Highways in Hiding

by George O. Smith

  XXII

  "Look," I blurted with a sudden rush of brain to the head, "If I'm soall-fired important to both sides, how come you managed to sequester mefor four months?"

  "We do have the laws of privacy," said Farrow simply. "Which neitherside can afford to flout overtly. Furthermore, since neither side reallyknew where you were, they've been busily prowling one another's campsand locking up the prowlers from one another's camps, and playing spyand counterspy and counter-counterspy, and generally piling it uppyramid-wise," she finished with a chuckle. "You got away with followingthat letter to Catherine because uppermost in your mind was the brain ofa lover hunting down his missing sweetheart. No one could go looking forSteve Cornell, Mekstrom Carrier, for reasons not intrinsically private."

  "For four months?" I asked, still incredulous.

  "Well, one of the angles is that both sides knew you were immobilizedsomewhere, going through this cure. Having you a full Mekstrom issomething that both sides want. So they've been willing to have youcured."

  "So long as someone does the work, huh?"

  "Right," she said seriously.

  "Well, then," I said with a grim smile, "the obvious thing for me to dois to slink quietly into New Washington and to seek out some highofficial in secrecy. I'll put my story and facts into his hands, makehim a Mekstrom, have him cured, and then we'll set up an agency toprovide the general public with--"

  "Steve, you're an engineer. I presume you've studied mathematics. Solet's assume that you can--er--bite one person every ten seconds."

  "That's six persons per minute; three-sixty per hour; and, ah,eighty-six-forty per day. With one hundred and sixty million Americansat the last census--um. Sixty years without sleep. I see what you mean."

  "Not only that, Steve, but it would create a panic, if not a global war.Make an announcement like that, and certain of our not-too-friendlyneighbors would demand their shares or else. So now add up your time totake care of about three billion human souls on this Earth, Steve."

  "All right. So I'll forget that cockeyed notion. But still, theGovernment should know--"

  "If we could be absolutely certain that every elected official is asensible, honest man, we could," said Farrow. "The trouble is that we'vegot enough demagogues, publicity hounds, and rabble-rousers to make thesecret impossible to keep."

  I couldn't argue against that. Farrow was right. Not only that, butGovernment found it hard enough to function in this world of RhineInstitute with honest secrets.

  "Okay, then," I said. "The only thing to do is to go back to Homestead,Texas, throw my aid to the Highways in Hiding, and see what we can do toprovide the Earth with some more sensible method of inoculation. Iobviously cannot go around biting people for the rest of my life."

  "I guess that's it, Steve."

  I looked at her. "I'll have to borrow your car."

  "It's yours."

  "You'll be all right?"

  She nodded. "Eventually I'll be a way station on the Highways, Isuppose. Can you make it alone, Steve? Or would you rather wait until myparents are cured? You could still use a telepath, you know."

  "Think it's safe for me to wait?"

  "It's been four months. Another week or two--?"

  "All right. And in the meantime I'll practice getting along with thisnew body of mine."

  We left it there. I roamed the house with Farrow, helping her with herparents. I gradually learned how to control the power of my new muscles;learned how to walk among normal people without causing their attention;and one day succeeded in shaking hands with a storekeeper without givingaway my secret.

  Eventually Nurse Farrow's parents came out of their treatment and wespent another couple of days with them.

  We left them too soon, I'm sure, but they seemed willing that we takeoff. They'd set up a telephone system for getting supplies so thatthey'd not have to go into town until they learned how to handle theirbodies properly, and Farrow admitted that there was little more that wecould do.

  So we took off because we all knew that time was running out. Eventhough both sides had left us alone while I was immobilized, both sidesmust have a time-table good enough to predict my eventual cure. In fact,as I think about it now, both sides must have been waiting along theouter edges of some theoretical area waiting for me to emerge, sincethey couldn't come plowing in without giving away their purpose.

  So we left in Farrow's car and once more hit the big broad road.

  We drove towards Texas until we came upon a Highway, and then turnedalong it looking for a way station. I wanted to get in touch with theHighways. I wanted close communication with the Harrisons and the restof them, no matter what. Eventually we came upon a Sign with a missingspoke and turned in.

  The side road wound in and out, leading us back from the Highway towardsthe conventional dead area. The house was a white structure among alight thicket of trees, and as we came close to it, we met a man busilytilling the soil with a tractor plow.

  Farrow stopped her car. I leaned out and started to call, but somethingstopped me.

  "He is no Mekstrom, Steve," said Farrow in a whisper.

  "But this is a way station, according to the road sign."

  "I know. But it isn't, according to him. He doesn't know any more aboutMekstrom's Disease than you did before you met Catherine."

  "Then what the devil is wrong?"

