Single Combat

was louder than any transmission he had ever heard from Control, but still bearable. For awhile.

In defiance: 'Can barely hear you, Control. Say again.'

The maddening noise increased slightly and stayed that way for a moment as Quantrill gritted his teeth. It ceased abruptly with Control's, 'Loud enough, Q?'

'The name is Quantrill. Let's hear you humanize us, shithead.'

'If you want to live,' said his tormentor, 'don't let your signal fade. Can you land a sprint chopper?'

His signal wouldn't fade as long as he was in range of a relay, which gave him much of Streamlined America. He had landed a Loring twice during maintenance checkouts but, 'I can try,' was all he said.

Keep the fuckers guessing.

Sanger signed, 'Maybe I can find us a hole. Wait one.'

Quantrill: 'Not always sure whose side you're on.'

Her eyes widened before she squeezed them shut, her mouth open in a silent agony. Her hands said nothing. The garrote wire said a great deal; she had not bothered to remove it. He saw moisture coalesce at the corner of her eye, begin coursing down her lean high cheekbone. She wiped it away in anger. Still said nothing, only stared at the nav charts.

Merely to keep the channel alive he said, 'If you're so goddam smart, Control, where am I?'

'A hundred thousand citizens are complaining about you, — Quantrill,' said Control. He had never heard his own name spoken conversationally by Control; the victory seemed larger than it was. 'You're over the Zion strip.'

'Bet your ass I am.' He glanced at Sanger; realized that pursuing sprint choppers or scrambled jets might soon make visual contact. If they got near enough, they could see into the canopy. 'At this altitude, you wouldn't want me to make a bobble. You might think about that while you're telling people to jump me.

And if you value your other aircraft, keep 'em out of chiller range. These little maintenance ports in the cockpit are made to order for it.'

At this mention of a sidearm, Sanger frowned, then quickly stripped the flesh-colored rover glove from her right hand, holding its thumb before him for inspection.

Quantrill did not understand until Control replied, 'Your chiller was in your locker at Dugway, Quantrill.

Any other little bluffs you care to try?'

He said one filthy word, drawing it out, then laughed. Sanger was offering the glove to his own right hand.

'I'm wearing the thumb of Sanger's right glove, control. It has her ID, and it's her chiller — so don't worry about me, sweetie; you worry about anybody who gets near me.' He saw Sanger mime 'OK'.

'You've been planning this a long time, Quantrill.'

'For minutes and minutes,' he said, letting the truth satirize itself. Ahead, the urban strip was thinning. He tapped Sanger's arm, pointed at the all-channel commset. ' Maybe I should make this public,' he mimed.

'Zap you right now,' was her silent reply. 'Looking for area I know. Coal mines. Safe if we get deep?' She ended with an interrogative; S & R had never intended its rovers to know how to mask a critic's reception.

'Quantrill: 'Near?'

A shrug, then the jab of a finger on the chart near Price, Utah. Between Nephi and Price were peaks reaching three klicks above sea level but a sprint chopper could clear them.

He nodded, pulled the Loring into a steep climb that skirted the southern edge of Salt Creek Peak. The closer he kept to the terrain, the less likely that any pursuer could maintain visual contact. Quantrill kept very, very close, choosing not to think what would happen if one of his prop shrouds gulped a bird or a fir tip, and veered to the East in a rocketing climb.

When Control spoke again it was with a different voice. The signature would have voice-printed the same, thanks to CenCom's reprocessing. But Quantrill intuited the differences; contractions, cadences.

All pointed to a humanness that Control did not normally permit in its transmissions. 'Quantrill, haven't we proven we don't want you hurt?'

'Su-u-ure. Cross convinced me,' he rejoined. He was trying to activate the map video display but did not know the cockpit layout that well. For a harrowing instant he found that he had set the autopilot; rushed to regain manual control as he flashed across the phalanx of treetops.

'We could ice you with the flip of a toggle,' Control went on imperturbably. 'You're valuable to us, Quantrill. Whatever was responsible for this momentary lapse, we need to talk about it. We're reasonable, Quantrill. If you head for Canada or try some — home remedy — to blanket our signal, we'll have no choice. If you give us a chance we can talk you down in one piece. Think of Sanger; we don't want her hurt any more than you do.'

Now the sprint chopper flicked above obscuring peaks, and Quantrill saw a secondary road winding through a valley far below. Now, also, the dense cover of trees was thinning. 'If you think I don't want Sanger hurt, try me,' he said evenly, eyeing her obliquely. Buying more time: 'But do I hear you offering me an amnesty?'

Control, after a pause: 'Something like that.'

Sanger, her face pleading, her headshake redundant: 'Never happen.'

Quantrill, aloud: 'Let me think about that. I'm a little pressed for time, Control.'

Sanger's hands spoke again. 'They'll promise anything; afraid other rovers have been turned.'

He nodded, scanning the distant range of bluffs ahead. These prominences were lower, dotted with vegetation, tinted orange and dusty rose under a pitiless sun. Sanger's finger thrust dead ahead.

'You must realize you're under surveillance, Quantrill,' said Control smoothly. 'But we'll honor your request to keep a respectful distance.' To Quantrill it meant they probably did not have visual contact — but no doubt they were trying.

At least now he knew why they hadn't pulled his plug before this: they were fouling their knickers in fear that the cadre of S & R rovers had somehow become honeycombed with treason. 'Control, if I pack it in, do I have your oath that I'll be released alive?'

'Absolutely,' said Control.

' Interrogate, then ice you,' Sanger signed. Beneath her tan lay a dreadful pallor.

Quantrill, you are now in the vicinity of Seely Mountain, proceeding East,' said Control. But they might know that from the relay station there. Perhaps they still didn't have a visual.

Well, let 'em think he was convinced. 'What sharp eyes you have, granny,' he said, craning his neck to see the lake far away. He pointed, unnecessarily. Sanger was already aware of it.

' Five minutes that way,' she signed, her hand slicing a point northward.

In five minutes, unless Sanger was a lousy chart reader, they'd have some real deceptions to practice.

Now the land was sere and hostile; box canyons sharply defined, horizontal strata of black and blonde painting the canyon walls. They had over an hour's fuel left, and he was tempted to stay aloft until the last possible second. Which was, in all probability, just what Control expected. It wasn't like Control to negotiate; those bastards depended on absolute obedience. Which suggested that they might have a fresh brain in the circuit, a slick negotiator, perhaps a psychologist.

But psych people had their knee-jerk reactions too. 'Thinking it over, Control,' he said. 'Do you have anybody online who can tell me how to land this thing? Just in case,' he added that tiny bit too quickly, smiling to himself. He was developing an idea, a balls-out crazy one. 'Don't kid yourself that I can't do it alone. I'm not afraid,' he said. That last word, he judged, would convince them he was scared shitless.

So scared, in fact, that he could never contemplate the action he was about to take as Marbrye Sanger pointed a triumphant finger ahead.

CHAPTER 34

Sanger was mentally exhausted from trying to ignore the demands of Control. They'd asked if she could communicate and she'd ignored them. Then they'd suggested she try removing the garrote wire; bolting toward the