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Title: The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

Author: John De Courcy
        Dorothy De Courcy

Illustrator: Al McWilliams

Release date: February 28, 2021 [eBook #64659]

Language: English

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES ***




                     THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES

                     By JOHN AND DOROTHY DE COURCY

              It was one thing to heave an unwanted girl
             out into the great black grave of space. But
               tough old pirate Captain Brace balked at
             making his own soul walk the plank with her!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                      Planet Stories Winter 1949.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


They stood, silently, side by side, in the crude shelter that passed
for a bar on Titan. Its corroded metal walls rang hollowly to the
boisterous, animal humor which flowed as freely as drink. Lewd sketches
adorned the walls, staring down at the two men, the lewdity of five
races to please the lechers of five planets. But all of this was lost
on Brace. He was begotten in sin and knew no other life.

The thin-faced man beside him shifted uneasily. "Buy you a drink,
Brace?"

"CAPTAIN Brace!" the ape snapped. It was too true to be funny. He
looked like an ape. His face was ugly and concave, the nose flattened.
His back and shoulders sloped and his arms hung slightly before his
body.

"Captain Brace," the other said quickly.

Brace laid one of his paws on the bar, hairy, grotesque. He sniffed
loudly and grunted, "Borl!"

The complacent bartender poured three fingers into a glass and Brace's
lips quivered slightly over his protruding teeth in humorous pride. No
man he knew could drink the stuff straight, this caustic liquor often
used to add a poisonous garnish to the drinks of the frail men on earth.

The thin-faced man murmured, "Whiskey," and the bartender poured this
with equal nonchalance.

Brace stared at the glass in his hand, prolonging the moment, for he
knew many curious eyes watched him. Blood brother to sulphuric acid,
someone had called it; Borl, distilled from the roots of a poisonous
tree, the touch of whose leaves burned flesh through to the bone.

It was a show worth seeing--and Brace knew it. He knew it hurt, seared
his throat, and made his chest ache, that once he had crushed a glass
in his hand in pain afterward. It had hoarsened his voice and burned
his lips and tongue so they were like the palm of a workman's hand. But
no other man could do it.

He raised the glass to his lips and poured the contents down. The men
who were watching drew in their breath but not all of the spectators
were men. Some were aliens who expressed surprise or tension in other
ways. Venusians' long-unused gill slits rustled. The armadillo-like
Saturnians made crackling sounds by shifting their bodies in a slight
circular motion. The Martians, almost man-like, made nasal squeaks with
the second set of vocal cords behind their palates. The downy-skinned
Ionians, pale white in the gloom, made little clicking sounds with
their fingers like miniature castanets. Then Brace laid the empty glass
on the bar and life resumed in this sump where collected the residue of
five races.

The thin-faced man tossed off his whiskey in one gulp, then coughed.
Brace threw back his head and roared with laughter, long and loud. The
room joined him, but the thin-faced man didn't mind. He laughed too. It
was safer.

       *       *       *       *       *

A pair of stained curtains suddenly separated on a little raised
platform and all eyes turned toward it, including Brace's bloodshot
ones, still jumping from the effect of the drugging Borl. A girl came
out, scantily clad, and a spotlight from somewhere centered on her. Two
Ionians played rhythmic melodies on a heavy stringed instrument and the
girl began to dance.

Men yelled the age-old cry, "Take it off!" And she, twirling, smiled,
but her face turned pink under the cries and jests.

Followed by the thin-faced man, Brace waddled forward until he stood
at the edge of the platform. There was something different here which
he sensed rather than saw through the caustic fumes of the Borl. She
was young, not a burned out, haggard wreck, heavily daubed, such as he
always saw in places such as this. Her limbs were lithe, straight, her
face was not pretty, but it was youthful and not a debauched, revolting
mask.

As Brace was taking all this in, another man staggered slightly and
jabbed him with an elbow. Without hesitation, Brace's hand caught him
on the face, the chopping edge of his ape-hand landing with the crack
of a hammer. There was no resentment. The man staggered back, his
oft-broken face bleeding from the abrasion on his cheekbone, and Brace
kept on watching the girl.

She was slim, almost skinny, which accentuated her pointed, elfin face
and high cheekbones. The blue draperies whirled in her wake, as did her
shining, black hair. Her brown eyes seemed to be expressionless holes
and her full red lips remained fixed, pinned in a professional smile.

Brace's hands now rested on the platform, almost chest high, and sweat
trickled down his concave mask unnoticed, his eyes darting after the
girl, relentlessly.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then, as suddenly as they had opened, the curtains swung closed and the
spotlight died. Immediately, Brace vaulted to the platform and ducked
through the slit in the curtain. He heard no voices cheering him on and
he wondered if in the sudden gloom he had been unseen.

Unhesitatingly, he rolled ahead across the now darkened platform and
around the askew backdrop and almost ran into the girl. She gasped
and shrank back as Brace reached for her. A door opened and a young
man came out, a blond, earth man. Brace looked at him, no more, just
looked, and then the young man lunged at him. He didn't throw himself
like an animal, he raced in like a panther, his young, small fists
cocked professionally.

It was all a blur to Brace, the flying fists, the thudding blows, as
he waved his long arms. He stumbled into the backdrop but its cloth
surface muffled any sound. Half blind, he clutched the fabric with one
hand, then reached with the other and dragged the young man to him.

