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diff --git a/25629.txt b/25629.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9ab3656 --- /dev/null +++ b/25629.txt @@ -0,0 +1,856 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Postmark Ganymede, by Robert Silverberg + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Postmark Ganymede + +Author: Robert Silverberg + +Release Date: May 27, 2008 [EBook #25629] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POSTMARK GANYMEDE *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + POSTMARK + GANYMEDE + + By + ROBERT + SILVERBERG + + + _Consider the poor mailman of the future. To "sleet and snow + and dead of night"--things that must not keep him from his + appointed rounds--will be added, sub-zero void, meteors, and + planets that won't stay put. Maybe he'll decide that for six + cents an ounce it just ain't worth it._ + + +"I'm washed up," Preston growled bitterly. "They made a postman out of +me. Me--a postman!" + +He crumpled the assignment memo into a small, hard ball and hurled it at +the bristly image of himself in the bar mirror. He hadn't shaved in +three days--which was how long it had been since he had been notified of +his removal from Space Patrol Service and his transfer to Postal +Delivery. + +Suddenly, Preston felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw a +man in the trim gray of a Patrolman's uniform. + +"What do you want, Dawes?" + +"Chief's been looking for you, Preston. It's time for you to get going +on your run." + +Preston scowled. "Time to go deliver the mail, eh?" He spat. "Don't they +have anything better to do with good spacemen than make letter carriers +out of them?" + + * * * * * + +The other man shook his head. "You won't get anywhere grousing about it, +Preston. Your papers don't specify which branch you're assigned to, and +if they want to make you carry the mail--that's it." His voice became +suddenly gentle. "Come on, Pres. One last drink, and then let's go. You +don't want to spoil a good record, do you?" + +"No," Preston said reflectively. He gulped his drink and stood up. +"Okay. I'm ready. Neither snow nor rain shall stay me from my appointed +rounds, or however the damned thing goes." + +"That's a smart attitude, Preston. Come on--I'll walk you over to +Administration." + + * * * * * + +Savagely, Preston ripped away the hand that the other had put around his +shoulders. "I can get there myself. At least give me credit for that!" + +"Okay," Dawes said, shrugging. "Well--good luck, Preston." + +"Yeah. Thanks. Thanks real lots." + +He pushed his way past the man in Space Grays and shouldered past a +couple of barflies as he left. He pushed open the door of the bar and +stood outside for a moment. + +It was near midnight, and the sky over Nome Spaceport was bright with +stars. Preston's trained eye picked out Mars, Jupiter, Uranus. There +they were--waiting. But he would spend the rest of his days ferrying +letters on the Ganymede run. + +He sucked in the cold night air of summertime Alaska and squared his +shoulders. + + * * * * * + +Two hours later, Preston sat at the controls of a one-man patrol ship +just as he had in the old days. Only the control panel was bare where +the firing studs for the heavy guns was found in regular patrol ships. +And in the cargo hold instead of crates of spare ammo there were three +bulging sacks of mail destined for the colony on Ganymede. + +_Slight difference_, Preston thought, as he set up his blasting pattern. + +"Okay, Preston," came the voice from the tower. "You've got clearance." + +"Cheers," Preston said, and yanked the blast-lever. The ship jolted +upward, and for a second he felt a little of the old thrill--until he +remembered. + +He took the ship out in space, saw the blackness in the viewplate. The +radio crackled. + +"Come in, Postal Ship. Come in, Postal Ship." + +"I'm in. What do you want?" + +"We're your convoy," a hard voice said. "Patrol Ship 08756, Lieutenant +Mellors, above you. Down at three o'clock, Patrol Ship 10732, Lieutenant +Gunderson. We'll take you through the Pirate Belt." + +Preston felt his face go hot with shame. Mellors! Gunderson! They would +stick two of his old sidekicks on the job of guarding him. + +"Please acknowledge," Mellors said. + +[Illustration: "The iceworms were not expecting any mail--just the +mailman."] + +Preston paused. Then: "Postal Ship 1872, Lieutenant Preston aboard. I +acknowledge message." + +There was a stunned silence. "_Preston?