by Bob Shaw
Tallon felt slightly sick when he thought over the flimsy story. He was gambling that Cherkassky would not take time to think, would not even be able to think, when she told him what lay in Tallon's brain. From being a semi-private vendetta on Cherkassky's part, or even a political maneuver by Emm Luther, the incident would explode into the sort of major crisis that topples governments. How things went after that would depend on Cherkassky's reaction. If he high-tailed it into the city, leaving Helen under guard in the ship, Tallon would go aboard and trust to the effectiveness of the vicious little automatic to clear the way for them both to get off the planet. Cherkassky might insist on taking Helen with him as a guide, in which case Tallon would have to try it on his own.
Seymour whined and twisted his head away from the ventilation louver, robbing Tallon of his view of the outside. He stroked the wiry head soothingly.
"Take it easy, boy. We'll soon be out of here."
He kept a tight grip on Seymour and held him back up to the narrow slot of light. There was the open ground clearance space at the bottom of the engine housing, and if the dog got out through it he would not want to come back. Tallon did not blame him, but he needed Seymour's eyes more than ever now. It was just about time for Helen to show up among the early morning crews, who were drifting to their jobs. The terminal was coming to life again after the long night, and he got the thought, once more, that somebody might decide to make use of the crane he was in.
Suddenly Seymour's myopic eyes picked up the coppery blur of Helen's hair and a vague green area, which was her uniform.
She went up the ramp and into the Lyle Star. Tallon crouched in the darkness, chewing his knuckles, wondering what visible evidence he would get of the success or failure of the gambit. A minute dragged by; then two . . . three. . . . The time stretched out agonizingly, with no sign of any movement in or around the ship. And then his question was answered!
The sky went dark.
Tallon's heart froze over with dread as he saw what was happening. A formation of six self-propelled guns drifted across the space field less than a hundred feet up, shutting out the light. Dark clouds of earth and stones flapped underneath them, swirling weightlessly in the eddy currents from their negative gravity fields. They fanned out and settled near the northern perimeter of the terminal about half a mile away, and at the same moment sirens screamed their deafening alert. The tiny figures of the technicians who had been moving among the spaceships halted as ululations of the sirens were replaced by a vastly magnified human voice.
This is General Lucas Heller speaking on behalf of the Temporal Moderator. The terminal is now under martial law. All personnel must proceed as quickly as possible to the southern end of the field and muster at the reception area. The entrances have been sealed, and anyone who attempts to leave by any other route will be shot. I repeat: shot. Do not panic, but obey these instructions immediately. This is a planetary emergency.
As the echoes of the voice rolled out across the rows of ships in flat waves, the sky was darkened again by laser rafts silently taking up positions over the field. Tallon felt his lips drawn out into a quivering, incredulous smile. His gambit had failed -- and how it had failed! Cherkassky must have accepted the part of Helen's story about the capsule, and seen through the rest. He must have guessed Tallon was near by and used the ship's radio to proclaim an emergency.
Tallon watched numbly as the space port personnel quit work and took cars or ran to get to the slideway system. Within five minutes the huge field appeared completely lifeless. The only sign of movement was in the swirling dust curtains hanging from the sentient laser rafts.
Nobody had come out of the Lyle Star since Helen had gone into it, and he had no way of knowing what had happened to her. Tallon could think of nothing to do except sit quietly in the darkness and wait, although he had nothing to wait for. He pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the engine housing and swore bitterly.
Five more minutes passed; then Tallon heard the sound of feet scraping on concrete. He lifted Seymour up to the louver again, and saw several men in the gray uniforms of the E.L.S.P. coming off the bottom of the ramp. An open military personnel carrier tore along the line of ships and stopped by the group. Most of the men got into it and were driven away toward the city; two others went back up the ramp and disappeared into the ship.
Tallon frowned. It looked as though Cherkassky might be covering Tallon's main bet by checking out the rest of Helen's story, which made Tallon's poiition doubly hopeless. And when the E.L.S.P. got to the warehouse address and found nothing there, she would be in as deeply as he was. Cherkassky was good, Tallon admitted, fingering the automatic longingly. If only he would come out of the ship, Tallon might be able to get close enough to finish what he had started the night he had shoved Cherkassky out the hotel window. Perhaps that was why he remained in the ship, even though he could no longer expect Tallon to walk into his net.
If he thinks I'm out here ready to risk everything for a last chance to kill him, Tallon thought, what would be his next logical move? Answer: order a thorough search of the area.
As if they had read his mind, the first E.L.S.P. appeared at that moment. They were several hundred yards away as yet, but the fact that he could see several gray uniforms in his limited segment of view meant they must be all over the place. Tallon leaned back against the flanged engine, holding the dog to his chest. There was nothing clever about his hiding place; it would be one of the first places the men would look when they got this far.
Weighing the automatic in his hand, Tallon sat in the darkness, making his decision. He could stay in the compartment until he was cornered, or he could opt to die in the open while making a one-in-a-million bid to get Cherkassky.
"Come on, Seymour," he whispered. "I told you you'd be out of here soon."
