Tuck stared at him. "But—everybody on Earth knows those things are true. I've always heard them, since I was a very little boy—I never even thought about it-why should I have? If everybody accepted it—"
David's face was heavy with disgust. "Well, I hate to upset all these years of nice careful teaching, but it just isn't true. It's a lie. And probably everything you've ever heard about us is a lie."
"But why?"
"Fear. Figure it out for yourself. And then forget what you've been told about us, and give us a break, just once."
Tuck's face was horrified. "But they've done it so thoroughly—"
"I know. But they've forgotten one thing. We are human beings. And the result is an account of hatred among the colonists that goes four generations deep into our grain. Dad has been trying to cure that hatred before it's too late. But dad can't hold out much longer. If something doesn't stop it, the Big Secret will be out of the bag—" David stopped short, hand to his lips, looking away quickly.
"The Big Secret?"
David squirmed uncomfortably. "Nothing. Just an old colony folk tale about a last-ditch stand against Earthmen, if things ever came to a showdown."
Tuck's eyes widened. "What kind of a showdown?"
But David was no longer paying attention. His eyes were fixed down the road, watching something intently. "Hey!" said Tuck. "I said—"
"Quiet!" The word was a whispered command. David slid back against the wall of the building, motioning Tuck back—
"What's wrong?"
"Take a look—see the man in the green shirt?"
Tuck saw him. He was making his way stealthily along the road, looking to the right and left as he moved, like a cat, out from the protection of one cabin wall, quickly across to the next. He paused at a cabin door, rapped on it, and the boys could see him talking to the man inside, gesticulating rapidly. Then he was on to the cabin across the road—
"Who is it?"
"Johnny Taggart. The man who probably set the mine in Carter's gorge. One of Cortell's first lieutenants. He's supposed to be confined to quarters, just like Cortell-"
"But what's he doing out?"
"I don't know. Something's up—"
Several of the colonists were gathering at their doors, whispering, watching as the man hurried along. David touched Tuck's arm. "Come on. There's trouble—I'm sure of it. We'd better find dad and let him know. Follow me."
The boys darted behind the building where they were standing, and then broke into a run into another street, back like the wind toward the barracks building. And then, suddenly, a siren sounded, high and biting in the quiet air of the dome. David's eyes widened. "I told you something was up," he panted. They ran pell-mell down a narrow alley-like road, then slowed up, making their way through the excited crowd that was gathered around the trading post. There was a buzz of conversation, and the boys broke through the crowd just as Anson Torm and the Colonel were coming out.
"What's the trouble, Dad?" David panted. "A leak in the tunnels?"
Anson Torm's face was gray. "Worse, I'm afraid. Come on over to the house." The colony leader nodded to Ned Miller, who started shouting for order, standing up on the porch of the trading post as Torm and the Colonel and the two boys crossed the road to the Torm cabin. "John Cortell's broken prison with his two top
men. They're at large somewhere in the colony, and they've got to be found, and fast," Anson Torm said.
"But—why the alann? The siren—"
"Because the word is around that Cortell is calling a showdown on me, because of the Colonel's presence here. He thinks he's strong enough to get a wholesale revolt organized, and to blow up the mines." Torm's voice was hollow, and his hands were trembling as he sank down in the chair by the table. "And I'm just afraid he might be able to swing it—"
"ThatMan Is Dangerous—"
I
here were a dozen men gathered in the underground meeting room when Anson Torm and the Colonel arrived there with the two boys. Many of the men were blackened with the thick dust of the mining tunnels; apparently they had stopped work and come up to the hall as soon as the alarm was sounded. Torm nodded to the group, and sat down at the desk, his face drawn and white. "Now, then. Exactly what happened?" He looked at one of the men.
"Cortell's a magician," the man growled. "I can't tell you what happened, Anson. I don't know. I was on duty with Klane, guarding him in his cabin. I was inside and Klane was outside. Nobody had been near him, and he'd been at me all night with his abuse-he's got a nasty tongue—and then, out of a clear blue sky, he had a gun on me. Forced me to distract Klane's attention outside, and two others piled on him—and then they were gone."