_ Hal Preston?" + +"The one and only," Preston said. + +"What are you doing on a Postal ship?" Mellors asked. + +"Why don't you ask the Chief that? He's the one who yanked me out of the +Patrol and put me here." + +"Can you beat that?" Gunderson asked incredulously. "Hal Preston, on a +Postal ship." + +"Yeah. Incredible, isn't it?" Preston asked bitterly. "You can't believe +your ears. Well, you better believe it, because here I am." + +"Must be some clerical error," Gunderson said. + +"Let's change the subject," Preston snapped. + +They were silent for a few moments, as the three ships--two armed, one +loaded with mail for Ganymede--streaked outward away from Earth. +Manipulating his controls with the ease of long experience, Preston +guided the ship smoothly toward the gleaming bulk of far-off Jupiter. +Even at this distance, he could see five or six bright pips surrounding +the huge planet. There was Callisto, and--ah--there was Ganymede. + +He made computations, checked his controls, figured orbits. Anything to +keep from having to talk to his two ex-Patrolmates or from having to +think about the humiliating job he was on. Anything to-- + + * * * * * + +"_Pirates! Moving up at two o'clock!_" + +Preston came awake. He picked off the location of the pirate +ships--there were two of them, coming up out of the asteroid belt. +Small, deadly, compact, they orbited toward him. + +He pounded the instrument panel in impotent rage, looking for the guns +that weren't there. + +"Don't worry, Pres," came Mellors' voice. "We'll take care of them for +you." + +"Thanks," Preston said bitterly. He watched as the pirate ships +approached, longing to trade places with the men in the Patrol ships +above and below him. + +Suddenly a bright spear of flame lashed out across space and the hull of +Gunderson's ship glowed cherry red. "I'm okay," Gunderson reported +immediately. "Screens took the charge." + +Preston gripped his controls and threw the ship into a plunging dive +that dropped it back behind the protection of both Patrol ships. He saw +Gunderson and Mellors converge on one of the pirates. Two blue beams +licked out, and the pirate ship exploded. + +But then the second pirate swooped down in an unexpected dive. "Look +out!" Preston yelled helplessly--but it was too late. Beams ripped into +the hull of Mellors' ship, and a dark fissure line opened down the side +of the ship. Preston smashed his hand against the control panel. Better +to die in an honest dogfight than to live this way! + +It was one against one, now--Gunderson against the pirate. Preston +dropped back again to take advantage of the Patrol ship's protection. + +"I'm going to try a diversionary tactic," Gunderson said on untappable +tight-beam. "Get ready to cut under and streak for Ganymede with all you +got." + +"Check." + +Preston watched as the tactic got under way. Gunderson's ship traveled +in a long, looping spiral that drew the pirate into the upper quadrant +of space. His path free, Preston guided his ship under the other two and +toward unobstructed freedom. As he looked back, he saw Gunderson +steaming for the pirate on a sure collision orbit. + +He turned away. The score was two Patrolmen dead, two ships wrecked--but +the mails would get through. + +Shaking his head, Preston leaned forward over his control board and +headed on toward Ganymede. + + * * * * * + +The blue-white, frozen moon hung beneath him. Preston snapped on the +radio. + +"Ganymede Colony? Come in, please. This is your Postal Ship." The words +tasted sour in his mouth. + +There was silence for a second. "Come in, Ganymede," Preston repeated +impatiently--and then the sound of a distress signal cut across his +audio pickup. + +It was coming on wide beam from the satellite below--and they had cut +out all receiving facilities in an attempt to step up their transmitter. +Preston reached for the wide-beam stud, pressed it. + +"Okay, I pick up your signal, Ganymede. Come in, now!" + +"This is Ganymede," a tense voice said. "We've got trouble down here. +Who are you?" + +"Mail ship," Preston said. "From Earth. What's going