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diff --git a/26966-h/26966-h.htm b/26966-h/26966-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d6fec1e --- /dev/null +++ b/26966-h/26966-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2476 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> + + <title>A Place in the Sun, by C. H. Thames</title> + + <style type="text/css" media="screen"> + /*<![CDATA[*/ + + /*General styles*/ + body {font-family: Georgia,serif; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} + p {text-align: justify; line-height: 1.25; text-indent: 1em; margin: 0;} + h1 {text-align: center; margin: 3em 0em; text-indent: 0em;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;} + + /*Illustrations*/ + img {border:none;} + .illo {text-align:center; margin:3em auto;} + .illo_caption {margin:1em; text-align:center; font-size:.9em; font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;; text-indent:0em;} + + /*Page Number Styling*/ + .pagenum { position: absolute; left: 3%; right: 87%; font-size: 10px; text-align: left; color: gray; background-color: inherit; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-indent: 0em; } + /*a[title].pagenum:after { content: attr(title); }*/ + + /*Miscellaneous*/ + #front_matter {border-top: 2px gray solid;} + .copyright_note, .transcriber_note {color:#444; background-color: #eee; width:80%; padding:1em; border:thin #444 solid; text-indent:0em; text-align:center; margin:7em auto; font-size:.9em;} + .book_supertitle {text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + .author {text-align:center; text-indent:0em; font-size:1.25em; margin:3em 0em;} + .blurb {width:50%; padding:1em; border:thin black solid; text-indent:0em; text-align:center; margin:4em auto; font-size:.9em;} + .first_word {text-transform:uppercase;} + p.first_paragraph {text-indent:0em;} + p.first_paragraph:first-letter {font-size:2.4em;float: left; clear: left; margin: -.2em 4px -.2em 0px; line-height: 1.25em;} + hr.thoughtbreak {display:none;} + .post_thoughtbreak {margin-top:2em;} + em i {font-style:normal;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom:thin red dotted;} + #the_end {border-bottom:2px gray solid;padding:3em;} + #the_end p.end {text-align:center;font-family:Verdana, sans-serif;font-weight:bold;padding:2em;} + #the_end p.transcriber_note {font-weight:100;} + + /*Anchors*/ + a:link {text-decoration: none;} + a:visited {text-decoration: none;} + a:hover {color: #A8480E; background-color: inherit;} + /*]]>*/ + </style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Place in the Sun, by C.H. Thames + +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: A Place in the Sun + +Author: C.H. Thames + +Release Date: October 19, 2008 [EBook #26966] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PLACE IN THE SUN *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div id="front_matter"> + <p class="copyright_note">This etext was produced from <cite>Amazing Stories</cite> October + 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p> + + <p class="book_supertitle"><a class="pagenum" id="page38" title="38"> </a>A “JOHNNY MAYHEM” ADVENTURE</p> + + <h1>A PLACE IN THE SUN</h1> + + <p class="author">By C. H. THAMES</p> + + <p class="blurb"><em>Mayhem, the man of many + bodies, had been given some + weird assignments in his time, + but saving The Glory of the + Galaxy wasn’t difficult—it + was downright impossible!</em></p> +</div> + +<p class="first_paragraph"><span class="first_word">The</span> SOS crackled and +hummed through subspace +at a speed which left +laggard light far behind. Since +subspace distances do not coincide +with normal space distances, +the SOS was first +picked up by a Fomalhautian +freighter bound for Capella +although it had been issued +from a point in normal space +midway between the orbit of +Mercury and the sun’s <ins title="original reads 'cornea'">corona</ins> +in the solar system.</p> + +<div class="illo"><a class="pagenum" id="page39" title="39"> </a> + <img src="images/illo.png" width="800" height="741" alt="A man shoots another man in the back with an energy gun. There are bodies lying about." /> + <p class="illo_caption">The terrible weapon blasted death and carnage through the ship.</p> +</div> + +<p>The radioman of the Fomalhautian +freighter gave the +distress signal to the Deck +Officer, who looked at it, +blinked, and bolted ’bove decks +to the captain’s cabin. His face +<!-- Original location of full-page illustration --> +<a class="pagenum" id="page40" title="40"> </a>was very white when he +reached the door and his heart +pounded with excitement. As +the Deck Officer crossed an +electronic beam before the +door a metallic voice said: +“The Captain is asleep and +will be disturbed for nothing +but emergency priority.”</p> + +<p>Nodding, the Deck officer +stuck his thumb in the whorl-lock +of the door and entered +the cabin. “Begging your pardon, +sir,” he cried, “but we +just received an SOS from—”</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">The Captain stirred groggily, +sat up, switched on a +green night light and squinted +through it at the Deck Officer. +“Well, what is it? Isn’t the +Eye working?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. An SOS, sir….”</p> + +<p>“If we’re close enough to +help, subspace or normal +space, take the usual steps, +lieutenant. Surely you don’t +need me to—”</p> + +<p>“The usual steps can’t be +taken, sir. Far as I can make +out, that ship is doomed. She’s +bound on collision course for +Sol, only twenty million miles +out now.”</p> + +<p>“That’s too bad, lieutenant,” +the Captain said with +genuine sympathy in his voice. +“I’m sorry to hear that. But +what do you want me to do +about it?”</p> + +<p>“The ship, sir. The ship that +sent the SOS—hold on to your +hat, sir—”</p> + +<p>“Get to the point now, will +you, young man?” the Captain +growled sleepily.</p> + +<p>“The ship which sent the +SOS signal, the ship heading +on collision course for Sol, is +the <i>Glory of the Galaxy</i>!”</p> + +<p>For a moment the Captain +said nothing. Distantly, you +could hear the hum of the subspace +drive-unit and the faint +whining of the stasis generator. +Then the Captain bolted +out of bed after unstrapping +himself. In his haste he forgot +the ship was in weightless +deep space and went sailing, +arms flailing air, across the +room. The lieutenant helped +him down and into his magnetic-soled +shoes.</p> + +<p>“My God,” the Captain said +finally. “Why did it happen? +Why did it have to happen to +the <i>Glory of the Galaxy</i>?”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do, +sir?”</p> + +<p>“<em>I</em> can’t do anything. I won’t +take the responsibility. Have +the radioman contact the Hub +at once.