Reunion on Ganymede

Cardy stepped outside, closed and locked his cell door, walked along the cell-block cat-walk. His heart sang with exultation. The hard part was over. But his lips were set in grim, hard lines; his eyes were squinted, alert for danger, ready for action.

Only by stern iron will did he keep his pace to a walk. The guard in the next block saw him, looked at him for a moment and then whirled about and started his march back along the block again.

Only when the guard was out of sight did Spike quicken his pace. Down the flight of stairs to the ground floor, across the floor and out of the cell sections into the exercise yard and to the northwest port.

A dim light burned in the guard house at the port.

Cardy rapped on the door.

The guard opened the door.

'A space suit,' said Cardy. Tm going out.'

'Where's your pass?' asked the guard.

'Here,' said Cardy, leveling a flame gun.

The guard's hand darted toward the holster at his side, but he didn't have a chance. Spike's gun flared briefly and the guard slumped.

Scarcely glancing at the body, Spike lifted a space suit from its hanger, donned it, and stepped out to the port. Inside the port, he closed the inner lock behind him, spun the outer lock. It swung open and Spike stepped outside.

In great, soaring leaps, thankful for the lesser gravity, he hurried away. To the east he saw the shining dome of Satellite City. To the northwest loomed the dark, shadow-blackened hills.

Spike disappeared toward the hills.

III

Senator Sherman Brown was happy. Also slightly drunk.

He had eluded Izzy Newman and now here he was, squatting on the floor in the Jupiter Lantern, one of the noisiest night clubs in all of Satellite City, taking pictures of two old veterans engaged in an argument over the Battle of Ganymede.

A crowd had gathered to take in the argument. It was one that stirred imagination and there was always a chance it might develop into a fight.

Senator Brown plastered the view-finder of his candid camera against his eye and worked joyfully. Here was a series of pictures that would do justice to his albums.

Gramp Parker pounded the table with his fist.

'We fit you and we licked you,' he yelled, 'and I don't give a 'tarnal dang how we come to do it. If your generals had been so all-fired smart, how come we licked the stuffin' out of you?'

Jurg Tec, a doddering old Martian, pounded the table back at Gramp.

'You Earthians won that battle by pure luck,' he squeaked and his squeak was full of honest rage. 'You had no right to win. By all the rules of warfare you were beaten from the start. Your strategy was wrong. Your space division was wrong, your timing was wrong. Alexander, when he brought his cruisers down to attack our camp, should have been wiped out.'

'But he wasn't,' Gramp yelped.

'Just luck,' Jurg Tec squeaked back. 'Fight that battle over again and the Martians would win. Something went wrong. Something that historians can't explain. Work it out on paper and Mars wins every time.'

Gramp pounded the table with both fists. His beard twitched belligerently.

'But dang your ornery hide,' he screamed, 'battles ain't fit on paper. They're fit with men and ships and guns. And men count most. The men with guts are the ones who win. And battles ain't fit over, neither. There ain't no second chance in war. You either win or lose and there ain't no rain checks handed out.'

The Martian seemed to be choking with rage. He sputtered in an attempt to find his voice.

Gramp gloated like a cat that has just polished off a canary.

'Same as I was tellin' you,' he asserted. 'One good Earthman can lick ten Marshies any time of day or night.'

Jurg Tec sputtered in helpless anger.

Gramp improved upon his boast. 'Any time of day or night,' he said, 'blindfolded and with one hand tied behind him.'

Jurg Tec's fist lashed out without warning and caught Gramp square on the beard. Gramp staggered and then let out a bellowing howl and made for the Martian. The crowd yelled encouragement.

Jurg Tec, retreating before Gramp's flailing fists, staggered over the kneeling Senator Brown. Gramp leaped at him at the same instant and the three were tangled on the floor in a flurry of lashing arms and legs.

'Take that,' yelled Gramp.

'Hey, look out for my camera,' shrieked the senator.

The Martian said nothing, but he hung a beauty on the senator's left eye. He had aimed it at Gramp.

A table toppled with a crash. The crowd hooted in utter delight.

The senator glimpsed his camera on the floor, reached out and grabbed it. Someone stepped on his hand and he yelled. Jurg Tec grabbed Gramp by the beard.

'Cut it out,' boomed a voice and two policemen came charging through the crowd. They jerked Gramp and Jurg Tec to their feet. The senator got up by himself.

'What you fellows fighting about?' asked the big policeman.

'He's dog-gone Marshy,' yelled Gramp.

'He said one Earthy could lick ten Martians,' squeaked Jurg Tec.

The big policeman eyed the senator.

'What have you got to say for yourself?' he asked.