Brace hadn't meant to hurt him. He had only wanted to drive him away.
But he stood there, rubbing his aching knuckles, staring down at the
crumpled figure on the floor. There was a big dent in the young man's
skull where his head had struck a pipe. Brace was shocked. He hadn't
meant to kill him. But he knew he was dead.

The girl knelt quickly beside the young man, her small, trembling
hands touching his white face. Brace knew she was going to scream and
immediately, his hand closed over her mouth. She struggled but he
hardly noticed it. This was bad, very bad, especially here on Titan.
The S.P. would like something better than just suspicions in his
direction. Sure, the kid had asked for it, but how would it look? He
hadn't meant to kill him, but--

His barrel chest heaved while he held the struggling girl and tried to
think. He had killed other men. It wasn't remorse. It was perhaps only
a vague instinct which forbade him to kill the young or the weak. He
had to get back to the ship. That was it! Once in space, they'd never
know. But the girl--the girl--He could kill her too but--

With a grunt, he heaved her figure over his shoulder and moved down the
gloomy hallway to a metal door. With the toe of his shoe, he opened it,
glanced outside into the darkness, then heaved himself and his burden
through the opening, pulling the door shut with his foot.

They were on the edge of the settlement. That was a break. He carefully
skirted lighted buildings. The air, thin and cold, barely rustled his
garments as he ran steadily on.

There was just one more place to pass, another bar. Brace hesitated
in the gloom, holding his burden tightly. A man emerged from the bar,
paused, then began walking toward them. Brace shrank back into the
shadows. The man's footsteps drew closer. Brace tried to withdraw
himself further but the girl began to struggle. The footsteps stopped,
Brace heard a shuffling sound, then the footsteps receded. Brace peered
around the corner just in time to see the man re-enter the bar.

Tensely, Brace walked toward the lighted area. If someone should
come out--He came abreast of the bar and through the grimy, plastic
portholes, he saw the faces of men, brief, fleeting images. Then he was
past, running, and the darkness closed about them again. He ran until
he was out in the sandy wastes, beyond the settlement. Then he stopped.

"If you scream, I'll kill you," he grunted into the girl's ear. He
dropped his hand from her mouth, set her on her feet, but kept a firm
hold on her wrist. He couldn't make out her features in the gloom but
he could hear her panting.

"Let me go!" she gasped.

"Shut up!" The snarl was deadly, vicious, and it choked off the words
that were bubbling up in her throat. "Now listen, you! I killed him and
that's that. I didn't mean to but that doesn't make him any less dead.
The S.P. doesn't like me and I think they might like to line me up in
front of a jet."

       *       *       *       *       *

Abruptly, the girl began to cry and sank down onto the sand. Brace was
annoyed and didn't know what to do. If he'd had any sense, he would
have killed her back there. Then he could have come back in the front
way and had another drink. The boys on the ship would swear they had
met him outside, gone with him to the ship, then walked back with him.
Sure, there would be two bodies, but he would have been in the clear.
He couldn't turn her loose now. He couldn't kill her either.

Resignedly, he realized he had to take her with him. "Come on!" he
grunted, pulling her erect.

Her sobbing died away to a muffled sniffling as he pulled her along
relentlessly after him. They were far enough from the settlement so
her scream wouldn't carry. Their feet crunched on the sand, though the
sound was thin and wispy, the ghost of the sound of earth feet trodding
earth sand. Brace noted a vague yellowness before him in the sky. It
would be getting light soon. He had to get to his ship. The S.P. might
already be nosing around.

The lightness was more distinct when they reached the place where the
ghostly hulks of space craft lay like sleeping whales, inert leviathans
that could in an instant become flaming dragons, leaping and screaming
into the darkness. Brace threaded his way through them until he caught
a glimpse of his own scarred ship, neither larger nor smaller than the
average, its blunt nose pointing slightly away to his left. He stopped
suddenly when he saw a shadowy figure standing near it.

"If you scream now--" Abruptly, he made a short, chopping motion with
his fist and the girl slumped unconscious. He shouldered her and began
a careful approach. There was still a hundred feet to cover, the sky
was growing lighter every minute, but the shadowy figure by his ship
remained motionless.

Brace stood in the shadow of the fin of a neighboring ship and turned
plans over in his mind. It was no use. During that whole hundred feet
he would be outlined against the sky. Then a sound tensed him, the
whine of a sand car behind him. He crouched low, prepared to duck.
This was it. Nobody on Titan had sand cars but the S.P. The miners
used big ato-tractors.

       *       *       *       *       *

Brace lunged around the edge of the fin to shield himself from the
oncoming lights. The sand car whizzed past him and hissed to a smooth
stop.

They had seen him. Brace spun and ran, sand spurting behind him. He
skidded under the huge belly of one ship, scrambled across to another--

Something crackled in the air--dust motes or insects caught in the S.P.
ray--and suddenly-molten sand bubbled and spat behind him.

[Illustration: _The sand suddenly bubbled and spat behind him._]

But the blast was not followed by a closer one and Brace realized they
were only shooting at random; he heard the ray hissing in another
direction. He hurtled down the next alley and then forced himself to
slow down to a shuffling run as he neared his own ship. His sprinting
feet would leave too obvious tracks.