  "I don't know. He's perceptive, but not too well trained. Name's WilliamCarroll. Let me do the talking, I'll drop leading remarks for you topick up."

  The man came over amiably. "Looking for someone?" he asked cheerfully.

  "Why, yes," said Gloria. "We're sort of mildly acquainted withthe--Mannheims who used to live here. Sort of friends of friends oftheirs, just dropped by to say hello, sort of," she went on, covering upthe fact that she'd picked the name of the former occupant out of hismind.

  "The Mannheims moved about two months ago," he said. "Sold the place tous--we got a bargain. Don't really know, of course, but the story isthat one of them had to move for his health."

  "Too bad. Know where they went?"

  "No," said Carroll regretfully. "They seem to have a lot of friends.Always stopping by, but I can't help 'em any."

  #So they moved so fast that they couldn't even change their HighwaySign?# I thought worriedly.

  Farrow nodded at me almost imperceptibly. Then she said to Carroll,"Well, we won't keep you. Too bad the Mannheims moved, without leavingan address."

  "Yeah," he said with obvious semi-interest. He eyed his half-plowedfield and Farrow started her car.

  We started off and he turned to go back to his work. "Anything?" Iasked.

  "No," she said, but it was a very puzzled voice. "Nothing that I can puta finger on."

  "But what?"

  "I don't know much about real estate deals," she said. "I suppose thatone family could move out and another family move in just in this shorta time."

  "Usually they don't let farmlands lie fallow," I pointed out. "Ifthere's anything off color here, it's the fact that they changed theirresidence without changing the Highway sign."

  "Unless," I suggested brightly, "this is the coincidence. Maybe thissign is really one that got busted."

  Farrow turned her car into the main highway and we went along it. Icould have been right about the spoke actually being broken instead ofremoved for its directing purpose. I hoped so. In fact I hoped so hardthat I was almost willing to forget the other bits of evidence. But thenI had to face the truth because we passed another Highway Sign and, ofcourse, its directional information pointed to that farm. The signs onour side of the highway were upside down; indicating that we wereleaving the way station. The ones that were posted on the left hand sidewere rightside up, indicating that the drive was approaching a waystation. That cinched it.

  #Well,# as I told both Farrow and me, #one error doesn't create a trend.Let's take another look!#

  One thing and another, we would either hit another way station before wegot to Homestead, or we
wouldn't. Either one could put us wise. So wetook off again with determination and finally left that side oferroneous Highway Signs when we turned onto Route 66. We weren't onRoute 66 very long because the famous U.S. Highway sort of trends to theNortheast and Homestead was in a Southern portion of Texas. We leftRoute 66 at Amarillo and picked up U.S. 87, which leads due South.

  Not many miles out of Amarillo we came up another set of Highway Signsthat pointed us on to the South. I tried to remember whether thissection led to Homestead by a long route, but I hadn't paid too muchattention to the maps when I'd had the chance and therefore the factseluded me.

  We'd find out, Farrow and I agreed, and then before we could think muchmore about it, we came upon a way station sign that pointed in toanother farmhouse.

  "Easy," I said.

  "You bet," she replied, pointing to the rural-type mailbox alongside theroad.

  I nodded. The box was not new but the lettering on the side was. "Stillwet," I said with a grunt.

  Farrow slowed her car as we approached the house and I leaned out andgave a cheerful hail. A woman came out of the front door and waved atus.

  "I'm trying to locate a family named Harrison," I called. "Lived aroundhere somewhere."

  The woman looked thoughtful. She was maybe thirty-five or so, clean butnot company-dressed. There was a smudge of flour on her cheek and asmile on her face and she looked wholesome and honest.

  "Why, I don't really know," she said. "That name sounds familiar, but itis not an uncommon name."

  "I know," I said uselessly. Farrow nudged me on the ankle with her toeand then made a swift sign for "P" in the hand-sign code.

  "Why don't you come on in?" invited the woman. "We've got an areatelephone directory here. Maybe--?"

  Farrow nudged me once more and made the sign of "M" with her swiftfingers. We had hit it this time; here was a woman perceptive and aMekstrom residing in a way station. I took a mild dig at her hands andthere was no doubt of her.

  A man's head appeared in the doorway above the woman; he had a hard faceand he was tall and broad shouldered but there was a smile on his facethat spread around the pipe he was biting on. He called, "Come on in andtake a look."

  Farrow made the sign of "T" and "M" and that told me that he was atelepath. She hadn't needed the "M" sign because I'd taken a fastglimpse of his hide as soon as he appeared. Parrying for time andsomething evidential, I merely said, "No, we'd hate to intrude. We werejust asking."

