The Mack Reynolds Megapack Read online

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  The Mack Reynolds Megapack is copyright © 2013 by Wildside Press LLC. All rights reserved. Cover art copyright © 2013 by Kovalenko Inna / Fotolia. For more information, contact the publisher.

  Version 1.0.

  * * * *

  “Happy Ending,” by Mack Reynolds and Fredric Brown, originally appeared in Fantastic Universe, September 1957.

  “Ultima Thule” originally appeared in Analog Science Fact & Fiction, March 1961.

  “Gun for Hire” originally appeared in Analog, December 1960.

  “Adaptation” originally appeared in Astounding Science Fiction, August 1960.

  “Stowaway” originally appeared in Universe Science Fiction, June 1953.

  “Medal of Honor” originally appeared in Amazing Science Fiction Stories, November 1960.

  “I’m a Stranger Here Myself” originally appeared in Amazing Stories, December 1960.

  “Status Quo” originally appeared in Analog Science Fact & Fiction, August 1961.

  “Unborn Tomorrow” originally appeared in Astounding Science Fiction, June 1959.

  “Summit” originally appeared in Astounding Science Fiction, February, 1960.

  “Freedom” originally appeared in Analog Science Fact & Fiction, February 1961.

  “Dogfight—1973” originally appeared in Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy, July 1953.

  “The Common Man” originally appeared in Analog, January 1963.

  “Combat” originally appeared in Analog Science Fact & Fiction, October 1960.

  “Black Man’s Burden” originally appeared as a 2-part serial in Analog Science Fact & Fiction, December 1961 and January 1962.

  “Subversive” originally appeared in Analog, December 1962.

  “Off Course” originally appeared in If Worlds of Science Fiction, January 1954.

  “Revolution” originally appeared in Astounding Science Fiction, May 1960.

  “Potential Enemy” originally appeared in Orbit, Vol. 1 No, 2, 1953.

  “Border, Breed Nor Birth” originally appeared in Analog Science Fact & Fiction, July 1962.

  “Frigid Fracas” originally appeared as a 2-part serial in Analog Science Fact & Fiction, March and April 1963.

  “Expediter” originally appeared in Analog Science Fact & Fiction May 1963.

  “Mercenary” originally appeared in Analog, April 1962.

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  I grew up reading Mack Reynolds’ work, primarily in Analog magazine. He was one of editor John W. Campbell’s regular contributors, and while he never rose to the fame of such other Campbell-era authors as (say) Isaac Asimov or Robert A. Heinlein, he nevertheless had a long and distinguished career in the field.

  His entry in Wikipedia says:

  Dallas McCord “Mack” Reynolds (November 11, 1917 – January 30, 1983) was an American science fiction writer. His pen names included Dallas Ross, Mark Mallory, Clark Collins, Dallas Rose, Guy McCord, Maxine Reynolds, Bob Belmont, and Todd Harding. His work is noteworthy for its focus on socioeconomic speculation, usually expressed in thought-provoking explorations of Utopian societies from a radical, sometime satiric, perspective. He was a considerably popular author from the 1950s to the 1970s, especially with readers of science fiction and fantasy magazines.

  If you’ve gotten as far as this brief editorial note, you’re no doubt impatient to begin. So please feel free to jump ahead to the stories; they speak for themselves.

  Enjoy!

  —John Betancourt

  Publisher, Wildside Press LLC

  www.wildsidepress.com

  ABOUT THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  Over the last few years, our “Megapack” series of ebook anthologies has proved to be one of our most popular endeavors. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”

  The Megapacks (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt, Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Bonner Menking, Colin Azariah-Kribbs, A.E. Warren, and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!).

  A NOTE FOR KINDLE READERS

  The Kindle versions of our Megapacks employ active tables of contents for easy navigation…please look for one before writing reviews on Amazon that complain about the lack! (They are sometimes at the ends of ebooks, depending on your reader.)

  RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY?

  Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the Megapack series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://movies.ning.com/forum (there is an area for Wildside Press comments).

  Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.

  TYPOS

  Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.

  If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at [email protected] or use the message boards above.

  THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  MYSTERY

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Charlie Chan Megapack

  The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective Megapack

  The Detective Megapack

  The Father Brown Megapack

  The Jacques Futrelle Megapack

  The Mystery Megapack

  The Penny Parker Megapack

  The Pulp Fiction Megapack

  The Raffles Megapack

  The Victorian Mystery Megapack

  The Wilkie Collins Megapack

  GENERAL INTEREST

  The Adventure Megapack

  The Baseball Megapack

  The Christmas Megapack

  The Second Christmas Megapack

  The Classic American Short Stories Megapack

  The Classic Humor Megapack

  The Military Megapack

  SCIENCE FICTION & FANTASY

  The Edward Bellamy Megapack

  The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack

  The Philip K. Dick Megapack

  The Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Second Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Martian Megapack

  The Mummy Megapack

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The Pinocchio Megapack

  The H. Beam Piper Megapack

  The Pulp Fiction Megapack

  The Mack Reynolds Megapack

  The First Science Fiction Megapack

  The Second Science Fiction Megapack

  The Third Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Sixth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Steampunk Megapack

  The Time Travel Megapack

  The Wizard of Oz Megapack

  HORROR

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Second E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Cthulhu Mythos Megapack

  The Ghost Story Megapack

  The Second Ghost Story Megapack

  The Third Ghost Story Megapack

  The Horror Megapack

  The M.R. James Megapack

  The Macabre Megapack

  The Second Macabre Megapack

&
nbsp; The Vampire Megapack

  The Werewolf Megapack

  WESTERNS

  The B.M. Bower Megapack

  The Max Brand Megapack

  The Buffalo Bill Megapack

  The Cowboy Megapack

  The Zane Grey Megapack

  The Western Megapack

  The Second Western Megapack

  The Wizard of Oz Megapack

  YOUNG ADULT

  The Boys’ Adventure Megapack

  The Dan Carter, Cub Scout Megapack

  The G.A. Henty Megapack

  The Rover Boys Megapack

  The Tom Corbett, Space Cadet Megapack

  The Tom Swift Megapack

  AUTHOR MEGAPACKS

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Edward Bellamy Megapack

  The B.M. Bower Megapack

  The E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Second E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Max Brand Megapack

  The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack

  The Wilkie Collins Megapack

  The Philip K. Dick Megapack

  The Jacques Futrelle Megapack

  The Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Anna Katharine Green Megapack

  The Zane Grey Megapack

  The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

  The M.R. James Megapack

  The Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Second Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The H. Beam Piper Megapack

  The Mack Reynolds Megapack

  The Rafael Sabatini Megapack

  HAPPY ENDING

  Written in collaboration with Fredric Brown

  There were four men in the lifeboat that came down from the space-cruiser. Three of them were still in the uniform of the Galactic Guards.

  The fourth sat in the prow of the small craft looking down at their goal, hunched and silent, bundled up in a greatcoat against the coolness of space—a greatcoat which he would never need again after this morning. The brim of his hat was pulled down far over his forehead, and he studied the nearing shore through dark-lensed glasses. Bandages, as though for a broken jaw, covered most of the lower part of his face.

  He realized suddenly that the dark glasses, now that they had left the cruiser, were unnecessary. He slipped them off. After the cinematographic grays his eyes had seen through these lenses for so long, the brilliance of the color below him was almost like a blow. He blinked, and looked again.

  They were rapidly settling toward a shoreline, a beach. The sand was a dazzling, unbelievable white such as had never been on his home planet. Blue the sky and water, and green the edge of the fantastic jungle. There was a flash of red in the green, as they came still closer, and he realized suddenly that it must be a marigee, the semi-intelligent Venusian parrot once so popular as pets throughout the solar system.

  Throughout the system blood and steel had fallen from the sky and ravished the planets, but now it fell no more.

  And now this. Here in this forgotten portion of an almost completely destroyed world it had not fallen at all.

  Only in some place like this, alone, was safety for him. Elsewhere—anywhere—imprisonment or, more likely, death. There was danger, even here. Three of the crew of the space-cruiser knew. Perhaps, someday, one of them would talk. Then they would come for him, even here.

  But that was a chance he could not avoid. Nor were the odds bad, for three people out of a whole solar system knew where he was. And those three were loyal fools.

  The lifeboat came gently to rest. The hatch swung open and he stepped out and walked a few paces up the beach. He turned and waited while the two spacemen who had guided the craft brought his chest out and carried it across the beach and to the corrugated-tin shack just at the edge of the trees. That shack had once been a space-radar relay station. Now the equipment it had held was long gone, the antenna mast taken down. But the shack still stood. It would be his home for a while. A long while. The two men returned to the lifeboat preparatory to leaving.

  And now the captain stood facing him, and the captain’s face was a rigid mask. It seemed with an effort that the captain’s right arm remained at his side, but that effort had been ordered. No salute.

  The captain’s voice, too, was rigid with unemotion. “Number One …”

  “Silence!” And then, less bitterly. “Come further from the boat before you again let your tongue run loose. Here.” They had reached the shack.

  “You are right, Number …”

  “No. I am no longer Number One. You must continue to think of me as Mister Smith, your cousin, whom you brought here for the reasons you explained to the under-officers, before you surrender your ship. If you think of me so, you will be less likely to slip in your speech.”

  “There is nothing further I can do—Mister Smith?”

  “Nothing. Go now.”

