Runaway

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  runaway

  By WILLIAM MORRISON

  _Heroism is merely daring and ingenuity--at the age of ten--experience can come later!_

  Illustrated by ASHMAN

  _A thin speck appeared in the visor plate and grew with sinister andterrifying speed. Bursts of flame began to play around the rocketingspaceship, the explosions hurtling it from side to side as it twistedand turned in a frantic effort to escape. Rogue Rogan, his vicious lipscompressed, his glittering evil eyes narrowed, heart pounding, knew thatthis was it._

  _This was the day of retribution, he had so long feared...._

  * * * * *

  "Plato!"

  Plato leaped to his feet and slid the book under the pillow. Then heseized a textbook at random, and opened it wide. His eyes fastenedthemselves to the print, seizing upon the meaningless words as if theywould save him from a retribution that Rogue Rogan had never had tofear.

  The dorm master frowned from the doorway. "Plato, didn't you hear theAssembly bell?"

  "Assembly?" Plato's eyes looked up in mild astonishment. "No, sir, Ididn't hear any bell. I was so absorbed in my studying, sir--" He shutthe book and placed it back with the others. "I'm sorry, sir. I'mwilling to accept my punishment."

  The dorm master studied the little martyr's expression. "You'd betterbe, Plato. Now live up to your name and show some intelligence. Runalong to Assembly."

  Plato ran, but he also winced. How he had suffered from that miserablename of his! Even before he had known that the original Plato had been aphilosopher, even before he had been capable of understanding what aphilosopher was, he had been able to see the amused expression in theeyes of those who heard his name, and had hated them for it. "Show alittle intelligence, Plato." Why couldn't they have given him a namelike the others? There were so many ordinary, commonplace, _manly_ namesfrom which they might have chosen. Jim, Jack, George, Tom,Bill--anything would have been better than Plato. And infinitely betterthan what he was sometimes called by his equals--"Plato, the dopyphilosopher."

  * * * * *

  He slipped into his seat in the Assembly quietly, so as not to interruptthe droning of the principal. So they thought his name was funny, didthey? Let them laugh at him. He was only ten now, but some day he wouldreally act like a man. Some day it would be he himself, and not afictional hero like Comets Carter, who would be adventuring on strangeplanets of unknown suns, tracking down the Rogans and the othercriminals who sought refuge in the wide reaches of galactic space.

  Some day--and then the thought burst on him like a nova exploding in hisbrain.

  _Why not now?_

  Why not indeed? He was smart; he could take care of himself. Even hismasters admitted that, when they weren't carping at him for hisdaydreaming. Take that model of a spaceship they had brought to schoolone day, with a retired astrogator to explain to the pupils how thething was run, and how it avoided stray meteors. He had sat down at thecontrols, and even the astrogator had been surprised at how confidentlyhe took over the role of pilot, how he got the idea at once.

  He could do as well in real life. He was sure of it. Give him a reallyworthwhile problem to work on, instead of these silly questions aboutsquare roots and who discovered the third satellite of Mars, and he'dshow them.

  "Thus," declaimed the principal, "you will be prepared to take up yourduties--"

  "Norberts to you," thought Plato. "I'm going to run away."

  Where to? There were so many stars to go to, such a bewildering numberof planets and asteroids.

  Plato sat lost in thought. A planet whose habitation required aspacesuit was out of the question. Spacesuits his size were hard to get.The sensible thing would be to choose a place where the physicalconditions, from gravity to atmospheric pressure and composition wouldtend to resemble those here on Venus or on Earth. But full of the mostthrilling danger.

  A boy's voice said, "Get up, you dopy philosopher. It's all over."

  He raised his head and realized that the principal had stopped droningfrom the platform, that all the pupils were standing up to leave. Hestood up and marched out.

  When the signal for lights out came that night, Plato lay motionless fora time in the dark, his mind racing far too rapidly for him to think ofsleep. He had plans to make. And after a time, when the dormitoryquieted down, he went to the well of knowledge for inspiration. Heslipped on his pair of goggles and threw the special switch he himselfhad made. The infra-red light flared on, invisible to any one in theroom but himself, and he drew his book from its hiding place and resumedhis reading.

  * * * * *

  _The ship curvetted in space like a prancing steed. Panic-stricken bythe four-dimensional space-warp in which he was trapped, Rogue Roganstormed at his terrified followers. "By all the devils of the CoalSack," he shouted, "the man doesn't live who can take me alive! You'llfight and die like men, you hen-hearted cowards...."_

  * * * * *

  But they didn't die like men. In fact, they didn't die at all, and Platopermitted a slight sneer to play across his youthful features. Though heconsidered himself a passionate admirer of Comets Carter, even he feltdissatisfied with the story. When they were trapped, they were never_really_ trapped. Comets Carter, sterling hero that he usually was,always showed weakness of intellect at the last moment, giving hisdeadly enemy an incredibly simple way out, one that Comets had, in hisown incredibly simple way, overlooked.

