Destination
Unknown
Jim Carney glanced up from the clacking teleprinter as the door slid back.
The Kid dropped into the room with a faint smile on his face. He reached back with his left hand and slid the door shut behind him.
“Hello, Carney,” he said softly.
Carney took a slow even breath, and hunched slightly. The pencil gun slid down into his hand.
The Kid smiled.
“I’d like a little information, Carney.”
Carney smiled back coldly. As communications technician on a Service-M, a tunneled-out asteroid hauled onto the space lanes for a supply depot, Carney could give no information without losing his job.
“Whatever you want,” he said evenly, “I don’t know it.”
“When’s Freeman Zellinger coming through?”
“I can’t tell you when or if.”
The Kid let the smile leave his face.
“When?”
Carney didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the Kid’s hands.
The Kid’s step was almost pretty as he walked across the room. His right hand drew a silky white handkerchief from his pocket. His voice was a rising falsetto.
“When—does—Freeman—Zellinger—come—through—Carney?”
Carney squeezed the stud on the pencil gun. A bright thin beam shot out in front of the Kid.
“You must want to fight,” said the Kid. He took a step forward.
Carney kept his hand perfectly steady. A little more pressure on the stud and he would make himself a murderer. A little less pressure and the Kid would decide he was scared.
The Kid looked him squarely in the eyes.
“You like Freeman Zellinger?”
“Who doesn’t?”
The Kid smiled.
“I like him, too,” said the Kid. “I think of all those lists he’s got. I’m going to get them, Carney. I’m going to be the guy that killed Freeman Zellinger.”
The Kid smiled and stepped back. He walked to the door and slid it open. He looked at Carney.
“Thanks. I didn’t know for sure he was coming through. But the way you act, now I know.”
The Kid reached up, gripped the hall web, and pulled himself outside. Floating in the hall, he gave Carney a long, considering look. Then he gave a hard yank on the web and was gone.
***
Carney took a deep breath, crossed the room and slid the door shut. He went back to the teleprinter. He sorted messages till Gus Stevens came on shift, half an hour later.
Gus was short and stocky, with a thick mop of graying black hair.
“You look restrained,” said Gus.
“The Kid was just in here.”
“Oh. What did he do this time?”
“He wanted a little information.”
“About what?”
“Look in the local tape file. Passenger list for the City of Dallas, refueling here about dinner time.”
Gus thumbed through a number of message tapes. His eyes widened suddenly and he whistled.
“Freeman Zellinger!” Gus grinned. “Well. Well. Say, which way is the Kid’s turret from here?”
Carney frowned, then pointed toward a corner of the room.
Gus raised his fingers to his lips and tossed a kiss toward the same corner.
“Goodbye, Kid,” said Gus cheerfully.
“Goodbye, Zellinger,” said Jim.
“Oh, come on. The Zell’s a legend. The Kid will go out of here in deep storage.”
“It takes time to get to be a legend,” said Jim.
“You mean Zellinger’s too old?”
“He was middle-aged when I was just a little kid.”
“He’s put a lot of punks and bullies under the ground since then.”
“Maybe, but look where he’s going.”
Gus picked up the tape and frowned.
“Terra. So what?”
“He was born on Terra.”
“Oh,” Gus lowered the tape. “You mean he wants to spend his last few years in peace, back on the home planet. But, what’s the difference? Somebody could give him the challenge there as well as anywhere.”
“Oh, no, they couldn’t,” said Jim. “Anyone who tries that on Terra ends up behind three feet of concrete and steel. If Zellinger gets there, he can spend the rest of his life in peace.”
Gus looked at the tape again, and shook his head.
“Well,” he said, “I don’t know. It’s too bad. He’s one of the good ones, too. I mean, he doesn’t throw his weight around. . . . What the hell,” Gus glared. “I still bet on the Zell.”
“Yeah,” said Jim.
“Go on, get out,” said Gus. “If the Kid comes back here, I’ll tell him Zellinger’s coming through next week. Go on. Beat it. It’s my shift. Damn it, anyway.”
***
Jim went to the door, slid it open, reached up and grasped the smooth metal strands of the web. He tugged hard, and he was floating in the null-gravity of the hall. He looked back at Gus. Gus was looking gloomily at the message tape. Jim closed the door, pulled hard on the net, and shot down the hallway. He gave a quick tug to send himself flying down a cross corridor, stopped at a door, opened it and floated into his room. He set his feet carefully on the floor, switched on the gravity, and shut the door.
There was a faint rustle of cloth behind him.
“Hello, Carney,” said the Kid’s soft voice.
