The respite would come, and as quickly go. Time ran at two speeds for Toni these days.
After the second session the day began to look brighter. For there was only one more period of pain and fear, and then fourteen hours of peace.
But the day, so far, was only starting for Toni. She had been wakened, and had had breakfast -- it was time for someone to take her out for the morning's exercise. The door rattled.
It was Phyllis Barton. Toni had to make a terrific effort not to break down. On such things as this her brief contentment lived and died these days. She had expected at least an hour of comparative freedom. And instead, Phyllis came early.
But Phyllis was smiling. "Not today, Toni," she said gently. "You can tell me where Lemon is if you like. But if you don't, nothing will happen to you. Not today."
Toni was silent, guarded. She had met tricks like this before. One session had consisted almost entirely of false stops, heartbreaking in their disappointment.
"In fact," said Phyllis, "I'm taking you out for a walk, where you can reaily know no one is listening."
"Except you."
"Of course. But is the companion who's actually there so terrible? Isn't it the knowledge that someone else is listening, all the time, someone you can't see?"
Toni was even more puzzled. Of course it was. She would talk with anyone, even Phyllis, more freely away from this vast prison of a ship where every whisper might be overheard. She wanted to talk, even with Phyllis.
But she wasn't going to talk about the location of Lemon.
Phyllis threw something on the bed. Toni looked, then stared. She had been wearing out what clothes she had with her, and for the rest Clade trunks and shirts she had been given -- menial women's clothes, but new and clean. The cuffed shorts and half blouse Phyllis threw down, however, were brand new, cut delicately in a beautiful cloth she had never seen -- blue and shiny and soft, except where it was stiffened, and curiously cool to the touch.
It could hardly he more obvious that the Clades, Phyllis in particular, were belatedly trying to please her, win her over. Could they possibly hope to succeed?
"No," said Phyllis, guessing at the question in Toni's mind, "but -- shall we go out?"
Toni put on the new clothes. There were also open-toed sandals; the feel of the whole outfit was wonderful, light, cool and delicate. This she preferred to torture, any day. She was not merely willing, but eager to play along with this sort of treatment. If Phyllis wanted her to talk, she would talk -- about anything but where Lemon was.
They went along the plain steel corridors that Toni now felt she knew almost as well as a Clade. They saw no one. Phyllis operated the lock, and they jumped lightly to the ground. The ship was silent and still. Outside, it was morning, and if it was the silent, prosaic morning of Mundis at least it was open and free and bracing.
"On Secundis," Phyllis remarked, "the morning is much grander than this. In fact, it can be frightening. You'll see."
It was the first admission of this that had been made to Toni. So the Clades came from Secundis, that bright, glorious world . . . Toni felt rather sorry. Secundis was such a beautiful sight in the night sky, she hated to think of the Clades living there.
Phyllis was leading the way, but when Toni veered slightly she said nothing, but followed. Toni had wondered if she was being led to a spot that looked deserted, but where every word she said could be heard, as usual. They were nearly a mile from the Clades now, there was no sign of life anywhere, and Phyllis was letting her go where she liked -- they couldn't have scores of square miles wired, surely?
"Just a minute," said Phyllis. They had come to a large, flat stone. She took off her tunic and folded it neatly. Her slacks, her shirt. Underneath she wore a replica of Toni's clothes, but in canary yellow. Toni stared again. Phyllis stretched herself luxuriously, and to Toni's amazement kicked out one long leg after the other with sheer pleasure.
"It feels wonderful," she said, echoing Toni's own thought. "You might have no clothes on at all and yet, it feels better than having no clothes on."
She caressed the sheer yellow material that covered her hip. Toni had to keep reminding herself that this was Lieutenant Phyllis Barton, Clade, torturer. She looked like a particularly attractive Mundan.
"Let's walk," said Phyllis. She seemed glad to get away from her uniform. "Had to wear that till we were clear. Someone would have thrown a fit."
