Alan E. Nourse (12 page)

"He's in a position to do a lot of good
for Titan, if he would—"

Tuck
nodded.
"If he could be made to understand.
Look—you told me you had a plan—"

"That's
right. I've already set it in motion. I've let the Big Secret out of the bag—to
you." David scowled, and started to tighten down his helmet. "I think
we should get dad and the Colonel together and tell both of them what we've
been talking about."

"It might do some
good—"

David
looked worried. "But the Colonel could send the word straight back to
Earth if he didn't want to co-operate—"

"He
wouldn't if we made him promise before we told him."

"Would he keep his
promise?"

Tuck
bit his lip. "He's never broken a promise to me before.
Never."

David
nodded,
his eyes bright again. "It might work. It
might at least clear the air. All we've got to do is make them sit across the
table from each other and talk. And that's all it would take. Just one hour of
straight talk—" He glanced down at Tuck's legs. "How are they
feeling?"

"Warmed
up now."

"Good. Let's give this
buggy a trial."

They
climbed out in the dimming light, and worked feverishly. After interminable
minutes, Tuck got the last wire in place. He looked at it critically, finding
no fault,
then
waved at David. "I think it's
ready on this end."

David drove the final rivet, and nodded,
eying the narrow gully into which the ship was nosing. It was strewn with
boulders and jagged rocks. Tuck jerked a thumb at the half-track. "Why
don't we bulldoze a take-off path?"

Together
they searched for a large stone with a flat side, and brought the 'track over
to it; in a few moments they had it chained securely to the front of the
machine, and started the half-track moving down the gully with the rock as a
bulldozer blade, shoving rocks and debris to either side with an incredible
crashing and flying of rock and snow. The half-track engine whined and roared
like a tormented thing, bucking and heaving against the load of rock, but
finally they had left behind them a fairly level path, and David studied it,
and nodded with satisfaction. "That should do it, if the jet holds, and
doesn't warp too much. You stay in the 'track and be ready to duck if I start
to spin."

Slowly
David clambered into the cockpit of the
Snooper,
pulling
the patched hood down over his head. Tuck moved back, suddenly tense. He
watched with his heart in his throat as the whining sound of the priming
engines suddenly began, muffled, as though far in the distance. For almost five
minutes the whine remained steady, then suddenly revved up to the familiar
earsplitting squeal of the jet motor. If only nothing went wrong! Deep in his
heart, Tuck longed to sit at the controls of that little ship, to head out from
the colony, flying low, with telescopic scanner searching out and exploring
every crack and crevice. He would have to wait until David offered him the
controls, but he could almost feel them in his hands, almost feel the nose of
the ship lift, slick as a whistle, sliding up into the dark blue sky—

The jets coughed blue flame, then settled
down to a steady pencil-thin streak, so hot Tuck could almost imagine it
scorching his eyebrows. With a sudden thrust the little ship jerked, then began
sliding down the bulldozed trough, riding the skids smoothly, faster and
faster. And then, like magic, it rose in a burst of speed, the nose lifted, and
the ship skimmed off the ground, up and up in a slightly weaving course; in an
instant it was clear, skimming into the air like a graceful bird, moving up in
a wide arc, curving back down overhead with a squeal of thunder, and off again
like lightning in the direction of the colony.

Tuck
waited, his heart pounding with excitement. It worked! A little unsteady, a lot
that should be done before it was used for an extensive flight, but it was
flying!
He leaned back in the half-track seat,
waiting impatiently for David to return. The minutes ticked by —five, ten. He
shifted in the seat, peering anxiously at the rapidly darkening horizon, a
flicker of fear in his mind. Fifteen minutes—and then the ship squealed back
overhead again, and slid down in a long arc to land on a level stretch beyond
the rocks, just as the sun fell beneath the horizon. The pale light of Saturn
threw the rocks into weird relief; Tuck snapped on the emergency lamp, swung it
along the dark ground until it picked up David hurrying across the jagged rocks
on foot. But it wasn't until David was actually climbing up into the 'track
that Tuck saw the paleness of his face, the worried wrinkles around his eyes.