Jim turned and the rippling silky cloth snapped up. His face felt as if a swarm of bees had stung him.
The Kid’s voice was a mincing falsetto. “When’s—Freeman—Zellinger—coming—through—Carney?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on!”
The cloth snapped up and back. It stung his cheek, his neck, his forehead.
“You want eyes to see with? When’s—Freeman—Zellinger—coming—through—Carney?”
The outlines of the room wavered as if seen under water. Carney dove for the Kid and something hit him hard in the face. There was a bright explosion, then blackness.
Carney felt the hard floor under him. A bright beam was hanging in front of his face, going forward and back, forward and back, like the forked tongue flicking out of the mouth of a snake.
“When’s—Freeman—Zellinger—coming—through—Carney?
“Come on! You want me to leave you some teeth to eat with? You want some bones left to stand with?”
The beam vanished. He felt himself gripped by the collar. Something smashed across his face.
“When?”
Loose-lipped, Carney spat blood and clinking pieces of tooth. He felt weak and sick. But inside himself he felt a growing hardness.
“Three a.m. tomorrow,” he said, his voice shaking with tension, and added silently, Jupiter time.
“Three a.m.,” said the Kid, musing. “Thank you, Jim boy. You could have saved yourself some trouble.” He went out.
Carney pulled himself to his feet and stood still till the room came into focus. He walked on trembling legs to the door and locked it. He went to the bottom drawer of his desk, pulled it out, and unstrapped a little, old-fashioned .22 revolver. He took out the shorts he used for target practice, and replaced them with explosive gougers. He looked at the gun for a long while, shook his head, and got up. He put the gun in his pocket and went to the infirmary.
The nurse on duty didn’t think he should go to dinner. Jim talked to her till at last she understood. When he left, his right arm, face, neck, and part of his chest were bandaged. In his right hand, a single thin strip of gauze across its muzzle, was the gun.
***
The Kid was already at the table. He picked up three pieces of bread from a platter. The ration was one piece for a person. Carney looked around the room, then sat down. The Kid looked up.
“Is that you, Carney?” said the Kid.
“It’s me,” said Carney.
The Kid grinned, then suddenly looked serious.
“Say,” said the Kid, “I left you some teeth to chew with, didn’t I, Carn?”
“A few,” said Carney.
The Kid smiled and looked relieved.
“That’s good. Just don’t get in my way, and I can be easy to get along with.” The Kid looked around the table. “Can’t I?” he said.
Most of the men acted as if they hadn’t heard. One or two miserably nodded their heads and looked away.
“If you and me come up against each other,” said the Kid cheerfully, “you give way. That’s all there is to it.” He stuffed a forkful of food in his mouth.
A lull came over the dining room. Jim Carney looked up. The station chief walked in, smiling, with several men, one a rather slender, well-knit man of slightly above average height. Carney recognized him instantly, though his hair was nearly white instead of the steel gray of his pictures.
The Kid disinterestedly glanced up and down, without stopping the tempo of his eating.
The station chief stopped at the head table, smiled, and said clearly, “Gentlemen—”
Everyone looked up.
“Men,” said the station chief, “we have an unusual honor tonight. After tonight, you may say you have shared supper with Freeman Zellinger, who is our guest.”
There was a momentary silence. Freeman Zellinger looked faintly surprised, then smiled pleasantly and started to sit down.
Across the table, the Kid’s eyes darted back and forth from Zellinger to Carney.
“Speech!” someone shouted.
Zellinger smiled. In a calm, controlled voice that had a trace of an old man’s rumble, he said, “It is a pleasure to dine with you. And it is a great pleasure to be here, so close to home.”
There were cheers and clapping. Zellinger smiled and sat down.
The Kid got up. He walked down the aisle between the tables to the table where Freeman Zellinger sat. He took hold of two men sitting across from Zellinger, slewed them around in their chairs, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. They got up, white-faced, and left. The Kid sat down.
***
Jim Carney was on his feet, walking slowly to the table. He pulled out the chair next to the Kid and sat down, jostling him roughly.
Zellinger’s eyes, Jim could see, were a clear, calm gray. Zellinger looked at Jim briefly, and it seemed to Jim that something moved deep in the back of his eyes. Then he looked back at the Kid. He reached out with a perfectly steady hand and took a long slow sip of water, as if relishing it.
Jim could feel the Kid’s tenseness beside him. Suddenly the Kid relaxed and laughed.
Zellinger set the glass down gently and gratefully, as if he had partaken of a precious gift. He picked up his knife and cut a small bite of meat.
The Kid reached across with a table knife and smashed Zellinger’s water glass.
