by Jerry Sohl
Together they had ransacked Gniessin’s room, though ransacked is hardly the word for their brief look into drawers and cabinets and files. There had been no time for any prolonged examination of microfiles of correspondence, directives and miscellaneous information. Emmett regretted that he couldn’t spend a few days going over it all; he could have learned a lot. But speed was vital.
The arms stores had stymied them for a while. They entered a large room and looked over the hundreds of weapons there, trying to find small ones. But there were only rifle-size sleepers and heaters, some with infrared devices, others with telescopic sights, still others with gauges and scales and calibrations that made no sense to either of them. But all were obviously too large to carry. It had appeared for a while as if they would have to leave the villa weaponless, until they went through one of Gniessin’s desks. There they found a cache of smaller guns and appropriated two sleepers and two heaters.
With their guns and money, the two went to the roof and moved among the four fliers there, deciding to take the two smaller ships. It was then that Dr. Smeltzer suddenly remembered his vials of morphine and had to go back after them. When he returned he said he had enough stuff to last him a year.
Emmett entered his flier, established contact with the brain through flier instruments and directed it to allow Dr. Smeltzer to take off. Then he waited until the flier bearing Smeltzer was out of sight before he lifted his own flier in the air. There had been no incident, no alarm, no restriction. And the flier was easily managed.
Once out of sight of the villa, Emmett contacted the brain again. “This is Gniessin,” he said. “I have just learned that the doctor due tonight is an imposter. His flier must be destroyed when it comes within range. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Gniessin.”
Then Emmett relaxed in the luxury of his first flight. With the Enemy doctor out of the way, he and Smeltzer would gain more time.
Now before him came a break in the continuous unrolling of trees, clumps of bushes, houses, pastures, fields, roads and streams. Buildings appeared and there was smoke, and then suddenly there were streets below him. Emmett swerved in a long curve and sought a suitable landing place. He lowered the flier gently as he circled the area.
When he edged the flier to the ground it was in the rear of a row of houses. He could have landed in the center of town, but he did not want to make a landing of record or speak to anyone officially. An official might have known Gniessin. Emmett could learn just as much this way and learn it much more safely.
No sooner had the wheels touched the ground than three children dispatched themselves from their game near one of the houses and ran for the flier. A woman appeared in a doorway. She yelled to the children. Emmett could not hear what she said. Then she moved inside and closed the door.
Emmett got out of the machine, the children standing nearby, solemn-eyed, open-mouthed.
“Is this Cornwall?” he asked the largest child, a white-faced boy of about ten.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Emmett walked briskly across the yard to the house, the children following silently. He knocked.
The door opened and a vast woman emerged like something prehistoric coming out of the underbrush. Her face hung loose on her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, and skin sagged in folds on her neck. Her eyes were frightened. She glanced anxiously at the boy before she looked at Emmett.
“I'm the area director for the Occupation Forces,” Emmett said gravely. “I am looking for a gypsy band that stayed in Cornwall for a few days.” Let her think the occupation forces were so stupid they wouldn’t know where a thing like a gypsy group would be at any hour.
“They was here,” the woman said. It was then he saw that she had no teeth. “They left a few days ago.” There was no love for him in her eyes. You’re a good woman, Emmett said to himself. A good woman in spite of your poor diet and your lack of teeth, for I can see what you think of the occupation and that’s why you’re in the condition you are.
“Do you know where they went?”
“To Reardon, I heard.”
“Reardon? Where’s that?”
The woman gave him a surprised look. “Twenty miles that way.” She pointed to the east.
“Thanks.”
The woman, recovered from her surprise and realizing all he wanted was this small bit of information, eyed Emmett malevolently. He supposed occupation officers were used to being looked at that way. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She had answered the questions. But she hadn’t volunteered anything. And that pleased Emmett. He reached into his pocket, peeled off a hundred dollar bill from his roll. That would feed a family for six months. He held it out to her. “Here, take this.”
Her eyes brightened with fury, and her breath was fast. Suddenly she spat. “That’s what I think of the occupation,” she said. “I’ve waited a long time to do that. Now go ahead and arrest me. I don’t care.” She straightened as if she dared him to.
“I’m not going to arrest you,” he said gently. “It may surprise you, but I feel the same way myself. Now take this money and forget where it came from.” He reached for her hand, put the bill in it, closed the fist and walked back to the flier, the children pattering behind him.
He waved to them as the flier rose in the air. They didn’t wave back.
High above the town he turned east and set the controls. Next stop Reardon. He snorted. Maybe it’s all a wild-goose chase, this searching for gypsies. Maybe they’re not immune. Maybe they’re not anti-commie. Maybe they have nothing to do with what Dr. Smeltzer was talking about. And worst of all, maybe I can’t reach Ivy through them. He suddenly realized that the last thing worried him more than he cared to think. Or, if Ivy is with such a group, maybe she is arrested now. Certainly she and the others were violating the laws moving around the way they were in the middle of the night, just as he was. And perhaps some action Gniessin hinted at when he first arrived at the villa had already been instituted and the group wiped out or denied boosters or sent to the labor camps.
