Master of the Moondog

Ed's expense. That was a laugh. A hot one.Rich, even for Luna.

  "Big Ed?" he said. "The Scorpion of Mars!"

  Darbor's eyes narrowed. "The same. The name sounds like a gangsters'nickname. It isn't. He was a pro-wrestler. Champion of theInterplanetary League for three years. But he's a gangster andracketeer at heart. His bully-boys play rough. Still want to take achance, sucker?"

  A waitress brought drinks and departed. Snowgrape Champagne from Marscooled in a silver bucket. It was the right temperature, so did notgeyser as Denver unskilfully wrested out the cork. He filled theglasses, gave one to the girl. Raising the other, he smiled intoDarbor's dangerous eyes.

  "The first one to us," he offered gallantly. "After that, we'll drinkto Big Ed. I hope he chokes. He was a louse in the ring."

  Darbor's face lighted like a flaming sunset in the cloud-canopy ofVenus.

  "Here's to us then," she responded. "And to guts. You're dumb anddelightful, but you do something to me I'd forgotten could be done.And maybe I'll change my mind even if you don't have the price. Ithink I'll kiss you. Big Ed is still a louse, and not only in thering. He thinks he can out-wrestle me but I know all the nasty holds.I play for keeps or not at all. Keep away from me, kid."

  Denver's imagination had caught fire. Under the combined stimuli ofDarbor and Snowgrape Champagne, he seemed to ascend to some high,rarified, alien dimension where life became serene and uncomplicated.A place where one ate and slept and made fortunes and love, and onlythe love was vital. He smoldered.

  "Play me for keeps," he urged.

  "Maybe I will," Darbor answered clearly. She was feeling the champagnetoo, but not as exaltedly as Denver who was not used to such potentvintages as Darbor and SG-Mars, 2028. "Maybe I will, kid, but ask meafter the Martian workings work out."

  "Don't think I won't," he promised eagerly. "Want to dance?"

  Her face lighted up. She started to her feet, then sank back.

  "Better not," she murmured. "Big Ed doesn't like other men to comenear me. He's big, bad and jealous. He may be here tonight. Don't pushyour luck, kid. I'm trouble, bad trouble."

  Denver snapped his fingers drunkenly. "That for Big Ed. I eattrouble."

  Her eyes were twin pools of darkness. They widened as ripples of alarmspread through them. "Start eating," she said. "Here it comes!"

  Big Ed Caltis stood behind Denver's chair.

  III

  Tod Denver turned. "Hello, Rubber-face," he said pleasantly. "Sit downand have a drink. You're paying for it."

  Big Ed Caltis turned apoplectic purple but he sat down. A waitresshustled up another glass. Silence in the room. Every eye focused uponthe table where Big Ed Caltis sat and stared blindly at his uninvitedguest.

  Skilfully, Denver poured sparkling liquid against the inside curve ofthe third glass. With exaggerated care, he refilled his own and thegirl's. He shoved the odd glass toward Big Ed with a careless gesturethat was not defiance but held a hint of something cold and deadlyand menacing.

  "Drink hearty, champ," he suggested. "You'll need strength and Dutchcourage to hear some of the things I've wanted to tell you. I've beenholding them for a long time. This is it."

  Big Ed nodded slowly, ponderously. "I'm listening."

  Denver began a long bill of particulars against Big Ed Caltis ofCrystal City. He omitted little, though some of it was mere scandalousgossip with which solo-prospectors who had been the objects of asqueeze-play consoled themselves and took revenge upon their tormentorfrom safe distance. Denver paused once, briefly, to re-assess andrecapture the delight he took in gazing at Darbor's beauty seatedopposite. Then he resumed his account of the life and times of Big Ed,an improvised essay into the folly and stupidity of untamed greedwhich ended upon a sustained note of vituperation.

  Big Ed smiled with sardonic amusement. He was in his late forties,running a bit to blubber, but still looked strong and capable. Hewaited until Tod Denver ran down, waited and smiled patiently.

  "If you've finished," he said. "I should compliment you on thecompleteness of the picture you paint of me. When I need a biographer,I'll call on you. Just now I have another business proposition. Iunderstand you know the location of some ancient Martianmine-workings. You need a partner. I'm proposing myself."

