Baker's Dozens
By JIM HARMON
Catching him was no problem; they caught
him everywhere—and practically all at once!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, July 1959.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Mr. Street, you are the foremost xenologist on Earth," the director ofExtraterrestrial Investigations said to the tall man.
"I know," Street said.
"What do you know about the infamous criminal, Baker, the so-called'Robin Hood' who is actually a scarlet fiend?"
"Everything."
"Surely not how he died."
"Everything but that."
The director put his briefcase on his knees. "Mr. Street, my agencyreceived numerous accounts of his death, or deaths, on various worlds.Can you tell me which, if any, of these stories is true by studying ourintelligence reports?"
"Easily," Street said.
"We have had Baker under observation many times by our plantedOrwells—our peepbugs—but you must understand that we need absoluteproof on him since he has supporters even on Earth, and in waitingfor that proof, we lost contact often at vital moments."
"I understand perfectly," Street assured him.
I
"Are there really space pirates?" Mrs. Fuljohn inquired of him,giggling furiously.
"Yes, Virginia, there really are space pirates," Baker assured her.
Mrs. Fuljohn lowered very long lashes over formidable eyes. "My firstname is Christine. Will they come at us out of the void with all gunsblasting?"
"I doubt it. They would want to rob the liner, not disintegrate it."
Baker excused himself and strolled toward the afterdeck of "A" class.
He had lied to the lady. (The hyper-Orwell focused directly onhim picked up the tiny whisper of his subvocalizations.) He was apirate, but there was one part of the cargo he did want to destroy,not steal—the first-grade readers for the Mission Houses for AlienNatives on Ignatz XI. Men called him a traitor to the human race,but he seethed at the corruptive propaganda being fed to the swinoidyoungsters of the planet.
This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home....This little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none....
It was insidious, evil. It said in effect that races who shared acommon ancestor with the pig had better trade with Earthmen on theirterms—on any terms—if they hoped to go on being allowed to eat.
Double-dealing Earthmen with their devious schemes were daily robbingliteral-minded extraterrestrials like the Ignatz swinoids blind.Sometimes it made him ashamed to be an Earthman. Let some call him arenegade! He was going to help these sentient beings.
He had a plan, even if he lacked the armed battle cruiser that thepirates had in the teletapes. There was a small corvet waiting for himon Ignatz XI. It lacked the restricted official light-drive of militaryand police craft, having only a civilian planetary-field booster, butif all went well, it would be sufficient for his escape.
Baker glanced at the dial of his watch—it showed no tell-tale color oflistening devices within his area. (The detector had been sold to himby an ETI agent and, of course, it lied.) Confident, he stepped overthe chain separating him from the stairs to "B" Deck.
Wurmong was waiting for him as planned.
"Si," the fat, swarthy man said, "my brother, my nephews, mycousins—we will bring our extra luggage to