty of that.
And here he was a god.
*
He lifted his hand without thinking, to wipe away the perspiration that covered his forehead. But before the hand touched his helmet he realized what he was doing, and let the hand drop again.
To the people watching him the gesture must have seemed one of double significance. It was at once a sign of acceptance of their food and flowers, and their offer of good-will, and at the same time an order to withdraw. They bowed, and moved backwards away from him. Behind him they left their gifts.
They seemed human, human enough for the features on the men’s faces to impress him as strong and resourceful, for him to recognize that the women were attractive. And if they were human, the food must be fit for human beings. Whether it was or wasn’t, however, again he had no choice.
He waited until they were out