Near the stern of his ship he stopped, his fingers fumbling over the
smooth side, at last finding the knob. He shoved it inward. If the port
squeaked--if one of the S.P. men came around the side of the ship--But
the port didn't squeak. It opened silently. And Brace stepped in. He
pressed another button, and the port closed. He was in.

Brace walked swiftly to his cabin, opened the door and dropped the
unconscious girl on his bunk. Quickly, he stripped off his coat and
shirt and mussed his hair. The catch on one of his shoes stuck and
he cursed as he ripped it off. Breathing rapidly, he waited for the
sound of the buzzer, and when it came, he snatched up his heavy coat
and threw it over his shoulders. As he stepped into the companionway,
another cabin door opened and another figure, hastily coated stepped
out.

"I'll get it!" Brace growled.

The other, startled, looked at him and said, "Yes, sir."

Brace pushed past him, turned into another companionway and walked to
the main fork. He pressed a stud and the inner door opened. Stepping
into the compartment, he pressed another stud, watched the inner door
close and the outer one open. He gulped to equalize the change in air
pressure in his ears.

       *       *       *       *       *

An S.P. man flicked on a light and shined it full in Brace's face.
Brace touched a button and flooded the entire port with light. "What do
you want?" he snapped. "I'm not blasting off for two hours! Come back
in an hour!"

"Is this him?" one of the S.P. men asked the other. The other nodded.

The first man who had spoken turned back to Brace. "We're not looking
into your take-off, Captain. We're investigating a killing."

"What do you want me to do? Solve it for you?"

The S.P. man took the insult but stiffened a little. "No, sir. We'd
like to examine your ship. There's a girl missing."

"Oh!" Brace shouted sarcastically. "Then she MUST be on my ship! It's
just swarming with kidnapped women! It COULDN'T be any other!!" He
waved his ape-like arm toward the collection of hulls.

The S.P. man's lips tightened into a thin line.

Brace ran his thick fingers through his hair, studying them for a
moment, then asked, "Do you have a search permit?"

"No sir," the S.P. man replied, "but we thought, under the
circumstances, your courtesy might--"

Brace snorted. "You could get one in half an hour--but--it would
interrupt my breakfast." He scowled. "All right--come on!"

The two S.P. men stepped into the port and Brace jabbed the closing
button viciously. "Now have a good look, because it's going to be your
last look at anybody's ship!"

"You're going to file an objection?" the S.P. man asked.

Brace threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Am I going to
file an objection!" he gasped. "Why, I'm going to ground my ship and
personally stay here until they yank the shields off you!!"

"Well, sir, if that's the way you feel, Captain, we'll not search your
ship until we have an official permit."

"You're in my ship now!" Brace snapped. "So come on! Have a good look!!"

"Sir, if you'll accept our apologies ... we don't wish to intrude on
your legal status...."

Brace motioned toward the companionway. "Do you want to search it or
not?"

"Captain Brace," the S.P. man said stiffly, "it's only a routine
search. We're quite convinced that a man of your standing wouldn't
jeopardize his ship and, if you'll consider the incident closed, I'll
be glad to see that no further trouble is given you."

The S.P. men had made a mistake by stepping in the ship of course, and
Brace could make much out of it. He grinned to let them know that he'd
like nothing better than to make much of it.

"Would that be satisfactory, sir?" the S.P. man asked.

Without taking his eyes off the man, Brace jabbed the opening button.
His face was not distorted, yet it carried the feeling, the hint of a
snarling, savage animal. In the atmosphere of such unspoken animosity,
the S.P. men stepped out as the outer port opened. Brace watched them
climb into the sand car and back away, then he thumbed the air-lock
control, waited for the inner door to open, and entered the ship.

       *       *       *       *       *

His mate was standing inside, a tall, heavy man with beetling brows, a
man who obviously tried hard to emulate his Captain.

"Well?" Brace demanded.

"None of my business," the mate answered, shrugging, "but I think you
should have given it to them. What crust! 'May we look your ship over?'
I'd have let them look over the end of my fist!"

Brace bared his teeth in anticipation of the effect of his words. "I
couldn't," he growled. "The girl's in my cabin." Then he pushed by the
astonished mate, turned in the companionway and burst into a roar of
laughter. "Fouled 'em up again!" he shouted.

The mate stared dumbly at Brace for a moment, then shrugging, went off
in the other direction.

Brace stood outside his cabin door, speculating. What should he do
now? Finding no answer to his question, he opened the door and stepped
in.

The girl was sitting on the edge of his bunk. She looked at him, then
down at her hands, as though the sight of him was repulsive to her.
When she looked up at him again, her level eyes made Brace wince. She
didn't seem afraid like he expected her to be. She was defiant.

"I see you're awake," Brace said. He hadn't meant to growl that way,
but he couldn't help it.

She clenched her hands and glared at him. "Why didn't you kill me like
you did my brother?"

"I'm sorry," Brace replied. "I didn't mean to kill anyone. Not that I
have any objection to killing if it's necessary. In this part of space,
you kill when you have to--but--well your brother was an accident."

He watched tears come to her eyes and scowled. "What's done is done! I
didn't mean to kill your brother, but he's dead, and there's nothing
anyone can do about it!"

She cried softly for a few moments, then sighing, brushed the tears
from her eyes. Brace leaned against a wall and stared at the deck,
sorting through plans and discarding them.

"I believe you," she said quietly, and it startled Brace. "I believe
you when you say it was an accident. I promise not to tell anything
about it to anyone. Now will you let me go?"

