So--in just three hours--it all would be over. By then they'd have
gained control of the ship, or their martyred corpses would start on
their eternal flight through space. If a third alternative presented
itself, Ker-jon failed to consider it.
He heaped his plate with succulent synthetics in the crowded dining
room, then decided he didn't feel much like eating. Once he caught
a glimpse of Cluny-ann, but she sat far across the room, in earnest
conversation with three tall strong women who probably were her squad
leaders.
Nine forty-five....
Ker-jon crossed to the cashier's window, gave the woman mutant a
six-credit slip, pocketed his change, left the dining room. He knew of
no other way to kill time. He'd waited at the cashier's window, picking
at his teeth, striking up meaningless conversation with the woman. Not
accustomed to talk with a non-mutant, she'd been awkward. Now he still
had fifteen minutes, and the way he felt, it would seem like hours.
He strode rapidly down the corridor, past the door to the astro-room.
Nothing there, not yet. Too early.
He reached the ramp which led to 'ponics. Two men lolled there,
insolently. Green-uniformed men--police. Why?
Ker-jon's palms were clammy when he reached them, but he tried to walk
between them indifferently. They came together, barring his way. They
didn't say a word.
"I'm on duty in 'ponics in ten minutes," Ker-jon told them.
"That's interesting," one said.
"Are you looking for anyone in particular?"
"Yes."
"Well, will you let me through?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you're the guy we're looking for or not."
"Nine minutes," Ker-jon said; "it's important that I'm on time."
"Have you got a name, friend?"
"Bio-tech first class Ker-jon, hydroponics division."
"Ker-jon, eh? Come with us."
One policeman eased a needle-gun from his belt, the other wrapped a big
hand around Ker-jon's elbow. "Come on."
"What did I do?"
"Don't ask me. This is just a job, but I'm sure they'll let you know."
The man was snickering.
Ker-jon pulled his arm free. "Well, you tell me where to report; I'll
go later."
"You promise?" said the man with the gun, smiling vapidly.
"Yes."
"That's good! He promises. Come on now!"
Ker-jon grunted, relaxed. The man's gun-hand wavered, only for a
moment, but it was enough. Ker-jon swung his right fist up and felt
his knuckles bruise against the man's jaw. Without waiting to see the
effects, he darted for the 'ponics door and inserted his key.
Something crashed against his legs, behind the knees, and he stumbled
against the door, striking his head sharply. When he came away he found
himself reeling dizzily on hands and knees. The man who had tackled him
scrambled off the floor first, waited while Ker-jon clambered half-way
up. A heavy boot exploded against his face, then seemed to explode
all over again inside his skull. He fell flat on his stomach, hands
clawing at the floor feebly.
* * * * *
He got up groggily, felt the caked blood stiffening the skin of his
face. His wrist-chronometer's dial marked off eleven hours and thirty
minutes!
A withered old albino man peered at him anxiously, his face as white as
the fungi which sometimes grow, if you are not careful, in the 'ponics
room. His pink eyes blinked often against the strong day-period light.
Ker-jon couldn't guess his age--eighty, perhaps.
"I see you're awake."
"Who the hell are you?"
"A counter-revolutionary, young man."
"What?"
"Don't be surprised; don't think your little revolution was such
a closely-guarded secret that no one knew about it. For one, the
Mutant-maker knew. The revolution was an abortive failure, I am sorry
to say."