Planet in Peril (12 page)

He said, his voice midway between deference and challenge:

“Anything I can do for you?”

Dinkuhl
looked at him for a moment. When he spoke it was with the full resonance of voice that he could muster up when he wanted to. He said:

“Brother, are you damned?”

The guard only looked surprised for a moment. When he spoke it was in a liturgical tone of voice matching
Dinkuhl’s
own:

“Damned to Hell. Brethren, are ye damned?”

“Damned to Hell.”
Dinkuhl
jerked his head toward Charles. “In this brother’s mind, the Lord has planted power and a sword. He must be free to serve the Lord whose Finger lights the sky to destruction.”

The guard inclined his head. ‘To the Damned all gates are open.”

Dinkuhl
looked at the gate—a little wistfully, Charles thought. It was a temptation simply to get out and trust to luck after that.
Dinkuhl
said slowly:

“We need a gyro, brother. Your relief will be along inside five minutes. I wouldn’t fit in your uniform, but this brother will. I want you to let him take it. We will tie you up. The Will of the Lord, brother.”

The guard nodded. Without hesitation he stripped his equipment and his outer garments from him. In the sentry-box there was the usual plastic
exudator
.
Dinkuhl
adjusted the nozzle to quarter-inch
orifice, and at a touch the plastic rope
ribboned
out. Carefully and deftly he tied it round the unresisting guard. Charles watched him while he was himself putting the uniform and accoutrements on.

Dinkuhl
said: "You get the sticky job, brother Charles. The Lord didn’t see fit to provide me with the figure for it. Club him with the
Klaberg
if he’s wearing his nose filter. In fact, it will be safer to do that, anyway. There doesn’t seem to be a spare filter here, and you would have an even stickier job carrying me if I passed out. Hit him hard, for God’s sake. I’ll be crouched in the box and I’ll come a-running if you get into trouble, but it’s always better to make sure at the start, if you can.”

Charles felt tense; it was not an altogether unpleasant feeling. The prospect of doing something violent soothed that part of his mind which had been most outraged by
Dinkuhl’s
explanation of the double trickery that had been practiced on him.

Dinkuhl
completed the tying up, and propped the guard in one comer of his box. He pointed toward the distant house. A gyro was lifting from the roof.

"There’s your quarry. I’m getting inside. Don’t forget —hit him hard.”

"Don’t worry,” Charles said.

He stood just outside the box,
Klaberg
held loosely, waiting for the gyro. It
arrowed
down through the wintry air, rotors flapping idly, and perched on the road perhaps ten yards away from him. The left-hand door slid open, and a figure dressed as he was dressed jumped down. It was a relief to observe that he was only of middle height.

He walked up to Charles. He said curiously:

“
You’re
not Herriot.'’

Charles made an attempt at disguising his voice. He had his hood close round his face and was not seriously worried about his features being recognized.

He said: “Herriot went sick. Didn't they tell you?” “Where you from?”

Charles ignored the question. He stooped down toward the base of the sentry-box, and poked at it with his
Klaberg
.

“You know the condition this was in? Somebody should have reported it before now.”

He straightened up himself as the new man bent down to see what he was talking about. Behind the ear, he thought to himself. He didn't aim well enough, and the butt of the
Klaberg
landed at the base of the man's neck. He rolled over and lay slack.

Dinkuhl
emerged from the sentry-box.

“Charlie,” he remarked, “you're a man of action. I could not have done any better myself.”

The man lay still. With rising nausea, Charles contemplated the possibility that he might have done the job too effectively.

He said: “I hope I haven't finished him off.”

Dinkuhl
knelt down. He said: “Fetch me a hank of rope. No, he'll live to explain to George what a sucker he’s been. Should make it less tough for Brother in there. For suckers the only safety is in numbers.”

When he had been adequately roped, the guard was pushed into the box with his companion.
Dinkuhl
led the way to the gyro. He clambered up through the open door and Charles followed him.
Dinkuhl
took the controls.

“Time,” he observed, “is on anyone's side but ours. This is where we move.”

The gyro climbed steeply, and headed north.

The r
olling countryside of
Vermont was spread two thousand feet beneath them. They were heading north.

Charles asked: “Montpelier?”

“Thereabouts.”

But Montpelier came into view below and their course held.
Dinkuhl
was apparently in one of his moods of concentration; it was abundantly clear that he had his plans and did not want to discuss them. Charles assumed that he had changed the immediate objective to, possibly, Quebec, perhaps because their escape had gone so well so far. Quebec would give more scope for losing traces.

Montpelier was three or four miles behind them when the gyro started to come down. The country was bleak and empty here, and Charles' first thought was that the gyro might have developed a fault. But
Dinkuhl
was directing the descent. They landed in one of Agriculture's vast potato fields. At
Dinkuhl's
gesture, Charles jumped clear; his feet sank into the moist crumbling earth.

Dinkuhl
came out on to the gyro's running-board, but did not immediately drop from it. He was apparently adjusting the controls. The gyro began to rise again, and
Dinkuhl
fell, landing on hands and feet. The gyro's door was still open as it disappeared on a continuation of its northerly line of flight.

Dinkuhl
wiped his hands on the back of his trousers. He looked after the retreating gyro, and said happily:

“They gave us too much time. I don’t mind confessing a certain relief.”

“We were clear, anyway, weren’t we?”

“That was Telecom we left. They have resources some other
managerials
don’t. Their gyros can all be tracked from their control points.” He laughed. “They can follow that now. Maybe they’ll bring it down before it reaches the Hudson. But they will. They’ll intercept from Montreal and Quebec/ He looked around expansively. “Were clear, Charlie boy. I never really thought we’d make it.”

