The Vicious Delinquents

Two or three things worried me on my trip back to the hideout. So my astrogation was sloppy and I kept losing Jupiter's shadow.

First, there was the showdown with Naomi over who would lead the Callisto gang. This meant another degravity fight with python whips and steel claws. Having just gotten rid of the old battle scars on my cheek, shoulder and breast, I wasn't so eager to have my title back on the same disfiguring terms.

On the other hand, wouldn't the girls take it as a sign of cowardice if I tried to settle peaceably for second in command?

Next, I kept thinking about the money I'd taken from my parents the day before. What amazed me was how they could be so stupid as to believe I would go to Mars and enroll in that technical school. Two thousand solars was just enough to buy this sweet secondhand 2064 model Spacer coupe. The gals in our ordnance crew would rig it up with missile launchers, turn it into a killer, flagship of our fleet.

But just now my ship was unarmed, defenseless. And as I approached our base on airless, rocky Callisto I again had the feeling I was being followed, trailed in space.

Not by any of the Io boys; I was pretty sure of that. Because that brave gang will always attack when the odds are five to one in their favor. 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 square miles of space for the suspected other rocket, but my instruments detected nothing man-made. So I radioed the password and hastily set down in the mouth of a giant natural cave entrance—the airlock of our underground hideout.

While air hissed into the chamber I strapped on my weapons belt and glanced in the doorway mirror. Not—mind you—because there's anything particularly feminine about me, but it's still such a surprise not to find a face full of claw marks that I studied my appearance with a kind of stranger's curiosity. Even without scars, I would hardly call myself an attractive girl.

My black dyed hair had reverted to its original blond shade, and the same shoulder length it had had two years ago when I was matrixed. I had a fifteen-year-old's applecheeked complexion, and thick eyebrows that met above the bridge of my long thin nose and cried out for plucking. 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 python whip coiled in my hand, steel claws jingling at my waist. My name, in case you're interested, is Vera.

At the heavily guarded first corridor I was met by Ginger, a fat fog-throated valkyrie who serves as our security officer.

"We were almost ready to blast you, my dear. Good thing you signalled when 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 he died. Ran into him in an alley in Ganymede City. Imagine that guy! He was trying to steal an air synthesizer I myself had just stolen."

The corridor led to the First Hall, a large vestibule bright with luminescent wall paint where eight tunnels branched off into separately hollowed-out caverns in the rocky guts of Callisto.

"I'm itching to get back into combat," I said. "What do you say we make a raid on the Io boys tomorrow?"

Ginger realized I was testing her loyalty. "I'd like nothing better," she responded heartily. "But of course we'll have to clear it with Naomi first."

I stopped abruptly. "Since when?"

"Well, Vera, she became leader the day after you fell."

"By whose authority?" I said indignantly.

"Don't play dumb recruit. You know our system. We had no way of knowing you'd return. Naomi and half a dozen others declared for title, and Naomi won out in a fair gang fight. Just like you did before her."

"So it seems we have two leaders now," I said, limbering my python whip.

"That's something you and Naomi will have to work out," Ginger intoned. "I'll leave you here to choose your own tunnel."

This was part of the ritual of our gang. When a new girl arrived, the tunnel she selected, blindly, determined her branch of service on Callisto. One tunnel led to commissary, another to transport, another to ordnance, another to facilities, and the remaining four to combat training units. A girl had to be rather unlucky to miss out on the fighting branch, but in the other units she at least learned a great deal about thievery, heavy drinking and the use of dope.

Knowing where each tunnel led, my present choice was simple: by seven tunnels I could postpone an immediate showdown with Naomi, since these went to barracks and work rooms and supply centers. The eighth tunnel led directly to the great assembly hall and administrative headquarters. There, Naomi would be holding council. This was the tunnel I chose.

I was halfway through it when a bunch of the senior gang members met me head on. They were battle-tested gals of seventeen and eighteen with hair waved in the short Grecian style and short sleeveless tunics of green, red, yellow or black, depending on their unit.

They hailed me enthusiastically. "Vera, welcome back! Beautiful ship you brought. Hey, your hair: you look like a kid again. No more scars! Are you going to challenge Naomi?"

Somehow everyone else shut up in time for this question to stand out like a band instrument taking the wrong repeat. They were all eyeing me expectantly.

I threw my head back with a short laugh. "I'm still the leader of this gang."

To lend point to the declaration I cracked the coils of my python whip, flooring but not badly hurting a young recruit rushing up the tunnel to meet us. The girl shrieked.

"Wow!" one senior exclaimed. "A showdown between two leaders! That's never happened before. This is going to be interesting."

