Prisoners of Tomorrow (100 page)

“We can probably figure out a way to get you into the house, Veronica. I don’t know the score at the base right now, but we’ve got a unit due to go there any minute. That means you’ll have to trust some other guys too. Okay?”

“If you say so. Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Colman turned his head and waved Hanlon over. “Bret, this is Veronica. Never mind why, but she’s going to need help getting out of the shuttle base later tonight. What do you think?”

“We’ll work out something. Where and when?” Hanlon said. Colman looked over at Veronica.

“A shuttle’s lifting off from Bay Five at 2130,” she said. “I’ll be coming off it about thirty minutes before it leaves. All I need is to get over into Chironian territory. I can make it on my own from there.”

“Where to?” Colman asked her.

“Casey’s, I suppose,” Veronica replied.

“Does Casey know?” Colman asked. Veronica shook her head. Colman thought for a few seconds. “I don’t like the sound of what’s going on around there,” he said. “Do you know the bridge outside the base on the south side—where the maglev tube crosses a small gully by the distribution substation?”

“I think so. I can find it anyway.”

“Make for the bridge and wait there,” Colman told her. “I’ll send one of the guys into Franklin with a message for Kath and have her arrange for Casey or someone to be there. SD patrols could be prowling around, or anything. Best not to risk it.” Veronica nodded her assent.

“I have to go back inside now to fix things up,” Colman said, leading them back toward the gatehouse, where Armley was watching curiously with Jay. “Mike,” Colman said to him as they stopped by the door. “Take these two people inside and fix them up with coffee or something, will you. Jay, wait inside with Veronica. I have to get back in with Bret, but I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

Ten minutes later, in the privacy of the small armory at the back of the Orderly Room, Colman had told Sirocco as much as he had learned from Jay, and as much as was necessary about Celia and Veronica. Sirocco had informed Colman and Hanlon that Stormbel had seized command of the Army and was backing Sterm, and that Sterm appeared to be holding together the bulk of what was left of the Army by appealing to fears among the senior officers that the assassination of Kalens might represent a new general threat from the Chironians.

“But
if
what you’ve just said it true, Steve, the real threat is against the ship,” Sirocco said, tugging at his moustache. “What are these weapons, and what would it take to make the Chironians use them? I’ve got to have more information.”

Colman could only shake his head. “I don’t know. Neither did Jay. That’s what Fallows and whoever this other guy is want to find out.”

“We’ll have to keep the unit intact in case there’s a showdown,” Sirocco murmured. “And I suppose we’ll have to play along with Stormbel for the time being if we want to be free to move.” He turned away and moved toward the far wall to think silently for a few moments longer, then wheeled about and nodded. “Okay. Bret, you have to leave for the base right away. Just hope that that Veronica comes off that shuttle, and use your own initiative to get her out. That’s all you have to worry about. So, on your way.” Hanlon nodded and disappeared back through the Orderly Room. “Steve,” Sirocco said. “Pick anyone you want to send to Franklin, and we’ll just have to leave the rest of that side of things to Kath. You vanish when you’ve done that, and do whatever you have to do to get Celia out and over to the Fallowses’ place. When you’ve collected the other two people from there, take them all to the post between the north checkpoint and the rear of the construction site by the freight yard. Maddock’s section will be manning that sector from midnight to 0400. They know how to distract the SDs, and I’ll make sure they’re expecting you.” Colman nodded and turned to follow in the direction which Hanlon had gone. “Oh, and Steve,” Sirocco called as a new thought struck him. Colman stopped at the door and looked back. “You say you know Fallows fairly well?”

“For a long time,” Colman said.

“Don’t leave them at the post,” Sirocco said. “Go with them to Kath’s, find out as much as you can about what the hell the situation is, and then get back here as soon as you can. That way, maybe we’ll be able to figure out what needs to be done.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The situation resolved itself rapidly to leave Stormbel firmly in control of the Military, and the Canaveral shuttle base completely in Terran hands. Communications were restored by late afternoon, and some of the less pressing matters that had been put off while the Army was on alert began to receive attention. Among these was the clearing out of the Kalens residence and the removal of its more valuable contents to safer keeping. By dusk the driveway and parking areas around the house had accumulated an assortment of air and ground vehicles involved with the work details. Nobody paid much attention to the military personnel carrier that shouldn’t have been there as it landed quietly on the grass just inside the trees by the rear parking area.

