"We've got a guard posted at the airlocks leading to the field, but
Colonel Brock is afraid she might come up somewhere else and jump
overland."
"I see," I said. I hadn't realized that Brock was that close to panic.
What was eating him?
There must be something, but I couldn't figure it. Even the
Intelligence Corps of the Political Survey Division can't get complete
information every time.
After all, if he didn't want the girl to steal a flitterboat and go
scooting off into the diamond-studded velvet, all he'd have to do
would be to guard the flitterboats. I turned slowly and looked around.
It seemed as though he'd done that, too.
And then my estimation of Brock suddenly leaped up--way up. Just a
guard at each flitterboat wouldn't do. She could talk her way into the
boat and convince the guard that he really shouldn't tell anyone that
she had gone. By the time he realized he'd been conned, she'd be
thousands of miles away.
And since a boat guard would have to assume that any approaching
person _might_ be the boat's legitimate owner, he'd have to talk to
whomever it was that approached. _Kaput._
But a perimeter guard would be able to call out an alarm if anyone
came from the outside without having to talk to them.
And the guards watching the air locks undoubtedly had instructions to
watch for any female that even vaguely matched Jack's description. A
vac suit fits too tightly to let anyone wear more than a facial
disguise, and Brock probably--no, _definitely_--had his tried-and-true
men on duty there. The men who had already shown that they were fairly
resistant to Jack Ravenhurst's peculiar charm. There probably weren't
many with such resistance, and the number would become less as she
grew older.
That still left me with my own problem. I had already lost too much
time, and I had to go a long way. Ceres is irregular in shape, but
it's roughly four hundred and eighty miles in diameter and a little
over fifteen hundred miles in circumference.
Viking Test Field Four, where McGuire 7 was pointing his nose at the
sky, was about twenty-five miles away, as the crow flies. But of
course I couldn't go by crow.
By using a low, fairly flat, jackrabbit jump, a man in good condition
can make a twelve hundred foot leap on the surface of Ceres, and each
jump takes him about thirty seconds. At that rate, you can cover
twenty-five miles in less than an hour. That's what I'd intended on
doing, but I couldn't do it with all this radar around the field. I
wouldn't be stopped, of course, but I'd sure tip my hand to Colonel
Brock--the last thing I wanted to do.
But there was no help for it. I'd have to go back down and use the
corridors, which meant that I'd arrive late--_after_ Jack Ravenhurst
got there, instead of _before_.
There was no time to waste, so I got below as fast as possible,
repacked my vac suit, and began firing myself through the corridors as
fast as possible. It was illegal, of course; a collision at
twenty-five miles an hour can kill quickly if the other guy is coming
at you at the same velocity. There were times when I didn't dare break
the law, because some guard was around, and, even if he didn't catch
me, he might report in and arouse Brock's interest in a way I wouldn't
like.
I finally got to a tubeway, but it stopped at every station, and it
took me nearly an hour and a half to get to Viking Test Area Four.
At the main door, I considered--for all of five seconds--the idea of
simply telling the guard I had to go in. But I knew that, by now, Jack
was there ahead of me. No. I couldn't just bull my way in. Too crude.
Too many clues.
Hell's fire and damnation! I'd have to waste more time.
I looked up at the ceiling. The surface wasn't more than a hundred
feet overhead, but it felt as though it were a hundred light-years.
If I could get that guard away from that door for five seconds, all
would be gravy from then on in. But how? I couldn't have the diversion
connected with me. Or--
Sometimes, I'm amazed at my own stupidity.
I beetled it down to the nearest phone and got hold of my BANning
number.
"Jack already inside?" I snapped.
"Hell, yes! What happened to you?"
"Never mind. Got to make the best of it. I'm a corner away from Area
Four. Where's your nearest man?"
"At the corner near the freight office."
"I'll go to him. What's he look like?"
"Five-nine. Black, curly hair. Your age. Fat. Name's Peter Quilp. He
knows you."
"Peter Quilp?"
"Right."
"Good. Circulate a report that Jack has been seen in the vicinity of
the main gate to Area Four. Put it out that there's a reward of five
thousand for the person who finds her. I'm going to have Quilp gather
a crowd."
He didn't ask a one of the million questions that must have popped
into his mind. "Right. Anything else?"
"No." I hung up.
* * * * *
Within ten minutes, there was a mob milling through the corridor.
Everybody in the neighborhood was looking for Jaqueline Ravenhurst.
Then Peter Quilp yelled.
"I've got her! I've got her! Guard!"
With a scene like that going on, the guard couldn't help but step out
of his cubicle to see what was going on.
I used the key I was carrying, stepped inside, and relocked the door.
No one in the crowd paid any attention.
From then on up, it was simply a matter of evading patrolling
guards--a relatively easy job. Finally, I put on my vac suit and went
out through the air lock.
McGuire was still sitting there, a bright blue needle that reflected
the distant sun as it moved across the ebon sky. Ceres' rotation took
it from horizon to horizon in less than two hours, and you could see
it and the stars move against the spire of the ship.