We helped the recruit to her feet. She limped along but knew better than to reveal her pain. "Girls," she said, gasping, "Naomi has called a formation! Hurry!"

The words were hardly out of her mouth when the formation alarm reverberated in the passageway. That gave everybody just thirty seconds to line up with their units in the assembly hall, and my escort of girls plunged on ahead of me. When I reached the great spiral-shaped hall at my own more deliberate pace, the gang already stood in formation.

I paused at the entrance, for this is always an impressive moment on barren Callisto. The hall was a natural cavity half a mile deep, palely illuminated by the artificial sun hanging from a ceiling stalactite. The place was warm and moist-smelling like a greenhouse. Generations of girls before us had gradually modified the rock interior with hand blasters, carving out a series of broad, steplike plateaus along one rim. On each level a unit kneeled at attention on one knee, forming a circle around their respective hussies (our term for captain) who stood rigidly erect holding a green nuclear torch, emblem of our gang. To me it was a beautiful sight, especially the raising of the degravity dais.

Up, out of the verdant depths of the cave, overgrown with Earth-style trees and tropical foliage, rose the great ceremonial platform reserved for the gangleader and her administrative aides. As this cleared the rim and stabilized in midair, Naomi became visible to all and a raucous female cheer went up from the ranks.

Jeanette, my former protocol officer, stepped forward waving the 'parade rest' command. She was a tall lanky farm girl with lots of common sense, and evidently she'd been promoted to second in command.

"Girls," she said in her steady, emotionless voice, amplified a hundred times by her throat piece projector, "just a brief announcement before we hear from our leader. Yesterday a brawl took place in the Spilka Skating Palace in Ganny City, and one of our girls failed to return. Some of you may remember what a beautiful job Phyllis did of poisoning the Io gang's food shipment a while back, and we think the boys must've found out she was the one. Anyway, they kidnapped her and we have every reason to believe she's being tortured right now in that fort of theirs on Io.

"Let's just assume she'll crack eventually and tell them our code. From now on all external communication will use code O-97, and you new girls will have to see your hussy right after this formation ends if you expect to have it memorized by tomorrow morning."

Jeanette nodded with the barest trace of a sadistic grin as a murmur of consternation rippled through the ranks of our rookies. "That's all from me," she added, "and now here's Naomi."

I hadn't moved from the entrance. Now, as Naomi spoke, I began my calm, unhurried, and, I hoped, supremely dignified march towards the dais.

"Girls, I want to add this to what Jeanette told you," Naomi began. "We're going to revenge this outrageous kidnapping at the earliest possible moment. My staff and I are working countermeasures that will make the Ios rue the day they ever pulled this stunt on one of our girls."

At first, all eyes were centered on Naomi, and no one observed my approach from the rear of the hall. And I don't believe Naomi herself could see me with the lights focussed on her face, though obviously she knew of my arrival. She was a short, shapely sixteen-year-old, full of gestures and animation. She wore her brown hair in bangs, her features forming an attractive oval, her dark eyes flashing with self-assurance. Her clothes were a green version of my own leotards, only tighter. But as usual, claw marks marred her appearance, and it seemed to me even from a distance that she had lost the use of her left eye.

"Today, we want to welcome back one of our former leaders," Naomi continued, "a girl who has just returned from the Matrix Center, and is once again ready to do battle for the glory of our gang. This great Callisto had the misfortune to be killed in a fight with private detectives during that costly, but on the whole successful, raid on the ration warehouse on Eros. I refer, of course, to our own immortal Vera ... whom I believe is ..." (here Naomi peered out into the darker recesses of the hall) "... among us right now."

Another cheer went up, and everybody looked about in various directions until a spotlight finally caught my deliberate striding figure working its way towards the platform.

"Because this is sort of an unusual situation," said Naomi in cool candor, "one that doesn't seem to be covered by any of our bylaws, it appears that Vera will have to start at the bottom again as a new recruit. Because, you see, for all practical purposes, she's a new person altogether."

An angry flush shot through my body.

"However," Naomi added patronizingly, "we're all sure that Vera's abilities will be recognized quite soon, even as a recruit, and that she will rapidly rise to a new position of leadership within our organization."

"More rapidly than you can imagine!" I shouted at the top of my voice. Unaided by an amplifier it must have sounded feeble even to the front ranks. But in the same instant I wound up on one foot and cracked my whip resoundingly in her direction, and there was no mistaking this defiant gesture.