He clambered round the engine to reach the inspection hatch, hesitated for a moment, then edged the hatch door open, admitting bright fringes of daylight. He was sliding his foot out through the hatch when he heard the drumming of heavy tires and the whine of an auto engine approaching.
Tallon jerked his foot back and scrambled across the engine compartment again. The sound had come from the personnel carrier. It sped across the open space, braking hard, and slid to a standstill between Tallon and the Lyle Star. The same group of E.L.S.P. men leaped out and ran to the ship and up the ramp. In its present position, the vehicle would provide cover for his run to the ship, not that it would do much good, but at least he had no reason to hang back any longer.
"Come on, Seymour. This is it."
Out across the concrete apron a man gave a thin, high-pitched laugh. With a sweet, icy thrill Tallon recognized the voice of Lorin Cherkassky. Why had he left the ship? Tallon pressed Seymour's face to the slot, but the dog's eyes kept rolling back and forth, providing only tantalizing flashes of the scene Tallon wanted to see. At last he made out the black-suited, white-collared figure of Cherkassky walking toward the personnel carrier, with Helen and several E.L.S.P. men. Cherkassky seemed to be smiling at her, but Seymour's myopia made it difficult for him to be sure. What in hell, Tallon thought, has happened?
Belatedly remembering the eyeset, he flicked the number two stud, which still held Helen's setting, and got behind her eyes, Cherkassky's thin face and incongruously lush wavy hair filled came in view. His eyes were glistening with excitement as he spoke, and Tallon concentrated on his lips, reading the words as they were formed.
". . . appreciate my position, Miss Juste. Your story sounded slightly fantastic under the circumstances; but now that my men have picked up Detainee Tallon at the address you gave us, what can I do but apologize for doubting you? Tallon struggled at first, but when he realized it was no use, he gave up and admitted who he was, so . . ." The view of his face was lost as Helen eyes turned from him to the yellow engine housing where Tallon was hiding.
Tallon wondered if she were as puzzled as he was. The adress Helen had given Cherkassky was one they ha
d picked out of the air, knowing only that it must be somewhere in the warehouse district. But Cherkassky's men had evidently gone to the designated address and found a man they believed to be Sam Tallon. Not only that, but the man actually admitted to being Sam Tallon!
nineteen
Tallon switched back to Seymour's eyes and watched Helen, Cherkassky, and the others approach the personnel carrier. In a few minutes his way to the ship would be clear, thanks to that other Tallon, whose miraculous appearance was utterly mystifying.
However, Cherkassky was going to find out the truth, sooner or later, and when he did nothing would save Helen from his anger. She was walking quietly with the others, apparently unconcerned, but Tallon saw her look toward his hiding place now and then. This was it, he thought -- the last time he would ever see her -- and all he could do was watch her leave with that monster Cherkassky. In those few seconds Tallon felt himself grow old.
"Helen," he whispered.
At the sound of her name, Seymour twisted violently in Tallon's arms, jumped to the ground, and went scampering across the open space toward the group.
Tallon, still tuned to the dog's eyes, saw the figures expand in his vision. Cherkassky's pinched face turned toward the dog -- and Tallon -- with a sudden tight look.
As Seymour neared the group he began swerving to get to Helen, and the scene he was transmitting became too unstable to be satisfactory. Tallon reselected Helen's eyes and saw the little dog bounding forward, one of the men waving his arms to shoo Seymour away, and -- in the corner of her vision -- Cherkassky pointing at the crane and speaking rapidly. Cherkassky's shrill commands filtered into Tallon's hiding place.
Swearing savagely, Tallon lunged across the engine compartment, hampered by not being able to see anything but what Helen was seeing, and burst out through the inspection hatch. He saw his own feet appear under the crane at the far side, as viewed by Helen; then his gray figure appeared, running hard, and heeled sharply as it came round the corner of the base of the bright yellow crane.
Guided by Helen's eyes, Tallon ran desperately toward the ship. His legs were numb from the long wait in the confined space, forcing him to run with a grotesque, stumbling slouch. As he pumped his arms and legs, trying to coax some speed out of them, he saw the men fan out, pulling weapons from their holsters.
He heard the familiar angry whine of hornet guns. The range was a bit too far, and the drug-laden darts clattered about his feet. Then he heard the sound he had been expecting -- the flat cracks of pistol fire, followed by distant shouts as the teams of searching troopers heard the commotion. An automatic rifle barked, filling the air with screaming ricochets.
Tallon now saw the small blurred shape of Seymour, frantic with fear, racing toward him. The dog leaped for Tallon's arms, and the impact almost knocked Tallon down. He reeled and kept going, now halfway to the ramp of the Lyle Star.
Still through Helen's eyes, he saw Cherkassky run a few steps toward him, then stop and take careful aim with a pistol. On the point of firing, Cherkassky lurched as Helen caught his arm, struggling for the weapon. Cherkassky's face contorted with fury as he shook her off and aimed again. Helen went for him once more, fingers tearing at his face.
