"I'm going to try to kill him, because I know something must be done.
But it's not in my nature to be vindictive. I'll be as passive and
yielding as I can, and then just do it."
Morgan took a deep breath. "You know there's the danger of being found
out, or of being killed afterwards?"
"Yes. And I'm not just saying that."
... "Well. I admire your courage. And I'll do everything I can to
protect you." He took a long, slow draught from the cup. "One thing,
anyway. I won't have to be a part of their cancer anymore. I won't
have to keep silent." He lowered his head in exhaustion. "Have you
got anything stronger?"
"Yes. Lawrence kept some whiskey." She rose to get it.
They talked together far into the night. Then he said goodbye, and
made his way stealthily back to the high-security apartment complex,
and by a way known only to himself, entered the wide bedroom. The next
night he returned with a dental surgeon, who implanted a small capsule
filled with poison onto the bottom of her tongue, and sharpened to a
cutting edge the canine tooth on the corresponding side of her mouth.
They made arrangements for the boy, and set a tentative date for five
days hence. That day, at least, she would come and live with him.
* * *
The flat was wide and spacious, divided into three sections. Coming
through the front door, one entered the large living area, the room
itself recessed to the right a foot lower than the polished hardwood
walk-in. Deeply carpeted, it was furnished with long, pillowy couches
and stiff upright chairs. Low tables of stainless steel and glass were
spread among them. The in-wall, farthest from the walkway, consisted
of a broad Earthstone hearth (a luxury), and was crowned above the
mantle by a photograph of the First Minister, awarding the Medal of
Valor to a tall, stern-faced soldier. A barrage of terraced and
hanging plants surrounded the slanting, beamed windows of the western
wall. Its opposing face was a wall-size entertainment screen, now
projecting a tropical rainforest with a high, flowing waterfall in the
background.
The bedroom opened off the walkway to the left, behind a thick double
door of oak. The kitchen was straight ahead, and by a further passage,
the workroom or den.
Elonna sat beside him on one of the couches, its deep-cushioned comfort
belying the approaching danger. She moved closer, and quite
unconsciously, put her head against his neck. Morgan put his arm
around her and stared at nothing. She was clothed in mistress fashion,
a long dress of sunburst silk and mesh.
"When will they be here, Morgan?"
"Soon, I think. Try not to worry."
"May I have another drink?"
"Sure." He started to rise.
"No, nevermind. Don't get up. I'll be all right; just don't get up."
He drew her closer, warmed her shoulder with his hands.
"Remember," he said, "don't worry about looking scared. You play the
part of a refugee among enemies, saving yourself by being my mistress.
Your natural reactions, whatever they are, will be all right."
"Well I'm glad of that. Oh Morgan, I wish it was over."
"So do I..... Oh, also. Don't be alarmed if he speaks of your past or
your family. He'll have found all that out ahead of time."
"I'm scared."
A warning light lit above the doorway.
"They're in the building."
"How many?" she asked, fighting back a surge of fear.
"I don't know. I'll try to find out." He got up and went to an
intercom by the door, moved his hand across it. "Lieutenant. How many
have we got tonight?"
"Six, Undersecretary."
"Thank you, Walthrop." He switched it off. "Six."
"Why so many?"
"Probably to check the rooms. I don't think they'll stay." Several
seconds later the door tone sounded. He turned to Elonna. "You okay?"
She took a deep breath. He opened the door.
The Secretary entered, preceded by his two bodyguards. Two uniformed
soldiers followed. Morgan addressed them sternly. Another soldier
remained in the hallway.
"So this is the little lovely," said Hunter civilly, nodding towards
her. He gave his long officer's coat to Morgan, and the two uniformed
men began to sweep the room with hand-held detectors. Her eyes drawn
to him by some morbid curiosity, Elonna studied the Secretary.
In his late forties or early fifties, he was a man of average height,
blonde-gray and gaunt, still retaining a taut musculature that showed
itself in the square shoulders and stiffly upright posture. He had a
lean, hard face with prominent cheekbones and brow. But what held her
attention most---Morgan opened a bedroom door for one of the
soldiers---were his eyes. Steel gray and cold, they looked out
restless and insatiable. And though they did not flit, as with lesser
men, they nonetheless seemed unable to rest their gaze on anything for
more than a short time, as if never satisfied with what they saw, angry
and bitter because of it. But when they returned again to her, she
knew it would be very hard. He followed the silk dress up the long
length of her body, and into her eyes. Here was something he wanted.