Inside, Stanislau shut down the flight-control systems, then walked into the passenger compartment without turning on the cabin lights to join Colman, Maddock, Fuller, and Carson, who were sitting with a large picture-crate propped between them, and a pile of cartons, tools, and packing materials around their feet. Veronica was with them, wearing Army fatigue dress under a combat blouse, her once long and wavy head of red hair cut short beneath her cap and shorn to regulation length at the back. Maddock climbed over the litter to open the door, and then climbed out with Carson and Fuller; Stanislau stayed inside to help in the unloading. Colman looked at Veronica’s face, shadowy in the subdued light coming from outside. “Feel okay?” he asked.

She nodded, then after a few seconds said, “Casey will have a fit.”

Her attempt at humor was a good sign. Colman grinned and heaved himself from his seat. “Then let’s go,” he grunted.

When they were all outside, Carson and Maddock took the picture-crate, Stanislau a toolbox, Fuller assorted ropes and fasteners, and Colman some papers and inventory pads. Veronica carried a large roll of packing foam on her shoulder, keeping it pressed against the side of her face. Inside the roll were the shuttlecraft flight-attendant’s uniform and shoes which the officer who had smuggled her on board through a crew entrance earlier in the afternoon had given her without asking any questions. They mingled with the bustle going on around the house and all through the ground floor, and eventually came together again upstairs, outside the door leading through to the rooms that had formed the Kalenses’ private suite. Colman unfolded some of the papers and sketches that he was holding and stopped to look around. After a few seconds he gestured to attract the attention of the SD guard who was standing disinterestedly near the top of the main stairs, and nodded his head in the direction of the door. “Is that the way into the bedroom and private quarters?” he asked.

“It is, but nothing in there’s to be touched until Mrs. Kalens has been back to get some stuff,” the guard answered. “She should be on her way down just about now.”

“That’s okay,” Colman said. “We just have to take some measurements.” Without waiting for a reply he walked over to the door, opened it, poked his head in, called back to Stanislau, “This is it. Where’s Johnson?” and went inside. Stanislau put down the toolbox and followed, then Colman came back out and squatted down to rummage inside it for something. Veronica appeared and went in with the packing roll, Stanislau came out, Colman went back in with a measure, and a few yards away along the corridor Carson and Maddock managed to get the picture-crate stuck across an awkward corner. While the SD was half watching them, Fuller came up the stairs to ask where Johnson was, Stanislau waved in the direction of the doorway, and Fuller went in while Colman came out. Carson dropped his end of the crate, Stanislau went in with a compad, Maddock started yelling at Carson, and Fuller came out.

In the bathroom through the far door of the bedroom behind the lounge, Veronica was already stripping off her fatigues and boots, which she then stowed beneath the towels in the linen closet. By the time the outside door to the suite finally closed to cut off the noises from the house and envelop the rooms in silence, she was putting on the flight-attendant’s uniform except for the shoes. After that she used Celia’s things to attend to her makeup.

Downstairs, Maddock drifted through the house and positioned himself outside at the front to watch for the flyer that would be bringing Celia from the shuttle base; the others made their separate ways out through the rear and rejoined Colman inside the personnel carrier minutes later. They settled themselves down to wait, and Fuller and Carson lit cigarettes. “Still think it’ll go okay, Sarge?” Stanislau asked. “I could do a quick hair-job in there.” He had brought the things with him, just in case.

Colman shook his head. “There shouldn’t be any need. Celia’s hair is a lot shorter. There’ll be fewer people around later. It’ll be okay . . . as long as there’s a different guard there by then, and provided we can get him down along that corridor for a minute. And anyhow, they’ll be expecting people to be going in there then.”

“If you say so,” Stanislau said.

“How long before the flyer shows up?” Carson asked.

Colman looked at his watch. “About half an hour if it’s on schedule.”