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p><i>The Glory of the Galaxy</i>, +the SOS ship heading on collision +course with the sun, was +making its maiden run from +the assembly satellites of +Earth across the inner solar +system via the perihelion passage +<a class="pagenum" id="page41" title="41"> </a>which would bring it +within twenty-odd million +miles of the sun, to Mars +which now was on the opposite +side of Sol from Earth. +Aboard the gleaming new ship +was the President of the Galactic +Federation and his entire +cabinet.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">The Fomalhautian freighter’s +emergency message was +received at the Hub of the +Galaxy within moments after +it had been sent, although the +normal space distance was in +the neighborhood of one hundred +thousand light years. +The message was bounced—in +amazingly quick time—from +office to office at the hub, +cutting through the usual red +tape because of its top priority. +And—since none of the +normal agencies at the Hub +could handle it—the message +finally arrived at an office +which very rarely received official +messages of any kind. +This was the one unofficial, +extra-legal office at the Hub of +the Galaxy. Lacking official +function, the office had no +technical existence and was +not to be found in any Directory +of the Hub. At the moment, +two young men were +seated inside. Their sole job +was to maintain <ins title="original reads 'liason'">liaison</ins> with +a man whose very existence +was doubted by most of the +human inhabitants of the Galaxy +but whose importance +could not be measured by mere +human standards in those early +days when the Galactic +League was becoming the Galactic +Federation.</p> + +<p>The name of the man with +whom they maintained contact +was Johnny Mayhem.</p> + +<p>“Did you read it?” the blond +man asked.</p> + +<p>“I read it.”</p> + +<p>“If it got down here, that +means they can’t handle it +anywhere else.”</p> + +<p>“Of course they can’t. What +the hell could normal slobs like +them or like us do about it?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, I guess. But wait +a minute! You don’t mean +you’re going to send Mayhem, +without asking him, without +telling—”</p> + +<p>“We can’t ask him now, can +we?”</p> + +<p>“Johnny Mayhem’s <em>elan</em> is +at the moment speeding from +Canopus to Deneb, where on +the fourth planet of the Denebian +system a dead body is +waiting for him in cold +storage. The turnover from +League to Federation status +of the Denebian system is +causing trouble in Deneb City, +so Mayhem—”</p> + +<p>“Deneb City will probably +survive without Mayhem. +Well, won’t it?”</p> + +<p>“I guess so, but—”</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" id="page42" title="42"> </a>“I know. The deal is we’re +supposed to tell Mayhem +where he’s going and what he +can expect. The deal also is, +every inhabited world has a +body waiting for his <em>elan</em> in +cold storage. But don’t you +think if we could talk to Mayhem +now—”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t possible. He’s in +transit.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think if we could +talk to him now he would +agree to board the <em>Glory of +the Galaxy</em>?”</p> + +<p>“How should I know? I’m +not Johnny Mayhem.”</p> + +<p>“If he doesn’t board her, it’s +certain death for all of them.”</p> + +<p>“And if he does board her, +what the hell can he do about +it? Besides, there isn’t any +dead body awaiting his <em>elan</em> +on that ship or any ship. He +wouldn’t make a very efficacious +ghost.”</p> + +<p>“But there are live people. +Scores of them. Mayhem’s <em>elan</em> +is quite capable of possessing +a living host.”</p> + +<p>“Sure. Theoretically it is. +But damn it all, what would +the results be? We’ve never +tried it. It’s liable to damage +Mayhem. As for the host—”</p> + +<p>“The host might die. I know +it. But he’ll die anyway. The +whole shipload of them is +heading on collision course for +the sun.”</p> + +<p>“Does the SOS say why?”</p> + +<p>“No. Maybe Mayhem can +find out and do something +about it.”</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">“Yeah, maybe. That’s a hell +of a way to risk the life of +the most important man in the +Galaxy. Because if Mayhem +boards that ship and can’t do +anything about it, he’ll die +with the rest of them.”</p> + +<p>“Why? We could always +pluck his <em>elan</em> out again.”</p> + +<p>“<em>If</em> he were inhabiting a +dead one. In a live body, I +don’t think so. The attraction +would be stronger. There +would be forces of cohesion—”</p> + +<p>“That’s true. Still, Mayhem’s +our only hope.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll admit it’s a job for +Mayhem, but he’s too important.”</p> + +<p>“Is he? Don’t be a fool. +What, actually, is Johnny +Mayhem’s importance? His +importance lies in the very +fact that he is expendable. His +life—for the furtherance of +the new Galactic Federation.”</p> + +<p>“But—”</p> + +<p>“And the President is +aboard that ship. Maybe he +can’t do as much for the Galaxy +in the long run as Mayhem +can, but don’t you see, +man, he’s a figurehead. Right +now he’s the most important +man in the Galaxy, and if we +could talk to him I’m sure +<a class="pagenum" id="page43" title="43"> </a>Mayhem would agree. Mayhem +would want to board that +ship.”</p> + +<p>“It’s funny, we’ve been +working with Mayhem all +these years and we never even +met the guy.”</p> + +<p>“Would you know him if +you saw him?”</p> + +<p>“Umm-mm, I guess not. Do +you think we really can halt +his <em>elan</em> in subspace and divert +it over to the <em>Glory of the +Galaxy</em>?”</p> + +<p>“I take it you’re beginning +to see things my way. And the +answer to your question is +yes.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Mayhem. You know, +I actually feel sorry for the +guy. He’s had more adventures +than anyone since +Homer wrote the <i>Odyssey</i> and +there won’t ever be any rest +for him.”</p> + +<p>“Stop feeling sorry for him +and start hoping he succeeds.”</p> + +<p>“Yeah.”</p> + +<p>“And let’s see about getting +a <ins title="original was italicized">bead</ins> on his <ins title="original was not italicized"><em>elan</em></ins>.”</p> + +<p>The two young men walked +to a tri-dim chart which took +up much of the room. One of +them touched a button and +blue light glowed within the +chart, pulsing brightly and +sharply where space-sectors +intersected.</p> + +<p>“He’s in C-17 now,” one of +the men said as a gleaming +whiteness was suddenly superimposed +at a single point +on the blue.</p> + +<p>“Can you bead him?”</p> + +<p>“I think so. But I still feel +sorry for Mayhem. He’s expecting +to wake up in a cold-storage +corpse on Deneb IV +but instead he’ll come to in a +living body aboard a spaceship +on collision course for the +sun.”</p> + +<p>“Just hope he—”</p> + +<p>“I know. Succeeds. I don’t +even want to think of the possibility +he might fail.”