Without warning she turned a somersault on the grass. This is very clever, Toni told herself coldly, and it's very well done. Just in a moment, or perhaps quite a while from now, after we've talked for a long time about other things, a casual, innocent-looking question will be thrown in, and if I'm not going to answer it, I have to decide one thing now -- I don't know where Lemon is, and I couldn't find it if I tried.
"Before you decide you're mad," said PhyLlis cheerfully, "I'd better tell you what this is all about. But first, I want to be sure no one can hear us."
That put Toni on her guard again, as if that was necessary. "Even the strongest amplifier," said Phyllis, "can hardly hear us over a mile away, with this swirling air breaking up sound and rustling the grass and bushes. I know -- I've tried it, at exercise time. And there can hardly be a mike in every bush -- anyway, we haven't that much wire aboard."
If she could only knock Phyllis unconscious somehow, Toni thought, she would have quite a good chance of getting away. Might as well say if she could fly. She had quite often managed to hit Phyllis, and Phyllis had never admitted noticing it.
"Listen," said Phyllis. "For the first time, I'm fully in charge of what's done with you. I'm not apologizing -- I'm only saying that up to now I've been under orders."
Very likely, thought Toni. Is that supposed to make me love you for what you've been doing?
"I'd better tell you how the change came about," Phyllis went on, and described events having to do with Corey and a recording that were largely incomprehensible to Toni. "The result is," Phyllis concluded gleefully, "that Corey is all but out on his ear, and I can handle you as I like."
"What differance does that make to me?" asked Toni carefully.
Phyllis waved her arm. "Well, this, for a start. I'm not going to lie to you, Toni. I have to get the location of Lemon from you. That's my job, and even if I didn't have to do it, I'd want to do it."
"Why?"
"Because there are Mundans and Clades, and, for me, the Clades have to be top dogs."
"I wish," said Toni, "I could take you, alone, to Lemon and let you see how we live, what it's like, how we get on with each other. Then we could find out whether you'd still want the Clades to be top dogs."
"I still would. I look after myself, Toni. That's why I rank about eighth among all Clades, at twenty-four, though I'm a woman. That and the fact that I can work things out, and . . . "
"I wish you could meet Rog," said Toni.
"Rog?"
"I was married to him once. Before John, He's like you -- Rog, I mean. Confident, calculating, a little cold by the standards of ordinary people like me . . . "
She stopped, suddenly terrified. From the way Phyllis started she thought for a moment she had given something away.
"What did you just say?" Phyllis asked.
"By the standards of ordinary people like me."
"Yes," said Phyllis wonderingiy. "You mean it. I'm just trying to understand what kind of community you have, that's all. We don't dare say we're ordinary. That somebody else is, sure." More briskly, she demanded: "Are you told to say that?"
"What?"
"That you're ordinary."
"But I am ordinary."
"Are you told to say it?" repeated Phyllis, a little impatiently.
"By whom?"
"Your officers, your leaders."
"We haven't any officers. Or leaders, in the way you mean."
"Then you aren't told to say it," mused Phyllis. "Do you really believe you're ordinary?"
Toni flushed slightly. "Well, I'm pretty. More
than average."
"And you're proud of that?"
"Of course. Aren't you?"
"You mean I am, too?"
Toni was beginning to enjoy this. For one thing, Phyllis was a human beisg after all. Pretense could only go so far. People acting a part were only acting so much. A naturally silent man could only act a talker for so long. And Phyllis /felt/ right. Toni hadn't forgotten that Phyllis had tortured her. She would never forget it. But she could get on with her -- she was getting on with her. They were in communication at last, sharing ideas, admitting beliefs.
For another thing, Toni was beginning to realize that she understood Phyllis better than Phyllis understood her. She had seen something of the Clades, after all, and one could just see how people might get like that.
