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Ebook has 3753 lines and 115263 words, and 76 pages

The HELLFLOWER

A Novel by GEORGE O. SMITH

The book had been thrown at Charles Farradyne. Then they had added the composing room, the printing press, and the final grand black smear of printer's ink. So when Howard Clevis located Farradyne working in the fungus fields of Venus four years later, Farradyne was a beaten man who no longer burned with resentment because he was all burned out. Farradyne looked up dully when Clevis came into the squalid rooming-house.

"I am Howard Clevis," said the visitor.

"Fine," mumbled Farradyne. "So what?" He looked at one of the few white shirts in a thousand miles and grunted disapprovingly.

"I've got a job for you."

"Who do you want killed?"

"Take it easy. You're the Charles Farradyne who--"

"Who dumped the Semiramide into The Bog ... and you're Santa Claus, here to undo it?"

"This is on the level, Farradyne."

Farradyne laughed shortly, but the sound was all scorn and no humor. While the raw bark was still echoing in the room, he added, "Can it, Clevis. With a thousand licensed spacemen handy everywhere, willing to latch onto an honest buck, any man that comes halfway across Venus to offer Farradyne a job can't be on the level."

Clevis eyed Farradyne calculatingly. "I should think you might enjoy the chance."

"It doesn't look good."

Clevis smiled calmly. He had the air of a man who knew what he was doing. He was medium tall, with a sprinkle of gray in his hair and determined lines near the eyes and across the forehead. There was character in his face, strong and no doubt about it. "I'm here, Farradyne, just because of the way it looks. But the fact is that I need you. I know you're bitter, but--"

"Bitter!" roared Farradyne, getting to his feet and stalking across the squalid room towards Clevis. "Bitter? My God! They haul me home on a shutter so they can give me a fair trial before they kick me out. You don't think I like it in this rat hole, do you?"

"No, I don't. But listen, will you?"

"Nobody listened to me, why should I listen to you?"

"Because I have something to say," said Clevis pointedly. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Go ahead."

"I'm Howard Clevis of the Solar Anti-Narcotic Department."

Farradyne snorted. "Well, I haven't got any. I don't use any. And I don't have much truck with those that do."

"Nobody is on trial here--nothing that you say can be used in any way. That's why I came alone. Look ... if I were in your shoes I'd do anything at all to get out of this muck-field."

"Some things even a bum won't do. And I don't owe you anything."

"Wrong. When you dumped the Semiramide into The Bog four years ago, you killed one of our best operatives. We need you, Farradyne, and you owe us for that. Now?"

"When I dumped the Semiramide no one would listen to me. Do you want to listen to me now?"

"No, I don't."

"I got a raw deal."

"So did the man you killed."

"I didn't kill anybody!" yelled Farradyne.

Clevis eyed Farradyne calmly, even though Farradyne was large enough to take the smaller, older man's hide off if he got angry enough. "I'm not here to argue that point," said Clevis, "and I don't intend to. Regardless of how you feel, I'm offering you a chance to get out of this mess. It's a space job, Farradyne."

"What makes you think I'll play stool pigeon?"

"It's no informer's job. It's space-piloting."

"I'll bet."

"You bet and I'll cover it a thousand to one."

Farradyne sat down on the dingy bed and said, "Go ahead and talk, Clevis. I'll listen."

Clevis dug into his brief case and brought out a flower. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, handing the blossom to Farradyne.

Farradyne looked at it briefly. "It might be a gardenia but it isn't."

"How can you tell?" asked Clevis eagerly.

"Only because you wouldn't be coming halfway across Venus to bring me a gardenia. So that is a love lotus."

Clevis looked a bit disappointed. "I thought that maybe you might have some way--"

"What makes you think I'd know more than a botanist?"

Clevis smiled. "Spacemen tend to come up with some oddly interesting specks of knowledge now and then."

"So far as I know, there's only one way of telling. That's to try it out. Thanks, I'll not have my fun that way. That's one thing you can't pin on me."

"I wouldn't try. But listen, Farradyne. In the past twelve years we have carefully besmirched the names and reputations of six men, hoping that they could get on the inside. For our pains we have lost all six of them one way or another. The enemy seems to have a good espionage system. Our men roam up and down the solar system making like big time operators and get nowhere. The love-lotus operators seem to be able to tell a phony louse when they see one."

"And I'm a real louse?"

"You've a convincing record, Farradyne."

Farradyne shook his head angrily. "Not that kind," he snapped. "Your pals sloughed off my license and tossed me out on my duff to scratch, but no one ever pinned the crooked label on me and made it stick."

"Then why did they take away your license?"

"Because someone needed a goat."

"And you are innocent?"

Farradyne growled hopelessly. "All right," he said, returning to his former lethargy. "So just remember that I was acquitted, remember? Lack of evidence. But they took my license and tossed me out of space and that's as bad as a full conviction. So where am I? I'll stop beating my gums about it, Clevis."

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