</p> + +<p>In seconds, the gleaming +white dot crawled across the +surface of the tri-dim chart +from sector C-17 to sector S-1.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">The <i>Glory of the Galaxy</i> +was now nineteen million +miles out from the sun and +rushing through space at a +hundred miles per second, normal +space drive. The <em>Glory of +the Galaxy</em> thus moved a million +miles closer to fiery destruction +every three hours—but +since the sun’s gravitational +force had to be added +to that speed, the ship was +slated to plunge into the sun’s +<ins title="original reads 'cornea'">corona</ins> in little more than +twenty-four hours.</p> + +<p>Since the ship’s refrigeration +units would function perfectly +until the outer hull +reached a temperature of +eleven hundred degrees Fahrenheit, +none of its passengers +<a class="pagenum" id="page44" title="44"> </a>knew that anything was +wrong. Even the members of +the crew went through all the +normal motions. Only the +<i>Glory of the Galaxy’s</i> officers +in their bright new uniforms +and gold braid knew the grim +truth of what awaited the +gleaming two-thousand ton +spaceship less than twenty-four +hours away at the exact +center of its perihelion +passage.</p> + +<p>Something—unidentified as +yet—in all the thousands of +intricate things that could go +wrong on a spaceship, particularly +a new one making its +maiden voyage, had gone +wrong. The officers were +checking their catalogues and +their various areas of watch +meticulously—and not because +their own lives were at stake. +In spaceflight, your own life +always is at stake. There are +too many imponderables: you +are, to a certain degree, expendable. +The commissioned +contingent aboard the <em>Glory +of the Galaxy</em> was a dedicated +group, hand-picked from all +the officers in the solar system.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">But they could find nothing. +And do nothing.</p> + +<p>Within a day, their lives +along with the lives of the enlisted +men aboard the <em>Glory of +the Galaxy</em> and the passengers +on its maiden run, would be +snuffed out in a brilliant burst +of solar heat.</p> + +<p>And the President of the +Galactic Federation would die +because some unknown factor +had locked the controls of the +spaceship, making it impossible +to turn or use forward +rockets against the gravitational +pull of the sun.</p> + +<p>Nineteen million miles. In +normal space, a considerable +distance. A hundred miles a +second—a very considerable +normal space speed. Increasing….</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">Ever since they had left +Earth’s assembly satellites, +Sheila Kelly had seen a lot of +a Secret Serviceman named +Larry Grange, who was a +member of the President’s +corps of bodyguards. She liked +Larry, although there was +nothing serious in their relationship. +He was handsome +and charming and she was +naturally flattered with his attentions. +Still, although he +was older than Sheila, she +sensed that he was a boy +rather than a man and had +the odd feeling that, faced +with a real crisis, he would +confirm this tragically.</p> + +<p>It was night aboard the +<i>Glory of the Galaxy</i>. Which +was to say the blue-green +night lights had replaced the +white day lights in the companionways +<a class="pagenum" id="page45" title="45"> </a>and public rooms +of the spaceship, since its +ports were sealed against the +fierce glare of the sun. It was +hard to believe, Sheila +thought, that they were only +nineteen million miles from +the sun. Everything was so +cool—so comfortably air-conditioned….</p> + +<p>She met Larry in the Sunside +Lounge, a cabaret as nice +as any terran nightclub she +had ever seen. There were +stylistic Zodiac drawings on +the walls and blue-mirrored +columns supporting the roof. +Like everything else aboard +the <i>Glory of the Galaxy</i>, the +Sunside Lounge hardly +seemed to belong on a spaceship. +For Sheila Kelly, though—herself +a third secretary +with the department of Galactic +Economy—it was all very +thrilling.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Larry,” she said as +the Secret Serviceman joined +her at their table. He was a +tall young man in his late +twenties with crewcut blond +hair; but he sat down heavily +now and did not offer Sheila +his usual smile.</p> + +<p>“Why, what on earth is the +matter?” Sheila asked him.</p> + +<p>“Nothing. I need a drink, +that’s all.”</p> + +<p>The drinks came. Larry +gulped his and ordered another. +His complete silence +baffled Sheila, who finally +said:</p> + +<p>“Surely it isn’t anything I +did.”</p> + +<p>“You? Don’t be silly.”</p> + +<p>“Well! After the way you +said that I don’t know if I +should be glad or not.”</p> + +<p>“Just forget it. I’m sorry, +kid. I—” He reached out and +touched her hand. His own +hand was damp and cold.</p> + +<p>“Going to tell me, Larry?”</p> + +<p>“Listen. What’s a guy supposed +to do if he overhears +something he’s not supposed +to overhear, and—”</p> + +<p>“How should I know unless +you tell me what you overheard? +It is you you’re talking +about, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yeah. I was going off duty, +walking by officer quarters +and … oh, forget it. I better +not tell you.”</p> + +<p>“I’m a good listener, +Larry.”</p> + +<p>“Look, Irish. You’re a good +anything—and that’s the +truth. You have looks and you +have brains and I have a +hunch through all that Emerald +Isle sauciness you have a +heart too. But—”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t want to tell +me.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t I don’t want to, but +no one’s supposed to know, not +even the President.”</p> + +<p>“You sure make it sound +mysterious.”</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" id="page46" title="46"> </a>“Just the officers. Oh, hell. +I don’t know. What good +would it do if I told you?”</p> + +<p>“I guess you’d just get it off +your chest, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell anyone official, +Sheila. I’d have my head +handed to me. But I’ve got to +think and I’ve got to tell someone. +I’ll go crazy, just knowing +and not doing anything.”</p> + +<p>“It’s important, isn’t it?”</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">Larry downed another +drink quickly. It was his +fourth and Sheila had never +seen him take more than three +or four in the course of +a whole evening. “You’re +damned right it’s important.” +Larry leaned forward across +the postage-stamp table. A +liquor-haze clouded his eyes as +he said: “It’s so important +that unless someone does +something about it, we’ll all be +dead inside of twenty-four +hours. Only trouble is, there +isn’t anything anyone can do +about it.”</p> + +<p>“Larry—you’re a little +drunk.”</p> + +<p>“I know it. I know I am. I +want to be a lot drunker. What +the hell can a guy do?”</p> + +<p>“What do you know, Larry? +What have you heard?”