  The man said, "Oh, shucks, Mister. Come on in and have a cup of coffee,anyway." His invitation was swift enough to set me on edge.

  I turned my perception away from him and took a fast cast at thesurrounding territory. There was a mildly dead area along the lead-inroad to the left; it curved around in a large arc and the other horn ofthis horseshoe shape came up behind the house and stopped abruptly justinside of their front door. The density of this area varied, the end inwhich the house was built was so total that I couldn't penetrate, whilethe other end that curved around to end by the road tapered off indeadness until it was hard to define the boundary.

  If someone were pulling a flanking movement around through thathorseshoe to cut off our retreat, it would become evident very soon.

  A swift thought went through my mind: #Farrow, they're Mekstroms andhe's a telepath and she's a perceptive, and they know we're friendly ifthey're Highways. If they're connected with Scholar Phelps and his--#

  The man repeated, "Come on in. We've some mail to go to Homestead thatyou can take if you will."

  Farrow made no sound. She just seesawed her car with three rapidback-and-forth jerks that sent showers of stones from her spinningwheels. We whined around in a curve that careened the car up on itsoutside wheels. Then we ironed out and showered the face of the man withstones from the wheels as we took off. The shower of dust and stonesblinded him, and kept him from latching onto the tail of the car andclimbing in. We left him behind, swearing and rubbing dirt from hiseyes.

  We whipped past the other end of the horseshoe area just as a jeepstercame roaring down out of the thickened part into the region where myperception could make out the important things (Like three burly gentswearing hunting rifles, for instance.) They jounced over the roughground and onto the lead-in road just behind us; another few seconds ofgab with our friends and they'd have been able to cut us off.

  "Pour it on, Farrow!"

  I knew I was a bit of a cowboy, but Farrow made me look like atenderfoot. We rocketed down the winding road with our wheels riding upon either side like the course in a toboggan run and Farrow rode thatcar like a test pilot in a sudden thunderstorm.

  I was worried about the hunting rifles, but I need not have beenconcerned. We were going too fast to make good aim, and their jeepsterwas not a vehicle known for its smooth riding qualities. They lost onecharacter over a rough bounce and he went tail over scalp into the grassalong the way. He scared me by leaping to his feet, grabbing the rifleand throwing it up to aim. But before he could squeeze off a round wewere out of the lead-in road and on the broad highway.

  Once on the main road again, Farrow put the car hard down by the noseand we outran them. The jeepster was a workhorse and could have eitherpulled over the house or climbed the wall and run along the roof, but itwas not made for chase.

  "That," I said, "seems to be that."

  "Something is bad," agreed Farrow.

  "Well, I doubt that they'll be able to clean out a place as big asHomestead. So let's take our careful route to Homestead and find outprecisely what the devil is cooking."

  "Know the route?"

  "No, but I know where it is on the map and we can figure it out from--"

  "Steve, stop. Take a very careful and delicate view over to the right."

  "Digging for what?"

  "Another car pacing us along a road on the other side of that field."

  I tried and failed. Then I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyesand tried again. On this second try I got a very hazy perception of alarge moving mass that could only have been a car. In the car I receiveda stronger impression of weapons. It was the latter that cinched it.

  I hauled out my roadmap and turned it to Texas. I thumbed the sectionalmaps of Texas until I located the sub-district through which we werepassing and then I identified this section of U.S. 87 precisely. Therewas another road parallel and a half mile to the right, a dirt roadaccording to the map-legend. It intersected our road a few miles ahead.

  My next was a thorough covering of the road behind; as I expectedanother car was pacing us just beyond the range of my perception foranything but a rifle aimed at my hide.

  Pacing isn't quite the word, I use it in the sense of their keeping upwith us. Fact is that all of us were going about as fast as we could go,with safety of tertiary importance. Anyway, they were pacing us andclosing down from that parallel road on the right.

  I took a fast and very careful scanning of the landscape to our left butcouldn't find anything. I spent some time at it then, but still came upwith a blank.

  #Turn left at that feeder road a mile ahead,# I thought at Farrow andshe nodded.

  There was one possibility that I did not like to face. We had definitelydetected pursuit to our right and behind, but not to our left. This didnot mean that the left-side was not covered. It was quite likely thatthe gang to the rear were in telepathic touch with a network of othertelepaths, the end of which mental relay link was far beyond range, butas close in touch with our position and action as if we'd been in sight.The police make stake-out nets that way, but the idea is not exclusive.I recall hazing an eloping couple that way once.

  But there was nothing to do but to take the feeder road to the left,because the devil we could see was more dangerous than the devil wecouldn't.

  Farrow whipped into the side road and we tore along with only a slightslowing of our headlong speed. I ranged ahead, worried, suspicious ofeverything, scanning very carefully and strictly on the watch for anyevidence of attempted interception.


