Sundown burned across the waters and the island rose like a mountain
of night against the darkening sky. Dalgetty stretched cramped muscles
and peered over the bay.
In the hours of waiting there had not been much said between him and
the woman. He had dropped a few questions, with the careful casualness
of the skilled analyst, and gotten the expected reactions. He knew a
little more about her--a child of the strangling dying cities and
shadowy family life of the 1980's, forced to armor herself in
harshness, finding in the long training for her work and now in the
job itself an ideal to substitute for the tenderness she had never
known.
He felt pity for her but there was little he could do to help just
now. To her own queries he gave guarded replies. It occurred to him
briefly that he was, in his way, as lonesome as she. _But of course I
don't mind--or do I?_
Mostly they tried to plan their next move. For the time, at least,
they were of one purpose. She described the layout of house and
grounds and indicated the cell where Michael Tighe was ordinarily
kept. But there was not much they could do to think out tactics. "If
Bancroft gets alarmed enough," she said, "he'll have Dr. Tighe flown
elsewhere."
He agreed. "That's why we'd better hit tonight, before he can get that
worried." The thought was pain within him. _Dad, what are they doing
to you now?_
"There's also the matter of food and drink." Her voice was husky with
thirst and dull with the discouragement of hunger. "We can't stay out
here like this much longer." She gave him a strange glance. "Don't you
feel weak?"
"Not now," he said. He had blocked off the sensations.
"They--_Simon!_" She grabbed his arm. "A boat--hear?"
The murmur of jets drifted to him through the beating waves. "Yeah.
Quick--underneath!"
They scrambled over the hogback and slid down its farther side. The
sea clawed at Dalgetty's feet and foam exploded over his head. He
hunched low, throwing one arm about her as she slipped. The airboat
murmured overhead, hot gold in the sunset light. Dalgetty crouched,
letting the breakers run coldly around him. The ledge where they clung
was worn smooth, offered little to hold onto.
The boat circled, its jets thunderous at low speed. _They're worried
about her now. They must be sure I'm still alive._
White water roared above his head. He breathed a hasty gasp of air
before the next comber hit him. Their bodies were wholly submerged,
their faces shouldn't show in that haze of foam--but the jet was
soaring down and there would be machine-guns on it.
Dalgetty's belly muscles stiffened, waiting for the tracers to burn
through him.
Elena's body slipped from his grasp and went under. He hung there, not
daring to follow. A stolen glance upward--yes, the jet was out of
sight again, moving back toward the field. He dove off the ledge and
struck into the waves. The girl's head rose over them as he neared.
She twisted from him and made her own way back to the rock. But when
they were in the hollow again her teeth rattled with chill and she
pressed against him for warmth.
"Okay," he said shakily. "Okay, we're all right now. You are hereby
entitled to join our Pacific wet-erans' club."
Her laugh was small under the boom of breakers and hiss of scud.
"You're trying hard, aren't you?"
"I--_oh_, oh! Get _down_!"
Peering over the edge Dalgetty saw the men descending the path. There
were half a dozen, armed and wary. One had a WT radio unit on his
back. In the shadow of the cliff they were almost invisible as they
began prowling the beach.
"Still hunting us!" Her voice was a groan.
"You didn't expect otherwise, did you? I'm just hoping they don't come
out here. Does anybody else know of this spot?" He held his lips close
to her ear.
"No, I don't believe so," she breathed. "I was the only one who cared
to go swimming at this end of the island. But...."
Dalgetty waited, grimly. The sun was down at last, the twilight
thickening. A few stars twinkled to life in the east. The goons
finished their search and settled in a line along the beach.
"Oh-oh," muttered Dalgetty. "I get the idea. Bancroft's had the land
beaten for me so thoroughly he's sure I must be somewhere out to sea.
If I were he I'd guess I'd swum far out to be picked up by a
waterboat. So--he's guarding every possible approach against a landing
party."
"What can we do?" whispered Elena. "Even if we can swim around their
radius of sight we can't land just anywhere. Most of the island is
vertical cliff. Or can you...?"
"No," he said. "Regardless of what you may think I don't have vacuum
cups on my feet. But how far does that gun of yours carry?"
She stole a glance over the edge. Night was sweeping in. The island
was a wall of blackness and the men at its foot were hidden. "You
can't _see_!" she protested.
He squeezed her shoulder. "Oh yes I can, honey. But whether I'm a good
enough shot to.... We'll have to try it, that's all."
Her face was a white blur and fear of the unknown put metal in her
voice. "Part seal, part cat, part deer, part what else? I don't think
you're human, Simon Dalgetty."
He didn't answer. The abnormal voluntary dilation of pupils hurt his
eyes.