</p> + +<p>“I know they have the President +of the Galactic Federation +aboard this ship and that +he ought to be told the truth.”</p> + +<p>“No. I mean—”</p> + +<p>“They sent out an SOS, kid. +Controls are locked. Lifeboats +don’t have enough power to +get us out of the sun’s gravitational +pull. We’re all going +to roast, I tell you!”</p> + +<p>Sheila felt her heart throb +wildly. Even though he was +well on the way to being thoroughly +drunk, Larry was telling +the truth. Instinctively, +she knew that—was certain +of it. “What are you going to +do?” she said.</p> + +<p>He shrugged. “I guess because +I can’t do a damned +thing I’m going to get good +and drunk. That’s what I’m +going to do. Or maybe—who +the hell knows?—maybe in +one minute I’m going to jump +up on this table and tell everyone +what I overheard. Maybe +I ought to do that, huh?”</p> + +<p>“Larry, Larry—if it’s as +bad as you say, maybe you +ought to think before you do +anything.”</p> + +<p>“Who am I to think? I’m +one of the muscle men. That’s +what they pay me for, isn’t +it?”</p> + +<p>“Larry. You don’t have to +shout.”</p> + +<p>“Well, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“If you don’t calm down I’ll +have to leave.”</p> + +<p>“You can sit still. You can +park here all night. <em>I’m</em> leaving.”</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" id="page47" title="47"> </a>“What are you going to +do?”</p> + +<p>“Oh … that.” Larry got up +from the table. He looked suddenly +green and Sheila +thought it was because he had +too much to drink. “You don’t +have to worry about that, +Sheila. Not now you don’t. I +all of a sudden don’t feel so +good. Headache. Man, I never +felt anything like it. Better go +to my cabin and lie down. +Maybe I’ll wake up and find +out all this was a dream, +huh?”</p> + +<p>“Do you need any help?” +Sheila demanded, real concern +in her voice.</p> + +<p>“No. ’Sall right. Man, this +headache really snuck up on +me. Pow! Without any warning.”</p> + +<p>“Let me help you.”</p> + +<p>“No. Just leave me alone, +will you?” Larry staggered off +across the crowded dance +floor. He drew angry glances +and muttered comments as he +disturbed the dancers waltzing +to Carlotti’s <em>Danube in +Space</em>.</p> + +<p>Why don’t you admit it, +Grange, Larry thought as he +staggered through the companionway +toward his cabin. +That’s what you always wanted, +isn’t it—a place of importance?</p> + +<p>A place in the sun, they call +it.</p> + +<p>“You’re going to get a place +in the sun, all right,” he +mumbled aloud. “Right smack +in the middle of the sun with +everyone else aboard this +ship!”</p> + +<p>The humor of it amused him +perversely. He smiled—but it +was closer to a leer—and +lunged into his cabin. What he +said to Sheila was no joke. He +really did have a splitting +headache. It had come on suddenly +and it was like no headache +he had ever known. It +pulsed and throbbed and beat +against his temples and held +red hot needles to the backs of +his eyeballs, almost blinding +him. It sapped all his strength, +leaving him physically weak. +He was barely able to close +the door behind him and stagger +to the shower.</p> + +<p>An ice cold shower, he +thought would help. He +stripped quickly and got under +the needle spray. By that +time he was so weak he could +barely stand.</p> + +<p>A place in the sun, he +thought….</p> + +<p>Something grabbed his +mind and wrenched it.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">Johnny Mayhem awoke.</p> + +<p>Awakening came slowly, as +it always did. It was a rising +through infinite gulfs, a rebirth +for a man who had died +a hundred times and might die +<a class="pagenum" id="page48" title="48"> </a>a thousand times more as the +years piled up and became +centuries. It was a spinning, +whirling, flashing ascent from +blackness to coruscating colors, +brightness, giddiness.</p> + +<p>And suddenly, it was over.</p> + +<p>A needle spray of ice-cold +water beat down upon him. +He shuddered and reached for +the water-taps, shutting them. +Dripping, he climbed from the +shower.</p> + +<p>And floated up—quite +weightless—toward the ceiling.</p> + +<p>Frowning with his new and +as yet unseen face, Johnny +Mayhem propelled himself to +the floor. He looked at his +arms. He was naked—at least +that much was right.</p> + +<p>But obviously, since he was +weightless, he was not on +Deneb IV. During his transmigration +he had been briefed +for the trouble on Deneb IV. +Then had a mistake been made +somehow? It was always possible—but +it had never happened +before.</p> + +<p>Too much precision and +careful planning was involved.</p> + +<p>Every world which had an +Earthman population and a +Galactic League—now, Galactic +Federation—post, must +have a body in cold storage, +waiting for Johnny Mayhem +if his services were required. +No one knew when Mayhem’s +services might be required. No +one knew exactly under what +circumstances the Galactic +Federation Council, operating +from the Hub of the Galaxy, +might summon Mayhem. And +only a very few people, including +those at the Hub and the +Galactic League Firstmen on +civilized worlds and Observers +on frontier planets, knew the +precise mechanics of Mayhem’s +coming.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">Johnny Mayhem, a bodiless +sentience. Mayhem—Johnny +Marlow then—who had been +chased from Earth a pariah +and a criminal seven years +ago, who had been mortally +wounded on a wild planet +deep within the Sagittarian +Swarm, whose life had been +saved—after a fashion—by +the white magic of that +planet. Mayhem, doomed now +to possible immortality as a +bodiless sentience, an <em>elan</em>, +which could occupy and activate +a corpse if it had been +preserved properly … an <em>elan</em> +doomed to wander eternally +because it could not remain in +one body for more than a +month without body and <em>elan</em> +perishing. Mayhem, who had +dedicated his strange, lonely +life to the services of the Galactic +League—now the Galactic +Federation—because a +normal life and normal social +<a class="pagenum" id="page49" title="49"> </a>relations were not possible to +him….</p> + +<p>It did not seem possible, +Mayhem thought now, that a +mistake could be made. Then—a +sudden change in plans?</p> + +<p>It had never happened before, +but it was entirely possible. +Something, Mayhem +decided, had come up during +transmigration. It was terribly +important and the people +at the Hub had had no opportunity +to brief him on it.</p> + +<p>But—what?</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">His first shock came a moment +later. He walked to a +mirror on the wall and approved +of the strong young +body which would house his +sentience and then scowled. A +thought inside his head said:</p> + +<p><em>So this is what it’s like to +have schizophrenia.</em></p> + +<p><em>What the hell was that?