Alan E. Nourse (9 page)

"You fixed it up
yourself?"

"Sure.
Rebuilt the engine completely.
Only
jet engine in the Solar System that will fly in Titan atmosphere and nowhere
else!"

"What did you do to
it?" Tuck felt excitement stir.

David
grinned.
"Trade secret.
Just
modified the motor a little, that's all.
Everyone said it'd never take
off. They just didn't know
leetle
Davey." He
tossed the metal dishes in the sink. "Don't say anything to mother —but I
think we can get permission from dad to go out and try to fix up the
Snooper
tomorrow—if you'd want to give me a
hand."

"You
mean try to make it go again?" Tuck looked dubious. "Do you think
it's possible?"

"Won't hurt to try.
You ever play around with rocket
motors?"

Tuck chuckled. "I've taken so many jet
scooters apart and made them go that I could do it in my sleep."

"Good!
Maybe between us we can dig it out. But we'll have to wait until dad gets used
to my being up and around. He's slow sometimes. Want to take a look around the
colony, for the time being?"

"Say,
that would be great. I was noticing the big beehive affair in the center of the
dome—what is it?" Tuck pulled on his jacket, and stepped out into the
street with the other youth, warming to him as they talked. Could a person like
that actually be born and grow up in a colony of thieves and murderers? It
seemed incredible. They started across the street and up a narrow lane between
the cabins toward the odd-looking building. "That's a crude-ore
refinery," David was saying. "Can't ship crude ore back to Earth—they
haven't got enough ships to carry it. They only get a few grams of pure metal
from a ton of ore, and you know about tonnage and pay loads. But we don't have
enough power to completely refine the ore, here in the colony, so we split the
job halfway. That beehive is the main refining oven, where we break the metal
away from the largest bulk of rock." He pointed to the thick metal pipe
that led from the building down into the ground. "That pipe carries the
slag out about three miles from the colony, where there's a big gorge. We just
dump it there. When the gorge gets filled, well run it to another gorge. That's
one thing about this place—there's plenty of waste space around."

Tuck
shook his head as they walked along the rough street.

"I
've been thinking," he said.
"I
don't see how you live out here."

"We're
used to it. You probably wouldn't last six weeks—you've had it too soft back on
Earth. We do what we can to make a
litde
Earth to
live in—even if it doesn't seem much like Earth—"

Tuck's
eyes were filled with wonder, as they walked. The colony seemed roughly similar
to the picture he had in his mind of the old colonial towns in the "wild
west" he had loved to read about when he was younger —except that these
cabins were made of black rock hewn from the cliffs, and the dust in the road
was coal black, and instead of a hot western sun, there was a dull, cold,
yellow sun, and the much bigger, brighter planet Saturn giving luster to the
landscape. Here and there was a small half-track sitting in the road near a
cabin—a far cry from the horses of the days gone by— but there were the same
men, with the craggy, weather-beaten faces and powerfully muscled arms, the
same plainly dressed women, cheerful even in such gloomy surroundings as these.
Occasionally they passed boys and girls their own age, who nodded to David in
greeting. As the boys trudged along, Tuck's confusion grew and grew. This
colony—a strange place, yes, but basically it was just another town. And the
people seemed ordinary enough, just like other people. His face must have
registered his feelings.

David
Torm
looked at him, and burst out laughing.
"You look like you've swallowed a frog. What's wrong?"

Tuck shook his head. "It's—so different
from what I expected—"

There was mischief in David's eyes. "Not
even one murder on the street so far, eh? No two-headed monsters—why, we
didn't even have our best family daggers out to eat breakfast with—"

Tuck
flushed hotly and started to reply, then closed his mouth. "I don't see what's
so funny," he said.

"But you're surprised.
What did you expect?"

"I—I don't know. But
not
this"

David
Torm
grinned.
"Of course, we're on our good behavior while you're here. Normally we go
around clawing at each other, and gnawing our food uncooked. And every night or
so we have war dances and blood orgies, and plot attacks on Earth, and plan the
huge massacres we'll have when we get power enough to start a war with
Earth—oh, don't look so surprised! I know all about the stories they tell you.
They sound a little silly to us, but we know about them—"

Tuck
stared at him. "But—everybody on Earth knows those things are true. I've
always heard them, since I was a very little boy—I never even
thought
about it-why should I have? If everybody
accepted it—"

David's
face was heavy with disgust. "Well, I hate to upset all these years of
nice careful teaching, but it just isn't true. It's a lie. And probably
everything you've ever heard about us is a lie."

"But
why?"

"Fear.
Figure it out for yourself. And then forget
what you've been told about us, and give us a break, just once."

