Within the next hour he had a gun, taken from an amiable but
unfortunate young cop who had the courtesy to stop and give him a match
on a dark back street. He was sincerely sorry for that, knowing what
would happen to the cop, but he was also acutely aware that he needed
the gun a hell of a lot more than the cop did, even if this was Chicago.
Later on, when the sun was up, he reconsidered. It occurred to him that
where he was going noise would be no virtue, not if he was going in
alone. So he bought himself a knife--Bowie, with a double edged tip.
Anyway, he had been schooled in knives in jump school, and he knew how
to use one even better than a wild .45. The thing to do now was get
within reach.
A cab took him to the bus terminal. It was a beautiful morning, brisk
and clear and cold, and on the way he picked up three Faktors.
At discreet intervals, they followed him into the terminal. He did not
notice them. They ringed him at a distance, following a set plan of
destruction, prepared to close in. Since there had been no time for
another recording, Kunklin and Prule had no choice. The three Faktors
died at once, in their tracks, in separate parts of the waiting room.
It was a short while before the slumping men were noticed and the
uproar began. By that time Web was outside boarding a bus, and he
went on his way knowing nothing at all of the Faktors, nor of the
unfortunate incident that immediately befell the Galactics.
He rode the bus for two hours. As he got nearer and nearer to his
destination his resolve began to slip away. He was utterly alone, and
these enemies were alien. What in heck could he accomplish?
The bus pulled into a town called Alford just before noon. He stepped
down into the quiet street. There were no aliens around, none that he
could tell. He decided that there was probably no sense in waiting for
the dark. He did not know his way and the layout would be important, so
he decided to go up into the hills right away.
It was a long walk. He stayed with the road for about two miles, then
cut off abruptly into the woods. The ground became steeper, he began to
climb.
He had not gone forty feet before he tripped the first alarm.
* * * * *
The catastrophe, which neither Kunklin nor Prule had anticipated,
occurred as the result of a power failure.
Continued operation of the machine known as the "bender," together with
the enormous power drain of the anti-gravity webs they used to float
back and forth, had sapped the power of their suits down below danger
level. The one last burst which destroyed the three Faktors reduced
that power completely.
Both Kunklin and Prule became immediately visible.
They caused quite a stir.
Dressed as they were in white, satin-like suits, with glass bowl
helmets on their heads and a large back pack sprouting antennae in all
directions, they were an instantaneous focus of interest in the bus
terminal.
They were greatly annoyed, and also somewhat embarrassed.
"Galactic obscenity," said Kunklin, as a crowd gathered, "I thought you
recharged the suits."
"I thought you did," muttered Prule anxiously. "But let's get out of
here. Which way is the ship?"
They began to walk forward toward the door and the curious, grinning
crowd parted.
"It's way down this wide street. Oh fine!" Kunklin swore gloomily,
attempting at the same time to keep his face impassive. Fortunately,
Earthmen were humanoid. If they were not, of course, the Galactics
would never have allowed this to happen. And if experience on other
planets of this culture level was any judge, these people here would
think the Galactics and the suits were some kind of stunt. But though
this accident had happened quite often to other Galactic agents, it had
never happened to them, and they were apprehensive. They eyed the crowd
warily as they walked.
Grinning, giggling, pointing, the crowd eyed them back, and followed.
Out into the street they went, two tall, undeniably weird-looking men
unable to keep their embarrassment from their faces. One wide-eyed
little boy ran up to Prule, grabbed at his sleeve with taffy-smeared
fingers. He chirped loudly to his parents to "looka the space men."
The mother came up, politely disengaged his fingers, gave a smiling,
unintelligible apology to Prule. Prule nodded as graciously as he
could, tried to walk faster.
"Listen," Prule groaned, "the power is too low to work the translator.
Suppose we're stopped? We can't talk to them."
"Here comes one in a uniform," said Kunklin, beginning to perspire.
"Police?"
"Yes."
"I suggest we run."
They broke into a trot. The crowd around them had grown rapidly and
began to trot with them, wondering where the show would take place. The
policeman ran too.
They let out their speed. Now a whole host of people began to shout
and new ones joined them, running, as they crossed a main street
against a light.
"Faster," grunted Kunklin.