The screaming of the air grew louder as the ship turned broadside, then diminished as its tail came around to align itself with the course of flight. Then with the pressure coming from the right direction again, Farradyne waited until the scream of tortured upper stratosphere faded away and the braking pressure stopped. He hit the drive as the Lancaster soared on past Terra.
Though the enemy must have been awaiting him on the line of flight past Terra, the Lancaster came nowhere near them. Its course had changed from the usual straight line to a long ellipse and the first turn of the curve had wound their course so far from the anticipated point that the enemy could not move over in time to intercept him. Terra rotated madly below and to the side, then came moving up in the angle of vision until it was at forty-five degrees off the nose and still rising.
Once more Terra loomed close and once more came the scream of air, deeper and yet shriller as Farradyne cut the drive and let the air-brake take over. They went on around Terra in a close ellipse, the air-screech rising and falling as their altitude changed.
Three times around Terra they went, then Farradyne turned his tail straight down with a few hard blasts and started to drop like a plummet.
Far to one side came a light flare and the radio gabbled something that Farradyne was too busy to catch; in the distance a jet freighter trailed a line of vapor and far to the south ultra-brightness of a spacecraft take-off trail climbed into the sky. Farradyne, busy checking the controls, the autopilot and the computing radar altimeter, aimed the Lancaster for the southern edge of Lake Superior, and they came down in a screaming fall.
The flare parted the waters of the Lake and sent up a billow of steam for about a hundredth of a second. The autopilot cut the drive and the violence ceased as the Lancaster sank into the deep, cool waters, to stop, to come rising buoyantly toward the surface again.
Farradyne hit the switch that opened the scuttlebutt of the water tank and the lake waters rushed in, killing their buoyancy.
The astrodome porpoised once, gently, and then the Lancaster sank very slowly. Farradyne waited until the ship was resting tail down on the bottom; he turned it slightly to one side and opened the drive by a bare fraction. Water churned below them and the ship moved logily sideways, toward the shore. He wondered whether he had enough power coming from the motor to cut up a stream of bubbles and steam, hoping that the cooling water would kill the rising turbulence so as to conceal his operation.
He spent an hour testing and trying the depth along the shore until he found a place that was just deep enough to let the Lancaster stand upright with its dome a foot or two below the surface.
A small fish goggled at the shining metal hungrily.
Farradyne stretched. “We got this far anyway!”
Norma looked at him dizzily. “How?”
“My pappy used to tell me about this sort of come-in,” he said. “Seems as how he once knew a gent that had piloted one of the old chemical rockets that used braking ellipses for landings. That was a heck of a long time ago, before we had power to burn. But anyway, it wasn’t expected, I gather, because we succeeded.”
“Now what?”
Farradyne grinned. “This is going to be a bit wet,” he said. He took the retractable antenna from its stowage and wound it with insulating tape half way up its length. Then he pulled out the astrodome plug and ignoring the stream of water that splashed on the control-room floor, he shoved the antenna into the hole and made it fast. The water stopped. The upper half of the antenna projected above the surface of the lake.
Farradyne turned the radio to a local broadcast station, and waited, relaxing in his seat, until the music stopped for a station break. “The latest news flashes on the system-wide hunt for Charles Farradyne. The search for the notorious hellflower operator still goes on. It has narrowed down to North America because of several reports, some official and some unofficial, of activity a-space in this region.
“Farradyne is also charged with complicity in the disappearance of Howard Clevis, high undercover operative for the Sand Office. It is believed in some circles that Farradyne may be much higher in the love lotus ring than a mere handler or distributor. Some officials have indicated that Farradyne may be Mr. Big himself.
“An early interception and arrest is anticipated. Keep tuned to this station for the latest news.” The music returned.
22
“Very neat,” said Brenner.
“I thought so,” replied Farradyne coldly.
Brenner’s smile was serene and it made Farradyne want to push his face in. “Glad you made it I wouldn’t want to die in space. Now that we’ve landed it’s going to be easier to pick you up.”
“Stop crowing, Brenner. I’m not licked yet”
“Why don’t you give up? You can’t begin to realize how isolated you are from the men who might listen to you— if you could get to them.”
“Look, Brenner, I’ve no doubt mat you have your henchmen neatly planted in many high offices. But you can’t cover them all.”
“How can you tell which is which?” laughed Brenner. “You can’t get through, Farradyne.”
Carolyn stirred and groaned. Farradyne looked at her as she opened her eyes. “Can’t take it?” he sneered. “But how you can dish it out!”
“Where are we?” groaned Carolyn.
“Wouldn’t tell you on a bet,” he snapped. “You might be telepathic as well as multitonal. I—”
Farradyne’s eye caught a flicker of motion and he whirled. The other two men were struggling against the tape that bound their wrists and ankles, and they glared at him over the white sheet of tape beneath their noses.
“Shut up!” roared Farradyne.
Brenner sneered. “Just how do you hope to do anything?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“With every roadway plugged from top to bottom? And if you did succeed in getting to a Sand office without being shot to bits, how would you convince them of anything?”
