Part 4 (1/2)
”Good?”
”Yes. You are now legally dead. You can enter the outside without fear of discovery.”
”Do I go back for Lisa yet?”
”You're still determined to go back?”
”Yes.”
”You Performers are a hearty lot Storm was the same way.”
”Storm? Did he demand front line action too?”
”Yes. He was using a different name: Fredrick.”
”Oh G.o.d!”
”Exactly. You are still determined on going for Lisa yourself?”
He thought of Tom Storm/Fredrick sprawling across the seat of the floater, his head gone. And he thought about Lisa and c.o.c.kley and held his resolve. ”I'm going back for her.”
McGivey sighed. ”Very well. You will be taken to a secret training area next. You will learn all manner of self-defense, personal trickery, deceit, so on. You'll be put in the care of Nimmy, our best and number one man.”
”Nimmy?”
”Roger Nimron. The President.”
PART TWO
LESSONS FOR A REVOLUTION.
Chapter One.
Mike Jorgova watched the barren fields flash past. Most of the snow had melted since his escape. Gray mounds of ugly slush lay at cliff overhangs where plows had shoved them. Muddy, brown earth showed through most places. Snow was a problem even for floaters, for it did not present a solid enough surface for the blowers. It sent the vehicles in weaving, bobbling flight paths that usually ended in disaster. In many of the newer highways, heating coils were being installed in the roadbeds to vaporize the snow before it could lay. In time, plows would be obsolete.
The fields, meantime, were barren.
But the sky was a bright and cheerful blue, and the contrast kept him from sinking into an emotional mora.s.s that had been lying stagnant in the rear of his mind all morning. It was a swamp of doubt. Again, he had no idea where he was going, why, or for exactly what purpose. ”Further training” was a very vague phrase. He felt the gray smog of unbelonging creep over him again. In the distant corners of his mind, there was a flame named Lisa that burned through the overcast. Perhaps it was that which kept him going. Yet he did not wholly trust that flame. It was a symbol of love to him, yet he was not certain that he loved her. He had never known another woman. He had been conditioned to love Lisa. It was the knowledge of that which made him afraid. He wanted to overthrow Show. He hated c.o.c.kley and all the things the man stood for. But he was afraid that once he faced Lisa the flames would prove a false spark. His single purpose would be hollow and meaningless. It was a great fear; and it was black.
A flock of geese drifted from horizon to horizon.
He forced his thoughts from the pessimistic and tried to concentrate on a few of the mysteries he had not yet solved. He still did not know where McGivey lived. The house was certainly underwater, for he had felt the pressure as they had left it, heard the turning of screws, felt the breaking free and switching to floater status. They did not remove the blindfold for thirty minutes. When he could see again, the only water was in the form of snow and melting snow in the drainage ditches. Now he was going to an equally mysterious place, one which harbored the President of the United States. McGivey had explained that c.o.c.kley's men had tried to kill Nimron, forcing the President to secrete himself while circulating public announcements that he had taken a short working vacation. No one questioned the announcement. Very few people even cared. Only slightly over a quarter of the populace could identify the President by name, the latest poll showed. People generally cared very little about the activities of a minor official.
”You had best blindfold yourself now, Mr. Jorgova,” the driver said, handing him a white cloth.
”Again?”
”It's top secret.”
”But I can be trusted.”
”Until you take the Prober test-excuse my bluntness- we can't be sure.”
”Prober test?”
”You'll find out in time.”
He did not like the sound of it, but he snapped on the magnetic cloth and sat pa.s.sively as the floater dipped, fluttered onward toward Roger Nimron and ”further training.” Half an hour later, the car paused. The driver said some nonsense phrase through the comsystem. There was a moment of silence, then a great rumbling. The air blades echoed now, the soft coughing resounding from nearby walls. Then the rumbling sounded again, behind them this time.
”You can remove your blindfold,” the driver said, getting out of the vehicle.
He did as told and found himself in a great cave whose floor was concrete and whose bats-mechanical-were round, with wheels instead of wings. The dark shapes, carrying men, fluttered through steel scaffolding from one bank of instruments to another. He got out and looked about. The size of the chamber was staggering. It was as large as six football fields. There were two dozen floaters parked in stalls along the far wall. Four jet fighters, two reconnaissance planes, two helicopters, and a tank rested to the left. To the right were shrouded, blunt shapes that suggested missiles.
”This way,” the driver said, leading him to the gray doors of an elevator built into the solid rock.
Above, the metal bats scurried about. Their riders jumped out now and then to listen to a dial, a gauge, a graph. All the instruments of measurement talked incessantly, stating the temperature, the pressure, a million things. Thousands of ghosts in the ceiling. Their whispers carried to the floor, though indistinct and unreal.
The elevator doors yawned open, the mouth of a huge leviathan.
He got in. ”Up?” he asked of the driver.
”Down,” the driver answered.
”How deep are we?”
”Cla.s.sified.”
”Where are we?”
”Cla.s.sified.”
The fear of not belonging crept up, but the flame still burned.
The doors hummed open just as the lift jerked to a halt.
There were two guards.
One of them leveled a gun at him, shot him in the stomach...