on?" + +There was the sound of voices whispering somewhere near the microphone. +Finally: "Hello, Mail Ship?" + +"Yeah?" + +"You're going to have to turn back to Earth, fellow. You can't land +here. It's rough on us, missing a mail trip, but--" + +Preston said impatiently, "Why can't I land? What the devil's going on +down there?" + +"We've been invaded," the tired voice said. "The colony's been +completely surrounded by iceworms." + +"Iceworms?" + +"The local native life," the colonist explained. "They're about thirty +feet long, a foot wide, and mostly mouth. There's a ring of them about a +hundred yards wide surrounding the Dome. They can't get in and we can't +get out--and we can't figure out any possible approach for you." + +"Pretty," Preston said. "But why didn't the things bother you while you +were building your Dome?" + +"Apparently they have a very long hibernation-cycle. We've only been +here two years, you know. The iceworms must all have been asleep when +we came. But they came swarming out of the ice by the hundreds last +month." + +"How come Earth doesn't know?" + +"The antenna for our long-range transmitter was outside the Dome. One of +the worms came by and chewed the antenna right off. All we've got left +is this short-range thing we're using and it's no good more than ten +thousand miles from here. You're the first one who's been this close +since it happened." + +"I get it." Preston closed his eyes for a second, trying to think things +out. + + * * * * * + +The Colony was under blockade by hostile alien life, thereby making it +impossible for him to deliver the mail. Okay. If he'd been a regular +member of the Postal Service, he'd have given it up as a bad job and +gone back to Earth to report the difficulty. + +_But I'm not going back. I'll be the best damned mailman they've got._ + +"Give me a landing orbit anyway, Ganymede." + +"But you can't come down! How will you leave your ship?" + +"Don't worry about that," Preston said calmly. + +"We have to worry! We don't dare open the Dome, with those creatures +outside. You _can't_ come down, Postal Ship." + +"You want your mail or don't you?" + +The colonist paused. "Well--" + +"Okay, then," Preston said. "Shut up and give me landing coordinates!" + +There was a pause, and then the figures started coming over. Preston +jotted them down on a scratch-pad. + +"Okay, I've got them. Now sit tight and wait." He glanced contemptuously +at the three mail-pouches behind him, grinned, and started setting up +the orbit. + +_Mailman, am I? I'll show them!_ + + * * * * * + +He brought the Postal Ship down with all the skill of his years in the +Patrol, spiralling in around the big satellite of Jupiter as cautiously +and as precisely as if he were zeroing in on a pirate lair in the +asteroid belt. In its own way, this was as dangerous, perhaps even more +so. + +Preston guided the ship into an ever-narrowing orbit, which he +stabilized about a hundred miles over the surface of Ganymede. As his +ship swung around the moon's poles in its tight orbit, he began to +figure some fuel computations. + +His scratch-pad began to fill with notations. + +_Fuel storage--_ + +_Escape velocity--_ + +_Margin of error--_ + +_Safety factor--_ + +Finally he looked up. He had computed exactly how much spare fuel he +had, how much he could afford to waste. It was a small figure--too +small, perhaps. + +He turned to the radio. "Ganymede?" + +"Where are you, Postal Ship?" + +"I'm in a tight orbit about a hundred miles up," Preston said. "Give me +the figures on the circumference of your Dome, Ganymede?" + +"Seven miles," the colonist said. "What are you planning to do?" + +Preston didn't answer. He broke contact and scribbled some more figures. +Seven miles of iceworms, eh? That was too much to handle. He had planned +on dropping flaming fuel on them and burning them out, but he couldn't +do it that way. + +He'd have to try a different tactic. + +Down below, he could see the blue-white ammonia ice that was the frozen +atmosphere of Ganymede. Shimmering gently amid the whiteness was the +transparent yellow of the Dome beneath whose curved walls lived the +Ganymede Colony. Even forewarned, Preston shuddered. Surrounding the +Dome was a living, writhing belt of giant worms. + +"Lovely," he said. "Just lovely." + +Getting