He got up and paced, then stood squarely before her.
"So tell me this, Elonna Dorsett. What do you plan to do about it?"
She hesitated.
"Anything I can." She had a strange sensation as she said the words: a
sand castle on a beach, broken and swept away by the waves. But maybe
if there was a stone in its center, hard and sharp and black.....
"Well, at least you're no spy." He said it matter-of-factly, as if the
question had been understood between them. "And you've a bit of spunk.
Not much perhaps, but a bit." He winked at her halfheartedly, the
graying father once more. "You must be tired."
"Yes."
He led her to the second chamber, gave her a thin mat against the hard
floor, which he placed a short distance from his own. Then he fetched
the boy out from between consoles, and set him on the mat beside her.
He extinguished all but a soft bluish light, and lay down himself. He
turned away.
"Who are you?" she asked quietly.
"I used to be a minister." Again the short, bitter laugh. "Now I
don't know who I am. Just don't call me Moses."
He said no more, and they slept.
*
"How could they do such a thing?" They sat again on opposite sides of
the table, drinking coffee and eating a meager breakfast. With the
night passed and the boy off playing, she hoped she would find him more
talkative.
"What, the great white hopefuls? Simple. There was no one to stop
them."
"But why? when they brought us here in the first place?" He chewed a
stale biscuit, and for a time did not answer.
"Don't ask me to explain the Minority Homestead Act. It was created by
another government, and would take a week."
"But the killing---"
"Every expansionist power needs a hate-group within its own boundaries,
someone to blame for their own fears and failures. Someone for the
violent but inexperienced to cut their teeth on. Hating the Jews is no
longer fashionable, and there aren't enough of them here. We were
obvious, so they picked us instead."
"Surely it's not that simple."
"Of course not," he said irritably. "We represented old fears and
religious prejudice, the 'mark of Cain' and all that brutal bullshit.
We still had money and pride when their debt-based economy crashed.....
This is pointless; figure it out for yourself. I don't want to know
their reasons, only what I can do about it." He fell silent, hard and
cold. She said no more.
At that moment the boy came running out of the back and climbed quickly
onto the bench beside her. Tears were in his eyes, and she put her arm
around him. He buried his head against her, peeped out at the man,
then buried it again.
"Look after him, will you? I'm going out for a while." The man rose,
switched off the shield and went to the entrance.
"Wait," she called after him. "I still don't know your name."
"My name is Lawrence." He was gone.
The boy drew back and looked up at her, no longer frightened but now
tired and curious.
"Well that's better. You don't have to be afraid of me." He looked at
her and chewed his finger. She returned his gaze and smiled. "What's
your name?"
"Johnny Harris." His leg kicked gently out over the side. She patted
him on the head, then went to look for some paper.
The man went down between the high walls of the gap, coming out at the
twin faces of the cliffs. Turning right, he skirted the huge southern
promontory till he came a scree hill, rising still higher toward the
frozen peaks beyond. Here, some two hundred yards further up, a four
foot tunnel, shaded by a boulder, led deep into the mountainside.
Stooping to enter, he walked till he was weary and stiff with a sharp
pain in his back, then walked much farther.
*
It was late evening, darkening to full night. Two men walked through
the opening with the shield still dissipating. The familiar face came
first, then to her dismay the woman saw that the stranger was white.
He studied her as they approached, with the same hard cold gleam as the
other.
"I don't know," he said, turning to the guerrilla. "She has the looks,
but not much grit, seemingly. The face is much too soft."
Lawrence said nothing, hung his coat on a peg by the wall. She half
expected him to draw out a hidden knife and bury it in the white man's
back. But the two stood side by side, and she realized that she was
the outsider, the one in question. The tall, fair-haired man stood
looking her up and down like a slave at auction. She got angry.
"What am I, a piece of meat?"
"Shut up and get us some water," said the black man. She turned on
him, furious.
"How dare you talk to me like that? How dare you? And if you think
you're going to turn me over to this Nazi---" She ran to the wall and
grabbed the laser rifle, pointed it right at him.
But the older man just laughed grimly, and the fantasy fell apart.
"You see what I mean?" he said. "She has some grit. Put away the
rifle, Elonna."
"All right, but you get your own water." He did, retiring to the back
while the other placed his rifle on the table and sat down. Elonna
faced him angrily. "You just watch how you look at me." Then she
walked to the entrance, still unshielded, with the boy and went out.
The tall man watched her go, then turned to face his friend as he came
out with a filled water bottle. The guerrilla handed it to him,
reactivated the shield and returned to the table. They passed the
water back and forth between them.
"She is very beautiful, Lawrence. But have we the right to ask her to
do this?"
