The dark planet - (v1.0), page 14
“I can only think of my people, and what we’ve done to them. Your career doesn’t worry me, except that I know Earth rises or falls by it.”
Janotek wasn’t listening. Thinking aloud: “I could expose the whole thing—I could back out, expose it as a fraud, and maybe save myself. The first charge against the Cobellans was true, after all, and they might be persuaded to admit that much for the price of dropping the virus business and letting them off the hook.”
“But where would that leave you? You would still be dismissed.”
“No.” Janotek was growing more certain. “I’d have to admit that I was a fool, and used as a dupe. I would have to make a formal apology and humble myself before the Council. That would probably be enough for them, with the virus out of the way. It would hurt, but I could do it. Then I could claim that since the Cobellans admit the first germ attack, I am a fighter of injustice. I’d gain support from the people of the Federation, and the Council wouldn’t dare to dismiss me.”
“Leaving Earth to the Cobs!” snapped Nathan.
“What else?” Janotek shrugged. “You promised me glory. Where is the glory in one vial of virus?”
Suddenly, Nathan realized how flimsy Janotek’s case was. “But it won’t work, Janotek. They’re willing to believe the Cobs’ germ attack only because of the virus threat. If that goes, they will reject you completely.” He leaned forward. “But this time I have concrete proof that the Cobs attacked us with virus. I’d have told you before if we’d had a chance to talk before the meeting.” He told the Marikan about the films. “I have them with me, and that is no bluff. Will they serve?”
“Of course. They’ll be undeniable.”
“Yes,” said Nathan, “so they will.” Then he turned directly to Janotek, not hedging or pretending trust any more. “I don’t really see how these movies will help our cause, Councilor. Your cause, yes. You can claim your glory as a fighter of injustice, as you said. But how does it help Earth?”
Janotek was just as honest. “It doesn’t actually. I’m glad you realize it, Cory. Because, if my words fail—and words are all I have to fight with—you can’t blame me. Personally, I think your cause is lost. The best I can offer is to have the conditions of your punishment lightened.”
“That’s not enough!” Nathan realized it was almost a shout, and lowered his voice. “You’re not going to desert us. How do I even know that you won’t betray us?”
Janotek’s patrician features were hard and sober. “You don’t. But what can you do? You started the lie. You can’t blame me for believing you. That may be one of my failings.”
“I outguessed you this time.” Nathan was damning. “I knew you’d back out. But I haven’t been idle. I have an idea that may still save us.” He tensed, ready to take the last big step. “Will you listen?”
“What harm can it do?”
Nathan began, “If I could actually send a rocket, carrying the vial of virus we have, into orbit around one of the Federation planets—send it so that they could see it, even test the virus to prove it’s true— then they would have to believe. We could cover ourselves in regard to its being the only one. We could explain it somehow. But, wouldn’t it work? Wouldn’t we both come out better that way?”
“It’s very interesting,” Janotek nodded, “but there are too many things wrong with it. First of all, you don’t have a rocket. You’re defeated before you start.”
“That’s where you come in,” Nathan pushed on. “You can give me a rocket. I can put the virus in it, and we’re saved.”
Janotek strode about, his mind working fast. When he swung back, there was refusal in him. “Impossible! It’s too dangerous for me. Even you should realize that. If they checked the rocket and found it was Marikan, what do you suppose they would cry? Collusion! And who could blame them? They’d say we had played a last desperate chance, had gone together to try to salvage ourselves, and we would both be in for more than we are already facing. It’s impossible.”
Nathan realized that he was right. “I won’t give up, you know. I can’t any more than you can—only my reasons are no longer personal.”
“Don’t give up then. But whatever you do, don’t endanger me. … I take it you want me to get an adjournment so you can go back to Earth for a day or two before the next meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Give me the movies, and I’ll arrange it. But be sure that you’re in the park at midnight, when my car comes for you. You’ll hear the date for the next meeting before we break up… . Now we’d better be getting back.”
