“Hold on, now. If you fall on the solid stuff you’ll get burned.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Don’t quite know. Make your shot and I’ll think about it.”
“Right.”
Thaxton found his ball and whacked it, then went to the edge of the lava stream and scouted. He shook his head. No way. He watched Dalton, who was on the other side of the fairway making his shot.
He heard the screech of a bird above, and looked.
“Hmph. Now what.”
It was an enormous black bird, and it was gliding straight for him, sharp talons at the ready. The wingspan was staggering. The eyes seemed to have intelligence in them. Or was it malevolence? Thaxton pondered the question as the creature swooped.
The claws hit him and he was yanked into the air. The grip was like a vise’s but not crushing. He caught his breath and tried to pry the huge toes apart as the ground dropped away.
Of all the rotten luck, he thought, after my only good hole!
He wriggled and squirmed and managed to get one shoulder free. He lifted a leg and tried to kick the bird’s stomach, but couldn’t reach. He upended himself and kicked at the leg instead. He connected once, missed, connected again, thinking that he’d landed a good one.
He must have; the bird let go.
Of course by this time he was a good two hundred feet off the ground.
Nine
Hospital
He woke up in a hospital bed. At least it looked like one. Wires connected him to beeping machines and tubes ran into his veins. A single white sheet draped him.
He looked around. The room was windowless but bright, and was otherwise featureless, except for a slogan on the far wall.
DISCIPLINE COMES FROM WITHIN
“Sounds pretty kinky to me,” he said, trying to sit up. He was thirsty, and there was a pitcher and a glass on a small table nearby.
While he was pouring, a young man in a white coat came in carrying a small device with a screen. He was short and had a receding chin.
“You’re up!”
Gene took a long drink, then sat back. “Yup. What was it? Knockout gas?”
“What was what?” the man said, punching the keyboard on his device.
“Never mind. What am I doing here?”
“Oh, we’ve taken a good look at you. Ran some tests.”
“I’ll bet. And?”
The man looked up. “And?”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing much. You’re in perfect health physically. Mentally, fine. Spiritually, not so good, though.”
“Oh? What’s wrong in that department?”
“You don’t have InnerVoice.”
“I see. What’s that?”
“A guide to right behavior. Nothing more than that.”
“And I don’t have it.”
“Didn’t have it. We corrected that.”
“Oh, good.”
The man stepped to the machines and noted readings, entering them into the device.
“Is that standard procedure when you find someone without this inner voice stuff?”
“Pretty much.”
“I see. What did the police say about me?”
“Police?”
“I was brought here by the police, wasn’t I?”
“No, you were referred to us by the Citizens’ Committee on Solidarity.”
“Uh-huh. Not the police.”
“There are no ‘police,’ citizen. That’s a very old-fashioned concept.”
“No police?”
“They’re not needed.”
“Who were the guy and gal with the guns who brought me in?”
“Well, it sounds like you were picked up by the Citizens’ Committee for Constant Struggle.”
“You mean the army?”
“More or less.”
“You don’t need police, but you do need the army.”
“When the whole world has InnerVoice, then there won’t be any need for constant struggle.”
“Ohhh, I see. It’s all so clear now.”
The man smiled. “It will be. Hungry?”
“No. Actually I have a date for lunch. So, if you’ll get these tubes out of my lymph nodes — ”
“You can’t leave.”
“No? Is the Citizens’ Committee for Constant Struggle outside the door?”
The man shook his head.
“Are you going to stop me?”
He shook his head again.
“Right.”
Gene began yanking off tubes and wires.
“You’re not allowed to do that,” the man said.
“You seem like a nice enough guy, but up yours.”
The white-coated man shrugged. “It’s useless. You have InnerVoice.”
“I’m hearing exactly nothing, pal.”
“It might take a while for the systems to establish themselves.”
“Sorry, I can’t wait.”
Wincing, Gene plucked the needle-end of a tube out of his wrist and cast it aside. Blood welled from the hole, and he stanched the bleeding with a sheet. The flow stopped quickly enough, and he got unsteadily out of bed. He was naked.
“I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to ask for my clothes.”
“They may be in the storage closet near the unit station.”
“Thanks.”
Gene left the room. The hall outside looked like a conventional hospital floor but most of the rooms were unoccupied. He saw the unit station, a glassed-in office with monitoring instruments. Two female nurses sat inside. They looked up in surprise when he appeared.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he said.
He tried a narrow door and found a broom closet. A door across the hall proved to be a room with metal shelves holding a number of boxes. He rummaged in these and found his clothes. He got dressed in a hurry.
He peered out of the storage room. The nurses had gone back to whatever it was they were doing. Neither of them looked to be making frantic phone calls or sending out alarms. He left the room and walked down the corridor,
