by Allen Wold
"You're still missing the point," a Visitor named Lawrence said. "If humans were just animals, you'd be right. But in spite of physical differences, they're every bit as much people as we are."
"What we were doing," Joanna went on, "was not that much different from cannibalism."
"Nonsense," Diana said. "Our races are completely different. The proof of our superiority, of our right to exploit them, is the fact that we had the technology to come to them, while they were unable to come to us."
"That argument has been used to justify brutality before," the Visitor named George said.
"To justify survival!" Diana insisted. "We're all going to die unless we get new sources of food and water."
"Haven't you ever heard of trade?" Martin asked wryly. "This world has so much water they could give us all we needed. We pretended to offer them technology in exchange for those phony chemicals. What if our offer had been sincere?"
"What if. That doesn't change the fact that you are all traitors—to your Leader, to your race, to your world."
"But loyal to a broader ideal," Barbara insisted.
"So you say, but I wonder. Might it not rather have been the idea that, after you had helped these humans drive most of the rest of us off, you few fifth columnists would be left here, supposedly their friends, with the entire resources of this planet for yourselves?"
"No, Diana," Martin said, "though I can see how the idea might appeal to you. I believed, and I think we all still believe, that we could have saved all of our people, not just a few, if we had only dealt fairly with the humans of Earth."
Diana snorted and went back to look out the window.
"Even after our deceit was found out," Barbara went on, "we might have been able to make amends. It would have taken a lot of effort, but if we had shown good faith, at least helped repair the damage we had caused, they might have helped us after all. But you spoiled it for us."
"I spoiled it," Diana said in honest surprise. "How did I spoil it?"
"By forcing them to use drastic measures to be rid of us. There are some species of animals here that they regard as pests because they breed so quickly and can survive in any environment. Even our environment, as spoiled as it is. But because of the toxin, which came into existence because of your insane breeding experiments with Robin and Brian—oh, yes, didn't you know? Robin had two children, not just one. The second one died. It was from him that Julie and the others developed the toxin that now makes all animal life on this planet poisonous to us."
"If it's so poisonous, how come we're not dead?" Diana demanded.
"Because they also developed an antitoxin," Barbara replied. "Julie gave you a dose when they rescued you from your escape shuttle. The people whose world you tried to destroy saved your life, Diana. How does that feel?"
"If that's true, they saved me so they could make a mockery of me, put me on trial in front of their whole world. Well, it's not going to happen. We're going to get out of here. We've got to get out of here. The animal life might be ruined for us, but there's still the water."
"That's been poisoned too," William said quietly.
"Indeed it has. But you can distill water, purify and filter it, as they do with their own sewage."
The idea had apparently not occurred to the others. There was a long moment of consternated conversation, and then a striking-looking woman named Phyllis spoke up.
"But what good will it do us?" she said. "We've spoiled every chance we might have had to come to terms with them."
"Maybe we deserve it," Martin said. "Everything we did was a cheat. A lie. Taking intelligent beings for food. It's all part of the same psychology that led us to destroy our fragile environment in the first place. Maybe we deserve to die."
"I am sick of you," Diana sneered. "Traitors, cowards, excuse makers. Maybe you deserve to die, but I don't."
She crossed the room to the door and pounded on the glass. After a moment the guard appeared from the direction of the lobby. Diana pounded again. The guard looked at her speculatively a moment, then turned around to call to someone out of sight. Then he came forward to stand across the corridor from the door.
"What are you up to, Diana?" Martin asked.
"I'm going to get out of this room," Diana said, glaring at him.
After a moment Lieutenant Casey and two other soldiers came up the corridor, and on his inaudible instructions, the guard stepped forward and unlocked the door. The two soldiers, their M-16s leveled, stepped into the room.
"Everybody back against the wall," Casey said. The Visitors complied, and while Diana was backing away Casey pointed a finger at her. "You," he said, and she stopped. "What do you want?"
"I think my life is in danger here," she told him, glaring around the room as if defying them to contradict her. No one spoke. "Can you put me in another room where I'll be safe?"
"Quite easily," Casey said wryly. "Will across the hall do?" He indicated one of the interview rooms on the other side of the corridor.
"That will be just fine," Diana said.
Casey stepped aside and motioned Diana to precede him between the two soldiers while the guard unlocked the other door.
"Wait," one of the Visitors said.
Diana turned a cold eye on the woman. "And what do you want, Zenia?"
"I've been thinking about it," she said, "and I think you're right. I'd like to come with you."
"Indeed, and why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't, I suppose." She looked hopefully at her former superior officer.
Casey, watching Diana, caught her eye and twitched an eyebrow in silent question.
"All right," Diana said. "If that's all right with you, Lieutenant."
"I really couldn't care," Casey said. He and the guard escorted the two women across the corridor to the other room while the soldiers stood watch. When Diana and Zenia were secured, he came back, looked in at the nine remaining visitors, grinned snidely, and locked that door too.
"Now maybe we can get a little rest," Martin said dryly.
