The creature said, "You know, kid, you look like a pretty good sport. Just to show you that our hearts are in the right place, how'd you like to have a little fun—just for a minute?"
"Fun?" said Diddy.
"See that barrier there?"
Diddy nodded.
"Good. As we've already told you, we're security police—you know, anti-Rull. Of course we've got the problem on our minds all the time. You can see that, can't you?"
Diddy said that he could. He wondered what was coming.
"Well, the other day my friend and I were talking about our
job, and we figured out a way by which a Rull might be able to cross the barrier. It seemed so silly that we thought we ought to test it before we reported it to the top brass—you know what I mean. If it turned out wrong, why, we'd look foolish. That's the test we want you to help us make."
No young person . . . must . . . attempt to frustrate any plans ... of a Rull spy ring. The command, so often given by the Play Square, echoed in Diddy's mind. It seemed dreadfully clear that here was special danger, and yet it was not for him to judge or oppose. The years of training made that automatic now. He wasn't old enough to know.
"All you've got to do," said the Rull spokesman, "is walk between these two lines across the barrier and then walk back again."
The lines indicated were a part of the pattern of the fluted arrangement of the ventilators. Without a word of objection, Diddy walked across to the other side. Just for a moment, then, he hesitated, half minded to make a run for it to the safety of a building thirty feet away. He changed his mind. They could blast him before he could go ten feet Dutifully, he came back, as he had been told to do.
A score of men were coming along the street. As they came near, Diddy and the two Rulls drew aside to let them pass. Diddy watched them hopefully. Police? He wondered. He wanted desperately to be sure that all that was happening was suspected.
The workmen trooped by, walked noisily across the barrier, and disappeared behind the nearest building.
"This way, kid," said the Rull. "We've got to be careful that we're not seen."
Diddy felt differently about that, but he followed. They went into a dark space between two buildings.
"Hold out your hand, kid."
He held it out, tense and scared. I'm going to die, he thought. And he had to fight back the tears. But his training won out, and he stood still as a needle-sharp pain jabbed his finger.
"Just taking a sample of your blood, kid. You see, the way we look at it, that suction system out there conceals high-powered micro-jets which send up bacteria to which the Rulls are vulnerable. Naturally, these micro-jets send up their shots of bacteria at about a thousand miles an hour, so fast that they penetrate your skin without your feeling them or their leaving a mark. And the reason the suction ventilators keep pulling in so much air is to prevent the bacteria from escaping into the atmosphere. And also the same culture of bacteria is probably used over and over again. You see where that leads us?"
Diddy didn't, but he was shocked to the core of his being. For this analysis sounded right. It could be bacteria that were being used against the Rulls. It was said that only a few men knew the nature of the defense projected by the innocent-looking barrier. Was it possible that at long last the Rulls were ' finding out?
He could see that the second Rull was doing something in the shadowy region between the two buildings. There were little flashes of light. Diddy made a wild guess, and thought, He's examining my blood with a microscope to see how many dead anti-Rull bacteria are in it The Rull who had done all the talking so far said, "You know how it is, kid, you can walk across that barrier, and the bacteria that are squirted up from it die immediately in your bloodstream. Our idea is this: There can be only one type of bacteria being sent up in any one area. Why? Because, when they're sucked down and sent back to the filter chambers so they can be removed from the air and used again, it would be too complicated if there were more than one type of bacteria. The highly virulent bacteria that thrive in a fluorine compound are almost as deadly to each other as to the organism which they attack. It's only when one type is present in enormously predominant amounts that it is dangerous to the Rulls. In other words, only one type at a time can kill a Rull.
"Obviously, if a Rull is shot full of immunization against that particular type of bacteria—why, kid, he can cross the barrier at that point as easily as you can, and he can do anything he wants to inside. The Yards. You see how big a thing we're working on?" He broke off. "Ah, I see my friend has finished examining your blood. Wait here a moment." He moved off to where the other Rull was waiting. The conference, whatever its nature, lasted less than a minute.
The Rull came back. "Okay, kid, you can scoot along. Thanks a lot for helping us. We won't forget it."
Diddy could not believe his ears for a moment. "You mean that's all you want from me?" he asked.
"That's all."
As he emerged from the dark space between the two buildings, Diddy expected somehow that he would be stopped. But, though the two Rulls followed him out to the street, they made no attempt to accompany him as he started across it toward the barrier.
The Rull called after him, "There's a couple of other kids coming up the street; you might join them, and the bunch of you can look for the sound together."
Diddy turned to look, and as he did so, two boys came darting toward him yelling, "Last one over is a pig."
They had the momentum, and they were past him in a flash. As he raced after them, Diddy saw them hesitate, turn slightly, and then cross the barrier at a dead run over the ventilators which he had tested for the two Rull researchers. They waited for him on the other side.
"My name is Jackie," said one.
"And mine is Gil," said the second one. He added, "Let's stick together."
Diddy said, "My name is Diddy."
