gas had worn off, but I wondered how much time I had before the Reticulan mindcontrol device began to work its stupefying magic on me.
I looked around. If anybody noticed I had moved they might guess I was temporarily immune. I could see someone's big boots, probably Sean's, sticking out from behind the left front tire of Carl's buggy. No one else was visible from my vantage point. I waited until some circulation returned to my arms and rolled over on my back again. The trailer was silent. I listened for half a minute. It seemed no one had been charged with keeping an eye on us. I struggled to my feet and hopped away.
The wand would have to be back here somewhere? No. I remembered that the device's range was more than a city block, and walls didn't seem to stop it. I searched the forward end of the trailer by the egg-crate section. Nothing there. Well, the drugs I'd taken should hold up for several minutes at least, time enough maybe to get free of the ropes.
The small tool compartment had been emptied, doubtless by our captors as a precaution. Awkwardly holding up the lid with my bound hands, I looked over my shoulder inside to see if any of the debris at the bottom could be useful. Nothing but stray nuts and bolts, a few scraps of paper. Then I remembered a wickedly sharp edge on a piece of the astronomical equipment we were supposedly hauling (delivery was just a bit overdue), a big cabinet affair with a metal counter. I had nicked my finger on it during loading.
A sideshow contortionist would have had an easy time of it. As it was, I nearly dislocated several joints angling myself to bring my hands up against the edge of the counter, which wasn't as sharp as I had thought. They had done a good job tying me, even wrapping the forearms to prevent me from bringing my arms around by wriggling my butt and legs through. I didn't have a knife edge to work with, but luckily I had some time. The rope material wasn't strong either. It took ten minutes to cut through, and I was free.
Everybody but Carl was back here, lying like corpses among the cargo: here Suzie, there John and Roland, Lori. They were probably questioning Carl about his strange vehicle. None too gently, I feared; but Carl was a tough kid.
I had to do something fast, and quietly. The monitoring camera in the trailer was still out, victim of the mortar shell; we had never gotten around to repairing or replacing it. But no doubt they would be listening periodically for any sounds of movement. I checked my pockets. No, they hadn't searched me and found the tranquilizers. Wilkes' analog had probably reported I hadn't had the chance to take any, but they might be back here at any moment to make sure.
Ho ho.
Why hadn't Sean mentioned the shooting irons in his buggy? There they were, under the front bucket seats. Well, everyone carries weapons in their vehicle?no need to mention it. Our captors had been negligent in overlooking them; but then they had been relying on the wand. I chose a heavy beam weapon of Ryxxian make.
The only plan of attack open to me, I thought, was a frontal assault?or backal, looking at it another way. I would have to crawl through the access tube and… do what, exactly? I felt a cold anger rising, an even more murderous version of what had come over me on Talltree. To be held against my will yet again, the fourth time in less than two months! It burned me. I was more than ready to just roll through the hatch and start blasting. I'd shoot all of them, every last one of the vermin. Moore, I'd do him first, just because of his conceited smirk and the sham friendliness he had shown me. Then Wilkes, if he was around. Him I'd hand?carve, slowly, giving Sam a ringside seat. And anybody else who was part of this would get what was coming to him. I'd see to that. The only thing preventing me from sliding right through and doing it was the possibility that Carl might get caught in the middle. So I crept, commandolike. At the far end of the tube I stopped. The hatch was slightly ajar, and I could hear voices.
All too familiar ones.
I eased the hatch open just the barest centimeter and peeked.
Geof and Chubby were sitting at the breakfast nook playing cards. Standing over them, kibitzing, was our old friend Krause, the sociable sailor, who had given us a hard time back on Splash. I had more or less settled the score with these three, with Geof especially, though I regretted not shooting the bastard when I'd had the opportunity.
Someone else came through the hatch into the aft-cabin. I couldn't see him but knew whose voice it was.
'You two'll be playing hearts on bloody Doomsday!' Zack Moore growled.
'Not really much to do, guv,' Chubby said lamely.
'You can bloody well get us something to eat. You've a bloody kitchen here?or haven't you noticed?'
'Have a heart, Zack,' Geof said. 'It was hard work cracking that safe.'
'Shut up and get this out to Darrell and Jules,' Moore snapped.
Geof dropped his hand of cards and caught the Black Cube.
'You get some food on,' he added to Chubby.
I pushed open the hatch and aimed the gun at Moore's midsection.
'Eat this, motherfucker.'
A tableau: Moore, mouth agape, standing in front of the hatch; Chubby caught in mid-rise from the table; Geof holding the Cube, gawking; Krause petrified.
Me on my belly with a monstrous weapon, wondering in the intervening few seconds whether I had it in me to cut a man down, even such a man as this, and the rest of them?mass murder? Would it be?
Somebody make a move, I pleaded silently. It'll make it easier.
But no one moved.
'We… have your friend,' Moore said cautiously, gravely. Tentatively.
'You are a dead man,' I stated.
'I have more men,' Moore went on. 'Outside. You'll never?'
'Dead,' I said.
Silence.
'Nothing I can do, Zack,' Corey Wilkes' voice broke in finally.
A question was forming in the air, hanging over the proceedings.
So?
The question slowly settled on me, became a vast weighty thing bearing down. Meanwhile wheels spun frantically in my head. My first shot should be to the CPU, knocking out Wilkes' simulacrum, taking the horrible chance that Sam's VEM wouldn't be damaged. I knew approximately where it was. But the angle was bad. Think, think.
'What do you want us to do, Jake?' Wilkes' computer-ghost asked mildly.
There was someone else, I knew, in the cab, waiting for Moore to either go down or get out of the way so as to get a shot off at e. I could shoot Moore and hose the hatchway, but Geof would in the meantime go for his gun. Or Krause, or Chubby.
'Oh my God,' Wilkes' voice said. 'Here they come, and what a time.'
'Bugs?' Moore asked.
'The same.'
Moore looked at me. 'See here,' he said. 'We're not getting anywhere?'
The next few moments were very confused.
Here is approximately what happened. The lights dimmed a little. Things and people began to sail around the cabin. I found myself floating up off the bottom of the crawl tube and coasting out into the air, finding it extremely difficult to move. An invisible wrapping covered me, a rubbery, yielding envelope of force. Coming out from the tube, I rose, did a midair backward somersault and bounced gently off the ceiling. Krause was levitating below me, and Moore below him. Chubby and Geof were twirling in air over the breakfast nook, struggling frantically against the unseen bundling that covered them. Other things were afloat, every object in the cabin that had been loose: cups, spoons, cards, somebody's sock?one of mine that had been left lying under the cot, I guess?and the Black Cube, which Geof had apparently let go.
It was difficult to move, but not impossible. I strained against the envelope and got my feet flat against the ceiling. Then I pushed off and rammed into Krause, rather into his envelope, which yielded sluggishly. I pushed him out of the way, brought my gun arm around and aimed at Moore, who slowly wafted up at me. I squeezed the