Tuck's face was horrified. "But they've
done it so
thoroughly—"

"I
know. But they've forgotten one thing. We
are
human beings. And the result is an account of hatred among the colonists
that goes four generations deep into our grain. Dad has been trying to cure
that hatred before it's too late. But dad can't hold out much longer. If
something doesn't stop it, the Big Secret will be out of the bag—" David
stopped short, hand to his lips, looking away quickly.

"The
Big Secret?"

David
squirmed uncomfortably.
"Nothing.
Just an old colony folk tale about a last-ditch stand against
Earthmen, if things ever came to a showdown."

Tuck's eyes widened.
"What kind of a showdown?"

But
David was no longer paying attention. His eyes were fixed down the road,
watching something intently. "Hey!" said Tuck. "I said—"

"Quiet!"
The word was a whispered
command. David slid back against the wall of the building, motioning Tuck
back—

"What's wrong?"

"Take a look—see the
man in the green shirt?"

Tuck
saw him. He was making his way stealthily along the road, looking to the right
and left as he moved, like a cat, out from the protection of one cabin wall,
quickly across to the next. He paused at a cabin door, rapped on it, and the
boys could see him talking to the man inside, gesticulating rapidly. Then he
was on to the cabin across the road—

"Who is it?"

"Johnny Taggart.
The
man who probably set the mine in Carter's gorge.
One
of
Cortell's
first lieutenants.
He's supposed
to be confined to quarters, just like
Cortell
-"

"But
what's he doing out?"

"I don't know.
Something's up—"

Several
of the colonists were gathering at their doors, whispering, watching as the man
hurried along. David touched Tuck's arm. "Come on. There's trouble—I'm
sure of it. We'd better find dad and let him know. Follow me."

The
boys darted behind the building where they were standing, and then broke into a
run into another street, back like the wind toward the barracks building. And
then, suddenly, a siren sounded, high and biting in the quiet air of the dome.
David's eyes widened. "I told you something was up," he panted. They
ran pell-mell down a narrow alley-like road,
then
slowed up, making their way through the excited crowd that was gathered around
the trading post. There was a buzz of conversation, and the boys broke through
the crowd just as Anson
Torm
and the Colonel were
coming out.

"What's
the trouble, Dad?" David panted.
"A leak in the
tunnels?"

Anson
Torm's
face was gray. "Worse, I'm afraid. Come
on over to the house." The colony leader nodded to Ned Miller, who started
shouting for order, standing up on the porch of the trading post as
Torm
and the Colonel and the two boys crossed the road to
the
Torm
cabin. "John
Cortell's
broken prison with his two top

men
. They're at large somewhere in the colony,
and they've got to be found, and fast," Anson
Torm
said.

"But—why
the
alann
?
The siren—"

"Because the word is around that
Cortell
is calling a showdown on me, because of the
Colonel's presence here. He thinks he's strong enough to get a wholesale revolt
organized, and to blow up the mines."
Torm's
voice was
hollow,
and his hands were trembling as he
sank down in the chair by the table. "And I'm just afraid he might be able
to swing it—"

"That
Man
Is
Dangerous
—"

here
were
a dozen men gathered
in the underground meeting room when Anson
Torm
and
the Colonel arrived there with the two boys. Many of the men were blackened
with the thick dust of the mining tunnels; apparently they had stopped work and
come up to the hall as soon as the alarm was sounded.
Torm
nodded to the group, and sat down at the desk, his face drawn and white.
"Now, then.
Exactly what happened?" He looked at
one of the men.

"
Cortell's
a magician," the man growled. "I can't
tell you what happened, Anson. I don't know. I was on duty with
Klane
, guarding him in his cabin. I was inside and
Klane
was outside. Nobody had been near him, and he'd been
at me all night with his
abuse-he's
got a nasty
tongue—and then, out of a clear blue sky, he had a gun on me. Forced me to
distract
Klane's
attention outside, and two others
piled on him—and then they were gone."

"He
didn't have a gun when you searched him before?"

"No, sir.
He was clean as a whistle."

Torm's
cold blue eyes flashed to another man.
"The arsenal," he said. "Did you check the arsenal?"
"Just got back.
It's been broken into."
"How many guns gone?"
"Less
than a dozen."

"Good. Get the rest of the guns, and
lock them in the safe down here, so there won't be any more stolen. If we can
keep weapons out of their hands—"

The arsenal guard was shaking his head.
"You'd better let me have a couple of men to go with me," he said
dubiously.

Torm
frowned. "What's wrong?"