There were separate sounds, as the three of them walked, that drowned out the sound. Discordant noises. Whirring machines. An intricate pattern of clangorous hammerings. Rippling overtones from the molecular displacement of masses of matter. A rubber-wheeled train hummed toward them over the endless metal floor that carpeted The Yards and paused as its electronic eyes and ears sensed them. They stepped out of the way and it rushed past. A line of cranes lifted a hundred-ton metal plate onto an antigravity carrier. It floated away lightly, airily, into the blazing sky.
Diddy had never been on The Way at night before, and it would have been tremendously exciting if he had not been so miserable. The trouble was, he couldn't be sure. Were these two "boy" companions Rulls? So far they had done nothing that actually proved they were. The fact that they had crossed the barrier at the point where he had tested it for the two Rull "men" could have been a coincidence. Until he was sure, he dared not tell anyone what had happened. Until he was sure, he would have to go along with them, and even if they wanted him to do something, co-operate with them. That was the rule. That was the training. He had a picture in his mind of scores of such boys crossing the barrier at the test point. Even now they would be moving along The Way, free to do as they pleased.
The universe around The Way shivered with a concatenation of sounds. But nowhere that Diddy looked, no doorway into which he peered, no building he wandered through with wide, fascinated eyes—nowhere was there a sound that did not quickly fade away as he moved on. Not once did they come to anything that even faintly resembled a barrier-type ventilator. If there was any threat to wandering Rulls, it was not apparent. Doors stood wide open. He had hoped in a vague fashion that the atmosphere of some closed room would be deadly for the enemy and not for him. There were no closed rooms.
Worst of all, there was no sign of a human being who might
conceivably protect him from the Rulls, or even suspect their presence. If only he could be sure that these two boys were Rulls. Or weren't. Suppose they carried some deadly weapon capable of causing tremendous damage to the ship?
They came to a buil
ding half a mile square. And Diddy grew suddenly hopeful. His companions offered no objection as he walked through a huge door onto a causeway. Below them was depth. From the causeway Diddy looked down at a dimly glowing world of huge, cubelike structures. The top of the highest cube was at least a quarter of a mile below the causeway, and it was blocked off by floor after floor of plastic, so limpidly transparent that only a gleam here and there revealed that there were many layers of hard, frustrating matter protecting the world above them from the enormous atomic piles in that colossal powerhouse.
As he approached the center of the causeway, Diddy saw, as he had a few moments before hopefully expected, that there was somebody in a little transparent structure that jutted out from the metalwork. A woman, reading. She looked up as the three of them came up, Diddy in the lead.
"Searching for the sound?" she asked in a friendly tone. She added, "Just in case you don't know—I'm a Sensitive."
The other boys were silent Diddy said that he knew. The Play Square had told him about Sensitives. They could anticipate changes in the flow of an atomic pile. It had, he recalled, something to do with the way the calcium content in their blood was controlled. Sensitives lived to a very old age—around a hundred and eighty—not because of the jobs they had but because they could respond to the calcium rejuvenation processes.
The memory was only a background to his gathering disappointment. Apparently, she had no way of detecting the presence of a Rull. For she gave no sign. He'd better keep pretending that he was still interested in the sound, which was true in a way. He said, "Those dynamos down there would make quite a vibration, I guess."
"Yes, they would."
Diddy was suddenly intent. Impressed but not convinced. "Still, I don't see how it could make the big sound."
She said, "You all seem like nice boys. I'm going to whisper a clue into your ears. You first." She motioned to Diddy.
It seemed odd, but he did not hesitate. She bent down. "Don't be surprised," she whispered. "You'll find a very small gun under the overlapping edge of the metal sidewalk underneath the ship. Go down escalator seven and turn right. It's just on this side of a beam that has a big H painted on it. Nod your head if you understand."
Diddy nodded.
The woman continued swiftly. "Slip the gun into your pocket. Don't use it until you're ordered to. Good luck."
She straightened. "There," she said, "that should give you an idea." She motioned to Jackie. "You next."
The stocky boy shook his head. "I don't need no clues," he said. "Besides, I don't want nobody whispering anything to me."
"Nor me either," said Gil.
The woman smiled "You mustn't be shy," she said. "But never mind. I'll give you a clue anyway. Do you know what the word miasma means?" She spoke directly to Jackie.
"Mist."
"That's my clue, then. Miasma. And now, you'd better be getting along. The sun is due up a few minutes before six, and it's after two o'clock now."
She picked up her book and, when Diddy glanced back a few minutes later, she looked as if she were a part of the chair. She seemed scarcely alive, so still was she. But because of her, he knew the situation was as deadly as he had suspected. The great ship itself must be in danger. It was toward the ship that he headed.
19
Trevor Jamieson awakened suddenly to the realization that something had roused him, and that accordingly he must have slept. He groaned inwardly and started to turn over. If he only could sleep through this night. With a start he grew aware that his wife was sitting on the edge of the bed. He glanced at his illuminated watch. It was 2:22 A.M.
Oh, my gosh, he thought, I've got to get her back to bed.
"I can't sleep," said Veda. Her voice had a whimper in it, and he felt sick. For she was worrying like this about nothing definite. He pretended to be very thoroughly asleep.
"Darling."
Jamieson stirred, but that was all.
"Sweetheart."
He opened one eye. "Darling, please."