A roar of excitement arose from the gang. For a moment there was confusion on the dais as Naomi and her aides consulted. The clamor grew louder. "Duel! Duel!" echoed through the hall. I knew this wasn't a case of loyalty to me; everyone was eager to watch a nice bloody fight, any moment of the day or night.

Putting on my steel claws, I advanced to the edge of the chasm, opposite the leader's platform. Here the seven-eighths Earth gravity we artificially maintained in our hideout began to fade. The ravine itself was subject only to Callisto's feeble attraction. Twenty-five feet away, Naomi came out of the huddle and signalled for silence. While the clamor was subsiding I saw Jeanette jump off the dais onto one of the lower plateaus and disappear in one of the tunnels. I poised myself for the leap.

"Now look, gang," said Naomi. "Jeanette is our protocol expert and it's her opinion that no challenge is in order. She doesn't remember any precedent for a leader returning from Matrix, but she's just taken off for the archive room to look up the records." A chorus of boos and catcalls broke out, and this got under Naomi's skin.

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, we can have this business over with right now," she shouted, snapping claws over her wrists.

I hurled myself across space, landing on the far corner of the platform, whip upraised to strike the first blow. Almost in the same instant, half a dozen aides leaped to safety on the lower plateau.

Naomi cocked her whip with lightning speed, to my surprise, lashing out ahead of me. But because of her bad eye it was a poorly aimed blow which I dodged easily, and before she could regain her balance I brought my whip down with full force across her shoulders.

She shuddered in pain, and a great red welt opened up along her neck. First blood. A roar went up from the spectators, who had now broken formation to crowd along the edges of the chasm.

Instinctively Naomi clutched for my whip, but I recoiled it in time and swung a second time. It cut searingly into her side, winding about her waist with a python action that crushed out her breath. I moved in for the kill with uplifted claws. Suddenly Naomi leaped from the dais, high into the air.

It was a brilliant defensive move. I had no time to think, but the alternatives were simple: hold onto the whip handle and be pulled after her, or let go and be minus a whip.

I held on and we went rocketing to the rough-hewn ceiling. We bounced off the rock roof, I barely managing to switch my feet to where my head had been to absorb the ricochet. Then we went sailing down, almost leisurely in the weak gravity, to the bottom of the cavern. And this time I was absorbing the whiplash, as Naomi, knotting mine about her waist, so that I couldn't retract it, swung her own whip with vicious skill. Whff! My thighs. Whff! My face. Whff! My breast.

She was cutting me to pieces; I was in agony as we fell that half mile. Desperately I tried to ward off her blows. Then I realized there was only one solution: in-fighting.

I tugged with all my strength at my whip handle. She kept thrashing and I kept pulling at my line, pulling her closer and closer, until she could no longer use her whip effectively at such close range. My head was foggy from the beating. I gave a final tug and lurched at her throat with my steel claws.

She deflected one claw, but the other sank in, and I remember how her eyes began to widen in terror. Then ... darkness hit me.

I awoke staring up at tall lanky Jeanette, as my brain slowly stopped revolving inside my cranium.

"You battered your head against the rock wall, my dear Vera," she said.

"Naomi?" I asked. "Is she—?"

"She lost consciousness too, but for a different reason. Loss of blood. You tore open her jugular vein. We picked both of you up off the cavern floor."

I sat up slowly, dizzily. "So who's leader now?"

Jeanette smiled and shook her head. "I don't know. None of us is too sure. We've never had a situation like this before. But we think Naomi is. She regained consciousness first."

I sank back on the pillow, trying to collect my thoughts.

Naomi came into view. She had been standing behind the headboard. Her throat was a mess despite the basic telesurgery, but her expression was friendly.

"Look, Vera, I'm willing to admit I would have lost. You outfought me. But luck was on my side and I won."

"You're right there, sister," I sighed, mustering a smile. I noticed also that they'd fixed her eye—considerably improving her appearance.

"Well, since neither of us was in a position to finish the other one off, it's still a complicated proposition. I mean, about the title," Naomi clarified.

I again managed to sit up and felt the strength begin returning to my limbs. If you aren't stone dead, modern medicine can heal almost anything nowadays in a matter of hours, which I find reassuring. "What do you propose, another duel?"

"That doesn't make much sense," said Jeanette. "Why fight among ourselves when there are so many of those stupid boys buzzing around?"

"Yes, what I was going to suggest," Naomi said eagerly, "is that we sort of share the leadership until one or the other of us gets killed in battle."

I thought for a moment and then clenched my fist, and we knocked knuckles grinning at each other.

I got to my feet. "What are your plans to strike back at the Io gang?"

"Frankly, that was just for public consumption," Naomi admitted. "We don't have any plans as yet."