"He didn't have a gun when you searched him before?"
"No, sir. He was clean as a whistle."
Torm's cold blue eyes flashed to another man. "The arsenal," he said. "Did you check the arsenal?" "Just got back. It's been broken into." "How many guns gone?" "Less than a dozen."
"Good. Get the rest of the guns, and lock them in the safe down here, so there won't be any more stolen. If we can keep weapons out of their hands—"
The arsenal guard was shaking his head. "You'd better let me have a couple of men to go with me," he said dubiously.
Torm frowned. "What's wrong?"
"There's a nasty crowd at the arsenal. Rog Strang's with them. They aren't doing anything, but they're with Cortell all the way. They could put up a fight—"
Torm stripped a small, unpleasant-looking automatic from his belt and tossed it to the guard. "Take Klane and Simpson with you, and get those guns down here."
Torm turned back to the group of men. "Now, then, for Cortell himself. There are plenty of people in this colony who will help him if they can. But Cortell and his boys can't get out of the colony without our knowing it—we've got all the pressure locks under guard. So we can be pretty sure they're in here, somewhere. Jack, you take your group and comb everything topside—every cabin, every building. Don't miss anything—"
"Anson, the people won't take it." The man was a huge, black-faced miner. "He's got support, and they'll fight us down."
"Those that are with us will help—recruit them as you go along. As for the others—" he glanced at the miner. "That's why you have the gun. Cortell is under arrest for attempted murder, and if they're hiding him, they're accomplices. Now get going." The group of men shuffled out. Torm leaned back and motioned to the man who had just come down the stairs. "What do you think, Ned?"
"I don't know." Ned Miller's face was tired. "Johnny Taggart has been contacting all his supporters—"
"Oh, I know it—it's all over the colony. And they know their propaganda methods." Torm shot Colonel Benedict a black look. "The question is, what now? What's he going to do?"
Ned scowled. "If he can't get more guns, he's blocked for a while. But there's no hope of finding him, if he doesn't want to be found. He won't be hiding above ground—"
"I know that. But we've got to be sure, and get the folks on his side worried about helping him. Jack and the gang will take care of that."
The dirty little man rubbed his stubbled chin and nodded. "So he's down in the mines somewhere, with guns enough to blockade himself in even if we found him." He also glanced at Colonel Benedict, and suddenly dropped his voice to a whisper.
Torm began shaking his head vigorously. "He couldn't do that. Not yet—the stockpile just isn't big enough. That's what I don't like about this—he couldn't be ready at this point. Unless he's changed his plans, somehow. He just wouldn't dare try it—"
For the first time Colonel Benedict stood up, turned to Torm. "I take it you don't expect to find this madman."
Torm looked up with cold blue eyes. "We don't stand a chance in a million, thanks to you. Cortell's support is growing every minute. He's got over a third of the colony on his side now—and with that he can hide where he likes, and he'll never be found."
The Colonel scowled. "That's very nice," he said sourly. "And just wha
t is it that Cortell wouldn't try?"
Torm's eyes narrowed. "He can't do anything—or at least he won't, as long as we can keep weapons out of his hands."
"These mining tunnels—they go for miles back underground, don't they?"
Torm's eyes flickered. "That's right."
"And how many tunnels are there?"
"Dozens. There are three or four hundred miles of tunnel going out of the colony, one place or another—"
"Then what's to prevent Cortell from holing himself up in one of the tunnels with his friends, and blowing the entire colony to kingdom come?"
"Nothing could prevent it, if Cortell wanted to do it. It would be very simple. There's methane outside on the planet's surface. It would be a simple matter to break through someplace in the tunnel and let methane into the colony—he could do it in a dozen places, and we wouldn't have a chance of stopping him. And then when it got to a critical mixture, just a single spark, a single lit match, and the colony would go off like an atom bomb." Torm's eyes met the Colonel's defiantly.
"Anyone in this colony could have done that, years ago—but we haven't. And Cortell won't do it, either. Not now." "Why not?"
"What would it accomplish? There he'd be, and as soon as his supplies gave out, or his oxygen, he'd be as dead as we were."
