Free Earthbound (Winston Science Fiction Book 1) by Milton Lesser Page A

well, otherwise disaster might result. And the same applied to the ship’s crew itself.
    The world worked like that, Pete knew. You had to cooperate. If you didn’t, it meant trouble. If you couldn’t face something which had happened, if, instead, you turned away from your fellows and took the easiest way out — then you were asking for trouble. More than that, you were behaving like a coward. . . .
    Then he’d go to the police!
    No — no, he couldn’t do that. Ganymede Gus still had one final hand to play, and until he played it, Pete must wait. He could always give himself up, that would be the easy part of it. Meanwhile, Ganymede Gus might be able to involve others, innocent people, and Pete did not want that.
    The police would have to wait.
    “See the newspaper, sonny?” Ganymede Gus demanded.
    “Oh, no! Not you again —” Gus was becoming a very annoying habit.
    “Sure, Pete. I just ran down the road a ways and got me a copy of the paper. Thought you might like to see it.”
    “I already have,”‘ Pete said, “But I warned you.” He took a quick step forward, grabbing Gus’s left arm. “We’re going to the police!”
    Gus smiled. “You see my right hand, sonny? It’s in my pocket, and I’m holding a blaster there — pointed at you. We’re going, all right, but not to the police. There’s some place I want to take you.”
    Pete shrugged wearily, got into stride with the scrawny ex-spaceman. In fifteen minutes they had reached the Carnival. In twenty, they had entered the familiar sideshow, had climbed up a. flight of stairs.
    “I know this place,” Pete said. “If you think it will do any good to have that guy Sam work me over again —”
    Gus seemed offended. “How crude do you think I am? That was necessary then. It isn’t necessary now. Just come along.”
    They entered the room, and Pete saw that three men were waiting for them. Pete advanced warily, and Gus offered him a chair near the window. “Sam you know,” said Gus, gesturing to the hulking figure off in one corner of the room.
    Sam grunted a greeting which Pete did not return.
    “And this man here is Clarence Roth,” Gus continued the introductions. The man was impossibly tall and thin, almost a caricature of Garr, but he had a long, solemn face which, Pete knew, would not break into Garr’s ready smile. “Pleas’t’meecha,” the man shrilled rapidly.
    “And over here,” continued Ganymede Gus, “is the man we all take orders from — Mr. Fairchild.”
    Mr. Fairchild was well-dressed, good-looking, sure of himself. About thirty-five, Pete figured, perhaps forty. “How do you do, Peter? I’ve heard a lot about you. Our organization is always in need of good men, and Gus informs me that we can use you on a permanent basis, both here in White Sands — and elsewhere.”
    Pete’s voice stuck in his throat. His palms were clammy and he could feel the pulses pounding at his temples, but he said, “Gus made a mistake. I don’t want to work for you.”
    “Your desire in the matter,” Mr. Fairchild told him blandly, “is hardly worth considering. Oh, don’t misunderstand. I like satisfied employees, but that can wait. You will become satisfied in time. Meanwhile, we need you. Therefore, you come to work for us, as I have indicated. It is all very simple.”
    “He’s already been working for us,” Gus pointed out.
    “Yes, I know, but not on a permanent basis. When you wanted some information, you contacted Peter. But I want him to relay his information to us as a matter of course. Do you see the difference?” Mr. Fairchild lit a cigarette. “Further, we won’t stay here in White Sands forever, and when our operations enter a new phase entirely, we’ll need Peter along with us. Peter, how would you like to visit Antarctica?”
    “Antarctica?” Pete gasped.
    “Well, I see you’re interested. But never mind — more about that some other time, perhaps. Now I have a question which I would like you to answer,