"Well," I said, "let's the two of us get in a ship and just bomb hell out of their home base."

Naomi showed surprise. "Right now? In our condition?"

"Sure. What this gang needs is a little boost in morale."

Naomi nodded, her brown eyes flashing. "Good. We'll go in my ship."

Together we strode from the sickbay, through the tunnel to the airlock. Ginger intercepted us at the First Hall. Her guards held a man at pistol point.

"Naomi ... Vera ... whichever of you is in charge now. We've just caught an Io spy!"

He was an older man, balding, seedy-appearing in an old-style tweed suit. He stared at us in a calm, unflustered manner, plainly curious.

"Oho! Now we can get even for the way they treated Phyllis." Naomi was gleefully thumbing through her mental catalog of torture techniques.

"If he's a spy," I said, "let's not waste any time on him now. We can take care of him when we get back."

Jeanette had followed us in the tunnel. "He doesn't look like a spy to me," she said drily.

"Oh no?" said Ginger. "Then how did he find our hideout? How did he learn our landing code?"

Suddenly I recalled my feeling of being followed. "I thought there was someone trailing me in space this morning. All the way from Ganymede I had the weirdest sensation."

"Well, that may explain how he got here," said Jeanette, "but I still say this guy isn't a spy."

"You're quite right," said the man. "I'm not a spy."

"Sure," Jeanette continued in her lanky farm accents, "the first prerequisite for a spy is to look inconspicuous. This old character couldn't do much hiding in a girl's dormitory."

"Old man, how did you come here?" I demanded.

"I landed at the entrance of your cave, madam, and asked to be admitted. Then your colleagues," he nodded at Ginger, "seized me before I could explain my purpose in coming here."

"No matter what he says, I think he's a spy," said Ginger. "This is a very subtle angle they're playing. I'm security officer; it's my job to outguess them."

Naomi was impatient. "Well, if you think he's a spy, then shoot him."

"Yes," said Ginger, "why should we take chances?"

The man showed irritation. "Young lady," he told Ginger very sternly, "I must at this point advise you that my life is not on file at Matrix Center, and that any contemplated execution of me would constitute murder. Irrevocable murder."

"This guy speaks like a lawyer," Jeanette murmured in my ear. "Better investigate."

"What kind of identification did you find on him?" I asked Ginger.

"Oh, a bunch of papers saying he was an assistant professor at Mars University. But those are easily forged."

"A professor, eh? What's your field? What are you doing here?"

He stared at me with a kind of superior smile. I had the vague feeling I'd seen him before, which is ridiculous: I've never been on Mars.

"Ah, at last some intelligent questions. My field, young lady, is sociology. I happen to be doing some research on juvenile delinquency, which is why I came here. Lewis Worth is my name. Are you perhaps the leader of this gang? If so, I would appreciate your help."

Ginger snorted. "What a fantastic line!"

Naomi looked at me quizzically. Was I in fact the leader?

I hedged. "Look, Ginger. There isn't time to investigate his story. Right now, Naomi and I have a little mission to accomplish. So keep this guy under guard until we get back."

Deep down in me I felt resentment about all this tact I had to use. Why shouldn't I be the leader? The girls instinctively looked to me, obeyed me. Why shouldn't I be the one to give orders, make decisions? This pretense of shared leadership with Naomi could only last a day, two days, a week at most. And then would come the final showdown.

We rocketed into orbit with Jupiter's innermost satellite—I piloting, Naomi astrogating. Io showed up like a pea-sized blemish against the bloated planetary face, whirled into tan-grey zones of supercold methane by thousand-mile-per-hour helium tradewinds. Jupiter the heavy, inhospitable.

Almost beneath us now, the boys' domed hangout glowed dully green in the feeble Jovian sunlight. Naomi readied the missile launchers. Seconds later, before we were within firing range, the first of the boys' space cruisers zoomed up to intercept us. They were ready for our ship but not our strategy.

Down we plunged in a searing power dive, straight for the hangout's vulnerable airlock. Missiles exploded on all sides of us, harmlessly, as our phantom target defense went automatically to work. Our radio crackled with barked commands and alarmed oaths between the boys' ships and Io headquarters.

"Zero range!"

"They're coming in!"

"Damn those girls!"

"Look out! We can't stop them!"

"It's a suicide dive! Man your crash stations!"

We dropped down, inches above ground level of the airless moon, our nose pointed like a needle at the green bubble. Suddenly I braked our speed with reverse rockets, bruising my ribs with deceleration.

"Fire!" I shouted.