He forced himself to think of other things. He would know soon enough who and what the gypsies were and whether or not they could help him. He took to watching the landscape fly by steadily, never ceasing to wonder at the greenness of it, and how neat the land looked from this height.
He was jarred from his occupation by a sudden shaking of the flier. It shuddered and dipped. His eyes flew to the fuel gauge. Plenty of fuel. What was wrong?
The flier stopped mid-air. It was absolutely stationary for a moment. Then it started again, veering southward.
Toward the villa!
He grabbed the controls. They would not respond to his urgent twists. It was as if an iron hand had taken them over.
Somehow his plan had gone awry. The doctor must have circumvented Emmett’s order. And now the brain—or whoever was giving the orders—was bringing Emmett Keyes back.
“This is Gniessin,” he said into the microphone. “I demand an explanation of what is happening!”
There was no reply.
He looked out the curving window, saw the countryside moving by quickly now. At this rate he’d soon be back at the villa. That must not happen.
Emmett reached into his jacket pocket, fumbled trying to get out the heater. At last he had it. He aimed it at the dashboard, pressed the trigger.
At such close range the metal and plastic of the instrument panel melted quickly, sparks flew about the cockpit and smoke rolled from underneath it.
Suddenly he felt the flier drop. He looked out, saw the land rushing up to meet him, heard the screech of wind past the air vents. It seemed an eternity before--
A violent jolt knocked him about the interior of the flier while sounds of crunching, tearing metal deafened him. Then it was quiet.
He could look out below and see the ground. He moved to the edge of the cockpit to see why the flier had not crashed to the earth. As he did so, the machine, out of balance, fe
ll sidelong, jarring him again. Now there were branches around the flier and a hasty examination showed he was about twenty feet from the ground. He tried opening the door. It was wrenched shut. Once again he brought his heater into play, melted the thick plastic upper half of the door, waited for the edges to cool, then carefully climbed out. He slid down the sloping side of the flier, went from branch to branch until he was within jumping distance of the ground. Then he remembered he didn’t have the booster vials. Well, he wasn’t going to climb up after them.
Now he’d have to move. Someone knew he wasn’t Gniessin and had tried to get him back. Now they’d come in person, they’d find the ship and then they’d start looking for him. He’d have to be far away by that time.
The sun had just about set in the west, judging by the tinge of orange-red on the tops of the trees. He jogged eastward through the trees.
Emmett had not gone more than a few hundred feet when he suddenly realized he’d have to get rid of Gniessin’s bracelet. As long as he wore it, he’d be easily spotted no matter where he was. Though the thought of tearing it out of his wrist was a painful one, the thought of being a beacon for a search party was a worse one. But he had no piece of mineral oil botde now, no knife, no anesthetic.
He increased his pace, was gratified to see an end to the trees in a few minutes. He ran in the twilight across cool fields and over fences and down rows of sprouting corn. At length he came to a house.
No timidity now. No hesitation. He ran up to the barn. Nothing in it but cattle. He went through it, came out the yard side, crossed this to the house. A thickset, bushy-haired farmer was working over a weeding machine. As he turned startled eyes to the man running up to him, Emmett’s forefinger closed on the sleeper’s trigger. The man crumpled like a rag doll.
A long-haired dog trotted around a corner of the house, stopped short when it saw Emmett. A moment later the dog was a mound of fur on the ground.
Into the house. The slat-thin, sallow woman’s eyes mirrored her fear. Her mouth opened for a scream that never came. She fell heavily against the set table, then crashed to the floor, most of the dishes falling to the floor with her.
The sound of running feet now inside the house. A young slip of a girl came through the door to the kitchen, never even saw Emmett, having eyes only for her mother on the floor. She soon joined her there.
A man with flaming, disheveled red hair, lather still on one side of his face, rushed into the room. He slumped along with the others.
Emmett stood still and listened. It was quiet now. He could hear only the thin whine of a motor somewhere, the bawling of cattle.
He hurried to the bathroom, saw the medicine cabinet at once. There was a safety razor with a lathered head on the sink. He took the blade out of it, carefully cut the stitches in his wrist. The blood dripped into the sink. The bracelet was loose now. The fingers of his right hand slipped in the sweat and blood in his effort to unsnap it, but he finally succeeded.
His wrist ached as if he had been cut to the bone, but he forced himself to set Gniessin’s bracelet carefully on the sink edge and looked through the medicine cabinet for an antiseptic. He found some, sprinkled the powder into the cut, then ran a plastic bandage around his wrist. No stitches now, but it would have to do.
Next he took up the bracelet, washed it under the faucet and put it into his pocket. He knew where he’d get rid of it. He walked out of the bathroom, found a man’s bedroom, confiscated a pair of trousers, a belt, shirt, socks and shoes. He put them on, took out the bracelet, tied it in the center of the small bundle he made of his villa clothes, then moved to go out-of-doors. On his way out of the kitchen he picked up an old metal dishpan.
