Smilo seemed to have had enough too. He accompanied me back without protest. Soon enough we arrived back at the cottage, and entered the air lock. When the pressure equalized, I lifted back my helmet, then saw to Smilo's. "How was it, friend?" I inquired. "Not quite like hunting in Pleistocene Earth!"
We took the lift to the disk and rejoined the girls. "Great stuff!" I exclaimed. "Ask Smilo!"
But Smilo was already settling down under the bed, suit and all. "Hey, I have to undress you!" I called, but he ignored me. Well, if he was that comfortable in the suit, it could remain for a while. I got out of mine and joined Spirit and Forta at the table, where food awaited me.
I was warm from the exertion. The plastic chair was cool, but in a few minutes it was warm. Then it was more than warm. "What's with this furniture?" I asked. "It's as though it's heating by itself!"
Spirit was perplexed. "Mine, too, now that you mention it."
Forta's face turned grave. "And mine. Just now. I wonder—" She got off and turned to examine her chair. She put her face down and sniffed. "Oh-oh."
"Bad plastic?" I asked.
"I could be wrong," Forta said. "But I think we'd better get out of here in a hurry. Get into your suits."
"A bomb?" Spirit asked, jumping up and fetching her suit. I followed suit, in two ways.
"On Mercury they developed some ugly products for antipersonnel purposes," Forta said, scrambling into her own suit. "Not just the plastic explosive, but plastic inflammatories and plastic poison gas. Some of it is set off by a critical temperature, and is self-sustaining thereafter; some of it by a critical mass. But always bad stuff."
Indeed, the three chairs were beginning to melt and bubble, and noxious vapors were rising from them. We clapped our helmets into place, and I dived for Smilo and hauled his own helmet on. "Move, cat!" I barked.
We crammed into the lift and dropped down to the exit. My last view of the interior of the cottage was of yellowish haze suffusing the living space. Poison, surely—that would eliminate all occupants, without damaging the hardware. A very neat, quiet way to take out a roomful. Right when everyone was gathered together. Set for three chairs being used, not one or two. There might not even be any alarm. If Forta hadn't caught on, and if Smilo hadn't already been suited, some or all of us could have been killed.
"Those chairs could have been there for months," Spirit said on the suit radio. "If parties of one or two used this facility, they never would have been activated. But somehow—"
"They were for us," I agreed. '
We emerged on the surface. "We can walk to the next dome," I said. "It's easy enough, with the ley line. Follow me." I set my roller in place and started out.
Smilo set out as before, with excellent control, seeming glad enough for another experience. Spirit and Forta were clumsy with their rollers, understandably.
I looked back at the cottage. It spun placidly, evincing no sign of any problem. "We should have sounded an alarm," I muttered. In my haste to get Smilo ready, I hadn't thought of that.
"I did," Forta replied. "The bobbies should be here within fifteen minutes."
"But we should still move along," Spirit said, her helmet turning as she looked about the landscape.
"You think they'll have a backup?" I asked.
"If they're serious."
"Then maybe we shouldn't be talking now," I said. For our suit radios could be picked up at some distance.
But it was already too late. A car was coming down the road, moving swiftly. It was the limo.
Spirit looked at me without speaking. I understood her question: Was that limo coming to help, in response to the alarm, or was it the assassin's backup?
Spirit touched the side of her suit. She had a laser, of course. Strict weapons-control laws kept such things out of the hands of the civilians, and the murder rate was low on Titania, but Spirit was never without hers. The bureaucrats had had to give her a special dispensation. But we couldn't fire at the limo driver without being sure—yet if we did not, and he was the enemy, we could be lost. What should we do?
It was my decision. Spirit always deferred to my authority, not because I was any better at making spot decisions than she was, but for the sake of appearances. I decided not to risk it. I made a hand signal: forward and to left and right.
They understood. We picked up speed, the two of them following me along the ley line, as the limo approached on the road. Was it able to travel off the road? Perhaps we would find out.
