The Meloan frowned, reaching for a soiled scrap of paper. "We may have
something. One of her former friends thinks she was near this address.
We'll send someone out to investigate, if you wish, captain; but it's
still pretty uncertain."
"I'll go myself," Duke said harshly. He picked up the paper,
recognizing the location as one that had been in the outskirts.
The man behind the desk shook his head doubtfully. Then he shrugged,
and reached behind him for a small automatic. "Better take this--and
watch your step! There are two bullets left."
Duke nodded his thanks and turned away, dropping the gun into his
pocket. Behind him he heard a long sigh and the rustle of a magazine
being opened quickly.
* * * * *
It was a long walk. At first, he traced his way through streets that
had been partially blasted clear. After the first mile, however, he was
forced to hunt around or over the litter and wreckage, picking the way
from high spot to high spot. There were people about, rooting through
the debris, or patrolling in groups. He drew the automatic and carried
it in his hand, in plain sight. Some stared at him and some ignored
him, but none came too close.
Once he heard shouting and a group ran across his path, chasing a small
rodent. He heard a wild tumult begin, minutes later. When he passed the
spot where they had stopped, a fight was going on, apparently over the
kill.
At noon he stopped to drink sparingly of his water and eat one of the
incredibly bad biscuits. What food there was available or which could
be received from the Earth freighters was being mixed into them, but it
wasn't enough. The workers got a little more, and occasionally someone
found a few cans under the rubble. The penalty for not turning such
food in was revocation of all food allotment, but there was a small
black market where unidentified cans could be bought for five Earth
dollars, and some found its way there. The same black market sold the
few remaining cigarettes at twice that amount each.
It was beginning to thunder to the north as he stood up and went
wearily on, and the haze was thickening. He tried to hurry, uncertain
of how dark it would get. If he got caught now, he'd never be able to
return before night. He stumbled on a broken street sign, decoding what
was left of it, and considered. Then he sighed in relief. As he
remembered it, he was almost there.
The buildings had been lower here, and the rubble was thinner. There
seemed to be more people about, judging by the traces of smoke that
drifted out of holes or through glassless windows. He saw none outside,
however.
He was considering trying one of the places from which smoke was coming
when he saw the little boy five hundred feet ahead. He started forward,
but the kid popped into what must have been a cellar once. Duke
stopped, calling quietly.
This time it was a girl of about sixteen who appeared. She sidled
closer, her eyes fixed on his hair. Her voice piped out suddenly,
scared and desperate. "You lonesome, Earthman?" Under the fright, it
was a grotesque attempt at coquetry. She edged nearer, staring at him.
"I won't roll you, honest!"
"All I want is information," he told her thickly. "I'm looking for a
woman named Ronda--Ronda O'Neill. She was my wife."
The girl considered, shaking her head. Her eyes grew wider as he pulled
out a green Earth bill, but she didn't move. Then, as he added the two
remaining biscuits, she nodded quickly, motioning him forward. "Mom
might know," she said.
She ran ahead, and soon an older woman shuffled up the broken steps. In
her arms was a baby, dead or in a coma, and she rocked it slowly,
moaning softly as she listened to his questions. She grunted finally,
and reached out for the reward. Shuffling ahead of him, she went up the
rubble-littered street and around a corner, to point. "Go in," she
said. "Ronda'll be back."
Duke shoved the crude door back and stepped into what was left of a
foyer in a cheap apartment house. The back had been blasted away, but
the falling building had sealed over one corner, covering it from most
of the weather. Light came from the shattered window, showing a scrap
of blanket laid out on the floor near a few possessions. At first,
nothing identified the resident in any way, and he wondered if it were
a trap. Then he bent over a broken bracelet, and his breath caught
sharply. The catch still worked, and a faded miniature of him was
inside the little holder. Ronda's!
Duke dropped onto the blanket, trying to imagine what Ronda would be
like, and to picture the reunion. But the present circumstances
wouldn't fit into anything he could imagine. He could only remember the
bravely smiling girl who had seen him off five years before.
He heard a babble of voices outside, but he didn't look out. The walk
had exhausted him. Hard as the bed was, it was better than standing up.
Anyhow, if Ronda came back, he was pretty sure she would be warned of
his presence.
He slept fitfully, awakened by the smells and sounds from outside. Once
he thought someone looked in, but he couldn't be sure. He turned over,
almost decided to investigate, and dozed off again.
It was the hoarse sound of breathing and a soft shuffle that wakened
him that time. His senses jarred out of slumber with a feeling of
wrongness that reacted in instant caution. He let his eyes slit open,
relieved to find there was still light.
Between him and the door, a figure was creeping up on hands and knees.
The rags of clothes indicated it was a woman and the knife in one hand
spelled murder!
Duke snapped himself upright to a sitting position, his hand darting
for the gun in his pocket. A low shriek came from the woman, and she
lunged forward, the knife rising. There was no time for the gun. He
caught her wrist, twisting savagely. She scratched and writhed, but the
knife spun from her grasp. With a moan, she collapsed across his knees.