up, he clambered over the mail sacks and headed toward the rear +of the ship, hunting for the auxiliary fuel-tanks. + +Working rapidly, he lugged one out and strapped it into an empty gun +turret, making sure he could get it loose again when he'd need it. + +He wiped away sweat and checked the angle at which the fuel-tank would +face the ground when he came down for a landing. Satisfied, he knocked a +hole in the side of the fuel-tank. + +"Okay, Ganymede," he radioed. "I'm coming down." + +He blasted loose from the tight orbit and rocked the ship down on +manual. The forbidding surface of Ganymede grew closer and closer. Now +he could see the iceworms plainly. + +Hideous, thick creatures, lying coiled in masses around the Dome. +Preston checked his spacesuit, making sure it was sealed. The +instruments told him he was a bare ten miles above Ganymede now. One +more swing around the poles would do it. + +He peered out as the Dome came below and once again snapped on the +radio. + + * * * * * + +"I'm going to come down and burn a path through those worms of yours. +Watch me carefully, and jump to it when you see me land. I want that +airlock open, or else." + +"But--" + +"No buts!" + +He was right overhead now. Just one ordinary-type gun would solve the +whole problem, he thought. But Postal Ships didn't get guns. They +weren't supposed to need them. + +He centered the ship as well as he could on the Dome below and threw it +into automatic pilot. Jumping from the control panel, he ran back toward +the gun turret and slammed shut the plexilite screen. Its outer wall +opened and the fuel-tank went tumbling outward and down. He returned to +his control-panel seat and looked at the viewscreen. He smiled. + +The fuel-tank was lying near the Dome--right in the middle of the nest +of iceworms. The fuel was leaking from the puncture. + +The iceworms writhed in from all sides. + +"Now!" Preston said grimly. + +The ship roared down, jets blasting. The fire licked out, heated the +ground, melted snow--ignited the fuel-tank! A gigantic flame blazed up, +reflected harshly off the snows of Ganymede. + +And the mindless iceworms came, marching toward the fire, being +consumed, as still others devoured the bodies of the dead and dying. + +Preston looked away and concentrated on the business of finding a place +to land the ship. + + * * * * * + +The holocaust still raged as he leaped down from the catwalk of the +ship, clutching one of the heavy mail sacks, and struggled through the +melting snows to the airlock. + +He grinned. The airlock was open. + +Arms grabbed him, pulled him through. Someone opened his helmet. + +"Great job, Postman!" + +"There are two more mail sacks," Preston said. "Get men out after them." + +The man in charge gestured to two young colonists, who donned +spacesuits and dashed through the airlock. Preston watched as they raced +to the ship, climbed in, and returned a few moments later with the mail +sacks. + +"You've got it all," Preston said. "I'm checking out. I'll get word to +the Patrol to get here and clean up that mess for you." + +"How can we thank you?" the official-looking man asked. + +"No need to," Preston said casually. "I had to get that mail down here +some way, didn't I?" + +He turned away, smiling to himself. Maybe the Chief _had_ known what he +was doing when he took an experienced Patrol man and dumped him into +Postal. Delivering the mail to Ganymede had been more hazardous than +fighting off half a dozen space pirates. _I guess I was wrong_, Preston +thought. _This is no snap job for old men._ + +Preoccupied, he started out through the airlock. The man in charge +caught his arm. "Say, we don't even know your name! Here you are a hero, +and--" + +"Hero?" Preston shrugged. "All I did was deliver the mail. It's all in a +day's work, you know. The mail's got to get through!" + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ September 1957. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Postmark Ganymede, by Robert Silverberg + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POSTMARK GANYMEDE *** + +***** This file should be named 25629.txt or 25629.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/6/2/25629/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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