Colonel Benedict leaned over the desk, staring straight at the colony leader. "But for years and years supplies have been coming in here, smuggled supplies, above the colony's quota, Anson. Food, plants, equipment, tools—everything." His eyes blazed. "I think it's time for you to do some talking. I'm tired of this run-around. I want to know where those supplies have gone, and what Cortell plans to do with them. I want to know who's behind the smuggling that's been going on, and why it's been going on." The Colonel's knuckles tightened on his chair. "A criminal is at large in the colony, and you sit quietly by and say, 'Oh, he won't hurt anybody, he won't do any damage, let him be.' All right, if Cortell is not able to put his plans for revolt in action now, I want to know why not."
Torm spread his hands. "He just won't. He can't."
"Then what's blocking him?"
Anson Torm's face was set. He didn't answer.
"I want the truth, Torm. What are his plans? What's blocking him?"
"I can't tell you—" He broke off as a group of men came tumbling down the stairs into the meeting room, angry-faced men, talking rapidly among themselves.
They gathered in a group, still muttering angrily and looking darkly at Anson Torm when a tall, thin man walked up to Torm, hands on his belt. "What's the idea of sending men up with guns to break out the arsenal?" The man's anger was barely controlled as he glared down at the colony leader.
Anson Torm looked up calmly. Then he nodded to the Colonel. "This is Colonel Benedict, of Earth Security. Colonel, meet Rog Strang."
The man called Strang glared at the Colonel for a moment, and then spat on the floor. "I didn't come to talk to this scum. I came to talk to you. Your men are cleaning out the arsenal. What's the idea?"
"I ordered them to. There were guns stolen from it last night, as you probably know well enough. Cortell is at large, as you also know quite well. And as long as I'm leader of this colony, Cortell's not going to get any more guns."
Strang sneered. "Maybe you're not going to be leader for so long. The people want you to lay off Cortell. He's the only one who's talking sense around here, and he says the time has come to quit taking it lying down from Earth Security. What do you say to that, Anson?"
"Noble sentiments, indeed. Only thing is, Cortell talks too much." Torm's pale eyes caught the other man's. "Any more foolish questions, Strang, or are you ready to take your friends back out of here?"
The man's hand was trembling angrily. "The people won't take it much longer. They want Cortell cleared."
"Some of the people, you mean. There's been no convention and no election, to my knowledge. Until there is, I'm still in charge here, and my warrant for Cortell stands."
The man turned on his heel and started to go, then turned once again to Torm, his eyes wild. "There's nasty talk around, Anson. Talk about you being the traitor, selling out to these Earth dogs. What are they offering you, Anson? Safe passage back to Earth? A nice place to live for the rest of your life, with hot and cold running water—?"
"Get out of here, Strang." Torm's voice sounded rusty, and his hands gripped his chair until his knuckles were white. As the group went up the stairs, he turned to the Colonel. "I can't sit here and talk any longer— I've got to get a search of the tunnels organized. Cortell won't do anything just now—I can't tell you why, you'll just have to take my word for it. But I warn you, Colonel—this is a fight to the finish, this time. If Cortell can win the colony to his side, it'll all be over. The people hate you and Earth with four generations of hate, and Cortell is playing that hate for all it's worth. It's up to you, now. If you're ready to trust me and make a square and honorable deal with the Titan colonists, there may be time to save things. But time is running out—" He stood up and walked for the stairs with a group of his men around him. "We'll have to split up the tunnels among us," he was saying as they went up the stairs. "And we'll have to go slow . . ."
Tuck and David sat side by side, watching the Colonel. He sat for a long time in silence, his face looking older than Tuck had ever seen it before. Then he slammed his fist down on the table with a groan. "The fooir he grated. "The stubborn fool! Security will never accept a deal. What does he think he can get with this kind of blackmail? All Security wants is to have the trouble stopped and production continued smoothly—and thanks to him we re in the middle of the worst trouble there's been in years."
"Dad—" Tuck looked up at his father. "Dad, Torm is right. You have to trust him."
"How can I trust him?" the Colonel exploded. "Why won't he come clean? Why won't he tell me what Cor-tell has up his sleeve?"