"What else has Dr. Tighe done?" Her tone was chill in the dark. "You
can't study the human mind without studying the body too. What's he
done? Are you the mutant they're always speculating about? Did Dr.
Tighe create or find homo superior?"
"If I don't plug that radio com-set before they can use it," he said,
"I'll be homo-genized."
"You can't laugh it off," she said through taut lips. "If you aren't
of our species I have to assume you're our enemy--till you prove
otherwise!" Her fingers closed hard on his arm. "Is that what your
little gang at the Institute is doing? Have they decided that mere
humanity isn't good enough to be civilized? Are they preparing the way
for your kind to take over?"
"Listen," he said wearily. "Right now we're two people, very mortal
indeed, being hunted. So shut up!"
He took the pistol from her holster and slipped a full clip into its
magazine. His vision was at high sensitivity now, her face showed
white against the wet rock with gray highlights along its strong
cheekbones beneath the wide frightened eyes. Beyond the reefs the sea
was gunmetal under the stars, streaked with foam and shadow.
Ahead of him, as he rose to his feet, the line of guards stood out as
paler darknesses against the vertiginous island face. They had mounted
a heavy machine-gun to point seaward and a self-powered spotlight,
not turned on, rested nearby. Those two things could be dangerous but
first he had to find the radio set that could call the whole garrison
down on them.
_There!_ It was a small hump on the back of one man, near the middle
of the beach. He was pacing restlessly up and down with a tommy-gun in
his hands. Dalgetty raised the pistol with slow hard-held
concentration, wishing it were a rifle. _Remember your target practice
now, arm loose, fingers extended, don't pull the trigger but
squeeze--because you've got to be right the first time!_
He shot. The weapon was a military model, semi-noiseless and with no
betraying streak of light. The first bullet spun the goon on his heels
and sent him lurching across sand and rock. Dalgetty worked the
trigger, spraying around his victim, a storm of lead that _must_ ruin
the sender.
Chaos on the beach! If that spotlight went on with his eyes at their
present sensitivity, he'd be blind for hours. He fired carefully,
smashing lens and bulb. The machine-gun opened up, stuttering, wildly
into the dark. If someone elsewhere on the island heard that
noise--Dalgetty shot again, dropping the gunner over his weapon.
Bullets spanged around him, probing the darkness. One down, two down,
three down. A fourth was running along the upward path. Dalgetty fired
and missed, fired and missed, fired and missed. He was getting out of
range, carrying the alarm--_there!_ He fell slowly, like a jointed
doll, rolling down the trail. The two others were dashing for the
shelter of a cave, offering no chance to nail them.
Dalgetty scrambled over the rock, splashed into the bay and struck out
for the shore. Shots raked the water. He wondered if they could hear
his approach through the sea-noise. Soon he'd be close enough for
normal night vision. He gave himself wholly to swimming.
His feet touched sand and he waded ashore, the water dragging at him.
Crouching, he answered the shots coming from the cave. The shriek and
yowl were everywhere around him now. It seemed impossible that they
should not hear up above. He tensed his jaws and crawled toward the
machine-gun. A cold part of him noticed that the fire was in a random
pattern. They couldn't see him then.
The man lying by the gun was still alive but unconscious. That was
enough. Dalgetty crouched over the trigger. He had never handled a
weapon like this but it must be ready for action--only minutes ago it
had tried to kill him. He sighted on the cave mouth and cut loose.
Recoil made the gun dance till he caught onto the trick of using it.
He couldn't see anyone in the cave but he could bounce lead off its
walls. He shot for a full minute before stopping. Then he crawled away
at an angle till he reached the cliff. Sliding along this he
approached the entrance and waited. No sound came from inside.
He risked a quick glance. Yes, it had done the job. He felt a little
sick.
Elena was climbing out of the water when he returned. There was a
strangeness in the look she gave him. "All taken care of?" she asked
tonelessly.
He nodded, remembered she could hardly see the movement, said aloud,
"Yes, I think so. Grab some of this hardware and let's get moving."
With his nerves already keyed for night vision it was not difficult to
heighten other perceptions and catch her thinking ... _not human_.
_Why should he mind if he kills human beings when he isn't one
himself?_
"But I do mind," he said gently. "I've never killed a man before and I
don't like it."
She jerked away from him. It had been a mistake, he realized. "Come
on," he said. "Here's your pistol. Better take a tommy-gun too if you
can handle it."
"Yes," she said. He had lowered his reception again, her voice fell
quiet and hard. "Yes, I can use one."
_On whom?_ he wondered. He picked up an automatic rifle from one of
the sprawled figures. "Let's go," he said. Turning, he led the way up
the path. His spine prickled with the thought of her at his back,
keyed to a pitch of near-hysteria.
