Harry Harrison: Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

They hurried back to the lab and had just finished building the cheddite projector into a navigation frequency receiver when there came a familiar light tapping at the door. Both young men sprang to open it, scuffling goodnaturedly before throwing it wide.

"Hi," Sally Goodfellow said cheerfully, strolling in casually, a vision in a green cotton summer frock, almost the same green as her lovely eyes, her shoulder-length hair the color of golden cornsilk. "What are you two guys up to now?"

"Same old stuff," Jerry said offhandedly as Chuck winked broadly behind the girl's back. No one, they had agreed, no one was to know about the cheddite projector until they had tested it thoroughly. They had taken their oath on that, and as much as they loved Sally with every fiber of their beings, they would not break that oath.

"What old stuff?" Sally asked, not deceived for an instant.

"Improved navigation aid. You're just in time to drive us to the field so we can install it on the Eagle. We have the jeep engine apart, rebuilding it."

Sally arched one delicate eyebrow. "You really think I'll buy this story about navigational aids? I know that is one thing your new invention is not. Remember how you told me the flying wing design was a kid's kite? And the paralysis vibrator was a soldering gun? So what do we really have here?"

Both of them had the good manners to blush, but in response to her questioning they only returned mumbled evasions and rushed to load the equipment into the back seat of her yellow convertible. Seeing that frontal attack had failed, she decided on subtlety which worked well for her for she had a fine mind, almost as good as that of her father, Professor Goodfellow, the school president.

"Sit up here with me, Chuck," she said, patting the front seat invitingly. "Jerry can ride in back and look after your old equipment."

Chuck was only too eager to oblige, and they chatted happily all the way to the airport, driving into the glory of the summer sunset. Sally parked under the great wing of the Pleasantville Eagle so they could unload. Jerry saw Old John shuffling between the buildings with his trusty mop and pail and called him over to help them. Old John was an institution at this institution, a black gentleman of advanced years.

"Dat's some mighty heavy stuff you have dere. Too much for an old man like me." But there was a glint of unspoken humor in his eye as he bent to lift the hundredpound transceiver in one hand. A lifetime of hard labor had made no weakling of him.

They made their way through the cavernous plane to the flight deck above the nose, where they set to work at once with their soldering irons while Sally watched with growing curiosity.

"Do you have the axis-traction forceps?" Jerry asked, half buried in the equipment. "I really need them to get at this baby,"

"They're not here," Chuck answered after rooting through the tool box. "Maybe we left them in the car. I'll go look."

He made his way back through the now-darkened plane to the car and found the forceps where they had slid under the front seat. Whistling quietly through his teeth, he was making his way back through the gloom of the great cabin when a voice called to him.

"Chuck. Over here."

It was Sally, sitting by a window and beckoning him toward her, the last light of day touching her sweet profile with gold. He went over to her, and she smiled.

"There's something I want to show you," she said, and when he was close, she pulled forward the top of her scoopneck dress. "No bra," she husked.

Even in that dim light the blush that suffused Chuck's fair skin could be seen as a rising tide of scarlet. Yet, despite his shyness, his reflexes were still hard at work. "Not until you tell me what the new invention is." Sally laughed saucily, slapping aside his questing wrist as she pushed shut the neck of her dress.

"Sally, honey, you know I can't, gee, we have an oath. . . ."

"I have something twice as good as an oath," she murmured, pulling her dress forward again. "See? The invention?"

"It's, well, hard to say." His voice was thick and turgid.

"You'll find a way." She guided his hand. "Here, this will help."

In an almost hypnotized voice Chuck began to talk. But, even as the first words left his mouth, he heard a tiny clinking sound and, his attention drawn now, was aware of a darker form in the darkness of the cabin. With great reluctance he drew away from Sally and turned on the light above the seat.

"Who's there?" he called out, clenching one great fist. "Come out."

There was a rustle a few rows down, and a familiar figure emerged.

"Just cleaning out the ashtrays, suh," Old John said. "Gotta be spick-'n-span for the next game."

They both laughed, and Chuck patted the old man on the shoulder. "Better go clean the trays in the aft section," he said kindly.

Old John ambled off, and Sally sat down again, Chuck dropping heavily beside her, and they were just getting back on the job where they had left off when the rasping of the loudspeakers caused them to jump up hurriedly.

"Chuck," Jerry's voice said. "Just about done up here. Bring that forceps on the double, and we'll see if this old thing really works."

There was repressed excitement in the tiny cabin as Jerry made the last connections.

"There," he said, leaning back and wiping his greasestained hand on a piece of cloth. "Ready to go. All that has to be done is to take her up and try her out."

"Oh, please," Sally begged. "Please let me come with you. I know it is something exciting."

"Exciting isn't the word for it!" Jerry chortled. "This is the greatest ball of wax to ever come down the pike, you wait and see. Once we prove the theory tonight.

"The whole world will know by tomorrow when we break the news," Chuck said. "So why don't we tell Sally now? She's a good sport and won't spill the beans." They nodded in silent agreement with each other.

"Why not?" Jerry grinned. "It is only something that will revolutionize transportation, that's all. I won't go into exactly how it works, it's a little complicated, and besides, it's a secret. But to put it simply the cheddite projector here will move this entire plane a couple of hundred miles in a fraction of a second, bang, just like that."

"What a saving on fuel!" Sally gasped.

"You're not just whistling 'Dixie'," Chuck agreed. "But more than just the saving in fuel will be the saving in time. With this gadget aboard, all a plane has to do is take off and hover over the airport, press the button, and zing they are over the other airport, maybe all the way across the country."

"It could be important for defense too," Jerry said, suddenly serious. "The Air Force will have to be the first to know."

"If it works," Chuck said, inserting a note of caution into the conversation. "But by tomorrow we will know for certain."

"For you," a guttural, husky voice, rich with menace, said, "there will be no tomorrow. I'm taking over." As one they spun about and looked at the open doorway, their jaws dropping in unison. Old John stood there, but suddenly, as though a mask had been ripped away, they saw that Old John was not as old as they had thought. Was that powder that turned his hair gray at the temples? He stood straighter, alert, a sneer slashed across his features.

A Russian 7.62mm Shpagin M1941 PKS submachine gun was cradled in his arms, the gaping, deadly mouth pointing unswervingly in their direction.

Shocked, unbelieving silence filled the cabin like a gray fog. Chuck shook his head as though to clear it, for this situation was impossible, Sally spoke, gasping, speaking for them all.

"This is impossible!"

In response the sneer on Old John's features only widened, and he slapped the blue steel of the gun with one hand. "This is not only possible but it is a 7.62mm PKS capable of firing twenty-two shots a second – so put up your hands,"