"I don't know—but does it really matter? I mean, if you could take Torm at his word, and start negotiating—"
"But how could I ever sell Security on it? How could I tell them to trust the colonists when I'm not even convinced myself?" He shook his head tiredly, and stood up. "No, it won't work. There'll be no deals until Torm lays the truth on the line. Until then, he's just another colonist rebel, I'm afraid." He started for the stairs.
"Dad, what are you going to do?"
"I don't know. Wait, I guess. I just don't know." His shoulders sagged as he walked up the stairs.
Tuck turned to David Torm, and made a hopeless gesture. "They can't see each other. Every time they talk, they get farther apart. Dad is so sure that anything anybody does out here is aimed against Earth that he won't even listen."
David's eyes were wide. "But he's got to see," he said excitedly. "Does he realize what's happening? That man Cortell is dangerous, and he's ruthless."
Tuck nodded. "Yes—but your father isn't coming halfway, either—"
"I know it." David flopped dejectedly down in the chair. "Why are people so stupid? Dad doesn't hate Earthmen—he just distrusts them. He's seen too many back-stabbing tricks to trust them. But Cortell isn't made like dad. He's all hate—he lives on it. He hates Earth and everything about Earth."
Tuck looked at David. "Yet he's in contact with people on Earth. That's one reason dad won't co-operate. They tried to kill him, back home, before he even started out here." David's eyes widened as Tuck told him about the Murexide bomb in the strange letter. When Tuck was finished, David whistled softly.
"My father doesn't know about that, does he?" No.
The lad paced back and forth like a caged animal. "It must have been Cortell who arranged it. Yet, I don't see—" He scowled and paced some more. "There must be something we can do—" He grinned at the Earth boy. "At least we can talk without going for each other's throats. And Cortell has got to be stopped. He can carry the whole colony to suicide if he wins—"
Tuck turned slowly to David. "Suicide? What do you mean?"
The leader's son looked
at Tuck queerly, a sudden light of excitement on his broad face. "Listen," he said. "I—I think I know an answer."
"Answer?"
"To the whole problem—a way out, a way to stop Cortell, and to make dad and the Colonel see things eye to eye—' He looked straight at Tuck. "I'd have to count on you completely not to spill it too early—'
"You can count on it."
"And—I hate to say it, but you'll have to trust me."
Tuck hesitated just a moment. Then he looked up at David and nodded.
"Then come on!" David was on his feet, half running for the stairs. "I've got something to tell you, but I think we'd better get away from the colony before we talk. Dad would break my neck if he caught on before we had a chance—"
"But where can we go?"
"They're busy hunting for Cortell—they'd be glad to have us out of the way if some shooting starts. Let's go out and see what shape the Snooper is in—right now!"
The guard at the gate was not co-operative. Orders were, nobody went out. For a while prospects looked gloomy, but as Tuck had seen before, his companion had a gift of gab. In two minutes the guard was so completely confused with the barrage released upon him that he broke down, muttering darkly about little wise guys and the penalties for disobeying orders, and opened the inner lock. With a grin from ear to ear David slammed down the top on the half-track. Five minutes later they were rolling through the lock into the open atmosphere of Titan, heading away from the colony at top speed, in the direction of the wreck of the Snooper.
Chapter 9 The Big Secref
r
ffi TRIP out was wild. There was nothing in David Torm's nature to allow for caution and comfort; he rode the half-track like a bucking bronco, whirling the steering bar with gleeful abandon as the car tossed and tumbled across the uneven rocky terrain away from the dome of the colony. The soft pillow wheels absorbed some of the shock, but Tuck strapped himself down and clung to the safety bar for dear life, as they lurched from side to side. David whistled cheerfully to himself above the engine's tortured roar, peering ahead at the path, swerving wildly to the left or right as boulders too large to climb over came into the path of the vehicle. Up in the sky the sun was just at the meridian, and little swirls of snow, white and powdery, spun up in the dead, still atmosphere as the half-track plunged along like some strange, half-possessed monster.
Alan E. Nourse Page 8