But even as she looked away, she felt a new determination growing out
of her despair. And though for a moment she had seen him with woman's
eyes, sensing the underlying weakness and need, she felt no pity for
him. His self-malignation and inner violence had cost thousands of
lives already. If it were at all within her power, they would cost no
more.
It was at this same time that she decided upon a strategy. Morgan's
plan had been to lie and act as little as possible, and to decide at
the time which of three contingent courses to adopt. In this way he
hoped to avoid unnecessary risk. She glanced over at him quickly,
looking broken and hurt, and both understood: she had been told of
this ahead of time, and though no longer shocked or capable of much
fear, she felt shamefully and bitterly betrayed. She sat down again
dejectedly and hung her head, without having said a word. Then let a
single tear trickle down her cheek, and wiped it away.
Had they known it, this was probably the best course they could have
adopted. This was not what he wanted---a broken and dispirited
prisoner. He wanted something still alive, desiring freedom and
capable of struggle. At once he called the soldiers to him.
"That is all. Leave the one at the door and get below."
"He has a rifle in the study," said one.
"I know that as well as you. You have your orders."
They touched their chests with a closed right fist and were gone. He
seated his guards in two chairs placed on either side of the bedroom
doors.
"I would like a drink, Morgan. Bring one for yourself, and for the
lady. Whatever she likes." When he had left the room, Hunter moved to
sit in a high-backed chair across from her. She looked up at him,
puzzled.
"Please, you must not be afraid of me. Your master is a hard man
because he has to be. We are not ogres." It was suddenly important to
him that Morgan had never had her. "No one is going to hurt you.
Please, won't you trust me?" She said nothing, continued looking down.
The tall man began to re-enter the room, but Hunter waved him off.
"Has Morgan been treating you well?"
"Yes, very well." There were almost tears in her eyes. "But I thought
I was going to be his. I've been good."
"Of course you have." Now he let Morgan enter. On his tray were three
drinks in narrow glasses. He gave one to the Secretary, who drew out a
long stick (for sensing poison) and submerged it in the glass. He gave
another to Elonna and took the third for himself, sitting in a chair at
a small distance to one side.
"Please, drink up," said Hunter. "To your health, Elonna." She made
the toast halfheartedly. "Let's have some music, Morgan. Do you have
a Beethoven program?"
"Of course." He rose to put it on.
"You like Beethoven, don't you?" She nodded.
And so the time passed, with music, small talk and drinks. At
intervals the Secretary asked simple questions about her health,
promised she could stay here with Morgan, even hinted that the purges,
ghastly but imperative, were now over, and that if she had any friends
or relatives still in hiding, perhaps they could be given safe conduct
off the planet.
Indeed, so much time had passed that she began to think nothing more
would happen that night. But it was this very gleam of hope that he
waited for.
"Will you allow us one more small inconvenience?" The tone of his
voice seemed to imply that nothing more than a routine question was
forthcoming, some sad necessity, painless and quickly over. But some
deeper instinct warned her that the time had come.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Would you go back into the bedroom and take off your clothes? One of
my guards will search you; he shouldn't be too rough. You see, I want
to lie with you tonight."
Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no words would form. The final
attack had come so softly and suddenly that she found she could not
react. Through the liquor her blood went pale. She turned to Morgan,
but he could not help her now. She had to gather herself. Somehow.
Somehow. "Is that what you really want?"
"Yes, it is." She brushed back her face with her hands.
"All right." She got up slowly, did not collapse.
"Snipes."
"Yes, sir."
"Do it."
"Yes, sir." The guard took her by the arm and led her past the other,
who held open the bedroom door.
"What's the matter, Morgan? Surely you knew I would want her?" Morgan
said nothing. His eyes were cold and hard.
After several minutes, the Secretary got up and made his way to the
bedroom. The guard, returning out of it with a nod, passed by him and
shut the door. He resumed his seat beside the other and the two looked
straight ahead. Several moments later the door opened again, from the
inside, and Hunter's head appeared.
"Oh by the way," he said. "Don't let him into the study. You won't go
anywhere will you, Morgan?" The doors closed for the last time.
Morgan gripped the arms of the chair, burning up inside.