Carney looked at Freeman Zellinger and saw him as an old man who had almost made it home.
Zellinger looked up, calmly chewing the little bite of meat. He swallowed, set down his fork and rested his hand on the table edge.
The Kid tossed his knife on the table.
“I challenge you—” he began.
The something that had been in the back of Freeman Zellinger’s eyes was big in the front of them. His hand reached out. There was a smooth rippling snap, and the Kid’s voice dragged backwards in his throat. The old man’s hand rested on the edge of the table.
“Yes?” he inquired gravely.
“You son of a pig!” said the Kid. “You bastard! I’ll kill you for that.”
The old man waited.
The Kid’s voice cut off abruptly. His hand darted back and out. There was a silky ripple.
Jim Carney clawed at the cloth and jabbed the Kid in the side with the gun.
“Fight me,” said Carney, his voice rough.
Zellinger came to his feet.
“Give him the cloth.”
The Kid snapped the cloth out of Jim’s hand. He jumped up, his breath coming fast and his eyes blazing. His cheek was running blood.
“I’ll kill you for that,” he said.
The old man waited.
There was a little stir in the back of the room.
The Kid’s hand lashed forward. The silk rippled out and snapped—in the empty air. Zellinger had moved at the last moment. He pulled the Kid’s extended hand farther forward. The Kid landed with a smash in the broken glass on the tabletop, then struggled awkwardly to his feet.
Zellinger’s hand blurred out and back, and the Kid was dragging in air roughly.
The Kid straightened up, blinking.
The old man waited.
The Kid made an abortive snatch in the direction of his waistband, then froze.
Zellinger smiled faintly and seemed to relax all over.
The Kid made a final small motion.
Zellinger smiled.
The Kid blinked.
“Aren’t you going to go for your gun?”
“What’s the hurry?” said the old man, smiling.
The Kid looked blank and frozen.
“You’re too slow,” said Zellinger. “You planned this so badly you had a man with a gun in your side before you even got started. With the skill and brains you’ve shown tonight, probably two out of five here could finish you. As for the gun, yes, when your hand reaches a certain point, I will have to kill you.”
The Kid blinked. His hand edged downward and stopped. It edged a little bit farther. And stopped. A tiny bit farther.
Freeman Zellinger waited.
The Kid stood perfectly still.
Someone cleared his throat in the back of the room.
“I’ve had enough,” the Kid blurted. He turned suddenly. He walked out rapidly with nearly a hundred eyes looking at his back.
“Two out of five,” said someone musingly.
Jim Carney handed Zellinger another glass of water, from an empty place.
“Thank you,” said Zellinger. He smiled and sat down, holding the glass.
Jim went back to his table. He felt worn out. He ate a little, then got up and went back to his room. He locked the door, switched off the grav, swam to the bed and snapped the blanket in place.
***
During the night he heard people drifting through the hall outside. Bits of conversation came through to him.
“Seen the Kid?”
“Scully seen him in the lounge.”
“I’m going to see if I’m one of them two out of five.”
“There’s a lot of fives on this M. I’m coming with you.”
Jim had the nightmare that he’d killed the Kid, and now he had all the lists of the people the Kid had killed, and all the lists the Kid had taken from the people he’d killed, and all the lists they’d taken from the people they’d killed, and now men were stalking Jim to kill him and get the lists. Jim walked around a corner and there was Freeman Zellinger, waiting. Jim clutched at his waist. A gun appeared in Zellinger’s hand. There was a blast.
The blast went on. Gasping and sobbing for breath, Jim came awake. The morning buzzer was ringing in his ear. He switched it off, unsnapped the blanket and floated up. He pushed gently on the bed, drifted across the room, got his feet under him, and switched on the gravity.
He ate breakfast and went to the communications center. Gus Stevens was leaning over the clacking teleprinter, grinning broadly.
“What are you doing here?” asked Jim.
“Lefty Schultz went Kid-hunting,” said Gus. “I took his shift for him. They’re searching the ventilation system for the Kid right now, but I guess I better go stop them.”
His grin widened.
“What’s the grin for?” demanded Jim.
“Oh,” said Gus, “look at this passenger list the City of Dallas just sent in.”
Jim took the list and glanced at it. He laughed unrestrainedly.
“The Kid’s retiring early,” said Gus, grinning wider.
The list read:
P. M. Jones to Mars
Oscar J. Rasch “ Terra
F. R. Zellinger “ Terra
Kid Roe “ Destination Unknown
“I hope he’s happy there,” said Gus. He grinned some more, and blew a kiss at the wall.