“Sometimes it’s better to start at the bottom and work your way up,” said Farradyne. “The idea is to make enough noise so that a large cross-section of the population can hear you.”
Brenner laughed. “You think you can convince the public?”
“You may be surprised.”
Farradyne lit a cigarette and relaxed. “We’ll wait until dusk to be sure,” he said.
Hourly, the radio went on telling how Farradyne was being cornered. Radar nets and radio-contact squadrons were scouring the North American continent with special attention being given to the North Middlewest. A ship of the enemy must have arrived with some information that could be pieced together, for another report said, “Charles Farradyne, sought on many charges involving hellflower operations, has been implicated in the disappearance of Carolyn Niles, according to her family. Her father indicated that Miss Niles had not returned home after a date with the criminal. This is a familiar pattern with hellflower dopesters. Be careful. The man is cornered and desperate. He will not hesitate to shoot, he may even bomb a village or neighborhood if his freedom is threatened!”
Brenner and Carolyn did not even jeer at him. The situation was obvious; Farradyne and his white flag would be shot to pieces before he could tell his name, let alone make explanations.
But now it was dark outside. The stars were bright above the astrodome and they danced with the motion of the water. To one side a wavy trail passed across the sky and high above there was the flicker of a space patrol crossing the sky at fifty or sixty miles. The radio was alive with reports and the police bands were busy with their myriad reports and directions. Farradyne pricked off their calls on a map with a drawing pencil. Ground and air patrols were combing a vast area and space squadrons were holding a dragnet high in the sky above. For a very brief interval Farradyne could hear a distant network in operation which indicated that the same sort of complete search was underway in other districts across the face of the continent.
He inspected his map and hoped tha
t he had them all. Then, very cautiously, he lifted the nose of the Lancaster above the water line and eyed his radar. Pips showed here and there, a couple within a few miles of him. He waited until they turned away, waited until they went beyond the radar horizon.
Using just enough power to waft the Lancaster into the air, Farradyne placed the ship in a gully a few hundred yards from a state highway. The trees covered it from direct observation at night and the flat hills and ravines would cover it from radar detection …
It was almost two o’clock in the morning when a lonely moving van came along the highway. The brakes screeched as the driver caught sight of a crumpled body lying alongside the road. Red sogginess contrasted with the length of white thigh, uncovered by a ripped skirt, and more redness dribbled wet from the corner of Norma’s mouth. The driver piled out of one door and his helper from the other. They ran to kneel by the woman’s side.
Then they smelled the ketchup and stood up, raising their hands immediately.
“That’s not blood spilled,” said the driver loudly. “Let’s keep it that way.”
The driver’s helper added, “This is a bum job, friend. We’re carting second-hand furniture, not gold.”
“I don’t want your load,” said Farradyne, stepping into the glare of the headlights while Norma got up and dusted herself off. “I want your truck.”
They looked at him and he saw recognition in their faces. Obviously every news agency had his picture presented in full color. He saw that they apparently understood why he wanted the truck, for there was also contempt on their frightened faces.
“What’s the next move, Farradyne?” asked the driver in a surly tone. “Do we take the high jump?”
“No. I just want your truck.”
“Getting a bit brash?”
“Maybe I have to. Driver, what’s your name?”
“Morgan. This is Roberts.”
“Morgan, you drive that truck into the ravine there and I’ll see that Roberts plays hostage. Get it?”
“Behave, Al,” pleaded Roberts.
“I will, but I think we’ll get it anyway.”
“Act like you believe that and you will,” snapped Farradyne. “I have neither time nor patience.”
Morgan climbed into the truck and drove it from the road through the trees until they came to the Lancaster. Both men goggled at the big ship parked there and Farradyne let them look at it for a moment. Then he waved his gun. “Unload it!” he said sharply.
It took them an hour to move the load from the truck to the ground, and Farradyne spent that hour in nervous watching. He could not trust them not to make a break, nor could he hope to explain. When the van was emptied, he faced Roberts against it and said, “Norma, tape Morgan’s hands behind him.”
She did, and while Farradyne stood over them, she taped Roberts. Each man knew that the other’s life was dependent on him and, while either man might have made some break for safety, he would not so long as the other might suffer.
Their lips curled in contempt as the conveyor belt came out of the cargo lock and the white blossoms tumbled along it to drop into the van. Both Morgan and Roberts were honest men, but they lacked the higher education that was necessary to be pilot of a spacecraft; therefore, they resented the fact that Farradyne had this training yet used it to such ends. They were rough-hewn and hard-boiled and, perhaps like other transcontinental truckers, they had a woman at either end of the line and a few strung along the way, but their love conquests were lustily honest and they scorned the idea of hellflowers as an aid to passion. Even in their fright they sneered at the spaceman.
Farradyne left them sitting there on the ground after the loading was finished. He and Norma went into the salon and he faced Brenner. “Better take this quietly,” he said. “It’s inevitable, Brenner.”