*
After several minutes he got up and began pacing back and forth,
pulling angri-nervoursly at a heavy ring on his right hand. The guards
watched him. Sounds still came from the bedroom at irregular
intervals, horrible to hear. That they were muffled didn't help. At
last he felt that he must make his move.
"May I go into the kitchen? I want another drink."
The guards exchanged glances. The larger of the two said, "Go with
him." The other rose and followed him into the kitchen.
"You want one?" asked the Undersecretary gruffly.
"You know I can't."
"Of course." He looked past the standing man's shoulder. "Wait a
minute. Sergeant, what's that?"
The guard half turned to look behind him. There was a flash of metal
as Morgan brought the blade-tipped ring across his neck. The man
staggered but made no sound, as the poison collapsed both lungs and
heart. Morgan carried him by the armpits and set him down, dead, in a
chair. He unclasped the pistol from the man's belt and peered out into
the hallway.
At that moment there was a cry, suddenly stifled, from the bedroom.
The voice belonged to a man. The bodyguard leapt up from his seat.
"Forget about it, Snipes."
"Morgan. What are you doing with that? Where's Bonnard?" Morgan
fired two short bursts into his chest, then casting aside the body,
broke open the door and entered the bedroom.
Elonna sat shaking on the edge of the bed, trying to dress herself.
Hunter lay dead upon the floor, his face contorted wildly, his limbs
drawn up like a shriveled spider. A trickle of blood could be seen at
his crotch.
"Are you all right?" Morgan asked. He helped her into the coverall,
swept back her tear stained hair. There was a sharp sound as the outer
door was thrown open. A lone soldier rushed in, was killed by Morgan.
"Are you well enough to run?"
"Yes." She shook her head severely, trying to force herself back. "He
was really very gentle at the beginning."
"Don't think about it. We've got to get you out. As soon as his pulse
stopped the soldiers below knew it. Come on! We've got to get you
out!"
He threw back the carpet beside the bed, lifted a trap door. They had
just shut it behind them when four more soldiers burst into the room.
With a shout their captain ran past the body, now half covered by the
rug, and fired a laser burst into the lock. It fused and fell inward,
but even as it did so the door was sealed from without by thick bars of
treated steel. The captain tried to lift it, realized his mistake.
"Tarkin, Nemiah, get your men below and fan out. Block all exits." He
lifted his hand-com, ordered the building and neighboring sections
surrounded, called in air patrols to block the skies. He rolled back
the carpet with his foot, looked with angry disgust upon the body of
Hunter. Two men in white entered with a stretcher.
"Get him out of here." They lifted the body and took it away. The
captain paced the floor.
*
The passage, after its beginnings beneath the trap door, was shallow
and not wide, so shallow they had to lie flat and pull themselves along
by staggered hand-holds above them. After perhaps a minute, though it
seemed far longer, they came to the emergency ladder-tube, began to
climb.
Reaching the roof, they saw the police ship and the man (one of their
own) guarding it. He nodded to Morgan, ran toward the railing of
converging walls as if alarmed by sounds from below. Morgan came
behind and clubbed him unconscious with the butt of the rifle. He
leapt up into the ship, where Elonna was already strapping herself in.
Her hands would not stop shaking. He jammed the door shut, made ready
to lift off. Six seconds later, they were in the air.
He started the small, fast ship forward just as the first of the air
patrols drew near him. He fired twice and banked sharply left.
His shots went high and wide, and as he turned, the lead ship strafed
his exposed underside. Smoke and trickling flame burst out within and
the shields collapsed, but he kept the ship moving. Broken by the
concussion, Elonna lay limp in her seat, only the harness keeping her
in place. He steered the ship low between a gap in the oncoming hills,
as unseen emplacements opened fire on his pursuit.
*
Morgan stepped wearily through the entrance of the unfamiliar cave,
trying to support his broken shoulder with the opposite hand. The boy
broke free from the woman's grasp and came toward him. Seeing only the
man, he broke into an angry despair.
"Where's Miss Elonna?" he cried.
Morgan tried to speak, but the boy ran up to him in tears, punching and
kicking.
Then Elonna passed through the narrow arch.
"No, Johnny, don't. It's all right. I'm all right."
She wiped the tears and grime from her face and knelt and hugged him
deeply. The child buried himself against her.
........................................................................
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