Walter Miller - Dark Benediction

Giselle glanced questioningly at Relke. Relke was surveying the tactical situation. It looked unpromising. Larkin laughed.

“Look at him, Harv—wondering where he left his shiv. What’s the matter, Relke? We make you nervous?” He stepped inside, Kunz followed.

Relke stood up in bed and backed against the wall. “Get out of the way,” he grunted at Giselle.

“Look at him!” Larkin gloated. “Getting ready to kick. You planning to kick somebody, sonny?”

“Stay back!” he snapped. “Get out of here, Giselle!”

“A l’abri? Oui—” She slid off the bed and darted for the door. Kunz grabbed at her, but she slipped past. She stopped in the doorway and backed up a step. She stared into the next room. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh! Oh!” she yelped. Larkin and Kunz glanced back at her. Relke lunged off the bed. He smashed against Larkin, sent him sprawling into Kunz. He dodged Giselle and sprinted for the kitchen and the cutlery rack. He made it a few steps past the door before he saw what Giselle had seen. Something was sitting at the table, facing the door. Relke stopped in his tracks and began backing away. The something at the table was a blistered caricature of a man, an icy frost-figure in a deflated pressure suit. Its mouth was open, and the stomach had been forced up through… He closed his eyes. Relke had seen men blown out, but it hadn’t gotten any pleasanter to look at since the last time.

“Get him, Harv!”

They pinned his arms from behind. “Heading for a butcher knife, Relke?” He heard a dull crack and felt his head explode. The room went pink and hazy.

“That’s for grabbing glass on us the other day, Sonny.”

“Don’t mess him up too much, Lark. The dame’s here.”

“I won’t mess him up. I’ll be real clean about it.”

The crack came again, and the pink haze quivered with black flashes.

“That’s for ratting on the Party, Relke.”

Dimly he heard Giselle screaming at them to stop it.

“Take that little bitch in the other room and play house with her, Harv. I’ll work on Sonny awhile, and then we’ll trade around. Don’t wear her out.”

“Let go,” she yelled. “Take your hands off—listen, I’ll go in there with you if you’ll quit beating him. Now stop—”

Another crack. The pink haze flew apart, and blackness engulfed him. Time moved ahead in jerks for awhile. First he was sitting at the table across from the corpse. Larkin was there too, dealing himself a hand of solitaire. Loud popular music blared from the music system, but he could hear Kunz laughing in the next room. Once Giselle’s voice cried out in protest. Relke moved and groaned. Larkin looked his way.

“Hey, Harv—he’s awake. It’s your turn.”

“I’m busy,” Kunz yelled.

“Well, hurry up. Brodanovitch is beginning to thaw.”

Relke blinked at the dead man. “Who? Him? Brodan—” His lips were swollen, and it was painful to talk.

“Yeah, that’s Suds. Pretty, isn’t he? You’re going to look like that one of these days, kid.”

“You—killed—Suds?”

Larkin threw back his head and laughed. “Hey, Harv, hear that? He thinks we killed Suds.”

“What happened to him, then?”

Larkin shrugged. “He walked into an airlock with a bottle of champagne. The pressure went down quick, the booze blew up in his face, and there sits Suds. A victim of imprudence, like you. Sad looking schlemazel, isn’t he?”

“Wha’d you bring him here for?”

“You know the rules, Sonny. A man gets blown out, they got to look him over inch by inch, make sure it wasn’t murder.”

Giselle cried out again in protest. Relke started to his feet, staggering dizzily. Larkin grabbed him and pushed him down.

“Hey, Harv! He’s getting frisky. Come take over. The gang’ll be rolling in pretty quick.”

Kunz came out of the bunkroom. Larkin sprinted for the door as Giselle tried to make a run for it. He caught her and dragged her back. He pushed her into the bunkroom, went in after her, and closed the door. Relke lunged at Kunz, but a judo cut knocked numbness into the side of his neck and sent him crashing against the wall.

“Relke, get wise,” Hary growled. “This’ll happen every now and then if you don’t join up.”

The lineman started to his feet. Kunz kicked him disinterestedly. Relke groaned and grabbed his side.

“We got no hard feelings, Relke….” He chopped his boot down against the back of Relke’s neck. “You can join the Party any time.”

Time moved ahead in jerks again.

Once he woke up. Brodanovitch was beginning to melt, and the smell of brandy filled the room. There were voices and chair scrapings and after a while somebody carried Brodanovitch out. Relke lay with his head against the wall and kept his eyes closed. He assumed that if the apartment contained a friend, he would not still be lying here on the floor; so he remained motionless and waited to gather strength.

“So that’s about the size of it,” Larkin was telling someone. “Those dames are apt to be dynamite if they let them into Crater City. We’ve got enough steam whipped up to pull off the strike, but what if that canful of cat meat walks in on Copernicus about sundown? Who’s going to have their mind on politics?”

“Hell, Lark,” grunted a strange voice. “Parkeson’ll never let them get in town.”

“No? Don’t be too damn sure. Parkeson’s no idiot. He knows trouble’s coming. Hell, he could invite them to Crater City, pretend he’s innocent as a lamb, just didn’t know what they are, but take credit for them being there.”

“Well, what can we do about it?”

“Cripple that ship.”

“Wha-a-at?”

“Cripple the ship. Look, there’s nothing else we can do on our own. We’ve got no orders from the Party. Right before we break camp, at sundown, we cripple the ship. Something they can’t fix without help from the base.”

“Leave them stuck out here?”

“Only for a day or two. Till the Party takes over the base. Then we send a few wagons out here after dark and pick up the wenches. Who gets credit for dames showing up? The Party. Besides, it’s the only thing we dare do without orders. We can’t be sure what’d happen if Parkeson walked in with a bunch of Algerian whores about the time the show’s supposed to start. And says, ‘Here, boys, look what Daddy brought.’”

“Parkeson hasn’t got the guts.”

“The hell he hasn’t. He’d say that out of one side of his mouth. Out of the other side, he’d be dictating a vigorous protest to the WP for allowing such things to get clearance for blasting off, making it sound like they’re at fault. That’s just a guess. We’ve got to keep those women out of Crater City until, we’re sure, though. And there’s only one way: cripple the ship.”

There were five or six voices in the discussion, and Relke recognized enough of them to understand dimly that a cell meeting was in progress. His mind refused to function clearly, and at times the voices seemed to be speaking in senseless jargon, although the words were plain enough. His head throbbed and he had bitten a piece out of the end of his tongue. He felt as if he were lying stretched out on a bed of jagged rocks, although there was only the smooth floor under his battered person.

Giselle cried out from the next room and beat angrily on the door.

Quite mindlessly, and as if his body were being directed by some whimsical puppet master, Relke’s corpse suddenly clambered to its feet and addressed itself to the startled conspirators.

“Goddam it, gentlemen, can’t you let the lady out to use the trapper?”

They hit him over the head with a jack handle.