David
slammed down the hood and sealed it without a word, revving the engine at the
same time. Then he said, "Better hold on tight, my friend. We're going to
run for it—"

Alarm exploded in Tuck's
mind. "What's wrong?"

"Something inside the dome.
It looks like the whole colony is assembling
in the main hall—"

"
Cortell
?"

David
nodded
grimly,
and the half-track started with a jerk.
"I don't like it. I could see the people coming up to the hall—and they
didn't look very peaceful—"

_{Chapter
11
The
Ultimatum}

iE
trip
back to the colony was a nightmare that Tuck was to remember as long as
he lived. The darkness settled like a cloak, blacking out the sky more and more
as the glowing, ringed planet that hung in the sky sank farther and farther
toward the horizon, throwing a weird, deceptive gloom over the path. The
emergency lamp flickered and blinked, hiding the deep crevices in a limbo of
shadow and half-light, turning the rocks into indistinguishable black blobs
that suddenly resolved into light and shadow only when the half-track was upon
them. They tried to follow their tracks; David huddled grimly over the steering
bar, panting and struggling, twisting it as the car lurched and shuddered. Once
they struck a huge boulder with an earsplitting crash, and a shower of rocks
and boulders hailed down on the plastic top. A little later the caterpillar
tracks slipped on a steep, angled grade, and the 'track slid crashing down into
a crevice, lodging tight at a ridiculous angle. David threw the engine into
four-wheel drive; the soft pillow wheels in front spun as though embedded in
thick jelly, until the 'track lurched, and lurched, and finally gave the
caterpillars

some
traction, and the car lumbered out. Not a
word was exchanged between the boys; David fought the bar in a frenzy of silent
desperation, and Tuck gripped the safety bar for dear life, trying to protect
his head from banging on the overhead or the front panel. He felt numb; he
tried to think of what David had said, but his thoughts were incoherent. A meeting
at the colony could mean a dozen things, a hundred things. What if
Cortell
had called a convention? The men were angry,
excited—could there be a mob meeting to break Anson
Torm's
power, for the last crushing blow? Or could it be an attack on the Colonel,
turned upon him when he was helpless and alone in the colony? It didn't make
sense, nothing made sense as Tuck held on tightly in the lurching vehicle, and
he just sat, praying that the half-track would not get stuck somewhere on the
way-It seemed hours before they mounted the final rise and started down the
valley toward the colony. The lights were bright; the bubble gleamed like a
magic thing in the blackness, but when they reached the lock, a single man was
the only human being in sight. The man admitted them, thrusting his thumb over
his shoulder. "Better step on it," he shouted as the boys climbed
out. "Down in the hall—there's a general colony meeting going on—"
"Who called it?"

"Petition.
Two hundred signatures.
And it sounds like it's hot as ore slag—"

"Who
was pushing the petition?" David struggled out of his pressure suit,
panting, his face white.

"Well, it wasn't your
father, you can bet on that.

Cortell
has been out of hiding, down in the mines—
him and some of his men.
Been going through the mines all
day, whipping the men up until they're fighting mad."
The guard
gave Tuck Benedict a black look from the corner of his eyes, and lowered his
voice to a whisper. "He's been telling them that Anson's made a dirty deal
with that Earthman—"

David's
face whitened, and he started at a run for the hall, Tuck close at his heels.
The colony was deserted; every cabin was empty, the lights burning stark in
the gloom; the porch of the trading post was empty. Down the road two children
were wandering, hand in hand, whimpering, and somewhere far away, Tuck heard a
baby squalling, a tiny, helpless, lonely voice shrilling in the darkness. The
boys reached the stairs and plunged down, and then at the bottom they stopped
and wormed their way into the crowd of excited people. The meeting was in
progress.

The
room was filled, every seat, every bench. At the head of the room Anson
Torm
sat at the table, a huge service revolver on the table
in front of him; the electric lights were dim, and someone had erected two huge
torches that burned
smokily
on either side of the
room, making flickering shadows dance along the rough-hewn walls. Colonel
Benedict was also in the front of the room, sitting to one side, his face an
angry mask. And standing up in the center of the room was a huge, burly man,
talking in a heavy bass rumble. The man held a hat in his hand, and his words
were greeted with a mutter of approval from people on all sides.