</em> +Mayhem thought.</p> + +<p><em>I said, so this is what it’s +like to have schizophrenia. +First the world’s worst headache +and then I start thinking +like two different people.</em></p> + +<p><em>Aren’t you dead?</em></p> + +<p><em>Is that supposed to be a +joke, alter ego? When do the +men in the white suits come?</em></p> + +<p><em>Good Lord, this was supposed +to be a dead body!</em></p> + +<p>At that, the other sentience +which shared the body with +Mayhem snickered and lapsed +into silence. Mayhem, for his +part, was astounded.</p> + +<p><em>Don’t get ornery now</em>, Mayhem +pleaded. <em>I’m Johnny +Mayhem. Does that mean anything +to you?</em></p> + +<p><em>Oh, sure. It means I’m dead. +You inhabit dead bodies, +right?</em></p> + +<p><em>Usually. Listen—where are +we?</em></p> + +<p><em><i>Glory of the Galaxy</i>—bound +from Earth to Mars on perihelion.</em></p> + +<p><em>And there’s trouble?</em></p> + +<p><em>How do you know there’s +trouble?</em></p> + +<p><em>Otherwise they wouldn’t +have diverted me here.</em></p> + +<p><em>We’ve got the president +aboard. We’re going to hit the +sun.</em> Then, grudgingly, Larry +went into the details. When he +finished he thought cynically: +<em>Now all you have to do is go +outside yelling have no fear, +Mayhem is here and everything +will be all right, I suppose.</em></p> + +<p>Mayhem didn’t answer. It +would be many moments yet +before he could adjust to this +new, unexpected situation. +But in a way, he thought, it +would be a boon. If he were +co-inhabiting the body of a +living man who belonged on +the <em>Glory of the Galaxy</em>, there +was no need to reveal his identity +as Johnny Mayhem to +anyone but his host….</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak"><a class="pagenum" id="page50" title="50"> </a>“I tell ya,” Technician First +Class Ackerman Boone shouted, +“the refrigeration unit’s +gone on the blink. You can’t +feel it yet, but I ought to +know. I got the refrigs working +full strength and we +gained a couple of degrees +heat. Either she’s on the blink +or we’re too close to the sun, +I tell you!”</p> + +<p>Ackerman Boone was a big +man, a veteran spacer with a +squat, very strong body and +arms like an orangutan. Under +normal circumstances he +was a very fine spacer and a +good addition to any crew, but +he bore an unreasonable +grudge against the officer +corps and would go out of his +way to make them look bad in +the eyes of the other enlisted +men. A large crowd had gathered +in the hammock-hung +crew quarters of the <em>Glory of +the Galaxy</em> as Boone went on +in his deep, booming voice: +“So I asked the skipper of the +watch, I did. He got shifty-eyed, +like they always do. You +know. He wasn’t talking, but +sure as my name’s Ackerman +Boone, something’s wrong.”</p> + +<p>“What do you think it is, +Acky?” one of the younger +men asked.</p> + +<p>“Well, I tell ya this: I know +what it <em>isn’t</em>. I checked out the +refrigs three times, see, and +came up with nothing. The refrigs +are in jig order, and if +I know it then you know it. So, +if the refrigs are in jig order, +there’s only one thing it can +be: we’re getting too near the +sun!” Boone clamped his +mouth shut and stood with +thick, muscular arms crossed +over his barrel chest.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">A young technician third +class said in a strident voice, +“You mean you think maybe +we’re plunging into the sun, +Acky?”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, I didn’t say +that. Did I, boy? But we <em>are</em> +too close and if we are too +close there’s got to be a reason +for it. If we stay too close too +long, O.K. Then we’re plunging +into the sun. Right now, I +dunno.”</p> + +<p>They all asked Ackerman +Boone, who was an unofficial +leader among them, what he +was going to do. He rubbed +his big fingers against the +thick stubble of beard on his +jaw and you could hear the +rasping sound it made. Then +he said, “Nothing, until we +find out for sure. But I got a +hunch the officers are trying +to pull the wool over the eyes +of them politicians we got on +board. That’s all right with +me, men. If they want to, they +got their reasons. But I tell +ya this: they ain’t going to +pull any wool over Acky +<a class="pagenum" id="page51" title="51"> </a>Boone’s eyes, and that’s a +fact.”</p> + +<p>Just then the squawk box +called: “Now hear this! Now +hear this! Tech/1 Ackerman +Boone to Exec’s office. Tech/1 +Boone to Exec.”</p> + +<p>“You see?” Boone said, +smiling grimly. As yet, no one +saw. His face still set in a +grim smile, Ackerman Boone +headed above decks.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">“That, Mr. President,” Vice +Admiral T. Shawnley Stapleton +said gravely, “is the +problem. We would have come +to you sooner, sir, but +frankly—”</p> + +<p>“I know it, Admiral,” the +President said quietly. “I +could not have helped you in +any way. There was no sense +telling me.”</p> + +<p>“We have one chance, sir, +and one only. It’s irregular +and it will probably knock the +hell out of the <em>Glory of the +Galaxy</em>, but it may save our +lives. If we throw the ship +suddenly into subspace we +could pass right through the +sun’s position and—”</p> + +<p>“I’m no scientist, Admiral, +but wouldn’t that put tremendous +stress not only on the +ship but on all of us aboard?”</p> + +<p>“It would, sir. I won’t keep +anything from you, of course. +We’d all be subjected to a +force of twenty-some gravities +for a period of several seconds. +Here aboard the <i>Glory</i>, +we don’t have adequate G-equipment. +It’s something like +the old days of air flight, sir: +as soon as airplanes became +reasonably safe, passenger +ships didn’t bother to carry +parachutes. Result over a +period of fifty years: thousands +of lives lost. We’d all be +bruised and battered, sir. +Bones would be broken. There +might be a few deaths. But I +see no other way out, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Then there was no need to +check with me at all, I assure +you, Admiral Stapleton. Do +whatever you think is best, +sir.”</p> + +<p>The Admiral nodded gravely. +“Thank you, Mr. President. +I will say this, though: we will +wait for a miracle.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t follow +you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t expect a miracle, +but the switchover to subspace +so suddenly is bound to +be dangerous. Therefore, we’ll +wait until the last possible +moment. It will grow uncomfortably +warm, let me warn +you, but as long as the subspace +drive is in good working +order—”</p> + +<p>“I see what you mean, Admiral. +You have a free hand, +sir; let me repeat that. I will +not interfere in any way and +I have the utmost confidence +<a class="pagenum" id="page52" title="52"> </a>in you.” The President mopped +his brow with an already +damp handkerchief. It <em>was</em> +growing warm, come to think +of it. Uncomfortably warm.