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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6fff739 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65843 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65843) diff --git a/old/65843-0.txt b/old/65843-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5773400..0000000 --- a/old/65843-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1058 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hideout, by Fox B. Holden - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Hideout - -Author: Fox B. Holden - -Release Date: July 15, 2021 [eBook #65843] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIDEOUT *** - - - - - - HIDEOUT - - By Fox B. Holden - - When a man has a price on his head he runs - for his life. And if he's finally cornered he - may have only one door left open to him--Time! - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy - May 1952 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -"Cap'n Cutlass! Earth merchantman three points starboard, oblique -ecliptic eight degrees. Estimate speed 400,000, Marsbound. Your orders, -sir?" - -Robbin Cutlass was angry. He wouldn't let this one go by. Not even -with a million credits on his head. But damn it, one ship and one crew -couldn't fight the whole Tri-Planet Entente Space Patrol alone. But -that was how it had to be. - -"Track her down!" He switched over to all-stations. "All hands read -this. Gunners to stations, oblique ecliptic eight, Earth reading three -starboard, two torpedoes across her bow and stand alert to blow her! -Boarders don your suits, man lock stations and stand by. Drive-room cut -in your Raven converters, jet minus 177 ecliptic acute 3-5-2 and hold -her steady as she blasts. Now wait." - -He checked in his own radar screen as a matter of routine. - -Twenty years ago when his father had given orders from this same -control room things hadn't been like this. You knew, when the _Vulture_ -and a section of her fleet closed in to make the kill that nobody had -the guts to try to stop you. Sure, Jeremy Cutlass had been a tough -old duck--but even he wouldn't have been able to hold the fifty-ship -buccaneer fleet together after the Patrol had gotten fully organized. -Robbin remembered how it had been when he died--the whole fleet had -hovered in double-echelon to each side of the _Vulture_, the faded -sun-glow from Pluto glimmering shadow-like from its long, slender -hulls--right at the very edge of the total darkness of Deep Space -itself. And then the body of Jeremy Cutlass had been committed to the -deep of Infinity. - -Those were the days when a man had friends--and now, all that Jeremy -Cutlass had had, scattered as they'd been from one end of the Universe -to the other--were either dead or sweating out their last days in the -penal colonies of Earth or Mars. All except for old Doc Raven--and he'd -be under lock and key too if the _Vulture_ hadn't been able to carry -out Jeremy's dying command--to rescue him from the penal colony of -Mars, regardless of the cost. The cost had been the last eleven ships -of the fleet. - -It had been worth it, yes. Not just because the conniving old toad was -probably the best scientist Mars had ever produced, but because-- - - * * * * * - -The intercom squealed frantically even as Cutlass saw what was -happening in his own screen. - -"Cap'n Cutlass! It's a trap, sir! I'm tracking Patrol ships from all -points--" - -There were at least 200 of them. - -Even the Raven drive couldn't keep the _Vulture_ from slewing, losing -some of her precious speed as Cutlass tapped out an unprecedented -ecliptic-deviation and trajectory-variation pattern on the master -control console. - -A screen generator whined its overload as the Patrol ships got the -_Vulture's_ range and pounded her with everything they had. This time, -they were too many--and too fast. - -"Run!" Cutlass howled to the drive-room. "Godammit, _run_!" - -His eyes were hot and wet with the rage that rasped in his voice. No -Cutlass that had ever buccaneered Space for four generations had ever -given that command. But now the notorious _Vulture_, last of her kind -in the Solar System, finally was forced to take to her jets or be -torpedoed to cosmic dust like all the rest. - -Two screen generators went to hell and plastered the control room with -jagged shards of smoking metal. There was a searing pain in Cutlass' -shoulder, and blood trickled the length of his arm and along his -fingers as he flipped the ship's inter-teleco switches. Just a glance -told him they'd gotten through the screens--the jagged, gaping holes -in the _Vulture's_ ripped flanks told him he didn't have a gunner or a -radarman left alive. - -Damn them _damn them_.... - -He choked on the acrid fumes of the burnt-out screen generators as he -fumbled painfully into a space-suit. Old Doc had bragged to him once -that a man could travel the system end to end and back in a Raven-built -suit--with a certain amount of pirates' luck, of course. Well, the -Patrol wasn't to have Robbin Cutlass alive-- - -He was less than five thousand miles out when he saw the _Vulture_ die. -It was a Viking's death--a great mass of blinding white flame which -seemed to rip Space wide open for a silent, coruscating second--and -then there was the cold darkness of any grave. - -Pluto glimmered eerily a hundred million miles ahead of him. And -somewhere, a half-light-year beyond, was Doc's old freighter. Doc, with -his well hidden laboratory, circling away the last years of his life in -the quiet solitude of Deep Space--all that was left. - - * * * * * - -Barrel-chested and heavy-browed like his father, Robbin Cutlass stood -there, his space-suit crumpled in a heap at his feet, and looked -about him. Doc had explained it to him, but he still was not sure he -understood. - -This was the freighter--or, more accurately, Doc Raven's great -laboratory, suspension-built in the long, tapering mid-section of the -battered, engineless ship which drifted silently in its dark, remote -path around a pale sun. Only a scant five years ago Doc had been -brought here following his costly Martian rescue, yet his equipment, -which had been salvaged from a half-dozen hidden sanctuaries on as many -different planets and brought here for him to assemble, had in that -time grown to twice its original bulk. Sometimes Robbin thought of Doc -as something less of a scientist and more of a wizard. It was often -said, in the deadly seriousness that marked the spaceman's legends, -that there is more to the Martian mind than a man of Earth might even -dream of. - -The long banks of control consoles emitted a blue-green glow of their -own, silhouetting as they did the rows of relays, grid-circuits and -reactor-registers. - -Robbin did not know the little Martian scientist's source of power--but -he knew that through this Colossus of engineering enough must pour to -change the very courses of the planets in their paths, if Doc should -will it. - -His eyes turned back for a second time to the metal cylinder, gleaming -dully in the blue-green light of the consoles, which stood more than -half the height of the long, narrow lab itself. Except that it was -twice as high and a little more than twice the diameter it looked -like nothing more complex than an old-fashioned hot-water heater. -Yet through it, the bent old man had said, flowed the raw flux of -space-time, tapped from the fabric of the Universe itself. - -"I'm not the guy for this job, Doc. You want somebody who's a -scientific explorer or something. Right now, I've got to heist a new -ship from someplace. I must be as hot as a two-credit rocket." - - * * * * * - -The echoes of his heavy voice were distorted strangely, and came back -to him in half-sounds and whispers that had a hollowness of words that -were spoken and had died a thousand years ago. - -"It wouldn't work, Robbin boy. The day of the _Vulture_ and her great -legion is over," the old Martian said softly. The