Brace shook his head. "I can't."

"But what do you intend to do with me?" she demanded.

"I don't know!" Brace paced the floor. "I can't let you go. That's
certain. I can't even leave your body." He looked at her steadily, his
jaw tightening. "I'll be frank with you, miss. I made a mistake. I
meant no harm but I killed a man. You saw me do it. I'm in bad with the
S.P., everyone here is, and they'd like nothing better than a charge
against me. You are that charge. It would mean my life, the lives of my
mate and officers, and my crew would be imprisoned, if I let you go."
He paused. "I may have to chuck you out in space."

She said nothing, just stared at him, and Brace went back to his pacing.

"But--but--I won't tell," she said, falteringly. "I promise not to say
a thing."

Brace shook his head. "The S.P. would make you tell anything they
wanted you to tell."

       *       *       *       *       *

Her lips quivered and her head dropped. Brace didn't feel good about
it. She was just a kid. He'd have felt much better if she was a man.
What was a girl like her doing in Titan anyway? She had no business
being in this hole. There was never anything but trouble on Titan.

Brace sat down. "You said he was your brother."

She nodded.

"Well, what were you two doing here? You don't look like the people who
usually land here, especially stay here for any length of time."

She sighed and bit her lip. "My--my brother and I were members of a
traveling theater. He got into a fight with the manager--my brother
is--was--very temperamental and he insisted on being let off at the
nearest port. The ship came here and--I decided to stay with my
brother. It was only after the ship had gone that we discovered we only
had enough money for one passage back to earth. So--I--"

Brace got up suddenly. "Never mind," he said, bruskly. He didn't want
to hear any more. He straightened. Well, that's the way life was. Some
people got the breaks, some didn't. It wasn't his fault. At least, it
would be a quick death. He'd see to that.

"I'll have some food sent to you," Brace said, opening the door. She
didn't look up, nor did she answer, and Brace hesitated a moment before
stepping out of the cabin. It was just momentary, then he closed the
door behind him and walked on down the companionway.

There was some strange humor, he reflected, in the fact that a thin,
almost skinny girl was the greatest danger he'd ever faced, his
greatest threat. The S.P. might return at any time. There were still
two hours almost and he didn't dare blast off early. If he could
only get--He realized abruptly that the mate was standing in the
companionway, staring at him.

"Barrows!" Brace grunted. "Get the men together in the mess room."

       *       *       *       *       *

Tableware lay in mute rows and the only sound was the humming
ventilator. Brace sat down in a chair to wait until the men had all
filed in. They were cast in the same mold, and forged to the same
temper as their Captain, brittle, hard, unyielding. When they had
assembled around the table, Barrows closed the door.

"The ship's locked, Captain," Barrows said. "The girl can't escape."

Brace nodded, got up, and stared at his men, one by one, seventeen of
the fiercest toughest men ever baptised in the maw of space and all
threatened by a stupid girl. Brace's hoarse voice resounded in the room
as he told about the night before, chronologically, neither adding nor
detracting. They listened without comment.

"There's an out for some of you," Brace finished. "I can give you your
papers and a note to Captains of ships which happen to be here now.
They'll sign you on and the S.P. won't be able to find you guilty of
anything. They won't even be able to prove you're my men. As for you,
Barrows, you can sign on with Grant and he'll doctor it up so that
it'll look like you signed on a couple of days ago."

"Naw, not me!" Barrows said, disgustedly.

A chorus of rejections went up at once. It wasn't loyalty to their
Captain, just a mutual hatred for the S.P.

The second cook, however, walked toward Brace. "I'll take my papers,
Captain," he said quickly.

The Chief Cook took one step. No one actually saw the fist land, but
they watched the second cook slide across the deck and come to rest
in a limp heap. Then the Chief Cook grinned at Brace, revealing two
missing teeth.

"The second cook has changed his mind, Captain," he said.

The men laughed.

"All right, men," Brace said, sobering quickly. "We've got about an
hour and a half to wait. That gives us enough time to eat, and then
we'll see if we can get into space."

"First watch on duty!" Barrows shouted.

Several men left and the others straggled out after them. The Chief
Cook disappeared into the galley, dragging his assistant after him.

When the men had gone, Barrows turned to Brace. "Goin' a chuck her out
in space?"

Brace rubbed his chin. "I don't know. I'll figure it out after we blast
off."

The port buzzer rang hollowly through the ship. Tensing, Barrows looked
at the Captain, then his hand slid inside his jacket and he pulled out
a large atoblast and hefted it.

"Put away the toy," Brace grunted. "I'll bluff 'em. If I can't, you get
'em from the companionway and we'll blast off."

Barrows nodded and followed Brace into the companionway. The big mate
stopped at the corner, waiting just out of sight with his gun held
level.

       *       *       *       *       *

Brace waddled down the short companionway and stepped into the port.
A moment later, the other port opened and Brace exhaled sharply when
he saw the thin-faced man he'd met in the bar standing before him. His
feet shifted uneasily in the sand under the Captain's unflinching gaze.

"Well!" Brace bellowed.

"I want to talk to you, Captain Brace."

In answer, Brace jabbed the closing button.

"Or shall I talk to the S.P.?" the thin-faced man shouted through the
closing crack.

Brace jabbed the opener and stood impassively as the portal swung wide.