Outside he searched through the farmer’s pockets, found a ring of keys. Next he scoured the ground until he found a nail. Using a large rock, he pounded a tiny hole in the dishpan. Then he tried all the keys until he found the one that worked the ignition of the old turbo in the driveway at the side of the house. His wheels spit gravel as he started out of the yard and turned into the road headed east.
Half a mile up the road he came to a bridge. He stopped the turbo on the far side, went down to the edge of the river. Spring rains had swollen it. The water was moving rapidly. Grinning with satisfaction, he set the bundle of clothes carefully in the middle of the dishpan, steadied the pan on the water, gave it a shove to the center of the stream. He watched it go swiftly downstream. He guessed it would fill with water in an hour, far down the river. Then the clothes might stay afloat a while longer before they became sufficiently waterlogged to sink. Let the bracelet be a beacon now. Let it draw their sensory devices. And let them figure it out when they found it. He chuckled as he walked up the bank to the turbocar. He’d be miles from where they’d find it.
CHAPTER - 16
Emmett had almost despaired of finding the gypsies when he came upon them at the turn of a corner on the outskirts of Reardon.
There beneath the early night sky, where the fields and farmlands began, was the gypsy assembly. It was every hit as he remembered it: colorful tents, bright fluoros that hung in strings from tent to tent, the spot-lighted banners atop each center pole, and off to one side the gypsy trucks and trailers. The sight of it gave him a twinge of nostalgia, for as a child gypsy time had always been a favorite time for him and the rest of the kids in Spring Creek. When the gypsies came, there was the fascination of watching them erect their tents, unload their wagons, and ’ trying to guess what each trunk and box contained. When the gypsies came there was always plenty to do and plenty to see. As he neared the camp the old feeling of excitement swept over him.
Already there were people on the short midway milling around, inspecting posters, listening to barkers, and just visiting, for the gypsies had always helped bring people together. It was like being home to Emmett to walk down this street, though he could not remember ever having seen this particular gypsy group before. The offerings were different.
He grinned when he saw the first poster. It declared that in the tent behind it was “the greatest collection of reptiles and amphibians in the world,” and promised a look at every snake, lizard, alligator and salamander in existence. Emmett wondered how many of them were alive. There was the added attraction of a big-muscled handler who, the poster went on, “had mysterious power” over the creatures, including the deadly coral snake.
The bawling of the barker at the next tent drew Emmett’s attention. He was extolling the talents of a man who could eat fire and glass and swallow swords. He was right inside, the barker said, and ready to begin. The price was only ten cents. Emmett moved on.
A single poster was stretched between two poles above the entrance to the next tent. Upon it was painted a crude representation of the human palm and lettered above it was:
MADAME
LE GASTA
TELLS ALL
NO PROBLEM TOO BIG
NO PROBLEM TOO SMALL
Your Future—10 Cents
Emmett gave the other tents only a passing glance. One advertised a “Man of the East” who endured unspeakable pain for the love of it. He shared the tent with a man who had been in a trance ever since the travelers had come to Reardon and who defied anyone to awaken him from it as long as they were in town. Another tent was occupied by a magician who, the poster declared, astounded all who saw him. He was scheduled to saw a woman in half “before your very eyes” at the next performance. Also advertised were several other feats equally unbelievable.
Emmett returned to the palmistry tent, paid a woman in a green robe at the tent flap and went in.
A smaller tent was inside, one of rich red brocaded cloth, and it stood at one side of the larger tent, many chairs facing it.
Dimly seen in the dark, draped interior were a table and two chairs. One of them was occupied by an old woman.
“Come in,” she said in a squeaking voice. “I am Madame Le Gasta. Your future is known to me. Come in, come in.”
Emmett crossed to the small
tent. The flap rolled down behind him as he seated himself across from her. A harsh light from above illuminated her wrinkled face, throwing her strong features into prominence as she reached for his hand. Her head was covered with a purple hood, her ears were hung with ornaments that jangled as she moved her head. A yellow shawl fell in many folds from her shoulders down her black dress.
“I see a troubled path before you,” she said as she ran cold fingers across his palm. “You are not happy, but do not give up, for your life line is a long one. What troubles you now will soon pass if you work toward your goal. I also see you are in love. Would you like to know if the girl loves you?” She lifted her head and looked at him. Her eyes were small, bright and hard. “It will cost only ten cents. A small price to pay to find whether a love is true. Is that not so?”
Emmett tossed a quarter into the tray at the side of the table, part of the change the woman at the entrance had given him.
“Ah,” the woman said, grasping his hand firmly, “the gods are good to you. The young girl does love you with all her heart. She is longing for you at this very moment. You should go to her and comfort her. You should tell her you love her.” She let go of his hand and looked up. “You have another question?”
Emmett took out a twenty-dollar bill. He put it carefully in the tray. The old woman’s eyes were on the money and seemed to have difficulty drawing away from it. When she finally managed to look at him again, her eyes were smaller and narrower than they had been.