  Plato would never be guilty of such stupidity. He himself--and now _he_was Comets Carter, a quicker-thinker, smarter Carter, dealing out toRogue Rogan a retribution many eons overdue. He was whistling throughspace at ten light-speeds. He was compressing light-centuries into asingle second. He was--

  He had just time to slip the goggles from his face before his eyesclosed in sleep.

  * * * * *

  During the day, he continued to make his plans. There was a spaceport ahundred and forty miles away. At night, if the students poked theirheads out of the window, they could see the distant ships as points offlame racing away into the darkness, like shooting stars in reverse. Hewould steal out of his room in the night, take a glider-train to thespaceport, and stow away. It would be as simple as that.

  Of course, he needed money. He might travel at half fare, but even thatwould be expensive. And then there was the matter of food. He'd have tostay hidden until the spaceship took off and there was no turning back,and at the thought of crouching in some dark hold, motionless for hours,cramped, and _with an empty stomach_--

  He wasn't going to starve himself. Even Comets Carter couldn't have gonewithout eating and got very far in his pursuit of Rogan. Plato wouldhave to acquire money for flight, fare and food.

  The book, of course, he couldn't think of selling. It was only adecicredit novel in the first place, and somewhat worn at that. And theother students would have laughed at him for reading it. But hisinfra-red bedside lamp and his goggles and the space-receptor radio hehad built out of spare parts--those should bring him enough to traveland live on for a few days.

  He made his first sale in the free time that evening, to a young squirtin the neighboring dormitory who had a passion akin to his own. He likedto listen to tales of high adventure, of the kind the radiocasters lovedand the teachers in the school frowned upon. Having arrived here fromEarth only six months before, he had difficulty adjusting to the type ofderring-do featured on the Venus stations, and he lacked aspace-receptor that would bring him his favorites from the next planet.He snapped up, at the bargain price of ten credits, the receptor thatPlato offered.

  There wa
s a little difficulty with the infra-red lamp and goggles. Thecustomer Plato had selected turned out to be rather suspicious. Hedemanded, "Where did you steal them?"

  Plato explained patiently, "I didn't steal them. I made them myself."

  "That's a lot of hot oxo-nitrogen. You hooked them some place, and ifthey ever find out--"

  "Okay," said Plato, "if you don't want them, you don't have to takethem. I can sell them to somebody else."

  He allowed the young skeptic to try the goggles on and read by the lightof the lamp. He knew little of the psychology of salesmanship, but withwhat might be called Platonic shrewdness, he sensed that once theprospect had experienced the joys of using the magic articles, he wouldnever give them up.

  The method worked. And soon Plato was richer by fifteen credits, insteadof the ten or twelve he had hoped for.

  He had a few other odds and ends, which he sold for as much as theywould bring. After all, once he was out in space, he wouldn't need themany more.

  * * * * *

  In the middle of the next day, when the bell sounded the end of theclass on Planetary Geography and it was time to go to the class onAnimal Physiology, Plato picked himself up and walked out. One of the'copter custodians looked at him suspiciously, but Plato didn't dignifythe man by paying him direct attention.

  He muttered to himself, "Always picking on me. I don't see why he can'tsend somebody else on his errands." It was better than the forged passsigned with the headmaster's name.

  The pass itself came in handy when he bought a flight ticket. The ticketagent also stared at him suspiciously, but Plato was ready for him. Hehad prepared the slip of paper beforehand, tracing the headmaster's namelaboriously from one of the lists of regulations attached to the wall.

  To make pursuit as difficult as possible for any one who tried to trailhim, Plato asked for a ticket not to Space Junction, where he was going,but to Venusberg, in the opposite direction. Both tickets cost about thesame; the ticket to Venusberg, in fact, cost three decicredits more.Once on the plane-drawn glider, he could explain to the conductor thatthe agent had made a mistake and offer the ticket he had. Since thecompany would lose nothing by the transaction, there was no reason whythe conductor should object.

  Plato was proud of this bit of trickery, and he flattered himself thatby means of it he had entirely thrown off pursuit. It must be rememberedthat he was only ten years old.

  On the glider-flight, he found himself sitting next to a middle-agedwoman who wore glasses and was surrounded by packages. She beamed athim, as she did at every one else around her, and Plato shrank back intohis seat. If there was anything he didn't want on this trip, it was tobe mothered.

  But he couldn't escape her. She said, "My, my, you're awfully young tobe traveling alone. This the first time?"

  "Yes, ma'am," said Plato nervously, afraid of the embarrassing questionshe could read on her face.

  Hastily he stared out over the side and gasped, "Gee, how smalleverything is!"

  Imagine anyone who had traveled vicariously through space with CometsCarter being awed by a flight in a plane-drawn glider! But the ruseworked.

  She said, "Yes, it is frightening, isn't it? Even worse than spacetravel."

  "You've been in space, ma'am?"

  "Bless your heart, I've been in space more times than you could shake astick at. The takeoff isn't so nice, I'll admit, but after that you'rejust sailing free. What are you going to be when you grow up?"

  They had his future all planned for him, but he knew that he wasn'tgoing to be any of the things they wanted him to be.

  He said boldly, "A space explorer."

  She laughed. "You youngsters are all alike inside, no matter howdifferent you seem. My boy was the same way when he was young. But hegot over it. A space explorer, no less!"

