They were kids with personality problems, so
they joined tough gangs, living only to fight
and kill. Society had to find a way to correct—
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
October 1958
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Two or three things worried me on my trip back to the hideout. So myastrogation was sloppy and I kept losing Jupiter's shadow.
First, there was the showdown with Naomi over who would lead theCallisto gang. This meant another degravity fight with python whipsand steel claws. Having just gotten rid of the old battle scars on mycheek, shoulder and breast, I wasn't so eager to have my title back onthe same disfiguring terms.
On the other hand, wouldn't the girls take it as a sign of cowardice ifI tried to settle peaceably for second in command?
Next, I kept thinking about the money I'd taken from my parents the daybefore. What amazed me was how they could be so stupid as to believeI would go to Mars and enroll in that technical school. Two thousandsolars was just enough to buy this sweet secondhand 2064 model Spacercoupe. The gals in our ordnance crew would rig it up with missilelaunchers, turn it into a killer, flagship of our fleet.
But just now my ship was unarmed, defenseless. And as I approached ourbase on airless, rocky Callisto I again had the feeling I was beingfollowed, trailed in space.
Not by any of the Io boys; I was pretty sure of that. Because thatbrave gang will always attack when the odds are five to one in theirfavor. And not by the police either: They've always left us alone.Someone else.
I circled Jupiter's fifth moon warily, searching a half million squaremiles of space for the suspected other rocket, but my instrumentsdetected nothing man-made. So I radioed the password and hastily setdown in the mouth of a giant natural cave entrance—the airlock of ourunderground hideout.
While air hissed into the chamber I strapped on my weapons belt andglanced in the doorway mirror. Not—mind you—because there's anythingparticularly feminine about me, but it's still such a surprise not tofind a face full of claw marks that I studied my appearance with a kindof stranger's curiosity. Even without scars, I would hardly call myselfan attractive girl.
My black dyed hair had reverted to its original blond shade, and thesame shoulder length it had had two years ago when I was matrixed. Ihad a fifteen-year-old's applecheeked complexion, and thick eyebrowsthat met above the bridge of my long thin nose and cried out forplucking. My ears were too large and my jaw rather sharply angular.Only my neck seemed gracefully proportioned—long, finely sculptured.
At the rest, sheathed in a black metallic leotard, I could only shrug.
The airlock opened. Chin uplifted, I strode from my ship with pythonwhip coiled in my hand, steel claws jingling at my waist. My name, incase you're interested, is Vera.
At the heavily guarded first corridor I was met by Ginger, a fatfog-throated valkyrie who serves as our security officer.
"We were almost ready to blast you, my dear. Good thing you signalledwhen you did."
We rapped the knuckles of our clenched fists in greeting.
"What's happened in the past week?" I asked. "Kill any more Ios?"
Ginger grimaced. "Naw. I shot the arm off one but I don't think hedied. Ran into him in an alley in Ganymede City. Imagine that guy! Hewas trying to steal an air synthesizer I myself had just stolen."
The corridor led to the First Hall, a large vestibule b