Short Fiction by Mack Reynolds (ready to read books .TXT) π

Description
Dallas McCord βMackβ Reynolds was an American science fiction writer who authored almost two hundred short stories and novellas, was a staple in all the major science fiction and fantasy magazines and published dozens of science fiction novels. He began his writing career in the late 1940s. His fiction focused on exploring and challenging both the socioeconomic themes of the day and the implications of the Cold War that raged throughout his career. A thoughtful writer of speculative fiction, many of Mack Reynoldsβ predictions have come to pass, including the credit-card economy, remote warfare and a worldwide computer network. His thoughts about the outcomes of both the Soviet and western political and economic systems are still highly relevant.
This collection gathers stories that were published in Analog, Astounding Science Fiction, Amazing Stories and others. Ordered by date of first publication, they range from spy adventures to the ultimate expression of corporate warfare and from a very short 1000-word story to full-blown novellas.
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- Author: Mack Reynolds
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In less than two months, the planters had moved on to a new base further north. The mob of scientists, engineers, water and forest technicians, mechanics and laborers melted away, leaving Johnny McCord, his two assistants, his half dozen punch-card machines, his automated equipment and his forty or fifty native workers. It was one of a hundred such centers. It would eventually be one of thousands. The Sahara covered an area almost the size of Europe.
Johnny McCord growled, βFriend Mohammed seems quite taken with our reporter.β
Pierre grinned and tried to imitate a New England twang. βWhy not, Hiram? Sheβs the first, eh, women folks seen in these parts for many a day.β He looked down at the endless stretches of sand dunes, gravel and rock outcroppings. βMighty dry farmland youβve got around here, Hiram.β
Johnny McCord grunted. βDerek said the other day itβs so dry even the mirages are only mud holes.β He pointed with his forefinger. βThereβs the first of our trees. Now, what pumps did you check?β
Pierre directed the copter lower, skimmed not much higher than the young tree tops. Some of them had already reached an impressive height. But Johnny McCord realized that the time was not too distant when theyβd have to replant. Casualties were considerably higher than in forest planting at home. Considerably so. And replanting wasnβt nearly so highly automated as the original work. More manpower was required.
βThese pumps here seem all right,β he said to Pierre.
βA little further north,β Pierre said. βI came in over the track there, from the road that comes off the main route to Poste Weygand. Yes, there we are. Look! Completely destroyed.β
Johnny swore. The trees that had depended on that particular pump wouldnβt last a month, in spite of the fact that they were among the first set in this area.
He said, βGo higher. We should be able to spot the complete damage with glasses. You saw twenty-two, you say?β
βYes, I donβt know how many more there might be.β
There were twenty-five destroyed pumps in all. And all of them were practically together.
It was sheer luck that Pierre Marimbert had located them so soon. Had his routine check taken place in some other section of the vast tree development, he would have found nothing untoward.
βThis isnβt nearly so bad as I had expected,β Johnny growled. He was scowling thoughtfully.
βWhatβs the matter?β Pierre said.
βI just donβt get it,β Johnny said. βNumber one, nomads donβt carry dynamite, unless itβs been deliberately given them. Two, if it was given them by someone with a purpose, why only enough to blow twenty-five pumps? That isnβt a drop in the bucket. A few thousand trees are all weβll lose. Three, where did they come from? Where are their tracks? And where have they gone? This job wasnβt done so very long ago, probably within a week or two at most.β
βHow do you know that?β
βOtherwise those trees affected would already be dying. At their age, they couldnβt stand the sun long without water.β
Pierre said, his face registering disbelief, βDo you think it could be simple vandalism on the part of a small band of Tuareg?β
βSure, if the pumps had been destroyed by hand. But with explosives? Even if your band of Tuareg did have explosives they wouldnβt waste them on a few Sahara Reforestation Commission pumps.β
βThis whole thing just doesnβt make sense,β Pierre Marimbert decided.
βLetβs land and take a look at one of those pumps,β Johnny said. βYou know, if you get the whole crew to work on this you might be able to replace them before we lose any of these transplants. Itβs all according to how long ago they were destroyed.β
IVBack at Bidon Cinq again that afternoon, Johnny McCord was greeted by the native office assistant heβd left in charge while all three of the officers were gone. Mellor, at the Tissalit base, had made several attempts to get in touch with him.
βMellor!β Pierre grunted. βHow do you Americans say it? Stuffed shirt!β
βYeah,β Johnny McCord said, sitting down to the telephone. βBut my boss.β
While Pierre was fishing two cans of beer from the refrigerator, Johnny dialed Tissalit. Kateβs face lit up the screen. Johnny said, βHi. I understand the old man wants to talk to me.β
βThatβs right,β the girl said, and moved a switch. βJust a minute, Johnny.β
Her face faded to be replaced by that of Mellor. Johnny noted that as usual the other wore a business suit, complete with white shirt and tieβ βin the middle of the Sahara!
Mellor was scowling. βWhereβve you been, McCord?β
βChecking some pumps near In Ziza,β Johnny said evenly.
βLeaving no one at all at camp?β the other said.
Johnny said, βThere were at least a score of men here, Mr. Mellor.β
βNo officers. Suppose an emergency came up?β
Johnny felt like saying, An emergency did come up, two of them in fact. Thatβs why we were all gone at once. But for some reason he decided against explaining current happenings at Bidon Cinq until he had a clearer picture. He said, βThere are only three of us here, Mr. Mellor. We have to stretch our manpower. Derek Mason had to go over to AmΓ©rene el Kasbach with Mohammed Mohmoud and his
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