years in the penal -colony had taken their toll, but his face still showed the intelligence -that had once come close to conquering three worlds. "I could get -you your ship within an hour with this--" he gestured toward the -dully-glinting cylinder, "just as I plucked you from Space. But--in one -other ship or with a fleet of one hundred, they'd have you by tomorrow -or in a year from tomorrow. You've got to hide, Robbin. Believe an old -man ... if I could devise an armor or a drive or a screen generator -that would hide you from their tracks and torpedoes for the rest of -your rebellious life I'd be at work on them this instant. But there is -only one place left that I can hide you now--only one realm that they -have not yet conquered. I grow old, Robbin, and they are catching up--" - -"You said you could hide me in--in Time, I guess you said. I don't -know what you mean, Doc. You could tell me about space-warps and -time-continua and all that for the next ten years, and--" - -"Space-time is like the very fabric of your tunic, Robbin." The answer -came with the hint of a new excitement. "A set of slender threads in -myriad numbers running in two dimensions, and another set running at -right angles in another two. If they are the fabric of space-time, they -comprise four simple dimensions--length and width, depth and time. You -are--how tall? Six feet three inches. And, eleven inches through the -chest, perhaps. Across the shoulders you measure twenty-three inches. -And--you are thirty-three years old. Is that so difficult?" - -"That's not a new theory, Doc. That's been in the books for a hell of -awhile." - -"Of course, Robbin. But--I have learned to _separate the threads_!" - -"Doc, you old madman, talk sense! Not that I don't appreciate what you -did. I do. They had a track on me before I was half way to Pluto. But -you had your eye on me as always--" - -"I owed you and your father that, boy. No man soon forgets the colony." - -"I know. And I realize that somehow you were able to use this hot-water -tank here to pluck me out of Space--warp me from there to here, or -whatever it is you said you did. Believe me I'm grateful. But this -space-time stuff I don't understand. All I know is that there's a -million-credit price on my head, and everywhere I look there's the -Patrol. Everywhere. In a new ship, I could cruise Deep Space for awhile -until I cooled off--" - -"When has a Cutlass ever cooled off, Robbin? As long as they have not -seen you die with their own eyes...." - - * * * * * - -Robbin put a cigarette to his lips, smoked quietly for minutes. The -little man seated behind the most fantastic master-control panel he had -ever seen remained silent, waiting, expectant. - -"You really want me to give it a try, don't you, Doc?" - -The old man's eyes glittered, and Robbin knew it was all the answer -that he'd get. What the hell. If it worked--maybe, back sometime else-- - -"You're really pretty sure of this thing, ain't you, Doc?" - -Wordlessly, the old Martian rose from his bench, pressed a stud on the -side of a bulky automatic cataloguing file. He returned with several -objects that Robbin could only identify from his memory of the history -tapes he'd studied as a boy. - -"I could say you've been capering in museums, Doc, but I guess I know -better...." He turned the objects around in his hands. A 19th century -Colt revolver. An ornate dagger from perhaps the scabbard of a Spanish -nobleman who had lived and died a thousand years ago. A book of names -and numbers--MANHATTAN TELEPHONE DIRECTORY--1967 was printed on its -cover. - -"I warped Space to effect your rescue, Robbin. I can warp Time to hide -you. The Patrol is growing in efficiency and in sheer numbers--there's -no hiding place for you in Space, lad. None. Not even--here." - -Cutlass knew he was right. If they found him here, it'd be the colony -again for Doc. He owed him too much, for his father as well as himself, -to let that happen. And anywhere else, sooner or later-- - -"I guess you win, Doc. But I've still got questions. I step into the -cylinder--and then where'll I be? What'll I be? Suppose I don't like -it where I end up? I'm sick of the sight of space police--or any other -kind of police." - -"I'll place you on Earth, because you're native to it, Robbin, and have -a knowledge of its history. And--I'll try to pick a time that suits a -young fellow of your talents! And if you don't like it, you have only -to use this--" - - * * * * * - -Cutlass fingered the small object, was fascinated as it glittered with -all the blended colors of the sun despite the blue-green shadows that -fell everywhere about it. It was the shape and size of an old-fashioned -cigarette-lighter, and made of some hard, smooth metal that doubtless -was of Doc's own forging. The only break in its smooth surface was a -round, countersunk button colored like a ruby. - -"No matter where you find yourself in Space or Time," he heard Doc -saying, "press the button--hold it down hard. And I'll know you're -either bored or--" the withered old face smiled gently, "in trouble -that you can't battle your way out of! I'll have you in another -space-time within seconds." - -"You're a crazy old coot, Doc. You know that." - -"Don't you think it, boy! And there is no need to fear my--my death, in -the interim. Depending upon the time-phase in which you find yourself, -anywhere from ten to a hundred years in your continuum will mean -perhaps a minute to an hour in mine. But--as to what you'd be--well...." - -"Go ahead! Tell me," Cutlass laughed. "As long as I'll be alive!" - -"It is actually impossible for me to answer you. I don't think I can -change the blood in a man's veins. And the blood of pirates has coursed -in yours through generations!" - -Cutlass laughed loudly, and it was a defiant, careless laugh that told -the Universe and its entire white picket-fence society to go to blazing -Hell. - -"OK, Doc! You win! You hide me good!" - -Cutlass belted the small signalling device around his body and stepped -inside the cylinder. The dull black sheen of his tunic lent a peculiar -matter-of-factness to the underacted drama, yet Cutlass knew it was as -Doc said--hide out, or die. - -"Good hunting, Robbin Cutlass!" - - * * * * * - -_A half-light-year beyond Pluto, floating at the edge of Deep Space -in a creaking freighter hull that was disguised with the shades of -night itself, a withered Martian scientist touched a series of relays -with his short, reddish fingers. There was a gentle humming, the faint -odor of ozone, and that was all. Robbin Cutlass, last of the Space -buccaneers, had vanished completely._ - - * * * * * - -A hot wind rushed across his face and there was the taste of salt on -his lips. His head hurt as though he had been struck; how they had come -upon the French merchant was puzzlingly hazy in his mind, but there was -no doubt in it as to what course of action to take. - -"Two shots from your long-gun across her bow, Mr. Treach!" - -Cutlass glanced briefly upward as his colors were raised quickly to -the tip of the spanker-gaff; then he watched with satisfaction as the -captain of the merchantman laid his mainyard aback and hove to. - -In a moment he could lower a boat, and this time there'd better be -something more aboard to his liking than a cargo of salt! If it were -coffee that he could sell at Rio Medias, he would not sink her, and if -it were gold, he'd spare her captain's life. - -Cutlass had parted his lips to shout an order to lower a boat when he -stopped his voice in his throat. He could not remember ever having -given chase after sail but what the fleeing prize, upon sighting his -black flag, would simply heave-to and surrender. But a hint of screened -movement at the edge of the merchantman's middle deck had caught the -corner of his eye-- - -"The Frenchman feigns surrender when his intention is to scuttle us!" -Cutlass howled. "Mister Treach! Prepare a fitting answer to such an -ill-planned deceit!" - -"Aye sir!" - -Cutlass