</p> + +<p>As if everyone aboard the +<i>Glory of the Galaxy</i> was slowly +being broiled alive….</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">Ackerman Boone entered +the crew quarters with the +same smile still on his lips. At +first he said nothing, but his +silence drew the men like a +magnet draws iron filings. +When they had all clustered +about him he spoke.</p> + +<p>“The Exec not only chewed +my ears off,” he boomed. “He +all but spit them in my face! +I was right, men. He admitted +it to me after he saw how he +couldn’t get away with anything +in front of Ackerman +Boone. Men, we’re heading on +collision course with the sun!”</p> + +<p>A shocked silence greeted +his words and Ackerman +Boone, instinctively a born +speaker, paused dramatically +to allow each man the private +horror of his own thoughts for +a few moments. Then he continued: +“The Admiral figures +we have one chance to get +out of this alive, men. He +figures—”</p> + +<p>“What is it, Acky?”</p> + +<p>“What will he do?”</p> + +<p>“How will the Admiral get +us out of this?”</p> + +<p>Ackerman Boone spat on +the polished, gleaming floor of +the crew quarters. “He’ll +never get us out alive, let me +tell you. He wants to shift us +into subspace at the last possible +minute. Suddenly. Like +this—” and Ackerman Boone +snapped his fingers.</p> + +<p>“There’d be a ship full of +broken bones!” someone protested. +“We can’t do a thing +like that.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll kill us all!” a very +young T/3 cried hysterically.</p> + +<p>“Not if I can help it, he +won’t,” shouted Ackerman +Boone. “Listen, men. This +ain’t a question of discipline. +It’s a question of living or dying +and I tell you that’s more +important than doing it like +the book says or discipline or +anything like that. We got a +chance, all right: but it ain’t +what the Admiral thinks it is. +We ought to abandon the +<i>Glory</i> to her place in the sun +and scram out of here in the +lifeboats—every last person +aboard ship.”</p> + +<p>“But will they have enough +power to get out of the sun’s +gravitational pull?” someone +asked.</p> + +<p>Ackerman Boone shrugged. +“Don’t look at me,” he said +mockingly. “I’m only an enlisted +man and they don’t give +enlisted men enough math to +answer questions like that. +<a class="pagenum" id="page53" title="53"> </a>But reckoning by the seat of +my pants I would say, yes. +Yes, we could get away like +that—if we act fast. Because +every minute we waste is a +minute that brings us closer +to the sun and makes it harder +to get away in the lifeboats. If +we act, men, we got to act +fast.”</p> + +<p>“You’re talking mutiny, +Boone,” a grizzled old space +veteran said. “You can count +me out.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter, McCormick? +Yellow?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not yellow. I say it +takes guts to maintain discipline +in a real emergency. I say +<em>you’re</em> yellow, Boone.”</p> + +<p>“You better be ready to +back that up with your fists, +McCormick,” Boone said +savagely.</p> + +<p>“I’m ready any time you’re +ready, you yellow mutinous +bastard!”</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">Ackerman Boone launched +himself at the smaller, older +man, who stood his ground +unflinchingly although he +probably knew he would take +a sound beating. But four or +five crewmen came between +them and held them apart, one +saying:</p> + +<p>“Look who’s talking, Boone. +You say time’s precious but +you’re all set to start fighting. +Every minute—”</p> + +<p>“Every <em>second</em>,” Boone said +grimly, “brings us more than +a hundred miles closer to the +sun.”</p> + +<p>“What can we do, Acky?”</p> + +<p>Instead of answer, Ackerman +Boone dramatically mopped +the sweat from his face. +All the men were uncomfortably +warm now. It was obvious +that the temperature +within the <i>Glory of the Galaxy</i> +had now climbed fifteen or +twenty degrees despite the +fact that the refrigs were +working at full capacity. Even +the bulkheads and the metal +floor of crew quarters were +unpleasantly warm to the +touch. The air was hot and +suddenly very dry.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what we ought +to do,” Ackerman Boone said +finally. “Admiral Stapleton or +no Admiral Stapleton, President +of the Galactic Federation +or no President of the +Galactic Federation, we ought +to take over this ship and man +the life boats for everyone’s +good. If they don’t want to +save their lives and ours—let’s +us save our lives and theirs!”</p> + +<p>Roars of approval greeted +Boone’s words, but Spacer +McCormick and some of the +other veterans stood apart +from the loud speech-making +which followed. Actually, +Boone’s wild words—which he +gambled with after the first +<a class="pagenum" id="page54" title="54"> </a>flush of enthusiasm for his +plan—began to lose converts. +One by one the men drifted +toward McCormick’s silent +group until, finally, Boone had +lost almost his entire audience.</p> + +<p>Just then a T/2 rushed into +crew quarters and shouted: +“Hey, is Boone around? Has +anyone seen Boone?”</p> + +<p>This brought general laughter. +Under the circumstances, +the question was not without +its humorous aspect.</p> + +<p>“What’ll you have?” Boone +demanded.</p> + +<p>“The refrigs, Boone! They +are on the blink. Overstrained +themselves and burned themselves +out. Inside of half an +hour this ship’s going to be an +oven hot enough to kill us all!”</p> + +<p>“Half an hour, men!” Ackerman +Boone cried. “Now, do +we take over the ship and man +those lifeboats or don’t we!”</p> + +<p>The roar which followed his +words was a decidedly affirmative +one.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">“These are the figures,” Admiral +Stapleton said. “You can +see, Mr. President, that we +have absolutely no chance +whatever if we man the lifeboats. +We would perish as assuredly +as we would if we remained +with the <em>Glory of the +Galaxy</em> in normal space.”</p> + +<p>“Admiral, I have to hand it +to you. I don’t know how you +can think—in all this heat.”</p> + +<p>“Have to, sir. Otherwise we +all die.”</p> + +<p>“The air temperature—”</p> + +<p>“Is a hundred and thirty +degrees and rising. We’ve +passed salt tablets out to +everyone, sir, but even then +it’s only a matter of time before +we’re all prostrated. If +you’re sure you give your permission, +sir—”</p> + +<p>“Admiral Stapleton, you are +running this ship, not I.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir. I’ve sent +our subspace officer, Lieutenant +Ormundy, to throw in the +subspace drive. We should +know in a few moments—”</p> + +<p>“No crash hammocks or +anything?”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, sir.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t your fault, Admiral. +I was merely pointing +out a fact.”