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How Science Works The Facts Visually Explained scan
1st Edition Dorling Kindersley Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Dorling Kindersley
ISBN(s): 9781465464194, 1465464190
Edition: 1st
File Details: PDF, 478.63 MB
Year: 2018
Language: english
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Vicious
Delinquents
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Vicious Delinquents

Author: Mark Reinsberg

Illustrator: D. Bruce Berry

Release date: April 22, 2021 [eBook #65141]

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 VICIOUS

DELINQUENTS ***
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—

The Vicious Delinquents

 By Mark Reinsberg

[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
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."