The rest of the day had been uneventful for the rebels in their wing of the sanitarium. The only activity had been bathroom trips—the guard had tactfully stood away from the toilet's window wall when any of the women were there—and supper. Otherwise, they had spent their time sleeping. Two things were accomplished by this: first, they would be well rested come nightfall, and second, the guards who patrolled the corridor became awfully bored and hence less observant.
Outside, night was falling. They had asked that the lights be turned off in their own rooms, but the corridor was well lit. Still, the bunks under the outside windows were in deep shadow, which suited them just fine.
They watched as the single guard walked slowly toward the common room end of the corridor, then back toward the lobby end. He wasn't really patrolling, just trying to stay awake. Several times he stretched and yawned.
The rebels all lay on their bunks, but none of them were asleep. Some had drawn the covers over themselves, others just lay on top of the blankets. Out in the corridor the guard made two more transits and then turned into the bathroom.
Elias Taylor had chosen a bunk that was out of sight from the toilet. As soon as the guard went in to relieve himself, Elias rolled out of his bunk, and Sancho Gomez and Caleb Taylor, on either side, stuffed their pillows under his blanket in a crude imitation of his sleeping form.
Without hesitation, Elias crawled across the corridor-illuminated floor to the corridor wall, staying low just in case the guard should come out unexpectedly. He pressed himself close to the wall, below the glass window, effectively out of sight unless the guard should happen to come right up to the window and look straight down. Even then, the shadow of the sill helped to conceal him.
After a moment's hesitation he moved along the base of the wall until he came to the door. There he paused again, this time to take his wallet from his back pocket. Out of this he took a credit card, a short nail file, a bobby pin, and several othe
r makeshift lock picks. Sitting on his hip in order to keep his head well down below the sill of the window, he reached up toward the lock and began to explore it with his devices.
"He's coming," Maggie Blodgett whispered. Her cot was directly opposite the toilet, and she had watched the guard the whole time. Elias immediately stretched himself out flat, pressing as close against the wall as he could. The guard, unselfconsciously zipping his fly, came out and recommenced his slow amble up and back.
After his third round trip, he paused to look in at the silent rebels. Holding his hand over his eyes to cut down the glare on the glass, he peered first at one end of the room, then the other. It apparently did not occur to him to turn the lights back on for the moment it would take him to make his visual inspection.
When he was satisfied that everything in the two rooms was as dull as it had been all day, he walked to the common room at the end of the hall, went inside, and came out dragging a chair, which he propped up against the far wall. He sat down, holding his rifle across his lap, leaned back, tipped his hat forward, and seemed to go to sleep.
The rebels, having spent the whole day practicing the subterfuge, were not about to take chances now. They remained in their cots, silent and still as ever. From his position, the guard could not see many of them directly, but the light from the corridor cast shadows, and those shadows he could see if he were in fact awake.
But that was all right with Elias. He didn't intend to cast any shadows. Quietly, he eased himself back up into a seated position and once again began probing the lock with his odd assortment of devices.
The rebels knew from experience that the glass wall separating them from the corridor was effectively soundproof. Still it was likely that any noise made fiddling with the lock could be heard on the other side. For this reason, Elias tried to be as quiet as he could, and that, along with his unnatural position, hampered him. Once or twice the other rebels could hear tiny clicks or scrapes as Elias tried first one technique, then another. The guard in the hall, however, did not move.
"I can't do it," Elias whispered loudly. "Dammit, this lock's too good."
"Hush," someone whispered. Elias didn't need to be told that the guard had gotten out of his chair.
Stretching and rubbing his eyes, the guard came over toward the window. He paused to look at his watch as if to see how long he'd been asleep. Once again he peered in through the reinforced glass. But this time he apparently decided that he couldn't see well enough, because he unhooked a flashlight from his belt, turned it on, and played the beam over the bunks, one by one. The light passed over Elias's faked bunk, but did not pause.
The guard turned off the light, hung it on his belt again, and rubbed his mouth as if he was thirsty. Slinging his rifle over his shouider, he went down the corridor toward the lobby end and out into the connecting hall and out of sight.
"He's gone," Sancho Gomez whispered. He was in the best position to see the lobby door. Elias took the opportunity to get up on his knees and make one more try at picking the lock.
"I think I've got—" he started to say, and then there was a sharp snap. "Damn, it broke."
"Well, fish it out," Caleb whispered to his son.
"I am, I am," Elias whispered back.
"Here he comes," Sancho hissed, and again Elias dropped to the floor, pressing himself close to the wall.
The guard did not look in this time, but went back to his chair. Elias, having done his best, decided he should give up at this point. He crawled across the floor to his bunk. Caleb and Sancho, heads up to watch, took back their pillows while Elias crawled under his blanket again.
"What are we going to do now?" Thomas Lee whispered in the semidarkness.
"I think I've got an idea," Maggie Blodgett whispered back. "Just sit tight."
Moving in a completely natural fashion, she threw off her blanket and got out of her cot. The guard, noticing the movement, looked up. She went to the door, moving clumsily as if still asleep, and pounded on the glass. The guard, leveling his rifle, got to his feet and came over to the door.