Chapter sixteen
Nathan woke to the sizzling smell of Miss Houseman’s cooking, and the soft call of Abby’s voice. She was carrying a steaming cup of coffee and looked so morning-fresh that he felt the worse because of it.
“I let you sleep a bit late,” she said, then cut his beginning protest off with, “Don’t scold. If you’re going to do anything, you’ll need a clear mind.”
He shook his head in disbelief. How could she have so much faith in him, when he didn’t?
When he asked, she answered matter-of-factly, “I heard a boy of fifteen tell me that he would save the world, and I trusted him completely. A man of thirty is even easier to trust.”
Nathan gulped the coffee, then leaped out of bed as he saw that his suit was gone from the chair where he had left it. “Miss Houseman didn’t send it out?” he cried, dread pouring over him.
“She did. But I took the virus out, first.” Abby was smiling at his stork-like look in the too-small pajamas. “It’s in the top drawer of the chest.”
He pulled the drawer open and raised up the black vial, relieved to have it in his hands. “This little thing is our only hope, Abby. I’m beginning to understand Harris’ nerves and his willingness to die for this black vial.”
“Nathan,” Abby was suddenly serious, “if this should fail—if there really is nothing more that we can do—are you going back to that Council and humiliate yourself, just to save Janotek’s betraying neck?”
“I suppose I am,” he admitted. “After all, I started the whole thing with a lie. I liked to call it a bluff, but it really was a lie. I got him into it, and maybe I should get him out. But if he had only come through with that rocket . .
Abby put a blunt end to the conversation before he could start to brood. “Get dressed and come down. Miss Houseman has pancakes and sausages, and some special rolls that she says Paul used to love.” She stopped just inside the door. “She’s a great woman, Nathan. She hasn’t asked a single question.”
“That’s because she knows the answers,” Nathan said.
Corbella City was never quiet any more, and neither was the world. The sheep-people had finally rebelled. The news from the last session—the decision of the Council of Judges—had touched them off. No one worked. The streets were full of angry people, and across the world, the Cobs were cracking down, making arrests, threatening, and in some places, killing.
Nathan sat in the house and listened to the clamor of far-away shouts and knew that things were worse than he had imagined.
“Are you going to tell me the plan?” Abby asked.
“It’s not much of a plan, and only half formed, but maybe it will do. I’m going to steal a rocket, Abby. I’m going to go to the Cob port and send off one of their own ships with the virus tucked inside. I’ll think of some explanation for the Council— I’ll have two days for that while I’m en route. But that virus is going to be put to use.”
Her eyes clouded as she thought the idea through and realized the danger and impossibility of it. But he was grateful that she didn’t voice any fears. “How can I help?” she asked.
He followed Janotek’s example, pacing the floor to stimulate his mind. He couldn’t get into the port alone, not with so many Cob guards there. “I’ll need a diverting action,” he told Abby, “and you and other people can cause it for me—I hope enough to draw some of the Cobs off and give me a better chance at the field.”
They sat together over Miss Houseman’s pots of coffee and worked over the rough idea.
As night fell over the town, Nathan went out, and Abby followed a few minutes later. She would be doing as he was doing, searching for remembered Rebel faces, and approaching friendly faces in the street. He walked the sidewalks quickly, seeking the security of a crowd.
One man caught his eye. He was gray-haired, and standing alone at the edge of an angry crowd on the main street. Nathan asked softly, “Do you know me?”
The man’s eyes met him blankly, then lit in recognition. “Nathan Cory,” he said, automatically keeping his voice low. Then the man smiled. “I’m honored. But, is this safe for you?”
“It’s not safe for any of us any more,” Nathan said grimly. “I’m asking your help.”
The man didn’t hesitate, nodding his head toward a Cob patrol that was heading down the center of the street, breaking up the crowd.