"That's better," the man on the ground said, smiling.

Brace's paw reached down and jerked him into the portal by the front of
his tunic. They stood there as the portal closed, face to face, Brace's
eyes burning into the livid terror of the other man.

"You aren't going to talk to anybody," Brace muttered, throwing him
into the companionway.

"I got friends who are watching!" the little man yelped. He slithered
away. "It won't do any good to kill me!"

Barrows came around the corner. He took one look at the cringing figure
and disgustedly tucked the atoblast back into his tunic. Then he
reached for the thin-faced man.

"Wait!" Brace snapped.

The little man, shaking violently, got to his knees, then to his feet.
"Now Captain, I want you to understand I didn't come here to threaten
you. I've got a business proposition. Strictly business!" He drew a
long breath and some of his confidence returned. "And, I may be able to
do you some good."

Brace glared at him, then turned to Barrows. "Check on the cargo!" he
growled.

Barrows nodded and started in the direction of the Captain's cabin.

"Come on!" Brace grunted when Barrows was out of sight. He led the
thin-faced man forward to the tiny chart room, let him in, then closed
the door. "All right, what have you got to say?"

"Well--ah--first of all, Captain, I'd like to introduce myself. My name
is Gartland. I'm a trader."

Brace studied him. "I've heard of you."

"Well, in that case, you know I'm an honest man--always seeking good
business--both for a little profit and--to give others a helping hand."

"Get to the point!" Brace snapped.

Gartland's face lost its smile and became hard. His eyes gleamed
brightly and Brace half expected him to hiss like a snake. "I--I--came
to discuss your cargo. Now, you realize that it's a dead loss to you.
In fact, it will be hard to get off your hands."

Gartland waited, but Brace didn't speak, didn't move.

"I'll be frank with you," Gartland continued. "I had my eye on that
item and you--sort of beat me to it. Actually though, you've taken a
lot of risk, gone to a lot of work, and that's something I'm willing to
pay for."

       *       *       *       *       *

Brace still studied him, meditating. Out here, he knew there were
places where a woman, almost any woman would bring a fair price, if
you dealt in that sort of thing.

"You see, you'll be saving yourself a lot of trouble--and me too."
Gartland hesitated, eyeing Brace. "The price is a hundred units."

Brace sniffed.

"Or shall we say a hundred fifty units. That's the most I can go.
And you realize, of course, that I'm throwing in a certain amount
of protection. Besides, what else can you do with the--ah--cargo?"
Gartland waited for an answer, then shrugging, he rose. "My men may
be getting a little nervous, Captain." He looked at Brace again,
speculatively. "Think it over. I'll have one of my ships contact you in
space."

Gartland paused and pulled a small notebook from his pocket. Taking an
elaborate stylus, he scribbled a note on it. "Just give this to the man
who contacts you and he'll take care of everything."

Brace took it and motioned toward the companionway. He had no intention
of admitting anything. Gartland turned and walked ahead. Silently, they
entered the port and the inner door swung closed.

The outer portal opened on the sandy waste, brightly lit, chilling. The
vast crescent of Jupiter lay on the horizon ahead, reflecting brilliant
light across the glistening sand. The sun, like a giant star, lay close
near the horizon, forty five degrees from the half illumined bulk of
Jupiter. The huge planet, however, radiated warmth, while the sun
seemed cool and distant and somehow removed.

Gartland stepped onto the sand, his feet making the weird and wispy
crunches characteristic of Titan, and Brace touched a button and
re-entered his ship.

"Did you throw the scum out?" Barrows asked.

Brace looked up. The tall mate was standing impassively beside the
port. Brace grunted.

"I suppose he wanted to buy 'er," Barrows said, "but from what I've
heard, it's taking more than a chance to deal with him."

Brace walked up the companionway toward the mess room.

"Well, it's none of my business," Barrows growled, following him,
"except that he talks. Any deal you make with him--"

Brace scowled. "I didn't make any deal. One of his ships is supposed to
meet us."

Barrows snorted. "I say, chuck her out! It's a cleaner way to die,
anyway."

"Shut up!" Brace barked. He tucked the folded paper in his pocket and
entered the mess room. Why should he care, he wondered. The Gorgon III
was only a tramp. The men on it were space-rats. And the waste port
had taken many a body and expelled it with an explosive poof of air
into the velvet tranquility of space. He'd watched unemotionally as a
spotlight had followed many lifeless hulks of men, sometimes moving
straight like an arrow, other times rotating or turning slowly, end
over end. Some day, he might do it himself; begin that long, gradual
fall toward the sun, or perhaps his body would answer to the cosmic law
of the planets, his lifelessness immortalized in a great circle about
the sun.

       *       *       *       *       *

Brace looked at the food laid before him and stirred it with a fork.
The weight of the food on his fork was slight and he pictured the
lightness of the girl's fragile form. With only one hand, he could
place her in that chute and close the door to the port. In his mind,
he pulled the release lever, heard the dull thump of escaping air, saw
her wheeling away, pinioned in the glare of light, spinning around and
around like a ballet dancer, just as he had seen her spin around and
around on the stage.

She wouldn't resist. She would accept death. But she'd go spinning,
pirouetting into the lordly sun, or perhaps the sun would be pleased by
her dance and would bid her dance forever around it.