  “And I am ordered to surrender the—”

  “There are no orders. The war is over, lost. I would suggest thought as to what spaceport you put into. In some you may receive humane treatment. In others—”

  The captain nodded. “In others, there is great hatred. Yes. That is all?”

  “That is all. And, Captain, your running of the blockade, your securing of fuel en route, have constituted a deed of high valor. All I can give you in reward is my thanks. But now go. Goodbye.”

  “Not goodbye,” the captain blurted impulsively, “but hasta la vista, auf Wiedersehen, until the day…you will permit me, for the last time to address you and salute?”

  The man in the greatcoat shrugged. “As you will.”

  Click of heels and a salute that once greeted the Caesars, and later the pseudo-Aryan of the 20th Century, and, but yesterday, he who was now known as the last of the dictators. “Farewell, Number One!”

  “Farewell,” he answered emotionlessly.

  * * * *

  Mr. Smith, a black dot on the dazzling white sand, watched the lifeboat disappear up into the blue, finally into the haze of the upper atmosphere of Venus. That eternal haze that would always be there to mock his failure and his bitter solitude.

  The slow days snarled by, and the sun shone dimly, and the marigees screamed in the early dawn and all day and at sunset, and sometimes there were the six-legged baroons, monkey-like in the trees, that gibbered at him. And the rains came and went away again.

  At nights there were drums in the distance. Not the martial roll of marching, nor yet a threatening note of savage hate. Just drums, many miles away, throbbing rhythm for native dances or exorcising, perhaps, the forest-night demons. He assumed these Venusians had their superstitions, all other races had. There was no threat, for him, in that throbbing that was like the beating of the jungle’s heart.

  Mr. Smith knew that, for although his choice of destinations had been a hasty choice, yet there had been time for him to read the available reports. The natives were harmless and friendly. A Terran missionary had lived among them some time ago—before the outbreak of the war. They were a simple, weak race. They seldom went far from their villages; the space-radar operator who had once occupied the shack reported that he had never seen one of them.

  So, there would be no difficulty in avoiding the natives, nor danger if he did encounter them.

  Nothing to worry about, except the bitterness.

  Not the bitterness of regret, but of defeat. Defeat at the hands of the defeated. The damned Martians who came back after he had driven them halfway across their damned arid planet. The Jupiter Satellite Confederation landing endlessly on the home planet, sending their vast armadas of spacecraft daily and nightly to turn his mighty cities into dust. In spite of everything; in spite of his score of ultra-vicious secret weapons and the last desperate efforts of his weakened armies, most of whose men were under twenty or over forty.

  The treachery even in his own army, among his own generals and admirals. The turn of Luna, that had been the end.

  His people would rise a
gain. But not, now after Armageddon, in his lifetime. Not under him, nor another like him. The last of the dictators.

  Hated by a solar system, and hating it.

  It would have been intolerable, save that he was alone. He had foreseen that—the need for solitude. Alone, he was still Number One. The presence of others would have forced recognition of his miserably changed status. Alone, his pride was undamaged. His ego was intact.

  * * * *

  The long days, and the marigees’ screams, the slithering swish of the surf, the ghost-quiet movements of the baroons in the trees and the raucousness of their shrill voices. Drums.

  Those sounds, and those alone. But perhaps silence would have been worse.

  For the times of silence were louder. Times he would pace the beach at night and overhead would be the roar of jets and rockets, the ships that had roared over New Albuquerque, his capitol, in those last days before he had fled. The crump of bombs and the screams and the blood, and the flat voices of his folding generals.

  Those were the days when the waves of hatred from the conquered peoples beat upon his country as the waves of a stormy sea beat upon crumbling cliffs. Leagues back of the battered lines, you could feel that hate and vengeance as a tangible thing, a thing that thickened the air, that made breathing difficult and talking futile.

  And the spacecraft, the jets, the rockets, the damnable rockets, more every day and every night, and ten coming for every one shot down. Rocket ships raining hell from the sky, havoc and chaos and the end of hope.

  And then he knew that he had been hearing another sound, hearing it often and long at a time. It was a voice that shouted invective and ranted hatred and glorified the steel might of his planet and the destiny of a man and a people.

  It was his own voice, and it beat back the waves from the white shore, it stopped their wet encroachment upon this, his domain. It screamed back at the baroons and they were silent. And at times he laughed, and the marigees laughed. Sometimes, the queerly shaped Venusian trees talked too, but their voices were quieter. The trees were submissive, they were good subjects.

  Sometimes, fantastic thoughts went through his head. The race of trees, the pure race of trees that never interbred, that stood firm always. Someday the trees—

  But that was just a dream, a fancy. More real were the marigees and the kifs. They were the ones who persecuted him. There was the marigee who would shriek “All is lost!” He had shot at it a hundred times with his needle gun, but always it flew away unharmed. Sometimes it did not even fly away.