"There's a nasty crowd
at the arsenal.
Rog
Strang's
with them. They aren't doing anything, but they're with
Cortell
all the way. They could put up a fight—"

Torm
stripped a small, unpleasant-looking
automatic from his belt and tossed it to the guard. "Take
Klane
and Simpson with you, and
get those guns down here."

Torm
turned back to the group of men.
"Now, then, for
Cortell
himself.
There are plenty of people in this colony who will help him if they can. But
Cortell
and his boys can't get out of the colony without
our knowing it—we've got all the pressure locks under guard. So we can be
pretty sure they're in here, somewhere. Jack, you take your group and comb
everything topside—every cabin, every building. Don't miss anything—"

"Anson, the people won't take it."
The man was a huge, black-faced miner. "He's got support, and they'll
fight us down."

"Those that are with us will
help—recruit them as you go along. As for the others—" he glanced at the
miner. "That's why you have the gun.
Cortell
is
under arrest for attempted murder, and if they're hiding him, they're accomplices.
Now get going." The group of men shuffled out.
Torm
leaned back and motioned to the man who had just come down the stairs.
"What do you think, Ned?"

"I
don't know." Ned Miller's face was tired. "Johnny Taggart has been
contacting all his supporters—"

"Oh,
I know it—it's all over the colony. And they know their propaganda
methods."
Torm
shot Colonel Benedict a black
look. "The question
is,
what now? What's he going
to do?"

Ned
scowled. "If he can't get more guns, he's blocked for a while. But there's
no hope of finding him, if he doesn't want to be found. He won't be hiding
above ground—"

"I know that. But we've got to be sure,
and get the folks on his side worried about helping him. Jack and the gang will
take care of that."

The dirty little man rubbed his
stubbled
chin and nodded. "So he's down in the mines
somewhere, with guns enough to blockade
himself
in
even if we found him." He also glanced at Colonel Benedict, and suddenly
dropped his voice to a whisper.

Torm
began shaking his head vigorously. "He
couldn't do that. Not yet—the stockpile just isn't big enough. That's what I
don't like about this—he
couldn't
be
ready at this point.
Unless he's changed his plans, somehow.
He just wouldn't dare try it—"

For the first time Colonel Benedict stood up,
turned to
Torm
. "I take it you don't expect to
find this madman."

Torm
looked up with cold blue eyes. "We
don't stand a chance in a million, thanks to you.
Cortell's
support is growing every minute. He's got over a third of the colony on his
side now—and with that he can hide where he likes, and he'll never be
found."

The
Colonel scowled. "That's very nice," he said sourly. "And just
what is it that
Cortell
wouldn't try?"

Torm's
eyes narrowed. "He can't do anything—or
at least he won't, as long as we can keep weapons out of his hands."

"These mining tunnels—they go for miles
back underground, don't they?"

Torm's
eyes flickered. "That's right."

"And how many tunnels
are there?"

"Dozens.
There are three or four hundred miles of
tunnel going out of the colony, one place or another—"

"Then what's to prevent
Cortell
from holing himself up in one of the tunnels with
his friends, and blowing the entire colony to kingdom come?"

"Nothing could prevent it, if
Cortell
wanted to do it. It would be very simple. There's
methane outside on the planet's surface. It would be a simple matter to break
through someplace in the tunnel and let methane into the colony—he could do it
in a dozen places, and we wouldn't have a chance of stopping him. And then when
it got to a critical mixture, just a single spark, a single lit match, and the
colony would go off like an atom bomb."
Torm's
eyes met the Colonel's defiantly.

"Anyone
in this colony could have done that, years ago—but we haven't. And
Cortell
won't do it, either. Not now."
"Why not?"

"What would it accomplish? There he'd
be, and as soon as his supplies gave out, or his oxygen, he'd be as dead as we
were."

Colonel
Benedict leaned over the desk, staring straight at the colony leader. "But
for years and years supplies have been coming in here, smuggled supplies, above
the colony's quota, Anson.
Food, plants, equipment,
tools—everything."
His eyes blazed. "I think it's time for you
to do some talking. I'm tired of this run-around. I want to know where those
supplies have gone, and what
Cortell
plans to do with
them. I want to know who's behind the smuggling that's been going on, and
why
it's been going on." The Colonel's knuckles tightened on his chair.
"A criminal is at large in the colony, and you sit quietly by and say,
'Oh, he won't hurt anybody, he won't do any damage, let him be.' All right, if
Cortell
is not able to put his plans for revolt in action
now, I want to know why not."

Torm
spread his hands. "He just won't. He
can't."

"Then
what's blocking him?"