Naomi launched the first missile straight for their airlock. It struck just before the emergency siege gate slid shut, blasting jagged holes through the outer and inner locks. Air whooshed from the dome, hurling men and debris into the vacuum. Seconds later the catastrophe seal was oozing down to plug the hole, but by then our ship had plunged through.

"You've done it!" Naomi screamed joyously. "We're inside!"

"And their fleet is outside, and there's nothing the boys can do about it."

I slowed our ship to practically zero ground speed. We hovered for a moment near the ceiling of the great transparent dome, considering our next target. Below us lay the ramshackle gangland, a maze of roofless partitions clustered around a tiny lake. One quarter of the city was virtually an open-air machine shop. Near the shattered airlock stood a parade ground, overlooked by a tall, balconied tower with people on top making frantic gestures.

"I'll bet that's headquarters."

"Down it goes," said Naomi excitedly.

I put our ship in a dive. She aimed quickly, triggered the missile.

Boom! The tower collapsed. Tiny figures began to scurry about on the parade ground.

"Let's get 'em!"

I skimmed the field and Naomi blazed away with the vibro gun. One after another the boys dissolved in puffs of smoke. I veered around and we strafed them again, killing hundreds.

I felt exhilarated, marvelously happy.

Naomi shrieked ecstatically.

In another minute there were no more boys alive who hadn't taken shelter underground.

I glanced upward and laughed. The boys' fleet swarmed helplessly outside the dome like bugs on a lampshade, watching their hangout ripped to pieces.

"Get their arsenal!" cried Naomi.

"Revenge for Phyllis!"

We dived again, spraying the roofless barracks with destruction, blasting huge craters in their machine shop, starting explosions of ammunition that rocked our ship, threatening to blow off the dome in one piece.

At last the fun ended. "Only one missile left," Naomi warned.

"Hang on, then," I said gaily, stabbing the rocket controls. "Callisto girls are homeward bound!"

Blam! went our torpedo, tearing a second hole in the mangled airlock. And out that hole we went, accelerating like crazy, pursued into deep space by the entire enemy fleet.

As long as we were chased, and missile fragments rattled against our hull, we continued in high spirits. Even when the boys scored a hit that forced us to don our space suits, we remained elated. But the minute the Ios broke-off pursuit we renewed our antagonism.

"Say," said Naomi over her helmet phone, "this isn't the right course for Callisto."

"No, dear, I'm landing on Ganymede first. I don't think it's safe to go on until we get that fuel leak fixed."

"Why should we pay good money to a mechanic when our own girls can do the job?"

"We'd never reach Callisto. You don't realize how dense the fumes are in this cabin. We could explode just like that." I tried futilely to snap my clumsy spacesuit fingers.

"Look," said Naomi irritably, "let me do the worrying. I'm the leader and I say we go directly home."

"I beg your pardon," I objected, holding my temper. "I understood this was a fifty-fifty proposition."

"Callisto!" she snarled. "I order you."

"Shut up!" I snapped. "I'm pilot of this ship, and space law says you obey me."

We'd have had our final showdown right then and there, except it's practically impossible to wrestle in spacesuits.

We landed in Ganymede City and haggled over price with the same garageman who sold me my used 2064 Spacer (being equipped for battle by our ordnance crew even as we talked). He brought his bid down finally from a hundred to seventy-five solars.

"Okay, have it ready in an hour," I said, walking from the shop.

Naomi followed indignantly. "Vera. Just where in the hell are you going to get seventy-five solars?"

I paused on the sidewalk, hands hitched to my weapons belt. "I'll dig it up if you'll agree to do some research for me."

Naomi smiled craftily. "Steal it, eh? All right, I'll go along with you for the time being."

I left her at the public library and headed, with serious misgivings, in the direction of my family home.

Ganymede City is a drab industrial town of a million or so people, with very little excitement or glamor beneath its turquoise dome. The chamber of commerce used to give a big buildup to the view of Jupiter and the good job opportunities when they first wanted to attract workers from Earth. Those poor shnooks soon got fed up with astronomy when the boom fizzled out and the only jobs left were in the metal refineries.

I hate my father who is a jerk just like the rest of them. Never quite became shop foreman. Never quite able to buy his own house. Never quite saved enough to move his family to Saturn's ring where the real boom took place. And always so damn preachy to me and the younger kids. And my mother disgusted me too for just sitting around and taking it all those years.

"What are you doing here?" my father demanded. "You're supposed to be on your way to Mars."

"Vera, what happened?" my mother whined. "Why aren't you on the ship?"

"I need a little more money. Seventy-five solars."

"What do you mean, a little more money?" said my father angrily. "What happened to the money we gave you?"