watched his men as they scrambled to obey the first mate's -order and brought their cannon to bear for a broadside. Some with -laughs on their lips, all with sweat glistening from their scarred -bodies, the gunners of the _Black Talon_ grasped the lanyards of their -already-shotted guns even as the Frenchman opened fire. - -"Sink the lily-livered swine!" Cutlass bellowed, and drew his sword -to flash it down in a glittering arc as the signal to fire. Half his -starboard battery flamed in response to the merchantman's unsuccessful -stratagem, then the other half as the first was reshotted. A ball -from the Frenchman's battery tore away the brig's fore top gallantsail -but Cutlass was warming to the fray and flashed the sword again in the -burning rays of the hot West Indies sun. - -"The Frenchman shall strike his colors, Mr. Treach, and I'll shoot the -man who fights as anything less than a devil!" he roared, a great laugh -forming in his throat as the merchantman's volleys became increasingly -ragged and her planking began to fly in splinters from beneath the very -feet of her crew. - -For the Frenchman's cargo, whatever it was, Cutlass knew he cared but -little. The _Talon's_ hold must be full to overflowing with jewels -pillaged from the galleys of the Great Mogul--hard specie from the -hulls of the East Indiamen--no, the plunder was for the satisfaction of -the crew. But this--this, pure taste of revenge was for Robbin Cutlass! - - * * * * * - -Something stirred peculiarly in his mind--something that for the moment -caught his breath from his lungs and left him shivering, then sent -the blood racing hot through his body. There was an anger there--a -long-smouldering anger for which he could not accurately account, but -which was undeniable. His sword flashed again in the blaze of the sun. - -And once more he shivered. - -"Cap'n Cutlass sir! It's a trap!" - -His palm was suddenly cold and slippery on the corded hilt of the -glittering blade in his hand. - -"Sail ho! Sail to stern sir!" the lookout was bellowing. "Three o' the -King's men-o'-war!" - -Cutlass watched them as they bore down, shouted orders to the helmsman -to bring the brig about. The cries of the drowning merchantman's crew -were totally wasted on him as he prepared to meet the new menace. -Ordinarily, so far as his hazy memory would account for him, there had -never been much to fear from the Jamaica fleet. Now it seemed they had -been especially enjoined in the Frenchman's aid for the sole purpose of -taking his head for the 500-pound reward on it. Or perhaps the British -King had added a couple of hundred--because for less, who was there who -would dare bring the attack to Robbin Cutlass? - -The men-of-war, under a smart press of canvas and now within cannon -range, were already lowering boats. - -"Mister Treach bring your muskets to bear!" - -"Aye, sir and the guns are reshotted!" - -"Keep your fire until I give the order to loose it, Mr. Treach! And -strike the black flag--you shall hoist American colors in its place. We -mistook the Frenchman for a Spaniard, d'ye hear?" - - * * * * * - -Cutlass knew as he gave the order that the strategy was far too thin, -but it would give heart to the crew until the English swarmed over the -side. Had he kept his witless anger and secured the merchantman and her -guns rattier than sunk her.... But it was too late to correct the error -now--and if this were a premeditated trap, then the English were tardy, -and had permitted their decoy to pay too high a price. - -There was the crack of musketry as the crew of the _Talon_ fought to -turn the boats' advance, but it was answered with vicious accuracy from -the decks of the men-of-war themselves. Then one of the King's ships -tacked about, bringing her cannon to bear while her sister ships bore -down on the brig. - -The _Talon's_ broadside was simultaneous with that of the gun-boat, -but it was a matter of 40 guns to twelve. And even as the main top -gallantmast was sheared and came tumbling crazily through the brig's -already sagging top-rigging, the British war vessels had come alongside -to both starboard and port. - -"All hands repel boarders!" Cutlass thundered, and armed his left hand -with one of the pistols from the brace suspended bandolier-like from -his neck. - -They were too many. Because of the nearness of her sisters, the -cannonading ship had ceased firing and had brought about to join the -boarding fight; and there could be no running. He, Cutlass, had never -given the order to-- - -He shook his head. This had happened before. Somehow it had happened -before and yet of course that was impossible. It was his rage at the -English and their price upon him that was addling his thoughts. - -And with half her rigging torn asunder, the _Talon_, a sorry sight now, -could not run her own length. - -In seconds the _Talon's_ decks were slippery with blood from poop to -forecastle; Cutlass drew and fired his pistols with his left hand as he -crossed swords with his right--three of his attackers went down howling -in agony, and the swordsman he had killed outright with a ball in the -face had been replaced by two more. - -"We've come for your head, Robbin Cutlass!" - -"Then you'll parry this to get it!" Cutlass gritted savagely. The -Englishman was a split-second late, and the corsair's sword split his -throat from chin to collar-bone. - -But they were too many. _Was it to be ever so?_ - -Desperately, blood coursing from a reopened old wound in his left -shoulder which for some reason had never healed completely. Cutlass -groped for the last of his pistols. His clawing fingers slipped on -something hard at his waist. He must--must-- - -_Press it!_ - - * * * * * - -_Far away, in another Space and in another Time, an old man's eyes -glittered. There was the signal, but the chances were that young Robbin -Cutlass hadn't given it from sheer boredom! Swiftly, his short, thick -fingers flicked the breadth of a time-warp quadrant, altered the mass -and continuum ratios as great banks of machinery seemed to float in -their own blue-green glow and throbbed with the mighty power of the Sun -itself._ - -_But it was true, there were some things even science could not -change...._ - - * * * * * - -His head hurt. - -The Kid and Gonzales rode at a walk beside him, and the Kid was -complaining about the heat again. Gonzales told him to shut up unless -he could think of a better way to make a living. - -Cutlass gestured with a nod of his head. - -"Up there," he said. - -The trio reined off the bend of the road and almost at a leisurely pace -wended their way up the gentle rise of a hill a scant 50 yards distant. - -"They ain't many trees," the Kid grumbled. - -"Ain't gotta be," Cutlass said. "I steer you wrong yet?" - -"Reckon not." - -"Then button up and listen." Idly, he stretched out his right arm, -half-leaned from his saddle, and plucked the square of weather-beaten -paper from the trunk of a scrubby cottonwood. "Long as y'do what I -say, you'll keep seein' these. Soon's you stop, they won't have to be -printin' no more." - -"They raise the price a leetle," Gonzales said. "But they still don't -draw our peectures worth a damn!" - -The rust-stained leaflet said that dead or alive, the person of one R. -Cutlass, gambler, desperado, and stage robber, would bring the capturer -the sum of $5,000 reward in gold. An additional $1,000 would be paid -the capturer for either of his henchmen alive, $500 dead. - -"How soon's it due?" the Kid asked. He brushed sweat from his forehead -and from the inside band of his Stetson, and loosened each of his new -Colts in their holsters. - -Cutlass didn't answer, but he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and -studied it for a moment. He wondered what name the initials engraved -inside its case stood for, gave the stem a twist and replaced it. - -"That's the best wan you ever get, eh boss?" - -"OK, Chico. You get started. And keep those guns where they belong -until the Kid an' me draw ours, savvy? Last