The limo came to the place where the road intersected the lines, near the cottage. It pulled off the road. Ice dust powdered up in a cloud as its wheels ground in. "Snow tires," I heard Spirit murmur. Those were the kind that adhered to ice as well as to the special surface of the road. The limo could indeed travel cross-country.
That seemed to answer the question of motive. A legitimate vehicle should not have been so equipped. Or should it? Not all the cottages were on developed roads; perhaps the limo was used as an emergency vehicle. So it still could be coming to help us.
We still couldn't risk it. We ran on along the line. I was leading, with Spirit second and then Forta. There was a line crossing ahead, and that was what we had to reach before the vehicle caught up to us. If the limo was friendly, it was a harmless misunderstanding that the bobbies could sort out; if not, we had a way to confuse it.
I reached the intersection—and continued straight on. Spirit reached it, slowed, and took off to the right. Forta went left. Now we were scattering, so that the limo could not attack more than one at a time. If it attacked one, the other two would know. The chances of it taking all three of us out before the bobbies arrived were slight. It would have to pick its primary target. If it wanted to help, it could pick up anyone; if not, it would come after me.
The limo zoomed up to the intersection, and our doubt was abolished. Not only did it come straight on after me, it took no trouble to avoid the other ley line. It ripped right through it, tearing it off its supports and snapping it. Spirit and Forta were sent sailing as the cord contracted and gave their rollers no support. Only my own line remained.
Then, realizing that it could neutralize me similarly, the limo swerved to intersect my line. In a moment this snapped, and I had lost my anchorage. I could proceed only slowly without it, while the limo retained full mobility.
I looked around desperately for some kind of cover. To the side was mountainous territory, the crags projecting vertically. Apparently there had been expansion and fracturing here, causing crystals to break off. The properties of ice at 50°K are not the same as when it is near its melting point; it is as hard as any rock, and can cleave like a jewel. Even in the dim natural sunlight, those crystalline faces shone. There were surely shards like daggers, deadly to my suit. But useful as weapons, too.
I headed for the crags. But I had to move horrendously slowly, to avoid sailing into the sky. I did not want to sail, for then I would have no leverage; the limo would simply drive to my projected landing point and nab me there.
The limo didn't bother. It headed straight for me, accelerating. It intended to mow me down!
I saw that there were crevices in the ice rock. I anchored the toe of my right foot in one. As the vehicle bore down on me, I waited until the latest feasible moment, then launched myself horizontally across the ground, diving for another crevice. The limo was unable to compensate at this range, and narrowly missed me. I grabbed for my new anchor-crevice, missed, bounced off the ice, and ricocheted up like a stone skipping across water.
For the moment I was helpless. But my trajectory was low, and the ground uneven. I was able to catch at another crevice as I glided down, and stopped myself. I turned to watch the limo, that had far overshot me.
It was braking, intending to turn and come at me again. There was no sign of the bobbies; probably the limo could make a dozen passes before the authorities arrived, and three or four should be sufficient to flatten me or to rip a hole in my suit.
Now I saw Smilo
loping in, handling the terrain much better than I did. Cat's weren't hunters for nothing! But he would be no match for the limo, whose pressurized cab made it an armored vehicle. "Stay clear!" I cried, knowing that Smilo would recognize my voice on his suit set.
The limo turned, reoriented, and headed for me again. Smilo was coming in too, angling to intercept the vehicle. "No, Smilo!" I cried. "That's not a buffalo! Your fangs will only puncture your own suit!"
Then Smilo leaped and sailed. He collided with the limo, indeed as though it were a buffalo, coming down on its bonnet. His body was so solid, and his impact so great, that the limo was shoved off course. It careered past me, the huge cat somehow clinging to it, blinding its driver.
Luck gave me a significant break. The limo smashed into a low outcropping that ripped out a wheel and holed it. Air puffed out as it came to a halt, wrecked.
But Smilo had been riding it. The cat was hurled forward as the limo crashed, and rolled across the rock. It took some time for him to come to a stop, and when he did, there was no sign of animation. Smilo was unconscious or dead. My luck had cut both ways.