Tallon saw white coronas glowing round Cherkassky's eyes as he spun toward her, saw the black round muzzle of the pistol spit flame, saw the darkness flood over Helen's view of his own still-running figure. Then he was blind and snarling with mingled shock and hatred. He reselected Seymour's eyes and saw gray uniforms running toward him -- and Cherkassky standing beside Helen's body.
The automatic jarred into Tallon's palm as he turned with it, working the trigger as fast as it would move. Men in gray stumbled and fell under the hail of multiple bullets, but not Cherkassky, who stood there and finally got off a shot at Tallon.
Tallon felt something snatch at his sleeve, heard Seymour give an almost human grunt of pain. Then he was at the foot of the ramp and pounding up the springy slope. The blond sergeant appeared at the top, jaw open with surprise as he fumbled with his holster. Tallon fired instinctively, and the sergeant was lifted right off the ramp as he caught all six bullets.
"Get him, you fools," Cherkassky shouted angrily. "Cut that man down."
Tallon hurtled through the airlock, ducking beneath a hail of lead, and threw over the manual operation lever. As motors whined into life, swinging the heavy outer door into place, Tallon saw men sprinting for the bottom of the ramp. He fired at them, and then the automatic clicked impotently.
Throwing it down, Tallon ran forward and up the short companionway to the control deck, along a corridor, and into the control room. The view screens were blank panels, and the control console was dead. His right hand scuttled down the line of primary switches, bringing life to networks of circuits and systems. There would be a wait of perhaps a minute before the negative gravity units would be ready to drop the ship into the sky. A green light flicked on to indicate that the airlock was closed and the vessel now sealed for flight. Momentarily safe, Tallon slumped into the central seat and activated the view screens, grateful for the Block's meticulous training in the handling of all the basic control configurations.
The screens glowed with color, matching the smaller direct-vision panels, showing him a vista of ships and gantries. He picked out Helen's body near the personnel carrier, lying in the same position, dark green uniform, coppery flash of hair, dark red of spreading blood.
"I'm sorry, Helen," he said aloud. "So very, very sorry."
"Tallon?" A voice crackled from the ceiling near his head. "Is that you, Tallon?"
Tallon could see no grille from which the voice could be coming.
"Yes, this is Sam Tallon," he said warily. "Who are you?"
"This is Fordyce. I wondered if you would get as far as the Lyle Star."
"Fordyce!" Tallon began to understand the enigma of the appearance of the other Tallon. "You've had a bug in here all along!"
"Of course. How else do you think we were able to get a man to that address your girl friend gave Cherkassky? It was a pity you had to tell everybody about the brain capsule, though; it means we can't use that technique any more. The Block would have reprimanded you rather harshly."
" Would have?"
"Yes . . . had you got away. You won't be able to make it, though. There's a squadron of laser rafts right over your head, and Heller has thrown in all the tactical nuclear weapons he had available in the area. You'll never get past that lot; and even if you do, the Grand Fleet will be on your neck before you've cleared the atmosphere."
Tallon was still thinking about Helen Juste. "I guess," he said mechanically, "I've made my share of mistakes this trip."
"I guess." Fordyce's voice was emotionless. "Goodbye, Tallon."
TalIon did not answer. He had just noticed that the E.L.S.P. men outside were running away from the Lyle Star as fast as they could. Some of them glanced up at the sky as they ran, which meant the laser rafts were getting ready to use their bright red lances, and that his death was only a matter of seconds now. There would not even be time to get his ship off the ground.
Hopelessly, he reached out with his left hand to initiate the takeoff sequence and noticed that his fingers were streaked with blood, although he had felt no wound. Then he remembered Seymour's cry of pain as they were nearing the ramp. With his other hand he turned the little dog's head to get a close-up of the body. There was a ragged hole in the thorax, just above the rapidly ballooning and contracting belly. The brownish hair was matted with blood.
"You too," Tallon mumbled, feeling Seymour weakly lick his hand.
A blaze of red light flashed on the view screens, and the ship's alarm system shrilled as the laser rafts opened up on the helpless ship. Tallon sat with bowed head for a moment, trying death on for size. Then he did something only a man who was either insane or desperate would do: He reached for the null-space drive panel, knocked off all the safety gates, and punched the jump button.
The leap into ano
ther continuum brought instant silence and a searing flash of light from his eyeset. Tallon moaned with agony; then it was all over. The jump was completed.
Outside the ship was the soft, peaceful blackness of a part of the galaxy far beyond mankind's influence. Unfamiliar constellations glowed in the blackness. Tallon did not even try to identify the groupings of brilliant specks; he knew too much about the inimical geometries of null-space.
Because the jump had not been made from one of the established portals, Tallon had hurled himself to a random point in the galactic wheel. He had done it in desperation, but he had done it deliberately, knowing that from those dark immensities there could be no return.
twenty
At first there was only a feeling of emptiness, of relief from intolerable pressures and tension. The sensation was similar to the one he'd experienced the night he'd left the Pavilion, but now vastly magnified. He had no identity, and none of the responsibilities of identity. For a time he was nobody, nothing, nowhere -- and satisfied with his state of nonexistence. Then part of his mind began to comprehend the horror. Fear slowly permeated his entire being, until Tallon had to clench his teeth to contain it.