"We're out to rescue Michael Tighe, remember," he whispered over his
shoulder. "I've had no military experience and I doubt that you've
ever done anything like this either, so we'll probably make every
mistake in the books. But we've got to get Dr. Tighe."
She didn't answer.
At the top of the path Dalgetty went down on his stomach again and
slithered up over the crest. Slowly he raised his head to peer in
front of him. Nothing moved, nothing stirred. He stooped low as he
walked forward.
The thickets fenced off vision a few yards ahead. Beyond them, at the
end of the slope, he could glimpse lights. Bancroft's place must be
one glare of radiance. How to get in there without being seen? He drew
Elena close to him. For a moment she stiffened at his touch, then she
yielded. "Any ideas?" he asked.
"No," she replied.
"I could play dead," he began tentatively. "You could claim to have
been caught by me, to have gotten your gun back and killed me. They
might lose suspicion then and carry me inside."
"You think you could fake _that_?" She pulled away from him again.
"Sure. Make a small cut and force it to bleed enough to look like a
bullet wound--which doesn't usually bleed much, anyway. Slow down
heartbeat and respiration till their ordinary senses couldn't detect
them. Near-total muscular relaxation, including even those unromantic
aspects of death which are so rarely mentioned. Oh yes."
"Now I know you aren't human," she said. There was a shudder in her
voice. "Are you a synthetic thing? Did they make you in the
laboratory, Dalgetty?"
"I just want your opinion of the idea," he muttered with a flicker of
anger.
It must have taken an effort for Elena to wrench clear of her fear of
him. But then she shook her head. "Too risky. If I were one of those
fellows, with all you've already done to make me wonder about you, the
first thing I'd do on finding your supposed corpse would be to put a
bullet through its brain--and maybe a stake through its heart. Or can
you survive that too?"
"No," he admitted. "All right, it was just a thought. Let's work a bit
closer to the house."
They went through brush and grass. It seemed to him that an army would
make less noise. Once his straining ears caught a sound of boots and
he yanked Elena into the gloom under a palmetto. Two guards tramped
by, circling the land on patrol. Their forms loomed huge and black
against the stars.
Near the edge of the grounds Dalgetty and Elena crouched in the long
stiff grass and looked at the place they must enter. The man had had
to lower his visual sensitivity as they approached the light. There
were floodlights harsh on dock, airfield, barracks and lawn, with
parties of guards moving around each section. Light showed in only one
window of the house, on the second story. Bancroft must be there,
pacing and peering out into the night where his enemy stirred. Had he
called by radio for reinforcements?
At least no airboat had arrived or left. Dalgetty knew he would have
seen one in the sky. Dr. Tighe was here yet--if he lived.
Decision grew in the man. There was a wild chance. "Are you much of an
actress, Elena?" he whispered.
"After two years as a spy I'd better be." Her face bore a hint of
puzzlement under the tension as she looked at him. He could guess her
thought--_For a superman, he asks some simple-minded questions. But
then what is he? Or is he only dissembling?_
He explained his idea. She scowled. "I know it's crazy," he told her,
"but have you anything better to offer?"
"No. If you can handle your part...."
"And you yours." He gave her a bleak look, but there was an appeal in
it. Suddenly his half-glimpsed face looked strangely young and
helpless. "I'll be putting my life in your hands. If you don't trust
me you can shoot. But you'll be killing a lot more than me."
"Tell me what you are," she said. "How can I know what the ends of the
Institute are when they're using such means as you? Mutant or android
or"--she caught her breath--"or actually a creature from outer space,
the stars. Simon Dalgetty, what are you?"
"If I answered that," he said with desolation in his voice, "I'd
probably be lying anyway. You've got to trust me this far."
She sighed. "All right." He didn't know if she was lying too.
He laid the rifle down and folded his hands on top of his head. She
walked behind him, down the slope toward the light, her submachine-gun
at his back.
As he walked he was building up a strength and speed no human ought to
possess.
One of the sentries pacing through the garden came to a halt. His
rifle swung up, and the voice was a hysterical yammer: "Who goes?"
"It's me, Buck," cried Elena. "Don't get trigger-happy. I'm bringing
in the prisoner."
"Huh?"
Dalgetty shuffled into the light and stood slumped, letting his jaw
hang slack as if he were near falling with weariness.
"You _got_ him!" The goon sprang forward.
"Don't holler," said Elena. "I got this one, all right, but there are
others. You keep on your beat. I got his weapons from him. He's
harmless now. Is Mr. Bancroft in the house?"
"Yeah, yeah--sure." The heavy face peered at Dalgetty with more than a
tinge of fear. "But lemme go along. Yuh know what he done last time."
"Stay on your post!" she snapped. "You've got your orders. I can
handle him."