Abruptly, Brace's big paw smashed his cup on the table and it
shattered. The men looked at him curiously, watched him rise, the
broken handle still in his clenched fingers, brown droplets of coffee
sinking into his tunic. Then he turned and walked out of the mess room.

He hesitated before the door of his cabin. His fingers relaxed and the
broken handle fell to the deck. The hand which rested on the knob came
away and he rapped on the door with his knuckles.

"Come in," she called.

He opened the door, stepped into the room and straightened himself, his
face perhaps being more ferocious in his attempt to cover his disturbed
mind. Idly, he noted the tray of untouched food. She was still sitting
on the edge of the bunk, her face pale and drawn.

"Everything all right?" Brace asked evenly.

She nodded.

"We'll be blasting off soon," he said. "Better stay in the bunk." He
turned, opened a small door and drew out a one piece uniform. Without
looking at her, he picked up a pair of boots, a cap, and took his log
book from a drawer. "I'll leave you my cabin," he murmured.

She didn't answer.

Brace thumbed through his log, unseeing. There was no sound in the room
for a long time except his heavy breathing and the swishing of the
leaves of the log. Finally he looked up and said, "I'm not doing this
because I want to." The words seemed empty and hollow. "Kid, these are
the breaks!" He wished desperately she wouldn't look at him that way.
He hesitated, then said, "If you had your choice--that is--you could
die, quick and clean--or--well--you could live--but not so clean--"

She stared at him blankly for a moment. "I--I--guess we all have to die
sometime. It's much better to die quickly, instantly--than--to drag it
out. Nobody wants to die--but when you have to--maybe it's not so bad."

"Yeah, I knew you'd want it that way." Brace turned and opened the
door. "You're a nice kid," he murmured. "Wish I'd never seen you."

       *       *       *       *       *

In the control room, Brace waited by his acceleration chair until
the pilot and the mate entered. The signal man closed and dogged the
entrance, then settled into his chair. He threw some switches and
droned into a microphone, "Gorgon III, Clearance No. 13749. Out of
Titan, Sullivan City to Mars. Cargo as inspected."

There was a short pause, then a mechanical voice said, "Clearance,
Gorgon III. Luck."

Brace cinched the webbing tighter across his chest and nodded.

"Raise 1.8 G's," Barrows ordered.

Immediately, the ship jarred and Brace sank into his chair. The
sustained roar from the jets thundered through the ship, making the
panels and bulkheads rattle.

Minutes passed, then the pilot called, "Atomic Height!"

"Cut in the atomics!" Barrows ordered. "2 G's."

The atomic converter's whine ran through the metal structure of the
ship and the roar of the jets died away to the deeper boom of the
atomic drive. Brace sank a little further into the cushions.

"3 G's!" Barrows ordered.

Brace sank still further into the cushions, the pressure holding him
firm. Breathing was more of an effort. Barrows rested his head on
the cushion of the acceleration chair and closed his eyes. The pilot
watched down his nose at the dials before him, his leaden hands resting
on the soft arms of his chair.

Already, the small ports in front showed the purple blackness of the
fringe of space and then the purple deepened to a solid charcoal black.

Brace wondered how the girl was taking the acceleration. This was no
kid-glove passenger liner, yet three G's wasn't so bad. He hoped she'd
stayed in the bunk. Thinking was hard. The pressure seemed to drag
thoughts from his mind. He didn't want to think about the girl and he
tried to shake his mind free.

There were millions of women in the system, billions! So she
disappeared! She wouldn't be the first. So she'd end up in a brothel
on a pleasure asteroid! What difference did it make? She'd eat well!
Or maybe it would be the pleasure palace of some earth man or Martian.
It was a soft life. And it was _life_. But it made him angry that he
should care. At least, Gartland had given him a way out.

The voice of Barrows intruded on his thoughts. "We're in clear space
now. Let's get rolling!"

"Wait!" Brace barked. He hated himself for speaking. Any space man
worth the name could take six or seven G's, but he thought of the girl.
She looked fragile, and not too well fed. Suppose she died? So what?
So he wouldn't have to think about Gartland or her ever again. Chuck
her in the waste port! Again, he saw her pirouetting through space,
cast off by the scum of the universe and received by the lord of the
universe, the great, flaming orb.

"Cut the acceleration!" Brace snarled. "Make it one and a half G's!"

The springs of his chair whispered their release as the acceleration
eased. Brace unsnapped the safety belt and heaved himself out of the
chair and to a hand hold. The deck was straight up and down.

"Adjust for floor gravity!" Brace ordered.

Obediently, the pilot cut the stern jets and for an instant, they were
in free fall. Then the under jets cut in and Brace was pressed to the
deck. Prostrate, he watched the stars wheel before the front port, slow
down in their movement, and stop.

"One G.," Brace said, rising. He stood upright, straightened his cap,
and walked to the port.

       *       *       *       *       *

Brace walked slowly down the companionway, his eyes fixed straight
ahead. "Chuck her out!" he muttered. "Chuck her out!" It was a clean,
swift, merciful death. There was nothing clinging about it, none of the
sickness that he felt when he thought of putting her into Gartland's
hands.

"It isn't her," he murmured. "I just can't stomach scum like Gartland."
He wished he'd killed him, taken a chance on dodging the S.P. Maybe
Gartland had been bluffing. Maybe he'd been alone. Brace toyed with
the idea of returning to Titan. No, that was too risky. Besides, the
girl.... "Well, might as well get it over with," he muttered.

