“But they were fired from cross-bows!”
“What the devil does it matter how they were fired? They once pushed aircraft off the decks of ships with steam catapults. It was not only a highly effective method, but it gave the aircraft a boost—keep track of those arrows.”
“Right—” Pin pricks of moisture appeared suddenly on his forehead. “They’re picking up again.”
“Which means once we’re clear of the atmosphere completely they’re going to pick up even more.”
“What do we do?”
“We do the tightest turn this kite will stand, and plunge back into the atmosphere.”
“Think we’ll shake ‘em?”
“Of course we won’t shake them. Unless I’m very much mistaken they’ll anticipate the turn and gain a couple of kilometers.”
“Then what’s the point?” The voice was shrill.
“You want to blow up in this thing? Can’t you get it into your head that in the long run they’re going to catch us. Our only hope is to get far enough into the atmosphere to use the emergency ejection system and bail out.”
“At this speed!”
“Take your pick—strap in—turning five seconds as from now—one—two—”
Kilometers below, Skeld was still blasting in front of him and making short sprints for the next cover.
He had seen the ship arrive and inexplicably arrow skywards with a whine of emergency boosters, but he was too hard-pressed to think about it. He was aware of hatred, bitterness, a sense of despair but there had been no real time to think. He was conscious only of his own predicament. It was clear that Matheson and Hobart, using all the available cover were not pursuing him directly but on either side. He had, therefore, to keep retreating to avoid being outflanked.
As he flung himself flat in another hollow he became aware of something above him and had a blurred impression of something at a tremendous height which looked like a white-hot needle.
The ship! His rescue ship, coming down so fast that despite friction insulation she would probably burn up before she hit the ground.
The ship never hit the ground. At ten thousand meters the tail vanished inexplicably and then, suddenly, there was nothing but a huge cloud of swirling black and white smoke. Fragments fell out of the smoke, burning debris and then the smoke drifted away and there was nothing.
Skeld was compelled to make another sprint before he could take it in but by now his nerve was beginning to crack and he fumbled desperately in his pockets. Make a white flag of something, if he could draw those two swine out into the open—no, better surrender properly. He happened to glance upwards and experienced a wave of relief which made him feel slightly faint.
Several glittering things were drifting downwards. Safety pods! The crew had ejected before the ship blew. He counted eight but only four made the ground. Matheson and Hobart knocked the others out of the air despite vicious fire from side arms.
“Over here!” Skeld took care not to raise his head.
Three made it, the fourth man staggered in mid-Stride then pitched sideways, smoking.
Somewhere someone arrived with an audio caller and a quiet voice said: “The battle is over. You are outnumbered by ten to one. Raise your arms above your head and stand up. There will be no reprisals and you will not be shot.”
“They must think we’re fools.” Skeld’s cheeks were quivering loosely.
“I don’t know.” Holt sounded uneasy. “They could be speaking the truth. There are Islanders among them.”
“Think they’d care either? We’re outlaws now, my friend.”
“What can we do?”
“Look, if we can get up that hill a bit, we’ll have the advantage of height. We could hold them off until darkness anyway.” Skeld was almost pleading. “Once we’re clear I can use the caller. Loom will see we’re all right. He’ll send a ship or something.”
“Oh, very well.” Holt still sounded undecided.
“You two break back, I’ll lay down covering fire. When you’re clear, whistle and cover me—you know the drill.”
Skeld began to fire wildly and the two men raced back for a chosen place of concealment.
The voice said: “Be sensible. Give in, you are surrounded. Above all do not seek refuge up the hill. We warn you that there are concealed micro-weapons there. If you go up the hill we cannot save you.”
Skeld laughed harshly. “They must think we’re simple minded. They came down themselves when they first picked Ventnor up, I know that for a fact.” He looked back quickly.
“If we all made a break together, we’d probably make those small trees—come on.”
Skeld and Holt made it but the third man fell on his face half way and did not get up.
Skeld beckoned. “Come on—they can’t see us now and they’ll be pretty wary of coming in to flush us out; we can keep going.”
After climbing less than fifty meters, however, Skeld turned and frowned. “What’s the idea?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Holt had been glancing back over his shoulder in case of pursuit.
“You threw something at my back. I thought you were trying to attract my attention.”
“Damned if I did.”
“But I felt it-I can still feel it.”
“Don’t be—” Holt stopped, his face colorless, then, quickly: “I’m beaten, you go on while I get my breath, Mr. Skeld, catch you up in a minute.”
“What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing—nothing at all, Mr. Skeld.” Holt took quick steps backwards.
“You’re lying!” Skeld’s gun was suddenly pointing. “Now you keep quite still and tell me what its all about, eh?”
Sweat stood out on Holt’s face, his jaw quivered. “You— you’re—you’re a carrier.” He swallowed and suddenly shouted. “There’s a chase mine stuck right in the middle of your back!” He turned and ran….
Back at Base 4, Prone said: “So Loom committed suicide?”
Stein smiled faintly. “Rumour has it that he shot himself in the back of the head which not only suggests extreme ingenuity but the final collapse of the old order.”
Prone nodded and smiled. “Hello, here come the love birds. I expect you’re glad they’re safe.” He watched Ventnor and Cina come into camp holding each other very closely. “I’m told you played cupid.”
“Did I?” Stein smiled with one side of his mouth. “You forget I am also a psych. They are the first, others will follow, mankind is growing up.”
“Candidly, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Haven’t you? Since man first stood on two legs, marriage has been hit and miss—usually miss. As I say, these are the first, others will follow.”
“I’m still not with you.”
Stein sighed. “There, between those two, is utter and absolute perfection, the identity of the one completely uniting with the other. There, according to my graphs, is the perfect union.”
Prone shrugged. “Is it important?”
Stein smiled, gently. “You’re a big man, my friend with big ideas. You’re dreaming of reclaiming tie world, of mighty engineering projects, of damming rivers and seeding deserts but even Arnold Megellon saw the need for something else.”
“Well?” Prone still sounded puzzled.
“All your work would be in vain if the world fell to pieces again. On those two, my friend, and those who will follow them, you may rebuild your world, for only on such unions can mankind form a truly stable society.”
Stein turned slowly and walked away.
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These Savage Futurians Page 15