</p> + +<p>The <ins title="original reads 'squack'">squawk</ins> box blared: +“Now hear this! Now hear +this! T/3 Ackerman Boone to +Admiral Stapleton. Are you +listening, Admiral?”</p> + +<p>Admiral Stapleton’s haggard, +heat-worn face bore a +look of astonishment as he +listened. Ackerman said, “We +have Lieutenant Ormundy, +Admiral. He’s not killing us +all by putting us into subspace +in minutes when it ought to +take hours, you understand. +We have Ormundy and we +<a class="pagenum" id="page55" title="55"> </a>have the subspace room. A +contingent of our men is getting +the lifeboats ready. We’re +going to abandon ship, Admiral, +all of us, including you +and the politicians even if we +have to drag you aboard the +lifeboats at N—gunpoint.”</p> + +<p>Admiral Stapleton’s face +went ashen. “Let me at a radio!” +he roared. “I want to +answer that man and see if +he understands exactly what +mutiny is!”</p> + +<p>While Ackerman Boone was +talking over the squawk box, +the temperature within the +<i>Glory of the Galaxy</i> rose to +145° Fahrenheit.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">“Fifteen minutes,” Larry +Grange said. “In fifteen +minutes the heat will have us +all unconscious.” Only it +wasn’t Larry alone who was +talking. It was Larry and +Johnny Mayhem. In a surprisingly +short time the young +Secret Serviceman had come +to accept the dual occupation +of his own mind. It was there: +it was either dual occupation +or insanity and if the voice +which spoke inside his head +said it was Johnny Mayhem, +then it was Johnny Mayhem. +Besides, Larry felt clear-headed +in a way he had never +felt before, despite the terrible, +sapping heat. It was as +if he had matured suddenly—the +word matured came to him +instinctively—in the space of +minutes. Or, as if a maturing +influence were at work on his +mind.</p> + +<p>“What can we do?” Sheila +said. “The crew has complete +control of the ship.”</p> + +<p>“Secret Service chief says +we’re on our own. There’s no +time for co-ordinated planning, +but somehow, within a +very few minutes, we’ve got +to get inside the subspace +room and throw the ship out +of normal space or we’ll all be +roasted.”</p> + +<p>“Some of your men are +there now, aren’t they?”</p> + +<p>“In the companionway outside +the subspace room, yeah. +But they’ll never force their +way in time. Not with blasters +and not with N-guns, either. +Not in ten minutes, they +won’t.”</p> + +<p>“Larry, all of a sudden I—I’m +scared. We’re all going to +die, Larry. I don’t want—Larry, +what are you going to do?”</p> + +<p>They had been walking in a +deserted companionway which +brought them to one of the +aft escape hatches of the +<i>Glory of the Galaxy</i>. Their +clothing was plastered to their +bodies with sweat and every +breath was agonizing, furnace +hot.</p> + +<p>“I’m going outside,” Larry +said quietly.</p> + +<p><a class="pagenum" id="page56" title="56"> </a>“Outside? What do you +mean?”</p> + +<p>“Spacesuit, outside. There’s +a hatch in the subspace room. +If their attention is diverted +to the companionway door, I +may be able to get in. It’s our +only chance—ours, and everyone’s.”</p> + +<p>“But the spacesuit—”</p> + +<p>“I know,” Larry said even +as he was climbing into the +inflatable vacuum garment. It +was Larry—and it wasn’t +Larry. He felt a certain confidence, +a certain sense of doing +the right thing—a feeling +which Larry Grange had +never experienced before in +his life. It was as if the boy +had become a man in the final +moments of his life—or, he +thought all at once, it was as +if Johnny Mayhem who +shared his mind and his body +with him was somehow transmitting +some of his own skills +and confidence even as he—Mayhem—had +reached the decision +to go outside.</p> + +<p>“I know,” he said. “The +spacesuit isn’t insulated sufficiently. +I’ll have about three +minutes out there. Three minutes +to get inside. Otherwise, +I’m finished.”</p> + +<p>“But Larry—”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you see, Sheila? +What does it matter? Who +wants the five or ten extra +minutes if we’re all going to +die anyway? This way, there’s +a chance.”</p> + +<p>He buckled the spacesuit +and lifted the heavy fishbowl +helmet, preparing to set it on +his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” Sheila said, and +stood on tiptoes to take his +face in her hands and kiss him +on the lips. “You—you’re different,” +Sheila said. “You’re +the same guy, a lot of fun, but +you’re a—man, too. This is +for what might have been, +Larry,” she said, and kissed +him again. “This is because I +love you.”</p> + +<p>Before he dropped the helmet +in place, Larry said. “It +isn’t for what might have +been, Sheila. It’s for what will +be.”</p> + +<p>The helmet snapped shut +over the shoulder ridges of the +spacesuit. Moments later, he +had slipped into the airlock.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">“I say you’re a fool, Ackerman +Boone!” one of the enlisted +men rasped at the leader +of the mutiny. “I say now +we’ve lost our last chance. +Now it’s too late to get into +the lifeboats even if we +wanted to. Now all we can do +is—die!”</p> + +<p>There were still ten conscious +men in the subspace +room. The others had fallen +before heat prostration and +lay strewn about the floor, +<a class="pagenum" id="page57" title="57"> </a>wringing wet and oddly flaccid +as if all the moisture had +been wrung from their bodies +except for the sweat which +covered their skins.</p> + +<p>“All right,” Ackerman +Boone admitted. “All right, so +none of us knows how to work +the subspace mechanism. You +think that would have helped? +It would have killed us all, I +tell you.”</p> + +<p>“It was a chance, Boone. +Our last chance and you—”</p> + +<p>“Just shut up!” Boone +snarled. “I know what you’re +thinking. You’re thinking we +ought to let them officers and +Secret Servicemen to ram +home the subspace drive. But +use your head, man. Probably +they’ll kill us all, but if they +don’t—”</p> + +<p>“Then you admit there’s a +chance!”</p> + +<p>“Yeah. All right, a chance. +But if they don’t kill us all, if +they save us by ramming +home the subspacer, what happens? +We’re all taken in on a +mutiny charge. It’s a capital +offense, you fool!”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s better than sure +death,” the man said, and +moved toward the door.</p> + +<p>“Allister, wait!” Boone +cried. “Wait, I’m warning you. +Any man who tries to open +that door—”</p> + +<p>Outside, a steady booming +of blaster fire could be heard, +but the assault-proof door +stood fast.</p> + +<p>“—is going to get himself +killed!” Boone finished.</p> + +<p>Grimly, Allister reached the +door and got his already blistered +fingers on the lock mechanism.</p> + +<p>Ackerman Boone shot him +in the back with an N-gun.