  * * * * *

  Plato didn't answer. It was only a half hour's trip, and the conductorwas walking down the aisle. Plato found it difficult to take his eyesoff him. He was afraid that the man would take a look at his ticket,say, "Wrong plane, son," and turn him over to the stationmaster at SpaceJunction, to be shipped back.

  In his nervousness, Plato had difficulty getting his ticket out of hispocket. As he had expected, the conductor said, "You're on the wrongflight."

  The motherly woman exclaimed, "Oh, isn't that a shame! Are they waitingfor you in Venusberg?"

  Plato said tearfully, "Yes, ma'am." The tearfulness wasn't hard tomanage; he'd learned the trick at school.

  "That's too bad. How are you going to get there?"

  "I don't know. I had just enough money to pay for this ticket."

  "Doesn't the company correct mistakes, Conductor?"

  "Not mistakes the passengers make," said the conductor sourly. "I'msorry, boy, I'll have to take that ticket."

  The woman's eyes flashed and, as the conductor moved on, she said, "Thenasty thing. They have no consideration at all. Look, child." For amoment Plato thought she was going to offer him flight fare from SpaceJunction to Venusberg, but she was not, he discovered, as motherly asthat. "You know what you'll do when you get off? Send a 'gram, collect,to your people in Venusberg. They'll wire you your fare. And you'llreach them in a couple of hours."

  "Thank you, ma'am," he said, not feeling thankful at all. So it was allright to be sympathetic, he thought indignantly, up to the point wheresympathy might cost her money. Like most people, she was free-handedonly with advice.

  Who wanted advice?

  * * * * *

  At Space Junction he waved her a shy farewell, and then turned anddisappeared into the station crowd.

  At the takeoff grounds, his heart sank. As he might have expected, theentrance to the space tarmac was well guarded. How was he going tobecome a stowaway on a spaceship if he couldn't even get close to it?

  He wandered around outside, staring through the charged wire fence atthe crowds, the spacemen, the ships inside. They were gigantic shiningthings, those wonderful ships, each so long that he realized for thefirst time how far away they must have been and how rapidly they musthave traveled, for those he saw had seemed to him like shooting stars.They were pointed almost straight up. Near the stern of each ship was avacuum-pit to absorb the radioactive exhaust gases.

  His eye caught an old tub, its shininess dulled, its hull faintlyscarred. Just such a ship, he thought with a thrill, as the one on whichComets Carter had been shanghaied on that momentous occasion when ...

  * * * * *

  _The old freighter swung a great circle, its torsion jets blastingdesperately in an effort to keep it on an even keel. This, thoughtComets Carter, was it. This was the foul revenge that Rogue Rogan hadplanned, the evil death he had plotted with his unhuman companions. In amoment the pulsating radiations of electroid rays would set off thecargo of ghoulite, and when the interplanetary echoes of the explosiondied away, Comets Carter would be no more than a series of photonpackets, his body torn apart, his very atoms converted into radiationthat was hurtling with the speed of light to the far corners of theuniverse...._

  * * * * *

  It hadn't happened that way, of course. But if it _had_ happened--well,it might have on just such a tub as this.

  A guard saw him peering through the fence, and said, "What are youlooking at, kid?"

  "Those ships," said Plato, honestly enough. And then he added, to throwthe man off the track, "Gee, I'd be scared to go up in one of them. No,sir, you couldn't get me into one of them for a million credits."

  The man laughed. "They're not for the likes of you. A lot of those shipsgo to other stars."

  "Other stars? Gosh! Does that little one, the _Marie T._--"

  "That tub? Just an interplanetary freighter. But even that isn't foryou. Now run along and mind your own business."

  Plato was happy to run along. Unfortunately, he realized, running alongdidn't help him to get past the fence.


  And then he had a fear-inspiring thought. He couldn't tell aninterplanetary ship from an interstellar. What if he did manage,somehow, to get in and stow away--and then found himself on a ship boundfor no more distant port than Earth, from which he could easily be senthome in disgrace?

  It sent a shiver through him. Fortunately, it also stimulated his mind.After all, there _were_ such things as newspapers, and the school,nuisance in many ways though it was, had taught him to read.

  * * * * *

  He bought a paper and turned at once to the shipping news section. As hehad hoped, every ship was listed. He checked off some of the names hehad glimpsed on the field, and found happily that their destinationswere printed in the most routine manner.

  There still remained the question of how to get past the guards. This,he suddenly realized, was a question impossible to solve on an emptystomach. It had been many hours since he had eaten lunch.

  There were a dozen restaurants in the spaceport, and he selected onecarefully, studying the illuminated menus and the prices before daringto enter. If that motherly old woman had been as kind-hearted as shepretended to be, he wouldn't have had to worry so much about prices. Asit was, he knew that he had money enough for only two days, and afterthat--his stomach could complain all it wanted to, it would have to gounfed.

  He chose from the menu only items that he never tasted at school--dishesmade from real plant and animal life, with just enough synthetics togive them flavor. He couldn't say that he liked what he ate, but atleast it gave him the