Charles looked around himself. It was a field of a hundred acres or bigger. Beyond the distant wire fences there seemed to be other similar fields. The sky was low and trailing strands of dark cloud. It was the first time in his life he had been isolated in the country without a gyro or some similar form of transport, and the experience was a depressing one.

“Clear,” he echoed. “Clear to do what?”

“To walk back to Montpelier.”
Dinkuhl
grinned. “A healthy and invigorating exercise.”

“And after that?”

“Gyro-taxi to Detroit. Then we’ll see. Meanwhile, the invigorating walk.”

Taking a southerly line, they trudged painfully across the ploughed field. They were nearing the first fence when
Dinkuhl
pointed to the sky. Two gyros were flying north. They stood and watched them until they were out of sight again. Then they climbed through the fence; another fence, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, gave onto a road. They headed for it with renewed energy.

In Detroit,
Dinkuhl
got in touch with
Awkright
of Genetics Div. Over
Dinkuhl’s
shoulder, Charles saw the interior of the office to which he had been taken by
Dinkuhl
as the first step in his private commitment.
Awkright’s
broad freckled face came into focus as
Dinkuhl
adjusted the controls.

Awkright
said: “Hiram! So they let you
loose
?”

“Call me Houdini,”
Dinkuhl
said. “Can you pick us up—Fourth and Eisenhower? We don’t want to stay on public view any longer than we have to.”

“Be right around.”
Awkright
grinned. “Someone’s been looking for you. For Charlie, anyway.”

Awkright
appeared in a few minutes in
Dinkuhl’s
ramshackle auto; the smell of petrol went ahead of it as well as behind.
Dinkuhl
and Charles climbed in. Charles said: “A good way of traveling incognito, this.”
Awkright
laughed. “I borrowed this while you were away, Hiram. Hope you didn’t mind. You mean someone’s still after you? I thought you were with UC.” “That was Telecom we just got away from,”
Dinkuhl
remarked. “Where are you heading—not my place? They’re likely to be dropping in again with false beards and
astarate
phials.”

“My place,”
Awkright
said. “I told you—Charlie already has a visitor.”

Charles said: “Look, you mean there’s someone out there waiting to see me? Anything but that.”

The auto drew up before a big apartment block fronting the lake. The three of them went inside and took a lift to the top floor.
Awkright
whistled sharply at the door. He grinned at Charles.

“I warned the visitor we were coming.”

The door opened and they went through into the lobby.
Awkright
said: “You go ahead, Charlie. Straight through to the lounge. I want to show Hiram something.” There was no doubt that something was waiting for him. He pushed the door open and walked into the lounge—a big bright airy room with a lake view. Someone was standing by the main window, looking out over the waters. She turned as she heard him come in. It was Sara*

Charles went right over to her. She smiled, hesitantly and then with warmth. He took her by the elbows, eager to feel the realness, the solidity, of her body. He wanted to bring her closer, to turn the knowledge of her return to him into the conviction of embrace. He was fairly sure she would not refuse him this time, either. But something prevented him. Instead he took one of her hands between his own, caressing it.

“Sara,” he said. “How did you get away? Who was it took you?”

She said: “Get away? There wasn’t any difficulty. Why should there be?”

“But you were captured in the first place—by someone? It was made to look like suicide.”

“Captured, but very politely.” She shivered. “That was the unpleasant part. A pre-set lock was put on the gyro controls. After about five minutes I found the controls just didn’t respond. I had to sit there while the gyro took me.”

“Took you? Where?”

“Sacramento. In the first place.”

“Sacramento. Atomics!”

“Of course. I was taken into the Atomics HQ building. They were very nice about everything, and most apologetic. They had had to pick me up, they said, for questioning on a matter of what they called managerial importance. I was to have a bed there for the night, and leave for Philadelphia the next morning.”

“You couldn’t get any messages out, of course?” “Well, no. I was fed up about that. But it was understandable. They gave me a direct undertaking that I would be a free agent again in three days, and I had to be content with it.” Her face clouded. “During that time, Daddy—you know. But even that wasn’t their fault. They asked me whether my disappearing for three days would be likely to have any serious effect on him; they were willing to pick him up as they had done me, if I preferred it. It was my error of judgment. I didn’t want him to have the shock of being captured; I guess I underestimated the shock to him of having that happen to me.”

“What happened—when you got to Philadelphia?”

“I saw Raven.”

Charles whistled. Raven was Chief Director of Atomics, Chairman of the Council of Managerial.

“And…
?"

“I liked him. In fact I think he's the first person
I’ve
met over here that
I’ve
genuinely respected."

Charles said: “He sounds a regular guy. Not the kind who would be trying to get you to complete Dai’s work for the benefit of his own managerial at all.’’

Sara released her hand. “Come and sit down." She led the way over to a
wallseat
.

“He did want something, though. Can you tell me what it was he wanted?"

Sara fixed her eyes on him. “He wanted me to transfer from UC to Atomics. Officially, and above board. I can tell you that he would like you to do the same."

Charles stared back at her—in amazement. He said:

“You don’t mean—you consented? That you applied for transfer?"

From a pocket she took the Atomics flame badge, and pinned it on her tunic. “Yes. I didn’t wear this at the beginning because I wanted to explain things to you." Her face softened. “Charles, I should have liked to talk it over with you first, but then they had to tell me that you had been captured by Telecom. They were trying to get you released, but meanwhile what was there to do?"