There was a stir at the limo. A lock opened, and the driver climbed out. He was suited. That was further evidence that he had come seeking trouble, for normal operations did not require suits. The limo was supposed to drive from air lock to air lock.
Now I realized that the manner it had parked nearby, but out of sight of the cottage, should have alerted me. What business did it have there? No business, it seemed, but to lurk in ambush, watching, in case the trap within the cottage was not effective.
Well, at least we were on equal footing now. The driver could not move any more efficiently afoot than I could. I could keep my distance from him until the bobbies arrived.
I was mistaken. The man walked across the land without sailing. Evidently his boots were coated with the same adhesive that kept his tires anchored. How I wished I had thought to get some of that! Yet why didn't the natives use it?
As I watched the man walk, I realized why. He was sure, but slow. The ley lines made for much faster traveling, and so the natives opted for simplicity and speed, having no need to go cross-country anyway.
But I was slow too. I tried to keep my distance, for I saw the gleam of steel in his glove: a wicked needle. Here in vacuum, a long, hard needle was as deadly as a sword, for one suit puncture was all that was required for the kill.
I cast about for one of those ice slivers I had conjectured to be here, but saw none. Either the rock did not fracture in that manner, or all such slivers had been removed, perhaps by foraging youths. There was only the bare rock and the projecting crags.
The crags. Their faces looked almost sharp enough to saw through a suit. If I grabbed my opponent and shoved him against such an edge...
But I realized that this was an unlikely scheme. Assuming it was the same driver who had brought us out here, the man was half my age and husky to boot; I could not reasonably hope to manhandle him. Of course I was trained in martial arts—but he would not have been given this assignment if he were not competent in combat. My best bet was to stay out of his reach, for the few remaining minutes until help came.
I made for the crags, and he made for me, but he was gaining. That spike in his hand loomed larger. If only I had a similar weapon, or even something to throw! But there was nothing.
He closed on me, and I knew I could not avoid this confrontation. So I played it as aptly as I was able. I made as if to leap out of his reach just before his extended needle reached my suit. He lunged, hoping to catch me just before I lifted. But I did not leap; I whirled and caught his extended arm instead. I twisted it into an aikido configuration, quickly relieving him of the needle; but before I could secure it for myself, he jerked around, and it flew away, beyond our recovery.
I tried to convert to a throw, hauling him across my back. In this gee, he wouldn't go down, he would fly into the sky. But he hung on to me, and he was indeed younger and stronger than I, and reasonably versed. He executed a counterthrow, and it was effective. I sailed.
But in the struggle, he had not watched the lay of the land. I flew toward the outcropping I had been headed for, and low enough so that I did not clear it. I contorted myself around, got my feet in front, and landed against the glassy vertical face of the crag. I used this to push off toward the spot where the needle was falling.
Too late he realized what I was up to. He tromped toward the weapon, but I beat him to it and picked it up. Now I was armed and he wasn't. "Approach, idiot," I invited him.
I knew he heard me, for all suits are tuned to the common frequency. But he did not reply in words. He looked around—and saw the police vehicle coming down the road. My rescue was at hand.
I could tell by his attitude, even masked by the suit, that he had come to a decision. His hand went to a suit pocket.
Oops! If he had an illicit laser pistol—He did. Apparently he had decided to be hung for the whole course, knowing that he couldn't get away anyway. He was going to take me out first, then perhaps turn the weapon on his own suit. He had nothing to lose now.
I scrambled in slow motion for the crag, needing to get behind it. One touch of the laser beam would finish me exactly as the needle would have! But the distance was still too great; he could fire from where he stood and tag me before I reached it. The bobbies were now crossing the rock, and would reach us shortly, but it would only take seconds for that laser to do its work.
I gazed hopelessly at the shining, mirrorlike face of the crag. I felt like a butterfly pinned to a board, and that bright surface was the board. He could hardly have had a better target!