"And the tickets," my mother, anxiously. "You promised me you'd go to school. What did you do with the tickets?"

"Don't worry. I got a refund. It's all in a safe place."

My father got menacing. "Say, just what are you up to? You haven't gone back to that gang by any chance?"

"Oh God forbid!" my mother cried.

"I need seventy-five solars," I repeated calmly. "Are you going to give it to me?"

"Answer me!" my father roared. "Have you gone back to that gang?"

"That's none of your damn business."

Infuriated, he started towards me. "No daughter of mine is going to talk to me like that. I'm going to give you the spanking you've had coming for seventeen years."

I drew my whip and slashed him down the side of his face and chest, cutting his shirt half open. He sat down with an unbelieving expression and fingered the red welt. He looked at me through glazed eyes, almost in a state of shock, as I rewound my whip.

My mother broke the long silence. "Here, Vera. Here are your seventy-five solars. We never want to see you or hear from you again."

News of our gang wars rarely appears in the adult press. I guess they're afraid the publicity might encourage more teenagers to join up. But the colonial struggle with Sirius had ended, and there wasn't much else happening in the Solar System just at that time, so our raid on Io made the headlines.

GIRLS BLAST BOY HIDEOUT
Callisto fleet bombs, strafes
Io base in bloody juvenile gang war

Humiliated Ios vow retaliation
for fifty-ship sneak attack

We were received as heroes by our gang. Even the inaccuracies in the news story contributed to our glory—the Ios being ashamed to admit all the havoc was the result of only one solitary girl ship. Our hussies and aides greeted us in the First Hall with a wild cheer, crowding around us to beg for details.

"Later," said Naomi, flushed with triumph, "we'll call a formation later. We'll tell our story to the entire gang."

"Back to your posts, now!" I shouted. "You hussies get your girls ready for battle. We can expect the boys to counterattack at any time."

The First Hall cleared rapidly of all except a few of our top officers.

"Confidentially," I said, "I won't go for any more of this shared leadership stuff. This gang can only be run by one boss at a time. It's going to be either me or Naomi, but not both of us."

"Those are my sentiments exactly," said Naomi. "Let's get this fight over with once and for all."

Jeanette, always the reasonable one, stepped forth quietly. "Look, this is a very bad time to hold a duel, just when we're waiting for the Ios to appear."

"Yeah, you two, you're spoiling our victory celebration."

"Put it off until tomorrow."

"Until after the next meeting."

"Besides," added Jeanette, "Naomi and Vera worked well enough together during their raid on Io."

"Yes! That's right! We'll need you!"

The sentiment for postponement of our duel was irresistible. We both bowed to it as gracefully as we could.

"I'll work with you, Naomi, but I'll hate you every minute of it."

"Likewise!" she snarled, "and twice as much."

Fat, fog-throated Ginger edged next to me. "Well, now that that's settled for the time being, maybe you two can agree on what to do with this spy we caught.

"Shoot him!" said Naomi. "He's a man."

"Let's first determine whether or not he's a spy," I said.

"There you two go disagreeing again," Ginger complained. "Now just what do you want me to do with him?"

"I've worked out a test we can give him. We can tell whether he's lying or telling the truth when he says he's a professor."

"Oh, this is all so much nonsense," said Naomi impatiently. She withdrew a piece of paper from her belt wallet, handed it to me. "Here," she said sarcastically, "here is that research you had me do at the library. I authorize you to handle this matter for both of us."

She stalked out of the hall with a short, scornful laugh.

Ginger had locked him in the nuclear torch storeroom, a none too healthy place. We escorted him to the communications office. I began the interrogation.

"You say your name is—?"

"Lewis Worth."

"And your occupation is a professor?"

"Assistant professor of sociology, Mars University." He clipped his words with deliberate over-formality. His expression was faintly amused.

"So you say, and so your papers say, but those could be forgeries, you admit?"

"Yes, that's possible," he replied softly, "but it's so easy for you to check with my department."

"Undoubtedly there is someone there by that name," Ginger interjected. "But that doesn't prove your identity."

"I have here a list of members of your alleged department. If you actually belong to it you should be able to give me their names."

He nodded slowly. "A fair test."

"Then call them off, beginning with the department chairman. And if you make a single mistake, I'll have my girl shoot you on the spot."

Ginger raised her blaster eagerly.

A minute later she lowered it in disappointment.

"Very well," I said. "You weren't lying. Now tell me why you came here. And be brief, if you please. Because, fifteen minutes from now I want you on your ship heading back to wherever you came from."

The professor stared at me for a moment. "The truth is, I came to see you."