time you got that greasy -trigger finger of yours in an itch an' we had t'go killin' t'get the -stuff. Law in these parts ain't about to forget the racket of six-guns -when they hear it, and I ain't of a mood for runnin' to hide again." - - * * * * * - -Cutlass crumpled the reward poster and threw it from him. It was -getting so in the whole state of Texas you couldn't draw a breath -but what the law heard you and came tossing lead. Some said a kid -named Bonny got a kick out of seeing his pictures strewn all over the -landscape. Maybe. But it made Cutlass boil inside. - -Gonzales was on his way back to the long bend in the road. Cutlass -watched him detachedly as he turned his bronc loose, then sprawled full -length and face down in the road so the Wells Fargo drivers couldn't -miss him. The big splotch of red paint on the back of his shirt was -visible even from where Cutlass and the Kid waited. - -The Kid shifted uneasily in his saddle. - -"Relax," Cutlass said. "Five minutes maybe. That ain't long to sweat." - -Five minutes for a Dallas to Fort Worth payroll shipment that was -supposed to be worth a hundred thousand. Travelling just like any -other stage, if you could believe Toady. So as not to draw attention: -Just two drivers, a couple of rifles, and maybe two or three regular -passengers. - -Hell. Gonzales and the Kid could have the hundred thousand. He had his -pile. Robbin Cutlass couldn't remember where the rest of it had come -from exactly--the watch with the initials that weren't his had puzzled -him some. But he knew more by instinct than by memory how he'd got it, -and that he had plenty more junk like it stashed in a bank safe-deposit -box in--yeah, Abilene, what the hell was the matter with him. - -Sure, he had his pile. But it makes a man sore as hell when all the tin -badges in Texas gang together just to hunt him down like a coyote and -then hold up his hide for every gawk to hoot at. Who the hell did they -think they were to give Robbin Cutlass any back-talk? When the Wells -Fargo rig slowed up to have a look at Chico, noise or no noise, by -God.... - -The Kid heard it when he did, took his hands from his moist gun butts -in a play at nonchalance and adjusted the black kerchief over his thin -nose. - -Cutlass didn't say anything until the stage had come tearing hell for -leather around the long bend, started spurting little plumes of dust -from under its iron-rimmed wheels as it ground to a halt. One of the -drivers started getting down. - -"OK," Cutlass said. - - * * * * * - -Only it wasn't OK. Even before they'd covered half the fifty yards, -Cutlass saw the driver who had gotten down to go over for a look at -Chico pull out his Colt and deliberately gunwhip the possum-playing -Mexican across the head. Then he flopped flat on his belly and the -doors of the stage slammed open even as the other driver was dropping -from his perch, Winchester coming up as his boots slammed dust from the -road. - -Two full squads of U.S. cavalry were firing even before the Kid had -been able to get his guns out. He went down with five holes in him -before he could cry out. Cutlass was already out of his saddle and -choking on sand. Before his first Colt was empty three soldiers and one -of the drivers were dead. - -But they were too damn many-- - -Cutlass cursed through the dust in his teeth and lunged for the -Winchester still holstered on his pony's flank. The animal screamed as -a slug tore through one of its legs but Cutlass had half emptied the -Winchester's clip before the big corporal had got a slug through the -pony's head and put it out of its misery. - -There were two quick pains in his right arm, so he had to aim and fire -the rifle with his left, pump the best he could with his right. There -wasn't any getting away. - -"Yer all through, Cutlass! Stand up and toss yer guns down or we'll -save the state the cost of a trial!" - -"Start savin', blue-coat!" - -Cutlass groped at his belt to claw another handful of cartridges from -it. His bleeding fingers felt a hard, square object. Something stirred -somewhere deep inside his boiling brain. He was supposed to--_press it_! - - * * * * * - -_Far away, in another Space and in another Time, a smile spread slowly -across an old man's wrinkled face. No, you couldn't change the blood in -a man's veins! But perhaps--_ - -_Swiftly, his short thumby fingers played over a row of relays...._ - - * * * * * - -Cutlass swallowed the aspirin, picked up his brief-case and met his man -in the spacious lobby. - -"Sorry to've kept you waiting, Prescott! Hope you didn't have a late -deadline to make?" - -"No, sir, that's quite all right. Believe me, I'm pleased to have an -opportunity for an interview with you at any time of day or night! -You've made the best copy coming out of this town in many a column, -sir!" - -"Well, thank you, Mr. Prescott. I believe in speaking freely to the -press--" - -"I've a cab waiting right outside, sir." - -"Suppose we take my car? A little more privacy, I think--" - -Prescott followed the immaculately attired Cutlass through the -Statler's front doors to the sleek black limousine waiting at the curb. -Its engine was idled to an inaudible purr, and the tonneau door was -opened by a uniformed chauffeur as they approached. Cutlass nodded -politely to a couple of alert Secret Service men. The Law. Friends now, -of course. - -Within soundless seconds the luxurious vehicle had pulled into -Washington traffic, and it was Cutlass who opened the conversation. - -"I thought perhaps you could better obtain what you'd like in somewhat -more pleasant surroundings, Mr. Prescott. I've a little place just -outside the city--prefer it, I assure you, to the Embassy room!" They -both laughed, Prescott a little self-consciously, wondering just what -kind of a write-up Cutlass was expecting. As if he didn't know.... - -"Well sir, if I could get a little background to what happened on the -floor this morning, before I attempt to go into too much detail.... -Your new tax bill--I understand there was rather, well--some rather -spirited opposition this morning--" - -Cutlass laughed easily. "To be expected, Mr. Prescott. They thought my -last one was too much to take, but it went through! As this one shall. -I can assure you of that." - -"I see." Prescott made a brief notation. "What reaction do you expect -from the corporations? If, that is, the President--" - -"Oh, they've a powerful lobby of course. But, my boy--and of course -this is off the record--it's simply a matter of putting the pressu--er, -persuasion in the right places. The corporations will--I think they'll -come around all right." - -Prescott added to his notes. - -"Is this new tax bill, Senator, to be your last for this session, or do -you contemplate--" - -Cutlass' chuckle was as velvety as the silent roll of the limousine's -white-walled tires. - -"My dear young man," he murmured, "I can't answer that question for the -record. It depends to such a large extent on the many--rather personal -considerations involved. But of course for a political reporter that -should hardly be news." - -Mentally, Prescott ground his teeth. "_No, it's never been news, -Senator_," he raged silently. "_You--you goddamned old pirate!_" - -In another Space, in another Time, an old man waited for a third signal. - -But it never came. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIDEOUT *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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Holden</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Hideout</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Fox B. Holden</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 15, 2021 [eBook #65843]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIDEOUT ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>HIDEOUT</h1> - -<h2>By Fox B. Holden</h2> - -<p>When a man has a price on his head he runs<br /> -for his life. And if he's finally cornered he<br /> -may have only one door left open to him—Time!