zooming ahead. Ronny prayed to whatever gods might be listening that it was Zeke making his getaway. He grabbed the door latch and flung it open, half expecting a blast from the big man’s shooter.
There was no blast. There was no sign of Zeke or Tanais in the alleyway beyond. They had already made good their escape.
He wished that he had time to think about Teucer and Minythyia, and about Zeke, for that matter. Why in the name of the Holy Ultimate had the man tried to finish Ronny off?
He sped down the alley, hoping he was taking a direction that would place him as far as possible from the Amazons behind in as short a period of time.
He came out on a side-street, puffing, and brought on himself the stares of various pedestrians in the vicinity.
He slowed down to a walk, grinning inanely, as though ashamed of being caught running.
“Beautiful day, eh?” he said to the world in general.
Somebody snorted. All turned to look away from him.
He walked as rapidly as was compatible with his desire to remain inconspicuous. His sickness had given way now to more simple symptoms of hangover. He had a crushing headache and was still up to less than his full strength, but at least he felt his mind was clear.
As he walked, he tried to think it out.
Most things he could think of added up to very little sense. First, why wasn’t this whole” area saturated with Hippolyte’s police, warriors, guards—call them what you would? He had been on various police-state planets during his years with Section G. If there was one thing they had in common, it was a plentitude of armed, competent secret police. He couldn’t imagine that house on Heliopolis Street not having been overrun with Hippolyte’s people within a matter of a quarter hour after he had revealed the situation of the underground hideaway.
And Zeke! Why had the revolutionary attempted to kill him? Was Zeke, rather than Teucer, the traitor to the Sons of Liberty? Had Teucer found out something about the big man? Why had Zeke been, well, indignant, at the suggestion that the Hippolyte’s people had never heard of the underground?
And Minythyia! How could it possibly make sense that the daughter of the Hippolyte was serving as an ordinary police private, or whatever she was? How could such people as the major and Clete treat her, address her, as though she was a nobody? The splendor of the throne room of Hippolyte’s palace gave lie to any theory that there was a comradeship between these women warriors that would allow the daughter of the supreme ruler to be treated as an equal by low ranking officials.
And Teucer! How did Teucer fit into it all? What was it the other was so anxious to talk over with him! And if he wasn’t a refugee from Lybia, what was he?
He called it all quits for the time and looked about. He was at a large square. Before him was a park with four colossal statues dominating its center. He concentrated, in spite of the headache, recalling the maps supplied by Sarpedon in the Octagon. The maps of Themiscyra.
Yes, he thought he knew where he was. The river, the Thermodon, would be over that way about four blocks. In that direction, to his right, was the sanctuary. Perhaps a mile away. He dare not go there. If anything seemed likely at all, it was that the Amazon police were going through his things with fine-toothed combs. He wondered with wry humor what poor Podner Bates was making of it all. He hoped the little man wasn’t in trouble for befriending Ronny Bronston.
The police were after him, his only contact with the Sons of Liberty, Zeke, had tried to kill him. He had no way of communicating with his superiors, nowhere to go and no funds…
Wait a minute. There were no funds, here on Amazonia.
He stuck a hand into the belt pouch of his outfit and fished forth the plastic card he had taken from Tanais when he had searched the boy there on the floor.
He stopped long enough to scrutinize the thing more carefully than he had before. It revealed little. His name and
If it wasn’t, he, Ronny Bronston, would soon find out.
In his walking, he had passed several of what he assumed were taxi. stands. Empty hovercars waiting for fares. There was a stand located alongside the park.
Taking his chances, he opened the door of a cab and slid inside, behind the driver’s joystick. He looked over the controls, noted the fare box screen and figured out its workings. He had driven twice with the major in limousines, once with Minythyia in a sports vehicle. Beyond that, he had driven hovercars, of slightly different design, on a dozen different worlds. On most, the wheel was used, but he had operated cars directed by sticks before. If anything, they provided a more delicate control.
He began experimenting. You dropped this lever. No, first you dropped the brake. Then you lifted clear of the street with this.
A voice said, “You have forgotten to put your hours card on the screen, Madam.”
He jerked his head around, inadvertently.
The voice was some sort of built-in recording. He brought his purloined card out and put it on the screen, and started all over again.
He was going to have to operate it manually. He had no idea of how to set the coordinates on the auto controls. He would have had to have a more complete knowledge of the city for that.
He got under way without much difficulty and concentrated on his destination. He was going to have to experiment, he wasn’t quite sure of the location.
However, he made it with little difficulty, cruising up and down the streets until he spotted the place. There were hovercars before it, but none that looked particularly as though they were police or military.
He stopped, removed the stolen hours card from the screen and climbed from the vehicle, half expecting it to say something further. It didn’t, and the moment he was out, took off into the traffic, evidently heading for some taxi park. He looked after it. Give credit where due. It was an efficiently handled service.
He looked up at the building. A fairly large number of persons were coming and going through the elaborate entrance. Most of them were women, but there were a few males. He continued to have difficulty telling them apart. Civilian clothes were all but identical. This was a continuing surprise. His first impression, picked up on the ship, and later in his audience with the Hippolyte, was that practically all women wore the armor-like uniform of the Amazon warrior. But here there were no such outfits in sight.
It was a minor puzzle, and he had major ones to solve. He mounted the steps and entered the building. Now his problem had only begun. He was afraid to ask questions. Just as surely as he did, he would stand out like a walrus in a goldfish bowl.
He doubted that his destination was on the first floor, although it might have been. He mounted, instead, to the second, and prowled up and down, hopefully.
Ronny Bronston’s luck continued to hold. There were name plates on the doors. He found what he was looking for twenty minutes later on the third floor:
There was a door eye and he activated it.
In less than a minute the door opened and she was there, smiling at him.
This was the crux, now. If she showed any indication that she was aware of the morning’s developments, he was going to have to overpower her. She said “Why, Guy! Guy Thomas!”
He grinned at her. “Can I come in?”
She stepped back. “Of course. So you managed to land all right. How in the name of Artimis did you know where I was?”
“Minythyia pointed the building out.” The questions didn’t bother him. At long last the Scop had worn off.
He followed her into a small living room. Evidently, she had been assigned a fairly comfortable apartment by the powers that be. She had been on the planet a couple of days before he landed.
“Minythyia?” she said, even while gesturing toward a seat for him. “I’ll bet this will come as a surprise to you. Do you know who that madcap Mynythyia is?”
“You mean the daughter of the Hippolyte?” He sank into the chair with relief. “Ummm, somebody mentioned it. Imagine her acting as a lowly customs officer.”