Ginger blushed, the first time I had ever seen her do a thing like that. "Wait outside," I told her sternly.

When we were alone I faced him inquiringly.

"Oh don't misunderstand me," he began. "It isn't anything personal. And then again, maybe it is. You see, in my academic language, you represent the charismatic personality."

"Just what do you mean?" I demanded.

"Well, as I told you, I'm studying juvenile delinquency, gangs, and leaders of gangs—the whole problem of youth's orientation in society, and the way he reacts. Frankly, Vera, you and your gang have built up a terrible reputation in adult circles, and I, for one, am perfectly, fascinated. I wonder if you'd admit me to your gang?"

"What the hell are you talking about!" I was really shocked.

"Oh—oh—strictly as an observer, mind you. For a short time only."

"Not a chance, professor."

"You see, I'm seeking to understand—and it would be a contribution to social science if you'd help me find out—just why you teenagers are striking out at each other, scorning adult society, rejecting the opposite sex. And equally interesting to me is the subtle change that takes place each time a—"

I cut him short. "Look, Professor Worth. You said you haven't been matrixed. Then this is no place for you to set up shop. Because war is our way of life, and someone is liable to kill you just for the fun of it. Bad situation for a man like yourself who can only afford to die once."

I strode to the door. "Ginger, escort the professor to his ship."

It was a good thing we got rid of him then. Minutes later, our instruments detected ships within a quarter of a million miles, and the alert was sounded. Shortly afterwards, we made positive identification: the Io gang!

Naomi and I quarreled for a second over strategy. Should we split up, each leader piloting her own ship and responsible for half the fleet? Or should the two of us occupy one ship? I insisted on the latter, and when Naomi disagreed I knocked her unconscious with the butt of my whip and dragged her into my own Spacer coupe. Ordnance had worked fast. It was fully equipped for battle.

I ordered our entire fleet into attack formation. Together we zoomed up to meet the oncoming enemy, ninety of our spaceships to a hundred and ten of theirs.

I rocketed out in front of my fleet. The boys had begun firing. Their missiles exploded in space like brilliant fireworks, multicolored bursts on all sides of us. I signalled my girls to commence firing, launching our first missile at point-blank thousand-mile range.

It scored a direct hit, exploding an Io ship to comet dust. I felt serenely happy. I wanted to share my feeling of triumph with Naomi who still lay unconscious on the cabin floor.

"Hey, girl, wake up! We're in combat!"

She stirred, started to regain her senses. Her eyes fluttered. Just as they opened our ship exploded to oblivion.

This was familiar, this coming out of sleep with infinitely tender caresses of light, in a vacuum tube the exact shape of your naked body, a tube that dissolved at the exact instant of awakening into a warm epidermal glow, while the bee-like humming faded into silence and only the barest trace of hyacinth scent lingered in the nostrils. It had happened before. How many times? Once? Twice? Three times? All my limbs felt supremely relaxed as after sedation. All my thoughts were clear and calm as a hidden spring on a wooded hillside. Earth summer. Timeless.

Abruptly the marble slab felt cold against my back and the spell was broken. I sat up too suddenly, for a monitor voice said, reassuringly:

"Have no fear, young lady. You have awakened in the Matrix Center on Ganymede. There, you will recall, you at some time in the past commissioned us to make a vibration pattern of your total physical, mental and spiritual self.

"You did this," the recording continued, "against the possibility that, at some future time, accident or the unavoidable hazards of honor would result in your organically premature death. And this has come to pass. But, by means of your matrix, you have escaped dissolution. You are an exact duplicate of your former self in all but the most minor respects.

"Congratulations on your good fortune, and welcome to a new life where we trust you will find the greatest measure of personal fulfillment."

As the recording ended, an attendant entered the room.

"Hello, Vera." She was smiling and pleasant voiced. "Want to put on that white gown and come with me?"

I followed her in bare feet over carpeting soft as lamb wool, into an office that was really not much like an office—more like a cozily furnished living room. On the couch sat a balding man in a tweed suit.

Vague earlier memories gradually took shape. "Is this my placement interview?"

The man smiled. "Yes. You have a wonderful memory net in that brain of yours."

"Wasn't I supposed to remember?"

"It's usually one of the things erased in the duplication process. But then, you were here not so very long ago."

I tried to recall. "It couldn't have been too recently."

Again the interviewer smiled. "Only a week ago, my dear."

He saw my dismay. "Oh, but don't let that bother you, Vera. That's about par for gang leaders."

Curiously, when he said the words 'gang leaders' I felt a little bit embarrassed, almost ashamed.