Anson
Torm's
face was set. He didn't answer.

"I
want the truth,
Torm
. What are his plans? What's
blocking him?"

"I can't tell you—" He broke off as
a group of men
came
tumbling down the stairs into the
meeting room, angry-faced men, talking rapidly among themselves.

They
gathered in a group, still muttering angrily and looking darkly at Anson
Torm
when a tall, thin man walked up to
Torm
,
hands on his belt. "What's the idea of sending men up with guns to break
out the arsenal?" The man's anger was barely controlled as he glared down
at the colony leader.

Anson
Torm
looked up calmly. Then he nodded to the Colonel.
"This is Colonel Benedict, of Earth Security. Colonel, meet
Rog
Strang
."

The
man called
Strang
glared at the Colonel for a moment,
and then spat on the floor. "I didn't come to talk to this scum. I came to
talk to you. Your men are cleaning out the arsenal. What's the idea?"

"I ordered them to. There were guns
stolen from it last night, as you probably know well enough.
Cortell
is at large, as you also know quite well. And as
long as I'm leader of this colony,
Cortell's
not
going to get any more guns."

Strang
sneered. "Maybe you're not going to be
leader for so long. The people want you to lay off
Cortell
.
He's the only one who's talking sense around here, and he says the time has
come to quit taking it lying down from Earth Security. What do you say to that,
Anson?"

"Noble sentiments, indeed.
Only thing
is,
Cortell
talks too much."
Torm's
pale eyes caught the other man's. "Any more foolish questions,
Strang
, or are you ready to take your friends back out of
here?"

The
man's hand was trembling angrily. "The people won't take it much longer.
They want
Cortell
cleared."

"Some
of the people, you mean.
There's been no convention and no election,
to my knowledge. Until there is, I'm still in charge here, and my warrant for
Cortell
stands."

The
man turned on his heel and started to go, then turned once again to
Torm
, his eyes wild. "There's nasty talk around,
Anson. Talk about
you
being the traitor, selling
out to these Earth dogs. What are they offering you, Anson?
Safe
passage back to Earth?
A nice place to live for the
rest of your life, with hot and cold running water—?"

"Get
out
of
here,
Strang
."
Torm's
voice sounded
rusty,
and his hands gripped his chair until his knuckles were white. As the group
went up the stairs, he turned to the Colonel. "I can't sit here and talk
any longer— I've got to get a search of the tunnels organized.
Cortell
won't do anything just now—I can't tell you why,
you'll just have to take my word for it. But I warn you, Colonel—this is a
fight to the finish, this time. If
Cortell
can win
the colony to his side, it'll all be over. The people hate you and Earth with
four generations of hate, and
Cortell
is playing that
hate for all it's worth. It's up to you, now. If you're ready to trust me and
make a square and honorable deal with the Titan colonists, there may be time to
save things. But time is running out—" He stood up and walked for the
stairs with a group of his men around him. "We'll have to split up the
tunnels among us," he was saying as they went up the stairs. "And
we'll have to go slow . . ."

Tuck
and David sat side by side, watching the Colonel. He sat for a long time in
silence, his face looking older than Tuck had ever seen it before. Then he
slammed his fist down on the table with a groan. "The
fooir
he grated
. "
The stubborn fool! Security
will never accept a deal. What does he think he can get with this kind of
blackmail? All Security wants is to have the trouble stopped and production
continued smoothly—and thanks to him
we re
in the
middle of the worst trouble
there's
been in
years."

"Dad—"
Tuck looked up at his father. "Dad,
Torm
is
right. You have to trust him."

"How
can I trust him?" the Colonel exploded. "Why won't he come clean?
Why won't he tell me what
Cor
-tell has up
his sleeve?"

"I
don't know—but does it really matter? I mean, if you could take
Torm
at his word, and start negotiating—"

"But
how could I ever sell Security on it? How could I tell them to trust the
colonists when I'm not even convinced
myself
?" He
shook his head tiredly, and stood up. "No, it won't work. There'll be no
deals until
Torm
lays the truth on the line. Until
then, he's just another colonist rebel, I'm afraid." He started for the
stairs.

"Dad, what are you
going to do?"

"I
don't know. Wait, I guess. I just don't know." His shoulders sagged as he
walked up the stairs.

Tuck
turned to David
Torm
, and made a hopeless gesture.
"They can't see each other. Every time they talk, they get farther apart.
Dad is so sure that anything anybody does out here is aimed against Earth that
he won't even listen."

David's eyes were wide. "But he's
got
to see," he said excitedly. "Does he realize what's happening?
That man
Cortell
is dangerous, and he's
ruthless."