Part 3 (1/2)
”Easy it is, Kinny. But give! What's the score? Where's Kolanides? Or rather, what happened to him?”
”Dead. So are the others, I think. They put him on a psycho-bench and turned him inside out.”
”But the blocks?”
”Didn't hold-over here they add such tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs as skinning and salt to the regular psycho routine. But none of them knew anything about me, nor about how their reports were picked up, or I'd have been dead, too. But it doesn't make any difference, Fry-we're just one week too late.”
”What do you mean, too late? Speed it up!” His tone was rough, but the hand he placed on her arm was gentleness itself.
”I'm telling you as fast as I can. I picked up his last report day before yesterday. They have missiles just as big and just as fast as ours-maybe more so-and they are going to fire one at Atlantis tonight at exactly seven o'clock.”
”Tonight! Holy G.o.ds!” The man's mind raced.
”Yes.” Kinnexa's voice was low, uninflected. ”And there was nothing in the world that I could do about it. If I approached any one of our places, or tried to use a beam strong enough to reach anywhere, I would simply have got picked up, too. I've thought and thought, but could figure out only one thing that might possibly be of any use, and I couldn't do that alone. But two of us, perhaps....”
”Go on. Brief me. n.o.body ever accused you of not having a brain, and you know this whole country like the palm of your hand.”
”Steal a s.h.i.+p. Be over the ramp at exactly Seven Pay Emma. When the lid opens, go into a full-power dive, beam Artomenes-if I had a second before they blanketed my wave-and meet their rocket head-on in their own launching-tube.”
This was stark stuff, but so tense was the moment and so highly keyed up were the two that neither of them saw anything out of the ordinary in it.
”Not bad, if we can't figure out anything better. The joker being, of course, that you didn't see how you could steal a s.h.i.+p?”
”Exactly. I can't carry blasters. No woman in Norheim is wearing a coat or a cloak now, so I can't either. And just look at this dress! Do you see any place where I could hide even one?”
He looked, appreciatively, and she had the grace to blush.
”Can't say that I do,” he admitted. ”But I'd rather have one of our own s.h.i.+ps, if we could make the approach. Could both of us make it, do you suppose?”
”Not a chance. They'd keep at least one man inside all the time. Even if we killed everybody outside, the s.h.i.+p would take off before we could get close enough to open the port with the outside controls.”
”Probably. Go on. But first, are you sure that you're in the clear?”
”Positive.” She grinned mirthlessly. ”The fact that I am still alive is conclusive evidence that they didn't find out anything about me. But I don't want you to work on that idea if you can think of a better one. I've got pa.s.sports and so on for you to be anything you want to be, from a tube-man up to an Ekoptian banker. Ditto for me, and for us both, as Mr. and Mrs.”
”Smart girl.” He thought for minutes, then shook his head. ”No possible way out that I can see. The sneak-boat isn't due for a week, and from what you've said it probably won't get here. But you might make it, at that. I'll drop you somewhere....”
”You will not,” she interrupted, quietly but definitely. ”Which would you rather-go out in a blast like that one will be, beside a good Atlantean, or, after deserting him, be psychoed, skinned, salted, and-still alive-drawn and quartered?”
”Together, then, all the way,” he a.s.sented. ”Man and wife. Tourists-newlyweds-from some town not too far away. Pretty well fixed, to match what we're riding in. Can do?”
”Very simple.” She opened a compartment and selected one of a stack of doc.u.ments. ”I can fix this one up in ten minutes. We'll have to dispose of the rest of these, and a lot of other stuff, too. And you had better get out of that leather and into a suit that matches this pa.s.sport photo.”
”Right. Straight road for miles, and nothing in sight either way. Give me the suit and I'll change now. Keep on going or stop?”
”Better stop, I think,” the girl decided. ”Quicker, and we'll have to find a place to hide or bury this evidence.”
While the man changed clothes, Kinnexa collected the contraband, wrapping it up in the discarded jacket. She looked up just as Phryges was adjusting his coat. She glanced at his armpits, then stared.
”Where are your blasters?” she demanded. ”They ought to show, at least a little, and even I can't see a sign of them.”