As THE IONOCRAFT reached the northern border of the plantation, its articulation circuit creaked on and it declared, “This is as far as I am licensed to go. I’ll either have to alter course or deposit you here, miss. Take your choice.”
“I’d like,” Joan Hiashi said, “for you to carry me to those hills over there.” She pointed.
“Go ahead and like away,” the taxi said, and veered to follow the perimeter of the plantation. The hills receded.
“Okay,” Joan said wearily. “Let me off here.
The ionocraft settled into a deserted, unclaimed marshland, miles from the hills. Getting out, Joan watched gloomily as the cab unloaded her recording equipment. She had been prepared, to some extent, for this; she had on high boots.
“Lots of luck, miss,” the taxi said, and, slamming its door, rose into the sky. She watched it until it had disappeared from sight and then she sighed heavily, wondering what came next.
Possibly she could walk the rest of the way to Percy’s hills, but she could not carry the recording gear; it would have to be left here. In which case, why go to the hills at all?
A voice said, “Miss Hiashi?”
She glanced around, startled, then realized that it came from the right-hand cup of her bra. “Yes,” she. said. “What is it?”
“A small error,” said the voice which she now recognized as belonging to Marshal Koli. “I neglected, in your briefing, to inform you that your friend, Percy X, has, since last being in contact with you, taken special intensive training at the school of the Bureau of Psychedelic Research.”
“So what?” She did not like the Gany’s tone; he was trying, obviously, to break some sort of bad news indirectly.
“He’s a telepath, Miss Hiashi.”
Seating herself on her recording gear she let the full impact of this news sink in. Finally she said, “What am I going to do? Just wait for him to kill me? He may be zeroing in on me telepathically right this minute.” “Be calm, Miss Hiashi,” the far-from-calm worm said. “If you will set your bra transmitter to continuous broadcast we will be able to triangulate a fix on you in a short time and come to pick you up.” “Pick me up?” she demanded. “Or pick up what’s left of me?” Savagely she unzipped her nylon coveralls, tore off her bra, placed the right cup on a rock and raised a booted heel above it.
“Miss Hiashi,” squeaked the bra, “I warn you; if—” The voice ceased as she brought down her heel, hard, and heard a satisfying crunch as the delicate microscopic device disintegrated. The bra lay there, dead. She felt then a sudden sense of freedom. All the years of a faithful, cooperative wik—canceled out in a moment’s impulsive gesture. Or
perhaps she might in time find her way back into the good graces of the authorities. But—she couldn’t afford to let such thoughts cross her mind right now; Percy might be scanning them.
The noise of motors. She glanced up. And felt fear.
Another ionocraft, even more seedy and in disrepair than the first, came clatteringly in over the treetops; it settled to earth, somewhat bumpily, a few yards from her. Its door slid rustily half-open, stuck, shuddered; then at last, with a final surge of effort, moved fully aside to reveal a shabby, little-used interior that dated from years before the war.
“Are you from Percy X?” she asked. Her heart labored.
“I’m private, the ancient cab informed her tinnily. “Not part of a fleet, like you have up North. I do what I like. For twenty UN dollars I’ll convey you to the Neeg-parts. I’ve been following you, miss; I knew that creep of a wik ship would dump you off.”
“Are you safe to ride in?” She felt dubious.
“Sure. I own a very good Tom mechanic; I bought him with fares I saved up.” The cab added quickly, “It’s legal for a class-one homeostatic mechanism to own a Tom; since the war, anyhow. Only most machines are too stupid to make such a major investment. Get within, miss.”
She clambered in. The cab loaded her gear into its luggage compartment with many alarming creaks and clankings. Joan zipped up her coveralls and, as the cab ascended, adjusted her makeup in anticipation of her first meeting with the leader of Earth’s last remaining resistance forces.
“Listen, don’t be apprehensive.” the cab said. “I
ferry people to the hills all the time. I’ve got a monopoly; nobody else does it. That’s how I earn a buck. I can’t compete on the regular runs; I mean, I sort of smell bad, if you know what I mean. Some guy, when I was ferrying him, he said I smell like cat wee. Do you think so, or was he just trying to make me feel inferior?”
“He was trying,” Joan lied, “to undermine your self-respect. For neurotic reasons of his own.”
“I generally carry Neegs who want to join Percy X; they come from all over North America. From all over the world, in fact. But you’re white; I mean, anyhow, you aren’t colored in the true sense of the word. Watch out for Percy’s bodyguards, especially the man they call Lincoln, that he doesn’t shoot you before you get a chance to open your mouth. I see you have recording gear, there.”
“I’m going to try to record some of the Neeg-parts’ music.”
‘‘You’re in the music business? Sing a jazz tune for me. To pass the time.'
Joan said, “I don’t sing.”
“You know How High the Moon?'
She grunted in affirmation.
“That’s my favorite melody,” the cab continued. “Remember how June Christy, back in 1950, used to sing it?” It hummed the tune as it flew toward the burgeoning hills. At last the hills lay directly below. The cab, breaking off its humming, said, “Let’s have the twenty UN dollars now. Before they kill you.” Its voice had suddenly become hard.
As she placed the bills in the proper slot the cab descended in nausea-producing close spirals.
“My whole decent circuit is gummed up,” it ex- plained as it thumped onto the rough ground, bounced, at last came to a shuddering halt. “Sorry. I’ll give you back a dollar if you feel—”
“Keep it,” Joan said. And, opening the door manually, stepped out.
Wearing brown khaki uniforms, boots, with automatic side-arms, two Neeg-parts confronted her, both young and tough-looking. The cab hurriedly lurched into the air after first unloading, with frantic haste, her recording gear; it headed back in the direction from which it had come.
“Look at this,” one of the Neegs said conversationally to the other. “A lily-skinner. What do you know about that.”
“Isn’t she cute,” said the second, leering.
“You like to make the scene, baby?” the first asked.
His companion gave him a contemptuous shove. “You’ll get some white-man’s disease from her, man. That’s for sure.”
Joan said, “Can you take me to Percy X?”
They continued to talk to each other as if she had not spoken. “Well, what good is this white wik gal anyway?”
“She brought us some presents. Look at all that expensive electronic stuff.” Both men bent to examine it. “Ought to be able to do something with that.”
“But the girl, we can’t do nothin’ with her.” The man spoke to Joan directly. “I’m sorry, baby, but you can’t have no last meal or blindfold or nothin’ We too busy for any of that crung.”
Speechless, terrified, Joan watched the man raise his laser rifle to his shoulder and aim it point-blank at
her forehead while his companion chanted mockingly, “This is it, baby; this is it.”
When Gus Swenesgard regained consciousness, the first sight that materialized before his clouded eyes was the snout, lizard eyes and worm-face of a Gany. Marshal Koli; he recognized him. It’s got to be a nightmare, Gus thought groggily, rubbing his forehead and squinting.
But it wasn’t.
Looking around, Gus discovered that he lay near the hole which he and his turncoat crew of rascally Toms had dug. Night had come; a sliver of moon cast just enough light to make the swarm of attendant creatures around Koli look even more like a bad dream. How’d they get me back up to the surface? he wondered. I guess they can do anything, he decided bleakly. That’s why they won; that’s why they’re here.