He straightened and rapped at the door. Her answering voice was
tremulous. Perhaps that deep essence of woman had told her that time
had run out. Maybe men knew it too. Maybe everybody knew when their
time came to die.

He thrust these thoughts aside and stepped into the cabin. The girl was
still on the bunk. Its free floating gimbals had swung it back.

"The acceleration bother you?" Brace asked.

"No," she replied, quietly.

He walked over and stood by the bunk. The girl rose slowly and sat,
staring up at him. "You're going to do it now?"

Brace looked down at his gnarled hands, clenched his fingers and
studied them. "Would you like anything?" he asked slowly.

She looked up at him helplessly, frightened. Then she looked quickly
around the room in frantic darts, as though grasping, groping for
something. "I--I--don't know--I guess I'd like to see the stars--just
once more."

Brace compressed his lips. "Yeah--sure." He took a deep breath and
turned partly away. He stood there, awkwardly for a moment, then said,
"Come on, kid."

His hairy hand closed over her small one as he helped her up from the
bunk. The diaphanous dancing costume fluttered as she moved, and for
some reason, he kept hold of her hand until they reached the cabin
door. He opened it for her and she stepped through. He dared not to
look at her face as they stood outside the cabin, smooth, youthful
skin, dark brown eyes holding all of that deep hurt and reproach which
men see in the eyes of a dying doe. He looked away quickly.

"This way," Brace said, walking ahead. He couldn't bring himself to
look at those eyes again. Not yet, anyway.

They stopped in the companionway, even with the port, and Brace climbed
a set of iron rungs set in the wall. His fingers fumbled with the dogs
on a small hatch, then he threw it back. The girl climbed up after
him and he leaned down to lift her into the astrogator's bubble. His
strong, tough hands clasped her under the shoulders and lifted her into
the small room whose top was a transparent hemisphere, large enough for
a man to stand upright under it. She was warm, soft, yet firm to his
touch and he hesitated an instant before letting her go.

Then terror clutched at him. He couldn't do it! He couldn't! Better
Gartland's life than no life at all. She was too young, too much alive
to die.

He kicked the hatch closed, shutting out the light from beneath, and
they stood alone, a man and a woman amid the stars.

Women are funny, Brace thought. They know things. She knows what I have
to do. She isn't fighting. He swallowed with difficulty and looked at
her. She was standing straight, looking up at the stars. There were
millions of them in the black of space, myriads of lights in a sea of
night.

"The night has a thousand eyes," she murmured.

       *       *       *       *       *

A tingle ran through Brace's nerves. _The night has a thousand eyes.
The night has a thousand eyes._ Who had said that? The memory eluded
him, played tag with him, then he caught it. It was so long ago--or did
it only _seem_ long ago?

It was the great Martian Central Spaceport and the night overhead, the
bowl of heaven as infinitely far away, as infinitely contemptuous of
man as it was now, yet somehow watching. He was fifteen. By day, he
sweated, loading, stacking, clamping down great crates and bales in the
hulls of giant ships, hating them, hating the sky, hating all things, a
tough, space-rat kid, knowing no father or mother but work, sweat, and
the fists of others.

Then the ship had landed, a great passenger liner which carried only
the finest cargo. Its captain was so tall, so ramrod straight, as
though he had not a backbone like other men but a bar of chilled steel.
And the girl had come from that ship, the captain's daughter. She had
no mother either and they had found a strange kinship.

They had sat by the towering hulk of that huge ship and she'd said
it--_the night has a thousand eyes_--and he'd loved her with the love
of a thousand hearts. Yet she was as forever removed from him as were
the thousand eyes of night. But what was her name? Cecelia! And what
came after _the night has a thousand eyes_? He didn't know, couldn't
remember. Her tall, straight father had come out then and without
hesitation, had struck him down and the night had ten thousand times a
thousand eyes.

But he'd seen her again, through the steel fencing of the Spaceport.
He was on the outside. Her father had seen to that. Through scalding
tears, he had seen her, and he swore that someday he would have a ship,
that someday he would be a captain. And the young love had poured from
his heart leaving an empty shell behind, and from that emptiness, he
watched the ship rise and disappear, unashamed tears streaming down his
homely face. She had said she would wait, that she'd wait forever, and
then--

Brace stopped remembering and put one hairy paw over his face. He was
a captain now, captain of a dirty, battered hulk that plied the spaces
decent ships disdained. He had a crew, if you wanted to call it that,
and he carried cargo, sometimes legally, most times not.

He fought against the memories that kept struggling back. He didn't
want to remember the excited voices of the commentators, the
descriptions of the crash in space, the long list of the dead. Only one
name on that list had any meaning for the ragged, homely youngster. His
heart and soul were burned and seared to one mass of scar. He would
become a captain. He would fight the space that had taken his gem. He
would fight it, and the men in it.

Brace sighed, and looked up at the stars. But was he fighting space?
Or was he fighting a memory, the memory of a girl? And what about this
girl--was he fighting her? Suddenly, he felt rotten, inside and out.

Brace looked down at the girl beside him. The kindly light of the stars
mellowed the outlines of her face. It could have been the face of
Cecelia. Starlight was kind, but no one could ever be so beautiful as
Cecelia, never. No, she wasn't Cecelia, yet in one way they were the
same, that same smallness and frailty against the backdrop of a cruel
space ship and its even crueler Captain.