"Well now," he said, getting down to business, "I should like to have a brief chat with you about your future. It's our job to help give you a fresh new start in life. Can you think of anything you'd especially like to do, any career you would like to follow?"

I considered this but drew a blank. "No, frankly, I can't."

"Well, then, perhaps you'd like to return to Callisto?" He said this in a totally neutral fashion.

"No. Not that anymore."

"Good," he said, rising to his feet.

All at once I was shivering and trembling. "Something is wrong with me. I mean, it's true what I just said. That's how I feel. I don't want to go back to the gang. But—I can remember how differently I felt—before. And somehow it seems wrong to change one's mind so—suddenly."

His hands rested on my shoulders. "Vera, this is what going through the matrix process does to a person." His voice was low, boundlessly sympathetic. "Each time it heals a little bit of your personality along with the physical battle scars. The change is very slight and very subtle. You hardly noticed it at all the first time, did you?"

I shook my head. "But, how long can this ... healing process go on?"

"Some personalities, Vera, are terribly hurt, and they must die several times before they become whole." He took my hand. "And now, my dear, allow me to suggest two alternatives for your future. Doubtlessly, in a universe of infinite possibilities there are infinite alternatives one might take. But I know you quite well (though this may surprise you) and I feel that if you can happily accept one of the two that I mention, you will not again have to seek death in order to return here. For that is, after all, the meaning of your immediate past."

"What are these two alternatives?" My voice was quite small. I felt as though my life was warped into this moment like a mobius sheet.

"You will go to Mars University, and there train yourself to become a laboratory technician, as you originally promised your parents. This is a useful profession, of service to society. Sufficient funds will be provided."

Chagrin filled me. I rebelled at the thought. "Or...?"

"Or—and this is also a hard choice, though it may seem glamorous at first—you may become a member of a select expedition to a remote star which our astronomers say has a planetary system capable of supporting our kind of life. There we will plant a new colony."

Joy and enthusiasm welled up inside me. "Why, that sounds wonderful! That's my choice."

He shook his head slowly. "Wait. Wait, Vera. This is also to be considered. You will never again see Jupiter or any of the Solar System. You will travel for a hundred and fifty years. Most of this time you will sleep in deepfreeze state, of course. But inevitably you will age twenty years in the process."

This meant I would arrive at the other end, thirty-seven years old. My eagerness cooled. "What a pair of alternatives!"

He nodded gravely. "You give them both some thought. Meanwhile in the next room you'll find some new clothes. See me afterwards." He pressed a button on the edge of the couch and the attendant came in.

"Yes, Professor Worth?"

"Take Vera along please."

Something buzzed alive in my brain. It was like a set of tumblers clicking into place. I remembered. I turned at the door.

"I remember you! You were the spy—that is—"

"Yes, my dear."

"But—"

He smiled. "I was observing you, Vera. You were due for your fifth matrix—your last by law. Society didn't want to lose you. I hoped my appearance would react on your subconscious, bring your previous experiences here forward. To help bring out the good, so to speak. It was strictly experimental."

He was still smiling as the door closed behind me.

In the next room, Naomi had just finished dressing. She glared her hostility.

"That was a lousy trick you played on me, Vera."

"I guess it was. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry! Girl, if I had my whip and claws right now I'd make you feel sorry."

I was silent a moment. Then I asked her, almost timidly: "Naomi, you're not going back to the gang now, are you?"

She stared at me peculiarly. "Are you mad? Of course I'm going back. I'm leader of the Callisto girls." She stomped through the outer door, and I had the feeling she would be back more than once.

When I had put my clothes on—a simple brown jerkin with blue long-sleeved shirt—I returned to my interviewer. "Professor Worth, may I propose a third alternative? After all, if this is a universe of infinite possibilities, maybe two is narrowing it down too much.

"Professor, I know I can never go back to the girl-gang way of life. And I understand now why the police left us alone when we ran wild. They were letting us work out our problems.

"And somehow, that's why I feel I have to reject your two alternatives. I'm me, and I can't limit myself in the ways you suggest. You needn't be afraid. I won't break any more of society's rules. I won't try to hurt anybody, deliberately. I'll probably get a job somewhere, on this planet or some other planet. Maybe I'll make myself useful, maybe not.

"But what does the universe have to offer a girl of my experience and energy and," I hesitated, "charismatic personality? I intend to find out. I want the freedom to find out. Do you see? My third alternative, Professor, is to walk out that door with no obligation to anyone."

He seemed not to be listening. He seemed to be thinking his own thoughts.

"I think that can be arranged," he said finally.