Nathan spoke quickly. “I don’t know your name or anything about you, but I’m trusting you to do a big job for me. Tomorrow night, just at dark, I’m going to need a disturbance in front of Cobellan Headquarters. Can you get enough people together to cause that disturbance for me? And can you make it last at least thirty minutes, and be a good, loud one?”
The gray-haired man blinked. “I’ll get you five hundred people, if you want. My whole church congregation. We’ll be proud to help you. You were Paul Houseman’s choice.”
Nathan clutched his arm in gratitude. “Tomorrow night, then. And, thank you.” He moved on, avoiding the approach of the Cob patrol, reluctantly thanking Janotek for making this possible.
Another stop, similar to the first, and he had the promise of a small riot in the heart of Corbella City. Another man and another short conversation, and he had the promise of a noisy speech to gather crowds in the town’s second park, well away from the place the Marikan ship would set down for him. Three men and three promises. He hoped Abby had fared as well.
He returned to Houseman’s and waited for Abby. When she came, her news was good. Corbella City would burst with activity at dark the next night.
Robins were singing their last evening songs when Nathan Cory left the house, carrying his battered case. His footsteps echoed lonely on the walk, and he constantly checked his watch. Abby’s first two demonstrations were scheduled to begin in ten minutes and he had to be in the vicinity to grab a car.
The houses passed beside him, and the cracks in the cement became barriers to his haste; but then the neon signs of downtown cast their light with the first moon-glow, and he was in time.
Two more blocks, and a dull hum rose to meet him, growing in size to a roar and a shout. It was coming off! He ran, toward the sound and then around it, coming up on the side, waiting for the drone of Cob cars.
Torchlight blossomed from the street, lighting the dusk, and people marched up and down, shouting in rhythm with their thundering feet. It was a frightening, angry sound, and it excited Nathan, pounding with his heart. Then the drone of the Cobs pushed in beside him, and he hid in a doorway until they passed. Doors slammed and soldiers jumped out of cars and wagons, aiming for the noise. As the last squat figure disappeared, Nathan dashed for the nearest car. He slid in, started it, and swung madly around, pushing the car to its limit. He drove wildly, ignoring traffic signals, watching for more Cobs. As the headlights of a new detachment wavered into view, he retreated to sidestreets. These Cobs were racing for a different section of town. Abby’s second demonstration must have come off on schedule.
He took a dirt road that paralleled the highway and sped toward the port, cutting off short to come up on the side of it. He had to try the walls; he couldn’t pass on his Delegate status any more.
He stopped a half-mile from the lighted port, searched the car, and came up with a small-sized sprayer. It would have to do. He touched the vial that swayed inside his pocket, grabbed the length of rope he had brought in his case, and sprinted across the open field, veering for the first available cover.
Then he squatted and waited. The port gleamed before him. Each ship was lighted separately, its silver nose pointing to heaven, and he selected the nearest one as his goal. The walls were high and topped with long spikes set into the stone, but he would use those to his own advantage. He trembled with anticipation; the moon rode high, one-quarter full, and its light cast soft shadows. It would cast his, too.
The last glow of the sun was fading from the west when a convoy of Cob wagons streamed out of the Headquarters drive and wheeled down the road to Corbella City. There couldn’t be many left in reserve now; not after the number he had seen. As the hum of the wagons died away, a new sound drifted into hearing. The grind and cough of old engines— Earth engines—and the highway lit in a procession of lights, blinking on and off, and a chorus of horns began. They honked and tooted and held sustained notes; it was his demonstration—and the man with the gray hair.
The cars coughed still before Headquarters, parking in the road beyond the first guarded gate. They unloaded scores of people who were shadows until they walked in front of the headlights and suddenly bloomed into solid forms and colors. Shouting added its noise to the horns.
The guards at the many gates stood stolid before the hoots and jeers. The main building suddenly darkened, all of its lights flashing out; then its doors opened and Cob soldiers ran for the crowd. There weren’t many, and Nathan hoped there wouldn’t be many. Kash had to draw men away from the port itself to give him even half a chance.
