Orbitsville

“Captain Garamond,” Mason shouted above tie background noise, “I can’t tell you how much…”

Garamond shook his head. “We’ll talk later. Have you a car?”

“It’s outside.”

“I’ve got to get out of here right now.”

Mason hesitated. “There’s official Starflight transportation laid on.”

“Remember the first day we met, Colbert? You needed wheels in a hurry and I…”

“Come on.” Mason lowered his head and went through the crowd like an ice-breaking ship with Garamond, hampered by the bulk of the suit, struggling in his wake. In a matter of seconds they had reached a white vehicle which had ‘TWO WORLDS NEWS AGENCY’ blazoned on its side in orange letters. The two men got in, watched by the retinue which had followed them from the hall, and Mason got the vehicle moving.

“Where to?” he said.

“The Octagon — as fast as this thing will go.”

“Okay, but I’m not welcome out there. The guards won’t let this car in.”

“I’m not welcome either, but we’re going in just the same.” Garamond began working on the zips of the spacesuit. That was a good line to hand the Press, he thought as the yammerings of panic began to build up. That was an authentic general-purpose man of action speaking. Why do I do these things? Why don’t I let him know I’m scared shitless? It might make things easier…

Mason hunched over the wheel as he sped them through the industrial environs of the city. “This is the part you flattened, but they rebuilt it just as ugly as ever.”

“They would.”

“Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Garamond hesitated. “Sorry, Colbert — not yet.”

“I just wondered.”

“Either way, you’re going to get another big story.”

“Hell, I know that much already. I just wondered… as a friend.”

“I appreciate the friendship, but I can’t talk till I’m sure.”

“It’s all right,” Mason said. “We’ll be there in less than ten minutes.”

For the rest of the short drive Garamond concentrated on removing the spacesuit. In the confines of the car it was an exhausting, frustrating task which he welcomed because it enabled his mind to hold back the tides of fear. By the time he had finally worked himself free the octagonal building which housed the Starflight Centre was looming on a hilltop straight ahead, and he could see the perimeter fence with its strolling guards. As the car gained height, and greater stretches of the surrounding grasslands came into view, Garamond saw that there was also a northern approach road to the Octagon. Another vehicle, still several kilometres away, was speeding down it, trailing a plume of saffron dust. It was too far away for him to distinguish the black-and-silver Starflight livery, but on the instant a steel band seemed to damp around his chest, denying him air. He stared wordlessly at the massive gate of the west entrance which was beginning to fill the car’s windshield. The car slowed down as guards emerged from their kiosk.

“Go straight through it,” Garamond urged. “Don’t slow down.”

“It’s no use,” Mason said. “It would take a tank to batter down that gate — we’d both be killed. We’ll just have to talk our way in.”

“Talk?” Garamond looked north and saw that the other vehicle seemed to be approaching with the speed of an aircraft. “There’s no time for talking.”

He leaped from the car as soon as it had slid to a halt and ran to the kiosk at the side of the gate. A sunvisored guard emerged, carrying a rifle, and stared warily at Garamond’s stained travesty of a Starflight uniform.

“State your business,” he said, at the same time making a signal to the other two guards who were seated inside.

“I’m Captain Garamond of the Stellar Exploration Arm. Open the gate immediately.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, Captain.”

“You’ve heard of me, haven’t you? You know who I am?” “I know who you are, Captain, but that doesn’t mean I should let you in. Have you an authorization?”

“Authorization?” Garamond considered putting on a display of righteous indignation, but decided it would not work coming from a man who looked like a hobo. He smiled and pointed at the dust-devil which was now within a kilometre of the northern gate. “There’s my authorization. President Lindstrom is in that car, coming here specially to meet me.”

“How do I know that’s true?”

“You’ll know when she finds out you wouldn’t let me through. I think I’ll go back to my car and watch what happens.” Garamond turned away.

“Just a minute.” The guard gave Garamond a perplexed look. “You can come in, but that other guy stays where he is.”

Garamond shrugged and walked straight at the gate. It rolled out of his way just in time, then he was inside the perimeter and heading for the Octagon’s west entrance door, not more than a hundred paces away. A second before it was lost to view behind the flank of the building, he glimpsed the other car arriving at the north gate. It was black and silver, and he was able to see a pale feminine figure in the shaded interior. The certainty of being too late made his heart lapse into an unsteady, lumping rhythm. He was breaking into a run, regardless of what the watchful patrolmen might think, when his attention was caught by a flicker of movement as a window opened in the transparent wall of the uppermost floor. Again he picked out a womanly figure, but this time it was that of his wife. And she was looking down at him.

He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted. “Aileen! Can you hear me?”

“Vance!” Her voice was faint and tremulous, almost lost in the updraft at the sheer wall.

“Pick up Christopher and bring him down to this door as fast as you can.” He indicated the nearby entrance. “Did you get that?”

“Yes — I’m coming down.”

Aileen vanished from the window. Garamond went to the door, held it open and saw a short deserted corridor with four openings on each side. He debated trying to find stairs or elevator shaft, then decided that if he tried to meet Aileen part way he might miss her. Elizabeth was bound to be in the building by this time and on her way up to the private suite. Aileen and Christopher should be on their way down — but supposing there was only one central stairwell and they met Elizabeth head on? Garamond entered a chill dimension of time in which entire galaxies were created and destroyed between each thunderous beat of his heart. He tried to think constructively, but all that was left to him was the ability to be afraid, to feel pain and terror and…

One of the corridor doors burst open. He caught a flash of brown skin and multi-coloured silks, then Aileen was in his arms. We’ve made it, Garamond exulted. We’re all going to live.

“Is it really you?” Aileen’s face was cool and tear-wet against his own. “Is it really you, Vance?”

“Of course, darling. There’s no time to talk now. We’ve got to get…” Garamond’s voice was stilled as he made the discovery. “Where’s Christopher?”

Aileen looked at him blankly. “He’s upstairs in his bed. He was asleep…”

“But I told you to bring him!” “Did you? I can’t think…” Aileen’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone up there to get Chris. I told you to…” Voices sounded behind him and Garamond’s hunting eyes saw that two guards had followed him almost to the entrance. They had stopped and were looking upwards at the building. Holding Aileen by the wrist, Garamond ran to them and turned. High up within the transparent wall, where Aileen had been a minute earlier, Elizabeth Lindstrom was standing, pearly abdomen pressed against the clear plastic. She stared downwards, screened by reflected clouds, and raised one arm in languorous triumph.

Garamond rounded on the nearest guard and, with a single convulsive movement, snatched the rifle from his shoulder and sent him sprawling. He thumbed the safety catch off, selected maximum power and raised the weapon, just in time to see Elizabeth step backwards away from the wall, into shelter. Garamond’s eyes triangulated on his wife’s ashen face.