The radio made him pause: “Ladies and gentlemen, the late news: The system-wide search for Charles Farradyne is hurrying to a close. Indications are now that the infamous hellblossom king is hiding in the Lake Superior region and all forces are being hurried to that area to create the most leakproof dragnet in the history of man’s manhunt. A special session of the planning committee of the Solar Anti-Narcotics Department has been called to deal with the problem, and any information pertaining to Charles Farradyne may be delivered by picking up your telephone and calling SAND, One-thousand.
“This information is being disseminated freely. We know that Farradyne is listening to this broadcast, and the Sandmen have instructed all radio stations and networks to deliver the following announcement: “To Charles Farradyne! A reward of fifty thousand dollars has been offered for your capture dead or alive. You cannot escape. The forces that are blanketing the Lake Superior area are being augmented hourly by additional men and materiel. You will be arrested and brought to trial for your life. However, the reward of fifty thousand dollars will be turned over to you to be used in your own defense if you surrender at once.’”
Farradyne grunted. “Very tasty dish,” he said sourly. “Very competent people you have, boys and girls. Someone really thought that one out most thoroughly. Can you picture me walking up to a patrol and saying ‘Fellers, I’ve come to give myself up so I can have the reward’ and then have the patrol take me in on that basis? I’d go in on a shutter, and the patrol would divide the loot. To hell with you, we’ll play it my way. Norma, go ahead.”
Norma slipped off one high-heeled shoe and advanced on Brenner. The enemy agent tried to shy away, but Farradyne went over and caught his head between the palms of his hands and held Brenner fixed. Norma swung the slipper and crashed the heel against Brenner’s jaw.
Brenner slumped, and the heelprint on his jaw oozed a dribble of blood mixed with mud.
Farradyne slung Brenner over his shoulder and carried the inert man out. He propped Brenner in the helper’s seat and handed Norma into the driver’s seat. He stood on the runningboard and watched Norma strip the tape from Brenner’s wrists and replace it with fresh tape from the truck’s own first-aid kit.
“The ankles, too,” he warned her. “You have to cover up the tape-marks.”
Norma taped Brenner’s ankles. Then she looked up at Farradyne. “I’m shaky.”
“I know,” he said. “But you have to hold yourself together until this gambit is played out.”
She smiled wanly. “That’s what is holding me together. Charles, wish me luck!”
He leaned into the truck window and put his lips to hers. It was a very pleasant kiss, their first kiss of real affection and mutual confidence, though it lacked a compelling passion. Then he swung down from the truck with a wave of his hand and Norma put the big engine in gear with a grind that set Morgan’s teeth on edge.
The truck turned onto the highway and roared off down the road.
Morgan asked, “What do we do now?”
“We wait in the spacer,” Farradyne replied, “and go back under water.”
Roberts shrugged. “Hope we like the trip,” he said. “I’ve never been in a spacer before.”
They went up the landing ramp and into the salon, to stop short as they saw Carolyn and the other pair.
“Quite a collection you have here,” said Morgan. “Is this Carolyn Niles?”
“I am,” replied Carolyn. “Aren’t you going to do something about it?”
Morgan showed her his taped wrists. “Not in this garb,” he said. “This man-about-space has too many things his own way.”
Farradyne smiled and left them. He went aloft and returned the Lancaster to the lake. “No,” he said, “we’ll wait it out.”
Morgan shook his head. “With the net they’ve set up you’ll never see your girl or the truck again, or the hellflowers.”
“Maybe I want it that way.”
“Oh? Putting the finger on the bird you carted out of here?”
“Precisely.”
“And how about the dame?”
Farradyne laughed. “In this cockeyed society of ours, even a streetwalking slut can
rip her dress open, point at a man, and holler ‘Rape’ and half the community will start yelling ‘lynch the sonofabitch’ without looking too hard at either of them. She’ll get by, but it may go hard with him.”
With some amusement he saw two different expressions looking at him silently. Morgan and Roberts were scornful, angry and ready at any instant to do whatever they could to overcome him. Only the tape kept them from trying. But on Carolyn’s face was an expression of mingled defeat and admiration. She knew as well as Farradyne that Brenner was in for a rough time.
Farradyne relaxed. He lit a cigarette and mixed himself a highball. Carolyn groaned and tried to flex the wrists that were secured to the arms of the chair. Morgan growled at the sight of her helplessness and asked if Farradyne had harmed her. Carolyn replied, “Not yet. I happen to be immune to hellflowers.”
“Scorpions,” said Farradyne, pointedly, “are immune to their own poison.”
It made no difference. Morgan and Roberts still wanted to get free so they could take him on in a rough and tumble, and Farradyne knew that either one of them would be more than a match for him. Tooling a truck was not hard in this day of mechanical and electrical aids to human muscle, but manipulating furniture was something else again. Either one of them was capable of bending him double and straightening him out again afterwards.
He listened to them discuss him. It was amusing, in a way. The first remark was made with a sly glance in his direction to see how he reacted. As he merely smiled, their observations became bolder and more damning. They wondered how and why his degradation had been so complete. They considered his family for a number of generations of inbreeding and illegitimacy.
Hellflower (1957) Page 19