Phyllis hadn't seen Lemon, and couldn't understand how people might get like the Mundans. So as they talked, Toni had the confidence of knowing she was really more in control of the situation than Phyllis was.
She had left Phyllis waiting, wondering if she was pretty.
"Among your people," said Toni shrewdly, "that doesn't matter, does it?"
"Matter?" repeated Phyllis, with a rather hard laugh. "We pretend beauty doesn't exist. Because beauty is weakness."
"Rubbish," retorted Toni.
"I know. I know that because you're beautiful -- I don't think there's any real doubt of that, however little we know of beauty. But you're not weak. Not really."
Toni know the compliment really meant something, because it came from a Clade.
"Beauty is . . . " Toni shrugged. "A gift from God, but you Clades won't have anything to do with God, will you?"
Christinity was not entirely dead among the Clades, not completely stamped out. Remnants of it existed among the women. It didn't matter what they believed.
"If you say you know there's a God," said Phyllis slowly, "I'll believe you."
Toni smiled. "Not exactly. But if you said you knew there wasn't, I wouldn't."
There was a long silence. They were still walking, and it was still away from the ship. Presently however, Phyllis jumped on a stone and waved, regularly yet with intervals Toni couldn't have matched without practice.
Phyllis jumped down again. "They're watching us," she admitted. "If I didn't do that they'd come out for us. Toni, I want to take up what we've been saying, but I don't dare stay out here with you too long at one time. Is that frank enough for you?"
"Why not?"
"Nobody is trusted too much among us. Yes, I'm trusted with you -- I could kill you, which would be a death penalty offense, or let you kill yourself, which would come to the same thing, or contrive your escape -- it wouldn't he easy, but I could do it. I'm trusted not to do these things, but if you still hate me you can ask to speak to Corey and tell him all I've said to you and I'll be shot. You believe that?"
Toni decided to answer that frankly. Phyllis was telling her a lot -- undoubtedly, Toni thought, more than she was supposed to tell her. The situation was becoming complicated. Toni had only once before wished she was cleverer than she was. That was when she had been trying to win back Rog.
"Not quite," she said, with a grin. "Most of it, yes. But I don't think you'd leave yourself without a loophole."
Phyllis frowned, then laughed. "Right," she said. "Exactly right. You're cleverer than I thought. Anyway, there will be plenty of time for talk, but not much more just now. And I want to tell you a few things yet."
She paused. "Can I trust you?" she asked bluntly.
On the face of it, that was a stupid question. "What does that mean?" Toni asked guardedly.
"I'm going to say some things that aren't covered by the loophole I've left. My only safeguard is your promise to trust me rather than Corey and the others."
Toni had nothing to lose. She said: "I trust you and I promise."
"Thhey may make promises and tell you lies," Phyllis warned, "Oh well, you have enough sense to know that half an ally is better . . . than no ally at all. I told you I still meant to get your secret out of you. I do. I will. But I'm not going to torture you, since I have the choice now -- not with physical pain, anyway. I'm not going to let you sleep until you tell, that's all."
After what had been Toni's life for weeks now, this seemed like the end of her troubles. Phyllis saw her expression and added:
"I don't want you saying I didn't warn you, or you didn't understand. That's more certain than torture -- if it had been that from the start you'd have told us by now. When I say no sleep, I mean it. You'll be kept awake twenty-four hours of the day. Is that clear?"
It was clear. Toni's face sobered. She had never gone long without sleep. No one did -- there was no reason for anyone to do so on Mundis. But she guessed Phyllis was right, and that it was certain. How long could she last?
"Now we must go back," said Phyllis with real regret. She had been leading the way back to the flat stone where she had left her clothes. She put them on, and Toni's spirits sank as the nymph in play clothes became the grim Clade again. She could not believe that Phyllis had talked as she had.
From her black frown as they made their way back to the Clades, apparently neither could Phyllis.
3
Three of the founder colonists committed suicide that night. One cut his veins, one hanged himself, and the third shot himself with one of the old guns.