"—All I know is what I can see,
Anson," the big man was saying, wrenching his hat nervously in his hands.
"I been with you right down the line—you know that's a fact. But what
Cortell
says is beginning to sound just about right."

"You
mean what
CortelTs
stooges have been spreading
around the colony—
is
that right?" Anson
Torm's
voice cut like a knife in the still air.

"I
got eyes," the miner snapped back. "What I see is you and this
Earthman
throwin
'
Cortell
in jail, and
holdin
' secret meetings. I don't like
it. Maybe I don't think
Cortell's
always right, but
he's a colonist, and he's got the good of the colony at heart—"

"And
that's more than some people can say"
a voice snarled from the rear. A dozen men
burst into angry approval. "What have you got to say, Anson?" somebody
shouted. "
Cortell
says you're selling us
out—"

Another
man jumped to his feet, shaking his fist. "You've been whining around this
Earthman's feet for two days now—where has it got you? You've been saying
there'd be
changes, that Security would listen to us when
they sent a man out—well
, how about it? Where are the teachers for our
kids?
And the money for the new school—how about that,
Anson?"
The man's face was bitter. "What about the building materials
they've promised us for years, so we wouldn't have to five in these hovels?
When are they going to send us the men we need to run this place so we don't
have to work sixteen-hour days?"

Torm's
eyes flashed angrily. "Do you think I
can help Security's broken word? Who do you think is stopping all these things?
Me?
Do you think
I
am?"

The man on the floor raised his hand and
pointed at Colonel Benedict. "That's the man that's doing it—and you're
playing right along with him! He's got the power and authority to get changes
made if he feels like it. But he doesn't feel like it. All we hear is more work
and less food." He turned his eyes to the crowd, waving his hands wildly.
"Well I say throw '
em
both out! Shut down the
mines for a while, and see how Earth Security likes it. I say let's go along
with
Cortell
—"

A
cheer went up in the room. Another man was on his feet—it was Taggart, the man
Tuck had seen making the rounds of the cottages after
Cortell's
escape. "Seems to me there are two men to blame," he said, his voice
very loud and smooth. Faces turned to him, angry faces. "The one of them
is just a spy, an ordinary stooge like all of them Security sends out to crack
down harder on the whip. But the other one is worse than any spy could
be—" His eyes caught Anson's face, and he stabbed a hand at him, savagely.
"That's the man you want to watch. We can fight Earth—and we can win!
Don't listen to the old man; listen to the one that's on your side. We can blow
up the mines and starve them for power—we could have done it years ago, but oh,
no,
Torm
handed us lots of nice words and pretty
promises. Well, the time to break it off with Earth is now.
Suicide?
Hogwash! Blow up these mines, and Earth is stripped! And even if it
is
suicide—" he paused, glaring around the room. "Well, we've got
fathers and grandfathers who died for this colony—what's wrong with you? Are
you afraid? Have they got you cowed?
Torm
is the
traitor—let's throw him out, send him back to Earth with his spy friends, and
let a
man
lead the colony like it ought to be
led—"

Torm
stood up slowly, his face very tired. With a
trembling hand he banged on the table for silence. Then he said, "In six
months the laws governing this colony call for a convention of all colonists
and a general election—either to confirm the old leader, or elect a new one.
That's the law—you voted for it; you laid it down. When that election comes,
it'll be you who does the voting, and you can vote for the Devil himself, for
all I care. But until then, I'm still the leader here, with the power to sign
warrants and enforce law. And I say John
Cortell
has
attempted murder. I say he'll stand trial for it, and anyone who's helping him
will stand trial.
Shut
up, Taggart,
you've
had your say, just the way
Cortell
told you to say
it. Now I'll have mine."

