Stern shook his head. "More than that. I've been keeping tabs on what
has happened here on Earth for the past few centuries. By careful
analysis, I've spotted the first time that Skardoth came to this
planet." He reached out and touched her hand. "He's been here for more
than twelve hundred years."
Her eyes narrowed. "That means that he's had some method of escape all
these years. He's got an interstellar ship planted somewhere."
"Sure. He framed all of us; he's managed to get all of us sent here as
criminals. Liz, I tell you, he's _using_ us!"
She started to say something, but, at that moment, the car radio broke
into life. A harsh voice said:
"Very pretty. I'm sorry to have to deal with both of you this way."
It was as though Skardoth's voice had galvanized him into action. Stern
heard the voice, and, before it had finished, he had opened the door of
the car and flung himself out.
He tried to push Elizabeth out the other way, but it was too late.
Just as John Stern tumbled out of the car, a greenish-yellow cloud of
radiance appeared in the front seat for a fraction of a second. When it
faded, Elizabeth was gone.
* * * * *
Stern picked himself up from the gravel at the side of the road and
looked at the car. It was empty. It looked like any Terrestrial
automobile. As he stood up, he heard a faint voice over the radio.
"... too bad that he wasn't in the focus of the ray...."
There was no more.
He knew, then, what had happened. Skardoth had had a voice pickup
in the car. As soon as he had heard a confession from both of them,
Skardoth had used a built-in transport field.
Stern stood there for a moment, looking at the empty car. He'd been
lucky; if the transport field hadn't hit Elizabeth squarely, she
would have been completely disintegrated. As it was, Elizabeth had
been caught in the field, but Stern had not. She had been transported
to wherever the field focus was located, and Skardoth assumed that
John Stern had been half in and half out of the field, and had been
dissipated into nothingness.
Stern grinned. That had been Matt Skardoth's last mistake.
State Patrol Car 331, cruising along the Montauk-Manhattan highway,
spotted a lone figure standing at the side of the road. He raised his
hands and flagged them down.
Sergeant Riley applied the brakes and slowed down. His partner,
Patrolman Garetti, eased his .38 out of its holster. It wasn't likely
that the man who was flagging them down was dangerous, but there was
no use taking a chance. Patrol Car 331 slowed to a stop.
Sergeant Riley leaned out of the car window.
"What seems to be the trouble?" he asked.
John Stern pointed with one hand while the other hand touched the
sergeant's neck. "My car," Stern said distinctly, "was stolen down
there."
But, the instant his fingers had touched the police officer's neck,
that officer had become a slave of his own nervous system.
"Okay; climb in," said Sergeant Riley.
Stern went around to the other side of the car, and Patrolman Garetti
said: "Hey! Where are we supposed...."
But he was too late: Stern's hand had already touched his neck.
Patrolman Garetti didn't argue in the least when the Sergeant said:
"Okay, Garetti; let's get to Manhattan as fast as possible. Use the
siren."
John Stern leaned back and relaxed while the police car headed toward
Manhattan with its siren wide open. The cars ahead of them pulled over
to the side as the State Police roared down the road toward Manhattan.
The road was fairly empty, that late at night. They sped toward the
city at eighty miles an hour, roared down the open stretches of flat
roadway into the city.
The highway crowded up in Queens, but they hit the Triboro, crossed
over into Manhattan, and moved on down Fifth Avenue toward 582.
"Okay," Stern said, as they reached Fiftieth Street. "Cut the siren and
pull up outside 582. I'll take care of it from here."
The officers did as ordered. When Stern got out, he said, "Forget all
about what has happened. Go back to your beat."
The policemen pulled away without a sound.
Stern looked up at the building. There was still a light on the
eighteenth floor.
But--how could he get up there? The front door was locked. If he broke
in, he'd have to deal with another group of cops--and that was too
risky.
What could he do? To get to the eighteenth floor, he'd have to get into
the building, open the elevator, go....
Stern shook his head. It wasn't worth it. He flexed his muscles and
looked up the side of the building. It wasn't too high: it could be
done. Stern squeezed his fingers together and began the climb up the
sheer side of the great building.
It was nearly half an hour later that John Stern pulled himself up
outside the eighteenth floor of the suite occupied by Matt Skardoth.
Hanging precariously by his fingertips, he looked inside the brightly
illuminated window. Inside, he saw Matt Skardoth watching Elizabeth
Kirk, who was tightly bound to a chair in the corner of the room.
"It's too bad your hero's been killed," Skardoth said. "Because now
there's no one to rescue you."
"What are you going to do to me, Skardoth?" he heard the girl ask.
"Unfortunately, you've found out too much about my plans, you and that
John Stern. If word got back to the Federation--" Skardoth shook his
head. "No. I'll have to silence you the way I did him."
Stern clamped his lips together. _So I'm silenced, eh?_ He tightened
his grasp on the ledge, pulled himself up, kicked at the window.
The glass burst inward in a tinkling shower. Stern catapulted himself
through the shattered window, and in one quick bound he leaped on
Skardoth and knocked the big man sprawling to the floor.
Skardoth rolled over and bashed a fist upward. Stern gave with the
blow, sucked in his breath, and raked his fist into Skardoth's teeth.
Skardoth tried to stand up, but another fist smashed into him,
smearing his nose across his face like so much putty. Another fist, and
then another hit the dark faced man. He collapsed as though he had been
clubbed by a baseball bat.
Stern stood over the fallen man, clenching and reclenching his fists.
He could hardly hear his own words, but he knew they were words of
imprecation.
After a moment, he turned, to look at Elizabeth.
He walked over and took the magneclamps off her wrists.
"What are you going to do now, Johnny?" she asked as she flexed her
wrists.
Stern looked bleakly at the mangled figure on the floor.
"I'd like to kill him. It's because of him that you and I have been
condemned to die here." Then he stopped and grinned. "On the other
hand, if we could find the ship he's been using to get from here to the
stars, we could find a little world of our own; we could--"
She stood up then, and smiled at him. "Yorkan Varr, we know you're
innocent. There's no need for you to run."
"We?" he asked. "Who's we? I simply did my duty; I only--"
"_Shhhh!_" she interrupted. "The Council of Judges has known for a long
time that this planet needed correction. But, according to the law,
the Judges couldn't interrupt. They sent me first, and then you. It
took both of us to do the job."
Stern heard a slight hum outside the window of the eighteenth floor
suite. When he looked out, he saw the vague outline of an interstellar
patrol ship. A man in a Patrol uniform stuck his head in the window.
"I understand we have a prisoner to pick up," he said.
Stern put one arm around the girl and gestured with his free hand.
"There he is, chum. Pick him up."