</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -May 1952<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"Cap'n Cutlass! Earth merchantman three points starboard, oblique -ecliptic eight degrees. Estimate speed 400,000, Marsbound. Your orders, -sir?"</p> - -<p>Robbin Cutlass was angry. He wouldn't let this one go by. Not even -with a million credits on his head. But damn it, one ship and one crew -couldn't fight the whole Tri-Planet Entente Space Patrol alone. But -that was how it had to be.</p> - -<p>"Track her down!" He switched over to all-stations. "All hands read -this. Gunners to stations, oblique ecliptic eight, Earth reading three -starboard, two torpedoes across her bow and stand alert to blow her! -Boarders don your suits, man lock stations and stand by. Drive-room cut -in your Raven converters, jet minus 177 ecliptic acute 3-5-2 and hold -her steady as she blasts. Now wait."</p> - -<p>He checked in his own radar screen as a matter of routine.</p> - -<p>Twenty years ago when his father had given orders from this same -control room things hadn't been like this. You knew, when the <i>Vulture</i> -and a section of her fleet closed in to make the kill that nobody had -the guts to try to stop you. Sure, Jeremy Cutlass had been a tough -old duck—but even he wouldn't have been able to hold the fifty-ship -buccaneer fleet together after the Patrol had gotten fully organized. -Robbin remembered how it had been when he died—the whole fleet had -hovered in double-echelon to each side of the <i>Vulture</i>, the faded -sun-glow from Pluto glimmering shadow-like from its long, slender -hulls—right at the very edge of the total darkness of Deep Space -itself. And then the body of Jeremy Cutlass had been committed to the -deep of Infinity.</p> - -<p>Those were the days when a man had friends—and now, all that Jeremy -Cutlass had had, scattered as they'd been from one end of the Universe -to the other—were either dead or sweating out their last days in the -penal colonies of Earth or Mars. All except for old Doc Raven—and he'd -be under lock and key too if the <i>Vulture</i> hadn't been able to carry -out Jeremy's dying command—to rescue him from the penal colony of -Mars, regardless of the cost. The cost had been the last eleven ships -of the fleet.</p> - -<p>It had been worth it, yes. Not just because the conniving old toad was -probably the best scientist Mars had ever produced, but because—</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The intercom squealed frantically even as Cutlass saw what was -happening in his own screen.</p> - -<p>"Cap'n Cutlass! It's a trap, sir! I'm tracking Patrol ships from all -points—"</p> - -<p>There were at least 200 of them.</p> - -<p>Even the Raven drive couldn't keep the <i>Vulture</i> from slewing, losing -some of her precious speed as Cutlass tapped out an unprecedented -ecliptic-deviation and trajectory-variation pattern on the master -control console.</p> - -<p>A screen generator whined its overload as the Patrol ships got the -<i>Vulture's</i> range and pounded her with everything they had. This time, -they were too many—and too fast.</p> - -<p>"Run!" Cutlass howled to the drive-room. "Godammit, <i>run</i>!"</p> - -<p>His eyes were hot and wet with the rage that rasped in his voice. No -Cutlass that had ever buccaneered Space for four generations had ever -given that command. But now the notorious <i>Vulture</i>, last of her kind -in the Solar System, finally was forced to take to her jets or be -torpedoed to cosmic dust like all the rest.</p> - -<p>Two screen generators went to hell and plastered the control room with -jagged shards of smoking metal. There was a searing pain in Cutlass' -shoulder, and blood trickled the length of his arm and along his -fingers as he flipped the ship's inter-teleco switches. Just a glance -told him they'd gotten through the screens—the jagged, gaping holes -in the <i>Vulture's</i> ripped flanks told him he didn't have a gunner or a -radarman left alive.</p> - -<p>Damn them <i>damn them</i>....</p> - -<p>He choked on the acrid fumes of the burnt-out screen generators as he -fumbled painfully into a space-suit. Old Doc had bragged to him once -that a man could travel the system end to end and back in a Raven-built -suit—with a certain amount of pirates' luck, of course. Well, the -Patrol wasn't to have Robbin Cutlass alive—</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>He was less than five thousand miles out when he saw the <i>Vulture</i> die. -It was a Viking's death—a great mass of blinding white flame which -seemed to rip Space wide open for a silent, coruscating second—and -then there was the cold darkness of any grave.</p> - -<p>Pluto glimmered eerily a hundred million miles ahead of him. And -somewhere, a half-light-year beyond, was Doc's old freighter. Doc, with -his well hidden laboratory, circling away the last years of his life in -the quiet solitude of Deep Space—all that was left.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Barrel-chested and heavy-browed like his father, Robbin Cutlass stood -there, his space-suit crumpled in a heap at his feet, and looked -about him. Doc had explained it to him, but he still was not sure he -understood.</p> - -<p>This was the freighter—or, more accurately, Doc Raven's great -laboratory, suspension-built in the long, tapering mid-section of the -battered, engineless ship which drifted silently in its dark, remote -path around a pale sun. Only a scant five years ago Doc had been -brought here following his costly Martian rescue, yet his equipment, -which had been salvaged from a half-dozen hidden sanctuaries on as many -different planets and brought here for him to assemble, had in that -time grown to twice its original bulk. Sometimes Robbin thought of Doc -as something less of a scientist and more of a wizard. It was often -said, in the deadly seriousness that marked the spaceman's legends, -that there is more to the Martian mind than a man of Earth might even -dream of.</p> - -<p>The long banks of control consoles emitted a blue-green glow of their -own, silhouetting as they did the rows of relays, grid-circuits and -reactor-registers.</p> - -<p>Robbin did not know the little Martian scientist's source of power—but -he knew that through this Colossus of engineering enough must pour to -change the very courses of the planets in their paths, if Doc should -will it.</p> - -<p>His eyes turned back for a second time to the metal cylinder, gleaming -dully in the blue-green light of the consoles, which stood more than -half the height of the long, narrow lab itself. Except that it was -twice as high and a little more than twice the diameter it looked -like nothing more complex than an old-fashioned hot-water heater. -Yet through it, the bent old man had said, flowed the raw flux of -space-time, tapped from the fabric of the Universe itself.</p> - -<p>"I'm not the guy for this job, Doc. You want somebody who's a -scientific explorer or something. Right now, I've got to heist a new -ship from someplace. I must be as hot as a two-credit rocket."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The echoes of his heavy voice were distorted strangely, and came back -to him in half-sounds and whispers that had a hollowness of words that -were spoken and had died a thousand years ago.