He
brushed a hand over his forehead, and leaned forward, both hands on the table.
"You've done a great job tonight," he said bitterly.
"A great job.
You expect Earth Security to trust us, to
give us more freedom, more education, more respect—and then you put on a show
like this. Well, it won't work. You want to go along with
Cortell's
insanity—well, that won't work, either. It's suicide. What you're talking about
is the end of the line. And as long as I'm leader, I won't let you do
that—"

Taggart
was on his feet again. "We've had about enough of your soft talk, Anson.
How about it, men? Are we going to wait for an election?
Cortell
says the time is
now—
are we going to give this Earth spy six
months to get a nice fleet of Security Patrol ships out here to fight us?"

One of
Torm's
men
jumped to his feet, hands in pockets, avoiding Anson's eyes. "Now wait a
minute, Taggart—we've got to go slow. This—this all is happening too
fast." He looked unhappily at the colony leader. "Anson, I've been
with you, too—but now I don't know. We're in too deep now.
Cortell's
plan is risky, I admit that—but you can see for yourself—" he gestured
helplessly.

"
Attaboy
!"
Taggart shouted.
"How
about some more of
Torm's
men?
Carter?
Aaronstein
?
Miller?
What have you got to say?"

"I
say you're a pack of fools!" Ned Miller shouted, jumping up on a chair so
he could be seen. "This colony has never had a better leader, and you
know it.
Cortell's
plan
risky?
Is cutting your throat risky? You're fools, the whole crowd of
you—"

The
whole room was explosive now; Tuck caught David's arm, whispered sharply in his
ear. "We've got to do something! This place is going wild!"

David
shook his head desperately. "We can't. There's no time—"

Tuck
saw his father, sitting like a statue, his face bleak. He looked tired and old,
as though the life had been torn from him, and he was a corpse sitting there in
the front of the room. Then suddenly Colonel Benedict came to life; he slammed
his fist down on the table, and stood up, bitter anger heavy on his face. He
was dressed in full Security uniform, and he stood proudly, his back straight,
gray hair perfectly combed, mustache crisp above thin-drawn lips. This was the
picture that was so familiar, Tuck thought, the picture of Earth that the
colonists had, and hated so much. The Colonel stepped in front of the table,
and the uproar subsided, reluctantly, every eye turning to the Colonel's face.

"I've
heard about as much of this as I want to hear," he said quietly, and his
voice held a whiplash in its softness. "I don't care a hang whether you
consider me a spy from Earth, which I am not, or a legal, authorized delegate
of the Earth Security Commission, which I am. And I do not care a nickel whom
you elect as your leader, or what kind of petty little squabbles you insist
upon having in this colony. But as far as what you do in the mines is
concerned, I've heard enough nonsense in this room tonight to last me for the
rest of my life."

The Colonel paused, his eyes sweeping the
room. "These mines are going to continue to run, no matter what happens
here. If you threaten production from these mines, Security is prepared to
throw every man, woman and child in the colony into prison for treason, and
send you back to Earth for trial, and bring in convicts and soldiers to run
the mines. Already there's been violence—my own life has been threatened twice.
There'd better not be any more."

The crowd exploded into an angry roar. Anson
Torm
was on his feet, turning furiously to the Colonel.
"Can't you see that threats won't frighten these people
any more
? They've been living under threats for years. They
won't take any more."

"They are threatening
Earth's entire economy. And they seem to have an exalted opinion of their own
importance, for some strange reason." The Colonel's voice was like a
knife.

"But if they blow up
the mines—"

"And kill
themselves
at the same time? I'm sorry, but that bluff won't work. Too many people have
been trying to bluff me—"

Pandemonium broke loose on the floor as a
dozen men began shouting at once. "You must be blind,"
Torm
cried. "Do you really think these people are
bluffing?"

"Five hundred people will not
deliberately blow up the very colony they must have in order to survive. Yes, I
think they're bluffing." He straightened up, and his voice cut through the
rising growl of the colonists. "I want
Cortell
in irons, and I want him on the Earth ship." He was shaking with anger,
his voice trembling. "I don't care who wins your little battle here. But I
want
Cortell
delivered to me at the Rocket
Landing
by sundown tomorrow. If he isn't there then, and if
you aren't back in the mines then, I'll declare martial law in this colony, and
call a troopship in from Ganymede to enforce it." The Colonel turned to
Torm
as a horrified hush fell over the room. "Do I
make myself perfectly clear?"