  Denver paled. "I have a partner," he said, nodding toward the girl.

  Big Ed smiled thinly. "That's settled then. Her being your partnermakes it easy. What she has is mine. I bought her. She works for meand everything she has is mine."

  Darbor's eyes held curious despair. But hatred boiled up in her.

  "Not altogether," she corrected him evenly. "You never got what youwanted most--me! And you never will. I just resigned. Get yourselfanother dummy."

  But Ed stood up. "Very good. Maudlin but magnificent. Let me offer mycongratulations to both of you. But you're mistaken. I'll geteverything I want. I always do. I'm not through with either of you."

  Darbor ignored him. "Dance?" she asked Denver. He rose and gallantlyhelped her from her chair.

  Big Ed Caltis, after a black look, vanished toward the offices andgambling rooms upstairs. He paused once and glanced back.

  Denver laughed suddenly. Darbor studied him and caught the echo of herown fear in his eyes. He mustered a hard core of courage in himself,but it required distinct effort.

  "When I was a kid I liked to swing on fence-gates. Once, the hingesbroke. I skinned my knee."

  Her body was trembling. Some of it got into her voice. "It couldhappen again."

  He met the challenge of her. She was bright steel, drawn to repellurking enemies.

  "I have another knee," he said, grinning. "But yours are too nice tobark up. Where's the back door?"

  The music was Venusian, a swaying, sensuous thing of weirdest melodiesand off-beat rhythms. Plucked and bowed strings blended with wailingflutes and an exotic tympany to produce music formed of passion andmovement. Tod Denver and Darbor threaded their way throughstiffly-paired swaying couples toward the invisible door at the rear.

  "I hope you don't mind scar tissue on your toes," he murmured, bendinghis cheek in impulsive caress. He wished that he were nineteen againand could still dream. Twenty-seven seemed so aged and battered andcynical. And dreams can become nightmares.

  They were near the door.

  "Champagne tastes like vinegar if it's too cold," she replied. "Mymouth is puckery and tastes like swill. I hope it's the blankchampagne. Maybe I'm scared."

  They dropped pretense and bolted for the door.

  In the alley, they huddled among rubbish and garbage cans because theshadows lay thicker there.

  * * * * *

  The danger was real and ugly and murderous. Three thugs came boilingthrough the alley door almost on their heels. They lay in the stinkingrefuse, not daring to breathe. Brawny, muscular men with faces thatshone brutally in the blazing, reflected Earthlight scurried back andforth, trying locked doors and making a hurried expedition to scoutout the street. Passersby were buttonholed and roughly questioned. Noone knew anything to tell.

  One hatchetman came back to report.

  Big Ed's voice could be heard in shrill tirade of fury.

  "You fools. Don't let them get away. I'll wring the ears off the lotof you if they get to the spaceport. He was there; he was the one whospotted us. He can identify my ship. Now get out and find them. I'llpay a thousand vikdals Martian to the man who brings me either one.Kill the girl if you have to, but bring him back alive. I want hisears, and he knows where the stuff is. Now get out of here!"

  More dark figures spurted from the dark doorway. Darbor gaveinvoluntary shudder as they swept past in a flurry of heavy-beatingfootsteps. Denver held her tightly, hand over her mouth. She bit hishand and he repressed a squeal of pain. She made no outcry and thepounding footsteps faded into distance.

  Big Ed Caltis went inside, loudly planning to call the watch-detail atthe spaceport. His word was law in Crystal City.

  "Can we beat them to the ship?" Denver asked.
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  "We can try," Darbor replied....

  The spaceport was a blaze of light. Tod Denver expertly picked thegatelock. The watchman came out of his shack, picking his teeth. Helooked sleepy, but grinned appreciatively at Darbor.

  "Hi, Tod! You sure get around. Man just called about you. Sounded mad.What's up?"

  "Plenty. What did you tell him?"

  The watchman went on picking his teeth. "Nothing. He don't pay mywages. Want your ship? Last one in the line-up. Watch yourself. Ihaven't looked at it, but there've been funny noises tonight. Maybeyou've got