the key. You must be tough to make it.”
“You’re tough enough,” said Sandra, “to make up for all the rest of us.”
“You do not like me,” said the Brigadier, “and that’s all right with me. No one ever likes a tough commanding officer.”
“It just happens,” Mary told him, “that you’re not our commanding officer. All of us could get along most handsomely without you.”
“I think it’s time,” said Lansing, “that we all knock it off. I’ve said some harsh things of you, Brigadier, and meant every word I said. But I’m willing to withdraw them if you will forget them. If we keep on squabbling like this, the venture, as you call it, will come to no good end.”
“Admirable,” said the Brigadier. “Spoken like a man. Lansing, I am glad you are on my side.”
“I don’t believe I’m on your side,” said Lansing, “but I’m willing to do my best to get along with you.”
“Listen,” said Sandra. “Be quiet, all of you, and listen. I think the wailing’s stopped.”
They were quiet and listened, and it had.
17
When Lansing woke in the morning, all the rest were still asleep. Underneath the huddled blankets, the Parson had uncoiled a bit. He was still in a semifetal position, but not tied up in quite so hard a knot.
Jurgens squatted beside the fire, watching a bubbling pot of oatmeal. The coffee was set off to one side, on a small bed of raked-out coals, keeping warm.
Lansing crawled out of his sleeping bag and squatted beside Jurgens.
“How is our man?” he asked.
“He rested fairly easily,” said Jurgens. “The last few hours he’s been all right. Earlier he had a spell of shakes, quivering all over. No use calling anyone, for no one could have done anything for him. I watched over him and made sure that he kept covered. Finally he quit shaking and drifted off to sleep. You know, Lansing, we could have brought along some medicine. Why didn’t someone think of that?”
“We do have some bandages and painkillers and disinfectants,” said Lansing, “but I suppose that was all that was available. It wouldn’t do us much good if we had other medicines. Not one of us has a shred of medical knowledge. Even if we had medicines, we’d not know how to use them.”
“It seemed to me,” said Jurgens, “that the Brigadier was uncommonly rough on him.”
“The Brigadier was scared,” said Lansing. “He has problems of his own.”
“I don’t see any problems for him.”
“He’s assumed the responsibility of watching after us. The kind of man he is, it’s quite natural for him. He worries about everything we do, every step we take. He acts like a mother hen. It’s not easy for him.”
“Lansing, we can look out for ourselves.”
“I know, but he doesn’t think so. He probably blames himself for what happened to the Parson.”
“He doesn’t even like the Parson.”
“I know. No one likes the Parson. He is hard to get along with.”
“Then why did you go walking with him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I was sorry for him. He seems so much alone. No man should be as alone as he is.”
“You’re the one,” said Jurgens, “who takes care of all of us. Without showing it, you take care of all of us. You have told no one about me, not about what I told you. Who I am and where I came from.”
“When Mary asked you, you begged to be excused, I figured then that you wanted no one else to know.”
“But I told you. You see what I mean. I told you. I trusted you. I don’t know why, but I thought it was all right. I wanted you to know.”
“Maybe because I have a father-confessor image.” “It’s more than that,” said Jurgens. Lansing got up and walked to the entrance. On the stairs outside, he stopped and looked about the plaza. It was a peaceful scene. Although the east was brightening, the sun was not up yet. In the thin light of early dawn, the buildings that surrounded the plaza showed pink rather than the red they would become when the sun came up. A tang of cold hung in the air, and somewhere among the ruins a lone bird was cheeping.
A footstep sounded behind him and Lansing turned. The Brigadier was coming down the steps. “The Parson seems little better,” he said. “Jurgens told me,” said Lansing, “that he had the shakes early on, but quieted down and seemed to be sleeping for the last few hours.”
“He presents a problem,” said the Brigadier. “So?”
“We must be about our work. We must comb the city. I’m convinced there’s something here that must be found.” “Let’s take just a few minutes,” said Lansing, “and try to think things through. We have never really tried to think the situation through. You’re convinced, I suppose, that somewhere there is a key that will free us from this place, let us go back to where we came from.”
“No,” said the Brigadier. “No, I don’t think that. I don’t think we ever will be able to go back to where we came from. The road back home is closed to us. But there must be a road to somewhere else.”
“You think, perhaps, that we are here, were brought here by some strange agency to work out a puzzle, to find our way to a place the agency wants us to go but insists we find on our own. Like rats running a maze?”
The Brigadier looked at him narrowly. “Lansing, you are playing the devil’s advocate. Why should you do that?” “Perhaps because I have no idea of why we’re here or what we’re supposed to do, if anything.”
“So you propose that we loll back and wait for events to take their course?”
“No, I don’t propose that. I think we have to look for some way out, but I haven’t the foggiest what we should be looking for.”
“Neither do I,” said the Brigadier, “but we have to look none the less. And that’s why I say we have a problem. All of us should be out there looking, but we can’t leave the Parson alone. Someone must stay with him, and that cuts down our force. We lose not one person, but two.”
“You’re right,” said Lansing. “The Parson can’t be left alone. I think Jurgens would be willing. He still has trouble getting around.”
“Not Jurgens. We need him with us. He has a good head on his shoulders. He doesn’t say much, but he’s a thoughtful one. He has a good eye. He notices things.”
“All right. Take him along. I’ll stay.”
“Not you. I need you. Do you think Sandra would be agreeable to staying? She’s not of much value in the field. At best she’s a fuzzy-headed creature.”
“You could ask her,” Lansing said.
Sandra agreed to remain behind with the Parson, and after breakfast the others started out. The Brigadier had the expedition well planned.
“Lansing, you and Mary take that street over there and go down its length. If you reach the end of it, then go to the next street over and come back. Jurgens and I will take this street and do the same.”
“What will we be looking for?” asked Mary.
“For anything unusual. For anything that catches the eye. Even a hunch. It pays to follow hunches. I wish we had the time and people to make a house-by-house survey, but that’s impossible. We’ll have to pick our shots.”
“It sounds haphazard to me,” said Mary. “From you I would have expected a more logical plan.”
Mary and Lansing walked down the street that had been indicated. Often the way was partially blocked by fallen masonry. There was nothing unusual to see. The houses were dowdy stone buildings, much the worse for wear and, for the most part, indistinguishable from one another. They appeared to be residences, although there could be no certainty of that.
They entered and explored a few houses, which were not at all unusual, since it seemed that exploring none was a shirking of their duty, and found nothing. The rooms were bare and depressing, coated with dust unmarked by any sign of recent intrusion. Lansing tried to imagine the rooms inhabited by happy, cheerful folks with words spoken and laughter ringing out, but found it was impossible to conjure up such images and finally gave up. The city was dead, the houses dead, the rooms dead. They had died too long ago to harbor ghosts. They had lost all