</p> - -<p>"It wouldn't work, Robbin boy. The day of the <i>Vulture</i> and her great -legion is over," the old Martian said softly. The years in the penal -colony had taken their toll, but his face still showed the intelligence -that had once come close to conquering three worlds. "I could get -you your ship within an hour with this—" he gestured toward the -dully-glinting cylinder, "just as I plucked you from Space. But—in one -other ship or with a fleet of one hundred, they'd have you by tomorrow -or in a year from tomorrow. You've got to hide, Robbin. Believe an old -man ... if I could devise an armor or a drive or a screen generator -that would hide you from their tracks and torpedoes for the rest of -your rebellious life I'd be at work on them this instant. But there is -only one place left that I can hide you now—only one realm that they -have not yet conquered. I grow old, Robbin, and they are catching up—"</p> - -<p>"You said you could hide me in—in Time, I guess you said. I don't -know what you mean, Doc. You could tell me about space-warps and -time-continua and all that for the next ten years, and—"</p> - -<p>"Space-time is like the very fabric of your tunic, Robbin." The answer -came with the hint of a new excitement. "A set of slender threads in -myriad numbers running in two dimensions, and another set running at -right angles in another two. If they are the fabric of space-time, they -comprise four simple dimensions—length and width, depth and time. You -are—how tall? Six feet three inches. And, eleven inches through the -chest, perhaps. Across the shoulders you measure twenty-three inches. -And—you are thirty-three years old. Is that so difficult?"</p> - -<p>"That's not a new theory, Doc. That's been in the books for a hell of -awhile."</p> - -<p>"Of course, Robbin. But—I have learned to <i>separate the threads</i>!"</p> - -<p>"Doc, you old madman, talk sense! Not that I don't appreciate what you -did. I do. They had a track on me before I was half way to Pluto. But -you had your eye on me as always—"</p> - -<p>"I owed you and your father that, boy. No man soon forgets the colony."</p> - -<p>"I know. And I realize that somehow you were able to use this hot-water -tank here to pluck me out of Space—warp me from there to here, or -whatever it is you said you did. Believe me I'm grateful. But this -space-time stuff I don't understand. All I know is that there's a -million-credit price on my head, and everywhere I look there's the -Patrol. Everywhere. In a new ship, I could cruise Deep Space for awhile -until I cooled off—"</p> - -<p>"When has a Cutlass ever cooled off, Robbin? As long as they have not -seen you die with their own eyes...."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Robbin put a cigarette to his lips, smoked quietly for minutes. The -little man seated behind the most fantastic master-control panel he had -ever seen remained silent, waiting, expectant.</p> - -<p>"You really want me to give it a try, don't you, Doc?"</p> - -<p>The old man's eyes glittered, and Robbin knew it was all the answer -that he'd get. What the hell. If it worked—maybe, back sometime else—</p> - -<p>"You're really pretty sure of this thing, ain't you, Doc?"</p> - -<p>Wordlessly, the old Martian rose from his bench, pressed a stud on the -side of a bulky automatic cataloguing file. He returned with several -objects that Robbin could only identify from his memory of the history -tapes he'd studied as a boy.</p> - -<p>"I could say you've been capering in museums, Doc, but I guess I know -better...." He turned the objects around in his hands. A 19th century -Colt revolver. An ornate dagger from perhaps the scabbard of a Spanish -nobleman who had lived and died a thousand years ago. A book of names -and numbers—MANHATTAN TELEPHONE DIRECTORY—1967 was printed on its -cover.</p> - -<p>"I warped Space to effect your rescue, Robbin. I can warp Time to hide -you. The Patrol is growing in efficiency and in sheer numbers—there's -no hiding place for you in Space, lad. None. Not even—here."</p> - -<p>Cutlass knew he was right. If they found him here, it'd be the colony -again for Doc. He owed him too much, for his father as well as himself, -to let that happen. And anywhere else, sooner or later—</p> - -<p>"I guess you win, Doc. But I've still got questions. I step into the -cylinder—and then where'll I be? What'll I be? Suppose I don't like -it where I end up? I'm sick of the sight of space police—or any other -kind of police."</p> - -<p>"I'll place you on Earth, because you're native to it, Robbin, and have -a knowledge of its history. And—I'll try to pick a time that suits a -young fellow of your talents! And if you don't like it, you have only -to use this—"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Cutlass fingered the small object, was fascinated as it glittered with -all the blended colors of the sun despite the blue-green shadows that -fell everywhere about it. It was the shape and size of an old-fashioned -cigarette-lighter, and made of some hard, smooth metal that doubtless -was of Doc's own forging. The only break in its smooth surface was a -round, countersunk button colored like a ruby.</p> - -<p>"No matter where you find yourself in Space or Time," he heard Doc -saying, "press the button—hold it down hard. And I'll know you're -either bored or—" the withered old face smiled gently, "in trouble -that you can't battle your way out of! I'll have you in another -space-time within seconds."</p> - -<p>"You're a crazy old coot, Doc. You know that."</p> - -<p>"Don't you think it, boy! And there is no need to fear my—my death, in -the interim. Depending upon the time-phase in which you find yourself, -anywhere from ten to a hundred years in your continuum will mean -perhaps a minute to an hour in mine. But—as to what you'd be—well...."</p> - -<p>"Go ahead! Tell me," Cutlass laughed. "As long as I'll be alive!"</p> - -<p>"It is actually impossible for me to answer you. I don't think I can -change the blood in a man's veins. And the blood of pirates has coursed -in yours through generations!"</p> - -<p>Cutlass laughed loudly, and it was a defiant, careless laugh that told -the Universe and its entire white picket-fence society to go to blazing -Hell.</p> - -<p>"OK, Doc! You win! You hide me good!"</p> - -<p>Cutlass belted the small signalling device around his body and stepped -inside the cylinder. The dull black sheen of his tunic lent a peculiar -matter-of-factness to the underacted drama, yet Cutlass knew it was as -Doc said—hide out, or die.</p> - -<p>"Good hunting, Robbin Cutlass!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><i>A half-light-year beyond Pluto, floating at the edge of Deep Space -in a creaking freighter hull that was disguised with the shades of -night itself, a withered Martian scientist touched a series of relays -with his short, reddish fingers. There was a gentle humming, the faint -odor of ozone, and that was all. Robbin Cutlass, last of the Space -buccaneers, had vanished completely.</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A hot wind rushed across his face and there was the taste of salt on -his lips. His head hurt as though he had been struck; how they had come -upon the French merchant was puzzlingly hazy in his mind, but there was -no doubt in it as to what course of action to take.</p> - -<p>"Two shots from your long-gun across her bow, Mr. Treach!"</p> - -<p>Cutlass glanced briefly upward as his colors were raised quickly to -the tip of the spanker-gaff; then he watched with satisfaction as the -captain of the merchantman laid his mainyard aback and hove to.</p> - -<p>In a moment he could lower a boat, and this time there'd better be -something more aboard to his liking than a cargo of salt! If it were -coffee that he could sell at Rio Medias, he would not sink her, and if -it were gold, he'd spare her captain's life.</p> - -<p>Cutlass had parted his lips to shout an order to lower a boat when he -stopped his voice in his throat. He could not remember ever having -given chase after sail but what the fleeing prize, upon sighting his -black flag, would simply heave-to and surrender. But a hint of screened -movement at the edge of the merchantman's middle deck had caught the -corner of his eye—</p> - -<p>"The Frenchman feigns surrender when his intention is to scuttle us!" -Cutlass howled. "Mister Treach! Prepare a fitting answer to such an -ill-planned deceit!"</p> - -<p>"Aye sir!"</p> - -<p>Cutlass watched his men as they scrambled to obey the first mate's -order and brought their cannon to bear for a broadside. Some with -laughs on their lips, all with sweat glistening from their scarred -bodies, the gunners of the <i>Black Talon</i> grasped the lanyards of their -already-shotted guns even as the Frenchman opened fire.