He took a deep breath and straightened himself resolutely. "Wait here,"
he whispered hoarsely, and he quickly backed down the ladder to the
companionway.

       *       *       *       *       *

As Brace entered the control room, Barrows looked up. "We've been
stalling that space-rat."

"Who?"

"Gartland!"

Brace stared at him blankly for a moment.

"Well, you shoved her out, didn't you?" Barrows asked, annoyed.

Brace pushed past him and walked to the communication panel. "Put him
on, Sparks."

The communication officer pressed the key before him several times.
There was a pause, then the opaque panel lit up with the thin face of
Gartland.

"Ah, Captain Brace. I thought you might miss our little rendezvous. We
had quite a time finding you."

"Well, I'm here!" Brace snarled. He didn't like him. It even made him
feel dirty to talk to him.

"I imagine you're a little surprised to see me."

"Hmmm," Brace murmured.

"Yes," Gartland continued, "I'm a little surprised myself. Well--the
S.P. and I were going to have a little trouble so--I decided to move.
If I'd known it, I could have--ah--removed your cargo on Titan."

Brace grunted at the face on the panel. "I'll bring it to you in a life
craft."

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Captain Brace."

"I WANT it that way!" Brace snapped.

Gartland shrugged. "All right, then. We'll hold our position. We're
about a thousand kilos sunward. Maybe I'll offer you a drink, if we've
got anything strong enough."

Brace cut the switch without answering and scowled. "Hold your
position!" he snapped to the pilot. He then looked at the impassive
face of Barrows, studying him. "You're in command," he said finally.
Ignoring the mate's curious stare, he turned and left.

       *       *       *       *       *

Brace stood by the iron ladder in the companionway. "Come down, girl!"
he called.

She came slowly down the ladder, then turned and faced him. He looked
into those soft, brown eyes again. Cecelia's eyes had been brown.
Slowly, his ape-like hand reached into his tunic. She closed her eyes,
waited, then opened them again, startled, when the hairy hand pressed
a wad of money into her palm.

"W--w--what?"

"Come on!" he said roughly, and took her by the wrist. He led her down
the companionway and stopped at the door of the mess room. "Put that
stuff away!" he ordered.

Uncomprehending, she obeyed and put the money into the bodice of her
costume. Then Brace opened the mess room door and motioned for her to
enter.

The second cook saw them, started, and watched apprehensively. When
Brace had closed the door, he turned to the second cook. "Come here,
you!" he ordered.

Obediently, the cook came forward, eyeing the girl curiously.

"You're going to do something for me!" Brace said, quietly. He studied
the man. He was younger than the rest of his crew, not quite as tough
as he might be. "Do you want to get out of this with a whole skin?"

The cook touched his bruised jaw. "Yes sir," he muttered.

"Then take her, and get into number five lifeboat, and go back to
Titan. Tell the S.P. you rescued her." He turned and glared at the
girl. "And you tell them the same!" He turned back to the cook. "Is
that clear?"

The cook nodded.

"Then MOVE!" Brace barked.

The cook jumped, motioned the girl out and followed.

Brace sank down onto a chair. "I should never have had that drink," he
murmured. He reached over and slowly poured himself a cup of coffee. He
drank it leisurely, quietly, staring at the table in front of him. When
the coffee was half gone, he felt the thump of a lifeboat going free
and he laughed softly. What would Barrows think when he felt a second
thump?

He rose then, leaving his coffee, and walked swiftly down the
companionway to an escape hatch. In a moment, he had sealed himself in
a life craft and then he hesitated, his finger on the release lever.

No, he decided. The case was only against him, no one else. The girl
would tell them she'd never seen anyone but him. She couldn't give them
a description of Barrows or the others even if they tried to trick her.
Of course, the second cook had brought her breakfast. But he'd already
taken care of that. That just leaves Gartland--and he wouldn't do any
talking. He rammed the lever home and with a shock, the tiny craft
swung away from the mother ship.

Viciously, Brace slammed the acceleration lever wide open and stared
ahead through the transparent port at the stars. "The night has a
thousand eyes," he murmured. His lips clamped tight over his bulging
teeth. As his ship circled, the sun came into view, big, hot, and
glaring, yet small against the backdrop, and the little ship screamed
toward it. What was it? What was that other line? He'd almost had it
then. She'd said that other line. Sun? Sun? No, but it was something
like that.

His piercing eyes stared into the hot disk of the sun and Brace finally
made out the tiny speck of Gartland's ship. He had to remember. He HAD
to. Automatically, his fingers adjusted the controls until the pointed
nose lined up on the middle of the ship ahead. He muttered, repeating
over and over, _the night has a thousand eyes--the night has a thousand
eyes_. Gartland's ship loomed larger and Brace pounded the acceleration
lever against the stop. As he screamed onward, Brace fought, struggled,
strained to remember. He MUST remember. Then it came, and the tension
in him snapped. _The night has a thousand eyes and the day has but one._

"THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES AND THE DAY BUT ONE!" he yelled.

The bulk of the ship ahead all but blotted out the sky and the homely
face staring at it was laughing while tears poured down his face. That
instant before eternity seemed to prolong itself as if unwilling to
die, and Brace closed his eyes. His voice was young and clear as he
cried, "Cecelia, Cecelia! I'm coming!"



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