Faithfully Yours

  Produced by Greg Weeks, LN Yaddanapudi and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  FAITHFULLY YOURS

  BY LOU TABAKOW

  Illustrated by Emsh

  +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note | | | | This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction | | December 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any | | evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was | | renewed. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

  _If it's too impossibly difficult to track down and recapture an escaped criminal ... there's a worse thing one might do...._

  JULY 18, 1949 A.D.

  _The fugitive lay face down in the fetid undergrowth, drawing inspasmodic lungfuls of air through cracked and swollen lips. Long before,his blue workshirt had been ripped to ribbons and his exposed chestshowed a spiderwork of scratches, where branches and brambles had soughtto restrain him in his frenzied flight. Across his back from shoulder toshoulder ran a deeper cut around which the caked blood attested to theneedle-sharp viciousness of a thorn bush a mile to the north. With eachtortured breath he winced, as drops of sweat ran down, following thespiderwork network and burning like acid. Incessantly he rubbed hisbruised torso with mud-caked palms to dislodge the gnats and mosquitoesthat clung to him, gorging shamelessly._

  _To the east he could see the lights of Fort Mudge where the railroadcut through on its way to Jacksonville. He had planned to ride thefreight into Jacksonville but by now they were stopping every train andsearching along every foot of the railroad right of way. In the distancehe heard the eerie keen of a train whistle, and visualized the scene asit was flagged down and searched from engine to caboose._

  _Directly before him loomed the forbidding northern boundary of theOkefenokee Swamp. Unconsciously he strained his ears, then shuddered atthe night noises that issued from the noisome wilderness. A frenziedthreshing, then a splash, then ... silence. What drama of life and deathwas being played out in that strange other-world of perpetual shadows?_

  _In sudden panic he jerked erect and cupped his palm round his ear. Faroff; muted by distance, but still unmistakable; he heard the baying ofbloodhounds. Then this was the end. A sob broke from his throat. Whatwas he, an animal; to be hunted down as a sport? Tears of self-pitywelled to his eyes as he thought back to a party and a girl and laughterand cleanliness and the scent of magnolias, like a heady wine. But thatwas so long ago--so long ago--and now.... He looked down at hissweating, lacerated body; his blistered calloused palms; the blackbroken nails; the cheap workshoes with hemp laces; the shapeless graycotton trousers, now wet to the knees._

  _He pulled back his shoulders and resolutely faced west toward theriver, but stopped short in horror as he heard the sudden cacophony ofbarks, yelps and howls of a pack of bloodhounds that senses thebeginning of the end. He turned in panic. They couldn't be over half amile away. In a panic of indecision he turned first east then west, thenfacing due south he hesitated a moment to take one last look at theclear open skies, and with a muffled prayer plunged into the broodingdepths of the Okefenokee._

  * * * * *

  JUNE 13, 427th Year GALACTIC ERA

  The building still hummed and vibrated with the dying echoes of thealarm siren as the biophysicist hurried down the corridor, and withoutbreaking stride, pushed open the door to the Director's office.

  The Director shuffled the papers before him and sighed heavily. Hischair creaked protestingly as he shifted his bulk and looked up.

  "Well?"

  "He got away clean," said the biophysicist.

  "Any fix on the direction?"

  "None at all, sir. And he's got at least a two hours' start. That takesin a pretty big area of space."

  "Hm-m-m! Well there's just a bare chance. That experimental cruiser isthe fastest thing in space and it's equipped with the latestethero-radar. If we get started right away, we just might--"

  "That's just it," interrupted the biophysicist. "That's the ship he gotaway in."

  The Director jumped angrily to his feet. "How did that happen? How can Iexplain to the board?"

  "I'm sorry, sir. He was just too--"

  "_You're_ sorry?" He slumped back in his chair and drummed the desk topwith his fingernails, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. He exhaledloudly and leaned forward. "Well, only one thing to do. You know theorders."

  The biophysicist squirmed uncomfortably. "Couldn't we send a squadron ofships out to search and--"

  "And what?" asked the Director, sarcastically. "You don't think I'd riska billion credits worth of equipment on a wild-goose chase like that, doyou? We could use up a year's appropriation of fuel and manpower andstill be unable to adequately search a sector one-tenth that size. If hejust sat still, a thousand ships couldn't find him in a thousand years,searching at finite speeds. Add to that the fact that the target ismoving at ultra-light speed and the odds against locating him ismultiplied by a billion."

  "I know, but he can't stay in space. He'll have to land somewhere,sometime."

  "True enough--but where and when?"

  "Couldn't we alert all the nearby planets?"

  "You know better than that. He could be halfway across the galaxy beforean ethero-gram reached the nearest planet."

  "Suppose we sent scout ships to the nearer planets and asked them toinform their neighbors in the same way. We'd soon have an expandingcircle that he _couldn't_ slip through."

  The Director smiled wryly. "Maybe. But who's going to pay for all this.By the time the circle was a thousand light-years in diameter therewould be ten thousand ships and a million clerks working on recapturingone escaped prisoner. Another thing; I don't know offhand what he's beensentenced for, but I'll wager there are ten thousand planets on whichhis crime would not be a crime. Do you think we could ever extradite himfrom such a planet? And even if by some incredible stroke of fortune oneof our agents happened to land on the right planet, in which city wouldhe begin his search. Or suppose our quarry lands only on uninhabitedplanets? We can't very well alert the whole galaxy in the search forjust one man."

  "I know, but--"

  "But what?" interrupted the Director. "Any other suggestions?"

  "N ... no--"

  "All right, he asked for it. You have the pattern, I presume. _Feed itto Fido!_"

  "Yes, sir, but well ... I just don't--"

  "Do you think _I_ like it?" asked the Director, fiercely.

  In the silence that followed, they looked at each other, guiltily.

  "There's nothing else we can do," said the Director. "The orders areexplicit. _No one escapes from Hades!_"

  "I know," replied the biophysicist. "I'm not blaming you. Only I wishsomeone else had my job."

  "Well," said the Director, heavily. "You might as well get started." Henodded his head in dismissal.

  As the biophysicist went out the door, the Director looked down oncemore at the pile of papers before him. He pulled the top sheet closer,and rubber-stamped across its face--CASE CLOSED.

  "Yes," he mused aloud. "Closed for us, but--" He hesitated a moment, andthen sighing once more, signed his name in the space provided.

  * * * * *

  AUGUST 6, 430th Year GALACTIC ERA

  Tee Ormond sat morosely at the spaceport bar, and alternately wiped hisforehead with a soggy handkerchief, and sipped at his frosted rainbow,careful not to disturb the varicolored layers of liquid in the tallnarrow glass. Every now and then he nervously ran his fingers throughhis straight black hair,
which lay damply plastered to his head. Hisjacket was faded and worn, and above the left pocket was emblazoned themeteor insignia of the spaceman. A dark patch on his back showed wherethe perspiration had seeped through. He blinked and rubbed the corner ofhis eye as a drop of perspiration ran down and settled there.

  A casual look would have classified him as a very average looking pilotsuch as could be found at the bar of any spaceport; i.e. if space pilotscan ever be classified as average. Spacemen are the last trueadventurers in an age where the debilitating culture of a highlymechanized civilization has pushed to the very borders of the galaxy.While most men are fearful and indecisive outside their narrowspecialties the spacemen must at all times be ready to