Unless—
I gauged it as carefully as I could, as he took his stance and aimed. It wasn't right.
I hurled the needle at him. My aim was beautiful; he had to leap out of the way to avoid it. He sailed; it took him some time to come down, and that gave me a chance to improve my position. But I did not flee toward the crag; I knew he would land and reorient before I could get beyond it. I made my way sideways, placing myself directly between him and the bright cliff face. I seemed to be a better target than ever!
He landed and got himself righted. The police vehicle was now quite close. If he was going to hole me, he had to do it soon.
He fired—and I was already moving to the side, having read his intent by his body attitude. My talent was serving me despite the masking effect of his suit. The beam missed me and struck the crag behind me.
He corrected and fired again, but I was moving again, and the second shot missed. I raised an arm to wave at the bobbies, just in case they didn't realize what the situation was. "Here!" I said. "He's lasering me!"
He fired a third time, as I gambled all and leaped straight up. The laser passed between my spread legs, reflected from the glassy crystal face of the crag, and scored on my attacker. Air puffed out of his suit, and he flew up, propelled by that leak. But his flight was his doom, for he would be dead of suffocation and decompression before they could catch him.
I had done what I had tried to do: use his weapon against him. Twice the reflected beam had missed him, but the third time had been the charm. Had that not been the case, he would have picked me out of the sky without difficulty, for I could not have maneuvered there to avoid him. I had gambled and won.
But I was no longer concerned about my own health, but about Smilo's. I hurried to his body—and as I approached he lifted his head groggily. He had survived! He had been stunned, but his suit had not been holed. I more or less fell on him, hugging him as well as I could in our suits. He had saved my life again, by putting the limo out of commission. How glad I was that he had not sacrificed his life in that effort!
The rest was simple enough. Apologetic about the breach of their security, the authorities of Titania were eager to show their solidarity in the cause of peace, and supported the Dream. But they had a requirement: since they could not in conscience pledge support to a Saturn project, they pledged it to
the Tyrant's project. It was necessary for me to assume the mantle of director of the galactic colonization effort. Of course I had to clear it with Chairman Khukov. "Why do you think I sent you there?" he replied somewhat laconically, four hours later when his response arrived. Even at light speed, a communication between Uranus and Saturn takes hours.
Of course he had known that the nations of Uranus would be more likely to support the former Tyrant of Jupiter than they would the present power of Saturn. I was no threat; I had no government. Thus I was a convenient focal point, a figurehead. But the project was real, and with the considerable economic and industrial potential of Uranus supporting it, it was becoming feasible.
Chapter 12 — TRITON
The main project required a solid base, with standard gee, available raw materials, a pool of industrial workers, and plenty of safe space for testing. The environment of Uranus was unsuitable; it had no large moons, so that all its gee was centrifugal, and its environmental resources were being strained to maintain its industrial base. Its pool of qualified workers was large, but it seemed easier to move them to a distant site than to put the site in their vicinity. The space around the planet was filled with activity, making it awkward for testing dangerous new systems. Most Uranian nations had distant colonies that they used for such activities.
This was the key to the solution to the problem. There happened to be a quite suitable moon in the Titanian Commonwealth of Planets, and after due hassle the Uranian nations of the Common Market agreed to use this site.
Thus it was that I went with my small party to Triton, the large moon of Neptune. That is, with Spirit, Forta, and Smilo. I hoped we would not soon again be wandering the barrens in space suits.
One might have supposed that the political history of Triton would be similar to that of Neptune. That was not the case. Titania had dominated both in the prior century, but the two were pretty much isolated from each other. Triton was of similar size to the giant moons of the Jupiter system; in fact it seemed much like my planet of origin, Callisto. Of course it was much farther out from the sun, so the light lenses were close to six times the diameter of those of the Jupiter region, and it took four hours for light to reach it from the sun. This made this region less than desirable for human colonization, and both Neptune and Triton had received convicts from Uranus. That, however, was in the past, and today both regions were doing well.
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