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">Larry’s whole body felt like +one raw mass of broken blisters +as, flat on his belly, he +inched his way along the outside +hull of the <em>Glory of the +Galaxy</em>. He had no idea what +the heat was out here, but it +radiated off the hot hull of the +<i>Glory</i> in scalding, suffocating +waves which swept right +through the insulining of the +spacesuit. If he didn’t find the +proper hatch, and in a matter +of seconds….</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">“Anyone else?” Ackerman +Boone screamed. “Anyone else +like Allister?”</p> + +<p>But one by one the remaining +men were dropping from +the heat. Finally—alone—Ackerman +Boone faced the +door and stared defiantly at +the hot metal as if he could see +his adversaries through it. On +the other side, the firing became +more sporadic as the officers +and Secret Servicemen +collapsed. His mind crazed +with the heat and with fear, +<a class="pagenum" id="page58" title="58"> </a>Ackerman Boone suddenly +wished he could see the men +through the door, wished he +could see them die….</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">It was this hatch or nothing. +He thought it was the +right one, but couldn’t be sure. +He could no longer see. His +vision had gone completely. +The pain was a numb thing +now, far away, hardly a part +of himself. Maybe Mayhem +was absorbing the pain-sensation +for him, he thought. +Maybe Mayhem took the pain +and suffered with it in the +shared body so he, Larry, +could still think. Maybe—</p> + +<p>His blistered fingers were +barely able to move within the +insulined gloves, Larry fumbled +with the hatch.</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">Ackerman Boone whirled +suddenly. He had been intent +upon the companionway door +and the sounds behind him—which +he had heard but not +registered as dangerous for +several seconds—now made +him turn.</p> + +<p>The man was peeling off a +space suit. Literally peeling it +off in strips from his lobster-red +flesh. He blinked at Boone +without seeing him. Dazzle-blinded, +Boone thought, then +realized his own vision was +going.</p> + +<p>“I’ll kill you if you go near +that subspace drive!” Boone +screamed.</p> + +<p>“It’s the only chance for all +of us and you know it, Boone,” +the man said quietly. “Don’t +try to stop me.”</p> + +<p>Ackerman Boone lifted his +N-gun and squinted through +the haze of heat and blinding +light. He couldn’t see! He +couldn’t see….</p> + +<p>Wildly, he fired the N-gun. +Wildly, in all directions, +spraying the room with it—</p> + +<p>Larry dropped blindly forward. +Twice he tripped over +unconscious men, but climbed +to his feet and went on. He +could not see Boone, but he +could see—vaguely—the muzzle +flash of Boone’s N-gun. He +staggered across the room toward +that muzzle-flash and finally +embraced it—</p> + +<p>And found himself fighting +for his life. Boone was crazed +now—with the heat and with +his own failure. He bit and +tore at Larry with strong +claw-like fingers and lashed +out with his feet. He balled his +fists and hammered air like a +windmill, arms flailing, striking +flesh often enough to batter +Larry toward the floor.</p> + +<p>Grimly Larry clung to him, +pulled himself upright, ducked +his head against his chest and +struck out with his own fists, +feeling nothing, not knowing +when they landed and when +<a class="pagenum" id="page59" title="59"> </a>they did not, hearing nothing +but a far off roaring in his +ears, a roaring which told him +he was losing consciousness +and had to act—soon—if he +was going to save anyone….</p> + +<p>He stood and pounded with +his fists.</p> + +<p>Pounded—air.</p> + +<p>He did not know that Boone +had collapsed until his feet +trod on the man’s inert body +and then, quickly, he rushed +toward the control board, +rushed blindly in its direction, +or in the direction he thought +it would be, tripped over +something, sprawled on the +hot, blistering floor, got himself +up somehow, crawled +forward, pulled himself upright….</p> + +<p>There was no sensation in +his fingers. He did not know +if he had actually reached the +control board but abruptly he +realized that he had not felt +Mayhem’s presence in his +mind for several minutes. Was +Mayhem conserving his energy +for a final try, letting +Larry absorb the punishment +now so he—</p> + +<p>Yes, Larry remembered +thinking vaguely. It had to be +that. For Mayhem knew how +to work the controls, and he +did not. Now his mind receded +into a fog of semi-consciousness, +but he was aware that +his blistered fingers were fairly +flying across the control +board, aware then of an inward +sigh—whether of relief +or triumph, he was never to +know—then aware, abruptly +and terribly, of a wrenching +pain which seemed to strip his +skin from his flesh, his flesh +from his bones, the marrow +from….</p> + +<hr class="thoughtbreak" /> + +<p class="post_thoughtbreak">“Can you see?” the doctor +asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Larry said as the +bandages were removed from +his eyes. Three people were in +the room with the doctor—Admiral +Stapleton, the President—and +Sheila. Somehow, +Sheila was most important.</p> + +<p>“We are now in subspace, +thanks to you,” the Admiral +said. “We all have minor injuries +as a result of the transfer, +but there were only two +fatalities, I’m happy to say. +And naturally, the ship is now +out of danger.”</p> + +<p>“What gets me, Grange,” +the President said, “is how +you managed to work those +controls. What the devil do +you know about sub-space, my +boy?”</p> + +<p>“The two fatalities,” the +Admiral said, “were Ackerman +Boone and the man he +had killed.” Then the Admiral +grinned. “Can’t you see, Mr. +President, that he’s not paying +any attention to us? I think, +<a class="pagenum" id="page60" title="60"> </a>at the moment, the hero of the +hour only has eyes for Miss +Kelly here.”</p> + +<p>“Begging your pardons, +sirs, yes,” Larry said happily.</p> + +<p>Nodding and smiling, the +President of the Galactic Federation +and Admiral Stapleton +left the dispensary room—with +the doctor.</p> + +<p>“Well, hero,” Sheila said, +and smiled.</p> + +<p>Larry realized—quite suddenly—that, +inside himself, +he was alone. Mayhem had +done his job—and vanished +utterly.</p> + +<p>“You know,” Sheila said, +“it’s as if you—well, I hope +this doesn’t get you sore at +me—as if you grew up overnight.”</p> + +<p>Before he kissed her Larry +said: “Maybe you’re right. +Maybe I’ll tell you about it +someday. But you’d never believe +me.”</p> + +<div id="the_end"> + <p class="end">THE END</p> + + <p class="transcriber_note">Transcriber’s note: the few typographical changes are indicated by a dotted red line under the word that has changed.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Place in the Sun, by C.H. 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