</p> - -<p>"Sink the lily-livered swine!" Cutlass bellowed, and drew his sword -to flash it down in a glittering arc as the signal to fire. Half his -starboard battery flamed in response to the merchantman's unsuccessful -stratagem, then the other half as the first was reshotted. A ball -from the Frenchman's battery tore away the brig's fore top gallantsail -but Cutlass was warming to the fray and flashed the sword again in the -burning rays of the hot West Indies sun.</p> - -<p>"The Frenchman shall strike his colors, Mr. Treach, and I'll shoot the -man who fights as anything less than a devil!" he roared, a great laugh -forming in his throat as the merchantman's volleys became increasingly -ragged and her planking began to fly in splinters from beneath the very -feet of her crew.</p> - -<p>For the Frenchman's cargo, whatever it was, Cutlass knew he cared but -little. The <i>Talon's</i> hold must be full to overflowing with jewels -pillaged from the galleys of the Great Mogul—hard specie from the -hulls of the East Indiamen—no, the plunder was for the satisfaction of -the crew. But this—this, pure taste of revenge was for Robbin Cutlass!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Something stirred peculiarly in his mind—something that for the moment -caught his breath from his lungs and left him shivering, then sent -the blood racing hot through his body. There was an anger there—a -long-smouldering anger for which he could not accurately account, but -which was undeniable. His sword flashed again in the blaze of the sun.</p> - -<p>And once more he shivered.</p> - -<p>"Cap'n Cutlass sir! It's a trap!"</p> - -<p>His palm was suddenly cold and slippery on the corded hilt of the -glittering blade in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Sail ho! Sail to stern sir!" the lookout was bellowing. "Three o' the -King's men-o'-war!"</p> - -<p>Cutlass watched them as they bore down, shouted orders to the helmsman -to bring the brig about. The cries of the drowning merchantman's crew -were totally wasted on him as he prepared to meet the new menace. -Ordinarily, so far as his hazy memory would account for him, there had -never been much to fear from the Jamaica fleet. Now it seemed they had -been especially enjoined in the Frenchman's aid for the sole purpose of -taking his head for the 500-pound reward on it. Or perhaps the British -King had added a couple of hundred—because for less, who was there who -would dare bring the attack to Robbin Cutlass?</p> - -<p>The men-of-war, under a smart press of canvas and now within cannon -range, were already lowering boats.</p> - -<p>"Mister Treach bring your muskets to bear!"</p> - -<p>"Aye, sir and the guns are reshotted!"</p> - -<p>"Keep your fire until I give the order to loose it, Mr. Treach! And -strike the black flag—you shall hoist American colors in its place. We -mistook the Frenchman for a Spaniard, d'ye hear?"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Cutlass knew as he gave the order that the strategy was far too thin, -but it would give heart to the crew until the English swarmed over the -side. Had he kept his witless anger and secured the merchantman and her -guns rattier than sunk her.... But it was too late to correct the error -now—and if this were a premeditated trap, then the English were tardy, -and had permitted their decoy to pay too high a price.</p> - -<p>There was the crack of musketry as the crew of the <i>Talon</i> fought to -turn the boats' advance, but it was answered with vicious accuracy from -the decks of the men-of-war themselves. Then one of the King's ships -tacked about, bringing her cannon to bear while her sister ships bore -down on the brig.</p> - -<p>The <i>Talon's</i> broadside was simultaneous with that of the gun-boat, -but it was a matter of 40 guns to twelve. And even as the main top -gallantmast was sheared and came tumbling crazily through the brig's -already sagging top-rigging, the British war vessels had come alongside -to both starboard and port.</p> - -<p>"All hands repel boarders!" Cutlass thundered, and armed his left hand -with one of the pistols from the brace suspended bandolier-like from -his neck.</p> - -<p>They were too many. Because of the nearness of her sisters, the -cannonading ship had ceased firing and had brought about to join the -boarding fight; and there could be no running. He, Cutlass, had never -given the order to—</p> - -<p>He shook his head. This had happened before. Somehow it had happened -before and yet of course that was impossible. It was his rage at the -English and their price upon him that was addling his thoughts.</p> - -<p>And with half her rigging torn asunder, the <i>Talon</i>, a sorry sight now, -could not run her own length.</p> - -<p>In seconds the <i>Talon's</i> decks were slippery with blood from poop to -forecastle; Cutlass drew and fired his pistols with his left hand as he -crossed swords with his right—three of his attackers went down howling -in agony, and the swordsman he had killed outright with a ball in the -face had been replaced by two more.</p> - -<p>"We've come for your head, Robbin Cutlass!"</p> - -<p>"Then you'll parry this to get it!" Cutlass gritted savagely. The -Englishman was a split-second late, and the corsair's sword split his -throat from chin to collar-bone.</p> - -<p>But they were too many. <i>Was it to be ever so?</i></p> - -<p>Desperately, blood coursing from a reopened old wound in his left -shoulder which for some reason had never healed completely. Cutlass -groped for the last of his pistols. His clawing fingers slipped on -something hard at his waist. He must—must—</p> - -<p><i>Press it!</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><i>Far away, in another Space and in another Time, an old man's eyes -glittered. There was the signal, but the chances were that young Robbin -Cutlass hadn't given it from sheer boredom! Swiftly, his short, thick -fingers flicked the breadth of a time-warp quadrant, altered the mass -and continuum ratios as great banks of machinery seemed to float in -their own blue-green glow and throbbed with the mighty power of the Sun -itself.</i></p> - -<p><i>But it was true, there were some things even science could not -change....</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>His head hurt.</p> - -<p>The Kid and Gonzales rode at a walk beside him, and the Kid was -complaining about the heat again. Gonzales told him to shut up unless -he could think of a better way to make a living.</p> - -<p>Cutlass gestured with a nod of his head.</p> - -<p>"Up there," he said.</p> - -<p>The trio reined off the bend of the road and almost at a leisurely pace -wended their way up the gentle rise of a hill a scant 50 yards distant.</p> - -<p>"They ain't many trees," the Kid grumbled.</p> - -<p>"Ain't gotta be," Cutlass said. "I steer you wrong yet?"</p> - -<p>"Reckon not."</p> - -<p>"Then button up and listen." Idly, he stretched out his right arm, -half-leaned from his saddle, and plucked the square of weather-beaten -paper from the trunk of a scrubby cottonwood. "Long as y'do what I -say, you'll keep seein' these. Soon's you stop, they won't have to be -printin' no more."</p> - -<p>"They raise the price a leetle," Gonzales said. "But they still don't -draw our peectures worth a damn!"</p> - -<p>The rust-stained leaflet said that dead or alive, the person of one R. -Cutlass, gambler, desperado, and stage robber, would bring the capturer -the sum of $5,000 reward in gold. An additional $1,000 would be paid -the capturer for either of his henchmen alive, $500 dead.</p> - -<p>"How soon's it due?" the Kid asked. He brushed sweat from his forehead -and from the inside band of his Stetson, and loosened each of his new -Colts in their holsters.