"We have the right to ask. But there will be no secrets among us. She
will know who we are, and fully understand the danger before we ask her
to do anything. There is no hurry. I haven't fully judged her
character yet myself. This will take time to set up on your end,
anyway. We may not even get the chance."
"I think we will, if we are patient." A pause. "I didn't mean to
stare at her like that. It's just that it's hard to tell her features
beneath that coverall."
"I know that, Morgan. Still, it's a fine couple of gentlemen we've
become. Myself especially, for having thought of it. But if we could
eliminate Hunter....."
"No, I think it's a good plan, as far as it goes. And if we've lost a
bit of humanity, it only helps us understand their mentality. I was
there when they drafted the plans for these raids. I've also had a
glimpse of what they've got in store for the Laurian socialists. The
only way to stop them, or at least hinder them until the rest of the
quadrant wakes up, sees these bastards for what they are and sends out
real armies to stop them, is to strike at all points, especially the
top, and be just as cold and unfeeling as they are."
The other said nothing, stared soberly at the floor.
"You're right." He got up and paced across the room, his hands behind
his back. The shield went down, and the girl reentered with the boy.
She addressed herself to Morgan.
"I'm sorry I was short with you. I'm sure if you're with Lawrence you
have your reasons. You just caught me off guard." The men exchanged
glances, but did not reply. "I'm willing to do what I can..... You
must be hungry."
"No. Thank you, I must be going. I apologize too. My name is Morgan.
Keep in touch, Lawrence. This will take time, but there are other
things you and I can do until then. Elonna." He rose and lifted the
rifle and left the room. The boy approached Lawrence and punched him
in the leg. The man looked down but did not smile.
"Why so grim?" she asked, not entirely able to keep the sarcasm from
her voice.
"You don't know what we're up against."
"Finding my husband dead on the balcony, I think I have a pretty good
idea..... And how many did you lose?"
"I didn't have to. My family was killed in a transport accident two
years ago."
... "I'm sorry."
"Then don't speak of it again."
... "Are you hungry?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm hungry. Why don't you see if you can make us something
that doesn't taste like tar. I'm going to lie down. Wake me if I fall
asleep."
"All right."
She went to prepare a meal. The child followed. When the food was
ready she called him and they ate without talking. The only sounds
were the small sounds of the boy, tapping his tray with the utensil and
humming softly to himself. Once he looked up at the woman and laughed:
a piece of withered leaf was caught in her dark, flowing hair. The
graying man watched them, and only wished he could smile.
Then night came again, and they slept.
*
Four days had passed, with Lawrence gone much of the time. He never
said where he was going, or gave any indication that something unusual
was at hand. But on the fifth day, as the sun sank and the shadows
grew deep around them, he said simply,
"I've got something to do tonight."
He was, if possible, tighter than ever, and at the evening meal ate
little. Then he rose, ruffled the boy's head, and disappeared into the
second shallow chamber of the back.
He was gone a long time, and the girl took the boy outside, and when
she returned he had still not come out. Then as she knelt on the
ground, playing some game with the child, a man emerged from the back
and she nearly collapsed from fear.
She ran to the wall, seized the rifle and would have shot. But a
familiar voice stayed her.
"Put down the rifle, Elonna, or one of these times you really will
shoot." The voice, she thought, came from the stranger, a square,
Russian-looking man with dark eyes and a shaved head. He was clad in
the blue and black of a Cantonese army officer, the emblem of the
clenched white fist sewn to his breast, a small black cross in its
center. His face wore the sharp look of command but his eyes, in that
moment, seemed to contradict it.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "And what have you done with Lawrence?"
"I'm right here, Elonna." The officer opened his jacket and unfastened
the garment beneath, pulling it open at the neck to reveal a dark
collar and chest, with tight curls of hair like thorny bushes covering
his breast.
"Lawrence!" One of her hands lost its grip on the rifle. "You scared
me half to death."
"I'm sorry for that. I thought you had gone out."
At that moment she realized two things: that he was going into great
danger, and that she cared for him very much.
"When must you go?"
"Very soon." He resealed the uniform.
"Be careful, will you?"
"Yes." He pulled a different weapon from among the equipment against
the wall, examined it carefully. "I have to go." He started for the
door. She stopped him halfway and embraced him, her eyes gleaming at
the corners.
"Be careful."
"I will." He pulled away and stood in the entrance. He looked back at
her strangely, hesitated as if wanting to say more, then turned and was
gone. He did not return that night.
*
The next day the woman was genuinely concerned. She had just begun to
lose hope, when the smoky film of the entrance dissolved and opened out
onto the cleft. A man stepped through, but it was not Lawrence.
"Morgan? What's wrong, where's Lawrence?"
"He's dead."