"Come along with me. Over in this direction." He and Reinhart climbed
the side of a demolished hill, both of them panting for breath. "I was
landing. I saw a figure emerge from a lift and run toward the
mountains, like some sort of animal. When he came out in the open I
dived on him and released a phosphorus bomb."
"Then he's--_dead_?"
"I don't see how anyone could have lived through a phosphorus bomb."
They reached the top of the hill. Dixon halted, then pointed excitedly
down into the pit beyond the hill. "There!"
They descended cautiously. The ground was singed and burned clean.
Clouds of smoke hung heavily in the air. Occasional fires still
flickered here and there. Reinhart coughed and bent over to see. Dixon
flashed on a pocket flare and set it beside the body.
The body was charred, half destroyed by the burning phosphorus. It lay
motionless, one arm over its face, mouth open, legs sprawled
grotesquely. Like some abandoned rag doll, tossed in an incinerator
and consumed almost beyond recognition.
"He's alive!" Dixon muttered. He felt around curiously. "Must have had
some kind of protection screen. Amazing that a man could--"
"It's him? It's really him?"
"Fits the description." Dixon tore away a handful of burned clothing.
"This is the variable man. What's left of him, at least."
Reinhart sagged with relief. "Then we've finally got him. The data is
accurate. He's no longer a factor."
Dixon got out his blaster and released the safety catch thoughtfully.
"If you want, I can finish the job right now."
At that moment Sherikov appeared, accompanied by two armed Security
police. He strode grimly down the hillside, black eyes snapping. "Did
Cole--" He broke off. "Good God."
"Dixon got him with a phosphorus bomb," Reinhart said noncommittally.
"He had reached the surface and was trying to get into the mountains."
Sherikov turned wearily away. "He was an amazing person. During the
attack he managed to force the lock on his door and escape. The guards
fired at him, but nothing happened. He had rigged up some kind of
force field around him. Something he adapted."
"Anyhow, it's over with," Reinhart answered. "Did you have SRB plates
made up on him?"
Sherikov reached slowly into his coat. He drew out a manila envelope.
"Here's all the information I collected about him, while he was with
me."
"Is it complete? Everything previous has been merely fragmentary."
"As near complete as I could make it. It includes photographs and
diagrams of the interior of the globe. The turret wiring he did for
me. I haven't had a chance even to look at them." Sherikov fingered
the envelope. "What are you going to do with Cole?"
"Have him loaded up, taken back to the city--and officially put to
sleep by the Euthanasia Ministry."
"Legal murder?" Sherikov's lips twisted. "Why don't you simply do it
right here and get it over with?"
Reinhart grabbed the envelope and stuck it in his pocket. "I'll turn
this right over to the machines." He motioned to Dixon. "Let's go. Now
we can notify the fleet to prepare for the attack on Centaurus." He
turned briefly back to Sherikov. "When can Icarus be launched?"
"In an hour or so, I suppose. They're locking the control turret in
place. Assuming it functions correctly, that's all that's needed."
"Good. I'll notify Duffe to send out the signal to the warfleet."
Reinhart nodded to the police to take Sherikov to the waiting Security
ship. Sherikov moved off dully, his face gray and haggard. Cole's
inert body was picked up and tossed onto a freight cart. The cart
rumbled into the hold of the Security ship and the lock slid shut
after it.
"It'll be interesting to see how the machines respond to the
additional data," Dixon said.
"It should make quite an improvement in the odds," Reinhart agreed. He
patted the envelope, bulging in his inside pocket. "We're two days
ahead of time."
* * * * *
Margaret Duffe got up slowly from her desk. She pushed her chair
automatically back. "Let me get all this straight. You mean the bomb
is finished? Ready to go?"
Reinhart nodded impatiently. "That's what I said. The Technicians are
checking the turret locks to make sure it's properly attached. The
launching will take place in half an hour."
"Thirty minutes! Then--"
"Then the attack can begin at once. I assume the fleet is ready for
action."
"Of course. It's been ready for several days. But I can't believe the
bomb is ready so soon." Margaret Duffe moved numbly toward the door of
her office. "This is a great day, Commissioner. An old era lies behind
us. This time tomorrow Centaurus will be gone. And eventually the
colonies will be ours."
"It's been a long climb," Reinhart murmured.
"One thing. Your charge against Sherikov. It seems incredible that a
person of his caliber could ever--"
"We'll discuss that later," Reinhart interrupted coldly. He pulled the
manila envelope from his coat. "I haven't had an opportunity to feed
the additional data to the SRB machines. If you'll excuse me, I'll do
that now."
* * * * *
For a moment Margaret Duffe stood at the door. The two of them faced
each other silently, neither speaking, a faint smile on Reinhart's
thin lips, hostility in the woman's blue eyes.
"Reinhart, sometimes I think perhaps you'll go too far. And sometimes
I think you've _already_ gone too far...."
"I'll inform you of any change in the odds showing." Reinhart strode
past her, out of the office and down the hall. He headed toward the
SRB room, an intense thalamic excitement rising up inside him.
A few moments later he entered the SRB room. He made his way to the
machines. The odds 7-6 showed in the view windows. Reinhart smiled a
little. 7-6. False odds, based on incorrect information. Now they
could be removed.
Kaplan hurried over. Reinhart handed him the envelope, and moved over
to the window, gazing down at the scene below. Men and cars scurried
frantically everywhere. Officials coming and going like ants, hurrying
in all directions.
The war was on. The signal had been sent out to the warfleet that had
waited so long near Proxima Centaurus. A feeling of triumph raced
through Reinhart. He had won. He had destroyed the man from the past
and broken Peter Sherikov. The war had begun as planned. Terra was
breaking out. Reinhart smiled thinly. He had been completely
successful.
"Commissioner."