</p> - -<p>Cutlass didn't answer, but he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and -studied it for a moment. He wondered what name the initials engraved -inside its case stood for, gave the stem a twist and replaced it.</p> - -<p>"That's the best wan you ever get, eh boss?"</p> - -<p>"OK, Chico. You get started. And keep those guns where they belong -until the Kid an' me draw ours, savvy? Last time you got that greasy -trigger finger of yours in an itch an' we had t'go killin' t'get the -stuff. Law in these parts ain't about to forget the racket of six-guns -when they hear it, and I ain't of a mood for runnin' to hide again."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Cutlass crumpled the reward poster and threw it from him. It was -getting so in the whole state of Texas you couldn't draw a breath -but what the law heard you and came tossing lead. Some said a kid -named Bonny got a kick out of seeing his pictures strewn all over the -landscape. Maybe. But it made Cutlass boil inside.</p> - -<p>Gonzales was on his way back to the long bend in the road. Cutlass -watched him detachedly as he turned his bronc loose, then sprawled full -length and face down in the road so the Wells Fargo drivers couldn't -miss him. The big splotch of red paint on the back of his shirt was -visible even from where Cutlass and the Kid waited.</p> - -<p>The Kid shifted uneasily in his saddle.</p> - -<p>"Relax," Cutlass said. "Five minutes maybe. That ain't long to sweat."</p> - -<p>Five minutes for a Dallas to Fort Worth payroll shipment that was -supposed to be worth a hundred thousand. Travelling just like any -other stage, if you could believe Toady. So as not to draw attention: -Just two drivers, a couple of rifles, and maybe two or three regular -passengers.</p> - -<p>Hell. Gonzales and the Kid could have the hundred thousand. He had his -pile. Robbin Cutlass couldn't remember where the rest of it had come -from exactly—the watch with the initials that weren't his had puzzled -him some. But he knew more by instinct than by memory how he'd got it, -and that he had plenty more junk like it stashed in a bank safe-deposit -box in—yeah, Abilene, what the hell was the matter with him.</p> - -<p>Sure, he had his pile. But it makes a man sore as hell when all the tin -badges in Texas gang together just to hunt him down like a coyote and -then hold up his hide for every gawk to hoot at. Who the hell did they -think they were to give Robbin Cutlass any back-talk? When the Wells -Fargo rig slowed up to have a look at Chico, noise or no noise, by -God....</p> - -<p>The Kid heard it when he did, took his hands from his moist gun butts -in a play at nonchalance and adjusted the black kerchief over his thin -nose.</p> - -<p>Cutlass didn't say anything until the stage had come tearing hell for -leather around the long bend, started spurting little plumes of dust -from under its iron-rimmed wheels as it ground to a halt. One of the -drivers started getting down.</p> - -<p>"OK," Cutlass said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Only it wasn't OK. Even before they'd covered half the fifty yards, -Cutlass saw the driver who had gotten down to go over for a look at -Chico pull out his Colt and deliberately gunwhip the possum-playing -Mexican across the head. Then he flopped flat on his belly and the -doors of the stage slammed open even as the other driver was dropping -from his perch, Winchester coming up as his boots slammed dust from the -road.</p> - -<p>Two full squads of U.S. cavalry were firing even before the Kid had -been able to get his guns out. He went down with five holes in him -before he could cry out. Cutlass was already out of his saddle and -choking on sand. Before his first Colt was empty three soldiers and one -of the drivers were dead.</p> - -<p>But they were too damn many—</p> - -<p>Cutlass cursed through the dust in his teeth and lunged for the -Winchester still holstered on his pony's flank. The animal screamed as -a slug tore through one of its legs but Cutlass had half emptied the -Winchester's clip before the big corporal had got a slug through the -pony's head and put it out of its misery.</p> - -<p>There were two quick pains in his right arm, so he had to aim and fire -the rifle with his left, pump the best he could with his right. There -wasn't any getting away.</p> - -<p>"Yer all through, Cutlass! Stand up and toss yer guns down or we'll -save the state the cost of a trial!"</p> - -<p>"Start savin', blue-coat!"</p> - -<p>Cutlass groped at his belt to claw another handful of cartridges from -it. His bleeding fingers felt a hard, square object. Something stirred -somewhere deep inside his boiling brain. He was supposed to—<i>press it</i>!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><i>Far away, in another Space and in another Time, a smile spread slowly -across an old man's wrinkled face. No, you couldn't change the blood in -a man's veins! But perhaps—</i></p> - -<p><i>Swiftly, his short thumby fingers played over a row of relays....</i></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Cutlass swallowed the aspirin, picked up his brief-case and met his man -in the spacious lobby.</p> - -<p>"Sorry to've kept you waiting, Prescott! Hope you didn't have a late -deadline to make?"</p> - -<p>"No, sir, that's quite all right. Believe me, I'm pleased to have an -opportunity for an interview with you at any time of day or night! -You've made the best copy coming out of this town in many a column, -sir!"</p> - -<p>"Well, thank you, Mr. Prescott. I believe in speaking freely to the -press—"</p> - -<p>"I've a cab waiting right outside, sir."</p> - -<p>"Suppose we take my car? A little more privacy, I think—"</p> - -<p>Prescott followed the immaculately attired Cutlass through the -Statler's front doors to the sleek black limousine waiting at the curb. -Its engine was idled to an inaudible purr, and the tonneau door was -opened by a uniformed chauffeur as they approached. Cutlass nodded -politely to a couple of alert Secret Service men. The Law. Friends now, -of course.</p> - -<p>Within soundless seconds the luxurious vehicle had pulled into -Washington traffic, and it was Cutlass who opened the conversation.</p> - -<p>"I thought perhaps you could better obtain what you'd like in somewhat -more pleasant surroundings, Mr. Prescott. I've a little place just -outside the city—prefer it, I assure you, to the Embassy room!" They -both laughed, Prescott a little self-consciously, wondering just what -kind of a write-up Cutlass was expecting. As if he didn't know....</p> - -<p>"Well sir, if I could get a little background to what happened on the -floor this morning, before I attempt to go into too much detail.... -Your new tax bill—I understand there was rather, well—some rather -spirited opposition this morning—"</p> - -<p>Cutlass laughed easily. "To be expected, Mr. Prescott. They thought my -last one was too much to take, but it went through! As this one shall. -I can assure you of that."</p> - -<p>"I see." Prescott made a brief notation. "What reaction do you expect -from the corporations? If, that is, the President—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, they've a powerful lobby of course. But, my boy—and of course -this is off the record—it's simply a matter of putting the pressu—er, -persuasion in the right places. The corporations will—I think they'll -come around all right."</p> - -<p>Prescott added to his notes.</p> - -<p>"Is this new tax bill, Senator, to be your last for this session, or do -you contemplate—"</p> - -<p>Cutlass' chuckle was as velvety as the silent roll of the limousine's -white-walled tires.</p> - -<p>"My dear young man," he murmured, "I can't answer that question for the -record. It depends to such a large extent on the many—rather personal -considerations involved. But of course for a political reporter that -should hardly be news."</p> - -<p>Mentally, Prescott ground his teeth. "<i>No, it's never been news, -Senator</i>," he raged silently. 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