_Catching him was no problem; they caught
him everywhere--and practically all at once!_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1959.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Mr. Street, you are the foremost xenologist on Earth," the director of
Extraterrestrial Investigations said to the tall man.
"I know," Street said.
"What do you know about the infamous criminal, Baker, the so-called
'Robin Hood' who is actually a scarlet fiend?"
"Everything."
"Surely not how he died."
"Everything but that."
The director put his briefcase on his knees. "Mr. Street, my agency
received numerous accounts of his death, or deaths, on various worlds.
Can you tell me which, if any, of these stories is true by studying our
intelligence reports?"
"Easily," Street said.
"We have had Baker under observation many times by our planted
Orwells--our peepbugs--but you must understand that we need absolute
_proof_ on him since he has supporters even on Earth, and in waiting
for that proof, we lost contact often at vital moments."
"I understand perfectly," Street assured him.
I
"Are there really space pirates?" Mrs. Fuljohn inquired of him,
giggling furiously.
"Yes, Virginia, there really are space pirates," Baker assured her.
Mrs. Fuljohn lowered very long lashes over formidable eyes. "My first
name is Christine. Will they come at us out of the void with all guns
blasting?"
"I doubt it. They would want to rob the liner, not disintegrate it."
Baker excused himself and strolled toward the afterdeck of "A" class.
He had lied to the lady. (The hyper-Orwell focused directly on
him picked up the tiny whisper of his subvocalizations.) He was a
pirate, but there was one part of the cargo he did want to destroy,
not steal--the first-grade readers for the Mission Houses for Alien
Natives on Ignatz XI. Men called him a traitor to the human race,
but he seethed at the corruptive propaganda being fed to the swinoid
youngsters of the planet.
_This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home....
This little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none...._
It was insidious, evil. It said in effect that races who shared a
common ancestor with the pig had better trade with Earthmen on their
terms--on _any_ terms--if they hoped to go on being allowed to eat.
Double-dealing Earthmen with their devious schemes were daily robbing
literal-minded extraterrestrials like the Ignatz swinoids blind.
Sometimes it made him ashamed to be an Earthman. Let some call him a
renegade! He was going to help these sentient beings.
He had a plan, even if he lacked the armed battle cruiser that the
pirates had in the teletapes. There was a small corvet waiting for him
on Ignatz XI. It lacked the restricted official light-drive of military
and police craft, having only a civilian planetary-field booster, but
if all went well, it would be sufficient for his escape.
Baker glanced at the dial of his watch--it showed no tell-tale color of
listening devices within his area. (The detector had been sold to him
by an ETI agent and, of course, it lied.) Confident, he stepped over
the chain separating him from the stairs to "B" Deck.
Wurmong was waiting for him as planned.
"_Si_," the fat, swarthy man said, "my brother, my nephews, my
cousins--we will bring our extra luggage to the cargo hold tonight."
"I'll predispose the guards. Come right into Hold 7. Understand?"
"_Da_," Wurmong assured him.
The man on watch collapsed soundlessly at a beam of nerve pressure on
the neck, and Baker slipped inside, immediately beginning to eject the
first-grade readers through the escape hatch by the gross.
The mercenary, Wurmong, and his army of family arrived with experienced
stealth and began dumping the new books from their privileged luggage.
Baker replaced the contents of the opened crates with the variant
readers. These volumes might be the tiny counterbalance needed to
free a world of swinoids from domination by Earth. Who knew the full
extent of the psychological effect of _The Three Little Pigs_ on young,
formative minds?
His work done, Baker sadly regarded the precious jewels and the
negotiable bonds from the registered mail. There was no way around it.
This had to look like a robbery. It was necessary that he take them.
Quickly, he stuffed everything into his synthetic appendix....
* * * * *
Baker was allowed to disembark on Ignatz XI so that he might be traced
to his alien fellow-conspirators.
The heavy-jowled biped who greeted him at the smoky tavern was joyous.
"You have done the next best thing for us to enabling us to tell your
busybody missionaries to go home. We look upon you as one of our own
and are hungry for the sight of you. May you remain with us long."
"Too much work," Baker said, gagging over the native beer. "But I must
ask you a favor. You implied you'd give me your right arm."
"Anything we have is yours. But would not a cadaver's limb suit you as
well as mine?"
"I must escape from this world. You can give a private citizen like me
something only a sovereign government can. I want the jump drive."
"Not that!"
"Yes! I've earned it, haven't I?"
The swinoid nodded wearily. "You have. The device will be put in your
spacer. Use it only in deep space."
He was now in orbit. That was far enough out. Earth patrols could still
pick him up easily. The ETI spy pickup observed him as he reached out
and put a finger to the button of the device given him by the Swinoids,
as Earth ships closed rapidly. He pressed the button.
_In a crisping flash of flame, he lit with incredible speed._