"I wonder how many other boys are out tonight."
Jamieson turned over. "Veda, what are you trying to do— keep me awake?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." Her tone was not sorry, and after a moment she seemed to have forgotten she'd spoken the words.
"My dear."
He didn't answer.
"Do you think we could find out?" she asked.
He'd intended to ignore further conversation, but his mind started to examine the possible meaning of what she'd said. He grew astonished at the meaninglessness of her words and woke up.
"Find out what?" he asked.
"How many there are."
"How many what?"
"Boys... outside tonight."
Jamieson, who was weighed down by a far more desperate fear, sighed. "Veda, I've got to go to work tomorrow."
"Work!" said Veda, and her voice had an edge on it. "Don't you ever think of anything but work? Haven't you any feelings?"
Jamieson kept his silence, but that was not the way to get her back to bed.
She continued, her voice several tones higher. "The trouble with you men is that you grow callous."
"If you mean by that, am I worried—no, I'm not." That came hard. He thought, I've got to keep this on this level. He sat up and turned on the light. He said aloud, "Darling, if it gives you any satisfaction, you've succeeded in your purpose. I'm awake."
"It's about time," said Veda. "I think we ought to call up. And if you don't, I will."
Jamieson climbed to his feet. "Okay, but don't you dare hang over my neck when I'm calling. I refuse to have anybody suspect that I'm a hen-pecked husband. You stay right here."
He found himself relieved that she had forced the issue. He went out of the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him. On the video, he gave his name. There was a pause, and then a grave-faced man in a space admiral's uniform came into view. Jamieson and he were acquainted, officially. His image filled the videoplate as he bent over the videophone in the patrol office.
He said, 'Trevor, the situation is as follows: Your son is still in the company of two Rulls—a different pair now, incidentally. They used a very ingenious method to get across the barrier, and at the present moment we suspect that about a hundred Rulls
posing as boys are somewhere in The Yards. Nobody has tried to cross in the past half hour, so we feel that every Rull in Solar City who had been prepared against the particular defense we had in the area is now in The Yards. Although they have not yet concentrated on any particular point, we feel that the crisis is imminent."
Jamieson said in a steady tone, "What about my son?"
"Undoubtedly, they have further plans for him. We are trying to provide him with a weapon, but that would have a limited value at best."
Jamieson realized wretchedly that they were being very careful to say nothing that would give him any real hope. He said slowly, "You let a hundred of these Rulls get into The Way without knowing what they were after?"
The admiral said, "You know how important it is that we learn their objective. What do they value? What do they think is worth such a tremendous risk? This is a very courageous enterprise on their part, and it is our duty to let it come to a head. We are reasonably certain of what they are after, but we must be sure. At the final moment we will make every effort to save your son's life, but we can guarantee nothing."
Jamieson realized clearly how these men regarded the situation. To them, Diddy's death would be a regrettable incident. The papers would say, "Casualties were light." They might even make a hero out of him for a day.
"I'm afraid," said the admiral, "I'll have to ask you to break off now. At this moment your son is going down under the ship, and I want to give my full attention to him. Goodbye."
Jamieson broke the connection and climbed to his feet. He stood for a moment bracing himself, and then he returned to the bedroom and said cheerfully, "Everything seems to be all right."
There was no reply.
He saw that Veda was lying with her head on his pillow. She had evidently lain down to await his return and had immediately fallen asleep.
For a woman of her extreme sensitivity, he had done the merciful thing. She slept uneasily, her cheeks wet with tears. He decided to use a gas syringe under pressure to shoot a special sleep-inducing gas into her blood stream. When he did this, there was a pause, and then she relaxed with a drawn-out sigh. Her breathing grew slow and even.
Jamieson phoned Caleb Carson at his apartment and explained the situation. He then added urgently, "Get Ephraim. Tell him his family needs him; and bring him to Security Headquarters near the ship. Have him well boxed. Don't let anybody see him."
He broke the connection, dressed hurriedly and headed down to the Security Building himself. There would be problems, he knew. There would be resistance on the part of the military brass to the idea of using an ezwal. But the presence of the ezwal was a personal bonus that he and, through him, Diddy had earned.
"What'd that dame whisper to you?" asked Jackie. They were going down the escalator into the tunnel beneath The Way.
Diddy, who had been listening intently for the sound—there wasn't any particular noise—turned. "Oh, just what she said to you."
Jackie seemed to consider that. They reached the walk and Diddy started immediately along it. Casually, he looked for a metal pillar with an H on it. He saw it abruptly, a hundred feet ahead.
Behind him, Gil spoke. "Why would she go to the trouble of whispering to you if she was going to tell us anyway?"
Their suspicion made Diddy tremble inside, but his training won out. "I think she was just having fun with us kids," he said.
"Fun!" That was Jackie.
Gil said, "What are we doing here under the ship?"
Diddy said, "I'm tired." He sat down on the edge of the walk beside the five-foot-thick metal beam that reared up into the distance above. He let his feet dangle down to the tunnel proper. The two Rulls walked past him and stood on the other side of the pillar. Diddy thought with dizzy excitement, They're going to communicate with each other—or with others!
War Against the Rull Page 14
