The Morgue Ship had gleaned information from
space that would end the three hundred year war,
knowledge that would defeat the aggressor
Martians—if Brandon could carry it to Earth.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1944.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Logan's way of laughing was bad. "There's a new body up in theair-lock, Brandon. Climb the rungs and have a look."
Logan's eyes had a green shine to them, eager and intent. They wereugly, obscene.
Brandon swore under his breath. This room of the Morgue Ship wascrowded with their two personalities. Besides that, there were scoresof cold shelves of bodies freezing quietly, and the insistentvibration of the coroner tables, machinery spinning under them. AndLogan was like a little machine that never stopped talking.
"Leave me alone." Brandon rose up, tall and thinned by the years,looking as old as a pocked meteor. "Just keep quiet."
Logan sucked his cigarette. "Scared to go upstairs? Scared it might beyour son we just picked up?"
Brandon reached Logan in about one stride, and while the Morgue Shipslipped on through space, he clenched the coroner's blue uniform withthe small bones inside it and hung it up against the wall, pressinginward until Logan couldn't breathe. Logan blew air, his eyes lookedhelpless. He tried to speak and could only grunt like a stuck pig. Hewaved his short arms, flapping.
Brandon kept him there, crucified on a fist.
"I told you. Let me search for my own son's body in my own way. I don'tneed your tongue."
Logan's eyes were losing their shine, were getting blind and glazed.Brandon stepped back, releasing the little assistant. Logan bumpedsoftly against metal flooring, his mouth hungry for air, his nostrilsflaring for breath. Brandon watched the little face of Logan over thecrouched, gasping body, with red color and anger shooting up into itwith every passing second.
"Coward!" he threw it out of himself, Logan did. "Gotyellow—neon-tubing—for your spine. Coward. Never went to war. Neverdid anything for Earth against Mars."
Brandon said the words in slow motion. "Shut up."
"Why?" Logan crept back, inching up the metal hull. The blood pumpsunder the skirts of the tables pulsed across the warm silence. "Doesit hurt, the truth? Your son'd be proud of you, okay. Ha!" He coughedand spat. "He was so damn ashamed of you he went and signed up forspace combat. So he got lost from his ship during a battle." Loganlicked his lips very carefully. "So, to make up for it, you signed on aMorgue Ship. Try to find his body. Try to make amends. I know you. Youwouldn't join the Space Warriors to fight. No guts for that. Had toget a nice easy job on a morgue ship—"
Lines appeared in Brandon's gaunt cheeks, his eyes were closed, thelids pale. He said, and tried to believe it himself, "Someone has topick up the bodies after the battle. They can't go flying on forever intheir own orbits. They deserve burial."
The bitterness of Logan struck even deeper. "Who are you tryin' toconvince?" He was on his feet now. "Me, it's different. I got a rightto running this ship. I was in the other war."
"You're a liar," Brandon retorted. "You hunted radium in the asteroidswith a mineral tug. You took this Morgue Ship job so you could go righton hunting radium, picking up bodies on the side."
Logan laughed softly, but not humorously. "So what? Least I'm nocoward. I'll burn anybody gets in my way." He thought it over."Unless," he added, "they give me a little money."
Brandon turned away, feeling ill. He forced himself to climb up