  I caught a touch of danger converging up from the South on a series ofsmall roads. This I did not consider dangerous after a fast look at myroadmap because this series of roads did not meet our side road for along time and only after a lot of turning and twisting. So long as wewent Easterly, we were okay from that angle.

  The gang behind, of course, followed us, staying at the very edge of myrange.

  "You'll have to fly, Farrow," I told her. "If that gang to our Southstays there, we'll not be able to turn down Homestead way."

  "Steve, I'm holding this crate on the road by main force and awkwardnessas it is."

  But she did step it up a bit, at that. I kept a cautious and suspiciouswatchout, worrying in the back of my mind that someone among them mightturn up with a jetcopter. So long as the sky remained clear--

  As time went on, I perceived that the converging car to the South waslosing ground because of the convolutions of their road. Accordingly weturned to the South, making our way around their nose, sort of, andcrossing their anticipated course to lead South. We hit U.S. 180 to theWest of Breckenridge, Texas and then Farrow really poured on the coal.The idea was to hit Fort Worth and lose them in the city where fun,games, and telepath-perceptive hare-and-hounds would be viewed dimly bythe peaceloving citizens. Then we'd slope to the South on U.S. 81, cutover to U.S. 75 somewhere to the South and take 75 like a cannonballuntil we turned off on the familiar road to Homestead.

  Fort Worth was a haven and a detriment to both sides. Neither of uscould afford to run afoul of the law. So we both cut down to sensiblespeeds and snaked our way through the town, with Farrow and me probingthe roads to the South in hope of finding a clear lane.

  There were three cars pacing us, cutting off our retreat Southward. Theyhazed us forward to the East like a dog nosing a bunch of sheep towardspappy's barn.

  Then we were out of Forth Worth and on U.S. 180. We whipped into Dallasand tried the same circumfusion as before and we were as neatly barred.So we went out of Dallas on U.S. 67 and as we left the city limits, wepoured on the oil again, hoping to get around them so that we could turnback South towards Homestead.

  "Boxed," I said.

  "Looks like it," said Farrow unhappily.

  I looked at her. She was showing signs of weariness and I realized thatshe'd been riding this road for hours. "Let me take it," I said.

  "We need your perception," she objected. "You can't drive and keep aranging perception, Steve."

  "A lot of good a ranging perception will do once you drop for lack ofsleep and we tie us up in a ditch."

  "But--"

  "We're boxed," I told her. "We're being hazed. Let's face it, Farrow.They could have surrounded us and glommed us any time in the past sixhours."

  "Why didn't they?" she asked.

  "You ask that because you're tired," I said with a grim smile. "Anybunch that has enough cars to throw a barrier along the streets ofcities like Forth Worth and Dallas have enough manpower to catch us ifthey want to. So long as we drive where they want us to go, they won'tcramp us down."

  "I hate to admit it."

  "So do I. But let's swap, Farrow. Then you can use your telepathy onthem maybe and find out what their game is."

  She nodded, pulled the car down to a mere ramble and we swapped seatsquickly. As I let the crate out again, I took one last, fast dig of thelandscape and located the cars that were blocking out the passageways tothe South, West, and North, leaving a nice inviting hole to theEasterly-North way. Then I had to haul in my perception and slap italong the road ahead, because I was going to ramble far and fast and seeif I could speed out of the trailing horseshoe and cut out around theSouth horn with enough leeway to double back towards Homestead.

  "Catch any plans from them?" I asked Farrow.

  There was no answer. I looked at her. Gloria Farrow was semi-collapsedin her seat, her eyes closed gently and her breath coming in long,pleasant swells. I'd known she was tired, but I hadn't expected thisabsolute ungluing. A damned good kid, Farrow.

  At that last thought, Farrow moved slightly in her sleep and a wisp of asmile crossed her lips briefly. Then she turned a bit and snuggled downin the seat and really hit the slumber-path.

  A car came roaring at me with flashing headlamps and I realized thatdusk was coming. I didn't need the lights, but oncoming drivers did, soI snapped them on. The beams made bright tunnels in the light and wewent along and on and on and on, hour after hour. Now and then I caughta perceptive impression the crescent of cars that were corralling usalong U.S. 67 and not letting us off the route.

  I hauled out my roadmap and eyed the pages as I drove by perception.U.S. 67 led to St. Louis and from there due North. I had a hunch that bythe time we played hide and seek through St. Louis and got ourselveshazed out to their satisfaction, I'd be able to give a strong guess asto our ultimate destination.

  I settled down in my seat and just drove, still hoping to cut fast andfar around them on my way to Homestead.