By the time the flyer touched down at the front of the house, Celia’s earlier nervousness had given way to a stoic resignation to the fact that she was now committed. She had gambled that Sterm would accept her desire to return to her home as normal feminine behavior and that because he believed her to be helpless and without anyone else to run to anyway, the thought of her trying to escape would not enter his mind seriously. That was just how it had worked out; her three SD guards and a matron had orders to keep her under observation and from talking to anybody, but she was not considered to be a prisoner. Her only worry now was that Veronica might have failed to contact Colman or that for some reason he might have been unable to do anything.

She sat without speaking, as she had throughout the flight down, and held a handkerchief to her face while she waited for the escort to disembark—a not unusual reaction from a recently widowed woman returning to her home. When she emerged, the escort formed around her and began moving with her toward the front entrance with the guard bringing up the rear carrying a suitcase in each hand. Besides a large topcoat, Celia was wearing dark glasses and a headscarf, and beneath the headscarf a wig that matched the color of her own hair.

The party ascended the main staircase, at the top of which the two leading guards took up positions outside the door to the suite while the one with the suitcases accompanied Celia and the matron inside. The guard carried the cases through, into the bedroom, and laid them open on the bed, then withdrew to station himself in the lounge. While Celia began selecting and packing items from the drawers and closets, the matron went to the door at the back to look into the bathroom, swept her eyes round in a perfunctory check for windows or other exits, and then came away again to assume a blank-faced, postlike stance inside the lounge door, moving only when Celia went through to collect some papers and other items from the desk beyond. Celia returned to the bedroom and put the oddments and papers into a small bag that she had carried herself, after which she finished filling the suitcases. Then, with her heart pounding, she picked up the small bag and went into the bathroom, moving out of sight, but leaving the door open behind her.

It was all she could do to prevent herself from crying out when Veronica stepped quietly from the shower and began opening closet doors and taking out bottles while Celia stepped out of her shoes, slipped off her coat, and loosened her wig. There was no time for smiles or reassuring gestures. Veronica put Celia’s shoes on her feet and the flight-attendant’s shoes in Celia’s bag; the wig went into place easily over her new haircut; the coat went over her uniform, and she tied the scarf over the wig while Celia took over the job of putting bottles, jars, brushes, and tubes into the bag to keep up the background noise. Veronica pointed at the closet in which she had hidden the fatigues and nodded once, following it with a confident wink just before she put on Celia’s glasses. Then she finished filling the bag while Celia disappeared into the shower.

The matron didn’t gave Veronica a second glance when she came out of the bathroom with Celia’s bag on one hand and holding Celia’s handkerchief to her face with the other. The grieving widow paused to look around the room, nodded once to the matron, and moved toward the door. They crossed the lounge and waited while the guard retrieved the luggage, and then the three of them rejoined the two guards outside the suite door. The party then reformed and began descending the stairs.

Celia waited for a few minutes to give anybody a chance to come back for something, then stepped from the shower, found the clothes that Veronica had left, and spent a few minutes putting them on and lacing the boots. Her hair was already tied high from wearing the wig, but she spent a while studying the cap in the mirror and making some adjustments before she considered herself passable. She was just walking back into the bedroom to wait when she heard the door on the far side of the lounge open, and immediately the suite was filled with the sounds of bodies moving around and voices calling to each other. A few seconds later Colman appeared in the doorway from the lounge. Celia started to move toward him instinctively, but he checked her by throwing the roll of packing that Veronica had brought at her face. “You’re in the Army,” he said gruffly as she caught it. “Move your ass.”

It was the right thing to do. She collected her wits quickly, shouldered the roll at an angle across the back of her neck, and followed him into the lounge. Colman went ahead to stand peering through the doorway from one side while soldiers came and went in bewildering confusion and then he motioned her out suddenly. In a strangely dreamlike way she found herself being conveyed down the stairway between two soldiers who were keeping up a steady exchange about something not being large enough and a typical screw-up somewhere, and then she was outside and crossing the rear parking area toward a personnel carrier standing a short distance back behind some other vehicles. Suddenly, without really remembering getting in, she was sitting in the cabin. Figures materialized swiftly and silently from the darkness and jumped in after her. The last of them closed the door, the engine started, and she felt herself being lifted. Only then did she start shaking.