"Bathroom," Maggie shouted. The guard cocked his head as if he hadn't heard. "Bathroom," Maggie said again, mouthing the word exaggeratedly. The guard nodded, took out a key, unlocked the door, and stood well back. He'd gone through this routine a number of times before, and had never had any trouble and didn't expect any now. But his rifle was aimed squarely at Maggie's middle. She gave him no excuse to fire, but stepped away from the door, waited for him to relock it, and then preceded him to the bathroom.
As before, once she was inside with the door locked, the guard stepped away and looked across the corridor into the rebel's prison. Had he wanted, he could have watched her every move inside, as she had watched his not that long ago. But he respected her privacy. After a moment she knocked at the glass, and he let her out and escorted her back to the rest of the rebels. The same sequence of events had happened so many times before there was no reason to suspect anything this time.
"So what did that accomplish?" one of the other women asked.
"I got a piece of the toilet-paper holder" Maggie whispered back.
"That was real sharp," Elias whispered sarcastically. "We can use it to make a pistol and shoot our way out."
"No, stupid," Maggie said. "This thing is sharp." They could hear her moving, but could not see what she was doing.
Then she gasped and there was the sound of a piece of metal being thrown into a corner. She got to her feet again, clutching her left arm. Even in the shadows, they could see the blood welling from the self-inflicted wound.
"My God," Julie said, "what have you done?"
"Cut myself on the bunk," Maggie answered, going back to the door.
"But there's nothing sharp on the bunks," Mike protested.
"That's why I got a piece of the toilet-paper holder," Maggie told him, pounding on the glass.
The guard's eyes widened when he saw her upheld arm with the blood streaming off the elbow. He dashed toward the lobby. Mike Donovan and Caleb Taylor immediately rushed over to support Maggie, who obligingly slumped in their arms. They stood within inches of the door.
The guard came back a moment later, carrying a khaki-colored box with a large red cross printed on it. Leveling his rifle at the door, he inserted his key in the lock, turned it, then stepped back. Mike reached out and pushed the door open.
"Back," the guard said, stepping farther back himself. "Just step away from the door."
"She's hurt," Mike said. "My God, she's bleeding to death."
"So fix it," the guard said. Without lowering his rifle, he tossed the first-aid kit in at their feet. Only then did he step forward, both hands on the rifle. "Back," he said again, and the three in the doorway had to comply. The guard shut the door, locked it, and went to sit in his chair. As he sat down, he smiled.
"Damn, that man is good," Caleb said as he and Mike helped Maggie to a chair.
Juliet got the kit and came over to inspect the wound. "Nice to know," she said, "how competent our National Guard is."
Maggie just looked away while Julie applied antiseptic and bandages.
It was three o'clock in the morning. The rebels, in spite of all the rest they'd had during the day, were sleeping. They'd talked over several plans after Maggie's wound had been dressed, but they could come up with no ideas. Darkness, boredom, and a suffocating sense of futility had closed their eyes.
Juliet Parrish lay on her bunk in the middle of the room next to Mike Donovan's, but tossing fitfully. Neither completely asleep nor awake, she dreamed once again that she was fleeing down endless corridors, pursued by a nameless something that had certain obscene ideas about what it wanted to do with her when it caught her.
Under the circumstances, the hand on her shoulder should have made her jump, but it was so gentle, so reassuring, that she just rolled over and opened her eyes. Elizabeth Maxwell stood by her bed, staring down at her.
"Why, Elizabeth," Julie said, "what are you doi
ng here?"
The little girl, far less than a year old but looking as if she were at least nine, didn't answer. But Mike had heard Julie's question, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"Elizabeth," he said, "I thought the guards were taking care of you."
Elizabeth just stared at him. Then she turned and took a few steps toward the door. Mike and Julie remained sitting, and when she realized they weren't following her, Elizabeth stopped to look back at them.
"What's going on?" Elias asked. "Goddamn," he said when he saw Elizabeth. He moved quickly and quietly from his cot to look at the guard in the corridor while the other rebels slowly and confusedly came awake.
"He's asleep," Elias whispered from the window.
"Who?" Sancho Gomez asked.
"The guard, dummy." He turned to Elizabeth. "How did you get in here?"
Without a word, Elizabeth went to the door and put her hand over the lock. Around her outstretched fingers, tiny sparklets of light glittered and winked. Almost soundlessly, the lock clicked and the door swung outward.
By this time all the rebels were awake and alert. Caleb and Sancho joined Elias and Elizabeth at the door.
"You're an amazing child," Elias said while his father and the one-time gardener slipped out into the corridor.
The guard didn't have a chance. Caleb hit him on the side of the head while Sancho kept him from falling and making any noise. They dragged him back inside while the others came out.
Thomas Lee was the first to the hall door at the end of the corridor. "Looks quiet out here," he whispered back at the rest.
"Elizabeth," Mike said, holding both of her shoulders, "that was wonderful. Now, do you know where our guns are?"
"Pretinama," Elizabeth said, the Visitor word for "peace."
"Yes, Elizabeth," Julie said, "pretinama. But first we have to have our guns. Do you understand that?"
Elizabeth turned and went past Lee into the hall that connected their corridor with the central lobby. There were several doors on either side of the hall. She put her hand on one of the knobs and again there were sparklets and glisters, and the door opened.