However, they were three of the weakest, least valuable people in the community. That was a callous view, but it was the kind of view everyone was taking about everything just at the moment. They were men who couldn't face the idea that a compulsion which still remained in their minds would have to be battered down.
Only guesses could be made new about the purpose of the compulsion. In general it was clear enough -- the crew of the Mundis had been meant to make sure the planet was habitable, get over all the early hurdles, and then dismantle the ship. The atomic engines were not to be used, for radioactivity, which had been the end of Earth, was not to be the end of Mundis too. Yet they were not to be destroyed, for they might easily become necessary again.
Perhaps the compulsion, the conditioning, the post-hypnotic suggestion, whatever it was -- perhaps it had been too strong, or had grown like a cancer in the mind. For even when the founders needed the atomic engines again, they could not admit that the engines were safe, carefully buried in a hillside, and could be dug out in a few hours.
Or perhaps the compulsion had concerned itself entirely with the use of atomic power for offense. The colonists might have been commanded never to resurrect the engines unless it was necessary to leave Mundis and seek another planet.
In any case, now that they had them there was something that might be done, however wild and hopeless.
"I don't think there can be much argument," Rog said. "We evacuate Lemon, of course, and get as far away as we can in a short time. If the Clades find us on the way, it's too bad -- we can't do anything about that. When we're well clear of here we dig in and somehow build defenses."
Some of the Mundans didn't go to bed that night. They were on the hillside, digging. Others took over from them as soon as it was light. Soon after dawn all twenty-four engines were lying out in the open.
Rog had been sticking close to Bentley. Bentley was a very important man now, the only one among them who really understood these engines. Slowly, gradually, Bentley was becoming his usual self again.
He stood with Rog in the early-morning light and surveyed the machines. There was hardly anything to see; they were covered in completely so that they were nothing but big black boxes, seven feet long, five feet breod, four feet high.
"Is this all?" he asked. "Get the digging started again, Rog."
"More engines?"
"No, these are the engines, but as they are they're no use to us. There must be cables and transformers there. The power these things generate is so vast and raw that it's never used direct."
He wasn't going to say more, for Rog didn't pretend to be a technician. But Dick joined them
then, and for the first time Bentley began to give information on this subject instead of blocking it.
"If the shielding in that casing had been developed twenty years earlier," he observed, "Earth might have had its cake and eaten it too. That shielding might have made it possible for us to use atomic power as we liked, safely. It's a sort of blotting paper for gamma-rays and neutrons -- about equivalent to ten feet of lead and quite a few fathoms of water. But probably it wouldn't have made any difference. It wasn't that radioactivity couldn't be shielded, but -- "
"Cables and transformers, you said?" Rog interrupted. He stepped forward and spoke to Brad, who was directing operations.
Pertwee had been traveling almost night and day, and he slept for eighteen hours. By the time he got up, Lemon was almost on the point of evacuation. An amazing amount of work had been done.
He marveled. The old people, who had had to leave practically all their possessions behind once before, were going round and pointing out to the young Mundans that they couldn't possibly take /that/. An advance party, he was told, had already gone on. In the square, Bentley and Dick and Brad and Fred and everyone else who had the slightest ability as a craftsman of any kind were working. . . .
Pertwee hurried to Rog, who was watching the work in the square.
"I don't want to see any more," he said. "I'm going away so that I won't."
Rog turned an inquiring gaze on him and waited.
"I'm not coming with you," said Pertwee. "Toni's with the Clades. I had to come back and warn you, but now that I have I'm going to wait for them and let them take me again."
"That probably won't do Toni any good,". said Rog~
"Perhaps not."
"But you're doing it just the same?"
"I can't see anything else I can do, or want to do. Besides, we're working on the basis that the Clades will find this place, and soon. Unless someone stays behind and throws them off the scent, they may find you the next day."
"We're going to . . . " began Rog.
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