Just as he knew he couldn’t wait any longer, they came. They waddled out of the spaceport, bouncing on their short legs. He couldn’t count them, but it was a good percentage of the guard. As they ran, he ran, dashing for the shield of the wall.
He pressed himself against the stone, struggling for breath, then crept back into the moonlight, uncurled his rope, and heaved it up, catching a spike with the first throw. It held, and he started his climb, horribly self-conscious.
The top of the wall was rough under his hands and he hung there for a long moment, telling himself that he wouldn’t be staring down into the upturned faces of Cob guards.
He lifted himself three inches, and still couldn’t see; the wall was too thick. He pulled up on his elbows, and the field was in view. Light was everywhere, but there were no guards near. He lifted his feet up and crouched on top, straddling the spikes as he dragged the rope up and dropped the loose end down on the field side. Ignoring the searing bum of it, he slid to the ground and huddled back in the shadow of the wall.
The uproar from the street was deafening. He could make out no words, but Cob and Earth voices mixed, and horns blared defiance, rising into the still night and shattering it. He crept in shadow until he was abreast of the nearest ship. The few Cobs he could see were grouped together, facing the road. The church-men were doing well. He clutched his small sprayer, and bending low, made the run, breathless and frightened, across the moonlit space. The spot-lighted area around the ship reached for him, and he crouched searching for the ladder that would give him entrance to the ship.
There was none. He had made the wrong choice1 He cursed under his breath, circled the ship, and dashed for the next, repeating the search for a ladder. This time one presented itself, and he leaped across the spotlighted space where there were no protecting shadows and clambered up, his hands and feet clumsy with haste. The dark of the ship closed around him and he lay face down, panting, waiting for the Cob cry that would mean discovery. It didn’t come.
When he stood up, he damned himself for not bringing a light. He would have to risk turning on the ship’s light, but not yet. He felt his way in the dark, locating the other ladder from many experiences with these ships, grateful he’d had them. He went up in the dark, hurrying, but carefully testing his footing on each rung.
He stepped off in what had to be the control room, hoping that the shell was closed so that the light wouldn’t show onto the field. He braced himself and pressed the button.
Light blinded him momentarily, but when he could see, the shell was solid metal. The port was invisible; so he was still invisible.
He searched through the tapes at the control panel, throwing them aside, rejecting all but one— Pharen, the planet of Thord, Cobella’s friend. He would be the best to give the proof; he was the worst dissenter. He placed the tape in the computer, pressed the button for Orbit in Atmosphere, and set the blast-off for five minutes. It barely gave him time, but it was all he could hazard.
The vial came next—the little black thing with its death inside. He followed Harris’ plan, breaking the seal just enough so that impact would finish the work. This rocket would never know impact, but the procedure had to look good. He strapped the vial near the forward viewers, the ship’s weakest point, checked his watch—three-and-a-half minutes left—and sped to the door, switching off the lights behind him.
Going down in the dark was harder than coming up. The ladder was slippery under his feet. He halted at the outer door, cautious, looking for guards. There were none. He swung around and descended again, jumping the last few feet. When he turned to race across the lighted area, a Cob reared up before him.
They startled each other, but Nathan recovered first, and the Cob crumpled before the little sprayer.
Nathan ran, headlong, and oblivious to the light, straight for the wall. He had a bad moment when he couldn’t find his rope. Then it was under his hands, and he climbed with newfound strength. The roar was dying in the road and he had to hurry. The spikes caught at him and cries bellowed behind him, but he gained the top, pulled the rope up so they couldn’t follow without going wTay around to the gate, and took the long jump down the other side. He rolled over and over in the grass, using the last roll to gain his feet.
He fled across the field and started the car, steering back the way he had come. He had just made the first turn, when a roar came up from the port and his needle ship strained skyward, blasting fire at the ground. He drove and watched it rise, higher and higher, thrusting itself toward Pharen with its deadly load.
